Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
“Charlotte!”
“I came to see you off, Eliza.”
They stood in front of Longbourn, and Elizbeth wished her friend had come earlier so they might have spoken at length. Then again, the household had been in such a flurry with packing and preparations that it was just as well.
Elizabeth said, “I shall miss you terribly.”
“You shall have a grand adventure, and I—” She broke off and looked over her shoulder.
Elizabeth feared Charlotte was to express her despair at never finding love and never leaving Hertfordshire, a constant theme of their discourse, and one that had begun to make Elizabeth feel guilty of late, as her fortunes on both accounts had changed.
Seeing that all were otherwise occupied, Charlotte leaned in and said in a low voice, “I shall enjoy the company of a new acquaintance. A Mr Slade.”
Elizabeth gasped. “Charlotte, how could you leave such a tale for the moment I am departing?”
“We have only just met.” The girls clasped hands, allowing them to bring their heads closer so Charlotte could recount her tale at an excited whisper.
“He is a merchant. The son of a merchant whom my father knew when he was in trade.” Charlotte’s eyes sparkled as she continued.
“He is kind and appears honest, and he makes me laugh. Oh, Eliza, he is what I dreamed of. Not so fine looking that I should worry of his motives, but pleasing to look at and exceedingly good company.”
“Elizabeth, we must depart!” called Aunt Gardiner, standing near the carriage.
Elizabeth nodded to her aunt but asked, “When did you meet?”
“He is staying at Lucas Lodge for a fortnight. He only arrived two days ago, but I think…I think he might make an offer.”
Elizabeth smiled with the true joy she felt, but then warned, “Do not be too hasty. Be certain he is for you. Marriage is an eternal bond.”
“He has said as much, but also that he is quite taken with me. Eliza, I never thought a man would feel such things for me, nor I for a man.”
Aunt Gardiner repeated with more urgency, “Elizabeth!”
Elizabeth hugged her friend. “I must be off, but write to me and tell me all.”
“Will you see him on your travels?”
Elizabeth fixed a neutral smile on her face. “Nothing in life is certain, Charlotte. Farewell, dear friend!”
Within moments, the carriage door was shut and the party was bouncing down the road away from Longbourn, heading towards Hunsford.
Aunt Gardiner had visited for the past week, accompanied by only two of her children, and suggested bringing Elizabeth to visit Mary in Kent.
They would stop in London, and Mr Gardiner would accompany her the rest of the way as he had business in the region.
She would have three weeks with Mary. After three months apart, it would be good to see her sister again.
The journey to town was easy and so short that Elizabeth wondered once again why her family never went.
Though Elizabeth only had one afternoon and evening to experience London, she found the bustle exciting and was thrilled by the new sights and sounds, and the promise of culture of all sorts.
As she was limited to a tiny corner of the city, she determined to return someday to enjoy London’s offerings beyond Cheapside and Gracechurch Street.
Her uncle accompanied her, as planned, to Hunsford. The carriage stopped at the small gate of the Parsonage, and Mr Collins and Mary came down the gravel walk to greet them.
“Mary!” Elizabeth shouted, and Mary barrelled towards her with uncharacteristic glee, and threw her arms about her sister.
Elizabeth saw instantly that Mr Collins’s manners were not altered by his marriage: his formal civility was just what it had been; and he detained her some minutes at the gate to satisfy his inquiries after all her family. He welcomed them a second time, with ostentatious formality.
“Welcome to my—our humble abode.” He then repeated all of Mary’s offers of refreshment. “My wife will happily arrange for anything you require.”
His wife? Heavens, but that was hard for Elizabeth to compass.
She had been at the wedding, had seen Mary depart in Mr Darcy’s coach with Mr Collins, and thought over and again of Mary in a home away from Longbourn, yet somehow, she still found herself surprised by her sister’s status as a married woman.
Mary took her hand and led Elizabeth inside, and Uncle Gardiner was left to hear Mr Collins’s monologue as the men trailed them to the parlour. Uncle Gardiner appeared vexed, and declared he might need to return to London sooner than expected, on the morrow, now that he thought on it more fully.
Elizabeth chose not to meet Mary’s eye, fearful she might see disappointment in her sister.
After sitting long enough to admire every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the fender, and to give an account of their journey, Mr Collins invited them to take a stroll in the garden, which was large and well laid out.
To work in his garden was one of his greatest pleasures.
Mary talked of the healthfulness of the exercise, and said they shared in the pursuit of improving it together as much as possible now that the weather was warming.
They had already begun preparing, and had sown broad beans, carrots, and parsnips.
“But of all the views from our garden,” he declared, “none are to be compared with that of Rosings, afforded by an opening in the trees that borders the park nearly opposite the front of this house.”
He brought them to see, and Elizabeth noted it was a handsome building, well situated on rising ground.
From the garden, Mr Collins wished to lead them round his two meadows.
Though it was March, winter had held a firm grip on the region, and the ladies, not having shoes to walk about the remains of a white frost, turned back.
While Uncle Gardiner accompanied him, a grim look set on his face, Mary took her about the house.
It was rather small, but well built, and everything was arranged with a neatness and consistency, for which Elizabeth gave Mary all the credit.
“Mary, I cannot believe you have your own home.”
“Oh, Lizzy, you cannot imagine the joy of it. To be mistress of my own house, and to share my life with one such as Mr Collins.”
Elizabeth could not imagine it, but rejoiced in her sister’s contentment.
Mary brought Elizabeth to the room where she would sleep. It had a narrow bed with a plain side table already holding a stack of books. “In case you had no room to pack your own, I took it upon myself to provide some I hoped you would find diverting.”
Elizabeth bent to look at the titles, expecting to see sermons and the like, but instead saw novels. Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and teased, “Mary, you have not taken to reading fiction, have you?”
Mary laughed, and it was good to see her so happy. “No, I still do not find it to my liking, but the bookseller suggested these.”
“They are too dear.”
“The expense was small. In truth, they have been read by others. He sells such books for a fair price, and said if you chose to leave them, I might sell them back to him.”
“The Farmer’s Boy by Elizabeth Gunning. The Accusing Spirit by Mary Pilkington. Candide—Father has this in his library. I dare say you have chosen some thrilling tales.”
“I hope so. I know you enjoy amusement, and I fear we will not be amusing enough for you.”
Elizabeth took her sister’s hand. “Mary, I am very pleased to visit, and I am beyond pleased to see you so happy. I hope we may put on appropriate shoes and walk about gardens and meadows, so you can show me all that brings you joy in your life here.”
Mary kissed Elizabeth’s knuckles in a rare moment of affection, and brought Elizabeth down to the parlour where she found her uncle and Mr Collins awaiting them.
“As I was saying,” Mr Collins explained once the ladies had settled into their seats, “Lady Catherine is still in the country. Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing her Ladyship on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not say you will be delighted with her. And I have scarcely any hesitation in saying that she will include you in every invitation with which she honours us during your stay here. She has been kind to my dear Mary, and when we dine at Rosings, we are never allowed to walk home. One of her Ladyship’s carriages is regularly ordered for us.
She has several. My, but she is a great lady.
Generous of resources and attention. Truly a treasure. ”
“Lady Catherine is a very respectable woman, indeed,” added Mary, “and a most attentive neighbour.”
Lady Catherine. Mr Darcy’s aunt. Elizabeth hardly admitted to herself that one reason she was eager to visit Mary was in hopes of seeing him again.
It was not the primary reason, but she could not pretend it did not enter her mind.
She had not seen Mr Darcy since he had left Netherfield with Mr Bingley three months prior.
They could not write to one another, of course, so it took six weeks for her to even know what had befallen Mr Bingley’s sister or to hear the name “Darcy.” Mr Bingley had written to Papa to express his hopes of seeing them all when he returned.
He shared that his sister and the baby, by some miracle, had both lived, but his sister was weak, and he had felt obliged to remain in London well past the New Year.