What Jane Austen Didn't Tell Us!. Austen Alliance
might require and London’s warehouses supply.
Elizabeth wrote to her father, enclosing a tempting notice of an Antiquarian Book Sale; so he arrived in London in good time for the famous auction.
Elizabeth received a shock when she at last met Mr. Fortune. He seemed more a contemporary of the Reverend Twill than a match for Anne!
Though he frequently jested that their union was extremely “fortunate,” it seemed that Anne’s lack of fortune gave him license to find her inferior. Elizabeth was appalled at the way he corrected Anne’s mildest comments with, “Experiencia docet—‘experience teaches.’ We will soon cure you of your ignorance, my dear.”
Elizabeth turned to her aunt, speaking in an undertone: “How can Anne bear so meekly Mr. Fortune’s rude, dismissive behavior?”
Mrs. Gardiner agreed that his conduct was ungentlemanlike, but asked: “Lizzy, what reasonable choice has she?”
Vexed, Elizabeth considered a Wollstonecraft sentiment she and Anne had both admired: “It is far better to be often deceived than never to trust; to be disappointed in love, than never to love; to lose a husband’s fondness, than forfeit his esteem.”
Had Anne completely forgotten these wise words?
They all arranged to meet the next afternoon at Mr. Wedgwood’s showrooms to survey the exquisite porcelains on offer there. Mr. Bennet agreed to accompany the ladies on this excursion. The Gardiners would meet them there.
Mrs. Twill fluttered about the warehouse, her attention as much on the elaborately dressed customers as the superb chinaware on display.
“Oh, look, Anne—Lord and Lady Mainwaring! And beyond them is Dr. Tobias Wellfleet’s party. We could do no better than to take several bottles of the famous Wellfleet Elixir back to Hampshire. It is known to be endorsed by the Royal Family!”
Elizabeth eagerly searched in the direction that Mrs. Twill indicated and spied Ned Wellfleet! Her heart rose in happy surprise, until Mrs. Twill continued, “I wonder if the Wellfleets are here to purchase a breakfast set for their son and his new Scottish bride?”
The delicate teacup Elizabeth had been examining shattered in her hands.
“Have you hurt yourself?” her father asked in concern.
“Hurt myself? I think not, Papa.” Her voice was clear and cutting as she spoke. “Though I confess someone has caused me considerable pain today.”
Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing the discomfort on Ned’s face before she felt the sting in her hand. She looked down in shock to find a shard of chinaware deeply set into the flesh of her palm. As blood began to flow, she also realized she had captured the disapproving attention of everyone in the establishment.
The Gardiners all but spirited her away while her father paid for the damage. Mrs. Gardiner was silent as she removed the porcelain fragment and wrapped the wound in a handkerchief. Elizabeth had never been so publicly disgraced.
Her father’s mood grew worried on the coach ride home to Meryton. Elizabeth’s hand throbbed painfully, despite being carefully bandaged. She felt chilled and feverish by the last stage of the journey.
When they arrived at Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet immediately put her daughter to bed. In the days that followed, her mother gently applied unguent and bandages to her hand.
One night, Elizabeth unburdened herself of the events in London, especially her distress over Anne Twill. “Must I, too, spend my life with a husband who makes me unhappy?” she asked her mother. “It cannot be the only way to assure a roof over my head!”
Mrs. Bennet sighed. “If you had a brother, perhaps ...” she broke off as her daughter wearily nodded, only too aware that Longbourn could only be inherited through the male line.
“How else will you live, Lizzy?” Mrs. Bennet asked. “You could become a governess, I suppose, or a lady’s companion, or you could live with one of your sisters when they marry. But I do not think you would like the lot of a poor relation. No, that would not suit you at all.”
She gave her daughter a worried frown. “Do not complicate things, Lizzy. Just find yourself an eligible young man, and you will be content enough.” Reminiscence softened her handsome, if somewhat tired, features. “I never asked such questions as yours—I just set my cap at your father and caught him with my smiles. And you see how content we are!”
Mrs. Bennet suddenly gave her daughter an affectionate embrace. Elizabeth was so astonished at this motherly gesture that tears came to her eyes.
“Rest now, child. You will be better soon.” Satisfied with her good advice, Mrs. Bennet took her leave.
Elizabeth lay awake, enjoying the maternal warmth she felt. But soon she was plagued with painful reflections. The father she had always revered now seemed very much less than wise.
Papa knew about the entail all along, she thought ruefully. Yet he always took the easier course, never setting aside anything to support us after he was gone. No wonder Mama has been so frantic!
Slowly, Elizabeth recovered, with only the faintest of scars to mark her mishap. She resumed her life of walks and country pleasures. Mrs. Bennet redoubled her efforts to find husbands for her daughters. And, a few days before her twentieth birthday, Elizabeth received a carefully wrapped parcel from the new Mrs. Fortune.
She opened it immediately, to find A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, the book Elizabeth had given her friend. A note accompanied the volume:
September 10, 1813
Dear Miss Elizabeth Bennet,
I hope this letter finds you and your family in health. Mr. Fortune instructs me to return your gift. He also asks me to express his shock that Mr. Bennet would permit you any familiarity with this “pernicious volume.” I must also inform you that my new duties as the wife of a Chaplain render it impossible for me to continue our correspondence, or indeed, any further acquaintance with you.
Very truly yours, etc.,
Mrs. Walter Fortune
Elizabeth stood for a long time with the letter and the volume in her hands, torn between tears at losing her friend and fury at this enforced betrayal of Anne’s intellect and character. As this very book had warned, Anne had chosen submission.
What will become of her, tied to that loathsome, detestable brute!
One thing Elizabeth was sure of: No one would make her follow Anne’s example, no matter how high and mighty. Was there no means to change the way of the world? Neither wit nor spirit, family nor philosophy seemed equal to the task.
I will find a way, Elizabeth promised herself, crumpling the offending letter and hurling it into the fire.
And woe to any man who dares treat me with contempt or condescension!
Fitzwilliam Darcy
by Bill McCay and Rosemarie Santini
Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien; and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year.
—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Although he was the tallest of the group of boys in the gallery, even on tiptoe Fitzwilliam Darcy’s fingers fell short of the old cavalry rapier above his head. Determined, however, the eight-year-old began prising at the weapon with the tree branch he had been using as a blade.
His friend Georgie Wickham cleared his throat nervously. “Fitz—” he began.
“Am I not a Darcy of Pemberley?” young Darcy cried as he struggled to work the blade loose. “Who better to wield my great-grandsire’s sword?”