December Came First
Friday brought Miss Bingley to call on Jane. Her brother had gone to town the previous morning with Mr Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and the Wickhams, but Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst remained at Netherfield with Mr Hurst, Mr Bingley being expected to return within the week.
Miss Bingley arrived at eleven with Mrs Hurst, both of them in good spirits, and Jane received them with her usual warmth. Elizabeth sat beside her and was pleasant.
Mr Collins had left early to call at Lucas Lodge, which Elizabeth considered the most useful thing he had done all week.
The conversation moved comfortably through the ball, the neighbourhood, the weather. Mrs Hurst had opinions about the musicians. Miss Bingley had opinions about the supper. Jane listened to both with equal attention.
Then Miss Bingley turned to Elizabeth, her pleasantness suddenly more deliberate.
“It was so delightful to meet Mrs Wickham at last,” she said pleasantly. “Mr Darcy’s sister. She is very pretty, is she not? And so composed. One can see she is accustomed to a certain standard.”
“She seemed very pleasant,” Jane said.
“Very.” Miss Bingley smiled. “She and Mr Wickham both seemed to form their opinions of the neighbourhood very quickly. One admires that in people. Such clarity.”
“Clarity is a useful quality,” Elizabeth said.
Miss Bingley’s smile did not alter. “Indeed. Though not always a comfortable one.”
Mrs Hurst stirred her tea. “Caroline.”
“I only mean,” Miss Bingley continued pleasantly, “that when Mr and Mrs Wickham arrive so unexpectedly and depart again almost before anyone has understood why, one cannot help but wonder what conclusions they drew. Mr Darcy’s family is very particular.
The Fitzwilliams especially. His uncle the Earl has always had decided opinions about suitable connexions for Pemberley. ”
Elizabeth looked at her steadily. “You are well acquainted with the Earl’s opinions?”
“One hears things.”
“One does,” Elizabeth agreed pleasantly. “Though I find one must be careful about what one does with what one hears.”
Miss Bingley’s smile sharpened very slightly. “Of course. I meant only to be helpful.”
“I know,” Elizabeth said. “You always do.”
Jane looked between them, understood exactly what was happening, and decided the best course was to offer more tea.
“One hears things,” Miss Bingley said. “And one observes things. I could not help noticing, for instance, that a great many of the servants at Netherfield came with particular recommendations. From the Earl’s household.”
Elizabeth kept her expression entirely still.
“It is not unusual,” Miss Bingley continued pleasantly. “When a family has concerns about a young man’s situation, they take certain precautions. Ensure he is properly looked after. Properly observed.”
“Charles engaged the staff,” Mrs Hurst said, her tone making it clear she wished her sister would stop.
“Of course,” Miss Bingley said. “With certain recommendations. Which he was very happy to accept.” She looked at Elizabeth. “Mr Darcy’s family are very attentive to his welfare. One can only admire it.”
Elizabeth thought about Henderson and Morris, and about the Earl, and about how much Miss Bingley had noticed without understanding any of it.
Miss Bingley lifted her cup. “Mr Wickham was rather curious about Mr Darcy before he left.”
“He asked whether Mr Darcy had formed any attachment in Hertfordshire.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“That Mr Darcy had danced with me twice that evening and that our families have been acquainted for years.” Miss Bingley smiled. “He seemed satisfied.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I did not like the way he asked.”
“More tea, Caroline?” Jane said.
Miss Bingley accepted the tea with a gracious smile and allowed the subject to drop. Elizabeth picked up her cup and was entirely composed.
The visit lasted another quarter of an hour. Miss Bingley spoke warmly of Jane, admired the room, expressed hope that the neighbourhood would see more of each other before the winter truly set in. Mrs Hurst agreed with everything her sister said and added very little of her own.
When they rose to leave, Miss Bingley pressed Jane’s hand with every appearance of genuine affection.
“We are so glad Charles chose Netherfield,” she said. “It has been most instructive.”
Her eyes moved briefly to Elizabeth. Elizabeth smiled pleasantly. The door closed behind them.
Jane turned to Elizabeth. “Lizzy,” she said.
“I know,” Elizabeth said.
“What does she know?”
Elizabeth looked at the door. “Less than she thinks. More than is comfortable.”
“Are you all right?” Jane asked.
“I am perfectly well,” Elizabeth said. “I am becoming quite practised at it.”
By Friday evening, Charlotte Lucas’s engagement to Mr Collins was common knowledge at Longbourn.
Mr Collins departed after breakfast on Saturday with two trunks, a great many compliments, and every appearance of believing his visit an unqualified success.
He pressed Mrs Bennet’s hand warmly, bowed to each of the Miss Bennets in turn, and reserved for Mary a special word about the improving properties of disappointment, which she received with solemn appreciation.
He did not appear to notice that nobody was sorry to see him go. Mrs Bennet noticed everything.
“Charlotte Lucas,” she said, before the carriage had reached the gate. “Charlotte Lucas of all people. Seven and twenty and no particular looks and she is to be mistress of Longbourn one day, and my girls, my girls who are a hundred times prettier and cleverer…”
“Mama,” Jane said gently.
“I am only stating facts.”
“You are stating feelings,” Mr Bennet said, from behind his newspaper. “Which is rather different.”
Mrs Bennet turned on him. “And what would you have me feel, Mr Bennet? Mr Darcy gone without a word, Mr Collins engaged to a Lucas, and Lydia tells me Lieutenant Denny has gone back to his regiment.”
“I had not heard about Lieutenant Denny,” Mr Bennet said. “That does seem the most pressing of the three.”
Outside, the road was empty in both directions.
On Monday, the Gardiners arrived.
Mrs Bennet received her brother and sister with all the pleasure due to family who brought presents, fashion, and fresh listeners.
Within half an hour, Mrs Gardiner had distributed ribbons, admired the girls, kissed Jane tenderly, and heard three versions of Mr Collins’s engagement to Charlotte Lucas, each more grievous than the last.
“It is very hard,” Mrs Bennet said, for the fourth time. “Very hard indeed. Lady Lucas is to have a daughter married before I have, and Charlotte, of all girls. Charlotte Lucas.”
Mrs Gardiner glanced towards Elizabeth, who was sitting by the window with a piece of work in her lap and no apparent intention of doing it.
“I had heard something of this from Jane’s letter,” Mrs Gardiner said mildly.
“Oh, letters cannot convey it. They cannot. Mr Collins was in this very house. In this very room. And now he is engaged to Charlotte Lucas, and Mr Darcy is gone, and Mr Bingley is gone, and I am sure I do not know what any of us have done to deserve such treatment.”
“He is not gone for long,” Jane said quietly.
Mrs Bennet turned at once. “Mr Bingley?”
Jane coloured. “Miss Bingley said he was expected back within the week.”
“And so he shall be,” Mrs Bennet declared, instantly restored. “I have always said Mr Bingley was the most amiable young man. Not like some gentlemen, who dance attendance upon one lady and then vanish without a word.”
Elizabeth bent over her work. Mrs Gardiner saw it. She said nothing then.
Mr Bingley returned the next day. He called at Longbourn within an hour of reaching Netherfield, which sent Mrs Bennet into such transports that even Lydia looked impressed by the scale of them. Jane turned very quiet, which was far more revealing.
Elizabeth watched him enter the drawing room with his usual warmth and none of the hesitation she had half expected. He crossed to Jane at once.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, and the pleasure in his face was so open that even Mrs Bennet had the sense to be silent for nearly three seconds.
“Mr Bingley,” Jane said.
That was all. It was enough. He had come alone. Elizabeth knew it before anyone spoke. She knew it from the shape of the doorway behind him, from the absence beside him, from the way Mr Bingley glanced once towards her and then away with a discomfort that did not belong to him.
Mrs Bennet, being Mrs Bennet, asked what everyone else was carefully not asking.
“And Mr Darcy, sir? Is he not returned with you?”
Mr Bingley’s expression shifted. Only slightly. But Elizabeth saw it.
“No,” he said. “Darcy is gone abroad.”
“Abroad?” Mrs Bennet cried. “Good gracious. How sudden.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Very sudden.”
Mr Bingley looked at her then, and for a moment she thought he might say something more. He did not.
“A Grand Tour of sorts,” he said. “For some months, I believe.”
Some months. Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap.
Mrs Bennet, who had recovered herself by deciding that Mr Darcy’s absence was probably no great loss if Mr Bingley had returned without him, began speaking of roads and weather and the dangers of foreign food. Mr Bingley answered with more politeness than attention. His eyes had gone back to Jane.
Elizabeth looked out of the window. Europe was a very large place in which to keep a promise. Mr Bingley did not propose that day. He proposed on Thursday.
Elizabeth knew it was happening before anyone told her.
Jane came into the parlour unusually still, her usual composure altered just enough for Elizabeth to notice, and Mrs Bennet took one look at her eldest daughter’s face and burst into tears of such genuine joy that even Mr Bennet came out of his library to see what had happened.
“Oh Jane,” Mrs Bennet said, over and over. “Oh my dear Jane.”
Jane bore all of it with her usual quiet grace and looked across the room at Elizabeth. Elizabeth smiled.
It was a real smile, which surprised her slightly.
She had thought it might be harder than this, watching Jane’s happiness settle into its proper place while her own sat somewhere marked after August like something waiting to be collected.
But it was not hard. Jane’s happiness was simply Jane’s happiness, and it was good, and Elizabeth was glad of it without reservation.
Later, when the noise had reached its natural peak and begun to subside, Jane found her by the window.
“Lizzy,” she said.
“I know,” Elizabeth said.
“Are you…”
“Perfectly well,” Elizabeth said. “And very glad. Do not ask me again.”
Jane looked at her steadily. “I was going to ask if you would stand with me.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said.
Jane smiled. “Yes.”
The Gardiners had come expecting one family story and found themselves in the middle of several. They observed accordingly.
Mr Gardiner shook Bingley’s hand with genuine warmth and asked sensible questions about the estate.
Mrs Gardiner kissed Jane and said all the right things, and then, at the first opportunity, found Elizabeth alone.
They were in the garden, which had become Elizabeth’s preferred location for conversations she could not have indoors.
“Well,” Mrs Gardiner said.
“Well,” Elizabeth agreed.
“Jane is very happy,” Mrs Gardiner said.
“Yes.”
“And you are very quiet.”
“I am always quiet.”
“Lizzy.” Mrs Gardiner’s voice was gentle but direct. “I have known you since you were four years old. You are not always quiet.”
Elizabeth looked at the bare rose beds, which she had been looking at rather a lot lately.
“There is a gentleman,” Mrs Gardiner said. It was not a question.
Elizabeth said nothing, which was its own answer.
“Mr Darcy,” Mrs Gardiner said.
“Jane told you.”
“Jane told me very little. I observed the rest. He has gone abroad.”
“Yes.”
“And you are waiting.”
“I am not certain what I am doing.”
“Then perhaps a change of scene would help you decide,” Mrs Gardiner said. “Come to London with us when we go. A few weeks, perhaps longer. Edward has business enough to keep him occupied and I should be very glad of your company.”
“Mama will not like it.”
“Your mother will have Jane’s engagement to occupy her entirely. I suspect she will barely notice you are gone. And if she does notice, she will recover.”
Elizabeth almost smiled.
“It would do you good,” Mrs Gardiner said. “London is not Hertfordshire. There is no lane to walk down and find empty. No neighbours asking questions. No absence making itself felt at every turn.”
“There is also,” Mrs Gardiner added, more gently, “the simple advantage of movement. When one cannot decide what to think, it is sometimes useful to change the view.”
Mrs Gardiner’s expression was kind, and not quite innocent.
“You are not as subtle as you think you are,” Elizabeth said.
“No,” Mrs Gardiner agreed pleasantly. “But I am right.”
Mrs Bennet objected for nearly half a day and then remembered that Jane was engaged, Mr Bingley was coming to dinner, and Mrs Gardiner had promised to look at lace with her in Meryton before she left.
After that, Elizabeth’s departure became almost easy.
She packed quietly. Jane helped her fold gowns and said very little, which was perhaps the kindest thing she could have done.
When the morning came, Mrs Bennet cried, kissed her, told her to write every particular of London society, and then turned immediately to ask Hill whether the good china had been counted for dinner.
Mr Bennet walked Elizabeth to the carriage. “So,” he said, as Mr Gardiner handed Mrs Gardiner up. “London.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“A dangerous place. Full of trade, smoke, politics, and relations who notice too much.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Take care of yourself, Lizzy.”
“I always do.”
“No,” he said. “You usually try.”
That silenced her. He kissed her forehead, then stepped back. The carriage pulled away from Longbourn, past the gate, past the hedgerow, past the turning to the old lane.
Elizabeth did not look down it. That, she thought, was progress. Mrs Gardiner settled beside her and unfolded her gloves. Mr Gardiner was already speaking of roads, the weather, and the best hour to reach Gracechurch Street before dark.
Elizabeth watched Hertfordshire fall away field by field. After August, she thought. But December had come first.