Page 23 of Such Low Connections

“You seem to have made a study of Mr Darcy,” her friend noted now, and Elizabeth blushed a little deeper.

“I had ample opportunity to observe him while at Netherfield Park with Jane,” she explained. “It took no great effort on my part. Likely, I could describe all the household in similar detail. My point is that I am swayed by the relative characters of Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham, regardless of their forms. Mr Wickham’s personable manner and open nature speak to the truth of his story.”

“Do they indeed?” laughed Charlotte. “Look at yourself in the mirror now, Lizzy, and see how self-satisfied you look when talking of how ably you can ignore a man’s handsome countenance.”

Elizabeth joined Charlotte in her laughter, with some chagrin.

“I do sound rather complacent and over-proud of my virtue, don’t I?” she conceded. “Never mind. You have pricked the bubble of my pride, and I shall recover myself soon enough.”

As they tidied one another’s hair, Charlotte grew thoughtful.

“The more I think about it, Lizzy,” she said slowly, her eyes meeting Elizabeth’s in the looking glass, “the more I would urge you to caution in your attitude to both Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy.”

“I promise I shall not think of either one with undue partiality or enmity,” Elizabeth assured her with a smile. “You have already shown me the folly of that.”

“It is more than that, though,” continued her friend. “In believing and passing on Mr Wickham’s story, even if only to me, you run the risk of becoming exactly the same kind of destructive gossip you previously railed against.”

This was an alarming notion that gave Elizabeth real pause for thought.

“But surely real and personal histories like that of Mr Wickham are very different from the dubious fictions circulating about Mr Darcy?” questioned Elizabeth pensively. “Are not they?”

“We cannot know for sure,” Charlotte said. “We can only take care that we are not led astray from good sense by appealing manners.”

Elizabeth nodded, although uncertainly. George Wickham made it almost as easy for others to think well of him, as Fitzwilliam Darcy made it easy to think ill of him. Yet, in truth, how substantial was the case for or against each man?

Chapter 8

“For Heaven’s sake!” Darcy muttered to himself, appalled at the scene playing out in the middle of the supper room at Bingley’s first Netherfield Park ball — which, to judge by the standard of behaviour there, he must hope would also be the last.

One of the younger Bennet girls had unfastened and run away with a sword from the belt of one of the militia officers. After being chased to and fro with much screaming and laughter, she had now actually climbed up onto one of the benches and was holding the sword out of reach while the officer in question threatened to tickle her until she dropped it.

Mrs Bennet, who ought to have been supervising her young daughters, was instead occupied in her own too-loud conversation with Lady Lucas and other ladies of middle-age. When the girl’s high-pitched giggling did penetrate her ears, the neglectful mother only threw across a fond smile and then returned to her own chatter, either unaware or careless of the censorious looks her daughter was attracting from other guests.

“You shall not have it back until you beg, Denny!” the girl proclaimed, sword in one hand and skirts hitched almost to her knee with the other.

How boldly and rudely she spoke! Yet the strident tones of the girl’s mother grated scarcely less on Darcy’s ears.

“Yes, he is a perfect match for my Jane, I do declare. Watching them tonight, I believe we will see an engagement before Christmas! Think too, Mr Bingley has so many friends. What opportunities may arise for all my other girls after they marry…”

Inwardly, Darcy cringed to hear his friend’s marriage prospects discussed in such terms. Bingley was certainly besotted with the eldest Miss Bennet, Darcy knew. That young lady appeared to gracefully return his affection. So far, there could be neither doubt nor objection.

The vulgarity of Mrs Bennet’s conversation, however, did the prospective couple no service in opening them up to public gossip and speculation. Darcy felt certain that neither party would have welcomed it. Thankfully, they had spent almost the entire evening in one another’s arms on the dance floor and remained unaware that their feelings were being made a subject of public discourse at the refreshment table.

Turning on his heel, Darcy walked away from the supper room. Upon encountering Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst on their way over towards the refreshments, he paused and spoke to them.

“I would advise you to wait a little while for your supper,” he said in an undertone. “One of the young Bennets is creating an unfortunate and rather disgraceful scene. Personally, I would rather eat later than watch it unfold.”

“Thank you for your advice,” murmured Miss Bingley with a fixed smile, and both ladies gave him a small curtsey before proceeding into the refreshment room regardless.

Was it Darcy’s imagination, or had Charles Bingley’s sisters been cooler with him since the incident with Louisa Hurst’s letter? Surely, they had not truly believed the gossip its writer had passed on? It might also be that Mrs Hurst held him responsible for the burning of her correspondence, he supposed. That could not be helped now.

As Darcy walked away, he decided that Caroline Bingley had certainly been more distant since that day. In itself, this did not concern Darcy. He even welcomed it, having long wished that Bingley’s younger sister would find another, more willing subject for her attentions. The reasons underlying such a change in attitude did bother him, however.

Darcy felt increasingly that he was fighting an enemy he could not see. The battle ranged over many different fronts and seemed to be growing every day as his unknown adversary invisibly recruited everyone around him to their cause.

“…they say so…yes, Mr Darcy of Pemberley…”

“…not his father…”