Page 15 of Mr Darcy Gets Angry

The dinner at Matlock House was an occasion eagerly anticipated by them all.

Even Mary showed an unusual degree of interest, and readily consented to take part in the ample preparations that were conducted in her aunt’s dressing-room.

When all was finished, she gazed with curiosity upon the young lady reflected in the glass.

Elizabeth had been correct: she seldom employed the mirror for more than a hasty moment in the morning to arrange her hair.

Yet the effect produced by her aunt’s maid was striking; the figure in the mirror bore a notable resemblance to Elizabeth.

Of all her sisters, she was now persuaded that Elizabeth was the one most like her in appearance.

They shared the same colour of hair, and even the outline of their features was akin.

“My God,” exclaimed their uncle, “this is the first time I have seen how strongly Mary resembles Lizzy—and Jane.” It was the best compliment Mary had ever received.

In her almost entire seclusion from the world, Mary had one advantage: to her, the Matlocks’ dinner was simply that—a dinner.

She was hardly moved by distinctions of rank or situation, and cared not for the superior neighbourhood.

While admiring the elegance of the house, she conducted herself with such unaffected ease that she won Lady Matlock’s regard at once.

“I am sorry, but Lord Matlock will not be joining us today,” her ladyship announced.

It was rather unpleasant news that could be taken as a sort of disavowal as the dinner invitation was made only by her ladyship.

And for a time, it looked like that was the case.

But once they were seated at the table, Lady Matlock spoke with sincerity, “There is no need to deceive you. We are concerned and confused at the same time. You already know most of the story. Following your last night message, my husband left this morning for Southampton to find the Barringtons or at least a trace of them.”

Mr Gardiner nodded with understanding. “With all the documents in our possession there can be no doubt now that Miss Emmeline Henry is the daughter of Mrs Sophia and…this French gentleman, who was alive not more than five years past.”

Lady Matlock’s eyes fell to her plate.

“My lady,” said Mrs Gardiner with consideration, “perhaps we ought to withdraw, that you may rest.”

“No,” her ladyship replied almost with vehemence. “I am sorry for being an indifferent hostess, but I entreat you to remain. I dread being alone in such a situation.”

For some minutes, they ate in silence; then Lady Matlock addressed Mary. “Miss Mary, how come you to speak French with such fluency?”

Mary, who was little used to speaking in company, coloured becomingly, and recounted in a manner so diverting how she had learnt her first words, that all were amused. Her ladyship declared that the Miss Bennets were as accomplished as they were handsome.

You should see Lydia and Kitty, my lady , before forming such a generous impression , thought mischievously Elizabeth, but she smiled in concert with the others.

In truth, their father had done a good work with Mary and herself, whilst Jane’s few attainments were sufficient to crown her beauty and perfect her manners.

“The letter—” began Lady Matlock.

“I believe the wisest course is to return it to the person to whom it was addressed,” Mr Gardiner firmly said.

“Yes, perhaps we shall return it,” agreed Lady Matlock. “I prefer that your family should not be further involved. We shall permit them to imagine that it reached us from Netherfield via Mr Bingley, as they were ignorant of her direction.

“Alas, it will not be easy to acquaint my son with the truth. Happily, he is at present in the South upon an assignment, which affords us a little time to deliberate. I am concerned, not solely for his disappointment, but for the danger which might arise if we consider the consequences the letter suggests. Our family’s honour might suffer from any public scandal. ”

She scarcely touched her meal, and the footmen removed her plates almost untasted. None at the table could lighten the affliction of the countess—and the mother.

“My lady, I beg to assure you that, besides the persons now present, only my brothers-in-law are acquainted with the letter’s existence; and we are all most anxious for Colonel Fitzwilliam’s welfare.”

“I am certain you are, Mr Gardiner; I thank you.”

“But where is Miss Henry?” Mary enquired, and for a moment there was silence. It was a question all had hitherto avoided.

“A disquieting question, Miss Mary. The thought of her is revolting to me. I cannot say whether she is fully party to her parents’ schemes; yet she cannot be wholly innocent, if she consented to—”

They comprehended the rest without words: that Miss Henry had gone to Brighton in search of an officer, in aid of her parents’ designs. She was too far engaged to be thought a mere victim, as the letter had made plain.

“It is impossible for us to know her present situation, for we know little of her at all. She visited us a few times, and we spoke of many things, yet when my husband and I tried to recall any particular aspect of her history, we found we knew nothing. It is one of the circumstances which most alarms me—her ability to converse freely upon herself and her family, and yet to disclose nothing of consequence. When Richard learnt that he must quit London, he hoped we might invite her to Pemberley, but my husband refused to have her alone, without him.”

“But where was she lodged in London?” Mary persisted, despite Elizabeth’s frowns and silent entreaties to desist.

“I do not know,” replied the countess with a sigh. “Neither in London, nor elsewhere in England, do I know of her abode—except for that northern connection which is of no value. And now my husband is gone alone, and I fear for him likewise.”

“My lady, I do not believe his lordship to be in any real danger,” Mr Gardiner said, seeking to reassure her.

“What a wretched situation! All my life, I have valued the moments when I could be alone at home; now I find the solitude intolerable. I have reckoned the days—he cannot be returned in fewer than five—and Arthur and his wife will not be here before September. My only hope is Fitzwilliam. I thank you again for having informed him.”

Mr Gardiner bowed gravely.

“And I have no one to speak with—no means of discovering more—” She broke off, and looked earnestly at Elizabeth. “I wonder whether it would be too much to ask you to be my guest for a few days—only until Fitzwilliam arrives?”

Elizabeth stared in astonishment. Her reluctance to answer sprang from uncertainty whether she had truly understood the proposal. Lady Matlock mistook her silence for a polite refusal and added hastily, “No, it is too much to ask; you are here with your family—”

Elizabeth could not speak; it was more than she had ever hoped for. To be under Lady Matlock’s roof when Mr Darcy—Fitzwilliam—arrived, would be a happiness she had never dared to imagine.

Once again, Mrs Gardiner intervened. “My lady, she will certainly stay. We consent most willingly, her parents being absent, to grant it.”

“Yes, indeed,” Mr Gardiner added in his composed and kindly manner.

“Thank you; it will be only until Mr Darcy comes. And if Miss Mary would like to accompany you, she shall be most welcome. I will send the carriage in the morning, if it is convenient.”

“It is, my lady,” Elizabeth at last replied; and Mary’s smile rendered any further enquiry unnecessary. She was enchanted with this new turn of life.

∞∞∞

“It is good news that we shall not be further engaged in this affair,” observed Mr Gardiner, as the carriage bore them home.

“I would not say we are wholly disengaged, if Lizzy and Mary are to reside at Matlock House.”

“You are right, my dear; yet Lizzy will remain only three or four days.”

Or for life , Mrs Gardiner thought, watching her niece, whose expression was one of such distant contentment as to recall Jane in her happiest moments.

Mrs Gardiner had often reflected on Mr Darcy’s hesitation to renew his addresses.

She had observed him with Elizabeth upon several occasions, and could draw but one conclusion: he was in love.

Whenever Elizabeth entered a room, his attention was fixed upon her alone.

He showed her the sunset, or spoke low in her ear in the music-room, with all the gestures of a man attached; yet there was a want of resolution, a reluctance to declare himself again.

To Mrs Gardiner’s mind, there could be but one cause—his family’s disapproval of a connection beneath them.

The pride of rank was an unpleasant trait, yet she admitted it was human nature.

She would never have married a man greatly beneath her family’s station.

In her youth, she had resolved to secure a husband who could maintain her in the style to which she had been accustomed.

As she looked with affection upon Mr Gardiner, she congratulated herself on her prudence.

Perhaps Mr Darcy’s motives were not significantly different: he would seek a wife who might be received in London, respected, and able to support the life he had always led.

Was this a fault? Probably not, but it was a formidable obstacle to his marrying Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.

Yet the present prospect—Elizabeth’s sojourn at Matlock House—might smooth his path to marriage.

If Lady Matlock approved her, friends and acquaintances would, in all likelihood, follow without question.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth did not indulge in hopes as freely as her aunt; yet, deep in her heart, she cherished a fresh one.

When she left Pemberley, she had resolved against the folly of expectation.

Jane’s long-drawn suffering, which had not abated after many months of waiting for Mr Bingley, stood before her as a warning.

Elizabeth would not follow that example.

But her heart was not so obedient; it continued to frame another ending, and she had dreamed of Mr Darcy every day and night since.

On the morning of her departure, she looked with gratitude towards her aunt. If they were fashionably apparelled, it was owing chiefly to her and to her uncle’s generosity.

“Do not forget the gown from Pemberley,” Mrs Gardiner called from her dressing-room, making Elizabeth smile.

It was the first to be packed. Then they prepared Mary, who was so animated by the proceedings that they could scarcely recall the morose girl who once hid from the family to read in solitude.

Mrs Gardiner then opened a box containing some delicate ornaments.

“These were my father’s gift, and are suited to young ladies such as you.

” Each received a bracelet and a necklace.

They had been reserved for her own daughters; yet she understood that, once Elizabeth married Mr Darcy and moved in different circles, her daughters’ fortunes might also be advanced.

She loved her nieces dearly and saw no shame in such thoughts.

It was a mother’s duty to do what was best for her children.

At present, the essential object was to present Lizzy and Mary as young ladies of fashion.

Of their behaviour, she had no concern, for both possessed irreproachable manners, and Elizabeth, when she lifted her head, looked every inch a princess.

The carriage sent for them bore the Matlock arms upon its doors, and the Gardiners watched until their nieces were lost to view amidst the crowded streets of London.

Mr Gardiner kissed his wife’s hand. “Perhaps it is time we thought of removing from this neighbourhood.”