The Visit
As the mutterings of her audience began to fade, Elizabeth was confident she had succeeded.
The story she wished told would be spread.
Mr Darcy would doubtless take steps to protect his sister, and she suspected Mrs Watson was the unexpected recipient of his largesse in exchange for her discretion.
That was what she would do given sufficient funds, and a Darcy would certainly fall back on money sooner than she would.
He probably carried a year’s wages for a housekeeper on his person.
She sighed with relief and was so enjoying her success in distancing herself from the debacle in Meryton that neither she nor her companions noticed the parlour door open.
Naturally, after a morning like hers, any door that opened without slamming was hardly worthy of notice, and the rest of the inhabitants were expecting refreshments.
She gave a start when Mr Hill spoke loudly enough to be heard over both Mrs Bennet and Lydia—a feat worthy of Tom Kendall himself.
“Mr Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr Bingley, and Miss Darcy.”
Elizabeth swallowed and thanked the fates that everyone else in the room stared at the newcomers as if they had never seen ladies and gentlemen before.
Her younger sisters nearly swooned to be in the presence of a colonel in the regulars, and Mary was fascinated by the presence of Miss Darcy, of whom she had heard so much from the Bingley sisters.
Mrs Bennet went into fine form, welcoming Mr Bingley and another dashing officer, while doing her best to be at least minimally polite to Mr Darcy, but only about a third of her words made any sense.
Elizabeth saw her calculating mind trying to work out how to get the colonel seated near her liveliest daughter while giving Mr Bingley his place by Jane’s side, and she feared the matron might well swoon or go mad from the effort.
Mr Darcy looked grave and frightening as usual, and the colonel stepped into the breach.
“Darcy, might you introduce us?”
He turned his gaze away from staring at Elizabeth, as did his sister, and she felt she owed the colonel her thanks, however begrudgingly.
Mr Darcy performed the introductions in his grave manner, all in the proper order as laid down by the rules of propriety, while Elizabeth wondered why the vastly more suitable Mr Bingley had not taken up the task.
Nearly every inhabitant of the room, with the possible exception of Jane, but especially Elizabeth, was shocked when he introduced everyone with the correct names, and in the correct order of precedence.
She suspected Mr Bingley’s hand in the matter, amused by the brief vision of that gentleman in a governess’ dress lecturing the taciturn man with a slate.
Wondering how much of her private business was about to be exposed to the Longbourn gossips, she was relieved when Miss Darcy spoke. “I am so happy to meet you all.”
She said it with enough emphasis to tell Elizabeth that at least their prior association need not be acknowledged.
The colonel said jovially, “Darcy has written so much about the people of Meryton that my cousin insisted I bring her here to meet everyone; is that not correct, Darcy?”
The man sounded disconcertingly like Mr Wickham, too smooth for her tastes, but he certainly made short work of letting her know the lay of the land.
Mr Darcy surprised everyone by showing he was capable of speech beyond introductions.
“Yes, I have written extensively of the neighbourhood, such that both my sister’s and my cousin’s curiosity was aroused. I hope you do not mind our visit.”
“Of course not,” Mrs Bennet gushed, leaving Elizabeth wincing.
The only thing that saved her from speaking was the realisation that Mr Darcy would never be able to criticise her again!
She had seen his critical looks over the six weeks of his visit in the autumn, and his sneers at the Netherfield ball (which, in truth, mostly matched her own).
Certainly, her mother was a loud, obvious, and obnoxious matchmaker; but according to Mr Collins’ testimony, Lady Catherine was no better.
Mr Bennet was an indolent master, but he had not left his fifteen-year-old daughter vulnerable to a rake (yet).
Her sisters were inveterate flirts, but they had never agreed to elope with a penniless son of a steward, nor had they (as far as she knew) had a man tarred and feathered.
Yes, she was at long last free from censure from the gentleman.
The colonel had continued advancing the conversation, and as in any room with Mrs Bennet, her younger sisters, and a half-dozen other ladies, there was no lack of words tumbling over one another.
Mr Darcy looked like a man enduring an inquisition, which Elizabeth did not mind in the least, but Miss Darcy looked as if she had exhausted what stores of courage she had long before.
Thinking she should at least save Miss Darcy from the clutches of Lydia and Kitty, Elizabeth moved closer to Mary and patted the seat beside her.
The parlour was just about the most crowded it had ever been, but when Miss Darcy accepted the offer and nearly ran across the room to take the proffered spot, the rest of the occupants gradually found places.
The colonel’s luck ran out and he found himself with Lydia and Kitty, but since he regularly faced the French on the Continent, Elizabeth suspected he was strong enough to endure it.
“Mr Darcy, we have been hearing stories of your childhood companion. Might you be willing to enlighten us?” Mr Bennet asked in a far more serious voice than he usually employed.
Elizabeth wondered if her father was belatedly realising how vulnerable his family was to ridicule, or if he had decided the Darcys were to be the next victims he would sharpen his wit on.
“Yes, he said you denied him a church living,” Lydia cried, and Elizabeth found a small figurine in her hand and an overwhelming desire to throw it; although on reflection, she could not tell if she was vexed by Lydia’s lack of manners, or the realisation that she had been as deceived as anyone.
As much as Elizabeth wanted to run from the room screaming, she knew that something had to be done to ensure the story of one Lieutenant Wickham was distributed correctly.
She was surprised to hear Miss Darcy whisper in her ear, ‘He hates this, but I suspect he just worked out that this is the best time to ensure the proper story is told.’
Elizabeth grunted and then reached out to squeeze the girl’s hand. She was still not sure what she thought about Miss Darcy’s mad adventure, but she was certain of one thing. She was not dull!
Mr Darcy was still standing, mostly because Mrs Bennet had carefully arranged things to make him sit by her choice of lady, and he did not appear a man to be herded about.
He turned to Mr Bennet and said, “The tale would not ordinarily be suited to ladies’ ears.”
“I did not raise my daughters to be missish,” the patriarch replied. “I believe we do them a disservice by hiding the dangers of the world. My daughters may hear what you have to say, but I do not speak for the rest of the occupants.”
The Goulding and Lucas ladies were quick to aver that they were equal to whatever he had to say, and Elizabeth thought it too late to be squeamish since they had been speaking of tar and feathers for the last several hours.
Mr Darcy finally came to a decision, and he stood even straighter and began to speak in a resonant voice that carried as well as any clergyman could hope for.
"Mr Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge–most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman’s education.
My father was not only fond of this young man’s society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. ”