As Though Naught Had Changed
Their carriage had been caught behind a throng of cattle for twenty minutes before Elizabeth persuaded Jane to abandon it and go the rest of the way on foot.
They were less than a mile from Meryton, the church spire already visible above the trees, and she was impatient to be home.
She longed for familiar surroundings—the reflection in her own looking glass, the fire in her own hearth—anything that would return her to the simplicity of life before her visit to Kent.
“Slow down, Lizzy. You are as impatient as Mama.”
Elizabeth rather thought Jane deliberately delayed their return. She waited for her to catch up and then offered her arm. “And you are unnecessarily anxious.”
“Am I? I would dearly love for Mr Bingley to renew his addresses, but I have mistaken his intentions before. What if he does not come for me at all? What if he comes only to fish in his pond?”
To Elizabeth’s mind, there was no doubt Mr Bingley was returned for Jane.
The coincidence of his arriving mere weeks after she informed his friend that her sister’s heart was still engaged was too great to overlook.
The conclusion that it was Mr Darcy’s doing frustrated her attempts to dislike him even more.
For in so graciously redressing his error, he had demonstrated a humility far removed from the conceit of which she had accused him.
“You may as well call it fishing,” said she. “The fact is he regrets throwing the best catch back in when he was here and has come to cast his net again in the hopes of recapturing you. But it will not do for me to try and persuade you of his affections. That would make his task entirely too easy.”
She lost all appetite for teasing upon turning into Bath Street and coming face to face with a group of officers, amongst them Mr Wickham.
“Miss Bennet—and Miss Elizabeth!” He seemed to linger over her name. “I cannot tell you how pleasant it is to see you. Meryton has been exceedingly dull since you went away.”
Elizabeth dipped a desultory curtsey, even angrier than she had expected to be upon seeing him. “You flatter us, sir, but I cannot imagine Miss King would be pleased to hear you dismiss her company as dull.”
He gave an affected wince. “It grieves me to report Miss King’s family did not look favourably on my attentions. They have taken her to Liverpool.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips against an uncivil remark. Jane was more sympathetic, lamenting the interference of third parties who presume, often mistakenly, to know the depth of two people’s attachment.
“He did try to show her the depth of his attachment,” one of Mr Wickham’s fellow officers interjected, elbowing his companion. “’Tis that what got her sent away.”
Mr Wickham turned red and snarled at his friend to be quiet. His mortification and Mrs Gardiner’s education on the matter left Elizabeth in no doubt of the officer’s meaning. Poor, poor Mr Darcy, to have almost lost his sister to this wretch!
“I pray your heart mends soon,” Jane said with an earnestness that exasperated Elizabeth, particularly when it appeared to convince Mr Wickham he was safe.
“I am sure it will,” he assured them.
His smile, the same by which Elizabeth had previously been utterly drawn in, made her cringe. “Come, Jane,” she said and grabbed her sister’s arm. “We had better make haste.”
Mr Wickham’s smile faltered. “May I have the honour of escorting you home?”
Elizabeth resolutely, and not very politely, declined and all but dragged her bewildered sister away. “Forgive me. I could not bear to be in his company a moment longer.”
“Why ever not? I thought you were friends.”
Elizabeth paused, still disinclined to burden her sister’s heart unnecessarily.
Yet with Mr Bingley’s return, Jane’s heartbreak looked set to be imminently a thing of the past. Perhaps she might confide in her after all.
“While I was in Kent, Mr Darcy revealed more to me of his dealings with Mr Wickham. We have been gravely misled. He was not denied a living. He was granted, at his own request, three thousand pounds in lieu of it—money he squandered in a matter of months and came asking for more. It was that he was denied.”
“Goodness, that is quite shocking. Can you be sure it is true?”
“Oh yes, there are witnesses, but that is not the worst of it. He also attempted to seduce Mr Darcy’s fifteen-year-old sister to gain her inheritance of thirty thousand pounds. And we need look no farther for proof of that than his recent dalliance with Miss King. He is a determined shark!”
“I see what you are thinking,” Jane said in a vaguely condescending tone. “But you ought to be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are thinking that, if he had been motivated by greed, it would better excuse the abortion of his attentions to you in favour of Miss King.”
Elizabeth pulled her arm from Jane’s and stood gaping at her.
“I understand your disappointment,” Jane persevered, “but you must take care not to allow jealousy to overrule your judgement. If Mr Wickham’s regard for Miss King exceeded his regard for you, then you must accept it as gracefully as you can.”
“I do not deny that I enjoyed his attentions in the autumn, but it is not jealousy that motivates me to speak thus—it is prudence. Mr Wickham has attempted to seduce two young girls—perhaps more—and brazenly lied about Mr Darcy. How can you defend him?”
“Indeed, I am not defending his actions, but neither am I prepared to condemn his character entirely until I know his reasons. We cannot know beyond doubt that he did not love Miss Darcy or Miss King, and if he was truly attached to both, then the poor man has had his affections rebuffed at every turn for nothing more than his want of circumstances. It is too horrible. I know that pain, Lizzy!”
Elizabeth comprehended at last. Jane’s obstinate support stemmed from some imagined affinity with him because he, too, claimed to have been jilted.
Comprehension scarcely eased her frustration.
Evidently, her sister was not ready to hear any unpleasant truths—in which case, she was certainly not ready to hear about Mr Darcy’s proposal.
No doubt, she would argue his conduct had been faultless, smooth away all insult in misunderstanding and render his contemptuous address romantic and heartfelt.
“I understand your desire to condole with him,” she conceded, “but you will never convince me your situation and his are comparable. May we at least agree he is not beyond reproach?”
To this, as well as to the appeal to preserve Miss Darcy’s secret, Jane readily agreed, after which the matter was dropped. When Longbourn’s chimneys came into view half an hour later, the sisters were returned to their usual harmony, their quarrel well and truly behind them.
Saturday 2 May 1812, Hertfordshire
Kitty’s announcement that a certain gentleman was riding towards the house threw Jane into an unbearable state of suspense.
Elizabeth had walked out, and in the absence of her good sense, there was little to prevent Mrs Bennet’s hysterical fluttering or Kitty and Lydia’s wild speculations as to their visitor’s purpose.
By the time Mr Bingley arrived and the long-awaited interview began, Jane had abandoned all hope of approaching it with equanimity.
She longed to observe whether he paid her any peculiar attention yet scarcely dared look at him.
She longed to speak but could think of nothing to say.
It seemed safest to concentrate on her embroidery and allow her mother to do the talking.
Mrs Bennet soon proved otherwise by forcing a mortifying turn in the conversation.
“I recall you saying, Mr Bingley, that whenever you were in Town, you never wished to leave it.”
“Did I? But, of course, I must have if you recall it,” he replied amiably.
“You did. Yet, here you are! How ought we to account for it? What is here that could possibly tempt you away?”
To Jane’s astonishment, Mr Bingley looked directly at her and replied, “I decided the country had one considerable advantage over London and that I should be much happier here.”
She gasped and instinctively lifted a hand to her breast. Her embroidery hoop dropped to the floor.
She lunged after it, but too fast, for she lost her balance and toppled after it.
Stifling an unladylike screech, she reached for the nearby occasional table to break her fall.
The folding leaf of the traitorous furniture unceremoniously folded, clearly mistaking the occasion for an entirely different one where its services were not required.
Her hand swept down towards the ground, followed by her head and shoulders as she made unintentional obeisance to the room, the stack of ribbons atop the table unfurled in a colourful fountain and to her utter mortification, a distinct ripping sound came from under her arm.
Her sisters erupted into laughter. Her mother openly lamented her inelegance.
She dared not look at Mr Bingley as she slid back into her seat, despairing of ever regaining his esteem after such an exhibition.
It was with a palpable sense of relief that she heard the front door open and the sound of Elizabeth’s voice.
When her sister came into the parlour, Jane turned away from the gathered company and mouthed to her urgently, Help!
Elizabeth judged the awkwardness pervading the parlour to be beyond salvation. She suggested they walk in the garden instead, and with a little help from her mother in dissuading the younger girls from joining them, it was agreed.
“’Tis well,” she assured her sister quietly, nudging her towards the stairs. “He has come this far—a dropped hoop is not likely to put him off. Go! Change your dress and take a moment to collect yourself. I shall sing your praises until you return.”
She found Mr Bingley by the front door, and together they resolved to take a slow turn whilst they awaited Jane.
“Is your sister well?” he enquired.