Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Elizabeth and Jane left Netherfield the next morning, followed by the insincere pleadings of Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley that they must stay at least another week.
However, a much more sincere invitation from Mr Bingley ensued, and they agreed to return to Netherfield after services on Sunday for a small luncheon party in honour of Miss Darcy’s birthday.
That invitation—and the fact that Mr Bingley accompanied them back to Netherfield on horseback—was probably all that stood between the sisters and their mother’s loudly voiced indignation.
By the time Mr Bingley left, having refused Mrs Bennet’s invitation to dine in view of all the guests at Netherfield, that lady had managed to convince herself that a match between him and Jane was all but complete, and her conversation was dedicated to working out how soon he would propose and how quickly the wedding could take place.
Elizabeth attempted to protest that nothing of the sort had been decided and that nobody could gauge Mr Bingley’s intentions at this early stage of his acquaintance with Jane, but she found herself curiously reluctant to remind Mrs Bennet of the family’s current, precarious position.
She and Jane went in to visit their father and found him, if anything, a little stronger, though complaining of the cold and damp despite the fire roaring in the hearth. When Jane went to remove her bonnet and coat, Elizabeth lingered, for she could see that he wished to speak to her.
“I understand you met Mr Collins last night, my dear,” he said.
She nodded. “I wish I had never spoken to you about him,” he continued with surprising vehemence.
“The man is nothing but a fool and, what is worse, a fool who cannot hold his tongue. He has been in here prating about Christian resignation, as though I have not lain here for the last three months contemplating what must come. There must be an alternative. There must!”
He paused to cough, his whole body shaking.
“I should never have mentioned marrying him! He is not a man you could respect, never mind love. We must rely on this Mr Bingley or perhaps some other gentleman. But you must promise me…” He could not continue.
His man, Jessup, came in to administer the cordials that gave him a little relief, and Elizabeth slipped out, promising to return later if her father were well enough.
She knew the truth, even if her father refused to recognise it. There was no alternative, and she could not give him any promise that removed what might well be her family’s only hope of a respectable establishment.
Dinner was unusually quiet that evening.
Lydia and Kitty were at their aunt Philips’s for the evening, Mary was even less talkative than usual, and Jane was looking tired and pale.
Mr Collins filled the silence with talk.
He was determined to be pleased with everything, from the dinner itself to the china on the table, and had not the sensitivity or perhaps the intelligence to comprehend how this might be seen by the woman whose husband he seemed about to supplant.
When not appearing to gloat over his inheritance, he spoke in glowing terms of his patron, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whom he described as the pattern of all the amiable virtues, but whom Elizabeth thought sounded like a bully of the worst sort.
“… For there is not a farm, no, nor a cottage on her estate where she is not thoroughly acquainted with all their little business, nor one where she has not given the benefit of her advice and ensured that that advice has been taken in every respect. Indeed, in my own little rectory, she has completely reorganised the bedrooms and insisted that I terminate the lease on the glebe land to a farmer of whose morals and political views she does not approve.”
Elizabeth had a vision of herself perpetually curtseying to a woman who bore a startling resemblance to an older Miss Bingley and had to grit her teeth not to say something cutting, which he would probably not understand until later, if at all.
Jane kept her eyes on her plate most of the evening and retired early, pleading a headache; Mary rushed out with her, and Elizabeth was left to keep the peace between an oblivious Mr Collins and an increasingly irritated Mrs Bennet.
The next day was more of the same. Mr Bennet, who had invited the man there in the first place, could stand very little of his company and soon packed him off with Mr Lester, the steward, to view the estate.
That gentleman, who had originally hoped for a permanent position with Mr Bennet’s heir, soon realised that any such post would be insupportable and revenged himself by dragging Mr Collins through every slough and mire in the neighbourhood.
When the clergyman eventually arrived home, he climbed from the gig, mud to the eyebrows and frozen to the bone.
After a subdued dinner, Elizabeth cut short his conversation by suggesting he read to them all.
However, his choice of Night Thoughts by Edward Young soon reduced them all to such low spirits that they were glad to retire early to escape him.
Elizabeth was the last to go to bed, having called into the kitchen at her mother’s request to check on the morning’s breakfast. As she went past Mary’s little room, the door, which was difficult to latch properly, swung open to reveal Mary on her knees beside the bed.
Mary looked up as the door opened, and Elizabeth was shocked to see her sister, blinking myopically, her cheeks wet with tears.
She slipped in quickly and shut the door.
Mary wiped her eyes with her fingers and looked around for her spectacles, which Elizabeth found on her dresser and handed to her.
“Can you tell me what is wrong, dear?” she asked softly.
Mary, who had seemed to regain her equilibrium, burst into tears once more and flung herself into Elizabeth’s arms. “Kitty and Lydia say I ought to marry Mr Collins,” she sobbed. “And if I do not, we shall all be poor, but I cannot, Lizzy, I cannot!”
“Why should you have to marry Mr Collins?” asked Elizabeth, glad that that gentleman was quartered at the other end of the house.
“They say it is because I am dull, like he is, and because I like reading sermons and…and …conduct books. But that is only because I want to know what is right, but, Lizzy, I cannot marry him. I cannot. His hands are all wet, and Lydia told me about babies, and I cannot do that with Mr Collins! I cannot!”
No, you cannot. But I may have to. Shaking herself, Elizabeth looked down at the younger girl in her arms and realised that she and Jane had left Mary too much to her own devices.
With no one to guide her, a father who ignored her, and a mother who did not understand her, Mary had tried to make her own path and, not surprisingly, had made a poor fist of it.
She hugged her sister and tried to reassure her.
“No, dear,” she said. “Lydia and Kitty are just being thoughtless as usual. Nobody with sense believes you ought to marry Mr Collins, and you should put it out of your mind once and for all.”
It took her some time to calm Mary, and by the time Elizabeth retired for the night, Jane was fast asleep, and she was left alone with her thoughts. It was very late before she finally managed to sleep herself, and her dreams were distressing, so that she woke feeling tense and unrefreshed.
The next day was Sunday, so they all, including Mr Collins, turned out in their Sunday best for church.
There was an uncommon show of bonnets all round, for many young and, indeed, not-so-young ladies were not immune to the prospect of new visitors to the neighbourhood, especially new neighbours who could be expected to wear fine red coats.
However, to the general disappointment, the only officer from the militia present was an elderly major and his equally elderly wife.
The arrival of the party from Netherfield went a little way to relieve matters.
Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst swept into church, both looking disagreeable despite the fact that they must have realised their dresses cost twice that of any other lady present.
Mr Bingley, on the other hand, looked amiable and rather dashing in a coat of dark green.
The main attraction, however, was undoubtedly Captain Darcy, who had come in uniform with his sister blushing shyly on his arm.
Two equally undoubtable sailors completed the party, looking particularly gallant in their best shore-going rigs with bright red waistcoats and watchet blue jackets.
Although the sailors took seats at the back, they and the captain were obviously accustomed to the service and made a very fine sound in the psalms and the closing hymn.
Mr Collins was no more immune to curiosity than was any other member of the congregation, and as they left, he wanted to know the names of all the party.
When he learned who the captain and his sister were, he swept into action.
“Why, that must be the Captain Darcy who is nephew to Lady Catherine. I must go and introduce myself and assure him of her ladyship’s health and wellbeing. ”
Elizabeth was alarmed. “Cousin, surely there can be no need of such attentions to a gentleman to whom you have not been introduced?”
“My office gives me licence where the mere layman must hold back,” replied Mr Collins before he bustled forward.
Elizabeth could not bear to watch and turned away to talk to Lady Lucas, who was enquiring after her father.
She could not, however, avoid seeing the captain looking at her cousin with surprise as Mr Collins writhed himself into a position much more self-abasing than the ordinary bow between gentlemen.
She could not hear what he was saying and was heartily glad of the fact.
By the time they got outside, Mr Bingley and his sisters had already left in one carriage, while the captain and Miss Darcy waited to take Elizabeth and Jane in another.
For once, Kitty and Lydia’s desire to be away from church as soon as possible had worked in everyone’s favour, for Mr Collins and their mother, not forgetting Mary, had all disappeared.
As they approached the carriage, they saw the captain toss the sailors a coin.
“That’s to drink to my sister’s health. Liberty until four bells, first watch.
Do not come back disguised and no fighting with the lobsters.
” They knuckled their foreheads cheerfully and headed off for the village, no doubt to find the nearest tavern.
The party in the carriage was equally cheerful.
By no doubt Herculean efforts, Miss Darcy had been supplied with a new dress, spencer, and half boots, and she was innocently pleased with her appearance.
Back at Netherfield, even Miss Bingley laid herself out to be agreeable, and the birthday presents were received with becoming excitement and gratitude.
Elizabeth and Jane had racked their brains to think of something suitable—and inexpensive—and their choice of a bottle of their own lavender water in a netted purse, originally made by Jane as a Christmas present for Aunt Gardiner, looked very well when wrapped in a clean handkerchief and tied with a ribbon.
The pearl necklace from her brother was, however, quite properly the highlight of Miss Darcy’s day.
After the meal, they retired to the drawing room, and Miss Darcy was persuaded to play, quickly revealing herself as by far the most accomplished musician of the party.
As her brother watched proudly, she revealed a skill in execution and a lightness of touch Elizabeth had seldom heard from an amateur, and the applause when she finished was hearty and well deserved.
She was pleased to see that Mr Bingley spent much of his time with Jane, and once Elizabeth had discreetly nudged her sister into showing some little pleasure at his attentions, the two of them were soon heads together in conversation.
Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst both looked as though they wished to interrupt, so Elizabeth engaged them in conversation about the past Season in town.
As she had suspected, the temptation to show away to a mere country bumpkin was sufficient to distract them from interfering with what she hoped was her sister’s courtship.
Despite having to listen to a lot of talk about people she had never met and would never wish to, the afternoon passed pleasantly with music and conversation.
Even Mrs Darcy eventually drifted over to thank Elizabeth for taking her daughter shopping.
“For I know her clothes were not what they ought to have been, but I could never persuade Mr Darcy that girls do grow so at Georgiana’s age, and one cannot be always letting down hems and tucks.
” Her voice was thin and querulous, and her sentences hardly seemed to have an end, merely gliding endlessly one into another.
“For you would hardly credit that she was such a little girl until quite recently, and then suddenly she was taller than me, and he was always saying it was a great nonsense to say so, but surely he could see for himself, but perhaps not, for he would not see her from one week to the next…” It was only the offer of a cup of tea and a piece of cake, both of which she consumed greedily, that finally allowed Elizabeth to escape.
Eventually the time came to leave. Despite entreaties from Mr Bingley, warmly supported by Miss Darcy, Elizabeth and Jane were both adamant that they had to get back to Longbourn before it grew very late.
In any event, the Netherfield ball was planned for the following weekend, and they would all meet again then.
As Elizabeth and Jane stood in the hall, waiting for the carriage to come round, they were all surprised to hear hoofbeats speedily approaching the house.
Their original fear, that it was bad news from Longbourn, was soon dispelled when they saw the red uniform.
“It is a militiaman,” said Mr Bingley in surprise.
Captain Darcy behind him soon set him right. “No,” he said. “A marine.” His face was stern, and the hand that Elizabeth could see was clenched by his side.
The soldier dismounted before the house and saluted. “Cap’n Darcy?” he inquired.
“Here.” A long envelope was handed over, and the captain ripped it apart, scanning the contents.
“Fitzwilliam?” It was Miss Darcy, timidly touching his sleeve. “Is it?”
“Yes, dear,” he said. “I am afraid it is. I am ordered to sea within the month.”