Into Hertfordshire (8 page)

“Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat,” said Louisa; “six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office.” Here Darcy caught Bingley’s eye with a wry expression. Who could think of petticoats when such a singular picture of feminine loveliness was before one?

Bingley gave his agreement to Darcy with a glance and took his sister to task: “Your picture may be very exact, Louisa, but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice.”

“
You
observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley; “and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see
your sister
make such an exhibition.”

He did not wish to take Miss Bingley’s side on any point of this conversation, but he could not but agree with this. The thought of Georgiana wandering across the countryside by herself, at her age, exposing herself to Heaven knows what mischances, made him shake his head with disapprobation. “Certainly not,” he agreed shortly.

“To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most Country-Town indifference to decorum.”

Bingley lifted his eyes to the heavens and then admonished his sister, “It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing.”

“I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said in an aside to him, “that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”

This Darcy could easily contradict, and he did so willingly. “Not at all, they were brightened by the exercise.”

This reply brought Miss Bingley up short, as Darcy had hoped. Mrs. Hurst took up a new thread: “I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”

“I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton,” Darcy probed gently. He, of course, had had little opportunity to discover anything of the Bennet family, since he could hardly make such enquiries of Miss Elizabeth Bennet herself.

“Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside,” Mrs. Hurst replied.

“That is capital!” her sister exclaimed, and they both laughed behind their hands. It was common for people of their circle to make fun of the name, although there were few who did not have some affairs there; as one of the chief centres of trade in London, most families of standing had interests there, although they generally did not attend to them in person. Darcy was familiar with it, as one of his storage houses was in the vicinity.

Nor did their brother share their amusement. “If they had uncles enough to fill
all
Cheapside,” cried he, “it would not make them one jot less agreeable.”

At this, Darcy, his thoughts perhaps having a personal application, observed sombrely: “But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world.” It escaped his notice that Bingley’s eyes clouded at this, for his own vision was fixed upon some distant point. After this the men had little to add to the conversation, but the ladies, without regard for their friends—either absent or present—continued their entertainment unchecked for some time.

At length the ladies began to rise, as they were going up stairs to visit the patient. While they walked from the room with expressions of concern for their dear friend and hope for her recovery, Darcy reflected on how wonderful it was that the two of them could in one breath be lacerating their friends, and in the next be all that was amiable. After the ladies’ departure, Hurst went to his rooms to take his accustomed postprandial nap, which he claimed sharpened his mind for cards later in the evening. Neither Bingley nor Darcy was so desirous of his company as to attempt to dissuade him, so they were left quietly by themselves to dawdle over their wine.

“Darcy, did you mean what you said before, about the Bennet girls being unable to marry well?”

Darcy glanced up at his friend, but Bingley was studying the play of light on the wine as he slowly twisted the stem of his glass. “I am afraid that I did,” he replied.

“But why should that be? Surely, in this day and age, two people can marry without all that feudal nonsense about misalliances.”

“If by ‘this day and age’ you are suggesting that we live in such egalitarian times that standing, connections, and fortune no longer matter, I must have missed reading about that revolution in the papers. When did it occur, and how many died on the guillotine?”

Bingley gave an appreciative laugh, but persisted, “Seriously, Darcy—you cannot mean that you, yourself, would not consider offering for a girl unless she was in the first circles.”

“‘The first circles’? No, surely that is not a requirement. But marry a nobody? Who would countenance her? From what part of society could we form an acquaintance? I have often thought that King Cophetua’s beggar maid must have had rather a hard time, really. Would you expose the lady of your heart to scorn and disapprobation from your nearest relatives?”

“
My
nearest relatives are my sisters, and they would disapprove of the lady no matter what her rank and fortune; indeed, I cannot think who
would
escape their tongues.”

“In that, you are more fortunate than myself. I should have to face down my Uncle Jonathan, the Earl of Andover, although he’s a good sort; but my Aunt Catherine—marrying against her wishes would make our current relations with the French seem nothing more than a trifling diplomatic
faux pas
,” Darcy said with more seriousness than his words implied.

“Is she as bad as all that, then?” Bingley enquired. “I have heard Colonel Fitzwilliam make some rather amusing comments on her character.”

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh is a veritable Gorgon. It is almost incredible to me that she should be related to my mother.”

“But she is only your aunt, after all. Why should her wishes weigh so heavily?”

Darcy thought momentarily. “For three reasons, chiefly: firstly, because after my mother’s death she became the matriarch of that side of the family; secondly, because her own rank and circumstance is just slightly more important to her than life itself; and thirdly, because she is the most officious creature on Earth, and does not hesitate to thrust her opinions on every one within earshot. The only way I should be able to marry without her consent would be to break off with her completely.”

“Lord! Perhaps I am better off without relations!”

Darcy tipped his glass at that in a silent toast. They each withdrew into their own thoughts, and their conversation lagged. Darcy felt the tuggings of that bleak dissatisfaction with life that had plagued him for so many months; reminding himself that he was in company, however, he fought it back down, that he might not give his friend concern. After some minutes they each came back to themselves and the conversation picked up again, passing off onto matters less charged with feeling.

By the time they joined the ladies in the drawing-room, their mood was sufficiently lifted that when Hurst reappeared they were able to meet his challenge to a game of loo with tolerable enthusiasm. The game was tight and the stakes kept improving as time wore on, so that when Miss Elizabeth Bennet joined them late in the evening she was rather intimidated by their play, and chose to read rather than join them at the table. Mr. Hurst expressed amazement that any one might prefer a book to playing cards, but for Darcy it raised her that much higher in his estimation. In his mind reading and understanding were inextricably linked, and the pursuit of understanding was the first measure of the superior person.

To Miss Bingley her arrival was something of a relief, as she had been losing steadily and felt the need of a distraction from the rigors of her pastime. On Elizabeth’s refusal to join the game, she said teazingly, “Miss Eliza Bennet despises cards. She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else.”

Elizabeth made a polite protest against being given such a character, and declared she took pleasure in a great many things. She drifted over to a table on which were lying a small number of books. “Miss Bennet, may I offer you a greater selection?” Bingley enquired. “You are most welcome to any and all we have in the library here. And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into.”

“Oh; thank you Mr. Bingley, but I assure you I can do quite well with those already here.”

“I am astonished,” put in Miss Bingley, who could never allow a conversation to stray too far from her own thoughts and interests, “that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy.” She smiled winningly at him and sought his eyes with hers.

Darcy attempted to deflect both her flattery and her gaze; the former, because he had not contributed even a tenth part of Pemberley’s collection, and the latter, as a matter of fixed policy. “It ought to be good,” he replied, unfolding and studying his cards resolutely. “It has been the work of many generations.”

Miss Bingley, however, brought the compliment back to him, saying, “And then you have added so much to it yourself; you are always buying books.”

This gave Darcy some private amusement, as he had often found a visit to the bookseller a convenient means of obtaining relief from Miss Bingley’s company in Town. He merely replied, however: “I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these.”

“Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place.” Darcy was certain, in spite of this assurance, that she had in mind one particular addition to his estate that would add immeasurably to its charm in her eyes: a new mistress. She continued, “Charles, when you build
your
house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley.”

“I wish it may,” he replied equitably, laying down a winning card with satisfaction. Hurst, who was Darcy’s partner, snorted in disgust.

They continued their discussion of Darcy’s estate for another hand, until Hurst scolded them all for their inattention. After a moment, though, Miss Bingley started yet another topic designed to demonstrate to Mr. Darcy, and perhaps to others, how deeply interested she was in all his concerns: “Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring? Will she be as tall as I am?”

“I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height, or rather taller.” Darcy, on his side, wished rather to bring the conversation back to their guest, and give her a greater share in it.

Miss Bingley began a paean on Georgiana’s beauty and accomplishments, but Bingley also attempted to redirect the conversation into a subject of more general interest: “It is amazing to me,” said he, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished!” exclaimed his sister. “My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard of a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, pleased to further a topic in which all might have a share, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” agreed Miss Bingley. Darcy frowned down on his cards until he could free his countenance of the exasperation he felt. Would she never be still?

“Then you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman,” observed Elizabeth.

Darcy turned quickly to face her. “Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it,” he said with sincerity. But before he could expand on this statement, Miss Bingley interrupted him: “Oh! Certainly,” cried she, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

All the forms and none of the substance, thought Darcy disparagingly as she spoke. This is exactly the sort of pedestrian and useless course of study followed by every woman in Society: a bit of music, a few amateurish brush strokes, half-a-dozen words of French or Italian, and, of course, every woman’s delight: dancing. Add to that the affectation of superior airs, and one arrived at the common, or garden-variety, Society Miss. And, while we are on the subject, what about having manners enough not to be constantly interrupting others?

Not wishing to be discourteous himself, though, he merely said, “All this she must possess,” but with a nod towards Elizabeth’s book he added, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”