Chapter 7 #3
“You need not look at me that way, Lizzy. I did not expect to see that man here, and certainly not with you.” Mrs Bennet looked a little ashamed, Mrs Collins less so. “What are you doing here?”
“Yes, I thought you were doing your duty as a Christian and showing favour and kindness to a poor and sick girl. Mr Collins and I would not have permitted these visits had we known you would be often in company with—”
“With a gentleman who attends church every Sunday, who is received at Lucas Lodge, and who has played whist with your husband? You have been in company together. Mr Darcy is my friend’s brother, and he is on his way to the apothecary for her sake.
You remember Mr Darcy, do you not?” Miss Bennet linked an arm through his, trapping him as she made her point.
They curtsied, and then proceeded to ignore him.
“I have just come from the Philipses’, and they are coming to my—to Mary’s ball. We shall be so full of company! Even without any officers, Lydia will have such fun. And you.”
“No, we will host a modest party, with eight families, and it will be held only from the requirement of showing attention to our closest friends.”
Mrs Bennet turned pink but said nothing. Given Mrs Bennet’s beauty and youthful enthusiasm, and Mrs Collins’s sobriety, how many people mistake the mother for the daughter? After this dour pronouncement, Mrs Collins turned to her sister with a pointed look.
“My husband cannot give you any more money—you understand, Lizzy—so you may wear the gown Mr Cuthbert bought for you over the winter. One new day gown for this summer will be sufficient for your purposes; a new ballgown would be excessive for a spinster in your position.”
“Thank you, Mary. I would very much like to wear an opera gown trimmed in fur from February to a family ball in May.” Miss Bennet still had her arm linked through his; he could hear her breathing faster. His own blood was rising in indignation on her behalf.
“I am sorry, Lizzy, but I always told you I could not maintain you after your father died.” Mrs Bennet did genuinely look disappointed. “I admit, knowing three of my girls are settled does my nerves well. I have no extra money to give you, and you know how economising Mary and Mr Collins are.”
“Yet I suspect you will see that Lydia has a new gown?”
Mrs Bennet did not, apparently, hear the bitterness in Miss Bennet’s tone.
“I cannot afford that, either, poor Lydia. Only new silk stockings for her, and combs, and maybe new pink shoes. We will spend the week working on her best gown, the neck and sleeves and shoulders at least. That reminds me, Mary, I must be sure to get Lydia some lace before we go home.”
Darcy could feel the tension in Miss Bennet’s arm. Such unequal treatment of one’s children surprised him.
“Why, Lizzy, you ought not to be tired and ashamed of your present stock of gowns.” Mrs Collins notices their mother’s unfair treatment, and she enjoys it.
Darcy debated the rudeness of dropping Miss Bennet’s arm to get away from these awful people.
“It is acceptable that a girl of sixteen enjoy a ball since she has the hope of finding a husband. You need not take such care. Besides, as we both know, beauty is not as valued a virtue compared to modesty and utility in finding a husband.”
Miss Bennet began to bend and stretch her fingers, as though she could not feel them, and Darcy took the opportunity to remove his arm. That seemed to remind her of his presence, and although he began to bow to leave, she brought him to her family’s attention.
“Yes, a girl of sixteen does deserve a new gown and to attend a ball, such as Miss Darcy. You ought not to mention the ball before Mr Darcy without including him in your invitation. He and his sister are my particular friends.” Mother and daughter joined him in staring at Miss Bennet in amazement.
“Miss Darcy might be healthy enough to attend an evening party if she does not dance. She is our neighbour and has no friend other than me.”
Had they not been considering his sister, Darcy would have left during the long silence that followed.
“I only invite to Longbourn those who can invite us again.” Mrs Collins did not so much as look at him. “Mr Collins expects you home.” She walked away, and Mrs Bennet scarcely bothered to curtsey before she followed her.
“Is that the true hospitality my mother taught us?” Miss Bennet called after her sister. Darcy was about to finally leave, but a close look at Miss Bennet’s face changed his mind. It was pinched in pain, she pressed a hand to her heart, and a sheen of sweat had broken out across her brow.
“My heart is racing,” she managed to gasp, as though she had trouble breathing. “I need to sit.”
She was not asking for assistance; she was thinking aloud and did not realise he was still there.
He looked down Meryton’s main street and saw only the butcher with his tray, an old woman with her full basket, and a string of dawdling children round the baker’s bow window.
Darcy considered pursuing her mother and sister, but instead supported Miss Bennet and led her to the circulating library.
She stumbled twice, as though she was faint or could not feel her toes.
He saw her to a chair, and after the clerk gave him a questioning look, Darcy went to the counter and asked for the first volume of the first book that crossed his mind.
Ladies talked nearby about a novel, and farther away a group of louder women rested after a day of shopping, and others here and there read magazines or waited for their books.
No one should notice Miss Bennet’s distress.
It was like he had seen when he retrieved his coat at Lucas Lodge: pain in her chest, difficulty breathing, and faintness.
He shielded her from notice and wondered how to see her safely home and how long before he could get to the apothecary for Georgiana.
She was silent, but trembling and wincing, for another five minutes.
“How are you now, Miss Bennet? Will you be able to walk home, or shall I arrange for someone to take you?”
“I wanted Georgiana to have a pleasant diversion, and be amongst other young people.” She took a great breath with difficulty. “You would have brought her to Longbourn if she was well enough, and if Mary had a gracious bone in her body?”
I would rather remain at home with my tranquillity undisturbed.
“Certainly, madam, but it is doubtful Georgiana would have the energy and strength for the carriage ride, let alone for a ball.” She nodded, but still pressed a fist against her chest as though she might be able to ease the pain within.
“Is there anything I can do for your present relief?”
“I am utterly powerless. I cannot even invite my friend to a party.” Miss Bennet blinked a few times, and then seemed to finally see him properly. “Leave me.”
The clerk brought the book while Darcy debated what ought to be done. Miss Bennet took the book with a smile that might have convinced a casual observer that she was well. “Shall I escort you to Longbourn? Or shall I find someone with a cart—”
“Mr Darcy, take care of your sister. I will likely survive the walk home.”
She was embarrassed, by both her family’s behaviour and her own attack, and Darcy did as she asked.
Why did this lively and stubborn woman suffer these bouts of pain?
He could better understand her not wishing to tell her family, given what he had seen of their antipathy for her.
If these were their public manners, what would Mrs Collins and Mrs Bennet be like at home on the evening of their own ball?