Chapter 6
Elizabeth Bennet
It is a dreadful thing to miss one’s father, and still more to remain long in a state of uncertainty over his well-being.
The three eldest Bennet daughters felt this acutely, but Lydia and Kitty, though also concerned for Mr Bennet when they happened to think of him, had a source of acute consolation in which their older sisters did not choose to share.
The militia was to spend the winter in Meryton, and while innkeepers rejoiced at the prospect of more custom and the more cautious members of society worried over what so large a group of strangers might do to their quiet neighbourhood, many a young woman could think only of officers in red coats, and how quickly one might fall in love with them.
It was not long before Kitty and Lydia found themselves entirely at ease among the officers, for having pretty faces and high spirits, they were soon great favourites among them.
Two such silly girls could not always remember to worry over their father with such a source of happiness at hand, and if truth be told, it must be feared that Lydia had even remarked that Mr Bennet’s absence was quite convenient.
“For,” she said, “if Papa were here, he might not allow us to mix so with the officers, and how tiresome that would be!”
What might have been if Mr Bennet had been at Longbourn could only be guessed.
Without him, there was no restraint at all, for his wife encouraged her daughters’ enthusiasm with no thought of caution.
The arrival of the militia had given them a constant source of interest, and no opportunity to walk into town was ever declined if it offered the chance of seeing the officers.
A sighting, a greeting, or even the possibility of one was enough to set them in high spirits.
Not long after their cousin’s arrival, an invitation to take tea with their Aunt Phillips in Meryton provided a fresh excuse.
Though there could not be much excitement in another of their aunt’s afternoon parties, and still less for time spent with the solemn, officious Mr Collins, Lydia and Kitty were nonetheless delighted — for the walk there and the chance to see the officers it provided, if not for the event itself.
Elizabeth joined them with even less expectation of entertainment.
Like her younger sisters, she had already grown weary of Mr Collins’s company, and unlike them, she could neither throw good manners to the four winds and ignore him, nor find consolation in the hope of a red coat.
Lydia and Kitty walked in eager conversation, speaking at once and over one another, their subject never varying from the officers and the likelihood of meeting them.
Every turn in the road invited speculation, and every distant figure was considered before being dismissed.
Mr Collins kept near them, attentive and formal.
He addressed each of the young ladies in turn, but to Elizabeth’s rising unease, she could not escape seeing that the greatest part of his civilities was reserved for herself.
Upon his first arrival, their cousin had seemed to look on Jane with an admiring eye.
Then Elizabeth had happened to overhear her mother telling him that Jane was very likely to be soon engaged.
This exaggeration of the gentle admiration between Jane and Mr Bingley was alarming enough in what it might mean for neighbourhood gossip, but worse still was its effect on Mr Collins’s behaviour.
Immediately thereafter, he began offering his elaborate courtesies to Elizabeth rather than to Jane. That seemed a distinctly ominous sign.
“I am certain we shall see someone,” Lydia said loudly, jarring Elizabeth from her unpleasant thoughts. “It is impossible to go into Meryton without it.”
Kitty agreed, and their pace quickened.
Lydia’s prediction soon proved correct, for they had scarcely entered the town when a small group of officers came into view. Mr Denny, who had already become a good friend of Kitty and Lydia, was among them. Upon recognising the ladies, he stepped forward with ready courtesy.
“Ah, the Bennet sisters,” he said, bowing. “You have come at a fortunate moment. I have the pleasure of introducing a friend of mine, lately joined to our regiment.”
He turned as he spoke, and another gentleman advanced.
Elizabeth’s attention was immediately engaged. The gentleman was handsome, to be sure, but his manner was yet more impressive than his face. He moved with grace, but better still, his smile was at once charming and humble, and his eyes both intelligent and humorous.
“Allow me to present Mr Wickham,” Mr Denny said.
His bow was as graceful as his person, and even from the first word Mr Wickham spoke, it was evident that his manners were unusually graceful and very civil.
Elizabeth looked on him with approval and a good will to know him better, but Lydia, who was always quick to decide that she liked someone and quicker still to act on it, did still more.
“Oh! I have had the most delightful idea,” she exclaimed. “Why do not you come to tea with us? We are going to my Aunt Philip’s house. How delightful if you were to join the party!”
Elizabeth blushed for her sister. Even at fifteen, Lydia ought to have known better to issue an invitation on behalf of another person, and on her first meeting of the gentlemen, too! And yet to rescind the invitation would make the moment only more awkward.
But Mr Wickham spoke at once, both gently and firmly. “You are so very kind. Regrettably, I have not yet met Mrs Philips. Another time, perhaps.”
“Oh, do not worry that you do not have an invitation,” Lydia said impatiently. “No one cares about that nowadays! You must come, for she would like it of all things.”
Still smiling, Mr Wickham shook his head. “I thank you, no. If Mrs Philips extends me an invitation on another day, I shall be delighted to attend.”
Lydia accepted this with only a moment’s disappointment, her spirits recovering almost immediately. “Another day, then,” she said. “We shall expect it.”
Mr Wickham’s reply was given with a smile that seemed to promise everything and commit to nothing.
Observing him more closely, Elizabeth found no reason to withdraw the favourable impression he had first made. There was an openness in his countenance, and a readiness in his address, that made his manners more pleasant than any she could name.
After a few minutes more, the party separated, and the ladies continued on toward Mrs Phillips’s house. Even during the promised tea with their aunt, Elizabeth found her thoughts returning more than once to their new acquaintance.
When they returned to Longbourn, the account of their morning in Meryton was delivered at Longbourn with all the animation Lydia could command.
“How delightful!” Mrs Bennet said fondly. “The most charming of the officers you have yet seen, my dear? That is fine, to be sure.”
“May we invite them to dinner, Mama?” Lydia pleaded. “I should like it of all things. Do you not think it would be a splendid idea?”
“Why, yes,” Mrs Bennet said at once. “It would be a very proper attention. We have not entertained them at all, and I see no reason we should not.”
Jane spoke up hesitantly. “While my father is absent, perhaps it would be better to delay such a plan.”
“Delay it?” Lydia protested. “No, of all things! We should be very dull indeed. The officers will think us quite neglectful.”
“And we have seen them this very morning,” Kitty added. “It would be the most natural thing in the world.”
“My dear Jane,” Mrs Bennet replied, “your father would wish us to make ourselves agreeable to such fine gentlemen. There is no sense in sitting at home in low spirits.”
Elizabeth shared her sister’s opinion, though she did not press it. Of them all, Jane was always best able to persuade their mother into better sense. Where her objection had received so little hearing, Elizabeth’s could have none.
Mary did not share her qualms. “It is always advisable,” she began, “to consider whether amusement is consistent with propriety —”
“Ah, my dear Cousin Mary,” Mr Collins interrupted.
“How very right you are to think of modesty, and yet I do not think you need fear. I shall be here, after all, and while I cannot be considered in anything like a fatherly role to you, still I am a member of your own family, and as a pastor, I cannot think it otherwise than my duty to promote real comfort and unity wherever I go.”
“Very good, Mr Collins,” Mrs Bennet said. “That is kind, to be sure. I shall send out the invitations tomorrow.”
Elizabeth and Jane shared a rueful glance, but said nothing, for there was nothing more to be done.
The evening was fixed, and preparations followed with more spirit than order.
Lydia, who seemed to consider the evening to be her own project, made one suggestion after another, most of which were contradictory.
Mrs Bennet moved between eagerness and anxiety, determined that everything should appear to advantage.
Mr Collins offered his assistance with great readiness, though his contributions were more frequently acknowledged than adopted.
Elizabeth looked forward to the dinner rather impatiently, both for an end to unnecessarily fevered planning and for its own merits.
The excellence of Mr Wickham’s manners had left her eager to know more of him.
While she would not have chosen to host a party while her father was away, the choice had not been hers, and she intended to find what enjoyment she could in it.
When the evening came, Mr Wickham was among the first of the officers to arrive.
He was as easy and graceful in her own home of an evening as he had been on the occasion of their first meeting, and his address was no less agreeable.
He entered into conversation readily, moving from one group to another with a composure that suggested both confidence and good humour.