Page 16 of Mr Darcy Gets Angry
“Are you… eager to go to Matlock House?” Mary asked hesitantly, in a low voice.
Elizabeth, with composed tone, replied, “Do not whisper, Mary Bennet.” Then, taking her sister’s hand, she said, “Eagerness, yes, disquiet, no.”
Mary coloured, for her sister had with exactness expressed the true import of her question—an inward trepidation stirred by the unexpected invitation, which might be read as fear or as diffidence.
“We do not occupy a particular place in London society, merely because our family does not have the requisite income; yet we have enjoyed the best education possible. Do not lose sight of that for an instant.”
“But those ladies attend private academies—”
“Perhaps, yet such schooling serves chiefly to prepare them to become accomplished wives, not truly educated women. Papa urged us to observe the world around us and to reflect upon what we saw. The books we have read, the discussions we had with Papa, not only acquainted us with the world, but also formed our minds. We can engage in interesting discourse and answer any subject with propriety and understanding. We may not possess the same jewels as the high-born ladies of London, but if a gentleman should speak of Robinson Crusoe , we shall not stare at him in silence.”
“That may be true of you, perhaps—but not of me.”
“You are greatly mistaken. Only let those about you perceive that you are interested or passionate about the subject. Do not give quotations from books, but set forth your own opinion. If you persist in this new manner, you will discover that change will come, and your assurance will increase. At the same time, appreciation will arise with all people, any people.”
Lady Matlock received them with such cordiality that Elizabeth suspected it arose from that anxiety which any mother must feel when her son is in peril, from the pressing need to act in his interest, and to strive to remove the dangers encompassing him.
She was certain that her own mother would have felt the same, and it was for this very reason that she stood ready to forgive her anything and to defend her before all the world.
“Miss Elizabeth,” her ladyship said, scarcely had they seated themselves in the drawing-room, “I must know what your father and uncles have said about this… troubling occurrence. What is their judgement respecting Miss Henry’s designs upon Richard?”
“They have done little beyond conjecture. None is certain, and my father and uncles yet await further particulars before determining their opinion.”
“I know. But, please understand my position…my fears, every mother dreams that her son may be sought for his own sake. I hoped such was the case with Miss Henry, for though Richard does not possess a large fortune, he is an accomplished, tender, and excellent-mannered gentleman who holds an important position here in London. Yet it is now plain she desired him for another purpose. I would greatly appreciate your opinion. You spoke of France and of war, but I beg for more particular detail.”
Elizabeth hesitated to reveal the conversations held at Longbourn, yet the trouble upon Lady Matlock’s countenance moved her to speak; she feared they might not be entirely just, yet acknowledged her ladyship’s right to know even conjecture.
“In the present circumstances of war with France—and Mr Henry being a Frenchman—he might try to obtain intelligence directly from the War Office, where the colonel is employed.”
A deep sigh escaped the countess. She was so moved that Elizabeth, with sudden impulse, seated herself beside her upon the settee and took her hand. “My lady, I am begging you not to take these notions as certain truth. Gentlemen are apt to perceive a plot, even when there is no stir in the wood.”
“Elizabeth speaks justly, my lady,” Mary added with unwonted boldness. “It is merely proof that they enjoy imagining incredible adventures and dangerous plots.”
Lady Matlock smiled faintly. “No, my dears, even if the reality be less dramatic, it is almost certain that Miss Henry has some other object in wishing to marry Richard. Will you accompany me to call upon a friend?”
Elizabeth congratulated herself that she no longer blushed as once she had, when her thoughts strayed to Mr Darcy.
It was precisely what she secretly desired: to be seen in Lady Matlock’s company.
Such vanities had once provoked her disdain; yet now the matter stood otherwise.
That society was of consequence to Mr Darcy, and she had resolved that it must be of consequence to her likewise.
“Life, my dear, is composed of compromises,” her father had said to her not long since, in a tone of some insistence.
She had been unwilling at the time to admit the justice of his remark, but of late she had begun to perceive its truth.
She had always lived according to her own inclinations and opinions; yet, recalling the events at Kent, she now saw that to persist in pride or prejudice was unwise, lest she condemn herself to solitude.
Besides, she found she liked Lady Matlock and could take pleasure in accompanying her in the world of London.
“Most certainly we shall, Lady Matlock. We are ready to assist you in whatever way you may want.”
In the carriage, the countess explained her object. “At the close of April, we attended a ball. Richard was accompanied by Miss Henry—it was the second occasion when she came with us to such an assembly. It was just after Richard and Mr Darcy returned from Rosings.”
This time, Elizabeth felt the colour rise beneath Lady Matlock’s observant gaze. “You likewise were there, as Richard informed me. He was in such spirits after that journey that I imagined he might have a particular interest elsewhere.”
Her glance was fixed upon Elizabeth in a manner that suggested she suspected her secret, yet she was far from the truth. The countess merely hoped the colonel might not be wholly engrossed by Miss Henry, and that his heart might remain open to another young lady, perhaps one he had met in Kent.
Lost in thought, Lady Matlock was silent for a time, then said, “Pray excuse me. I have been so taken up with this affair that I have neglected my duties as hostess. We are bound for Lady Westshire’s house.
The ball I mentioned was given for her daughter’s presentation at court.
During that evening, I had leisure to observe Miss Henry—her manner with both gentlemen and ladies.
I should never have spoken of my misgivings, had not these recent events compelled me to re-examine my feelings.
My judgement bade me approve her, whilst my heart hesitated.
“There are young ladies in London—of very high families—whom no mother would willingly take for a daughter-in-law. There are no public tales against their honour or their conduct; yet, in watching them, one may perceive how they laugh too freely with certain gentlemen, or draw a little too near in changing partners, or contrive to seat themselves beside a particular gentleman at dinner.”
Like Lydia or Kitty , thought Elizabeth, and she understood at once her own disquiet respecting her younger sisters. They might be innocent—as she believed they were—yet their manner was not. To some degree, a lady lost her innocence when the pursuit of a husband became a visible crusade.
“The lady my son loved was of that description. At the ball, I saw her on his arm, but even while beside him, she could not refrain from seeking other men with her eyes. She conversed for a long time with Lady Patricia, Lord Stafford’s daughter, and I knew in that moment that I did not want either for my son’s wife. ”
She said no more, but Elizabeth and Mary could not help wondering why Lady Patricia was objectionable to the mothers of London.
Lady Westshire welcomed them with the most gracious smile.
For a few minutes, there was only small talk, mainly about Pemberley and Mr Darcy.
That lady appeared nothing but pleased and admiring towards Elizabeth and Mary.
To be in Lady Matlock’s company was the best introduction imaginable, and to have visited Pemberley in such society confirmed every favourable impression.
So simple, after all, all it takes is to be on the right side of the wall , Elizabeth thought. It requires only the proper connections.
Amidst the trifling discourse, Lady Matlock said suddenly, “I believe you are aware how some of our friends have passed the summer.”
Lady Westshire’s smile was perfectly composed. “Yes, most were in the country—except Lady Stafford, who had a guest for two months.”
“Had?” repeated Lady Matlock, and her friend merely inclined her head.
It was the very purpose of their call, and though it meant little to Elizabeth, she observed Lady Matlock flush, with a spark of anger in her eyes.
No other word was said on that subject. The conversations continued on unimportant events and ten minutes later they left.
∞∞∞
“Miss Henry has been staying this summer with the Staffords,” Lady Matlock said, as they drove away.
To Elizabeth, it seemed like a game in which she did not yet know the rules; Lady Matlock asked no questions, yet the answer came in a phrase that both she and Lady Westshire perfectly understood.
Elizabeth was reminded of her mother’s interminable conferences with Aunt Phillips, in which every trifling fact was cut into smaller pieces, and then recomposed a hundred times.
Was this the form which gossip assumed in the ton , or was it peculiar to specific topics?
She had many questions, yet her acquaintance with Lady Matlock was not so intimate as to permit her to ask them.
Nevertheless, the visit had been of singular interest. Yet her continuous surprise was Mary, who gave the appropriate answers, knew when to smile, and generally made an excellent impression.
Upon their return, Mary requested leave to go to the library, which Lady Matlock granted with marked satisfaction.
“You see, that is the conduct I should wish in my son’s future wife,” she remarked.
As Elizabeth looked uncertain, the countess explained while pouring the tea.
“Ladies such as yourself and Miss Mary—she asked to go to the library to read, not to display herself as a woman of learning. It is merely the showing of one’s true nature, and not acting a part in some villainous play.
I desire that his future wife should be, before all else, interested in my son, and only thereafter regard such matters as family, society, or fortune. ”
With Lady Matlock presently distracted by the cook, who required direction for the dinner, Elizabeth permitted her thoughts to wander.
I am interested, my lady—most sincerely interested—in your nephew , she said within herself; she perfectly understood the spirit of Lady Matlock’s words.
She desired to love Mr Darcy, and to marry him for no cause but love.
“So, Miss Henry has been with Lady Stafford,” the countess concluded, as if disclosing the last piece of a puzzle.
“Do you think she is still in London?” Elizabeth asked.
“I cannot say. If her parents truly reside in the North, she may yet be in London; but we shall wait for Darcy to arrive, and he will assist me in deciding our next step.”
“And of course I shall rely upon you both also,” the countess said, with warmth and confidence.
Feeling finally at ease in her Ladyship’s presence, Elizabeth ventured to enquire, “Have you learnt all that you wished to know from your conversation with Lady Westshire?”
To her surprise, she laughed, plainly amused. “Clever girl!”
She was silent for a moment, and Elizabeth feared she had presumed too far.
Yet, she was mistaken, for the smile did not leave the countess’s face as she continued, “There are subjects which must be approached with delicacy. I know for certain that neither Lady Westshire nor several other ladies within my circle hold any liking for Miss Henry, but, like myself, they were prepared to respect Richard’s choice and to receive her.
Therefore, we cannot utter anything disagreeable that might remain fixed upon her as a permanent blemish.
Yet, as a mother, I have the right to be informed, and my friends are ready to help me with discretion. ”
Elizabeth smiled in return and said with admiration, “A memorable exchange of words and a commendable disposition.”
“Thank you,” replied the countess, gratified, and somewhat more at ease in the knowledge that she was surrounded by persons who cared for Richard, and who were ready to aid her in saving him, should there be necessity.