“A few lies,” Mr. Bennet said quietly after a pause, “travel through a ballroom much faster than truth; but fortunately society possesses one weakness still greater than its love of scandal.”
Mrs. Bennet looked at him anxiously.
“And what weakness is that?”
“Its love of certainty,” he replied. “Leave this matter to me now, and endeavour, if possible, not to alarm Lizzy before I have spoken with Mr. Darcy.”
“You truly believe it may still be repaired?”
“My dear Mrs. Bennet,” her husband said with returning composure, “when Hertfordshire begins manufacturing nonsense in six contradictory directions at once, one may generally defeat it by the simple inconvenience of facts.”
Mr. Bennet searched for Mr. Darcy immediately after leaving his wife, for the various reports which had reached him in such rapid and contradictory succession no longer permitted either delay or amusement. Though naturally inclined to regard most provincial alarms as temporary disorders certain to collapse beneath their own absurdity, he understood too well the dangerous power of repeated insinuation in a crowded assembly to mistake the seriousness of what was now spreading through the room. The music still continued with cheerful regularity; the dancers advanced and retreated through the figures of the set with every outward appearance of unconcern; servants passed amongst the assembled company carrying candles and refreshments; yet beneath this ordinary gaiety there had already begun that subtle alteration in atmosphere by which society announces that scandal has entered amongst it and found immediate welcome there.
Wherever Darcy crossed the room, conversations appeared either to lower themselves suspiciously or else to resume too suddenly. Ladies who earlier regarded him merely with curiosity now observed him with expressions in which interest and caution had become uneasily mingled together; while Elizabeth herself, though still preserving admirable composure beside Jane, had evidently begun sensing that some change in thetemper of the assembly had gradually arisen around her without her yet entirely understanding its source.
Meanwhile Wickham, never remaining long fixed within any single circle, moved easily from group to group with all the smiling tranquillity of a gentleman perfectly satisfied with both the effect he produced and the information he so obligingly circulated.
Though Mr. Bennet neither approached him nor appeared to observe him closely, he required little further evidence to discover from what quarter the disturbance chiefly arose.
Mr. Darcy stood at that moment beside Sir William Lucas near the farther side of the assembly-room, listening with grave civility to a long and ceremonious observation concerning the superiority of country hospitality over every species of metropolitan entertainment.
Mr. Bennet crossed directly toward him, and something perhaps in his expression caused Darcy to disengage himself almost immediately from Sir William’s conversation before a single word had yet been spoken. There existed in Mr. Bennet’s manner none of the easy irony with which he usually approached the small absurdities of society; and Darcy, who had already observed enough of the altered temper of the room to suspect mischief actively at work around them, required little further warning to understand that the matter had now advanced beyond ordinary gossip.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said with unusual directness once they stood near enough to converse unheard, “I believe Hertfordshire has lately undertaken to improve both our histories with an industry which makes private conversation immediately necessary.”
Darcy’s countenance altered at once, though the alteration would scarcely have been perceptible to any observer less attentive than Mr. Bennet himself.
“The rumours have spread farther than a town ball ought to?” he asked quietly.
“They have spread far enough to invent every species of excellent nonsense,” Mr. Bennet replied. “My wife approaches nervous dissolution; Mrs. Phillips has already collected six entirely distinct scandals concerning your affairs; Lady Lucas fears half Derbyshire has been robbed merely to furnish Pemberley; and Mary has begun suspecting Lizzy morally compromised before the supper announcement has even been made. According to these admirable authorities, Elizabeth has been seen with you in London, in Kent, at St. Albans, and now displays herself so openly beside you at Meryton that society has nearly settled the ruin of her reputation before the musicians have finished tuning for the next set.”
Darcy became perfectly still.
Without further explanation they withdrew together toward a narrower passage adjoining the card-room, sufficiently removed from the principal assembly to secure them from interruption, though not so distant as to provoke curiosity in itself. For several moments Mr. Bennet remained silent, studying Darcy with thoughtful attention, for whatever reserve habitually governed the younger man’s expression had now hardened visibly into something colder, graver, and infinitely less secure.
“At Rosings,” Mr. Bennet said at length, “Mr. Wickham lost expectations which he appears unwilling either to forgive or relinquish quietly. I can scarcely doubt now that he spreads these falsehoods in hopes of discrediting you and injuring my family besides.”
“If such gossip circulates so widely,” Darcy answered gravely, “then he has chosen precisely the retaliation I ought perhaps to have anticipated from the beginning. Wickham never attacks directly where implication may operate more effectively. Open accusations invite contradiction; uncertainty allows society itself to complete the injury.”
Mr. Bennet then repeated, with considerably less irony than before, the various stories now circulating throughout the assembly. He spoke of Darcy’s supposed financial ruin; of Pemberley allegedly endangered through gaming debts contracted in London society; of ancient injustices attached to the Darcy family name; of Bingley represented as little more than a dependant maintained through dubious loans; and finally, with visible displeasure, of the increasingly public suggestions that Elizabeth’s connection with Darcy had already exceeded the boundaries of propriety through repeated private meetings in London, at Rosings, and now openly before the whole neighbourhood at Meryton itself.
Darcy listened without interruption; yet as the accusations approached more nearly toward Elizabeth’s honour, the composure with which he had thus far governed himself seemed gradually to assume a severity almost painful to witness. One hand closed unconsciously behind his back; his gaze lowered briefly toward the floor; and when at last he spoke again, the restraint of his voice rendered the emotion beneath it infinitely more affecting.
“This,” Mr. Darcy said after a pause during which he appeared to struggle visibly for self-command, “goes considerably beyond ordinary malice. Wickham understands perfectly that injury directed against me alone would eventually exhaust itself; butinjury directed against Miss Bennet and your family may survive long after the falsehood itself has been disproved.”
“My thoughts precisely,” Mr. Bennet replied. “The room no longer contents itself with doubting your fortune or discussing your estate. It has already begun speculating upon my daughter.”
Mr. Darcy turned sharply toward him then, and whatever hesitation might previously have restrained him appeared in that instant entirely overcome by a far stronger consideration.
“Then the matter cannot remain uncertain another hour, sir.”
Mr. Bennet regarded him attentively without speaking.
“So long as society imagines my attentions undefined,” Darcy continued with increasing firmness, “every insinuation retains power. People speculate because they believe secrecy possible, imprudence probable, and honour perhaps doubtful. But if your daughter’s engagement becomes publicly acknowledged with your full consent and approval, the entire structure of these calumnies collapses immediately beneath the simple authority of truth.”
Even Mr. Bennet, though not easily surprised, appeared momentarily struck by the directness with which the proposal had been advanced.
Darcy, however, now seemed entirely beyond retreat.
