Chapter Two #2
Mr. Bingley gestured toward the couple sitting nearest Aunt Kitty. “You are not so familiar, I believe, with my youngest sister and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Lofton.”
“We have met,” Jonathan said, “but only many years prior. It is a pleasure to see you again.” This had to be said, whether Jonathan was pleased or not.
However, he had no particular prejudice against the Loftons, who greeted him with every show of civility.
Like the Hursts, the Loftons were dressed as people of wealth and fashion; unlike the Hursts, they did so with good taste and restraint.
“Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Lofton cried. She was a small woman, rather younger than her siblings present.
“We are in need of a new source of interest, so you are come to save us from the evils of idle minds. I shall be wanting to hear all about some of your famed investigations. They say you have caught murderers hither and yon!”
“The credit cannot belong wholly to me, for I had invaluable help.” Juliet Tilney’s face filled Jonathan’s mind again, and it was with difficulty that he prevented himself from sighing.
“Yes, yes, you must tell us everything.” Unfortunately, Mrs. Lofton was proving to be one of those persons who very much want to look someone in the eyes at all times while speaking, a habit Jonathan particularly abhorred.
She kept angling her head to try to stay within his gaze, no matter how hard Jonathan tried to avert it.
“Nothing improper, of course. I suppose much of the truth of such things must be improper.”
Mr. Lofton laughed as he drew his wife back.
“Mrs. Lofton, if you wish to observe propriety, follow the example of Mrs. Brooks, who as you see has held at least one of her questions for her nephew until later!” Polite chuckles answered this, though Jonathan thought he detected Aunt Kitty taking especial pleasure in the comment, no doubt due to Mrs. Hurst’s earlier incivility.
“Then last comes Mr. Lucas,” Uncle Bingley finished, “though the two of you, I know, are friends of old.”
“Indeed,” said Isaac Lucas, standing and offering his hand to Jonathan. “Admittedly, I, too have heard of your adventures, Mr. Darcy!”
“That is not the word my mother uses to describe my experiences,” Jonathan said in all seriousness, though everyone laughed.
He realized that this was not mockery; instead, he had been taken for a wit.
This did not at all comport with what he next wished to say: “My condolences upon the passing of your father last winter.”
Mr. Lucas’s smile dimmed somewhat. “Thank you. It was a great shock to us—not yet sixty and in fine health, and only two years after Grandpapa’s death.”
“It must make a great change for you,” Jonathan said, “to become master of Lucas Lodge at so young an age.”
“Indeed. Fortunately my father taught me how to manage an estate, beginning even before I was ready for school. Do you not remember how he walked the fields with us, talking about signs of a good harvest?”
“Yes, I do.” The late Mr. Lucas had been patient with Jonathan’s many questions and hunger for detail. “He was an excellent man.”
Isaac Lucas was but a year older than Jonathan.
Both his mother and Isaac’s aunt Charlotte Collins had determined that the two boys should be playmates in their youth, and every journey into Hertfordshire for Jonathan had involved a great deal of time spent in Isaac’s company.
Though they never became the bosom companions their female relations would have wished, they had nonetheless got on well.
Jonathan’s oddities of temperament had never much bothered Isaac; and for his part, Isaac was too good-natured a fellow to indulge in any of the mockery that had so bedeviled Jonathan’s time at school.
Sometimes Jonathan thought he would find it much easier to spend time with strangers if more of them would comport themselves as Isaac Lucas did.
“Now I will make my confession,” said Mr. Lucas. “The Bingleys had spread word of your coming, and you see, I have paid a call upon them precisely so that I might be here for your arrival and, if you wish, accompany you to Longbourn.”
Jonathan had been dreading the visit to his grandparents—specifically, to his grandmama—from the beginning.
Yet he knew that she would behave herself better in the presence of anyone outside the family; Mr. Lucas had understood this, too, and had most tactfully offered his assistance.
“Thank you, Mr. Lucas. Let me change from my dusty traveling clothes, and we shall go at once.”
Mr. Lucas smiled, an open, artless expression. Perhaps, Jonathan thought, we are better friends than I realized.
For Juliet, the ideal disposition of Mr. Follett’s letter would have gone as follows: She would have discussed it with her mother, and only with her mother.
Her mother would have said that of course the proposal must be refused and that she herself would assist Juliet in the writing of this missive.
(Her imagination went so far as to specify that this letter should be tenderly solicitous of Mr. Follett’s feelings, even though he quite obviously had none.
This was simply a matter of good taste.) The task swiftly accomplished, her mother would immediately send a servant to put the reply in the post while Juliet tossed the offending proposal into the nearest fireplace, rendering it into ash.
However, even the best-laid plans can fall afoul of a talkative younger sister and a grandparent’s ill-timed visit.
Theodosia meant no mischief, but where news was to be given, she found silence unendurable.
Scarcely had Juliet done reading Mr. Follett’s letter than both their parents were at her door, and even they had got no more than half through it when notice came that her grandfather—the stern, phlegmatic General Tilney, then visiting the family at Woodston—had heard that Juliet had received a letter.
In her current state of social exclusion, such a missive could only be extraordinary, and he demanded to know its contents at once.
Having been so informed, he then wished to discuss the matter with all of them at once.
Juliet had always feared her grandfather’s displeasure and had always been correct to do so. On this day she learned that his pleasure could be worse by far.
“Well, then,” General Tilney announced to the family members gathered in the study. “We have an end to all the difficulty, all the trouble. It is as good a match as she is fit for now, and that marriage will clear the path for Theodosia to make a far better one in another few years.”
The Reverend Henry Tilney had, to his great credit, never failed to speak his mind to his father on matters of principle.
“This Mr. Follett has shown himself to be of low character, and he has caused Juliet tremendous suffering. Can this be the sort of man you would wish to welcome into your family?”
The general’s usual scowl deepened. “Certainly I would not say that this Follett will prove any ornament to us. A painter! One can scarcely imagine a profession more ridiculous—for a working man, it might be the best trade available, but for a gentleman? No, no. Under normal circumstances, his proposal would not be countenanced for an instant.”
Juliet’s mother, Catherine, seeking an opportunity, pounced upon this one. “Consider that it has not yet been even one year since the incident at the art exhibition. When more time has passed—as knowledge of Juliet’s innocence spreads—”
“No time will wash away such a stain as that,” General Tilney said with such disgust that it might have been assumed he had actually seen the offending painting.
Yet in this matter, Juliet could not blame him.
Mr. Follett had put her face in a picture portraying the myth of Pasiphae, who had disguised herself as a cow all for the amour of a bull.
This work of art would have been shocking in any exhibition anywhere in England; she even thought it might have been considered immoral in France.
Finally Juliet dared to speak. “Mr. Follett said that we should take our time considering his proposal. He does not expect a swift reply.”
She had understood her grandfather’s pride well, for he instantly replied, “Indeed he shall not have one. Let this man Follett not think that our family is so eager to admit him. After all, Juliet could simply remain a companion to her sister, or a housekeeper to her brother. We must not be thought too impoverished to support one spinster.”
Such were the fates she could contemplate! Juliet might have wept.
Though the worst fate was unavoidable—it lay all about her, in every direction—for it was simply that she would not marry Jonathan Darcy, the only man she believed herself able to love. And that, now, could never be changed.
Longbourn was one of the more respectable houses in the vicinity of Meryton.
Certainly it lacked the grandeur of Netherfield, or even that of Lucas Lodge, but it was nonetheless a proper country home.
Though Jonathan’s mother said that Longbourn had often seemed small and crowded with five daughters in residence, it offered more than enough comfort for an elderly couple who entertained but seldom.
This fact was evident to all except the elderly lady in question.
“I have told Mr. Bennet time and again that the chimney needs repairing, but he never listens,” said Mrs. Bennet, who sat in her chair, waving a small handkerchief as though to punctuate her thoughts.
“Come wintertime, we shall scarce be able to see each other for all the smoke! Like as not it shall spoil all the furnishings, and my clothing, too.”