What Jane Austen Didn't Tell Us!. Austen Alliance

      Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three and twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character.

      —Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

      “A fine boy!” announced Elsie Kent when she met her friend Mrs. Groggins on her way home from her half-day’s work doing laundry at Longbourn. “Even though Missus ain’t hearty, she birthed a sturdy little lad, and Mr. Bennet was so pleased he treated all the help to seed cake and punch!”

      Mrs. Groggins thought that good news, especially the part about the master giving his servants a treat. Everyone knew how eager the Bennets were for an heir to inherit their pretty estate, situated about a mile from the town of Meryton. Heirs were important in Mrs. Groggins’ world, too; they took over the estates that employed her husband, his brothers, and someday in the future, her children.

      “And they named the boy Humphrey!” added Elsie as she left, plodding on homeward.

      Humphrey Bennet was a bright, serious child. His parents, Elizabeth and her devoted older husband, were proud of their intelligent little boy and determined that he would be well-tutored and well-prepared to assume his responsibilities as the future owner of Longbourn.

      Elizabeth taught her son to read and books became a dominant part of his life. Mother and son read aloud to each other, and Humphrey’s imagination was fired by the adventures of Gulliver, Robinson Crusoe, and, of course, Prince Hal.

      Although Mr. Bennet was always busy about his responsibilities as a landowner, he made time to show his five-year-old son every acre of Longbourn. He also insisted that Humphrey sit through many of the regular discussions of estate matters that he held with his manager, Schilling.

      Mrs. Bennet understood her husband’s eagerness to acquaint his son with the workings of the estate but expressed concern. “Mr. Bennet, I believe Humphrey thinks he is being punished by having to sit through your meetings with Schilling instead of playing in the sunshine as other children do.” In her usual soft, moderating way, she persuaded Mr. Bennet that perhaps he had pushed his son too fast and needed to revise his approach to educating his heir.

      The Bennets’ happy idyll came to an end when Elizabeth, always in fragile heath, sickened and died when Humphrey was seven years old. Father and son were both devastated. Mr. Bennet was so racked with grief that he was unable to help with his son’s sorrow. Humphrey ate little and spent every day alone sitting on a fancywork stool in his mother’s parlor rereading the books they had enjoyed together.

      One evening at dinner, Mr. Bennet realized that his son had grown wan and listless. He made the effort to talk to Humphrey, but the boy replied in monosyllables and appeared to be trying not to cry.

      In consternation he consulted the vicar, who recommended: “The boy should be removed from Longbourn and its sad associations. He needs friends his own age to replace the many hours he spent reading with his mother. Send him away to Harrow School, where he will have to concentrate on his lessons and learn to get along with other boys.”

      “It will make a man of him!” appended Mr. Bennet, nodding.

      Humphrey in his despair had not the power to object, as long as his mother’s books and the precious footstool came away to school with him. Thus, not yet eight, he found himself for the first time away from the protection of Longbourn and in the company of boys his own age who exhibited all the mischief and untamed pursuits that so fascinate them.

      At first, he sat forlorn on the footstool by his bed, reading quietly. Such solitary behavior was inexplicable to his peers who jeered: “Country boy from the shire, do you miss the muck and mire?” But Sir Humphrey Bennet, knight adventurer extraordinaire, rose to the challenge. Armed with his vivid imagination, he devised exotic games and explorations for them that earned their grudging respect. Eventually, he was cajoled into joining in their sport. Humphrey was surprised to find he was beginning to enjoy school!

      He returned to Longbourn on holidays, where his father peppered him with sharp questions: “Are your masters pleased? All of them? Do you excel over the other boys?”

      Nervously, he offered his response: “I believe, S-Sir, that insofar as I am able to d-determine, I may reply to your q-questions in the affirmative.”

      Humphrey found his father’s new censorious manner intimidating. And his parent’s frequent references to the cost of tuition only fed Humphrey’s growing fear that he might fail to fulfill his father’s expectations. Without his mother’s soothing influence, a malaise had descended on Longbourn.

      During his second year at Harrow, Humphrey made the acquaintance of Frederick Fielding, an older boy whose home, Netherfield Park, was but three miles from Longbourn. Thereafter, they traveled to and from school together in one of Netherfield’s comfortably outfitted carriages. En route, Humphrey entertained his new friend with stories of dread highwaymen who surely lurked ahead, prompting the compliment, “I say, Bennet, you nearly gave me a fright there!”

      During school holidays, the boys rode together daily and soon became fast friends. Humphrey helped Frederick with his Cicero and Freddie taught him fencing and archery. The studious younger boy idolized Fielding, who in turn became his loyal protector.

      Excellence at his studies bred in Humphrey a quiet confidence that was startling in the otherwise tentative stripling. His father was gratified by his son’s newfound ease. Yes, he thought, my investment in this public schooling will one day profit Longbourn. It might be well to consider sending Humphrey to University.

      Thus, when his studies at Harrow concluded, Humphrey was allowed to join Freddie at Oxford. His Tutors were astonished at the breadth of Humphrey’s reading. He pored over every text they assigned, and more. Freddie, true to his nature and as enthusiastic as ever, introduced the younger boy to other pleasures—drinking and carousing—the idler side of University life.

      When Humphrey came down from Oxford, he vexed his father by joining Freddie and his intimates for an extended round of gentlemen’s amusements: the races at Basingstoke and country house visits with their pheasant shoots and riding to hounds. Then they settled in for the London Season at Fielding House, the family’s commodious residence in fashionable Mayfair. Although Humphrey knew his father wanted him home, he was enjoying a young man’s first independence.

      The glittering city life was at once dazzling and disconcerting to Humphrey, but he made every effort to keep up with his friend’s set, doing his best to ape their manners and haughty nonchalance. He was astounded but flattered when one of Society’s bright ornaments, the vivacious young widow, Mrs. Meadowes, began to pay particular attention to “Freddie’s young gentleman from the country.”

      Only too eager to bask in her smiles and prove his devotion, Humphrey was often seen dancing attendance on the lady, fetching her parcels from the finest shops and warehouses and driving her to afternoon engagements in the most elegant parts of town.

      One night, while losing at cards to Freddie’s friends at Boodles, he heard a nearby wag remark: “Our madcap widow is up to her old tricks again. She is doubtless desperate for a new patron now that Sir William cast her aside. She has been setting her lures for a certain ripe squire from the country,” tossing a nod to Freddie’s young shadow, “and I hear he has risen to the bait.”

      All eyes turned to Humphrey. He leapt to his feet, wits barely under control. “How dare you cast aspersions upon the honor of an innocent lady? I demand satisfaction, sir!”

      Freddie was immediately at his side: “Employ your reason, man! This is madness. Let us leave at once and forget what was said under the ill-considered influence of drink.”

      “I will not leave, sir. It is incumbent upon me to defend the lady’s reputation, and I will meet this scoundrel at dawn!”

      As