Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (18 page)

“Perhaps it will be as well if you discourage his coming here so very often. At least, you should not remind your mother of inviting him.”

“As I did the other day?” Elizabeth gave a conscious smile. “Very true. It will be wise in me to refrain from that. But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It is on your account that he has been so frequently invited this week. You know my mother’s ideas as to the necessity of constant company for her friends. But upon my honor, I will try to do what I think to be the wisest. I hope you are satisfied.”

Her aunt assured her that she was. “And, now Lizzy, what is this you hinted at earlier about a lady’s parlor? I will admit, your comment left me perplexed as to its source.”

Elizabeth, well used to the candid conversation of her aunt, and most grateful for it, relayed that conversation Mrs. Bennet had been insistent to give and vowed never talk about again.

“And that is how my sister described the marriage bed?” Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed. “If that is the way mothers tell their daughters about such matters, it is no wonder so many girls get into awful situations. If it were Jane, I would not speak so frankly, but since it is you and I know I can depend upon your discretion, I will explain it to you in better terms. What was alluded to was the pleasure a man finds in his wife’s body, and some husbands enjoy the pleasure more often than others. In truth, it is not so horrible as your mother has painted it to be. As for the lying still, I will not comment, only to say that is not always the case, beyond that your husband will have to help you on.” Then, going on to explain the mechanics behind such marital acts in the most tactful way possible, Mrs. Gardiner managed to answer several of her niece’s questions before they parted.

Mr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had been quitted by the Gardiners and Jane. However, as he took up his abode with the Lucases, his arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was now fast approaching, and she was so far resigned as to think it inevitable. Thursday was to be the wedding day, and on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit. When she rose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her mother’s ungracious and reluctant good wishes, accompanied her out of the room. As they went downstairs together, Charlotte said, “I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza.”

“That you certainly shall.”

“And I have another favor to ask you. Will you come and see me.”

“We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire.”

“I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore, to come to Hunsford.”

Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in the visit.

“My father and Maria are coming to me in March,” added Charlotte, “and I hope you will consent to be of the party. Indeed, Eliza, you will be as welcome as either of them.”

The wedding took place. The bride and bridegroom set off for Kent from the church door, and everybody had as much to say on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend and their correspondence was as regular and frequent as it had ever been, though that it should be equally unreserved was impossible. Elizabeth could never address her without feeling that all the comfort of intimacy was over. For the sake of what had been, she determined not to slacken as a correspondent. Charlotte wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts, and mentioned nothing which she could not praise. The house, furniture, neighborhood, and roads, were all to her taste, and Lady Catherine’s behavior was most friendly. It was Mr. Collins’s picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened, and Elizabeth perceived that she must wait for her own visit to know the truth.

Jane had already written a few lines to her sister to announce their safe arrival in London and, when she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped it would be in her power to say something of the Bingleys. Her impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded as impatience generally is. Jane had been a week in town without either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She accounted for it by supposing that her last letter from Longbourn to her friend had by some accident been lost.

“My aunt,” she continued, “is going tomorrow into that part of the town, and I shall take the opportunity of calling in Grosvenor Street.”

She wrote again when the visit was paid and she had seen Miss Bingley. “I did not think Caroline in spirits,” were her words, “but she was very glad to see me and reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming to London. I was right. My last letter never reached her. I inquired after their brother, of course. He was well, but so much engaged with Mr. Darcy that they scarcely ever saw him. I found Miss Darcy was expected to dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was not long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I daresay I shall have a return visit from them soon.”

Elizabeth shook her head over this letter, convinced that only an accident would reveal to Mr. Bingley that her sister was in town.

Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him. She endeavored to persuade herself that she did not regret it, but she could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley’s inattention. After waiting at home every morning for a fortnight, and inventing every evening a fresh excuse, the visitor did at last appear. The shortness of her stay and the alteration of her manner would allow Jane to deceive herself no longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion to her sister proved what she felt.

“My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in her better judgment, at my expense, when I confess myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley’s regard for me. But, though the event has proved you right, do not think me obstinate if I still assert that, considering what her behavior was, my confidence was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her reason for wishing to be intimate with me, but if the same circumstances were to happen again, I am sure I should be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit till yesterday — not a note, not a line, did I receive in the meantime. When she did come, it was very evident that she had no pleasure in it. She made a slight, formal apology, for not calling before, said not a word of wishing to see me again, and was in every respect so altered a creature, that when she went away I was perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity, though I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling me out as she did. I can safely say that every advance to intimacy began on her side. But I pity her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrong, and because I am very sure that anxiety for her brother is the cause of it. I cannot but wonder at her having any such fears now, because, if he had at all cared about me, we must have met long ago. He knows of my being in town, I am certain, from something she said. Yet it would seem, by her manner of talking, as if she wanted to persuade herself that he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I should be almost tempted to say that there is a strong appearance of duplicity in all this. Miss Bingley said something of his never returning to Netherfield again, of giving up the house, but not with any certainty. We had better not mention it. I am extremely glad you have such pleasant accounts from our friends at Hunsford. Pray go to see them with Sir William and Maria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there. Yours, Jane.”

This letter gave Elizabeth some pain, but her spirits returned as she considered Jane would no longer be duped, by the sister at least. All expectation from the brother was now absolutely over. She would not even wish for a renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on every review of it. As a punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage to Jane, she seriously hoped he might soon marry Mr. Darcy’s sister. By Wickham’s account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown away.

Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabeth of her promise concerning that gentleman, and required information. Elizabeth had such to send that might give contentment to her aunt rather than to herself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his attentions were over, he was the admirer of someone else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to see it all, but she could see it and write of it without material pain. Her heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied with believing that she would have been his only choice, had fortune permitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most remarkable charm of the young lady to whom he was now rendering himself agreeable. Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in this case than in Charlotte’s, did not quarrel with him for his wish of independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more natural. While able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles to relinquish her, she was ready to allow it a wise and desirable measure for both, and could very sincerely wish him happy.

Besides, one could hardly think of Mr. Wickham without soon after thinking of Mr. Darcy’s treatment of him. Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to never think of Mr. Darcy again, or dream of him for that matter. Had she allowed it, her fantasies would have taken a turn for the day and the haunting kisses she suffered at night on balconies and in solitary gardens would have slipped into her conscious mind, causing the most unwelcome daydreams. Since she did not like Mr. Darcy, she could not account for the strange attraction, or for why her mind would be so evil as to make her suffer through it. Though, forming an attachment to that man was entirely impossible and she contented herself with the idea that her mind would soon tire of its torture.

After relating the news about Mr. Wickham to Mrs. Gardiner, did she write, “I am now convinced that I have never been much in love. Had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I should at present detest his very name, and wish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards him, they are even impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this. My watchfulness has been effectual. Though I certainly should be a more interesting object to all my acquaintances were I distractedly in love with him, I cannot say that I regret my comparative insignificance. Importance may sometimes be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take his defection much more to heart than I do. They are young in the ways of the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something to live on as well as the plain.”

W
ITH NO GREATER EVENTS than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise diversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimes dirty and sometimes cold, did January and February pass away. March was to take Elizabeth to Hunsford. At first, she had not thought very seriously of going, but Charlotte was depending on the plan and she gradually learned to consider it herself with greater pleasure. Absence had increased her desire of seeing Charlotte again, and weakened her disgust of Mr. Collins. There was novelty in the scheme, and, with such a mother and such uncompanionable sisters, home could not be faultless. A little change was not unwelcome. The journey would moreover give her a peep at Jane. As the time drew near, she would have been very sorry for any delay. Everything went on smoothly, and was finally settled according to Charlotte’s first sketch. She was to accompany Sir William and his second daughter. The improvement of spending a night in London was added in time, and the plan became perfect as plan could be.

The next day she was off with her fellow travelers. Sir William Lucas, and his daughter Maria, a good-humored girl, but as empty-headed as himself, had nothing to say that could be worth hearing, and were listened to with about as much delight as the rattle of the chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she had known Sir William’s too long. He could tell her nothing new of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood. His civilities were worn out, like his information.

It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early as to be in Gracechurch Street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner’s door, Jane was at a drawing room window watching their arrival. When they entered the passage she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth, looking earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and lovely as ever. All was joy and kindness. The day passed most pleasantly away — the morning in bustle and shopping, the evening at one of the theatres.

Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. Their first object was her sister. She was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply to her minute inquiries, that though Jane always struggled to support her spirits, there were periods of dejection. It was reasonable, however, to hope that they would not continue long. Mrs. Gardiner gave her the particulars also of Miss Bingley’s visit in Gracechurch Street, and repeated conversations occurring at different times between Jane and herself, which proved that the former had, from her heart, given up the acquaintance.

Mrs. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickham’s desertion, and complimented her on bearing it so well. “What sort of girl is Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary.”

“Pray, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs, between the mercenary and the prudent motive? Last Christmas you were afraid of his marrying me, because it would be imprudent. Now, because he is trying to get a girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is mercenary.”

“If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to think.”

“She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her.”

“But he paid her not the smallest attention till her grandfather’s death made her mistress of this fortune.”

“No, why should he? If it were not allowable for him to gain my affections because I had no money, what occasion could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care about, and who was equally poor.”

“But there seems an indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her so soon after this event.”

“A man in distressed circumstances has no time for all those elegant decorums which other people may observe. If she does not object to it, why should we.”

“Her not objecting does not justify him. It only shows her being deficient in something herself — sense or feeling.”

“Well,” cried Elizabeth, “have it as you choose. He shall be mercenary, and she shall be foolish.”

“No, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose. I should be sorry to think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.”

“Oh, if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire.” Elizabeth was not pleased to be reminded of Mr. Darcy, even though her aunt’s comment had not been thus intended. She had gone most of the day without thinking of him and the mere mention of his name made her argumentative. “Their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven! I am going tomorrow where I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all.”

“Take care, Lizzy, that speech savors strongly of disappointment.” Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play, she had the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt in a tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer.

“We have not determined how far it shall carry us,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “but, perhaps, to the Lakes.”

No scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful. “Oh, my dear aunt,” she rapturously cried, “what delight! You give me fresh life, for what are young men to rocks and mountains?”