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Chapter VI
The next day, Henry prepared to set out for a walk when he noticed Elizabeth and Mrs. Hurst keeping one another silent company in the sitting-room, Mr. Hurst having repaired to the library for an afternoon nap. Henry politely asked the ladies to accompany him; he expected Elizabeth's ready acquiescence, but was surprised when Mrs. Hurst stood to join them. However, he rose gallantly to the occasion and gave an arm to each of the ladies. He whistled for Bear, who lumbered along behind their group, his tongue lagging out and his dog-sense searching for the nearest available body of water in which to hurl himself.
They walked through the shrubbery, speaking of commonplace subjects like the weather and the roads, when they suddenly encountered Darcy with Miss Bingley clinging to his arm. Henry noticed that Miss Bingley's colour rose when she saw them, and wondered if they had been engaging in lovers' talk. After his conversation with Darcy the night before, he was surprised that Darcy would place himself in danger of saying something that he could not honourably retract.
"I did not know that you intended to walk," said Miss Bingley, in some consternation.
"You used us abominably ill," answered Mrs. Hurst, "in running away without telling us that you were coming out." Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth and Henry alone together. The path just admitted three. Henry would have attributed a great deal more delicacy to Mrs. Hurst, but supposed that she must know her sister better than he.
Darcy said, "This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue."
But Elizabeth laughingly answered, "No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting two more. Do you not agree, Mr. Tilney?"
"Indeed," said Henry with a smile. "Gilpin allows that five is as picturesque as three, but I cannot agree with him. Miss Bennet and I shall have to stay a pair and hope that no one of nice taste notices our unhappy circumstances." Henry had truthfully been inclined to join the group, if only to keep Darcy from actions that he would later regret in regard to Miss Bingley, but the presence of Mrs. Hurst would prevent that, and he had much rather be with Elizabeth.
They went off together and rambled about the grounds, talking of many subjects, no longer restricted by the presence of Mrs. Hurst. Henry was delighted with his walking partner; eventually the conversation turned to his parish, his parsonage, and his improvements, and led naturally from there to Catherine. Elizabeth asked Henry many questions about his lady, and he answered them gratefully, happy to unburden his heart to such a disinterested and thoughtful recipient.
"No, Catherine does not play," he said in answer to a polite question regarding Miss Morland's accomplishments. "But she enjoys listening to music very much. I think she would enjoy hearing you play, Miss Bennet."
Elizabeth laughed heartily at this statement. "Then Miss Morland must not be a very discerning judge of music. I believe I would like her very much indeed, Mr. Tilney."
"Yes, I believe you would. And I believe she would like you as well."
They walked along in silence for a few moments, and finally Elizabeth said, "You miss her a great deal, do not you?"
"I do," he said with some feeling. "We spent some time together at my father's home and I became quite warmly attached to her. Now that we must be separated, it is as if a part of me is missing." He smiled at her ruefully. "That is a hackneyed metaphor, I am afraid, and I assure you I am not in the habit of using such trite expressions, but in this case I find that it is very true."
"Are you to be married very soon?"
Henry sighed heavily. "I do not know when we shall be married. There is parental disapprobation that is preventing our union."
"Miss Morland's parents object to you as a son-in-law?" Elizabeth was indignant for his sake.
"No, the disapprobation is on my family's side, I am afraid. My father, General Tilney, is of a volatile temper, and places a great deal too much emphasis on fortune and social standing, especially in those to whom his children become allied. He took the word of an acquaintance of Catherine's brother that her family was rich and that Catherine had been named heiress to the local squire. On that information, he was not only willing but insistent that I should marry her. He has only himself to blame for believing such nonsense."
"Miss Morland's family is not rich, then?"
"Not rich, no, but quite comfortable. She will have a perfectly respectable dowry of three thousand pounds. But my father received information from the same source that led him to believe that the Morlands are not only poor but of uncertain character, which is, of course, as untrue as his first assertions. My father unfortunately does not give as much weight to honour as to wealth, and did not understand the wrong he had done to Catherine, and to me, by forbidding me to pay my addresses to her any longer. But by that time my heart belonged to her, and honour as well as affection bid me to ask for her hand. The Morlands, however, could not sanction a marriage that my father had forbidden, although they kindly added that they would give us their blessing if the General's position should change. And there we stand."
"Three thousand pounds," mused Elizabeth. "That is a great deal more than I shall ever have." At his inquisitive look, she went on. "My father's estate is entailed to the male line, and since he has no son, it will be inherited by our cousin, a Mr. Collins. My father has no funds at his disposal to make dowries for all five of us."
"I should think a gentleman of discernment would see your obvious charms, even without a dowry," said Henry with a gallant bow. "Marrying solely for the sake of your partner's fortune is not the way to ensure your future happiness, Lizzy."
Elizabeth laughed. "Perhaps one should not marry for money, but I am sure you will agree that one cannot marry without it, either."
"Wise words indeed, madam." A pause followed his statement, and then he added, "And now I must beg your pardon. Darcy has chastised me already for my regrettable familiarity, Miss Bennet. I should not call you by your Christian name as if you were my sister. As an excuse I can offer only that I have come to look upon you as quite a close acquaintance."
"That is quite all right, Henry," she said teasingly. "There, now, we are even." She hesitated, then added, "And I am particularly gratified that you count me as such a close acquaintance. I count you as one of my good friends as well." They smiled at each other, and Henry was once again struck by the way that they seemed to exchange thoughts and ideas without speaking, as if they were controlled by a single mind, or two minds so alike that they were nearly indistinguishable.
When they finally returned to the house, they were met with the happy intelligence that Jane was already so much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening.
When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing-room after dinner, Miss Bennet was seated near the fire, well-wrapped in several shawls. All four ladies were laughing together when they entered the room, and Henry was pleased to see even Elizabeth smiling and laughing with them. However, Miss Bingley's eyes were instantly turned towards Darcy, and she had something to say to him before he had advanced many steps. He addressed himself directly to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation, as did Henry; Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow, and said he was "very glad;" but diffuseness and warmth remained for Bingley's salutation. He was full of joy and attention. The first half hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer from the change of room; and she removed at his desire to the other side of the fireplace, that she might be farther from the door. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely to any one else. Elizabeth retired to a corner with her needlework, and Henry joined her. They talked quietly together while they drank their tea.
When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card-table, but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards; and Mr. Hurst soon found even his open petition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play, and the silence of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same; and Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her brother's conversation with Miss Bennet. It occurred to Henry that Mrs. Hurst, gazing at the shiny baubles that graced her wrists and fingers, looked rather like one of his terriers when he dangled his pocket-watch in front of them: all their attention fixed unblinkingly on the gleaming object, their eyes following intently even the most minute degree of movement. But he was too much of a gentleman to reflect long upon the fact that Mrs. Hurst's eyes showed little more intelligence than those of the dogs.
Miss Bingley's attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr. Darcy's progress through his book, as in reading her own; and she was perpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page. She could not win him, however, to any conversation; he merely answered her question, and read on.
Elizabeth observed to Henry, "Mr. Darcy does not seem to be susceptible to Miss Bingley's overtures. I suppose one must admire her persistence, however."
Henry, unwilling to disclose a confidence even to Elizabeth, said only, "If Miss Bingley's attentions were unwelcome, then Darcy would not admit them."
"Speaking for myself, I would hope for more encouragement from a lover than Miss Bingley appears to be receiving."
"Perhaps Darcy feels constrained by having an audience."
"So you do think that there is a mutual attraction?"
"I can have no opinion on that subject," said Henry resolutely.
Elizabeth looked at him keenly for a moment, then returned her gaze to her work. "Very well, Mr. Tilney, you may keep your friend's counsel, as a proper clergyman should. However, I am not in Mr. Darcy's confidence and thus am free to speculate, and I sense that you do not entirely approve of a match between Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley." Henry opened his mouth to protest, but Elizabeth continued to speak. "Perhaps you feel that they are not well-matched as to temper. You have told me that, among his friends, Mr. Darcy is completely amiable, and I must take you at your word. In return, I will assure you that Miss Bingley can be surprisingly agreeable. During the hour which passed in this room before you and the other gentlemen appeared, I have never enjoyed Miss Bingley's company more, nor Mrs. Hurst's. Their powers of conversation are considerable. They can describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit."
"I am happy to hear that, for Darcy's sake." Henry was silent for a moment, then added, "I see by your expression that you do not agree with my description of Darcy's temper. He has been an excellent and valuable friend to me over the years. Unfortunately, to those with whom he is not closely acquainted, he can give an incorrect impression of his temper. At his home, at Pemberley, he is the master, and like many rich men is accustomed to ordering his household as he desires, and expressing himself freely when his orders are not carried out."
Elizabeth considered this. "And when his friends' households are not ordered as he would desire? Does he express himself freely on such an occasion?"
"Darcy does not interfere in his friends' affairs, Miss Bennet," said Henry. "He offers advice when it is requested, as any good friend would, but he certainly does not impose his will where he should not."
"Perhaps he does not impose his will upon you," said Elizabeth, one eyebrow raised. "Perhaps because you would not allow him to do so."
"Certainly not," said Henry with some warmth.
"I cannot help but wonder if Miss Bingley would allow Mr. Darcy to impose his will upon her," Elizabeth mused. "And how he will accept it if she does not."
Henry suspected that Miss Bingley would accept any indignity or loss of precedence to be Mrs. Darcy, but could hardly say so to Elizabeth, so he changed the subject. "I am glad to see your sister so well recovered. And I believe that Bingley is glad as well."
Elizabeth raised her eyes from her work and smiled as she watched Mr. Bingley rewrap a stray bit of shawl round the eldest Miss Bennet's shoulders. "It is good to see Jane well, and seemingly so happy." She glanced over at Henry and added, "Do you know Mr. Bingley's temper as well as you know Mr. Darcy's?"
"I have not known him quite as long, but I assure you that we are quite close. And I can guess your next question; unfortunately Bingley has not confided in me as to his feelings toward your sister."
"I would not expect you to tell me if he has," said Elizabeth archly, and Henry laughed.
At that moment, Miss Bingley gave a great yawn and said, "How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library."
Like the library at Pemberley, I suppose? thought Henry, and was immediately ashamed of his mean-spiritedness; no one of the party made any reply.
Miss Bingley then yawned again, threw aside her book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest of some amusement; when, hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said, "By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure."
"I know you cannot mean Tilney, so you must be speaking of Darcy," cried her brother. "He may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins; but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send round my cards."
"I should like balls infinitely better," she replied, "if they were carried on in a different manner; but there is something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing made the order of the day." Henry was not surprised at her statement, having heard Darcy make much the same observation at an earlier time. Miss Bingley was far too imperceptive to realize that Darcy had been only half-serious.
"Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a ball." Henry chuckled aloud at this and noticed a smile on Elizabeth's face as well.
Miss Bingley made no answer; and soon afterwards got up and walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well; but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. To Henry's astonishment, she turned to Elizabeth and said, "Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude."
Elizabeth was as surprised as Henry, but agreed to it immediately. Miss Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility; Mr. Darcy looked up and unconsciously closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but he declined it, observing that he could imagine but two motives for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which motives his joining them would interfere.
"What do you mean, sir?" Miss Bingley said to Darcy, and to Elizabeth she added, "What on earth could he mean?"
"I think we would do better not to inquire," was her answer. "Depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it."
"Nay, we insist upon knowing your meaning, sir!"
"I have not the smallest objection to explaining my meaning," said he, as soon as she allowed him to speak. "You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking; if the first, I should be completely in your way; and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire."
"Oh! shocking!" cried Miss Bingley. "I never heard any thing so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?"
"Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination," said Elizabeth. "We can all plague and punish one another. Tease him--laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done."
"But upon my honour I do not. I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me that. Tease calmness of temper and presence of mind! No, no; I feel he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug himself."
"Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!" cried Elizabeth. "That is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would be a great loss to me to have many such acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh." Henry looked up from his volume of Radcliffe in time to exchange a smile with her at that remark.
"Miss Bingley," said Darcy, "has given me credit for more than can be. The wisest and the best of men, nay, the wisest and best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke."
"Certainly," replied Elizabeth "there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without."
"Perhaps that is not possible for any one. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule."
"Such as vanity and pride."
"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride--where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation."
Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile, and Henry sighed; it pained him to have two people for whom he had such regard as Elizabeth and Darcy so at odds with one another.
"Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume," said Miss Bingley, "and pray, what is the result?"
"I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise."
"No," said Darcy, "I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding--certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion, once lost, is lost for ever."
"That is a failing indeed!" cried Elizabeth. "Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it; you are safe from me."
"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome."
"And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody."
"And yours," he replied with a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them."
"Do let us have a little music," cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share. "Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst."
Her sister made not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was opened, and Miss Bingley spent some time entertaining Mr. Darcy, and by extension the others, with a selection of love-songs.
The next day, Henry came into the house with his gun and dog and stopped to remove his muddy boots. Bingley's valet, as friendly and good-natured as his master, offered his services, and Henry laid the gun on the floor and seated himself on a bench while the man pulled off his boots. Bear pushed between them, attempting to sniff at the dirt and water that stained the edges of Henry's greatcoat, and the valet was hard put to complete his task and avoid the creature's importunities. Henry attempted to call the dog to order, and Bear was happy enough to abandon his prior amusement and leap upon him, place his large, muddy paws on his chest, and salute his master with enthusiastic licks and snuffles. Henry's face and shirtfront were soon covered with canine saliva, but finally he succeeded in pushing the dog away, weakened though he was with laughter at his pet's impertinent behaviour.
Elizabeth entered the hall in time to observe this spectacle. Henry expected her to laugh at him and prepared a properly teasing response, but she did not appear to notice. "Has a messenger come from Longbourn?" she asked a passing footman, who shook his head.
"I'll take these and clean them up for you, Mr. Tilney," said the grinning valet, and bustled off with the boots, the gun, and the muddy greatcoat. Bear padded along behind him, leaving dirty footprints on the sparkling floor, much to his master's dismay.
"Forgive me, Miss Bennet," Henry said, mopping his face with a handkerchief. "I could not help but overhear--I hope there is not a problem at Longbourn? Miss Bennet is not ill again?"
"No, Mr. Tilney. I thank you for your concern. I have written to my mother to beg that the carriage might be sent for Jane and me in the course of the day. I am afraid that we have well overstayed our welcome."
Henry sighed. "I, for one, shall be sorry to see you go, and I dare say that Bingley shall be sorry as well." A sudden suspicion prompted him to ask, "I hope that no one has said anything that has made you feel uncomfortable or unwelcome."
Elizabeth looked archly. "I suppose by 'no one' you mean Miss Bingley. While she has not been entirely civil to me, I have not allowed her to make me feel unwelcome. My own sense of propriety has prompted me to hasten our departure, and Jane agrees with me."
"Well, if you are set on leaving, I can only express a hope that you receive such a message from your mother as you could desire."
"I thank you, sir."
"And now I must make myself presentable for luncheon. If you will excuse me, Miss Bennet."
"Of course, Mr. Tilney." Her answer was distracted, and she went to the window by the door and peeked outside, looking for a rider.
To the surprise of no one, Mrs. Bennet sent them word that they could not possibly have the carriage before Tuesday; and in her postscript it was added that, if Mr. Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very well. At luncheon, Jane requested the use of Bingley's carriage to take her and her sister back to Longbourn. The communication excited many professions of concern; and enough was said of wishing them to stay at least till the following day, to work on Jane; and till the morrow their going was deferred. Henry observed that Miss Bingley did not appear especially happy that Jane agreed to stay; he was forcibly reminded of Isabella Thorpe and her habit of expressing one thought or emotion and appearing to feel entirely another.
The master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be safe for her, that she was not enough recovered; but Jane was firm where she felt herself to be right.
Darcy did not appear to be particularly moved by the impending departure of the Miss Bennets. At one time during the day, Henry came upon Darcy and Elizabeth, alone together in the drawing-room; Darcy had his nose deep in a volume of history and was studiously ignoring the lady. Elizabeth, for her part, had a book of her own and seemed not at all put out by the gentleman's inattention. Well, at least they are not arguing, thought Henry tiredly.
On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Elizabeth took leave of the whole party in the liveliest spirits, except for Henry.
"I shall be sorry to see you go, Miss Bennet," said Henry, taking her hand and bowing. "Your company will be greatly missed."
"As will yours," she said. "You must come to dine at Longbourn. Wait not for an invitation; simply appear some afternoon around four and you will be sure to be asked to stay. I think my father would enjoy your company."
"I shall do that, madam. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Mr. Tilney." She climbed into the carriage after her sister. Bingley stepped away from the glass, where he had been in conversation with Jane, and the carriage rolled away. The two men watched its progress down the drive, and from inside the house Darcy watched his friends thoughtfully.
Chapter VII
A long-overdue disclaimer: a very small part of the dialogue of this story is taken from the 1995 mini-series "Pride and Prejudice," adapted by Andrew Davies from the novel by Jane Austen and co-produced by the British Broadcasting Corporation and Arts & Entertainment Television. The copyright of the mini-series belongs to those parties and no ownership is claimed or implied by the author of this story. The author is receiving no compensation for writing this story and presents it solely for the enjoyment of visitors to this site.
The next morning proved much too cold and wet even for such ardent sportsmen as the Netherfield gentlemen, and they were forced to stay inside. To a man of Henry's active disposition, such confinement was difficult. He was amply entertained by one of Mrs. Radcliffe's charming works for a while, and spent some time composing a long and witty letter to Catherine, but he soon grew restless.
Darcy had spent the morning writing business letters, Bingley had been in consultation with his steward, Miss Bingley with the housekeeper, and the Hursts doing goodness knew what; thus they were now happy with more sedentary pursuits. Bingley and Hurst were engaged in a seemingly never-ending game of cards, and the ladies in singing duets and trying to wrench Darcy's attention from his book.
Henry paced the drawing-room and stared out the windows at the rain. He politely negatived a request from Bingley to join the card-game, and idly glanced through a pile of books that Darcy had brought from the library, but was unable to find anything worthy of his attention. Miss Bingley's singing was a constant irritation and he thought with longing of how much he would have enjoyed Elizabeth's company on such a day. Thinking of Elizabeth brought her parting words to his mind: "You must come to dine at Longbourn. Wait not for an invitation; simply appear some afternoon around four and you will be sure to be asked to stay. I think my father would enjoy your company." He pulled out his watch and checked it: it was just four now.
"I think I shall pay a call on the Longbourn family," he said suddenly. "Would anyone care to join me?"
Bingley looked up with a smile, and seemed about to voice an acceptance, when Darcy said, "Miss Bennet and her sister have only just returned to their home yesterday. I am sure they would prefer to have time to visit with their family. And Miss Bennet is still recovering from her illness. I dare say such a visit would be most unwelcome." He turned a page in his book and continued to read.
"Besides, it is a great deal too dirty," cried Miss Bingley, irritated at Henry's suggestion and gratified at Darcy's refusal. "The lanes will be impassable."
Caroline's words compelled Henry to action. "I dare say that I can go on horseback very well," he said. "The rain seems to have let up, and horses can always walk a muddy lane where a carriage might not go. Gentlemen, I again invite you to join me."
Darcy remained silent, and Bingley looked from one of his friends to the other and finally said, "I think not, Tilney. You may take one of the saddle-horses, of course, if you are determined to go."
"I am, and I thank you for your generosity, Bingley."
Henry went to his chamber to retrieve his boots, and a servant was ready with his hat and greatcoat by the time he came downstairs. He was surprised to see Bingley waiting in the entry to see him off.
"Please give my best wishes to Miss Bennet," he said in a low voice. "Tell her that we shall certainly call within the next few days, when we are sure that she is quite recovered from her illness."
"Bingley, will not you reconsider accompanying me? I am sure the Bennets would be delighted to see you."
"I cannot very well go off and leave my guests to entertain themselves, and Darcy does not wish to go."
Henry nodded. "You are correct, of course. You do not mind that I am leaving the company this afternoon?"
"Of course not. Just--just remember to give Miss Bennet my message."
"I shall not forget, my friend." Bingley grinned at him, and it was as if the sun had finally come from behind the clouds. Henry hid a grin of his own and went out to where a groom stood with a saddled horse.
The ride to Longbourn was indeed dirty, but Bingley's horse was a good one, and they managed the trip in good time. Henry swung his leg casually over the saddle in front of him and slid gracefully to the ground in a single motion. He handed the horse's reins to a groom and looked up at the house. It was not as large as Netherfield Park or Northanger Abbey, and certainly not as magnificent as Pemberley, but it was solid and attractive. Henry rang the bell and presented his card to the butler, who disappeared for a few moments and came back to conduct him into the drawing-room.
"Mr. Tilney!" cried Mrs. Bennet, rising to greet him. "We are so happy that you came to call today!"
Henry was all astonishment. Mrs. Bennet had never before shown him more than the barest civility.
The lady continued to speak. "You must meet our cousin, Mr. Collins, who has just now arrived. He is a clergyman, like you!"
A tall, heavy-looking young man of five and twenty rose from the chair next to Miss Bennet and made an elaborate bow. "Mr. Tilney and I are already acquainted. We were at Oxford together."
Tilney nodded his head rather coldly in the other man's direction. He well remembered William Collins; at Oxford, he had been dismissive and supercilious with his fellow students, all of whom disliked him heartily. He had further alienated his peers by carrying stories of the misbehaviour of the other undergraduates to the proctors, thereby currying favour for himself. He constantly boasted of how the Church would be no more than a temporary career for him, as he was destined to inherit a great estate in Hertfordshire. He must be the cousin Elizabeth had spoken of who was to inherit Longbourn.
"How delightful! Then you must dine with us, Mr. Tilney. I am sure that you and Mr. Collins have a great deal to talk about."
Collins simpered and bowed and said he was "very glad," and Henry managed to mutter an acceptance that did not sound overly rude. His eyes met Lizzy's, which were dancing with unexpressed humour, and this improved his mood greatly. He took a seat and glanced up to find Mr. Bennet watching him gravely.
Henry had not previously had an opportunity to become closely acquainted with Elizabeth's father. At the informal dinners that they had both attended, they had not been seated together, and in the latter part of the evening, Mr. Bennet usually sought out the card tables or the host's library while Henry made himself agreeable to the young ladies present. Mr. Bennet was a tall man, and his hair had mostly turned white, although it showed signs of previously having been as dark as Henry's own. He had a long, sardonic face, a brown skin, and dark eyes that showed intelligence and humour. The two men gazed at each other for a long moment, and then Mr. Bennet's face relaxed in a small smile, as did Henry's. Henry felt as if he and Mr. Bennet had the same sort of silent communication that he shared with Lizzy, and thought that he liked the older man very much and would enjoy becoming acquainted with him.
Collins had not stopped speaking since he had returned to his seat. "Mrs. Bennet, may I extend my most sincere compliments on having such a fine family of daughters. I have heard much of their beauty, but, in this instance, fame has fallen short of the truth. I have no doubt of you seeing them all in due time well disposed of in marriage."
Miss Lydia Bennet, who had been whispering with her sister Kitty, rolled her eyes at this gallantry, but her mother was delighted. "You are very kind, sir, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it may prove so; for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so oddly."
Collins replied in his pompous manner, "You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate."
Mr. Bennet shifted impatiently in his seat at this remark, and Henry was sympathetic. Imagine seeing one's fortune and this fine house entailed away from one's own family to such a man as Collins!
"Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for such things, I know, are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed."
"I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins, and could say much on the subject, but that I am
cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them.
At present I will not say more, but perhaps when we are better acquainted--"
He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled on each other. Henry was no less glad, as Collins' rather bald hints and the intensity of the gaze he directed to the eldest Miss Bennet made him uncomfortable, and, judging by her blush and downcast eyes, it made Miss Bennet uncomfortable as well. I must warn Bingley that he has a rival! he thought in some amusement, although he did not consider Collins a serious threat to his friend's chances.
Collins led the way into the dining room with Mrs. Bennet on his arm. Mr. Bennet took in his eldest daughter, and Henry was delighted to find Elizabeth on his arm.
"My father has been looking forward to this visit greatly," she whispered to him as Collins loudly extolled the virtues of the hall, the dining-room, and the furniture within it; Henry could not escape the feeling that Collins was inventorying the contents of his future inheritance. "He hoped that Mr. Collins would not be a sensible man, and I believe all his fondest wishes have been answered."
Henry laughed. "From what I remember of Collins from Oxford, your father will be greatly entertained by his guest this evening, as will we all." He held Elizabeth's chair while she seated herself, and took his own place across from Collins, at Mr. Bennet's left hand.
The dinner also received Collins' highest admiration. "Pray tell me, Mrs. Bennet," he said, helping himself to yet another portion of roasted beef, "to which of my fair cousins' domestic skill is this delightful meal owing?"
Mrs. Bennet replied with some asperity, "We are very well able to keep a good cook, and I assure you that my daughters have nothing to do in the kitchen, unlike the daughters of some of our neighbours."
"My dear madam, I beg your pardon. I am sure that I did not mean to displease you."
In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to apologise for about a quarter of an hour.
During dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants were withdrawn, he observed, "Mr. Collins, you seem very fortunate in your patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attention to your wishes, and consideration for your comfort, appear very remarkable."
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh?" exclaimed Henry. "She is your patroness?"
"Oh, yes," said Collins, fixing him with a supercilious gaze. "And who is the grantor of your living, Mr. Tilney?"
"I hold a family living that was granted by my father," said Henry. "The parish is called Woodston, in Gloucestershire."
"But your family does not live in the parish?"
"No. My father's holdings are quite extensive." Henry was not given to boasting of his father's wealth, but he was entirely given to setting down puffed-up fools a peg or two.
"Yes, well," said Collins, somewhat deflated, "you have heard of Lady Catherine? I am not surprised that you have, for she is a daughter of the Earl of --------, and her estate, Rosings Park, is one of the finest in the country--"
Henry, sensing a lengthy panegyric to the merits of Lady Catherine, interrupted him rather rudely with, "Yes, Lady Catherine is the aunt of my very good friend Fitzwilliam Darcy."
Mrs. Bennet and her two eldest daughters cried out their astonishment. "Have you met Lady Catherine, Mr. Tilney?" asked Jane.
"No, I have never met her, but Darcy speaks of her occasionally." He decided that it might be best not to elaborate on the exact content of those conversations.
Mrs. Bennet said to Collins, "Mr. Darcy is staying in the neighbourhood at Netherfield Park with his friend Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bingley's sisters and brother-in-law, as is Mr. Tilney."
"Indeed, madam!" cried Collins. "Then I must pay my respects to Lady Catherine's nephew! I hope that I can rely on you for an introduction, Mr. Tilney?"
Henry silently cursed Collins for putting him in the position of being forced to introduce such a pandering fool to his friend. "We shall have to see if the opportunity for such an introduction presents itself," he said. Collins seemed wholly satisfied with his answer, however indefinite.
"You must tell Lady Catherine that we have been acquainted with her nephew," said Mrs. Bennet. "I am sure that will raise you in her good opinion."
"I am sure, madam, that I have never in my life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank -- such affability and condescension, as I have myself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to approve of both the discourses which I have already had the honour of preaching before her. She has also asked me twice to dine at Rosings, and sent for me only the Saturday before, to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many people I know, but I have never seen any thing but affability in her. She has always spoken to me as she would to any other gentleman; she made not the smallest objection to my joining in the society of the neighbourhood, nor to my leaving his parish occasionally for a week or two, to visit my relations."
Henry had always regretted that Woodston had no resident squire, as such a person perhaps would have been a companion, a friend to relieve his solitude at the parsonage; however, listening to Collins' discourse, Henry decided that no squire was better than such a one as Lady Catherine.
Collins continued to speak. "She has even condescended to advise me to marry as soon as he could, provided I chose with discretion," he added, glancing at Miss Bennet with an expression that he probably thought complimentary, which Henry reflected made him look as if his dinner had not agreed with him. Then he glanced sharply at Henry and added, "Mr. Tilney, are you a married man, sir?"
"I am not yet married, but I am engaged, sir."
Collins was delighted; this Tilney was no rival for the hand of the lovely Miss Bennet. "Excellent, excellent! Lady Catherine says, and I agree, that all clergymen should marry. It not only sets the example for the parish, but it ensures that the parson is a settled man. I am sure that you would agree, sir. The Church is such a wholesome profession for a married man, as Lady Catherine says. Her condescension, sir, beyond anything that one of my station could hope for, I cannot praise more highly. She once paid me a visit in my humble parsonage, where she had perfectly approved all the alterations I have been making, and had even vouchsafed to suggest some herself: some shelves in the closets up stairs."
Elizabeth, seated next to Collins, suddenly coughed and brought her napkin up to cover her mouth, her eyes sparkling in Henry's direction.
"That is all very proper and civil, I am sure," said Mrs. Bennet, "and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?"
"The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence."
"I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?"
"She has one only daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property."
"Ah!" cried Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, "then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?"
"She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that in point of true beauty, Miss De Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex; because there is that in her features which marks the young woman of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her making that progress in many accomplishments which she could not otherwise have failed of; as I am informed by the lady who superintended her education, and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies."
This was quite a different picture of Miss de Bourgh than that presented by Darcy, who had described his cousin as "thin, rather plain, rarely goes into company" in a completely disinterested tone of voice.
Mrs. Bennet, however, was clearly fascinated by the wealthy and mysterious Miss de Bourgh. "Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court."
"Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea, and you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her." He leaned toward Mr. Bennet and Henry with a confidential air. "These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay."
"You judge very properly," said Mr. Bennet, "and it is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?"
Elizabeth choked once again into her napkin, and Jane hastily raised her glass of water to her lips.
"They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible."
Henry could resist no longer. "In that case, sir," he said, his countenance as grave and composed as Mr. Bennet's, "may I suggest that you take the time to rehearse these little elegant compliments whilst gazing at yourself in a mirror? Do you not agree, Mr. Bennet, that the aspect of one's countenance only reinforces the sincerity of one's words?"
"Indeed, Mr. Tilney. The expression is everything. I add my recommendation to Mr. Tilney's. I believe that practice is necessary to making such compliments felt as they truly should be." Mr. Bennet's face was all seriousness, but his eyes twinkled with humour that was reflected in Henry's own.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Bennet," said Henry, his face still grave. "I agree. A great deal of practice is necessary, I think. You should not even delay until you return to your home, Collins; you must begin directly. It is never too soon to make yourself perfect in these compliments; you never know when they may be required. There is a looking-glass in your chamber here at Longbourn, I trust?"
"Oh dear," said Elizabeth in a strangled voice. "I seem to have dropped my spoon." She dove under the table to retrieve the item, and had another choking fit while doing so. Jane shakily refilled her water glass and gulped at it in an uncharacteristically unladylike manner.
Collins did not notice these interruptions, but gazed at Henry with deep consideration. "I believe you are correct, Mr. Tilney. I shall take your advice, sir. I shall assemble a small store of compliments--you know, the sort that all ladies like, that will do for many occasions--and I shall rehearse them in the looking-glass. I thank you, sir! You are most kind!"
"My pleasure," said Henry, sure that Collins had absolutely no idea what real pleasure his foolish conversation had given in more than one quarter. Elizabeth had sat up in her chair once more, her face rather flushed, and she looked pleadingly at Henry as if begging him to stop. Henry smiled at her with his eyes, then glanced over at Mr. Bennet. The older man sat with his elbow resting on the table, his chin propped on one hand, looking at Henry approvingly. Two pair of dark eyes exchanged unsmiling sparkles of humour, and once again there was that strange sense of communication between them.
When the ladies withdrew, however, all the humour came to an end. Mr. Bennet's excellent port made Collins even more loquacious, and after thirty minutes of listening to his guest sing the praises of Lady Catherine, Miss de Bourgh, and Rosings Park, both Henry and his host were happy enough to go into the drawing-room for tea.
When tea was over, Mr. Bennet, weary of his cousin's chatter, asked him if he would care to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Collins readily assented, and a book was produced; but on beholding it (for everything announced it to be from a circulating library), he started back, and begging pardon, protested that he never read novels. Kitty stared at him, and Lydia exclaimed.
"Mr. Tilney, surely you will support me in this," cried the beleaguered Collins, mistakenly thinking he had found an ally in Henry. "Surely you, as a clergyman, do not support the reading of novels by young ladies!"
"On the contrary," said Henry. "I enjoy a novel very much myself. I can hardly condemn a young lady for wishing to read one."
"But surely, sir, you do not recommend that your fiancee read such books?"
"Miss Morland has read a great many novels, and with pleasure. I have cautioned her against taking fictitious stories too much to heart, and she has learned to enjoy novels without being negatively affected by them." Collins certainly did not need to know the rest of Catherine's adventure with the works of Mrs. Radcliffe.
"I do not scruple to confess myself greatly surprised!" cried Collins. "How can you countenance such behaviour in your future wife? Lady Catherine says, and I concur, that the reading of novels has contributed to the general lack of morals in our generation, and that the authors who produce such trash should be severely censured."
"You would censure the authors of novels, sir? I cannot agree. Although their productions have afforded more extensive and unaffected pleasure than those of any other literary corporation in the world, no species of composition has been so much decried. From pride, ignorance, or fashion, their foes are almost as many as their readers. And while the abilities of the nine-hundredth abridger of the History of England, or of the man who collects and publishes in a volume some dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper from the Spectator, and a chapter from Sterne, are eulogized by a thousand pens, there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them. I cannot support it, nor the common practice today of censuring young ladies who read such novels, making them ashamed of an activity which provides such wholesome enjoyment. 'Oh! it is only a novel!' the young lady will say, while she lays down her book with affected indifference, or momentary shame. 'It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda;' or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language. Now, had Miss Lydia Bennet or Miss Catherine Bennet presented you with a volume of the Spectator, instead of a novel, how readily you would have given their reading-matter your approval; though you must agree, Collins, that the chances must be against those young ladies being occupied by any part of that voluminous publication, of which either the matter or manner would not disgust a young person of taste: the substance of its papers so often consisting in the statement of improbable circumstances, unnatural characters, and topics of conversation which no longer concern anyone living; and their language, too, frequently so coarse as to give no very favourable idea of the age that could endure it."
Collins stared at him, as did the two youngest Miss Bennets. Mr. Bennet, who had followed the whole conversation with a grave countenance that did not match the sparkle in his eyes, said only, "Perhaps you would like to read to the ladies, then, Mr. Tilney?"
"With pleasure, sir!" cried Henry, and Kitty hastened to hand him the book, which proved to be one of Miss Edgeworth's works. Collins, somewhat offended although he professed himself perfectly sanguine, turned to Mr. Bennet and offered himself as his antagonist at backgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the challenge, observing that he acted very wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements.
After a half hour or so, Lydia and Kitty grew tired of Miss Edgeworth, and gave Henry leave to lay the book aside. He took a seat next to Elizabeth, who was engaged with her needlework.
She glanced up at him gravely. "You are very impertinent, Mr. Tilney," she said. "Teasing Mr. Collins in such a way, and encouraging my father in his own bad behaviour! I sensed that you two would get along, but I had no idea how well!"
"Miss Bennet, surely you cannot expect me to pass up such an opportunity to amuse you and your sisters. I should not be able to call myself a gentleman otherwise, and I am sure the Mr. Bennet feels the same way."
"Oh, yes," said Elizabeth archly, "I am quite sure that was your intention, to amuse me and my sisters! Your altruism is commendable, sir."
"I thank you, madam."
In such enjoyable conversation with Elizabeth and, later, with Jane, the evening passed quickly. Henry finally excused himself and called for his horse. The entire family accompanied him to the door, where he bowed to the ladies and Collins. Mr. Bennet, to Henry's great surprise, held out his hand.
"You may call at Longbourn anytime, Mr. Tilney," he said.
"I should like that very much, sir," Henry replied. "I cannot stay in Hertfordshire much longer; my duties call me back to Woodston. However, I hope to see you again before my departure."
"Yes, well." The older man turned back to the house with a dismissive wave, and Mr. Collins and the ladies followed him. Henry mounted his horse and turned to ride away; but as he glanced back at the house, he saw Mr. Bennet's face at the library window, smiling at him.
Chapter VIII
Answering a knock at his bedchamber door the following morning, Henry was a little startled to find Bingley on the other side. "Did you give my message to Miss Bennet?" he asked anxiously.
Henry managed not to smile. "I informed Mrs. Bennet that you intended to call and inquire after Miss Bennet's health sometime this week. She was most gratified."
Bingley bit his lip and looked away. "You were correct, of course. It would not have been entirely proper for me to send a private message to Miss Bennet."
"I can tell you, however, that Miss Bennet was privy to my conversation with her mother and blushed in a very proper, demure, and ladylike manner," Henry could not resist adding, and was rewarded with his friend's delighted smile.
"I shall go today," Bingley declared. "Will you join me?"
"Yes, but let us call early," said Henry. "I would not have the Bennets thinking I am there for another dinner."
At breakfast, Bingley announced his plans and invited the others to join him. The Hursts and Miss Bingley declined, to no one's surprise, although Miss Bingley sent her best love to Miss Bennet. Darcy considered, and seemed about to decline, but after a moment agreed to accompany his friends. Some time later, the gentlemen accordingly mounted their horses and set off for Longbourn.
The road took them through Meryton, where a group of young ladies were gathered on the pavement with three gentleman, one wearing regimentals. As they drew closer, Henry recognized the Miss Bennets, their cousin, and Mr. Denny, the gentleman of the militia. Bingley recognized them as well, and rode toward them wearing a wide smile.
"Miss Bennet!" he cried upon gaining the attention of the object of his gallantry. "We were on our way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after you! I am gratified to see that you are well enough to take exercise outdoors." Miss Bennet smiled up at him sweetly.
Henry watched Collins carefully, but he did not seem to be put out by Bingley's rather marked attentions to Miss Bennet. Henry also noticed that Collins was standing rather closer than necessary to Elizabeth, who was clearly not pleased. Oh, no, poor Lizzy, he thought in some amusement. I detect the fine hand of Mrs. Bennet in this. She must have told Collins that Jane had a potential lover, and he transferred his affections to the next sister! Well, one certainly cannot fault his taste. Henry had no worries that Elizabeth would fall prey to Collins' powers of seduction, nor that Mr. Bennet would allow a marriage between them. However, Collins was clearly determined to marry one of the Bennet girls, and Henry could not imagine Mrs. Bennet allowing Longbourn to slip from her control if it was in her power to retain it, even if it would be through the rights of a mother-in-law. Perhaps Miss Mary Bennet could be prevailed upon to accept him, he thought with a barely suppressed smile. She is of a philosophical turn of mind and will make a good wife for an ambitious clergyman. And, should they inherit, she would probably never realize that her mother remained the true mistress of Longbourn.
Denny was introducing his companion to Bingley, and as the man turned toward Henry and Darcy, who had remained a little back from the group, Henry was surprised at Darcy's expression; his eyes grew wide and registered surprise and not a little anger; his mouth was tight and his jaw rigid. Then Henry recognized Denny's companion as George Wickham, the son of the former steward of Pemberley. Wickham's reaction was no less strong; his eyes showed a flash of surprise and anger that was quickly quenched; he assumed a bland expression and, after a few moments, touched his hat, a salutation which Darcy just deigned to return.
Henry had met Wickham during visits to Pemberley before the death of Darcy's father five years previously, but had not seen or heard of him since, from Darcy or any other source. As Darcy steadfastly avoided Wickham's company whenever possible, Henry did not know him well; however, his own powers of observation had told him that Mr. Wickham's air of gentility and breeding was often given lie by his behaviour. The elder Mr. Darcy had doted on young Wickham, who exerted himself to be engaging to the father while being consistently uncivil and disrespectful to the son. Henry remembered a fishing expedition to the Pemberley lake one hot summer's day while he and Darcy were down from Eton. Wickham accompanied them at the urging of Mr. Darcy, and there was a heated exchange between Darcy and Wickham that nearly turned into a brawl, with Henry and the gillie desperately trying to separate the combatants. 'Tis strange, mused Henry to himself. One would think that two boys, brought up together as were Darcy and Wickham, would get along as brothers. Then he recalled his relationship with his own brother, Frederick, and understood his friend a little better.
The ladies professed their intention to visit their aunt Philips, so Bingley, satisfied with seeing Miss Bennet well and glad to see him, was ready to return to Netherfield Park. They took their leave and turned their horses about.
Bingley was in high spirits, and his conversation with Henry kept the latter from noticing that Darcy had fallen back and did not join in their conversation or even appear to be listening. Finally, Bingley lapsed into silent contemplation, and Henry reined in his mount and fell back abreast of Darcy. He noted the tightness of his friend's jaw and the whiteness around his lips, and said quietly, "The appearance of Wickham in Hertfordshire has disturbed you, Darcy?"
"It has indeed."
"I know you two have never really gotten on well, but there will be little chance of meeting him except as a single member of a large group. I dare say you may avoid him easily." Henry studied his friend's face more closely and added, "Darcy, what is it? This is not a mere manifestation of boyhood antagonism. What injury has Wickham given you?"
"I cannot speak of it," said Darcy, his strong emotions obvious though tightly controlled. "Even to you, Tilney. Suffice to say that he has importuned my family in the most infamous way possible." He slapped the horse's rump with his crop and galloped ahead.
Henry was all astonishment. It must have something to do with Mr. Darcy's estate, he thought. Wickham probably wanted more than he was given, or perhaps was given more than he deserved. Henry knew how much regard Darcy had had for his late father; it was Wickham's offhand, disrespectful remark about the squire that had begun the altercation all those years ago. If Wickham had somehow importuned Darcy in reference to the disposition of his father's estate, that would indeed explain Darcy's anger.
Henry sighed and clucked to the horse, increasing its speed so that he could catch up to his friends. He must take care to keep Darcy and Wickham apart as much as possible; but what would happen when he returned to Woodston in a week's time?
"I have been thinking," mused Bingley at dinner that evening. "Now that Miss Bennet is well, it is time that I set a date for the ball. I promised Miss Lydia Bennet that she should name the date of the ball, and when I saw her today, we agreed that one evening next week would do very well."
"I must return to Woodston on Wednesday," Henry reminded his friend.
"Of course. I have business in London on Wednesday as well, and must stay some two or three days. Will Tuesday night be acceptable? Or will you find it impossible to drive that fancy curricle of yours after an evening of wine and dancing?" Bingley's eyes twinkled at Henry.
"I can out-drive you after a week of such dissipation, my friend," Henry retorted, laughing.
"Then Tuesday it is," Bingley declared with a grin. "What say you, Darcy?"
"I dare say one day will do as well as another."
"Caroline? May I depend upon you to act as hostess?"
"Of course, Charles, if you are really determined upon having this ball." Miss Bingley's disinterest so matched Darcy's that she could almost be a puppet, miming the words that came from Darcy's mouth.
"Tilney, you will be returning to Netherfield when your business is completed?"
"Yes, I expect to return the Monday following."
"Excellent. I should hate to see our merry party broken up." Bingley beamed at them all and applied himself to his roasted fowl.
The evening of the ball finally arrived. Netherfield Park had been plunged into a flurry of activity for several days, but at last all was ready; the drawing-room, dining-room, and ballroom were festooned with flowers and greenery and banks of candles, which twinkled and reflected from the mirrors and gilt. The guests began to arrive, and they too shimmered in the candlelight, the jewels of the ladies glittering and the eyes of the young people shining. In the middle of all of them was Bingley, seemingly everywhere at once, smiling and welcoming, completely in his element.
Henry watched Darcy nervously pacing the perimeter of the drawing-room and sighed. He had been dreading the moment when Wickham entered the house ever since he had learned that Bingley had issued an invitation to the militia officers. He knew he could trust Darcy not to make a scene in Bingley's home, but he did not know Wickham well enough to form an opinion on that gentleman's behaviour. It would be best to keep them apart, but how would that be possible in a crowded ballroom?
He saw Elizabeth Bennet in the drawing-room, looking about her anxiously, as if waiting for someone. She was wearing a particularly lovely gown and her hair was dressed in a becoming style, festooned with flowers and ribbons. He walked over to join her and was rewarded by a smile and a warm if somewhat distracted greeting, while she continued to peek over his shoulder toward a cluster of red coats there assembled.
Henry was very much amused. Lizzy must have formed a tendre for one of the officers! I wonder which one? And I wonder what Collins thinks of it? He did not question her, however, but merely made small talk about the weather and the state of the roads, which were still quite dirty from the rain they had received over the past several days.
Lydia Bennet flounced toward them and rather rudely interrupted their tête-à-tête. "Lizzy," she demanded, "have you seen Mr. Wickham? I had hoped to dance with him, and Mr. Denny and Mr. Carter and the other officers are here, but Mr. Wickham has never arrived!"
"I have not seen him," said Elizabeth quietly. She glanced rather pointedly at Henry and added, "Perhaps he was not included in Mr. Bingley's invitation."
"Come with me. We shall ask Mr. Denny." Lydia seized her sister's wrist and dragged her toward the group of officers. Elizabeth shrugged and glanced apologetically at Henry, who trailed behind them, as interested in Wickham's whereabouts as the young ladies, although for an entirely different reason.
Lydia eagerly applied to Denny, who told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, and was not yet returned. Lydia's lower lip protruded and she turned away, thus missing Denny's next words, which he delivered to Elizabeth with a significant smile. "I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here."
Henry saw the flash of anger in Elizabeth's eyes with a sinking heart. Oh, no, she cannot have developed an affection for Wickham! Of all the officers, she would choose him! At the same time he experienced gratitude for Wickham's forbearance in staying away from the ball, which a less charitable part of him labeled cowardice. Before he could say anything to her, Elizabeth turned to walk away and was confronted by Darcy, who addressed her with great civility.
"Good evening, Miss Bennet," he said politely. "You are well, I trust?"
"I thank you, yes," she said, rather more shortly than was normal for her. Henry frowned; surely she does not blame Darcy for Wickham's absence! She cannot even know their relationship...or can she? What can he have told her?
"And your family, they are all in health? Your sister seems to be quite recovered from her illness."
"Yes, Jane is well, as is my family. I thank you for your concern, sir." She pushed past him and walked away while Darcy was opening his mouth for his next question. His face registered bewilderment and not a little injury; Henry was no less bewildered, and he followed Elizabeth into the ballroom, where she stood with Charlotte Lucas.
"Miss Lucas," he greeted her. "Do forgive my interruption, but I must have a word with Miss Bennet."
Elizabeth glared at him. "Anything you have to say to me, Mr. Tilney, you may certainly say in front of Charlotte."
"Very well, madam. I was simply wondering if my friend Darcy has offered you some kind of insult."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, your recent behaviour toward Darcy was of such an uncharacteristically uncivil tone that I assumed that he must have importuned you in some disgraceful manner. If you will acquaint me with the particulars, I shall confront him directly, and you shall have his apology." He watched her face carefully.
Elizabeth raised her eyes to Henry's, and he saw impatience in them, bordering on anger. "It is not I who has been importuned by Mr. Darcy, nor I who is owed an apology. Much more than an apology."
"I see. You have been speaking with Mr. Wickham."
"I have indeed."
"And you took his word as to his relationship with Darcy."
"And why should I not?"
Henry chose his words carefully. "You should be cautious in your dealings with Mr. Wickham. His character is not consistent with his appearance."
Elizabeth tilted her head to one side and looked at Henry curiously. "Do you know Mr. Wickham very well?"
"No, I am not very well acquainted with him, but--"
Her dark eyes flashed. "Then you have your information from Mr. Darcy! I at least make my judgments from what I have observed with my own eyes!"
Henry clamped down his growing impatience. "Miss Bennet, I am not well acquainted with Mr. Wickham, but I have been in company with him, and I have observed him with my own eyes as well. And I can tell you that he is able to present himself however he wishes you to perceive him. However, this facade is as false as--as a coat of whitewash on a crumbling building. The exterior is clean and perfect, but underneath there is rot and decay."
"You have observed Mr. Wickham in company, and I have observed Mr. Darcy in company. You tell me that Mr. Darcy is perfectly amiable amongst his friends, but I have experienced no such amiability, even when among those whom he calls his friends; on the contrary, my family and I have been on the receiving end of his incivilities. You tell me that Mr. Wickham is not to be trusted, when I have spoken with him at length and found him to be a perfectly unexceptionable young man. I beg your pardon, Mr. Tilney, but considering our past differences of opinion, I am having a difficult time trusting your powers of observation over my own, which are uncoloured by the bonds of friendship and are based on unbiased and disinterested perception."
"Unbiased? Disinterested? On the contrary, madam! Come, confess! You are interested in Wickham, and will entertain no advice from truly unbiased parties, who have only your best interests in mind!"
Elizabeth flushed angrily. "How dare you! You are not my father, or my brother, and have no right to speak to me so!"
"I hoped that I had the right as your friend. I see I was wrong."
Two pair of identical brown eyes glared at each other until they were interrupted by the gentle voice of Miss Lucas, who endeavoured to point out to Elizabeth that Collins was hovering nearby, waiting to claim his cousin's hand for the first two dances. Elizabeth placed her hand on Collins' arm and walked away, her head high and her cheeks burning, without looking back at Henry.
He sighed and turned to Miss Lucas, who was smiling faintly. "I beg your pardon, madam. I would not have had you witness that."
She laughed gently. "You only said the things that I would say to Eliza, although perhaps not quite so forcefully. She is foolish, in my opinion, to throw away the regard of Mr. Darcy for a man of such little consequence as Mr. Wickham."
Henry stared at her. "Regard? Of Darcy? I am afraid that you are mistaken, Miss Lucas. I believe Darcy's heart to be engaged elsewhere." He pushed away his distaste yet again at the thought of Darcy marrying Caroline Bingley.
Her eyebrow raised. "Am I mistaken? I am beginning to agree with Eliza's assessment of your powers of observation, Mr. Tilney." She pointed across the room with her fan. "Look at him now."
Darcy was standing in a corner, watching Elizabeth dancing with Collins, a smile softening his handsome features. At first Henry thought he was amused by her partner, who was certainly a potential object of ridicule; awkward and solemn,
apologizing instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it, giving Elizabeth all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give. Henry's ire melted away at the sight of her mortification. Then he glanced back at Darcy and realized that Miss Lucas was correct. Darcy was not laughing at Collins; indeed he was not even aware of him. He had eyes only for Elizabeth. There was affection in Darcy's gaze, and his smile was more wistful than mocking. Good God, Henry thought in utter astonishment. Darcy is in love with Lizzy!
His mind reeled as it played back all the events of the past weeks. Darcy's incivility to the Bennets, then his attentions to Elizabeth during her stay at Netherfield--they were more than just polite. Henry's face flushed as he remembered his private conversation with Darcy by the pianoforte. I thought he was speaking of Caroline Bingley when he said that he had been bewitched, he thought in mortification. He was speaking of Lizzy. And his censure of my conduct with her! Of course, he was jealous of my friendship with Lizzy! How could I not have realized this? I, his oldest friend, who boasted of my deep knowledge of Darcy's character and heart! Perhaps Lizzy is right; perhaps my perceptions cannot be trusted, of Wickham or anyone else. He sighed and turned back to Charlotte, who watched him with the same faint smile. "Miss Lucas, would you care to dance with the greatest fool in the kingdom?"
"No, Mr. Tilney," she laughed. "But I should very much like to dance with you."
Henry smiled and bowed, accepting her gentle compliment. He offered her his arm and they joined the set. His thoughts were distracted, but he did his best to be charming to his partner, and she responded with smiles and laughter. Her rather plain features were graced with a becoming blush, which Henry attributed to the exertions of the dance; his vanity did not extend to thinking his company the cause of her heightened colour, being more accustomed to the openly worshipful regard of his own Catherine. At the close of the set, Henry delivered her back to her friend, whose eyes met his and then glanced away coldly. He had been going to ask Elizabeth to be his partner for the next two dances, but instead he turned on his heel and left them, and his reawakened anger did not allow him to look back. If he had, he would have seen an expression on Miss Lucas' face similar to that he had seen not long before on the face of his friend Darcy.
Henry joined Darcy, who was still hidden away in a corner, thus avoiding the attentions of the mammas and allowing him to watch Elizabeth's movements. "You are not dancing, Tilney?" he asked in some surprise.
"I would like to dance, but I have no partner at present," he responded shortly.
Darcy looked at his friend with raised eyebrows. "I expected you would ask Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he said, then glanced away and added, "You always seem to favour her."
Henry smiled to himself and said, "Why do you not ask her to be your partner, Darcy?" Elizabeth's hand was claimed at that moment by one of the officers, who led her to the set. "She certainly seems inclined to dance tonight."
"Why should I set myself up for disappointment?" his friend said quietly. "You saw how she behaved when I attempted to speak with her earlier. I am sure that if I ask her to dance she will decline."
"Well, if you do not ask her, she cannot accept, either," said Henry archly, and left to join Lady Lucas' party, where he was introduced to Mrs. Long's nieces, the eldest of whom he promptly asked to dance. When those dances were over he requested the hand of her sister, and thus it was not until the music began that he noticed Darcy had taken a place in the set, and stood opposite Elizabeth.
He wondered briefly what had made Elizabeth change her manner toward Darcy so completely; then he realized that he was dancing to the same music with which he had first danced with Catherine, all those months ago at the Lower Rooms in Bath. His thoughts were necessarily drawn to her, but he had at last conquered melancholy at the thought of his lady, and he was able to conduct himself in such a way that Mrs. Long's nieces later told their aunt that Mr. Tilney was a most agreeable gentleman indeed.
At the close of the dances, Henry delivered Miss Franklin back to her aunt with a gallant bow that made her smile and blush. He turned away and saw Darcy walk away from Elizabeth, his face sternly set. He tried to catch Elizabeth's eye, but she was accosted by Miss Bingley. Their exchange was not a pleasant one, judging by Elizabeth's angry expression and Caroline's disdainful sneer; Henry stood by rather stupidly, debating whether he should interfere, when Miss Bingley turned away, her expression haughtier than ever.
Elizabeth, looking around, caught Henry's eye; he smiled, but she frowned and glanced away. He would have joined her in an attempt to re-establish their former good will, when his elbow was seized by Bingley. "Tilney," his friend said in a low voice, "Miss Bennet has been asking me questions about Wickham! What do you know about him?"
"I know that his father was Mr. Darcy's steward," said Henry. "And I know he has importuned Darcy's family in some way."
"Yes, Darcy has told me that much," his friend replied. "Do you know the particulars?"
"I do not. Does Miss Bennet require particulars?"
"I believe that Miss Elizabeth Bennet is interested in Wickham. I warned Miss Bennet that she should caution her sister that Wickham's character is not what it should be." Bingley frowned and watched Jane, who stood talking to Elizabeth.
Henry sighed. "I have already cautioned her, Bingley. She is convinced that Darcy is engaged in a campaign to sully Wickham's reputation, little realizing that Wickham needs no assistance in that endeavour."
"Perhaps I should ask Darcy," Bingley mused. "If I was able to give the exact particulars--"
"No," said Henry immediately. "Do not mention Wickham's name to Darcy. Not now, not here. I would not have your ball disrupted."
Bingley smiled. "You are a good friend, Tilney. Very well, I will follow your advice. Hopefully Miss Bennet will be able to convince her sister without our interference."
Henry watched as Elizabeth shook her head impatiently and grasped Jane's hand. "I share your hope, Bingley, although the signs are not promising."
"I must speak to the servants about the supper. Excuse me, Tilney."
"Of course." Henry went to stand by Darcy, who was gazing thoughtfully at Elizabeth and Jane.
"Are you enjoying the ball, Darcy?" Henry asked him brightly.
Darcy lifted and eyebrow and said in tones of high irony, "Oh, yes. It has been a delightful evening."
Henry could not help but laugh. "I am glad to see that you have retained your sense of humor, sir! My tutelage has not been a complete waste."
"Tell me, Tilney," said Darcy, ignoring his banter, "do you think that Bingley likes Miss Bennet?"
"I do indeed, and I applaud his taste. She is a lovely young lady."
"Yes, but does she return his regard, do you think?"
Henry was not sure how to respond. "She seems to enjoy his attentions."
"Of course she enjoys his attentions. What young lady would not? But do you think she has very deep feelings for him?"
"Why do you ask?"
Darcy's frown grew deeper. "It has come to my attention that all of Meryton expects our friend to announce his engagement to Miss Bennet at any time."
"I must say, Darcy, that such an announcement would not surprise me in the least. You do not approve?"
"No. I cannot approve. She has no fortune, and her family is objectionable."
Henry began to grow angry. "Her family is perfectly unexceptionable! Bingley is a gentleman, and Miss Bennet is a gentleman's daughter! How can you object on those grounds?"
"If there were mutual affection in the case, I could not object. Bingley is fortunately in a position to marry without regard to fortune. But if he is to make a marriage with a young woman who does not return his affection, I would see him at least make a connection that will not expose him to the censure of society."
"You do not think that Miss Bennet returns Bingley's affection?" Henry turned back to look at Elizabeth and Jane, who had been joined by Bingley.
"No, I do not. Watch her, Tilney. She smiles, but her countenance is serene. I see no symptoms of love in her expression."
Henry watched Jane, who was smiling up at Bingley. "I am sorry, Darcy, I cannot agree. Every young lady expresses her affection differently."
Darcy glanced at his friend. "How certain were you of Miss Morland's affection when you offered her your hand?"
Henry smiled widely. "Quite sure. But I was afraid that my father's behaviour had set her against me irrevocably."
"Yes, but before your father put her from the Abbey, were you sure of her affection?"
"I was indeed."
Darcy's gaze returned to Bingley and Miss Bennet. "And yet you cannot read such signs of affection in Miss Bennet's expression?"
Henry had to admit that he could not. Darcy nodded to himself thoughtfully, and then his attention was claimed by Collins, who had suddenly appeared before him.
"Mr. Darcy," he greeted with an obsequious bow. "I could not let the opportunity pass to pay my respects to you. Indeed, I consider it a solemn point of duty."
Darcy was staring at him as if he were a wild beast on display in a zoo. "I beg your pardon, sir. I do not believe that we have been introduced."
Collins gave Henry a significant glance and cleared his throat. Henry said reluctantly, "Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, may I present Mr. William Collins?"
Henry would have said more, but Collins began to babble. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir! I hold the living of Hunsford by the obliging condescension of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh. You may imagine my joy when I learned that the nephew of my esteemed patroness was in the same neighbourhood as my cousins, the Bennets. And it is my very great pleasure to pass to you the intelligence that Lady Catherine was quite well yesterday se'nnight."
"That is very good news," said Darcy in tones of cold civility.
"Please accept my most sincere apology for failing to pay my respects to you previously, but I have been much engaged with my cousins." To Henry's mingled amusement and horror, he glanced back tellingly toward Elizabeth.
Collins paused, and Darcy saw that he should say something. "I am so well convinced of Lady Catherine's discernment as to be certain she could never bestow a favour unworthily." Henry nearly laughed aloud at the irony in Darcy's tone, which was fortunately lost on Collins.
"Oh, indeed, Mr. Darcy! I assure you, sir, that I am fully aware of my very good fortune. The condescension I have enjoyed from your aunt, so much beyond what one could reasonably expect! And Miss de Bourgh, your cousin, such a delightful young lady! It is so unfortunate that her health does not allow her to go into society. I have told Lady Catherine that Miss de Bourgh's delicate health has deprived the British court of one of its brightest ornaments!"
Collins paused for breath, and Darcy, weary of his obsequious attentions, made a slight bow and turned away. He muttered to Henry, "Ridiculous toad-eater! It is no wonder that Lady Catherine gave him the living. He is just the sort of man whose attentions she would entertain. How do you know him?"
"He was in my college at Oxford, and was every bit as much of a toad-eater then."
"My condolences, and my thanks for your forbearance in not performing the introduction at that time."
"You are quite welcome." The call soon came for supper, and the guests all trooped into the dining-room. Henry took a seat next to Darcy and opposite Elizabeth; however, she would not meet his eye, let alone speak to him. Mrs. Bennet, seated next to Elizabeth, was speaking to Lady Lucas in a half-whisper that was nonetheless perfectly intelligible to the gentlemen.
"Mr. Bingley is such a charming young man, and so rich! And you must agree, Lady Lucas, that it is very fortunate that he lives only three miles from us. And it is such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters are of Jane! I am certain that they must desire the connection as much as I could do. It is, moreover, such a promising thing for my younger daughters, as Jane's marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men. And I tell you, Lady Lucas, that it is so pleasant at my time of life to be able to consign my single daughters to the care of their sister, that I might not be obliged to go into company more than I like. I sincerely wish you such good fortune as I am enjoying, Lady Lucas."
Henry heard Lizzy urging her mother in low tones to speak more quietly, as she was sure that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Tilney could hear them.
"Oh, stop being so nonsensical, Lizzy! What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing HE may not like to hear."
"For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be for you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend
yourself to his friend by so doing!"
But Mrs. Bennet continued to speak in the same intelligible half-whisper, and Henry saw Elizabeth blush with shame and vexation. She still would not meet his eye. He glanced at Darcy, whose face had shown contempt when Mrs. Bennet's speech began; he now wore a grave expression that did not alter all through her recitation.
Finally Mrs. Bennet lapsed into silence, and they all applied themselves to the cold ham and chicken. When supper was over, singing was talked of, and Miss Mary Bennet, after very little entreaty, prepared to oblige the company. However, Mary's powers were by no means fitted for such a display; her voice was weak, and her manner affected. She progressed through several stanzas and received polite applause, enough to encourage her to begin another song. Henry glanced at Darcy, who continued imperturbably grave; Bingley was deep in conversation with Jane and oblivious to anything else, although his sisters made signs of derision at one another. Elizabeth's face, however, showed severe mortification, and she looked pleadingly at Mr. Bennet; he took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second song, said aloud, "That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit."
Although Henry felt the necessity of Mr. Bennet's interference, he could regret his method, and he glanced down at his plate, embarrassed for Elizabeth and for her family. Mary looked disconcerted, but left the pianoforte, and other members of the company were applied to.
"If I," said Collins, "were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do not mean, however, to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. In the first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as a may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as a comfortable as a possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manner towards everybody, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family." And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room.
Many stared -- many smiled; Henry himself was very much entertained by Collins' speech, and longed to give him some sort of rejoinder, but genuine concern for Elizabeth, whose misery was obvious, kept his expression solemn. He glanced at Mr. Bennet, who did not share Henry's delicacy, and whose countenance showed his great amusement. Once again Henry felt regret at that gentleman's actions; he esteemed Mr. Bennet, but could not like his behaviour that evening.
Across the table, Mrs. Bennet observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, "Mr. Collins is a remarkably clever, good kind of young man."
At last the supper was over, and Henry sought out Elizabeth. Collins was hovering, but Miss Lucas had engaged him in conversation, and Henry took advantage of his fellow clergyman's inattention to address Elizabeth.
"Miss Bennet, please accept my sincere apology for my behaviour this evening. I would not quarrel with you over Wickham."
Elizabeth smiled wearily. "Nor I with you, Mr. Tilney."
"I am very glad to hear that, madam, although I could not be perfectly comfortable if I did not give you a last warning to take very good care in your dealings with him. Will you promise me that?"
"Be assured that I respect your opinion and will take what you have told me to heart."
"Very well. I cannot hope for more in regard to Wickham, but dare I hope that you will agree to be my partner for the next two dances?"
"I am afraid that is not within my power, sir. I do not intend to dance any more this evening."
Henry was all astonishment. "The night is still young, Miss Bennet! Has our disagreement wearied you so much?"
"No, I am not tired." She leaned closer and dropped her voice. "Mr. Collins is very eager to dance with me, and he has been extremely importunate. As much as I would like to dance with you, I cannot, since I have refused him."
"Of course." Henry was disappointed, but understood and applauded her sense of propriety. "Are you enjoying the ball otherwise?"
Elizabeth laughed shortly. "Oh, yes, I am enjoying it mightily! I tell you, Mr. Tilney, had my family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit or finer success."
Henry could not disagree with her, but he did not wish to embarrass her further by remaining on the subject. "Even though you cannot dance, will you accept my company? Between us, perhaps Miss Lucas and I can deflect Collins' attention from you for the rest of the evening."
"No, sir!" she declared, laughing. "You shall not deprive the other young ladies on my account! Go and dance with them, and enjoy yourself. Tomorrow you return to your parish, and I would not keep you from enjoying your last night of dissipation." He laughed and bowed, and did as he had been bid.
The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart, and, by a manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet, had to wait for their carriage a quarter of an hour after everybody else was gone, which gave Mrs. Hurst and her sister the opportunity to show how heartily they wished the Bennets away; they scarcely opened their mouths, except to complain of fatigue, and were evidently impatient to have the house to themselves. They repulsed every attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation, and by so doing threw a languor over the whole party, which was very little relieved by the long speeches of Collins, who was complimenting Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and politeness which had marked their behaviour to their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Bennet, in equal silence, was enjoying the scene. Bingley and Jane were standing together, a little detached from the rest, and talked only to each other. Henry attempted to engage Elizabeth in conversation, but she seemed out of spirits, and preserved as steady a silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley; and even Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of "Lord, how tired I am!" accompanied by a violent yawn.
When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressingly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn. "Mr. Bingley, I assure you that we would be very happy to have you eat a family dinner with us at any time." She glanced over at Henry and added, "Your friend Mr. Tilney will tell you that a formal invitation is not required."
Bingley was all grateful pleasure. "I thank you, madam. I am obliged to go to London tomorrow, and must stay for a short time, but I assure you that I will take the earliest opportunity of waiting on you--" he glanced over at Jane, who smiled shyly at him "--at the earliest opportunity."
Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and at last the carriage arrived and the Longbourn family quitted the house. Henry went outside with them. "I am very glad that we are friends again," he said to Elizabeth. "I will take care that we remain so."
"As will I, Mr. Tilney. Will you shake hands with me?" asked Elizabeth, holding out her right hand. Henry took it and they exchanged smiles, their mutual trust rebuilt and their dark eyes reflecting their true regard for one another, deep and meaningful however recent in date.
When he turned back to the house, he noticed Darcy watching him with a frown. Henry said in a low voice, "You may cease your detestable behaviour, sir. I am not your rival."
"I know that, Tilney," said Darcy, his face grave. "But at least she accepts your friendship. She accepts nothing from me." He turned around hastily and began to ascend the wide stairway two steps at a time. Henry watched him, his face concerned; then a footman emerged from the drawing-room supporting the stumbling Hurst on one shoulder, trailed by Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and deep contemplation was no longer possible in the face of such an absurd display.
Henry stood back to let them ascend the stairs, and when they were all gone he followed them, although he suspected that the tangled affairs of his friends--and not least of all his own--would prevent him from achieving sleep for some hours yet.
Chapter IX
Henry arrived back at Netherfield Park on Tuesday afternoon, weary from the two-day trip from Woodston and thinking for the first time that he might prefer to stay in Gloucestershire. He passed the reins to a groom and went up the curving stairs to the house, only to be met by a footman who handed him two letters. One was from Darcy, the other from Bingley, both sent from London. As he stared at the letters in some confusion, he slowly became aware that the house was unusually still. He walked down to the drawing-room and glanced inside, only to see that the servants were covering the furniture with sheets of muslin.
He turned to the footman. "Is there a room ready for me?"
"Yes, Mr. Tilney. Mr. Bingley told us to make sure you were taken care of. He thought that his letter might not reach you in time to prevent you from traveling here, but we are to make you comfortable for as long as you care to stay, then follow him to London."
"If Mr. Bingley is not here, I cannot stay. I shall return to Gloucestershire in the morning."
"Very good, sir. I'll see that your curricle is ready for you."
Henry allowed the footman to see him to his room. A servant soon brought hot water, helped him remove his boots, and took away his dusty greatcoat. Henry stripped to his shirtsleeves, washed off the dirt from the road, and poured himself a glass of wine, then settled down in a cushioned chair by the fire. Bear, who seemed lost without the company of Bingley's and Darcy's dogs, lay down at his master's feet with a whooshing exclamation of breath followed by a small canine moan that sounded so world-weary that Henry had to laugh in spite of himself. He opened Darcy's letter first.
London, 30 November
My dear Tilney,
If you are reading this letter, than mine did not reach you at Woodston in time to prevent your return, and I am sorry for your trouble. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst determined to return to Grosvenor-street, and Miss Bingley would accompany them. I am eager to return to town as well, to see how my sister gets on with her new governess and to spend Christmas with her. I do not like to be away from her for very long.
As you know, Bingley was confident that his business in town would be finished in some three or four days, but I do not believe it to be possible. Indeed I believe Bingley will not return this winter. I must confess that I see this as a good thing. Bingley's attentions to Miss Bennet were putting him in some danger. If they continued, he would find himself in a position where he might feel obliged to make her an offer for the sake of propriety when neither heart was really attached to the other. I do not fear for his peace. How many times have we seen Bingley fall violently in love, and then fall as violently out of love after only a few weeks? I am convinced that any affection he felt for Miss Bennet will be forgotten when he meets another pretty girl.
Will you visit us in town? My home is yours, as always. However, if your situation requires that you return to Gloucestershire, go there with every good wish for your health and happiness from
your most devoted friend,
FITZWILLIAM DARCY
Henry stared at the letter, caught between friendship and anger. How could Darcy interfere in Bingley's life in such a way? Naturally Miss Bingley wished to return to town and renew an acquaintance with Georgiana, hoping it would excite Darcy's interest, but why did Darcy feel it necessary to accompany them, and to prevent Bingley's return? Henry could not help suspecting that Darcy left Hertfordshire to get away from Elizabeth Bennet, and wished to prevent Bingley's romance with her sister for the same reason. He broke the wafer on Bingley's letter impatiently and opened the sheet.
London, 2 December
My dear Tilney,
You must forgive (blot) way I have treated you, press you return to Netherfield and you arrive at empty house! I have left servants behind to care you, (blot) stay as long as you wish. Business here very pressing -- cannot return. Darcy tells me he has invited you stay with him -- do, Tilney, we all (blot) see you.
Here for winter, I think. Christmas, then season, (blot) invitations already. Caroline trying to get vouchers for Almack's. Comical to watch her (blot) the patroness, you know which I mean, the (blot) one, at a ball last night. Should not laugh at my sister, I know, but sometimes cannot help it. Do not understand -- one ball good as another. Tea at Almack's dreadful.
Do come to London, Til(blot). Will not be as enjoyable without you. Best wishes Miss M. -- Miss T. -- yourself, from
your affectionate (blot)
CHAS. BINGLEY
It was impossible not to smile at such a letter, so typical of Bingley, his good nature and affection evident even in the blots and missing words. Well, there was nothing for it; he would return to Gloucestershire in the morning. He took out his watch; it was not quite two. There was plenty of time to call at Longbourn and take his leave of Elizabeth. Henry sincerely regretted the social conventions that did not allow an unmarried woman to correspond with a man; otherwise he should have asked Elizabeth to write to him.
An hour later he presented himself at Longbourn and was admitted to the drawing-room, where Elizabeth sat with Miss Lucas.
"Mr. Tilney!" cried Elizabeth, rising to greet him. "I am delighted to see you, but I confess I am astonished! You know that Mr. Bingley and his party have gone to town."
"Yes, I know. Unfortunately their letters did not reach me in time to prevent my return from Gloucestershire."
"I am sorry for you, of course, but glad on my own account. Although I suppose you will return to Gloucestershire now?" She indicated that he should sit in a chair by the fire, and he did so.
"Yes, I cannot stay in Bingley's house when he is absent, although his good nature would allow for any imposition from a friend."
"I can well believe it of Mr. Bingley."
Henry wondered at the odd, bitter emphasis of her sentence but did not pursue it. "Miss Lucas, I am glad that you are here. I can take my leave of you both. I depart in the morning."
Elizabeth glanced briefly at her friend and said, "Mr. Tilney, you must congratulate Charlotte. She is to be married."
"Indeed!" cried Henry with real delight. "My felicitations, madam! Who is the fortunate man upon whom you have bestowed your hand?"
"I have had the honour of an offer of marriage from Mr. Collins," said Miss Lucas mildly.
Henry stared at her and worked to control his countenance. "Collins? William Collins?"
"Yes."
"I am surprised--forgive me, Miss Lucas, but I did not know that you and Collins--"
"Yes," said Elizabeth with some asperity, "you have been away a whole week, Mr. Tilney. Affection blossomed quickly in this case." She threw an incomprehensible glance at Charlotte. Lizzy cannot be jealous? thought Henry in astonishment. No, that is not the rub. Lizzy is revolted by the thought of her friend married to Collins, and who would not be?
Charlotte's gentle voice interrupted his thoughts. "Neither Mr. Collins nor I wished to delay, so the matter was decided very quickly."
Her cold description told Henry everything he needed to know. Miss Lucas had accepted Collins simply because she wanted to be married, and he had offered for her. He had to admit that it was an excellent match for her. She had no fortune, and Collins was well-established at Hunsford; in addition, there was always the possibility that Lady Catherine would bestow other livings on him, and he was to inherit Longbourn someday. Yes, it was an excellent match, and judging by Charlotte's serene and satisfied countenance, that was her sole criteria for accepting Collins' obliging offer. Henry understood the social conventions that dictated her decision, but regretted it nonetheless. He could countenance a woman marrying for security even in the absence of love, but in the absence of respect such a union was abhorrent. And he could not imagine a young lady of good common sense such as Charlotte Lucas ever having respect for William Collins.
At that moment the Longbourn housekeeper entered the room and curtseyed. "Miss Elizabeth," she said, "your mother requires you upstairs."
Elizabeth frowned. "Hill, please tell my mother that I cannot leave my guests."
"She was very pressing, ma'am." Hill looked at Elizabeth pleadingly, twisting her apron between her hands.
Elizabeth sighed and said, "Very well. Mr. Tilney, Charlotte, do forgive me, but--"
"Of course," said Henry, rising as she exited the room. He glanced over at Charlotte, who had become very interested in her embroidery. He watched her for a few moments, then finally said, "Miss Lucas--"
She looked up at him with a faint smile. "I know what you are thinking, Mr. Tilney. I read it in your face. You think I am foolish to go through with this marriage."
"How can you marry Collins?" he blurted out. "You have such good sense, you must see what he is!"
She laughed shortly. "Yes, I have good sense. And that is exactly why I accepted Mr. Collins." She set down the embroidery and looked into his eyes. "I am not romantic, Mr. Tilney, and never have been. I have no fortune. I am seven and twenty, and even in the first blush of youth was never considered a beauty. I have no wish to be a burden on my father or my brothers. I desired an establishment of my own, and in spite of my personal misfortunes, one was offered to me. I am not foolish to marry Mr. Collins; I would have been foolish to have turned him away."
"And someday you will be mistress of Longbourn," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "That must have been a great attraction."
She shook her head impatiently. "A thousand things could prevent Mr. Collins from inheriting Longbourn. I do not consider it as certain at all. His situation at Hunsford was sufficient recommendation. I look forward to helping my husband with his duties as rector, and to having a comfortable home of my own. That is all I have ever sought."
Henry had only one argument to that. "What of your heart, Miss Lucas?"
"What of my heart?" She stood and turned away toward the window. "My heart cannot be indulged. I have given it where it cannot be accepted."
A-ha! She IS in love, and not with Collins! "You do not know that," he said urgently, rising and following her. "This man to whom you have given your heart--is he married?"
"He is not."
"Then there is hope, Miss Lucas." He moved in front of her and took her hands, despite her protests. "It is not for us to question why or how we learn to love. Why did the Creator give us hearts, if not to use them? Do not disdain love, Miss Lucas, and do not disdain hope. And do not throw them away for a comfortable establishment and an unloving marriage."
She lifted her eyes to his, and in that moment Henry understood everything. "Your words are wise, but it cannot be, Mr. Tilney."
They gazed at one another for a moment, she offering what he was unable to accept. "Miss Lucas," he whispered. "I am so sorry. I did not know."
"I took very good care that you should not know." She gave him a faint smile. "If you were not engaged, sir, I assure you that I would have made my feelings very clear. I am of the opinion that women should not hide their affection from the object of it; rather the opposite."
"I regret that I cannot return your affection. My heart and my faith alike are pledged. That shall not change."
"I would not have it so. That has been the most difficult part of my dilemma. Oh, I longed for you to throw over Miss Morland, to turn your affections toward me, but even if you had I could not have accepted you. Such a breach of honour would make you less than you are, less than the man who captured my heart."
"I did not intend to do so, madam. I am very sorry indeed that I have injured you."
"Mr. Tilney, I assure you I shall not pine. I told you that I was not romantic, and I was in earnest. Would you be surprised if I told you that I set out very purposely to attach Mr. Collins once I understood that Eliza intended to refuse his offer?" He was a little surprised, but shook his head. Charlotte continued to speak. "I am convinced that my chances of happiness with Mr. Collins are as good as they would have been with you." Henry opened his mouth to protest, but she gently covered it with her fingers. "I have seen couples violently in love who marry, and only a few years or months later their affection cools and they discover they have nothing in common. I shall enter this marriage with my eyes open. I have no illusions about Mr. Collins. However, he is a respectable man, his situation in life is unexceptionable, and has assured me that he will allow me to order the housekeeping as I think best. Many a woman has worse prospects in beginning her married life."
Despite her reassurances, Henry could not be at peace with her decision. "Miss Lucas, I regret if my behaviour toward you was unguarded. If I have said anything or done anything that gave you a mistaken impression of my intentions--"
"You have behaved with perfect propriety." She hesitated, then added, "I shall always remember you, Mr. Tilney. The memory of the time we have spent together will always be with me, and will always bring me pleasure. I thank you for that, sir."
He gazed down at her sorrowfully and took her hands once again. "I cannot convince you to reconsider your decision?"
"No, sir. My mind is quite made up."
"Then there is nothing else for me to do but kiss the bride. May I?"
Charlotte looked surprised, but nodded, and Henry leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek as he would his sister, gently brushing her skin with his lips. "I wish you every happiness, Charlotte." He pulled away and looked down at her. Her cheeks showed the attractive blush he had noticed before, and she gazed up at him with an expression in her eyes that made Henry think, just for a moment, that had he never met Catherine Morland his stay in Hertfordshire might have ended very differently.
"Papa! Papa!" cried Lydia, running into the sitting-room, where Mr. Bennet had taken a seat by the fire, wishing to spend some time in the congenial company of his two eldest daughters while his wife was busy in her own chamber. "Mary says that I am not to read The Mystery of the Ancient Castle of the Rhine, which I was have been waiting these three months to get from the circulating-library! Tell her that Kitty and I may read it!"
Mary was close on her sister's heels. "Father, such books do nothing to improve the female mind. A small amount of novel reading is all very well, especially if the stories are chosen carefully for their moral content and didactic value. I have told Lydia that if she wished to read about castles on the Rhine, it would be better to peruse the journal of a learned traveler who can describe such sights in elegant and refined language that will illuminate the mind."
"I do not wish to have my mind illuminated," Lydia cried stubbornly, glaring balefully at Mary.
Mr. Bennet's expression reminded Elizabeth of a portrait she had seen of a martyred saint in the throes of his death pangs. "That is fortunate, child, for I fear it would be a hopeless business. Let me see the book." Lydia handed it to him, and he opened it and squinted at the pages. "I cannot read this type. Lizzy, fetch me my spectacles from the top drawer of my desk in the library."
Elizabeth, grateful for even a moment's escape from her squabbling sisters, obediently went into the library and to her father's desk. She smiled at the papers and books negligently piled there, eliminating any useful work space. Hill and the maids kept the rest of the house spotlessly clean and neat, but they were forbidden to touch Mr. Bennet's desk. He insisted that he knew exactly where everything was and the servants' interference only resulted in necessary papers and books being irretrievably mislaid. Indeed he was able to produce any wanted item from the desk after only a few moments' search, to the unceasing amazement of his wife.
She opened the drawer and was greeted with a similar jumble, in which her father's spectacles did not immediately display themselves. Elizabeth smiled and shook her head, then began to gingerly poke and prod at the drawer's contents. She noticed a wink of gold peering through a white handkerchief wrapped round a small bundle tucked into one of the drawer's many compartments. Thinking it might be her father's spectacles, she picked up the bundle and unwrapped it, only to find a gold-framed miniature portrait of a woman she had never before seen.
She stared at it for several moments, wondering why the miniature had been so carefully preserved in her father's desk drawer. Judging by the clothing, it had been painted during Elizabeth's own childhood, or not long before. Her father had no sisters, and the woman was too young to be his mother. She heard a noise and glanced up to see Mr. Bennet standing in the open library doorway, gazing at her steadily but with a touch of sorrow.
"Father, who is this lady?" asked Elizabeth curiously, then added hastily, "That is, if you wish to tell me."
"'tis no great secret, Lizzy." Mr. Bennet shut the door and advanced toward her. He removed the miniature from her hands and gazed at it tenderly. "This is the first Mrs. Bennet," he said softly. "My first wife."
Elizabeth was all astonishment. "Father, I did not know--why have you never told me?"
He glanced up at her keenly. "It is not a subject that I can speak of in front of your mother."
"No, I suppose not." Elizabeth took the miniature back from her father and studied it. "She was very beautiful."
"Aye, she was, and had an elegant, cultured mind and a lively temper. You remind me of her in many ways. You are named for her, you know."
"Am I?" Elizabeth was rather startled to discover that this revelation pleased her. She looked at the portrait again, trying to discover why this other Elizabeth Bennet's countenance seemed so familiar, although she knew she had never seen it before. "What happened to her?"
"She died of a consumption, or so the doctors said."
Elizabeth looked up at her father in surprise. "You did not agree?"
"No. Well, I suppose there was an infection of the lungs, but she lost the desire to live when our son was lost."
"Your son? You had a son? Did he die as well?"
A shadow passed over her father's face, and for a moment he looked very old. "No, Lizzy, as far as I know he is still alive. He was taken from us, and I was unable to find him."
"Taken from you? How dreadful!" She stared at the miniature and felt sorrow for the pretty, delicate woman depicted there. "But that means--I have a brother?"
"Aye, you do. He would be six and twenty now. His name is Thomas."
"Thomas. My brother Thomas." Elizabeth turned over the idea in her mind. A brother! "Oh, Father, if you could find him now, it would be so wonderful! You would have someone to help you with the estate--"
"And someone to assist me in ending the entail so that you and your sisters should have dowries."
Elizabeth blushed. "I was not thinking of that."
Mr. Bennet smiled at her and brushed an errant curl away from her face. "No, dearest Lizzy, you would not. But I was thinking of it, and often do." He sighed heavily. "I often think about finding Thomas, for my own selfish sake as well as yours and your sisters', but after all these years I fear it would be impossible."
"What was he like?" she asked. She tried to picture a younger version of her father, tall and dark-haired and intelligent and cynical. An imperfectly-formed idea played about the corners of her mind, but she was unable to grasp it; it teased, it advanced, it retreated, but it never revealed itself to her, and at last she reluctantly allowed it to escape.
"I cannot give you that information. He was still an infant when he was taken from us. A little more than three months old."
Her father's expression wrenched her heart. "Oh, Father, forgive me! I did not mean to make you sad."
"It does not make me sad to remember young Thomas." He touched her chin. "And I still have my Lizzy, who is a constant joy to me."
Elizabeth impulsively embraced her father and kissed his cheek. He held her for a moment, then said, "There now, child, go out to your sisters." She obeyed with a smile, knowing that her father was uncomfortable with excessive displays of emotion but never doubting his affection. At the door she paused for a moment and glanced back at him; he stood by the desk, gazing down at the miniature with a sad, loving smile.