Chapter 22

Longbourn

Mr. Collins finally left. Sunday was blessed. They all went to church. They had a fine meal afterwards, and then everybody went their separate ways.

Lydia finally told Kitty all she heard about from Mr. Bingley on a walk. She needed time to digest what she had heard. Her enthusiasm naturally waned. Her fifteen-year-old enthusiasm and love for the redcoat got a thorough beating. She was forced to acknowledge that she did not know about a lot of things. If she had pursued a man in the militia, in her blindness, she could have ended up in dire circumstances. When in town after the ball, she approached her aunt Phillips and confirmed her information. Her aunt was very pleased to hear about all that Mr. Bingley told her. She said she, along with her mother, should have been more forthcoming as they knew that redcoats would not be good candidates for a husband. She apologized.

'Are you saying that we would have to work?'

'Aye. They just do not have the money to support us. Most have nothing to their names.'

'What a pity. They look so well in their uniforms.' Kitty said with a dreamy face.

'Well, that is only until the war is over. After that, they all go home.'

Kitty could not be beaten out of her cheerful look on life.

'At least they are good dance partners.' They both giggled. Lydia, on the other hand, for the first time in her life, showed some sense. 'Kitty, we cannot run around like chicks after the officer. Handsome they may be, they do not deserve our attention. We have to focus on catching a worthy husband.'

Mary contemplated her life. She was the stubborn kind, but she had to admit that she was not happy. Everybody around her seemed to enjoy some things, yet there she was forcing herself to study things she did not really understand sometimes and neither enjoyed. Her music did not bring her much pleasure either. She did have ears; she heard other people's playing. Hers was rather meagre in comparison. She was lonely, she realized. She had a big family and she felt lonely. She felt helpless.

She took a deep breath and knocked on her father's door.

'Mary, what can I do for you?' Her father put down his book. She demurely went closer and sat at the edge of Elizabeth's chair.

'Father, I-I thought maybe you could suggest a book… for me to read, and we could… we could then discuss it… Like you do with Lizzy.' Her father looked at his middle daughter. This must have cost her, coming to me. Oh, am I so unapproachable that my daughters would tremble if they wanted something? What an ogre I have become.

'Anything? You would read other things than your sermons?'

'Yes, Father.' She allowed a small smile to appear on her face.

'Well, that is great news. In that case, you are in the right place. I have just reread this book. Where is it? Let me see. Here it is. It is called the Personal Narrative of a Journey to the Equinoctial Regions of the New Continent1. It is by Alexander von Humboldt, but do not worry, it is translated. It feels like you are on the New Continent yourself when you read it. Would you like to give it a try?'

'Yes, Father.' Mr. Bennet gestured to the chair at the fireplace.

'Why do you not join me? Lizzy would not mind if you took her seat for a while.' His father winked. She smiled gratefully and made herself comfortable in her new favourite place.

Elizabeth sat in the back parlour with her mother at the round table and worked on a list of things to acquire for the Christmas baskets for the tenants. They chatted about everything and anything. Her mother kept her busy. She was grateful for it.

Jane for the third time tried to find the best way to use her satin length for a gown. Her mind, unfortunately, was partially elsewhere, somewhere in London. She sat down with a huff. She hoped it was not wishful thinking that she trusted Mr. Bingley to stand up to his sister. When she put herself the question of whether she would like him to come back and if yes, whether it was only because there was no one else around, she admitted to herself that although she was quite judgemental toward him at the beginning, she had warmed to his exuberant nature. The way he talked to her before the ball… well, she really liked that Mr. Bingley. She was afraid he was attracted to her because of her looks only, but his confession about liking her person was very new to her. Everybody admired her, but not many thought to see her as a person. Mr. Bingley liked talking to her…

The town became its old self again. For a while, the ball at Netherfield created some havoc. People needed things then and there. Many trips were made and many people discussed their expectations and that they could not find this or that item anywhere. Then afterwards, the people needed some time to gossip and discuss all the significant and insignificant details. All the gowns and headpieces were talked about and in some cases torn to pieces by the critics. Who danced with whom and how many times were major considerations. Especially, the fact that Mr. Bennet danced with his wife was talked about hushed and then the fact that it was copied if a matron could convince her husband. All wondered at the reason. Now, about a week after, things had gone back to normal. Well, a new normal, as the streets of Meryton now hosted many new faces. The militia had settled, and its officers were often seen after camp practice. The town was very hospitable toward them, and they found many invitations going their way.

And so, Mrs. Phillips invited Captain Denny and his two fellows for tea as they were walking under her window just then. Mrs. Phillips liked company. Unfortunately, childless, she put all her energy into the people in Meryton and of course her Longbourn family. She thought of the men in the militia as young men being away from their families. She did like a good gossip as well, but that can be forgiven easily – one needed some entertainment during the slow proceeding days.

'And where are you from Mr. Wickham?' she finally asked her third guest.

'Derbyshire, madam. I grew up there, but I have been living in London for the last few years.'

'Derbyshire? We had just had a visitor from there. A Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.'

'Yes, I know. I saw him when I arrived in town. We know each other. We grew up together.'

'Pardon? You don't say. How did that happen?'

'My father was the steward on their estate. Mr. Darcy's father was my godfather.'

'Oh, what a small world! Did you have a chance to catch up? He had to leave last week.'

'We are not on speaking terms, madam.'

'Really? Well, that is sad.'

'Did you say he left the neighbourhood?'

'Yes, he left. He was only a guest at Netherfield.'

'I see…'

'It is quite something that as the steward's son you became the landlord's godson.'

'Indeed. The late Mr. Darcy was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had; and I can never be in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections. His behaviour towards myself has been scandalous…'

'Young man, what are you saying?!'

'The church ought to have been my profession – I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.'

'Mr. Wickham, let me understand you, you are saying that Mr. Darcy gave the living that was promised to you to somebody else? How was it promised to you?' Mr. Phillips woke up from his nap to hear Wickham's account.

'The late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift in his will.'

'If that is the case, why did you not seek legal redress?'

'There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it. He asserted that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence – in short anything or nothing.'

'Mr. Phillips, what does this mean?' Mrs. Phillips's voice trembled. Her husband patted her hand.

'It does not mean anything, my dear. If Mr. Darcy gave the living elsewhere, it means that he was in the right to do so. Possibly, the living was promised to Mr. Wickham conditionally.' He turned to the officer. 'What were these conditions, Mr. Wickham, that you did not fulfil? I have to remind you, that I am a solicitor. A will would never be written in such a manner that would leave questions behind.' Mr. Wickham's ears became red and he just gaped at Mr. Phillips. 'Well?'

'I am not sure… Denny, should not we be going? I think we have to be back in ten minutes.'

'Before you go, Mr. Wickham, I am sure you understand that we do not appreciate hearing slander about people we know and respect.'

'Hmm, I assure you, sir, that was never my intention.'

'Then we understand each other. Goodbye, Mr. Wickham.'

When Mrs. Phillips returned from seeing the guest out, she looked at her husband in question.

'Mr. Wickham has a grudge against Mr. Darcy. His father left him the living only conditionally and that was not fulfilled by Mr. Wickham. Therefore, he could not claim the inheritance… I do not think for a minute that he studied to be a parson. He is good-looking, and he probably makes love with people wherever he goes. What did he do until now, I would like to know. If he is the same age as Mr. Darcy, he must be seven or eight and twenty. What did he do for the last few years? He only just enlisted in the militia. That is no career. In the meanwhile, Mr. Darcy has been managing his estate… Mr. Wickham tried to get your sympathy. Well done for not falling for him.' Mrs. Phillips was touched by his praise. Then she became very indignant. How dare this man come into her home and try to slander dear Mr. Darcy! I will not have it.

'What would I do without you, Mr. Phillips!' Oh, she had a lot to share with her sister.

Some lines are verbatim from Pride and Prejudice

1 One of the greatest nineteenth-century scientist-explorers, traversed the tropical Spanish Americas between 1799 and 1804. By the time of his death in 1859, he had won international fame for his scientific discoveries, his observations of Native American peoples, and his detailed descriptions of the flora and fauna of the 'new continent'. The first to draw and speculate on Aztec art, to observe reverse polarity in magnetism, and to discover why America is called America, his writings profoundly influenced the course of Victorian culture. Published in 1807