Page 24 of Mrs Darcy’s Dilemma

Henry went to London on Monday, observing that he had often heard Cousin Collins say that Saturday is the working day, and Monday the holiday of preachers, but it was not necessary for him to arrange for a substitute to replace him on the Sunday at Manygrove Church, for he was back again no later than Friday, accompanied by his cousin Jeremy but without Bettina Wickham.

Both sets of parents, the Darcys and the Bingleys, no less than the rest of the party, waited eagerly to hear the prodigal’s story, and happy was it for Henry’s sense of propriety that he did not have to speak, such was his disgust of the subject and so delighted was his cousin to have an interested audience.

Jeremy Bingley was at this time only one and twenty, a fair-haired, altogether well-looking young man, of a taller and more graceful figure than his cousin, much improved by a fine suit he had purchased in town and a French cravat which was the envy of Mr. Babcock.

“I say, you really are quite all the mode, Jeremy,” he exclaimed with animation and envy, quite lifted out of his usual languor.

“You are proof of exactly what every young gentleman needs, in addition of course to a tour on the Continent—a season or two of fashionable life in London. Only look at the difference the bon ton has made upon young Mr. Bingley! Your trowsers, sir—who was your tailor? There is not a seam to be seen; all is so smoothly fitted, it is perfection.”

“Mr. Perley of Bond Street,” said Jeremy, seeming off-handed but really very pleased. “It is the very latest thing—brown breeches—and my cravat, I am glad you like my cravat.”

“For God’s sake, Jeremy,” said his father angrily, “what is all this talk of your clothes? Who cares about them at such a time? You will have every one thinking you are a puppy. You did not used to mind what you wore in this way. I hope London has not ruined you utterly and made you too nice. But perhaps the less said about it the better, considering how you have been living.”

“Please, Jeremy,” said his mother earnestly, “you must tell us about poor Bettina. Why did you not bring her? Surely she would wish to quit such a dreadful life?”

“Oh, I never would have come home had I thought there would be such a rout about it,” said Jeremy pettishly.

“Her life isn’t dreadful at all, if you want to know.

You are all so absolutely buried in the country here that you cannot conceive that Bettina Wickham is a very queen of the fashionable world.

Her beauty, her spirits—an endless number of most eligible people, great swells too, were jealous of me, I would have you know. ”

“Nephew, you talk like a fool,” said Mr. Darcy heavily. “I hardly thought that anything could hurt Mrs. Darcy and myself more, after what has happened to poor Fitzwilliam, but your absurd and wicked talk has done the business. To the loss of him must be added my loss of esteem for you.”

“Well, I hardly know why,” faltered Jeremy, slightly shamefaced. “Of course I am sorry about Fitzwilliam, Uncle, and I hope he is likely to improve; but begging your pardon, I have done no more than any man of fashion would—than Fitzwilliam did himself for that matter. Bettina is quite the rage.”

“Then she is lost,” said Mrs. Bingley sadly, “my poor sister’s child.”

“No, no, Mama; indeed, she is not. It only shows how country folks know nothing about the world.”

“We know something about morality, at any rate,” said Henry sturdily, “and a woman who behaves so, though she is my cousin, is an unfortunate who will never be admitted to polite society again. We all know that: how can you dare deny it?”

“Well, but I do. Why, the beautiful creature is far more welcome in the highest circles than you are yourself, Cousin, and there is no excuse for your not knowing that, for you have actually seen her. How improved she is by her exposure to great people! Her air, her walk—why, Lord Astley and Tom Spencer himself are wild after her—and as for ladies, the most aristocratic of them won’t turn their backs on Betty, for where she is, is where everything gay is going on, and she is welcome into salons that would make you raise your eyebrows if I told you the names of the hostesses. ”

“Can it truly be so?” asked Mrs. Bingley, wonderingly. “Heaven forbid this should be the reward of such vice!”

“Vice such as hers is seldom given that name in the fashionable world; Jeremy is right enough about that,” said Henry, “and Bettina does look very well—blooming, indeed. Perhaps she will enjoy her present éclat, but what can you say, Jeremy, about her future and, what is more, her immortal soul?”

“Think about your own immortal soul,” suggested Jeremy, “since you are a clergyman. She can mind her own, you may be very sure. Bettina intends to make her name upon the stage, you must know, and with her talent and beauty and all that, her future will assuredly be a brilliant one.”

The thought of their niece’s becoming an actress filled all the family elders with consternation, and all sensible discourse ceased, with the Babcocks leading the speculation as to what theatres the lady would play at and making delighted predictions of her certain downfall.

Henry said no more, but he sought a private audience with his mother in the course of the next morning, as he felt that she was the person to whom he could most comfortably unburden his mind on this subject.

The other ladies had gone to make some purchases in the village, and Mrs. Darcy was glad to plead nursing duties connected with Fitzwilliam to stay behind, though in truth, with his many attendants, he scarcely required her actual care.

To be alone with her second son, however, was a pleasure and a relief to her, so like-minded and congenial a pair as they always were, and she listened to Henry’s revelations with a lively interest.

His visit to London was his theme, and he opened it by saying to Elizabeth, “I have not told you all. I did not think it fit to be a subject of general conversation. It could only be painful to my Uncle and Aunt Bingley, and there are others here who would be only too ready to spread such stories abroad.”

Elizabeth indicated that she understood him and begged only that she might not be required to keep any confidence back from his father.

“Not at all,” said Henry, “I should wish him to know. And then he can tell as much of the story to Mr. Bingley as he deems right—I would rather not have to decide.”

Elizabeth admired her son’s delicacy and circumspection and urged him to proceed. He did not hesitate.

“When I arrived in town, I soon found Jeremy and Bettina in lodgings, the same as Fitzwilliam took, I believe: a handsome apartment in Half Moon Street. They were certainly very comfortable, and as I have said, Bettina looked well. I have never seen her so handsome, nor so well-dressed—though I believe that the elegant wardrobe she now possesses was presented by Jeremy, not my brother.”

“I am sure of it,” said Elizabeth dryly. “Fitzwilliam probably bought her a horse.”

“He did. How did you know?—A fine mare, a sweet mannered grey creature, that she rides every afternoon side-saddle in the Park in a most handsome grey habit, surrounded by gallants. It is said that the Duchess of Kent herself nods at her.”

“That cannot be, surely. I understood that Princess Victoria’s mama was a model of rectitude,” said Mrs. Darcy, vastly entertained in spite of herself.

“Perhaps she does not know who Bettina is. That is the likeliest explanation. Well, the first time I visited the establishment, I saw the couple together, and I thought their boldness hardly to be exceeded. They greeted me with excessive delight, as if their cousin were paying a wedding call upon a contented young pair. I was disconcerted the more when I saw that they showed no symptoms of anxiety about my poor brother; indeed, they had not even curtailed their engagements on that account. They made but one token inquiry about his condition—trusted he did not suffer, and that when he went, they hoped I would not grieve unduly, but be pleased with my new inheritance, a way of talking that was quickly dropped, as you may imagine it received no encouragement on my side. I was convinced that they had no proper feeling at all. They invited me to dinner, but I was embarrassed and declined, pleading a prior engagement with my Uncle Gardiner, but I did arrange to walk out with Jeremy.”

“And did you?”

“Yes, if you can call it walking, when it was a mere sauntering from tailor to glove maker to the shop where a blasted walking-stick was being fashioned for him of Madagascar wood. Excuse my language, Mother. But at length I got him to listen and tried to bring him to a sense of his disgraceful station. He has always admired Fitzwilliam, you know, and thought what was good enough for him would do very well for Jeremy: he had a singular sense of pride at stealing away Fitzwilliam’s prize, as he thought, and thus feeling himself the better man. ”

“That is extraordinary,” said Mrs. Darcy thoughtfully. “How could he feel that, when Fitzwilliam’s refusal to marry her brought about their breach—did it not?”

“Yes. Her temper evidently is passionate, and Fitzwilliam could not long bear it. She wanted him to marry her, but she dallied with other young ‘bloods’ as Jeremy calls them—it was only ‘the mode,’—what all the world does. I can hardly blame Fitzwilliam; his indignation was very just.”

“Well, go on. Do not be afraid of offending me, Henry. I want to hear everything. Even if I may later devote myself to trying to forget it, I would rather know.”

“My dear Mother, I hardly know what particulars are fit for me to relate; yet what you wish cannot be wrong—if only it does not distress you.”