Chapter 10
More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within
the park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. She felt all the
perverseness of the mischance that should bring him where no one
else was brought; and, to prevent its ever happening again, took
care to inform him, at first, that it was a favourite haunt of
hers. How it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd!
Yet it did, and even the third. It seemed like wilful ill-nature,
or a voluntary penance; for on these occasions it was not merely a
few formal enquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he
actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He
never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of
talking or of listening much; but it struck her in the course of
their third rencountre that he was asking some odd unconnected
questions—about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of
solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins’s
happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings, and her not perfectly
understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came
into Kent again she would be staying there too. His words
seemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his
thoughts? She supposed, if he meant any thing, he must mean an
allusion to what might arise in that quarter. It distressed her a
little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in the
palesas
opposite the Parsonage.
She was engaged one day, as she walked, in
re-perusing Jane’s last letter, and dwelling on some passages which
proved that Jane had not written in spirits, when, instead of being
again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw, on looking up, that Colonel
Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter immediately,
and forcing a smile, she said,—
“I did not know before that you ever walked this
way.”
“I have been making the tour of the park,” he
replied, “as I generally do every year, and intended to close it
with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?”
“No, I should have turned in a moment.”
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked
towards the Parsonage together.
“Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?” said
she.
“Yes—if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am
at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he
pleases.”
“And if not able to please himself in the
arrangement, he has at least great pleasure in the power of choice.
I do not know any body who seems more to enjoy the power of doing
what he likes than Mr. Darcy.”
“He likes to have his own way very well,” replied
Colonel Fitzwilliam. “But so we all do. It is only that he has
better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and
many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know,
must be inured to self-denial and dependence.”
“In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know
very little of either. Now, seriously, what have you ever known of
self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of
money from going wherever you chose, or procuring any thing you had
a fancy for?”
“These are home questions—and perhaps I cannot say
that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in
matters of greater weight, I may suffer from the want of money.
Younger sons cannot marry where they like.”
“Unless where they like women of fortune, which I
think they very often do.”
“Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and
there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry
without some attention to money.”
“Is this,” thought Elizabeth, “meant for me?” and
she coloured at the idea; but, recovering herself, said in a lively
tone, “And pray, what is the usual price of an earl’s younger son?
Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not
ask above fifty thousand pounds.”
He answered her in the same style, and the subject
dropped. To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her
affected with what had passed, she soon afterwards said,—
“I imagine your cousin brought you down with him
chiefly for the sake of having somebody at his disposal. I wonder
he does not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind.
But, perhaps, his sister does as well for the present; and, as she
is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her.”
“No,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “that is an
advantage which he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the
guardianship of Miss Darcy.”
“Are you, indeed? And pray what sort of a guardian
do you make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies
of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage; and if she
has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way.”
As she spoke, she observed him looking at her
earnestly; and the manner in which he immediately asked her why she
supposed Miss Darcy likely to give them any uneasiness, convinced
her that she had somehow or other got pretty near the truth. She
directly replied,—
“You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm
of her; and I dare say she is one of the most tractable creatures
in the world. She is a very great favourite with some ladies of my
acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have heard you
say that you know them.”
“I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant,
gentleman-like man—he is a great friend of Darcy’s.”
“Oh yes,” said Elizabeth, drily—“Mr. Darcy is
uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care
of him.”
“Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy
does take care of him in those points where he most wants
care. From something that he told me in our journey hither, I have
reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought to
beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the
person meant. It was all conjecture.”
“What is it you mean?”
“It is a circumstance which Darcy of course could
not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to
the lady’s family, it would be an unpleasant thing.”
“You may depend upon my not mentioning it.”
“And remember that I have not much reason for
supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that
he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the
inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning
names or any other particulars; and I only suspected it to be
Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a
scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together
the whole of last summer.”
“Did Mr. Darcy give you his reasons for this
interference?”
“I understood that there were some very strong
objections against the lady.”
“And what arts did he use to separate them?”
“He did not talk to me of his own arts,” said
Fitzwilliam, smiling. “He only told me what I have now told
you.”
Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart
swelling with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam
asked her why she was so thoughtful.
“I am thinking of what you have been telling me,”
said she. “Your cousin’s conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was
he to be the judge?”
“You are rather disposed to call his interference
officious?”
“I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on
the propriety of his friend’s inclination; or why, upon his own
judgment alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner that
friend was to be happy. But,” she continued, recollecting herself,
“as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him.
It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the
case.”
“That is not an unnatural surmise,” said
Fitzwilliam; “but it is lessening the honour of my cousin’s triumph
very sadly.”
This was spoken jestingly, but it appeared to her
so just a picture of Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself
with an answer; and, therefore, abruptly changing the conversation,
talked on indifferent matters till they reached the Parsonage.
There, shut into her own room, as soon as their visitor left them,
she could think without interruption of all that she had heard. It
was not to be supposed that any other people could be meant than
those with whom she was connected. There could not exist in the
world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless
influence. That he had been concerned in the measures taken to
separate Mr. Bingley and Jane, she had never doubted; but she had
always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and
arrangement of them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead
him, he was the cause, his pride and caprice were the cause,
of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He
had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most
affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how
lasting an evil he might have inflicted.
“There were some very strong objections against the
lady,” were Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words; and these strong
objections probably were, her having one uncle who was a country
attorney, and another who was in business in London.
“To Jane herself,” she exclaimed, “there could be
no possibility of objection,—all loveliness and goodness as she is!
Her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners
captivating. Neither could any thing be urged against my father,
who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities which Mr. Darcy
himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will probably
never reach.” When she thought of her mother, indeed, her
confidence gave way a little; but she would not allow that any
objections there had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose
pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the
want of importance in his friend’s connections than from their want
of sense; and she was quite decided, at last, that he had been
partly governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish
of retaining Mr. Bingley for his sister.
The agitation and tears which the subject
occasioned brought on a headache; and it grew so much worse towards
the evening that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy, it
determined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they
were engaged to drink tea. Mrs. Collins, seeing that she was really
unwell, did not press her to go, and as much as possible prevented
her husband from pressing her; but Mr. Collins could not conceal
his apprehension of Lady Catherine’s being rather displeased by her
staying at home.