Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (21 page)

E
LIZABETH SAT BY HERSELF the next morning, writing to Jane while Mrs. Collins and Maria went on business into the village, when she was startled by a ring at the door. She had heard no carriage and worried it might be Lady Catherine, and under that apprehension put away her half-finished letter so she might escape any impertinent questions. When the door opened, to her very great surprise, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy alone, entered the room.

He seemed astonished too on finding her by herself, and apologized for his intrusion by letting her know that he had understood all the ladies were to be within.

They sat down, and when her inquiries after Rosings were made, seemed in danger of sinking into total silence. It was absolutely necessary, therefore, to think of something, and in this emergence recollecting when she had seen him last in Hertfordshire, and feeling curious to know what he would say on the subject of their hasty departure, she observed, “How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy. It must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr. Bingley to see you all so soon. He and his sisters were well, I hope, when you left London.”

“Perfectly so, thank you.”

She found that she was to receive no other answer, and, after a short pause added, “I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley will not be returning to Netherfield.”

“I have never heard him say so. It is probable that he may spend very little of his time there in the future. He has many friends, and is at a time of life when friends and engagements are continually increasing.”

“If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be better for the neighborhood that he should give up the place entirely, for then we might possibly get a settled family there. But, perhaps, Mr. Bingley did not take the house so much for the convenience of the neighborhood as for his own, and we must expect him to keep it or quit it on the same principle.”

“I should not be surprised,” said Darcy, “if he were to give it up as soon as any eligible purchase offers.”

Elizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of talking longer of his friend and, having nothing else to say, was now determined to leave the trouble of finding a subject to him. She was not unaware that the last time she had been alone with him had been when they were on the balcony at Netherfield, and he had touched her cheek. There was something quite different to being completely alone with a man, than talking privately with him in the company of others. The room, once adequate in proportions, suddenly felt very small. Though a proper distance separated them and no one would think twice about their situation, should they be walked in on, Elizabeth felt herself resisting the urge to squirm in her seat. Their eyes met briefly. She pulled her gaze away to look at general objects in the room, only to find her way back to him. He studied her carefully, as if considering something gravely important — something she was sure she did not understand nor did she entertain herself to try.

When she did not again offer conversation, he took the hint, and said, “This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.”

“I believe she did, and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.”

“Mr. Collins appears to be very fortunate in his choice of a wife.”

Elizabeth wondered at the way he said it. Was it possible he had heard of her rejecting the man? Since it would be too improper to ask him of it, she instead said, “Yes, indeed, his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made him happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding. Though I am not certain I consider her marrying Mr. Collins as the wisest thing she ever did, she seems perfectly content. In a prudential light, it is certainly a very good match for her.”

“It must be agreeable for her to be settled within so easy a distance of her family and friends.”

“An easy distance, you call it? It is nearly fifty miles.”

“And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day’s journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance.”

“I never considered the distance as an advantage of the match,” said Elizabeth. “I would never have said Mrs. Collins was settled near her family.”

“It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything beyond the very neighborhood of Longbourn appears far.”

As he spoke there was a sort of smile which Elizabeth fancied she understood. He must suppose her to be thinking of Jane and Netherfield, and she blushed as she answered. “I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near her family. The far and the near must be relative, and depend on many varying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expenses of traveling unimportant, distance becomes no evil. But that is not the case here. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not such a one as will allow of frequent journeys and I am persuaded my friend would not call herself near her family under less than half the present distance.”

Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her. She noticed the room getting all the smaller. “You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn.”

Elizabeth could not hide her surprise. The gentleman experienced some change of feeling and drew back his chair. He took a newspaper from the table, and glancing over it, said, in a colder voice, “Are you pleased with Kent.”

A short dialogue on the subject of the county ensued, on either side calm and concise — and soon put an end to by the entrance of Charlotte and her sister, just returned from their walk. The tete-a-tete surprised them. Mr. Darcy related the mistake which had occasioned his intruding on Miss Elizabeth, and after sitting a few minutes longer without saying much to anybody, went away. Maria soon followed him out of the room to watch out the front window.

“What can be the meaning of this?” said Charlotte, as soon as they were alone. “My dear, Eliza, he must be in love with you, or he would never have called on us in this familiar way.”

“Nonsense. I am quite certain Mr. Darcy does not feel the slightest inclination of love towards me. Undoubtedly, he was here by order of his aunt, to please her by calling on yourself and Mr. Collins. If anything, he was put out by the emptiness of the house and deigned to say not much to me at all.” Elizabeth then explained in great detail the entire visit to a most eager listener.

“I do not flatter myself that Lady Catherine sent him to call upon us, though her ladyship is very gracious,” said Charlotte “Perhaps his visit was merely a diversion from the difficulty of finding anything to do, which is the more probable explanation from the time of year.”

Elizabeth was inclined to agree with her friend’s estimation. All field sports were over. Within doors there was Lady Catherine, books, and a billiard table, but gentlemen cannot always be within doors; and in the nearness of the Parsonage, or the pleasantness of the walk to it, or of the people who lived in it, the two cousins found a temptation from this period of walking thither almost every day. They called at various times of the morning, sometimes separately, sometimes together, and now and then accompanied by their aunt. It was plain to them all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he had pleasure in their society, a persuasion which of course recommended him still more. Elizabeth was reminded by her own satisfaction in being with him, as well as by his evident admiration of her, of her former favorite George Wickham. Though, in comparing them, she saw there was less captivating softness in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manners, she believed he might have the best informed mind.

But why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parsonage, it was more difficult to understand. The frequent visits only enforced Elizabeth’s belief that Mr. Darcy called out of boredom. What else could it be? It could not be for society, as he frequently sat there ten minutes together without opening his lips. When he did speak, it seemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice — a sacrifice to propriety, not a pleasure to himself. He seldom appeared really animated.

Charlotte knew not what to make of him. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s occasionally laughing at an anecdote of stupidity from his cousin’s youth, proved that Mr. Darcy was generally different than how she now knew him. The Darcy that Colonel Fitzwilliam talked about did not appear in the man who sat before them; but, then, perhaps there was a reason for so different a character. She would liked to have believed this marked difference the effect of love, and the object of that love her friend Eliza, and she set herself seriously to work to find it out. She watched him whenever they were at Rosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford, but without much success. He certainly looked at her friend a great deal, but the expression of that look was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, but she often doubted whether there were much admiration in it, and sometimes it seemed nothing but absence of mind.

She had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth the possibility of his being partial to her, but Elizabeth always laughed at the idea. Charlotte did not think it right to press the subject, from the danger of raising expectations which might only end in disappointment; for in her opinion it admitted not of a doubt, that all her friend’s dislike would vanish, if she could suppose him to be in her power.

In her kind schemes for Elizabeth, Charlotte sometimes planned her marrying Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was beyond comparison the most pleasant man and he certainly admired her. His situation in life was most eligible, but to counterbalance these advantages Mr. Darcy had considerable patronage in the church, and his cousin could have none at all.

M
ORE THAN ONCE DID ELIZABETH, in her aimless stroll within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that brought him where no one else had come. To prevent its ever happening again, she took care to inform him at first that it was a favorite haunt of hers. How it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd. Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like willful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it was not merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking, but it struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions — about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins’s happiness. However, what struck her as most peculiar was when speaking of Rosings and her not perfectly understanding the layout of the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying
there
instead of the Parsonage. His words seemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts? She supposed, if he meant anything, he must allude to what might arise in that quarter. It distressed her a little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in the pales opposite the Parsonage.

As she reached for the gate, intent on ending the conversation before aught else could be implied, he extended his hand at the same time to open it for her. His hand slid over hers on the latch and the shock of his warmth curled over her fingers. She snatched her hand away a second too late and silently bowed her head in thanks as he allowed her to pass into the yard. Reaching the door, she turned only to find Mr. Darcy still stood, his hand resting on the latch of the now closed gate. At her look, he nodded once and quickly withdrew down the lane. Until that moment, she’d been doing very well in keeping her strange attraction to Mr. Darcy from her mind whenever he was around. She knew the foolishness of such daydreams, and knew the fantasy did not coincide with the reality of the man. She had even convinced herself that her attraction sprung from the mystery of his character and naught else.

Elizabeth was engaged one day in perusing Jane’s last letter as she walked, dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had not written in spirits, when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she glanced up to find Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Immediately, putting away the letter and forcing a smile, she said, “I did not know you ever walked this way.”

“I have been making the tour of the park,” he replied, “as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?”

“No, I should have turned in a moment.”

And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.

“Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?” she asked.

“Yes, if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases.”

“And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least pleasure in the great power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems to enjoy the power of doing what he likes more than Mr. Darcy.”

“He likes to have his own way very well,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “But so do we all. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence.”

“In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for.”

“These are home questions — and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like.”

“Unless where they like are women of fortune, which I think they very often do.”

“Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are too many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.”

“Is this meant for me?” she thought, coloring at the idea. Recovering, she said in a lively tone, “And pray, what is the usual price of an earl’s younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds.”

He answered her in the same playful style, and the subject dropped.

To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her affected with what had passed, she soon afterwards said, “I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of having someone at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps, his sister does as well for the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her.”

“No,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “that is an advantage which he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship of Miss Darcy.”

“Are you indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way.”

As she spoke she observed him looking at her earnestly. The manner in which he immediately asked her why she supposed Miss Darcy likely to give them any uneasiness, convinced her that she had somehow gotten pretty near the truth.

She directly replied, “You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her. I daresay she is one of the most wellmannered creatures in the world. She is a very great favorite with some ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have heard you say that you know them.”

“I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentlemanlike man — he is a great friend of Darcy’s.”

“Oh, yes,” said Elizabeth drily. “Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes extraordinary care of him.”

“Care of him? Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey here, I have reason to think Bingley is very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture.”

“What is it you mean.”

“It is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady’s family, it would be an unpleasant thing.”

“You may depend upon my not mentioning it.”

“And remember I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage. He did this without mentioning names or any other particulars. I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer.”

It took all her self-control to remain calm. Her heart pounded violently. Blood rushed in her ears. “Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference.”

“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady.”

“And what arts did he use to separate them.”

“He did not talk to me of his arts,” said Fitzwilliam, smiling. “He only told me what I have now told you.”

Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. Out of all things she could have discovered about Mr. Darcy, she decided this singular piece of news determined once and for all her true opinion of him. She loathed him. He was a disagreeable, proud, insufferable man who thought the world at his disposal. His attraction of face and fortune, and those damnable blue eyes, could not make up for his having objected to Jane. All the unpleasantness and silence in the world could have been forgiven him, had he not injured a beloved sister so grievously.

After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.

“I am thinking of what you have been telling me,” said she, endeavoring to keep her voice calm. “Your cousin’s conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge.”

“You are rather disposed to call his interference officious.”

“I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend’s inclination, or why, upon his own judgment alone, he was to direct in what manner his friend was to be happy. But,” she continued, recollecting herself as best she could, “as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case.”

“That is not an unnatural surmise,” said Fitzwilliam, “but it lessens the honor of my cousin’s triumph.”

This was spoken jestingly; but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer. She abruptly changed the conversation to indifferent matters until they reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own room, as soon as their visitor left them, she could think without interruption of all that she had heard.

Fitzwilliam undoubtedly talked of Bingley, even if he did not know for certain. There could not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence. That he had been involved in the measures taken to separate Bingley and Jane she had never doubted, but she had always attributed the principal design and arrangement of them to Miss Bingley. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him to brag without cause, Mr. Darcy was the reason Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world, and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.

“There were some very strong objections against the lady,” were Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words. Those strong objections were probably her having one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in business in London.

“To Jane herself,” Elizabeth reasoned, “there could be no possibility of objection. She is loveliness and goodness, her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither could anything be said against my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will probably never reach.” When she thought of her mother, her confidence gave way a little, but she would not allow that any objections there had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance in his friend’s connections, than from their want of sense. She decided, at last, that he had been partly governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of retaining Mr. Bingley for his sister.