Gay Pride and Prejudice (27 page)

“Perhaps you can understand my cowardice? But then, you once led me to believe that your disposition, which I suspect to perfectly match my own, had been fairly received in your family, a situation I recall we agreed was most fortunate. In my own case, Louisa has become fixated on preventing me from ever forming another attachment, determining to keep me alone and miserable for the rest of my life. I have allowed her to exercise control over me—the primary reason we came with Darcy to Rosings was so that she could see me away from the influence of my crowd of ‘unrepentant deviants,’ as she terms my London friends. It seems, however, that there is danger wherever she takes me; for here you are, the person I had not been able to forget all these months.

“Pardon me—I do apologise, for that last comment drifts altogether far too near a renewal of the sentiments you find so repellent. In any case, I feel that I must thank you: Observing you as you are—happy, sociable, at perfect ease with yourself—has inspired me to try to emulate your example. I am determined to extricate myself from my sister’s snare, and to leave her company for that of friends who will embrace me without censure or disgust. I am in your debt for the realization that I am not, in point of fact, obliged to live with the constant threat of loss or exposure, simply because my family abhors my preference for a particular type of companion.

“You may possibly wonder why I failed to tell you all of this last night; but I was not then master enough of my feelings to decide what ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Mr. Darcy, who has been unavoidably acquainted with each of these transactions; and that you may have the possibility of consulting him, should you choose, I will endeavour to find some means of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I know that you do not think much of Mr. Darcy, possibly owing to your friendship with Mr. Wickham. But I once cautioned you against Wickham, and I must reiterate my warning: He is not a good man, and cannot be trusted. After the elder Mr. Darcy died, Wickham decided not to take orders, as had been planned, and applied to the younger Mr. Darcy for pecuniary assistance in the study of law. Darcy obliged with a sum many times the amount authorised in his father’s will, only to watch Wickham waste the money on a life in town of dedicated idleness and dissipation. When he ran out of funds a few years on, he applied to Darcy for the living the elder Mr. Darcy had promised, should he take orders. When Darcy refused, Wickham repaid him by engaging in such nefarious behavior toward a member of Darcy’s family that you would never think well of him again were you to know the particulars. If you take nothing else to heart from this letter, let it be that Mr. Wickham is a man in search of a fortune, any way he can find it.

“I will only add, may you remain healthy and happy today and all the days ahead.

“CAROLINE BINGLEY"

Chapter Thirty-Six

I
F
E
LIZABETH, WHEN
M
ISS
B
INGLEY
gave her the letter, did not expect it to contain a renewal of the previous evening’s sentiments, she had formed no expectation at all of its contents. But such as they were, it may well be supposed how avidly she went through them, and what a contrariety of emotion they excited. Her feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined. With a strong prejudice against everything the lady might say, she began the letter, reading with an eagerness which hardly left her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing what the next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the sense of the one before her eyes. The lady’s claim of encountering a marked lack of respect among certain social circles she instantly resolved to be false, along with her supposed belief of Jane’s insensibility as the central motivation in wishing to separate the two lovers; and her account of the real, the worst objections to the match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing the author justice.

But when this subject was succeeded by Caroline’s account of Louisa’s treatment of her—when Elizabeth read with somewhat clearer attention a relation of events which, if true, must alarm anyone who, like her, shared the lady’s particular affinity—her feelings were yet more acutely painful and more difficult to define. Apprehension afflicted her, that a sister would so willingly oppress and misuse her own blood. She wished to discredit the letter’s claims, saying aloud, “This must be false.” And when she had gone through the whole letter, though scarcely knowing anything of the last page or two, she put it hastily away, protesting that she would not regard it, that she would never look at it again.

In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on nothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a minute the letter was unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she could, she again began the perusal of all that related to Mrs. Hurst, and commanded herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence. The account of the lady’s role in separating her brother from Jane rang true, for Mrs. Hurst had not bothered to hide her contempt for the Bennets, particularly the night of the Netherfield Ball. It was only a small leap from interfering with a brother’s happiness to exercising control over a disgraced sister, was it not? Caroline’s explanations seemed to match what Elizabeth herself had observed of the Bingleys. Darcy, too—she did not understand how or why he could have had an intimate knowledge of all the events described in the letter, but she did believe him to bear Bingley genuine affection and friendship. The gentleman may have been unaccountably arrogant and unsociable, but he appeared to be a true friend to the Bingleys.

And yet, Caroline’s slight against her own family was real and coldly given; and it seemed to offer a refutation of the more sympathetic passages of the letter. For a moment, she considered applying to Mr. Darcy for corroboration, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application, and at length wholly banished by the conviction that Caroline would never have hazarded such a proposal had she not been well assured of Darcy’s testimony. The closing bit about Wickham’s attempts to extract money from Darcy, as well as his behaving badly toward a member of Darcy’s family, reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite think what it might be.

She put down the letter, weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be impartiality—deliberated on the probability of each statement—with little success. Ultimately, it was only a series of assertions that she could choose to either believe or disbelieve. And yet, if she chose to believe what she read, the lines suggested that Caroline had been mostly innocent of the accusations which Elizabeth had so venomously cast at her the previous evening.

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself, unable to avoid the feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.

“How despicably I have acted,” she thought; “I, who have prided myself on my discernment and abilities, who have often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity in useless or blamable mistrust. Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Since the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where Caroline Bingley was concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.”

From herself to Jane, from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in a line which soon brought to her recollection that Miss Bingley’s explanation of their separation had appeared insufficient, and she read it again. Widely different was the effect of a second perusal. How could she deny that credit to her assertions in one instance, which she was obliged to give in the other? Caroline declared herself to have been totally unaware of her sister’s attachment; and Elizabeth could not help remembering what Charlotte’s opinion had always been. Neither could she deny the justice of the description of Jane. She felt that Jane’s feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her air and manner not often united with great sensibility.

When she came to that part of the letter in which her family were mentioned in terms of such mortifying, yet merited reproach, her sense of shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly for denial, and the circumstances to which the letter particularly alluded as having passed at the Netherfield ball, could not have made a stronger impression on Caroline’s mind than on hers. The compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt. It soothed, but it could not console her for the contempt which had thus been self-attracted by the rest of her family; and as she considered that Jane’s disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest relations, and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt by such impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond anything she had ever known before. The passage regarding Darcy and Wickham only added to her melancholy, for her mistrust of Caroline had undoubtedly contributed to her dislike of the proud gentleman who seemed always at her side. If she were to take Caroline’s word for the other events described in the letter, didn’t she almost have to rely on her version of Wickham’s actions and character?

After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every variety of thought—reconsidering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling herself, as well as she could, to a change so sudden and so important—fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence, made her at length return home; and she entered the house with the wish of appearing cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing such reflections as must make her unfit for conversation.

She was immediately told that two gentlemen from Rosings had called during her absence: Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes, to take leave; and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had sat with them at least an hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving to walk after her till she could be found. Elizabeth could only just affect concern in missing him. Colonel Fitzwilliam was no longer any matter to her; she could think only of her letter.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

L
ADY
C
ATHERINE'S GUESTS
left Rosings the next morning, and Mr. Collins having been in waiting near the lodges, to make them his parting obeisance, was able to bring home the pleasing intelligence, of their appearing in very good health, and in as tolerable spirits as could be expected, after the melancholy scene so lately gone through at Rosings. To Rosings he then hastened, to console Lady Catherine and her daughter; and on his return brought back, with great satisfaction, a message from her ladyship, importing that she felt herself so dull as to make her very desirous of having them all to dine with her. An invitation which, of course, was accepted gratefully on all their behalf.

At dinner, their first subject was the diminution of the Rosings party. “I assure you, I feel it exceedingly,” said Lady Catherine; “I believe no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do. But I am particularly attached to my nephews, and know them to be so much attached to me! They were excessively sorry to go! But so they always are. The dear Colonel rallied his spirits tolerably till just at last; but Darcy and his friend Miss Bingley seemed to feel it most acutely, more, I think, than last year. Darcy’s attachment to Rosings certainly increases.”

Mr. Collins had a compliment, and an allusion to throw in here, which were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.

Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of spirits, and immediately accounting for it by herself, by supposing that she did not like to go home again so soon, she added: “But if that is the case, you must write to your mother and beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your company, I am sure.”

“I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invitation,” replied Elizabeth, “but it is not in my power to accept it. I must be in town next Saturday.”

“Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There can be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly spare you for another fortnight.”

“But my father cannot. He wrote last week to hurry my return.”

“Oh, your father of course may spare you, if your mother can. Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. And if you will stay another
month
complete, it will be in my power to take one of you as far as London, for I am going there early in June, for a week; and as Dawson does not object to the barouche-box, there will be very good room for one of you—and indeed, if the weather should happen to be cool, I should not object to taking you both, as you are neither of you large.”

“You are all kindness, Madam; but I believe we must abide by our original plan.”

Lady Catherine seemed resigned. “Mrs. Collins, you must send a servant with them. You know I always speak my mind, and I cannot bear the idea of two young women travelling post by themselves. It is highly improper. You must contrive to send somebody. I have the greatest dislike in the world to that sort of thing. Young women should always be properly guarded and attended, according to their situation in life. When my niece Georgiana went to Ramsgate last summer, I made a point of her having two men-servants go with her. Miss Darcy, the daughter of Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley, and Lady Anne, could not have appeared with propriety in a different manner. I am excessively attentive to all those things. You must send John with the young ladies, Mrs. Collins. I am glad it occurred to me to mention it; for it would really be discreditable to
you
to let them go alone.”

“My uncle is to send a servant for us.”

“Oh! Your uncle keeps a man-servant, does he? I am very glad you have somebody who thinks of these things. Where shall you change horses? Bromley, of course. If you mention my name at the Bell, you will be attended to.”