Chapter Twelve
Longbourn
Elizabeth
As she had on every other morning, Elizabeth went at once to the table beside her chair to retrieve the day’s gift.
This time, a long, slender parcel awaited her and was done up in the usual brown paper and twine.
She opened it to find a note with two lines written for the fifth day laid atop a long wooden box.
On the fifth day of Christmas,
I penned thee a line,
And presented five quills,
Gilded and fine.
Inside were five handsome quills, their feathers plucked from either a swan or a goose; Elizabeth could not be certain which of the two. At the bottom of the box lay an elegant pen knife, perfectly suited for trimming and sharpening nibs. Nestled on top of the quills was another note.
Forgive me for purloining another’s words instead of penning my own. Perhaps this verse will not starve your affection as one of my own might.
The words struck a familiar chord, though she could not recall the conversation to which they alluded.
But where was the poem mentioned? Elizabeth rifled through the box until she found it—another paper, folded and tucked beneath the quills.
She opened it cautiously and began to read, instantly recognizing She Walks in Beauty1 by Lord Byron.
Though she knew the poem by heart, she read it through, aware that her mysterious admirer had chosen it because he thought of her in this light.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
“How very wonderful!” She pressed a hand to her chest, heart racing as she considered who might have presented her with such a thoughtful gift.
Carefully, she gathered the quills and penknife and placed them in her writing case, where they would be safe, for Lydia would never have cause to look there for treasures she might pilfer.
The other gifts had been moved into the wooden chest she had purchased from the joiner the previous day.
Into it Elizabeth now set the poem and the accompanying notes, adding the new stanza to those from earlier days.
Her thoughts still dwelt on her secret admirer as she readied herself for the morning. The diamond locket joined the cross at her neck, though she tucked it beneath her gown as she had before. How fervently she hoped the time would soon come when she might wear it openly.
Charlotte Lucas called later that afternoon, bringing tidings.
“Mr. Collins will return to Hertfordshire just after Twelfth Night,” she said, settling beside Elizabeth on the settee.
Jane joined them, smoothing her gown as she glanced to the window.
Their friend observed her distraction. “Is Mr. Bingley to call?” she asked archly, her countenance bright with merriment as she looked at the besotted Miss Bennet.
Jane blushed, but smiled with delight. “Yes, he gave me his most faithful promise. I believe he intends to present the first draft of the marriage articles to my father.”
“I am very happy for you,” Charlotte returned warmly.
“He is wealthy, amiable, and handsome—quite perfect for you. We all knew he could not long resist your beauty and charm. A man might travel to the ends of the earth and not meet another with such a union of elegance, beauty, and poise. And you have a good heart, which is of even greater value.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Though I will not protest your praise of my sister, I must question its design. Pray, Charlotte, have you some great favor to ask?”
“Why should I not compliment Jane?” Charlotte batted her lashes in mock innocence.
“In truth, I came to inquire whether Mr. Collins might be welcomed back at Longbourn before the wedding. My mother insists it is not proper for a gentleman to stay in the same house as his betrothed. He might stay at the inn in Meryton, but I doubt he would receive the suggestion with equanimity.”
“And Mr. Collins did not write to Mr. Bennet because…” Elizabeth allowed her words to trail off, awaiting explanation.
Charlotte shook her head. “You know your father is not the most reliable correspondent. Mr. Collins may write with the request only to have it go unanswered. By presenting it in person, I can reply to him myself with the arrangements, and so relieve all parties of uneasiness.”
“We shall consult with my father.” Elizabeth fiddled with the chain of her locket as she had done many times. They were alone in the sitting room, her habitual fidgeting soon drew the trinket forth from beneath her gown.
“That is very pretty, Eliza,” Charlotte observed at once. “A present from Christmas?”
Elizabeth felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Yes.” Her brief reply caused her friend to fix her with a questioning look. “Have a look.” She leaned forward, offering Charlotte a clearer view.
After examining it carefully, admiring the workmanship and the lock of hair concealed within, Charlotte asked Elizabeth who had given it to her.
“I do not know,” came her reply. She quickly explained how the packages had appeared each morning since Christmas Day.
“They are always in my chamber before I rise, and each gift has been elaborate and costly. I have endeavored to discover who the giver is, but I have not succeeded. All the single gentlemen of our acquaintance are either not wealthy enough to afford such expensive presents, or are unlikely.”
“Are you certain your admirer is a single gentleman?” Charlotte’s question silenced Elizabeth, who gaped in astonishment.
“How could it be anyone else? Can you imagine? A married man bestowing such gifts upon a young lady, the daughter of a gentleman? It is absurd!” The locket suddenly felt heavy against her throat, and she tucked it hastily back into her gown.
“Is it so impossible?” Charlotte’s penetrating look held Elizabeth’s gaze. “The man clearly does not wish to be identified, but to admire you from afar.”
Jane disagreed. “Secret admirers are not so rare. Do you not recall the gentleman from London who sent me a poem when I was fifteen? I never learned his name. I think whoever it is favors Elizabeth but fears she may not return his regard. He is attempting to woo her before he declares himself. I suspect it is someone with whom we are very familiar.”
“And yet, Elizabeth has no notion who it may be?” Charlotte regarded her keenly. “I did not say it cannot be a single gentleman, but perhaps your sister ought not dismiss the possibility that her admirer is someone unable to court her openly.”
Elizabeth could not frame a reply and hurried to turn the conversation. “I thought it might be a militiaman,” she said in some desperation. “Many will eventually come into an inheritance of some kind.”
“And you fancied it was your favorite, Mr. Wickham?” Charlotte asked with a sly smile. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Eliza, but he is courting Miss King.”
“Oh! No, I never entertained such a thing. I admit I considered it possible, but now…” She hesitated, uncertain how much she ought to reveal.
“I have it on good authority that Mr. Wickham is not the wounded, wronged gentleman he would have us believe. He is a libertine, a reprobate, a gambler, and a seducer.” Her arms folded as she frowned.
“Moreover, he lied to us regarding the living and Mr. Darcy’s actions. ”
“Those are grave accusations,” Charlotte cautioned. “And you have evidence to support them?”
“Beyond the testimony of an honorable gentleman—which, I must remind you, is the very evidence Mr. Wickham gave—no. But my source can produce documents to support his account. Can Wickham? I think not.” She swiftly related to Charlotte and Jane what she had learned of his character, omitting only the matter of Miss Darcy.
“Mr. Darcy told you all of this?” Charlotte appeared…almost self-satisfied. “I knew he liked you, Eliza. He would not speak so freely otherwise. Have you considered it might be he who sends you tokens of his affection?”
Elizabeth was already shaking her head. “No, it cannot be so. We only just agreed to be friends.” Yet, something within urged her to reconsider each exchange they had shared.
Perhaps Charlotte’s words hold some truth.
She would have to reflect upon it later.
“The more pressing question is, how can we allow that scoundrel to remain among us? Surely, he has not changed his ways.”
“He might,” Jane said thoughtfully. “What if he joined the militia to establish himself anew?”
Charlotte laughed derisively. “Had that been his intention, I suspect he would have joined the regulars. I shall speak with my father—no details, I assure you, but he will know how to act. Though he may seem nonsensical at times, he will take seriously any threat to our community.” She rose.
“I must be going. Mama needs my help with the rest of my wedding clothes. Elizabeth, will you accompany me to speak with your father for a moment?”
After Charlotte secured Mr. Bennet’s agreement that Mr. Collins might lodge at Longbourn, she departed.
“Your mother will be furious, but we can tolerate him here for several days,” Mr. Bennet mused. “Besides, we owe Miss Lucas a kindness for removing him from Longbourn for the last days of his earlier visit.” He chuckled and waved his daughter away.
When Elizabeth returned to the sitting room, she found Jane no longer alone. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were there, together with Mrs. Bennet.