Page 4 of Such Low Connections

“Why, Mr Bennet!” said his wife crossly. “This is no laughing matter!”

“Is Mr Bingley handsome, Mama?” interrupted Kitty, the second youngest girl, eager-faced at her mother’s side.

“Is he tall?” put in Lydia with equal enthusiasm. “I could never marry a man who was shorter than me. How ridiculous I should look, dancing with a short man, and me taller than all my sisters!”

“Are you quite sure he is unmarried?” enquired Mary, the middle of the five Bennet daughters, presently looking over the top of a book of moral sermons with suspicious and disdainful eyes. “Netherfield Park is a large house for a single man. It would make more sense if he expected a wife and children to join him.”

“Mr Bingley does expect it, I’m sure,” Mrs Bennet declared, turning her irritation onto her middle daughter. “However, I am equally sure that he has yet to choose that wife, Mary. Lady Lucas was very clear on that point, likely thinking of her Charlotte and Maria. But why should he not prefer one of my girls, who are prettier and more amiable than all the Lucases combined?”

“Mama,” Elizabeth said reproachfully. “You should not say such things of our friends.”

“Oh, tish and pish, Lizzy. Everyone knows that the Lucas girls are plain and dull, although Charlotte is your friend. Why should I not say so in front of my own family?”

Elizabeth shared an exasperated glance with Jane, the eldest of the sisters, the two of them sitting on either side of the fire in the parlour with knitting in hand. In some regards, Mrs Bennet was incorrigible. She was ever prone to indiscretion while making herself an irresistible target for her husband’s teasing wits.

“Lady Lucas did say that Mr Bingley was handsome,” their mother revealed, her face brightening as she returned to this more congenial subject, “but she did not say whether he was tall. I dare say he cannot be short, or she would have thought to mention it.”

“What of his character?” Jane asked gently. As always, her voice was sweet and measured — a distinct contrast with that of her shriller, more demanding two youngest sisters and Mary’s often querulous tones. “What manner of man is Mr Bingley?”

“He has £5000 a year, Jane!” replied Mrs Bennet, no less enthusiastic in repeating this fact for a fourth time, even while her husband rolled his eyes and made for the parlour door.

“£5000 a year, and therefore nothing else signifies, Jane,” Elizabeth murmured to her older sister with a smile. “Such an income could wipe out any deficiencies of character and many vices, especially when the possessor of such a handsome income owns an equally handsome face.”

“You are as bad as your father, Lizzy,” complained their sharp-eared mother. “You both talk as though we had rich dowries to give you girls. How I wish it were so! Instead, we may all be thrown out of Longbourn into the street as soon as…Mr Bennet! Do not go; I have need of you yet.”

Caught halfway through the doorway, Mr Bennet winced and looked back with a sigh.

“Really, my dear? I do feel we have done this news justice. There is surely nothing more I can add that will increase your happiness and hopes of this Mr Bingley. Just think, from the little we know, he might even be a Mohammedan and marry all five of our girls. Wouldn’t that be a fine thing?”

Another shriek ensued from their infuriated mother.

“Bingley is a perfectly English name, and well you know it, Mr Bennet! I dare say that Mr Bingley goes to church on a Sunday just as often as any unmarried young gentleman…But I know you were only teasing again, and it is your way. Now, my dear, kind Mr Bennet, for the good of the family, you must call on Mr Bingley as soon as possible.”

“Oh dear, I don’t think I can do that,” her husband sighed, shaking his grey head and polishing his spectacles. “The poor young man would be most astonished to find me on his doorstep.”

“What? Of course he should not,” Mrs Bennet objected. “We are neighbours. He would expect you to call, Mr Bennet.”

“I don’t believe he would,” demurred Mr Bennet. “No, it would be far better if you took the girls over to call, Mrs Bennet, and left me in peace in my library.”

Elizabeth and Jane exchanged another glance between themselves, guessing that their father had some further joke in hand but unable to guess yet what it might be.

“Now you are talking nonsense,” the maddened Mrs Bennet objected. “We cannot call with propriety until you have introduced yourself. You know that perfectly well.”

“You must call, Papa!” Lydia said, following him to the door to add her pleading to her mother’s, Kitty immediately coming in behind her.

“Please, Papa!”

“I have no interest in calling on Mr Bingley until more is known of his character and style of life,” Mary commented, though her remark went entirely unacknowledged by the others in the room.

“Mr Bennet, think of our girls…”

“No, my mind is quite made up,” their father said firmly, although his eyes were twinkling even as he held up his hand to halt his wife’s speech. “It would be absurd.”

“How could it be absurd?” the poor woman demanded in bewilderment.

“Having seen me once this week when I called at Netherfield Park, and again when we met at the library, the young fellow would be likely to find a third meeting intrusive or even overbearing. Doubtless, he is sick of the sight of me by now…”

Mrs Bennet’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.