Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (38 page)

Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn; coming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after supper; unless some barbarous, detestable neighbor had given him an invitation which he thought himself obliged to accept.

Elizabeth had little time for conversation with her sister for, while he was present, Jane had no attention to bestow on anyone else. However, she found herself considerably useful to both of them in those hours of separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, he always attached himself to Elizabeth, for the pleasure of talking of her; and when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means of relief.

“He has made me so happy,” said she, one evening, “by telling me that he was totally ignorant of my being in town last spring. I had not believed it possible.”

“I suspected as much,” replied Elizabeth. “But how did he account for it?”

“It must have been his sister’s doing. They were certainly no friends to his acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since he might have chosen so much more advantageously in many respects. But when they see, as I trust they will, that their brother is happy with me, they will learn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again. Though we can never be what we once were to each other.”

“That is the most unforgiving speech I ever heard you utter,” said Elizabeth. “Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see you again the dupe of Miss Bingley’s pretended regard.”

“Would you believe it, Lizzy, when he went to town last November, he really loved me? Nothing but a persuasion of my being indifferent would have prevented his coming down again!”

“He made a little mistake to be sure, but it is to the credit of his modesty.”

This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence, and the little value he put on his own good qualities. Elizabeth was pleased to find that he had not betrayed the interference of his friend; for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving heart in the world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice her against Mr. Darcy.

“I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!” exclaimed Jane. “Oh, Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed above them all? If I could but see you as happy! If there were but such another man for you!”

“If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy as you. Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your happiness. Perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins.”

Jane’s laughter joined Elizabeth’s and neither one of them could speak for many minutes.

The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be kept secret for long. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Philips, and she ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all her neighbors in Meryton. The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in the world, though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away, they had been generally proved to be marked out for misfortune.

O
NE MORNING, about a week after Bingley’s engagement with Jane had been formed, as he and the females of the family were sitting together in the dining room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window by the sound of a carriage. They perceived a chaise and four driving up the lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbors. The horses were post, and neither the carriage nor the livery of the servant who preceded it were familiar to them. As it was certain that somebody was coming, Bingley instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid the confinement of such an intrusion, and walk away with him into the shrubbery. They both set off, and the conjectures of the remaining three continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown open and their visitor entered. It was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

They were of course all intending to be surprised, but their astonishment was beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs. Bennet and Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even inferior to what Elizabeth felt.

She entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no other reply to Elizabeth’s salutation than a slight inclination of the head, and sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had mentioned her name to her mother on her ladyship’s entrance, though no request of introduction had been made.

Mrs. Bennet, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such high importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, Lady Catherine said very stiffly to Elizabeth, “I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your mother.”

“She is, my lady,” Elizabeth replied very concisely.

“And
that
I suppose is one of your sisters.”

“Yes, madam,” said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to Lady Catherine. “She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all is lately married, and my eldest is somewhere about the grounds, walking with a young man who, I believe, will soon become a part of the family.”

“You have a very small park here,” returned Lady Catherine after a short silence.

“It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my lady, I daresay,” answered Mrs. Bennet, “but I assure you it is much larger than Sir William Lucas’s.”

“This must be a most inconvenient sitting room for the evening, in summer. The windows are full west.”

Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner, and then added, “May I take the liberty of asking your ladyship whether you left Mr. and Mrs. Collins well.”

“Yes, very well. I saw them the night before last.”

Elizabeth now expected that she would produce a letter for her from Charlotte, as it seemed the only probable motive for her calling. But no letter appeared, and she was completely puzzled.

Mrs. Bennet, with great civility, begged her ladyship to take some refreshment. Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely, declined eating anything. Then, rising up, said to Elizabeth, “Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will favor me with your company.”

“Go, my dear,” urged her mother, “and show her ladyship about the different walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage.”

Elizabeth obeyed, and hurrying into her own room for a parasol, attended her noble guest downstairs. As they passed through the hall, Lady Catherine opened the doors into the dining parlor and drawing room, and after a short survey pronounced them to be decent looking rooms, and walked on.

Her carriage remained at the door, and Elizabeth saw that her waiting woman was in it. They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk that led to the copse. Elizabeth was determined to make no effort for conversation with a woman who was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable.

“How could I ever think her like her nephew?” thought she, as she looked in the woman’s face.

As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following manner, “You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come.”

Elizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment. “Indeed, you are mistaken, madam. I have not been at all able to account for the honor of seeing you here.”

“Miss Bennet,” replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, “you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told that not only your sister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that you, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my nephew, Mr. Darcy. Though I
know
it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place so that I might make my sentiments known to you.”

“If you believed it impossible,” said Elizabeth, coloring with astonishment and disdain, “I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?”

“At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.”

“Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family,” said Elizabeth coolly, “will be rather a confirmation of it — if, indeed, such a report is in existence.”

“If! Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a report is spread abroad?”

“I never heard that it was.”

“And can you likewise declare that there is no foundation for it?”

“I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. You may ask questions which I shall choose not to answer.”

Lady Catherine looked to be near the point of stamping her feet upon the ground like a petulant child. Her entire body stiffened with her irritation. “This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has my nephew made you an offer of marriage?”

“Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible.” Elizabeth endeavored to keep an even tone, though she knew she was being somewhat insolent. How could she not? Such an unwelcome attack on a subject so freshly wounding to her heart!

“It ought to be so — must be so, while he retains the use of his reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You may have drawn him in.”

“If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it.”

This was not the humble, apologetic answer the lady had been seeking. With each breath her anger became more apparent.

“Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world, and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.”

“But you are not entitled to know mine, nor will such behavior as this, ever induce me to be explicit.”

“Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. Mr. Darcy is engaged to my daughter. Now what have you to say?”

“Only this. That, if he is so engaged, you can have no reason to suppose he will make an offer to me.”

Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment. “The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy, they have been intended for each other. It was the favorite wish of his mother, as well as myself. While in their cradles, we planned the union. Now, at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would be accomplished in their marriage, to be prevented by a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to the family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends? To his tacit engagement with Miss de Bourgh? Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say that from his earliest hours he was destined for his cousin?”

“Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could in planning the marriage. Its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by honor nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he to make another choice? And if I am that choice, why may not I accept him?” She did not mean to say so much, as the event of her marriage to Mr. Darcy may never, in fact, take place, but she had hope. It was a small hope that was sparked to life by the anger radiating from his aunt. Her outrage gave Elizabeth an optimism she had never allowed herself to feel. Not to mention her ladyship’s rudeness and presumption in arriving at all caused a defense to build behind each of Elizabeth’s words.

“Because honor, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest! Do not expect to be noticed by his family or friends, if you willfully act against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace. Your name will never even be mentioned by any of us.”

“These are heavy misfortunes,” replied Elizabeth with just a touch of sarcasm. “But the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine.”

“Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that score? Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose. I will not be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person’s whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.”

“That will make your ladyship’s situation at present more pitiable, but it will have no effect on me.”

“I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My daughter and my nephew are formed for each other. They are descended, on the maternal side, from the same noble line; and, on the father’s, from respectable, honorable, and ancient — though untitled — families. Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses. And what is to divide them? The upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or fortune? Is this to be endured? It must not, shall not be. If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up.”

“In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman. I am a gentleman’s daughter. So far we are equal.”

“True. You are a gentleman’s daughter. But who was your mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition.”

“Whatever my connections may be,” said Elizabeth, “if your nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you.”

“Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?”

Though Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question, she could not but say, after a moment’s deliberation, “I am not.”

Lady Catherine seemed pleased. “And will you promise me never to enter into such an engagement?”

“I will make no promise of the kind.”

“Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require.”

“And I certainly never shall give it.” This was more than a person should have to bear. Elizabeth stood, intent on ending forever the distasteful and rude conversation. If her ladyship chose to stay on the bench to await an answer that was not forthcoming, so be it. She would make a miserable fixture to the family property and a curiosity for the neighbors to gawk at. “I am not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter, but would my giving you the wished-for promise make their marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would my refusing to accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference in his affairs, I cannot tell, but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the subject.”

When Elizabeth would give a small bow of her head in preparation to leave, Lady Catherine ordered, “Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the objections I have already urged, I have still another to add. I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister’s infamous elopement. I know it all. That young man’s marrying her was a patched-up business, at the expense of your father and uncles. And is such a girl to be my nephew’s sister? Is her husband, is the son of his late father’s steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth, of what are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?”

“You can now have nothing further to say to me,” she resentfully answered. “You have insulted me by every possible means. I will now return to the house.”

Lady Catherine rose as Elizabeth turned to leave and followed her back. Her ladyship was highly incensed, and would not quit the conversation. “You have no regard, then, for the honor and credit of my nephew. Unfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not consider that a connection with you must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?”

“Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments.” Elizabeth quickened her pace and had some satisfaction in seeing her ladyship’s effort to keep up.