Chapter 2 Hang Charlotte and Her Opinions
HANG CHARLOTTE AND HER OPINIONS
“…he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage…”
The words of the colonel rang in her ears and, despite having been sanguine on her walk with him, her rage was stoked.
Poor Jane! Dear, heartbroken Jane. Was Mr Darcy truly so black-hearted that he would celebrate himself breaking the heart of an angel?
And then to boast of it to his cousin! It simply beggared belief.
Mr Darcy was even worse than she thought. How she loathed that man!
She knew exactly what Mr Darcy’s objections must be, and they had nothing to do with Jane herself, but rather her family and fortune, or lack thereof. How unfair it was! Jane would be a most excellent wife to someone who valued sweetness and kindness over money and connexions.
Elizabeth walked over to the table holding the ewer of water and began to wash her face.
Her head ached slightly, and her face was pale, but she was determined to show no evidence of her dismay to the party at Rosings Park, where they were engaged to dine that evening.
She would never permit the self-congratulating Mr Darcy to see how he had affected her.
He would leave in two days, and she would never again have to be vexed by his presence.
Him and his ridiculous stares! If she caught him at it tonight, she just might stick her tongue out at him!
Thinking of the evening ahead made her quail. Could she plead a headache and remain home?
A gentle knock at the door interrupted her dismay. It was Charlotte who entered. “Eliza, are you— Whatever is wrong?” She rushed to where her friend still stood by the washstand, peering at her closely. “You are very pale.”
“No, no.” Elizabeth shook her head and then moved to the bed, gesturing that Charlotte should take the chair next to the bedside. “Just some upsetting news, that is all.”
Charlotte sank slowly into the chair, her grey eyes fixed on her friend. “No one is ill at Longbourn, I hope?”
Elizabeth shook her head again. “No, it is about Jane.”
“Jane?” Charlotte tilted her head. “Had you a letter from her this morning?”
“No, it was not in a letter. It was something I learnt of from the colonel.” Charlotte knew all, of course, from Miss Bingley’s cruel note the day after the Netherfield ball right up to Jane’s latest correspondence which still bore heavily the marks of melancholy.
Now Elizabeth told her about the intelligence lately related to her.
“To know that Mr Darcy had a hand in it is no surprise,” Elizabeth concluded. “But that he should boast of it to his cousin? Insupportable!”
“Perfectly dreadful,” Charlotte said with a frown. Then with a resigned-sounding sigh, she added, “I suppose we might only console ourselves in knowing that Jane will have learnt her lesson.”
“Learnt her lesson! What lesson is that?” Elizabeth laughed a little bitterly. “To try not to love people?”
Charlotte smiled, a trifle smugly, or so it seemed. “Try not to love people of a sphere different from your own.”
Elizabeth already did not like Charlotte’s words, and so purposely misunderstood her. “You must mean because Mr Bingley is not yet a landowning-gentleman, but we have been raised as gentlewomen from birth? I assure you the difference meant nothing to Jane.”
Charlotte gave her a look. “No, I mean that Mr Bingley moves in different circles—as Mr Darcy does. Earls and dukes and countesses and ladies with thousands of pounds for dowries. Jane is beautiful, to be sure—probably the most beautiful lady I have ever seen—but beauty can only go so far.”
“So what you are saying,” Elizabeth said, speaking very carefully to control the hot flush of ire that rose within her, “is that Jane got what she deserved for overreaching?”
“No, I should never be so cruel as to say something like that,” Charlotte replied hastily. She rose and busied herself in straightening the coverlet on the bed.
Elizabeth regarded her friend. It did not escape her notice that although Charlotte had said she would never say Jane had overreached, she did not say she had not thought it.
At length, Charlotte ceased her useless tidying and looked Elizabeth in the eye.
With a sigh she said, “We are simple, common people in our neighbourhood. Whether from Longbourn or Lucas Lodge, none of us girls should expect a position in Society as the wife of a great man. Wealthy gentlemen come to the country for diversion; their marriages are made in London.”
“Jane would have loved Mr Bingley if he had nothing at all,” Elizabeth said firmly.
“And that, too, would be a mistake,” Charlotte said.
Elizabeth despised the maddeningly priggish manner in which she spoke.
“A woman must be prudent above all.”
“In other words, a woman should settle for what she gets?” Elizabeth leant towards Charlotte. “Jane fell in love. It was sentiment, not ambition, which proved her downfall.”
“I do not blame Jane for trying to make the most of the opportunity presented to her.”
“As did you.”
It was said before Elizabeth could think about the wisdom in it. The subject had not been broached between them before, the fact that after Elizabeth herself refused him, Mr Collins proposed to Charlotte with indecent haste—and she, without reservation, accepted him.
Charlotte’s eyes had a flash of fire in them, but her voice remained sedate.
“As I did, yes, and I would do it again. I sit here content in my own home, with the respectability of a married woman, knowing I am a burden to no one. Jane is in London on the charity of her relations with no marriage prospects in sight.”
And you are married to a fool. This time, at least, Elizabeth’s tongue did not betray her.
Charlotte rose and with a swish of her skirts turned to leave the room; alas, she had not sufficiently had her say.
“There has never been any doubt that the Bennet girls, you and Jane most of all, are the beauties of the county and, unlike many, have the claim of a well-established family. But I fear that presuming to think those qualities will excite a proposal from someone of the first circles will only lead to a vast deal of disappointment.”
Elizabeth had a great many thoughts tumbling around in her mind, from set-downs on her friend’s duplicitous means of obtaining a husband no one else wanted, to sharp retorts about how similar Charlotte had become to the lofty Lady Catherine.
But she held her tongue, knowing it could do no good to speak so.
Charlotte had been gone some minutes before Elizabeth remembered, regretfully, that she ought to have told her she meant to stay back from dinner at Rosings. But no—if she stayed home now, Charlotte would think her words had found a mark.
In any case, why should I hide from Mr Darcy? It is he who has done wrong, not I. She would go with her head held high, no matter what Charlotte or the likes of Mr Darcy thought of her.