Chapter 6
Longbourn
They agreed that if Elizabeth returned to Longbourn in a hackney carriage, escorted by an earl’s son, Mrs. Bennet would be so overwhelmed with visions of her daughter’s impending marriage that it was wiser to avoid the spectacle altogether.
Instead, they directed the driver to Netherfield.
When they arrived, the house was oddly quiet.
Garret, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s batman, informed them that Bingley had departed for Town the day after the ball, promising he would return in three or four days.
Miss Bingley and the Hursts, however, had resolved to follow him and had set out that very morning for Grosvenor Street, where Mr. Hurst kept a residence.
“Oh dear, I fear much will be amiss at Longbourn,” said Elizabeth. “It seems clear none of the Netherfield party will return to Hertfordshire this winter.”
“But surely, Mr. Bingley would not let his sisters’ absence keep him away—especially when he seemed so taken with your sister, Miss Bennet,” said the Colonel.
Elizabeth was not so easily convinced. After saying goodbye to Colonel Fitzwilliam, she asked the hackney to take her to Longbourn’s gates.
The trip from Baldock had been thoroughly pleasant: the rain had held off, and the Colonel, ever the gentleman, had kept her entertained with stories of his adventures as an exploring officer in the Peninsula.
Still, Elizabeth stepped down from the carriage with some reluctance, bracing herself for the inevitable questions about her disappearance from the ball and her absence from Longbourn these past two days.
Having often slipped out of the house without her mother’s notice, Elizabeth moved quickly through the garden to the kitchen door.
She nodded briefly to Mrs. Hill, acutely aware of the mud that streaked her gown, and hurried upstairs to the room she shared with Jane.
After refreshing herself and changing into a simple morning dress, she descended the stairs and strolled as casually as she could into the drawing room.
“Oh, Lizzy, there you are!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “We have received the oddest letter from Caroline Bingley, and I cannot make head or tail of it. Jane, give Lizzy the note—perhaps she can determine the Netherfield party’s intentions.”
Elizabeth scanned the letter. As she suspected, Caroline Bingley had no intention of returning, and seemed certain to keep her brother away as well. Yet one passage caught her eye—
“Mr. Darcy has already left for Town, impatient to see his sister, and to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager for the pleasure of her company. I truly believe Georgiana Darcy has no equal in beauty, elegance, or accomplishments; our affection for her, shared by Louisa and myself, is deepened by the hope that she may one day become our sister. I cannot recall if I have ever expressed these sentiments to you before, but I cannot leave the country without confiding them now, trusting you will not think them unreasonable. My brother already admires her, he will now have every opportunity to see her intimately, both families desire the connection, and I do not think my sisterly bias deceives me when I say Charles is quite capable of winning any woman’s heart.
With so many circumstances in favour of an attachment, and nothing to hinder it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, to hope for an event that would secure the happiness of so many? ”
“What do you make of that, Lizzy?” Jane asked as Elizabeth finished reading. “Isn’t it clear? Caroline is telling me, as plainly as she can, that she neither expects nor wishes to have me for a sister.”
“Miss Darcy? Do you know anything of her?” Mrs. Bennet inquired. “Mr. Darcy never mentioned a sister—surely, she would have visited Netherfield with him.”
There were truths Elizabeth could share, but how could she reveal Caroline Bingley’s deceit without exposing Miss Darcy’s own situation?
Her sense of duty pulled in opposite directions: she couldn’t betray an innocent girl, but she also couldn’t let Jane remain in the dark about Miss Bingley’s intentions.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke to me of Miss Darcy—he is her guardian, as well as her cousin. She is only fifteen, not yet out in society, and certainly not someone Mr. Bingley would court. I’ll put it plainly, Jane—Caroline Bingley knows her brother loves you; she’s followed him to Town to keep him away and is trying to convince you he never cared in the first place. ”
Jane shook her head. “But Lizzy, Miss Bingley has always been so kind and attentive to me.”
“Jane, she is not what she seems. Colonel Fitzwilliam himself told me that anyone seeing you and Bingley together would know his feelings. But the truth is, we’re neither wealthy nor distinguished enough for them.
Caroline is even more eager to secure Miss Darcy for her brother, believing that once there’s been one advantageous marriage, another will follow more easily—she’s set her sights on Mr. Darcy, and I daresay she might succeed, if Miss de Bourgh were not in the way. ”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been listening intently, seized on the mention of Miss de Bourgh. “The daughter of Mr. Collins’s patroness? What is she to Mr. Darcy?”
“Miss de Bourgh is Mr. Darcy’s cousin—Lady Catherine is his aunt, his late mother’s sister,” Elizabeth replied, well aware she knew more than she ought. “It is said that they are engaged.”
The discussion meandered on, without coming to any conclusion as to the Bingleys’ intent.
Mrs. Bennet had the consolation that, during the ball, Mr. Bingley had accepted an invitation to dinner.
She declared, though he had been invited only to a family dinner, she would take care to have two full courses.
Elizabeth, on her part, represented to Jane as forcibly as possible that Mr. Bingley was only temporarily in London, and had the pleasure of seeing Jane gradually led to the hope of his return, and to the hope of seeing every wish of her heart answered.
She herself was glad that no one remarked on her truancy, yet was she truly surprised—that in a household of six women, the absence of one caused so little comment?
When thinking of Jane and Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth found, as always for members of her own family, there was little she could discern—know—of their future felicity.
Sometimes, she saw them standing together, engaged in earnest conversation; at other times, as though a page of a picture book had been turned, she saw Jane leaning on the shoulder of a young man, whose identity she was unaware of.
* * *
Three days after Darcy’s return to London, his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, still remained in Hertfordshire.
Darcy had received a note from him stating that he had no intention of spending his leave in Town, and found the society in Meryton exceedingly enjoyable, particularly since the Bingleys had left Netherfield, he had the place to himself.
He suggested that Darcy begin interviewing candidates for Georgiana’s companion, though recommended that he not approach his mother, Lady Matlock, for she would be certain to force disclosure of Georgiana’s foiled elopement.
If that were known, then she would surely recommend that the poor girl be locked in her room until she had shown true repentance for her shameful behaviour.
“On my way to Meryton,” the colonel had written, “I asked Miss Bennet if she could recommend a lady suitable to be Georgiana’s companion. Naturally, she declined—she’s well aware of your suspicions about her motives. Darcy, I’ll say it again: you’re a fool. She’s the finest lady I know.”
Unwittingly, a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman came to mind. Darcy let his meditation linger, perhaps a trifle longer than he wished, before returning his attention to Richard’s letter.
“Miss Bennet did say that she knew of an agency used by many wealthy merchants, senior officers, and barristers in Town. It’s discreet, with an excellent reputation for recommending only the most suitable candidates—unbiased by wealth or social standing.
She did not recall the name her aunt had given her, but her aunt’s direction is included with this letter. ”
Miss Bennet—he had been infatuated, then ashamed of the infatuation, then angry with the woman.
Why? Because she hadn’t flattered and simpered; because she held more consequence in Meryton than did he, Master of Pemberley.
He had thought meanly of the neighbourhood, only because he had inflated his own consequence, not because of the worth or goodness of his character or the meanness of theirs.
He looked at the direction—Gracechurch Street, near the Mansion House, the residence of the Lord Mayor of London.
He was tempted. What did he know of choosing a companion?
In his hubris, he had thought himself wise.
Yet, now he could anticipate the result if he advertised: a mature woman, well-educated, suitable as the companion to a young woman of fifteen…
followed by a line of serious, demure ladies sitting in the blue parlour, politely ignoring each other.
The ritual growing more tedious with each new face.
Every interview seeming to highlight a fresh inadequacy: one lady’s strictness bordering on tyranny, another’s attempts at French and Italian provoking winces, a third scarcely able to distinguish a hawthorn from a holly or discuss the simplest principles of the natural sciences.
Darcy felt defeated before he had begun—before he had spoken to a single applicant.
Was it so much to ask for a woman who might be both a friend and an inspiration to his sister, someone gentle and clever, neither dull nor domineering?
The memory of his previous decision, which had proved disastrous, weighed heavily on him.
How could he trust his own judgement again, when the happiness of someone so dear depended upon this choice?
He sent his card, and, with a prompt reply, found himself three days later at a modest townhouse situated in a quiet court away from the bustle of Gracechurch Street itself.
A maid answered the door and, after taking his hat and gloves, showed him into an elegant parlour.
A fashionably dressed lady, perhaps five years his senior, stood to greet him.
“Mr. Darcy, what a pleasure. My niece Elizabeth mentioned you in a letter, saying you were staying at Netherfield. Please, have some tea. Mr. Gardiner will join us shortly.”
“Ma’am, thank you for receiving me. I realise it was rather forward of me to ask—especially as we haven’t been properly introduced.”
“Not at all. You may not remember me, as you were away at school, but I visited Pemberley several times. Your mother, Lady Anne, was always a gracious hostess. Though it’s been many years, please accept my condolences on her and your father’s passing.”
Darcy was taken aback. Mrs. Gardiner had visited Pemberley as a guest, and here he’d assumed any condescension would be on his side. Just then, Mr. Gardiner entered, and the tea was served.
Once the maid had left, Darcy, with some hesitation, broached the subject of his visit. “Forgive my directness, but I was sent here by my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I believe you know his mother, Lady Matlock.”
“Indeed, we share a common interest in several charities here in the City,” Mrs. Gardiner replied. “But how is it that the Colonel spoke of me?”
“It is a sensitive matter. But both the Colonel and I have a recent acquaintance with your niece, Miss Elizabeth. She spoke to him of your knowing ladies who may be suitable as a companion for my sister of fifteen years.”
The Gardiners were surprised—Mr. Darcy, seeking their advice on a companion for his sister?
Certainly, they knew of his acquaintance with Elizabeth in Meryton, for she had written of his being an unpleasant sort of person prone to disdaining people of lower rank—yet, here he was, in Gracechurch Street, asking for their help.
Mrs. Gardiner, with all the composure of a well-bred lady, began a gentle interrogation as to the sort of person that Mr. Darcy felt would be suitable for his sister, whether she was long out of school, and the character of her previous companion or governess.
She was discreet, avoiding those topics which clearly discomforted Mr. Darcy, but with her easy manner, he soon found that he had told her everything—of Mrs. Younge’s duplicity, Wickham’s manipulation of Georgiana, her fortune, and narrow escape.
“Oh, Elizabeth found her; I should have known. ’Tis so fortunate that you danced with her at the assembly—she often declines, for she has little wish to involve herself in other people’s affairs.”
Darcy agreed, though he suspected that the Gardiners recognised his hesitation.
As their conversation drew to a close, Darcy realised how little he truly knew his sister.
She played the piano-forte and spoke several languages, but what were her favourite books?
Did she prefer Shakespeare’s histories or comedies?
What was her favourite food? Did she prefer Clementi to Mozart or Beethoven?
He had overstayed, and, noticing the time on the mantel clock, rose to leave.
Mrs. Gardiner suggested that he visit again, perhaps on the Tuesday of the following week, when she would have a list of possible candidates and could discuss their merits with him.
For the first time since returning to London, Darcy felt a sense of relief.
The despair left by Georgiana’s near ruin was finally beginning to wane.
* * *