Feeling a Bit "Missish".(1)

Chapter 1 - My Life So Far

"Oh! how many torments lie 
in the small circle of a wedding ring!"  
The Double Gallant (1707), by Colley Cibber.

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.  Right, 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 . shoulders holding up her dress.   Oddly, 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 off our daughters 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.  
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.  I was, of 
course, 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 might 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.  However I 
was reluctant to play the role she had mapped out for me, and 
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  must have been 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  small 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 the gentlemen's plans  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.

Lizzy, you will certainly enjoy meeting this superior circle!I 
made my journey homeward, enjoying the dry golden autumn under 
my feet and thinking on country rambles with my daughter.  We 
both preferred solitude and the land, and indulged our 
preference along the paths and hedgerows that meandered between 
the borders of my estate and those of my neighbors.  I 
remembered my friend Arbright, dead two years that month, and 
the lustrous leaping bounty of his stream.  He had had no 
daughters to vex and delight him, but he had had fish, and had 
shared them with me many a silver spring morning.

 *****

"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." My daughter was too kind-
hearted.

"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 saw again the 
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.  
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 danced with everything in breeches, and Mary 
followed the advice of Reverend Villars(4) so well that she 
utterly frightened off all 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 busy 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 to that 
point.

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. 
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 wehre will you be?", 

Where indeed?

I barricaded myself in the study. 

. Have I mentioned my enthusiastic approval of that Scourge of 
Europe's 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, Johnson 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  them! Mama, you must buy  me a new 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 that new dance  so I can shock all the officers."

" 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 
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 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 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 idea.
(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) Napoleon.
 
Feeling a Bit "Missish"

Chapter 2 - The Curious Incident of the 
Vicar in the Night-time (1)

"No one can be so welcome a guest 
that he will not annoy his host after three days."  
Miles Gloriosus III, iii by Titus Maccius Plautus 
(254 - 184 B.C.)
 

As I sat in my library reading one evening during the fateful 
autumn of 1811, one otherwise dry passage caught my eye:  "Our 
country, family, children, relations, riches, houses, gardens, 
horses, dogs, cloaths; any of these may become a cause either of 
pride or of humility.. I have also observ'd, that `tis an 
additional subject of vanity, when [men] can boast, that these 
possessions have been transmitted thro' a descent compos'd 
entirely of males, and that the honour, and fortune have never 
past thro' any female.." .(2)   I sipped, my glass suspended 
before me, and reflected on Hume's words, considering the extent 
to which my own relations inspired, fairly or unfairly, pride or 
humility. I felt that in my case at least, vanity would have 
been better served without the transmission of my possessions 
entirely through the male line. And I wondered if it was merely 
vanity behind my father's entailment of Longbourn, or rather 
more the avarice of my uncle. 
 
 I shall explain. My esteemed father was a difficult man to 
know. He was intelligent,  energetic, swift and forceful in his 
decisions. However, being of a disposition to make many such 
decisions but unwilling to sustain interest long enough to 
ensure the desired outcome, he often inflicted thunderous 
impatience upon me whenever I was unlucky to be required to do 
so. To escape his censure, I pursued a solitary life of the 
mind, and devoured all the books I could liberate from his 
library. Therefore, even after I reached the age of majority, my 
father most often confided in his beloved cousin, my illiterate 
and domineering "Uncle" Collins, who  cleverly suited his mind 
to my father's own mind (3) in all  matters. I have often 
suspected his influence of being the source of the much-lamented 
entail of Longbourn, as I had heard naught of it while my father 
was alive. 
 
Having never bothered to familiarize himself with the masters of 
moral philosophy(4), my father nevertheless fancied himself a 
moralist. Strict piety, sobriety and propriety were among his 
dictums for a long and useful life, as were vigorous and 
imaginative exercise, and active vigilance in avoiding the 
temptations of the weaker sex, except when absolutely necessary 
in order to beget heirs. (It occurred to me as I grew to manhood 
that the last of these dictums must have necessitated the 
former!) And as only the son of such a man could do, I made it 
my business to follow the opposite course whenever possible. I 
felt vindicated in my rebellion when my father fell mortal 
victim, at a relatively young age, to a fever contracted while 
indulging in one of his frequent and curious late-night swims in 
an unseasonably cold September stream. Thereafter, my mother and 
I struggled on without his edifying presence and with, 
unfortunately, the occasional aid of my uncle until she, too, 
passed away in my twenty-second year. 
 
I met my lovely wife the summer after my  mother's death. Being 
relatively free of familial oversight (on my side at least) our 
courtship progressed rapidly. Upon reflection, it is highly 
likely that my father would not have approved of my choice of 
life partner. My venerable uncle certainly thought so and, as he 
was fond of informing me, he was never wrong. It is perhaps this 
thought more than any other that motivated me to propose 
marriage a mere three weeks after our meeting at that fateful 
and momentous assembly. It was to have been a rather long 
engagement, until my year of mourning had passed, but my 
betrothed was able, through highly enjoyable though somewhat 
nefarious means, to effect a speedier conclusion. We were 
married within a month, and in less than a year of our meeting 
we welcomed Jane into our lives.  My marriage, you might say, 
began in a whirlwind and progressed through a perpetual storm. 
 
My uncle and I ceased all non-essential correspondence the day I 
announced my engagement. That he had hoped to saddle me with the 
horse-faced daughter of his wife's niece, who had become his 
ward, may have played a role in our strained relations. But his 
rage on hearing the announcement puzzled me as appearing to 
exceed the cause. Moreover, I was never able to forgive his lack 
of civility toward my intended upon the single occasion of their 
meeting, regardless of her admittedly brainless chatter 
throughout the evening! I was still in such a state of thrall 
that I found her chatter utterly enchanting, and a welcome 
substitute for the company of my bleak thoughts. 
 
Over the years I have often thought of that bitter old 
curmudgeon, my uncle, and what joy and relief must have graced 
his grizzled countenance upon receiving the news of the births 
of each of my daughters, thinking only, as he always did, of the 
entail. Ever since he himself had sired a son, it seemed to me 
that he had looked with ill-concealed greed at my estate. 
Naturally, relations between us being as cordial as such a 
situation would allow, I had never set eyes upon his son, my 
cousin William and the eventual inheritor of Longbourn, in my 
entire life. I could not think of him with malice, however, not 
only because my wife had taken this office upon herself with 
admirable zeal, but also because I cannot imagine a more 
pitiable childhood than being raised by such a brutal and 
ignorant man as my uncle. 
 
On an unseasonably warm and sunny day that autumn, I sat  
considering some of these  matters in my darkened library while 
my wife and daughters discussed in ear-piercing minutia the 
relative merits of officers and landed gentlemen of their 
acquaintance. It was in this state of deep reflection that I 
received a strange missive bearing the name of my long lost, but 
never forgotten, cousin. I actually graced this letter with my 
attentions a second time, marveling at certain turns of phrase, 
and wondering exceedingly at the nature of his character: 
 
Let's see now . usual opening ."disagreement subsisting between 
yourself and my late honoured father always gave me much 
uneasiness ."  Yes, yes, very well ."fearing lest it might seem 
disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with any 
one, with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance", 
etc. .. 
 
An admirable beginning, establishing himself to be a loyal and 
loving son. Although how my uncle ever managed to rear a son 
bearing such feelings was beyond my considerable imagination, as 
in all the years I knew him, my uncle engendered feelings of 
quite an opposite nature in me! 
 
"My mind, however, is now made up on the subject, for having 
received ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be 
distinguished by the patronage ."  hmm, no doubt some wealthy 
grande dame ."where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean 
myself with grateful respect towards her Ladyship".as I 
suspected, etc. etc. .. 
 
It appeared that this young man had his priorities set aright as 
well - for it is certain that demeaning oneself toward one's 
benefactor is the primary purpose of many a successful 
clergyman. His kind attention to the rights and ceremonies 
instituted by the Church of England, evidently bestowed as an 
afterthought, must have been gratefully received indeed by the 
fortunate members of his parish. 
 
"As a clergyman, . duty to promote and establish the blessing of 
peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on 
these grounds I flatter myself ." some self-congratulatory 
drivel ... "entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked 
on your side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive-
branch. ." ahumm . insincere apology for state of affairs beyond 
his control . etc. .. 
 
Ah, here we have it then - he means to play the benefactor 
himself, and grace one of my daughters with his name and hand. 
He must have expected to secure for himself my family's unending 
humble gratitude by rescuing us from the perils of entailment. 
Or, perhaps he meant to make up for the dubious injury done to 
me when his own illiterate and miserly father withheld his 
favorable regard. I chuckled at the thought of the about-face my 
wife would make when she was made privy to the contents of this 
extraordinary letter from my unfortunate hated cousin. 
 
"If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, 
I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your 
family ."  yes, yes . unnecessarily detailed travel arrangements 
. some superfluity concerning the grande dame . usual 
meaningless closing . "William Collins." 
 
Well, I do hope he is as odd a person as his letter promises, I 
mused, for I am in dire need of diversion at the moment. I 
believed that his visit could have some practical value to my 
family as well, as he appeared disposed to shove the proverbial 
olive branch in my face. With  this in mind, I felt that he 
might do very well for Mary, for an alliance between my estate's 
heir and my third daughter would relieve me of more than one 
source of vexation. Both Mary's no-longer-endearing 
sanctimonious attempts to appear intelligent, moral and proper, 
and my wife's fears of starving in the hedgerows when I quit 
this life for a saner and more felicitous hereafter, would 
miraculously disappear from my world. Smiling suddenly, I 
realized how pleasantly fitting it would be if Mr. Collins were 
to be united for life with the only one of my offspring who 
closely resembled his own father's beloved kinsman in 
disposition. 
 
For two weeks I  thought often of this curious gentleman before 
answering his request to visit in the affirmative, for the 
letter was of an important nature and therefore deserved a 
speedy response befitting the self-importance of its sender. I 
then spent a further two weeks contemplating the entertainment 
to be had from allowing Mr. Collins to arrive without first 
preparing my wife for his visit or disabusing her of the notion 
that he looked to  displace her at Longbourn as soon as may be. 
But, since any initial divertissement would likely give way in 
the end to an explosion of displeasure on my wife's part, I 
relented and allowed her half a day's notice of his visit. Her 
reaction was all that I could have hoped for, and I had the very 
great pleasure of watching her move seamlessly from extreme 
displeasure to tremendous joy as I read the letter aloud. After 
entirely re-planning our dinner and the evening's entertainment 
with the military precision I had come to expect of her in such 
things, she was obliged to retire to her chamber for a rest, no 
doubt to plot her next campaign in between applications of 
compresses and salts. 
 
"Can he be a sensible sort of man, do you think, Father?"  We 
were at dinner. I could tell from the alert expression in  
Lizzy's eyes and her comments to her sisters that she  
appreciated the absurdities in the letter. My girl resembled a 
fine pointer when she caught the scent of an odd bird, and I 
knew she must be as impatient to see him as I. 
 
"Oh, I hope very much that he is not."  I allowed her to infer 
from my words that I merely wished to enjoy a bit of amusement 
at the simultaneous servility and self-importance that appeared 
to flourish unchecked in his character. (This was, no doubt, the 
result of having a father such as Uncle Collins and a patroness 
such as Lady Catherine de Bourgh). I kept to myself my grander 
plans for the man, for to take Mary as a wife in her current 
pietistic and affected phase appeared to me to require a 
decidedly imprudent and insensible disposition in considering 
the female of the species.  
 
***** 
 
The Reverend Mr. Collins, when he did arrive at his promised 
time, did not disappoint my less than exalted expectations. He 
was a curious sight - rather tall, stocky of build, balding, 
with a bit of curly fuzz surrounding a shiny dome of a head and 
round, ruddy cheeks. He resembled nothing more than a monk of 
old who had jettisoned sackcloth and sandals for tight, black 
clergyman's garb, ill-fitting cravat and flat-brimmed hat. He 
resembled said monk, that is, until he opened his mouth. 
Whatever expectations I might have had of the words that  might 
flow from his oddly beatific countenance were tempered, of 
course, by the absurdity of his letter. But even thus 
forewarned, I was not prepared for  the man's actual discourse. 
>From a monk one expects words of sage advice, wisdom spoken 
calmly and derived from hours of pious and meaningful meditation 
on the word of God and the nature of Man. From Mr. Collins one 
received exactly the opposite. 
 
"Mrs. Bennet, if I may be so bold as to tell you, this 
entranceway is quite welcoming. It has just the right breadth 
for such an estate, and so pleasingly situated at the front of 
the house." 
 
I was tempted to point out that while placing the entranceway in 
the back of the house might have been a wise means of 
discouraging unwanted guests, it was a particular wish of my 
wife's that we leave the front door where it was when she moved 
into Longbourn. However, I was forestalled by the young man's 
continued effusions. 
 
"Why, it is quite some inches broader than my own humble abode, 
although not nearly as impressive as that of my esteemed 
patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Now Rosings, you must 
understand, has two entrances, both three-nay, four times as 
wide as this."  Elizabeth and I exchanged perfectly blank facial 
expressions. 
 
During the meal we learned the secret of Mr. Collins' apparent 
success in attracting wealthy patrons: he is a master of the art 
of shameless ingratiation. He studies its methods and perfects 
his skills to such a degree as to inspire reluctant admiration 
within my breast. His methods were obvious to all and pleasing 
to a very select and chosen few, but his particular genius was 
in the choosing. I looked sternly at the girls as they snickered 
into their table linens upon learning that he resorted to 
writing down in advance his spontaneous compliments to the 
ladies. They were clearly unable to recognize the value of a 
devious mind. 
 
Throughout that first evening, our new guest commented on all 
manner of unremarkable features of the house while casting about 
subtle appraising looks when no one appeared to be looking. 
Nothing escaped his appreciative gaze - chimneys, staircase, 
even closets received due praise. The chandeliers and mantel 
clocks were deemed to be nicely sized, but neither as large nor 
as well-polished as those at Rosings, nor apparently as dear. I 
demurred more than once on being  asked to quote the price of 
this or that item of furniture. No doubt he eagerly awaited 
evening's end so that he might scurry up to his room and 
scribble these details covertly into some notebook,  in order 
better to report them to the grande dame upon his return to 
Kent. Or perhaps he merely wished to  appraise Longbourn for 
himself, in which case the apple may not have fallen as far from 
the tree as it  had at first appeared. 
 
It was at this point that my gaze rested fondly upon my third 
daughter, whose rapidly fluttering eyelashes were aimed at my 
cousin as he held forth with authority upon the length of the 
drapery fringes. I was forced to take a sudden gulp of my coffee 
in order to drown a burst of laughter as I recognized the 
machinations of my dear wife, the general, behind Mary's unusual 
interest in a man. I further chuckled at the thought of Mary as 
Mrs. Collins, out-sermonizing her husband on the topic of 
coveting thy neighbor's goods. "My dear," I  could hear her, "it 
behooves us to remember that the Lord looks with favor upon 
those who refrain from wishing for that which they do not 
themselves possess. For our riches are given and taken away by 
Him at will, and it would be among the direst of sins to wish 
for more than He has deemed us worthy to receive." I believed 
that she just might have the gumption to do it! Unusual thirst 
forced me to request many refills of coffee that evening as I 
pondered the match. 
 
But it was not to be. I watched over the next few days in morbid 
and alarmed fascination as the vicar's appraising eye bypassed 
my third daughter in favor of my elder--and better-endowed--
offspring. At first, he very obviously set his sights upon Jane 
(thus disconfirming my expectation of imprudence), but when 
informed that Jane had higher hopes than he could endeavor to 
inspire, he immediately singled out my Lizzy, with not a 
moment's prior reflection.  Subtle attempts on my part to steer 
him toward Mary were unsuccessful. I despaired of my cherished 
hopes, and began to anticipate with dread the day that he would 
make his intentions known. For, judging by the way my wife 
waddled after him and clucked with a self-satisfied air each 
time he paid Lizzy some small obsequious attention, a large 
domestic confrontation on the subject appeared to be inevitable. 
If only I could distract the man somehow. 
 
My countenance no doubt betraying grim determination, I threw 
caution to the wind, and welcomed him into my library. 
 
"Mr. Bennet, allow me to tell you that from the very first I had 
marked you for a man of letters. Why, your library is very well-
stocked indeed," he  gravitated toward the ostentatious boxed 
set of gold-leafed, leather-bound maps left me by my father,  
bypassing my scuffed and rumpled, but well-loved, history books. 
"These here remind me of those lining the walls of the library 
at Rosings! Of course, Lady Catherine's are much larger and have 
more gilt on the spines, as befitting the library of so 
illustrious a person. For you see," he continued, seating 
himself in my favorite chair and idly fingering a chess piece, 
"it is a most fortunate and beneficial talent of mine to subtly 
take note of small details about people's belongings that shed 
some light on their characters. And I always say that one may 
learn very much about a man by the books in his library," he 
finished, self-importantly. I poured us each a drink (port for 
him, brandy for myself) and settled down in the chair opposite 
and gave him my rapt attention. I most definitely wished to hear 
this. 
 
Thus began a long and very strange evening, during which I 
received many pearls of wisdom delivered between hefty swigs of 
port. I learned that the most illustrious personages possess 
larger and shinier books. They are never musty, because servants 
dust them every day and polish their gilded spines each week, 
and the higher one must climb to read the titles, the more 
important their owner. I imagined, then, that they must never be 
opened either; the better to preserve the leafed edges of the 
pages. For the purpose of a library for such owners, I now 
understand, must be to impress visitors with one's intelligence 
and ability to spend ready cash on such unnecessary and 
luxurious items as expensive-looking books. I must say I always 
suspected this to be the case. I was duly advised to replace my 
scratched, candle-wax spattered and cheap cloth-bound tomes with 
as many more attractive versions as I could afford. This advice 
thereby negated the compliment with which Mr. Collins opened the 
conversation and left me with a much-diminished opinion of his 
genius, though not of his hilarity. 
 
About half-way through this dissertation, self-preservation 
drove me to move the brandy decanter closer to my left elbow, 
and the germ of a brilliant idea began to form in my brain. I 
encouraged Mr. Collins to finish the port, assuring him that I 
had plenty more in the cellar, and began a friendly game of 
chess to distract him from my plan. No doubt encouraged by my 
generosity, Mr. Collins waxed enthusiastic about the 
advantageous situation in which he found himself as vicar of 
Hunsford. He then lectured me most thoroughly on the importance 
of strategy in life, while making humorous bungles resulting in 
the loss of his bishop, his rook, two knights and finally, his 
queen. 
 
My rapid refilling of Mr. Collins' glass began to have an 
effect, although not the one I had wished for. Rather than 
rendering him senseless and thereby blessedly quiet, the amount 
of port he had consumed thus far (which would have felled the 
most seasoned sailor or officer) only seemed to loosen his 
tongue further and apparently enabled it to give voice to his 
deepest and truest thoughts (5) 
 
"You see, my kind cousin," he began blithely, after staring in 
consternation and shock at the chessboard for several minutes, 
"I felt it would be a wise strategy to lose this game of chess 
to you. As you are my elder, and also my host, it would be an 
unpardonable breach of etiquette if I were to win at your own 
board, in your own library, and while sipping your own excellent 
port. May I say, most excellent port?" (I refilled his proffered 
glass with my worst port.) "For it is always advisable to 
endeavor to please those persons to whom one finds oneself 
indebted. I find that this facilitates the pleasure of 
extracting further favors as painlessly as possible." 
 
"Oh? And which favors would those be, if you do not mind 
enlightening one so much less adept in the art of wheedling as 
you?" I inquired mildly. He blinked at me for a moment, no doubt 
wondering how we had managed to come to be discussing the topic, 
and attempted to change the subject. However, he only managed to 
veer ever closer to it, as his brain had apparently ceased 
governing his actions and utterances. 
 
"Mr. Bennet, have I mentioned how enticing your daughters are? 
Truly, although I had heard them described as beauties before, 
they quite take my breath away. Especially," here his tone 
lowered conspiratorially, "your two eldest, Mr. Bennet. Such a 
lovely pair of ." his eyes glazed over at this point, as if the 
effort to think and speak simultaneously had become too 
rigorous, ". I should very much like to further my acquaintance 
with Miss Elizabeth, you know. And I do believe -- if I may be 
the tiniest bit immodest -- that I would have the blessing of 
your fair wife were I to do so." At this statement, and to my 
horror, the man winked.  
 
It occurred to me that my inebriated cousin had just made an 
actionable offense against my daughter to which it was my duty 
to respond. In truth, his words inspired something uncomfortably 
akin to mild resentment in my breast. But, as it is not in my 
nature to exert myself unduly, I reflected that he had hardly 
been in his right mind when he had done so (and that he was not, 
was largely my own doing). Perhaps he could still be made to see 
reason and switch his favor to Mary. I decided to let the moment 
pass, but the effort required to effect an unruffled countenance 
was estimable indeed.  
 
In a state  resembling something like panic, I contemplated the 
possibility that my brain might be permanently and adversely 
affected by listening to too much of this man's conversation. I 
soon found myself unwittingly matching the vicar almost glass 
for glass. But Mr. Collins refused to tire - his capacity for 
drink was truly astonishing. I poured us another, staring 
unbelievingly at the empty decanter. What was the time anyway? 
 
***** 
 
At the end of the evening, we stumbled up traitorously wavering 
stairs, Mr. Collins somewhat the worse for it, I am afraid. At 
the landing, we parted. I sat heavily upon the rug in my 
bedchamber and chuckled at the sound of the younger man 
lumbering unsteadily into his own room at the end of the hall 
and apparently completing his toilette. 
 
But is that truly what I was hearing? 
 
Tramp . tramp . stumble tramp . creak . high-pitched  scream 
sounding like Mary . muttered mumblings resembling "most humble 
and abject apologies" . panicked shrieking coming from wife's 
chamber . By God, that is not the sound of a man completing his 
toilette, I thought, belatedly. The lateness of the hour had 
rendered me somewhat confused, I believe.  
 
Stumble  bump, Tramp . tramp . creak . lewd feminine giggle . 
high-pitched scream coming from Collins this time, I think . 
door slam . tramp . tramp . very loud  thump . silence. 
 
Loud roaring in ears . some sort of distant far-off humming . 
Oh, that appears to be me. 
 
"  Mr. Bennet!  There is an intruder loose in the hallway, he is 
about to murder us all in our beds!  Mr. Bennet?" 
 
I heaved myself up off the floor and opened the door to the 
hallway. Squinting in the unaccountably bright light of the wall 
sconce, I was first at a loss to comprehend the scene before me. 
Mr. Collins sat slumped against the wall with legs stretched out 
across the hallway floor, while Lizzy and Jane ran right over 
him to the rooms containing my wife and youngest daughter. Kitty 
stood in her doorway opposite me. We blinked at each other. 
 
After some moments I  ascertained that Mr. Collins had misplaced 
his room and stumbled first upon Mary and then Lydia in growing 
agitation and confusion, whereupon he then abruptly gave in to 
extreme fatigue brought about by his endeavors in the library. 
Bypassing my wife's room, within which I could detect the 
telltale sounds of nerves beginning to flutter, I summoned the 
capable Mrs. Hill and together we  propelled my corpulent cousin 
into the proper chamber, leaving Lizzy to calm down her irate 
sister and Jane to soothe Mrs. Bennet's frightened ravings. 
 
Happy was I when my cousin decided to accompany my daughters 
into the village the next afternoon,  having slept off the 
effects of his nocturnal adventures well into the morning 
without the least appearance of ill effect or of memory. It only 
required four or five promises of reassurance from me that Mrs. 
Bennet and I would survive the loss of his stimulating company 
for one day, and that we comforted ourselves with thoughts of 
his inevitable return. My wife chose to view his "lapse" of the 
night before as evidence that the poor man was desperately in 
need of a wife. My daughters' attempts to avoid looking at him 
were punctuated by ill-restrained unladylike mirth, which 
appeared to puzzle him exceedingly.  
 
You are on your own, Lizzy my girl.  I  abandoned all further 
thought of rescuing  my daughter from Mr. Collins' odious 
presence during the remainder of his stay. Let her endure the 
inevitable proposal; no doubt it  will at least provide her with 
some amusing memories to chuckle over later! I was certain that 
my sensible girl would put the man in his place quickly enough, 
prompting him to switch once again down the line to Mary. Yes, 
Mary is a much better match, thought I, as she trailed the 
others out the door with her nose in a book.  
 
I watched in relief out the window as the retreating figures of 
my cousin and daughters bobbed down the lane, Mr. Collins 
frequently exerting himself to stay abreast of his female 
escorts while they remained steadfastly unaware of his troubles. 
This particular relation, at least, could not possibly inspire 
greater vexation and humility than he has these last few days.  
 
I could not have been more wrong. 
 
To be continued .... 
 
(1) Apologies to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
(2) A Treatise of Human Nature Book II, I, ii, by David Hume 
(1739-40).
(3) Paraphrased from Miles Gloriosus at I,i, by Titus Maccius 
Plautus. 
(4) I imagine that the works of moral and political philosophers 
such as Hume, Locke, Hobbes, Machiavelli, Aquinas, Augustine, 
Aristotle, and Plato, etc. might have been of particular 
interest to a man of my Mr. Bennet's education and interests. 
(5) Thanks to Esther, and many others at Firthness, for ideas on 
how a drunk Mr. Collins might behave. 
 
copyright joanie

Chapter 3 - Public Farce and Private Folly

"Lord, what fools these mortals be!"
A Midsummer Night's Dream
by William Shakespeare (1564-1616).


I do believe that one of the most grievously underrated human
virtues must be foolishness. I classify it as a virtue rather
than a vice for the simple reason that its practice often
constitutes such a high form of entertainment as to improve
one's mood instantly upon witnessing it. However, as I often
consider pointing out to my sermon-loving third daughter, any
virtue when practised to excess can become a vice. Consequently,
a connoisseur of folly must nurture within himself at all times
the ability to sense when one has enjoyed rather too much of a
good thing, and tactically withdraw.

To this end, after my interview with Mr. Collins in my library
and its ill effects on my health the next morning (not to
mention the mortal attack on my port supply), I tactically
withdrew from my cousin's company for the remainder of his
visit. Pleading pressing estate business (that saviour of many a
gentleman's good humour), I kept my library door closed and
remained within as much as possible. In my defense, I hardly
believe that he noticed, given the increasing amount of
attention he was paying to my daughter Elizabeth, and the
fevered preparations underway by the females in the household
for an upcoming grande fête.

For there was to be a ball at Netherfield, to which my entire
family, including Mr. Collins, was invited. The rapturous
revelry this inspired in my ravenous wife cannot be overstated.
She was convinced, by the mere fact that Mr. Bingley wished to
entertain his London friends and country neighbours under the
same roof, that he intended to hand his entire life and fortune
to Jane. My wife's elation was not confined to Jane's prospects,
however. The unhappy juxtaposition of her swelled pride
alongside Elizabeth's obvious displeasure when Mr. Collins
unctuously requested her hand for the first two dances were
enough to raise annoying little prickles of worry in my breast,
and sent me withdrawing behind closed doors once again.

Although sorely tempted to again plead estate business,
curiosity overcame my better instincts, and I agreed to escort
my family to the ball. For family gossip declared that not only
was Jane expected to receive the particular attentions of my
wealthy young neighbour, but also apparently my Lizzy had taken
a fancy to a mysterious young officer who was to attend. I
received this information on the best authority of my indiscreet
daughters, who have a habit of making their conversation heard
throughout the house, especially if its topic is a secret.
Apparently this young man was quite handsome and charming, and
they feared their older sister would monopolize all of his
attentions to their exclusion.

What caused me to take notice at all of their mindless chatter
in the first place, however, was Lizzy's uncharacteristic
silence in the face of it, and the unexpected rosy hue which
stole over her cheeks whenever his name was mentioned -
Wicksund, or Wickleby, or some such. The man and his name meant
so little to me at the time that I could never remember it
right. Unfortunately, subsequent events have branded it forever
correctly upon my brain. But I must not anticipate myself. At
the time, my curiosity was merely piqued by Lizzy's reaction
whenever mention was made of a certain swaggering young chap in
a red coat. Though he was declared to possess all the pleasant
traits desirous of a gentleman, whether he could lay claim to
such a title remained to be seen, for the word of my two
youngest was not sufficient to convince me. But given their
approbation, I suspected not.

In addition to curiosity, I was surprised to find that Lizzy's
purported infatuation with a redcoat inspired another rather
unfamiliar feeling in my breast. After some pondering I
concluded that I was disappointed in my favourite daughter. For
truly I believed that only the most extraordinary young man
could attract and be worthy of my Lizzy's favour. How, I asked
the swirling amber in my glass one evening, could she be
susceptible to the charms of a common soldier? For officer or
no, to me he was still a common soldier, unable to match her
quick, cultivated mind and likely unable to respect her properly
or provide for her materially either. I was convinced this Mr.
Wick-somebody was no better than any of the other young men of
his ilk, about whom my silly daughters spent their days giggling
and hatching ridiculous schemes. Based on the strength of their
admiration, I doubted very much that he could distinguish
between the low charms of my younger daughters and the more
refined and valued ones of the elder. I could well imagine him
distributing his attentions democratically among any of the
young ladies present. I was disappointed indeed.

I said nothing of the matter, however, as Elizabeth herself did
not bring it to my attention. Perhaps I could not resist
emitting a snort from time to time at the mention of officers,
an action that always caused Lizzy's eyes to seek the carpet.
And I believe I rolled my eyes once or twice at Mrs. Bennet's
enthusiasm about said officers, displaying a sentiment that I
might normally have expected Elizabeth to share with me. I
remember well my beloved's youthful approval of redcoats. She
had decided early in our marriage that I was too often occupied
with my own pursuits and set out to woo me back by pricking my
vanity. She almost succeeded, although truth be told I never
sincerely feared losing her. I simply could not fathom that she
would ever be attracted to someone so obviously shallow. That
she truly was enjoying herself without me gradually became
apparent however, and I put a stop to it. She dusts off the
incident and displays it now and then when she feels that I need
to be reminded of her existence.

As if I could ever forget.

*****
And so the Ball at Netherfield was duly attended by the Bennet
family and my cousin Collins. I was forced to hire an extra
carriage for the evening, which vexed me greatly, for my wife
would never hear of leaving our three youngest at home.  But I
knew better than to exert my authority in that direction.  It
proved to be as grand a pageant of fools as could hope to please
Erasmus himself. (1)

Upon arrival, all eight of us waited in the crush to be received
by our hostess and her sister, who had outdone themselves in
pomp and finery. Miss Bingley was the proudest peahen
imaginable, with plumage to rival the peacock and a look on her
face announcing to all that this, the grandest event that
Meryton had seen since Netherfield was last let, was entirely
her own affair. She offered me a limp gloved hand and a split-
second glance before moving on to the next guest. Mrs. Hurst
appeared then, pale and plump next to the gallinaceous glamour
on her right. She seemed unable to maintain attention on the
entering guests as she searched over our heads for some person
or persons not present. A fan was clutched tightly in the hand
that she offered me, so I declined to take it. I saw no sign of
Mr. Darcy or Mr. Hurst in the sumptuous entry hall.

Mr. Bingley hovered near however, eyes bright and grin in
shining evidence, apparently waiting to pluck Jane from my side
and whisk her off into the throng, for when I looked again he
hovered no longer and Jane had disappeared as well. Thereupon,
finally breaking free of the Bingley sisters' rapturous
welcoming embrace, I espied Mr. Darcy standing alone in the
vicinity of one of the tall draped windows, looking for all the
world as if he wished himself elsewhere. I felt a fleeting
kinship with him, until I noticed his austere countenance and
acute gaze fixed in the direction of my Elizabeth. She glanced
briefly his way and her face darkened the tiniest bit before
looking away again. Curious, thought I to myself. I was
intrigued, but he shifted his gaze quickly enough when she
looked his way again, thus depriving me of their intriguing
brand of entertainment.

Offering one arm to my wife and one to my second daughter, I
sallied forth into the ballroom, but was divested of both
partners as each espied a favourite friend with whom to gossip.
I kept my eye fixed upon Lizzy for a time, noting with a pang
how remarkably beautiful she looked and painfully aware that she
had made herself so for her officer. Her cheeks were flushed and
her eyes sparkled in anticipation of the evening. 'Tis never an
easy thing when one's daughter transfers her devoted gaze from
her father to some undeserving whelp. I had a fleeting glimpse
of a much younger Lizzy, short curls all done up in blue ribbons
and adoring eyes fixed upon mine as we traversed the parlour in
intricate French patterns, small slippered feet resting securely
on large booted ones. I roused myself from my reverie and,
blinking rapidly under the bright light of the chandelier,
located the beverage table by the throngs of men already milling
around it. I made my way thither with haste.

Throughout the crowded ballroom that evening I caught little
glimpses of mundanity that underlay the splendour of the
occasion. Flowers, greens and masses of lit candles on every
conceivable unused surface were eyed warily by more than one
footman when no one of consequence was looking. The musicians
played superbly, but looked rather uncomfortable squashed
together into too small a space in one corner of the ballroom.
Another entire corner was occupied by four gossiping matrons in
heavily laced caps, whose heaving . figures left them looking as
if their seamstresses had run out of gown fabric. The faces of
fashionable young misses failed to conceal the keen assessment
of the other guests behind their frozen smiles and studied looks
of polite boredom, and easily marked them as London friends of
the Bingley sisters. The officers stood in clumps, ogling pretty
young guests from behind their raised glasses while conversing
earnestly amongst themselves. Ladies in shining jewels and
bobbing feathers, gentlemen with strained waistcoats and puffing
red faces, young people bowing and curtseying with eyes modestly
averted - all were duly noted and provided secret diversion.
Filled glasses clinked melodiously as they whisked by,
glittering, on laden trays. I rescued one that tottered too
close to the edge, and moved on.

Soon enough though, my interest waned. All this tastefully
expensive glitter and feigned indifference was not for me. One
genuine conversation with a truly interesting individual would
have been worth more to me than the cost of the entire affair,
for I had seen countless such balls before; indeed, spent many
such nights in my youth. When not chasing after my butterfly of
a young wife, it had bored me then, and it bores me now. I
searched the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lizzy's
intrepid soldier, and to keep an eye on Netherfield's pair of
young bucks. Finding none of them at the moment, I gave my empty
glass to a florid-faced servant in ill-fitting livery and set
out to manufacture some entertainment for myself. And so,
curious after having missed his esteemed presence at the
receiving line, which was only now breaking up, I headed in the
direction of the balding pate of Mr. Hurst.

Hurst appeared genuinely surprised to see me, and proved to be a
reluctant conversationalist but an affable companion.

"Tell me, Mr. Hurst. Do you not find all this pomp and ceremony
to be an expensive and unnecessary means of meeting one's mate?"

"Hmmph? Oh yes, quite." Hurst answered, eyeing me strangely
through slightly watery green eyes. My kind of man!, I thought,
still reeling from the over-abundance of long-winded obsequious
nonsense that had filled my own house recently. We maintained an
easy silence for a time, each nursing our drinks and private
thoughts while observing the interweaving dancers on the floor.

"Damned tedious business, dancing" muttered Hurst after a time.

"Indeed, but if one were to believe the ladies, a very important
tedious business."

Hurst gave a snort. "I prefer a day of sport and an evening of
cards. Do you shoot, Mr. Bennet?"

"But rarely I am afraid. I find I have not the proper
temperament for chasing things across fields with noisy dogs in
tow. I prefer the solitude of fishing, when I can have it, or a
good book."

"Singular!" Hurst eyed me with cocked eyebrow.

"Do you read, Mr. Hurst?" I looked sideways at him, in no great
doubt of the answer.

"Hardly! A man who reads in company is uncommonly lacking in
fashion." Hurst exclaimed, eyes narrowing at Mr. Darcy who
stalked by at that moment, watching Elizabeth and Mr. Collins
attempt to avoid colliding on the dance floor.

After sharing a smirk at the expense of my poor progeny and her
portly partner, we lapsed into silence once again until Mrs.
Hurst came into view, punctuating a deep conversation with her
sister with furtive glances in our direction, brows narrowed
ominously. I certainly recognised that look, having received it
from my own dear wife on many an occasion.

"'Od save 's!' he muttered under his breath. "That woman will be
the death of me. Pray, take my glass," he pleaded. "Quickly,
man!" I obliged. "I fear I shall have to appease my wife with a
turn on the dance floor for this," was his unhappy farewell as
the lady in question advanced upon us with malicious intent
glittering in her eyes.

Wandering off with Hurst's half-empty glass, I found myself in
the vicinity of the tall gentleman from Derbyshire, still
standing alone watching the dancers. He was studying Elizabeth
again, this time more happily partnered with Mr. Bingley, with
the same intense but inscrutable expression on his face that I
now irrevocably associated with him. For one who "feels he is
well above his company", he certainly displays an unusual
interest in my daughte, thought I.  It was time to take a closer
look at Mr. Darcy.

I must admit that I was too much in awe of Mr. Darcy's
unwelcoming demeanour and exalted reputation to approach him as
I had Mr. Hurst. Instead, I made it my business for the next
hour to shadow him, under cover of various conveniently located
clumps of conversants. It mattered not, however, whether I hid
myself or no -- Mr. Darcy appeared to have no eyes for any other
than Elizabeth. Whither she went, he followed a few paces off,
silent and severe. My daughter, however, seemed all but
oblivious to him, but she was nearly the only one who was. He
was a deuced handsome man, I felt forced to admit. Whether or
not they approved of his manners, the ladies had all noticed and
approved of his great height, imposing figure and muscular
calves. And I had heard many a giggling mention of his fine seat
and commanding air on horseback after my daughters had met him
on a trip into Meryton.  Indeed there was nothing, short of his
excessive pride, that would not recommend him to any woman who
had eyes with which to see. This only made my Lizzy's
fastidiousness even more laudable, in my opinion.

I watched Miss Lucas and Miss Bingley notice him from opposite
points in the room, and was momentarily struck by the odd humour
in the fact that a number of Mr. Bingley's guests appeared to be
occupied in watching each other watch each other. Mr. Darcy
disappointed Miss Bingley's attempt to distract him by abruptly
striding toward Elizabeth as she stood with Miss Lucas and
engaging her for a pair of dances. I knew my daughter was
surprised and less than pleased by the quick colour that stole
over her face and the vexed look she assumed as he turned away.
She maintained her discomposure throughout their dance, and for
the first time in two decades I wished to have been dancing as
well, so that I might have the pleasure of overhearing what
looked to be a delicious conversation between this oddly matched
pair. Judging by Mr. Darcy's own heightened colour and pained
looks, it appeared that my own girl had bested him. That he was
attracted to her there could be no question, for he had asked no
other to dance that night. But it was equally obvious to me that
Elizabeth loathed him. It was in her eyes, in the set of her
shoulders, in the tiny crease between her brows and in the way
she snapped her head round to find him again after every turn in
the dance, ready to charge and topple him once more. I wondered
why she agreed to partner him in the first place, but then my
Lizzy always did enjoy a verbal joust.

It was amusing and puzzling at the same time - for while I knew
that Elizabeth would never countenance an alliance of any kind
with Mr. Darcy, I was also certain from his reputed arrogance
and superior situation that he could not be harbouring any
serious intentions toward her. At any rate, it appeared that
Elizabeth was able to repel him easily, for his look as they
parted after the dance was sterner than ever, and he was very
grave for the remainder of the evening. Occasionally I fancied
that he cast disapproving glances even at my wife, my younger
daughters and me; apparently our credit had plummeted along with
Elizabeth's civility. Ah well, thought I, It is a great fortune
indeed to have the pleasure of displeasing one's most
disagreeable neighbours!

The latter part of the evening crawled by in a haze of tedium
and activity. There were cold chicken, ham and amateur musical
entertainment to be digested (I stayed away from the
unpronounceable dishes and fancy sauces that Miss Bingley seemed
to delight in presenting). At one point, I was obliged to rescue
Mr. Bingley's guests from an over-abundance of Mary's vocal
offerings. She had delighted us long enough by the end of the
first verse, but displayed a generosity usually lacking in her
nature by presenting us with four more verses in the same vein
as the first. I caught Elizabeth's eye during the obligatory
applause following, and the appeal in them was clear, so I
insisted Mary abandon the planned encore and allow other girls
equal time to compete for the attentions of their soporific
audience.

I myself was more entertained by the non-musical performers in
my family..

".And as you know such an alliance cannot but benefit all my
poor lovely daughters.  Why, the pin money alone ." ...

.. "May I be so forward as to compliment you, my dear Miss
Elizabeth, on the entirely elegant and, may I say, gratifyingly
appropriate dress you have chosen to wear this evening? It has
just the right and proper amount of lace and trim, as to give
you an appearance of gentle femininity whilst not overstepping
your place amongst the more affluent female guests. And might I
also be so presumptuous as to assume, that your exceeding good
looks this evening have been of your own design for my benefit,
as your humble partner in the opening dance of this grand
occasion?"
..
My cousin indeed exhibited a pleasingly plentiful lack of wit,
even at his young age.  (1)

.. "Oh I am so pleased that Mr. Bingley invited the officers,
otherwise this Ball would be most frightfully dull, do you not
think so? Lord, I am fagged! Come, I long for more punch!" ..

.. "Well the dress may be flattering on her, but the lace on the
cuffs is mine, she stole it from me! I was going to trim a hat
with it. And I had to wear this old thing again. It is entirely
unfair, for she is younger than I am by two years. She should
not even be out yet, I overheard that woman over there saying
so" ..

.. "Who, Lizzy?  Of course she is pleased, I daresay she is very
flattered by Mr. Collins' attentions.  And she cannot hope to do
much better either.  He is a very sensible and considerate young
man.  Can you not imagine the pleasure it will be to know that
Longbourn need never be closed to me.?!"

I looked over to Elizabeth to share my amusement at these
members of our illustrious family. She had escaped her
importunate partner and now stood in a corner with Jane,
uncharacteristically silent. They both had coloured and were
looking at the floor. Silly girls, they should realise that one
really cannot expect sense from all the members of one's family,
a lesson I learned all too well long ago. Though I am not
without a little sympathy, I know that when one's family members
are determined to expose themselves to ridicule, one can only
hope to derive amusement from their foolish displays, and
reflect on the good fortune that prevents oneself from joining
them. After all, wise men will ever avoid the mistakes made by
fools, while fools will always fail to follow the good example
of their betters.  (3)

Ah, I fear that truly, there sometimes appear to be no less than
six silly girls in my family, which, in my estimation, is a
grand distinction indeed.

*****

Before ending my tale of the illustrious ball at Netherfield,
and as much as it discomposes me to do so, I feel obliged to
relate the entire events of that evening. For if I am to be
entirely truthful, my wife and daughters were not the only
foolish Bennets on the premises. I myself must own the office as
well. Just before dinner, I had a brief but engaging
conversation with a lovely woman of middling age, the widow of
Mr. Miles Arbright, a neighbour who had been an occasional
friendly fishing partner in my younger days. She was very
attractive, with dark hair shot with silver and wispy curls
peeking out from under the silk of her turban. She wore a
subdued gown of indeterminate colour (I really do not take
notice of such female things as gowns), which showed off an
ample bosom and a still-pleasing figure. She had high
cheekbones, and her skin glowed with the health of a much
younger woman. Her intelligent grey eyes contained just a shadow
in them that hinted at a wisdom gained from many years of living
an unfulfilled life (I had gathered during my fishing exploits
with Arbright that his had not been a very happy marriage). But
there was a spark of quickness in them too, and they rested
fleetingly upon various persons who caught her attention before
roaming the room again in search of someone more interesting. I
found myself, entirely against character, wondering what it
would be like to be that someone.

We spoke inconsequentially of her late husband and the small
estate he had left to her. I can remember nothing particularly
of what she said, only that she said it with elegance and
dignity, in a clear bell-like voice that also did not fit her
age. I was quite taken with her vivacity, and I smiled at her
often -- perhaps too much -- inspired by her engaging laughter.
She teased me a bit, and I smiled some more. I must have looked
a ridiculous fool!

I know not how long we spoke. Her escort returned with a glass
of punch and assumed a challenging and proprietary air, and she
immediately engaged him in an easy flirtation. At the same time
I was aware that I had entirely forgotten my whereabouts in the
pleasure of her conversation, and looked around guiltily for
Mrs. Bennet, feeling a sudden odd kinship with Mr. Hurst.
Fortunately, Mrs. Bennet, who usually catches everything gossip-
worthy within her vicinity with sharp eye, sharper ear, and a
razor for a tongue, deems me to be beyond the realm of the
interesting. As far as I could ascertain, she remained oblivious
to the entire incident, and spent the carriage ride home raving
about attentions paid to Jane by Bingley, and complaining about
imagined slights from the other ladies of the neighbourhood.
Ironically, she failed to recognise the very real slights
received from our hostesses during the interminable wait for our
carriage. I was thankful indeed that she appeared not to have
noticed Mrs. Arbright's presence that evening at all.

Late as it was when we returned home, I ended the evening alone
in my library, wandering down that primrose path of what-ifs and
if onlys. I found myself wishing that I were not so damned
honourable, and immediately felt the full weight of guilt for
having the thought. I convinced myself that it was wiser to
enumerate the better qualities of my own spouse; for in spite of
her faults Mrs. Bennet does possess a few admirable traits, such
as honesty, plain speaking, and a desire to please. An
additional quality in her favour is that she worships me (when
not complaining about all and sundry). I resolved to be more
cognisant of my own good fortune, however small. Allowing myself
a final brandy, I sat lost in thought in front of the cold fire
long after I should have retired.

*****

The inevitable came to pass the morning following the ball, when
all were suffering the after-effects of a late night and
elevated spirits. Indeed, I would have thought that Mr. Collins,
at least, had elevated the proffered spirits sufficient for one
evening, and should have considered himself fortunate merely to
be awake at the early hour of nine bells, rather than making
offers of marriage. But raised voices in the parlour, one
supplicating and one indignant, were an advance warning that my
carefully constructed morning haze was about to be brutally
dispersed.

My wife had already notified me of Lizzy's impending joy, since
she had made it her business to know the secret workings of Mr.
Collins' not-so-obscure mind for days now. But apparently at the
hour of her triumph she found my presence necessary to convince
Lizzy of her good fortune. I called them into the library, where
behind closed doors we attempted to breach the impasse.

What an impasse it was! I am proud to say that it is my great
good fortune in this life to be able to see the humorous aspects
of nearly any situation. Consequently, I took the opportunity to
revel in the suspense caused by my wife and daughter looking
simultaneously toward myself in anticipation of wholly
contradictory judgments. Whilst appearing to dither long in
consideration of every point of information offered by my wife,
I appealed frequently to my daughter for verification of these
assertions. Had she indeed received an offer of marriage from
Mr. Collins? Had she indeed refused him outright? Had her mother
indeed threatened never to see her more if she did not
reconsider her refusal? All were answered in the affirmative. I
relished my position, keeping my true intentions hidden from my
wife (who I must say, was entirely too complacent in her belief
in the success of her plan).

At one point in the proceedings, I looked with amusement towards
my Lizzy for a glimpse of her response to my prevarications.
Expecting to see evidence of a sly understanding of my joke, I
instead beheld a hardening of her features that indicated her
intended intransigence no matter how I myself should decide in
the matter. She refused to look at either of us, preferring to
fix her eye resolutely upon the rose pattern of the rug. I knew
that look for what it was - calm but clear rebellion. I felt
suddenly cold. At this, I quickly moved to reassure my favourite
daughter of the better foundation of my senses, fervently hoping
never to see that particular expression upon her countenance
again!

Upon announcing that I would never see her again if she were to
agree to such an absurd union, I found my enjoyment of several
disappointed shrieks emitted by Mrs. Bennet to be considerably
enhanced by the bright smile that replaced my daughter's pained
look. My wife was not to be denied, however, without unleashing
her disappointed fury on our daughter. Indeed, she used
Elizabeth very ill that day, telling her no less than five or
six times that she would never speak to her again, and
predicting dire consequences for her upon my death.

It was clear that Elizabeth looked to me to cushion the impact
of my wife's impassioned words, but I knew better than to
intervene. My lot would only be that much more difficult if I
did, and it would not have diminished Mrs. Bennet's tirades
towards her one bit. I tried to communicate this to her, but she
kept her face averted from my own. Her disappointed expression
still hung before me long after I retired for the evening. I was
forced to clear my head with a brandy in order to dispel it.
Damnation! My Lizzy had never been disappointed in me before.
But we all have our burdens to bear.

My wife's vocal dismay at the loss of Mr. Collins as a potential
son-in-law lasted all day and long into the night. In the end, I
was not able to save myself from my beloved's vexation. I was
serenaded with multiple renditions of "You do not know my
sufferings" in between variations on the theme of "My poor
nerves":

"Oh, what felicity it would be to be able to welcome the death
of a spouse, rather than fear it above all things!"

"Indeed, madam. It is truly both a pleasure and a comfort. I
meditate upon that felicity daily."

"Mr. Bennet!  You think nothing of my cherished dreams.  How
very cruelly you both have used me this day!"

Had I not just decided to value her honest nature? Did I not
believe only last night that she worshiped me? I stoked the fire
and prepared to settle in for a long visit with my trusted
comforts, and sullenly came to the conclusion that women are all
confounded creatures, their minds weak and their hearts
impenetrable.

*****

The following day dawned brightly, in spite of the rain, as we
were finally able to rid ourselves of my odious kinsman. While I
had anticipated his visit with pleasure, if only for the sheer
delight of witnessing the antics of what surely must be one of
the stupidest men in England, he had in actuality lost much of
his charm well before he had quit our company. Our deliverance
came in the form of an unexpected guardian angel: Miss Charlotte
Lucas.

Miss Lucas. One wonders how such a seemingly sensible, practical
girl could spring from the loins of two such addle-headed
parents. For that matter, one wonders how a girl with such
traits could make so insensible and impractical a choice for
herself. But choose she did, and when my amorous houseguest made
her the offer of his hand, she readily, though bewilderingly,
accepted. Upon further reflection, I concluded that Miss Lucas
had been blessed with ample experience in handling fools, and
would no doubt benefit from the exchange of two for one. I urged
Elizabeth, who appeared to grieve for her friend, to consider
that Miss Lucas is so very prudent and lacking in nonsensical
qualities that she might conceivably improve the man. Indeed,
how could one so devoid of sense fail to gain from an alliance
with one such as she?

Ultimately, however, I am forced to confess indifference on the
matter of my cousin's marriage, as it is not my daughter who
must bear his simpering silliness day in and day out, nor is it
I who must call him son-in-law. Furthermore, I received welcome
and incontrovertible proof that I am not the only father of
silly daughters in the neighbourhood - a great relief, you must
understand. For I have long been of the opinion that all girls
possess some amount of silliness in their characters, and fear
that only time and the proper circumstances will bear this out.

That evening I celebrated long my deliverance from the vacuous
visiting vicar, while the Netherfield inhabitants quietly, and
it was soon feared permanently, made good their escape from
Meryton.

(1) Erasmus of Rotterdam, a Renaissance Humanist thinker and man
of letters, wrote Praise of Folly in 1509-1511, an ironic attack
on the behaviour of the ruling classes and church dignitaries of
his day, claiming to celebrate all the vanities and foibles of
mankind.
(2) Hamlet at II,ii in Hamlet, by William Shakespeare.
(3) Plutarch (A.D. 46-120), Life of Marcus Cato.

Copyright Joanie.

Chapter 4 - Winter of Discontent (1)

"'Tis safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion."
The Rivals, by Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816).

Mr. Collins and Miss Lucas were duly married after Christmas festivities had 
ended. My wife's mood was uncommonly poor throughout the proceedings, but was 
heeded by an uncommon few. Miss Lucas as usual gave little indication of her 
true feelings upon becoming Mrs. Collins, but neither did she afford opportunity 
for supposing that Mrs. Bennet's claims that she coveted Longbourn had any 
weight of truth in them whatever. My cousin's words of gratitude to the minister 
upon completion of the service knew no bounds, and fell with much success on 
that good man's surprised ears. Elizabeth's disappointment in her friend was 
evident to me, and hovered like a shadow over their final goodbyes. I was 
surprised, therefore, when she applied for my consent to visit her friend in the 
spring.

Sadly, for my part I could not but ponder the similarities between Mrs. Collins' 
fate and my own - both of us saddled with a spouse whose understanding could not 
meet our own. Elizabeth had related to me her friend's opinion that since 
happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance, it is better to begin 
one's marriage unfamiliar with the defects of one's spouse. But a situation in 
which such blissful unfamiliarity was more impossible, I could not imagine. 
Where I myself entered into mine with attraction and come to realise our 
inequalities gradually, I felt certain that my daughter's particular friend must 
begin hers with some amount of aversion, the immediate realization of her 
husband's inadequacy having been made manifest at the outset. I wondered on the 
possible felicity of such a marriage - at least my wife was pleasing to the eye. 

Elizabeth's opinion was everywhere apparent - the turn of her head whenever he 
leaned close to his beloved to whisper some simpering sally, a discreet glance 
to her friend when he uttered an absurdity (which was often) as if searching for 
some sign of discomfort in her friend, the wonder in her eyes at her friend's 
composure at such moments. I echoed her thoughts. What hope for a marriage that 
commenced with such straitened sensibilities? But perhaps aversion, with all its 
low expectations, cannot help but improve with increased familiarity. Well, what 
did I know of felicity in marriage? I could only hope that my daughter might 
never find herself in a similar position.

*****

It had been a long and tedious winter, punctuated only by a Christmas visit from 
my excellent brother Gardiner and his wife. Mrs. Gardiner spent a good deal of 
time locked away with my Lizzy, speaking no doubt of girlish matters, and she 
took Jane back with her - flaws which I could neither fault nor forgive. She was 
a sensible woman, and I rejoiced in the favour she bestowed upon my girls.

Longbourn of an evening was often distinguished by the swaggering of officers, 
invited by my wife for the entertainment of our guests. Among these was Lizzy's 
great favourite, and the subject of more than one sharp and searching glance 
from her aunt and myself. I saw before me a young man with restless mien, easy 
manners, an eye for the ladies and an ear for gossip. He was a tall, good-
looking fellow possessed of all the charm and artful artlessness one might 
expect from one who gives and receives empty praise. It struck me that his air 
of affable goodness was perhaps more carefully cultivated than natural, for he 
displayed a guarded, closed expression when not engaged in conversation or being 
knowingly observed. 

Thinking perhaps that I was influenced by my dislike of red-coats and my own 
wife's not inconsiderable preference for them, I resolved to watch Mr. Wickham 
more closely, and upon further examination found him to be most delightfully 
unreserved. He could not hope to please the room more happily with his story of 
disappointment at the hands of Mr. Darcy, and as he coveted to please above all 
things, was an instant success. 

I was also obliged to witness the likelihood that my daughter's partiality for 
him was reciprocated. While he was careful to circulate among the entire party 
and she had duties as a hostess, they often could be found in earnest 
conversation, as close together as propriety would allow. Fearful lest I should 
lose my daughter's intimacy, I withheld my counsel. I refrained from remarking, 
for instance, upon our great good fortune that Mr. Darcy had left town, thereby 
facilitating the proliferation of Mr. Wickham's extravagant tale of woe. Instead 
I merely pronounced him to be a fine enough fellow, with more cause to repine 
than most young men of his age and station. My daughter nodded in agreement, and 
I was satisfied that she felt secure in my approval.

As winter wore on and I continued to see red in the drawing room after supper, 
my dislike of officers was piqued anew. Every declaration by Mrs. Bennet 
proclaiming Wickham to have been ill used by Mr. Darcy, and the latter to be 
among the worst of men, inclined me by sheer perversity to wish to proclaim the 
opposite. But, ever the amiable host, I instead drew to our poor misbegotten 
fellow's attention the tables my wife had kindly set up in the drawing room.

"Oh no, sir, I am not a gaming man". 

Averting my eyes at the sight of too much teeth, I pressed on. "Then what say 
you to a game of chess? I have an excellent board set up in my library."

Again he offered charming demurs, to the effect that he had no head for strategy 
and deception. "I am merely a simple soldier delighted to enjoy the compliment 
of such excellent society for as long as I might be allowed" (here a slight 
blush, as he looked at his polished toes).

He is damned good. "Ah well then carry on, my boy. I daresay you will find here 
an abundance of simple society to do your head justice."

If my daughter stood to inherit Longbourn, I might be forced to worry about this 
lad. But I took comfort in our lack of fortune and called it a blessing in 
disguise, serving as it did to keep her safe from any who might tempt her away.

Blessing in disguise indeed.

When the girls later received the dire news from Mrs. Phillips that my sly 
friend was to become engaged to a Miss Mary King, a young woman rumoured to have 
recently inherited 10,000 pounds, I alone in the house was not surprised in the 
least. During one of our evening conversations, Elizabeth did not scruple to 
blame Mr. Darcy rather than her faithless favourite for his swift and surprising 
change of heart. I looked askance at her, wondering that she was pleased to 
think of hating the man so often. He almost certainly admired her, I felt sure, 
which was a delicious irony. 

If he were not such a tall, proud fellow, I might actually have pitied his 
situation ... but for the inescapable fact that Mr. Darcy neither wanted nor 
needed anything from me, especially pity.

*****

We languished for weeks with nary a diversion once the cold set in. We all 
longed for something unattainable that winter. I myself wished for the onset of 
spring, as the long dark days encouraged my own tendency toward indolence and 
melancholy. Jane's pining for her lost puppy most likely continued at her Aunt 
and Uncle's in London, albeit blessed by the absence of her mother's diatribes 
on the subject. Elizabeth pined, I assumed, for her friend's company, for she 
assured me brightly that her heart had not been touched by any officer. ... I 
knew all along that she was too smart to be taken in.... But she was restless, 
often braving the bitter cold to walk the countryside, returning with frosty 
breath and an endearing little red nose that sent her mother into fits. The 
younger girls pined for the greater freedom of clement weather, complaining that 
the walk into Meryton was too dirty and cold to merit even the company of 
irresponsible young men. And my wife pined for lost opportunities, as she must. 
I learned more than I thought possible about her misfortunes and the lack of 
quality gentlemen in the country. 

I own to having lost patience with all of them. 

Soon Elizabeth left me for Kent, leaving me unable fully to enjoy the arrival of 
spring. I was unprepared for the pain of her leave-taking, for her restlessness 
of late had become nearly as irksome to me as the others'. I knew she was 
anxious for any diversion to be had, even one provided by my insufferable 
cousin. But what diversion was there for me? I looked into the face of her long 
absence, and rebelled.

"My dear, you leave your poor father in a pitiable state. Be certain to write 
often and relieve me of the tedium of a house devoid of sense. I may even find 
time to return the favour."

"Yes of course, father. I will gladly write to you." She gave me an amused half-
smile, blithely unaware of my real pain.

"Well then, be off now, before I change my mind and find some indispensable use 
for you until summer." 

And she was gone, bright eyes and a cheerful squeeze of her hand my only 
memories. 

I was left to negotiate the choppy waters between a domestic Scylla and a fiscal 
Charybdis. I wished, not for the first time, for the luxury of a steward, for I 
did not relish the chore of visiting the farm in the cold rain that had set in. 
It seemed some animals had taken ill, including the best plough horse. Well, 
nothing could be done about replacing these until better weather. But the 
expense that would be incurred cast a long shadow over my days.

"My dear!  I do wish we had more horses!  Onl two more so I could have the 
carriage without waiting?  You must see the advantage of having a carriage at 
one's disposal when one is attempting to marry off five daughters!" 

"May I remind you, madam, of the last time the carriage was at Jane's beck and 
call? She was utterly and fruitlessly prevented from making use of it!"

"Oh Mama, the most terrible thing has happened - Denny says the regiment will be 
leaving Meryton in the spring!"

"No Kitty, I found it out first, and from Mrs. Forster too, who would know 
before anyone else. And she says it is to be a secret so you could not have 
heard it from Denny! I told you and you know it - you always try to take credit 
for my information!"

"Oh Mr. Bennet do not remind me of those horrible men from Netherfield!  Why 
that Mr. Bingley used us very ill indeed!  And now the officers, we are to be 
abandoned and forgotten without so much as a thought!  And after I gave them 
gooseberry fool!" 

She most certainly did give them a fool.

I made a dash for my library before Mary could open her mouth. 

*****

It was a Sunday evening, the night of the week when I am somehow most restless, 
possibly due to the divergence between the ideals in the vicar's sermons and the 
reality in my own household. Sunday was also the day on which I often caught a 
glimpse of her. I found that if I turned around quickly in my front pew and 
searched the back of the church at the end of the service, I could see her 
leaving. Once, I managed to meet her eyes before she turned from her pew, and 
their grey light warmed me until I reached home and realized how far away she 
really was.

For I am an honourable man. Regardless of aversion or attraction, I have never 
broken the vows I spoke to my wife, and I had resolved never to do so. I was 
compelled to remind myself of this more than once, however, and more than once I 
found my resolution tested. I began to feel it a great misfortune to be unable 
to find contentment in merely maintaining the appearance of honour. Would that I 
could mangle honour and appearance to suit my happiness, for "though pious, I am 
none the less a man." (2) Indeed, as March turned to April, I found honour to be 
colder and colder comfort, until the night of the horses. 

That night I sat frowning on the great questions plaguing the universe. Why, 
when it comes to women, am I always drawn to those I should not have? I should 
not have dallied while at Cambridge; I should not have married my wife. But I 
wanted them. And I most definitely should not want Mrs. Arbright... Evelyn. Such 
a lovely name - the forbidden syllables rolled languidly off my tongue as my own 
wife's might have once.

I snarled. What is honour? It is not an unassailable, shining ideal or divine 
principle guiding men's behavior from above - for nothing of the sort exists 
that is not grounded in reality, in base human experience. Honour must rather be 
a distillation of men's perceptions of the kinds of behavior that benefit 
themselves the most. 

Inspired by the salutary effects of spirit, I warmed to my topic, wishing for my 
usual delightfully pert and sympathetic audience, or another one, closer to my 
heart at the moment. 

If honour is merely the embellishment of a simple idea based on the felicity and 
pain experienced by those who uphold its dictates and those who do not, then how 
can it withstand men's different perceptions of felicity and pain? 

I knew I was on to something here. If only I had someone to listen, to 
understand the vital importance of my discovery. Honour is a relative term - it 
is for men to define it. Indeed, all ideals are relative - and born to be 
questioned. I celebrated with a toast to my favourite Scotsman (2) - who, I had 
to admit in the sober light of day, might have looked askance at more than one 
of my conclusions. 

What if a man endures pain as the result of remaining honourable? Is he not then 
entitled to revise his definition of same? Is it really reasonable to declare 
that the greater good is achieved by remaining honourable despite individual 
pain? 

This was something to think on indeed.

Ultimately, I asked the swimming lines before me, is there not less utility in 
remaining unhappily faithful to my vows, than in engaging discreetly in an 
activity deemed acceptable by society if unacknowledged, which would undoubtedly 
render me a more agreeable member of that society by virtue of my own greater 
happiness? 

Yes, confound it! Undoubtedly so... 

I settled, delighted with my own understanding.... And as the book slipped from 
my grasp, a different hazy vision took its place - a pair of sparkling shadowed 
eyes in a flirtatious countenance, lashes lowered and blush in evidence, fine 
lines of character enhancing a knowing smile. Ahhhh.... 

I floated with the tide.

Willing the vision to solidify, I beheld a slender neck with a minimum of crepe, 
and lovely white shoulders, grazed by a curl whose touch I envied.... a 
delightful figure, curving provocatively within something that billowed.... 
breath quickened and soft upon my face, smelling sweet as I knew it would.... 
yes, I recognized her through closed eyes. How easy it was.... 

Waves crested and peaked somewhere in the distance.

I drifted for some time, I know not how long, happily meditating on the 
undoubted charms of one lady, until they suddenly belonged to a different lady 
entirely, who proceeded to age and begin harping sharply.... I ran aground with 
a start, and all visions vanished. A plague on't! There was something important. 
... Ah yes, I had been dreaming of a dalliance ... delightful, yes.

And yet....

And yet, in my heart I knew that I could do nothing of the sort. It would pit me 
against all that I held dear, phantoms though my principles may be. No, mine was 
a rebellion in mind only. It was not for me to defy convention, to question the 
order that had bequeathed me my present comforts. Or perhaps I feared the 
acquisition of greater comfort might prove to be a disappointment, or I to her. 

Nevertheless....

Sails billowed briefly once more. ...

As a young man I had flouted freely my father's wishes, but never beyond the 
point of safety. I could not begin now. There is value in adhering to society's 
precepts, value in remaining fast to the spirit of our principles. There is 
value in self respect.

A final vision, of my dearest daughter, brought me to shore for good. I knew I 
could never be the kind of man that I did not want for her.

Waking, I glanced downward to where the book taunted me from its perch on my 
rotund middle, and cursed myself for a fool.

*****

At length, I received a letter from my Lizzy, which relieved the monotony that 
my existence had become while at the same time throwing it into heartbreaking 
relief. 

"My dear father,

You will perhaps by now be wondering how I am enduring my cousins' hospitality 
and the mighty beneficence of his patroness at Rosings Park. I must offer my 
apologies for not relieving your concerns earlier, but my first letters must be 
for Jane and my mother - for ladies, you know, never quarrel with those little 
compliments to themselves as others are able to fashion. And I have relieved you 
of the necessity of sharing my news with my sisters, as they will undoubtedly do 
so directly.

Now, however, having dispatched with these and other tasks of varying degrees of 
pleasantness, I find myself quite at liberty this morning to attend to the most 
pleasant of all. And so this missive is all yours.

As you are aware, my cousin fancies his situation to be quite enviable. The 
cottage itself is smallish but comfortable -- when empty of its primary tenant. 
Lady Catherine has used her considerable powers of oversight to great advantage 
here, or so I am informed. She herself actually recommended such felicitous 
improvements as shelves in the closets, and no doubt coverings on the floors and 
windows as well. 

I enjoy my conversations with Mrs. Collins very much, but there is ever an 
element of restraint when I am with her, for I still cannot see that she has 
made much of a bargain for herself. Her health is good and she is careful to 
look after her husband's, frequently prescribing long solitary walks and work in 
his garden. He is quite enamoured of his bees, which I am told also owe the 
comfort and pleasing design of their abode to the kind attention of his 
patroness. Indeed it appears that all inhabitants of Hunsford, whether man or 
beast, must look to her in gratitude for their existence.

I am meant to know the particular honour that is paid to Mr. Collins and his 
wife, for they are commanded to appear at Rosings frequently, without benefit of 
free will to return on foot. And we mere houseguests have been vouchsafed the 
same great honour, no less than five times so far, as Maria is fond of reminding 
me. 

And so I have had the pleasure of meeting the Lady herself, and sundry of her 
relations as well. She is as you and I had imagined she must be - she suffers no 
one immunity to her condescension. Her eyes are quick and dart about, much as 
Mr. Collins himself as he accompanies her Ladyship from room to room. Her nose 
is quite rather aristocratically curved and pointed, which gives her a slight 
resemblance to a hawk. This discovery left me more than usually grateful for 
Maria's conversation and the natural outlet for mirth which it afforded. Her 
daughter is a small and sickly mouse of a girl, and I cannot make out whether or 
not she benefits from the will to speak of her own accord. Indeed, it appears 
that free will is a commodity much in absence in this corner of Kent.

I cannot but laugh upon thinking on your reaction to the spectacle of this 
august Lady holding court to hand picked minions sitting after supper in cowed 
silence as she pronounces me to be a pert young lady with too many opinions for 
my station. I must confess I had to work at holding my mirth in check, for there 
was no outlet for such expression until I chanced upon the pianoforte and 
commenced playing very ill, and managed to annoy her. How we laughed so, and to 
my cousin's great consternation, upon returning to the cottage.

I do find some measure of freedom in walking the large and lovely park, and here 
I am at my most peaceful, although lately the park has seemed more crowded than 
usual. For all its wide spaces I seem often to be met with a surprise companion 
or two. 

I should mention here that I have made again the acquaintance of Mr. Darcy, who 
as you may recall is Lady Catherine's nephew. He has remained quite as he was in 
Hertfordshire, and it pleases me to imagine from whence he may have inherited 
some of the less agreeable aspects of his character. His cousin, Colonel 
Fitzwilliam, accompanies him at Rosings, and a more different character from Mr. 
Darcy's one could not imagine. He is all ease and charm. It is a wonder they are 
related at all!"

I could not stifle a surprised start at the news of Mr. Darcy's being in Kent, 
and in such close communion with my daughter. Fortunately it appeared that he 
had not managed to endear himself to her during whatever walks they might have 
shared. Curious, very curious....

"I am told that I must count myself fortunate to be in the presence of so many 
eminent persons. And so I do, when there are none others present to relieve me 
of his own. I am sorry to speak so of a relation, but there is no help for it.

I am also told (for Mr. Collins has just entered the room and inquired after 
your health in a most civil manner) that I must send a message to you - and here 
I endeavour to deliver it as spoken so that you may derive as much succour from 
the reading as I from the hearing: 

Great sir (he begins), I flatter myself to hope that you might allow me to 
extend my kindest and most sincerely heart-felt felicitations and wishes for 
your continued health and longevity (he is particularly solicitous of the 
latter). My dear Mrs. Collins and I are most exceedingly grateful to you for 
sending us your daughter. She truly graces her Ladyship's soirees with her good 
sense and quiet humble ways (which he flatters himself for instilling in my 
rebellious breast through long and frequent lectures on the subject). Her 
company will be sorely missed indeed when she has returned to her rightful place 
within the bosom of your most excellent family (for he will then be obliged to 
think of more flattering notions with which to sprinkle the conversation, there 
being more empty pauses upon my leaving)."

I shall, of course, give Mr. Collins your fondest felicitations in return for 
his, so that you need not trouble yourself to answer in kind, but only to answer 
the musings of 

your own daughter,

Elizabeth" 

How I missed her lively ways and irreverent conversation! I re-read her 
delightful letter three times, and such was my state upon the completion of it 
that I actually wrote to hurry her return:

"My dearest girl,

It is to your credit and due to my great esteem for you that I now sit down to 
pen a very long letter indeed, it being my intention to write beyond the 
tremendous length of half a page in your honour.

I hope your good health continues, and that you have satisfied your desire to 
augment your collection of amusing characters. For I write to ask you home.

I had not before supposed it possible that I should miss a gathering of six 
ladies within the confines of a single room. But I have noticed of late that the 
quietude and sense of our usual activities in the drawing room after supper have 
not prevailed in your absence. Conversation is now cacophonous. Readings are now 
romances. Your sister Mary has taken to translating Fordyce into Latin again. 
Loudly. 

I have found it necessary to quit the drawing room entirely.

In short, my dear, it is high time you suspend your enjoyment of the pleasures 
of the exalted society at Rosings and return to your family here at Longbourn, 
where you are truly missed. I cannot otherwise vouchsafe my good humour when you 
do arrive. And, as fitting payment for abandoning your poor father to the 
whinging and whims of the remaining occupants of this house, I may consider 
thrusting them upon you at the final stage stop, so that you may all become 
reacquainted as soon as may be, and well outside of my hearing. 

Until such happy day, I remain

your loving father,

Edward Bennet" 

*****

Life continued as before, and I allowed myself to enjoy the signs of spring that 
quickened outside my window - newly clear panes in the morning, a chirp here or 
there, the advance of green upon Lizzy's beloved hills. The house quietened, as 
my hen and her chicks found fodder out of doors once more. It would not be long 
now. The weather warmed my chilled bones ... or was it remembered smiles?

Elizabeth's final letter to me was brief and mildly troubling, without the usual 
sparkling good humour of her previous missive:

"My dear Father,

I hope you are well.

I write to apprise you of my imminent return, as planned, on Wednesday next. 

I confess Hunsford and Rosings have lost much of the diversion they once held 
for me. I grow indifferent to the cultivated beauty of the Park, and even the 
untamed nature of the surrounding country fails to please. My cousin Mr. Collins 
as you know will rattle on, and Mrs. Collins worries for me. But she need not, 
as I told her that I simply need to feel the breezes of Hertfordshire once more 
upon my face. Perhaps I have been away too long from those who are most dear and 
familiar. 

I will enjoy seeing you and my mother again, and Jane and all my sisters.

Until then think on me often, as 

your faithful daughter, 

Elizabeth"

She had not mentioned Mr. Darcy or his cousin again, but I knew from my wife's 
conversations with Lady Lucas that they had spent some time visiting the 
cottage's inhabitants. I could not help but wonder at my daughter's altered 
demeanour, and whether it had something to do with him. He did appear to possess 
the singular ability to put my cheerful girl entirely out of humour. But perhaps 
she suffered from nothing more than too much time in the presence of too many 
provoking characters.

Lizzy returned a short week later, a bit quiet and altered, but bringing 
nevertheless the promise of glorious summer. And such was her joy upon seeing 
all of us that she appeared quite her usual, amiable self for some little time 
after.

(1) Richard at I, i : "Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer 
by this sun of York". William Shakespeare, Richard III. 

(2) Tartuffe at III, iii: "Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; with me 
you need not fear a public scandal.....men like me are so discreet in love, that 
you may trust their lasting secrecy." Jean Baptiste Poquelin Moliere, Tartuffe..

(3) Mr. Bennet is reading David Hume: "...since vice and virtue are not 
discoverable merely by reason, or the comparison of ideas, it must be by means 
of some impression or sentiment they occasion, that we are able to mark the 
difference betwixt them.....Thus we are still brought back to our first 
position, that virtue is distinguished by the pleasure, and vice by the pain, 
that any action, sentiment or character gives us by the mere view and 
contemplation." Treatise on Human Nature, 2.1, 11.



Chapter 5 - Broken Hearted

"The wife was pretty, trifling, childish, weak; 
She could not think, but would not cease to speak."
Tales, xiv, Struggles of Conscience (1812), by George Crabbe.


The sun on the morning of Elizabeth's return flirted with a bank of low-lying 
clouds, but I barely noticed.  It was my habit during the warmer months to walk 
out into the country a bit, just far enough to refresh my head after a morning 
of ill-considered finances and closely considered accounts of war, rioting in 
town, unrest in the north.  This news, followed by a repast of largely 
unconsidered frippery, left me more in need than usual of a turn down the quiet 
path leading from my back garden.  I found myself leaving Longbourn at the same 
time Lydia and Kitty left for -- -- to meet their eldest sisters and escort them 
home.  I could not resist a small chuckle at the thought of the merry reception 
to which they doubtless would be treated, but the spring in my step was for a 
different reason altogether.  The light of my quiet little life was about to be 
rekindled, my forced exile from reason about to end, my two most amiable 
daughters were about to return.  

This thought lifted me on the path up a steepish hill where poplar leaves, flat 
and fan-shaped, quaked in the breeze and variably reflected the inconstant 
sunlight while sturdier elm leaves held fast, swaying gently, and absorbed it, 
as if hungering for it.  I stood transfixed for a moment, enjoying the soft hush 
of treetops moved by the same current high overhead.  I lifted my face to air 
earthy with the smell of warm, and allowed it to soothe and slow my blood, 
roused by exertion, before returning the way I had come.  It was a good day.  It 
was the beginning of the day. (1) 

When my daughters finally arrived, fractious voices could be heard over the 
approach of the carriage.  My wife's voice soon joined theirs, with various 
Lucas voices not far behind, and the resultant din was music to my ears if only 
for the news it heralded.  Daughters, wife, neighbours burst through the door 
and descended in a welcome flurry of parcels, servants, trunks, doffed pelisses, 
and flying bonnet ribbons.  Somewhere in this mêlée I located Elizabeth, and 
managed to greet her and her sister with sincerity before escaping until the 
evening meal.  Their mother's approval of Jane's improved beauty and her dismay 
over Lizzy's freckles pursued me underneath the closed door, and I smiled in 
spite of myself.  Life had returned to Longbourn.

*****

Dinner was a raucous affair, consisting of delights best consumed in sparing 
moderation, though the food was excellent.  

"Maria dear, how does my Charlotte get on?  And her chickens?  Oh and Mr. 
Collins too, of course."

"She seems very well, Mama!  We had fresh eggs every morning -- did we not, 
Lizzy?  Mr. Collins is especially fond of them.  And the coop is very 
conveniently situated near to the back garden, where Mr. Collins also keeps his 
bees -- and he has rose bushes back there -- he has high hopes for them, he 
says.  They like the sun, roses do -- as do bees -- so they should do well there 
-- and of course, the bees like roses too --- or they will when they are in 
bloom this summer.  Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself recommended they plant that 
type there -- for their long-lived blooms, she said -- and sent her gardener to 
make sure it was done properly -- and Mr. Collins seemed very surprised and 
grateful for that, did he not, Lizzy?  Her Ladyship seems to know frightfully 
much about all sorts of things!"

 "Yes.  My cousin was careful to express his gratitude at least twice on each of 
our visits in case she had not managed to be convinced of his sincerity the 
first time."  

He must find the constant buzzing and squawking in that part of the garden to be 
somewhat soothingly familiar.

"La! we had a jolly adventure this morning!  It was such a droll luncheon was it 
not, Lizzy?  And we had such good fun looking in some of the shop windows 
afterwards!  I wished for a length of satin -- just enough to trim my new bonnet 
-- but what do you think? Lizzy would not lend me the money to purchase it!"
 
"You had spent your own funds twice over already...." 

"Well it was lovely, azure blue, just the colour right now!  Lord there were so 
very many elegant things! plain muslin for Mary, too -- and sarsnet! (2) ribbons 
of such colours! like a rainbow --"

"I was simply doing you a favour in not encouraging you in your excessive 
habits.  And the blue, however so beautiful, would never have matched ..."

"I have no need of more muslin.  While I do not doubt that muslin and sarsnet 
and ribbons are just the thing to hold sway over the generality of female minds, 
I confess they hold no charms for me.  I am perfectly content with my lot, and 
would infinitely prefer a book or some music, to such trifles." 

"I do not have excessive habits!  And it would have matched my eyes, Lizzy -- I 
was hoping that handsome lieutenant might like it -- but now I will not have the 
chance -- well, more pity for him, I should say!  Anyway, I cannot be blamed for 
the high price of fashion."  Lydia's voice when she fastened on an idea mounted 
in pitch to a level matchable only by her mother.

 "Jane dear, what are we to expect of London fashion?  Are they still wearing 
longer sleeves?  I daresay they would be frightfully inconvenient in the 
summer!"

Jane had little opportunity to make a reply, for none was sought.

"And, oh Sister!  Have you seen Mrs. Banks?  Tsk, so sheer -- unseemly, for a 
widow, do you not agree?" 

The talk degenerated apace.  Fabrics, sleeve lengths, necklines, neighbours and 
acquaintances were analysed and dismissed with frightening rapidity.  Heads 
bobbed around the table in response, and the insistent sound of silver on china 
competed with the empty chatter.  Peace was a distant wish, a foolish hope of an 
otherwise reasonable but weary brain, and it occurred to me once again that my 
wife could be as efficient and ruthless as any general in her own field of 
manoeuvre.  My eye rested momentarily on a slice of cold ham upon her plate, 
circular bone staring wide and surprised as she attacked it with her knife.  I 
shuddered involuntarily. 

Lizzy's pained eyes met mine across the cluttered white cloth but were silenced 
when Lydia launched her favourite topic of tragic conversation, the impending 
removal of Colonel Forster's regiment to Brighton.

"Oh!  The officers --"

"Yes, whatever shall we do?"

"Indeed, what is to become of our poor girls?"

The bobbing heads now drooped, as necks supporting them withered apace at the 
thought of deprivations to come.

"Papa, I do so wish we could go to Brighton this summer! It would answer every 
desire of my broken heart."  

"All of our broken hearts!"

"I have no broken heart."

"Lizzy, your heart is broken too, is it not?  Oh, how can you smile so?"

My wife echoed these bathetic sentiments, as I had known she would, disregarding 
my expressed wish to keep the dining table free of all talk of sea sides and 
redcoats.   "Oh yes -- the sea! The bracing salt air would be just the thing -- 
my sensations tell me so!" (3)  

Soon the Lucas ladies lent their support, and not inconsiderable voices, to the 
plan.  Forces ranged against me on all sides.  And though I would not seek a 
battle in such a state, neither would I shun it. (4)  I reluctantly entered the 
fray.  

"Though you may wish otherwise, I am capable of withstanding the most seditious 
of your combined efforts.  I foresee no trips to Brighton by any Bennets this 
summer, for it is a windy place, and I am sure you would find those vile breezes 
to be the ruin of beauty and health.  (5) And my sensations tell me, most 
insistently, that in this case, a little sea air would probably be the death of 
me. (6)

Some small reinforcement appeared on my right flank.  Lizzy exhorted her sisters 
to reconsider their assessment of the delights to be had by the sea in the 
company of a large battalion of miscreants the colour of whose uniforms 
doubtless matched their morals.  This inspired feminine cries of surprised 
indignation from all quarters.

"I am glad you are come back, Lizzy," said I.

It was time to retreat. 

*****

Immediately upon her return, Elizabeth had expressed real joy at seeing us, her 
family, again.  And for a week or more it was a livelier grouping in the drawing 
room of an evening, in spite of frequent silences and hushed conferences with 
Jane.  She shared news of Mrs. Collins' acclimation to Hunsford and her new 
husband, something I confess I was curious enough about myself.  I heard 
telltale giggling behind doors on occasion, and was not hard pressed to guess 
the topic of conversation.  

But in spite of her natural gaiety, enough to make even Jane smile, it was 
nevertheless apparent to me as time passed that my second daughter was somewhat 
altered from her visit.  She looked pensive at times, and uncharacteristically 
flushed and fixed the floorboards with a silent, contemplative gaze whenever her 
mother spoke.  Occasionally Mr. Wickham's name was mentioned, and Elizabeth 
would answer her mother or sisters in a subdued expressionless tone that spiked 
my inquisitive brain.  I wondered, and waited, and receiving no enlightenment, 
determined anon t t   hat the both of us were in need of a diversion.  

"My dear, will you indulge your poor father, who has not been able to speak 
anything of sense with another present being since you left?  Will you not sit a 
while and tell me of your adventures in the distinguished country of Kent?"

Smiling for her dutiful response, I ushered her to a seat in front of a 
chessboard on which the pieces repined under a fine coating of dust.  

"Do you remember where we left off?" 

I was gratified to see a spark as she begged to be spared until the board had 
felt the feathers of a duster.  I obliged her and turned the topic to other 
matters while carefully wiping each piece with my handkerchief and replacing 
them exact.  She waited, hands folded in lap, lower lip periodically 
disappearing between small white teeth.  I was struck by her resemblance to the 
child first learning to play, when her face had often worn a  similar look of 
bemused occupation.  But in sputtering firelight it looked mottled, a half-
shadow reaching up to mar her forehead with a furrow, then retreating to throw 
golden roses onto her cheeks once more.  The effect was odd, seeming repeatedly 
to age and un-age her features.  

"Did you find aught worth reading at Hunsford?  I confess to great curiosity 
about the state of Mr. Collins' library."   I remained dispassionate in 
countenance with some little difficulty, as an earlier conversation with my 
cousin about libraries had come to mind.  "Does any of it show evidence of 
actual use?"

"No indeed, Mrs. Collins and I relied on books I brought with me and the few 
volumes in her possession, which included some gifts that her Ladyship deemed 
edifying for the mistress of a parsonage.  I took particular note of one, 
provocatively entitled The Pleasures of Reason, or the Hundred Thoughts of a 
Sensible Young Lady. (7)  I am quite certain that it can be distilled down to a 
handful of real thoughts, none of which address what I take to be the pleasures 
of reason."

"How tedious for you.  And my cousin?"

"Mr. Collins himself possesses few that are not bound collections of sermons.  
He seems especially fond of Blair." 

"Now that is interesting, perhaps my cousin has unexpected depth." (8)

"Only the sermons, Papa, none of the Lectures."
 
"Ah."

"I must own to finding little sustained enjoyment in much of what was made 
available to me by Mr. Collins.  Fortunately the park surrounding Rosings was 
lovely and I filled many a pleasant hour in the walking of it."  

"His patroness owns a prodigious book collection, does she not?"

"I was not privileged to see the library at Rosings.  I can only imagine that it 
is not in a state to complement the Park's finer endowments, for Mr. Collins was 
uncharacteristically reluctant to describe its contents when asked, beyond 
thickness of leather, quality of embossing, expense of procurement."

"Naturally."

"But I did discern from her Ladyship something of what would decidedly not be 
found on her shelves.  She was happy to instruct us all to avoid authors she 
deemed lacking in 'genius, taste, morality or breeding.'  Scott, for example, 
and Edgeworth, Byron and Gibbon were all most strenuously discouraged." (9)

"I see - common, indecent, decadent, radical?  To be avoided at all costs, I am 
sure."  I imagined the great yawning expanse of gilded insipidity that must be 
Lady Catherine de Bourgh's library.

"Yes, and many of the simpler pleasures enjoyed by young ladies were 
conspicuously absent from Hunsford as well, Mr. Collins having been warned of 
the frightful dangers of Lady's Monthly Museum and La Belle Assemblée.   
Elizabeth's voice contained a hint of hidden laughter. 

"I see.  Well, I cannot myself endorse these last, having suffered the effects 
of enthusiastic perusal on your sisters' faculties more often than I would 
wish."  

"I believe that Charlotte may be too occupied with her duties as ... keeper of 
chickens to have time to enjoy them anyway."  I glanced up quickly at this 
remark, wondering on its bitter tone, but her face remained serene.

"May I infer from this that you are as starved for a good discussion as I have 
been?"

"Certainly there was plenty of edification to be had, of a sort, for her 
Ladyship prides herself on being the final arbiter of proficiency in all the 
arts, a great achievement indeed having never apparently learned to do any of 
them.  But there were good discussions enough among her visitors, Mr. Darcy and 
his cousin, a quite engaging gentleman".   

"Yes, tell me of these visitors.  Did you find the great Mr. Darcy to be as 
disagreeable as he was in Meryton?  Or were his manners enhanced by more 
prosperous surroundings?"

Was that a blush?  The candle flickered and picked out tawny lights in her hair, 
causing me to doubt.  She looked up and fixed a clear gaze, declaring her belief 
that Mr. Darcy's manners were unchanged, but she feared no great amusement could 
be derived from them.  The closed look in her eye stopped my surprised response. 

"I was fortunate on occasion to enjoy a delightful conversation or two, which 
were always immediately joined by Herself, thereby sweeping away any hope of 
sustained amusement."

"I understand Mr. Darcy's cousin is in the military?"

"Yes, his name is Colonel Fitzwilliam.  His manners are amiable, nothing like 
his cousin's."  

"Another officer."

She perked up.  "It is not unexpected, you know, younger son that he is.  They 
must make their way, and they cannot all be religious men."

"Indeed.  We must be grateful for that."  I shifted and took stock of the long-
abandoned battle.  "All these warriors.  I have been put in mind recently of the 
plays of the ancients.  Miles Gloriosus to be precise.  The swaggering soldier?"  
To be more precise, the 'swaggering, frizzle-headed, perfumed debauche'? (10)

I looked hard over the rim of my glass at studied indifference.  

"A shocking rake, self-proclaimed stormer of walls and slayer of sovereigns,(11) 
who receives his just deserts in the end, quite comically.  I find it oddly 
compelling."

Perfect round eyebrows rose in an otherwise expressionless face.  "Shall we 
continue, Father?  You have the field, if I recall."  A minimum of enthusiasm in 
her voice betrayed a lack of actual eagerness.  She was my Lizzy, home again and 
gracing my library, but yet not. 

I sighed and reached for my bishop. 

Silence reigned for a time, broken by the hollow click of marble on walnut as we 
moved and countermanded, deployed and repelled, took small polished prisoners 
and sought to know one another's mind.  She played creditably, with an eagerness 
to please that had always delighted me.  I lost myself to the quiet intensity of 
the moment.  But soon enough she was in a familiar spot, having failed to see 
clearly ahead.

"You have lost your last defence.  There, do you see?  Three moves."

"Oh!"  She glowered at my guilty knight, and saw.

"Trust not these mounted warlike creatures, my dear.  They ignore all in their 
path and never travel the straight and narrow."

She looked upon me for a long hard moment.  "Some men do."

"Ah, so has meeting a Colonel spoiled you for those of lower rank then, my 
child?  Trust not the sons of nobility either, especially younger ones.  They 
will bring you grief."  

She coloured, pursed her lips.  "No indeed, you misunderstand me.  I merely mean 
to say that one's first impression of a person is not always ....  It is not 
enough, sometimes.  I have no false illusions, sir."

I took pity, satisfied that her heart was yet whole.  

"Were you able to learn more from my cousin about the duties of a clergyman?  I 
trust that he was not too hard-pressed writing sermons, improving his dwelling 
and honing attentive and conciliatory manners toward his betters, to delight 
everyone with a song or two of an evening?"

"Heaven forbid, sir!"  There was that sparkle, that half-hidden twitch.

"Tell me more of his bees."

*****

Mrs. Bennet launched an audacious campaign to get her girls to Brighton almost 
as soon as the regiment launched its relocation plans. The barrage was 
relentless.  She praised the many supposed benefits of the seaside and salt 
water, with paeans to nature worthy of Mr. Wordsworth himself.  The water would 
be beauteous and calm, the air pure and free.  Even the wind, fresh and bracing, 
would be beneficial to health.  Clearly our ideas of what constituted fresh air 
differed considerably.  

But my wife's genius extended well beyond promoting the benefit of coastlines.  
Soon I heard, in spite of my best efforts, such phrases as "marriageable young 
men!" and "catch a husband!" wafting through my window from the garden.  Soon, 
"secure my future comfort!" and "introduce our girls to superior society!" 
echoed in my ears at meals and long into the night.  Soon indeed, my two 
youngest were overcome by paroxysms brought on by this onslaught, imagining 
beautiful rows of neat white tents, crowds of the young and gay liberally 
sprinkled with scarlet, flashing silver swords and glinting gold braid.   It was 
enough to convince me that someone's health at least might surely benefit from 
removal to Brighton. 

My life continued in this state of siege for a fortnight.

Disaster struck shortly before the regiment's scheduled departure, in the form 
of what appeared to be great good fortune for all of us.  Lydia was invited to 
accompany her invaluable friend and close conspirator, Mrs. Forster, to 
Brighton, under the supervision of Colonel Forster.  Quiet reading or 
contemplation, difficult before, now became impossible as the full strength of 
my wife's reinforcements was revealed in the violence of Lydia's ecstasy and 
Kitty's repining.  

"My dear Mr. Bennet, you are so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of 
her marrying one of the officers there.  It is very likely that she may fall in 
love, many times even, and if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a 
year, should want her, just think of the honour for our dear girl!" 

And indeed, actual reason soon began to impress upon me the benefits of such a 
plan in spite of my wife, for it was clear that Lydia would never cease her 
efforts to display her charms until allowed to do so with the most public means 
available to her.  The fact that this was now possible with a minimum of fuss, 
bother and expense to me, and would take place far away from the necessity of my 
having to witness it, was only improved by the slight chance of an engagement 
and permanent removal of her person from my charge.  For, silly, penniless and 
insignificant as she would no doubt seem in the company of the other young 
ladies who frequent such a place, I could not entirely dismiss the appeal of 
such an unlikely miracle.  To protect any exposed defences, however, I remained 
vague and equivocal for a while longer.

But, inevitably perhaps, those defences gradually crumbled and fell.  I 
determined to allow Lydia to go to Brighton. 

After a suitable period of suspense, of course.  

It was about this time that Elizabeth surprised me with a request to walk with 
her the morning after Lydia received her invitation.  I was pleased that she 
should like to renew an old and pleasurable habit.  We set off down the dirt 
lane that led to the farm, as I had business to attend there.  The day was 
bright, but gusty.  Mrs. Bennet had predicted rain for the afternoon, and I knew 
better than to doubt her odd gifts, few though they may be.  I quickened our 
pace and savoured the sunshine still livening the eggshell sky.

I had been avoiding the issue of Lydia's scheme, had indeed left the house to 
avoid it, but it found me anyway, thanks to my curiously animated second 
daughter.  She began hurriedly, hands escaping their clasp now and then to flit 
briefly before settling demurely again behind her back.  She spoke of Lydia's 
unchecked behaviour, the twin dangers of Brighton and a whole campful of 
soldiers, and her own mortification and fear for the consequences.  I listened 
through the mad sounds of jackdaws and warblers enjoying the day, her face and 
tone surprising in their earnestness.  

She apparently feared that Lydia's exposure to Brighton society, far from 
bringing the relief variously hoped for by her mother and me, might actually 
harm the reputations of her sisters.   But the thought that anything could 
damage the credit enjoyed by my two eldest, most sensible and well-regarded 
offspring was unimaginable to me.  I endeavoured to reassure her and asked if 
she had some reason to fear the flight of any admirers.  

"Disadvantages already arisen?" I repeated, pressing her small hand in mine.

"Indeed, you are mistaken, sir," she blushed, but denied having lost any beaux 
due to Lydia's antics.  Nevertheless, a shadow again marred her features, lidded 
eyes allowing no admittance, and I had cause to doubt.  But no matter - far more 
fortunate for her if such unsuitable dolts had been discouraged, especially at 
no cost or pain to herself occasioned by any need to speak plainly.  Young men 
so foolish, fellows of infinite tongue rhyming themselves into her favours and 
reasoning themselves out again, (12) did not deserve my daughter.  

Yes, better a few tears now.

She did not take kindly to my teasing about these hypothetical young men, nor 
about Jane's wounded heart and feelings, being too young to understand the true 
nature of the world.  She spoke plainly indeed.  I marvelled that romantic 
fancies and overly dramatic sensibilities seemed the province of all young 
ladies, silly and sane alike.  In the end, I was forced to make it clear that my 
decision to send Lydia to Brighton under the protection of Col. Forster was 
fixed, and would work to the benefit of all of us. 

"At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorizing us to lock 
her up for the rest of her life." (13)

What I saw next stopped my blood, and my feet on the path.  Unchecked 
disappointment, which good breeding would never allow her to voice, shone from 
under quickly lowered eyes.  I had never seen quite such a look from her before.  
Feeling winded and having forgotten my errand, I suggested we cut short our walk 
and take the short path that ran behind Longbourn.  But Elizabeth elected to 
continue up the path alone, and trudged slowly away, head down.  I returned to 
the house thinking of that look and those eyes.  I felt cold, and dearly wished 
for a brandy and a fire.  

Clearly, we had walked too far.

*****

Sooner than some would have liked perhaps, the time came to say goodbye to Lydia 
and her officers.  I stood in the corner of our drawing room after supper and 
avoided the prattling and tattling that made up the usual entertainment there, 
enjoying an opportunity to witness the last, one might hope, of another sort.   

It struck me--and not for the first time-- that the entire habitable world 
seemed fair game to be plucked for ladies' adornment:  birds, orchard, field and 
garden all appeared to have been ransacked (14), the beauty of nature offered by 
the ladies of Meryton as a sacrifice to the martial gods who would deprive them 
of their hopes.  

The commissioned men of the regiment were present in full force, earnestly 
impressing upon the young ladies of Meryton their heartfelt dismay at the 
prospect of exchanging our dusty roads and small assemblies for the gay streets 
and well-stocked meeting rooms of Brighton.  These sorrowful sentiments were 
reflected with equal fervour and, I suspect, greater sincerity, on the tragic 
and guileless countenances of Meryton's fairest.

I cannot express the extent of my pride on witnessing that some of these latter 
belonged to members of my own household.

Greater delights than these awaited me however.  I spied, in close consultation 
with heads inclined toward the centre, hiding indiscrete smiles behind a 
barricade of hands and fans, a trio of unlikely Graces whose resemblance to one 
another struck me with force.  My wife and youngest daughter stood alike as 
sisters, bright eyes enfilading a row of red-coated targets. (15)  Mrs. Forster 
made up such a comfortable third as to give me considerable pause.  I was 
discomfited to hear three differently pitched giggles rippling over the heads of 
the assembled guests, inspiring curiosity in the breasts of some, mortification 
in others, fascinated dread in my own. 

I am reminded of a poem whose title sounds like a sermon but is actually 
anything but -- my favourite kind.  The wife in this poem could have been 
modelled on my own. My wife's companions that night could have represented her 
too, in different stages of life:  the blithe young girl, too soon out on the 
marriage market, exposing herself to all and sundry for the sake of puerile 
enjoyment; the fresh new wife, betraying little understanding of the constraints 
that her new state should place upon her comportment; and the aging spouse and 
mother, having lived two decades under those constraints with precious little 
effect on herself or those in her charge. 

It was a masterfully comic portrayal borne out in flesh and blood before me.  I 
might have laughed.  

Later in the evening I watched the smooth one stalk my dearest daughter in 
another part of the room.  Rumours of the young rooster having won then lost a 
local heiress had circulated wildly, but these did not seem to diminish the 
appeal of his comely arts to any but my two eldest.   Elizabeth appeared to have 
no more time for him than propriety would require.  She was not discourteous; I 
pride myself that I alone would recognize her cool looks and inanimate form for 
what they were.  In good time, however, it appeared that he had taken her hint, 
or perhaps she had charmingly put him in his place as I had seen her do before, 
for Mr Wickham left her side abruptly and quickly engaged some of the other 
officers.  I caught her eye briefly and smiled, but she looked away and joined 
her sister Jane in conversation.  

Watching the crowd invade my peace I thought again, paradoxically perhaps, of 
comedy.  Swaggering soldiers, silly wives, maidens coy and demure, fools wise 
and ridiculous, and other stock characters appeared to populate my little 
diversion.  I fixed my eye on one player and the next, until I came full circle.  
Then abruptly I thought of another, certainly no performer, her presence missed 
everywhere but in my somnolent imaginings.  She immediately answered my mind's 
call, and appeared beside the giggling group.  It was sweet agony picturing her 
there in that room, alongside those near and dear to my ... hearth.   My Evelyn 
wavered on the periphery of my vision, hand raised to smooth a curl while 
laughing at me with those grey lights of hers, always laughing.  Candlelight 
caressed a curved section of flesh, an elegantly turned neck, a perfect pearled 
ear.  How was it that I could conjure her at will in such precise detail, having 
seen her on only a handful of occasions, whereas in the best of times my wife's 
features inspired no such certitude? 

The pleasing image dissipated with that thought.

We said our noisy goodbyes that night, to my immense relief.  Lydia returned to 
Meryton with the Forsters and descended on the unsuspecting bathers the 
following day.  Kitty cried copious tears of envy, Mrs. Bennet uttered dramatic 
sentiments of woe, delight, fears and good wishes, the other girls added their 
more subdued farewells.  The full range of possible emotions thus having been 
more than sufficiently expressed, I felt justified in suppressing my own.

Within a fortnight after Lydia's decampment to Brighton, peace had returned to 
Longbourn.  Elizabeth returned somewhat to her usual vibrant self, although I 
was unable to entice her away for another walk or game of chess. Quiet seemed to 
reign in her features at times, while at others her natural gaiety succeeded in 
coaxing a brief smile from one of the others.  But it seemed that she had little 
to say to me.  

Time, I thought, we only need time and all will be well again.

*****

Time, however, only brought to fruition an invitation Lizzy had received early 
in the spring, to visit the Lakes with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner.  This event, 
coupled with thoughts of the deluge of small, marauding Gardiners who were to 
take her place at Longbourn, could only bring me gloom commensurate with her 
increasing contentment as the day of her own departure drew near.  She 
brightened visibly, and her joyful anticipation fell like rocks on my heart.  
Rather than enjoying my status as a fellow fugitive, I felt that I had somehow 
become part of that which she sought to escape.  It was the beginning of a very 
different life for us all.


(1) Williams at IV, i in Henry V by William Shakespeare.  Anticipating defeat at 
Harfleur, he says "We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we shall 
never see the end of it."  Mr. Bennet thinks of this bit of foreshadowing as he 
looks back on that morning's walk.

(2) Sarsnet, or sarcenet, was a thin silk fabric used often in ladies' fashions 
of the time.

(3) Sanditon

(4) Henry at III, vi in Henry V by William Shakespeare.

(5) Mansfield Park.  Mr. Bennet is punning on a less common usage of the word 
'windy', meaning empty or containing air, similar to our expression 'full of hot 
air'.  

(6) Sanditon

(7) By Robert Gillet, 1796.  Rather traditional writings on the role and proper 
conduct of young women in society, such as might be expected to have appealed to 
one of Lady Catherine's unimaginative and strict moral sense.

(8) Dr. Hugh Blair published five volumes of sermons between 1771 and 1801 that 
were much admired by conservative members of the aristocracy, including King 
George III and might have been counted on to induce slumber. But he also 
published a series of well-respected lectures, in which he extolled the virtues 
of, among other thinkers, Mr. Bennet's beloved David Hume.

(9) Sir Walter Scott's (1771-1832) themes of tolerance and the common man,  
Maria Edgeworth's (1767-1849) feminism and dedication to the cause of tenants 
against their upper class landlords, Lord Byron's (1788-1824) romantic poems and 
scandalous lifestyle, and Edward Gibbon's (1737-1794) depiction of the moral 
decay of an empire all might have been highly distasteful to someone like Lady 
Catherine de Bourgh.

(10) Actoteleutium at III, iii in Miles Gloriosus by Titus Maccius Plautus (254-
184 B.C.).

(11)Paraphrased, III, i and IV, ii in Miles Gloriosus by Titus Maccius Plautus 
(254-184 B.C.).

(12) Henry at V, ii in Henry V by William Shakespeare.

(13) Pride and Prejudice

(14) Lady's Monthly Museum, April 1812.

(15) 'Enfilade', military term meaning "to pierce, scour or rake with shot, in 
the direction of a line, or through the whole length of a line", from Webster's 
1828 Dictionary.

A thousand thanks to my betas, you know who you are.  You are invaluable to me.


(c) joanie

Chapter 6 - Bitter Harvest

"My peace is gone, My heart is heavy".
Faust I, 15 (1808 ) , by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

The summer of 1812 was ripe with care. There was much to nourish my feeling
of woe. Elizabeth was away; and I was obliged, against inclination, to
engage myself often on my accounts and the farm that provided most of
Longbourn's income. The handful of years previous had been unkind -- cold
winters, wet summers, poor harvests. Damp weather had produced enough
useless wet and sprouted grain to plant my fields anew many times over, if
that were only possible.

To add to my misfortunes, my wife continued to carp about the horses, but
aside from the taxes, the price of an extra pair was not worth the paying.
(1) It would cost me daily in the greater independence of the least reliable
members of my household. I foresaw more visits to the milliner, the
seamstress, the bookseller, under cover of social calls and entirely
independent of the farm's needs, if my wife and younger daughters had the
carriage at their disposal. It was not difficult to determine by this
accounting that a pair of carriage horses would easily cost double their
worth, since hauling and ploughing had hitherto been an effective excuse for
preventing the purchase of needless sundry luxuries.

Illness amongst the livestock the previous spring, and Lydia's fitting out
for Brighton, had put a strain upon my purse at a time when I might have
wished for a little indulgence. Fortunate indeed that Elizabeth required no
new travelling clothes. My own needs and habits are simple, and my enjoyment
of small luxuries, such as wig powder and an occasional bottle of good
spirits, remained well within my purview. But I understood, as my wife did
not, that one more untimely extra cost could jeopardize our small
enjoyments. And so my hopes rode heavily on this year's reaping. I could
make up for my previous losses with a goodly delivery of grain, given the
prices to be fetched in London following the restrictions on trade.

Chaos reigned in the house as well, in the form of my Gardiner nieces and
nephews, who had stayed behind when their parents took Elizabeth away on
their pleasure tour of England. All the little arms and legs deported
themselves admirably and kept to their places for the most part; no doubt
the consequence of the endeavours of their mother, a woman of delightful
sense.

"Oh! My dear Jane! The children are such lively creatures! I fear we have
little for amusement within doors but to break things, but without -- I
daresay they may enjoy the rope swing, yes?! Pray, desire them to explore
the little wilderness on the far side of the lawn. Indeed it lends itself to
many adventures! You remember, our Lizzy often found it to be so!"

"The children are very sweet-tempered and well-behaved in their behaviour,
Mama. Do you not observe how young Master Gardiner takes little Master Theo
in hand?"

"Young masters, I do not know from young masters! La, my nerves! I cannot
comprehend how my sister manages in Gracechurch Street, truly I cannot! So
many little ones! All that noise and confusion! And never a garden to shoo
them off to! Sweet-tempered indeed, Oh!"

"There is no making little children of three or four years old, nay even
older than this, to stand still for any length of time, you know. (2) Still
less to keep silent."

Odd that my wife does not remember this; she suffers keenly from
unfamiliarity with the energetic but nevertheless delightful quick, spirited
nature of little boys. I must admit it did my heart good, summoned many a
happy slumberous memory, to see the lads running across the garden,
a-playing at pirates and corsairs, their healthy, glowing round faces
shewing all the benefit of the country air.

Of course, such a number of exuberant red-cheeked youngsters, even under
Jane's calming influence, did break in on my philosophic composure on
occasion. An incident with the garden swing, having never been designed to
hold four children at one time, was the occasion of my wife's first attack
of violent flutterings since Elizabeth's departure. The relative peace
achieved by her removal to her chamber was soon disrupted, however, by the
discovery of Miss Gardiner's prize collection of butterflies, sans wings.
Master Gardiner had decided that the wings would make a delightful addition
to Miss Rose's pressed flowers. But both little misses, being of serious
dispositions and tender hearts, failed to appreciate their brother's
gesture, and there ensued enough lamenting of tortured insects and flayed
nerves to occasion a renewed confirmation of my habit of retreat.

I sat hidden away one wet evening in mid-July, mulling in nervous agitation
over the previous year's reports and willing the words for the hundredth
time to transform themselves into something other than what they were: '.and
fully one half of the wheat exposed these two fortnights together to rains
and storms, much being badly sprouted .. The consequent yield being 40
bushels to the hundred below expectations.the harvest of 1811 a particular
disappointment to those who failed to invest in drainage improvements.' (3)

"Sir?"

I thought of Arbright's plans a few years ago to fit out his fields for a
newfangled method of drainage. He had wished to convert me, but I had balked
at the expense and the dubious sense of improving an estate under entail. I
wondered if perhaps I should make a visit to his widow and inquire of her
luck with the drains.

"Sir, what think you of this, please?"

I looked down into the earnest face of young Master Gardiner, who had
tiptoed in and lay sprawled on the Turkey carpet at my feet, surrounding
himself with a formation of my old soldiers, set up into an approximation of
a small foot company; the drum major doing double-duty for the rest of the
band, which had apparently absconded in quite cowardly fashion.

"Oh this will not do, I fear, sir. The enemy will never be taken by surprise
unless we are arranged thus. Pray, let us deepen the ranks and beat the
advance, for they must seize this citadel by dawn." Here I upended a
dog-eared volume of Shakespeare's plays for use as our target. The pages
opened at once to King Lear, creating a vulnerable spot in the otherwise
impenetrable walls.

We mustered and maneuvered, scaled and attacked, soon becoming old friends
and comrades; and anon, we were victorious. "Well done, sir! You have caught
the enemy between the dragon and his wrath." (4) I received, in commendation
of my efforts under fire, a shining smile from the little general before
Jane came to collect him for his bath, expressing her grief for his having
disturbed my peace.

"Not at all, my dear. He was a welcome diversion, I assure you."

Late that night, nearing twelve o'clock, a loud peremptory knock of brass
against wood surprised me to my feet. It signalled the arrival of an express
for me, delivered by an earnest young fellow with hat pulled low over his
flushed brow, who hurried away again directly. At any time an express was
unwelcome, it having all the character of a letter as well as an added
urgency attached to it, which I could not help but associate with the
shrieking agitation of my wife - neither allowed themselves to be ignored.

The express was from Colonel Forster, and contained news that I honestly
never expected to receive in my life. Lydia, my youngest daughter, and
Lieutenant George Wickham, had left Brighton together. He believed they
intended Gretna Green, there to be married.

My daughter and that scheming wastrel! Eloped!

The letter fell to the floor. I sat insensible of my wife's demands to know
what news. I ignored her ill manners in snatching and reading the letter. I
endured without comment her exclamations until, seeing dressing gowns
huddled just outside my library door that promised a more gratifying
audience, she left me alone once again. I had prided myself on my ability to
foresee and avoid danger, yet here was unexpected and glaring imprudence
that threatened to wipe all else from consideration. Lydia had confided in
no one, save apparently Kitty.

I paced my library, attempting to quell the odd, unpleasant sensations in my
breast. It was a terribly unwise match. How were they to live on so little?
And she so young? I was unable to draw sufficient breath for clear sustained
thought. Flutterings indeed!

Requiring a rest from my useless activity, I sat and peered with querulous
intent at the scuffed leather of the chair opposite my own. Bedevilled by
daughters, I thought, as I filled a flask from the decanter on the side
table and quaffed the remainder. Sweet fruit of my loins, bitter harvest of
my folly. Too ripe and ready by half. They were everything to me, designed
at once to delight and destroy my reason and my peace. Young women now --
growing up too quickly -- serious and sensible, sweet and sprightly, solemn
and severe, silly and superficial, scheming and scandalous -- sending me to
an early grave, all of them!

Elizabeth had sat there the night before her departure with the Gardiners,
feet tucked under herself in a childish attitude that her mother would have
decried outside the confines of this room, reading the thickish, dog-eared
volume of poetry that still sat atop its companion on my pile of items not
to be disturbed. (5) The week of evenings prior had been marked by a sort of
silent, uneasy companionship in my library. She had read through my
collection of travel books, anticipation evident in the way she peered
closely in rapt attention, engrossed in Defoe's Tour of Great Britain.

I had not hoped for great conversation, for she had been remote and less
sprightly than usual of late. Instead, I remained content with her quiet
company. But at length, she read out a passage, as she might have done in
the not too distant past. "Nor were these hills high and formidable only,
but they had a kind of an inhospitable terror in them . all barren and wild,
of no use or advantage either to man or beast!" (6)

"Hmmm?" I looked up from my own reading to see a face shining in happy
abodement. (7)

"Does it not sound delightful? Barren and wild, here in our own England. To
think that I will see some of these sights and judge for myself the terror
in their heights, the frightening nature of the sublime, for clearly he sees
no beauty here." I saw mischief in her smile, mirth in her eyes.

"Yes my dear, he exaggerates, speaks of time gone by. When I was young I
would have shuddered to think of your safety on such a journey, in such a
place, but now the roads are improved and travelers are plenty." I stifled a
smile as she quickly put the book down and picked up the poetry. Later I
discovered without surprise that she had taken Defoe with her to the North.

Momentarily warmed by the memory, I retrieved the book of verse and leafed
absently through the pages, alighting on one she had marked by a fraying red
ribbon. How like his style my Lizzy is herself, I thought, admiring the
light and carefree tone of the poem, the simple words, the lively
description of understated beauty. I read on, feeling loss, abandonment. The
unintended irony of another phrase caught me unawares. 'Dear child! Dear
girl! That walkest with me here.' (8 )

Blood drained to my toes and hard memory replaced it. Lydia had left here
anticipating such delights by the sea. And, if one were to believe her last
note to the dubious Mrs. Forster, she had found delights aplenty. 'You will
laugh when you know where I am gone . there is but one man in the world I
love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him . What a good
joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing.I hope you will drink to
our good journey'.

Good joke indeed! A throbbing began in my temples and spread deliberately
down the back of my neck. I drank to her good journey.

So imprudent a match on both sides! Nothing more to be done to-night. Sleep
was in order.

*****

The Colonel's arrival the following day brought fresh intelligence -- and
none boded well. If Lieutenant Denny was to be believed, they were not gone
to Scotland after all. Wickham had never intended to go there, or to marry
Lydia at all.

I had not foreseen this!

Here was a blow, sharper than a serpent's tooth (9) from which I could not
imagine recovering, at least not without some form of satisfactory
resolution. Here was new and unanswerable fodder for my wife's lamentable
condition. Back and forth, from desk piled high with ledgers to dusty chess
table, my feet barely felt the floor, though my legs were inexplicably heavy
and difficult to move. It was a blow, a cruel smite indeed. It had singular
physical effects that were remarkable for their rapidity of onset. I simply
had not seen.

Of course I knew what I must do, had already set in motion the packing of a
trunk. And if I did not know, my wife's wailings - alternately wishing Lydia
home again or happily married, hoping for a duel and fearing its inevitable
outcome - would have enlightened me; nay would have rushed me on my way.

"Oh Mr. Bennet! Bring her home safely! Oh my poor, poor daughter! In the
clutches of a vicious rake! Make him marry her!"

"Madame, I will do my utmost to saddle her with the vicious rake for all
eternity."

"And those Forsters! I am sure they have been neglectful, for this could not
have happened if she had been well looked after!"

I set my mouth grimly and forbore, except to command her to cease mentioning
the Colonel's name, for he was that very moment outside in his carriage,
anxious to be on his way back to Brighton.

"But my dear do not kill him when you duel, or Lydia will never be able to
marry him!"

"I have no intention of doing anything of the sort."

"And -- you cannot challenge him, for he will kill you for sure! With your
mind on your troubles and dear Lydia -- and you have never fought a duel!
And he must every day! He will have a dastardly advantage! We will all be
undone! Oh think of it! Turned out into the night by the Collinses! No
husband for my poor Lydia! For the rascal will surely flee after killing
you. The base coward! Oh Edward! Be careful! What shall become of us?! And
of you too?!"

I had given her as sympathetic a reply as I could muster. "I am sensible of
your affection and concern for my well-being, my dear. Be assured nothing
consoles me in my melancholy situation so much as thoughts of leaving you
behind." (10)

Shaking off the memory and cursing the singular popularity of gothic novels,
I stood, donned my coat, rang for Mrs. Hill, looked quickly around the study
for forgotten items, took up the worn volume off the top of the pile, and
left to join Colonel Forster in his carriage.

The journey to Barnet and south of London into Surrey was grim and silent.
We ascertained yet again that no gentleman and young lady answering the
description were seen stopping on the Great North Road, information which
could not bring me cheer. The Colonel had searched thoroughly and inquired
on the way to Longbourn, and appeared slightly affronted that I might wish
to do so again. Of course he could not fully comprehend the wish of a father
to see for himself. It was beyond my ability to credit that they could not
have been seen at all; and part of me hoped, perhaps unfairly, that he had
been mistaken, or that their apparent detour into London had been a mere
necessary stop on their way North.

My hopes of finding the absconders rested almost entirely on knowledge that
might be gained at Epsom, where the Colonel had found out they had changed
horses and coaches. He had traced them easily enough to Clapham, but no
farther. Certainly, Colonel Forster agreed, it was very strange that some
curious person had not made inquiry of the names of the gentleman and young
lady seen removing from a chaise and taking a hackney coach along the London
Road. No one could be found who recalled the number of the coach, or
overheard their ultimate destination. I already feared what that destination
might be, beside which Gretna would have been a welcome alternative. But no
gossip of any kind was to be had. Wickham must have been very discreet
indeed!

Beyond short discussions of the best places to look for my daughter and her
blackguard of a conspirator once in London, we each kept our own counsel --
I answered mechanically to his periodic assurances, spoken in a tone which
had something of real regret, though nothing he said could justify any hopes
-- and it struck so forcibly on my mind that I could not but wonder if his
studied avoidance spoke of embarrassment for his own neglect, as well as
mine.

As the carriage rocked back and forth on the rough road, I watched in
amazement as the Colonel dozed off, heedless of the bumps, the endless clip
clop of hooves and the shouts of the men. I supposed in his profession he
was more accustomed than not to discomfort, while I already looked forward
to the end of the journey. He seemed an odd man - portly, upright posture
maintained somehow even in sleep, the only concession to gravity evident in
the drooping of his chin upon his chest. His was an air of surprising
dignity in spite of having a silly wife.

He awoke and spoke in a low voice, clipped words and mournful tone barely
audible over the noise of the wheels. "A sad business. I dare hope we shall
find something of use on the London Road, eh? Else I fear they shall not be
tracked in Town."

"Is there no word of friends or acquaintances there?"

"Ah, no. The officers, you understand - more than willing to be of service,
more than willing. Hem! He owes debts of honour to a number of them."

"Indeed." I stifled a groan at this news. A rake and a gamester! A man may
run up thousands of pounds of debt and still disdain the duns, laugh at the
poor who starve for not being paid. But I had heard of men destroying
themselves over their inability to pay a debt of honour. This was upsetting
news indeed, for it told of an unexpected desperation on Wickham's part.

"And shocking to think, sir -- none of the officers claims to be aware of
the details of his life before entering this regiment. He offered his
fellows few particulars beyond certain wrongs done to him by others."

I wondered about those certain wrongs in light of this current mess. I
carefully withheld my mind from the thought of someone so wholly
untrustworthy in charge of my daughter's safety and happiness. It would not
do.

Colonel Forster had engaged for me the attention of the ostlers at the
posting inns along the way, the force of his uniform no doubt commanding
whatever cooperation remained uninspired by my own shabby travelling
clothes. I daresay he saved me the expense of a few coins' bribery in the
bargain.

But it was all to no avail. They had not been seen.

He left me at Clapham to engage a chaise back to London -- as he was
expected back in Brighton that night. His stiff and sober bearing did not
hide the pity in his eyes. I stifled my own ruffled response, and he hastily
bowed and departed, favouring his left leg slightly as he stepped up into
the coach. The colonel had discharged his duty admirably, grieved indeed at
the part his regiment had played in my family's distress.

"Very deeply grieved, sir."

I imagine he relished the ride back to Brighton, without a visible reminder
of the fruit of his laxity weighing down his carriage.

I arrived at The George, an impressively galleried coaching inn in
Southwark, and the nearest possible point to my destination in London that I
would reach that night. (11) I could go no further! It was unseasonably cold
and wet, and the approaches into the old city threatened to flood with the
rain. Soon a thick fog, rare in summer, hung everything in a cloak of the
same murk that filled my own thoughts and made it impossible to distinguish
objects at a distance of more than four steps. A heavy mist of indeterminate
colour had left a film of soot on all surfaces, nearly obscuring the
jaundiced light glowing weakly from the checkerboard windows of the inn's
lower level. The place inside was if anything, too warm, and reeked of wood
smoke and cabbage.

A sense of frustrated impotence had set in along with this smoky soup, for
my travels so far had resulted in no information of use. Somewhere in that
benighted swarm, that centre of gloom across the river, my foolish daughter
lay asleep. I hoped for her mother's sake that she was safe and relatively
comfortable. I knew better than to wish for more than this; rather, to wish
even for this was vain and foolish.

Vague thoughts of finding her took precedence over what to do when she was
found. I had no brilliant plan, except to search all the principal hotels
for some person who might recall seeing my daughter arrive; someone who may
know where they might have taken lodgings. I soon became sensible of the
fact, however, that the cost of a hotel in this city outstripped Wickham's
probable financial capability, and that the number of less magnificent
lodgings outstripped my ability to visit them all. Therefore, I determined
to focus my efforts on inns frequented by respectable patrons of smaller
means, on thoroughfares where the principal coaches stopped. This alone was
nearly impossible in itself, for I still knew not where to start -- The
City? The West End? East of St. Paul's? West of Temple Bar? Fleet Street?
Southwark alone contained more than a dozen of these places.

It was an enormous task.

Anger rose unpityingly at every thought of seeing him, raising the unwelcome
spectre of having to negotiate and forge a deal. The smug bastard, the knave
had helped himself to one daughter's good opinion and another's virtue, and
I could feel stirrings of responsibility in my breast for both threatening
to overtake more reasonable considerations. So, I maintained my focus as
much as possible on Lydia, the thought of whom inspired more unsettled
feelings. Had I not done right in trusting Colonel Forster and his
flibbertigibbet of a young wife to provide her with a safe means whereby she
might display herself to her heart's content? Perhaps I had not fully
realized the danger as I ought. But who could have expected a man to be so
foolish as to attach himself to a silly flirtatious young woman with no
means whatsoever and the protection of the Colonel of his own regiment?

In the end I chose to approach the problem from a distance, in an effort to
maintain clarity of thought and avoid the feelings of shame that threatened
to overtake my more reasoned thoughts. I had merely to determine where in
London two respectable people of little means, unknown to me at all, might
choose to hide themselves from the world.

Where indeed, when the putrid air itself seemed to conspire with them?

The light and vile smell from the meagre tallow by the bed died out long
before my troubled thoughts. The yellow fog pressed in on the single pane. I
should have taken better care.

*****

The next few days were a blur of noisy, rattling, dirty, dusty streets, the
monotony of which was broken only by noisy, rattling, dirty, dusty hotels
and inns, as I searched in vain for my young quarry. My surprise at the
quick pace of life in this dark heavy conglomeration never left me. Men
walked briskly or hawked wares. Bawds, many as young as Lydia and dressed to
make her envious, travelled in large groups. Gentlewomen on the arms of
their protectors darted between the wet and dirt, and trample of hoofs.
Young urchins scrambled and chased, with no doubt nefarious designs on the
pockets of the well-to-do. Few lingered except at the shops, for there was
little else to enjoy by the leisurely contemplation of it. Others rattled by
in coach or chaise, to the sound of wheels grating and horses' hooves
thudding on dirt, clopping on cobbles. Near one corner a new layment of
gravel had been dumped for spreading, and the horses, finding it stiff
going, refused their collar and jibbed, (12) accompanied by a string of loud
unsavoury language from the driver, to which none but I appeared to attend.

Each day I walked avenues and blind alleys, sometimes alone and furtive, at
others striding briskly with an obliging lad from my inn who served as a
guide and link boy. Always I searched with the hope that I might catch the
scent of one cunning fox and his vixen. Often I found myself thinking during
isolated moments, as I had in earlier visits, of the city and its history;
of kings and prisoners, of scientists and paupers, of Shakespeare and Pepys
and Wren. But I saw little of beauty or inspiration in any of it now -- the
height of St. Bride's many layered turret, the ancient grandeur of the Tower
begun during the reign of William the Conqueror, the small city that was
London Bridge, pale rounded stones from a crumbling Roman wall, and the
winding grace of the Thames at high tide -- none inspired a flicker of
admiration in my breast. I had seen it all before, had already wearied of it
before, and under far less humiliating and anxious circumstances.

Always, the true nature of my current situation, the causes of my enforced
activities here, lurked like a disease in my very sinews, which I imagined
spreading inwards to threaten the purity of my most central organs. I did
indeed feel sick in mind, at heart. These streets had been threatened and
defended, plagued and cleansed, burnt and rebuilt, befogged and cleared; and
now I grimaced at the heavy, close air dripping with a confused stench of
tea and coffee, chocolate and spices, choking smoke, decaying mud and other
filth from the disappearing river.

I felt a new appreciation for the rising green hills and broad country lanes
of Hertfordshire. I missed it already -- walking wide in the open country,
breathing the sweet rushing air that stirred the leaves, the long grasses,
and my soul.

It seems to me that London must indeed enjoy many more visitors than
residents, so plentiful are her establishments devoted to their maintenance
and refreshment. These places are largely all alike -- harried, impatient
landlords, tall and swarthy or portly and red-cheeked; regal of bearing or
reeking of gin -- and none were of any use to me. No sightings of my girl
among the young women window-shopping on the arms of officers None but the
fancifully carved and painted wood signs that bore the names of these places
remained in my memory as distinctive or worthy of note. Angels, Horses,
Bulls, Swans and other Beasts, various Royal and Criminal Body Parts, all
memorialized in humourous and often bloody manner, but sheltering no Lydia
or Wickham.

George Wickham! How galling to have that rogue's name on my tongue a
thousand times a day!

Some of these establishments tempted me on occasion to enjoy a passable meal
or a well-earned tankard of ale. One afternoon I took my befogged self to a
coffeehouse and after another vain inquiry sat my weary soul at a table as
near to the window as possible to read the papers. My fellow patrons leaned,
elbows on the board, digesting the week's news along with their beverages.
Busy men sat idle, idle men sat busy in this place where strangers found
welcome, and melancholy men such as myself found sanctuary. (13)
Conversation was low but incessant, witty and informed, creating a not
entirely unpleasant hum of voices and activity. Opinions flew around me,
freely expressed and solicited; but my spirits were such as to discourage
all comers and I was soon left alone with my thoughts, worrying at the edges
of the newspaper while I read.

Such disturbing affairs since the spring! Disorder abroad, at home, within.
The papers were often full of reactions to these earth-shattering events
weeks later: Perceval shot and Bellingham hanged, another war with America,
Napoleon marching across Russia! The world was as mad as ever. In another
paper, another confirmation: a woman in Milk Street, unfortunate in her
choice of spouse, interred by him in Bedlam for complaining about his
excessive and brutal enjoyment of gin. A doomed soul recovered from the
Thames at low tide wearing nothing but a pair of lead-soled boots. All
mingled in my thoughts together with dying livestock, drowned wheat, absent
daughters and villainous soldiers.

Further along I read an appeal for the return of a runaway wife: reward
offered. The thought, I confess, did briefly touch my mind, but I quickly
dismissed it. Discretion and silence were both my friends and my foes in
this endeavour.

The unmistakable sound of fine young gentlemen patronizing the fencing
academy upstairs jerked me upright again. I had young blood once, if not a
'young blood.'(14) I certainly knew the passion, the raging pride that
spurred these youngsters in their frenetic thrusts and parries. Youth, the
province of foolish, impulsive behaviour, fed on the violent passions of
selfish, impatient, untrustworthy and evil men alike. All of them
blackguards and seducers, readying themselves to answer an inevitable
challenge of honour! I was ready to declare the prince of darkness himself a
gentleman. (15)

And yet, I was not a complete fool. I realized my own culpability in my
daughter's downfall, my failure to protect her interests and those of her
sisters. I had avoided it long enough, but when confronted with the evidence
of folly and ruin in the world, I could only shake my head, and look inward.
What seeds had I sown? With a heavy heart I resigned myself to the fact that
I had made a terrible choice early in life. I married a pretty, empty-headed
thing with a modest settlement. In denouncing the memory of my pinching
lickpenny of a father, I had never believed in the necessity of thrift until
it was too late. Blame and self-pity warred, mingled with the warmth of the
coffee, and sat uneasy on my soul. If I had made another choice . ah, how
different, how luminously finer would life be now?

And what of honour? I kept my vows, painfully, for twenty-five years. I
never forced my attentions where they were not welcome. I learned to live
within myself, turning to books and brandy and walks. I was thrifty when
absolutely necessary; and in the end I kept my independence and protected my
family from debt. I avoided the expense and trouble of mistresses and gaming
and congratulated myself for it. I thought myself virtuous, judicious,
unapproachable. But how wise, how honourable in actual fact, if my
compensation for these deprivations -- solitude, inattention, sarcasm,
retreat, inaction -- ended up threatening my happiness and that of my
daughters? I should have saved money, should indeed have taken better care.

I should have husbanded wife, family, estate, better than I did.

Mine was a sorry yield to be sure.

To Be Continued.

(1) There was a tax levied on horses kept for personal, as opposed to farm,
use.

(2) Emma.

(3) Statistics taken from Liam Brunt, "Nature or Nurture? Explaining English
Wheat Yields in the Agricultural Revolution." University of Oxford
Discussion Papers in Economic and Social History No. 19, October 1997.
Hollow drainage was a new technique that did not become common practice in
Hertfordshire until 1820.

(4) "How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child".
Lear to Cordelia at I, i, The Tragedy of King Lear, by William Shakespeare,
1604-5.

(5) Poems in Two Volumes, by William Wordsworth, 1807.

(6) Description of the Three Peaks area in A Tour Through the Whole Island
of Great Britain, by Daniel Defoe (1778 ) .

(7) An older word meaning anticipation.

(8 ) It is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free, a.k.a. By The Sea. The girl
in this sonnet is Wordsworth's natural daughter.

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free;
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea:
Listen! the mighty being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder - everlastingly.
Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouch`d by solemn thought
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham`s bosom all the year,
And worship`st at the Temple`s inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.

(9) I, iv, The Tragedy of King Lear, William Shakespeare.

(10) Justice Credulous at II, iv, St. Patrick's Day, or The Scheming
Lieutenant by Richard Brinsley Sheridan.

(11) The George is one of the older surviving inns in Southwark, in Borough
High Street approaching the London Bridge from the south. It has an
intricately fenced gallery running the length of its two upper floors. The
building dates from 1672, though the name survives from at least 100 years
earlier.

(12) JA described such an incident on one visit to London in a letter to her
sister Cassandra, as reported in G.E. Mitton's Jane Austen and her Times.

(13) Refers to a nobleman.

(14) From John Earle, Microcosmographie, or a Peece of the World discovered,
in Essayes and Characters, 1628.

(15) Edgar to Gloucester at III, iv. The Tragedy of King Lear, by William
Shakespeare.

Chapter 7 – Dissipation and Vice

"Here I am once more in this scene of dissipation and vice,
and I begin already to find my morals corrupted."
Jane Austin, Letter to Cassandra of 23 August, 1796


I had been in my lodgings a week, and had received a number of
letters, though my humour and the business of my days did not allow
their timely reading. The first was from my brother Gardiner. He had
cut short his trip to the North and was hurrying back to Longbourn at
Jane's urgent persuasion. He expected to join me in London soon. This
news reached me on the same day he did himself. I was glad of the aid,
for my own search had yielded nothing greater than fatigue and sore
feet. Of course, he insisted upon my removal to his home, and after a
suitable period of dignified resistance, I agreed to his request as I
had always planned to do. I would be right glad to put my feet on his
fender, if it were not so blasted warm and close!

How I missed my clean country breezes, the gentle rising hills
overlooking hazy sweeps of field and hedgerow. The fields would be
turning white-gold now, and I briefly wondered on my precious wheat.
Gracechurch Street was as bustling, noisy, and commercial as anywhere
else in the city, burgeoning with traffic and trade; what breezes that
arrived from the country could not blow away the stubborn noise and
stench and filth that everywhere oppressed. Still, it was far more
comfortable there than in my current lodgings – and of considerably
less expense to myself.

The next letters I read in the comfort of my brother's house. They
were from Jane, and contained no news that I had not anticipated.

"My dear father,

Be assured we are all well, or as well as could be hoped. Your message
Wednesday of your safe arrival was comforting news. We are also very
glad to know that you are well yourself, and pray you to continue so.
(1) I have been much occupied of late with my dear little cousins,
whose lively natures make them seem larger and more numerous than
ever. My little cousin Theo threatens to soon separate me from my pen,
so I must be brief. But I know you will forgive a short letter. His
arrival, along with Lizzy and my aunt, has been a great comfort to
poor Mama, who remains sadly grieved and keeps to her room. She had
been asking for them daily. Mary has made herself useful by abandoning
her lessons with the children to attend to her. She favours us by
making very few mentions of her studies.

My mother wishes me to say -- only perhaps it would be best to give
you the heart of the matter and leave the body for herself when you
arrive home, as she expresses her concerns much better than I am able.
She especially desires you look to your health, and asks every hour if
you have written with news. As you know, she fears the worst, having
it fixed in her head that London has swallowed up poor Lydia, and that
she is lost to us forever.

After you went away, our aunt Phillips came to stay with us. She has
been of great use and comfort to us all. And Lady Lucas has been very
kind to visit us often, bringing us news of the neighbourhood and
offering her services. I myself cannot but hope yet for the best news
of Lydia.

I am enclosing Elizabeth's latest, which arrived a few days before she
did. I know that it will cheer you as much as her arrival did us.

Do please send us word, dear Papa, as soon as you are able. Your
loving and faithful

Jane"

Jane's letter, besides conveying another, thicker one from Elizabeth,
conveyed as well the air of galling hysteria, the incessant pointless
activity that reigned in Longbourn even during the best of times. I
was sensible that here instead I rested in my brother's well-ordered
home, empty of any feminine presence or distraction save the servants.
I relished the quiet as I opened the folded sheaf of papers, glad for
Elizabeth's letter in this rare tranquil moment. I took a long,
unencumbered breath and settled further into the deep, brocaded couch.
Hers was delightfully long, and though addressed to us all, I knew she
meant much of it for me.

"… Our travels have been an education to be relished. We saw many
grand houses, among them Chatsworth, the seat of the Duke of
Devonshire. It is a stunning stone edifice, delightfully situated
among some woods and backed by hazy peaks. I found the shrubbery to be
disposed with taste and not too strong an eye for symmetry, but the
stone fountains could not but raise a blush among some of the young
ladies present. (2) But now, lest you think me unduly impressed by
magnificent size and expense, the interiors of the place were quite
disappointingly dim and gloomy."

… When we reached Matlock Torr, we were obliged to go on foot. We
passed many a like traveler, in true picturesque costume, with claude
glass in hand and knapsack slung over the shoulder.(3) I am smiling at
the elevation of yours, and the astonishment in your arched brows, but
I tell you it is true. The search for beauty that improves upon Nature
itself is a worthy pastime indeed. I find it is pursued most nobly and
energetically by half the travelling populace of Derbyshire. I own
that I myself nearly caught something of this passion; in vain did I
wish for a perfect clump of oaks to place `just so' in the foreground
of my sketchings. Sure it would have made a much more perfect
landscape than Defoe's frightening outcrops! Think you my uncle
Gardiner might have obliged me by standing to one side of a pile of
rocks with arms arranged in an attitude of branches, so as to form a
pleasing group for my composition?(4)

Forgive me if I do not exclaim in rapturous excess upon the sights to
be devoured at every hill, dale, rock, valley, and fall of the
Derwent, for I am sensible that you have read of their beauties
extolled in much more eloquent a manner than I am capable. Allow me to
say only that the scenery of Matlock Dale, toward which I had looked
with great expectation of being swept away in joy, did not strike me
as more transporting than many another vista on offer during our tour.
Indeed, I would find it difficult to show you anything worthy of such
a grand description as 'inconceivably sublime' or 'the most of
anything ever discovered in any country'. But perhaps my poor common
brains grow as weary as my uncle's feet. I find the desire to climb
the merest rise that will afford a view of the lowliest pasture,
crossed by clever stone hedges and dotted with comforting sheep, grows
ever stronger the more I am beset by awesome, fright-inducing
spectacles. I long for a cosy cottage or two to offset every perfectly
situated ruined castle.

And yet, I do freely admit that the country here is as beautiful in
its entirety as any I have loved to date. I should be happy to remain
longer still, in search of greater beauties. But alas! My excellent
uncle tires, and my aunt yearns for her old home in Lambton, the town
to which we turn our carriage next. And such has been their kindness
and generosity of spirit throughout our travels, and the difficulties
attendant upon moving three persons, a driver and a servant, various
trunks, valises and bags, two patient horses and one untrustworthy
vehicle over bumpy roads from place to place to place, that I would
most willingly part with Nature for them.… "

I closed the letter and my eyes, suddenly fatigued. My daughter's
admiration for her aunt and uncle did her credit, but I felt her loss
the more because of it. It sat uneasily upon my heart, for though I
could never begrudge her good sense – nay, rejoiced in it – I had
always presumed it to be a legacy of my own. I felt anew the coldness
in her manner prior to her departure, and could not make out the reason.

*****

After dinner, my brother and I retired to his library. He poured us
both a measure of cognac, the finest to run the blockades, from a
gleaming cut-glass decanter. I gratefully admired the colour - amber
warmed with a touch of russet - like to the fire that soon coursed
down our throats.

"By God sir, but that is fine!" He sat, plump legs stretched in a V in
front of him, resting a level gaze upon me. His fine attire and
furnishings seemed an odd contrast with his open blue gaze and balding
blond, head. He and I were much of an age, but he wore an air of
youthful vigour, instead of a wig, that seemed never to flag even when
in obvious need of rest, as now.

He and I shared an appreciation for the small pleasures in life; it
was his good fortune to procure them at will, and mine to benefit from
the procurement. "Ah. Trust in spirits to restore the spirits after a
long journey."

"Right then, Edward. What have we?" He was nothing if not a man of
business. His gaze remained fixed as he emptied the glass and placed
it precisely upon the tray. "From the little news at Longbourn when I
arrived I have already surmised that you had no luck on the Barnet or
Clapham Roads."

I merely nodded, reluctantly setting my own empty glass beside his.
The dull clink as the two connected on the tray sounded hollow and empty.

"And I further suppose from your look that you have had no other word?
Well that is bad then. If they were for Gretna they would have been
sighted by now."

Was it incumbent upon every man of business to restate the obvious
points of a case before coming to old conclusions? "Hence my
determination to search the hotels and public places. I should be
greatly in your debt if you were to assist me."

"I believe there are a few avenues still open to us that may offer
some better hope than knocking up every inn in town."

"Pray enlighten me sir. I have trod my soles to paper on the streets
of this city, asked at every establishment this side of the Temple
Bar, wandered in circles, entirely perplexed, through some accursed
neighbourhood comprised of nothing but dilapidated street after
dilapidated street, all meeting at one blasted, busy little point and
containing an inordinate number of strumpets and street vendors – one
tried to sell me a ballad, of all things! I believe Daedalus himself
would have been confounded!"

"I assure you my dear fellow, other than a few vile, desperate brutes
and bawds, no terrible beast waits to devour you in the labyrinthine
lanes of London." Compressed lips and sudden dimples indicated his
barely submerged mirth. There is nothing worse than good-natured
humour directed at one's own frustrated ravings.

"You may think it commonplace, but the other day I was beset by such a
mob of wretched little chimney-sweeps that I had to give them money to
go away!(5) I tell you I would like nothing better than to have done
with this business as soon as may be."

"I am sorry sir, but where did you lose your way? You say you stuck to
the East-end?"

"How do I know? I own I wandered for quite a while. Passing the
prisons, I cherished the wish that I might find our man there, but for
the fact that Lydia would then be left alone. Then for a time I walked
without thought; I could not tell you where I was. When I next became
aware of my surroundings, I was enmeshed."

"It sounds like Seven Dials. You were north of Covent Garden! That is
terribly far!"

"Do you know, these crooked, cobble-bumped, dirt-begrimed streets all
look alike at a certain point. Designed to blind a man and trip him
up, by God! And swarms of ragamuffins who tug and speak at one in
riddles! I tell you, I am tempted to say he is welcome to her, though
I should suffer for it cruelly."

It comforted me strangely to see the look of suppressed shock on my
brother's face. "Now Edward, calm yourself. Let us approach the matter
from a different direction, shall we?"

I said nothing. I had no doubt that I would regret my words later, for
a short time at least.

"I have taken the liberty of writing to Colonel Forster to inquire of
Mr. Wickham's friends. It seems to me that any knowledge of his
whereabouts might depend upon their kindness."

"I inquired the same of him on our travels in Surrey. He knew nothing
at that time - it seems the fellow has no friends. Or perhaps too
many. Though one might hope someone out of that sorry lot has found
reason to loosen his tongue since then."

"Ah. Then perhaps you will permit me to take a further small liberty
or two. I have connections in the dockyards, men I must use from time
to time to track down a missing shipment, who may turn up information
that we in our limited ways might be unable to discover."

I hesitated, finding it difficult graciously to quit my own plans to
search. Traces of loathing for my situation and envy of his crept into
my breast from some dark corner, I know not where. My brother had such
damnable good humour, energy and resources, whence sprung a seemingly
endless stream of practicable suggestions and hopeful thoughts.

A missing shipment! "I shudder to think that someone down there might
be able to find them. The dockyards? The man is, after all, an
officer. Much as I doubt their situation, I should think he would
house my daughter in better accommodations than are to be found there,
surely."

"Edward – ." His look was patient, kindly, most annoying. "It is not
likely that money should be in abundance at all."

"He will have the devil to pay from Lydia then, she could never stand
poverty for long. No proper shops or ladies in pretty frocks for her –
no ribbons, no lace, for all the talk about of needles and pins. (6) I
can almost hear her now; seeing all the shop windows heaped with
endless arrays, she would be insensible with delight! He may yet
regret his bargain." My annoyance at Lydia had risen that day with the
spatters of mud and unmentionable filth on my person.

"They are sure to have taken up lodgings rather than spending daily
what little they do have at an inn. Indeed it might have struck them
that they could be more economically married here in London, and are
at this moment planning for the eventuality." (7)

I felt myself weakening considerably at the thought of searching out
anonymous lodgings.

"My men may know of others who have heard such things; their inquiries
may range farther than ours. They will report to me daily. And there
is always Bow Street."

I blinked at the expense entailed, but said nothing. The truth was, I
could not search the entirety of London alone. "I believe you may have
the right of it. I do thank you, brother."

"It is nothing. I do think that this might obviate the need for you to
remain here much longer. Would you not prefer to return to Longbourn?"

"No."

He pursed his lips but said nothing, reaching for the decanter again
with an air of finality that I welcomed. I accepted a glass gratefully
and submerged myself in nothing more paramount than a sampling of its
depths.

"Such goings on these days, can you credit it?"

"The world has always been mad – more so now than usual, perhaps..."

How had it come to pass that I had become so used to extraordinary
happenings? The prime minister shot down like a dog, yet any amazement
I had felt soon faded away. Was it age? Aged disappointment? I
suppressed thoughts of the desperate situation in which affairs then
stood with my Lydia. Exhausting the subject would not bring her back.
Ah, wasted youth! With age came wisdom, caution and experience enough
to dull the flint edge of lust. "I suppose the lifting of the Orders
comes too late?"

"I have certainly been inconvenienced, on both ends of the affair."
Heavy eyebrows drew together, forming an expression of grave concern
that I rarely saw in him, but had had occasion to witness often this
day. "Government neither desires peace nor dares to interfere in such
matters. There must be war; they care not how much."

Was that a florid hue I espied spreading over his brow, or were my
senses affected by moonlight piercing the draperies? No doubt worried
spirits spiked my brain, unacknowledged but nevertheless potent.
"Undoubtedly America…"

"Impudent curs yapping after the Corsican dog!" he shook his head,
drank deep and praised the amber in his glass.

Annoying, really, how he could hold his liquor. I myself was feeling
flushed and fine.

I could credit the Americans for at least not suppressing my brother's
largesse. Or we would both be nursing some lesser liquid, and feeling
less the congenial haze that had settled over the room. "They say
Perceval had a portentous dream, do you believe it? I could not, nor
could I have imagined this," I finally said, warming to the subject.
Blindsided without portent, and now facing…." I have been thinking
what to do once she is found. Clearly Longbourn is impossible. Have
you a clerk who might suit?"

"Edward, do not let us be desperate. I have the highest hopes of
resolving the situation, if we can but find her."

"I fear there has been at least a very flagrant indiscretion. What
price to send her to a new life abroad?" I spoke with borrowed fire.
Inspiring spirits, these! "Canada or perhaps South America…."

He sat straight. "Much too dear! Whatever the indiscretion, it does
not justify imperilling life and limb at sea!" He drained his glass
and set it down, looked off and then returned my gaze once more. "How
does your wheat?"

"It has been cold and wet. What good comes of that?"

"Aye."

We sat up until well past twelve o'clock, enjoying the quiet of his
house, punctuated by the oddly mournful call of the watch, and the
comfort of our individual repose. I rested my thoughts with relish
upon the soft, clean bed that awaited me above stairs in my cheerful,
well-lit and ventilated chamber, and drifted....

*****

The following days brought no immediate news from the man at the
docks, nor from the Bow Street Station, home of the expensive and
useless runner we had hired; so at length I set out with renewed
vigour to continue my previous mission, for I had no better plan and
an active appearance appealed to my pride.

Cheapside was full of shops, of every description. An astonishing
variety of objects stood on display in window after window –
foodstuffs of all sorts, garments, books, prints, wares of every
description for one's house, one's library, one's privy chamber! Such
an array could bankrupt a man unlucky enough to have a wife with the
avaricious and easily pleased eye of a Lydia, or her mother. Nothing
available in the country could quite compare, in glitter or expense.

I turned my steps toward the West-end once again, this time along
Fleet Street. Stretching before me lumbered an impossible gathering of
every conceivable vehicle known to commerce – coal wagons, carts,
carriages and trucks; all filled to overflowing and following each
other in either direction, with nary an inch between them, as far as
the eye could see. In between them, droves of oxen walked sedately to
market, lowing and calling and stopping up all traffic. It was the
most beastly nuisance I could credit. The streets teemed with
unsavoury smells from this overabundance of flesh.

Seeking an hackney coach to shorten the journey west was a useless
endeavour; I could walk faster than they could move.

My destination was the Haymarket, with a short detour through Covent
Garden, which even during the off-season teemed with pleasure seekers
and sellers of every description. The streets rapidly filled up with
patrons of vendors and impromptu street-side players, in giddy
anticipation of the performance at the Little Theatre that evening.
Like all tradesmen in London, the ticket mongers lost no opportunity
to force their business upon the passing public. Printed bills were
thrust into my hand advertising the fresh and comely appearance, the
pleasingly scant garments, the truly moving talents, of this or that
actress.

I felt it incumbent upon me to make certain that my daughter and her
lover were not hiding amongst the fashionable, the frivolous, and the
fallen, most of whom appeared to inhabit these environs. These
streets, it seemed to me, might attract any number of persons sharing
a libidinous nature and a desire to disappear; from the prosperous set
to the poor looking to enjoy a rare moment of gaiety. But perhaps more
important was the real sense that, after toiling day after day with
little diversion and no success, it was my desert to indulge in some
small entertainment, some taste of the liveliness it was my usual
habit to avoid.

I searched the faces of the crowd, and it struck me how very many
Lydias and Wickhams there were in London. It would not be difficult
for them to pass me unnoticed into the warm waiting light of any
establishment. My taste for a performance waned the longer I stood
searching against the keen light of the afternoon.

I bought a hot meat pie and moved on.

On my way back, the Doric columns and pediment of the Covent Garden
Theatre drew my gaze as I passed. Though it stood vacant and lifeless
in July, once upon a wet winter evening, in a season long ago, that
venerable temple of the arts had pulsed and shone with the music and
lights of a ballet d'action. My young wife, eyes bright and smiling
face upturned to mine, had thrilled to the rhythmic strains, the
colours and lights, the elegance and finery that surrounded us. I had
thrilled to the graceful dancers, long of limb and narrow of waist,
their forms and movements free and unfettered but by the constraints
of the dance.

Images from that night returned from someplace long dead: swan-like
curves of arms and throats, softly turned calves, tiny ankles and
narrow toes, tapped a heart-beat on the polished wooden floor and
inscribed a sonnet on the charged air for all to read. These creatures
had seemed as other-worldly as their winged costumes declared. They
soared in my mind's eye still, delighting and inspiring deepest
feelings of loss and longing in my breast.

"Posy, sir, fer yer button? Only ha'pence a bunch."

I looked down to see a young girl, dress impossibly tattered,
sparkling dark eyes piercing from a pointed, dirty face. I smiled in
spite of myself. There was something artless and alive about that
face. She held up a bunch of colourful, slightly wilted flowers with
an air of expectation. But I had no need for posies, no one to thrill
to a nosegay; and suddenly put in mind of the real reason for my
presence in this street, I hurried on. Lydia was not much older than she!

Her disappointment followed me loudly, past the bawds dressed as fine
as gentlewomen, distinguishable only by the fact that they walked four
or five abreast, without benefit of a gentleman escort. They thought
me a callous skin-flint, I am sure, for not pleasing a waif with a
shiny half-penny. I hurried on, ignoring the voices hawking their
diseased wares.

To think this place was formerly part of a convent!

Get thee to a nunnery, indeed. (8) Was there no place, short of a
locked tower, where a young woman was safe from the determined
immorality of these current times? How had the venerable dictates of
honour come to be subverted by the meaningless code of a frivolous,
fashionable few? How had it come to pass that a gaming debt had more
hold over a man than the chastity of a gently-bred girl?

"Cherries in the rise! Fresh picked!" (9)

I turned and hastened back toward the familiar, along the Strand and
in the direction of the imposing dome of St. Paul's.

It was a long walk back to Gracechurch Street; longer than I had
remembered. I came to hold in higher esteem the silver-topped walking
stick that had been a gift from my brother Gardiner a number of
Christmases past, which I had used until now as a matter of fashion
only. Now I leaned ever more heavily upon the finely polished head,
and rejoiced when the tops of a tangle of masts became visible in the
distance. The Thames in this part of the City was as crowded as the
streets had been earlier; this was one of the many sights that had
become familiar to me in recent days.

As the sun continued its descent, I left my path to find a tankard of
ale to improve my disposition. Here I discovered the intersection of
Friday and Bread Streets, the colourful names bringing to mind the old
Mermaid, now burned and gone, but ever alive in the poetry of another
age.(10) Jonson and Beaumont, Donne and Shakespeare had cracked a
bottle on this very spot with their literary fellows, and I wished
very much to have been able to sit in their presence for a spell, or
even to share their company in the person of my beloved books, in my
own lamented library.

Anon, I noticed a woman standing on the corner a few feet away. Her
tall frame was clad in a very becoming gown, and she looked to be
indeterminate years younger than myself. Something about her carriage
and the colour of her eyes made me think of Evelyn, private siren of
my thoughts, so nimble, so full of subtle flame.(11)

The woman approached me, and I believe I weakened sufficient to smile.
I made a desperate attempt to avoid leaning on my cane in anticipation
of her approach. Easy nonchalance was I, if she did not look closely.
She neared boldly, eyes laughing. I was intrigued. How easily are we
men tempted astray, if not for the conviction of an honourable, or at
least practical, nature, without the luxury of youth for an excuse

"Care for a spot o' comp'ny, luv?"

I stepped back rapidly, realizing my mistake. "Ah no, I think not. I
thank you just the same, Madam."

I hurried on my way, reflecting on my singular luck in having smiled
twice that day and regretted it twice. I determined not to smile
anymore. I continued direct to the Gardiner house.

I would hazard no more encounters that day, mermaids or no.

*****

Later that evening I lay alone, supine on the couch in my brother's
darkened library, head and feet raised, attempting to dispel the
painful disappointments of the past several days with thoughts of
pleasanter things. The distant peal of the Bow Bells signalled the end
of another gruelling day. Truth be told, I had just experienced a
moment of such weakness of body and spirit as to make me fear for the
balance of my humours. Though I could detect no physical defect or
injury to my person, the discomfiture in my head had convinced me I
would be unable to ascend the stairs to my chamber until I took some
moments' rest.

I picked up a volume of Shakespeare's plays, opened it to Lear, and
read absently of another old man bedevilled by daughters. The sad
truth of his life and mine both seemed evident in the words of his
wisest friend, a Fool: "He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a
wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath." (12) I was
the true fool, a mad old fool.

Settling down with a superb glass of spirit, I closed my mind to the
treacherous voices. In the soft yellow half-light of early evening the
crystal decanter on the table next to me gleamed. The shadow it cast,
with a long graceful neck and curving bottom, flickered ever taller
across the floor and on the wall opposite.

I took a drink of the heady liquid, squeezed my eyes shut and opened
them again. The shadow on the wall advanced and took the shape of the
woman who, I imagined, might have made my life bearable. A good wine
is like a good wife. They both must have depth, richness, a little
sparkle and lovely long legs. Mmmm … hers was a somewhat mature and
developed taste; soft, round and smoky but with a bit of spice. I took
another long luxurious sip. Her subtle fragrance imbued my senses … I
felt her fire on my tongue, beneath my fingertips. She had excellent
balance and body …a brilliant palate … potent indeed. I rose to the
occasion and drained the glass, her aftertaste warming from the
inside. It was a brilliant moment. I let her breathe before savouring
again.

Really I must procure some of this excellent Cognac of my brother's;
trust him to be flush in casks in these times …

Lydia. Thoughts of her followed close upon the round heels of luxury.
I wondered if they had run through her small funds by now, perhaps in
hiding from the duns; if all accounts of Wickham were to be believed,
they certainly must be. What squalor, both spiritual and physical,
must she be enduring -- what recompense for her own moral lapse? I
shuddered to think of the woman I saw on the street earlier that day –
had she come upon the town after a similar fall?

The brandy suddenly paled and lost its flavour, thinned perhaps by the
splash of cold water these thoughts had thrown over my restlessness.
Any enjoyment I might have derived from my brother's cellar dissipated
in that moment.

I was accosted by the man himself shortly thereafter.

"My dear Edward, are you quite well? Shall I ring for Betsy to bring
you a draught?"

Righting myself quickly, hands working blindly at my cravat, I
endeavoured to put the lie to his insulting assumption that I was
unwell. "I thank you, but I am hale enough, though a bit fagged."

"Allow me to assist you, sir."

"Pray, do not encumber … yourself, with unnecessary solicitude. I am
well."

I sensed disbelief, betrayed by a hitch in his breath before he
plunged on in cautious voice. "You will forgive me, brother, if I tell
you truly that you are looking more than a bit … peaked?"

"Have you news?"

"I have seen Gavin. His men have turned up no new information. He
expressed little hope of word arriving after this amount of time has
passed, but continues his inquiries. He believes they may have gone to
ground."

"May have? I could have informed him of that myself within a day of my
arrival in this God-forsaken town."

"It will likely take some time to wait them out. You may with as much
ease await word in Longbourn as here. I assure you, I am equal to any
eventuality…"

My attempt to suppress a scowl was no doubt enough of an answer.
Detestable presumption, that he should take on the responsibility of
father to my own daughter! That he should pity me! I opened my mouth
to speak but closed it again as a reminder of my previous weakness
threatened to betray me.

"I only think of your own comfort and that of my sister."

My brother's good nature is sometimes provoking. "Ah yes, Mrs. Bennet.
And how did you leave her?"

He sat and leaned slightly forward with the resigned air of a man well
acquainted with my wife's figments and flummery. I knew the answer
before he gave it.

"My sister has always taken … disappointments … harder than other
women of … sensibility."

Indeed.

"As you are well aware," he added for my look. "She loves deeply and
with her entire being, and so must feel more deeply as well the
possible dangers to those she loves, when they are out of her sight
and … protection."

"Well said, sir. May I commend you on being an excellent and most
solicitous brother."

"As you may surmise, her particular concerns at the moment extend both
to Lydia's well-being and your own."

And hers as well, uppermost of course.

"I must say I fear for her nerves myself," spake he, with uncanny
discernment.

Nerves! I had been blissfully unaware until that moment that it had
been nearly a fortnight since I had heard that particular word uttered
in my presence. The sound of it, coming as it did from the voice of my
sane and ever reasonable brother, gave me rather a start.

"Ah yes, my old friends," I muttered with a sinking feeling.

He was making it very difficult to remain here, buffered by a day's
bumpy carriage ride from my old cares. An unenviable choice now loomed
before me, for enjoyable as this library was, neither could I much
longer endure my present situation; nor did I wish for a witness to my
present mood.

"I can only think that your returning to Longbourn at this time would
be a kindness to her," he responded. "Your eldest daughters are more
than capable, of course, but all in that household must surely benefit
from the reassurance of your presence, for want of more hoped-for news."

The outlandish thought entered my brain that my brother might actually
be missing his wife and children!

Missing his wife?!

Could it be? But, having no experience with such a state myself, I
dismissed it out of hand. Certainly after ten years' marriage and
weeks of close confinement in a carriage, the man could not be missing
his wife.

"Ah – forgive me brother, I never asked about your trip. How did
Elizabeth like the North?" Though genuinely wishing for news of her,
despite her letter, the desire to turn the conversation to matters
more pleasant than my present dilemma over nerves was greater still.

"You and I have had graver and more pressing concerns to speak of. I
believe Elizabeth enjoyed her visit to Derbyshire very much indeed.
She would, I dare say, still be exploring the woods and hills now,
mindful only of the beauties and never the dangers of her beloved Peaks."

"Yes she always was a little adventurer," I replied, not without some
pride.

"Not so little nowadays, Edward, eh? She is quite a lovely and
self-possessed young woman, attracts her share of young men, I should
say."

I blinked for a moment, startled out of all thought. "Er. Hem, rather."

Saved by the supper bell.

Once ensconced in the dining room, I ceased enjoying the excellent
joint and looked sharply to my companion. "I say, which places did you
visit before you were called away?"

"Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth, Birmingham, Matlock,
Chatsworth, and Pemberley. All are remarkable for the usual abundance
of pictures and furniture, but I must say I favoured the last for its
style of equal elegance and hospitality, if only because the owner was
so obliging."

I looked up quickly, in time to see his eyes betray a glint of avid
pleasure.

"Very generous with his streams -- We had excellent fishing! -- and of
course its proximity to Lambton recommended the place to my wife. It
is a pity that…."

"Mr. Darcy was at home? And you say he distinguished you by his notice?"

"Indeed, he was most civil. I confess I had not expected any
extraordinary politeness; your great men often are not. Though I dare
say very much the Master of his realm."

That sounds like Mr. Darcy. Certainly Lizzy was grateful for the
opportunity afforded her to see him preening amongst his own.

"And Elizabeth was quite taken with the place." My brother spoke with
a slight lift of his brow that convinced me she had not fully informed
him of Mr. Darcy's true character.

I concealed a small smile at the thought of my daughter, forced to
endure him at every turn. Indeed, I wonder still at the oddity of it.

"My wife quite dotes upon her, you know. She was delightful company
for us both."

"I have no doubt of it."

"And the children wrote us often of their love for Jane. A very steady
and sweet-natured young woman. How well she behaved during her
disappointment."

"Yes, quite." I replied, not insensible of the fact that I had hardly
noticed. But I had always known these two of my children would make me
proud.

"I must say I would never pick favourites, but it is my opinion that
these two must give you daily reason for pride and contentment. They
will make some young men admirable wives someday soon, I wager. That
is, if…." He coughed, and offered a plate of potatoes.

But my brother's attempts to cheer me did not succeed. At that moment
I was too encumbered by unpleasant memories to attend him. I saw
before me, instead of the heavily laden board, my Lizzy's earnest face
entreating me to check Lydia's wild behaviour before she could damage
her and all her sisters' chances to marry well. She had been correct
in her fears. My daughters' reputations had indeed been damaged,
perhaps ruined, just as surely as Lydia's had been. And I had failed
in my mission to save them.

I had failed.

Lizzy's face faded and swam, before melting into the odd haloes of
bright light that pulsed around every candle flame. I grasped the edge
of the table and held on.

"Edward? Forgive me, but I am certain you are not well. Allow me to
have you escorted upstairs. Shall I help you myself? My dear sir, you
are quite purple. Parslow! Come quickly Par….."

I know not how I reached my chamber that night, nor quite how long it
was before I felt myself again.

*****

I left in the Gardiner carriage two days later, the doctor having
pronounced that my neuralgia and prostration needed nothing more than
rest and care. Once recovering a measure of strength, and having
resolved myself to the utility of awaiting further word at Longbourn,
I wished for no more delays in bidding farewell to London and all its
dubious delights. My brother's sound judgment and amiable company I
knew I could not enjoy in my present humour; thus, once my condition
improved, my only inducement to remain longer was removed.

"Edward" he said as I made my farewell, his expression sober and eyes
warm, "I wish to offer my sincerest sympathy for your unhappy situation."

"Sympathy?" I bristled. "Pray do not trouble yourself sir. Sympathy is
merely the means of making two people unhappy where only one was
unhappy before." (13) I had had enough of sympathy; yet it swam in his
eyes as they rested, concerned, on my countenance.

To my continuing regret, my appreciation for his past and present
efforts on my daughter's behalf, though honestly felt and duly
expressed, nevertheless stuck fast and held in the pit of my stomach,
where it spread upwards in tight concentric rings to my body's upper
regions. But, sensible of the great good he had done for me and my
family, I persevered. I was resolved that the good man would know no
longer the sting of my ill humour.

We exchanged final farewells and fine sentiments, and I made good my
departure, breathing a sigh of some relief.

"And mind your health, dear sir!" he shouted at my boots, the rest of
me having already entered the carriage. I settled back against the
cushion and closed my eyes, willing away all.

To Be Continued.

(1) Jane Austen, Letter to Cassandra, Oct 7, 1808, Oct 7, 1808.

(2) Adapted from The Gentleman's Magazine, August 17, 1780, p. 564.

(3) Claude Lorrain was the pseudonym of the French painter Claude
Gellée (1600-1682). The Claude Lorrain Mirror is a slightly convex
mirror made of black glass that produces a reduced, upright and
virtual image of the scene being observed by reflection in it. These
`claude glasses' became popular among tourists as well by the regency
period.

(4) Adapted from Robert Southey's Letters from England No. 30, 1802
and James Plumptre's The Lakers.1798.

(5) From G.E. Mitton, Jane Austen and her Times.

(6) `Needle and Pin' is cockney slang for `gin'. Dates to the early
19th c. This rhyming slang developed in the East End of London, within
the sound of Bow bells, the church bells belonging to the now
demolished Church of St Mary Le Bow, in Cheapside.

(7) PP

(8) Hamlet says this to Ophelia, as the only means of saving her
virtue. Hamlet III, i by William Shakespeare.

(9) "Cherries in the rise" refers to the way cherries were sold on the
street, spiked on a branch or a stick so as to give the feeling of
eating them freshly picked.

(10) Mermaid Tavern was the meeting place of the "Mermaid Club", a
favorite haunt of Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, John Donne,
Robert Herrick, John Selden, and William Shakespeare, among others. It
burned down in the Great Fire in 1666, but not before a number of its
patrons had immortalized it in their poetry.

(11) Mr. Francis Beaumont's Letter to Ben Jonson.
…What things have we seen
Done at the Mermaid:
Heard words that have been
So nimble, and so full of subtile flame,
As if that everyone from whence they came
Had meant to put the whole wit in a jest.

(12) Fool at III, vi, in King Lear, by William Shakespeare.

(13) Warwick Collins, Marriage of Souls, p. 252.

© joanie



To be continued....