In the Wilds of Derbyshire Page 2

  But the evidence was right there before her eyes. Jane spoke little to anyone in her family and only slightly more to those of the neighborhood. Ladies with whom she had been friends all her life were treated to nothing more than civility, and though she was never rude with them, she also made it clear that she did not wish to continue in close association.

  One day, Mrs. Bennet approached Elizabeth, clearly uncertain, her countenance troubled. “Lizzy, have you noticed anything . . . different about your sister?”

  “If you mean Jane, then yes, Mama,” replied Elizabeth. There was no reason to belabor the point, and Elizabeth did not wish to provoke her mother’s hysterics by being anything less than honest.

  “I do not understand,” said Mrs. Bennet, twisting the handkerchief she held in her hands this way and that in her agitation. “She has always been such a dutiful daughter. Now, when I visit her, I encounter little more than hostility.”

  “It seems that our Jane has acquired a taste for higher society,” said Elizabeth, giving voice to the suspicion Charlotte had planted into her mind. It somehow made it seem more real when she stated it out loud. “Perhaps the Bennets are not high or fashionable enough for her any longer.”

  The look of horror which fell over Mrs. Bennet might have filled Elizabeth with mirth in another situation. As it was, Elizabeth could do nothing other than sympathize with her mother.

  “My Jane would never behave in such a way,” said Mrs. Bennet, though her voice lacked any conviction.

  “And yet, it appears she is,” replied Elizabeth. “Jane has had little more to say to me since her return than she has anyone else in the family, and as you know, we always were close.”

  That evening at dinner, a visibly distressed Mrs. Bennet brought the matter before her husband. Mr. Bennet did not even bother to tease or vex his wife, as was his usual custom; instead, he only sighed and informed them that he had seen the same thing.

  “Can we not do something, Mr. Bennet?” asked Mrs. Bennet.

  “I do not know what you expect,” said Mr. Bennet. “Jane is now under the protection of Mr. Bingley, and if that is how he expects his wife to behave, there is little we can do to influence her.”

  “But surely you do not expect Mr. Bingley, of all people, to instruct his wife to cut us,” exclaimed Elizabeth.

  “I would not have thought so, no. But he does not seem to have put a stop to it. I am not certain what other interpretation we can put on her behavior.”

  Mrs. Bennet appeared lost, but then she straightened her back and sniffed with disdain. “If that is how she wishes it to be, then I suppose we can do nothing. I will say that she is a most undutiful daughter. I can only consider it fortunate that Mr. Collins was induced to offer for Mary. At least with that, our futures are secure.”

  It required no greatness of mind to infer that Mrs. Bennet’s final comments were an indirect barb at Elizabeth, but she paid her mother no mind. It was fortunate for Mrs. Bennet, as she would have a home, regardless of whether Jane continued in her present behavior.

  As the days rolled by, however, Elizabeth’s reflections on the matter informed her that her situation was, perhaps, the most precarious of them all. Elizabeth had always known that her chances of marrying were not at all good, and though she had always wished to be married, she had thought she might find other ways to find fulfilment in life if she was not so fortunate as to find a man she could love. Jane’s marriage opened the possibility of her living with the Bingleys if she did not marry, a subject about which the sisters had spoken on several occasions leading up to Jane’s marriage.

  Now, however, that option seemed less certain, given Jane’s disinclination for her company. And whereas her mother and younger sisters would have a home at Longbourn should Mr. Bennet pass away, that option was almost certainly denied Elizabeth, given Mr. Collins’s final words to her.

  It was the combination of the situation with Jane, which did not improve through the passage of time, and the uncertainty about her future, which provoked Elizabeth’s malaise. The dream of marrying for love had never felt so unattainable as it did during those days; there was no man in Meryton who interested her, no one she thought she would be able to love one day, and no one who paid her any attention regardless.

  The eldest Lucas, Samuel, who Elizabeth had known all her life, spoke with her one day on the very subject, a conversation which Elizabeth was grateful did not make its way back to her mother.

  “Your sister appears to have acquired an air of haughtiness,” observed he one Sunday while they were standing outside the church after services. Elizabeth was not surprised that others had begun to notice Jane’s behavior—she and her new family had left almost directly after the service had ended and without saying much of substance to anyone.

  “I do not doubt Miss Bingley has been tutoring her,” said Elizabeth. “The woman makes it an art form.”

  Samuel laughed. “I dare say she does.” Then he turned to look at her, speculation evident in his manner. “What shall you do now, Elizabeth? You have always been so close to Jane; I imagine you are not happy about this change in your sister.”

  “No, but there is little to be done about it.”

  “I dare say there is not.” Samuel paused and Elizabeth detected a hint of his sudden embarrassment. “You wish for your own home, do you not?”

  “If I could find a man I could love, I would be happy to have my own home.”

  “And you would make any man a wonderful wife. Perhaps there is something close to home?”

  It took Elizabeth a moment to understand Samuel’s meaning, and she turned her astonished gaze on him, wondering what he was about. “I hope you do not take offense, but I do not think we would suit.”

  A visible sense of relief came over him. “I am not offended, as I know you are not either. But I believe you know that my mother has always wished to have you as a daughter, and neither she nor Charlotte would leave me be until I promised to broach the subject with you.”

  Laughing in understanding, Elizabeth patted his hand, while directing a brilliant smile at him. “I can imagine. But you and I were playmates as children, and I doubt we would ever be able to change our opinions of the other. I would always remember Sammy the pirate and the floggings I gave you.”

  Samuel joined her in laughter. “And I would remember the Pirate Captain Lizzy the Black, scourge of the seas.”

  “Perhaps if that did not lay between us, we might suit,” replied Elizabeth. “But as it is, I think we had best remain friends.”

  “Agreed,” replied Samuel. “I will inform mother and Charlotte that we have spoken and the results of our conversation.”

  “Perhaps then they will cease to pester you!” said Elizabeth.

  “One can only hope.”

  The two then parted, secure in their mutual admiration for the other, and the knowledge that it did not extend past friendship. But the conversation did not lighten Elizabeth’s sense of melancholy, nor did it give her any peace of mind. She was content to keep Samuel as a friend and nothing more, but it underscored how there truly were no prospects for her to consider in a serious light. Kitty and Lydia might be content to waste their hours chasing after officers, flirting, and all other forms of nonsense, but Elizabeth had no interest in officers, other than as young men with whom to hold a pleasant conversation on occasion. None of them held the key to her happiness, she was certain, and so she did not pay them much attention.

  By the time the weather started to improve and the trees to begin sprouting their spring greenery, Elizabeth felt lost in a sea of indifference and regret, and even the warmer temperatures could not improve her mood. She found herself wandering the paths of her youth with more and more frequency, but all she saw had no interest for her. Even the summit of Oakham Mount, her favorite place in all the world, could bring her no pleasure or relief. At times, she wondered what her purpose could possibly be, or if it was her fate to live and die thi
s way, unmoved by life, drifting along as a twig in a river, not caring where she went, at the mercy of the flowing water.

  In late March of that year, a letter arrived for her father from his brother-in-law, who lived in the north with his family. Mr. Drummond had married Mr. Bennet’s younger sister, but as their situation was relatively modest, there was little in the way of communication between the families other than the occasional letter. Elizabeth had met them only once or twice in her life.

  Had this been a typical letter, Elizabeth might have remained ignorant of its arrival, for her father was not in the habit of sharing his correspondence with his family. But that day, Elizabeth was summoned into her father’s study, and when she entered, he bade her sit, and then regarded her for several long moments. Elizabeth bore it with patience, knowing that her father had noted her poor spirits, and assuming he had called her into his study to discuss them. It was, therefore, a surprise when he spoke on the subject of his letter.

  “A letter from Uncle Drummond?” asked Elizabeth. “What does he have to say?”

  In all truth, Elizabeth had no interest in the subject, and she thought her father was aware of that fact. He watched her for several more moments before he spoke again.

  “As you know, the Drummonds have a daughter about Kitty’s age. My brother writes me to ask if one of my daughters would like to go to the north and stay with them to be a mentor to her.”

  Elizabeth nodded, understanding the reason for his summons. “You could hardly ask Kitty or Lydia to mentor her, not when their own behavior is so lacking.”

  “That is true,” replied Mr. Bennet. “But that is not the whole of it. I have noticed your lack of spirits, Lizzy, and I can guess the reason for them. I can write my brother and inform him that none of you are available if you prefer, but I thought a change of scenery might be to your benefit.”

  “It might,” agreed Elizabeth, though she was not at all certain anything could pierce this shroud of melancholy which had fallen over her.

  “Before we speak any further, I should warn you that your uncle’s house is not the same as Longbourn.” Mr. Bennet paused and grimaced, though Elizabeth was not certain why. “Mr. Drummond’s estate is small, and though he does have a tenant or two to farm parts of his land, most of his land is taken up by the home farm, to which he tends himself. Their children, while technically considered the progeny of a gentleman, help on the farm and in the house, as the Drummonds cannot afford to employ many servants.”

  Nodding slowly, Elizabeth said: “I would be expected to assist where asked.”

  Mr. Bennet returned her gesture with a tight nod of his own. “My sister would no doubt insist on it. Drummond tells me that his primary motivation is to ensure his daughter is given the best possible opportunity to make a good marriage, and for that she will at least require the proper manners. I do not suppose she will have a large dowry, so she will only have herself on which to rely.”

  “I do not have a large dowry myself, Papa,” said Elizabeth, smiling to inform him she was not attempting to be critical of his management. “I imagine I am as well qualified as any to assist her.”

  “That you are, Lizzy,” replied Mr. Bennet. “I will not insist on your going, but I believe you may wish to consider it. I have visited Drummond on occasion, and I am familiar with the neighborhood. There are several large estates in the area, and many potentially eligible gentlemen live nearby. You might be able to find a husband there, where there is little chance of it here.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “But my disadvantages will still exist in the north, Papa. I have no objection to going, but I will not entertain such thoughts at present. I will, instead, resolve to enjoy some months with my relations, with no expectation of anything more.”

  “Good girl,” said Mr. Bennet. He appeared as if he wished to say something further, but in the end, he only smiled and said: “I will inform your uncle that you will stay with him for a time.”

  Nodding, Elizabeth stood and made her way to her room, after thanking her father. Perhaps a change in society would be beneficial for her after all, and as she did not know this branch of the family well, she was interested in meeting them.

  Chapter II

  The letter was dispatched and a reply came soon after, and it was decided that Elizabeth would attend her relations before the middle of April. With this in mind, Elizabeth began to prepare her possessions for the journey to the north.

  Though Elizabeth was not certain what her future held, by her father’s testimony she knew that there would be much society in the north, and as her avowed purpose of staying in her uncle’s house was to mentor his daughter, she was certain she would be much involved. As such, she packed a selection of day and evening dresses, as well as some frocks which she had owned for some time and thought would be suitable for whatever chores her aunt saw fit to assign to her. Those items of a sentimental nature she also stowed in her cases, though she did not take everything by any means.

  All might have gone well had she not been subjected to a continuous stream of commentary from Kitty and Lydia—though mostly from the younger girl—when their attention was not on the officers. Much of their conversation touched on such subjects as her reasons for going, why she would find journeying to the north interesting when there was a regiment in Meryton, and other assorted inanities. These were, of course, accompanied by continual requests for Elizabeth’s possessions, which no amount of refusal induced Lydia to abandon.

  “If you do not mean to take that bonnet, you should give it to me,” said Lydia one spring morning. “It will look so much better on me anyway.”

  “No, Lydia,” replied Elizabeth, for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Just because I will not take it with me does not mean I do not wish to keep it. I will be returning to Longbourn, you know.”

  Lydia only sniffed. “I do not know why you would. There are rumors that the regiment is for Brighton this summer, so there shall be nothing left to return to.”

  “As you know, I care not for the regiment,” replied Elizabeth, as she folded and laid another dress in her trunk. “The officers leaving the neighborhood is of no interest to me.”

  “I am not sure why you have suddenly become so serious, Lizzy,” said Kitty. “You liked the society of the officers well enough when they arrived.”

  “And I still do like them. But I can be happy without them too.”

  “Then you should give me that bonnet,” said Lydia, “if you are set on becoming an old maid.”

  “That is enough Lydia,” said Elizabeth with a glare. “I tire of your constant demands for my personal effects. I will be returning and will require my possessions. You may not have anything.”

  Lydia sucked in a breath to retort, but at that moment, Mrs. Bennet stepped into the room.

  “Leave your sister alone, Lydia,” said she, surprising all three sisters. Mrs. Bennet rarely reprimanded Lydia, her favorite daughter, and would almost always take her part against any of her sisters in any dispute. “I wish to speak with Lizzy. You and your sister may go and find something to occupy your time.”

  Though Lydia appeared ready to argue the point, she saw something in her mother’s countenance which persuaded her to hold her tongue. Whatever the reason, Elizabeth was happy to be rid of her when she flounced off the bed and stalked from the room, Kitty following close behind.

  When they had departed, Mrs. Bennet closed the door and stepped close to Elizabeth, looking at her efforts to make ready for her departure. It appeared like she was satisfied, for she soon turned her attention on Elizabeth.

  “I see you have made progress.”

  “I have, Mama. Everything will be ready when Papa and I depart in two days.”

  Mrs. Bennet directed a long look at Elizabeth before sighing and sitting on the edge of the bed. “I still do not know why you wish to go.”

  This had been a common conversation in the past days since Elizabeth had declared her intentio
n to accept her uncle’s invitation. “Because there is nothing for me here, Mama. With Jane’s betrayal, I find myself blowing in the wind with little to anchor me.”

  Mouth tightening at the mention of her eldest, Mrs. Bennet said: “I understand Jane’s behavior has hurt you. But surely we are not so much changed here at Longbourn.”

  “Perhaps that is part of the problem.” Mrs. Bennet looked at Elizabeth with curiosity, prompting Elizabeth to sigh and sit down next to her. “There simply does not seem to be anything here for me, Mama. The society has become so familiar as to be irksome, I am confronted with Jane’s indifference whenever we are in company, and there is a dearth of gentlemen in Meryton, which will make it difficult to ever marry.”

  The last point Elizabeth made quite deliberately, as she knew her mother would understand that, if nothing else. It was not a surprise when Mrs. Bennet seized on that point.

  “You wish to find a husband in the north?”

  “I cannot say that, Mama,” replied Elizabeth. “Papa seems to think it is a possibility, but at present I have no knowledge of society there. Should the opportunity arise, I will not allow it to pass by.”

  Doubtful, Mrs. Bennet said: “Like you did not with Mr. Collins?”

  “I apologize for upsetting you, Mama,” replied Elizabeth, calmly, but giving no ground, “but I require something more in a marriage than Mr. Collins was offering.”

  A shaken head was Mrs. Bennet’s response. “I have always tried to do my best by you girls, Lizzy. But I have found you to be particularly incomprehensible. I do not understand what you wish to find in marriage, and I do not know why Hertfordshire is suddenly not enough for you.”

  “I just feel like there should be something more in my life than I have found here,” replied Elizabeth.