The Morning After
After a restless night and an extended ramble, Elizabeth concluded she had probably escaped the worst of it—though she had doubts about how to proceed.
She imagined Mr Darcy and the colonel would remove their ward from the clutches of her indecorous family to return whence they came. She was of two minds.
On the one hand, Miss Darcy showed an occasional burst of bravery that was admirable—though, in truth, at her best she was probably no braver than Lydia.
She also showed a disturbing lack of common sense in both her elopement plans and her repetition of Elizabeth’s words to her brother—though, once again, no worse than Kitty but better than Mrs Bennet.
Miss Darcy was reputed to be skilled on the pianoforte—but so was Mary, if that were any recommendation.
She wondered if she would find a good companion in Miss Darcy, or another young lady little different from the couple dozen she already knew.
Of course, none of her sisters came with any disconcerting male relatives, so that was to Miss Darcy’s disadvantage.
She discounted Miss Darcy’s notions about her brother’s feelings as romantic nonsense.
No one could be lack-witted enough to find a woman not handsome enough to tempt one day and fall in love another.
Such things happened only in dreadful novels (though she was convinced they were only considered dreadful by unimaginative men).
That he wrote to his sister of her spoke far more of how disagreeable the rest of the company at Netherfield was, than of how agreeable hers was.
Given a chance to write about Miss Bingley or Miss Bennet, the wise man chose the best of a bad lot; and besides, it was unlikely there were any depths to Miss Bingley that Miss Darcy was not already familiar with, since she had apparently been friends with Mr Darcy from her debut to near spinsterhood.
In the end, she believed that, even if the gentleman did have a mild tendre for some unaccountable reason, she knew from his own words that her fortune and connections ‘must very materially lessen her chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world.’ All in all, she thought herself entirely safe.
On the other hand, she could easily count all the other men she had ever met who were willing to tolerate the set-down she had given him through her uncle’s window, and she did not need any fingers to do so.
Then again, his behaviour the previous day had shown he had something in his character she did not understand, since she would have considered anyone who predicted the course of events quite mad.
She eventually returned for breakfast with her head filled with thoughts of the Darcy siblings, though whether they were more of confusion, frustration, or vexation was impossible to say.
Breakfast proceeded as might be expected. The conversation consisted mostly of picked-over bones of what had been discussed ad nauseam the previous day.
Eventually, Lydia asked, “La, Lizzy. Now tell us everything you left out when the parlour was full of gossips. There must be something!”
“No, Lydia. I have said everything I have to say on the subject, twice, thrice, a dozen times over, from every conceivable angle. I have nothing to add, and I would like to cease the endless discussion.”
“That cannot be all!”
“It is all, save this!” she snapped. “Did you listen to Mr Darcy at all? Can you not realise that I am embarrassed to have been caught in the beginning of the debacle, and relieved that I escaped that misfortune unscathed? Embarrassment is nothing new in this house, but I would beg you to let the matter drop. Remember that your reputation is as fragile as mine. Constantly yammering on this subject does nothing but link the name of Bennet to the name of Wickham, and that is injurious to us all!”
Silence reigned for a moment, and Mr Bennet said, “I, for one, will applaud the rare bit of good sense spoken at this table and second Lizzy.”
Elizabeth lost her temper. “You spend the same time at this table as we do, and you have every conceivable advantage of upbringing, education, and authority. If you want sensible conversation, contribute to it!” She threw down her napkin and left the table abruptly.
“What has come over her?” Kitty asked in confusion.
Mary replied, “Will you never learn?” and left the table almost as abruptly as Elizabeth had.
The others finished their meal in awkward silence, then went to their occupations.
Kitty and Lydia joined the family in the parlour later in the day, as they were expecting the Netherfield party.
Much to everyone’s surprise, Lydia approached her elder sisters, who were sitting on a small sofa at work. “I apologise, Lizzy.”
“For what, Lydia?”
Years earlier, she had learnt that with her sisters a good memory was unpardonable, or at least inefficient. She had mostly ignored Lydia’s outburst and spent the intervening time wondering about the one person in the house capable of understanding subtlety, little though he exercised the skill.
She was confident she had applied the right inflection to convince her mother and sisters that when she said, ‘I have said everything I have to say on the subject,’ she meant, ‘I have said all I know,’ which was not quite the same thing.
She believed she had escaped her sisters’ scrutiny but was not certain about her father’s.
It was possible, even probable, that he understood her true meaning, but it was a matter of chance whether he would ask for clarification.
She forced her attention back to Lydia, who said, “For badgering you at the table.”
“You are forgiven, Lydia, but, out of curiosity, why apologise now? It seems… out of character.”
Lydia thought deeply for perhaps the first time in her life, although Elizabeth was sceptical. Lydia’s wild brashness had always seemed calculated, and since it usually resulted in her having her way, it was not surprising.
She finally replied, “I expect to be struck by lightning right here in this parlour for saying this; and I hope it misses the rest of you; but… I think Mr Darcy was right.”
Everyone stared, not certain which part of the sentence was most shocking. They remained so until Elizabeth chuckled and then laughed. “Well done, Lydia.”
Lydia reverted to form by giggling but added gravely, “I thank you.”
Kitty, always trying to outdo her sister, said, “Your first apology ever, Lydia!”
Elizabeth frowned at the girl, but before she could say anything, Lydia turned and assumed a sweet, angelic smile. “That was unkind, Kitty.”
Mr Bennet laughed heartily, while Lydia joined him, and the others looked on in confusion.
“Are you laughing with us or at us, Lydia?” Jane asked sweetly.
“Oh, with you, certainly,” Lydia said in her natural voice.
“Perhaps you should elaborate,” Mr Bennet said more kindly than usual.
“I am trying Mr Darcy’s advice. I need to see if I should be impertinent and clever like Lizzy, or kind and naive like Jane.”
“That is unkind,” Elizabeth snapped.
“I can fight my own battles, Lizzy,” Jane replied to everyone’s surprise.
“I may occasionally be wrong to give people the credit of good intentions, Lydia, but I believe my life will be better if I am fooled by bad intentions occasionally than if I always cynically assume the worst.” She glanced towards her father, who acknowledged the stroke.
“If I treat everyone with suspicion, I would be punishing myself for others’ transgressions. ”
Lydia asked, “Would you have given Mr Wickham that credit?”
“I heard the rumours he spread about the living and reserved judgement. I do not know either gentleman well enough to condemn him, nor was it my business. If Mr Wickham was bad, as he proved to be, it would not affect me, unless—”
She sat calmly watching Kitty and Lydia struggle to wait patiently instead of trying to force it from her.
She finally continued, “—unless one of you were imprudent with the man. I admit to sharing Mr Darcy’s concern about how often the two of you put yourselves at risk from your youthful exuberance, and our mother’s relentless yammering about finding husbands.”
The entire parlour was silent as the grave, for Jane had spoken the last as serenely as if discussing the weather or the state of the roads while delivering a blow from which her mother might never recover.
The two subjects of her assertion were incapable of speech, though everyone knew it could not last long.
Elizabeth looked towards her father, wondering if he would sacrifice his amusement to enhance family harmony for once, but it was clear he would not.
Before anyone else could react, Elizabeth spoke brightly.
“La, Lydia, you have your wish. Lightning has struck this parlour, though it seems to have missed you in favour of Jane!”