Chapter 7 Whims and Inconsistencies #2
With a shake of his head, Mr Bennet continued on his way to his library. He wished his young neighbour luck and hoped he would not take overlong shedding his ambivalence, for he would prefer it if Mrs Bennet remained ignorant of such vacillation lest he be called to intervene.
Friday 29 May 1812, Hertfordshire
Jane felt a little thrill when the housekeeper announced Mr Bingley’s arrival, though her father’s greeting made for an awkward beginning to the visit.
“Good morning, sir,” he said, folding his paper as he arose from his chair. “You have come for Kitty today, I suppose? I am sorry to disappoint you, but she is not at home.” With an impish grin, he tucked his paper under his arm and excused himself, leaving Mr Bingley looking thoroughly bewildered.
Jane was saved from attempting to explain a joke she understood no more than he by the announcement of a second visitor, Mr Greyson.
She felt a pang of guilt upon observing Elizabeth close her eyes and sigh.
It was only the second day her sister had felt well enough to come downstairs, and she likely did not feel equal to so much company.
“Shall we walk about the lanes?” she asked Mr Bingley, already on her feet, more than happy to relieve Elizabeth of this particular visitor’s company.
“Had we not better remain?” he replied. “I do not think your sister ought to be left unattended.”
“What am I, Bingley—a candlestick?” Mr Greyson said, smiling—a little thinly in Jane’s opinion. “I believe I shall be company enough for Miss Elizabeth.”
“And I,” Mary said from the window seat.
“You could be the most charming candlestick ever to grace a parlour, Greyson,” Mr Bingley replied, “It would not persuade me to desert a wounded friend.”
“Nonsense! Off you go,” Mr Greyson insisted, seating himself. “If Miss Elizabeth is content with my company, you can have no objection to leaving us alone.”
“You will not be alone,” Mary said indignantly. “I am here.”
Bingley promptly sat down. “There, it is decided. Miss Mary cannot be in two places at once, and it would be unthinkable for either of us to go unchaperoned. Let us all stay and keep Miss Elizabeth company together.”
Jane lowered herself back into her chair.
Mr Bingley’s good humour was one of the things she most loved about him.
Indeed, she would not wish him to behave in any less of a gentlemanlike manner.
She told herself firmly, therefore, that she had no just cause to be alarmed by his gallantry towards Elizabeth.
“I received a letter from my cousin this morning,” Mr Bingley said, a short while into the visit. “He begs me again to go to Nova Scotia.”
Jane felt as unequal to discussing foreign places today as she had at the picnic and had no notion how she ought to respond. She glanced at Elizabeth, but she had returned to holding her compress to her temple and did not answer.
“Nova Scotia?” Mr Greyson said dubiously. “Why does he wish you to go there?”
“Well, his most recent idea is that I should build him a colliery.”
Mr Greyson looked intrigued. Jane attempted to mimic his expression. Elizabeth had closed her eyes.
“I shall have to pester Darcy for his insight on the matter,” Bingley mused. “He is the expert.”
“On the place or the industry?” Elizabeth enquired, at last roused to participate.
“Oh, the industry. He is quite au fait on the subject of mines, his half of Derbyshire being quite overrun with the things. Though my cousin has provided me with a wealth of information about the place. He is all for me building my home and settling there.”
“And pray, are you?” Elizabeth enquired.
“Lord, no!” he replied, to Jane’s profound relief. “Though he assures me it is a truly beautiful country and seems delighted with the society. He is braver than I. I should find it a good deal more daunting to be so far from home.”
“The unfamiliar is always daunting,” Elizabeth replied. “It does not follow that it cannot be agreeable. Indeed, it makes it more exciting.”
“I ought to have expected you would not be intimidated by moving halfway across the world.”
“But the opportunity to go somewhere new, to see so many different things—is that not an appealing prospect?”
“Are you sure you are not working for my cousin?”
Despite all her efforts to be reasonable, Jane was vastly relieved when her father appeared and interrupted this cosy exchange.
“Lizzy, an express has arrived for you from Kent,” he announced, coming into the room and handing it to Elizabeth, who immediately paled. “Is it anything serious?”
“No,” Elizabeth replied after a cursory read. “Charlotte writes to see if I am well. Sir William has sent her news of my injury.” Despite this, she did not regain her colour and asked Mr Bennet to escort her upstairs, claiming her headache had worsened.
“Is she much troubled by these headaches?” Mr Greyson wished to know after she had gone.
“Is Mr Oates aware she suffers thus?” Mr Bingley enquired. “He ought to be informed.”
Jane patiently assured them the apothecary was pleased with Elizabeth’s improvement.
Then she less patiently assured herself that it would have been impolite for Mr Bingley not to express his concern, given Mr Greyson’s alarm.
It was more difficult to excuse his departure moments later, mere minutes after Mr Greyson took his leave.
Only the intimacy of their farewell allayed her growing anxiety.
Hunsford
29th May
My dear Eliza,
I have urgent news, but first, allow me to express my sincerest condolences for what you have suffered and my vast relief that you have not taken lasting injury. I pray your convalescence is swift and beg you to take care.
Now to business. I received two letters from my father this morning.
One contained news of your injury; the other was posted last week and made mention of a recent conversation with Mr Bingley.
That gentleman apparently claims his friend from Derbyshire has come to hold you in very high regard.
This, of course, is proof enough for my father that your engagement must be imminent.
Perceiving my amusement as I read this, Mr Collins insisted I tell him what diverted me.
Regrettably, he took the report rather more seriously and, before I could prevent him, left to relate the whole of it to Lady Catherine.
By his account, she was furious with the news and declared it would not be borne, though until now I thought that little more than bluster.
But Lizzy, I have just heard from Mrs Jenkinson that her ladyship left Rosings this morning in a frightful temper.
I know not where she travels, but I know it cannot bode well that she has gone at all.
I fear you must prepare yourself for a visit.
If that is the case, I pray this letter reaches you first, that you may at least be prepared.
I hope, however, that my worry is without cause and you are left in peace.
Pray, write in either case and assure me you are well.
With the greatest affection,
Charlotte Collins
Saturday 30 May 1812, Hertfordshire
Mr Bennet went to Sawbridgeworth on Saturday and Mrs Bennet to Netherfield with all but one of her daughters.
Still too unwell to tolerate a jolting carriage ride, Elizabeth remained at home, taking advantage of the empty house to play the pianoforte in her preferred style—with all the passion (and mistakes) an audience would bid her restrain.
Her fingers swept over the keys, chasing away some of her more unpleasant reflections, tripping over others.
Jane’s exasperating diffidence added considerable fervour to her playing.
Though she had been constrained to an armchair with a pounding head all week, her sister had still thought it necessary to remind her of her pledge to be unobtrusive in Mr Bingley’s presence.
She had made the promise to do so in earnest but hardly thought she could be accused of coquetry at such a time as this.
She banged out the next few arpeggios excessively loudly in protest then winced as pain lanced through the bruise on her temple.
She sighed, displeased to have been reminded of the injury, for she did not like to dwell upon Mr Wickham’s attack.
She recalled very little of it, though her sisters had told her enough to make her glad of that.
It was not Mr Wickham’s brutality that distressed her most, however.
She was more concerned with how profoundly she had misunderstood his character, for only now that she knew him capable of this did she comprehend how prodigiously foolish Mr Darcy must have thought her when she stood before him, defending the blackguard’s character.
She vented her consternation on the keys, missing most of the notes in the next phrase.
It pained her to consider how ill Mr Darcy must think of her.
Before yesterday and despite Mr Bingley’s various mistaken claims, she had not thought his opinion could diminish any further.
Yet, if Charlotte was correct, Lady Catherine might be about to change that.
Elizabeth did not believe her ladyship would condescend to come to Longbourn, but she did fear she might visit her nephew, for Mr Darcy would then learn of the spurious rumours her friends and family had been circulating, vindicating all his accusations of the impropriety of her sphere.
A series of discordant notes followed as she lost and retraced her place in the score.