Beginning, Section II
Jump to new as of February 5, 2003
Jump to new as of February 13, 2003
Jump to new as of February 18, 2003
Part Ten
Emma came running up to Lizzie as she and her sisters were announced.
"I had about given you up!"
"Lydia and Kitty wanted to make an impression, and as there was no time for new gowns, opted to be fashionably late," said Lizzie with a cheeky grin.
"Well, everybody is here now, I should think. Let's just check. We'll both count and see how many are here."
This took a while as Kitty and Lydia kept crossing the room to change seats causing Emma and Lizzie to start over.
"I make it Twenty-eight, is that correct?"
"I make it twenty-eight also. Let me see, there are twenty-one newly moved in, myself and my sisters, that's twenty-six, and Charlotte and Maria make twenty-eight. It appears everyone is here."
"But wait, Mrs Bates is sitting by the fire. She does not count in the twenty-one, I presume, because you are referring to eligible females."
"So who could be missing?" asked Lizzie, somewhat perplexed.
Emma scoured the crowd with her sharp eyes. If there was one thing she was good at, it was being aware of matchmaking prospects, and one of them was unaccountably missing. No one was going to slip through her fingers!
"I have it!" cried Emma. "It is your sister Jane."
"My goodness, wherever can she be? I was sure she was around somewhere. She is always so particular about not hurting a hostess's feelings."
"Did she not come with you?"
"Now that you mention it, I recall being quite uncrushed in the chaise. She must be doing some chore for mama. She is so angelic, she often gives up her pleasures to do others' bidding."
Emma blanched at the very thought. "When was the last time you saw her?"
"I remember her dancing at the ball . . . but surely she came home with us."
"You haven't seen your sister in two days?"
"No, but that means nothing at all. I have been inordinately sleepy since the assembly, always going to bed before her, and rising late," said Lizzie sheepishly, not liking to admit her unusual laziness to her new friend.
"How can you be so complacent?" asked Emma. "There must be more to the story than this, and I mean to find out." She did not like one of her prospective victims getting away from her, nor did she like being kept in the dark about anything. "Well, it will have to wait for now. I must see to refreshments for my guests."
Emma rang the bell, and two serving girls appeared.
"Alicia, will you pass around the cucumber sandwiches? Rita, I would like you to serve the tea," said Emma with regal authority. Alicia flashed Rita a smug grin. The teapot was much heavier than trays of feather-light sandwiches.
Lizzie took a sandwich and some tea and then found herself a spot where she could view everybody.
"You are very comfortably situated, Miss Eliza," said a peevish voice at her elbow.
"Were you moving this way to take this seat?" asked Lizzie, apologetically.
"It is of no importance," answered Caroline in a superior tone. "If it is your choice, it will not do for me. I am sure there is a better situation to be had," and she moved off.
Lizzie looked after her, wondering at the reason for such incivility. The maid passing around the trays of cucumber sandwiches kept glancing at the door in a manner which seemed to suggest to Lizzie that she expected someone to come through it at any moment. Over the hubbub of general conversation, Lizzie could hear a strange tapping sound coming from the direction of the tea table.
Emma came and sat beside Lizzie. "If we are to discover anything about these young ladies, we must circulate," she said.
"My plan was to just quietly observe," said Lizzie placidly. "I have already formed an immovable opinion of one of them."
"Which do you mean?"
"The one in orange. She finds herself very much above her company."
"Hmm, I think I have a man for her," said Emma speculatively. "Now, circulate, circulate!"
Lizzie got up resignedly. Emma did have a tendency to bossiness! Well, she would circulate, but not the way Emma wanted her too. Instead of entering into conversations, she would go about garnering information the best way she knew how; by eavesdropping.
She wandered over to the other side of the room and feigned interest in the blue damask draperies, with her ear open to the nearest conversation.
Marianne turned to her sister and said in an under-voice (a very carrying under-voice), "Do you see the lady beside me? What a vile colour for a gown. Bright orange. It has no romance, no soul. Oh! What type of company are we thrust amongst, Elinor?"
Caroline heard every word and turned to Marianne, her countenance forbidding. "It is not orange! I do not like orange! I never wear orange! The colour of my gown is Apricot Eclat, and it is all the rage in the finest society in Paris."
Marianne looked at her with disdain. "It is so bright it hurts the eyes. I would sooner believe that it has the Parisians in a rage."
"It is much more stylish and becoming than that turbid colour you are wearing."
"Turbid? This is called Eau de Nil. It is the very shade of fields of ripened barley silvering in the sun."
"You obviously don't understand the French language," said Caroline condescendingly. "It means river water. Ugh! Very dirty and unromantic."
"I am a great lover of the French language," said Marianne dramatically, "and indeed all the romance languages. Picture Cleopatra on her sumptuous barge, floating down the Nile, draped in the finest muslins and adorned with lapis lazuli. The river is silted by the floods as it flows from the great cataracts. That is what this colour says to me." Marianne turned her back on Caroline. There was no sense conversing with her.
"Sister," said Elinor. "You cannot expect everyone to have the same tastes as you. You must be more gentle in your expressions."
"I will express myself as I wish," said Marianne.
"Well I never!" exclaimed Caroline, and she left in the proverbial huff in search of someone to commiserate with. Her sister was in Scarborough with her husband, and Charles was unaccountably missing. The only person the least bit interested in commiserating with her at Netherfield was the groom, and she suspected it wasn't commiseration that he had on his mind. Her eyes fell on a lady whose very bearing screamed quality and she flounced over to sit by her side.
"Don't you find the company insipid?" Caroline asked in her most hoity-toity manner.
The lady turned and stared down her nose. "I don't believe we have been introduced," she said coldly.
"Yes indeed, such a shabby affair. I am Caroline Bingley."
"You are? And is that supposed to mean something to me?"
"Well, it is my name," said Caroline a bit taken aback.
"So I should imagine," sneered the lady. "But who are you? Who is your family? What is your place in society? Are you a scion of a noble family? Your garish outfit positively reeks of trade."
"My father was in trade," Caroline admitted with great reluctance, "But my sister has married into the family of the London Hursts, quite people of fashion, you know. And my brother, who is shortly to purchase his own estate, is extremely close friends with the Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley, nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and of the Earl of . . ."
The lady looked over at her with a trace more interest. "I have, of course, heard of the Darcys of Pemberley."
"I am on the point of becoming engaged to Mr Darcy," said Caroline with an encouraging smile.
"Really? I had heard he was engaged to his cousin Anne so that they could combine the two great fortunes."
"Oh! He has no thought of marrying her."
"Well, in that case, and as the company is really not select, I will condescend to accept the introduction. I am Elizabeth Elliot of Kellynch Hall, daughter of Sir Walter Elliot, Baronet. My close relative, Lady Darymple is a Viscountess. A Viscountess!"
Caroline was duly impressed. She was in company of the niece of a Viscountess! She had not been so near heaven since she had last been in Mr Darcy's company.
"I will share a secret with you," said Elizabeth Elliot, leaning closer to Caroline. "I am on the point of being engaged also. To Mr William Elliot, my father's heir. I am to be Lady Elizabeth at some not to far off date."
Lizzie had been studying the Dresden figurines on the mantle, and had overheard the whole of this delightful conversation. There was much food for thought. Caroline Bingley did not need to be matched to anyone, nor did Elizabeth Elliot, if both were to believed. It appeared Mr Elliot was out of the running as well. She pondered the Mr Darcy who Caroline had mentioned as her future fiancée. What kind of man could he be, to be betrothed to a snobbish shrew like Caroline? Proud and disagreeable no doubt. Well she was welcome to him. So why, then, did Lizzie feel that particular sinking feeling deep inside? Lizzie felt a headache coming on. The persistent tap tapping that continued to emanate from beneath the tea table did nothing to ease the dull throb in her temple.
Part Eleven
Emma pulled Lizzie aside and asked her how the investigation was going.
"Well, I have decided the character of at least two more ladies," said Lizzie as she held a cucumber sandwich, the closest thing she could find to a cold compress, to her throbbing forehead.
"I think this whole process is taking too long," said Emma. "We don't want my tea party to stretch on endlessly like the assembly. I have devised a new plan."
Lizzie looked at Emma with mounting apprehension. "A new plan?"
"Yes," said Emma, and she told Lizzie what she wanted her to do.
Lizzie looked sceptical, but she complied. She went to stand in the centre of the room, and tapped her tea cup with her spoon. The room immediately became silent. Even the rapping from beneath the tea table ceased.
"Ladies!" said Lizzie in a theatrical accent, "I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse, who presides, to say that she desires to know all your thoughts on matrimony."
"Is Miss Woodhouse sure she wants to know all that we think on the subject?" asked Miss Charlotte Heywood.
"Oh, no, no!" cried Emma, laughing as carelessly as she could, "Upon no account in the world, that would take forever." She whispered in Lizzie's ear.
Lizzie shrugged and continued, "Miss Woodhouse waives the right of knowing all that you think. Instead she would like either a succinct account of your marital aspirations, a few helpful hints on snaring a spouse, or some dull account of your own heartbreaking experiences."
"Ah! It is to be a sort of Ladies Support Group like are all the rage in London at present!" announced Mary Crawford to no-one in particular. "I have done this before. We sit in a circle, and everyone speaks in turn!"
"Or is it a séance?" queried Miss Bates. "I dearly hope it is not a séance, for I shall be apprehensive of meeting the spirit of someone who has passed on. The other evening I spent much of my time with a gentleman whose fiancée recently left this world and all in it. I do hope she does not come and admonish me for stealing her lover's heart. Though I am not sure that I did in effect steal his heart, but he was most attentive all evening and never got up once or interrupted while I was talking. Oh dear! I fear I am being very dull. Although I am not talking of heartbreak, I must have already outdone my quota of dullness, I always . . ."
"Miss Bates," said Emma, "as dullness was limited only to some, I must concur that you have indeed exceeded your limit, which is hardly surprising in your case."
"Oh dear! Miss Woodhouse is right, you know. I see what she means. I have been rambling on and boring the whole company . . ."
"Next!" cried Emma.
"I am quite at a loss as to what to say," said Charlotte Heywood. "Could you perhaps go first, to give us an example of the type of announcement expected?"
All the ladies in the room nodded at this suggestion.
"Very well," said Emma. "Though I love dearly to match-make, I have no thought to marriage myself. I live to serve others and my competence has living proof in the happy marriage between Miss Taylor and Mr Weston, for which I am solely responsible. However, anyone who thinks I might be induced to make a match between them and Mr Knightly, is sorely mistaken."
"I am still not quite sure how to go on," said Charlotte Heywood, a tad confused.
"I will try," said Lizzie. "It is well known that I enjoy observing people and making out their characters, and I have undertaken to help Emma with my expertise in this field of endeavour. I fully intend to marry eventually, but I will only be induced to by the deepest and most ardent love. I will never marry solely for money, especially to a greasy toad of a man, just to secure my family's future on the event of my father dying and leaving us all destitute. I am holding out for Mr Perfect. I have yet to meet him, but I will know he is the one the instant I see him, for I am very good at first impressions."
"Oh, now I see - I think," said Charlotte Heywood. "I, also, will only marry for love. I think it important to use common sense in attempting to understand a gentleman and his intentions, for I have discovered it is quite impossible to take them at their word." She sat down and blushed while the ladies all politely clapped.
"This is going to be so diverting!" said Lydia. "I think officers are just the gentlemen to pursue. I mean to pick one out and run off with him to London. It doesn't signify if we don't get married right away, for some disagreeable gentleman is sure to come around and force him to marry me, and pay all his creditors," she sighed at the very thought of such a gallant spouse. "I shall regret not getting wedding clothes from the best milliners in London, but I shall be ever so satisfied to be married before any of my prudish sisters!"
Kitty looked at Lydia and started to cry. "You said all that I wanted to say! Now there is nothing left for me to say! And when you have run off, I will not be able to, for papa will not allow me to talk to officers ever again, and I will only be allowed to stand up with my sisters at balls for ten years! You are selfish and horrid and I hate you!" and she ran off to hide in the corner of the room behind the draperies.
Caroline was next, and she looked quite put out to have to follow such a vulgar outburst. But what more could one expect from those uncouth Bennet girls? "I, of course, need no help in this department, as I am on the point of imminent engagement to the most handsome and eligible bachelor in the whole of England. I am able, however, to offer some very helpful advice, which I don't mind making available now that I have as good as caught my man. Firstly, always wear bright colours to attract attention, secondly, always deride any woman he may be attracted to, to make yourself look better than her, thirdly, flatter him and his family intensely, fourthly, follow him about wherever he goes so he can see how surely you belong with him, fifthly, agree with whatever he says, no matter what you really think. There will be plenty of time to set him straight on that score once you are married. Sixthly . . ."
"I think they have the picture, my dear," said Elizabeth Elliot. "I am also about to be engaged, and in my opinion, the most important quality that a woman can possess is her station in life. It is essential to puff it up at all times. A method I use is to always have someone of a slightly lower station at my beck and call." She smiled sweetly at Caroline. "You must always show everyone how superior you are to them, so the gentleman can see at a glance how much he would gain socially in a connection to you." She looked around condescendingly at the gathered company, as if to show just how it was done.
"Men," said Isabella Thorpe, "should be ignored. You must be sure to always keep them in your sights while doing so, and make it obvious that you are ignoring them. Never let them know that you are interested in them, but always pique their interest in you. Treat them mercilessly! And don't forget manner of dress. A good way to attract notice is to dress the same as your closest friend, both of you with coquelicot ribbons on your bonnets, only yours must be much prettier. Do not worry too much about the first man you entrap, but secure him fast, you will be more alluring once engaged, and then you can keep trading up, leaving behind a string of broken hearts, until you finally have the man of fortune that you really want!"
Lizzie looked at Emma in some consternation; was this the direction she wanted the discussion to go? But Emma was sitting with a close smile on her face and a faraway look in her eyes. If Lizzie had known Emma better, she would have realised it was a dangerous sign.
The next speaker stood and introduced herself as Emma Watson. "I do not think one should be out to entrap a man. I would rather live in poverty than marry a man I did not love. I think we should each stick to our own sphere when looking for a husband. I want nothing to do with any rich gentleman who is trying to win me with his possessions."
"Sister," said Elizabeth Watson, "it is better to marry anyone than to remain a spinster. What's love got to do with it? I am so far on the shelf, I would marry the first man to ask me, even if he was the baker! I was once about to marry a young man named Purvis, but my sister Margaret told him some lies about my relationship to a certain Tom Musgrave, a very charming fellow, and Mr Purvis gave me up. Who needs a heart if a heart can be broken? I only want to have the security of a husband and a home and nothing more!"
"I resent all that you say!" cried Margaret Watson. "You have always been jealous of me. If Purvis did not propose to you it was your own doing and not mine! As for Tom Musgrave, I know that you have a secret passion for him, but he will never be yours. I love him and he will ask me to marry him when he finally comes to his senses and realises that he can't live without me. There is no other man in the world for me!"
"How lucky you are to have a gentleman who cares for you," said Maria Lucas shyly.
"He doesn't care a fig for her," said Elizabeth Watson. "She has been suffering this delusion for years."
"You will see!" cried Margaret petulantly. "When I have been gone from town for six months, he will have noticed my absence and missed me so much that he will be falling over himself to propose to me when I return!"
Elizabeth Watson snorted, and Margaret turned her back on her sister in disdain.
Maria Lucas bravely continued to speak. "If a gentleman so much as looks at me, I blush and stammer, and I would fall in love with any gentleman who would give me the time of day." She turned bright pink and hung her head. Elizabeth Watson patted her on the back comfortingly.
"Very nicely said, my dear."
"Well, I for one think this whole affair silly and an abominable waste of time," said Marianne. "One does not arrange love, it steals into one's heart with a line of poetry, a heartfelt look. The instant two people's minds meet, they are trapped in the tangling web of love. Rather than sit in a drawing room discussing finances and strategies, we should be running free on the windswept moors in a fine rain and light mist, with our hair loose, tumbled by the wind. A false footing or trip upon a tussock could send you rolling down the hill to land at the feet of an unknown gentleman out for a stroll on the lonely moors to soothe his brooding soul. Your first sight of him would be his gleaming hessian boots, and as your eyes traverse up his form you would see well fitted breeches, a top coat with numerous capes, an elegantly tied cravat, disordered locks, and the deepest darkest eyes that had ever drawn you under their spell. Money, position; such considerations are irrelevant."
"There is some truth in what you say," said Louisa Musgrove. "Falling can be quite providential! Be sure to fall so that the gentleman just misses catching you and has to take your lifeless form up from the pavement in his arms. The trick is to not really hit your head hard. Also ensure that more than one gentleman is present, so that if the first should lose interest, the second could take up your cause and nurse you back to health. Poetry can be helpful in this endeavour also."
Marianne looked at Louisa as if she had just uttered a blasphemy, and whispered to her sister, "She has just taken everything I said and made it crass and contemptible. How can you abide such unfeeling company?"
Mrs Clay then spoke up, saying, "That seems quite a dangerous way to go about it, and could have long term deleterious effects. I prefer hanging around the upper classes paying untold flatteries and entering into intrigues. If you don't capture your first object, you just might be able to snag your backup, if you play your cards with enough cunning."
"I do not understand all this need for cunning and tripping," said Catherine Moreland. "It is easy enough to fall in love with a gentleman by just dancing at an assembly. What you must watch out for, however, is strange figures in the shadows that may seize you and bundle you into a chaise, your eyes blindfolded. You could be thrown into a dark dank room in the tower of a lonely castle, never to be seen again, dreaming of the gentleman you danced with coming to rescue you on a white stallion, but all the while the walls are dripping blood and wailing pierces the darkness."
"There is no need for melodrama," said Elinor Dashwood. "One must be discreet in love, and keep one's innermost feelings hidden deep inside. There is always the danger of falling hopelessly in love with someone who is secretly engaged to another, and though he has ceased to love her can't in all honour break the engagement." She held back a sigh and sat straight and tall as if unaffected by her disclosure.
"But sometimes it is efficacious to form a secret engagement," said Jane Fairfax quietly. "At times there are very good reasons, especially when you are poor and he depends on the goodwill of his relatives for his fortune. There is a danger, though, of the teasing and deceit driving you to become a governess."
"Entering engagements can be quite enticing," said Anne Elliot in a determined voice. "But sometimes one must break them even if truly in love, and then find oneself treated with disdain eight years later as the unforgiving gentleman makes love to other ladies right under one's very nose." She bravely faced everybody as a lone tear coursed down her pale cheek.
"Men are such pigs!" cried Julia Bertram. "Never give your heart to a smooth talking gentleman for he will just tease you mercilessly and throw you over for your engaged sister."
Isabella Thorpe gave everyone a triumphant look. "What did I tell you! Being engaged is such an attraction!"
"But if that sister is more alluring," said Maria Bertram, striving not to let Isabella Thorpe worm her way in for another turn, "and is engaged to a dead bore, how can you blame him? The worst thing is to become engaged to a dead bore and then the next month meet the most charming rascal you have ever beheld."
"It is worse yet to have that charming rascal try to win you because you are good and pure, and then have everyone badgering you to accept his proposals, even the man you love." Fanny Price turned her head away and held her handkerchief to her face.
"Just as parents can force you to marry against your will, they can force you to break off promising alliances," said Eleanor Tilney, "even when money should be no object. Is it fair to be forced to meet your brother's friend clandestinely during his visits to your home just because his fortune is not grand? To be forced to communicate by secret notes disguised as laundry lists? Your only hope is that one day he should inherit enough wealth to please your domineering parent."
"But some of us find ourselves in the position to be forced to encourage a gentleman out of practicality, whether he is attractive in any way or not, so as not to end a burden to our brothers," said Charlotte Lucas. "At eight and twenty, I would even be induced to accept an obsequious parson, if I could convince one to offer for me."
"A parson! Don't talk of parsons!" cried Mary Crawford. "I have a warning to all young ladies not to ever fall in love with younger sons. If you do you shall find they intend to become parsons and also have passions for their seemingly innocent young cousins."
"A parson would be ideal," said Mary Bennet, "so prosaic, so serious. You would not be tempted by the lascivious passions of lust that flow through the veins of lesser men. Men who are uncouth, and bet on horses and are prone to swearing and are so devastatingly tempting that even reading Fordyce's sermons for four hours straight cannot expel them from your very soul." When Mary stopped her rant her chest was heaving, her breathing irregular, and there was a look of lust glowing in her eyes.
Harriet looked around in consternation. Everyone but her had spoken, and that was going to be some act to follow.
"Oh Emma, what should I say? Please guide me in this. What type of man would I like to marry? I can be so easily swayed by a good letter or a scrap of sticking plaster. Oh, please, I should be happy to marry whoever you think I ought!"
As Emma ran to Harriet's side to reassure her that the perfect man would be found, Lizzie looked around at the chaos that had once been a decorous tea party. None of the sisters were getting along. Lydia was teasing Mary to try to find out just who was leading her thoughts astray, while Kitty still hid behind the draperies. Elizabeth and Margaret Watson were arguing over Tom Musgrave who Lizzie was quite sure was not worth the effort. Julia and Maria Bertram were hurling insults while Fanny Price was attempting to calm them both, and Elinor was attempting to prevent Marianne from entering into open hostilities with three or four other young ladies, who Marianne was accusing of having no soul.
Some people did appear to be forming new friendships, though. Isabella Thorpe was enthusiastically telling her new best friend, Caroline Bingley, that coquelicot ribbons would look stunning with that particular shade of apricot eclat, and that they should walk about Meryton together the next day in hopes of ignoring as many handsome gentlemen as possible. Caroline was assuring her new friend that she would join her although, of course, she would only end up dashing all the young men's hopes because after all she was as good as engaged already. Isabella smiled ever so sweetly at this, but thought to herself, 'Does she really expect me to believe that she is about to complete such a coup-de-grace? Not only is she waspishly uppity, but she is practically planar and looks perfectly preposterous in that garish orange gown.'
Over at the tea table, the two serving girls, Alicia and Rita, were scribbling furiously on the napkins and muttering to themselves about all the good material they were collecting. Lizzie's head began to throb again just as the staccato tapping started to emanate from the nether regions of the aforesaid tea table.
Part 12
The next day Emma arrived very early at Longbourn with Harriet in tow.
"I have brought Harriet along, though I don't think she'll be of much help. Maybe she can sit and trim bonnets with your younger sisters."
"Oh, yes Miss Bennet. Could I? I should like that above all things," said Harriet with innocent enthusiasm.
"Kitty and Lydia should be pleased of your company," said Lizzie. "But where are your other friends, Emma? Jane Fairfax and the Bateses?"
"Mrs Bates is sitting with my father, of course. I left them enjoying a nice little boiled egg together. Miss Bates and Jane Fairfax were in the parlour discussing Jane's wish to become a governess, at least Miss Bates was rambling on endlessly about it and Jane was typically being a saint and pretending to listen to all the drivel. We slipped out without their noticing. One can get a little too much of their company, if you know what I mean."
"I understand regarding Miss Bates," said Lizzie with a smile. "But Jane Fairfax appears to be a very elegant and collected lady. Surely there is nothing wrong with her?"
"Oh, no! She is just too perfect for words! How she annoys me!" said Emma. "She is always thrown up to me as an example of feminine perfection by a certain person."
"And what will Mr Knightly say when he discovers you have abandoned her for the day?" asked Lizzie quite astutely.
Harriet giggled. "I know exactly what he will say, ooh but I ought not say it."
"Badly done! Very badly done indeed Emma! That's what he will say," said Emma somewhat crossly. "And I really don't care, for I will have gone a day without being exposed to Jane Fairfax's perfections."
Lizzie decided it was time to change the subject. She was sure that Emma was capable of saying much more in that regard. She ushered Harriet into the parlour to join her sisters, who immediately started arguing as to whose bonnet Harriet would trim first. She then led Emma to the small morning room that looked out over the shrubbery, so that they could have some privacy for their important discussion. There was a nice little table over by the window, and soon it was strewn with rolls of parchment that had been protruding from Emma's overstuffed reticule.
Emma unrolled them in an attempt to get them to lay flat. They were covered with names and charts and graphs and diagrams. As Lizzie studied them they only made her more confused. Emma pulled one from the mess and said, "This one is my plan for getting Miss Maria Bertram together with Mr Edward Ferrars on an outing to Oakham Mount. I have laid out the positions of every person at a picnic we shall arrange. We may even be able to bring Miss Marianne Dashwood and Mr John Thorpe together on the same occasion, if we use this strategy." She pointed to some squiggles and arrows and dotted lines that littered the page. Lizzie was dumbfounded.
"Miss Maria Bertram and Mr Edward Ferrars? Are you quite sure? She has already complained of a boring fiancée, so I am sure we need not bother with her, and if we were to match her with someone, don't you think that a gentleman like Mr Henry Crawford would be more her style?"
"Miss Bertram is the eldest daughter of a very fine family. Mr Ferrars is an eldest son and his mother is very rich. It is an admirable match," said Emma adamantly.
"I disagree entirely!" said Lizzie. "And your other suggestion is even more preposterous. Miss Marianne Dashwood, with her overtly romantic soul, and Mr John Thorpe, the most uncouth man I have ever met?"
"To tell you the truth, there is something about Miss Dashwood that I cannot like, and so I decided to give her to John Thorpe who disgusts me more than anybody else. I suppose if you don't like it, we can change it. She pulled a stub of a pencil out from her reticule and proceeded to cross out the names on the sheet. How about Mr Elton for Miss Dashwood? I was not going to find him a match, but there seems to be a shortage of gentlemen. I have never been in a village with so very few indigenous males!"
"What do you have against the poor girl? Mr Elton would not do at all. She needs a very romantic lover, like Mr Willoughby, or better yet, a dark and brooding one with a mysterious past, like Colonel Brandon."
"And you say my ideas are bad!" exclaimed Emma. "That is entirely ridiculous. I think we shall match her with Mr Edmund Bertram. Think what a good match that will be for her! He is a younger son, but his father is a Baronet, and she is only the impoverished daughter of some gentleman or other."
"Mr Bertram does have an eye for a beautiful lady, but he is so dreadfully boring. I think he would be better off with a little mouse like his young cousin," said Lizzie. "But let us go on. Show me some of your other plans."
"Here is my blueprint for the next assembly," said Emma, proudly drawing over the biggest sheet. "We should be able to engineer many of our matches here. Look, I have Mr Henry Tilney with Julia Bertram, Captain Tilney and Elinor Dashwood, and Eleanor Tilney with Mr Willoughby, thus disposing of all the Tilney's matrimonial hopes in one fell swoop. How is that for a masterful plan?"
Lizzie blenched. Where did Emma come up with these outrageous ideas? Hadn't she been paying any attention to any of the information that Lizzie had provided? Didn't she listen to anybody at the tea party? Lizzie attempted to be as diplomatic as possible in her reply. "These are most interesting matches," she said carefully, "but I think they are open to improvement. Henry Tilney, for example, might prefer an innocent girl with a good imagination, like Catherine Moreland; the captain is probably only interested in flirtation and might like someone else who is also so inclined, like Isabella Thorpe; and as for Eleanor Tilney, she appears to be a very sensible and intelligent young lady, not one who would be taken in by a rake like Mr Willoughby. I would suggest . . ."
"Yes you would suggest," said Emma with some asperity. "You seem to like to shoot down all my ideas! What makes your ideas so much better? Your great powers of observation? You have probably never been mislead by your assessment of a person's character in your life! Oh no! You understand everyone so perfectly!"
"I do have some faculty for observation, it is true," Lizzie shot back. "But I am by no means perfect, and I do not mean to disparage you. It is just that I am astounded at some of your pairings, that is all. Could we not discuss this rationally without getting all up in the boughs about it? I am not trying to impose my ideas, I am only making suggestions.""
"Well," said Emma, only slightly mollified, "if you insist, I will show you the rest, but I am getting a little tired of your negativity."
Lizzie kept her mouth firmly shut. If she were to answer back, it was sure to be the end of their tenuous relationship. For the rest of the exposé she just bit her tongue and rolled her eyes, and even resorted to holding her breath a few times. But her mind could not be so controlled. As Emma extrapolated on all the match ups and all the scenarios to get these unsuited people together, Lizzie's mind kept up a running commentary. Caroline Bingley and Captain Wentworth? What did the poor wounded man ever do to deserve that fate? Elizabeth Elliot and Sydney Parker? Why would Elizabeth Elliot look at anyone less of a personage than Lord Osborne? Unless of course she wanted to marry her cousin and become the next Lady Elliot upon her father's death. She had sensible Charlotte Lucas matched up with that cad, Mr Wickham, heartbroken Anne Elliot matched to Mr Henry Crawford, who Lizzie assessed to be an inveterate heart breaker, and Colonel Fitzwilliam with, of all people, the nobody widowed daughter of a two-bit attorney, Mrs Clay. Mr Bingley she had matched with Isabella Thorpe for some obscure reason. It was obvious that there was only one lady that Mr Bingley would even look at, and speaking of Jane, where was she? Lizzie had yet to see her today.
Not only that, Emma had matched Louisa Musgrove, Charlotte Heywood, and Elizabeth Watson all with the same gentleman. Colonel Brandon. A very useful gentleman to be sure, but weren't there laws against that sort of thing? She had given Emma Watson to Tom Bertram; Miss Watson who sought to remain in her own lowly sphere to marry the future Sir Thomas? It was nonsensical. Mr Howard was matched with Maria Lucas, Harriet Smith was matched with Mr Elliot, and none of her sisters were provided with matches at all. And then there was Mr Knightly. But no, Emma refused to match him with anybody, even though Jane Fairfax was available. Frank Churchill was offered as a match to herself, and when she respectfully declined, Emma arbitrarily paired him up with Margaret Watson.
By the end of the session, Lizzie was so confused she could not even tell if anyone had been left out. All she knew was that in the next few weeks there were to be numerous al fresco parties, excursions to local landmarks, and impromptu balls. It was with relief that she finally bid Emma and Harriet good day, and was able to retire to the library for some well earned solitude. Lydia and Kitty were prancing around the rest of the house showing off their newly trimmed bonnets, all the work done by Harriet, to anybody who they could induce to look.
The parish church appeared to have undergone major renovations. The nave of the church seemed to stretch endlessly. The Parson was standing before the altar in his best vestments, reciting a well known service. A long procession of couples made their way up the aisle as the organ played, and then spread out along the communion rail. All the women wore white. There was a profusion of pearl buttons, fine embroidery, lace and gauze. Lizzie held a delicate bouquet of miniature white rosebuds in her hands. She was aware of a figure beside her in an elegant grey suit. She glanced over at him and noticed that he was twiddling with a ring on the little finger of his exquisitely formed hands. She looked up from his shapely thighs and noticed how well his shoulders fit his immaculately tailored jacket. She just had to see his face. Trembling with anticipation, she raised her gaze ever higher, and her book slipped from her lap and landed on the floor with an echoing bang. She started up from her chair and looked around the library in utter confusion, filled with a deep sense of loss. She hadn't even been able to see his face. But she had been so close . . . so close.
Part Thirteen
The next two days Lizzie had to endure a barrage of new ideas from Emma, and finally they worked out a plan of attack that both of them could live with. Lizzie doubted that any of it would work anyway, so she saw no sense in further argument; better to agree and get on with it. The best she could do was insert a few of her own choices into the combinations of guests for the assorted outings and gatherings, so that the intended couples would have more appropriate company to fall back upon.
The third day Lizzie went down to breakfast filled with apprehension about the first of their little schemes that was scheduled for that very afternoon. She knew that it would not take much for her headache to return and looked outside at the clear blue skies, willing black clouds to form, but the weather was capriciously supporting Emma's wishes rather than her own. To Oakham Mount they would go and she was helpless to prevent it. At that moment the door to the breakfast parlour opened and Jane walked in, enwrapped in a radiant glow. Lizzie reflected that early morning exercise was indeed advantageous.
"Hello Lizzie," sighed Jane, her face overspread with joy.
"Good morning Jane," said Lizzie. "You appear to have had a pleasant walk."
"Aren't you going to ask me where I've been?" asked Jane bemusedly as she sank down into a chair.
"I imagine you have been for a walk in the garden, and by all appearances you have enjoyed it very much," said Lizzie with a smile.
"I have been gone for five days Lizzie!" said Jane. "Didn't anyone notice?"
Lizzie stared at her sister in amazement, not so much for the fact that she had been away for five days, but for the fact that Emma's insinuations had been correct. She had been the only one to notice Jane's disappearance; no one in her own family had even thought twice about it. If Emma had been right about Jane, she could be right about other things. It was a frightening thought and Lizzie quickly banished it from her mind.
"After such a long walk you must be exhausted!" cried Lizzie in concern.
"Lizzie, look at me," said Jane, blushing rosily. "Do I look like someone who has been out walking for five days, or do I look like someone who has just been granted her heart's desire?"
"You do appear quite pleased with yourself," said Lizzie. "Now what is your heart's desire?" Lizzie sat and contemplated her sister, running over in her mind all the confidences they had shared throughout the years. Jane was obviously bursting with happiness, and something even more precious - fulfilment. "You have gone and secretly got yourself a puppy!"
"Oh that is so true! And what an adorable puppy he is too!" said Jane with a mischievous grin.
"Where is he then?" asked Lizzie, looking around to see if she had missed noticing a little puppy gambolling about her sister's ankles.
"He is waiting in the carriage until I break the news to mama and papa," said Jane. "Oh, Lizzie I am so happy! You have no idea how wonderful he is! I had never imagined it could be this good. Lizzie, I do hope one day you will find such happiness for yourself. Everyone should be as happy as I! Excuse me, I must run and tell our parents!" Jane went over to Lizzie and embraced her lovingly and then ran out of the room.
Lizzie looked thoughtfully after her sister. That must be some cute puppy to make her go into such transports. She had always known of her sister's secret longing for a puppy of her own, but she had never quite realised the depth of her desire. Lizzie got up from her breakfast and went out to the carriage to see the little dog for herself. A light equipage stood in the sweep just outside the main entrance. Lizzie wondered just who had loaned her sister this elegant carriage, and just where she had to go to find the puppy. Perhaps she had found it necessary to go all the way to Yorkshire. Lizzie opened the carriage door and was shocked to find it quite empty - except for the presence of a handsome young gentleman.
"Where is the puppy?" asked Lizzie in some confusion.
"I beg your pardon?" asked the young man.
Lizzie stared at him and finally recognition hit her. "You are the gentleman that Jane was dancing with at the assembly! Mr Bingley, is it?"
"Yes indeed," said Mr Bingley. "And you must be Elizabeth. I am very pleased to meet you!" He grasped her hand and shook it heartily, an incredibly silly grin upon his face. "You must find this most awkward, but I assure you I acted with the best of intentions."
"What has become of the puppy?" asked Lizzie, wondering if she had indeed woken up this morning or if this was merely an episode of some surreal dream she was having. "Is he hiding under the seats?"
"Have you lost a puppy?" asked Mr Bingley, attempting to understand his new sister's obsession with the little animals. "I can help you find it."
"Oh, please do!" cried Lizzie. "Jane is so happy to finally have her heart's desire. I wouldn't want her new puppy to be lost its first day home."
Mr Bingley stepped out of the carriage. "Did your parents procure it for her while she was away? I admit, I was concerned they might be upset with her for going off like that, without a word, but if they bought her a puppy, they can't have been too angry."
"Whatever are you saying, sir?" Lizzie asked, looking him full in the face. He gazed back at her with an eager smile and he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. She had seen that same look of satisfaction in her own sister's eyes just a few minutes earlier. "Did you not take her to buy a . . . Oh my goodness! I have been most foolish, but Jane did mislead me. You are the puppy!" Lizzie threw her arms around the bemused man and gave him a big hug. "You two have just returned from the border!"
"Did Jane not tell you?" asked Bingley, his colour rising. "We were married two days ago."
"And I thought she had gone and got a puppy!" said Lizzie, shaking with uncontrollable laughter. "Oh, you should see your face! You must think me quite insane!"
"Oh, no! I must assure you I do not," said Bingley quite unconvincingly. Jane was a lovely girl. A veritable angel. But he was beginning to wonder about the rest of her family. Not that he regretted their impetuous dash for the border. No indeed, he would never change that, no matter that her beloved younger sister appeared to be somewhat unhinged. Bingley knew what would have transpired if they had not sent caution and propriety flying to the winds. His sisters would have put a stop to the whole affair, and Darcy too. He and Jane would have been thrown into such a turmoil of angst, that who knows if either of them would have ever recovered. It was much better this way; his bothersome sisters and autocratic friend would have no recourse but to accept his marriage now.
Eloping with Jane was one of the smartest moves he had ever made. He was certain that he could deal with a sister who thought he was a puppy, anyway, they need not live in Netherfield long. He was beginning to think that the further away they settled from the Bennet family the better, as he saw the rest of the clan bearing down on him. Mrs Bennet was running towards him, arms outstretched, screeching in rapture. Mr Bennet followed close behind with a sardonic look on his puckish face. The other sisters ambled up behind, giggling and tittering. Bingley knew that he was in for it and silently wondered if he would have preferred their wrath to this showing of unalloyed joy. Suddenly he found himself crushed to Mrs Bennet's ample bosom, choking in scent and lace.
"Oh what a surprise! You are the slyest things! Oh you dear boy! Five thousand a year! I cannot credit it! I knew Jane was not so beautiful for nothing! What is your favourite food? I shall have cook prepare it immediately. And you must come and shoot all our pheasants! I insist! Every last one! Mrs Bingley! How wonderful that sounds! If only I had known, I could have sent Jane all her wedding clothes! I have had them ready these three years! We must have a wedding breakfast tomorrow and invite the neighbourhood! Mr Bingley, you are very welcome at our house! Do you have any rich friends for my other daughters? Oh! I shall go distracted! My Jane married! And you are such a handsome gentleman! I remarked on that to Lizzie when I first laid eyes on you at the assembly, did I not Lizzie? I knew from the start Jane and you were meant for each other! Come in, come in! You must sit in the parlour! Hill, Hill! The best claret now! Oh! Where is Hill?"
Bingley was seemingly in a sea of Bennets, the surge of the tide carrying him into their best parlour, where he ended up on a settee with Jane at his side staring up at him apologetically. The warm glow of her smile encouraged him and he grinned happily around the gathered company. They were his family now and he had best get used to it. Mrs Bennet rambled on and on, unabated. Mary sat with her hands in her lap, glancing demurely at him every now and then. Kitty and Lydia kept saying things like, "Gretna green, ooh!" "Such a long carriage ride, unsupervised, aahh! What were they up to all alone?" and "I wanted to be married first! It just isn't fair!" Lizzie almost looked normal now, her uncontrollable laughter stemmed, and her concern for lost puppies forgotten. Mr Bennet sat back with a look of glee on his face. Bingley accepted a glass of claret from Hill, and took a much needed sip that nearly emptied it.
Part 14
The wedding breakfast, to say the least, was a complete fiasco. With such a great number of guests, people were seated not only in the dining room and breakfast parlour, but also in the drawing room, morning room, and small back parlour where Lizzie liked to get away from the general turmoil of Bennet family life and quietly do her stitchery. About half way through the repast, the kitchen ran out of braised kidney and started sending up fried liver, which was regarded with much disfavour. Mrs Bennet, who up until then had been glorying in the joys of being the proud mother of the bride, suddenly had a severe case of flutterings and flitterings. After an interminable interlude of hysterical wailing, she fainted dead away into the waiting arms of her husband, to be revived moments later by burnt feathers waved under her nose by Lizzie herself. Not only was Mrs Bennet roused, but the smell of burnt feathers had completely eradicated the earlier smell of liver and onions.
As soon as she had the opportunity, Emma waylaid Lizzie and almost dragged her into the library, the only room besides Mr Bennet's study that was not overflowing with guests feeding upon devilled eggs and kippered herring.
"I am most seriously displeased," cried Emma. "How could your family do this to me?"
Lizzie looked at Emma strangely. She was having that eerie feeling of déjà vu again, only it was that kind of déjà vu one gets when something that is supposed to happen in the future is happening in the present, and the wrong sort of person is saying the wrong sort of things.
"We are all suffering as much as you, Emma dear," said Lizzie in a conciliatory tone.
"What? I had supposed you were all happy as clams!" she said in some surprise.
"Clams? That's all we need. The combined smells of braised kidney, fried liver, burnt feathers, devilled eggs, and kippered herrings are bad enough without having to bring clams into the mix!"
"Whatever are you on about?" asked Emma, dumbfounded.
"Why the revolting smells of course, and with this incessant rain beating down it is not even possible to open a window."
"I was not referring to the stench which has robbed me of my appetite," said Emma. "I was referring to the audacity of your family to employ subterfuge in stealing one of my most eligible bachelors from my list. I will now have to make drastic changes to my plans. Do you understand the dilemma I am in? Where am I going to find another gentleman who is agreeable enough to put up with a woman like Isabella Thorpe? I could give her to Edward Ferrars, but then what would I do with Maria Bertram?"
"In my opinion," said Lizzie, "both Maria Bertram and Isabella Thorpe should be left to their own devices. And Jane is positively radiant. She and Mr Bingley truly love each other and deserve the happiness that they have found."
After a half-hour of intense discussion Lizzie had finally placated Emma and Isabella Thorpe was now destined to be matched with Edmund Bertram, and it was Marianne Dashwood's fate to be coupled with John Thorpe. It was either him or Mr Elton, and Emma was quite adamant in her refusal to help Mr Elton with his marital hopes. Lizzie didn't really care about the match-ups, the whole project made no sense to her anymore; she was just happy to have Emma accept the fact that Jane was not about to get her marriage annulled just so she didn't have to change her plans. Besides, from the satisfied look on Bingley's face the other day, she had a feeling that annulment was an impossibility.
Happy was the hour that the last of the guests said their adieus. Lizzie evoked a silent prayer that all these people would have moved out of the neighbourhood by the time she should ever get married. She also decided that a continental breakfast would be more the thing, and besides you couldn't go wrong with the smell of fresh baked croissants.
In the weeks and months that followed there were numerous outings, soirees and cotillion balls. It is not the purpose of this work to describe in detail every one of these social events. Suffice to say that there were always more guests than advisable, and an inordinate amount of young ladies tripping on hillsides or throwing themselves from staircases. Christmas came and Christmas went. Pussy willows furred out on the hedges, apple blossoms bloomed, and yet everyone still continued with the rounds of invitations. Nobody went off to London, nobody visited Kent; it was all very perplexing, but as spring lengthened into summer, Lizzie noticed that the singing of the birds and the fragrance of the flowers had started to make inroads on certain couples' hearts. And it did not surprise her in the least that the amorous glances she observed bore no relationship to the carefully plotted names on all the various charts and graphs of Emma's devising.
One of the young ladies who had become very prone to throwing herself from staircases was Caroline Bingley. It seems she had begun to despair the arrival of her so-called fiancée to be, so she had decided to cast for one of the available fish in the sea. She chose the ever-dashing Captain Wentworth who was really making a cake of himself over most of the younger, livelier girls. She threw herself from the steps of the ruined abbey, the sweeping staircase of Netherfield, the church stoop, even from the balustrade of the Grecian folly in the gardens at Lucas Lodge. Her last attempt was on a country walk. She balanced herself on the top of a stile and cried out, "Catch me my captain!" before throwing herself into his arms. Unfortunately the sun's rays glancing off her russet silk gown blinded him momentarily, and instead of ending romantically in Wentworth's capable arms, she landed in a lifeless heap at the feet of Edward Ferrars.
"Oh! Miss . . . do get up . . . oh dear . . . I'm afraid she . . . oh no . . . a disaster . . . she does not respond . . . can someone not help me?"
Capable Anne Elliot quickly rushed to his aid, casting an irritated glance at the naval hero who was looking on in total ineptitude, and instructed Mr Ferrars to carry Caroline to the nearest farmhouse where she was put to bed. She then sent him off to fetch the apothecary post haste. When he returned and the apothecary said Caroline could not be moved, Anne Elliot swiftly pulled a book of sonnets from her reticule, handed them to a bewildered Mr Ferrars, and ordered him to sit watch over Miss Bingley until what time she should awake. Edward Ferrars took her at her word, and was two weeks in that chair. Long enough to have memorised all the poems in the book; he had accomplished this by reading them out loud, and later Marianne Dashwood was heard to say that Miss Bingley should have woken much sooner if he had desisted. He did have a very lack-lustre reading style.
While all this excitement was taking place other romances were flourishing. After an openly intimate flirtation with Miss Isabella Thorpe, Mr John Willoughby ran off in the middle of the night with none other than Miss Maria Bertram. One could hardly blame him as she had a tidy little fortune and Miss Thorpe had nothing to recommend her but her looks.
Isabella Thorpe was not to be outdone, however. The very next day she began making eyes at Edmund Bertram, and by the end of a week he was in her pocket. By the end of two weeks she had traded up to Tom Bertram, and had a proposal wangled out of him in short order. In this way she had trumped her former flame, for she was now to be his sister, and eventually, Lady Bertram. One supposes that when all was said and done they would end up as close as brother and sister could be.
In early June, Lizzie was surprised one morning by a tearful Emma. Lizzie took one look at her and whisked her out to the garden where they could have some privacy. They sat together on a garden bench and Lizzie held Emma in her arms as the poor girl sobbed her eyes out. 'She is taking this matchmaking stuff a tad too seriously,' thought Lizzie in dismay.
"Oh, Lizzie! The last thing I had ever expected has happened, and now, what am I to do?" Emma looked at her with the most woeful expression she had ever seen on a tear-stained face.
Lizzie was tempted to say, 'Alter your expectations,' but she decided that would be deemed a trifle harsh, given the circumstances, so she just hummed consolingly. This was encouragement enough for Emma to continue.
"Mr Knightly has just made the most ghastly revelation! I was out in the garden and he came up to me, a look of strong emotion upon his face. 'I have some news to tell that will rather surprise you,' he said. 'Have you?' I responded quietly, 'of what nature?' 'Of a happy nature. I am to wed Miss Anne Elliot; I have just this morning proposed and she has accepted me. I felt you must hear it from me first. I am worried that the closeness of our own relationship may have given rise to expectations of me that I am now unable to fulfil. Time, my dearest Emma, will heal the wound. I shall always have for you the feelings of warmest friendship, and shall forever look on you as a sister.' You can imagine how this made me feel, Lizzie, but I schooled my features and replied, 'You are very kind, but you are mistaken. I must set you to right; I am not in want of that sort of compassion. I have nothing to regret but that you had not told me where your feelings lay sooner. I would have considerably altered my charts had I known you had any interest in marriage.' I then tried to run away, but he forestalled me. 'Emma, you are not matchmaking again are you?' he asked in his more usual reprimanding sort of way. 'That is very badly done! I forbid it, do you hear me?' And then, I know not why, I shouted some nonsense at him which I most sincerely regret."
Emma finally paused for breath and Lizzie was able to interject a comment. "You did not congratulate him on his engagement? It is no wonder that you feel so distraught!"
"That is not what has me so upset!" cried Emma. "I don't care if he is happy or not with that pale mouse of a woman! She is so meek and mild that I find her nauseating!"
Lizzie thought about Anne Elliot and did not think this a fair description at all. At first she had appeared timid and pale, but she had shown great good sense and strength of character on many occasions, particularly the Caroline incident, and lately Lizzie had noticed that Anne's bloom had returned. The increased attentions of Mr Knightly probably had a lot to do with it. Lizzie had even noticed the dallying naval captain giving her considering glances.
"Lizzie, are you not attending? What upset me was that when he ordered me to give up match making, which I will never do, you mark my words, I said some very foolish things that I did not mean at all, and now he thinks that I was in love with him all along! The very idea is preposterous! What can he be thinking! I, in love with him? Absurd!" And Emma broke down in tears all over again.
Lizzie did not consider the matter absurd at all, and she spent the better part of the day consoling Emma, who kept moaning, 'Donwell was supposed to be for little Harry,' over and over again until at last she fell asleep in Lizzie's patient embrace. It took quite a few weeks for Emma's spirits to return to normal, but when they did she applied herself to her matchmaking with increased reckless abandon. Lizzie noticed that the new charts and graphs now had Emma's own name included and the various combinations were changing on a daily basis. As Lizzie did not know how much more of this she could endure, it was well that her favourite aunt and uncle wrote and invited her on a trip to the Lake District. She accepted with alacrity, remembering well the advice she had received on this score from that charming Sydney Parker when she had danced with him at that illustrious assembly in the fall, where all this matchmaking nonsense had begun.
When the time of her departure was imminent, Lizzie received a letter from her dear relatives putting the trip off for another two weeks. She was in the garden reading this most disturbing missive when she was surprised by the sound of a carriage. As she was expecting no visitors, she went to investigate, and found Caroline Bingley being ushered from a curricle by Mr Edward Ferrars.
"I just had to stop by and tell all my good fiends at Longbourn my wonderful news," said Caroline effusively.
'Is this really Caroline Bingley?' was Lizzie's first thought. She was dressed in pale blue muslin, calling the Bennets her friends, and she was smiling at Lizzie in a most friendly and unassuming manner. That knock on the head had really worked wonders.
"I am just now returning to Netherfield after my sojourn at the farm. It was the most rewarding experience of my life, Miss Elizabeth! Do you know that I actually had a cow? The most darling little Guernsey that you ever did see!" She turned to Edward and glowingly said, "Oh! We must have one at the parsonage! Do say yes, dearest!"
"Yes, dearest," said Edward, adoration evident in his every glance.
"Miss Elizabeth!" cried Caroline, reluctantly returning her gaze to Lizzie. "We are to be married! I am so very, very happy. We are to live in a snug little parsonage - it is all I have ever dreamed of!"
'Since when?' thought Lizzie as she gave the couple her warmest congratulations. She was thoughtful as she watched them enter the house to regale the rest of the family with their good fortune. Did her memory serve her correctly, or had she not heard a rumour that Mr Ferrars was secretly engaged these past four years? Some poor young lady somewhere in England would very soon be crying over a dear Jane letter. And speaking of letters, Lizzie remembered she had not finished perusing hers. She opened it again and reviewed its contents. The trip with the Gardiners would be shorter now, and the lakes were no longer their destination. They were to go to Derbyshire.
Part Fifteen
Their route to Derbyshire took them through Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth, and Birmingham; remarkable places all, and Elizabeth was duly impressed. They eventually arrived at the small town of Lambton, from whence Mrs Gardiner hailed, and took rooms at the inn for a few days in order to visit numerous old family friends. That evening they discussed the possibility of visiting a stately home not five miles distant. The very name of the place sent shivers up Lizzie's spine, though she knew not why.
Pemberly. What's in a name? A house by any other name did not affect her thus. The mention of Chatsworth sparked interest, but brought on no visceral feelings. Would the house still strike a chord if it were called Fairview or Ravenhurst? She needed to visit it to see if the sensation was caused by the name or the house, or something else entirely, such as the oncoming of a virulent disease.
"We must ascertain whether or not the family is in residence," said Mrs Gardiner. "I would not like to impose in any way."
"Are you acquainted at all with the family?" asked Lizzie breathlessly.
"Oh no! I know the Darcys by sight only. I was never in their circle. They are a very proud and wealthy lot."
There it was again. The feeling coursed through her afresh with such strength that she wondered if it indeed was influenza. Darcy. The name left her light-headed, but not so light-headed that she completely lost her wits. She had heard the name before, accompanied with a sinking feeling. Where had that been? Who had mentioned it? She was at a loss to recall. The memory had a tangerine hue, but she couldn't quite place it. She shook herself. Tangerine hue? Had her mind gone begging, giving colour to memories? She was brought out of her thoughts by her aunt gently shaking her.
"Lizzie! Are you quite well? You appear to be in some sort of trance," said Mrs Gardiner with a worried look upon her face.
"We have been running the poor lass too hard, dragging her through all the fine homes in the countryside," said her uncle. "Perhaps it would be best to give this one a miss."
"Oh, no, no, no!" said Lizzie in consternation. "I am perfectly well and have a great desire to see . . . Pemberly." Her throat burned, her lips tingled, but she had got the name out.
"Well, then, if you are quite sure," said her uncle, studying her intently, "we can visit tomorrow. I have made inquiries and the family is not expected for a day or two."
Lizzie gave a big smile of assent and then rushed off to bed hoping against hope that she would not wake up ill.
The next day they drove out, Lizzie's spirits in high flutter all the way. They turned in at the lodge and trundled through a large park, ascending to the top of a considerable eminence where Pemberley House could be seen on the opposite side of the valley. Lizzie drew short, rapid breaths. It was not just the name. The house exacted even a stronger reaction from her. Was it the size of the handsome stone building that did it, or the situation on rising ground with a ridge of high woody hills behind that set her pulses racing? She had never seen a place where a structure such as this had blended so tastefully with the natural beauty of its surroundings. It was as if it had not been built but had grown from the very earth of the estate, just as the trees and lake had formed.
They continued on to the house, entered, and were met in the hall by the housekeeper who performed the tours. Lizzie looked about herself, wondering at her ability to be where she was and keep rational thought in her head at the same time. It was almost overwhelming.
They entered a dining parlour where a maid was dusting the fittings of the well-proportioned room. She bobbed a curtsey at them and made to leave.
"Resume your work, Cindy," said the housekeeper. "We have no wish to disturb you."
"Yes Mrs Reynolds, ma'am," she whispered nervously, casting an interested glance at Lizzie.
Lizzie felt envy rise up inside her. That this maid should have the luck to live here! What would she give to be able to dust these rooms herself, nay to be mistress of this place? To be familiarly acquainted with these lofty, tastefully appointed rooms, instead of viewing them as a stranger! But no. What fantasy is this? The house belonged to a proud and wealthy family - how could she ever entertain such an idea. They were far and away above her.
Suddenly, over a mantle, her eye was drawn to one of several miniatures. To see a familiar face in this place was surprising, to say the least, but for it to be the face of Mr Wickham, a man she held in contempt, was jarring. What possible connection could a man who appeared to be as profligate and base as he have with this elegant establishment?
"You are taken with those miniatures, I see," said Mrs Reynolds as she noticed Lizzie's interest.
Lizzie blushed. "I believe I am acquainted with this . . . gentleman," said Lizzie, indication the picture of Wickham.
"That's no gentleman!" said Mrs Reynolds, looking at Lizzie askance. "He is the son of the late master's steward and he has turned out very wild." Her glance was accusatory. Her smile had faded. She almost appeared hostile.
"Oh! He is no friend of mine," said Lizzie hurriedly. "He has just come to live in my town and what you have said has only confirmed my opinion of him."
Mrs Reynolds regained her composure and smiled at Lizzie once more. "We only keep the portrait because this was the late master's favourite room, and his son requested it to be preserved just as his father had left it. Here is one of my current master, and very like him, though it was done eight years ago."
Lizzie looked at the picture, spell-bound. If there was such thing as perfection in a man, then this was it. The thought crossed her mind that it was small enough to fit into her reticule, and she looked around to see if she was being watched. Another maid was dusting the wainscoting close by, her eyes never leaving Lizzie. Needless to say she was doing a very poor job of dusting.
"Is he not a handsome man?" asked Mrs Reynolds.
Lizzie nodded. She could not trust herself to speak. With her heart in her throat as it was, her voice would be sure to come out as the veriest squeak.
"And not only is he handsome, he is the best master one could ever wish for. I have never heard a cross word from him, and I have known him since he was a child of four."
Mr Gardiner was amused by such lavish praise of her master, and pursued the subject further. ""There are few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky to have such a master."
"Yes, sir. You are too right. In all the world there is not a one better. He was always the sweetest-natured, most-generous hearted boy, and he has grown to be just as good-natured; he is affable to the poor, the best landlord, and the best master. There is not one of his tenants or servants that will not give him a good name. Just ask Alyson here." Mrs Reynolds motioned to the maid who was studiously dusting.
Alyson blushed deeply and smiled at Mr Gardiner. "There are some that call him proud, but I am sure I never saw anything of it. Why, he presented a gift upon the birth of each of my five children. I feel blessed to be working in this household with Mr Darcy as my master."
"And so you are," retorted Mrs Reynolds. "And if you do not want to be dismissed, I suggest you stop lolly-gagging. You have been dusting that same ledge the whole time we have been in this room!"
Alyson bustled away, looking extremely mortified. Lizzie felt a twinge of compassion for the girl, but then remembered that it was her staring that had prevented the nabbing of the miniature, and all her compassion evaporated.
Mrs Reynolds led them to the portrait gallery, and presented a large, full-size portrait of her master. Lizzie was arrested, and as the others continued on to gaze at all the other family portraits and hear the history of the various Darcys, Lizzie just basked in the presence of the present one. He was perfect. That was all she could think. From the tips of his well-formed feet to the crisp dark curls on the top of his head. And his face! It had her mesmerised. There was such a tender smile playing over it; a smile she would give anything to have directed at herself. But what impressed her the most were his eyes. They were a clear green, and on closer inspection she detected amber flecks in their depths. And what depths! They seemed to swallow her up.
Lizzie was hard pressed to drag herself from the portrait, but her uncle and aunt called her attention, beckoning her to follow them down the stairs.
"Stop making a cake of yourself in front of that portrait," said her aunt. "He is tolerable, yes, but not handsome enough to incite such rapture, surely."
"Oh, I beg to differ, dear aunt," sighed Lizzie.
"Well, we have seen everything that is open for viewing of the house. The rest is all private compartments. We are to join the gardener now to take a small tour of the grounds."
Lizzie looked forlornly back at the portrait, and thought longingly of the private compartments. Upon the stairs, her uncle stopped to ask Mrs Reynolds the history of a crest that was emblazoned upon the wall, and Lizzie was able to gaze out from a window on the landing. She had the view of a pond, partially surrounded by willows. The day was hot, and from this distance the water looked inviting. Lizzie had a vision of Mr Darcy upon his horse, travel-stained and weary, sliding from his saddle, removing his riding jacket, neck-cloth, vest, and boots, and plunging head first into the cool, refreshing depths, then emerging, water dripping from his loose curls, his shirt transparent in its wetness . . . she shook herself reprovingly. Outside were the same pond, the same willows, the same rolling hills, but alas, no rider crested the hills or emerged from the trees. Nothing broke the serenity of the surface of the pond but a family of ducks, paddling from sun to shade.
They continued down the stairs and said their goodbyes to Mrs Reynolds. The gardener took them on a short walk along a trout stream. As much as Lizzie willed it, the master of the house did not come out from the stables to nearly bump into her; did not meet them on their walk and invite her uncle for some fishing; did not gallop after their retreating carriage and beg to be introduced to the young lady who had caught his eye from afar. She still felt the tingling throughout her body at any thought or mention of the house, the grounds, or most especially the vision of perfection she had discovered in the portrait gallery, but the man himself remained illusive and she began to doubt that she would ever encounter him, now that she finally knew for certain that he was the only one for her.
Part Sixteen
Lizzie returned to Longbourn weary and dispirited. Mr Sidney Parker had said, at that long distant assembly, that a trip would make life so much more fun, but it had not. All it had done was cause her to desire what was not within her reach. To aspire to the unattainable. It had shown her a glimpse of perfection itself, and then it had let all Lizzie's hopes and dreams fizzle out like a dud firework. A glimpse was all that she had been allowed. Lizzie took to her bed for three days with a cold compress on her forehead, but on the fourth day, when the maid had entered her room with a mustard pilaster, she decided that enough was enough. It was time to bite the bullet and face the real world. Not twenty minutes later she wished she had stayed in bed, mustard pilaster or not.
It took Lizzie sixteen minutes to dress, one to navigate from her bedchamber to the breakfast room, another to serve herself broiled kidneys from the sideboard, and two more before her mother came screeching into the room with the latest gossip, fresh from a not so comfortable cose in the kitchen with Cook. She had initially gone to complain about the toughness of the kidneys, but once Cook imparted her juicy titbit of news, all thought of kidneys went right out the window.
"All the new gentlemen in the neighbourhood are now engaged to be married, if not already married," she croaked, gasping for breath. She had just gone from the kitchen to the breakfast room in 9.84 seconds, covering the 100 metres of tile, stair, and carpet in what surely must be record time. She choked down three glasses of Ratafia and continued, wailing, "and none of my daughters, save Jane, was able to capture one of them! We are undone! Wherever will we find such a marriageable windfall again?" She collapsed in paroxysms of racking sobs.
It was not that Elizabeth regretted any one of the gentlemen, it was just that they had all managed to find true love while she - she was helplessly and hopelessly in love with a painting. After Mrs Bennet had been liberally doused with hartshorn, she began to enumerate all the various matches that she knew of. During her recital she had to be continually revived with her salts.
"Of course our sweet Jane was the first to marry, giving me such hopes for the rest of you girls, and then you know about Caroline Bingley and Edward Ferrars. Somehow Mr Willoughby managed to slip through Lydia's fingers and marry Maria Bertram."
"Was he ever in her fingers?" asked Lizzie in an under-voice.
"What was that? Don't interrupt!" cried Mrs Bennet, reaching for her salts.
"Next it was that hussy, Isabella Thorpe who snatched up the future Sir Thomas Bertram. I don't know if I can forgive you for that, Lizzie."
"What did I have to do with it?" cried Lizzie in astonishment.
"You could have made a play for him! Think of what a feather in my cap it would have been to say my daughter Lizzie was the future Lady Bertram. But what did you do? You went on a trip and enjoyed yourself instead!"
"Mama! I will never set my cap at a gentleman just to satisfy your need for prestige. How many times do I have to tell you? I will only marry for the deepest love!"
"You are such a disappointment to me. I thank the Lord for Kitty and Lydia. They will not fail me! You have got me completely side-tracked! Where were we? Oh yes, of course, that gentlemanly Mr Knightly. You do remember he is engaged to the drab spinsterish daughter of a baronet? What was her name?"
"How could I forget?" Lizzie still had nightmares in which Emma never stopped weeping. "Her name is Anne Elliot, and she strikes me as an intelligent, sensible girl."
Mrs Bennet took a deep breath and opened her mouth to continue her favourite subject, bashing Lizzie for not having snaffled a husband yet, when a visitor was suddenly announced.
Coincidentally, it turned out to be Emma, and Lizzie jumped up to greet her. The last time she had seen her she had been in despair, and Lizzie hoped this new spate of engagements had not further upset her. Could it be that at least one of her matchmaking schemes had worked? Though it seemed hardly likely, as Lizzie looked back on all those unfortunate pairings, she hoped fervently that her friend had not completely failed. How would she be able to support Emma's misery if she had? Lizzie did not feel up to it, being herself so very desolated.
Unaccountably, Emma was glowing. She took Lizzie's hand and laughingly greeted her. "How was your trip my dear friend? I have indeed missed you. So much has happened while you were gone that I can't begin to tell you, but I shall have to, shall I not? You remember our little scheme?"
How could I forget? Lizzie thought. She suddenly had an incredulous feeling that Emma's matchmaking had worked out after all, for what else would have pleased her friend so? She blenched at the idea of so many unequal marriages, and the inevitable scarred psyches of the future progeny. She gave Emma a blank nod, which was all the encouragement her friend needed to go on.
"When you left, I wondered if I would be able to manage all the scheduled events without assistance, but at my first al fresco cello recital, I was approached by Mr Sidney Parker." Here she sighed, as if in memory of the eventful moment. "Would you countenance it? He knew all along what we had been up to and offered to assist me in your stead. At first I was a trifle taken aback, but he was so charming and witty, and proved himself to be a keen observer. He encouraged me to show him all my charts and graphs, studied them acutely, and then made the most stunningly insightful observation. I never would have guessed why nothing was working out for us, but he discovered the reason almost immediately."
Did he discover that it was all completely ludicrous? That wouldn't have taken powers of the highest acumen to realise! "Whatever had we got wrong?" asked Lizzie in a tone she had picked up from her father years ago.
"The entire problem was that I had been left out of the equation. However had we missed such a simple thing?"
Because you insisted upon being left out! "I haven't a clue. How dreadfully unobservant of us. I'm sure that changed everything," said Lizzie. Her tone was even dryer than before, if that was indeed possible.
Emma gave Lizzie a quizzical glance. The girl was indeed out of sorts but she would try and discover why later. For now she would let nothing dampen her spirits. "Not only did her insert me into the puzzle, but he eliminated you!"
"What?" Lizzie was taken completely by surprise. Was she really destined to become an old maid, then? A moment's thought reminded her that the one perfect person for her was not on any of Emma's charts anyway, so she could not complain about not being included.
"After that he readjusted all the predictions for me. We spent countless hours together erasing and drawing new lines, going for walks to clear our heads, exchanging life histories, and generally reorganising every idea I had previously held upon the matter. Since then all our excursions and fetes have been completely successful. You could almost refer to this last month as the 'Summer of Love'! When I saw who I was eventually matched with I was a little surprised at first and suspected some sort of subterfuge, but we carefully followed every line, and I was convinced that there was no other possible outcome!"
Lizzie was quite sure by this time who Emma had ended up being pared with, but she had to ask the question. "Why did you suspect subterfuge? Did you think the gentleman was trifling with your affections?"
"Oh Lizzie!" Emma beamed. "You have completely misunderstood me. I suspected myself of subterfuge. I thought that, like the spider to the fly, I had tangled him in my web! He is just so affable, so entertaining, so divinely handsome! He goes along with all my little whims, and he never once has become angered with me. We even laughed together when we discovered whom we had matched Jane Fairfax with! Another person would have been so vexed with me for that match up. But no! Sidney, I mean, Mr Parker, just laughed with me and said, 'Who would have guessed! She appears so sedate and refined. She really must be a deep one!' And then, the moment that we re-traced those lines that led us to each other, connecting our names for all eternity, our hands touched, and he took my hand in his. My fingers felt like they were on fire! I looked up into his eyes and knew that I had not trapped him, or, if indeed I had, he was not going to the slaughter unwillingly. His gaze was filled with such tender emotion, and he raised my hand to his lips saying, 'Without you, these charts and graphs, even life itself, is devoid of meaning. You have sprung up from chaos to centre my being.' Is that not the most romantic thing you have ever heard?"
Lizzie could not deny that it was terribly romantic. She dabbed her eyes with her hanky; the tears welling not only due to the tender moment Emma had described, but her own feelings of envy and regret that just such a thing had not happened to herself. Mrs Bennet, who had been surprisingly quiet throughout this disclosure, gave way to her sensibilities, her shoulders heaving with gentle sobbing.
"And then, dear Lizzie, he asked me for my hand, and I gave it to him. We went directly to my father who at first would not hear of it, but my dear Sid . . . Mr Parker, set him so much at his ease. He told my father that as he was a man of fortune who had no property, he would be more than happy to come and live with us in Hartfield. He explained how his sisters were very knowledgeable about all issues of health and had instructed him from an early age as to the value of a very small boiled egg, and the wonderfully restorative qualities of gruel. He assured my father that he would never let me go out of doors without my shawl, and that there was no other physician we would ever consult than dear Mr Perry. In short order my father granted us permission to marry and now I am the happiest woman alive! And to think it may never have happened if you hadn't gone on your trip!"
Lizzie congratulated her friend and sighed. Mrs Bennet was a little more ebullient in her responses. She had regained her normal discomposure, and now, clutching her smelling salts to her nose, she leaned towards Emma and exclaimed, "I cannot stand the suspense any longer. You have told a wonderfully sweet tale of your engagement, but now you must satiate my curiosity. Who isthe gentleman that you have matched Jane Fairfax with?" She waited for her response, panting in expectation.
Part Seventeen
Emma paused and took a sip of her tea. Mrs Bennet was near hyperventilating by the time she responded.
"What do you know of Jane Fairfax, Mrs Bennet?" asked Emma.
Mrs Bennet wondered how anyone could show such restraint with a piece of news. This girl was almost as aggravating as her own husband. "She is a reserved sort of girl with a high opinion of herself, no parents, no portion, and before this engagement her only prospects were to be a governess. An upstart if I ever saw one, and taking a husband away from one of my much more deserving girls!" Mrs Bennet was not one for beating around the bush.
"You have captured her quite accurately; your daughter must have inherited her abilities from you! Some would call her pretty and accomplished, but those are merely superficialities and you have very astutely seen through them." Emma paused for a breath, and then decided to take pity on Mrs Bennet who looked about to emit a high pitched shriek of frustration like a kettle about to boil. "She has become engaged to Colonel Tilney!"
As Mrs Bennet was rendered speechless, Lizzie grabbed the opportunity to say, "I had thought, from something she let slip, that she was secretly engaged."
"And so she was. And to another scapegrace. For all her reserve and refinement the girl has quite a liking for rakes. The story I heard, and let me tell you I did not hear this from her aunt who is incapable of anything but singing Jane's praises from morning to night, was that when Colonel Tilney found out about the secret engagement he wagered all his friends that he could get her to fall in love with him and throw over her other beau in two weeks flat. The only problem for him was that she is very deceptive. Her wiles won out the day and within two weeks he was proposing to her on bended knee, a completely bemused man with no idea what had hit him!"
"But what about her earlier fiancé?" asked Mrs Bennet. "Is he now available? Would he perhaps like to meet Lydia?"
"He has already come about and offered for someone else."
"Ah! The course of true love runs deep!" Mr Bennet had just entered the room and found much to amuse him in the conversation. "May I ask how the young man's father reacted to the news that he had offered for a penniless girl without even the credit of ancient family lines to recommend her?"
Emma laughed. "You understand the situation well, sir. The general was not amused. He was ready to disinherit his son and put Northanger Abbey in the second son's name, when he received further shock!"
"Let me guess. The second son is not about to make an advantageous match either."
"Mr Bennet! You are awake on every suit! The very next day, before General Tilney could see his lawyers, his son Henry claimed an audience with him and informed him that he had asked for the hand of Charlotte Heywood. A mere nobody. The daughter of a gentleman farmer. From all reports you had never seen a man more incensed. He was ready to settle all on his daughter unless his sons would reconsider. I understand there was quite a kafuffle!"
"The young swains were ready to give up all for love, no doubt," smirked Mr Bennet.
"I think they were ready to have their father committed. The colonel was afraid he would lose his lady love if he was without his fortune but I gather Henry told his father that life without the one he loved was worthless and he would take gladly take a penniless existence and spend the rest of his life with his Charlotte."
"I always thought Charlotte Heywood such a nice girl," said Mrs Bennet. "How could she serve us such a trick?"
"How did she serve us a trick?" asked Lizzie. "By becoming engaged to a gentleman who had no interest in any one of your daughters? Yes she is a nice girl; I'm sure that is what caught Mr Tilney's fancy in the first place. He is such a nice man himself. I am happy for them both and only hope that they don't now find themselves in too straightened of circumstances."
"You need not worry on that head," Emma responded. "He has a very pretty living so there was no chance of them being left penniless, and Charlotte Heywood is such a sensible, simple girl that she does not need much to make her happy. The Colonel, on the other hand, has only his army wages to fall back on, and his style of living already demands more than that, wife or no."
"What was the outcome?" asked Mrs Bennet, all agog, her hartshorn to her nose. "Is the daughter to get all? Will Jane Fairfax, the scheming minx, cry off from her engagement? Would the general think our girls acceptable for his son? The Bennet name is very well respected you know."
Maybe here in Meryton, thought Emma, but the society here is so very limited. Before we all came you only dined with four and twenty families. To Mrs Bennet she replied, "Colonel Tilney was not forced to break his engagement, nor did Jane Fairfax, and I see eye to eye with you on your estimation of her, cry off. No, something very untoward came up that changed the entire complexion of the matter."
"I think I can guess," said Mr Bennet, tiring of the sport, "but I will leave you to astound your audience. My library awaits. Enjoy your gossip ladies."
"Oh, how can you leave at a time like this?" cried Mrs Bennet, her every nerve screaming for the satisfaction that Emma's information would bring.
Lizzie smiled at her father and wished that she could join him, but Emma was her guest and she could not leave her alone with her mother. That would be unkind, although it did appear that Emma was quite capable of handling herself. Lizzie sat back and tried to summon up some interest in the subject at hand. To tell the truth it wasn't as difficult as she would have liked to believe. What was it that would have reconciled the general to such nonadvantageous marriages?
"Do, do tell us!" cried Mrs Bennet, her hands clenched so tightly that she almost broke the stem of her glass and crushed her bottle of hartshorn. She motioned for Lizzie to top up the Ratafia, all the while not taking her protuberant eyes off her guest.
"Why it is very simple. Eleanor Tilney accepted the hand of a very favourable suitor and so mollified her father that he left his son's inheritances untouched." Emma smiled blandly at Mrs Bennet and watched her squirm with carefully hidden pleasure. She was enjoying tormenting the poor lady immensely.
"Who, who, who?" Mrs Bennet could barely get the three syllables out.
"I am so pleased for her," said Lizzie. "I found her a lovely and intelligent woman."
Mrs Bennet shot Lizzie a quelling glance. "There is no time for that now, Lizzie. Congratulations can come later, when we meet them face to face and need to be insincere. Now I need to know just which of the gentlemen this heartless wench has stolen from my clutches."
"She is to marry Captain Wentworth, who has made quite a large fortune from his naval battles. A king's ransom, so they say!" Emma sat back and watched Mrs Bennet count all the money that had not been won by the favour of one of her own daughters. The look of loss and regret on her face was priceless.
"Oh Kitty!" she moaned. "And all you could do was chase the red coats. I said to look to the blue as well, but you did not heed me." Kitty, of course was not in the room, but this did not prevent her mother from such remonstrances.
Lizzie pondered all that Emma had told them. Captain Wentworth, the man so bitterly hurt by love, had found a woman capable of filling the gap in his soul. A woman who was truly worthy of him, firm and capable, her shell intact, hardened by the winter storms. And she, Eleanor Tilney, was to be saved from her loneliness in the ancient halls of the abbey. Resurrected by love. Freed to enjoy a life of chance and adventure.
The three men who had tempted Lizzie the most, Captain Wentworth, Henry Tilney, and Sidney Parker, were all now spoken for, to be fulfilled in love, while she, she was still wandering around with half a heart, half a soul, waiting for the man who would complete her. She had to shake herself out of her despondency and admit that although all three were handsome and charming in their own way, they were none of them her perfect fit. And she could not have met their wants. She was too vivacious for the first, he was the one to bring the spark to the union; too astute for the second, he needed a mind he could open and fill; and too sensible for the third, he needed someone whose wild fantasies he could shape and control to their mutual satisfaction. It would not do to regret these men, but to wish them well and attempt to get on with her life the best she could. She sighed. Jane was married and sure to have offspring. If she could never marry herself then at least she could have the joy of becoming a most favourite aunt. Lizzie was roused from her reverie by her mother, once again urging Emma for more particulars.
"Situated as you are, Miss Woodhouse, and by your own admission the very person who had a hand in arranging all these unions," here Mrs Bennet sniffed disparagingly, "I'm sure that you will be able to inform me of all the other engagements that have been so newly forged. What of the rest of the handsome gentlemen? To whom have they lost their minds . . . er, hearts?"
"To whom indeed, Mrs Bennet. Well let me tell you. I am at your complete disposal today until five o'clock when my dear Sid . . . Mr Parker will retrieve me in his curricle. Of whose fortune shall I tell you first?"
Part Eighteen
"Tell me about those three very plain sisters," said Mrs Bennet. "Have they managed to snare offers?"
"Which do you mean?" asked Emma.
"Oh, what was their name? Penniless girls from a parsonage. Something quite common, Wilson? Walton? Lizzie, you must know."
"Watson, mama."
"Oh yes," said Emma smugly. "The Watson girls are all engaged."
Mrs Bennet's eyes became more protuberant. "What! All three? When two of them are nearly in their dotage?"
"I would hardly call nine and twenty dotage, mama," said Lizzie, but her mother ignored her.
"What is wrong with my girls? Only one married and all, even Mary, more attractive than the Watson women! Where have I gone wrong? Am I to be stuck with them forever to remind me for the rest of my days that I could not find husbands for them?" She collapsed into a fit of tears and would not calm down until she had her glass of Ratafia refilled.
"Mrs Bennet," said Emma consolingly. "It is not as if any of them got such great prizes. I'm certain your daughters will do much better for themselves eventually."
"Don't hold back. Tell me who they captured."
"Well, the youngest is rather a sweet thing, so she did the best of the lot, although the gentleman is a bit of a dolt. Emma Watson is engaged to Edmund Bertram."
"But he is the second son of a Baronet! I'd say that's a prize. I would have been happy for Lizzie to marry him."
"Mother!" cried Lizzie. "You have just finished chastising me for not attracting his brother. Was I to set my cap at both of them?"
"It doesn't pay to be so exacting Lizzie dear," said her mother with some asperity. "If you put a little more effort into the matter you would be engaged by now. I cannot take all of the blame!"
"And what about the other two sisters?" asked Lizzie of Emma in an effort to shut her mother up.
"Do you recall Margaret Watson telling us all how she was deeply in love with a gentleman who would realise just how much he loved her during her absence and be falling over himself to propose to her upon her return? Well the very same man, Mr Tom Musgrave, arrived in Meryton the other week."
"And he proposed to her?" asked Lizzie doubtfully. She remembered the sister, Elizabeth, saying that he didn't care a fig for Margaret.
"No, that is the best part. He proposed to Elizabeth who he had been in love with all along."
"Why had he never proposed to her before?" asked Mrs Bennet, her interest piqued. "She has been on the shelf these past seven years."
"Apparently he knew she loved him but wanted to make his fortune through an advantageous marriage. It was only when she was gone from him that he finally realised he could not live without her, and gave up all his schemes."
"Humph!" said Mrs Bennet. "As you say, certainly no prize!"
"How could Elizabeth have accepted him, knowing this?" cried Lizzie. "Has she no pride?"
"Well," said Emma reasonably. "she is in love with him, she doesn't want to remain an old maid, and she certainly relished spiting Margaret!"
"And how did Margaret react? Was the poor dear heartbroken?" asked Mrs Bennet with glee.
Mary walked into the room at this point, placidly sitting down at the table and making no interruption.
"Margaret's reaction was to run out and compromise the first gentleman that came her way in order that he be forced to marry her! They were discovered kissing in the chancel by the outraged rector and he insisted in performing the ceremony as soon as a special licence could be procured." Emma sat back and took a sip of tea, never taking her eyes off Mrs Bennet's amazed face.
After some moments Mrs Bennet found her voice. "The girl has my deepest admiration," she said in awe. "What a clever scheme! Why had I never thought of that for Lydia or Kitty?"
"Mother!" cried Lizzie in consternation. "Such actions would put our family to shame and ruin the chances for the rest of us to make good marriages! Don't even consider it; Lydia is too likely to make the attempt."
"Is no one interested in whom she caught with such flagrant methods?" All eyes turned to Emma and when she was sure she had their undivided attention she resumed. "It was Mr Thorpe!"
"That corpulent man who dressed like a groom?" asked Lizzie in disgust, remembering how he had asked her to dance at the assembly. "The prizes are indeed getting worse. I am actually surprised that he was anywhere near a chancel, or a nave, or even a church altogether."
"There was a time when I was rather attracted to him," said Mary in a matter of fact voice. Now it was her turn to have the attention of the room as three pairs of astonished eyes swivelled to gaze upon her. Unblushingly she continued. "My thoughts became quite passionate. I thought I was falling in love or on a direct route to hell with no desire to exit until I finally realised what was truly happening to me. I had been reading too much Fordyce's and suddenly a revolution overtook my senses stirring up my repressed prurient interest. I immediately read The Mysteries of Udolpho all in one sitting and cured myself entirely. It was the best thing that ever happened to me!"
"What?" asked Mrs Bennet in a hollow voice.
"It was indeed mama," answered Mary, "for you see, once I had gotten that all out of my system I was able to see much more clearly, and when true love did come along, I was able to recognise it as such!"
"What?" Mrs Bennet reiterated, but in a very different sort of voice. "Does this mean?" She was too excited to continue and it was up to Mary to reassure her.
"Yes, he is with father right now asking for permission to wed me," said Mary with a happy glow.
"Who?" asked Mrs Bennet.
"Yes who?" asked Emma, thinking of all her charts and graphs and knowing for certain that Mary's name had not even been on there. Who could it be? All the gentlemen were spoken for. If Mary had caused one of them to break an engagement it could cause a chain reaction of devastating proportions. Emma thought of her dear Sidney and a chill crept through her heart. She could not lose him now due to the machinations of a girl like Mary. ""Who?" she asked again with increasing trepidation.
Mary smiled sweetly at the three expectant faces. It felt so good just to hold them in her hand like that, an unusual position for her as she was generally overlooked and overshadowed by all the other women of her acquaintance. Finally she decided to put them out of their misery, after all she had found true love; she could afford to be magnanimous.
"I am engaged to Mr William Price."
There was a collective sigh of relief from Lizzie and Emma. Her mother just stared at her and asked yet again, "Who?"
"Mr William Price, mama. He is here visiting his sister Fanny while he is on leave. He is a lieutenant in the navy, under the command of Captain Wentworth himself, so he is sure to win a fortune on his next campaign."
"A man in uniform!" Mrs Bennet sighed. "Oh Mary! I always knew you could not be so sensible for nothing!"
Part Nineteen
Lydia came running into the room, full of outrage. "Papa has refused to allow me to go to Brighton!"
"Papa has been refusing you all summer. I see nothing unusual in that!" said Mary as she discreetly left the room in search of her true love whose interview with her father must have been completed, unless of course, Lydia had interrupted it, which Mary wouldn't have put past her.
"Mama, please. Can you not convince him? The summer is almost over, and I miss the officers so!" Lydia looked at her mother appealingly.
"You must know, my love, that when your father takes on one of his distempered freaks there is nothing to be done to sway him."
"But how am I to survive? No officers, and not the whiff of sea air to revive me!" Lydia threw herself on a chair and gave the assembled company such an anguished look that, against her better judgement, Emma took pity on her.
"How would you like to accompany me to Sanditon? We are leaving on the morrow to visit Si . . . Mr Parker's family who are all situated there at present."
"Are there officers?" Lydia asked, brightening considerably.
"I am unsure if there are officers, but there is plenty of sea air. Sidn . . . Mr Parker says that according to his elder brother it is the best sea air in all of Britain," said Emma cheerfully.
"I don't care a fig for the air," cried Lydia ungraciously, "but I would give anything to go anywhere at this point. It is so boring here; none of the gentlemen even look at me save Maria Lucas's brothers and they are all wet about the ears!"
Lydia ran out to inform her father of the invitation, just as Kitty rushed into the room. "My dear friend Catherine Moreland has invited me to come home with her for a visit! Oh may I please mama?"
"How very generous of her my love. Where does she live? Are there any rich gentlemen in her neighbourhood?" asked Mrs Bennet with some renewal of hope in the marital chances of her younger daughters.
"She lives in a countrified little parsonage with a scad of little brothers and sisters and hopefully not a gentleman in sight! I have had my fill of men. They lead you on and then throw you over. If I see another red coat, I'm sure I will scream!" cried Kitty.
"Kitty! How can you speak so?" asked Mrs Bennet, aghast. "I feel my palpitations coming on. Oh Lizzie! My salts!"
"They are in your hand, mama," said Lizzie. "Go speak to your father, Kitty. Tell him all that you have told us and I'm certain he will allow you to go."
"I wonder why Catherine Moreland is going home and with a guest? You do know that she has become engaged," said Emma, "and it is rather surprising who to, as she is such a naïve thing with such a flighty imagination."
"Who to?" asked Mrs Bennet regaining her composure. "Surely not one of those disreputable officers that snubbed my Kitty so."
"He is an officer, but hardly disreputable," said Emma. "On our outing to the ruined Abbey hereabouts, Miss Moreland was come upon unexpectedly by gypsies and, after a harrowing run in which they chased after her, she fell into a swoon at this particular gentleman's feet. It turned out that the gypsies were children and thought that she wanted to play a game of tag with them, but that is neither here nor there. The outcome was that when she opened her eyes, she beheld the worried colonel looking down upon her anxiously, and she clutched herself to him desperately calling him her hero. Apparently no officer can resist a damsel who worships him as her saviour, even the most charming and sensible of them. He proposed to her at that moment, and I don't believe he has regretted it since."
Mrs Bennet cast about trying to recall the colonels that were in town there was more than one, but one was already taken. "Which was it? Colonel Brandon or Colonel Fitzwilliam?"
"It was Colonel Fitzwilliam. Colonel Brandon was caught in a much different way." Emma paused, hoping to get a reaction out of Mr Bennet. It was all that she could have hoped.
"Colonel Fitzwilliam! But he is the youngest son of an earl. He needs to marry an heiress so that he can live in the style to which he is accustomed. What is all this foolish nonsense about falling in love with penniless girls from parsonages?"
"You should meet his aunt, Lady Catherine," laughed Emma. "You two would get along famously. She said just what you did and then some when she rushed here from Kent to try to convince him to change his mind. She was somewhat mollified when she discovered that the girl was considered the daughter they never had by her rich friends the Allens and stands to inherit a considerable sum upon their death."
Mrs Bennet absorbed all that information voraciously, and then, not to be side-tracked, asked about the illustrious Colonel Brandon.
"Ah, yes," sighed Emma. "Colonel Brandon. For a man so serious and set in his ways he harbours a very romantic soul. Who would have thought it? After all, the man wears flannel waistcoats."
At that moment a deprecatory cough was heard and Mrs Bennet turned to see Hill hovering at her shoulder.
"I beg your pardon Madame, but it is well time for nuncheon and you have not yet quitted the breakfast parlour. Have you indeed finished breakfast? May we remove the covers?"
"Well that is famous!" cried Mrs Bennet. "We have been quite caught up in our goss . . . discourse, Hill, and have not noticed the passage of time. We will remove to the parlour at once and you may announce nuncheon as soon as may be. Miss Woodhouse, you will join us won't you?"
Emma accepted the invitation and Mrs Bennet hustled them into the parlour as quickly as possible. When they were all seated she turned to Emma expectantly. "Do go on! You were saying about Colonel Brandon . . ."
"The good colonel spied a young lady across a crowded floor, and was instantly reminded of his own lost love. She was young and lively and vibrant and he became mesmerised. He asked her to dance and told her of the likeness. Well, as the young lady informed me, she had hitherto seen nothing in him to please her but his description of the other woman exposed the passion in his soul. There is nothing more appealing to a certain segment of the female population than a man totally enamoured with someone from his past. She was bound and determined to make him forget the memory and lose himself to her charms."
"The calculating little vixen!" cried Mrs Bennet. "Why do my daughters have none of these skills?"
Lizzie gave her mother a quelling look but her mother pretended not to notice.
"She is actually a sweet and simple girl; a little shallow but with a good heart. In time I fear the colonel will wish she had better mental powers, but perhaps he will remain content to gaze on her beauty as she plays the harp." Emma sighed again. Who would have thought she was such a sucker for romance?
"And who, pray, is this minx?"
"I think it must be Louisa Musgrove," said Lizzie. "I noticed that Colonel Brandon was much struck with her at the assembly. And speaking of people who seemed to hit it off that day, what of Captain Benwick and Miss Bates? Did they become engaged too?"
Mrs Bennet shrieked with laughter. "The old maid and the morose captain! Lizzie that is absurd! You are a chucklehead! Who would marry that gabster? She must be forty if she's a day!"
"Dear Miss Bates," laughed Emma. "No one ever thought she would finally get a man - but there you have it! To be sure she is a little older than the gentleman, but if he does not mind I don't see that we can complain."
"But she has stolen him from a deserving young lady! Even Lizzie could have married him," said Mr Bennet with some asperity. "When a woman has been on the shelf for aeons she has no right to fall off!"
"Mother," said Lizzie grimly. "Will you please refrain from remarking that I could have married every one of the gentlemen we are discussing. I would have refused the lot of them as you well know."
Mrs Bennet was about to hurl a rather spiteful rejoinder so it was just as well that nuncheon was announced at that moment. Kitty and Lydia were in high spirits because they had been given permission for their trips and Mary was happily introducing her handsome young lieutenant to everybody. After the general hubbub had died down, Mrs Bennet demanded to hear about the rest of the engagements. Emma was quite willing to indulge her, but Mr Bennet put his foot down.
"There will be no talk of gentlemen or ladies, engagements or marriages, wedding gowns, bouquets, or lace. No lace! For once can we sit and eat and hold rational conversation? That is all I ask."
"Rational conversation at the dining table?" cried Mrs Bennet. "Whatever next?"
"Silence, I should think," said Mr Bennet with a wink to Lizzie.
He may not have got rational conversation, after all Mrs Bennet, Kitty, and Lydia were present, and silence was out of the question, but at least the only engagement, marriage, wedding dress and lace under discussion was that of his own daughter Mary, and Mr Bennet was willing to put up with that. After the meal he retired to his study once more, Mary and William went out into the garden, Kitty and Lydia went to their rooms to begin packing, and the other three returned to the parlour to assuage Mrs Bennet's curiosity with more talk of betrothals.
"Let us continue with the military," said Mrs Bennet with a faraway look in her eye. She was imagining the weddings in full dress uniform. "Isn't there another young officer? A very dashing and charming fellow?"
"You must mean Mr Wickham," said Lizzie. "I have it on good report that he is very wild, certainly not a man you would have wanted one of your daughters riveted to, mama, so please do not bemoan his loss."
"Mr Wickham!" said Emma. "There's a fellow that can cut a wheedle. He and his friend Willoughby were quite a pair, although I don't think he quite matched up to his mentor."
"And how did he fare in the marriage mart?" asked Mrs Bennet. "I needn't say that he could have done better than he did and married one of my girls as Lizzie has expressly forbid it." She gave Lizzie a very smug look.
Emma was about to answer the question when there was another disruption. The door opened and Harriet Smith was announced. After she had politely greeted everyone she rushed up to Emma and looked at her imploringly.
"Oh Miss Woodhouse! I am desperately in need of advice. I have been invited to the home of my new friend, Charlotte Heywood, but I'm not quite sure if I should go. What would you do in my situation Miss Woodhouse?" She took a deep breath and continued on before Emma had time to formulate an answer. "On the one hand Miss Heywood is a very good sort of girl. She is the daughter of a gentleman farmer and not at all like you, Miss Woodhouse, but she still is unexceptional as a friend for me, is she not? On the other hand I am your guest so it would be very uncivil of me to accept another invitation. But you are going to Sanditon and I should not want to be a bother to you by tagging along and both Miss Fairfax and Miss Bates are engaged as well, but when it comes down to it, so is Miss Heywood so you can see what sort of hobble I am in. What do you advise Miss Woodhouse?"
"Only you can make that sort of decision, Harriet. You are the one who must say to yourself, 'I will accept Miss Heywood's kind invitation.' I would not deign to influence you in any way."
"So then I should . . ." Harriet left her sentence unfinished hoping that someone would finish it for her.
"Hang it all girl," cried Mrs Bennet in frustration. "She said to accept the invitation! Now can we get back to our discussion?"
"Oh, thank you Miss Woodhouse," effused Harriet, "that is exactly what I wanted to hear. I shall accept the invitation. It is all settled."
"Now sit down girl. Miss Woodhouse was just in the middle of a very important pronouncement." Mrs Bennet fixed her gaze on Emma, compelling her to continue.
"Isn't that interesting?" said Emma provocatively. "So many young ladies going on trips, and all of them unattached! First Lizzie, of course, who returned in the same single state, and now Lydia, Kitty, and Harriet. There is one other as well. Elinor Dashwood is going to visit Donwell with Anne Elliot who felt it would be best to have a sort of chaperone when visiting the home of her fiancé."
"It is to be hoped that all those girls fare better than Lizzie," said Mrs Bennet. "Now get on with it girl! Have mercy on my poor nerves!"
"Mr Willoughby, as you may recall, was playing fast and lose with one lady only to attach himself with another. His friend, Mr Wickham was employing the same tactics. He was chasing around with a fashionable lady of acceptable fortune called Mary Crawford until she discovered a juicier plum that was ripe for the plucking. After that he was seen clandestinely with a certain widow and everyone thought that she had managed to snare him - but of course S . . . Mr Parker and I knew better because the answer was at the end of a long and rather circuitous line on my charts. One day he threw off Mrs Clay and bolted for the border with Julia Bertram, none other than the sister of the girl his friend eloped with. It was quite a surprise to everyone because she had been dogging the footsteps of one Mr Frank Churchill, who seemed to be playing a similar game."
"Ooh!" said Mrs Bennet.
She was just about to beg for more when yet another visitor was announced. It was Mr Sindey Parker who had come to whisk away his ladylove. Mr Parker was right on time as Emma felt near to losing her voice. Arrangements were made to pick up Lydia in the morning, and profuse apologies were given to Mrs Bennet for removing her font of information. It was only the excessive charm and gallantry of the gentleman that made it possible to dislodge Emma from Longbourn without undue fuss.
Part Twenty
The next morning, after Lydia and Kitty had been sent off on their respective journeys amid much bustle, laughter, and tears, Mrs Bennet was on the scramble to get to her sister Phillips's house in Meryton as quickly as possible. With Emma off to Sanditon she needed another font to tap. Mary was able to winkle her way out of the visit, a fiancé is always a good excuse where her mother is concerned, but Lizzie had to gird her loins against another day of excessive gossiping.
They arrived just as Mrs Phillips was about to sally forth, but she was more than willing to put aside her shopping expedition for a chance to share all her knowledge with her sister.
"Would you countenance it?" she cried as soon as they were settled in her front parlour, "Even Charlotte Lucas has become engaged. And before our Lizzie, too."
Mrs Bennet cast Lizzie a waspish look, and then brushed the comment aside airily. "I can assure you sister that when Lizzie does finally become engaged it will be to a gentleman far superior to any that Charlotte could secure. What arts did she employ to ensnare this particular dupe?"
"I never knew she was so sly!" said Mrs Phillips as she leaned closer and relayed the rest in a loud whisper. "She discovered that the gentleman preferred older women. Preposterous really! She applied powder to her hair, filched from Sir William's dresser no doubt, and took to wearing spectacles. She even donned little lace caps. And then she made up to the man shamefully. Poor Mr Howard, who I hear had originally set his sights on Lady Osborne, succumbed in short order. What a shock is in store for him after they marry and he discovers she has not one grey hair!"
"I have never trusted the Lucases, sister," said Mrs Bennet. "They always put on such airs. Well, I can be generous as the next person, and although she has wronged me exceedingly, I hope Charlotte is happy."
"Charlotte has not wronged you, mama," said Lizzie. "She may become engaged to whomever she pleases, and I wish her well. She could have done a lot worse than Mr Howard. He is a sensible man, aside from his curious penchant for the aged."
"And what of Lord Osborne?" asked Mrs Bennet. "He would have been a catch! So rich, so handsome!"
"He was insufferably proud," said Lizzie. "Walking about the assembly all high in the instep, never deigning to dance with anybody. Not my type at all, so don't start into me again for not having caught him!"
"Who cares for all that when he is so rich?" shrieked Mrs Bennet. "And a peer to boot! Last time I saw him he was encouraging his friend to dance with a young nobody and then staring at her most fixedly. Don't tell me something came of that, sister!"
"Then we shall have to speak of a different couple," lamented Mrs Phillips.
"Oh, never mind. Tell me all the same."
"The young Lord fell in love with the girl as she danced. He was caught by her youth and her innocence. She was reluctant at first. I hear she had been in love with her cousin for most of her life and refused to look at another man. Lord Osborne sent his friend with all manner of presents, jewels, flowers, little fur ruffs, but they were all returned. It was a hopeless case until, one day, on the urging of his friend, Lord Osborne actually danced with her himself, talked to her with his own lips, looked into her eyes with his own eyes, and that's all it took. It seems she had taken a disgust to his friend! Once she actually met him, it was a different story."
"Oh, how very romantic!" sighed Mrs Bennet, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"I don't think it hurt that her cousin had become engaged to another woman," added Mrs Phillips.
"Isn't it a fine day," observed Lizzie. "Shall we all not go for a walk?"
"Just sit back and make do!" cried Mrs Bennet. To her sister she said, "Lizzie can't abide hearing of all these engagements as she has been completely unable to interest a man. For the life of me I don't know what to do with the child!"
"Maybe I could introduce her to Mr Phillips new clerk," suggested Mrs Phillips. "He has gotten over most of his spots now and although my husband says he has precious little in his cockloft, he is by far the most promising clerk he has come by."
"I assure you, I have no need of your help Auntie," said Lizzie hurriedly. "Thank you all the same."
"It appears no one is deemed good enough by Lizzie," said Mrs Bennet with a sniff.
"She reminds me of that high and mighty Elizabeth Elliot!" said Mrs Phillips. "Always preening herself and looking down her nose at one! Well even she broke down and accepted a commoner."
"She did?" cried Lizzie and Mrs Bennet in unison, and then Lizzie hung her head. She was acting just like her mother! How much more of this could she take before she started turning into her own mother? She had never been more appalled in her life.
"A certain Mr Henry Crawford was trying his charms on her. She was resilient until she discovered that he had a fortune. Apparently her father had had to retrench, but now they can live in the style they were born to once again! And he, poor fellow, was caught in parson's mousetrap. It was always a game with him to see if he could win the coldest of hearts, but he had made one move too many!"
"But . . . but," said Lizzie, "I remember her mentioning a previous engagement, or hope of engagement, to her father's heir."
"There was talk of that, but Mr Elliot became engaged to Mr Crawford's sister, a girl with a small independence and a dislike of parsons."
"I'm confused," said Mrs Bennet. "Whatever has the dislike of parsons to do with it?"
"She was on the rebound from a love affair with a man who was set to become a parson, and she ran straight into the arms of his moral opposite! She had Mr Elliot so charmed that it wasn't until after he popped the question that he discovered her portion was much smaller than he was led to believe!"
"It sounds to me they all deserve each other!" said Lizzie. "I don't suppose you have any more of these wretched engagements to talk about. May we please go for a walk now?"
"Hush child," said Mrs Phillips. "There are, I believe, just two more."
"Only two, dear sister?" asked Mrs Bennet in disappointment. "But when we are done with them, whatever shall we talk about?"
"We can start from the beginning all over again with all that you learned from Miss Woodhouse!" cried Mrs Phillips gleefully.
Lizzie clutched her head. Would sanity ever return? Not as long as she was stuck at her Aunt Phillips'. She stealthily made her way toward the door. As she opened it Mrs Phillips had begun her narration of Mr Elton's romance with the redoubtable Mrs Clay. Her mother's shrieks drowned out the sound of the door closing behind her.
"You mean he once thought he was good enough to declare himself to Miss Woodhouse and then he ends up proposing to the widowed daughter of a lawyer?"
"That is what I heard sister. I tell you, Mrs Clay was very crafty, She made liberal use of Gowlands lotion and all but dissolved her freckles. She lavished such praise on the parson that he forgot about her two children and her slightly protruding tooth. It was the work of a master!"
"And who is last, dear sister?"
"Mr Frank Churchill. A very charming young gentleman who it was rumoured was besotted with Miss Woodhouse."
"I heard another rumour that he was secretly engaged to Jane Fairfax," said Mrs Bennet breathlessly.
"It was a double ruse! All the time he was spouting poetry in the park to that very romantic young woman who was always going on about wind swept trees and wearing gowns the colour of dead leaves and river water, a Marianne Dashwood. And she without a penny!"
"That is quite unfair that a penniless girl should inspire such devotion only because she is romantic," said Mrs Bennet, much aggrieved.
"You are so right, sister. I don't know how long they would have hidden it, or whether he would even have attempted a triple ruse with our own Lizzie, for she is almost the only girl left unspoken for, but fortunately his aunt died and he was free to love whom he chose. He inherited a tidy fortune too."
"Those penniless girls have all the luck!" moaned Mrs Bennet. Both ladies took enormous whiffs of their salts, and in commiseration resumed from the beginning the numeration of all the many alliances formed over the past few months. Neither of them noticed that Lizzie had gone.
She left the confines of Meryton, went down lane and over stile, until she came to the wilderness of open meadow. She ran, bonnet streaming behind her on its ribands, trying to clear her head in the bright August sun. If she ran fast enough could she outrun the little voice that kept telling her she would never find her chance at happiness?
Part 21
The next few weeks did not bring Lizzie the equilibrium she so desired. As August made its way toward September she found that wherever she went she was always in the company of engaged couples. She was rarely able to have lively or scintillating conversations and she was in the deepest trepidation of becoming caught in a gossip marathon again. She stayed clear of her mother.
Letters from her vacationing sisters and friends did not do anything to alleviate the pall of hopelessness that had befallen her. In fact they only worsened it. Harriet Smith sent her a lavender scented note that announced her engagement to one of Charlotte Heywood's brothers. It seems she had almost done the same thing when staying at a farm before. As well as sweet little Jersey cows, she had a thing for the eldest sons of gentlemen farmers. Her outpourings of happiness should have warmed Lizzie's soul, but they did not.
A week later brought a letter from her friend Elinor Dashwood. As Elinor was such a sensible, level-headed girl, and had sent her a very business-like looking missive, she thought it was safe to open it. It was not. Elinor was seemingly infected by the same bug as Harriet; the one that had previously infected her, to be specific.
Upon visiting Donwell with Anne Elliot, Elinor chanced to meet Robert Martin, the young, educated tenant farmer of Knightly's who had the enviable ability of being a very good letter writer. Perceiving that Elinor had a little more sense that the pretty peagoose who had recently broken his heart, he immediately struck up a correspondence with her, although he lived within three miles of Donwell. Elinor was duly impressed, not only by his penmanship, but also his sentence structure and turn of phrase. She wrote back - equally well-crafted letters - and soon their romance was flourishing. To say they fell in love over good grammar would not be too far wrong, and the next time they saw each other, Robert jumped at the chance to prove that he could be equally expressive with the spoken word. A snug farmhouse, a steady husband, and a coop full of chickens was all that Elinor really desired out of life, but she had to admit that in marrying Robert Martin she was getting so very much more.
Lizzie put down the letter and pulled out her hanky. She dabbed at the tears, wondering why the happiness of her friends should bring her such sorrow. Even her sisters' letters were frightening to her. Kitty wrote of the joys of running in the meadows, climbing trees, and playing with all Catherine's younger brothers and sisters, but Lizzie was always on the lookout for mention of some handsome young gentleman who had caught her eye. Lydia's letters, with their many exclamation marks and blotched letters were full of young gentlemen she had met at the lending library or on the promenade. Not one name stood out more than the rest. Even this fact made Lizzie suspicious. Could it be Lydia was practising deceit? After all - she had mentioned subscribing to the lending library which in itself was completely out of character. Or were Lydia and Kitty simply suffering from the same Bennet curse which was inflicting Lizzie?
She was to find out soon enough. Kitty returned after a fortnight, smug faced and closed mouthed. All she did was smile serenely and say she had a wonderful time, Catherine's siblings were all poppets, and she was quite content to be home again. The next day, when a gentleman unknown to Lizzie came to call on her father, Kitty sat in demure silence and resumed trimming her bonnet with unruffled calm. Lizzie knew not what to make of it.
At luncheon, Her father entered the dining room with the young man in tow, and introduced him as James Moreland. Then he dropped the bombshell. Mrs Bennet started to squeal.
"Oh dearest Kitty! You have managed it at last! And before Lizzie too! I shall go distracted!"
Lizzie gave Kitty a look and said under her breath rather accusingly, "I thought you had sworn off men!"
"I did," replied Kitty sweetly. "I was told it works every time! Mr Sidney Parker is a most intelligent man. I had never been given such good advice before."
James Moreland, to do him credit, took everything in his stride; Mr Bennet's grilling, Mrs Bennet's vapours, and Lizzie's grudging congratulations. He had just made a great escape from a heartless coquette and had found true happiness with his guileless Kitty. If her mother were a trifle over the top, so be it. Kitty smiled at him and patted the chair beside her, and he joined her readily. They spent the whole of the meal gazing adoringly into each other's eyes. Lizzie asked to be excused early. She was afraid she was going to be sick.
A week later Lydia returned home in true Lydia fashion. She was squired by a mildly portly young man with a pale complexion who was loaded with bandboxes and discarded bits of Lydia's clothing, shawls bonnets and the like.
"Mother, Father, you will never believe my news. Lord it is such fun to surprise you all!" cried Lydia as she entered the hall. "Just look at this ring! Is it not the prettiest you have ever seen? My dearest Arthur gave it to me!"
"What does this mean?" cried Mrs Bennet. And then to prove she was not a dullard where romance was concerned, she immediately followed it with excited crowing. "You are engaged you sweet thing! I knew you wouldn't disappoint me! Two daughters in the space of a week! How shall I manage to contain myself?"
"Contain yourself you must, my dear," said Mr Bennet. "I have as yet not spoken with this gentleman and my permission has not been given."
"Then get on with it!" cried Mrs Bennet, all in a pucker again. "Make haste, make haste! My poor nerves can't stand the suspense!"
"Oh pooh!" stated Lydia, laughing loudly. "There is nothing daddy can do for we returned from Sanditon completely unescorted! Arthur, go and join my father in his study. Don't allow him to tease you because nothing can get in the way of our love! Oh, and do put all those parcels down somewhere; it doesn't signify where!"
Arthur looked apologetically at Mrs Bennet and deposited the articles upon a settee. As they spilled over to the floor he made to organise them better but Lydia shooed him out of the room. "Isn't he a dear!" she cried, and then she pouted. "But what's this I hear about another sister engaged? I was hoping I was the next one. Don't tell me you have finally trapped a man Lizzie."
"Oh! It is not Lizzie but Kitty who has become engaged!" said Mrs Bennet.
"I fear Lizzie will end a spinster!" giggled Lydia. "You must tell me when Mary and Kitty have set their dates because Arthur and I mean to marry before they do!"
"What a delightful plan!" squealed her mother, rubbing her hands together.
Lizzie took a breath and then questioned Lydia. "When did you meet your fiancé?" she asked. "In your letters you mentioned nothing of him."
"I tricked you well, did I not? I knew it would be such a good joke. Sanditon was really rather flat. The beach was windy and the gentlemen old quizzes, every one. Excepting my dear Arthur, of course. He is Mr Parker's younger brother, did you know? He was living with his sisters who were physicing him so dreadfully! He was only allowed weak cocoa and dry toast before bedtime! Imagine, they would not let him partake of saddle of mutton or roast beef. A little poached chicken and peas was all they would serve him at dinner. And every morning they would force him to drink Lady Denham's asses milk! It was outside of enough! I told him it was time to put his foot down."
"Very right, my love" interpolated her mother. "A man should be able to enjoy his food. I would never be so stingy at my table!"
"And so I told him, mama," said Lydia. "I said if he should marry me I would see to it that we had the best of cooks, for he has a tidy independence, you know and doesn't want for anything, and he should be able to eat whatever he desires whenever he desires. I think he fell in love with me at that moment, for he kissed my hand most fervently, and inside of half an hour I had him convinced to pop the question!"
"What did his sisters think of it all?" asked Lizzie.
"We did not tell them about the food, of course. I dutifully promised to water his cocoa and not allow him port, but it was so hard to keep my countenance! I was bound to burst out laughing especially when I saw the look of shock on my dear sweet Arthur's face. He was so relieved when I told him I was pretending! Oh! I am so divinely happy! He has promised me he will purchase a red hunting jacket, as long as I do not make him go out with the hounds, so I will be able to see him in a red coat!"
"Oh, my dear!" cried Mrs Bennet. "You will be so very happy!"
As they threw themselves weeping into each other's arms, Lizzie left the room. She considered going out for a walk to Oakham Mount, but didn't have the heart for it. She went instead to her bedchamber and fell upon her coverlet. She cried herself to sleep; a fitful sleep that was haunted by visions of a tall dark man with a stately demeanour and the greenest eyes she had ever seen. In the morning she felt and looked haggard. She washed quickly and changed from the wrinkled gown she had slept in to a morning dress of coffee-toned muslin. She placed her locket about her neck and arranged her curls upon her head. She would not show Lydia the heartache she was suffering. She would go downstairs and stare this new day in the face with a smile that belied what she felt inside. She would be strong!
She slipped along the hall to the breakfast parlour when suddenly her father opened his study door.
"Lizzie, a word if I may," he said firmly.
She quailed. What is it now? There could be no more bad news. Everyone else in the known world was spoken for. She entered with some trepidation and took a seat across from her father's desk. He sat and placed his hands together, staring at her contemplatively.
"You have been troubled lately." It was said with empathy, a warm light in her father's soft brown eyes. "I went for a walk this morning to ponder your dilemma, and I believe I have struck upon a solution."
"You are not sending me to a convent!" cried Lizzie, aghast.
"Whatever would put such an idea in your head?" asked her father. "Because you have not bothered to convince some fool to marry you as your sisters have done doesn't mean that you have to retire from life. It just means that you have more sense than they. As I was saying, I struck upon a solution. But to be more accurate I should actually say that I bumped into one. Look out the window into the garden and tell me what you think. Does it meet your specifications?"
Lizzie looked out the window and could not believe what she saw there upon a bench under the rose arbour. Was she still dreaming? She pinched herself. No, she was awake all right. "Perfect, simply perfect." She sighed.
Her father came over and stood by her side. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Can I pick 'em, or can I pick 'em?!"
"Thank you, father," Lizzie whispered. She wandered out of his den to the drawing room, through the open French doors and went into the garden to meet her destiny.
Epilogue
The morning was warm for early September. The sun gently tipped a blush on the petals of the roses that grew with such profusion over the arbour. Elizabeth approached the bench softly, a look of wonderment on her face. How did he come to be here, sitting in her very own garden? He appeared lost in thought. She reached out to him. Her words almost stuck in her throat, but she forced them out. They sounded in a voice so unlike her own. "Excuse me, sir."
He looked up and her breathing all but stopped. His eyes were more beautiful than those in the picture. The green was clearer, the amber flecks shimmered in their depths. His gaze was intense.
"Have you come to nurse me?" His voice was deep and mellow, and somewhat puzzled. It sent a warm glow throughout her person.
"If that is what you want of me," she answered softly, her voice almost her own again. "How are you feeling?"
"Tolerable, but you are beautiful enough to tempt me . . . what did I just say? Did that come out right or wrong?"
"It was very, very right," said Lizzie smiling warmly at him.
"Your eyes, they are . . . entrancing . . . should I know you?"
"We have never met. But I should like to know you, if I may. Why are you in need of nursing? Are you ill, or have you suffered some sort of accident?" Lizzie asked in concern as she took his hand with the intention of checking his pulse.
"I will tell you all that I recall. I was to visit my friend. His name is Bungsby, or Bongely or Binksly, or something of that nature."
"Bingley!"
"That could very well be it," he replied, closing his eyes and leaning back in the bench. His thumb absently stroked the hand holding his. No pulse had been taken There was no need. Both had pulses in fine working order. "I took a detour on the way and stopped in at Lyme Regis. Have you ever been?"
"I have not."
His grip tightened on her hand. "I do not advise you go. It is a very dangerous place. I was walking on the cob and decided to take some steps to a lower level. The paving-stones were uneven. A gentleman coming up hurried quickly by me. He jogged me with his elbow. I found myself falling down, down. I heard voices. Hands were prodding my person in a most indecorous way. I believe that is when my purse went missing. I do not know, but I came to my senses days, weeks, maybe months later. I was in a small cottage on a deserted beach. I did not know my name, but I knew I did not belong there." His eyes flew open in panic but when he saw her face they calmed and he smiled.
"Do not try to remember if it causes you pain," said Lizzie as she trailed the fingertips of her other hand across his forehead. Checking for fever, she told herself. She ran her fingers through his hair, just to be sure.
"I'm sorry. I suddenly feared I was in that wretched place again. But I am here with you. The sun is warm and the roses fragrant." He looked deeply into her eyes and seemed to find there the strength to go on.
"When I could finally walk I left that place, but I knew not where I was going nor who I was. The name Nether . . . tried to form in my head, and I visited every Netherhill, Netherdale, Netherfell, Netherford and Netherfold that I could find. I regained my strength and earned my keep in the towns I passed through, but knew that I was meant for a different kind of life. I was dressed, though in much worn clothes, in the garb of a gentleman. I spoke with an air and distinction that none about me had. I discerned that I must be the owner of a great estate. That made my life easier from that point on."
"How so?" asked Lizzie as she felt the back of his head to ensure there was no bump.
"I had my one suit of clothes laundered and then checked into an inn. I was afforded instant credit based on my appearance alone. Finally at one hostelry I was recognised! I am Fitzwilliam Darcy!"
"I know you are, my . . . patient," finished Lizzie, blushing furiously. She had all but said, my love!
"You know me?" he asked, searching her face. "I thought you said we had never met?"
"But I have visited your grand estate of Pemberley, Mr Darcy, and seen your portrait, and I know what Nether place you were to have visited last September."
"It was last September! Now I recall. And my estate is called Pemberley! The name is dear to my heart!"
"And you were going to Netherfield to visit Mr Bingley."
"Indeed I was! How can I thank you, my . . . nurse?" Darcy blushed a little and looked into her face again. "I am afraid I do not know your name."
"I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet."
"I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss . . ." he raised her hand up to his face and ever so gently kissed the back of it, " . . . Elizabeth." He sighed.
"Why do you sigh? Are you in pain?" asked Lizzie, her concern returning.
"I have never felt better. It's just that I must now go to Netherfield to visit Bingley and I discover I don't want to leave." His thumb started stroking the back of her hand again, sending shivers up her spine.
"You can't leave for Netherfield," said Lizzie, her smile growing. "It is all closed up. Mr Bingley married my sister Jane and they have been away on the continent for their honeymoon these ten months. You shall have to stay here for you are certainly unfit for travel."
"Indeed I am," he agreed as he played with her hand. "Can you check my head for lumps again? Though it has been almost a year since the accident, one can never be sure."
"One cannot, can one?"
Darcy lay down and placed his head in her lap as she ran her fingers slowly through his hair. He still held her other hand in his and caressed it to his cheek. He looked up into her sparkling brown eyes. "You are the best nurse I have ever had." Their eyes met and said so many other things that they were as yet unable to put into words.
Mr Bennet let the curtain fall back and walked away from the window. His little Lizzie! Oh, well, it had to happen sometime. He rang the bell and when Hill appeared he ordered her to prepare the best guest chamber. It was sure to be a visit of some duration.