Teaching Eliza, page 5
“And you, Darcy?” asked his cousin. “What thought you of Miss Elizabeth this morning? She is really rather pretty, I find.”
Darcy was feeling slightly less grumpy than usual, having slept quite well in the extremely comfortable bed in his chambers. A ride at dawn through the countryside—which he was nearly ready to admit was quite lovely—followed by hot, fresh coffee, had brought him almost to a point of cheerfulness. As such, he did not reflect on Miss Elizabeth’s muddy boots and petticoats, nor on the doubtful necessity of the occasion justifying her coming so far alone, but rather on the brilliancy which the exercise had given to her complexion. Not even her rhotic vowels or plosive consonants had vexed him this morning, although he refrained from mentioning that to the colonel.
In fact, he voiced almost none of these thoughts. “She looked well,” he stated with a blank expression. “Her face was alight from her walk. It becomes her.”
“It does so,” laughed the colonel. “If Miss Bennet is as ill as the apothecary suggested, I imagine Miss Elizabeth will be here some days. Bingley will never stand for having Jane left without her beloved sister. I suggest, Fitz, that you try to find those manners you drill so solidly into your students, for you shall need use of them yourself whilst Miss Elizabeth is in our midst.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s guess was correct. Charles had not been back in the parlour for five minutes before he announced that Elizabeth must stay until Jane was quite recovered.
For some reason this both bothered and intrigued Darcy; he had no desire to have to feign politeness for a stranger he deemed so inconsequential, and yet something about her fascinated him. It could not be her accent; that was quite plebeian and ordinary, nothing like those fascinating Welsh fisherfolk in the Irish Sea. Was it the quality of her voice that had captured his attention? Perhaps. He must think on it later. But now, Charles’ voice quite interrupted his thoughts.
“I must send a carriage to Longbourn immediately,” his friend announced to the room. “The ladies will require a trunk for a stay of several days’ duration. And I must set up the adjoining room for Miss Elizabeth, for she will wish to be close to her sister.” He paced between the fireplace and the bright windows as he spoke, and Darcy had to fight the urge to push his friend into a chair to still him.
Caroline did not suppress her urge. “Do stop pacing, Charles. You are quite unsettling me. Besides, why should Eliza stay? Are we not almost sisters with dear Jane? Surely Louisa and I can take care of her every bit as well as can Eliza.” Her eyes narrowed as she pronounced the name. “It will be no hardship for me to provide such superior care as only a well-bred woman can do.” She turned her gaze to Darcy and simpered.
“Caroline, I really do think—” Charles began, but his words were interrupted immediately.
“Don’t be silly, Charles. Whatever does Eliza have to offer that I do not? She is merely a peasant, after all, no matter her father’s estate. She will likely have poor Jane’s stars read by an astrologer and then will apply boar’s bile to the soles of her feet when the moon is new. Such are the ways of the country, are they not?”
“Not in my part of the country.” Darcy had not meant to respond, but found the words coming of their own volition, “Recall, Pemberley is far further removed from the sophistication of London than is Meryton.” He found his patience for Caroline Bingley—limited at the best of times—was particularly short now. The same humours that had revealed Elizabeth Bennet’s simple prettiness this morning had also exacerbated Caroline’s faults, and he found her malicious comments particularly unbecoming.
It seemed he was not the only one so bothered. “You speak nonsense, Caroline!” her brother informed her, his voice tight. “Miss Elizabeth is a well-educated young woman, and you have met Mr. Jones from the village apothecary. He is as sensible a man as ever I have encountered, and is expert in the latest medical information. He will advise Miss Elizabeth on how best to care for Jane, and she will do so most admirably, I am sure.”
“But Charles—”
“Enough whining, Caroline. Elizabeth is Jane’s sister. Jane is ill and needs the comfort of familiarity to rest most easily. With your admirable ,” he stressed the word, “care, Jane would feel the need to be on her best manners, and could not rest and sleep as she ought. My mind is quite made up.”
“Surely Professor Darcy agrees with me,” Caroline tried one last time. “Explain to him how much better it would be were Eliza to return home,” she batted her lashes.
“Your brother is correct.” He knew he disappointed her as he turned traitor to her wishes, but cared little. “Miss Bennet will have many years to grow comfortable in your company, but now she needs her sister’s care. Your visits will, I do believe, be welcome, but it is Miss Elizabeth who will give her comfort.”
Caroline narrowed her eyes and straightened the lines of her fashionable frock. “If that is your thought on the matter, how can I protest it? Eliza shall be made welcome here, for all that I wish her home. She is sweet enough, but not of our class, is she Colonel?”
The colonel said nothing, and merely raised his eyebrows at Darcy. Darcy could almost hear his thoughts: The nerve of the woman, to suggest that she, born to a merchant family and only a single generation from the stain of trade, were somehow closer in rank to the second son of an earl than was the daughter of a hereditary gentleman whose family had held the land for centuries! Richard was no stickler for the rigidities of societal hierarchy, but Darcy knew he could only be astounded at Caroline’s assessment.
Allowing his cousin to retain his pride in silence, Darcy returned, “Miss Eliza Bennet is everything that is proper and genteel, and a lady by birth. And she is soon to be your sister via means of Jane’s marriage to your brother.” Then, having realised that he had spoken kindly of someone for more than a word or two, he bowed and left the room without a further comment. He could feel the eyes of every other person in the room upon his back, with the sole exception of Mr. Hurst, who had said not a word through the entire exchange, and who most likely thought only of his breakfast.
~
Lizzy spent much of the day with Jane, who was indeed comforted by the presence of her most beloved sister and who slept fitfully on and off under the worried eye of her nursemaid. A light luncheon was brought up for both sisters—breads and cheese for Lizzy and nourishing broth for Jane—but a note from Caroline in the late afternoon indicated that Miss Eliza was expected to join the others for dinner. As her trunks had arrived and included suitable clothing, Lizzy had no choice but to acquiesce.
At half past six the knock came summoning her to the dinner table, and Elizabeth made her way downstairs to find the others. Not having dined before at Netherfield, she had some difficulty finding the proper room, and in her explorations, came upon a door that stood ajar. She had her hand ready to settle onto the door handle to enter the room when she overheard Miss Bingley and her sister, Mrs. Hurst, conversing within. Elizabeth was about to leave immediately, loath to overhear a private conversation, when she heard her name mentioned. As much as her mind told her to retreat, her feet refused to obey.
“Jane Bennet is really a very sweet girl,” Caroline was saying, “and I am glad with all my heart that she is well settled, but with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I’m afraid there is little chance for the other sisters, even the inestimable Eliza. Her eyes might be bright, as dear Darcy says, but she has no conversation, no style, no taste, and little beauty. And her manners!”
“Oh, these country manners!” Mrs. Hurst agreed, her voice an echo of Caroline’s. “Charles might find them charming, but really, they are most unsuitable even for the lowest society in Town. And her accent! No matter how she might puff herself up, she gives herself away every time she opens her mouth.”
“La, it is dreadful, is it not? To be forever labelled as a country rustic! And even were she from London, her connexions there are even worse!” Caroline tittered. “Their uncle is an attorney in Meryton, and they have another who lives somewhere near Cheapside!” She lowered her voice and whispered loudly, “He is a merchant!”
“Shocking! Too very unfortunate!” came Mrs. Hurst’s injured reply. “Whatever was Charles thinking, attaching himself to a family like that? No, it is too late to do anything about Jane, but the other girls… such a pity.”
At that moment a bell sounded somewhere, and the conversation ceased. Lizzy could hear the ladies rising from their seats, and she quickly stepped back into the hallway, hoping to look as if she had just arrived from the stairs. As she arranged her features into a look of pleasant indifference, the Bingley sisters emerged from their tête-à-tête , and, seeing her, adopted their insincere smiles and guided her to the correct room, chattering away.
But Lizzy heard almost nothing they said.
Was it true? Were they correct? Was she so cruelly marked as they suggested? The Bennets had never employed a governess for their five daughters, and without benefit of a formal education, they were also without benefit of having been taught the speech of the upper classes. Papa sounded like the gentleman he was, but as anybody knows, children will adopt the accent of their community and not of their parents, and Mama sounded very much like every other middle-class mama in the county. No matter their birth and status as gentlewomen, they had grown up as denizens of the village, and sounded every inch the part.
Until this very moment, Lizzy had not realised how her country accent might affect her future. Now, all of a sudden, she became aware of every sound she made. Every syllable, every consonant, every vowel, marked her as unfit for genteel society. With a sensation of dread, she apprehended that as much as she and her upbringing were disparaged here, in this country estate by the daughters of a mere tradesman, so much more would she be once thrust into the midst of a season in Town. How should she act? She must write to Aunt Gardiner immediately, rescinding her agreement to the plan and begging the forgiveness of a favourite aunt and dear friend. She could not subject herself to such humiliation, nor could she expect her friend to lavish such expenses upon her with no chance at all of success. It was hopeless!
These unhappy thoughts were interrupted as they entered the dining room, for Mr. Bingley came up to her immediately and asked after Jane. Feigning calmness, Lizzy assured him that Jane was sleeping comfortably, despite still being quite unwell. Bingley’s concern was echoed by Colonel Fitzwilliam, and even the dour Professor Darcy made his good wishes known. “Sleep is a great cure,” he stated, “and I am relieved that your sister is comfortable. I beg you convey my further sentiments for her quick recovery.”
Now attuned to the nuances and speech and accent, Lizzy listened even more carefully to the professor’s carefully modulated accent. She was still smarting from his rude comment at the assembly the week prior, and had no particular liking for the man, but she found herself increasingly enthralled by his voice. His words might not always be pleasant, but they sounded beautiful. What must it be like, she mused, to be able to speak like that?
She hardly spoke at dinner, embarrassed by her speech, although she recognised that by her silence she only reinforced Miss Bingley’s contention that she had little conversation. Instead, she spent much time concentrating on the conversation of the others, listening not so much to what they said, but rather how they said it. Now that she was paying attention, she could see how her manners, though perfectly proper in the village, were woefully inadequate for Town. Worse, she became even more aware of how her provincial accent must sound compared to the crystal clear sounds uttered by the elite.
Suddenly she recalled a conversation she had enjoyed whilst dancing the week before. What had Colonel Fitzwilliam said about Professor Darcy? That he taught members of the lower classes to speak like their social superiors? She must find out for herself!
Deciding that she had already been labelled an impertinent girl with no pretensions to real class, she need have no cause to restrain herself and as the main course was coming to an end, she raised her voice and asked, “What is it, exactly, that you do in your field of study, Professor Darcy?”
The professor looked down his patrician nose at her and replied in haughty tones, “We are at the dawn of a new age, Miss Elizabeth. Times are changing, and men who might begin in Kentish Town with twenty pounds a year can end in Park Lane with twenty thousand.” His eyes darted quickly towards Mr. Bingley, whose own fortune of a hundred thousand pounds, Lizzy knew, was achieved in just this fashion. “These newly wealthy men want to drop Kentish Town, but they give themselves away with every word. Now, I can teach them, through my art and skill, to speak not as they were, but as they wish themselves to be. I can teach them to move in society.”
“Is that true?” These were the first words Mr. Hurst had uttered all night, so enraptured did he seem with the ragout set before him.
“Indeed it is,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam with the enthusiasm of one fully apprised of the professor’s abilities. His own beautiful voice was surely approved of by his haughty cousin. “He has a remarkable history of success with people from all walks of life. I recall one young man, hardly a man, dragging himself up from the gutter and with an accent and vocabulary to match, and you would scarcely know him now! In fact, you have almost certainly heard his name, but would never know his origins.”
“Do say more, Professor Darcy, for I am most intrigued,” said Elizabeth.
“I see no reason to hide my talents,” he preened. “I can take ever so lowly a creature, a flower girl for example, with her kerbstone English that will keep her in the gutter to the end of her days, and within three months pass her off as a duchess at an ambassador’s garden party.”
Arrogant, insufferable man! thought Lizzy, but she held her tongue and said only, “How fascinating!”
Mr. Bingley now took over the conversation and spoke volubly on his own great success as a student of the professor, recounting how he had learned to replace the broad and limiting sounds of his native Yorkshire accent with his current cultivated tones.
“Oh Lord, how dreadful it was at that,” the professor laughed. Lizzy realised she had never before heard anything resembling joy or playfulness from him and was stunned by the sound. “The challenge we had, eh, Bingley, forcing those troublesome vowels backwards and eliminating the glottal stop from the middle of words.”
“Oh, how true, Darcy! Even wairse,” he intentionally reverted to his previous pronunciation, making the professor groan, “was leernin’ to put oop with yair insistence tha’ I add in them pesky consonan’s at the ends o’ wairds.”
“‘Words,’ Charles, ‘wuhhhhds.’”
“Aye, Dercy, ‘wairds.’”
Bingley smiled impudently and the colonel roared with laughter, provoking disapproving glares from Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.
“My sisters,” Bingley informed Elizabeth in his new cultured accent, “were taught by a governess from a very young age and were sent to the best of schools. I was left to learn with local boys and a tutor until I was sent down to Cambridge. It was there that I met Darcy, who was completing his own studies at the time. He was already an expert in his field and was teaching classes, despite being only four years my senior and still enrolled as a student. He took pity on me for the teasing I suffered and took me on as a protégé, and I was fortunate enough to earn his friendship.”
“I am all amazement, Mr. Bingley,” Lizzy replied, “for I should never have known from your speech that you were not to the manor born. My congratulations, Professor Darcy, on your inestimable skill.”
By now the meal had been consumed, and Miss Bingley stood immediately, suggesting that the ladies withdraw to leave the men to their port and cigars. Mr. Bingley seemed ready to suggest that they all retire, but Caroline seemed insistent on removing Elizabeth from the table. “You know you’ve been looking forward to trying that new port, Charles. Come, Eliza, I am certain you would not wish to deny the men their after-dinner comforts. We shall await them in the salon for coffee.”
Seeing her chance, Lizzy suggested instead that she return upstairs to see to Jane, promising to rejoin the company later in the evening. Caroline was even more pleased at this suggestion, and the company parted ways accordingly.
The following day passed in much the same way. Jane slept ill through the night, but by morning her fever had broken and she was resting peacefully. Exhausted from her night tending to her sister, Lizzy stole out early for a walk in the cool air before taking some tea and toast and finding her own bed for an hour or two. Upon awakening she found Jane much improved and alert, and the sisters passed much of the day talking quietly.
When asked about her evening with the Bingleys and their guests, Lizzy found herself recounting the conversation she had unwittingly overheard between the Bingley sisters. “I hate to admit it,” she concluded, “but they are correct. I would be a disaster in London, and I have resolved to write back to our aunt as soon as we are home and explain why I cannot accept after all.”
“Surely not, Lizzy,” Jane soothed. “You shall be valued for yourself wherever you go, and not for your country accent or country ways.”
“No, Jane, it cannot be. You did not hear Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst as they spoke. Their words were cruel but true, and I know that I shall meet many more like them in London, far more than the gentler souls who might overlook my origins. I shall be tarred by their brush long before I even have the chance to prove my character.”
Jane’s lovely face fell as she considered these words. “But is there no hope, Lizzy? Surely there is some remedy…” She lit up as she said, “Why not ask Professor Darcy to help you? I know what he did for Charles, and he is widely considered a formidable expert in this area. You have a quick ear and are intelligent. I am certain he would know just what to do to let you move easily in the upper circles of society!”
I can take even a flower girl, with her kerbstone English that will keep her in the gutter to the end of her days, and within three months pass her off as a duchess at an ambassador’s garden party.
