Pride and Prejudice (Clandestine Classics) (13 page)

“We were born in the same parish, within the same park. The greatest part of our youth was passed together, inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care.
My
father began life in the profession which your uncle, Mr Phillips, appears to do so much credit to—but he gave up everything to be of use to the late Mr Darcy and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend. Mr Darcy often acknowledged himself to be under the greatest obligations to my father’s active superintendence, and when, immediately before my father’s death, Mr Darcy gave him a voluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it to be as much a debt of gratitude to
him
, as of his affection to myself.”

“How strange!” cried Elizabeth. “How abominable! I wonder that the very pride of this Mr Darcy has not made him just to you! If from no better motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest—for dishonesty I must call it.”

“It
is
wonderful,” replied Wickham, “for almost all his actions may be traced to pride, and pride had often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than with any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behaviour to me there were stronger impulses even than pride.”

“Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?”

“Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the poor. Family pride, and
filial
pride—for he is very proud of what his father was—have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also
brotherly
pride, which, with
some
brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister, and you will hear him generally cried up as the most attentive and best of brothers.”

Elizabeth remembered Mr Darcy’s conversation with Miss Bingley when the former had been writing a letter to his sister. He did appear to hold her in high regard. How could such a loving, considerate brother treat a favourite of his father in such an atrocious manner? Miss Bennet could understand it not.

“What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?” she enquired, curious about the lady she had yet to meet, but had heard much about from Mr Darcy himself and Miss Bingley.

He shook his head. “I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother—very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me, and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father’s death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her, and superintends her education.”

After many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Elizabeth could not help reverting once more to the first, and saying, “I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr Bingley. How can Mr Bingley, who seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr Bingley?”

“Not at all.”

“He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr Darcy is.”

“Probably not, but Mr Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him, but with the rich he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable—allowing something for fortune and figure.”

The whist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players gathered round the other table and Mr Collins took his station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs Phillips. The usual enquiries as to his success was made by the latter. It had not been very great, he had lost every point, but when Mrs Phillips began to express her concern thereupon, he assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance, that he considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged that she would not make herself uneasy.

“I know very well, madam,” said he, “that when persons sit down to a card-table, they must take their chances of these things, and happily I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There are undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters.”

Mr Wickham’s attention was caught, and after observing Mr Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation was very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” she replied, “has very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long.”

“You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters, consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr Darcy.”

“No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine’s connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday.”

“Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates.”

This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss Bingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and useless her affection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were already self-destined for another. Elizabeth remembered the way Mr Darcy had looked upon her on several occasions and the way he had kissed her without restraint. To think he was already affianced! He should be utterly ashamed of his behaviour.

“Mr Collins,” said she, “speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter, but from some particulars that he has related of her ladyship, I suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman.”

“I believe her to be both in a great degree,” replied Wickham. “I have not seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked her, and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably sensible and clever, but I rather believe she derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner, and the rest from the pride for her nephew, who chooses that everyone connected with him should have an understanding of the first class.”

Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, and they continued talking together, with mutual satisfaction till supper put an end to cards, and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr Wickham’s attentions. There could be no conversation in the noise of Mrs Phillips’s supper party, but his manners recommended him to everybody. Whatever he said, was said well, and whatever he did, done gracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could think of nothing but of Mr Wickham, and of what he had told her, all the way home, but there was not time for her even to mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr Collins were once silent. So Elizabeth kept her favourable opinions of Mr Wickham to herself while Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and the fish she had won. Mr Collins, in describing the civility of Mr and Mrs Phillips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his losses at whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing that he crowded his cousins, had more to say than he could well manage before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.

Chapter Seventeen

Elizabeth related to Jane the next day what had passed between Mr Wickham and herself. Jane listened with astonishment and concern. She knew not how to believe that Mr Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr Bingley’s regard, and yet, it was not in her nature to question the veracity of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham. The possibility of his having endured such unkindness, was enough to interest all her tender feelings. Nothing remained therefore to be done, but to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each, and throw into the account of accident or mistake whatever could not be otherwise explained.

“They have both,” said she, “been deceived, I dare say, in some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them, without actual blame on either side.”

“Very true, indeed, and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say on behalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the business? Do clear
them
too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody.”

“Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light it places Mr Darcy, to be treating his father’s favourite in such a manner, one whom his father had promised to provide for. It is impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived in him? Oh, no.”

“I can much more easily believe Mr Bingley’s being imposed on, than that Mr Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me last night. Names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremony. If it be not so, let Mr Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his looks.” Though Elizabeth would never have admitted it to her sister, she wished to an extent that Mr Darcy would indeed refute the allegations against him, for she did not want to believe him to be so callous. But if he were to deny the charges and deem them unfounded, who then should be believed? By his own admission Mr Darcy was over-critical and unforgiving, his manner disagreeable. But Mr Wickham had been the perfect gentleman throughout dinner, pleasant, charming and warm. He had a lively spirit and a good word to say about everyone. It was a conundrum.

“It is difficult indeed—it is distressing,” said Jane. “One does not know what to think.”

“I beg your pardon. One knows exactly what to think.”

But Jane could think with certainty on only one point—that Mr Bingley, if he
had
been imposed on, would have much to suffer when the affair became public.

The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery, where this conversation passed, by the arrival of the very persons of whom they had been speaking. Mr Bingley and his sisters came to give their personal invitation for the long-expected ball at Netherfield, which was fixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see their dear friend again, called it an age since they had met, and repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since their separation. To the rest of the family they paid little attention, avoiding Mrs Bennet as much as possible, saying not much to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others. They were soon gone again, rising from their seats with an activity which took their brother by surprise, and hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs Bennet’s civilities.

Elizabeth hid her disappointment at Mr Darcy’s lack of appearance at the side of his friends, chastising herself for caring so, and wondering what he had been doing as an alternative. Though inevitably she assured herself it was simply because she wanted to hear his estimation of Mr Wickham’s claims. She was most certainly not thinking about the way his muscles had clenched on the back of his horse, or how his eyes darkened with desire every time he had looked at her, a promise of the thrilling things he would like to do to her.

The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every female of the family. Mrs Bennet chose to consider it as given in compliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered by receiving the invitation from Mr Bingley himself, instead of a ceremonious card. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and the attentions of their brother, and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of everything in Mr Darcy’s look and behaviour. The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia depended less on any single event, or any particular person, for though they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a ball was, at any rate, a ball. And even Mary could assure her family that she had no disinclination for it.

“While I can have my mornings to myself,” said she, “it is enough—I think it is no sacrifice to join occasionally in evening engagements. Society has claims on us all, and I profess myself one of those who consider intervals of recreation and amusement as desirable for everybody.”

Elizabeth’s spirits were so high on this occasion, that though she did not often speak unnecessarily to Mr Collins, she could not help asking him whether he intended to accept Mr Bingley’s invitation, and if he did, whether he would think it proper to join in the evening’s amusement. She was rather surprised to find that he entertained no scruple whatever on that head, and was very far from dreading a rebuke either from the Archbishop, or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by venturing to dance.

“I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you,” said he, “that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency. I am so far from objecting to dancing myself, that I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening, and I take this opportunity of soliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances especially, a preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right cause, and not to any disrespect for her.”

Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully proposed being engaged by Mr Wickham for those very dances, and to have Mr Collins instead! Her liveliness had never been worse timed. There was no help for it, however. Mr Wickham’s happiness and her own were perforce delayed a little longer, and Mr Collins’s proposal accepted with as good a grace as she could. She was not the better pleased with his gallantry from the idea it suggested of something more. It now first struck her, that
she
was selected from among her sisters as worthy of being mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a quadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible visitors. The idea soon reached to conviction, as she observed his increasing civilities towards herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a compliment on her wit and vivacity, and though more astonished than gratified herself by this effect of her charms, it was not long before her mother gave her to understand that the probability of their marriage was extremely agreeable to
her
. Elizabeth, however, did not choose to take the hint, being well aware that a serious dispute must be the consequence of any reply. Mr Collins might never make the offer, and till he did, it was useless to quarrel about him. Elizabeth forced herself not to think about how Mr Darcy would present himself at the ball. Would he ask her to dance, or would he behave as he had previously done at the assembly, dancing with no one but Mr Bingley’s sisters and avoiding all festivities and polite conversation with everyone else? Would he speak about Mr Wickham? Would he attempt to kiss Elizabeth again, and if he did, would she allow it?