Chapter 1 #2
“Oh, Lizzy, whatever is wrong?” It was Charlotte, escaping both her partner and her mother. “I do hope Mr Bennet is not worse?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, it is not that.” She nodded towards Mr Bingley and Jane as they crossed hands and led the set down the room. “A pleasant new neighbour has come into our circle, and we are obliged to see him as some sort of quarry whom we are duty-bound to pursue.”
Charlotte laid a hand on hers. “I am very much afraid, my dear, that this is the lot of all women without fortune. Your situation is merely more urgent than most.” They sat for a moment, watching the dancers. “And he does seem very taken with Jane.”
“Dear Jane!” said Elizabeth. “Who could fail to be taken with her? It is merely a shame that she is obliged to tow the rest of us behind her.” Then, changing the subject firmly, she asked, “I am afraid you must have had a very uncomfortable set. I saw your partner being helped into a carriage outside. Did he make himself unpleasant?”
“Captain Darcy?” Charlotte looked surprised.
“Not at all. He was perfectly polite. He is not perhaps a practised dancer nor an easy conversationalist. I must admit I had the impression that he was conversing by a sort of rote, the size of the hall, the number of couples, the fine weather—you know the sort of thing—but it was all unexceptionable. We parted quite amiably. Mr Harker came and asked me to dance, so I did not see the captain leave. Perhaps he was unwell?”
“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth dubiously and then winced as she heard Lydia screaming with laughter, apparently oblivious to the disapproving looks, notably from Miss Bingley and the rest of the party from Netherfield.
Charlotte patted her hand, and they sat in companionable silence until the assembly was over.
Mr Bingley and his party managed to get away early, and Elizabeth was heartily grateful.
She had heard her mother plotting to waylay him and invite him and his party to dine, or something equally improper, before visits were exchanged.
Kitty and Lydia made nuisances of themselves in the carriage as usual, complaining about the draft and squeeze.
Poor Mary was sunk in what Elizabeth was coming to suspect was silent misery and as for Jane, Elizabeth could only imagine the weight of the expectations placed upon her.
As Mrs Bennet fretted, speculated, and triumphed over their neighbours, Elizabeth could see her eldest sister sinking further and further into her own unhappy thoughts.
Longbourn was warm and welcoming. Only Mr Hill, the butler, and Sarah, Mrs Bennet’s maid, had waited up, which meant that her father must be asleep and comfortable.
That at least was some relief to Elizabeth’s anxiety, as were Mrs Bennet’s fierce orders to Kitty and Lydia to be quiet and be sure not to wake their poor papa.
Obviously, Doctor Wallace’s instructions had finally sunk in.
Elizabeth wondered, not for the first time, what the doctor had really said in his last interview with her parents.
She undressed for bed in the room she had shared with Jane since they were both small, then burrowed beneath the blankets for the welcoming warmth left by the hot brick. Jane was still brushing her hair, the hundred measured strokes that had always seemed like a complete waste of time to Elizabeth.
“What was Mr Bingley like, Jane?” She had to ask, and very probably, Jane would welcome a chance to talk.
“Very pleasant. He comes from somewhere in Yorkshire. He intends to spend his inheritance on an estate and has taken Netherfield on liking.”
“Yes, but what was he like?”
Jane shrugged, a most un-Jane-like gesture.
“He seemed pleasant. Willing to be pleased with his company. It is so difficult to converse properly whilst dancing, but I should not object to furthering our acquaintance, and he is hardly hideous.” She laid down her hairbrush and came over to sit on Elizabeth’s bed.
“I have been thinking—perhaps you should consider going to Aunt and Uncle Gardiner instead of me. If I have indeed caught Mr Bingley’s attention, I had better stay here while you go and—” her lips twisted—“try your luck in London.”
For a moment, Elizabeth thought her sister was about to cry, but as the thought formed, she saw Jane wrestle herself back into her usual composure.
What was the use of crying? They had discussed their situation for many hours, but the facts remained unaltered.
Mr Bennet was seriously ill, his estate and income were entailed on a male cousin, and unless at least one of them married and married well, the rest of the family would be consigned to a life of near destitution.
While Jane and Elizabeth might be able to obtain employment as governesses or companions, the youth and frankly poor education of their younger sisters would bar them from any such positions.
Mrs Bennet was unlikely to be able to manage on her daughters’ tiny inheritances and would be obliged to throw herself on the mercy of her brother, whose own growing family could not help but restrict whatever provision his undoubted generosity would oblige him to make.
With her accustomed efficiency, Jane twisted her hair into its usual night-time plait, blew out the candle, and climbed into bed. As she tried to sleep, Elizabeth thought that not the least evil of their position was the creation of this knowing, measured, worldly Jane.