Chapter 19
Parlor
Elizabeth sat by herself the next morning, writing to Jane while Mary and William were gone on business in the village, when she was startled by a ring at the door, the certain signal of a visitor.
As she had heard no carriage, she thought it not unlikely to be Lady Catherine, and under that apprehension was putting away her half-finished letter that she might escape all impertinent questions, when the door opened and, to her very great surprise, Mr Darcy entered alone.
He seemed astonished on finding her alone, and apologised for his intrusion by letting her know that he understood all the ladies were to be within.
They sat down, and when her inquiries after Rosings were made, seemed in danger of sinking into total silence.
Elizabeth searched for a topic, until a thought occurred: Why was it her duty to provide conversation when it was his choice to visit?
She could think of all sorts of conversational gambits on his behalf, such as, ‘Well, Miss Bennet, I find myself alone and unchaperoned, so I should depart,’ or possibly, ‘Well, Miss Bennet, I thought we might discuss my very abrupt departure from Netherfield, and my present inclination to pretend the whole thing never happened,’ or perhaps, ‘I came to visit though I really have nothing to say,’ or her absolute favourite, ‘Miss Bennet, I must confess that I have not the vaguest idea what I am doing here… might you enlighten me?’”
Elizabeth smiled slightly at the last thought.
She suspected this particular incarnation of Silent Darcy was the best yet; but she could accomplish just about the same thing by asking William to construct a scarecrow, which she might carry from place to place; or perhaps she could work with Mary to create a doll for the same purpose, with less inconvenience.
She could pull it from her reticule any time she wanted a partner who would not inconvenience her with excessive chatter.
Elizabeth almost laughed at her own cleverness, singularly unconcerned whether Mr Darcy was uncomfortable; but it would be rude even by her lax standards, so she simply cleared her throat and waited.
He took the hint and began, “This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr Collins first came to Hunsford.”
“I believe she did—and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object. Indeed, Mary was slightly concerned before she arrived, but found nearly everything Lady Catherine did sensible and practical… eventually.”
“Mr Collins appears to be very fortunate in his choice of a wife.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I believe he has the absolute best wife in England. You never knew him before, so you cannot see the transformation. He is the dearest, sweetest man in the world, but he was raised by a father who was… let us say… less than ideal. I fear he probably came off as a pompous fool when he introduced himself at the ball last winter, but with the love, acceptance, and guidance of a good wife, he has… well, I cannot find the right term… flowered would be the right sentiment, but too unmanly—”
Much to her dismay, she uncharacteristically blathered on for no reason; but she should at least not compound the injury by stopping in the middle of a sentence. She finished meekly. “At any rate, both are indeed fortunate, and we could not be happier.”
What in the world would make her give so many unsolicited and unwanted details to Mr Darcy of all people?
She paused. With such a taciturn man, there was plenty of time to recover, or even for a nap.
“I apologise, sir. I seem to rattle on like my mother.”
He looked slightly uncomfortable, but was gentlemanly enough to say, “Actually, I find it refreshing. People rarely say anything real to me, so I suggest thanks are in order.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrow rose. Nobody ever said anything true to him because he did not invite such, but she could hardly say that.
She stumbled out, “Well—”
Before she could make things even worse, he carried on, his voice nervous. “It must be very agreeable for her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends.”
“An easy distance, do you call it? It is nearly 50 miles.”
“And what is 50 miles of good road? Little more than half a day’s journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance.”
“I should never have considered the distance as one of the advantages of the match,” cried Elizabeth. “I should never have said Mrs Collins was settled near her family.”
“It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far.”
Why was he so concerned with the matter, and was it possible for him to be any more condescending… or… or…
For the first time, she considered that perhaps he was unaware of his manner. A man like that no doubt spent his entire life among his equals and was hunted for sport by mothers like hers. Perhaps he had never learnt, like his aunt.
It was a curious notion, and she resolved to perform a mild thought experiment.
For the last few days of his visit, during the infrequent times she thought of him at all; she would, in her own mind, replace the term haughtiness with shy and do the same for all synonyms or other words with similar connotation.
It would be interesting to see if exchanging negative adjectives for positive ones would change her opinion of the man.
It seemed unlikely, but that was no reason to slouch.
Practicality reared its ugly head; she was wool-gathering and still had not answered.
“I would not call it an easy distance, though it is certainly not insurmountable.
As you say, 50 miles of good road might be a trifle for a man in your situation.
For those of a more plebeian nature, a seat on the post costs 1d/mile.
We would go through London, which is slightly longer than your 50 miles—let us say 60.
That makes a trip to Meryton and back 120 miles. She paused to verify the result.
120 nukes x 2 people = 240d, or ￡1
“That assumes the post, and a private coach would be more. It is unlikely they would make it in a single day, but for the sake of argument let us assume they could stay with our relatives in London at minimal cost, so we need not add lodging. Add the cost of a curate to deliver the sermon, and it would cost ￡1-2 altogether. As you say, it is an amount the Collins family can well afford, but not necessarily an expense they would incur regularly. With one day’s hard travel or two days' easy in each direction, you would also lose a week from your duties for a few days of visiting.”
Darcy absorbed that. “I find it fascinating that you understand finance and numbers to such a degree. It is most unusual.”
Peevish about the condescension inherent in the statement, Elizabeth snapped, “Mr Darcy, when a man praises his dog for flushing game well, or defending his home well, the praise is warranted. If you praise him excessively for getting up from the kennel and refraining from marking your boots, it is less appropriate.”
He was entirely perplexed. “I do not understand.”
Elizabeth did not understand either; she had not intended to say so much, but she was not one to back down from a challenge.
“In the past 4 months I have changed several people’s lives using the power of mathematics. Everything from cannonball trajectories to compound interest has been put to good use. Praising me for simple multiplication is—”
Thinking of trajectories, both the trajectory and velocity of the particular conversation were not auspicious. Too late to stop the cannonball; she decided to at least deflect it.
“My apologies, sir. I assume you did not come here to argue. Pray forget that entire exchange.”
He leaned forward. “I think not. I wish your manners remained unengaged long enough to finish the sentence. Since your basic goodness prevents such a thing, pray, allow me the attempt. The most proper finish to your sentence would be, ‘Praising me for simple multiplication and addition is both condescending and rude.’”
Elizabeth stared at him, and he continued, “You need not agree or disagree. Truth is truth, even though we have an entire code of propriety and decorum designed to hide it at every turn. Can we at least agree on that?”
Completely off balance, Elizabeth nodded.
He added more softly, “I do not get taken to task often. You were correct—it was condescending, even if you were too polite to say it. May I offer an apology—or, more importantly, a commitment to mend my ways? I thought it was a compliment when I said it, and when I explain the conversation to my sister, even at 16, she will firmly assert that I am a lunkhead of the worst order.”
Elizabeth could not help laughing at that final statement. “Well… who would have thought? Mr Darcy has a sense of humour—”
She stopped abruptly and blushed.
To her surprise, he laughed. “Perhaps I am not the only person in Kent to suffer from a surfeit of pride or confusion?”
The smile on his face eliminated any sting, so Elizabeth said, “Perhaps.”
The front door opened, interrupting her next statement, and the Collins family entered.
Mary chatted brightly with William, which, considering the topic of their short tête-à-tête, probably disconcerted Mr Darcy—or perhaps being caught in a potentially compromising situation by one of the highly suspect Bennet women left him fearful for his reputation.
Whatever the motive, Mr Darcy jumped from the chair as if he suddenly found Mrs Bennet sitting a foot to his left and Lady Catherine flanking his right, made a deep bow, and started for the door.
When he reached the Collins family, he paused long enough to take his leave with brief but proper civility and walked away at a brisk pace.
Mary wandered over to her sister. “What in the world have you done to poor Mr Darcy?”
“I have no idea!”
Mary laughed. “You must change your tactics, Elizabeth. You are no longer talking to a mutton-headed man, so you cannot fool me.”
Elizabeth laughed and kissed her sister on the cheek. “You have caught me out. I was talking about you.”
“How so?”
“I asserted that women are not idiots, and a good wife can be the making of a man. I think I may have overtaxed his mind.”
Mary shook her head. “He must be in love with you, or he would never have called on us in so familiar a way.”
“I think not. He is like the colonel—bored at Rosings and desperate for diversion. When he entered, he was surprised to find me alone and could not think of a polite way to escape.”
“If you say so, Lizzy, but you must admit, it is peculiar.”
“Perhaps, but think on this. All field sports are over. Within doors there is Lady Catherine, books, and a billiard-table, but gentlemen cannot always be within doors. I suppose he finds us amusing, and so meant to pass a few hours of his duty visit by being entertained by us.”
Mary stared at her a moment. “I know you are the Mistress of Uncomfortable Conversations, but allow me my share of the entertainment.”
Elizabeth’s laugh came out strangled. “Go on.”
“No matter how much I tease, I would never wish you unhappy. You know how much I love my husband, but you must admit it seems the most fortuitous fluke in history. When you worked your magic on him, I was only looking for a roof over my head and a man that was not entirely disagreeable.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Now think on this rationally. I sometimes like to reduce a complex problem to one simple true or false question, with many variations and sub-variations. Do you agree?”
Elizabeth nodded again.
“Very well… True or false: Mr Darcy is in love with you.”
Elizabeth laughed. “All evidence suggests false.”
“Not all evidence, but I agree with most. There is no harm in assuming it false and living your life accordingly. But suppose… well, just suppose Lizzy, that the answer was true. When you found out, what would you do?”
“I have no idea. I suppose it depends on how I found out.”
“Think on it. Suppose such an awkward man offered for you. We may assume it would be as bad as William’s proposal or worse. How would you react?”
Exasperated, Elizabeth said, “I may as well conjecture on what I would do if I were a man, or a sudden heiress, or struck by lightning. It is so far-fetched that it is not worth thinking about.”
“Methinks—”
“Do not even finish that sentence.”
Mary recognised the unmistakable symptom of a thought storm—the infrequent occasions when her sister’s mind took on a life of its own.
She took Elizabeth’s hand and rubbed it gently. “Indulge me. Suppose he did. What would happen?”
“My head would explode, I think.”
“And what happens when your head explodes?”
Elizabeth stared at the floor and mumbled, “I lash out.”
“Exactly. Prepare yourself. Think how you would react in the unlikely event it happens. It is no different from what you did to protect us all against the unlikely event that our father ever left his library long enough to get himself killed. You need not have the answer, but you must be prepared to react with kindness, if nothing else. I do not say you must be Jane. Remember that she needed you to say what was needed to Mr Jameson, and remember that it fell to you to set my husband on the straight and narrow path. Give yourself the opportunity to ensure that your next awkward conversation does no more damage than necessary.”
Elizabeth sighed. “How much is necessary?”
Mary shrugged. “Who can say? But if you must, stop in the middle of whatever you are doing and perform some arithmetic. It does not matter what it is, but you need your logical mind in all its glory, should this extremely unlikely event occur.”
Elizabeth sighed. “When did you become so wise?”
Mary hugged her. “Remember this. I was Plain Old Mary until you made me Mrs Collins. Whatever wisdom I have is as much your responsibility as mine.”
Elizabeth slapped her playfully on the shoulder. “Hardly, but I will take your advice. I will think deeply about the proper way to react if I am ever struck by lightning.”