The next few days were spent with Lydia and I frequently visiting our Aunt Philips, as well as learning all about the militia’s headquarters. Also, very often, Aunt and Uncle Philips had the officers for tea, so that they could become acquainted with them. Sometimes, the officers paid visits elsewhere, but we would join our aunt who would be visiting the Watsons, or the Johnsons, and we would meet more officers by and by. The more I did so, the lighter my heart was.
The officers proved to be the best distraction for me from the woes that I experienced with Mr. Bingley. As I stated before, I did not want to become a jealous demon. If I needed these officers to be the means through which I could obtain this, then that was the correct route. No, the green-eyed monster would not best me!
One day, Lydia and I were sitting with our family at breakfast, and we were speaking of the officers.
“I find Denny to be the handsomest of them all,” I noted.
“No, you only say that because he is charming,” Lydia said, “but I need there to be more than charm. I need for there to be good looks. Carter is the handsomer, by far.”
“But he sweats a lot.”
“I can forgive that, as long as he wipes his brow often.”
We both laughed at that. Yet our guffaws were interrupted when Papa threw down his napkin next to his plate.
“From all that I can collect by your manner of talking,” he stated coolly, “you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced.”
I opened my mouth and then I closed it. For some reason, I was disconcerted by this and felt a tinge of embarrassment. But also, I felt the pangs of being misunderstood.
I couldn’t tell my family that I had felt a quick passion for Mr. Bingley, and I was doing everything in my power to not be envious of Jane. My actions of enjoying the company of the officers were not only done from the desire to pursue jollity, but it also was done to protect my eldest sister from my inner passions. But no, this could never be. Thus, I had to suffer in silence, and continue to be misunderstood.
Next to me, Lydia didn’t care, and continued to talk to me about why she preferred Captain Carter above the others.
“I do hope that we see him before he goes to London,” Lydia added, “for I do not know when he shall return.”
“I am astonished, my dear,” Mama said to Father, “that you should be so ready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly of anybody’s children, it should not be of my own, however.”
It was nice to see Mama come to our defense, no matter how changeable her nature could be towards us, at times. Then again, since Lydia was her favorite, perhaps she was only defending me because Lydia was being ridiculed as much as myself. Therefore, to shield Lydia, she had to shield me as well. Either way, I was still happy for it, as it helped me feel less cast down.
“If my children are silly,” Father continued, “I must hope to be always sensible of it.”
“Yes—but as it happens, they are all of them very clever.”
“This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must so far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly foolish.”
I bit into my food, even more sullen when hearing this. Truly, we all were still in the room, and Father did not care how he made me feel. What was I to do? Was I to be without emotion or feeling of being ill-used? No! I was not stone. Words had no choice but to reach me. Cold criticisms had no choice but to hurt me as well. I was mortified, but within me was a sense of indignation. I felt my spirits rise in rebellion and contrariness. Father was merely too severe on me, that was all. I had never hurt anyone.
“My dear Mr. Bennet,” Mama pressed, buttering her bread, “you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their father and mother. When they get to our age, I dare say they will not think about officers any more than we do.”
Father did not respond to this, but only tended to his food. Mama, clearly aggravated by his dismissing her last point, also was filled with indignation. She bit into her bread, while eying Father with silent resentment. Her mind was evidently bent on seeking retribution and justification for her point. And she would see it to the very end—or until Father stopped ignoring her.
“I remember the time when I liked a redcoat myself very well—and, indeed, so I do still at my heart, and if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, should want one of my girls I shall not say nay to him. And I thought Colonel Forster looked very becoming the other night at Sir William’s in his regimentals.”
Lydia and I chuckled.
“Mamma,” Lydia cried, “my aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain Carter do not go so often to Miss Watson’s as they did when they first came. She sees them now very often standing in Clarke’s library.”
I had no information to give myself, and Mama was about to reply to this, when Hill entered with a note.
“For Miss Bennet, ma’am,” Hill explained, as she stood behind Jane. “A letter from Netherfield Park.”
“Thank you, Hill,” Jane said, taking the letter.
“Oh, bless the lord!” Mama cried, her eyes alight with pleasure, “we are saved. This is the beginning of all my woes being brought to an end. We are saved.” Jane opened the letter and began to read. “Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us. Make haste, my love.”
“It is from Miss Bingley,” said Jane, clearing her throat as she began to read the letter aloud to us:
‘MY DEAR FRIEND,
“If you are not so compassionate as to dine today with Louisa
and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day’s tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.
—Yours ever,
“CAROLINE BINGLEY”
Jane lowered the letter, looking self-satisfied and flattered.
“How kind of them,” Jane professed. “Oh, I do believe that it shall be a pleasant visit.”
“When I think of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst,” I interjected, “pleasant is never the word that I think of.”
Elizabeth laughed, choking on her food.
“Oh, hush you both,” Mama chided us.
“With the officers!” Lydia cried, repeating the last bit of the letter. “I wonder my aunt did not tell us of that.”
“Dining out,” Mama focused on, her objective being thwarted by Mr. Bingley not being there, “that is very unlucky.”
“Can I have the carriage?” Jane asked.
Mama jumped up from the table, went to the nearest window, pulled the curtains aside and looked up at the sky.
“No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to rain, and then you must stay all night.”
I looked at Father, who looked at Jane.
Then I looked at Jane, who turned to Elizabeth.
Then I turned to Elizabeth, who was staring at Mother, critical, and concerned about Jane’s welfare, and the image that we would be presenting to the Bingleys.
“That would be a good scheme,” Elizabeth countered, “if you were sure that they would not offer to send her home.”
The point went to Elizabeth.
“Oh! But the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley’s chaise to go to Meryton, and the Hursts have no horses to theirs.”
True. That point went to Mother. Now the score was even.
“I had much rather go in the coach,” Jane argued.
Mama ignored this and continued.
“But my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are wanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are they not?”
Father leaned back, his eyes twinkling at Mama’s behavior.
“They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.”
“But if you have got them today,” Elizabeth pointed out, “my mother’s purpose will be answered.”
This next point went to Lizzy. Lizzy was now at two. And Mama was at one. However, I still placed my odds on Mama, for she was very gifted at getting her own way.
“Therefore, it is all down to your answer, Father,” Elizabeth directed. “Are the horses needed for the farm?”
Father looked at Mama.
Mama looked at Father. She gave him a demanding look. Whatever differences that they had, they still were man and wife. Therefore, every now and again, Father knew that it was correct to let her have her way.
“Yes,” he said, “the horses are engaged. Only one horse remains for Jane’s excursion.”
And the matter was settled. Mama took comfort in knowing that she was triumphant. Lydia and I looked at each other and giggled. We couldn’t wait to tell our Aunt Philips.
“Jane, it is settled,” Mama concluded, “you must go on horseback.”
* * *
And Mama was very correct. Soon after Jane left for Netherfield, it was raining.
Father was in his study, but the rest of us were looking out of the window, for the rain very quickly grew torrential.
“When Jane was last caught in the rain, she was a little ill afterwards, wasn’t she?” Mary recalled.
“Yes, she was,” I said, “but that is the least of it.”
“I agree,” Lydia admitted, shockingly serious and calm. “The horse could slip and fall.”
“Whatever benefits could have arisen from this scheme are fruitless when compared with the dangers that Jane has had to undergo,” Elizabeth finalized, her tone the harshest. “Is a tete e tete worth this? No tea, cake OR biscuits are worth that. Nor is the tea, cake, and biscuits worth the mortification that Jane must feel when she arrives there, wet, and embarrassed.”
“Ah,” Mama cried, entering the room, and joining us at the window. “The joys of being right! It is raining, and very hard at that. This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!”
“Are you not the least bit concerned about Jane’s welfare?” Elizabeth asked.
“Elizabeth, there is no need to feel alarmed. No harm shall befall her. Of that I am certain.”
Mama walked away, but the rest of us were a little uneasy. It continued to rain the rest of the evening, and as sure as the moon, Jane did not return.
The next morning, however, would meet our worries and also meet Mama’s satisfaction. After we ate breakfast, we all were arranged in the sitting room, each employing ourselves in a task that showed how much we had nothing to do, when Hill arrived with a letter.
“A servant from Netherfield just arrived with this letter, Miss Elizabeth,” Hill said.
“Thank you, Hill,” Elizabeth said, taking the letter eagerly. “At last, any word is better than the unknown.” Mary, Lydia, and I gathered around her as she read.
“MY DEAREST LIZZY,
“I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones—therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me—and, excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me.
Yours, etc.”
Elizabeth lowered the letter and gave Mama a stern look. Mama may have got what she wanted in Jane having to stay at Netherfield, but we had been correct to worry all along. Elizabeth’s furrowed brow was enough to alarm Mama, who looked away from her.
Father, on the other hand, was willing to exert himself enough to comment on this misfortune, while also maintaining his sardonic wit.
“Well, my dear, if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness—if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”
Mama dismissed this idea very quickly.
“Oh! I am not afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage.”
“In either case, I am going to see her,” Elizabeth stated firmly. “It is barely three miles to Netherfield, and I shall be returned in time for dinner.”
“The carriage is not to be had, however,” Mama argued.
“I need not worry about being carriage-less, since my own two feet can supply the service.”
“Surely you are not proposing to walk all that way?”
“I am determined to do so.”
“How can you be so silly,” Mama cried, “as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.”
“I shall be very fit to see Jane—which is all I want.”
Father closed his newspaper, his eyes twinkling.
“Is this a hint to me, Lizzy, to send for the horses?”
“No, indeed, I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing when one has a motive, only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.”
Mary, who had been standing by the window, now turned to Elizabeth.
“I admire the activity of your benevolence,” Mary advised, “but every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason. And, in my opinion, exertion should always be in proportion to what is required.”
“Oh, for god sakes, Mary,” I whispered to her, “now is not the time to be philosophizing. She wants to go. Jane will be happy to see her. And there’s an end of it.” I stood up. “We will go as far as Meryton with you,” I said.
“Aye, Lizzy,” Lydia added, “since we are going in that direction to see Aunt Philips anyway.”
“Of course, you are,” Father interjected. “I am on the verge of protesting your frequent visits to your aunt’s home.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, surely you wouldn’t do that,” Mama cried.
“I surely would when I have the strength and care to do it. But alas, right now I do not.”
“I welcome the company,” Elizabeth responded, “so be ready to go very soon, you both.”
“Oh, you do not need to tell us twice,” Lydia said, grabbing my hand. “Kitty, let us prepare to be gone.”
Lydia and I made quick work of getting prepared to travel into town, but Elizabeth was faster. When we were getting our spencer jackets on and tying our bonnets, she was already fully prepared to leave.
* * *
“If we make haste,” said Lydia as we set off together, “perhaps we may see something of Captain Carter before he goes.”
Elizabeth laughed, sarcastic.
“You are about to make fun of us!”
“You know me so well,” Elizabeth responded, “and I know you both so well, that I have no choice but to laugh. Captain Carter is a respectable young man, but you are at the age where redcoats and bonnets is all that you care about.”
“And you do not?” I asked.
“No, I do not.”
“Lord, for a kingdom,” I responded, “I would not be so fastidious as you are.”
Elizabeth gave me a sharp look.
“I thought you did not like Mr. Darcy. At least not to compare me to him.”
“Surely, I do not. Why do you speak of him? What has he to do with what we were talking about?”
Elizabeth looked at me shrewdly.
“Then that makes the coincidence even more startling. Mr. Bingley said the same thing to Mr. Darcy when he would not dance at the assembly. He told Mr. Darcy that he would not be as fastidious as he was, for a kingdom. You placed me in the role of Mr. Darcy, while you played out the more congenial part of Mr. Bingley. The similarity of this scene is quite baffling to experience.”
“Then it is all coincidence and nothing more,” I protested. “I had no idea that Mr. Bingley said that to Mr. Darcy, but surely it signifies nothing more than that I am similar to Mr. Bingley.” I looked ahead, reminding myself to speak casually, and give nothing away. “But I despise Mr. Darcy and would not compare anyone to him. You are safe. I didn’t even know that I made you feel similar to his attitude.”
“You have made me feel less frightened now,” Lizzy responded, “that is sufficient, and I forgive your accident. Oh, to be similar to Mr. Darcy in any way—the thought of it makes me feel sordid and repulsive.”
“He is handsome,” I admitted, “but I feel nothing for his looks. Do you notice that? How a man can be beautiful, and it means nothing sometimes?”
“I have indeed. Looks are material. Character is truth. Though of course, I do believe in a man being handsome too, if he possibly can.”
“But what is a man without a regimental redcoat?” Lydia exclaimed happily as we walked.
“Truly,” I laughed, “he even eclipses rocks and mountains.”
“Rivers and streams.”
“He is everything.”
“As is said,” Elizabeth determined, “you are so very young in your ways. I do not miss being your age at all. Ah, for the most trying age to be at such a time…”
“I like being my age.”
“Give it another three years, and you will have realized that you did not. You never did, in fact.”
After a while, we reached Meryton and parted ways with Lizzy, who went to stay with Jane. Alone, she walked off to Netherfield Park, where we would hear about her walk for days.