Page 17 of The Happiness of a Most Beloved Sister (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“ A letter for you, Eliza.”
Elizabeth lowered her knife and fork as Charlotte proffered her an envelope from the stack her housekeeper had brought to the breakfast table.
Her friend had married Mr Collins not long after the new year had begun and established herself in Hunsford immediately thereafter.
Before she had departed, Charlotte had made a point of inviting Elizabeth for a prolonged stay as soon as she was properly settled.
It was not said directly, but Elizabeth understood Charlotte to be offering her a convenient respite from the acrimony she suffered at Longbourn, and she was grateful for it.
Jane had left for London with the Gardiners after Christmas as arranged, yet the air in her family home remained stilted and almost hostile towards Elizabeth.
Her mother set the tone for it by alternately berating and overlooking her, but her younger sisters had joined with Mrs Bennet’s campaign to make Elizabeth feel every morsel of regret for her transgression against Jane.
Mary satisfied herself with merely sermonising at her—though none of her extracts seemed to be much to the point of the complaint—while Kitty and Lydia sneered and tittered behind her back.
Her only sanctuary within the house was her father’s book-room, as Mr Bennet cared nothing for her misstep, declaring, “If that was all it took to put him off, I daresay Lizzy did Jane a favour. Such a missish young man is not ready to take a wife. Mrs Bennet is always beset by something or other, and a husband must possess a strong constitution to put up with so much silliness.” This defence did little to soothe her guilty conscience, but at least he offered her a reprieve from the rest of the household.
Although Elizabeth had not thought she would be grateful to reside with Mr Collins again so soon, she had climbed into the Lucases’ carriage with deep relief.
Sir William had remained at the parsonage for a se’nnight before returning to Hertfordshire, leaving Elizabeth and his daughter Maria to enjoy a six week stay in Kent.
The younger lady, accustomed to rising late, had not yet appeared at the breakfast table.
Accepting the folded missive with her heart fluttering in nervous anticipation, her eyes immediately sought the sender’s direction. Upon recognising the familiar hand, her pulse slowed to a disappointed throbbing. “It is from my aunt Gardiner.”
Charlotte, glancing up from her own correspondence, replied, “Oh? What news from London?”
Elizabeth peeled back the wax seal and unfolded the letter, skimming the contents with an impatient sweep of her eyes.
Upon ascertaining the gist of her aunt’s report, she lowered it into her lap to address her friend’s curiosity.
“She writes that Jane is well but that they have not seen Miss Bingley again since she called at Gracechurch Street in January. I am convinced that accident only could lead Mr Bingley to discovering Jane’s being in town, for his sister will certainly not be forthcoming with that information.
” She huffed so heavily in frustration that the breath ruffled the hair framing her face.
“How does she fare?”
“My aunt reassures me that Jane is not ill—thank goodness—but remains out of spirits. She has been irritable and morose, though I suppose that is natural given the circumstances.”
Charlotte clicked her tongue and shook her head in commiseration as she refilled her teacup. “A great pity, but then Jane has only herself to blame.”
This had been a point of contention between them since Elizabeth’s arrival, so she was unsurprised to hear it again, but still her jaw clenched as her ire rose. “As you know, I cannot agree with you there. Jane is not at fault for what has befallen her, I?—”
“Yes, Eliza, you have made yourself very clear,” Charlotte interrupted, eyes flicking upwards in exasperation.
“I still say that, while you ought not to have spoken so to Mr Bingley, he would not have taken your communication so seriously if Jane had not played her role of weakened damsel so convincingly—if, in fact, that was why he left. If she is not careful, she will end up the same as Miss de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at the thought. Miss de Bourgh was a captious, sickly thing with no prospects aside from whatever her mother arranged for her— poor Mr Darcy —whereas Jane was a serene country beauty . “I see no resemblance between them.”
“Then I suppose you also see no parallel between your own situation and Mrs Jenkinson’s?” Charlotte queried with a lift of her brow.
“Mrs Jenkinson?” Elizabeth parroted with a squawk of laughter. “If I should ever suffer the fate of that poor woman, I beg you to put me out of my misery.”
“Ah, so I was right! You are wilfully blind to the way Jane treats you like her paid companion. In that case, I shall have to consider the most humane way to dispatch you.” Charlotte tapped her chin with her forefinger, making a great show of pretending to deliberate.
“Which do you prefer? Poison or smothering?”
Elizabeth, torn between vexation and amusement, chuckled and shook her head simultaneously. “Now you are just being ridiculous.”
“And you are being obtuse,” Charlotte riposted. “Jane and Miss de Bourgh are as alike as a pair of bookends in how they manage their caregivers. The only difference seems to be that Mrs Jenkinson receives remuneration for her efforts, whereas you earn not a single shilling.”
“And therein lies the distinction— I care for Jane out of sisterly love and duty, not a living wage. It is not at all the same thing. If there is any great likeness between Jane and Miss de Bourgh, I still do not see it.”
Charlotte made a noise that sounded to Elizabeth like one of impatience. “You must have at least noticed their similar penchant for malingering—one your mother also shares, I might add.”
Once again, Elizabeth was haunted by the opinion of Mr Jones, spoken to her months ago as they lingered outside Jane’s sick chamber.
Yet, her belief in her sister’s honesty could not be so easily shaken; duplicity was not in Jane’s nature.
If it were, surely Elizabeth would have seen something of it in all the years she had spent nursing her sister herself .
Even if she did pretend fatigue in order to avoid Mr Collins.
Elizabeth shook away that thought. Anyone would want to escape Mr Collins if they could.
To Charlotte, she said, “Mama might have a tendency to exaggerate, but not Jane. If anything, Jane is more likely to suppress her complaints than bolster them.”
Sighing, Charlotte took up her knife and fork and began once more attending to her plate.
“I know you are inclined to take all the responsibility upon yourself, but that is entirely unfair. Your mother and Jane ought to look to their own behaviour as well.” If Charlotte’s opinion also echoed that of her aunt, Elizabeth chose to disregard it. She knew where the fault truly lay.
Elizabeth could not defend her mother’s actions, for she had been mortified by them often enough, but Jane deserved no such censure.
“Jane is innocent in all this. ’Twas I who gave Mr Bingley a false impression of her general health, I who meddled where I was not wanted.
She might be married by now had I simply held my tongue. ”
“I am afraid we shall have to agree to disagree on this point since you are so determined to believe Jane all that is perfect and yourself all that is despicable. I shall say one more thing and have done. None of us can know for certain why Mr Bingley left. It is entirely possible that he had other reasons for departing as he did.”
“If you mean his sisters persuaded him away, you could be right, but such still does not absolve me from speaking out of turn. I very likely confirmed whatever calumny they spoke against her—or at least added to it.”
“I suppose your willingness to share blame with Mr Bingley’s sisters is an improvement, but you are still too severe upon yourself. It is not your fault that your sister’s beau proved feckless.”
“I thank you for your support, my friend, but it has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it. Who should suffer but myself?”
Charlotte shook her head and desisted at last.
Elizabeth dabbed at her lips with her serviette before standing from the table. “I believe I shall take my walk now. Some fresh air and exercise will do me good.”
“Just be sure to return before three o’clock. We are expected at Rosings for dinner at six, and you will need to take adequate time with your toilette. Mr Collins insists that we make ourselves presentable for her ladyship and her guests.”
Elizabeth lowered her head to hide the roll of her eyes at this oblique reference to Mr Collins’s exacting standards for attending any event, no matter how insignificant, at Rosings Park.
He had taken to approving her gowns after one particular evening when Lady Catherine had seemed to cast a gimlet eye upon her sprigged muslin.
Sunday morn, before services, Mr Collins had sent Maria back to her room to re-pin her hair after expressing some unaccountable objection to it.
Elizabeth had followed her up, and after merely pretending to alter the style, her cousin declared his sister’s appearance satisfactory, and they were allowed to be on their way.
In Elizabeth’s opinion, Maria had looked far more put together before being reduced to fretful tears.
The expected arrival of Mr Darcy—her cheeks warmed at the thought of that gentleman, though she did not like to think why—and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam made him more severe upon them still.
Upon receiving an invitation to dine with these esteemed personages from Lady Catherine, Mr Collins had demanded that they all be turned out and ready to go at least an hour prior to the time they were meant to leave so that he could suggest alterations to their appearances.
What her cousin thought he knew about the finer points of a lady’s dress, she could not say, but he would not be gainsaid on this point, foolish as it was.
“I shall return in a timely fashion, I promise.”