Page 28 of I Thee Wed
Elizabeth and Jane had already been at Gracechurch Street for a fortnight, and Elizabeth saw, to her dismay, that Jane was suffering more from the loss of Mr. Bingley as time progressed. At night, Elizabeth often heard her sister’s muffled tears, and in the mornings, she saw her sister’s swollen eyes. Jane had given her heart to Mr. Bingley, and her mind continued to be filled with nothing but him.
Mrs. Gardiner was concerned for both her nieces, for she understood that Elizabeth had also lost a beau, and that her loss was the deeper because it had been a long-standing attachment. The kind woman proposed an outing to the theatre the following evening, in the hope that it would prove a pleasing diversion for the two grieving women.
“Your uncle has secured a box,” she told them with cheerful purpose, “and Mr. De Vere and Mr. St. John shall join us. They are both respectable gentlemen, one six-and-twenty, the other eight-and-twenty, and each has used your uncle’s services in their housing ventures. You will find them intelligent and pleasing.”
Jane attempted to smile, but her eyes clouded. “I thank you, Aunt, but my heart, my heart is not my own. I am not able to look at another man just now. It is too soon. I still love Charles, that is to say, I still love Mr. Bingley.” Jane was unable to continue, and she ran from the room, flinging herself upon her bed.
That evening, after everyone had retired, Elizabeth went to Jane. She slipped beneath the coverlet beside her sister and began to speak to her about the man she had loved and lost.
Elizabeth took her sister’s hand. “Jane, will you at least consider another, should Mr. Bingley have forgotten you and transferred his affections? Would you not prefer to know it, rather than live in endless uncertainty?”
Jane’s lip trembled. “If he has forgotten me, I must release him. Yet I cannot believe it of him, Lizzy. He told me so many times what I meant to him, without uttering the words outright, yet with looks, hints, and pointed attentions. I cannot think all of it feigned.”
“Then let us settle the matter,” Elizabeth said with sudden resolve. “I need to read Caroline’s letter. It should bear the location of Mr. Bingley’s London house.”
Jane retrieved the letter, and Elizabeth studied the address. “Number 164, Wimpole Street. Very well. Tomorrow we shall hire a hackney and drive there. We will wait nearby. If we see Mr. Bingley enter, we shall immediately follow and pay a call upon Miss Bingley. If Mr. Bingley is at home, we shall meet him, and when he sees you, the truth will be plain. We will learn whether he has already forgotten you, and Jane, dear, it is better to know at once if this is how matters lie. If he has not, you will have gained what you desire most.”
Jane was aghast. “Lizzy, this is highly improper, and I cannot allow you to carry out such a scheme!”
Elizabeth smiled, mischief in her eyes. “It is improper, but it is the only thing that we women can do. We shall simply be making a call on an acquaintance and her sister. Jane, we shall go to the theatre tomorrow evening, and we will be kind to the men who have accepted Uncle’s invitation. Cheer yourself, for soon you will see Mr. Bingley again.”
The following evening, the sisters dressed with care, and the party set out. Drury Lane was thronged with carriages, the grand portico alive with light and chatter, and the air sharp with the mingled scents of horses and perfumed gowns. Within the theatre, the atmosphere was brilliant, with chandeliers, the gilded tiers glittering, and the hum of conversation swelling with expectation.
The box where they were seated afforded an excellent view of the stage, and Mr. De Vere, a dark-haired and attractive man, was already in his place when they arrived. Elizabeth saw how his eyes took in her face and form, and then he moved aside, inviting her to sit in the vacant seat next to him. Mr. St. John was also attractive and well-spoken, and he was utterly taken with Jane, as all men generally were when they first met her. Both men were eager and lavish with their attentions, and it was plain from their manner that they found the Bennet sisters exceedingly beautiful.
The play was a comedy, and it kept the company engaged, including Jane, who laughed more often than Elizabeth had thought possible, given her present state of mind. Mrs. Gardiner was satisfied with all that she observed and congratulated herself on the success of the outing. She was concerned that Jane was not her usual serene self, but this was a good beginning.
At the close of the evening, as their cloaks were fetched, both Mr. De Vere and Mr. St. John expressed the sincerest wish of continuing the acquaintance. Mr. Gardiner replied with courtesy, promising that his nieces would be glad of their company again.
But in the carriage homeward, Jane leaned close to her aunt, her voice low. “Pray, do not hasten any further meetings. My heart isnot at ease. I cannot… cannot think of another man while… while Mr. Bingley…” She broke off, her voice trembling.
Elizabeth took Jane’s hand in both her own. “Aunt, we are both grateful for your desire to provide diversions for us, but I, at least, prefer that no engagements be fixed at present. Please delay scheduling any others for a few weeks, I beg you.”
Mrs. Gardiner regarded them both. “Very well, my dears. I shall not press you. Perhaps the passage of time is what is needed now.”
As the carriage rolled on through the lamplit streets, Elizabeth gazed out at the glittering city, her thoughts fixed not upon Mr. De Vere, but upon another gentleman altogether.
By ten o’clock the following morning, under the pretense of a shopping excursion, the two sisters drove to Wimpole Street. Elizabeth directed the driver to a small park a few doors down, and they chose a bench beneath a tree, from which Number 164 could be easily observed without obstruction.
It was an oppressive August day, and the London air was thick. It seemed to Elizabeth that the dust of the road clung to every tree and bush, hung in the air, and threatened to cover her and Jane if they were forced to wait for many hours. The sisters sat patiently at first, their eyes fixed upon the tall windows of the house. The shade gave them some relief, but after an hour, the wooden slats beneath them grew hard, and they began to stand and walk in turns to find some measure of ease.
They watched as a parade of nurses and nannies came and went, pushing infants in wheeled carriages along the gravel paths. Now and then, a child cried, or a ball rolled too far into the road, but otherwise there was little to break the monotony of the long watch. The sisters saw no sign of Mr. Bingley.
By the third hour, they both grew restless. Elizabeth realized that she had been praying that Mr. Bingley would appear soon. Every so often, they shared a glance that conveyed the same unspoken thought: was Mr. Bingley even in London? Perhaps he was at a house party in the country.
By the fourth hour, with an aching back, Elizabeth stretched her shoulders and said, “Oh, Jane, this bench was surely not built for comfort.” Jane pressed her handkerchief to her brow and smiled at her sister. “Take a walk to the little creek, Lizzy. I will remain here and keep watch.” Elizabeth did walk, and when she returned, she did not complain, for Jane was determined not to leave too soon, lest they miss Mr. Bingley.
By the end of their watch, nothing stirred at Number 164. The drapes remained drawn and the knocker silent. The sisters agreed that Mr. Bingley had not been at home, and they must leave; otherwise, Mrs. Gardiner would begin to worry.
The next day, they returned, sitting for an hour in the same spot. At length, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst emerged, their heads together. They returned three hours later laden with packages, yet still there was no sign of Mr. Bingley.
At last, on the third morning, the two women saw the sight they had longed for: Mr. Bingley rode up on horseback. He dismounted, handed the reins to the footman, and disappeared into the house.
Elizabeth rose at once. “Jane, now is our moment.”
They hurried along the lawn, crossed the road, and rapped the knocker of his door. The butler opened it with studied gravity, and Jane presented her card. “Pray inform Miss Bingley that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet wait upon her.”
“The ladies are out, madam,” the butler replied, but as he spoke, a voice sounded from deeper within the hall. “Did I hear aright, Miss Bennet?”
