Chapter Eleven: What Is Wished, and What Is

Oft have I vowed how dearly I did love thee,
And oft observed thee with all willing duty,
Sighs have I sent, still hoping to remove thee,
Millions of tears I tendered to thy beauty.

—J. Wilbye, "Oft have I vowed…"

Rosaline gazed out the windowpane at the grey landscape that was London; its dull and colorless lanes merging with the sky which was laden with thick, dark clouds. An unenthusiastic rain tapped on the glass, sliding in slender streams down the surface, and collecting in a tiny pool on the ledge beneath. Reflected in this streaked window were Rosaline's features, her complexion mimicking the bleak colors of her surroundings; and her soft pale lip, which trembled slightly, provided the only contrast to the melancholy scene before her. Little enjoyment could she derive being in such a place, when she longed for the seclusion of the country; stealing through the heath of the Yorkshire moors—or, as she thought with pain, rambling through the majestic peaks of Derbyshire. What a fate it was! There was certainly nothing deficient in her brother Peter's manners, as he had always been quite the gentleman; nor was there anything contemptible in his wife, if good-breeding and elegance is all that is required to make a person agreeable. Smart parties and handsome young men, with considerable fortunes or titles (and some with both), were not wanting; yet this was not what she wanted.

Little had she realized, when she had gone to the Continent, that so much could and had changed! Those whom she had counted on being as they always were, had changed; and, in her perception of their character, had betrayed that in a most unexplainable way. Yet she was always what she ever was; and so painful was it, to have weighing upon her the knowledge that she suited the friends of her past, but not those of the present!

She had piled next to her several large stacks of correspondence; and, hastily opening one which she had been previously poring over, reread its words; and though upon her first perusal of it, she had embellished it in order to please her, and saw that which she was familiar with, and wanted to see. But now, with her superior information, she saw how much she had corrupted its words, and discovered meanings where there were none; and the only thing that she saw was in her power to do, was mourn over her former judgment, and wish that she had taken a more active role in the lives of those whom she cared most about.

"Why must I always be silent, when I most wish to speak!" thought she privately; "I see that it has only served to make me so little understood; and I regret it; yet how can I change my very nature? How is one to become outspoken, when she is so familiar with silence?—but even if I were to force myself to exertion! It is all too late for that now; and if I were to do such a thing, I should have done it many years ago. I must continue down the road of solitude and silence, for that is the only one I have ever known; and at least I can have satisfaction in my constancy—not merely in keeping true to my character, I know, and cannot deny that other instance—even if I shall never reap its rewards. How foolish I have acted; or rather, in my lack thereof!"

This contemplation was not very much to Rosaline's satisfaction, and yet she could not deny its being true; and so, she refolded her letter, which had become flimsy and bent from being so frequently handled, as she put it down; glancing instead to a correspondence of a different kind, which made her folly seem so much worse, than she had considered it only a minute before. How dangerous it was, for her to be going again to Derbyshire; and for more reasons than one! Yet she reminded herself she could not withdraw her consent; and in her heart, glad that she could not; though her sense and her conscience rose up against it, and vainly tried to muffle these palpitations.

"Wretched, wretched fool I have been!" was her conclusion to these conflicting sentiments; though the words did not seem nearly as strong, nor did this conviction seem nearly reproach enough, as the crime warranted.

"Rosaline, my dear sister!" cried Lady Fitzwilliam, who had just entered the room; "I am going to call on the Danielsons, for they called yesterday, as you well know. Should you like to accompany me?—I do recommend it, for they are such a good-mannered family, and I believe much pleased with you, as every sensible person ought to be."

Rosaline could not hide a look of disinclination; for she would much rather be alone, than making herself agreeable to near-strangers, whom she had no reason to wish to further her acquaintance with. She was sensible that her sister-in-law spoke to her, in an attempt to be kind and encouraging; and indeed, she was grateful for that; but at the same time, disliked being in company much, and would have given anything at that moment to be in Derbyshire then, in spite of all that she had just told herself.

"We shall not stay long; not above a quarter of an hour, I assure you; and of course, we shall take the carriage," added Lady Fitzwilliam in a consolatory tone, and with a glance out the window; and with such gentle entreaties, Rosaline could not very well decline the suggestion.

----

"Well, girls; you shall hear what your sister Lizzy has to say," said Mrs. Bennet one morning at breakfast, as it was her custom to read her letters—at least, those letters which she deemed important—at the breakfast-table. Catherine and Mary looked up from their plates of food, neither with the expectation of hearing anything to their advantage; for Mrs. Bennet had not the best judgment in determining what would interest her daughters, and usually read long paragraphs pertaining to circumstances that neither had any previous information of; and in which previous information was fundamental to understanding, or caring about, the circumstance described.

Mrs. Bennet hesitated, apparently waiting for some encouragement to begin; and it was Catherine who uttered, "Well, mamma, what has she to say?" which finally motivated her to begin relating what Elizabeth had written, in the most animated tone.

"The most delightful thing, Kitty—I am sure I cannot conceive anything better. And it is all for your sakes, my dears; nothing pleases me better than that which benefits my daughters."

Mr. Bennet silently said to himself that such was very true, if a 'benefit' was something which pertained to the matrimonial success of said daughters. So he fully prepared himself to hear of some eligible bachelor (though he hoped that marriage had not made his Lizzy silly and an eager matchmaker, as it had done to her mother) or a ball, or one of the other common subjects which made ladies energetic.

"She says," continued Mrs. Bennet, all the while glancing at the paragraph containing the happy information she was to relate; and while Kitty looked in suspense, and Mary looked apathetic: "that her two sisters, Mary and Kitty, are very much welcome to stay at Pemberley whenever they choose; and she recommends your both staying with her for a great while, this April—and has already some notion of how to convey you both there!"

This was not as surprising an invitation as it ought to have been, for Mrs. Bennet had frequently remarked and hinted to her family, that Mary and Catherine ought to be invited to Pemberley; that it was only a proper mark of affection from Elizabeth to her younger sisters, and that she had no doubt that it would happen; and so, when Mrs. Bennet paused to observe the reactions of the recipients of her information, was a bit disappointed in the lack of warmth in their features. Of them all, though, Catherine looked the most animated; for though she too had heard of Mrs. Bennet's expectations, she had never allowed herself to hope, except as a secret in her heart, for their really being invited; but now that it was so, she was so glad of it. What more could she want, than to go to Pemberley! During her absence from it, her fancy had had plenty of time to romanticize it, and make it seem the very picture of happiness and pleasure; and so dear to her was little Edith! And her suite there, had been everything she had ever wanted, and so exactly to her liking! And so a smile was spread across her face, and her foot already tapping with impatience to be gone.

"Well, my dear, it seems I have married a prophet after all," said Mr. Bennet dryly, who then turned his attention back to his newspaper, holding it before his face as the pages rattled slightly, deciding it would be best to let the feminine members of his family rejoice without his interruption.

"Oh, Mr. Bennet!" returned his wife, only half-reproachfully, for it was hard to be at all angry when such schemes of felicity were before her, in the form of her second daughter's letter; and then, turning to Mary and Catherine: "And so I shall write Lizzy immediately, and hope to set a date for when you shall go; and such a happy time you both will have! To be sure, I saw many a smart young man, when I traveled through the pretty quaint town that is Lambton. So good it is of Lizzy to invite you both!—but you know, I never doubted that she would. La! What a happy day this is, for my dear girls! And we owe it all to our good Lizzy!"

Catherine returned all of the compliments which had been bestowed upon Elizabeth, and with equal alacrity; articulating that she could not conceive anything better than going to Pemberley in April, and really feeling that it was so.

"And, of course, Lizzy will have to have many balls; for did you see the ballroom at Pemberley? Oh, so grand, my dear, and certainly will hold twice as many couples, as the meager assembly room in Meryton."

"Oh, mamma, do you really think so? I should very much like to go to a ball!" cried Catherine, her pleasure even more increased by such a happy thought, as a ball at Pemberley.

"I have not a doubt in the world of it."

And so mother and daughter continued to entertain themselves in this manner, elaborating on each other's ideas of what their dear Lizzy might do to increase Catherine's pleasure when she went to her; and all the while Mary sat quietly and disconsolately, her sentiments far from that of her mother's and sister's. She could have few scruples in upsetting their raptures, for she considered their raptures very misplaced. How dancing and flirting could inspire more emotion than philosophy and good literature, she could only account for in that her mamma and Kitty had minds so much inferior to her own. So at the first eligible opportunity, Mary said:

"You may go and giggle and admire people's finery, Kitty; but do not expect me to engage myself likewise. If that is all I am to expect in Derbyshire, then I had much rather stay home, and employ myself sensibly."

Before Catherine could reply, as this speech was chiefly addressed to her, Mrs. Bennet had already come up with the following reprimand:

"Mary! How ungrateful of you, to not wish to honor your sister's invitation. It is the most shocking thing, indeed! And you must get a little society, my dear; indeed, you must. I am sure that when you think on it a little more, you will not dream of declining it. I will not have any of my daughters take up the shameful occupation of a spinster; and some young man, dear, will find your charms even superior to your sisters; and that shall no doubt be the one you marry."

This speech had not the desired effect on Mary, who instead felt all the sting which her mother's latter mark implied; that it would be most incredible for any man to prefer her over her sisters, and that if such a man is existence, she had better get him quickly, for she shall have very few opportunities otherwise! Such was Mary's translation, at least; and so her indignation was yet further heightened, and it increased her hatred of going with her sister to Derbyshire. Mr. Bennet, however, had overheard this conversation, despite his best attempts to block it out; so, he lowered his newspaper which he had formerly held up as firmly as if it were a shield, and thus addressed Mary:

"Remember, Mary, that Pemberley boasts one of the finest libraries in the country; so I am sure that you shall be able to do something perfectly sensible, while Kitty runs off and giggles and establishes herself as being the silliest girl in England, which I have already discovered for myself."

This reminder did pacify Mary; and she thought with satisfaction that Pemberley would be a more suitable place to improve herself than Longbourn; recalled that the pianoforte in one of its parlors was especially grand, and that Miss Darcy had very good taste in music. However, it also mortified Catherine, by her father's conviction that she was the silliest girl in England; and so she was rightly insulted, and might have allowed the tears which were rising to her eyes to fall down her cheek, had she not the lucky recollection of all of the happiness which she was to be mistress of in the near future to subdue her.

So, with a little further conversation, it was fixed upon that both of the unmarried Bennet sisters would go and visit Mrs. Darcy that spring; and this was much to the satisfaction of all; for Catherine had already lost herself in a reverie of the fantastic scenarios which she was to live out, and Mary was attempting to recall the name of some of the titles in Pemberley's library which she had thought interesting. Mrs. Bennet's only disappointment could be that she was not invited herself; and Mr. Bennet, if he could be disappointed with the tranquility which having two ladies less in the house would undoubtedly provide, was probably disappointed for the same reason as his wife.

----

Mrs. Edwin, though being merely a servant, did pride herself in many of her qualities, which she considered superior. She had not a tolerance for slang, dialect, and other such things that could be deemed to butcher the English language; and she fancied that she had a very discerning eye, a great deal of sense, and no coarseness about her. With these ideas well fixed in her mind, it may be easily supposed, that she had never considered excessive curiosity, or the bribery of her young mistress, coarse or otherwise inelegant. But she must not be solely blamed for her deficiencies of character; for, she had been often in the company of those with inferior minds to hers, which had had a great hand in establishing her sense of conceit and superiority; and, though she despised those with such habits as she could not warrant perfectly proper, she nonetheless (however subconsciously) suffered from their influence.

So when Mrs. Edwin had been satisfied by Edith, the details of her discourse with the strange Miss Hawkins, she felt nothing the matter in having taken the measures she did not extract this information, and had no intention of informing anybody else of what she had learnt.

However, let it not be thought that all women in her class had the same principles. It was the fair Alice, who had found Mrs. Edwin's altered behavior to Edith, very peculiar indeed; and had always kept one ear open, as she went about her duties, in hopes of accounting for it. And Alice had been walking down the hall, with the laundry in hand, when Mrs. Edwin had entered the sitting-room for her interview with Edith; and Alice, with an irresistible curiosity to know what dealings the two had together, instantly dropped the laundry, and peered through the crack in the door, using all of her powers of hearing and observation to concentrate on what was taking place through the wall which divided her from the objects of her wonder.

What Edith had told Mrs. Edwin, and what Mrs. Edwin had learned, neither supposed had been overheard by a third person; but so it was; and Alice could not have wished for anything more interesting, for her to have chosen to have eavesdropped upon. So when Mrs. Edwin was approaching the door, Alice quickly but quietly picked up her basket of laundry, and scurried out of the room before Mrs. Edwin had ever seen her.

Alice's conjectures as to Miss Hawkins' motives were probably no wilder than Mrs. Edwin's; but the difference lay in, the amount of discretion each had in voicing those conjectures.