Feeling a Bit Missish...

by Joanie

September 2003, Firthness Challenge Winning Entry

Rated PG

Author's Note:OK, after prolonged residence in the chicken coop, I have decided to try my hand at a little story. In it, I attempt to explore the close relationship that Mr. Bennet might have had with Elizabeth. It seems probable to me that he might have enjoyed sharing with his favorite daughter some of his views and opinions about life and the laughable and ridiculous aspects of their neighbors' characters. Consequently I give Mr. Bennet a bit of a larger role to play in this story, as it is told from his point of view. I also attempt to answer that age-old question: what did he do all day locked up in his library?

Please forgive a couple of minor plot changes. I have attempted to provide explanations in the text.

Abundant thanks to Grace and Roya, my lovely and talented beta-queens and cheerleaders, without whom this story might not ever have been posted! 

I should begin this account of my life as head of a household of six women by saying that it is my wife’s fault entirely. All of it. Every last bit of the misery I am presently enduring is her blasted fault!

Of course, had I not married her I suppose none of this would have happened in the first place, but that is searching too far back in history for the source of my present state of loneliness and discomfort. As a matter of fact, the thought of the occasion of my marriage actually brings back some pleasant memories ….

I was six and twenty then, lean of body and sound of mind, having not yet endured three and twenty years of the brain-numbing chatter of a woman obsessed with society and appearances and the senseless prattle of—dare I say—three very silly girls. But I spoke of pleasant memories, did I not? Right then, being of sound mind and body, and having in my possession a smallish but comfortable estate, I naturally looked to people that estate with more than tenant farmers and milking maids, deer and pheasants. I hoped to meet a woman lovely of countenance, witty of mind and lighthearted of spirit. I wished for love, companionship, and a warm body in my bed.

Would that I had procured a hound!

I spied my beloved at an assembly, a vivacious, bright-eyed beauty, not one-and-twenty, with golden hair and a lovely rounded pair of …erm … shoulders holding up her dress. Funny, I do not remember the dress. She laughed up at me while dancing, teasing me mercilessly. I felt as if I were the most attractive and powerful man in the room. She had a way of doing that, you see, making men feel indispensable, omnipotent, worldly and wise. Well I was wise in my own right, I suppose, having read history at Cambridge before becoming a “gentleman of leisure”, but the rest I owed to her adoration. I cared not a whit that her father was merely a country lawyer and that her mother made not-so-subtle inquiries about the state of my financial health over the obligatory punch betwixt reels. I was smitten. We were both smitten.

We have continued to smite each other, figuratively at least, for the last three and twenty years.

To our wedded bliss we added a rapid succession of female children – five to be exact. It is a truth universally acknowledged that in a house with six females, one must either possess the comfort of deafness or find a means to simulate it. My means was to install a heavy oak door between my library and the rest of the house, and an even heavier assortment of gentlemanly libations within it. Consequently, for two decades my books have been my sons and brandy my mistress; I enjoy the former as much as possible, and the latter more moderately but with relish and discretion.

My wife, determined to withstand Longbourn being entailed away upon my death, made it her office to sell our daughters off in marriage to the highest bidder who should happen to set unfortunate foot in Meryton. Failing that, it would appear that she hoped to attract any bidder of means who might raise his hand in signal, regardless of whether or not he was simply attempting to scratch his nose. My wife was, shall we say, candid and relentless in her ambition for our daughters, and paraded them about with that singular purpose. It put me very much in mind of thoroughbreds at a livestock auction.

Not that attracting suitors was necessarily a difficult task, mind you. My daughters are all agreeable (well, some are more easily agreed upon than others). Indeed, how could they not be, having such a beauty for a mother? But I was not blessed with those most necessary of all things in a gentleman (besides foresight): unencumbered cash and an estate not entailed away from the female line. Indeed, my marriage has been a history of encumbrances and entailments of one form or another, so why should my wealth be any different? And so, my poor daughters, even beautiful Jane and my clever, sparkling Elizabeth, appeared doomed to spinsterhood or, to my greater horror, inferior marriages.

I must confess that I did not share my wife’s mercenary ambition for our daughters, at least for the two older ones. Of course, I was aware that having more wealthy connections would be a comfort to our overall welfare, but I would not purchase them with the youth and vitality of my two dearest daughters. I would have been happy to have them share our home and grace my life forever. The three younger girls, I suppose, would have benefited in time from a proper disposal, and my life would have benefited accordingly. But ultimately, the enjoyment of my estate need not require me to concern myself with daughters and marriages and whatnot.

So I did not.

Nevertheless, there came to our village about a year ago two gentlemen who possessed the most promising attributes to be found in potential suitors: good teeth, good breeding, good fortune and, well, goods. Oh yes, and no parents. The latter was important (although never spoken of aloud by my wife for obvious reasons of delicacy) as it meant that there could be no intervening and contravening dictums from that quarter concerning each gentleman’s choice of wife. The field lay clear, and my little general marshaled her troops (including myself, I regret to say) and led the charge.

I was to make the first sally as the advance guard, so to speak. However I was reluctant to play the role she had mapped out for me, and I questioned whether or not it was necessary to make the obligatory first social call at all. I suggested that the business could be conducted much more quickly if we stuck to the thoroughbreds at auction plan and simply sat the girls out in the garden with signs over their heads. True to her utter and regrettable lack of a sense of humor, she failed to find any amusement in my suggestion. So, to prolong my own, I failed to enlighten her when I made the visit after all. I arrived at Mr. Bingley’s door still chuckling.

My visit-cum-reconnaissance mission was interesting to say the least. There were three gentlemen and two ladies present, and a more diverse and compelling set of personalities I have rarely found within the same four walls. Compelling, that is, to a connoisseur of the absurd such as myself and my second eldest daughter. Immediately upon entering the room and making the acquaintance of this quintet I resolved to apprise her of the wealth of eccentricity available to the curious mind at Netherfield.(2)

Netherfield was a venerable but ill-starred estate. It had seen a procession of unsuccessful tenants after the original owner died childless. Years of management worse than my own, I am sorry to say, had all but destroyed its arable land, leaving it quite a handful for whomever next took on the burden. Its occupants were artfully arranged in the drawing room when I arrived.

The first to catch my eye was Mr. Bingley, my new neighbor, walking toward the door with hand outstretched. He seemed an eager and pleasant fellow, with an open face and demeanor and wide eyes that tempted one to attempt a practical joke just to see the dawn of understanding light up that artless visage. I could have quite a bit of amusement at the expense of such a guileless and trusting fellow! But at the same time, something about his manner appealed to the latent and, to own the truth, hitherto largely idle paternal part of my nature. Judging from the eagle eyes resting on me from the rest of the room, I concluded that this young pup had his hands full inside as well as outside the house!

Mr. Bingley’s maiden sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, sat facing me on the settee and stared in a decidedly unamused manner at the air just to the left of my left ear. I turned around to inspect the source of her disdain but encountered only the flawless flocking of the wallpaper. And though I do not pay attention to cloth and laces and such, I did notice that she was dressed oddly enough and differently enough from my wife and daughters to give me the distinct impression that she demonstrated the height of what is considered fashionable in Town. Since it has been my studied observation over the years that the height of ladies’ fashion is also the height of ridiculous discomfort, I was forced to conclude that Miss Caroline Bingley breathes truly rarified, dizzying, and somewhat constricted air.(3) She put me in mind of an exotic bird, with an abundance of showy plumage but little else to draw attention from the impression created by her pinched beak and withering, unblinking gaze.

Mr. Bingley’s married sister, Mrs. Louisa Hurst, sat beside Miss Bingley pouring tea. She was a plump, unhappy-looking woman, probably younger than the frown-lines on her face would indicate. She might have been called pretty when she first married, but her sharp, darting eyes would have kept the picture from being complete. The height of fashion looked, if possible, even more uncomfortable on Mrs. Hurst’s most uncooperative form. Nevertheless, where her sister’s posture was graceful and perfectly straight, this woman sat in a somewhat slumped and wilted manner, as if resigned to the fact that life held no greater joy for her than having her softer appendages squeezed and poked by stays.

The source of Mrs. Hurst’s dubious marital bliss - obese, florid, and ramrod straight - hovered near the door like a school boy hoping to escape a whipping. From whom? I wondered, upon spying the simultaneously disapproving faces directed at him from three distinct quarters as he ducked his head and scooted out the door behind me. I decided that I should not be sorry to further my acquaintance with the gentleman, sensing in him - as I unerringly do - a particularly bountiful source of amusement and diversion.

The third gentleman in the room, a Mr. Darcy, was a tall, stern, forbidding-looking fellow who appeared to have just turned from inspecting the mirror above the fireplace. There must have been a smudge on the surface, for it repeatedly drew his attention during the entire course of our interview, particularly when Miss Bingley spoke. He was obviously exceedingly wealthy, judging by the fine cut and fabric of his apparel. I had seen his type before at Cambridge, and it did not take me long to take his measure: Mr. Darcy was quite proud - whether deservedly so or not remained to be seen - and he put me in mind of more than one such peacock that I had known in my younger days. One wondered what drew him to this small country village in the society of such a motley assortment of ton-age. I felt the irrational urge to loosen his cravat and waistcoat for him, as his carriage resembled nothing less than a fencepost attempting to hold up a wobbly pumpkin. One felt that a little more fluidity of movement could only aid in keeping that inflated head aloft.

Conversation was stilted despite the attempts of Mr. Bingley to engage us all. Only so much conviviality can be wrung from such dry and unsociable breasts as graced the drawing room of Netherfield Park that morning. We spoke of sport and game, the previous management of the estate, and plans made by the gentleman to attend the upcoming Assembly. I decided to stock up on my favorite brandy whilst passing home through the village to fortify myself against the inevitable aftermath of the public airing of that piece of news. Upon learning that I have five daughters, all out, the reactions were mixed: Mr. Bingley was thrilled; Miss Bingley was shocked; Mrs. Hurst was disdainful; Mr. Darcy was indifferent; and Mr. Hurst, well, he was absent. I was grateful when I determined that my visit had been of sufficient time and nature to declare it over. My leave-taking was punctuated by all the sincerity and regret normally accorded to a middling-aged country gentleman with five penniless daughters, tempered by the different natures of my hosts.

“Oh Lizzy, you will certainly enjoy meeting this superior circle!” I thought as I made my journey homeward.

“Well?” bleated my beloved once I announced my whereabouts that morning.

“Yes, two of them” I replied, “One behind the kitchens and one near the stables. Pray my dear, why do you ask about their means of water procurement? Has ours gone dry?”

“Oh Mr. Bennet! You know very well I am not talking of any such thing! What says our new neighbor? Was he as handsome and agreeable as everyone claims? Will he do for our dear Jane?”

“Oh, I am certain this agreeable young man will do anything at all for our Jane - or for any other young lady who asks, I daresay. Whether or not he is handsome, and whether the rest of his company would be as obliging I will leave for you to discern when you make their acquaintance.” Later, the news of Mr. Bingley’s intention to attend the Assembly made its way to Longbourn via Mrs. Phillips, my wife’s bothersome busybody of a sister. Cringing, I edged toward my study door before the maelstrom of joy erupted. I almost made it.

Lifting my head above the din, I caught the eye of my second daughter as I ducked into the study and shut the door. She dutifully followed seconds later with a clean brandy snifter and a mixture of undisguised curiosity and mirth upon her face.

“Father, you have that look in your eye. Have you something to tell me? You know I care not for the wealth and consequence of our new neighbors, but I would have you tell me a little of their substance. Have you met any interesting personalities, collected any entertaining characters with which to divert my mind today?”

Thus began my favorite part of the day: over a rousing game of chess and a well-deserved and bracing tot of brandy, I regaled my Lizzy with every fascinating and absurd detail of my visit, impressing upon her the superiority of one, the forthrightness of another, the hauteur of a third, and the snide pathos of the couple. Her eyes danced and sparkled with the joy of the chase as I led her through winding conversational paths, into deep morasses of awkward silence and determined staring out of windows, to the abrupt dead-end of a thinly-veiled snide comment.

“They sound very unpleasant. I am sorry for poor Mr. Bingley to have such unsympathetic company!” cried Lizzy.

“Fear not, my dear. Among the ton one often finds a peculiar duality of character which allows members to tailor their demeanor to the unique qualities of their acquaintances, depending upon whether or not they belong. Mr. Bingley belongs, and holds the purse-strings to boot. I do not fear for his sensibilities.” Well, not too much anyway, I thought to myself, seeing again the piercing, unhappy and judgmental eyes of his companions.

“When you attend the Assembly, my dear, be sure upon your return to come and tell me your own impressions of our new neighbors," I urged. "Perhaps they will improve upon closer inspection in larger and livelier company than my own.” With a bemused little roll of her eyes, Lizzy agreed and then left me to my musings.

Whilst I relaxed with Milton and a brandy on the evening of the Assembly, my little general and her troops set upon the unsuspecting males of Meryton. I braved the commotion of their return to receive news of the ensuing battle. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley stood out in the reviews as opposites in temperament and popularity; however, no one besides my Lizzy noticed the quiet contempt of the sisters. My wife was enamored of feathers and lace, assuming loudly that excellence of apparel indicated an equal excellence of character. But no matter - like most of her sex she sees what she wishes to see, and is unlikely to suffer much for the misapprehension.

I learned that our girls acquitted themselves as expected. Kitty and Lydia apparently danced with everything in breeches, and Mary followed the advice of Reverend Villars(4) so well that she utterly frightened off any potential dance partners. Jane appeared to have charmed the pup, but Lizzy was unimpressed by the enviable attributes of the mastiff. In point of fact, apparently the arrogant young coxcomb slighted my daughter! In favor of some unknown ideal of vapid femininity among the ton, I imagine. More fool he then, for not recognizing her superior qualities. But I did not begrudge him, for he thus effectively removed himself from consideration as a potential son-in-law, and from my wife’s shrieking repertoire (once she was done with pronouncing him the most disagreeable man in Meryton), and for that I could not but rejoice.

A few days later it became clear that Jane had charmed not only Mr. Bingley but his snide siblings as well. A letter arrived inviting her to dine, providing my wife with an excellent excuse to exercise another of her superior military stratagems. Having divined that it would rain (a dubious bit of foresight, as this was autumn in England), she contrived to make the carriage unavailable in order to ensure that Jane should find herself “accidentally” stranded at Netherfield overnight. No amount of sense or plea of decency from my two eldest would discourage her from her plan and, knowing that I would never cease to hear the end of it if I intervened, I allowed her to prevail. And so it was that one lovely soldier undertook the most daring charge yet, alone and on horseback, into the rain.

In times such as these, I cannot but fear that my conniving consort will scheme us all into an early grave! My Lizzy fretted the entire evening during the downpour and, upon receiving the inevitable news of Jane’s ailing health, walked three wet miles to nurse her sister at Netherfield. I chuckled, thinking that my wife’s shock and horror at such an independent muddy trek would likely be surpassed ten-fold by that of the more fastidious occupants of the larger estate. I settled down to enjoy the relative quiet which followed as Mrs. Bennet hummed happily to herself, no doubt busying herself mentally redecorating Netherfield’s ballroom, should Jane survive her fever and secure Mr. Bingley from her sickbed.

Thereupon followed three of the longest days of my life.

The hours following my daughters’ departures meandered by. That evening after an uproarious meal, I attempted - with an illicit liquid liaison - to mitigate the sound of Mrs. Bennet evidently instructing our two youngest on the proper way to shriek the portraits off the walls. It occurred to me then that a better approximation of life after my sensible daughters married and left the house was not likely to present itself. Without Jane’s soothing presence and Lizzy’s engaging wit, I found myself wishing to decamp forthwith to the calming corridors of Bedlam!(5) I poured myself another brandy and thought on it no more.

The following day brought no relief:

“I want to go into town today, to see if Aunt Phillips has any news of Denny and Carter.”

“No dear, today is visiting day, you must attend me on my rounds to the tenants.”

“Let Mary go, she never minds the smell!”

“I do not feel it is at all befitting the conduct of a well-brought up young woman to continually shirk one’s responsibility to the poor in favor of irresponsible flirting with men in regimentals. Therefore I will not go in your place. For the Reverend Fordyce tells us ….”

“Oh hang Reverend Fordyce! Let Kitty go then!”

“I will not! You only want to take my new bonnet once I am gone!”

“GIRLS, MY NERVES CANNOT ABIDE THIS FUSS! I DO SWEAR MY HEAD MAY BURST AND THEN WHERE WILL YOU BE?!!”

Where indeed?

I barricaded myself in the study.

… Have I mentioned my enthusiastic approval of that Scourge of Europe’s(6) favorite beverage? Such luscious, silky slitherings on the tongue that wander ever so slowly downward, blazing a fiery trail to the extremities! Such happy stolen moments sipping pure biting nectar … the aroma alone is enough to set my mind gamboling among the clouds. Ah, I know myself to be without equal when in her loving liquid embrace … my wit flows long, my understanding knows no compass, my longevity is assured…. Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, Jonson all seem more eloquent, and I more erudite and conversant in response, after a dalliance with this Delilah of drink, this sweet, salacious spirit …

“She made me buy it!! Mamma, you must buy ribbon so that I may trim my bonnet, for I have spent all mine on these gloves!!”

“Where is my book? Which one of you hid it this time?! Deception is the worst kind of fault, not to be practiced by proper young women, nor countenanced in others less proper than themselves.”

“Lord, why would we want your dull book? Come, Kitty, I want to learn to dance that new waltz so I can shock all the officers, ummmmmmmm!”

“GIRLS, I BEG YOU WOULD CONSIDER MY NERVES! DO STOP SHRIEKING AND INFLAMING MY FLUTTERINGS!!! OH WHERE IS LIZZY WHEN I NEED HER?! WHAT DOES SHE MEAN BY INSERTING HERSELF NEEDLESSLY INTO MY CAREFULLY PLANNED ARRANGEMENTS FOR JANE, AND ABANDONING ME WHEN I NEED SOMEONE TO SOOTHE MY POOR NERVES??! OH HILL!!!”

…. I remember a different wife… a gay, charming young mother, cheerful and compliant in the bedroom, flirting at the dinner table, cooing to Jane and little Lizzy at our feet while I read aloud and she attended to her work…. But with each girl came more frailty, more attacks and more desperate longing for a son. She worried incessantly about my mortality and her future comfort. I admit I, too, wished heartily for the affirmation, fulfillment, and immortality that only a male issue can provide to a man. In the end, we consoled each other with mutual indifference and neglect, soothed our troubled souls with separate conceits and obsessions….

The frantic haze of ego, recrimination, sermonizing and nerves that became my life was eventually obliterated by a concerted effort on my part to romance every bottle and consume every tome in my study. Such I might have remained were it not for the calming influence of Jane on my wife’s afflictions and the growing companionship I came to enjoy with Lizzy as they grew older. Without our two eldest daughters we seemed to be adrift in a sea of chaos with no view of the shore.

“Oh Mr. Bennet! Such a lovely estate, such a fine prospect, such a collection of sweet rooms is Netherfield! And Mr. Bingley! Such a kind gentleman! He promised Lydia a ball as soon as Jane is well, can you credit that?! Whatever shall we wear? We must make a trip to Town to choose new dresses for the girls, especially Jane! And while in Town we might procure some of those exotic delicacies, those … I know not what they were … those things that Mrs. Long’s nephew brought from the Continent, saying that they were all the rage! For I insist on inviting Mr. Bingley and his sisters to dine with us as soon as may be and we must have the most sumptuous table in the neighborhood! And I suppose that friend of his will have to come as well even though he is the most disagreeable man in Meryton ….”

Respite from such inane chatterings and frivolous pronouncements seemed long in arriving, but in reality, it was only a matter of days. Jane and Elizabeth returned, one glowing, the other oddly quiet. Jane spoke little but her eyes uttered volumes about the reception she received from one young man. Elizabeth broke her silence about the other to say only, “If anything, Father, your words to me before I met him were too kind. He is arrogant, judgmental and proud, and considers himself well above his company. He is entirely unworthy of my notice.”

How like my Lizzy, I thought, to have so little use for frivolous fashion and virtueless fortune! How proud was I of her discerning eye and independent judgment; how relieved that she was back at home so that I may hear two words of sense put together again. I relaxed and beamed at her over my mated king.

All was right with my world once more, for a time at least.



(1)I must credit Roya for the title.
(2)There is a small change of plot here which allows Mr. Bennet to meet all of Netherfield’s inhabitants in the beginning, rather than just Mr. Bingley. I felt it suited my purposes better.
(3)Although Recency fashions were considered to be more comfortable than those that had gone before (and were to follow!), they did begin to change after 1810 to include tighter bodices and more use of “stays” than previously. So if Caroline and Louisa’s dresses were indeed in the vanguard, they would have been more uncomfortable as well.
(4)The Rev. Mr. Villars is a character from Evelina, by Fanny Burney. He is JA’s source for Mary’s comment in P&P about a woman’s reputation being “no less brittle than it is beautiful”.
(5)By the early 19th c., the Hospital of St. Mary of Bethlehem, in London, already had a centuries-old reputation for deplorable conditions and the loud wails of its insane inhabitants could be heard outside the walls. Bedlam, as it was nick-named, came to symbolize a scene of uproar and confusion.
(6)Napoleon.

Copyright held by Joanie - 2003