Chapter 7
How on earth could Elizabeth keep Jane safe from Mr Wickham?
She could speak again to her father, tell him of Jane’s disbelief in and disregard of his warning—but she disliked the idea of being a telltale.
If she were honest with herself, she also hoped not to give her father access to an alternative (and false, she was certain) narrative of Mr Wickham’s dealings with Mr Darcy.
Plus, if their father’s already-delivered strong warning about Mr Wickham being able to ruin the entire family did not persuade warm-hearted Jane to spurn the man, Elizabeth was not convinced that anything anyone said within the confines of Longbourn would be able to do so.
The only other possibility she could see was speaking to Mr Bingley.
But surely, if she spoke to him of Jane’s possible infatuation with a villain, he would be more likely to halt his attentions to Jane, in disgust over her fickleness, than to protect her.
No, Elizabeth could not possibly betray Jane by speaking with Mr Bingley about her not heeding the warning against the newcomer.
But…what if she dedicated herself to accompanying Jane on all walks, and not only attempting to curtail any acquaintance with Mr Wickham, but to also maximise her time spent with Mr Bingley?
Even if Mr Bingley were not mature enough to be good husband material at this stage of his life, he was at least an honourable man.
He may have had a habit of thinking himself in love, but he was not in the habit of ruining ladies and girls.
She wondered if the Bingleys and the Hursts had been warned by Mr Darcy about Mr Wickham. She could speak of his presence in Meryton, and perhaps they would censure the man in Jane’s hearing.
Elizabeth carefully thought through this plan and decided that there was no downside.
Since it was a fair day, Elizabeth assumed that Mr Bingley would call that afternoon, and indeed he did. Unfortunately, his sisters did not join him in his call, and there was no opportunity to casually mention Mr Wickham.
Still, Elizabeth noted that Jane and Mr Bingley seemed as friendly as they ever did, and it soothed her to see Jane’s enjoyment of the man.
During Mr Bingley’s visit, Elizabeth visited her father in the bookroom and arranged to use the carriage for a call to Netherfield the next day. He looked surprised and asked, “Matchmaking, are we?”
“I believe that the match may have been made without any influence from me, Papa.” Elizabeth grinned and added, “I just wish the chance to spar, you know, to keep in training. I believe that Miss Bingley is an ideal person to help with my training goals.”
Her father flashed her an answering smile and asked, “Pugilism, eh? Please do not come home with a black eye. I am afraid that your mother would never stop wailing about such.”
“Oh, Papa, you know very well that I will be trading words, not punches. And I promise that I will not tell Mama about any metaphorical black eyes. I am positive that she will never know of any damage that I take.”
He chuckled but also waved his fingers in a silent “off with you” message. When she returned to the parlour, she said to Mr Bingley, “Tomorrow Jane and I finally have access to the carriage—our horses are not needed on the home farm—and we plan to call on your sisters. I trust they will be home?”
Mr Bingley looked ever so pleased, and he confirmed that he and his sisters would be home. Jane looked ever so surprised, but she sweetly smiled at Mr Bingley’s eager responses to the idea, so it looked as though she was happy enough with Elizabeth’s machinations.
The next morning passed slowly. Mary’s practicing on the pianoforte was a rather plodding background to the rapid-fire arguments between Lydia and Kitty, and Jane’s precise embroidery was a contrast to Elizabeth’s inconstant stitches.
“I wish I had your patience, Jane,” she said as she pulled out most of what she had done that morning.
“Jane, Lizzy!” Elizabeth turned to her mother with a smile as she asked, “Girls, had you not best eat an early luncheon so that you can make your call?” She seemed as eager as Mr Bingley had shown himself to be the day before.
“Yes, Mama,” they chorused. It was not long before the two eldest Bennet sisters found themselves fed, fussed over, and farewelled.
“This is a first, Lizzy.”
“The first time we have made a formal call without Mama?”
“Well, yes, I suppose that is the best way to put it.” Jane smiled. “I was going to say that it was the first time for us to ride in our carriage without our parents.”
Elizabeth nodded. “We are grown now. It is hard to imagine that I might soon be setting up my own household, hopefully with my own carriage, because there are not many suitors in Meryton…but I can quite imagine that you might soon be doing so.”
Jane smiled, looking quite happy at the thought. She murmured, “And who do you see as my future, Lizzy? Is it to be Mr Bingley or Mr Goulding?”
Elizabeth had suffered a stab of disquiet when her sister had said the word or, hoping not to hear the name Mr Wickham. She was equally relieved and surprised to hear Mr Goulding’s name, and she repeated, “Mr Goulding?”
Jane’s cheeks became rosier as she said, “At the assembly, during our dance, he declared that he had every intention on calling on me, but he explained that his father had arranged for him to visit his uncle’s estate for a month, so his attempt to court me would not begin until the middle of November. Which is almost upon us.”
Elizabeth smiled, delighted that another gentleman would be vying for her sister’s hand. It made it even less likely that her infatuation with a blond-haired rake would amount to much.
“And you never whispered a word of it,” Elizabeth said with a bright smile. “I look forward to watching you pick between the two.”
At Netherfield, Elizabeth informed the butler that they wished to see Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst. But she was neither surprised nor unhappy that Mr Bingley and Mr Hurst were in the drawing room, as well.
Everyone bowed and curtseyed and exchanged greetings.
Elizabeth chose a seat next to Miss Bingley, and of course Mr Bingley showed Jane to the comfortable Windsor chair next to his own.
“Oh, Miss Eliza, it has been too long,” Miss Bingley said with a sneering sort of smile. “I believe I have not seen you since the day before poor Mr Darcy had to rush back to Pemberley to deal with his emergency.”
Smiling with mirth at Miss Bingley’s insincerity, Elizabeth said, “I believe you are correct. Have you any idea how the repairs are going in the Pemberley mines?”
Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes. “Miss Eliza, You know that Pemberley is a grand estate, do you not?” Her tone sounded quite contemptuous, as if Elizabeth had no idea of what she spoke.
“A grand estate?” Elizabeth repeated with an inquisitive air.
“Yes, dear.” Miss Caroline flashed a wholly superior sort of smile at Elizabeth and expounded at length: “Dear Mr Darcy is the master of one of the largest estates in Derbyshire. It compares to Chatsworth—and you must have heard of that great estate? The manor house is positively palatial, the park is ten miles around, and there are many acres of forest and farmland. I believe that there are 150 or more tenant farms, and of course thousands of people, all told, on the estate, including more than one hundred servants.”
“That is fascinating, Miss Bingley. I imagine you have very much enjoyed visiting Pemberley.”
“I have indeed.” Miss Bingley preened and flashed another self-satisfied smile. “Of course, like most great estates, Pemberley does host tours. You may be able to see it someday, perhaps with your relatives from Cheapside.”
Elizabeth did not miss the jibe, but she merely nodded, saying, “That is a distinct possibility, since my Aunt Gardiner grew up in Lambton.”
Miss Bingley’s brow wrinkled, perhaps in puzzlement. She asked, “Your aunt is a gardener? And I do not understand why we are speaking of Lambton all of a sudden.”
Pressing her lips together in an effort not to laugh, Elizabeth clarified, “My aunt’s married surname is Gardiner, and I mentioned Lambton because it is less than five miles from Pemberley.”
“Oh. Well, of course, I stayed in a beautiful set of rooms at Pemberley, not in some rustic town.”
“Indeed.”
“And Pemberley is, as I believe I hinted, the opposite of rustic. It is a majestic mansion with a very idyllic setting. A lake, a stream, fountains and pools, all manner of gardens, a woodland….”
“And two mines,” Elizabeth added.
Miss Bingley seemed ready to contradict her, but the steadiness of Elizabeth’s voice and expression may have been the reason that she paused, looking uncertain.
“And a sawmill,” Elizabeth said.
Miss Bingley now looked wholly sceptical, but she remained silent.
“Actually, Miss Bingley, I have something very important to ask you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Has Mr Darcy told you about Mr Wickham, who is the son of the old steward of Pemberley?”
Raising her eyes up, Miss Bingley gave the question some thought but then said, “I believe he did. I think I remember the name, because I was thinking that the man sounded positively wicked.”
Elizabeth made certain that her face was very serious as she responded, “Yes, indeed. Wicked Mr Wickham. That is an apt trick to remembering his name.”
“And what, pray tell, is your question? I certainly never met the man. I mean—” Miss Bingley shrugged one shoulder—“he is only the son of a servant.”
“Well, his character matters more to me than his position in society.”
Mrs Hurst, who was sitting nearby, joined in, saying, “Oh, yes, I believe that Mr Wickham turned out very wild indeed.”
Elizabeth could not help but smile to enjoy the alliteration: the wild and wicked Mr Wickham.
She explained, “I wanted to mention to you that he is here in Meryton. Or he was, at least, as of yesterday. Given his particular proclivities, I feel we should all be warning our neighbours about his presence.”
Mrs Hurst looked concerned. “I should say that you are correct, Miss Elizabeth. Where did you see him?”
“He is the assistant to a barrister named Mr Nelson, and the two of them were consulting with Meryton’s solicitor, Mr Philips.”
“So Mr Wickham was with your uncle?” Miss Bingley frowned.
“Yes, but only in a professional sense. I have of course asked my father to warn my uncle of Mr Wickham’s character…or lack of character, I should say.”
Mrs Hurst proceeded to voice her profound agitation about Mr Wickham being in Meryton, fretfully reporting it to her husband and brother, and reminding them who Mr Wickham was.
Elizabeth listened carefully, wondering if she would find out if there was a connection between the debouched man and Miss Darcy, but everything Mrs Hurst said was general.
“He gambles away all his money!” she exclaimed.
“He runs up debts wherever he goes, and then he runs off without paying! And he ruins women…and it does not matter if they are servants or gentlewomen, he ruins them all!”
Elizabeth dared to look at Jane, to see how she was feeling about all this criticism.
But Jane looked as serene as she ever did.
Elizabeth wondered if that expression was merely a mask her sister wore…
and she felt quite uncomfortable about the possibility that she did not really know her “dearest” sister.
When the correct time to leave was upon them, Mr Bingley insisted that they should stay a little longer. “We should take a walk!” he said with the enthusiasm of a beagle.
Miss Bingley pooh poohed the very idea, claiming that the weather was questionable, and as expected, Mr and Mrs Hurst demurred as well. However, Jane sweetly claimed a desire to take a stroll, and Elizabeth agreed as well, determined to stay near her sister.
Thus it was that Elizabeth, Jane, and Mr Bingley were perhaps sixty yards away from the manor house when the grey clouds shocked them by suddenly releasing their cache of stored water, not in drops but in sheets of rain, water descending like curtains announcing the end of any outdoor activities.
Jane gave a single, plaintive cry, and Mr Bingley uttered a litany of mild oaths, starting with a “zounds” and a “gadzooks.” Elizabeth said nothing at all but picked up her skirts a few inches and flat-out ran for the house.
A footman was hurrying out with a single umbrella, and he reached Elizabeth first. Already drenched to her skin, Elizabeth waved her hand backwards and called, “Offer it to Jane!”
She reached the house and entered through the kitchen, standing there dripping water until a maid hurried up with a towel. “Mr Bingley and my sister are still hurrying back, and we are all wet through,” she said to the housekeeper as the woman rushed in.
Mrs Nicholls nodded and began issuing orders for blankets, dry clothes, hot baths, broth, tea, and fires.
A very chilled Elizabeth looked forward to all the ways she could be warmed up.
“Thank you,” she said as Mrs Nicholls led her to a room where several footmen were already bustling in with buckets of hot water.
A maid stood from building up a fire; tucking her bellows under one arm and holding the ash box in her hands, she hastened out of the room.
Another maid came in with a steaming cup of tea; the moment the footmen left, the maid locked the door and helped Elizabeth out of her wet garments.
Thinking about how nice a large bathtub was, Elizabeth sank into the hot water, sipped on her tea, and almost immediately felt as if she had never been cold in her life.
She had never longed for riches, but luxuriating in the warm water, Elizabeth supposed that being as rich as Croesus would have some benefits.