Page 9 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

Mrs. Bennet sighed once more, but this time it was softer, her eyes lingering fondly on her eldest daughter. “I only want to see you settled, Jane. You deserve every happiness.”

Indeed, Jane did. And Mama had seen how Jane’s eyes had lit up when Mr. Bingley entered the room—just as her eyes, I am sure, had lit up when Mr. Bennet had first caught her glance—or she his.

* * *

Thus life changed at Longbourn, for Mr. Bingley became a frequent visitor, and the Bennet ladies visited Netherfield in return. I noticed that Jane’s pleasing manners grew on the goodwill of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, whereas, I believe, Mama and I were tolerated but without any intimacy. Perhaps they had already seen the admiration that their brother displayed towards Jane and wished to know her better.

It was generally evident whenever they met that he did admire her; and to me, knowing my sister as well as I did, it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference which she had begun to entertain for him from the first. Yet, I thought that Jane was being too guarded in hiding her feelings; Charlotte was very much surprised when I mentioned Jane and Mr. Bingley’s growing attachment.

“I trust she does not conceal her affection from Mr. Bingley,” commented Charlotte, “for she may lose the opportunity of fixing him. We can all begin freely—a slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her if she does not help him on.”

I thought on this, and shortly thereafter spoke to Mama, saying that we must encourage Jane to be more open, so that Mr. Bingley should be left in no doubt that Jane returned his attention.

“I am loath to interfere,” replied Mama, “but I suppose Charlotte is correct. Perhaps, Lizzy, we could encourage her to be more open. I am beginning to like the man, and if Jane will have him, then all to the good.”

“Oh, Mama, you appear a little disheartened. Why so? Surely, Jane marrying well is all that we can hope for?”

“I am a selfish creature, for if Jane leaves us, then you are sure to follow shortly after.”

I immediately knew her concern. Mr. Bennet’s health was uncertain, and his company was increasingly strained due to the aches and pains of his joints. Mrs. Bennet would find little comfort of an evening, sitting alone in the parlour.

“Mama, would you not sit with Papa and read to him, just as I do? I am sure he enjoys your company better than mine—his eyes follow you whenever you accompany me as I play or read to him in the afternoon or evening.”

“Lizzy, I do not understand half the words in his books. Surely it would only distress him more if my reading was uncertain, mispronouncing those words which add the most meaning to the passages I am relating.”

“Did you not say that I should practice on the piano-forte if I wished for some modicum of excellence? Then you must practice your reading aloud. If you wish, I could sit with you in the parlour, and we could select some passages from the library which I know Papa would enjoy. Come, put aside your embroidery and, while Papa is in his room, let us sneak a book from his shelves. I know the very one!”

Mama protested, though with a smile, as I took her arm. “You are a most determined girl, Lizzy,” she said, “and I see I am not to have a moment’s peace until you have your way.”

She gave a little sigh, but I saw that her spirits were lightened by the prospect of doing something for Papa, and perhaps by the novelty of our little conspiracy.

We tiptoed to the library, where I selected a volume of essays which I knew Papa favoured for their wit. Mama, upon opening the book, wrinkled her nose at the title page, but I assured her that the first essay was both short and amusing.

“There, Mama, you see? Only three pages, and I promise you, no words which are not in your daily conversation!”

She laughed at that, and together we repaired to the parlour, where Mama, with some trepidation, began to read aloud. At first her voice wavered, but as the words grew familiar, her confidence grew, and I found myself quite content to listen, my own hands taking up my embroidery.

Daily life at Longbourn shifted, almost imperceptibly. Jane, encouraged by Mama and me, seemed, over the following days, more at ease in Mr. Bingley’s presence; and I, observing them, felt a hope kindling in my breast for her happiness.

But there was another change, which came a week after Mr. Darcy had sat with Mr. Bennet in the library. A letter arrived, which Papa eagerly read, carefully breaking the seal and unfolding the pages with his curled fingers.

“Ah, Darcy has found a copy of Ben Jonson’s elegy Epitaph on Elizabeth, L.H., and wishes to compare it to that printed in my copy of the Workes. He believes it could be a modern reproduction, and not a 17th century printer’s proof, as the bookseller purports. Lizzy, would you retrieve the folio and copy out the verse for him?”

Thus began one of my most pleasant activities over the long winter months. Each week, Papa would have me transcribe passages from his books—English, Latin, French—and then dictate a commentary in reply to letters from Mr. Darcy. Naturally, he could not write—he could not hold a pen!—and I became his scribe. Over time, the correspondence became both more general and more personal. In particular, Mr. Darcy sought his friend’s advice—not just on book purchases, but also on his frustrations when dealing with the upper circles of the ton, and similarly with tradesmen, servants, acquaintances, and even, on occasion, his children.

* * *

Chapter 5

Longbourn

I remember quite vividly the first of those letters where Mr. Darcy sought Papa’s advice. I found it strange that he could bare his heart to a man he had only met once, and then for only a half hour of conversation about poets, histories, and Greek mythology. I suspect he too was a lonely man, having lost his wife too early.

Papa let me read the letter, for he wished to reply, and felt that a woman’s perspective might be of use.

Georgiana is the most unassuming of people, Mr. Darcy wrote. Her words are as soft as her mother’s had been, her laughter a rare treat but ever so welcome. But on the evening of Lady Matlock’s much-anticipated dinner party, something strange came over her. If I have not said so before, Lady Matlock was my sister by marriage—the wife of the Earl of Matlock, the brother of my wife Lady Anne.

The first sign of Georgiana’s disturbed mind was small. When her cousin, Viscount Milton, tried to tease her about her practising the piano-forte to the exclusion of all else, she answered not with her usual blush, but with a pointed, ‘Perhaps you have not the ear to appreciate it.’