Kitabı oku: «Pride and Prejudice», sayfa 3

Chapter 7

Mr. Bennet’s property consisted almost entirely in an estate of

two thousand a year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was

entailed, in default of heirs male, on a distant relation; and

their mother’s fortune, though ample for her situation in life,

could but ill supply the deficiency of his. Her father had been

an attorney in Meryton, and had left her four thousand pounds.

She had a sister married to a Mr. Phillips, who had been a clerk

to their father and succeeded him in the business, and a brother

settled in London in a respectable line of trade.

The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most

convenient distance for the young ladies, who were usually

tempted thither three or four times a week, to pay their duty to

their aunt and to a milliner’s shop just over the way. The two

youngest of the family, Catherine and Lydia, were particularly

frequent in these attentions; their minds were more vacant than

their sisters’, and when nothing better offered, a walk to

Meryton was necessary to amuse their morning hours and furnish

conversation for the evening; and however bare of news the

country in general might be, they always contrived to learn some

from their aunt. At present, indeed, they were well supplied both

with news and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia

regiment in the neighbourhood; it was to remain the whole winter,

and Meryton was the headquarters.

Their visits to Mrs. Phillips were now productive of the most

interesting intelligence. Every day added something to their

knowledge of the officers’ names and connections. Their lodgings

were not long a secret, and at length they began to know the

officers themselves. Mr. Phillips visited them all, and this

opened to his nieces a store of felicity unknown before. They

could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr. Bingley’s large

fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their mother, was

worthless in their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of an

ensign.

After listening one morning to their effusions on this subject,

Mr. Bennet coolly observed:

“From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must

be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it

some time, but I am now convinced.”

Catherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with

perfect indifference, continued to express her admiration of

Captain Carter, and her hope of seeing him in the course of the

day, as he was going the next morning to London.

“I am astonished, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, “that you should be

so ready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think

slightingly of anybody’s children, it should not be of my own,

however.”

“If my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of

it.”

“Yes—but as it happens, they are all of them very clever.”

“This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not

agree. I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every

particular, but I must so far differ from you as to think our two

youngest daughters uncommonly foolish.”

“My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the

sense of their father and mother. When they get to our age, I

dare say they will not think about officers any more than we do.

I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well—and,

indeed, so I do still at my heart; and if a smart young colonel,

with five or six thousand a year, should want one of my girls I

shall not say nay to him; and I thought Colonel Forster looked

very becoming the other night at Sir William’s in his

regimentals.”

“Mamma,” cried Lydia, “my aunt says that Colonel Forster and

Captain Carter do not go so often to Miss Watson’s as they did

when they first came; she sees them now very often standing in

Clarke’s library.”

Mrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman

with a note for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the

servant waited for an answer. Mrs. Bennet’s eyes sparkled with

pleasure, and she was eagerly calling out, while her daughter

read,

“Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say?

Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love.”

“It is from Miss Bingley,” said Jane, and then read it aloud.

“MY DEAR FRIEND,—

“If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa

and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest

of our lives, for a whole day’s _tête-à-tête_ between two women

can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on

receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with

the officers.—Yours ever,

“CAROLINE BINGLEY”

“With the officers!” cried Lydia. “I wonder my aunt did not tell

us of _that_.”

“Dining out,” said Mrs. Bennet, “that is very unlucky.”

“Can I have the carriage?” said Jane.

“No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems

likely to rain; and then you must stay all night.”

“That would be a good scheme,” said Elizabeth, “if you were sure

that they would not offer to send her home.”

“Oh! but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley’s chaise to go to

Meryton, and the Hursts have no horses to theirs.”

“I had much rather go in the coach.”

“But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure.

They are wanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are they not?”

“They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.”

“But if you have got them to-day,” said Elizabeth, “my mother’s

purpose will be answered.”

She did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the

horses were engaged. Jane was therefore obliged to go on

horseback, and her mother attended her to the door with many

cheerful prognostics of a bad day. Her hopes were answered; Jane

had not been gone long before it rained hard. Her sisters were

uneasy for her, but her mother was delighted. The rain continued

the whole evening without intermission; Jane certainly could not

come back.

“This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!” said Mrs. Bennet more

than once, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own.

Till the next morning, however, she was not aware of all the

felicity of her contrivance. Breakfast was scarcely over when a

servant from Netherfield brought the following note for

Elizabeth:

“MY DEAREST LIZZY,—

“I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to

be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends

will not hear of my returning till I am better. They insist also

on my seeing Mr. Jones—therefore do not be alarmed if you should

hear of his having been to me—and, excepting a sore throat and

headache, there is not much the matter with me.—Yours, etc.”

“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the

note aloud, “if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of

illness—if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it

was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”

“Oh! I am not afraid of her dying. People do not die of little

trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she

stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I

could have the carriage.”

Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her,

though the carriage was not to be had; and as she was no

horsewoman, walking was her only alternative. She declared her

resolution.

“How can you be so silly,” cried her mother, “as to think of such

a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when

you get there.”

“I shall be very fit to see Jane—which is all I want.”

“Is this a hint to me, Lizzy,” said her father, “to send for the

horses?”

“No, indeed, I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is

nothing when one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back

by dinner.”

“I admire the activity of your benevolence,” observed Mary, “but

every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my

opinion, exertion should always be in proportion to what is

required.”

“We will go as far as Meryton with you,” said Catherine and

Lydia. Elizabeth accepted their company, and the three young

ladies set off together.

“If we make haste,” said Lydia, as they walked along, “perhaps we

may see something of Captain Carter before he goes.”

In Meryton they parted; the two youngest repaired to the lodgings

of one of the officers’ wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk

alone, crossing field after field at a quick pace, jumping over

stiles and springing over puddles with impatient activity, and

finding herself at last within view of the house, with weary

ankles, dirty stockings, and a face glowing with the warmth of

exercise.

She was shown into the breakfast-parlour, where all but Jane were

assembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of

surprise. That she should have walked three miles so early in the

day, in such dirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible

to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that

they held her in contempt for it. She was received, however, very

politely by them; and in their brother’s manners there was

something better than politeness; there was good humour and

kindness. Mr. Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst nothing at

all. The former was divided between admiration of the brilliancy

which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the

occasion’s justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was

thinking only of his breakfast.

Her enquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered.

Miss Bennet had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish, and

not well enough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken

to her immediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the

fear of giving alarm or inconvenience from expressing in her note

how much she longed for such a visit, was delighted at her

entrance. She was not equal, however, to much conversation, and

when Miss Bingley left them together, could attempt little

besides expressions of gratitude for the extraordinary kindness

she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended her.

When breakfast was over they were joined by the sisters; and

Elizabeth began to like them herself, when she saw how much

affection and solicitude they showed for Jane. The apothecary

came, and having examined his patient, said, as might be

supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and that they must

endeavour to get the better of it; advised her to return to bed,

and promised her some draughts. The advice was followed readily,

for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head ached acutely.

Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment; nor were the other

ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had, in fact,

nothing to do elsewhere.

When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and

very unwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage,

and she only wanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane

testified such concern in parting with her, that Miss Bingley was

obliged to convert the offer of the chaise to an invitation to

remain at Netherfield for the present. Elizabeth most thankfully

consented, and a servant was dispatched to Longbourn to acquaint

the family with her stay and bring back a supply of clothes.