Blurb: Elizabeth makes a fortunate acquaintance in London before tragedy strikes the Bennet family. This is a Regency, HEA story.



Chapter One

Gardiner Residence
Gracechurch Street
London, England
January 1809

The young lady stepped out the door of the house on Gracechurch Street. Closely followed by an imposing young man clad in the plain livery of a servant, she began to walk briskly towards the park that lay nearby. The day was bracingly cold. Small pools of water still retained a skim of ice that had formed overnight and had yet to be completely melted by a sun that was warming day-by-day. The ground crunched underfoot as she made her way. It was an altogether perfect winter’s day for a walk. Cold with only the faintest touch of wind, it permeated through her coat. Her own breath hung in the air before drifting away as she walked. The young lady clapped her hands together, an exuberant affectation she allowed herself only when alone. Her pace began to pick up and there was a determined briskness to her stride that few could have matched. The footman who followed her huffed in exasperation; his thoughts of a leisurely stroll evaporating as quickly as the steam from his breath. He knew he should expect it by now, for the lady walked ever thus when alone.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet was as content as she could be away from her beloved home in Hertfordshire. If she could not walk with the solitude permitted in the country, and if the walks were not as varied and entrancing as those to be found down country lanes, she would take what pleasure there was to be found in the exercise itself. She was quite aware that John, the footman accompanying her, believed her love of exercise quite unladylike, but his opinion bothered her not at all. Her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, with whom she was visiting and with whom she was on the closest terms, were familiar with her need for exercise and solitude. They would allow her to enjoy both if she was protected and, thus, her companion – a footman.

She had walked the circumference of the small park twice when she heard a lady’s voice cry out. The sound came from the other side of a nearby small copse of tall shrubs towards the centre of the park. In seconds, she had run around the bushes. Behind her, she heard John call out, “Miss Bennet!” and then curse.

She hoped he would follow quickly, for she had heard, intermixed with cries from the lady, a high-pitched voice, although what was said was indistinct. She quickly espied the woman. She was on the ground and two young men – boys really, probably only twelve or thirteen but nonetheless larger than the lady they were accosting – were wrenching at an object that appeared to be wrapped around her arm. Her reticule, Elizabeth supposed. One of the boys raised his arm as though to strike the woman. Elizabeth cried out and he looked up, first at her and then behind her. His companion turned, releasing the object he had been attempting to steal. She heard a shout from behind her and then almost before she knew what had happened, Elizabeth had reached one of the boys. She reacted without thought, memories of her childhood returning. She had had more than a few scraps with the sons of her neighbours and these boys were not so much bigger as to intimidate her. She struck out at the closest boy but he retreated before her blow could land fully. She only grazed his face and then both boys turned and began to withdraw further. She supposed that John had followed upon her closely, for with muttered curses that she heard and understood very easily, they scampered off before he could reach them. In a matter of moments, they had disappeared and John was trotting back to where Elizabeth had knelt by the lady who had been attacked. He stood by, looking almost helpless, as Elizabeth spoke to the lady who appeared as much angered by the attack, as distressed.

“Are you injured, Madam?” asked Elizabeth.

The lady was slow to answer and appeared to be contemplating her answer. Her composure was rapidly returning and Elizabeth marveled at it. She was sure that were she to be so assaulted, she would not recover so quickly. Elizabeth found that she had, perhaps, underestimated the lady’s discomfit, for her voice was noticeably shaky when she at last replied.

“I do not know.” she said, “if you will assist me to stand, then. . .”

Elizabeth and John knelt by either side of the woman and, each with a firm grasp of an arm, began to help her to stand. She had barely moved when the woman cried out and they quickly lowered her back down. Where she had been clutching her shoulder, she now cried, “My back!” and then reached a hand towards her lower back. She struggled to regain her composure. “I do not. . . think, my dear, that. . . I can stand. I believe I . . .must have injured my back when that. . .that creature threw me to the ground. And my shoulder pains me as well. How. . .”

Elizabeth quieted her gently for the lady was obviously becoming distraught at her situation. A few questions determined that she lived some distance away - certainly too far to be carried. There was only one recourse. Elizabeth gently unwrapped the strap of a bag that had wound itself around the woman’s arm and then turned to her footman.

“John. You must run home and bring my uncle and several other man-servants. As well, bring some strong blankets for a litter, for we must carry Mrs. . .?”

She looked at the lady expectantly.

“Powell. . .Mrs. Powell.”

“Hurry, John. Oh, and have someone send for Mr. Harper. Immediately! Quick now, John, there’s no time to be lost. The ground is cold and we should not want Mrs. Powell to become ill. Hurry!” Elizabeth discerned that John was reluctant to leave her alone and unprotected. “I shall be well for the few minutes you are gone.” She looked about her, “There are too many people around, for you to fear for my safety. Now go!” In truth, there were only two or three people and while they appeared to be studiously watching the two women, none had yet approached them.

After John had left, Elizabeth turned back to her companion. “I should, I suppose, introduce myself. I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet. And we shall we be carrying you to my aunt and uncle’s home which is nearby. Mr. Harper is the family physician and will attend you there.”

“I cannot be such an imposition! Perhaps you might arrange for a carriage to take me home.”

“You cannot stand up, and I doubt you capable of walking. A carriage ride is impossible, or at least it shall be until Mr. Harper decides it safe for you to travel. Come, let us be sensible. There is room enough at my aunt’s home for you and I know she would not wish you to risk your health.”

Mrs. Powell lapsed back, a shake of her head all that she could manage by way of objection. Elizabeth suspected that her injuries pained her more than she wished to reveal and thus, in the interest of diverting the lady, Elizabeth began to talk of other things. As she spoke, she regarded the woman more closely. She appeared to be rather elderly, perhaps nearly seventy years of age which made her resistance to her attacker more startling. Her garments were of superior quality and her speech, once her emotions were brought under order, was refined and her voice pleasant despite being strained by her attempts to control any display of discomfort. She was, in short, a very elegant, elderly lady and Elizabeth rather thought her Aunt Gardiner might present the same appearance in the distant future. It was a pleasing thought, for she greatly admired her aunt, and wondered if this lady was cast from a similar mould.

"You were very brave." whispered Mrs. Powell. “No, do not deny it. That boy was about to strike me when you screamed at him.”

“I did not realize I had.” chuckled Elizabeth. “I was so concerned when I saw him raise his arm that I acted without thinking. I screamed? It is a good thing Mama did not hear, for she would be quite annoyed with me.”

“I cannot think why. If you had not acted, I am sure I would be the worse for it.”

Elizabeth continued to speak with the lady, mainly to distract her from her pain, until her uncle and several servants arrived Mrs. Powell was gently lifted onto the makeshift litter and carried carefully to the Gardiner home. Mr. Harper arrived about a half hour later, made his examination and presented his findings to Mrs. Powell, Elizabeth and the Gardiners.

“Mrs. Powell is not to be moved.” he declared firmly, “It would be injurious to her health. I do not believe her injuries to be life threatening. . .if she remains immobile for at least a week. She appears to have wrenched both her shoulder and her back, and the latter rather severely, and I cannot but be concerned that more serious and permanent damage could arise, should she attempt to be moved. A carriage ride is most definitely out of the question.” He glared at Mrs. Powell who looked mulishly stubborn and whose voice was as firm as she could manage, given her injures.

“I shall, I assure you, be quite capable of travelling by coach tomorrow, if it travels slowly. I will not impose on these good people and I wish to be in my own home.”

Mr. Harper appealed to her once more, “Mrs. Powell, I am sure you do not wish to further injure your back. I cannot guarantee that such will not result should you attempt to travel now. You must be sensible, Madam. I do not overstate the danger, for I have seen other cases where an injury to a back was not accorded the proper respect. One such case made a man a cripple for the remainder of his life.”

Mr. Gardiner was quick to add his support, “It is not to be thought of. Mrs. Powell may be assured of every attention while she remains here. She will be no inconvenience at all. However,” and he paused, “If Mrs. Powell is uncomfortable remaining in my house – I am engaged in trade, after all – I will quite understand her desire to remove to her own home.”

Mrs. Gardiner echoed her husband's assurances and, after several repetitions, Mrs. Powell was persuaded to accept them, after assuring the Gardiners that she was not so high in the instep as to object to staying in the house of a tradesman. At the Gardiners’ house, she would remain until the doctor felt it safe for her to leave. He was to return in several days to see how she fared; after several more words of encouragement and instructions for her care, he made his departure.

It is always difficult to be confined to a bed with limited amusements to wile way the time. If Elizabeth was not particularly involved in Mrs. Powell’s personal care – that task falling to the servants – she did make it her responsibility to entertain their guest and alleviate her boredom. It was, she found, quite a pleasant task. Mrs. Powell was a well-read woman, with a love of literature, a fondness for the theatre, museums and exhibitions to be found in London, and the means to enjoy them all. During Mrs. Powell’s sojourn at the Gardiners (which lasted slightly more than a fortnight), they had ample opportunity to determine that she and Elizabeth shared an appreciation for such amusements. A resolution was thus formed to partake of those entertainments together - once Mrs. Powell’s health would permit. A firm friendship had been established, despite the disparity in their ages.

Elizabeth was to learn that Mrs. Powell was a widow, her husband having died some ten years past. He was a barrister with a prosperous practice and she, the only child of a gentleman from Leeds, had married him almost fifty years ago. They had only one child – a daughter who died while young. She had few relatives as both her parents had been an only child and her husband’s family had also been small. His closest relative – a distant cousin connected through her father now deceased – lived in Kent and, as Mrs. Powell declared, “A more unpleasant mother that child has, you cannot imagine. My husband and I saw no more of them than was necessary, although the mother would insist on visiting us in town every year when she came for the season. We could not escape the acquaintance altogether.”

Mrs. Powell was to learn that Elizabeth was not yet nineteen, lived on her father’s estate, Longbourn, in Hertfordshire, and visited her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner as often as she could. She had four sisters, a silly, rather vulgar mother - although Elizabeth would not have said as much but Mrs. Powell could take her own measure of the woman from Elizabeth’s description of her actions - and a father who, while intelligent and held in considerable esteem by his daughter, appeared (to Mrs. Powell) to be indifferent to the situation facing his family. His estate was entailed away from the female line and he had no sons. As well, his daughters had only small portions and moved in a limited society within which there were few eligible young men. Their prospects were poor and Mr. Bennet seemed either blind to the situation or unwilling to exert himself to remedy it.

When Mrs. Powell was deemed fit to return to her own home, she wished to maintain her connection to Elizabeth. A correspondence was agreed upon and Elizabeth was induced, after only a token resistance, to agree to visit Mrs. Powell in several months’ time.

“For” declared Mrs. Powell, “I shall have the pleasure of being able to accompany you to those entertainments we discussed and, as I live an easy distance – no more than a brisk walk – from Hyde Park, we shall find a surfeit of entertainment there. You must come for two months complete and we shall walk every day in the park and laugh at the antics of society. You will enjoy the spectacle, I am sure.”

“And, my dear Elizabeth,” she continued, “I shall have no more of this Mrs. Powell nonsense. You shall call me Aunt Susan, for I am not yet ready to be called Grandmama. Perhaps, when you marry and have a child, I shall own to the title.”


Powell Residence
______ Street
London, England
Spring, 1809

Elizabeth first visit had been several months after Mrs. Powell had returned to her home, had lasted for over a month and was enjoyed immensely by both ladies. The society within which Mrs. Powell moved differed from that of the Gardiners. By virtue of Mr. Powell’s successful career as a barrister they had moved very comfortably in that tier of society falling just below that graced by the most eminent and titled personages. Mrs. Powell’s home was modestly sized, located on the perimeter of the most fashionable area and comfortably furnished. Her enjoyments were of an intellectual nature – apart from daily walks in Hyde Park - and her friends were of a similar age and disposition. She enjoyed their society by calling on them, and being called upon in turn. Elizabeth was quite content to share such pleasures. It was, however, beyond Mrs. Bennet’s understanding why Mrs. Powell did not put Elizabeth in the way of eligible young men, but as neither Elizabeth nor Mrs. Powell were disposed to worry about that matter, there was little for Mrs. Bennet to do but complain. As it happened, Mrs. Powell’s acquaintances were much of an age with her and had grandsons enough to satisfy even Mrs. Bennet, it was simply a matter of mischance that the gentlemen were absent during Elizabeth’s visit.

After Elizabeth’s first visit, Mrs. Powell was so pleased at her easy acceptance into her society that she resolved on introducing Elizabeth into more and better society than she could find in Hertfordshire. After informing Elizabeth of that intent, she added, “I am feeling better and more myself with every week that passes. You shall visit me again this autumn during the small season and we shall have the pleasure of more lively society.”

Elizabeth’s attempt to decry the need for more lively society and to express her contentment with that already provided was dismissed by Mrs. Powell.

“I was never to have the pleasure of sponsoring my daughter into society and had no nieces to remedy the deficiency. Allow me the pleasure. We shall have a most enjoyable time.”

“I do not,” she continued after a brief pause, “have the endurance to suffer through a full schedule of activities. Some of my friends speak of two or three events per day. No, do not look so alarmed. We shall be more sensible, shall we not? I believe that two or three events a week will do us quite well. I enjoy dining out, if the company is pleasant and intelligent, and I have seen that you do so as well. Perhaps a ball or an assembly or two but nothing more.” She considered Elizabeth carefully. “Yes, and you must come to stay a fortnight before the season starts that I might outfit you properly. No! No! Do not argue with me. I never had the pleasure of dressing my daughter and you must not deny me it now.”

Elizabeth shook her head, “Aunt Susan, I cannot accept such generosity. I have several gowns and I am sure my father will allow me funds to buy a few more. I shall be quite content.”

“But I shall not! I must update my own wardrobe and to add a few more gowns for you is a trivial expense. And,” her gaze became teasing, “shall I inform your mother that you have refused my offer?”

Elizabeth began to giggle at the thought of her mother’s reaction, “That is unconscionably unfair of you.”

“I quite agree. Is it sufficient, do you think, to persuade you to accept?”

Elizabeth could see that her friend was not to be denied. She knew that Mrs. Powell had always regretted not having more children and that the loss of her only child had been a source of much unhappiness. She could only nod, adding, “Although, I would not wish you to be excessive. I will petition my father for some extra funds. You must allow me this much.”

Chapter Two

Powell Townhouse
______ Street
London, England

So it was to be. In October of 1809, Elizabeth returned to London to stay with Mrs. Powell, her mother none the wiser of Mrs. Powell’s plans, for as Elizabeth admitted to her friend, “Had I informed my mother that you were intending to be more active in society, she would insist that I be engaged when I return. If not, I fear she would be most unhappy with me.”

Mrs. Powell laughed. “You may well meet someone who sparks your interest. If such happens, perhaps we might consider having you remain in town to allow him to call on you. It would seem rather senseless to separate you from a prospective suitor, would it not?”

Elizabeth looked at her severely, “You are not, I hope, becoming a match-maker?”

Mrs. Powell smiled at her. “If the gown fits, I shall wear it.”

It is, of course, impossible to consider entering the London season, even if not at the highest level, without being appropriately armoured for the trials to come. Gowns and their accessories must be acquired and the tribulations associated with a modiste endured. It is also a maxim not to be despised that a burden shared is a burden lessened; hence, an application was made to Mrs. Gardiner - and eagerly accepted - to make a third in the company. Not to Bond Street or its environs did they trek. Instead, to Elizabeth’s surprise, Mrs. Powell was quite content to take her direction from Mrs. Gardiner, for, as she noted, a modiste that could produce the elegance of Mrs. Gardiner’s gowns would do quite well for them and more economically.

“I am not,” she said, “so enamoured of Bond Street as to presume it the only source of quality materials, designs and workmanship.”

~~~~~~~~

As a consequence of Elizabeth’s involvement in the London season, she made the introduction of a wide variety of people. One of the most memorable was a gentleman she met at a dinner hosted by a friend of Mrs. Powell.

“Miss Bennet,” said the gentleman to her right, “I am delighted that we shall have the opportunity to converse.”

Elizabeth voiced her agreement with the sentiment and could hardly be anything but pleased at her dinner companion. Mr. Townsend was his name and he was a handsome man of some five and twenty years, and while her introduction to him when she arrived had been brief, he had impressed her, as they waited for the call to dine, with his smiling, agreeable manner as he talked with others in the party. To be seated beside him and the object of his attentions promised that dinner would be a most enjoyable experience.

“I understand, Miss Bennet, that you are visiting Mrs. Powell. Have you enjoyed your visit so far? And how long do you expect to visit?”

Elizabeth explained that she would stay for another month complete, that she and Mrs. Powell had already attended the theatre, visited a museum and had dined several times with friends of Mrs. Powell. Mr. Townsend had also seen the same play as Elizabeth, and the remainder of the first course was spent in an agreeable discussion of the merits of the performance. If they did not agree on all points, their differences were of little significance and served to enhance the discussion. With the remove, Elizabeth was required to attend to the lady to her left. Unfortunately, that conversation provided little that was interesting, since the lady could find no subject more stimulating than the state of her health – poor – and the inability of her physicians to determine the cause. As the lady gave every appearance of robust health and ate with enthusiasm, Elizabeth rapidly arrived at the conclusion that her ill-health was the greatest pleasure of her existence. The lady required little more from her conversational partner than to nod and murmur in agreement and this office Elizabeth felt herself quite capable of performing. The remove thus passed in an agonizingly slow manner and it was with considerable relief that she returned to conversing with Mr. Townsend on the next.

Perhaps the gentleman was similarly pleased at the change, for he quickly turned the conversation to discovering as much about Miss Bennet as possible under such circumstances. She was pleased to speak of Hertfordshire and extolled its beauties. Such a discussion could lead only naturally to questions of where he was raised – Devonshire – and an attempt to compare the merits of both counties. Since neither party had visited the other’s county, that debate ended rather more quickly than either desired. There was, moreover, a slight air of sadness to Mr. Townsend’s countenance when speaking of his home county which piqued Elizabeth’s curiosity.

“You appear to miss Devonshire greatly, Mr. Townsend.” she observed.

He sighed and agreed that he did. “My family’s estate is quite beautiful.”

“I hope then, that you are able to visit it soon. I know that while I enjoy the pleasures of London, I also look forward to returning to my father’s estate.”

He smiled sadly, “I am sure you do, Miss Bennet. You are to be envied. Not all of us can be so fortunate. However,” he said in more cheerful tones, “if I must reside in London, I shall enjoy the benefits only it can provide. Have you visited Hatchard’s, Miss Bennet? You have? Excellent! I must say I was quite impressed with their collection of novels and came across one that I think you might enjoy.”

Mr. Townsend mentioned the title and, as it was one that Elizabeth recalled reading some months past, the remainder of the dinner course was spent discussing the merits of the plot and their respective interpretations of the novel’s characters and their behaviours. Elizabeth managed to conceal her exasperation as she turned her attention and conversation towards her other dinner companion for the final remove. Fortunately, the lady had exhausted her desire to speak of her ailments and was now more interested in informing Elizabeth of the latest news of which she was familiar about persons with whom she had an acquaintance, no matter how slight. Since she still required nothing more from Elizabeth than a pleasant countenance, and an appearance of attentiveness, accompanied by the occasional nod or murmur of agreement, both of which Elizabeth was still able to provide, their conversation proceeded to the satisfaction of Elizabeth’s dinner companion.

It was with no small sense of relief, when the ladies withdrew after the meal, that Elizabeth could seat herself with Mrs. Powell. That lady had been seated at the table several places removed and across from Elizabeth, well able to observe her but too distant to be able to easily join her conversation with Mr. Townsend.

“I believe,” she said with a wry smile, “that you enjoyed the conversation of at least one of your dinner partners.”

“Indeed, Mr. Townsend was most agreeable.”

“And quite handsome as well, which you must admit, makes his company more pleasant, and he appeared to quite enjoy your company.”

“To be sure.” replied Elizabeth with the faintest of flushes. She had not missed the admiration in Mr. Townsend’s eyes when he looked at her.

"Do you think he will call on you?” asked Mrs. Powell.

Elizabeth admitted she did not know and to Mrs. Powell’s inquiry into his circumstances, could only inform her that his family apparently had property in Devonshire.

“I shall, if he should call, speak with Mrs. Holley” – their hostess this evening – “to learn what I can about him.”

At Elizabeth’s quizzical expression, Mrs. Powell murmured, “One cannot ignore prudence regarding a gentleman’s situation, Elizabeth.”

“True, for even handsome young men, as well as plain ones, require something to live on.”

Mrs. Powell laughed at Elizabeth but her rejoinder was prevented by the hostess requesting Elizabeth and several other young ladies to entertain them with music. Some time later, the gentlemen rejoined the ladies and Mr. Townsend wasted little time acquiring a cup of tea and taking advantage of an empty chair beside Elizabeth. While he made no attempt, over the remainder of the evening, to monopolize her attention, he could claim a dance - when the carpet had been rolled back to allow for such a purpose - and to enjoy such of her conversation that was unclaimed by others.

His attentions were not so particular as to excite general notice; however, Mrs. Powell had forewarning and, wishing to learn a little more about Mr. Townsend, spoke briefly about him with her hostess. She shared the findings with Elizabeth later that evening.

“Mrs. Holley does not know him well. He is a cousin of Mrs. Throckmorton with whom I am quite intimate. I shall speak with her, perhaps, should matters progress further. Oh, I have forgotten. She is visiting relatives at the moment, but I shall write her and, now that I think on it, I shall do so directly. As for Mrs. Holley, she could only assure me that he is from a respectable family in Devonshire, has an independent income which Mrs. Holley believes sufficient to support a wife, although she does not know the particulars.”

“Does he have a profession? He did not speak of one.”

“Mrs. Holley did not say. Should I inquire of Mrs. Throckmorton?”

”Would that not be rather presumptuous? He has not yet declared any interest.”

Mrs. Powell agreed, although she noted that Mrs. Throckmorton might well disclose the information without prompting should she learn her cousin had called. Elizabeth rather wondered that the lady would be so forthcoming, for they had become acquainted during Elizabeth’s first visit with Mrs. Powell and Elizabeth had formed an immediate impression that she was viewed with suspicion by the lady. Mrs. Throckmorton was extremely reserved and exuded a faint air of disapproval whenever she regarded Elizabeth. Although they had been in company together a half dozen times during Elizabeth’s visit, the lady’s air of disapproval had abated only slightly. Elizabeth expressed her reservations.

“I doubt that Mrs. Throckmorton will be pleased at such a circumstance.” she said.

Mrs. Powell was sorely perplexed at such a statement. “Why ever would you think so, Elizabeth? Mrs. Throckmorton holds you in considerable esteem.” The expression of disbelief on Elizabeth’s face prompted her to continue.

“I speak nothing but the simple truth. I admit she was, at first, concerned that I was being taken advantage of, but once I informed her of how you had rescued me and the care and attention you had afforded me, she was quite firmly convinced of your merits.”

“She has never seemed so to me.”

Mrs. Powell shook her head, “That dinner she gave just before you left to return home, that was given as a token of her respect. Did you not realize?”

Elizabeth could only admit she had not. To confess that she had thought Mrs. Throckmorton only pleased to see her leave was more than she dared.

“So that,” added Mrs. Powell, “is why you converse with her so rarely. I wondered at the absence of your usual liveliness in her company. I shall expect a return to the impertinent Miss Elizabeth Bennet when next in my friend’s society.”

As it happened, Mr. Townsend did not call the very next day but that following saw him in Mrs. Powell’s parlour. He spent an agreeable half-hour speaking with both ladies and, if Elizabeth received most his attention, he did not slight Mrs. Powell in any fashion. His conversation was light, his manner agreeable and his familiarity with a broad range of subjects, obvious. He did not remain long after the arrival of other visitors but, before departing, invited the two ladies to walk in Hyde Park in two days, should the weather permit. This was deemed agreeable and a time fixed.

Mr. Townsend was true to his commitment, the weather proved amenable to the exercise and the threesome traveled to the park in the comfort of Mr. Townsend’s carriage which he had arranged for the occasion. It was an agreeable outing. If conversation was not plentiful and of little substance when provided – for the circumstances did not admit of serious topics – neither Mrs. Powell nor Elizabeth could find fault with their companion. His appearance was greatly in his favour: he had all the best parts of the comeliness of his gender – a fine countenance, a good figure, for he was tall and strongly built, and a very pleasing address. As well, he possessed a pleasing readiness for conversation which was, at the same time, perfectly correct and unassuming. Mrs. Powell and Elizabeth were both charmed.

Mrs. Powell did not feel herself capable of walking for more than an hour, and when her fatigue became apparent, her companions were easily persuaded to return to her house where refreshments could be had, before Mr. Townsend was compelled by a prior engagement to take his leave.

Elizabeth encountered Mr. Townsend several days later at an assembly. She had mentioned during their walk that she and Mrs. Powell were to attend and he had left her in no doubt of his intentions by soliciting the first set that evening. She had dressed with particular care - selecting her very best gown for the occasion. Her maid was making the final touches to her hair when Mrs. Powell knocked and entered. Elizabeth stood and slowly turned.

“Will I do, do you think?” she asked.

“I believe Mr. Townsend will be thoroughly delighted, my dear. And I have a little addition for you to wear tonight.” Mrs. Powell opened a blue velvet bag and withdrew a double strand pearl necklace. It was much finer than anything Elizabeth had ever worn. Mrs. Powell stepped behind Elizabeth and unfastened the simple gold necklace that she had chosen to wear.

“This necklace,” said Mrs. Powell as she fastened it around Elizabeth’s neck, “was a present from my husband on the tenth anniversary of our marriage. I wore it to a ball that evening. It would please me greatly to see you wear it tonight.”

Elizabeth was about to protest that she could not wear something so intrinsically important to Mrs. Powell when the latter continued.

“This necklace is meant to be worn by a beautiful young woman in the bloom of her youth, not an old woman like myself. Now, do not protest. I will not be gainsaid on the matter.”

Elizabeth could only embrace her friend who, when they separated, began to scold her for crying. Once the necessary repairs were completed to Elizabeth’s appearance, they made their way to the hired carriage that would carry them to the assembly hall. Elizabeth sat with poorly concealed impatience as they travelled - drawing an amused glance from Mrs. Powell in the process.

Mr. Townsend greeted them only minutes after they had made their way into the hall.

“Mrs. Powell, Miss Bennet, I am excessively pleased to see you tonight and I suspect that I should be congratulated on my foresight in obtaining Miss Bennet’s hand for the first set.” He gazed at Elizabeth admiringly, “You are superbly beautiful tonight, Miss Bennet. I shall be the envy of every gentleman in the room.”

“I thank you, Mr. Townsend, although I also think you must have been visiting Ireland’s Blarney Stone.”

“I assure you, I speak nothing but the simple truth, Miss Bennet. On most women, such a gown and necklace would compliment the lady; however, tonight each is made more attractive by the lady they adorn.”

Elizabeth could think of no reply to such a compliment and her blush was clear evidence of the pleasure she felt. It was not that she had not been complimented in the past, but living with a mother who had never viewed her as particularly attractive had made her more appreciative of such praise. Fortunately for her composure, distraction came in the approach of several acquaintances of Mrs. Powell, most of whom were accompanied by a gentleman seeking to obtain a set with Elizabeth.

Mr. Townsend appeared to be slightly unhappy at the attention she was drawing but he was not required to suffer long before leading Elizabeth out onto the floor. Their dance had been very pleasurable, for he was an excellent dancer and possessed such easy conversation as to make the half hour pass too quickly In Elizabeth’s opinion. At its conclusion, he requested the supper set as well, which she was pleased to grant.

Elizabeth suffered no shortage of partners for her lively manner and attractiveness drew the attention of many gentlemen. By the time the supper dance had ended, she was more than eager for the opportunity to rest. She and Mr. Townsend settled themselves with their plates of food at a table which, by chance, contained only two other couples both of whom were engaged in their own discussions to the exclusion of everyone else. Mrs. Powell had chosen to sit with several of her acquaintances, allowing Elizabeth to speak with Mr. Townsend with some degree of privacy.

Elizabeth had been regaling him with stories of her own sisters’ behaviours, “I am fortunate that Lydia and Kitty are not yet out. They are far from ready for society”

“You are blessed to have such an aunt to sponsor you in society. Mrs. Powell seems an excellent woman.”

“I am indeed, quite fortunate; however, although I call her Aunt Susan, we are not related at all, but simply, odd as it might seem given the disparity in our ages, good friends.”

“That is very kind of her, indeed.”

“Yes, for my father - even were he of a disposition to enjoy society which, I assure you, he is not – could not afford to allow my older sister and myself to enjoy a London season. Our estate is too small to support such an endeavour.”

"I see." said Mr. Townsend, “You and she are very close. I had, as I said, thought you related. Does Mrs. Powell have other relations?”

Elizabeth that a rather odd question but could see no reason to dissemble. “She does. A cousin who lives in Kent. I have not met the young lady but I gather she is about my age and from a rather grand family.”

Mr. Townsend smiled cheerfully and began to talk gaily about a house party to which he had been invited the summer past. All too soon for Elizabeth’s liking, the music signaling the beginning of the next round of dances could be heard and her partner for the next set approached to claim her. She spoke only briefly, between sets, with Mr. Townsend before the evening was over. While they were travelling back to ______ Street, Mrs. Powell, observed that Elizabeth and her dinner partner appeared to be getting along famously.

“Indeed, we were.” replied Elizabeth, “Mr. Townsend is a most agreeable gentleman and one I hope to know better.”

“Well, he is certainly one of the most handsome men that you have met.”

~~~~~~

Mr. Townsend, however, did not call on Elizabeth the next day, nor the day after. She did not, in fact, encounter him again until over a se’nnight later at a dinner hosted by another of Mrs. Powell’s acquaintances. He greeted her politely some minutes after she entered the drawing room, bowed to Mrs. Powell and then, after a few brief civilities, moved away to speak to another guest. When it came time to be seated at the dining table, he chose to sit apart from Elizabeth, although a chair was empty beside her. She could have no doubt. Mr. Townsend’s attentions, short as they had been, were over. Had she required further proof, it was given when, later in the evening, he did not request her to dance. She canvassed her feelings on the matter and while she regretted the loss of those attentions he had provided, she did not mean to be unhappy about him. She had enjoyed conversing and even flirting with him, for he had been a most agreeable companion. She had no doubt that had his intentions been serious, she could have formed an attachment with him; but now all she felt was a small disappointment. As she did not feel any overwhelming sorrow, she knew her heart had not been damaged. Her pride and, perhaps, her vanity, but not her heart. He had been attracted primarily by her supposed fortune; her charms and character were not sufficient in the absence of a fortune.

"So," declared Mrs. Powell later that evening when they had returned home, “Mr. Townsend has shown his colours.”

Elizabeth greeted this sally with a wry smile. “I fear so, Aunt Susan. It seems that I lack the fortune he requires. I had wondered at his absence but his behaviour tonight can leave no doubt as to his lack of interest.”

“He has used you ill, Elizabeth.”

“I believe that he thought us related. That my family was of more consequence. I am only glad to learn his disposition now, rather than later when my heart might have been more fully engaged.”

Mrs. Powell nodded thoughtfully. Elizabeth had worn gowns that were of excellent quality and design and, as well, had worn a necklace loaned to her for the occasion. Mr. Townsend had read those signs and come to the obvious, but wrong, conclusion. She spoke of her suppositions to Elizabeth who, after a little consideration, agreed with them.

“I have no cause to repine my behaviour.” she said, “and the absence of a significant portion at least affords me the certainty that a man who does court me is doing so because of my merits and not my dowry.”

Mrs. Powell smiled and nodded.

The following week the two ladies were enjoying a quiet morning with nothing more strenuous than reading the letters that each had received that day. Elizabeth’s attention was interrupted by an exclamation from her companion, the cause of which was shortly revealed, as Mrs. Powell waved a letter before her.

“This,” said she, “is from Mrs. Throckmorton. You may recall that I mentioned she is related to Mr. Townsend - a cousin, I believe. Well, in my most recent letter to her, which I sent a fortnight past, I imparted the news that Mr. Townsend was calling on you and that his attentions were most particular. She is very concerned and has written to urge you to be on your guard.”

“On my guard?”

“Allow me to read what Mrs. Throckmorton has written.”

…“Mr. Townsend is the youngest son of a most respectable family. His father died about five years ago, and left Mr. Townsend a bequest of fifteen thousand pounds when he reached his majority which he did four years past. I am ashamed to confess that Mr. Townsend’s character was sadly misrepresented to me, although it appears that his brothers were not at all surprised. I have only recently learned that he has a dissipative character and, since gaining his inheritance, indulged in the most licentious behaviour. Gaming is not the worst of those evils I must lay to his account, for his behaviour with women is to be deplored. There is scarce a young woman around his family’s estate that has not been trifled with. He removed to London several years ago, and has apparently almost exhausted his inheritance. His brother, who is now head of the family, has disowned him and refused to have him in his home. If Mr. Townsend is paying his attentions to Miss Bennet, it is, I am sure, to secure her fortune. I have no knowledge of her circumstances but had not thought them so great as to induce my cousin to pay his addresses. Regardless, Miss Bennet must be warned!”

“Fifteen thousand pounds! Such a sum! And he has wasted it all.”

“Perhaps not all,” responded Mrs. Powell, “for he has given the appearance of prosperity, but I have no doubt he is seeking another fortune.”

“Such a man!” exclaimed Elizabeth, “I had thought him no worse than mercenary; such a report, and from his own cousin no less, can hardly be disputed.”

“Mrs. Throckmorton is not inclined to idle gossip and certainly not about her own family. I think, Elizabeth, you can have no doubt of her regard for you given her willingness to share such private information.”

“I must indeed thank her when next we meet.”

Elizabeth paused for several moments, lost in thought, before continuing, “It is, I suppose, an excellent illustration that goodness of countenance and manners may not reveal the truth of a man’s character. I had absolutely no suspicion that Mr. Townsend was anything but the gentleman he portrayed.”

“A useful lesson, indeed, and one that you should remember. Caution is required in determining the character of a new acquaintance and a first impression may be misleading. A handsome face and agreeable manner may conceal a very poor character.”

The visit proved a precursor for those that followed. Elizabeth returned, with her elder sister, Jane, in the spring of 1810, and again with Jane for the little season in the autumn of that year. She visited once more the following spring, spending the months of May and June with Mrs. Powell and planned to spend the little season with her in company with her sister. Those plans were placed in abeyance when Mrs. Bennet learned that Netherfield had been let to a single man of great fortune and, as he must be in want of a wife, it would not do for either of her eldest daughters to be absent. They had already been exposed to London society, had returned without husbands and Mrs. Bennet could not but believe their prospects to be superior in Hertfordshire under her guidance and assistance.

Elizabeth could not agree; however, Mrs. Bennet would not be gainsaid and at Longbourn Jane and Elizabeth would remain. If she had not encountered a gentleman with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life, her experience under Mrs. Powell’s tutelage had revealed the great difference between London society and that which was to be found around Longbourn. While the dinners were more sumptuous and the balls were more elegant, it was the people in which the greatest difference was marked. If there was the usual number of the boring and the witless, it was also possible to encounter those possessed of sufficient intelligence and wit to make enjoyable any encounter whether during a dance or conversing in a sitting room.

It was, however, the disparity of characters which most astounded her. In Hertfordshire, perhaps because of familiarity, the society in which she moved had become very predictable, her neighbour’s foibles rarely surprised any longer. In London, she had been exposed to such a variety of people as to make her extremely cautious when encountering a new acquaintance, for she had, on more than one occasion, misjudged the character of someone she had met only recently. Her encounter with Mr. Townsend had been a salutary experience; moreover, an appearance of cold, haughty unfriendliness had, on several occasions, turned out to be nothing more than a reserve which only time and familiarity had removed and an interesting acquaintance formed.

It was with no anticipation of pleasure that she remained in Hertfordshire to welcome the arrival of Mr. Bingley, for that was the name of the gentleman who had leased Netherfield. It is perhaps fortunate that one rarely is afforded warning of events which will overset one’s comfortable existence completely.
C

Chapter Three

Longbourn House
Hertfordshire
Thursday, November 28, 1811

The day began much as the last had ended. Mrs. Bennet’s anger, when she learned that her second eldest daughter, Elizabeth, had spurned Mr. Collins’ proposal of marriage, had not abated to any noticeable extent, and Mr. Collins remained in an angry state of injured pride. If Elizabeth had hopes that his hostility might cause him to shorten his visit, they were to be unfulfilled. To Saturday he had planned to stay, and to Saturday he would stay.

After breakfast, she and her sisters walked to Meryton. As they entered town, they were joined by an officer, Mr. Wickham, of the _____ Militia which had been quartered in Meryton for the winter. Lydia’s and Kitty’s expressions of disappointment that he had missed the Netherfield ball were expressed so warmly as to leave the gentleman in no doubt as to the regard with which he was held by them. However, it was to Elizabeth that he acknowledged that his absence had been voluntary, although why he should single her out she found perplexing. He had, a week past, regaled her with a story of his misfortunes at the hands of Mr. Darcy, a gentleman of the Netherfield party who she found excessively disagreeable. She had listened with interest but had chosen to suspend her belief, for there were about Mr. Wickham such similarities to Mr. Townsend as to make her wary. She knew nothing about Mr. Wickham and only slightly more about Mr. Darcy. The latter, who was visiting Mr. Bingley, had proven himself to be a proud, haughty gentleman who treated all that he had met in Hertfordshire with disdain and poorly concealed contempt. She herself had been spoken of most disparagingly by the gentleman, although she suspected that he was unaware that he had been overheard. Nonetheless, despite her dislike, she was not prepared to afford unquestioned creditability to Mr. Wickham. She had no doubt that there was some truth in what he had related to her, but how much and what she was not able to determine. Perhaps her very willingness to listen to his tale had convinced him of her belief, for he spoke to her as one sharing a confidence. Why he would spin such a tale if it were false was beyond her comprehension, for she could not see that he gained any advantage in the telling. It was that very disinterest that lent some credence to his words. That it spoke poorly of Mr. Darcy, for whom she enjoyed a great dislike, only afforded additional pleasure. Mr. Wickham apparently found it necessary to expand on the explanation for his absence.

"I found" said he, "that it would be best to not bring myself into Mr. Darcy's company, for I could not be certain as to how well I could bear it and scenes might arise that would be unpleasant to everyone.”

She regarded him quizzically, well remembering his boast that he would not avoid Mr. Darcy. She chose not to allow his latest statement to remain unchallenged.

“I commend your forbearance, Mr. Wickham; however, I suspect it was misguided. I cannot claim to know Mr. Darcy at all well, but I seriously doubt that he would have acted improperly, especially during his friend’s ball. Besides, what had you to fear? You were the offended party, were you not?”

There was a touch of uncertainty in Mr. Wickham’s countenance and Elizabeth’s scepticism must have been more obvious than she thought, for, after a brief pause, he deigned only to nod acknowledgement, murmur that he perhaps had been too cautious and moved quickly to walk between Lydia and Kitty. Upon being joined by another officer, the two youngest Bennet sisters were happy to return to Longbourn in their company, gaily conversing as they walked.

Jane and Elizabeth walked more circumspectly behind them. Elizabeth’s thoughts were directed to Mr. Wickham. She was surprised at his reaction, for she had only meant to tease him slight at being too scrupulous in his concerns. Yet, his behaviour almost suggested that he misunderstood her teasing and believed her to be questioning his actions. She reviewed her words to him. There was surely nothing in what she said that would suggest such disbelief unless. . .No! That was impossible! He could surely not have missed the ball because he feared Mr. Darcy’s reaction? Yet, he had stated so very convincingly that he would not avoid Mr. Darcy.

Her sister noticed her abstraction and said, “Something concerns you, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth glanced at Jane. She had shared with Jane her previous conversation with Mr. Wickham and her reservations about what he had disclosed. His most recent admission only added to her uncertainties about the gentleman.

“You heard what Mr. Wickham said, I trust?” Jane nodded. “Well, his reasons for avoiding the ball ring false and that makes me question how much credit I should attach to anything he has said. If he had not been as specific as to the details; if his knowledge of Mr. Darcy had not been so extensive; I might disregard the matter altogether. Yet, it is hard to do so, for I can see no purpose to his lying in such a matter. What could he hope to achieve by it?”

“He has not lied, has he, Lizzy? There have been no falsehoods?”

“I cannot know for certain. I have not discerned any, to be sure, and Mr. Darcy refused to address the matter when I pressed him on it.”

“As I said at the ball, Mr. Bingley could only say that Mr. Wickham had used his friend very poorly but he did not know the particulars of the matter.”

Elizabeth smiled. If Mr. Bingley thought his friend had been wronged, her sister would not be inclined to dispute the interpretation. Her thoughts were soon to be put aside, for they had reached Longbourn. The officers, who had arrived before them, remained only a short time before being required to return to their duties. Shortly thereafter, the post was delivered and one letter given to Jane and the rest taken to Mr. Bennet’s book room. Jane quickly opened and read her correspondence and then as quickly put the letter away and attempted to resume her conversation with as much of her usual manner as possible. Only Elizabeth noted a change in her demeanour but, as Jane obviously did not want to make the letter’s contents public, resolved to speak later with her in her room.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth was summoned to her father’s book room and directed by him to the seat in front of his desk. A letter was open in front of him and another, still sealed, lay beside it. He was regarding her most peculiarly.

“I thought,” said Mr. Bennet, “that I had exhausted my portion of surprises for this week. It seems I was in error. That Mr. Collins should be so insensible as to expect you to accept his offer of marriage has, however, proven to be insignificant in light of the matter disclosed in this letter.” He peered at Elizabeth, “Does the name Frost, Coombs and Tucker mean anything to you, child?”

Elizabeth confessed it did not.

“I had not thought it would but wished to be sure. They are a firm of solicitors in London. The letter was given to me, although addressed to you. I can only suppose that Hill saw it was officious looking and believed it to be mine without checking further. I opened it before I realized it was not addressed to me.”

Elizabeth was puzzled, “What have they to do with me?”

Mr. Bennet did not answer immediately. Elizabeth could see he was uncertain as to how best to raise the matter. Finally, he responded, “I have distressing news, my child. Your friend, Mrs. Powell, has passed away.” He shook his head at her query, “I cannot provide the details, for this letter is from her solicitor.”

Elizabeth sat in stunned silence. She did not wish to cry in front of her father, for she knew he was made extremely uncomfortable by such displays of emotion. But she wished for the solitude to allow herself to grieve and made as if to rise, “I believe I shall remove to my room.”

Mr. Bennet nodded. He was not insensible to her reaction, but there was another matter he believed could not be deferred.

“Before you do so, I believe it best to apprise you that it appears that you are to inherit a substantial sum of money from Mrs. Powell. But perhaps you should read the letter yourself.”

The letter was surprisingly brief considering its substance. To the shock of learning that her dear friend, Mrs. Powell, had died suddenly and unexpectedly, was added the information that, after the bequests for Mrs. Powell’s companion, servants and several other individuals had been taken care of (none of whom were named – but Elizabeth assumed that had she been present when the will was read, she would have learned who they were.) that she, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, was Mrs. Powell’s heir.

“Over ten thousand pounds!” she exclaimed, “And Mrs. Powell’s townhouse!”

“A very substantial inheritance, Lizzy. Very substantial. And” Mr. Bennet smiled teasingly, “I am sure that your mother will find excellent uses for both the monies and the house, should you allow her to do so.”

Elizabeth looked at him askance. “Do you think I should, Papa?”

Mr. Bennet shook his head. “She shall have to be informed, of course, and you must travel to London as soon as possible to speak with the solicitor. But no, I do not believe you obligated in any way to share this gift.” He paused, “I shall write your Uncle Gardiner to assist you in the matter. You might travel there Monday next.”

“Mrs. Powell has died!” It was suddenly borne upon Elizabeth that this unexpected good fortune had come through the passing of her dear friend. The shock of learning what had been gifted her had briefly driven the cause of it from her mind. She felt tears pricking her eyes. Mrs. Powell had been more than a friend. Elizabeth had never known her maternal grandmother and old Mrs. Bennet, as she was called fondly, had died when Elizabeth was young. She had not really known her well. Mrs. Powell had, without either of them realizing it, come to fill the role of grandmother; now she was no more. Elizabeth, due to her mother’s insistence on her remaining at Longbourn, had not been with her friend as was planned and thus unable to help her. Perhaps, if she had been present to nurse her, Mrs. Powell would be still alive. She forced back the tears. She would grieve the loss in private. She picked up the letter addressed to her in her friend’s own hand. She opened it but the words blurred before her. A handkerchief was pressed into her hand and she mumbled her thanks for her father’s thoughtfulness. It took a few seconds but finally she was composed enough to read.

__________ Street, London
September 12, 1811

Dearest Elizabeth,

If you are reading this, you will have learned of my passing. I have every hope that unhappy event shall not occur for some years yet, but I have seen too many of my former acquaintances pass from this earth unexpectedly and without having made proper provision for those left behind, to want to make the same mistake.

I have no close relatives left, and my nearest relation, Anne de Bourgh, is a distant cousin only through my husband. I believe I have spoken of her to you in the past. Anne is to inherit Rosings Park and has also a sizeable dowry. My small fortune will not materially enhance her position, nor will it, in my opinion, be particularly valued. I have left Anne all my jewelry, excepting one piece, as most of it came to me through my husband’s family and it is appropriate, I believe, that it be returned to someone connected to them.

I have left to you the pearl necklace that you have always admired (and which looked so well on you), for only you truly appreciated how important it was to me. I have, as well, left you the balance of my estate. There are several bequests to those who have served me faithfully for many years which will allow them to retire and Miss Campbell, my companion since my husband’s passing, is also more than ready to retire and live with her sister in Malmesbury. The amount set aside for her pension should allow her to do so comfortably.

I have not left you a munificent amount, Elizabeth. It is, however, sufficient to secure your independence. My house and the monies remaining – which my solicitor assures me should amount to about ten thousand pounds – will allow you to live comfortably should you choose not to marry, or provide an acceptable dowry if some discerning gentleman should gain your heart. We have spoken on these matters on many occasions and I wish for you to have the freedom to choose, a freedom which your current circumstances do not allow.

There is one condition attached to this inheritance, Elizabeth, and one that may cause you some difficulty, but I believe you strong and determined enough to deal with the problems it will create. I do not want you to accept the inheritance unless you are prepared to honour this condition. However, I know your sense of justice and integrity and I trust you to comply with my wishes. It is quite simple, my dear. I wish only that this inheritance be used for yourself and yourself alone. From my limited knowledge of your mother, I am sure she will attempt to have the funds and the house used to promote all her daughters – and particularly her two favourites – and, in short order, will have totally exhausted the funds in useless extravagances. Your common sense, I trust. I have no doubt but that you will assist your sisters but will do so in a responsible manner. I would expect no less of you.

You have become, in the few years that we have known each other, my closest friend and very much the daughter I lost long ago or the granddaughter I was not destined to have. God keep you.

Susan Powell

Mr. Bennet watched the play of emotions across his daughter's countenance. He saw sorrow, a smile he thought more wistful than otherwise, and a resolution forming.

“What does she write, Lizzy?” His tone was gentle. He would not demand that she share Mrs. Powell’s confidences.

She passed him the letter, waving off his disclaimers. “Aunt Susan would not mind my sharing this with you.

He read it slowly, marvelling at Elizabeth’s good fortune to have been befriended by such a woman. “She is. . .was an exceptional woman, Lizzy. You were fortunate indeed and I do not refer to this bequest.”

He passed the letter back to her. “She was perhaps the grandmother you never had. A sensible, kind and intelligent woman. You were blessed indeed, and it is only to be regretted that she is no longer with us.”

“So much! I had no thoughts she would be so kind.”

“It will ensure, Lizzy, your independence from the Mr. Collinses of this world. You need never marry, if that is your choice, but it shall also afford you the opportunity to select a husband whom you can respect. You will, however,” and he gave a rueful chuckle, “have to deal with your mother on the matter. This will most assuredly raise her expectations. I doubt she will be satisfied with less than a season in town for you all.”

“I shall honour Mrs. Powell’s request, Papa! I have no objection to assisting my sisters but it shall not be at my mother’s direction.”

“I had no doubt but that you would, my dear. Your mother will be greatly displeased but I believe we shall survive the experience. I dare say you will not regret travelling to London and thus avoiding your share of her lamentations for a few days.” He sighed, “I shall announce this at luncheon – after we finish eating, for I have no desire to disturb the tranquility of the meal more than necessary.”

Elizabeth retired to her room; there to peruse the two letters several more times before securing them in her small strongbox which contained her most valuable possessions. She was about to return it to its place in her closet when a knock sounded on her door, and Jane requested permission to enter. Placing the box on the small table beside her bed, she then opened the door for her sister.

“What did Papa wish to see you about, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth retrieved the two letters and passed them with a simple explanation, “Aunt Susan died almost a week ago. One letter is from her solicitors, the other she wrote herself some months past.”

“Oh, Lizzy! I am so sorry. I know you shall miss her greatly.”

Jane’s visits to Mrs. Powell had been an enjoyable for them both and, if the relationship between them was not as close or as warm as that they shared separately with Elizabeth, they never had cause to repine being in company together. She read the two missives and shook her head in amazement. “So much! And yet I know you too well, Elizabeth, to not understand that you would rather have Mrs. Powell alive and well. What shall you do with the money? And the house?”

“I am to go to London on Monday. I shall take the advice of our Uncle Gardiner but I expect he will suggest that I lease out the house – I have no use for it, after all. I do not wish to sell it and perhaps we might need it in the future.”

“Mama will declare she must live there when Mr. Collins becomes master of Longbourn.”

“We shall see.” said Elizabeth noncommittally. Her mother’s designs and wishes were never hard to comprehend; but, in this instance, she had no intention of abiding by them. If she had her father’s support, she could resist her mother’s demands. She had done so in regards to Mr. Collins and his insulting proposal, she would do likewise in regards to Mrs. Powell’s bequest. If her father was not there to support her, she would do the best she could, but Mrs. Powell’s condition would be honoured. She returned the letters to her strongbox and regarded her sister. Her thoughts had been so wrapped in her own letters that she had almost forgotten that Jane had received one of her own. She rather suspected that it was from Caroline Bingley.

“You received a letter also?” she said.

Jane acknowledged that to be so, that it was from Miss Bingley and read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information that Miss Bingley and her sister and husband were resolved to follow their brother to town directly, and of their meaning to dine that day in Grosvenor Street, where Mr. Hurst had a house. This was followed, in high flown expressions, by regrets at the loss of Jane’s company and the hope of their meeting again in the future. Elizabeth, who had never held Miss Bingley in high regard, expressed her belief that the departure of his sister need not prevent Mr. Bingley from returning.

Jane simply shook her head. “Caroline decidedly says that none of the party will return into Hertfordshire this winter. That Mr. Bingley’s business will likely take much longer than he expected and that once in town he would likely wish to remain for the rest of the winter.”

To Elizabeth’s protests she then added, “Caroline suspects her brother to harbour an interest in Miss Darcy and that she hopes that he will further this interest. How can I interpret her words in any fashion other than that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister; that she is perfectly convinced of her brother’s indifference, and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?”

“Yes, there can; for mine is totally different. Will you hear it?”

“Most willingly.”

“You shall have it in few words. Miss Bingley sees that her brother is in love with you, but wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She follows him to town in the hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he does not care about you.”

Jane shook her head.

“Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. No one who has ever seen you together can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley, I am sure, cannot. She is not such a simpleton. If Mr. Darcy held her in half as much regard, she would be ordering her wedding clothes. We have seen Miss Bingley’s ilk in London during the season, have we not? To them, fortune and connections – consequence, if you will – is all that matters, and in that we are, unfortunately, lacking. For that reason, she wishes to sever any attachment between you and Mr. Bingley. Miss Darcy has both fortune and connections and, if Miss Bingley can foster affections between her brother and Miss Darcy, she may well hope to encourage Mr. Darcy’s attentions to herself. Ingenious, if successful. I dare say it would succeed, if Mr. Darcy were not apparently promised to Miss de Bourgh. My dearest Jane, Mr. Bingley may well admire Miss Darcy; however, that in no way diminishes his attachment to you.”

Elizabeth was struck by the oddity of Miss de Bourgh being related to Mrs. Powell and to Mr. Darcy; however, her sister’s concerns would not allow her to contemplate that connection further.

“If we thought alike of Miss Bingley,” replied Jane, “your view might make me quite easy. But I know the foundation is unjust. I cannot believe Caroline capable of wilfully deceiving anyone; and all that I can hope in this case is that she is deceived herself.”

Elizabeth sighed. Her sister’s unwillingness - or inability - to see the machinations of others had often bothered her, but rarely more so than now. Although she suspected her efforts would prove fruitless, she tried once more to persuade her sister to her view of the matter. Mr. Bingley’s affections had been too marked, in her opinion, for there to be any doubt of his desire to return. Moreover, he had told Jane that he would not be gone for very long, a circumstance that Miss Bingley had confirmed. The suggestion that he would be delayed for a significant period of time was a creation of Miss Bingley alone. The question then was whether Miss Bingley’s persuasion, her power over her brother, was sufficient to sway him from his intention of returning. Of this, she could not be sure and she was reluctant to bolster her sister’s spirits with hopes that could be dashed. Of Mr. Bingley’s affections she was certain, of their constancy or his resolution, she was not.

She wished she could treat the idea of Mr. Bingley returning no more with the utmost contempt, but she could not. She chose, therefore, to present the situation in what she believed its true light.

“Jane,” said she, “We can suppose that Mr. Bingley will return or he will not. Is that not the case?”

Jane nodded reluctantly, having already convinced herself he would not.

“Now, Jane,” continued Elizabeth, “grant me one thing, and one thing only.”

Elizabeth waited for her sister’s agreement which was, she realized, given with reservations.

“Very well, I shall accept that you do so unwillingly. It is not such a great obligation, I assure you. Mr. Bingley did make his interest in you unmistakable, did he not? You cannot deny that, Jane! It was obvious to everyone. If he returns, I have no doubt that he will seek you out with but one purpose in mind. I shall speak no more on that. If he does not return, however, the question will be why. I can suppose two causes. One is that Miss Bingley is correct, that he has, or will, form an attachment to Miss Darcy, or another young lady. If such is the case, a gentleman with such an inconstant character is not the husband I would wish for my dearest sister. The second, and in my opinion, a distinct possibility, is that he is persuaded by his sisters and his friend that you lack the fortune and connections they wish for him. If such is the case, would you wish to marry a man who can be so readily convinced against his inclinations?”

Elizabeth could almost hear Mrs. Powell’s voice as she spoke to Jane. Her sister was silent for several minutes before saying with a melancholy air, “Your advice is painful, but I cannot gainsay it. If he does not return, I shall require myself to forget him.”

Elizabeth wished that her sister’s manner was as resolute as her words, but that was too much to expect yet. They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the departure of the family, without alarming her as to the question of whether he would return at all; but even this partial communication gave their mother a great deal of concern, and she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen to go away, just as they were all getting so intimate together.

After lamenting it, however, at some length, she had the consolation of thinking that Mr. Bingley would be soon down again, and be dining at Longbourn, and the conclusion of it all was the comfortable declaration that, though he had been invited only to a family dinner, she would take care to have two full courses.

Mrs. Bennet’s concerns about Mr. Bingley were swiftly driven from her mind by the news, imparted by Mr. Bennet after the midday meal, of Elizabeth’s inheritance from Mrs. Powell. Mrs. Bennet’s reaction was everything that Elizabeth had anticipated.

“Dear Mrs. Powell!” cried Mrs. Bennet, “How very kind of her. I always knew that she held you in regard, Lizzy. It was very artful of you to have paid such attention to her. A house in London! We must go there for the season, Mr. Bennet. With ten thousand pounds! We shall be able to dress our daughters very well indeed. I can see Jane and Lydia now. It will. . .”

“Mrs. Bennet!” snapped her husband, so sharply that she ceased speaking in amazement. “Allow me to correct your understanding of the matter. This money was left to Elizabeth and to Elizabeth alone. It is not to be used to buy dresses for your other daughters, nor is it to be wasted on frivolous undertakings in London. Elizabeth has inherited this money and one of Mrs. Powell’s conditions was that it NOT be used to gratify your wishes and desires. Have I made myself clearly understood, Mrs. Bennet?”

His wife looked at him in consternation and immediately began to protest, “Mr. Bennet, you cannot be serious. Ten thousand pounds will increase each of our daughters’ dowries to three thousand. You would allow Elizabeth to keep it all? That should not be! To set one daughter above her sisters is not right.”

“And yet Mrs. Powell, who had the right to dispose of her fortune as she pleased, chose to do so. Are we to question her motives? I shall not. But your suggestion is not at all relevant in this Instance. It is the conditions that Mrs. Powell attached to the inheritance that must be complied with and it is her direction that the money and house be Lizzy’s and Lizzy’s only.” He paused briefly, “I am sending Lizzy to London on Monday to meet with the solicitors with our Brother Gardiner. Jane may accompany her, should she wish to do so.”

“Jane cannot go! Mr. Bingley might return at any time and then where we would we be? No! Jane can certainly not go with Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet’s expostulations were accompanied by a frantic waving of a handkerchief. She fixed a glare at her second oldest and most disobedient daughter. “Lizzy must go alone. She will have no assistance from us since she has refused to do her duty to her family.”

“I believe, Mrs. Bennet,” replied her husband with a stern look at his wife, “that as head of this household, the decision is mine. Jane shall, should she wish to do so, accompany Lizzy to the Gardiners. Am I rightly understood, Mrs. Bennet?”

His wife, though used to having her own way in matters of her daughters, was also quite aware that when her husband was resolved on a matter, it was best not to gainsay him immediately. The trip to London would not happen for several days and she would work on Jane in the meantime. She gave her assent reluctantly and Mr. Bennet could believe the matter had only been resolved temporarily.

Mr. Collins, who had been listening to the discussion with uncharacteristic silence, could restrain himself no longer.

“I must suppose, Cousin, that it was the prospect of such an inheritance that prompted you to refuse my most generous offer of marriage. It was very poorly done, Cousin, very poorly done. And then to refuse to abide by your mother’s direction – once more I might add – it displays a want of propriety and. . .”

Mr. Collins, that is quite enough!” declared Mr. Bennet firmly. He had risen from the table, planted his hands on it and leaned towards Mr. Collins. “My daughter, sir, received the news only this morning and I am certain that you remember having proposed a day earlier. Surely, not even you would suggest that Elizabeth could have known the contents of the letter before it arrived. I will ask you to desist in this remonstrance.”

Mr. Collins subsided, glowering at Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet, who had nodded enthusiastically at his words, slumped back in her chair. It had been disappointment enough that Elizabeth had been allowed to reject Mr. Collins. Now she was to keep for herself a fortune that would enhance the marriage prospects of her sisters. Mrs. Bennet’s displeasure was extreme and she vowed to resume her exhortations to Elizabeth. The girl must be brought to see reason. She began to do so at once.

Mr. Bennet, who normally would not stir himself to intervene in his wife’s treatment of any of his daughters, could see that Elizabeth was not of a mind to tolerate his wife’s attentions. He had no doubt of his daughter’s ability to withstand such pressure as might be brought to bear but, in this instance, where she had yet to have the chance to grieve a lost friend, he could not allow his wife to bother her.

“Mrs. Bennet,” said he, “You shall leave Elizabeth in peace. You shall not importune her further on this matter or any other. Do I make myself understood?”

Mrs. Bennet knew better than to disobey a direct order from her husband and nodded reluctantly, although her glares at Elizabeth abated not at all. Mercifully, she remained silent until Elizabeth, tired by the morning’s events and wishing for time to mourn the passing of her friend and to consider the implications of her inheritance, took the opportunity to remove herself to her room. The prospect of future independence was little consolation for the loss of Mrs. Powell. To bear with her mother’s harangues, the foolish whispers and giggles of her two youngest sisters as they attempted to imagine how they would spend her fortune, and Mr. Collins’ indignant wrath, was more than she could undertake. Her room provided some sense of solitude and, if she was to have that intruded upon, it most likely would be Jane whose quiet comfort always soothed.


Residence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Rosings Park, Kent
Wednesday, November 27, 1811

Lady Catherine de Bourgh was most seriously displeased. Only a se’nnight past she had learned from Lady Metcalf, who had it from a friend living in London, that Mrs. Powell, with whom both ladies were acquainted, had passed away unexpectedly. Mrs. Powell’s husband had been a cousin of Lady Catherine’s husband, Sir Lewis de Bourgh. Mr. Powell had, in Lady Catherine’s opinion, married below his station. His wife had brought a respectable dowry to the marriage but she was the daughter of a country squire with no connections of significance. It had apparently been a love match and Lady Catherine’s opinion of those had ever been poor. She had married to preserve her rank in society and the de Bourgh family, if untitled and lacking the prestige of her own, had been wealthy, much respected and had added several valuable connections to the Fitzwilliam family. Moreover, Lady Catherine had always felt that Mrs. Powell had viewed her with amusement, though she had been careful to conceal it. She had not hesitated to voice opinions that contradicted those of Lady Catherine and her deference had never extended to accepting an opinion with which she disagreed. Lady Catherine had been mildly offended when, at Mr. Powell’s passing, his estate had been left solely to his widow. Mr. Powell’s de Bourgh relations had, in her opinion, all been slighted; however, she had found solace in the thought that it would return to the de Bourgh family after Mrs. Powell’s passing, for she knew of no relations of the lady herself.

Now his widow had repeated the injury. As soon as Lady Catherine had learned of Mrs. Powell's death, she had written her solicitor to determine the contents of Mrs. Powell’s will. She could hardly fault her solicitor’s diligence, although had he been present, she might have directed a few harsh words at him from frustration. She glared at the document he had included with his letter to her. It was a probate record of the will in question, and nothing about it was pleasing.

Will of Susan Judith Powell, widow of William Henry Powell, (1734-1800) Barrister and Gentleman, October 3, 1811

Will: My house, located at _______ Street, and all other real property I own at the time of my death, to Elizabeth Grace Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, in fee simple. Bequests: To Elizabeth Grace Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, my pearl necklace; To Anne de Bourgh, the only child of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh, my late husband's cousin, all of my remaining jewelry; To my companion, Miss Eleanor Campbell £1000; To my servant Mary Smith £100; To my servant Hannah Pouncy £5 and a suit of mourning; To John Simpson of Winterbourne Saint Martin who formerly lived in my service £5; To my servant Charles Stone £50 if still living with me at my decease; six dozen blankets & 6 dozen pairs of sheets for the poor of St Peters; all my Household goods, of every sort & kind, & the rest & residue of my money and personal property, except my jewelry, to Elizabeth Grace Bennet, solely for her use and advantage and under her sole control, notwithstanding her covertures if she marries, and without being in any wise subject to the debts or control of her then or after-taken husband.

“This cannot be!” She declared.

Her daughter, Anne, looked at her quizzically. She had been vaguely aware of her mother’s disturbance of mind but, as that was not an unusual event, had ignored it as she generally found it most convenient to do. Her mother waved the document at her.

“You cousin, Mrs. Powell, has left you only her jewelry – and not even all of it, for that pearl necklace I have always admired was given to this. . .this Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who, I have no doubt is a scheming sort of girl out for herself. Her house and the rest of her estate have been given, not to you who was her closest relation, but to this Miss Bennet who cannot be related to her in any fashion. Your cousin has forgotten what is owed to her family. It is unconscionable! It cannot be endured!”

Miss de Bourgh murmured something unintelligible. Lady Catherine continued as if her daughter had not spoken.

“Your cousin has lost the use of her reason. This Miss Bennet,” she spat the name, “has made her forget what she owes to her family. She has made her blind to claims of duty and honour. She has drawn your cousin in. I have no doubt of it.”

“But mother, if it was Mrs. Powell’s wish, what is there for us to do?”

Anne had no firm recollection of Mrs. Powell. She remembered meeting her once or twice and, as she already had more jewelry than she could wear, the prospect of gaining more, did not interest her greatly. Her mother, however, had a much different view of the matter.

“I shall deal with this Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I am not about to be trifled with in this matter.”

Chapter Four

Lucas Lodge
Hertfordshire
November 28, 1811

It was a relief to Elizabeth, after the day she had experienced, that her family was engaged to dine that evening with the Lucases. Although she could wish to remain home alone, she knew her mother would not countenance her absence. Elizabeth had, however, been allowed the privacy to grieve the passing of Mrs. Powell, spending several hours in remembrances of their time together, the conversations they had shared, and the advice and wisdom imparted to her. More even than her Aunt Gardiner, who Elizabeth had always respected, Mrs. Powell’s guidance, perhaps by virtue of her age, had been especially valued, for on more than one occasion, she had tempered Elizabeth’s opinions and improved her understanding. She suspected that, had she not had the benefit of such guidance, her advice to her sister earlier that day might have been much different. Well-meaning, assuredly, but different and it certainly would have been less pragmatic. She could not know how things would turn out between her sister and Mr. Bingley, but, if he did not return, Jane would have been encouraged to recover from her disappointment.

She did not anticipate the evening spent with the Lucases to afford much pleasure; however, during the chief of the previous day, Miss Lucas had been as kind as to direct Mr. Collins’ attentions to herself. Elizabeth, when she arrived at Lucas Lodge, took an opportunity of thanking her.

“It kept him in good humour,” said she, “and I am more obliged to you than I can express. If you should wish to do so again, I, for one, will be in your debt.”

Charlotte assured her friend of her satisfaction in being useful, and that it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time. This was very amiable, but Charlotte’s kindness extended further than Elizabeth had any conception of, for Miss Lucas’ object was nothing less than to secure Elizabeth from any return of Mr. Collins’s addresses, by engaging them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucas’s scheme; and appearances had been so favourable the day before that, when they parted at night, she would have felt almost sure of success, if he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very soon.

It was with no small despair that, while he had called at Lucas Lodge in the morning, he had not returned thereafter leaving for luncheon at Longbourn and, when Charlotte and the rest of the Lucas family learned of Elizabeth’s inheritance, she feared that Mr. Collins’ affections may have returned to their original object. Charlotte was, however, not long left in doubt that he had been no more successful than before in pressing his suit with Elizabeth and she resolved to attempt once more to draw his interest without, unfortunately, any great success, for the man had arrived at her home mired in gloom and introspection of the injustices he had been required to endure and so he remained for much of the evening.

The Lucases expressed their condolences to Elizabeth on the passing of her friend but, not having ever met the lady, were much more eager to offer her their congratulations on receiving such an inheritance. Elizabeth found that her civility was sorely tested by the suggestion – implied, though never stated – that she had cause to be pleased at the lady’s passing. Mrs. Bennet, of course, could not bear to listen to conversation on that subject and felt it incumbent upon her to express her annoyance over the fact that only one of her daughters was to benefit from it and that surely Lady Lucas would agree that it was undutiful and selfish of a child to ignore the wishes of her mother on the matter. That Elizabeth, being morally, although not legally, bound by her benefactor’s wishes and thus had no choice on the matter, was beyond Mrs. Bennet’s understanding. She interrupted her lamentations on the matter of the inheritance only long enough to complain of Elizabeth’s intransigence in refusing to marry Mr. Collins. Lady Lucas’ patience was sorely tried on the latter subject, for despite Mr. Collins’ absence from Lucas Lodge for much of that day, she still harboured hopes that he might offer for her daughter. Mrs. Bennet’s unhappiness would not deter her from affording Mr. Collins the opportunity to attach himself to her daughter; however, due to the perversity of chance, the numbers of people present and the man’s own abstraction, she was unable to arrange for Charlotte and Mr. Collins to be alone at all before he was required to return to Longbourn. As he was expected to leave for Hunsford in two days, her hopes for her daughter were waning. Nothing she had seen of his behaviour that evening had given her cause for optimism.

Mr. Collins had largely been oblivious to the efforts of Miss Lucas during the course of the evening; and was hardly aware that she had finally deserted him in frustration with the withdrawal of his attentions. It was only when he took his leave of the Lucases that he realized their disapproval and, although not the most discerning of individuals, comprehended that his failure to continue his attentions to Miss Lucas had been poorly received by her family. As he considered the matter later that evening, it became clear that, in choosing to contemplate on the infamy of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s behaviour and the injustice of his treatment by her father, he had interrupted his efforts in another direction. He was determined to return to Hunsford a betrothed man, for his patroness had demanded it of him. If he could not wed one of his cousins - and his pride would now only allow him to accept Elizabeth - it was his intention to wed another lady and, immediately following Elizabeth’s initial refusal, he had begun to press his case to Miss Lucas. To subsequently learn of Elizabeth’s inheritance had discomposed him greatly. His meditation on Elizabeth’s wilfulness and the benefits her inheritance would have afforded him had she accepted his offer deflected him from his courtship of Miss Lucas. His mourning of the loss of Elizabeth’s fortune was not ameliorated by the knowledge that she had never been his in the first instance. Such subtlety was beyond his comprehension. To his understanding, Miss Elizabeth should have been required to marry him by virtue of his position as heir to Longbourn and her fortune, therefore, his. However, he knew he must accept the injustice inflicted upon him and resolved to return to Lucas Lodge early the next day to resume his courtship of Miss Lucas. If his suit appeared acceptable, he intended to propose that same day. Her father’s approval could be sought, matters concluded to his satisfaction by nightfall and he could return to Hunsford on his schedule.


Longbourn House
Hertfordshire
November 29, 1811

The next morning, Mr. Collins, sitting in the breakfast parlour with the rest of the family, was preparing to leave for Lucas Lodge when the attention of everyone was suddenly drawn to the window, by the sound of a carriage; and they observed a chaise and four driving up the lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours.

The horses were post, and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to the Bennets. Mr. Collins, who had been the last to reach the window, was the only one to recognize the equipage and, to the amazement of them all, he hurried from the room with the obvious intention of greeting their guest. Mr. Bennet, believing their visitor to be more interested in his wife and daughters and not at all inclined to entertain guests at such an early hour, escaped hurriedly to his book room.

The conjectures of the remaining six continued, though with little satisfaction, till some minutes later the door was thrown open and their visitor entered, followed slavishly by Mr. Collins. Mrs. Hill made the necessary announcement. It was Lady Catherine de Bourgh of whom Mr. Collins had spoken frequently, fulsomely and with the greatest admiration.

They were, of course, all expecting to be surprised; but their astonishment was beyond their expectation. They all wondered at her presence, although Elizabeth very quickly began to have a suspicion of the lady’s object.

Lady Catherine entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious and sat down without saying a word. No request of introduction had yet been made. Nonetheless, Mr. Collins undertook that office in his usual manner and it was some minutes before it could be completed. Mrs. Bennet, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such high importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, Lady Catherine said very stiffly to Mrs. Bennet, “This must be a most inconvenient sitting room for the evening, in summer; the windows are full west.”

Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner and then, with great civility, begged her ladyship to take some refreshment; but Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely, declined eating anything; and then, rising, said to Elizabeth, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I would have a word with you in private.”

Elizabeth was more than slightly annoyed at such rude, presumptuous behaviour on the part of their visitor. She had never met the lady but what little she had heard – and now observed - did not dispose her to like her. Even Mr. Darcy, she thought, had never been so publicly discourteous. Nonetheless, if she was required to speak to the lady, she preferred to do so with some privacy; however, given the subject she expected to be raised, she wished to have the support of her father.

“I believe that can be arranged, your Ladyship; however, I must insist on my father being present.” she replied.

Lady Catherine appeared about to object when Mrs. Bennet interceded, “There can be no need for that, Lizzy. I am sure you and Lady Catherine can use the small parlour for the purpose.”

“Nonetheless, I must insist on my father’s presence, Mama.”

Mrs. Bennet subsided. Lady Catherine acceded to Elizabeth’s stipulation, albeit reluctantly, and to Mr. Bennet’s book room Elizabeth led her guest. Mr. Bennet, once apprised of the matter, was firm in his insistence that Lady Catherine’s interview with his daughter would be conducted in his presence. Mr. Collins attempted to make himself one of the party and followed them to the door of the book room, but when he made to enter the room, he was informed that the matter did not concern him and the door was politely, but firmly, closed in his face.

Mr. Bennet gestured to the armchairs before the fireplace before seating himself behind his desk, removed from any conversation but ready to intercede should that prove necessary.

Lady Catherine seated herself and looked around the room, her gaze disapproving. She finally deigned to speak.

“Miss Bennet, I presume you can be in no doubt as to the reason I am here?”

“I can assure you, Ma’am, that as your visit is wholly unexpected, I cannot presume to comprehend anything of the sort.”

“Miss Bennet,” replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, “you ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with. However insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. I was advised by my solicitor as to the disposition of Mrs. Powell’s property and resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.”

“Lady Catherine, as I have not yet even had the opportunity to speak to my friend’s solicitors,” said Elizabeth, astonished at such wilful behaviour, “I must wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship hope to accomplish by it?”

“At once to insist upon having you relinquish that which you could have obtained only by the basest of schemes.”

Mr. Bennet stirred. Elizabeth glanced at him briefly, gave a small encouraging smile and returned her attention to her visitor.

“I do not have the pleasure of comprehending you, Lady Catherine. Of what do you speak?’

Lady Catherine grew even more disagreeable.

"I do not know how you prevailed upon my cousin but had she retained the use of her reason, it could not have happened. But your arts and allurements may have made her forget what she owes to herself and to all her family. You may have drawn her in."

"I believe, Lady Catherine, that were I such a person, I would surely be the last to confess it."

Elizabeth could see her father smile. It was, perhaps fortunate, that Lady Catherine had chosen to sit with her back to him, for she would not have been pleased to be a source of amusement.

"Miss Bennet, you do not know who I am! I am not accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation Mrs. Powell had in the world. You cannot deny my rights in this matter."

“Actually, your ladyship, I believe your daughter is Mrs. Powell’s nearest relation and that only by marriage. She is nothing to you as the kinship is through marriage on both sides. Is that not true?”

Lady Catherine coloured and her cane struck the floor forcibly. "Let me be rightly understood, Miss Bennet. I speak for my daughter on this matter. Let there be no doubt as to that."

"Very well, but what is that to me? This remains a matter for our solicitors. I have no intention of refusing the inheritance that my friend bestowed on me. Should you, or your daughter, wish to contest the matter, you must deal with the executor of Mrs. Powell’s estate. I can see no reason why I should dishonour my friend’s request."

"Because honour and decorum, nay, interest, demand it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest; for do not expect there to be no repercussions if you wilfully act against the interests of my family. You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by everyone connected with us. Your name will never even be mentioned by any of us."

"These are heavy misfortunes,” replied Elizabeth lightly. “But as I have no expectations or wish of moving in such circles, I should, upon the whole, have no cause to repine."

"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; I will not be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person’s whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment."

"That will make your ladyship’s situation at present more pitiable; but it will have no effect on me." Elizabeth paused only briefly and continued before Lady Catherine could respond. “I am, I confess, sorry to learn of the diminution of your daughter’s estate. I had supposed it to be quite extensive and her fortune, large.”

“What are you speaking of? There has been no diminution of my daughter’s fortune.”

“I am relieved to hear it. I had assumed that your interest in my small Inheritance was due to some misfortune befalling Miss de Bourgh. I am happy to learn otherwise.”

Mr. Bennet coughed but Elizabeth dared not risk even a glance in his direction.

“What can you know of my daughter’s circumstances?” retorted Lady Catherine.

“Why, only what Mrs. Powell informed me herself in her letter to me that accompanied that from her solicitor.”

“I fail to comprehend what this has to do with the matter.”

“If you will allow me, I shall have the letter brought to me.”

Lady Catherine was about to object when Mr. Bennet rose and said, “I believe that an excellent idea, Lizzy. I shall have Mrs. Hill retrieve your strongbox.”

Lady Catherine nodded reluctantly and waited with notable impatience until Mrs. Hill returned with the box containing Mrs. Powell’s letter which Elizabeth quickly retrieved.

“It serves to illustrate my friend’s thinking when she drew up her will. Allow me to read the relevant portion.” Elizabeth began to read,

“I have no close relatives left, and my nearest relation, Anne de Bourgh, is a distant cousin only through my husband. I believe I have spoken of her to you in the past. Anne is to inherit Rosings Park and has also a sizeable dowry. My small fortune will not materially enhance her position, nor will it, in my opinion, be particularly valued. I have left Anne all my jewelry, excepting one piece, as most of it came to me through my husband’s family and it is appropriate, I believe, that it be returned to someone connected to them.”

Once she had finished, Lady Catherine’s features assumed a pinched look.

“Give me that letter that I may read it myself.” Lady Catherine grabbed for the letter which Elizabeth as quickly withdrew beyond her reach.

“I think not, your ladyship. While I am sure you are trustworthy.“ Elizabeth was not sure Lady Catherine was at all trustworthy but nothing was to be gained by being explicit, “This letter is a personal correspondence and I labour under no obligation to share it. Nor do I wish to have it out of my possession. Should you proceed with your suit to contest the will, your solicitor will, I am sure, be presented with a copy as evidence of my friend’s intentions.”

Lady Catherine anger grew at being so thwarted. "Miss Bennet, I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable and sensible young woman. One who could see the reasonableness of my daughter’s prior claim to Mrs. Powell’s estate. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require."

"And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. I must request, therefore, to be importuned no further on the subject."

"Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. You are cousin to Mr. Collins, are you not? He has informed me of your impertinent nature and selfishness. You refused to marry him, refused to do your duty to your family and your family’s estate. Of what were you thinking? Do you give no credit to the dictates of honour and duty? No! I can see you do not. I am ashamed of you!”

“Neither duty, nor honour had any claim on me in regards to Mr. Collins’ proposal. He is, I concede, a respectable man, but he is not one I can respect, nor do I hold him in sufficient esteem to marry him. I will not sacrifice my future happiness to satisfy some spurious claim of duty and honour raised by someone so wholly unconnected with me. My refusal, I must add, was warmly supported by my father who made known his displeasure at such an attachment.”

“It is not to be borne! The Powells were a respectable family. Mrs. Powell, although occasionally impertinent and disrespectful to those of superior rank, was genteel and ladylike. Is her home to be invaded by a young woman whose family is bereft of any sense of propriety? Oh yes, Miss Bennet! Do not believe me ignorant of the infamous behaviour of your mother and sisters. Mr. Collins has related every detail of their improper behaviour at a recent ball. I was aghast at such revelations and when I learned that such creatures would take possession of my cousin’s home, I was revolted at the prospect.”

“You need say no more, Madam!” interrupted Mr. Bennet, his tone harsh and abrupt. “You have insulted my daughter and my family quite sufficiently. Your manners throughout this interview have displayed such a want of civility as to make your continued presence here undesirable. I must insist that you leave my home.”

Elizabeth was grateful for her father’s intercession. It was not within her authority to request Lady Catherine to leave. She could not help but issue her own final declaration. “As I have said once before, Mrs. Powell is related to you only by marriage and my family is not related to you at all. You claim to speak for your daughter but, as I understand the matter, she is of an age to speak for herself. As she does not, I feel no reason to tolerate your insults any further.”

"And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that you have heard the last from me. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but, depend upon it, I will carry my point.”

In this manner, Lady Catherine talked on, while Mr. Bennet summoned Mrs. Hill and a footman to escort their visitor from the premises. They were at the door of the house, when, turning hastily round, Lady Catherine added, “I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I am most seriously displeased.”

Elizabeth made no answer; and, once the door had closed behind her ladyship, turned to her father, smiled wryly, and said, “If, in the unlikely event that her ladyship should once more call upon us, may I hope that she is to be denied entrance?”

Mr. Bennet chuckled, “Were you not amused, Lizzy. It is many months since I can remember having been so well entertained.”

Lady Catherine did not, however, depart immediately. Mr. Collins, attracted by the tumult attending her departure, followed her towards her carriage and they were observed speaking there for some minutes before she was finally assisted into the equipage and departed. Mr. Collins stood watching her carriage drive away and, when it was finally lost to sight, slowly turned and entered the house.

He approached Mrs. Bennet shortly thereafter with uncharacteristic hesitancy.

“Mrs. Bennet, my noble patroness, in the goodness of her condescension, has granted me a few extra days away from those duties of my parish which, though of great importance to her, she has allowed to be of less importance than fulfilling her demand that I find a wife. To this end, I plan to extend my stay until Tuesday or Wednesday next.”

Mrs. Bennet, not being privy to the discussion that had taken place in her husband’s book room, could only suppose that Mr. Collins had informed her ladyship of his failure to secure Elizabeth as his wife, and requested the extra time to direct his attentions to another of her daughters. To forward such, for she hoped to promote Mary as a prospective wife, she was quite agreeable and readily acceded to his request to extend his visit.

“My dear Madam,” he responded, “this invitation is particularly gratifying, because it is what I have been hoping to receive; and you may be very certain that I shall inform Lady Catherine of your civility in the matter. She is very attentive to such matters.”


Longbourn House
Hertfordshire
Sunday, December 1, 1811

If Mrs. Bennet had understood that Mr. Collins would spend very little time at Longbourn in the days that followed, her consent to his request would not have been so readily given. To her dismay, Mr. Collins had departed immediately after speaking with her and spent the remainder of that day and the next at Lucas Lodge where his arrival was greeted with equal parts of surprise, pleasure and caution, for they had fully expected that he had decided against pursuing Miss Lucas. While his present endeavours were quite acceptable, Miss Lucas and her mother were not insensible to his having withdrawn them before and inclined to offer as much encouragement as was proper. For his part, Mr. Collins could not completely forget the attraction of Miss Elizabeth’s ten thousand pounds and his manner was, as a consequence, somewhat more hesitant than hitherto had been the case.

Charlotte, herself, was tolerably composed. She now felt very close to gaining her object, and had time to consider it. Her reflections were, in general, satisfactory. Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her, imaginary. But, still, it seemed he would propose and would be her husband. Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative she had now reason to believe was within her power; and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been handsome, she felt all the good luck of it. She could not know how soon he would pay his addresses. It mattered little, for, whether it was today or tomorrow or even Monday, they would be gratefully accepted. That he would tender them, she had convinced herself of, for why else would he prolong his stay? He need not have done so, however, she supposed him to believe that the inconstancy of his addresses must require some extra attention on his part. They were quite unnecessary but, provided he made his addresses, she would not worry overmuch about the timing.

The least agreeable circumstance in the business was the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendship she valued beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth would wonder, and probably would blame her; and though her resolution was not to be shaken, her feelings must be hurt by such disapprobation. However, Charlotte’s concern for her friend’s feelings were lessened by a slight resentment arising out of Elizabeth’s having received an inheritance. Not only was her friend endowed with beauty and wit, she was now in possession of a fortune which would ensure either her future independence or the acquisition of a very respectable husband. It seemed patently unfair that Elizabeth should have so much while she, Charlotte, should have so very little. With such thoughts, she waited for Mr. Collins to declare himself and consoled herself that her friend could have no grounds to criticize her.

Sunday arrived and passed as quietly as it usually did. Mr. Collins was content to ignore Elizabeth and she, to return the compliment. As Mr. Collins was not welcome in Mr. Bennet’s book room, he was perforce required to spend his hours elsewhere and thus took upon himself the duty of preparing his sermon for the following Sunday. The weather being reasonably fine for the time of year, Elizabeth and her sisters could wander the paths of Longbourn’s park unbothered by their cousin.

Mrs. Bennet, lacking a sympathetic ear, for none of her daughters would do, removed to her rooms where she remained for much of the day, even going so far as to take all her meals there. There were tears and lamentations, invective against the wilful and disobedient behaviour of her least favoured daughter and complaints of her own sufferings and ill-usage by everyone in the family. Such was her turbulence of mind at her daughter’s two-fold ill-usage, compounded by a sense of betrayal on the part of her husband who had ever been insensitive to his wife’s fears about her future, that it left her with a disturbance of feelings as to preclude any possibility of sleep. She would not calm herself, exacerbating her nerves by ceaseless thoughts of how no one had any consideration for her feelings. This continued for some hours until finally, grumbling that Mrs. Hill was never present when she was most wanted – not considering that it was by her own consent that Mr. and Mrs. Hill had visited her sister that evening – she left her chamber to venture to the kitchen to make a posset to soothe her nerves.

The house was remarkably silent. She could hear her husband’s snores and huffed in exasperation at the easiness with which he found sleep. He was not cursed with her nerves nor was he cursed with a spouse that delighted in frustrating him at every turn. She huffed again. Her candle cast only a small light but sufficient to guide her through the blackness that surrounded her. When she reached the kitchen, the chill made it at once obvious that the cooking fire had been allowed to die down; however, there were sufficient embers for her to get a small flame going in a matter of minutes. A small pot supported over the fire contained the ingredients for her posset and she settled down to wait until it was warmed enough to drink. So wrapped in her thoughts was she, that the entrance of a second visitor to the kitchen caught her completely by surprise.

“What do you do here?” The tone was almost accusatory, although why he should adopt such an attitude was beyond her comprehension, for who had a better right to be in the kitchen than the mistress of the house? While much of her anger that evening had been directed at her daughter, she harboured some sense of ill-usage by the gentleman himself. Surely, could he not, with all his advantages of education and position, have made his offer to her daughter in a manner which could have induced her to accept it? Her exasperation coloured the tone of her voice.

“I find a need for a posset, Mr. Collins. I might well inquire as to your presence, sir.”

“I heard someone about and, in a house as ill-run as this, I feared an intruder.”

Mrs. Bennet snorted. She thought it more likely he was down counting the spoons and silverware to assess what would become his in the future. Mr. Collins, with a perspicuity unusual for him, took offence at this reaction.

“No Mistress of a decent estate would demean herself to fix her own posset, Madam. But that behaviour is no less than what I have come to expect here.” He sniffed contemptuously.

Mrs. Bennet’s ire was stoked by such a response and she replied accordingly, “If Longbourn meets not with your satisfaction, I am sure no one will hold it to your account should you choose to depart earlier than you intended, Mr. Collins.”

He looked at her in amazement, “I planned to leave on Tuesday, and I shall not depart from that plan. I have not yet completed my object in visiting Longbourn but you may be assured I shall not leave unsatisfied.”

There was an air of triumph about Mr. Collins that Mrs. Bennet could not like. “May I inquire as to your meaning, Mr. Collins?”

“I am not at liberty to speak further on the matter, Mrs. Bennet.”

He made a small bow and left the kitchen quickly. Though the light was poor, Mrs. Bennet thought she detected a broad smile on his countenance. If he had every intention of satisfying his purpose in visiting Longbourn, he must still be in pursuit of a wife and from his manner she could only suppose he was meeting with some success. She had hoped to direct his attentions to Mary but he had given her not a minute of attention. In fact, he had left early the previous morning and only returned to Longbourn for dinner; and today he had spent no time with any of her daughters. Mrs. Bennet’s mental acuity was not of a high order but she understood clearly that, if he was not directing his attentions to one of her daughters, it could only mean he was attending another young woman, would offer for her and, without a doubt, be accepted. Mrs. Bennet’s legs suddenly felt weak. Mr. Collins would marry a woman who, when Mr. Bennet died, would have no compunction in turning her and her daughters out of Longbourn as soon as possible. All her worst fears would be realized and she began to feel faint. The room swam around her and she reached for the edge of the table. It eluded her grasp and her last conscious thought was how odd it was that the floor was rising to meet her. Mrs. Bennet’s head struck the side of the table as she fell, knocking her candle off the table and onto the pile of kindling stored beside the fireplace. Of the fire that ignited shortly thereafter, she was spared any thought.

Chapter Five

Residence of Mr. & Mrs. Philips
Meryton, Hertfordshire
December 3, 1811

Elizabeth Bennet was thankful that her Aunt Philips had chosen to go and consult her cook as to the foods that would be required later that day. Her aunt was a kindly soul, full of good intentions but as witless as a goose. It was also an unfortunate truth that many would never appreciate her kindness, cloaked as it was in her unconscious vulgarity. She loved her aunt, but her company became a sore trial after too many hours and she, Elizabeth Bennet, had been required to endure her aunt’s company far too long. Her sensibilities were stretched almost to the point of snapping and her aunt would bear the brunt of her ire when that point was exceeded. She had been saved from such unkindness only by that lady’s summons to the kitchen.

Her Aunt Philips was, in almost all particulars, very much Mrs. Bennet’s sister. Her reproaches, upon learning that Elizabeth had refused Mr. Collins’ offer, had borne an eerie similarity to those emanating from Mrs. Bennet and, if not bemoaning a possible fate in the hedgerows, she had been no less concerned about the imposition that seven relatively impoverished females might represent for herself and her husband. Those concerns had been abated when recalled to the existence of Elisabeth’s inheritance, for she was not so insensible as to suppose that Elizabeth would not care for her sisters and mother. This had not ended her wishes for one of the Bennet sisters to marry Mr. Collins. A familial association with Longbourn and the Bennet family conferred greater status and respectability to the Philipses which would be lost upon Mr. Bennet’s passing but could be maintained if one of the daughters was to marry Mr. Collins.

Even now, when the responsibility of care had been so greatly diminished, Mrs. Philips remained optimistic that a connection with Longbourn could be established. She was not so foolish as to expect Elizabeth to be prevailed upon and her thoughts had drifted towards Mary and she had begun speculating about such a possibility. She was not blessed with a single subtle bone in her body, nor was she especially attuned to the reactions of others. Thus, she was quite unaware that her musings of the possibility of Mary making a match with Mr. Collins, which several days before had been much to Mary’s liking, were now not being well-received by her niece. So far, Mary had not voiced her objections, but Elizabeth could only wonder how long such restraint would last. She had made one or two dissenting comments but Mrs. Philips was much like her sister in this regard also. Some matters were beyond her understanding, and refusing a marriage offer was one such subject.

It was but thirty-six hours since Elizabeth had been woken by Mary, forced to dress hurriedly and escape Longbourn before it burned down around her. Why Mary had roused, she learned only later, as her sister explained with an unusual degree of embarrassment.

“I was thinking of Mr. Collins. I had hopes, after your refusal, that he might direct his attentions to me but he did not. I confess I slept poorly and woke to the smell of smoke. When I opened door, the hall was filled with smoke. I started towards our parents’ chambers but the smoke was too thick and I could hardly breathe, so I came to yours which was closest.”

"And I am glad you did.” replied Elizabeth.

Between them, they had woken Jane but by then the hall was dense and black with smoke from floor to ceiling. They could feel the heat from that end of the building. To attempt to find the remainder of their family was impossible. All they could do was hasten down the servant’s stairwell which even then was rapidly being invaded by thick tendrils of smoke. Of her family, only she, Jane and Mary had survived the conflagration that consumed Longbourn. And Mr. Collins, of course. He apparently had been the first to save himself and, if she could not believe him capable of starting the fire, she could not accept the sincerity of his condolences on the deaths of her parents and two sisters. It seemed too providential and she could only wonder that he had not made any effort to rouse her parents. She and Mary had been able to do as much for Jane before being driven from the house by smoke and Mr. Collins had been outside for some minutes when they had made their own exit. Even Mary, who had hitherto regarded the man with favour, did not mask her contempt for his apparent lack of action.

He had been uncharacteristically silent as he stood watching their home burn, arms folded across his chest. Unlike themselves, he did not require a quilt for warmth. He had somehow managed to retain sufficient presence of mind to take his greatcoat when he left. She thought it odd that he was also dressed, not in his nightclothes like she and her sisters, but supposed he had been working on his sermon and fallen asleep while still dressed. Her father had done as much, more times than she could remember. She was in such a state of confusion and shock that the absence of any signs that he had been discomfited by the fire was overlooked until much later.

He turned as the three sisters scuffled towards him; Elizabeth could not mistake the expression of surprise that crossed his face, only to be chased away by displeasure when he recognized her. She had thought, under the present circumstances, that forgiveness might be granted her for having refused him, but apparently not. After a glare in her direction and a mumbled acknowledgement to her sisters, he had returned his gaze to Longbourn. If he had not exactly ignored them henceforth, neither had he afforded them any significant attention. Fortunately, the Lucases came and had taken them in hand and brought them to Lucas Lodge where they stayed until the Philipses arrived. To Charlotte and Maria, they were indebted for the gift of gowns, for they had exited Longbourn clad only in their nightclothes and their wardrobes had been consumed along with their home.

Those gowns had now been dyed black, and a visit to the local seamstress had produced a bombazine gown for each of them. Other accessories were acquired by Mrs. Philips, for it was winter and warmer clothing and outerwear essential. It would take several days for the small order they had placed to be complete. Elizabeth gathered her shawl more closely about her shoulders. As annoying and ridiculous as their cousin was, she preferred to allow him and his behaviour to crowd out other even more unpleasant thoughts of the events of the past hours. He was now Master of Longbourn and his stewardship had not gotten off to a propitious start. Not only had he managed to escape unscathed from the house, it had soon become common knowledge that he had made no attempt to rouse anyone else to escape and his excuses had not sounded convincing. Moreover, his efforts to assist those who attempted to combat the fire, hindered more than helped. She recalled now more than one glance of dismay or contempt directed at him by those working diligently to ensure the flames did not spread to the stables and other buildings. He, of course, had been oblivious to it all, and if he did not rub his hands in glee at the prospect of such an early assumption of the role of Master, it was a close-run thing. She snorted in derision. Longbourn House, from what she had seen, was unliveable and must be completely rebuilt. She wished him well and wondered where he might find the funds. She could not view him now with anything but contempt. That he had made no effort to assist anyone to leave the house was unforgivable. His failure to act was due either to a desire to acquire his inheritance sooner than it would otherwise have been his, or the result of panic of such magnitude as to banish from his mind any thought of assisting others. Neither was pleasant to consider and a man, she had thought respectable at least, could not now aspire to even that limited amount of credit. He was either a coward, heartless or the basest of opportunists. Whichever he was, he was most assuredly not an estimable representative of the clergy.

She could only bless whatever unconscious thought of her own had made her carry her strongbox from her room. It was, she believed, a serendipitous action, for she had knocked it to the floor while attempting to garb herself and must have clutched it along with the quilt to warm herself when she reached the outside, although she could not remember doing so. Even now, she could remember vividly coughing and choking as they stumbled down the stairs and outside. Her eyes were still sore from the smoke and any bright light brought tears to them. She was more fortunate than Mary who was still coughing roughly from the smoke she had inhaled. Why she and only two of her sisters had survived and the remainder of her family had not, was beyond her comprehension. Mr. Sellers, vicar of the Longbourn parish had spoken of God’s will. She could find no comfort in his words and she had yet to understand how it had even happened. Fire was an ever-present danger, particularly in an old house like Longbourn. The house had been rebuilt a hundred years ago when its predecessor had also been destroyed by fire, a circumstance which had made all of them cautious. The embers were still too fierce yesterday to allow anyone to recover the remains of her family but Mr. Hill had given it as his opinion that the fire had somehow started in the kitchen. They hoped that the overnight rain would cool the embers enough to allow searchers to retrieve the bodies of her parents and sisters. She drew the shawl even closer and shivered.

If there was anything to be thankful for, it was that her Uncle Gardiner had arrived late the evening before. Mr. Collins had been closeted with her Uncle Philips for more than an hour earlier that day. She had not thought much about the matter until her uncle had called her into his office. Mr. Collins had been sitting there with such a look of smug self-assurance that it was more than she could bear to even look at him. She could only suppose him to be congratulating himself on coming into his inheritance. She was quite wrong – or, at least, did not account for the full measure of his conceit. Her uncle soon corrected her opinion.

“Lizzy, Mr. Collins has informed me that he made you an offer of marriage several days ago, and that you refused him despite my sister’s wishes on the matter. Is this the case?”

She regarded her uncle with confusion. “I admit to being surprised that you were in ignorance on the matter, Uncle. My Aunt Philips was informed about it on the very day it took place, if I recollect correctly.”

Mr. Philips shook his head, “My wife mentioned something but I confess I rarely listen to all her gossip. There’s too much of it to take it all in.” He paused, “So it is true, then?”

“It is true that Mr. Collins made me an offer which I declined, yes.”

“And yet my sister wished it so, for the security of herself and her daughters.”

Mr. Collins burst out, “I had informed Mrs. Bennet that should I marry one of her daughters, she need not fear for her future. Lady Catherine was most explicit on this matter. ‘Mr. Collins, she said, it behooves you to provide for their care if Mr. Bennet has not done so.’ As Mrs. Bennet assured me that she and her unmarried daughters would have naught but five thousand pounds for their support, I gave her such assurances as I considered appropriate. And. . .”

“Thank you, Mr. Collins.” interrupted Elizabeth, quite sure that if allowed, Mr. Collins would hold forth for a quarter hour or more on the matter. She turned back to her uncle. “Despite my mother’s wishes, I did indeed decline Mr. Collins’ offer, and in this I was firmly supported by my father.”

Her uncle looked amazed, “Your father did not agree with my sister on the matter? He did not support her?” He turned to Mr. Collins with a disapproving air, “Why did you not inform me of this, sir?”

Mr. Collins waved his hand dismissively, “It matters not now. Mr. Bennet’s support is no longer required. As Miss Elizabeth’s nearest surviving male relative and head of the family, it is my responsibility and I will expect to wed Miss Elizabeth when the proper mourning period ends.”

Elizabeth was pleased to see that her uncle looked affronted.

“You take too much upon yourself, sir” said he, “My Brother Gardiner is the closest male relative of my nieces and I do not divulge anything particularly serious when I inform you that he is, by the terms of my Brother Bennet’s will, named as their guardian. If Miss Elizabeth is to wed, it is his permission that is required. No, Sir” he added as he could see Mr. Collins about to protest. “Gardiner will arrive tonight, I am sure, and we will discuss my nieces’ future with him. The funeral is to be held the day after tomorrow and Mr. Bennet’s will shall be read that same afternoon.”

“But I am Mr. Bennet’s nearest surviving male relative. Surely I must be his daughters’ guardian? It would be most improper should it be otherwise. I assure you that Lady Catherine would be most displeased. . .’ he glared at Elizabeth who could not restrain a derisive snort, “. . . she would be seriously displeased that this ‘tradesman’ would displace me in such a role. She is particularly attentive to such details and. . .’

“Thank you, Mr. Collins, however, Mr. Bennet’s will must take precedence and I am sure that Lady Catherine would acknowledge his rights in this instance.” declared Mr. Philips. He turned to Elizabeth, “I will not importune you on this matter, although I believe it a prudent option that you should consider. Your future security and that of your sisters would be assured.”

Elizabeth understood then that her uncle was unaware of the bequest she had received and she could only bless its fortuitous timing. She rather suspected that Mr. Collins omission of that information was as deliberate as his omission of her father’s support for her decision. He apparently hoped to persuade her Uncle Philips to act on his behalf and commit his niece to a marriage without her consent. Mr. Collins really was a most odious man, and his character was becoming even less appealing the longer she knew him. She had assured her uncle that she was fully sensible to the honour of Mr. Collins’ proposal but that her decision was fixed and to this he had made no further demurrals.

~~~~~~~~~~

Elizabeth’s musings were interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Hill and her Uncle Gardiner. From the stains and steaks of soot that garnished their clothing and features, she could only assume that they had been investigating the site of the fire.

“Where are your sisters, Lizzy” asked her uncle.

“In our bedroom, Uncle.”

“Are they. . .will it upset them too greatly to learn what we have done?” he asked cautiously.

“I do not know for sure. Mary, I think, will bear it well. Jane. . “Elizabeth gave a helpless shrug.

Mr. Gardiner nodded. Elizabeth could discern that his own pain was being carefully masked. He had lost a sister. A foolish creature to be sure, but he had cared for her, nonetheless; and his childhood memories of her, he held dear.

“Allow me and Hill to clean up. We have some news which we wish to share. Give me a half hour and we’ll speak – in the parlour, perhaps. I would wish Jane to attend, if she feels capable of doing so.”

Elizabeth nodded. Her uncle’s manner was grave. She could not expect anything else and to have to dig amongst the burnt timbers for the remains of her family was more than she could have undertaken and a process to which she gave as little thought as possible.

It was more than a half hour before her uncle could join her and her two sisters in the Philipses’ small parlour. Mary, as she expected, was bearing up well. Jane was not. Her customary serenity was in place but long familiarity allowed Elizabeth to see how tenuous was her sister’s grasp of it. Her Aunt and Uncle Philips were also there and Mr. Collins as well. Elizabeth could have easily done without his presence, but his right to be there could not be questioned. He was related and was now the Master of Longbourn.

Mr. Gardiner's words were brief.

“We have recovered the remains of your parents and sisters, girls. They have been placed in coffins. Mr. Sellers has agreed that they may rest in the Longbourn church till the funeral. Two servants died as well and their remains have also been placed in coffins in the church.”

“I cannot understand how this could have happened, Uncle. We are always so careful in regards to fires.” cried Jane. Elizabeth wrapped her arms about her sister who appeared on the brink of surrendering once more to her distress.

“Hill and I explored the site as best we could, my dear. Some portions remain too hot even now to permit access. However, Hill believed the fire to have started in the kitchen where we also found your mother’s remains. I cannot account for her presence there but perhaps she smelled smoke and attempted to quell the fire herself.”

Elizabeth thought his a very charitable interpretation of her mother’s probable behaviour. It seemed to her more likely that her mother came down to the kitchen and accidentally caused the fire, although why she did not rouse the house immediately, she could not explain. She was certain that had her mother smelled smoke, everyone in Longbourn would shortly have been privy to the fact. Nothing, however, would be gained from contesting the point and she forbore to comment. She chastised herself for her unkindness. One must not, she recollected, speak ill of the dead. Did that extend to thinking ill of them? It would serve no purpose in this instance and she realized that she must attempt to remember her mother’s virtues rather than her faults. She felt Jane stiffen and attempt to sit upright.

“I shall be well, Lizzy.” She murmured.

Elizabeth’s musings were interrupted by her Uncle’s Gardiner’s voice.

“You seem unusually perturbed, Mr. Collins, at my report. Is there something amiss?”

Elizabeth could see that Mr. Collins was extremely uncomfortable at being so challenged. He drew himself and assumed an air of offended dignity.

"I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, sir. It is not your place to question one of my station. Lady Catherine has been most emphatic on maintaining the distinction of rank. I shall not be questioned on the matter by a tradesman.”

Mr. Gardiner returned his glare. He had not thought that there was anything of particular significance in Mr. Collins’ initial reaction. Now he became suspicious - and irritated; however, Elizabeth spoke before he could reply.

“Perhaps,” she snapped, “my cousin, might like to explain to Sir William Lucas, how it was that he was unable to assist my parents and sisters to leave the house, yet managed to do so himself some minutes before Mary, Jane and I could do likewise. My sister had time to rouse me and yet Mr. Collins,” and she almost spat the name, “could not help anyone. I should be interested at such an explanation.”

“Cousin Elizabeth is obviously too distraught to consider her words carefully. I was in no position to undertake anything other than removing myself from the house.”

Mary began coughing and it was several moments before she could speak without difficulty. “How was it then that I could rouse my sisters to leave the house and you, who had already made his escape, could do nothing?”

Her target glared at her and appeared about to respond when Mr. Gardiner held up his hand to prevent further dispute. He had not been unaware of his niece’s charges but knew there was little that anyone could do to prove or refute them. He was more concerned about Mr. Collins’ apparent reluctance to explain his uneasiness in the matter of where Mrs. Bennet’s remains had been discovered.

“Perhaps, Mr. Collins, you would prefer, as Elizabeth has suggested, to have me refer the matter to Sir William Lucas. He is the magistrate for the area and I am sure would be most interested to learn what has caused such disquiet in you. Shall I do so, sir, or would you prefer to speak with me on the matter.”

Mr. Collins clearly viewed both of Mr. Gardiner’s choices with discomfort but finally, without sacrificing his air of importance, declared, “It is of little import, I assure you, Mr. Gardiner. I simply had cause to venture into the kitchen where, instead of the intruder I had expected, I encountered Mrs. Bennet. We. . .spoke briefly and I returned to my room.”

Mr. Gardiner considered this response for some seconds. “Might I inquire as the subject of your conversation?” He finally asked.

Mr. Collins became stiffer, if that were possible. His answer was not particularly helpful, “We spoke only of when I might depart.”
“I wonder,” said Elizabeth, “as to your reasons for being downstairs and that you were fully dressed when we encountered you immediately upon escaping the house.”

She had not considered as overly peculiar at his state of dress at the time of the fire but to learn now that he had been downstairs, possibly shortly before the conflagration began, roused her suspicions. Her cousin flushed, drew himself up taller and, after a short pause, declared that he had simply experienced a problem sleeping and visited his host’s book room in order to find something to read.

Elizabeth made no attempt to mask her scepticism and Mr. Gardiner’s countenance also expressed his disbelief but, as Mr. Collins gave no sign of being more forthcoming, he chose, as he had nothing of substance to support his suspicions, to allow the matter to rest. However, after her cousin had left, Elizabeth regarded her uncle closely and could see that he was as unhappy as she with Mr. Collins’ explanation.

“My cousin,” said she, “has not, to my certain knowledge, read a book during his visit. I find it passing odd that he should have expressed such a desire on that particular evening. My father discouraged him from his book room, for he would much rather talk than read and such an impingement on his tranquillity was more than my father could bear.” She paused and then murmured, “I wonder at his true purpose for being there, if indeed he was?”

Mr. Gardiner sighed. He did not doubt the relevance of his niece’s observations; however, he had no specific proof that Collins was culpable in causing the fire nor that he was involved in Mrs. Bennet’s mishap. Nonetheless, he resolved to speak with Sir William on the matter and apprise him of Mr. Collins’ actions and explanations. He was the magistrate and such knowledge was well within his purview. Mr. Collins, from all reports, was the first to leave the premises. Such alertness should have allowed him to save some of the other residents of Longbourn; however, he apparently made no such attempt which spoke poorly of his courage and integrity. Moreover, he was also the only person to benefit from the tragic, early death of Mr. Bennet.

Chapter Six

Residence of Mr. & Mrs. Philips
Meryton, Hertfordshire
December 5, 1811

The exigencies of society frequently do not allow for the time to reflect and absorb those calamitous events that strike one unexpectedly. In this instance, grieving in private must lose precedence to accepting the condolences of their neighbours. The sympathy was, for the most part, sincere. Mrs. Bennet and her husband had not been overly popular (Mrs. Bennet’s vulgarity and delight in gossip could not endear her to everyone and many of his neighbours harboured a suspicion that Mr. Bennet regarded them as objects for his amusement.); however, Jane and Elizabeth were held in considerable respect and it was a regard for them that imbued the expressions of regret that were rendered by their neighbours.

It would have been a difficult occasion for the surviving Bennet sisters under the best of conditions, but Mr. Collins’s presence did much to increase their burden. He was as loquacious as ever, filling any random moment of quiet with meaningless babble; in turn, expressing his sorrow at the passing of his cousin, and congratulating himself on his good fortune at inheriting Longbourn. More than one visitor regarded him with astonishment and even Sir William Lucas, that model of civility, had found it necessary to rebuke him slightly for his insensitivity. It was done politely, of course, and, because of its mildness, Elizabeth could see no abatement in her cousin’s vulgarity. She could only be resolved that, once they left Meryton, she would avoid her cousin whenever possible. A very little of his company went too far for her peace of mind.

The funeral took place; her parents and sisters were laid to their final rest. It was impressed upon her that she would never again experience the pleasures, anxieties, mortification and happiness that her parents and sisters had provided. She would not miss her mother’s voice which had grown increasing shrill and uncomfortable as her efforts to marry off her daughters had borne little fruit. Nonetheless, she had fond memories of her mother from when she was a child and these were what she intended to remember. Her father’s loss would, she was certain, be much harder to recover from. For all his faults, and she was not blind to them, he had loved her, taught her, cared for her and, ultimately, protected her against an unwanted marriage. For that, she would ever be thankful and in his debt. Her two youngest sisters had become, in recent years, a constant source of embarrassment and mortification. She could only remember them with fondness, if she excised such memories from her mind. She determined to recollect only the times when she had enjoyed their company, when they had played together, and before they had lost all semblance of propriety.

Elizabeth and her sisters might not attend the funeral, but their presence, as the mourners came to the Philipses’ home afterwards, was a required duty. It was late by the time the final visitor had departed. Elizabeth thought her uncles might defer the reading of the will until the next morning; however, her Uncle Gardiner was required by his business to return to town as soon as possible. Reading the will could not be delayed. Mr. Philips convened the gathering in his parlour. It was comprised of only the Philipses, Mr. Gardiner, Mr. Collins and the three remaining Bennet sisters.

Mr. Philips cleared his throat and began, “Mr. Bennet’s will was made some five years ago. I shall read it in its entirety excluding only those portions dealing with bequests to the servants. I will speak to them tomorrow.” He looked around the gathering, cleared his throat yet again and began to read. It took no more than five minutes to complete the task and Jane shook her head as though to clear it of cobwebs.

“Could you please clarify this for my understanding, Uncle. The language leaves me somewhat confused.”

Mr. Philips smiled and was about to answer when Mr. Collins interjected, “It is obviously a matter that is beyond the understanding of gentlewomen such as my cousins. I suggest that your uncles and I be allowed to resolve such matters in private.”

Mr. Gardiner coughed loudly.

“I believe,” said he, “my nieces to be quite capable of understanding this matter, Mr. Collins. Quite capable. And, if my Brother Philips will allow me, I will summarize the matter for their better understanding.”

Mr. Philips was quite prepared to cede the explanation to Mr. Gardiner and the latter began in a decisive manner.

“First, my three nieces are to receive and share equally in their mother’s jointure. It was set at five thousand pounds at the time of her marriage; however, following the birth of Lydia, Mr. Bennet decided, at my suggestion, to reinvest the annual interest in the funds and allow the amount to grow.” Mr. Gardiner consulted a piece of paper. “It now stands at ten thousand and four hundred pounds which, divided three ways, would amount to approximately three thousand, four hundred and fifty pounds for each of my nieces; however, Lizzy has requested, due to her recent inheritance, that her share be apportioned between her sisters. Therefore, Jane and Mary shall each have dowries of five thousand, two hundred pounds.”

“Lizzy, no!” cried Jane, “You must take your share.”

Mary nodded in agreement but Elizabeth would not be dissuaded and, after a brief argument, the matter was brought to a close by their Uncle Gardiner who insisted on finishing his explanation.

“I have to return home in the morning and I would appreciate some sleep tonight. May I suggest, Jane and Mary, that you cease your remonstrance and allow Lizzy her way on this. She is being quite reasonable in my honest opinion and, as well,” Mr. Gardiner grinned at Elizabeth, ”she is more stubborn than either of you.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at him and her two sisters nodded in reluctant acceptance. Mr. Gardiner continued.

“Now, I have surveyed the site of Longbourn, and, while my nieces are entitled, by the terms of their father’s will, to much of the contents of the house, the sad truth is that little, if anything, is salvageable. The house – such as remains - must be completely torn down and rebuilt. As to funds available, my Brother Philips has provided a record of the balance in Mr. Bennet’s account and the total amounts to four hundred and twenty-two pounds. Against this must be held the outstanding debts in Meryton which I have been advised total no more than forty pounds. The residual, about three hundred and eighty pounds, will be managed by myself on behalf of my nieces.”

“There is one remaining issue in regards of my nieces.” Mr. Gardiner carefully did not look at Mr. Collins as he added, “By the terms of my Brother Bennet’s will, I am named the principal guardian of those of my nieces who have yet to reach their majority – Elizabeth and Mary, specifically. Mr. Philips, in the event I am unable to discharge my guardianship, will replace me. Allow me to assure my nieces that I will not reverse any recent decisions rendered by their father.”

Mr. Gardiner turned to Mr. Collins. “Longbourn is yours, sir. While the house is lost, the stables and carriage house and other outbuildings were not damaged in the fire thanks to the efforts of the residents of Longbourn village. The carriage and livestock are also yours. Mr. Philips will continue to act on your behalf in dealing with the tenants and contracts.”

“But monies! What am I to do about rebuilding the house? Are there no funds available? Surely not all the funds belong to my cousins? What am I to do?”

Mr. Philips cleared his throat, "I believe, sir, that it will cost somewhere between six and eight thousand to rebuild Longbourn to a reasonable approximation of what was destroyed. That will take no more than four or five years of the income of the estate. As well, the estate account contains over three hundred pounds and I believe the quarterly rents become due at the beginning of the new year. You will have some funds for the purpose of rebuilding.”

Mr. Collins gobbled for some seconds attempting to find words appropriate to express his displeasure at this circumstance. Finally, he succeeded and turned to Elizabeth.

“You can no longer persist in this foolish business of rejecting my offer, Cousin. Surely you can see the sense behind our marriage. Your fortune will allow us to rebuild Longbourn to its former state and, if I can be guided by the excellent advice of my patroness, I have no doubt that a much superior dwelling can be constructed. Surely, Cousin Elizabeth, you cannot be so insensible as to deny the propriety, the correctness, of our marriage. Your fortune, so conveniently bestowed, can serve to benefit us all. I am sure that Lady Catherine de Bourgh, despite her objections in general, would support my position on this and urge you to accept me as your husband. Her displeasure at having Miss de Bourgh deprived by your machinations in the matter, would, I am sure, be ameliorated should you do so, for surely you cannot seriously be intending to stand in opposition to her demands. Moreover, you will be established as Mistress of the house, your sisters under my wise guidance and I. . .”

“Mr. Collins!” snapped Elizabeth, “At the risk of sounding ungrateful for your offer, I must once more – and for the third time, I believe - refuse it. As it turns out, I do not require to live at Longbourn. I have a most suitable house in which to reside. My sisters shall live with me, we have sufficient funds as to ensure a very comfortable existence and my uncle will provide such guidance as we may require.”

Mr. Collins appeared prepared to continue the argument but Mr. Gardiner, hoping to forestall his attempt, rose to his feet. He was not successful, for Mr. Collins immediately fixed on another object of his affections.

“Miss Mary, you cannot be as insensible of the advantages of an offer which I can make. Surely, you would be satisfied to become the new mistress of Longbourn.”

Whatever Mary’s inclinations were on the matter - and from her mien Elizabeth could be sure her sister would not accept such an offer – Mr. Gardiner was not disposed to allow her to state her preferences.

“It matters not, Mr. Collins!” he growled, “Apart from the impropriety of such an offer – of switching between sisters so readily and only, I am convinced, with the sole intent of accessing their dowries – I shall simply not allow it. Mary is not of age and I will not give my consent to a marriage with you at this time. They shall mourn their parents and sisters for the appropriate time - a year - and if, when that period has ended, you wish to court Mary, you may do so if she agrees to it. But it shall not be here and it shall not be now. Am I clear on that point, Mr. Collins?”

Mr. Collins shakily agreed that he was.

Mary was not to be denied her share of the conversation. Too surprised by Mr. Collins’ application to her to respond immediately, she had now found her voice.

“Mr. Collins may spare himself the bother of applying to me in the future, Uncle.” She declared angrily, her breathing quick as she exerted herself to control an evident desire to cough. “After his contemptible behaviour during the fire, I have no wish to see him ever again.”

There was a deafening silence and Mr. Collins’ mien took on the aspect of a day-old cod, his jaw having dropped in stupefaction. Mary turned her face away from him. Mr. Gardiner, after a quick glance at his nieces, rose to his feet.

“Now, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Gardiner, “I believe you are staying with the Lucases, are you not?” Mr. Collins’ mouth closed and then re-opened as he shakily agreed that he was.

“I shall have my carriage return you there immediately.” said Mr. Gardiner. He then turned to his nieces, “If you will indulge me for a few more minutes, there is a matter which I wish to discuss with you in private when I return.”

Mr. Collins appeared to have recovered his composure and demanded to be a party to that discussion but Mr. Gardiner would have none of it and accompanied him to the carriage - informing him on the way that the matter was between his nieces and himself. Mr. Gardiner instructed the driver to deliver his passenger to Lucas Lodge. When he returned to the parlour, he sat and contemplated his nieces for a few moments.

Finally, he began, “Your future is much brighter than I had imagined when I left London to travel here. Then, I thought you to have only your mother’s portion and while ten thousand eight hundred pounds is a respectable amount, it would provide for only a very modest form of living for the three of you. I had thought of having you live with us and, while the prospect is delightful, I cannot deny that space would be very limited – very limited, indeed. To learn of Lizzy’s inheritance – particularly, that a decent house is included - was, I confess, a great relief. Your aunt, I know, will echo my sentiments.”

After a brief, thoughtful pause, he added, “We shall be required to find you a suitable companion. Three young, unmarried women must be properly established. I shall make such arrangements as are necessary when we return to town. Until a companion is hired, you shall live with us. As well, since your companion will act as your chaperone in place of your aunt and me, her salary shall be my responsibility. No, do not argue with me on this. It is my responsibility as your guardian.”

Mary suddenly appeared anxious and her whispered, “Uncle.” did not at once attract attention. She cleared her throat, repeated it more loudly and, having obtained their notice, said, “I do not wish to live in London.”

This was greeted with a prolonged silence until Mr. Gardiner responded.

“You need not, of course. Where should you prefer to live?”

“I prefer to remain here in Meryton, with my Aunt and Uncle Philips, if they will have me.”

Mr. Philips was surprised at this application, as was his wife; however, that lady was quick to express her approval of such an idea. Mary would be warmly welcomed into their immediate family. Jane and Elizabeth were not so readily reconciled to the idea.

“Mary, I would wish you to reconsider. I would not have us separate at this time. Surely, London cannot be so very bad?” exclaimed Jane. Her distress at the idea was obvious and Elizabeth knew that having lost so many of her family, her sister was unprepared to be separated from one of the two that remained. However, it proved impossible to sway Mary from her decision.

“I have no wish to leave Meryton. It shall be a consolation to me to remain amongst what is so familiar.” She replied.

Mrs. Philips was delighted. Childless herself, she had always enjoyed the company of her nieces and to have one now reside with her was almost enough to render her speechless with pleasure. Almost!

“Oh my dear Mary! What a delightful time we shall have. And the officers are to be in Meryton all winter! Why. . .”

Mr. Philips cleared his throat loudly. “I believe, Mrs. Philips, that you have forgotten that we shall be in mourning this winter. There shall be no entertainments of that nature.” He glanced apologetically at Mr. Gardiner who limited himself to a brief, resigned shake of his head. He well knew his sister’s character.

Seeing that Mr. Philips also approved of Mary’s request, Mr. Gardiner could find nothing to object to the arrangement and, after a brief discussion with Mr. Philips, it was agreed between them that guardianship and control of Mary’s dowry would be transferred to that gentleman, although he retained to himself the right to approve any offer of marriage she might receive. The only other stipulation that Mr. Gardiner insisted upon was that the proprieties of mourning be strictly observed. He then returned his consideration to Jane and Elizabeth.

“You now have between you about sixteen thousand pounds which, in the four percents, will provide an annual income of about six hundred and fifty pounds. As your home is provided for, you will be able to live quite comfortably – quite comfortably, indeed. However, I have a proposition for you. Your father did not wish to accept any risks in his investments; hence your mother’s settlement was placed in the funds and generated a return of five percent. I am expanding my business and I am always interested in attracting additional funds to do so. My offer is simply this. I shall invest your monies in my business and pay you a return of five percent – eight hundred pounds - every year. However, the profits your investment generates will be added to your investment and will be available to you should the need arise.”

“How much of a difference is there likely to be, Uncle?” inquired Elizabeth.

Mr. Gardiner smiled, “I have been averaging a profit of about ten percent since I began my business, Lizzy. I see no reason to anticipate that the future will prove less. . .successful.”

Elizabeth nodded, “I am willing to accept your offer, Uncle, but Jane must speak for herself.”

Jane nodded at once. Mary looked between her two sisters for several moments before asking, “Shall my dowry be treated in a similar manner?”

“It may be, should you wish it so.” replied Mr. Gardiner. Mary looked at Mr. Philips who indicated that the decision was hers alone. After some thought she agreed with her Uncle Gardiner’s proposal, although there was a trace of hesitation and uncertainty in her voice. Mr. Gardiner realized her fears and spoke with some assurance to her, “I understand your reluctance, Mary. To have lost almost everything and then be asked to take what must seem like an unnecessary risk. . . Well, I understand and, should you decide in the future to withdraw your portion, you may do so with but a word to me.”

Seeing that Mary was more content, he stood and stretched, “I think we had best get some sleep. Jane, Elizabeth, I wish for us to leave early tomorrow morning - before breakfast, if possible. Your aunt is most eager to have you come and stay with us and, as you must replenish your wardrobes, it can best be done in town.


Great North Road, England
Mid-December, 1811

Fitzwilliam Darcy was a conflicted man. He could view his actions in regards to his friend, Charles Bingley, with no little satisfaction, although he was honest enough to admit to himself that, while satisfied with the results he had obtained, he could take little pleasure from them.

He told himself once more that his motives, in advising his friend to quit his Netherfield Park estate and return to London, were just and the actions of a disinterested friend, seeking only to forward the well-being of one he held in esteem. While he had noticed that his friend was attentive to Miss Jane Bennet, he had often seen him in love before and had frequently observed to his friends that Bingley fell out of love as readily as he entered that state. It had only been at the Netherfield ball, whilst dancing with Elizabeth Bennet, that he had been made aware that Bingley’s attentions to her sister had given rise to the neighbourhood’s expectations of their marriage. Therefore, he had, for the remainder of the evening, paid special attention to his friend’s behaviour, and to that of Miss Bennet. Bingley’s affections, he quickly realized, were much beyond those he had ever previously observed. Miss Bennet’s, however, were not so readily discerned. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of uncommon regard, and he became convinced that, though she received Bingley’s attentions with pleasure, she did not return them in equal measure. The serenity of her countenance and air was such as could lead to one conclusion and one conclusion only; however amiable her temper, Jane Bennet’s heart had not been touched by his friend.

If that were not inimical to the happiness of his friend, the situation of her family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly, displayed by her mother, by her three youngest sisters, and occasionally even by her father. It was a constant source of amazement and puzzlement to him that the two eldest Bennet sisters could belong to such a family and comport themselves so properly. From what passed that evening, his opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement strengthened, and he was resolved to preserve his friend from what he could only perceive as a connection that would not promote Bingley’s future happiness. When Bingley left Netherfield for London, on the day following and with every intention of soon returning, Darcy and Bingley’s sisters, whose displeasure with their brother’s situation had been equally excited, immediately resolved on joining him directly in London. They did so and soon were readily engaged in the office of pointing out to Bingley the certain evils of attaching himself to Miss Bennet. Darcy could not, however, delude himself as to Bingley’s feelings and it became quickly apparent that the want of connection, fortune and propriety which so offended his sisters and Darcy, were of little significance to him. It was, in truth, only the assurances from Darcy that his affections were not returned by Miss Bennet - who would, nonetheless, accept an offer of marriage as she was obviously under the sway of her mother’s persuasion - that finally convinced Bingley against returning into Hertfordshire.

That Darcy had other motives for his actions was not a matter that he was prepared to consider, let alone concede except to himself. While his departure from Hertfordshire was nominally to forward his friend’s interests, he was not oblivious to his own. He had, at first, scarcely allowed Elizabeth Bennet to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the Meryton assembly; and when they next met, he regarded her only to criticize. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature in her face, then he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and despite his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he had been caught by their easy playfulness. He thus began to wish to know more of her and, as a step towards conversing with her himself, began to attend to her conversation with others and when she came to Netherfield to nurse her sister, he had attempted to engage her in spirited debates. His success was mixed but he could not fault her intelligence, the quickness of her wit and understanding, and her composure in the face of the considerable incivility displayed by Bingley’s sisters. His attraction to her grew with each succeeding encounter and he soon believed himself in some danger from her. Her circumstances, however, were such that he resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, to display nothing that could excite her hopes of his forming an attachment with her; sensible that, if such an idea had suggested itself to her, his behaviour during the last days of her sojourn at Netherfield must have been sufficient to crush it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of her last two days at Netherfield, and, though they were at one time left by themselves for half an hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.

His only lapse had been to seek a dance with her at the ball his friend had hosted. It was, he thought, to be his last memory of her, for separating from her he was determined upon. The dance had not met his expectations at all. His partner had appeared determined to provoke and irritate him, culminating in a bitter exchange about his treatment of George Wickham. Her inquisition about that gentleman had angered him and he required all his self-control to suppress a visible display of it. His cautious, elliptical responses did little to illuminate Wickham’s character, and obviously even less to satisfy her insistent curiosity. They had parted in silence; on each side, dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for in his breast there was a tolerable powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against Wickham.

His departure for London, if apparently for the purposes of assisting his friend, had the object of removing himself from what was becoming an intolerable temptation. After completing his service to Bingley, he was to Pemberley; and the separation of more than one hundred miles from the society of Elizabeth Bennet would, he was resolved, allow him to rid himself of this infatuation. His duty to his family, his station and the Darcy name itself, demanded that he wed appropriately – a woman of equal status, connections and fortune would meet the expectations placed upon him. Surely, it was not impossible that he could find another woman possessed of such attributes and endowed also with beauty, character and intelligence?

It was, therefore, a source of some displeasure with himself – and with Elizabeth Bennet – that the absence of her company did not relieve him of the desire for more of it. In the weeks that passed, not even the company of a most beloved sister and his Fitzwilliam relations with whom he was on the most cordial terms had served to purge her from his thoughts. He had indulged himself in the most enjoyable activities encompassing the theatre, family dinners and other such engagements and still her face, her figure, her voice haunted him.

It plagued him on the oddest occasions. He would be talking to one of his cousins and suddenly he would find himself wondering what she would have said or thought or how she would have reacted. He had, more than once, detected his relatives looking at him with some puzzlement; however, none had sought – or perhaps, dared – to question him on the matter. It had been a trifle embarrassing and his usual response of appearing more actively interested in the conversation around him had been accepted, although he could not believe them oblivious to his abstractions. His Aunt, Countess Matlock, had made him the focus of her particular attention on several occasions, but had declined to raise the matter with him. He wondered if she would continue to be as circumspect, should his distraction continue.

He was grateful that Georgiana appeared to see nothing different in his behaviour; however, he suspected her discernment was clouded by her obvious enthusiasm for the Christmas season and the company of her Fitzwilliam relations. What was a brother to cousins who were much of an age and lively as well?

He smiled at the thought and looked over at Georgiana who had drifted into sleep leaning against the side of the carriage, her head cushioned by a pillow and herself covered with a quilt, gifted to her by the housekeeper of their London home. His smile faded as he remembered their last evening spent in London in company with Bingley and his sisters. It had been an unfortunate affair. He had seen little of Bingley after leaving Netherfield. Apart from the evening spent persuading him of Miss Bennet’s unsuitability, they had few occasions to meet in the fortnight that followed. It had not been an act of avoidance on Darcy’s part. He had followed his usual routine while in Town. Visits to his club and fencing had been places where he might expect to encounter Bingley with some frequency. He had not done so. Just before they were to leave London, he had invited Bingley and his sisters to dine at Darcy House. The invitation was accepted and they had not long been in company together when it became clear that Bingley’s spirits had not regained their usual ebullience - he was still prone to moments of sadness. Even Georgiana had become aware of the matter and commented quietly to her brother as to the cause.

“He has had a disappointment, Georgiana.” Darcy replied.

Georgiana’s eyes flicked between her brother and Bingley. “Disappointment?”

“Yes. He became attached to a young lady in Hertfordshire who did not return his affections.”

"Then I feel sorry for him.” she said, “I hope his disappointment will be of a short duration.”

“With Bingley, I am convinced it shall be eventually, although he does not appear to be recovering quite as quickly as in the past.” responded her brother.

Further discussion was prevented by Miss Bingley who wished to inquire of Miss Darcy how long she expected to be at Pemberley – for the Darcys were to leave on the morrow – and to express her pleasure at having been invited there in the past and her enjoyment of country society.

Darcy managed to control his reaction to the latter claim. Miss Bingley had enjoyed Hertfordshire society only when leaving it and her time at Pemberley had not involved anything more sociable than a brief visit to Kympton. His concern that his sister might inadvertently extend an invitation to the Bingleys to visit was relieved when Georgiana responded by stating only that they planned to return by the end of January.

“We wish to enjoy the benefits of London for several months before the season is truly underway.” declared Darcy, “As well, I and my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, must make our usual visit at Easter to our aunt in Kent.”

“That is Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is it not, Darcy?” asked Bingley who had moved closer to join the conversation.

Darcy agreed that it was and that he would be there for about a fortnight.

“Is Miss Darcy to join you?” inquired Miss Bingley.

Georgiana paled and Darcy smothered a grin with a cough before replying, “No. My sister shall remain in Town and pursue her studies.”

“Well, we can then hope to have her call on us in your absence.” suggested Miss Bingley.

Someone very familiar with Miss Darcy might have noticed her barely perceptible grimace at Miss Bingley’s suggestion; however, as the latter was looking at Darcy and not his sister, he alone recognized his sister’s reaction. Fortunately, the conversation turned to other subjects and Darcy endeavoured to more closely assess his friend’s mood. It was clear that Bingley remained less ebullient than was his usual wont. He certainly made every effort to appear engaged in the discussion around him but his usual interest and enthusiasm was missing and Darcy could not but conclude that his friend’s heart was yet far from fully recovered. As he was to leave for Pemberley the next day, there was little assistance he could offer to remedy the matter; and, while he might wish to have his friend visit him at Pemberley, it could not be arranged without including his sisters. If their company had been more agreeable, and Miss Bingley’s attentions to himself less intrusive and unwelcome, he might have considered extending an invitation. As neither was the case, he did not. Nonetheless, he could not help but be bothered by the fact that, even after a separation of several weeks, Bingley’s spirits had not fully recovered. In the past, it had taken but a week or, at most a fortnight, for him to forget about his latest “angel”. If Darcy had allowed himself to make the connection, he might have noted the similarities between his behaviour and that of his friend. It was to his benefit that his reticence was such as to make small changes unnoticeable other than to the most discerning and familiar of observers.


Bingley residence
Grosvenor Street, London
Saturday, December 21, 1811

Miss Bingley was seriously peeved. Her ire had two causes. The first was her inability to secure an invitation to Pemberley. She expected that her not so subtle compliment to Georgiana Darcy would have prompted an invitation to visit over Christmas. It had not and she could only wonder at whether the girl was naturally obtuse on the matter or deliberately ignoring her implied request. She rather thought the first to be more probable. She was also disturbed that Mr. Darcy had not picked up on the opportunity to invite Miss Bingley’s brother. He could not have been ignorant of her wish and she was intelligent enough to understand that his disregard for her wishes did not bode well for her aspirations of becoming Mistress of Pemberley. Moreover, it would also suggest that if Darcy had any thoughts of fostering an attachment between his sister and his friend, they had died aborning. As Miss Bingley had hopes of such an attachment for reasons of her own, the absence of a similar goal on the part of Darcy was, to her way of thinking, regrettable to say the least.

Her second source of ire lay in the letter before her. Jane Bennet had written to inform her of her removal to London in the wake of a fire which claimed her home and some members of her family. While Miss Bingley could not have wished Jane Bennet to have died in the fire, she would not have been greatly saddened to have learned of her sister Elizabeth’s having done so. Unfortunately, the latter event had not occurred and, from the directions given in the letter, the sisters were to reside in a most respectable home. _____ Street may not be in the most prestigious area but it was respectable, very respectable. Miss Bingley crumbled the letter in aggravation. Miss Jane Bennet was now altogether too close to her brother in terms of proximity and station. Of more moment was that the most objectionable members of her family no longer existed. There was now a real danger that, should her brother remain in town, he might encounter Jane Bennet. She could not suppose that her state of mourning would seriously restrict her social activities. Miss Bingley knew that her own observances, should such ever be required of her, would be rendered in such a manner as to inhibit her as little as possible.

It was, therefore, a matter of some urgency to remove to the country. Her first thought was to travel to Netherfield. It was under lease and could be re-opened with minimal bother. It was a matter of less than a minute to realize how large a mistake that would be. Charles could hardly help but learn of the Bennet family’s misfortune, and to learn Miss Bennet’s location would take scarcely longer. Miss Bingley had no doubt that once he learned she was alive and living in London, his chivalrous instincts would prompt him to seek her out directly. Miss Bingley might wish that her brother would forget Miss Bennet, but she was not blind to the fact that, although almost a month had passed since he had last seen her, his interest in her, while somewhat abated, had not expired altogether. She could not be sure but that, should he accidentally encounter Miss Bennet, it might ignite again. He had yet to find her replacement and, until he did so, Miss Bennet was a danger to his sisters. No, Netherfield would not do.

She searched through her stack of invitations. She had declined them all – or rather had delayed accepting any – in the hopes of securing an invitation to Pemberley. Now she would have to humble herself and seek to find an invitation that had not yet lapsed. All too many of her acquaintances had already left town. The Radcliff Highway murders, and the failure to catch the perpetrators, had galvanized many to leave for the safety of the country rather than enjoy London’s amusements over the Christmas season.

Miss Bingley was fortunate. An acquaintance from her days at the seminary had invited them to Bath and was not to leave until Monday next. It was the work of an hour to pen a note accepting their invitation (with appropriate regrets and false excuses at the delay), receive an acknowledgement, and the matter was resolved. The question of Jane Bennet would be shelved until she returned and perhaps by then her brother would have encountered and fallen in love with another angel. He had done so often enough in the past and his sister saw no reason why he would not oblige her once more.

She returned her attention to Jane Bennet’s letter which she had crumbled in her irritation. She smoothed it out as she considered how it was to be dealt with. A response was required, of course. Fortunately, as Jane was in mourning, she should not visit; and as she, Caroline Bingley, was shortly to travel to Bath, she must pack and make the necessary arrangements. She would hardly have time to call. Jane Bennet was of such an amiable nature that Caroline had no doubt of her excuses being readily accepted. As it would likely be several weeks before Caroline would return to town, she believed herself quite capable of forgetting to ever call and, if Jane should be so disingenuous as to write again, Caroline’s visit would leave her in no doubt as to her desire to sever the relationship.

It was now a matter of convincing her brother to adopt her plans. She began that same evening as they were dining.

“Charles,” she said, “I am most concerned about our safety. These dreadful murders on Radcliff Highway have quite overset my nerves. I have spoken to many of my friends and they are, one and all, leaving town for the country. I believe we should do so as well.”

Her brother, whose attention to the conversation around him had been intermittent at best, looked confused. “Leave for the country? I do not see why, Caroline.”

Caroline huffed in exasperation. “The Radcliff murders, Charles. I am extremely concerned and would wish to be much further away until they capture the men who have committed these horrible deeds.”

Charles nodded, thoughtfully. He had not been so wrapped in his thoughts as to be totally oblivious to the terrible news.

“Very well. I assume that Netherfield can be readied for us in a day or two.”

“No, Charles. Netherfield will not do at all. It will take several days to hire staff and obtain provisions. Besides, I do not think it advisable for you to travel into the area now. You know that your heart is still pained by Miss Bennet’s disinterest and I would not wish to see you suffer further by coming into her company. You know that should we return there, we would see her with some frequency. It would be an imposition on her and painful for you. I think it best to travel somewhere else.”

Mrs. Hurst, who was not privy to her sister’s machinations, nonetheless obliged with an opportune question. “Have you a place in mind, Caroline?”

Caroline smiled at her sister, her tone almost gleeful, “Indeed! I have received an invitation from Mrs. Steeves – who was Miss Janet Henderson - with whom I became friends at our seminary. She and her husband travel to Bath in two days and would welcome our company. I have accepted on everyone’s behalf. I hope that was not too presumptuous of me?”

Her brother grunted and his thoughtful, abstracted expression returned. A silence lasted for several long moments until Caroline became slightly exasperated, “Charles!” Her tone was peremptory.

“You are sure that Miss Bennet does not have any affection for me?”

“Yes, Charles. Did not Mr. Darcy give his assurances on the matter? You know you can always trust his judgement. None of us saw any sign of a significant attachment. If we had, you can be sure that we would have informed you of it.”

Mrs. Hurst schooled her features properly at this statement. Charles nodded unhappily and then gave his agreement to his sister’s plan, although Caroline knew he was not altogether pleased with the company of the Steeveses. He had met the gentleman only once, had disliked him almost immediately and nothing that happened later gave cause for him to change his opinion. Caroline was certain that, once in Bath, her brother would find sufficient other amusements to make his stay tolerable.

To Bath, the Bingleys would go.

Chapter Seven

Bennet Residence
______ Street, London
Monday, December 30, 1811

Elizabeth was discovering that it was quite a different thing to be mistress of one’s home rather than a guest in another’s. They had been settled in Mrs. Powell’s home, now hers, for almost a week now. She was only just beginning to accept the reality of the change. It was a great help that they had been able to persuade Mr. and Mrs. Hill to accompany them to London along with a Longbourn maid, Sarah, and a footman, Robert. Longbourn’s cook had declined the offer, as she and Tabitha, the other maid, had been offered positions in Meryton. Thus, they had been required to hire only a cook and another maid to staff the house. Mrs. Powell had not kept a carriage, not wishing the expense involved in hiring grooms and caring for the horses. Elizabeth could still remember her acerbic comment on the matter.

“It is a great deal of expense and bother to maintain a stable which one rarely uses, and is done solely to impress those who care for such things. I do not - and have no aversion to hiring a hackney or coach should the occasion warrant the expense.”

As Elizabeth was of a like mind, the stables at the rear of the house remained unused. Perhaps she might rent them out should someone express an interest in them. Perhaps, when their mourning period was over and they were more active in society, the matter could be revisited; but for now, a carriage and horses were an unwarranted luxury. She had been here nearly a week and had required a hackney but once.

Their Uncle Gardiner had taken it as a matter of urgency to hire a companion for them and would not allow them to move into the house until one had been secured. His application to several agencies had produced a flock of candidates which he and his wife, with Jane and Elizabeth’s assistance, sorted through, selecting three to be interviewed. All three ladies met with general satisfaction; however, one possessed an advantage that made her selection obvious. Mrs. Alice Sutton was a woman of about forty-five years, a childless widow whose husband had died about five years before. She was the youngest daughter of a Baron and, while her jointure was sufficient for her to live on, it was not sufficient to support her at the level to which she become accustomed and her own family was unable to provide much assistance. Her choices were to remove to a less expensive locale, or, if she wished to remain in London, as was the case, she must find employment. The income was essential and employment her preference, for she was not inclined to remarry, nor to idleness. She had, therefore, once her year of mourning had ended, sought and obtained a position of companion to the daughter of a prosperous landowner from the south of England with whom her family was acquainted. The daughter was to make her way into society and needed the guidance of one familiar with London society, an office her own mother could not fill.

Mrs. Sutton had respectable connections which had allowed her to successfully guide her young charge for the past three years until the young lady, by having married, no longer required her services. In the performance of her duties, she had both improved upon her circle of connections, a circumstance which Mr. Gardiner greatly appreciated as he could provide nothing comparable to advance his nieces’ interests. When informed that she was to guide two young ladies into society, her only request was to meet her potential charges beforehand. She was not discouraged by the more limited financial means at the disposal of her charges. Mr. Gardiner assured her that additional funds could be made available should the need arise. Once having met and conversed with Jane and Elizabeth for a half hour, Mrs. Sutton was quite pleased to accept the position. She was willing to start at once and so, when the two Bennet sisters moved into their new home, Mrs. Sutton accompanied them.

Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted to the week that had just passed. Most of their belongings had been shifted from the Gardiners’ home before the move into the townhouse and they had visited several times to organize things to their preference. Thus, it had taken them only a day to settle in. Once they had done so, a funeral wreathe was placed on the front door and the knocker put on. As Elizabeth explained to Jane, “We cannot expect any visitors on our behalf as we are known to very few, but Mrs. Powell was known to her neighbours, as was I, although to a much more limited extent. I should like to give them an opportunity to express their condolences. More importantly, it will also allow us to establish our presence here.”

The knocker remained up for a se’nnight before being removed once more. In the interval, many of their neighbours made brief visits to express their regrets at Mrs. Powell's passing and to learn about the new residents of the house. Those with whom Elizabeth had the closest acquaintance were made privy to the circumstances of the Bennet sisters and it was a matter of only a few days for most of the neighbourhood to understand that they were mourning the loss of family members as well as Mrs. Powell. Mrs. Throckmorton and the Misses Spurrell, May and June, had been closest to Mrs. Powell and expressed their intention to maintain the connection with Elizabeth.

“I visited Susan on Tuesdays and she returned the favour on Thursdays.” declared Mrs. Throckmorton in her usual manner which allowed for no dissent. “I have missed her company excessively and you must continue the practice, Miss Elizabeth. I shall call every Tuesday – you may count on it – and shall expect to see you on Thursday next. I quite depend upon it!”

The Misses Spurrell, who always happened to call at the same time with Mrs. Throckmorton, nodded eagerly and Elizabeth smiled pleasantly at the three ladies. They were uniformly kind and, if the Misses Spurrell were inclined to enjoy gossip, it was never performed in a malicious manner. She could see that Mrs. Throckmorton’s reserved, rather severe manner had disconcerted her sister and resolved to speak with her later. It had taken her some time but she had gradually earned the lady’s respect and she owed her a debt of gratitude for her warning regarding Mr. Townsend, although his own actions had rendered it unnecessary.

“I shall be delighted to call.” Elizabeth replied.

Jane, who had recommended herself to all three ladies by her gentle manner, added, “We have, by circumstances, been required to remove ourselves from our closest neighbours. It will be most agreeable to find new acquaintances here.”

~~~~~~~

In the weeks since the fire, Elizabeth had come to terms with her own grief. The passing of Mrs. Powell had been compounded by the unexpected deaths in her family. If those deaths had taken some time to occur - if they had lingered for some months - their passing would have been anticipated. Death might even have been welcomed, if they were suffering greatly. She wished to console herself with the thought that her sisters and parents had been so overcome with heat and smoke as to be spared any prolonged suffering. She hoped that was the case at least. She resolved to remove from her memory, those remembrances of them that were unpleasant and think of them only in those instances where she found happiness and comfort in their company.

She had few occasions to speak with Mary since they left Meryton. She, along with the Philipses, had visited briefly on Christmas day, but there had been little opportunity to talk. From her letters, Elizabeth suspected that Mary, who had been slighted by everyone in the family with the possible exception of Jane, did not mourn the loss of her family as greatly as her sisters. In fact, Elizabeth thought that Mary was happier and more content now than she had been in years. With her aunt and uncle Philips, she was an integral part of their lives and the sole object of her aunt’s affections. It spoke poorly of her parents, Elizabeth believed, that a child would mark their passing with so little regret. But she supposed one could not slight and insult a child for years and then expect that child to think well of you. Mary gave voice to all the usual platitudes, but Elizabeth could discern no overwhelming grief, and she had never seen her sister cry. If Mary felt anything, Elizabeth could only suppose, from something she said during her visit, that she felt a degree of remorse for not regretting their passing as her religious teachings suggested was right and proper. She appeared, however, to bear her suffering with considerable equanimity. Elizabeth was pleased that Mary was content in her new existence and, if she herself would be driven to bedlam by her Aunt Philips, Mary suffered her effusions quite easily and happily.

Jane had yet to be reconciled to the loss of her parents and sisters, although one not accustomed to her manner might not be aware of her distress. She grieved, but as was her wont, she did so in private and allowed few signs of that grief to disturb her equanimity or the serenity of her countenance. She had always been her mother’s favourite, although that appreciation was based on nothing more substantial than Jane’s beauty. Mr. Bennet had also regarded his eldest with approbation, for her common sense and equitable manner. Jane had, somehow, found it within herself to view even her youngest sisters with charity and, with their loss, had endowed them with all the good attributes that she had longed to see in them. Their good qualities were embellished and their many faults, forgotten. Consequently, the mother and sisters she mourned were much kinder and more genteel in death than they ever had been in life. Her gentle heart would have it no other way and Elizabeth, although not similarly inclined, was unwilling to more than mildly disagree.

Elizabeth could hear the murmurings of Jane and one of the maids as they busied themselves in the hall, removing the Christmas decorations. The festive season was over. The Gardiner's had come to ______ Street on Christmas day to celebrate the occasion along with the Philipses and Mary. It had been the first time Elizabeth would act as hostess in her own home and she confessed, to herself alone, that the prospect had made her nervous. Mrs. Sutton and Mrs. Hill seemed to understand her desire to impress and had driven the staff to thoroughly clean the main rooms. Elizabeth doubted that even the Regent himself would find fault with the cleanliness of her home or with the elegance of her arrangements. The day had passed in the most agreeable fashion. If memories of Christmases past intruded, there was a determined air on the part of everyone to push them aside and, for the sake of the children, make the day as cheerful as possible.

Elizabeth looked around in satisfaction. This was her study and served also as the library. She had inherited an impressive array of books and, if not as extensive as the library at Longbourn, her bookshelves were full to overflowing. She rather thought she might have to add additional shelves, for she fully intended to add to the volumes already owned. She might dislike Mr. Darcy but, on this one matter they were of a like mind. She also could not contemplate the neglect of a library. Mr. Hill knocked and entered upon her command, the post in his hand. A letter to Jane was amongst them and Hill was directed to give it to her. Elizabeth had received several letters, all involving accounts from various shops and one was in a hand she readily recognized. Charlotte Lucas had written and Elizabeth was pleased to hear from her and learn of events transpiring in Hertfordshire. Her accounts could wait a few minutes more; she opened Charlotte’s letter first. Much of it was simply a recounting of the various activities, marriages, births and sundry minutiae that comprised life in a small community. Leavened with Charlotte’s wit and slightly sardonic outlook, it produced a wave of homesickness – not for Longbourn or Meryton, but for her friend’s company. Charlotte was the only person she regretted leaving. It was not until the end of the letter that her friend mentioned something of particular interest.

I must confess something to you, Eliza, that I have no doubt will distress you. It relates to your cousin, Mr. Collins. I had noticed his attentions to you at the Netherfield ball and, from what your mother related that evening, it was clear she expected him to make you an offer of marriage. It was obvious to me, from knowing you so well, that such an offer would be unwelcome. I did not doubt but that your sensibilities would be offended at the prospect of a lifetime as his wife. That your father would require you to marry him, I thought most unlikely. You were, I know, still sanguine as to your prospects and would not settle for a life with a man for whom you held so little respect and esteem. I am not so fortunate and cannot be overly particular. It serves none of us well to ignore the fact that my circumstances and prospects are bleak. The presence of an eligible and respectable gentleman, with a decent living and an excellent future situation (forgive me for saying so but it is too obvious to ignore) could not be disregarded. You refused his offer as I expected. My invitation to him to dine with my family had an ulterior motive beyond alleviating your distress at his presence. I wished to secure him for myself and I believe, were it not for the calamitous events that followed, I would have been successful. I can almost see the expression of distaste on your countenance now. But you know I am not romantic and I could tolerate Mr. Collins’ foibles quite well, if my future was secured.

However, once established as the owner of Longbourn, Mr. Collins’ attitude changed. While he remained with us for several days, his attentions to me ceased. I do not think it to be, at first, an intentional action on his part but rather he was much involved in matters relating to Longbourn. I also understand he sent a letter to his patroness, probably seeking her guidance, for he seems to do little that she does not support or recommend. In any event, he received a return post several days later and removed himself almost immediately to the Meryton Inn. His attentions to me were clearly over. I have heard gossip to the effect that he is now seeking a wife with a dowry sufficient to rebuild Longbourn and I, with the small portion I would bring to a marriage, am no longer suitable.

My father gives us to understand that Mr. Collins intends to return to Kent and resume his duties as a clergyman. Longbourn will be left under the direction of a steward and the income from the estate accumulated until sufficient to construct a new manor house. My father says that Mr. Collins intends to rebuild the house to a much finer and prestigious standard. Perhaps like Netherfield. Given Mr. Collins’ admiration for Rosings Park, I suspect it will be grand indeed. If there is any good from this matter, it is that my father is very much offended on my behalf at Mr. Collins’ inconstancy. I do not know how long it shall persist, but for now I enjoy his sympathy.

Elizabeth shook her head in dismay. She had never seen Rosings Park, but her cousin’s descriptions had left her with an impression of gaudy and senseless extravagance, masquerading as elegance. Mrs. Powell, who spoke of Lady Catherine no more than essential, had indicated that she had cause to visit there but once and had concluded that taste and refinement were claimed but sorely lacking. If Longbourn was to be rebuilt as a poor replica of Rosings Park, Elizabeth could only fear for the financial security of the estate. While her father had been an indolent master, little inclined to improve the estate for the benefit of his heir, he had not materially harmed it. Mr. Collins, stupid where her father was intelligent, and more active than her father, could do irreparable harm. His heir might well inherit an estate in such poor condition as to require years to recover. And could Longbourn even support a house such as Rosings Park, or even Netherfield, without limiting the income left for the family? She doubted it very much. She returned to the letter.

My father also took your uncle’s warning about Mr. Collins’ behaviour seriously and made inquiries at Longbourn amongst the staff that were present on the night of the fire. No one revealed anything of significance, although my father believes that one or two were particularly reluctant to answer his questions. Given their dependence upon the estate and its owner, this is not altogether unexpected. There was, in the end, no cause to pursue the matter further.

I must relate one matter of concern, Eliza. It appears that the information that Mr. Collins was in Longbourn’s kitchen shortly before the fire was believed to have started, has been made a subject of rampant gossip. I have heard suggestions that he caused the fire, although no proof that he was involved has been offered. My father has been requested, more than once, to investigate and has done so. It is the circumstances of the matter that weigh so heavily against Mr. Collins. He benefited from the fire; he was the first out and admits to being in the kitchen shortly before the fire began. I do not see him as culpable in the matter but the talk has not died down. I fear he will not be well received when he returns to Longbourn

Elizabeth could not credit that Mr. Collins had caused the fire. There had been no sign of guilt when the question of the fire had been discussed. He had been uncomfortable when pressed on the matter of his presence in the kitchen but he had asserted that he had left and she had no reason not to believe him. She could not believe a clergyman would act in so reprehensible a manner as to start a fire and cause the deaths of her parents and sisters. It was everything impossible; however, that he might make little effort to save them, she could not disbelieve.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Sutton entered the library. As she had anticipated, Elizabeth was curled up in the large armchair beside the fire, her feet tucked underneath her. It had been much too cold for one of Elizabeth’s usual walks, for which Mrs. Sutton gave earnest thanks, for she was Elizabeth’s occasional companion when she could indulge herself. Mrs. Sutton took little pleasure in any activity that exposed her unnecessarily to excessive cold and this winter had been much colder than usual. The Thames did not freeze over very often. She seated herself in the matching armchair on the other side of the fireplace and waited for Elizabeth to acknowledge her presence. Her patience was not unduly tested.

“Mrs. Sutton,” said Elizabeth with a small smile and laying her book aside, “as you have not brought a book with you, I am to assume you wish for conversation.”

Mrs. Sutton returned her smile and nodded. “Indeed, Miss Elizabeth. You recall, I hope, a conversation between us shortly after my arrival?”

“About my lack of accomplishments?” Elizabeth smiled to herself. She could not help but remember Miss Bingley’s overbearing listing of what constituted the proper accomplishments of a lady. Elizabeth had no doubt Miss Bingley felt herself in possession of each and every one. For herself, she had recognized that her own were deficient and Mrs. Sutton had not hesitated to propose to remedy her shortcomings and those of Jane as well.

Mrs. Sutton nodded once again. “I have,” she replied, “undertaken to investigate the services of several masters – one who will instruct on the pianoforte and another proficient in French and Italian.”

“I confess that my abilities at the pianoforte could benefit from instruction; however, Jane does not play at all.”

“Miss Bennet,” said Mrs. Sutton “must learn. I have been given to understand that her mother felt it sufficient that she be beautiful. I am sure you realize that London is home to many beautiful young women and most will have accomplishments to offer as well. Your sister needs to improve her situation and now has the time and opportunity to do so.”

“And the language master?” asked Elizabeth, knowing well the answer.

“You all are quite deficient in that area and must make the effort to obtain at least some proficiency in French and Italian.” replied Mrs. Sutton grimly. “You have a working understanding of both, although there is much room for improvement. Your sister, however, has no proficiency in either language. Consider the cost an investment in your futures.”

Elizabeth reviewed mentally her budget and their expenses so far. They faced, to her knowledge, no immediate or pressing needs and their income should well support hiring two masters. After querying Mrs. Sutton as to the cost and frequency of instruction – the music master to visit twice a week and the language instructor, four - Elizabeth requested that her sister join them.

Jane surprisingly proved most resistant to the idea, for she had no natural inclination towards music or languages, despite owning a pleasant singing voice, and had never been pushed to acquire the rudiments of either. To make the attempt, at her age, filled her with anxiety and she could only be convinced to exert herself by the assurances, readily given by Elizabeth and Mrs. Sutton, that she would not be pressed to display until she felt ready to do so.

The two masters were duly hired. If Elizabeth could take solace in the music master being pleased at her level of skill, although insisting it could be markedly improved, his insistence on more rigorous and systematic practice did not please a great deal, for as she complained to Mrs. Sutton, “I can find more enjoyable means of wiling away my idle hours than sitting down before a pianoforte.”

Mrs. Sutton, whose expression of sympathy was scant, only smiled, patted her shoulder and directed her to the instrument.

Jane’s reservations regarding the pianoforte were not without justification; however, the master was convinced that she could become proficient enough to perform simple pieces, if only for her own amusement. He was excessively pleased with her singing voice and suggested that a special master be hired for her instruction. As Jane preferred to sing rather than play the pianoforte, her request for a singing master was agreed to. She was not, however, allowed to forsake her lessons on the pianoforte.

Madame Fournier, the language master, was a woman of a certain age, a native of southern France and fluent in both languages. Fortunately, it proved expeditious for the Bennet sisters to take instruction together and they made rapid progress in each language with lessons held daily, excepting only Sundays and days when they received music instruction. Elizabeth, who had gained the rudiments of both French and Italian in order to read foreign literature, struggled somewhat with speaking either language. Mrs. Sutton, who was fluent in both, encouraged their efforts by requiring them to speak on alternate days in one language or the other. One of their preferred activities became reading foreign novels aloud in the evening. Surprisingly, Jane’s progress was remarkable. She appeared to have a natural gift for languages which Mrs. Sutton suspected had to do with her singing ability. She had excellent pitch when singing and quickly was able to merge that ability with songs in Italian and French. It became a favourite activity for them to practice duets with Elizabeth playing the pianoforte and Jane singing.


______ Street, London
Mid-January, 1812

She watched him as he rose from her bed. His clothes had been carelessly thrown at a chair and were strewn about it with more having landed on the floor than on the chair. He had been eager to have her, for he had been unable to visit for several weeks. He had taken his pleasure quickly with no thought to hers, although, as she acknowledged to herself, he had always considered her pleasure in their intimacies as secondary to his own. It was not that he was a poor lover, for he could be quite competent in that regard when he chose to make the effort. It was his basic selfishness that interfered. She was his, much like his horse, his carriage and any other possession. His mistress. Bought and paid for. To be used for his pleasure when it was convenient to his needs. If, on occasion, he gave thought to her satisfaction, it was, she understood, no more consideration than he might accord his horse. He rode them both for his pleasure, not theirs. She wondered sometimes that he would incur the expense, for keeping a mistress involved not a trifling sum, but supposed that the security of the arrangement, the freedom from risk of contracting a disease which not even the most expensive of brothels could guaranty, was a primary incentive.

She knew that he would not be satisfied with just the one encounter and, after allowing him some minutes to recover, had applied herself to rousing him again. Fortunately, he was a young man and it had taken little effort on her part. His second “ride” – for that seemed the most appropriate term – had lasted longer and given her some pleasure as well. It was well that hers had arrived before his, for she doubted he would have been attentive enough afterwards to have satisfied her needs. He had fallen asleep almost at once and slept for more than an hour before waking and demanding her again.

He would not stay after that, rising almost immediately from her bed. That was his way. He arrived at night, usually after her neighbours were abed. A note in the afternoon was all the warning he would afford her. He came to her twice a week (Sundays and Thursdays without fail if he was in town) and she was to be home to him those nights – his note was simply a courteous gesture. He left well before any of the servants in her neighbourhood were awake. She had once questioned him on it; his answer was revealing, “I simply do not wish my reputation to be compromised in any way.”

They had never encountered one another in public since she became his mistress. She had, however, seen him on one occasion, quite by accident, when they both attended an art exhibit. He had been in company with another gentleman and several young ladies, one of whom appeared to be the object of his attentions. The young lady gave every evidence of enjoying those attentions and, while a closer inspection was impossible, she appeared to look remarkably like herself in colouring and figure. She wondered if her master preferred women with particular looks. It was not, she thought, that she was of a jealous nature. He stirred no romantic feelings in her. The only interest she harboured was to ensure that their final separation came at her convenience and not his.

She had served him well for three years now. Her circumstances were such that this was her only means of living a comfortable existence. Her husband's death had left her almost impoverished at the age of twenty-seven. Her master, for that was how she thought of him, had had a slight acquaintance with her husband, had dined with them once or twice, and, after her husband’s passing, had called upon her with his offer. He intimated his knowledge of her circumstances, although how he came by such knowledge he had never imparted to her. For her part, with only her beauty and a small jointure of less than two thousand pounds to support her (for her husband had almost as many debts as assets), her choices had been limited. She could move to the country and try and subsist on an income of less than a hundred pounds a year or accept a gentleman’s protection. After the latter had made his interest known, she had accepted his offer. His generosity was not excessive. She had a decent home, two discreet servants and had effected a modest lifestyle so that, from her income, she might put aside sufficient funds as to live modestly when he tired of her. And he would tire of her, she knew. All that she required was another two or three years and she could retire to a small cottage in the country where she was unknown - a widow of more than thirty years would not be conspicuous.

Claire, she called herself when she was with him. It separated her from whom she had been and who she would be in the future. She did not like what Claire had to do. It was necessary, the intimacy was not unpleasant – he was not a cruel or violent man – but neither did she feel the same pleasure as she had shared with her husband. Her master, for she rarely called him by name, had, when requested, laughingly accommodated the request to call her Claire, for it mattered not at all to him. She doubted he understood the reason for her doing so or would even spare the time to think about it, for that would suggest his concern or interest extended beyond her bed and body. She was certain it did not.

His consistency of behaviour pleased her, however. His attendance was regular and his demands, simple. The only alteration in it for the past three years had been the past autumn when he had been out of town for two months. She found she had missed his company, abbreviated as it usually was, for marriage had created within her an appreciation for marital intimacies and their absence for so many weeks had made her restless. His return had been unexpected. His note to expect him on a Wednesday night had surprised her, for she was unaware he had even returned to town. He had arrived at his normal time but his behaviour had been almost savage as he had used her forcefully several times. If it had not been for her own desires, she might have found his efforts excessive. As it was, she was as sated by the experience as he and when he called upon her the following night, as was his custom, she wondered what to expect. However, it appeared that whatever devils had ridden him the night before had left and his manner was as it usually was.

”Till Sunday, then.” he said as he opened the door to her bed chamber. And then he was gone. She lay back in her bed and allowed her hands to roam. His last effort had left her wanting and such solace as she needed could now only be provided by herself. Some fifteen minutes later, she finally relaxed and found her own sleep.


Philips Residence
Meryton, Hertfordshire
Late January, 1812

Mary Bennet was, for the most part, extremely content with her decision to live with her aunt and uncle Philips. For the first time in her memory, she was a central and cherished member of a family. Her aunt bore many similarities to Mrs. Bennet but in two aspects she was radically different. First and foremost, Mary, by virtue of her wishing to live with them had become the most important of their nieces. There was little she could not ask and have it granted. The Philipses, for instance, did not own a pianoforte. Mary had only to express a desire for one and offer to pay for it, when the first was agreed and the offer rejected.

“My dear,” said Mrs. Philips, “We had no use for an instrument as I never learned to play, but now that you are here and take such delight in playing, we shall, of course, acquire one. I believe Mrs. Taylor has one that her daughters, who have all grown and left home, used at one time but, of course, she does not need it now. I shall inquire of her directly. And shall you wish for a master, Mary? I know that Mrs. Small is quite proficient. Shall I inquire of her also?”

Mary was quite amenable to both suggestions, and within a week the pianoforte had been moved from the Taylor residence to that of the Philipses and Mrs. Small had visited to provide her first instruction. As it turned out, there was little in Mary’s technique that required improvement but a great deal in her understanding of the music and her manner of playing. Such correction had not been readily welcomed by Mary but, after listening to Mrs. Small perform, she had conceded the superiority of that performance to her own. Lessons proceeded more smoothly thereafter and her proficiency improved apace.

The second difference between Mrs. Philips and her sister was the absence of an all-consuming desire to see Mary wed. Mrs. Philips, to be sure, did wish her niece to find a respectable husband, but as her future security did not depend upon it, she was wont to forget the matter for whole days at a time. As well, she was inclined to assist in the improvement of Mary’s appearance rather than to disparage it; consequently, her niece became comfortable with modest changes that, despite her mourning garments made her more attractive. If there was one area in which Mrs. Philips and Mrs. Bennet were very much alike, it was in the desire for society and gossip. Mrs. Philips, despite being in mourning, curtailed her social activities only slightly and, though Mary might disapprove of the number of visitors they received and the frequency with which they dined out, she felt obliged, by courtesy and affection, to endure such activities as pleasantly as possible.

It was at the Gouldings that she overheard a conversation that gave her some concern. Several militia officers had attended in company with Colonel Forster - Mr. Wickham amongst them. She had been in the latter’s company on several occasions and had heard him relate a sad tale of mistreatment at the hands of Mr. Darcy on one such occasion. The tale was subsequently related to her in greater detail by the gentleman, although why he should favour her with it or that she would even be concerned, she could not comprehend. But relate it he did and she had no difficulty in determining his displeasure when she rebuked him for spreading gossip, and possibly slander, about a gentleman who was not present to defend himself. She attached a biblical quote which Mr. Wickham did not appreciate and when he shortly moved away, his loss was not repined. She had seen nothing in Mr. Darcy’s behaviour, nor that of Wickham, to lend credence to the latter’s story.

At the Gouldings, however, she found herself sitting near enough to her aunt, who had been joined by Mr. Wickham, to overhear their conversation. The beginning was innocuous enough.

”My dear Mrs. Philips,” said Mr. Wickham, “I was just remarking to Lady Lucas how kind it was of you to offer a home to Miss Mary.”

Mrs. Philips smiled at the compliment and acknowledged that they were pleased to have Mary’s company. “We would have welcomed her sisters as well, but as Lizzy had inherited a house in London, my brother thought it best for them to live there.”

Mr. Wickham spoke easily of the benefits of living in London, which he informed her, had been his principal residence for several years before he joined the ____shire militia. Mrs. Philips, whose familiarity with that city was largely limited to the area around Gracechurch Street, which she had visited several times to stay at her brother’s house, was much interested at what he had to say, finally volunteering to note, “Elizabeth’s house is quite superior and my brother has stated that it is happily situated near the Mayfair district.”

“Your niece was very fortune to have inherited such a house. And she and Miss Bennet live there? Alone?”

“Dear me, No! My brother would not hear of it. They have a companion and several of Longbourn’s servants accompanied them to London. Dear me! It would have been quite improper for Lizzy and Jane to have lived alone.”

“I am a little surprised that Miss Elizabeth did not marry her cousin. I had heard that their marriage was quite the certain thing.”

Mrs. Philips huffed, “Lizzy would not have it so, despite her mother’s wishes. I cannot think it a sensible decision, for she would have been mistress of Longbourn and her inheritance could have rebuilt Longbourn House. As it is, Mr. Collins refuses to stay in Longbourn village and has not funds sufficient to undertake the rebuilding.”

“Was Miss Elizabeth’s fortune so great then? It would not have been inexpensive to rebuild Longbourn.”

Mrs. Philips nodded enthusiastically. “Lizzy inherited, I understand, more than ten thousand pounds as well as the townhouse. I am sure a suitable building could have been constructed. Mr. Philips believes that seven or eight thousand would have been adequate for the purpose. And a Bennet would have lived at Longbourn.”

“Well, with her inheritance and ten thousand, she should be able to live quite well in London. Her sister has a small inheritance also, I understand, which will make their situation that much better. They are fortunate, indeed.”

Mrs. Philips agreed that they were, spoke warmly of Jane’s prospects, “I cannot understand why Mr. Bingley did not return. It was poorly done, for I am sure that his affections for Jane could not be mistaken.”

“I suspect we have Mr. Darcy to thank for that, Mrs. Philips. His pride and conceit would not wish for any of his friends to become attached to a lady of such limited consequence. I do not speak to disparage your niece, but Mr. Darcy moves in such rarified circles as to make him disdain the more humble society of Meryton.”

Mrs. Philips thought of this for several seconds and acknowledged that Mr. Wickham might have the truth of the matter.

“I wonder, Mrs. Philips,” said Wickham with some hesitation, “I had planned to visit some friends in London for a week. I would be greatly pleased to call upon your nieces, if that were to meet with their favour.”

Mrs. Philips could see no reason to object and, when pressed by Wickham for the direction to the Bennet townhouse, provided it willingly.

“I am sure,” said she, “that my nieces would be delighted to receive a call from such a handsome and gallant gentleman.”

Mary realized that her sisters and Mr. Gardiner would not appreciate such a call, for Elizabeth had been clear in her observations to her that they were receiving visits from family and close personal friends only. She was sure that Mr. Wickham did not qualify on the latter score. She moved directly to her aunt and Mr. Wickham.

“I apologize,” she said, ”but I could not help but overhear the latter part of your discussion. I do not think, Aunt, that Mr. Gardiner or Lizzy would wish for Mr. Wickham to call. They are observing very strict mourning and have accepted visits only from family and close friends. I do not believe Mr. Wickham can claim such a friendship. I would suggest, sir, that you apply first to my Uncle Gardiner, who is their guardian, for permission to visit.”

Mr. Wickham did not look pleased at her interruption; however, he quickly mastered his countenance, acknowledged the propriety of her suggestion and requested the direction to Mr. Gardiner. This was soon supplied. He remained only a short time with Mrs. Philips and her niece before moving away to speak with a fellow officer. Mary was left to wonder what he would do but, as he had indicated that he would contact Mr. Gardiner, thought of it no more. She had learned Mr. Wickham was presently paying his addresses to Miss Mary King who, according to her aunt’s gossip, had recently inherited a small fortune and was receiving Mr. Wickham’s attentions with pleasure. If he was courting Miss King, he could have no intentions towards Elizabeth.

Chapter Eight

Bennet Townhouse
______ Street, London
Early February, 1812

“Mr. Hill?” Elizabeth had heard the front door close as she left her study. Their knocker was still not up on the door, nor would it be put up until the end of the full mourning period in June. The mourning wreath that adorned the door would remain until June and would discourage casual visitors, although, given that they were familiar with only a few of their neighbours, such visits were unlikely. Only Mrs. Throckmorton and the Misses Spurrell were encouraged to visit. Her butler looked annoyed, which was unusual, for he was a cheerful soul and it took a great deal to render him unhappy.

“We had a most insistent caller, Ma’am.” he replied. She had always been “Miss Elizabeth” to Hill when at Longbourn; but, with their removal to London, he had never failed to call her “Ma’am”. It was a sign of respect befitting her role as mistress of the house; nonetheless, it amused her slightly, though she never allowed herself to display it.

“Do we know the individual, Mr. Hill?”

“Yes, Ma’am. It was Mr. Wickham, and he was most persistent in requesting admittance.”

Elizabeth was thoughtful. She had no serious objection to Mr. Wickham’s company. He was certainly one of the most amiable gentleman she had ever encountered, although she did not altogether trust his character. His company was made more tolerable by their mutual dislike of Mr. Darcy. Mr. Wickham had expressed his condolences along with most of the other Militia officers while she had stayed with the Philipses. Nevertheless, Hill was quite correct. Mr. Wickham should not be allowed to visit, for there remained several months of full mourning. Something about Hill’s response bothered her slightly.

“Persistent, Mr. Hill? I do not fully understand you.”

Hill shook his head, “I cannot truly say, Ma’am. But it seemed to me that he was offended to be denied entry, and I thought it inappropriate of him to press the matter as strongly as he did. I gave him your uncle’s direction; however, he claimed to be a close friend, and I had not thought you knew him so well.”

“I do not!” she exclaimed. “I have been in his company only a few times. I think he presumes too much on our brief acquaintance. He paid his respects in Meryton. There is no reason for him to call upon us now for that purpose. Thank you, Mr. Hill. I trust that he will speak with my uncle. Mr. Wickham is not to be admitted without Mr. Gardiner’s approval.”

Hill nodded, satisfied in his judgement. Elizabeth smiled a little ruefully. The fault may lie with her. She had, she now realized, been perhaps slightly too pleased with Mr. Wickham’s company, and had welcomed his attentions more warmly than their brief acquaintance warranted, although, as she recalled their encounter following the Netherfield ball, her responses then had been far from flirtatious. She was surprised that he would seek her out, would know where she lived, but then supposed that he could easily have spoken with her aunt Philips and learned her direction. Since ______ Street was not a place he might come upon accidentally, she could not doubt his visit was deliberate and wondered only briefly at his true purpose. She suspected that her inheritance was attractive to a gentleman in his circumstances. She wondered at his object, for she had been informed by her sister, Mary, that he had begun lately to pay his addresses to a Miss King who had come into a substantial fortune. Her thoughts, however, were not allowed to linger on the matter, for Mrs. Hill had come to claim her attention. There was a problem with the youngest maid and only the mistress’ word would suffice on the matter.

The next day, the weather afforded Elizabeth the opportunity to venture out for a walk and her object was Hyde Park. Mrs. Sutton and her sister were all otherwise engaged and she determined to walk alone, accompanied by a maid and their footman who took up station some fifteen feet behind her. She had been walking in the park for only a few minutes when Mr. Wickham presented himself.

“Miss Bennet.” he exclaimed, his countenance expressing the delight of an unexpected pleasure. “I had not thought to encounter you here.”

“Nor I you, Mr. Wickham.”

Elizabeth was far from accepting his assurance that their meeting was accidental, but saw no reason to contest the matter at this time. She was not surprised that he asked to accompany her - to which she agreed - and they walked on together. Conversation was inconsequential: the weather, the state of the roads between London and Meryton, and news from Meryton, were all subjects to be canvassed. Finally, Elizabeth, realizing that her companion must have been in London for several days, raised the matter with him.

“I admit to some surprise to have encountered you, Mr. Wickham. Are you on leave from your regiment?” she asked, wishing to dissemble so as to see how forthright he would be.

“I am. Colonel Forster was kind enough to grant me a week’s leave and I came down to London to visit a few friends. I called at your house yesterday. I was sorry to have missed you.”

“Mr. Hill informed me of your call. We are, unfortunately, only accepting visits from family and close personal friends.”

“I had thought. . .hoped that our acquaintance was such as to allow me to do so. I apologize if I have appeared indelicate.”

Despite his disclaimer, there was a touch of disappointment in his voice - a sense that she had, in some way, offended him. Elizabeth was not pleased at such presumptuousness. Charlotte Lucas was an acquaintance of such long standing as to have been received. Mr. Wickham most certainly was not.

“I do not believe that having been in company together on three or, perhaps, four occasions amounts to a close friendship, Mr. Wickham.” she replied coolly. She was not seriously annoyed with him, but did not wish to encourage his interest. She liked him well enough, but an attachment between them would not be encouraged. Not only were his circumstances against a match - she had never been insensible to the need for prudence in selecting a husband – but her reservations about his character could not be put aside if marriage was to be considered. She did not wholly trust the man.

“I do apologize, Miss Bennet. I certainly had not meant to suggest otherwise. Please simply put it down to disappointment. Meryton’s society is the poorer for your absence. You and Miss Bennet have been greatly missed.”

“Apparently, our company was not sufficient to induce you to put aside your reservations about attending Mr. Bingley’s ball, sir.”

Elizabeth had not meant to be quite so challenging, but this small inconsistency in his behaviour had long rankled her. His response did not satisfy once more, for he frowned briefly before resuming his amiable countenance and professing he should have thought better on the matter and attended.

Elizabeth nodded and forced herself to respond cheerfully and was soon confirmed in her opinion that Mr. Wickham was an even more congenial companion than Mr. Bingley when he chose to please, and clearly Mr. Wickham was, to her amusement, making every effort to please. Did he, she wondered, believe her so naïve as to be unaware of his intentions? If so, he would be sadly disappointed. She could enjoy his company, but he stirred no particular interest in her beyond that of agreeable companionship. She was far from convinced that their encounter was accidental and his surprise, unfeigned. Moreover, there was his apparent pursuit of Miss King, although that was a matter she could hardly mention.

Much sooner than she expected, they had completed her planned route and were approaching the park gate that led most directly to her house. She anticipated that Mr. Wickham would take his leave at this point, but the gentleman apparently had other plans, for he continued by her side as they strolled down the streets. When the finally approached her home, Elizabeth turned to him saying, “I must take my leave of you, Mr. Wickham. Your company has been quite enjoyable. I thank you and wish you a good day.” She curtsied and was about to turn away when he responded, “I am sorry we cannot continue our conversation, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth turned back to him in surprise. Did he expect her to invite him in? After what she had already said? A quick glance at his countenance suggested that indeed that was exactly his expectation. She was not sorry to have to do so, for, delightful as his company was, she had enjoyed a sufficiency of it that day. Besides the proprieties of mourning would be observed.

“Perhaps we shall meet again in the park, Mr. Wickham.”

She regretted her words almost immediately, for he made only a small effort to mask his interest in such a proposition and she suspected he had interpreted them as an invitation. It had been a most incautious sentence, for she had meant only to be polite, nothing more. He bowed, spoke the customary civilities and took his leave. She watched him walk jauntily down the street. Her footman, Robert, who had accompanied her in silence for the duration of the walk, coughed to remind her of where she was. She smiled at him in thanks and entered the house. She was divesting herself of her outerwear when Robert coughed once more.

“You must have that cough looked at, Robert. It seems most persistent.”

“’Tis all right, Miss. . .Ma’am.”

“I am glad to hear it. Nonetheless, should it continue, have Hill call the apothecary. I’m sure he’ll have some draught or other to alleviate your distress.”

“Actually, Ma’am, I wished to mention something I seen. . .saw.”

Elizabeth looked at him inquiringly, encouraging him to continue. The cough was obviously Robert’s attempt to capture her attention.

“He, Mr. Wickham that is, did not come upon you by chance, Ma’am. Leastways, I don’t think he did.”

Elizabeth became more alert. Robert had served the Bennet family faithfully for almost ten years and, when Mr. Hill retired as their butler, would be an excellent choice to replace him. If Robert had noticed something that disturbed him, it behooved her to consider it carefully. She looked at the maid who shrugged and shook her head.

“I had thought he might have been waiting at the park for us. No, how could he know I would walk out today?”

“No, Ma’am. I believe he was waiting near our house. I am sure I saw him following us to the park.” He paused for a few moments and Elizabeth thought he seemed a little undecided. She encouraged him to speak and, after a false start or two, he did.

“Its like this, Ma’am. Mr. Hill told me about Mr. Wickham calling at the house, and the day before that I had to go out for Mrs. Hill - she needed some onions at the green grocers and, because of the cold, sent me instead of Sarah – and I thought I saw a gentleman who looked like Mr. Wickham. I cannot be sure as he was some distance off, but when I saw him again today, I became more certain it was him.”

“I see.” Elizabeth liked Mr. Wickham well enough. She certainly did not believe herself in love with him, not had she any intention of allowing her heart to become engaged. She would not encourage any man in whom she could not repose complete trust. She supposed, if that element did not exist and, if he had an income sufficient to support a family, she might well have developed an attachment to him, for then his interest in her would have been less mercenary. However, today’s experience and learning that he had lain in wait for her, like a hunter does a deer, compounded her distrust. It was the resemblance to Mr. Townsend that had made her initially cautious. Handsome, amiable men must, in her opinion, prove themselves trustworthy. Until today, she had not decided upon Mr. Wickham’s status. That thought brought Mr. Darcy back to mind and she felt once again all the distaste for a man who might have cavalierly disadvantaged a friend of his youth. Might have, she reminded herself. Might have! She had no proof of Mr. Wickham’s assertions, although why he would fabricate such a story was more than she could account for. Nonetheless, she did not appreciate Mr. Wickham’s apparent pursuit of her. It made his motives more. . .mercenary, and his character more calculating - possibly duplicitous, for he had pretended their meeting was accidental - than she would have anticipated from his manners.

“Robert, I wish for you to be vigilant and let me know if Mr. Wickham appears to have resumed his. . .watch over the house.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Robert’s pleasure was obvious. He clearly did not care for such deliberate scheming.

Mrs. Sutton, after learning of the incident, felt it incumbent to express her concerns. She had barely begun to do so when Elizabeth interrupted her.

“I fully appreciate your concerns, Mrs. Sutton. I am certainly not in love with Mr. Wickham, although he remains one of the most entertaining gentlemen of my acquaintance. I enjoyed our walk today; however, I am quite aware of the impropriety of his behaviour. He should not have pretended to have met me by accident. Such dissembling is unbecoming a gentleman. My small inheritance is no doubt the reason for his attentions, and if his own circumstances had been more favourable, and had he not acted so duplicitously, it is possible that I would have, after my mourning period, considered his attentions more favourably. I suspect that his situation is distressed which may account for his behaviour. A militia officer’s income is far from sufficient to support a wife and family. As well, it seems he has also begun paying his attentions to a Miss King in Meryton. I have this from my sister, Mary. There is something very wrong about such mercenary behaviour and I am not at all pleased with Mr. Wickham.”

“I would urge you to be cautious. Distressed circumstances or no, there is a certain indelicacy in paying his attentions to you, particularly so early in your mourning period. It is, to my way of thinking, highly improper. You must not allow him to impose on you again. And to learn that he is doing the same to another young lady only casts him in a poorer light.”

Elizabeth assured Mrs. Sutton that she had already come to the same conclusion and repeated that, should Mr. Wickham be observed in the neighbourhood, she would forego her walk.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Wickham had apparently raised suspicions and concerns in quarters other than in the Bennet home. Mrs. Throckmorton and the Misses Spurrell called at the house the next day as was their wont. Their visits were always greeted with enthusiasm, for the latter were cheerful women and, if prone to gossip, it centred on the doings in the neighbourhood. The antics of the upper classes held little interest, as most were unknown to them. Their neighbourhood was another matter altogether and little took place that went unnoticed. Thus, when a gentleman, with whom they were completely unacquainted, chose to linger several days in a row on their street, their interest was piqued and their concern aroused. To impart their disquiet, for who knew what he could be contemplating, was of great importance.

“My dear,” said Miss May Spurrell, “I observed a gentleman strolling back and forth on our street every day for the past three days. He looks the part of a gentleman, to be sure, but why would he behave so? It is most peculiar. I wonder if he has designs on someone? Not every man who dresses as a gentleman, behaves like one. Why I remember, Mr. Thomson – You remember him, I am sure, Mrs. Throckmorton – he was a most gentlemanly person but rarely out of his cups. Why can you not recall. . .”

“Yes! Yes, May!” interrupted her sister, “But this gentleman does not appear to be so inclined; however, I confess his presence makes me uncomfortable. It is not seemly to loiter like that. Do you suppose he is like those terrible men who committed the murders on Radcliff Road? Perhaps he is simply waiting to break into someone’s house? I had thought to call the Constable, but May dissuaded me.”

Mrs. Throckmorton sniffed. She had been silent while the Misses Spurrell were voicing their concerns. Her audible sniff drew Elizabeth’s attention and she looked at her guest inquiringly. She rather approved of Mrs. Throckmorton.

Mrs. Throckmorton sighed melodramatically, “The Misses Spurrell are right to be concerned but I do not think that the gentleman’s attention is directed at them. My butler also noticed his behaviour and grew concerned enough to have a watch kept on him. His report leads me to warn you, Miss Elizabeth, for it is your house that appears to have drawn his interest. He walks up and down the street but he seems most interested in the comings and goings from your house. His manner, my butler tells me, sometimes appears quite agitated and impatient. I feel you should be on your guard.”

The Misses Spurrell were all aflutter and it was some minutes before they could be calmed. Elizabeth had not wanted to divulge her suspicions as to the gentleman involved, for she remained unpersuaded that he meant her harm. Mrs. Sutton, who had been apprised of Mr. Wickham’s actions, was not sanguine about the matter.

“I do not like it, Miss Elizabeth. This is most improper.”

“I believe,” Elizabeth said, “that the gentleman you have noticed is a Mr. Wickham with whom I was acquainted in Hertfordshire. He is an officer in the _____shire Militia. I know of nothing that would lead me to believe him dangerous.”

Mrs. Throckmorton was not appeased and her tone was severe. If Elizabeth had not known of her neighbour’s concern for her, she might have taken offense. The similarity between Mrs. Throckmorton’s manner and that of Mr. Darcy suddenly struck her, but her thoughts on the resemblance were dispelled as Mrs. Throckmorton continued, “Miss Elizabeth, you must know such behaviour is improper. No true gentleman would behave so. This Mr. Wickham may be a militia officer, but not all such men are true gentlemen. I must warn you to be cautious.”

Mrs. Sutton nodded emphatically and added her support. Elizabeth sought to soothe their concerns.

“And I shall be, Mrs. Throckmorton. You may be assured of that. I am always accompanied by Robert and a maid. I shall be in no danger from Mr. Wickham. I have already canceled my walk today as he was in the neighbourhood. Mrs. Sutton and I have spoken on the matter. As I told her, I am quite aware of the impropriety of his behaviour. He most certainly should not have pretended to meeting me by accident. My inheritance is undoubtedly the cause of his attentions, and I suspect that his situation is distressed which may account for his behaviour which I believe is quite uncharacteristic. A militia officer’s income is far from sufficient to support a wife and family.”

The ladies took their departure shortly thereafter, assuring Elizabeth that they would continue to watch for Mr. Wickham; but not all that Elizabeth could say would convince the Misses Spurrell that Mr. Wickham did not mean to murder them all in their beds.

Elizabeth gave little further thought to Mr. Wickham for several days. The Bennet sisters visited the Gardiners, after Sunday services, to stay for dinner and to spend time together. Sunday dinners had become almost a tradition and the two families dined in turn every Sunday. By the evening, the youngest Gardiner children had succumbed to a surfeit of excitement and been sent to their beds to sleep. The two eldest, although not ready for sleep, were, however, convinced to remove themselves to the nursery to read quietly in the hope, as their mother confessed, that they would also soon fall asleep.

The Bennet sisters and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner remained in the small parlour conversing and reminiscing.

"Do you miss your friends in Hertfordshire, girls?” inquired Mr. Gardiner. The response rather surprised him, for he learned that while both of them missed being able to move in that society, only Elizabeth had developed a friendship which had suffered from their removal to London.

"I do miss Charlotte, I confess.” she replied. “Letters are not as satisfactory as talking to her directly.”

“Charlotte was an excellent friend.” admitted Jane. Then she smiled impishly at Elizabeth, “But you, at least, had the pleasure of encountering a friend while walking in the park.”

Jane, while sensible to the impropriety of Mr. Wickham’s behaviour, could not imagine that his intentions were anything but praiseworthy. However, Elizabeth scowled. Robert had, as requested, kept watch and reported the day after she walked with Mr. Wickham that he was sure he had seen Mr. Wickham stationed some distance away down their street. Elizabeth could only suppose that he was waiting for her to emerge from the house. Her plans to walk in the park that day were, after some consideration, cancelled. That he would behave in a manner which required her to forego one of her pleasures, irritated her. She was worried and uncomfortable with the premeditation of Mr. Wickham’s actions. She supposed that she should be flattered by his interest in her; however, the reason for his interest was worrisome. She could hardly be unaware that his interest lay equally in her modest fortune as in herself. She was not so naïve. She remembered stating to Mrs. Powell that even handsome young men needed an income to live on as well as plain ones. Mr. Townsend’s attentions had been based on a belief that she possessed a fortune. Once apprised of her circumstances, he had directed his interest elsewhere. Was Mr. Wickham cast from the same mould? She could hardly believe otherwise based on his behaviour with Miss King and now, herself. It was difficult, indeed possibly dangerous, to ignore his behaviour. She most certainly resented the constraint that it imposed on her actions.

She had not, however, spoken to her sister of her concerns and Jane’s comment had provoked a response from Elizabeth – a scowl - that none of her relatives understood. Mr. Gardiner taking note of it, inquired into its cause and, after a very brief deliberation, Elizabeth revealed all that had recently taken place involving Mr. Wickham. Mr. Gardiner was alarmed by what he heard and resolved to visit the next day, and, if Mr. Wickham were present, to speak with him about such behaviour.

He informed his nieces of his intention and that he also intended to write Mr. Wickham’s superior officer to complain of such behaviour on the part of one of his officers. Jane, however, took matters in a slightly different direction.

“I have always wondered at your fondness for Mr. Wickham, Lizzy. I concede that he is an attractive gentleman, but I have seen little of substance to him. Of course,” and she sounded a little apologetic, “I have not spoken to him a great deal. He has not sought out my company.”

That in itself was unusual, for Jane was the most beautiful of the Bennet sisters and men gravitated to her like moths to a flame. Mr. Wickham had not and Elizabeth now wondered why that had been so, but was not allowed to ponder on the subject.

“Perhaps Lizzy might hold him in less regard, if they did not share such a dislike of Mr. Darcy.” continued her sister, playfully.

“Lizzy? What is this about Mr. Darcy? Is this the same family that is from Derbyshire?” asked Mrs. Gardiner.

Elizabeth agreed that it was and gave an abbreviated account of Darcy’s dealings with Wickham as the latter had related to her.

“There is certainly some bad business between the gentleman; however, it is difficult to arrive at a conclusion when one has only one side of a dispute.” Mr. Gardiner offered. His manner was disinterested and thoughtful.

“Mr. Bingley was very sure that the fault lay with Mr. Wickham, although he also confessed that he did not know the particulars of the matter.” added Jane, blushing slightly at her mention of Mr. Bingley.

“I believe that Mr. Bingley’s information came only for Mr. Darcy and is, therefore, not to be trusted.” declared Elizabeth with more firmness than she felt. “I find it difficult to question Mr. Wickham’s account. He has provided details of the affair that cannot be fabricated. While I have reserved judgement on the matter, as I do not know either gentleman well enough to discern the truth, I also believe, given the pride and disdain I have observed in Mr. Darcy’s treatment of those he considers beneath his touch, that Mr. Wickham’s account could be credible or, at least, not wholly wrong.”

Mrs. Gardiner’s eyebrows rose in amazement. She had rarely heard Elizabeth express such a vehement dislike of anyone.

Mrs. Sutton, who had been silent till now, inquired as to whether the gentleman being discussed was Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. When advised that it was, declared firmly, “I am not, of course, familiar with the details of what this Mr. Wickham claims, nor can I profess a personal acquaintance with Mr. Darcy, but I have heard his name mentioned frequently and always with the utmost respect for his respectability. I believe his manners have frequently been criticized but his liberality and generosity, never.”

“Perhaps Lizzy might not dislike Mr. Darcy as much, if he had not spoken so poorly of her at their first acquaintance.” replied Jane slyly. She had never been overly prone to teasing but removal from Longbourn and freedom from her mother’s effusions had encouraged her to be more open.

“Lizzy?” prompted Mrs. Gardiner.

“He called her only tolerable, Aunt. And not handsome enough to dance with.” said Jane.

“And he did not wish to give consequence to young ladies who had been slighted by other men.” She added with a smirk.

“Oh my!” replied Mrs. Gardiner. Her husband snorted in amusement and Elizabeth frowned in discomfort.

“The loss was his and his alone, Lizzy. I would have hoped that you had laughed this off. You can be in no doubt, surely, of your attractiveness and desirability as a dance partner.” said he. “Did you not question Mr. Darcy about the matter between himself and Mr. Wickham?”

Elizabeth nodded, “I could not, of course, given the circumstances discuss the matter openly; however, I did mention Mr. Wickham and implied some knowledge of the issue between them. Mr. Darcy refused to speak on it at all.”

“He said nothing?” responded her uncle.

“Nothing!” Elizabeth paused briefly as she remembered their conversation while dancing, “Well, not exactly nothing, that is, other than Mr. Wickham was more successful in making friends than in keeping them. This certainly does not address the matter.”

There was a brief silence as all considered her response. Her uncle was the first to respond.

“Does it not? I would have thought otherwise, surely. While he did not speak directly to the issue between them, could not his words be taken as a caution against Mr. Wickham’s character?”

Elizabeth pondered what her uncle had said. At the time, her dislike of Mr. Darcy, her irritation with Mr. Collins and her affront at the injustice perpetrated against Mr. Wickham, compounded with her disappointment that Mr. Wickham had chosen to miss the ball, had made her reluctant to credit anything Mr. Darcy had said. She now reconsidered Mr. Darcy’s rather elliptical statement.

“Do you mean, Uncle, that Mr. Wickham’s character is not as good as his amiable nature would suggest? That once it becomes known, people do not wish to keep his acquaintance? Mr. Darcy offered no proof of his assertion.” Thoughts of Mr. Townsend surfaced once more.

“Did Mr. Wickham offer any proof of his? I do not see how Mr. Darcy’s comment could be interpreted in any way, Lizzy, other than as a caution to you. Why he was not more explicit, I cannot say. There might well be excellent reasons for not disclosing the details. Or he might simply be a man who values his privacy a great deal. I would also note that, as you indicated, a public ball room is hardly the place to be discussing matters of a highly private nature. As I noted, he offered only as much proof as Mr. Wickham – none.”

"And, Lizzy," he added, "there's an old saying that bears thinking on. ‘By their friends shall you know them’. Mr. Darcy stands as friend to Mr. Bingley and you think highly of the latter. I do not know Mr. Bingley but I doubt he could be an honourable man and befriend someone who was the reverse. It simply is not sensible, Lizzy. Not sensible at all.”

“I no longer know what to think about Mr. Bingley.” replied Elizabeth, casting a worried look at Jane. Her sister’s mien was as serene as ever. “I know nothing to his discredit other than he lacks either constancy or resolution. I am not sure I would have him stand as testimony to Mr. Darcy’s honour.”

Mrs. Gardiner feared the conversation might devolve into a disquisition of Mr. Bingley which she did not believe advisable and, wishing to change the topic of conversation altogether, introduced the possibility of a trip to the museum which had been discussed the previous week. As there was little further to be gleaned about Mr. Wickham, the others were more than willing to accede to her preference.

Mr. Gardiner did indeed return to the Bennet residence the next day and, in company with Robert, patrolled the street for the better part of an hour without encountering Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth, when informed of the futility of their efforts, could only suppose that his leave had expired and he was required to return to his regiment. Her uncle was not, however, of a mind to allow matters to rest. Mr. Wickham’s behaviour was quite improper and his attentions, or rather the way he attended Elizabeth, disturbed him greatly. He had two letters to write. The first was to Colonel Forster, Mr. Wickham’s commanding officer.

Gracechurch Street, London
11 February, 1812

Colonel Forster,

I am writing to you on a matter of great import to you and myself. I am Edward Gardiner, brother to the late Mrs. Bennet of Longbourn and uncle to the surviving Miss Bennets. I am also, by the terms of the late Mr. Bennet’s will, guardian to Miss Elizabeth Bennet while Mr. Philips, with whom I know you to be acquainted, is acting as Miss Mary Bennet’s guardian in my stead. Neither Elizabeth nor Mary have yet to reach their majority. While Miss Jane Bennet, who has done so, does not require a guardian, I stand in loco parentis as her senior male relative.

Recent actions of an officer under your command, Mr. George Wickham, to be precise, are of a nature to cause me serious concern. I would have preferred to address Mr. Wickham directly but, as I have been unable to encounter him, I have chosen to inform you that you may raise the matter with Mr. Wickham personally.

Specifically, Mr. Wickham has been observed, by servants in my nieces’ home and by her neighbours, loitering in the close vicinity of that house. He apparently is there to anticipate Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s departure to walk in Hyde Park. The one occasion that he was successful, he gave her to believe the encounter was providential and not a planned action on his part. The lie to this is given by my niece’s footman who accompanied her at the time and observed the whole of Mr. Wickham’s actions.

Prior to this encounter – which has not been repeated due to vigilance on the part of my niece’s servants – Mr. Wickham called directly at their house, was informed they were not home to callers but that he could apply to me for permission. He did not do so and chose what now looks to be a duplicitous approach.

The reason for Mr. Wickham’s behaviour is obvious to me. My niece received a modest inheritance last autumn and Mr. Wickham is in want of a wife with a fortune, for, as I am sure you are aware, his own salary is not sufficient to support a wife and family in the manner to which a gentlewoman is accustomed. I cannot know, of course, if he has other means of support but, given his behaviour and what little he previously related to my niece, I have reason for doubt that he does.

My purpose in writing you is simple. I wish only that you direct Mr. Wickham to cease his attentions to my niece. She does not wish for them. She considers Mr. Wickham an amiable acquaintance, but as they have not been in each other’s company beyond several occasions, their acquaintance is of a limited nature. Moreover, she will be mourning the deaths of her parents and sisters until November next. Such attention as Mr. Wickham is directing is extremely inappropriate and unwanted. Should Mr. Wickham choose to approach me for permission to call on my nieces, I shall refuse it for that reason as long as they are in full mourning. That period shall last until the end of May. After that, Mr. Wickham may call and whether he shall be received will be at my niece’s discretion.

I would appreciate your prompt action on this matter.

Yours, etc.
Edward Gardiner

The second letter was directed to Mr. Philips who, he believed, should be made aware of Mr. Wickham’s actions and who might also be a source of information about the officer. Mr. Gardiner did not doubt that his sister, Mrs. Philips, would know of any gossip surrounding the gentleman. As well, he wished to make Mr. Philips aware of his concerns, for while Mary’s fortune was but half of Elizabeth’s, if Mr. Wickham was desperate, it might prove sufficient to attract his interest.

~~~~~~~~

Elizabeth had too much respect for her uncle’s acumen to not consider his words carefully. If he, a pragmatic man of business and one who did not take his family responsibilities lightly, thought the matter less simple and one-sided than she wished to believe, it would be remiss of her to dismiss it outright. As well, she was far from comfortable with Mr. Wickham’s recent behaviour and, while it might well be possible to attach an innocent interpretation to It, she could not think of one. She was not so naive as to ignore the possibility of there being a motive that was not innocent. She now understood that she had been strangely ambivalent towards Mr. Wickham. He had, indeed, charmed her and she had been very pleased at his attentions; however, the key question now was his trustworthiness. He had shown himself duplicitous and capable of dissembling, for, in addition to his recent actions, there was the matter of attending the Netherfield ball. He had asserted that he would not hide from Mr. Darcy but, when the opportunity presented itself to substantiate his boast, he had chosen to avoid the ball where Mr. Darcy was sure to be found.

It seemed impossible for her to consider Mr. Wickham without reference to Mr. Darcy. How was she to view Mr. Wickham? If she had not harboured such a dislike of his nemesis, would she have been so willing to give as much credit to his story as she had? She could well remember saying that she had not believed Mr. Darcy so dishonourable when Mr. Wickham first mentioned that Darcy had refused him the living contrary to his father’s wishes. Yet it had been Wickham whose behaviour had shown itself recently to be improper. She knew nothing of Darcy, apart from Wickham’s story, that hinted at anything dishonourable, and if that story was to some degree a fabrication, which seemed increasingly possible, then she had badly misjudged Mr. Darcy. He might be extremely disagreeable and unpleasant, but she had no grounds other than Mr. Wickham’s tale to question his integrity. Would she have so readily accepted Mr. Wickham’s recital of his woes, if she had not disliked Mr. Darcy so intensely?

That Mr. Darcy had insulted her was beyond question. That he had certainly not meant for it to be overheard, was quite possible, although he had made no attempt to speak quietly. Whether he had subsequently learned that she had, in fact, heard it, she could not know and possibly never would know. Certainly, he had proffered no apology, although, given he had been speaking in private with his friend, did she have the right to even expect one? After some thought she concluded that it mattered not. The comment was made and she had obviously neither forgotten it nor forgiven him for making it. She was not particularly inclined to do either, even now. It spoke poorly of his character that he would disparage a lady in such a public setting where he might be overheard by anyone.

She was sure of one more thing in regards of Mr. Darcy. He had viewed her friends and neighbours with absolute disdain. His attitude and manners had given offence almost from his introduction into their small society. Even ignoring his disparagement of her, he had been haughty and arrogant, his civility had been of the cold, unpleasant sort, making clear how little interest he possessed in conversing with anyone outside his own party. He was clearly of a station superior to that of anyone he encountered in Hertfordshire and he had not been reluctant to display his conviction of that superiority and the inferiority of those with whom he was required to associate. People could hardly be faulted for finding him disagreeable, for he made no effort to be otherwise. Even if he had not insulted her, there was little about his attitude and manners that was pleasing.

She had encountered men of a similar disposition during her visits with Mrs. Powell who, while not moving within the first circles, had accompanied Elizabeth to several balls where such men occasionally favoured them with their attendance. Elizabeth knew she had no cause for personal complaint; however, she had observed several instances in which young ladies, deficient in fortune or beauty or consequence, had been slighted – and frequently deliberately so, as if somehow their lower status in society rendered them less sensitive to insult. It had angered her then, and it angered her when she had been the object of Mr. Darcy’s disdain. It had fixed her opinion of him and little that he had done in the weeks that followed had given her cause to amend it.

Even as she was considering this conclusion, others surfaced to cause confusion, for he had not always been unpleasant with her. Towards him, she had frequently been quite impertinent, subtly mocking him and obliquely criticizing his behaviour. Yet, when she dispassionately reviewed his responses, she had to acknowledge that they had been without rancour and, indeed, sometimes expressed a surprising gallantry. If he had, on occasion, displayed anger, it arose through her provocations and was, for that reason, to be expected. She believed him critical of her; that his disdain for Hertfordshire encompassed her as well, for his stare appeared to bespeak nothing but censure. He had certainly not paid her any noticeable attention and had, in fact, sat in company with her alone at Netherfield for a half hour without speaking or deigning to acknowledge her presence.

In hindsight there was only singular one act of his, now that she can consider it thoughtfully, that contradicted feelings of contempt and disinterest. He had asked her, and only her – a woman he had deemed only tolerable some weeks previous – to dance at the Netherfield ball. Did he mean anything by it? And, if so, what? Was it a form of apology? That would suggest an awareness of his initial disparagement and that seemed improbable. She could not know the answers to such questions but clearly, he had found her tolerable enough to dance with that evening. He had not minded lending his consequence to her – and she was far from insensible to the amazement of their audience that resulted. That they had argued throughout, she accepted as being by her design. She had wanted to plague and question him, and had done so. An anger borne out of her frustration with Mr. Collins’ intentions and fuelled by a slight disappointment at Mr. Wickham’s absence had found him an easy target. It was, perhaps, a testament to his good breeding that he had borne with her as civilly as he had done. What had he said? “I would wish you to not sketch my character at the moment, for the result is likely to reflect poorly on us both.”

She knew him to be a man who spoke as he wrote – cautiously and carefully measuring his words for meaning. Nothing was said idly. She pondered that statement now for the first time. Given her words that preceded it, he certainly had no reason to believe her opinion of him to be favourable. Thus, her sketch of him would not be favourable to him. That assessment could only reflect poorly on her if she was wrong – that she had sketched his character incorrectly. Why had she not given his words more credit? She knew, without further thought, the reason, for she had not, at that time, been prepared to listen to, or accept, anything he said. Her dislike of him was too great for rational or dispassionate consideration. While it was tempting to assign significance to his words, she was reminded of the man’s arrogance. She had little difficulty in believing him capable of seeing his behaviour in a light that that reflected well on him and poorly on another. Mr. Wickham had not erred in one respect, pride was central to Mr. Darcy’s character. The man had owned it himself, only claiming that it was not a fault if kept under good regulation. She snorted. Was he to be the judge of that?

Yet, prior to hearing Mr. Wickham’s story of misfortune, she would not have thought Mr. Darcy dishonourable and Mrs. Sutton had stated quite firmly that he had a reputation as an honourable man. Unpleasant, certainly, but he had appeared a caring brother, a diligent landowner engrossed in his business correspondence, and an excellent friend to Mr. Bingley. In this she had to concede that her uncle had the right of the matter. If Mr. Bingley was an upright, respectable gentleman who had apparently known Mr. Darcy for several years, she doubted he would have accepted Mr. Darcy as a friend unless convinced that his character was cast from the same mould. Could Mr. Bingley have been mistaken? It was, unfortunately, possible, for Mr. Bingley appeared, in many respects, to be much like her own sister, Jane, who saw nothing but the good in everyone. Jane had even liked Miss Bingley! That Mr. Bingley had been deceived could not be considered impossible. Moreover, her opinion of Mr. Bingley had suffered by his actions. Would an honourable gentleman have been so inconsiderate towards her sister?

Her understanding of Mr. Darcy’s character could not, after much consideration, remained unaltered. She was forced to concede that she probably had seriously misjudged him. Mr. Wickham was almost certainly not as honest and credible as she had first supposed. Honesty required her to concede that she had been too satisfied with his attentions to seriously question his version of events; however, there were certain elements that only now seemed pertinent and which she had hitherto ignored or accepted his explanation. Despite his subsequent disclaimer and rationalization, he had avoided the Netherfield ball, although previously he had declared he would not avoid Mr. Darcy. She had not, at the time, thought credible his explanation for having done so, for she had no reason to believe that Mr. Darcy would have been anything other than civil. He had not behaved badly when unexpectedly encountering Wickham on the streets of Meryton, nor had he lost his composure in the face of her provocations. He might leave the ball or ignore the man altogether, but she could not believe that he would act improperly. For some reason, which she could not understand, she was convinced of this aspect of his character.

The other concern she now had was with the facility with which Mr. Wickham had exposed Mr. Darcy’s mistreatment of him, despite claiming he would never do so. She wondered at her blindness at not having perceived this inconsistency immediately. He might well have spoken in confidence with her; however, if Charlotte and Mary were to be believed, Mr. Wickham had spared little effort to sink Mr. Darcy’s character once that gentleman had left the county. What price Mr. Wickham’s professing to honour Mr. Darcy’s father by not speaking ill of the son? The more she thought about her acceptance of Mr. Wickham’s story, the greater her discomfort. That Mr. Wickham had suffered at Mr. Darcy’s hands, she was now reluctant to believe without reservation. There was undoubtedly some measure of truth in his story. How much and what parts was open to question. His story had clearly been slanted to show him in the best possible light, and it remained possible he had been injured in some manner. That it had been a malicious, dishonourable act on Mr. Darcy’s part, she no longer believed. Her confusion arose from her inability to see what Mr. Wickham had gained, if anything, by his disclosures. Until recently, his dealings with her had never infringed upon propriety. His behaviour had been proper and decorous. She had observed nothing in his treatment of her own sisters or any other young lady to give cause for any concern. Even his attentions to Miss King, as self-serving as they were, apparently met with that lady’s approval. There was almost certainly more to Mr. Wickham’s dealings with Mr. Darcy than she had been told but she could not see how any new information could materially change her opinion of both men. Mr. Wickham had proven to be mercenary and untrustworthy, and Mr. Darcy, disagreeable.

She wished to have nothing more to do with either of them. It was, she thought, also fortuitous – the only good thing she could find in the matter – that she was most unlikely to come into Mr. Darcy’s company ever again. He may be a respectable gentleman but she could not like his manners or his haughty behaviour. About Mr. Wickham, she could not be so confident that she would avoid his company; however, she would do so, if possible, and, when she could not, her manners would leave him in little doubt that his attentions were not welcomed.