Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
ELIZABETH
Wide-eyed, Elizabeth finished reading about the “riot” at the Covent Garden Theatre. “You were so correct in your decision last night, Will!” she cried.
William, who had already read the article while Elizabeth filled her plate with breakfast foods, just nodded his head. He did not even have the decency to smirk, or say, “Of course!”
Georgiana was visiting from her stay at Matlock House, since William and Elizabeth were leaving the next day for the start of their bridal tour. The young girl asked, “Why? What happened after you left the theatre?”
Elizabeth replied, “Apparently the theatre manager, Mr Kemble, came out on the stage and began a speech of welcome. He was, I imagine, justly proud of the magnificent auditorium. However, many people were upset at the raised prices, and I think that those who were unhappy had reason to be—but, just hear what happened: The Times says that ‘we believe not a single word [of Kemble’s speech] was heard by the most acute listener in the house: hisses, groans, yells, screeches, barks, coughs, shouts, cries of ‘Off! lower the prices! six shillings! pickpockets! imposition! Cut-purse!’”
Georgiana looked appalled but also a bit excited. “I see why it was best that you came home where you might remain safe but still get to read about it!”
“Mr Kemble called the Bow Street police,” William interjected. “They read the riot act but could not seem to convince people to settle down.”
“Oh!” Georgiana’s eyebrows rose even higher.
“When the police arrived,” Elizabeth explained, tapping the paper once, “theatre-goers started calling out things like, ‘No magistrates! No police in the theatre!’”
“The poor actors!” Georgiana said.
“My understanding of the article,” William reported, “is that the audience was very happy to applaud the actors before getting back to hissing at and criticising the theatre management.”
“Hissing and groaning and yelling and screeching and barking and coughing and shouting and calling out demands and derogatory names,” Elizabeth added, “if we go by the article in The Times.”
William chuckled while shaking his head ruefully, Georgiana giggled as she pictured the scene, and Elizabeth laughed outright.
“I am glad we left when we did,” Elizabeth said, “because reading about this is fascinating, but I would have been quite frightened to have remained in the audience. I am most relieved that nobody was violent, nobody died, nobody was physically attacked nor injured.”
Nodding emphatically, William said, “That is good; otherwise I should have to go against my promise I made you last night.”
Georgiana looked from her brother to her new sister. She seemed not to dare to ask.
Elizabeth said, “Your brother promised me to publicly support lowering the theatre prices.”
“Since we are leaving tomorrow, I suppose I will have to write a letter to the editor today.”
“Speaking of promises, William, I believe you almost guaranteed that Lady Catherine de Bourgh would write to us the moment the announcement of our wedding was published, and yet I have not seen so much as a rude syllable. Surely today, our last day for a while at a stable address, your promise will be fulfilled.”
“Oh, Elizabeth, be careful what you wish for!” Georgiana’s words might have sounded playful but for the waver in her voice and the line between her brows.
“Lizzy love, it may be that I received a letter or two—or ten—each day, and that our primary source of warmth has been fuelled by outrage sent from Kent.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and studied her husband’s expression. “I believe that you respect me well enough to share even invective, if it pertains to me or our marriage.”
She watched as his lips quirked a bit.
“But apparently you also respect me highly enough to tease, knowing I will catch on rather than shriek and call for my salts?”
“Salts?” Georgiana asked. Then she giggled nervously. “Like Mrs Bennet?”
William let out a surprised yelp, and Elizabeth knew that her slippered foot had found its target as she gently jabbed his knee-pit. He grinned and said, “You are correct on all counts, madam. Honestly, I cannot believe I have yet to have heard from Lady Cat! But I am grateful, as well.”
Their once-honeymoon-nest was now a beehive of activity, since some trunks were being packed for a transit straight to Pemberley, some were packed for the bridal tour, and some possessions would be carefully stored at Darcy House.
One of Elizabeth’s priorities for the day was replying to a letter from Jane.
Her sister wrote that she would have an extended visit in London with the Gardiners, and she had already been invited to events by both Lord Wessex and Lord Grantham.
Elizabeth nodded, satisfied that her original observations had been confirmed: two viscounts were vying for her sister’s good opinion.
She was delighted for her sister and, at the instant, she thought of thirteen ways she could tease her on her acquisition of two titled admirers.
But teases were better delivered in person; in a letter, a jest might seem mean rather than diverting.
Instead of teasing Jane, she expressed her love, she assured her sister that she would know best what to do about two rival would-be suitors, and she wished her great happiness during her London stay with the Gardiners.
While Elizabeth wrote to Jane, Georgiana read the article about William’s and Elizabeth’s wedding in L’élégante Assemblée.
Georgiana seemed wholly delighted, but she asked “Who do you think wrote this?” so many times, Elizabeth began to laugh just as she began another iteration with the word “who.” Elizabeth and William had also wondered which of their wedding breakfast guests could have written the article.
It seemed most probable that it was a woman, with all the knowledgeable comments on fashion and food—but of course, it could have been a man.
It could have been the creation of more than one person—although the use of the word “we” throughout the article was more likely a contrivance, as it was ubiquitous throughout the publication.
When William had sent the five copies of L’élégante Assemblée to Longbourn, via a private messenger, Elizabeth had enclosed a brief note asking, “Are all these descriptions of what occurred after we left accurate?”
Jane was the only one who had responded to her query; she confirmed every description of the activities of Mr Collins and Mr Hurst, saying that they were indeed very solicitous of other guests’ comfort and amusement.
Now, as she wrote to Jane, Elizabeth re-read the portion of Jane’s letter about Mr Collins:
“Our first impression of Mr Collins was far too negative, Elizabeth, and I am ashamed of myself for my thoughts but relieved—and, to tell you the truth—proud that I never expressed my ill thoughts to anyone but you.
It is not that I wish to marry the man!—as you know, I am entirely grateful to your husband for removing fear of the future from marital considerations—and some of my original negative assessments of Mr Collins have been confirmed.
As I had first supposed, he is not terribly well endowed with quick wit and deep understanding.
However, there is a kindness in him that underlies even his faults.
The way he thanked our mother at the wedding breakfast seemed to me to be too flashy, as if he was wishing for others to hear him and think well of him—but then he was so pleased that others began to come up to her and thank her, as well, thus it became clear to me that at least one motivation was that he wished that more positive notice would be given to Mama. ”
Elizabeth well remembered her own thoroughly rude description of Mr Collins, which she had given to William the evening before the wedding.
She felt heartily ashamed of herself for having been overly negative and far too confident in her swift judgement.
She wrote a bit about her painful self-recriminations to Jane, but when she felt tears well up, she put her pen down and hastily removed herself to the little settee; a single tear could take out an entire paragraph of her letter.
At the moment she moved, William entered the sitting room where Georgiana and she sat. When he saw Elizabeth’s teary eyes, he hurried to her side, asking if she was well.
She gulped and said, “You know all the praise about Mr Collins in the article about our wedding breakfast?”
William nodded.
“I—I am positively remorseful about what I thought of him, and what I said to you, when I had barely met the man. I feel as if I never knew myself: could I really be so swept up by physical attractiveness to have judged Mr Bingley to be wonderful and Mr Collins horrible?”
William tenderly held her, pointing out that she had been very polite and at least a little bit friendly to Mr Collins, and she should not be ashamed of her private thoughts, as long as she had not publicly and deliberately insulted him or otherwise deliberately hurt him.
“My lovely Lizzy, you truly did despise some of what Mr Collins had written in his letter to your father, and some of what he said to and in front of you. That was not only natural; it was inevitable. Basically, Mr Collins is in some ways quite an absurd man.”
“Perhaps, but I should not say so!”
“You should not say it to your servants, to his oh-so-noble patroness, or to his parishioners. But to say an unguarded and hastily made judgement about a new acquaintance to your closest sister and your husband is very reasonable, even beneficial. Because you know Jane and I; you know we would not allow your judgements to form our own, and you are assured that we would not spread what you have said. Instead, we might counter with our differing opinions—if we had such—and our mutual sharing would no doubt aid in arriving at a fairer assessment of a new acquaintance’s character than just one person’s opinion. ”