A Pitiable Situation
Perhaps it should not be surprising that talk at Rosings was dominated for the next several days about Mrs. Bennet’s surprising decision regarding her youngest daughters. For Elizabeth, the most surprising factor of it all had been that her mother had pushed the notion and not her father. To those who were not as familiar with Elizabeth’s family as she was, the matter was more of a curiosity.
“There is something . . . off about your youngest sisters,” observed Charity later the day of Mrs. Bennet’s surprising announcement.
“More so than usual,” amended she with a grin, infecting Elizabeth with her humor. “They have sat together all morning, whispering furiously to each other. That is not odd, I suppose since they appear to be deep in each other’s confidence. But today seems different.”
“In that, you would be correct,” replied Elizabeth, regarding Kitty and Lydia.
True to Charity’s observation, her sisters had stuck to each other like glue since quitting their parents’ chambers. At present, they had set themselves a little apart from the rest of the company, and in their looks about the room, particularly Lydia’s of censure and betrayal toward an oblivious Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth was certain she knew what they discussed. It would profit them but little, she knew, for her parents were united, a circumstance Elizabeth had not often seen since she was a girl.
Then again, a closer look at them suggested that it was Lydia who carried most of the conversation, for Kitty appeared noncommittal. As Elizabeth’s father had informed her of the surprising changes in Kitty, she knew of the girl’s attempts to consider more before speaking and acting, and while it was clear to Elizabeth that she did not wish to go to school any more than her sister, she was at least attempting to moderate her behavior. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.
“My mother made a surprising announcement this morning,” said Elizabeth to Charity, knowing her friend would hear of it soon enough. “It seems she has finally realized her youngest daughters’ inability to behave properly and convinced my father to send them to school.”
“That is surprising,” said Charity. “If you will forgive me, Elizabeth, I will say your mother is not the most proper herself.
“There is nothing to forgive,” acknowledged Elizabeth, “for it is nothing less than the truth. As you might have guessed, my sisters are not at all sanguine about this prospect, for it has been their goal in life to run amok and embarrass us all at every available opportunity.”
“That is a harsh assessment,” said Charity. “But I cannot argue against it. As you know, it is not the practice of most prominent families to send their daughters to school, as most prefer to bring in a trusted woman to handle the task. As such, I have never been to school. I cannot but assume they will benefit from the experience, and not only in their improved behavior.”
“Well do I know it,” replied Elizabeth. “I might have relished the opportunity to attend school if my mother had offered it to me. Then again,” added she with a laugh, “I have always supposed it was unfair that men may attend university while we women are denied.”
Charity laughed and fixed Elizabeth with a diverted grin. “That is heresy! A heresy that I might support now that I think about it. Though I am not as well read as you are, I can imagine how you would have wished to attend Cambridge; I might have enjoyed it myself.”
“Regardless,” said Elizabeth, returning to the previous topic, “it will be for the best, for I know William worries about the effect my family will have on his standing in society, for all he has chosen to ignore it.”
“It will not come as a surprise to you that I do not think much of your younger sisters.” Charity paused and eyed Mary, who was sitting near her mother, speaking of something in quiet tones. “Then again, I know no evil of Mary.”
“She is at heart a good girl,” said Elizabeth. “But she takes morality to an extreme degree, and her pronouncements directly from the pages of Fordyce’s Sermons can be tiresome. Mama and Papa have offered to approach my uncle to allow her to stay with them so she may take more frequent instruction with music masters. Or, she may accompany William and me after our wedding if he agrees.”
“And you think he will not?” demanded Charity, her voice dripping with amusement. “The man worships the very ground upon which you walk. Though Lydia or Kitty might be a bridge too far, I am certain he would be happy to allow unobtrusive Mary to go with you.”
“Perhaps he will,” replied Elizabeth. “And I should be grateful if he did, for I believe Mary has long been neglected in the family.”
“Quiet, middle children often are,” replied Charity.
It was not long before the rest of the company became aware of the matter, for it was one often discussed. Mrs. Bennet was eager to procure Lady Catherine’s counsel, and the lady was, as her wont, not hesitant to pontificate, though Elizabeth was grateful for it. Something near to a rapport had developed between the two ladies, and while Lady Catherine was the clear leader, Elizabeth thought her mother gained from the lady’s attention.
Soon it became their custom to speak of the matter openly without reference to the girls’ presence, regardless of their feelings on the subject. To say Lydia was unimpressed was to understate the matter to a large degree. To her credit, the girl ignored them, seeming to understand with unusual clarity that any outburst would have the opposite effect from what she desired. Then again, she could not hold her temper forever, which she amply demonstrated only two days after she discovered she would go to school.
“You must choose a school with care, Mrs. Bennet,” Lady Catherine was saying that day as they were all gathered in the sitting-room. Though Kitty and Lydia sat a little separate from the rest of the company, as usual, they could hear everything her ladyship was saying and were not happy about it. Seated as she was near William, Elizabeth had an unobstructed view of her younger sisters and could see their reaction to what was being discussed about their future. Seeing their annoyance was no great task.
“How should we determine which school is the best?” asked Mrs. Bennet.
To Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet was showing an unusual level of interest in the subject, even considering she had raised it herself. Elizabeth had, several times, detected a hint of wistfulness in her mother’s questions, as if Mrs. Bennet was now wishing she had similar experiences in school.
“There are several factors you should consider,” replied Lady Catherine. “The focus of instruction, the distance from your home, cost, the school’s reputation, and their ability to assist spirited young woman should all be part of your criterion for choosing a school.”
“And does your ladyship have any recommendations to make?”
Asking Lady Catherine for her opinion was like setting a jar of cookies before a child, for as Elizabeth had noted before, Lady Catherine adored being of use to others. Thus, the lady’s dissertation in response was not a surprise.
“First, I would recommend you do not stretch your finances. There are some exclusive schools for which the cost will be prohibitive. Also, I would recommend a school which is not near your home in Hertfordshire.”
Mrs. Bennet frowned. “Would such a location not be desirable? It would be easier to see them to the school and retrieve them, and we should be nearby should anything untoward happen.”
“That is exactly why you should not consider it,” was Lady Catherine’s firm reply. “A school near Longbourn might be used as a crutch by a girl who has little desire to be there. You would not wish to be at her beck and call at all times. If the school is more distant, that possibility will be removed.”
“I believe I understand and agree with Lady Catherine’s advice,” said Mr. Bennet, seeming surprised the lady could reply with sagacity.
Lady Catherine nodded at Mr. Bennet and continued. “A school with an excellent report is necessary, for there are unscrupulous places that are more concerned with accepting your money than training your children. It would also be beneficial to choose those places that teach curriculums that appeal to your daughters. While all will teach the same general topics, some will put a greater emphasis on certain facets of instruction.”
Turning to the girls, Lady Catherine said: “Do you have interests you would like to put forward that your parents may consider when choosing a school?”
Though it was not surprising Lydia did not respond, Kitty appeared thoughtful. After a moment, she ventured: “If possible, I should like to learn more of music. I have often heard Lizzy or Mary practicing, but I know little of the pianoforte myself.”
“Excellent suggestion, child,” said Lady Catherine, even as Lydia looked on her sister as if she had lost what sense she possessed. “There are several schools that focus on such things, and such skills will be useful in the future when you marry.” Then Lady Catherine turned her gimlet gaze on the youngest Bennet. “What of you, Miss Lydia? Is there anything you wish to learn in particular? Perhaps some instruction of music yourself, or if that is not to your taste, do you like to draw or paint?”
“I do not need such things,” replied Lydia with a superior sniff. “There is no need for me to attend school, for I know what I must do to capture an officer and marry before my elder sisters.”
Though Lady Catherine raised an eyebrow in Lydia’s direction, she seemed to realize there was little to be gained from arguing with the girl. Instead, she turned back to Mrs. Bennet and continued to advise her.
“Above all, Mrs. Bennet, I would recommend you choose different schools for your daughters.”
“Might I ask why?” asked Mrs. Bennet with a frown of confusion.
“Your daughters are accustomed to spending every waking moment together and are deep in each other’s confidence. If they go to the same school, they will continue to cleave to each other. Not only would they learn better in different environments, but it would also force them to make new friends.”
This, it appeared, was too much for Lydia.
“Mama!” cried the girl. “You must stop this nonsense about sending us to school! I shall not go, for I do not wish it!”
“What,” drawled Lord Banbury, fixing the girl with a sardonic grin, “do you mean to remain an ignorant and silly girl for the rest of your life? No offense intended, Mr. Bennet.”
“None taken,” replied the Bennet patriarch as he glared at his youngest daughters. “I have often made that same observation myself, though I regret having done nothing about it before now.”
Though Lydia opened her mouth to retort, she seemed to think better of it. Whether that was because her father interjected or because of the viscount’s lofty position Elizabeth could not say. That did not mean she was any more accepting of what they had decided for her future.
“This is all nonsense!” wailed the girl, her voice rising over the room, causing more than one wince. “What can school teach me that I do not already know? It is time to return to Hertfordshire, for I dislike being at Rosings and would much rather see the officers!”
“That is enough, Miss Lydia!” Lady Catherine’s voice cracked like a whip. “What you should remember is that your parents have decided on this course of action, and as you are yet underage and unable to support yourselves, you have no choice but to accept the inevitable. You will abide by it, even if you wish it were different.
“You would be much better served to consider what you wish to learn and speak to your father so he makes an informed decision. Let there be no misunderstanding—you will attend school. Wailing about it will make no difference.”
Lydia’s mouth closed with an audible snap and she glared at the lady who returned it, her pointed stare daring Lydia to further protest. When Lydia said nothing more, Lady Catherine turned back to Mrs. Bennet.
“Perhaps you should speak with Darcy, for Georgiana attended school herself, though it is rarely done in our circles.”
“You must consider my special circumstances, Aunt,” replied Darcy, unperturbed by his aunt’s words. “As a single man who is the guardian of a much younger sister, I judged it better that she received the benefit of friendships and instruction it would be much more difficult for me to provide.”
“I enjoyed my time at school,” ventured Georgiana.
“But I should be happy to assist with what I know,” continued Darcy.
“Thank you, Darcy,” replied Mr. Bennet. “I believe I shall accept your offer.”
“Have you considered the benefits of this proposal?” asked Lady Catherine, noting Lydia’s continued belligerence. “Not only the learning but the friendships you will make with those you may otherwise never have met. You will also be away from your parents for the first time in your lives; many girls your age would consider that a grand adventure.”
Though Kitty appeared contemplative, Lydia was having none of their placations. “I do not require schooling,” insisted the girl.
“And yet we have decided,” said Mrs. Bennet. “If you wish to continue to complain, please return to your room. If you wish to remain here, be silent.”
Lydia scowled upon hearing this, but she did not push her mother’s patience, instead subsiding into a sulky silence. Mrs. Bennet nodded and turned back to Lady Catherine to continue to discuss the matter between them.
“You should be thankful your mother and father are willing to do this for you,” intoned Mr. Collins, who had been sitting with them that morning. “Why, I could tell you tales of my time in the seminary that would make you wild to depart at this very moment! There are so many things to do and learn in life that one can never accomplish even the smallest part of them!”
Having said this, the parson regaled them with his experiences at his seminary, and while they might have been interesting to other like-minded men, girls who rebelled at the thought of going to school themselves did not agree. At least this was what Elizabeth’s observation of her sisters informed her. Within minutes of enduring the parson’s droning voice, they had put their heads together to whisper, though Elizabeth caught several dark looks each directed at their father’s cousin.
“It may simply be my perception,” said William, speaking softly to avoid being overheard, “but it seems your youngest sisters do not appreciate Mr. Collins’s tales.”
Laughing with equal restraint, Elizabeth replied: “I cannot imagine why.”
At Mr. Darcy’s amused look Elizabeth added: “Though Mr. Collins has proven a worthier man than I could ever have imagined, you must own that he is still very dull.”
“No, I will not refute that,” replied William. “But we must forgive him these little foibles, must we not?”
“I suppose we must.” Elizabeth paused, considered her mother and Lady Catherine, who were still in close conference, and turned back to her fiancé. “It is surprising to me to see this much of a change in my mother. Though my father has spoken to me of her recent alterations, I believe I must rest much of the thanks on your aunt for assisting her to understand how to behave.”
“That is surprising, indeed,” replied William. “For Fitzwilliam and I—and many of our family—have often despaired of Lady Catherine’s behavior.”
“William!” scolded Elizabeth, swatting his arm. “Your aunt is perfectly amiable.”
“Oh, aye,” said he, not repentant in the slightest. “Lady Catherine knows how to behave very well. It is only that she does not always practice what she knows.”
At Elizabeth’s severe look, William put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I apologize, Elizabeth. I shall stop jesting. In fact, I am very fond of my aunt, as you well know, and I will agree the guidance she has rendered to your mother is admirable. Perhaps she will improve enough to join us in London for the season.”
Elizabeth hesitated, uncertain of what to say. “Even with her improvement, I do not believe my mother would be comfortable in London.”
“It is possible she will not be,” replied William. “And your father has told me several times of his disdain for society, a sentiment with which I can heartily agree. But even if they do not stay long, it would be better for your family and their position, not to mention your acceptance, if they can present themselves with credit. It would certainly make my uncle happier.”
“Yes, I can imagine it would,” was Elizabeth’s soft reply. “Is there any news concerning the search for Mr. Wickham?”
It was nothing more than a bald attempt to change the subject; William seemed to understand and obliged her. “Nothing new. Wherever he has concealed himself, it has foiled our efforts to find him.”
William’s eyes found his cousin, who it seemed had distracted himself by speaking to Lydia and Kitty, who appeared a little happier than they had moments before. “Fitzwilliam, I know, is taking it hard, for he blames himself for not finding Wickham yet.”
Frowning, Elizabeth said: “I do not know how the blame can be put on your cousin’s shoulders.”
“It cannot, of course. But Fitzwilliam is a proud man, one who takes his duties as a protector of the family seriously, one who has supreme confidence in his abilities. Fitzwilliam disdains Wickham—rightly in my opinion—and cannot understand how he could have escaped us this long.”
“Do you suppose he might have fled?”
William’s eyes found hers again. “It is, I suppose, possible.”
“But you do not believe it.”
“I do not,” replied he, shaking his head. “The Wickham I know has rarely put himself to any trouble. This behavior in trying to come between us is beyond my experience of him and speaks to something that will not allow him to give up and leave. Given how far he has gone, I suspect there is something he wants. That is what drives him.”
“Money?” asked Elizabeth.
William snorted. “It always comes down to money for Wickham. Whether he means to abduct you so he can acquire a ransom I cannot say. His behavior of late suggests he is capable of it, which is why it is so essential that we protect you.”
“If he tries to extort money from you, he must know he cannot stay in England.”
“And he often told me he could make his fortune much more easily in the New World than in England. He may plan to test his hypothesis.”
The sarcasm dripping in William’s voice was palpable, driven by almost thirty years of knowledge of his nemesis. But William had not finished speaking.
“But he must have more than simple wealth in mind. The level of interference is too significant, and in the beginning, it appeared to be born of nothing more than simple malevolence.”
“That is odd, given what you have told me of him,” said Elizabeth. “If I was to speculate, I would see he began with a simple attempt to cause trouble for you, which became more the longer he failed.”
“He did not even attempt to do anything else, once we had left Meryton,” added William.
“What of the letter?” asked Elizabeth.
William nodded to surrender the point. “With shopkeepers to defraud and young girls to ruin, he may have decided he had enough for the present. It is entirely possible he also meant to inform me once he had fled the area.”
“And taunt you with his supposed superiority?”
“That is very much like the Wickham I know,” confirmed William.
“Then what do you mean to do when you capture him?”
It was a moment before William responded, his faraway look informing her he was considering her question. “In the past, I have always refrained from acting out of respect for my father and my memory of our closeness as children.
“But this time I have no more clemency to give. When we discover him, it is either Marshalsea or Botany Bay for Wickham. Not only has he threatened you, but I cannot in good conscience leave him to continue to prey on the people of England.”
Silence descended between them. What William might be considering Elizabeth could not say, but her thoughts reflected on how they were essentially ruining and condemning a man for the rest of his life. That Mr. Wickham had ruined his own life long before Elizabeth had ever heard of him was not lost on her. Even so, it did not make it any more palatable, regardless of how the man was deserving of whatever retribution came down upon his head.
“Come now, Darcy,” a voice interrupted them, Elizabeth looking up to see the grinning visage of William’s cousin. “I believe you have kept your fiancé’s attention to yourself long enough.”
Then sitting nearby, the viscount fixed Elizabeth with his gaze and said: “Now, Miss Elizabeth, you have not told me nearly enough of your home and your upbringing. Shall we not exchange stories? I have many of Darcy you likely have not heard which may cause you to rethink this mad design to marry him.”
While the viscount laughed at his own jest, Elizabeth looked to William, who was watching his cousin with impatience. Elizabeth caught his eye and shook her head, to which he acceded, though not happily. When Lord Banbury recovered from his mirth and turned to her again, Elizabeth spoke to him with no hesitation. She did note, however, that William stayed close, deflecting his cousin’s comments whenever necessary. What game the viscount might be playing Elizabeth could not say, but she had no wish to witness a fight between them.