Chapter 5
Eleanor rose early, as she had done since childhood. Wishing not to disturb the family, she wandered quietly through the ground floor, as all the bedrooms were upstairs.
She was saddened to find that most of the rooms remained much as they had been twenty years earlier.
She knew how much Longbourn was capable of producing and remembered how carefully her parents had maintained the house while still saving money.
Thomas was an even poorer master than she had imagined.
As she approached the study, she noticed that someone was already inside. Curious, she stepped closer.
The door stood half open, and through the opening she saw Elizabeth seated at the desk, surrounded by ledgers, letters, and account books.
“Excuse me, my dear niece,” Eleanor said gently. “May I come in?”
“Of course. Please do,” Elizabeth replied, hastily gathering together the papers scattered across the desk.
“I hope I am not interrupting you, but may I ask what you are working on?”
Eleanor believed she already knew the answer. More than twenty years earlier, she herself had sat at that very desk, performing precisely the same duties.
“Not at all,” Elizabeth replied with a smile.
“Everyone in the family knows that I help my father with the accounts and the management of Longbourn. He has never cared much for figures, and his eyesight is no longer what it once was, so reading all this correspondence has become rather difficult for him.”
She then explained in greater detail the various tasks she performed on her father's behalf.
“Thomas has always been... an interesting man,” Eleanor observed thoughtfully. “He finds it difficult to read anything connected with the estate, yet somehow he never tires of reading the books that interest him.”
The words escaped before she could stop herself, and she immediately regretted them.
Elizabeth looked at her aunt for a few moments, as though searching for some defence of her father.
Yet she was too honest—and too intelligent—not to recognise the truth of Eleanor's observation.
Unwilling to argue, she merely changed the subject and began explaining some of the improvements she hoped to make at Longbourn.
To her surprise, Lady Campbell possessed an extensive knowledge of estate management. She offered several practical suggestions, all of which Elizabeth found both insightful and remarkably useful.
An hour later, the rest of the family began to stir, and before long, everyone had gathered for breakfast. As was his custom, Mr Bennet remained detached from the conversation, quietly observing his sister and listening carefully to everything she said, hoping to discover what she intended to do.
Over the following days, Eleanor took the opportunity to spend time alone with each of her nieces. Those private conversations allowed her to understand their characters far better.
Lady Campbell soon realised that Jane was far more than a beautiful young woman.
She possessed a gentle disposition, always striving to please others and avoid conflict.
It was Jane who patiently soothed her mother's frequent agitations and attempted to restore calm whenever Mrs Bennet became distressed over the smallest inconvenience.
Eleanor also perceived the source of Jane's quiet melancholy, despite the young lady's efforts to conceal it. The amiable Mr Bingley had awakened her affections only to abandon her, leaving her with a broken heart.
Elizabeth was intelligent, beautiful, and remarkably spirited. Though all her nieces were attractive, Elizabeth possessed something that set her apart from her sisters. There was even something in her appearance that stirred an old memory, though Eleanor preferred not to dwell upon it.
She felt an immediate affinity with Elizabeth. They shared the same determination and quick intelligence. Yet Elizabeth also possessed a wit and natural charm that Eleanor herself had never enjoyed.
She had encountered those qualities only once before. They had belonged to Marcus.
Mary, by contrast, was perhaps the one who most resembled both Eleanor and Thomas in appearance.
She was well read and possessed an excellent memory, retaining almost everything she studied.
Receiving little guidance from her parents, she had sought direction in books on morality, hoping to discover how best to conduct her life.
After several conversations about the books Mary so dearly loved, Eleanor came to an unexpected conclusion.
Beneath her solemn exterior was a thoughtful and far more open-minded young woman than most people supposed.
She did not require criticism. She required affection, encouragement, and someone willing to understand her.
Eleanor suspected that Fanny had never truly understood Mary and, as a result, no close bond had ever developed between mother and daughter. As for Thomas, he seemed to take little genuine interest in any of his daughters.
Eleanor soon realised that Kitty was, in many respects, much like Mary. The difference was that, unwilling to become invisible as Mary had, Kitty had learned to imitate Lydia's behaviour in order to gain her mother's attention.
The greatest challenge, however, was Lydia.
At fifteen, she was every bit as immature and ill-mannered as Fanny had once been.
Unfortunately, she had inherited the worst qualities of both her parents.
Like Thomas, she was vain, jealous, and occasionally spiteful.
Like her mother, she was impulsive, frivolous, and accustomed to having her own way.
She manipulated Mrs Bennet with alarming ease and openly defied her father whenever it suited her.
Lydia Bennet was a disaster waiting to happen.
Eleanor had now spent almost a week at Longbourn and looked forward with particular pleasure to the following day, when her old friend Edward Gardiner was expected to arrive.
Jane and Elizabeth had spoken warmly of their aunt and uncle, especially of Mrs Gardiner, who had played an important role in their upbringing. From everything Eleanor had heard, her friend's sensible wife had exercised far more influence over the two eldest girls than either of their own parents.
“I cannot decide, Kitty,” Lydia declared one afternoon.
“One day I prefer Denny, the next it is Carter. Though, if I am perfectly honest, Wickham is still my favourite. The only difficulty is that he seems far more interested in talking to Lizzy about that odious Mr Darcy than in paying attention to me.”
She burst into laughter.
Jane, who was sitting with Aunt Eleanor in the parlour, coloured with embarrassment.
“Lydia, dear, that is not the way a young lady ought to speak.”
“Oh, Jane,” Lydia replied impatiently, “you and Lizzy are forever finding fault with me because you are both so dreadfully dull.”
Turning towards Eleanor, she added defiantly, “And I care even less what old ladies who never managed to have children think of me. All the officers say I am amusing.”
“Come along, Kitty.”
“I would rather stay here,” Kitty replied quietly, moving a little closer to Aunt Eleanor.
She genuinely enjoyed her aunt's company. Eleanor listened to her with patience and treated her with a kindness she rarely received from anyone else.
“You are becoming just as dull as the rest of them,” Lydia scoffed. “Stay here, then, with all these tiresome people.”
With that, she swept from the room.
Eleanor knew that, if she wished to help her nieces, she would have to speak with their parents, though she was convinced that any conversation with Thomas would be a complete waste of time. Therefore, before dinner, Eleanor sought an opportunity to speak privately with Mrs Bennet.
For several days, Fanny had seemed determined to avoid her. At first, Eleanor had believed her merely resentful, but she was beginning to suspect there was something deeper beneath her coldness.
“Fanny, if you have a moment, I should like to speak to you about Lydia.”
“My little girl may sometimes be a little wilful,” Mrs Bennet replied defensively, “but she has an excellent heart.”
“Fanny, I hope you will not misunderstand my intentions. Believe me when I say that I wish only to help your daughters. Please, hear me out,” Eleanor said gently. Calmly, Eleanor repeated the conversation she had overheard that afternoon.
She then explained, as gently as she could, that Lydia's behaviour would make it exceedingly difficult for her to succeed in London society, where expectations regarding manners and conduct were considerably higher.
“I hope you understand that I speak only because I care about Lydia's future,” Eleanor concluded. “I sincerely wish to see her happy.”
Mrs Bennet stiffened immediately.
Whenever anyone criticised Lydia's vulgarity or bold behaviour, she interpreted it as a criticism of her own upbringing.
“I am sorry, Eleanor,” she replied coldly, “but I know all about your past. So please do not come here pretending to instruct me how to raise my daughter—or delivering lectures like some great lady.”
“Precisely, Fanny. Because you know my past and everything I have suffered, you understand better than anyone how officers come to a country town and toy with the affections of innocent girls, just as Marcus once did with me, and as one of them may now do with Lydia.
“Lydia is not so easily deceived as you were,” Fanny said, though she did not sound entirely convinced.
“You might be right, Fanny. But please, do not forget that, in my case at least, my father wished to protect me, though for reasons that had little to do with affection. He needed me. I do not know whether Thomas would feel the same responsibility towards Lydia if she were the victim of some scoundrel.”
With those words, Eleanor quietly withdrew before Fanny could see the tears welling in her eyes.
Mrs Bennet was no less affected by the conversation. Deep down, she knew Eleanor was right, but she could not bring herself to admit it. Another thought, however, troubled her even more, leaving her unusually distressed.