Chapter Eight
Elizabeth
According to her mother, the relationship between Mrs Bennet and Mrs Bingley had begun with a fortunate meeting and an immediate declaration of mutual regard.
Mrs Lavinia Bingley had visited a second time, and by the end of that visit, she and Mrs Bennet had established that they shared opinions on the superiority of silk over muslin for evening wear, the inconvenience of London dressmakers who could not keep to an agreed date, and the general difficulty of seeing one's children advantageously settled in a world that did not always cooperate with maternal strategy.
The last subject had occupied the greater part of an hour, and when Mrs Bingley's carriage departed, Mrs Bennet had come to find Elizabeth in the library with a pleased expression. The look on her face communicated that she had discovered an unexpected friend and intended to hold onto her.
"She is an incredibly sensible woman," Mrs Bennet had announced. "Very refined, the sort of person one is glad to know in London."
Elizabeth had agreed that Mrs Bingley was refined and returned to her book.
Since then, the acquaintance had deepened with a speed that Elizabeth could not help noticing.
The two attended a concert together at Lady Ashworth's.
They took tea on alternate days, sometimes at the Bingley townhouse in Brook Street, sometimes at Portman Square.
They exchanged opinions on the opera and on the relative merits of various milliners whose names circulated through the season's social intelligence.
Mrs Bennet declared, after yet another exchange of visits, that she was so fortunate in a new friendship, and that Lavinia was precisely the sort of woman she would have wished to know years ago.
Mrs Bingley was impeccably dressed. This was the first thing anyone would say of her, and it was both true and strategic.
Elizabeth suspected that her kind of dressing was not about fashion but about authority, every detail considered, nothing accidental.
It produced the impression of a woman who had never needed to think about how she appeared.
She was, on every surface and in every expressed sentiment, unobjectionable. She was amiable to everyone in the house, including Lydia, which was a feat that merited acknowledgement.
She was gracious without warmth, interested without investment, and possessed of deep social intelligence.
Something about her troubled Elizabeth. She had been trying to name it for over a week. Ultimately, she realised what it was. Mrs Bingley was always as cordial as the situation required, and never accidentally more so.
Even with Jane. She was amiable towards Jane.
She complimented Jane's appearance when she was present; but committed to nothing that could be construed as having endorsed the match between her and Mr Bingley.
There was no coldness, but there was a withholding of feeling that Elizabeth registered each time and could not dismiss.
It was an accomplished performance of neutrality from a woman who had clearly already formed a view.
The probing was another thing.
When Mrs Bingley arrived one afternoon with a pelisse Elizabeth had not seen before, Mrs Bennet received her in the drawing room with delight.
The tea things had been laid with care—better china, small cakes that their cook produced only when the occasion was considered to warrant it—and Mrs Bennet had worn her best cap, which was silver with purple trims.
Mary was in the library. Lydia and Kitty were out.
Jane was in the garden, tending to the flower ridges she had planted. Elizabeth remained present because she did not wish to retire to her room or any other place. Moreover, she was curious as to the inner details of the blossoming relationships between her mother and Mrs Bingley.
She took the armchair nearest the window, which gave her a clear view of both women and an excuse not to be drawn into extended conversation, and accepted her tea.
"You must tell me about the garden at Longbourn," Mrs Bingley was saying, "Does Mr Bennet keep one seriously? I find that a family's garden tells one a great deal about its character."
"He does not, I am afraid. Mr Bennet's interest runs entirely to his books. The garden is quite given over to the girls when they choose to attend to it."
"How charming. And the glasshouse?"
"We have none, I regret to say. The expense, you know…well, Mr Bennet was always more interested in his library."
Mrs Bingley nodded and moved on immediately to the subject of the latest fashions in morning dress, where she and Mrs Bennet found common ground with such ease that Elizabeth understood why they had been drawn to each other.
Some minutes later, when the conversation had navigated from morning dresses to the opera, Mrs Bingley turned her head briefly toward the window and said as if pursuing an idle thought: "Your husband, Mrs Bennet, I understand he preferred not to come to London for the season.
Does he find the city fatiguing to his health? "
"Oh, his health is perfectly adequate," Mrs Bennet said, with a slight edge that suggested she had not entirely forgiven this preference. "He simply finds London inconvenient. He is a very fixed creature, my husband. Happiest at Longbourn with his books, and very determined to remain there."
"A man of the country, then."
"Through and through."
Mrs Bingley adjusted on the sofa. "Did I ever mention what a delightful room this is? It improves with every visit. You have arranged it beautifully, Mrs Bennet."
"You are very kind. I have made one or two small improvements. I moved the settee, changed the arrangement of the flowers and I think it does look rather well now."
"It does indeed. Although I must say, the house itself does much of the work. The proportions are so generous. One does not often find rooms of quite this size in a London property. The ceilings especially."
"Are they not wonderful?" Mrs Bennet was delighted to agree. "I said so the moment we arrived. I have never seen ceilings like them in a private house."
"And you have leased it for the duration of the Season? You intend to remain in Town through May, perhaps?"
"We had thought May, yes, or perhaps into June if the season warrants it." For a second, Mrs Bennet appeared flustered before the expression melted away. "That has not been decided yet."
"Well, I hope to see more of you before the time for departure, dear friend." Mrs Bingley set down her cup. "Now tell me what you thought of Lady Montague's arrangements last Thursday. I thought the supper room was too small for the number of guests, but perhaps I am simply too accustomed to…"
Elizabeth stopped listening closely and turned inwards to her own mind.
Mrs Bingley’s questions never arrived in clusters.
That was what she had begun to notice, not on this visit only, but looking back across the preceding calls.
They came at intervals, separated by enough ordinary conversation to give them the appearance of casual enquiry rather than systematic extraction.
The glasshouse. Her father's health and habits. The duration of the lease and the flexibility of it, which also came on an earlier occasion, woven into admiration of the wallpaper. Each question taken individually was unremarkable. But together, they produced a compelling image.
She was still considering that when Mrs Bingley said:
"I ought to mention, since I know there can sometimes be awkwardness when one's children move in the same circles, Caroline has attracted a very promising suitor. A Mr Anstruther, from Northumberland. She is quite settled in that direction."
Mrs Bennet brightened immediately. "How delightful! Then she is no rival to my girls. I will confess, dearest Lavinia, that it had crossed my mind—not that I suspected you of anything—but when one has daughters to see married, one cannot help but notice the field."
"Of course one notices, but you may rest easy. We are friends, you and I, with no complications of that variety between us. It is so much more pleasant to enjoy a friendship without those considerations in the way."
Elizabeth was troubled by the conversation, but she did not express it. Instead, she ruminated over what was said about Caroline Bingley and the Northumberland suitor. She was not convinced by Mr Bingley’s account and thus examined it at length in order to find the point of inconsistency.
Caroline Bingley was at least five-and-twenty. She often arranged herself in proximity to Mr Darcy with an interest that was neither casual nor concealed. She was beautiful, accomplished and moved through rooms with great confidence and ambition.
That she had secured, in the current season, a serious suitor from Northumberland who was relatively unknown was quite unusual.
Whether Mr Anstruther of Northumberland existed, Elizabeth could not say.
What she could say was that the revelation of his existence served a purpose most useful to Mrs Bingley.
The moment appeared poised to confirm to Mrs Bennet that the two women were allies, not competitors, and that Mrs Bingley's interest in the Bennet family was completely friendly.
The visit concluded forty minutes later. When the Bingley carriage had departed and her mother had retreated into the pleasant afterglow of an afternoon spent to her satisfaction, Elizabeth went to find Jane.
Her sister listened patiently, a speculative look on her face. "She is quite pleasant."
"I did not say she was not."
"You said she asks a great many questions."
"She does. Noticeably so."
"People make enquiries, Lizzy. It is how one gets to know a family."
"She asked about the lease. I cannot imagine why she would need that information."
Jane arranged her needlework in her lap. "It is a natural enough enquiry, when one visits a friend's house."
"But to ask about the duration of the lease? And whether Papa intended to join us before the season concluded?"
"Mama may have encouraged her to ask that. She does speak freely about Papa."
"That is not the point. Mrs Bingley asks the kinds of enquiries that a person asks when they are compiling a picture, not making conversation. There is a difference in the intensity of her attention when an answer is useful to her."
Jane was quiet for a moment, seeming to be applying true consideration rather than preparing a counter-argument. This was one of the things Elizabeth valued most in her: she did not argue as a reflex. She thought.
"I grant you," Jane said, at last, "that she is thorough."
"Thorough." Elizabeth permitted herself a small smile. "That is a rather charitable word for it."
"I think it's the accurate one. She is a woman who likes to understand her situation fully. I cannot fault her for it."
"Nor can I, in principle. But there is a difference between understanding one's situation and deliberately scheming." Elizabeth sighed. "I believe she is very good at ensuring one does not think so while she is doing it."
"The timing in all of this might be coincidental."
"A woman who wishes to gather information about a family will find it considerably easier to do so if that family trusts her, and announcing a settled suitor for Caroline is an efficient way of producing trust in our mother."
Through the wall, Lydia's voice was audible in some project that involved Kitty and required, apparently, a great deal of immediate decision-making.
"She has been very kind to me," Jane raised as a relevant fact.
"I know. And I do not deny it." Elizabeth shifted. "But I wonder whether the kindness is what it appears, or it is an assessing one from a woman who is keeping her options open accordingly."
"That is an uncharitable reading, Lizzy."
"I know that too."
Jane looked at her hands in her lap, and then at Elizabeth.
"You may be right that she is thorough, and that her thoroughness has a purpose. But you may also be giving the purpose a darker reason than it warrants. She is a mother. She has a son she loves. She wants to know who is likely to become his wife and what her family is like. That is not villainous. It’s maternal solicitude. "
Elizabeth opened her mouth to object, but thought better of it.
"It may feel intrusive," Jane continued.
"It may not be the method I would choose, or that you would.
But I do not think it is malicious. I think she is a clever woman who protects her family as she knows how.
" A pause. "And I have never perceived any hostility from her, especially in relation to myself and Mr Bingley. "
This was the argument Elizabeth could not totally dismantle, because it was true.
Whatever plan Mrs Bingley was up to, she had been, in her conduct toward Jane directly, consistently welcoming.
She had introduced her to three women of consequence at an orchestra.
She had commended her to a hostess who had subsequently extended an invitation.
She had said, within Jane's hearing, that Miss Bennet was exactly the sort of young woman one was glad to see in a room.
These were not the actions of a woman in active opposition.
She thought of Mrs Bingley again and a persistent wave of suspicion rose to the surface. But she pushed the feeling down.
"Very well. I am perhaps allowing my suspicion to direct my interpretation. I shall endeavour to think better of her and stop paying such close notice."
"That seems wise."
"I am not altogether convinced it is."
"No," Jane agreed, with a candour that was, between them, the highest form of affection. "But you must try, Lizzy. Please."
Elizabeth conceded to this, because Jane had glanced at her with a look that communicated she was asking not for agreement but for latitude, and Elizabeth had never, in her recollection, been able to refuse Jane's requests.
She would try.
She would observe Mrs Bingley with less vigilance and more charity, and would permit their new relationship with the older woman to develop without the silent running commentary her mother would have called ungenerous and her father would have called, in his better moods, diverting.
The conversation moved on. They spoke of subsequent events to attend and of whether Lydia's latest fashion project was likely to produce the consequences she desired. Despite the conclusion of their earlier conversation, Elizabeth was glad of the company.
Later, after Jane had gone upstairs, she sat for a moment longer by the window with the darkening architectural square below her.
She had resolved to try being neutral.
She was not, however, wholly assured that trying and succeeding were, in this instance, the same conclusion.