When Elizabeth entered the room, cards did not appear to be the order as it had the previous evening. Mr. Darcy was sitting at a small desk writing a letter, Mr. Hurst was snoring on a sofa, and Miss Bingley seemed to be doing her best to annoy Mr. Darcy with constant chatter.
Elizabeth picked up the book she had not even had time to start the previous evening and tried to make a go of it but found the exercise nearly impossible. Miss Bingley seemed to be trying to make a study of fawning behavior. She commented almost endlessly on Mr. Darcy's writing skills, while disparaging his ability to mend his own pens. She talked extensively about some of her elevated friends while denigrating the locals of whom she knew nothing except that they wasted less money on their clothing. She praised the evenness of his lines and diligence in correspondence, while asserting that it was an odious business at best. She boasted of the entertainments in town, not noticing that such talk made the gentleman cringe. She mentioned that Mr. Bingley did not have quite so many letters to write, neglecting to notice it was because Mr. Bingley was not really a landowner yet. It took all Elizabeth's willpower to restrain herself from picking up a pencil lying on the table with the books so she could use tally marks to keep track of how many ridiculous things Miss Bingley said after she ran out of fingers and toes.
Miss Bingley had a long discussion with her brother about how he should have an estate like Mr. Darcy's, which was obviously and in detail praised as the finest estate in the land. The fact that was four days journey from her beloved London seemed to have escaped the lady's notice. She complained about being in the country, and yet clearly was husband hunting even farther from where she wanted to spend her time. Perhaps she thought Mr. Darcy spent little time at his own estate, but that idea was nonsensical. While the gentleman could obviously afford to be away for months at a time, she saw a mountain of correspondence, and had no doubt he would be there at the very least for the planting and harvesting. Any sensible man would, and Mr. Darcy seemed much more a country gentleman than a town gentleman anyway. His hands had enough callouses to show that he was not afraid of a spade or axe. It was quite likely that when he did eventually take a wife, he would spend more time at his estate, not less; but all Miss Bingley could see was his money and social position.
Looking around, Miss Bingley saw Elizabeth making a show of trying to read a book from the side table and decided to use that to gain the gentleman's attention.
"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!"
"It ought to be good," he replied, "it has been the work of many generations."
"And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying books."
"I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these."
Elizabeth smiled to herself at that assertion, though she was careful to keep her reaction hidden. To the uninitiated, it would sound like prideful boasting, and if she had not heard Mr. Darcy's abject apologies on two separate occasions, she would probably have thought that herself. Now, she saw it for what it was. He was a man who respected his ancestors. What sounded like boasting was simply showing respect for their accomplishments while thanking them for their diligence and good sense. As a daughter of a father who would leave her almost nothing except a headstrong personality, she could appreciate the sentiment. She loved her father wholeheartedly despite his faults, but it would not have hurt for Mr. Bennet to have left the girls with something besides their charms to bring to a marriage. Mr. Darcy apparently did not have to make such allowances.
While Elizabeth was thoughtful, Miss Bingley continued in a similar vein.
"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley."
"I wish it may."
"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire."
"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it."
"I am talking of possibilities, Charles."
"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation."
Elizabeth was enjoying the dialogue, and for just a few moments forgot to be nervous about Mr. Darcy. He was apparently fighting for his life, and she felt like a woman sitting on the shore watching a man drown while she idly decided whether it was worthwhile to throw him the small log she was sitting on.
Her enjoyment was not to last though, as Miss Bingley abruptly changed to another tactic.
"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" said Miss Bingley; "will she be as tall as I am?"
"I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather taller."
"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much as my dear Georgiana. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite."
All semblances of enjoyment left Elizabeth's countenance immediately, and she wanted to run screaming from the room in panic. Georgiana Darcy, the ghost that had been haunting her for months was now standing in the room, and all doubt was removed. Elizabeth remembered her as a shy, frightened, huddling girl at least a head shorter than her. Now she realized that her mind had interpreted the girl's actions, demeanor and situation; not her person. Careful examination of her memory from Ramsgate, which was not a comfortable thing to do by any stretch, reminded her she had to stand on her toes to kiss the young lady on the forehead before she sent her on her way. Now all was confirmed. Mr. Darcy was the lackadaisical brother, and Elizabeth was once again being firmly squeezed in the blacksmith's vise. Perhaps, as her father suggested, she should swoon for effect just to escape the room.
This whole line of thought taught her something important. Mr. Darcy did not seem neglectful in any way she had been able to detect. He was quite the opposite in fact. She had seen him at several tasks over the previous two days, and he seemed very diligent and careful. She could see it in how he organized his correspondence, how he wrote, how he seemed to think very carefully through each issue. She had seen him sorting his mail, carefully into piles and then apparently by priority. His personality was plain to see for anyone who cared to look, even in the relatively few hours Elizabeth had been downstairs. Mr. Darcy was not the least bit lackadaisical.
The whole thing made no sense. It seemed that Miss Darcy must have been a victim of a more complex and heinous plot than a simple indolent companion who was sloppy in her supervision. Mr. Darcy could not have been that ineffective, so therefore, the only conclusion was that it was all an elaborate scheme to get Miss Darcy's dowry. It seemed likely that Miss Darcy was not the victim of a careless brother or indolent companion, but more likely the victim of a carefully thought out crime.
Perhaps the end Elizabeth had witnessed was not the original plan. Perhaps, Miss Darcy had come to her senses and tried to break off whatever was happening, and the scoundrel was set on forcing the issue. It seemed obvious that if you had the support of a crooked companion, the easiest path to riches was a seduction. Get a naïve and slightly wayward young girl eager for adventure to agree to elope to Scotland. Once her hand was over the anvil, the dowry was easily obtained without any inconvenient breaking of the law, and probably without ending up on the end of a bloody sword on the field on honor. No matter how loathsome the man, Mr. Darcy's hands were probably tied by his father's will, and he would never consider leaving his young sister a young widow or without a dowry, even if she would be better off with the man dead. The plot would have been pure evil, even if it had not descended into savagery at the end.
However, if the naïve young girl saw through the scheme, or lost her courage, then more direct means might be required, or perhaps the scoundrel just ran out of patience or panicked. His billfold had shown a nearly insurmountable level of debt, so he might have been running out of time. It was all so obvious! The revelation made Elizabeth want to jump up and scream, or empty her stomach or run from the room, but she simply sat in amazement at the depth of the plot. For the first time, her guilt and shame about the death of the mysterious 'GW' was reduced just a tiny bit, whilst her anger, which she had thought could not be stronger or more implacable increased to a boiling point. She wanted to kill him again but with considerably more suffering.
Elizabeth just barely managed to refrain from showing her emotions, while the rest of the party continued merrily on their conversation. She managed to keep herself from despair by imagining pushing a very much alive 'G.W.' off the seawall and listening to him scream all the way to the waves. That dream was enough to keep her neutral through the ordeal.
"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are."
"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?"
"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished."
"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished."
"Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth's curiosity momentarily overrode her caution, or perhaps she just wanted the discussion to center on something-anything other than Georgiana Darcy. One thing she was gradually learning was that Mr. Darcy said many things that sounded like they reeked of pride, when in fact, they were simply his attempt to tell the unvarnished truth as he saw it, or perhaps he was even showing a subtle sense of humor. He was not a very good prevaricator, but he did have a refined, restrained wit. She wondered if the gentleman was aware that she could detect it. Elizabeth could not quite resist the temptation to poke the bear.
"Then, you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman."
"Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it."
Now that she had said something, he looked at her, but it was a subtle look. Miss Bingley did not appear to notice it, as she was completely caught up in her own narrative.
"Oh! certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved."
Much as she wanted to leave the room, or appear disinterested in the conversation, Elizabeth could not quite keep herself from listening carefully to what Mr. Darcy had to say. As disinterested as she was in him, this little play was just too entertaining. She tried to just watch Mr. Darcy from the corner of her eye, but they kept tracking farther and more often to his face, while the gentleman looked up from his letter and seemed to be thinking.
At long last, the gentleman finished his ruminations and replied.
"Miss Bingley, you list the typical accomplishments that are in fashion right now, but much as I respect them and the effort it takes to obtain them; I do not consider any of those to be the mark of a truly accomplished woman. After all, fashions change upon the whims of the populace. Today it is painting tables, netting purses no lady of fashion would carry or playing one of the very few instruments considered suitable for a lady; which is the only item on your list that serves a real purpose. Tomorrow it will be firing porcelain dolls, making your own teapots, learning Chinese or painting live frogs in bright colors. None of those things last."
Elizabeth truly wanted to exit the conversation, but just could not help herself. She asked somewhat cheekily, "What lasts, Mr. Darcy?"
She regretted the outburst as soon as she spoke, as it gave the gentleman a ready excuse to look directly and intently at her, which she found extremely disconcerting. Mr. Bingley was following the conversation as well with his usual amiable countenance. He seemed to be enjoying it. Miss Bingley noticed the loss of what little attention she had managed to attract and was clearly unhappy with the shift.
Mr. Darcy looked at the pen in his hand, back at Elizabeth, down at the pen again, back at her again, cleared his throat and began.
"An accomplished lady must be an intelligent lady. She should improve her mind with extensive reading and knowledgeable conversation with a wide variety of people. If she is the mistress or daughter of an estate, she should know the tenants by name, should know where they live and in what conditions, should know their concerns. She should know what she must do to make the lives of the tenants, tradespeople and townspeople that depend on the estate, more enjoyable and more prosperous to the benefit of all. She should play music well enough to give a family enjoyment on a quiet evening, as should a gentleman. If she is a mother, she should be well involved with her children, and not just depend on maids and governesses for everything. Mostly, she needs to be kind to everyone she meets, and treat everyone she knows with respect, from maid to tenant to peer. That is my definition of an accomplished lady."
Elizabeth was stunned by the speech, and thoroughly disconcerted that the gentleman had completely overthrown every cherished bad impression she had been scrambling to maintain, while Miss Bingley, visible from the corner of her eye, looked like she was going to swoon (perhaps not just for effect). In a desperate bid to say something before Miss Bingley said something crass, Elizabeth decided on impertinence.
"I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any."
"Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?"
For a moment, Elizabeth thought he was in fact being severe himself, but then she noticed a quirk of his mouth, barely discernable, and even then, only if you were watching carefully and had studied him intently as she had been doing for weeks. The man was subtle, very subtle, and he was showing an understated sense of humor that Elizabeth wished she could enjoy.
Not knowing exactly how to react, she decided to continue her impudence.
"I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe united."
Looking pensively, Mr. Darcy looked carefully at Elizabeth, and pushing the bounds of good manners to the absolute limit and beyond, he replied, "There is an obvious reason you may not have seen such a woman, Miss Elizabeth, but you know as well as I do that they do exist."
To that, she had nothing to say, so Mr. Darcy carried on with the most shocking topic to be discussed publicly.
"I may just be an overly sentimental young man, but my description comes from what I remember of my mother. I was a schoolboy of twelve years when she died, but that is as I remember her, so it can be done, though I do admit it is rarer than I would like."
Everyone in the room heard the words and reacted in their own way.
Mr. Hurst was already asleep, so he let out a bit of a snort.
Mrs. Hurst had thoroughly tied her wagon to her sister, so she looked to Miss Bingley for her reaction.
Mr. Bingley smiled even broader, and replied, "Well said, Darcy. Very well said, indeed. I could not have said it a quarter as well myself, but I find myself in complete agreement", and then seemed to tuck his chin into his chest in deep thought.
Caroline Bingley, in a sudden burst of understanding, decided that a marriageable man did not invoke such memories of his long lost and beloved mother unless he was describing his ideal of a partner for life, and she was absolutely horrified.
Elizabeth Bennet, in a sudden burst of understanding, decided that a marriageable man did not invoke such memories of his long lost and beloved mother unless he was describing his ideal of a partner for life, and she was absolutely horrified.