Chapter 25
SCANDAL
“Not that twaddle again,” Miss Darcy murmured in exasperation as Mr Collins claimed an engagement between her brother and Miss de Bourgh. Seeing her companions’ curious expressions, she elaborated. “It is my aunt’s dearest wish, and no one else’s.”
“I imagine any number of ladies have decided opinions on whom your brother should marry,” Elizabeth said sportively. “Few young gentlemen are in possession of their own estates, and of those that are, the gossip columns in the London papers would lead me to believe most lead lives of excess.”
“I confess to extreme partiality, but I think any lady would be most fortunate to marry my brother,” Miss Darcy replied. “Many of them do seem to agree!”
Kitty giggled. “And what sort of sister should you like him to get for you?”
“Oh, I do not much mind, so long as he is happy and she is not aggrieved that he is responsible for my care. She may be loud or quiet, rich or poor, pretty or plain, so long as she is a good wife to my brother and at least a civil acquaintance to me.”
“I doubt that Mr Darcy could be happy with anyone who did not really love you,” Elizabeth reassured her.
“I do hope he marries before I come out,” the young lady confessed. “My aunt, Lady Matlock, will advise me, of course, but I should so much like to have the company of a lady nearer my own age as I attempt to navigate society.”
“I should love to have a Season in London,” Kitty said dreamily. “Though I suspect my manners are not quite what they ought to be for such circles.”
Elizabeth regarded her sister in surprise. Self-reflection had never been a quality Kitty displayed. “Your manners are much improved of late, Kitty. You are only seventeen; it is perfectly natural that you are still learning how to go on.”
And spending less time with Lydia has certainly helped, she thought.
Mr Bennet yet remained firm in his resolve that his youngest daughter should not be given any opportunity to interact with any member of the militia.
Mr Bennet had allowed her out of her room after several days’ total confinement, and she had deigned to grace Longbourn’s parlour when Miss Harrington, another soldier-mad young lady, had accompanied her mother to Longbourn the previous day, but when she had seen that it was Mr Darcy’s carriage coming up the drive today, she had declared that the Netherfield party were ‘too, too dull’ and taken herself upstairs.
Thus far, Lydia had not chosen to defy her father’s strictures, no doubt in fear of having another quarter’s pin money repealed or her term of confinement extended.
As it was, she had no hope of so much as calling at Lucas Lodge until the militia departed in May, and was without funds until Midsummer Day, her sisters and mother forbidden to provide her with gifts of coin or even loans.
Added to these trials was her father’s edict that she must earn the right, by good behaviour, to once again be allowed to attend events outside of Longbourn once the militia had gone.
This possibility of future freedom Mr Bennet had dangled before her when it seemed she was building up to a screaming fit a few days earlier, and it had produced an immediate beneficial effect in reducing Lydia from a state of incandescent rage to an irritating but bearable attitude of sullen petulance.
Miss Darcy had now met the youngest Bennet, after services on Sunday, although only briefly.
Lydia had been entirely focused on reaching Maria Lucas and gleaning what news she could of the officers; she had curtseyed and voiced pleasure in the introduction, but in such a distracted manner as to make it plain that she wished herself elsewhere.
Lydia’s four sisters had all but fallen over themselves to apologise to their new friend, who had been clearly taken aback but responded graciously.
Miss Bingley had been close by and, with a supercilious sneer at the Bennets, had urged Miss Darcy and Mr Bingley—who was, as usual, by Jane’s side—to come with her to collect Mr Darcy and the Hursts and return to Netherfield.
Mr Bingley had been too kind to publicly chastise his sister for attempting to dictate when their party would leave, and so the lady had got her way and the Bingley carriage had been among the first to depart.
Miss Darcy now shared with Kitty a little of what she had heard from her elder cousin Lady Evangeline, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s sister, about her Seasons in town. Elizabeth also listened with interest, though she did not expect to ever take part in such affairs.
In time, the gentlemen were released from Mrs Bennet’s conversation and approached the younger ladies. Miss Darcy’s face fell. “Must we leave already, Brother?”
“Not quite yet,” Mr Darcy replied indulgently.
He and his cousin greeted Elizabeth and Kitty, and the conversation pivoted to encompass the events which would take place in the days before Christmas.
On Friday, the final day of Mr Collins’s stay, there would be a dinner at Haye-Park.
On Saturday, the clergyman would depart and the Bennets’ London relations, the Gardiners, would arrive.
On Tuesday, Christmas Eve, the Harringtons of Woodvale Hall would host a musical evening of seasonal songs and carols.
Any number of dinners, card parties, and teas would occupy them all until Twelfth Night, when there would be an assembly in Meryton.
Longbourn would traditionally open its doors for a dinner the day after Boxing Day, but with Mrs Bennet declaring herself consumed by wedding planning, the neighbourhood would have to settle for tea and cider in the afternoon.
“I suppose the season is celebrated in grander style at your home, sir?” Elizabeth teased Mr Darcy.
He smiled at her, though there was a hint of bashfulness in it.
“No, indeed, Miss Elizabeth. Most of the estates nearest my home are similar in size and income to those hereabouts; to own the truth, we are most often with my uncle’s family for Christmas, and when we are at home we keep to ourselves.
Perhaps I might have judged better at those times to celebrate with my neighbours.
Certainly, yours are doing everything to ensure a lively and happy celebration for all. ”
“When next you are at Pemberley for Christmas, I charge you to recall what you have just said, and go forth like Gulliver to experience the strange ways of unknown peoples,” she declared sportively.
He laughed and promised most faithfully that he would.
Longbourn’s knocker sounded long before visiting hours.
Why, the family had stood up from the breakfast table little more than a quarter hour before.
Mr Collins was upstairs writing to his patroness, but Mr Bennet had not yet even retreated to his study, still occupied with the paper and with peering over it at his youngest daughter, who had followed her mother into the parlour after the meal.
In but a moment, Hill opened the door to the room and Lady Lucas bustled in.
Elizabeth looked to her father, who had narrowed his eyes at his youngest daughter, but he did not send her upstairs.
Lydia’s hoydenish behaviour since the arrival of the militia had allowed the neighbourhood to accept without much speculation his choice to remove her from society, but if he were to send her away from even the unexpected call of an old family friend, enquiries might begin which could unearth the incident they had striven to keep secret.
“Well!” the lady exclaimed. “Here’s a to-do! Poor Miss Harrington!”
“Why, what has happened to her?” Kitty cried. “Has there been an accident?”
Mrs Bennet shooed Lydia out of the chair next to her own so that Lady Lucas might sit and tell all. Disgruntled, but just as eager for gossip as her mother, Lydia flounced across the room and dropped into the chair at Elizabeth’s left hand with a huff.
Lady Lucas settled herself, saying, “Oh, my dear girl, if only it had been an accident!” She accepted the cup of tea Jane offered her and took a sip, seeming to enjoy the suspense she had generated.
“Ah, perfect as always. One can count upon a good cup of tea at Longbourn,” she pronounced, then set the cup aside and declared, “Miss Harrington was spied in an embrace with an officer!”
Elizabeth’s breath caught as she instantly apprehended that it could as easily have been her sister’s name in that declaration as the other girl’s.
Lady Lucas nodded sagely as many in her audience gasped.
Elizabeth’s mother fanned herself with a handkerchief and cried, “Another scoundrel in their ranks! Pray tell, which officer?”
“It was Mr Danvers. He and Miss Harrington are to be married as soon as the banns may be called.”
“See, Papa!” Lydia exclaimed. “If only you would let me go about as I used to do, I should catch a husband as well! If that little twig Susan Harrington has secured an officer, I certainly can.”
Mr Bennet fixed his youngest daughter with a look of scorn. “Had you no sisters whose futures would be harmed by your actions, I should be very tempted to let you try. Lady Lucas, would you be so kind as to spell out to Lydia why you entered speaking of ‘poor Miss Harrington’?”
“Why, his salary is but twelve pounds per quarter! And Mr Harrington says his daughter will not have a penny beyond the three hundred he has set aside for her dowry, as he is set on sending young James to Oxford next year. I have told Mrs Harrington that her daughter may come to Lucas Lodge at any time to learn from my cook, as hers is not very good.” She seemed to think very highly of herself for this piece of generosity.
“No cook,” murmured Mrs Bennet in horror. “Poor Miss Harrington. But pray, why does he have so little?”
“Because that is a militia lieutenant’s salary, one presumes,” drawled Mr Bennet. “One also presumes that his family does not make him much of an allowance to supplement it.”
Mrs Bennet sat slack-jawed and stunned at this information; Elizabeth hoped it might induce her to rethink her notion that the presence of the militia was a fine opportunity to rid herself of a daughter or two.
Lady Lucas was eager to supply more information. “He is the son of a country clergyman, who took the place of the son of a local gentleman in the militia. It is not to be expected that his family sends him anything at all.”
Kitty made a little sound of distress, and Jane hastened to find some good in the situation. “At least Miss Harrington is accomplished at sewing,” she offered hopefully. “She will be able to stretch her funds by making her own dresses.”
Mary, who was soon to wed a man whose income, inclusive of tithes and profits from the glebe lands, was easily thrice that of Mr Danvers, said, “With the addition of the interest on her dowry, if they are frugal, they should be able to send their washing out.”
“One certainly hopes so. I doubt she will be able to learn cookery and laundry in less than a month,” Lady Lucas replied.
Seeing that Lydia also appeared dumbfounded, and thinking this might be a moment in which she would listen to what she was told, Elizabeth leant over and whispered to her, “If there is anything you would like to ask, Lydia, I will answer you honestly.”
Lydia seemed to struggle for a moment, but curiosity won out. “Twelve pounds seems a vast sum to me. I should be happy to get half as much each quarter. Why is everyone speaking as though she will be very poor?”
“She will not be very poor, but she will be poor compared to what she is used to. Woodvale brings in but a third of what Longbourn does, or thereabouts, and yet that is sufficient to provide her with many comforts. They will have his twelve pounds and three in interest on her dowry each quarter. From that, they must pay for their lodgings, their clothing, their food, and his uniforms, which are no small expense. They will pay for paper and ink if they wish to write letters, and postage to receive the replies. A cook might cost them a third of their income, and a maid about a tenth. If they both practise economies, they will do well enough to send out their washing, as Mary said, and have some entertainment. But if he wishes to spend on ale and gambling, as some men do, her life will be very hard.”
Lydia was chewing on her lower lip, eyes narrowed, sunk in thought. Happy that her sister had not instantly denounced everything she had said, Elizabeth left her to her musings.