Work Text:
Bath, winter 1813
When Caroline Bingley accepted her sister’s invitation to spend the winter in Bath, she had little expectation of enjoying her visit. Her motives for choosing Bath over London had nothing to do with any long-cherished dreams of tasting the waters or promenading in the Pump Room. Rather, Miss Bingley’s chief object was to avoid a stay in her brother’s household.
It should not be thought, however, that Miss Bingley harboured any sort of dislike for her brother or his newly-wedded wife. She was truly quite fond of Mr Bingley, despite occasionally despairing at his lack of ambition – and for all she had hoped that her brother would make a more advantageous match, she also liked Mrs Bingley well enough. Nevertheless, she was sufficiently perceptive to comprehend that an unmarried sister, in the household of a newlywed couple very much in love, was often likely to find herself an awkward third.
Moreover, Mr and Mrs Bingley would, no doubt, be often in company with the latter’s sister and her husband. This was a circumstance that Miss Bingley wished to avoid at all costs. Mr Darcy’s marriage had not left her broken-hearted, but she had been thoroughly disappointed nevertheless. While she had too much sense and self-interest to bear a grudge against either spouse, her injured pride required some time to recover before she could be entirely comfortable in the Darcys’ company.
Mr Hurst’s fit of the gout and the resulting trip to Bath thus came at a very convenient time for Miss Bingley. It was a respectable excuse to avoid London, and Mrs Hurst, who had few acquaintances in Bath, was pleased to have her sister accompanying her. (Mr Hurst, made irritable both by the pain in his foot and his physician’s recommendation to avoid strong liquors, paid the matter little heed.)
Still, it cannot be said that Miss Bingley felt any great enthusiasm for Bath. Its reputation among the circles she frequented was of a town decidedly past is days of glory, no longer favoured by people of fashion. It had sunk to a retreat for invalids and their attendants, along with those genteel enough to wish for more sophisticated amusements than the countryside could offer but not wealthy enough to seek them in London.
Miss Bingley’s first impression of the Upper Rooms did nothing to dispel her prejudice. The sparse crowd was decidedly less elegant than her usual set, and there were only a handful of couples dancing. Her practised eye quickly identified the few people who appeared to be of any consequence – mostly elderly ladies content to sit by and watch the dancers – as well as the most obvious mushrooms to avoid. She saw little fashion and even less beauty, and resigned herself to an evening of dullness.
The master of the ceremonies soon appeared with a hopeful gentleman in tow. Miss Bingley dutifully danced with the man, as well as with the subsequent partners presented to her. They were largely indifferent dancers with little conversation, but she must accept some introductions if she wished to have any society besides that of her sister and brother-in-law, and it would not do to appear too much above her company. Bath was certainly not London, but it was also no mere country village. She did not wish to give offence to anyone who might yet prove to be a useful connection.
Still, Miss Bingley was rather relieved when it was time to break up for tea. However, when her partner escorted her back to her sister, she found Mrs Hurst in conversation with one of their recent acquaintances.
Mrs Thorpe was an elderly lady residing permanently in Bath, to whom they had been introduced by a former school-friend of Mrs Hurst’s. Miss Bingley privately found Mrs Thorpe rather vulgar, but her sister had thought the connection worth maintaining due to Mrs Thorpe’s wide circle of acquaintance.
Miss Bingley suspected that her sister might currently be regretting her decision. Mrs Thorpe was cheerfully rattling on about her numerous children and grandchildren, with the comfortable assurance of one sincerely believing that nobody could fail to share her interest in the subject.
“… and my John thinks that William is certain to be made post within the year. He speaks of it as quite a settled thing already. It is delightful, is it not, to see such sincere brotherly affection – but oh! There is Mrs Partridge! I have been meaning to introduce you to her, Mrs Hurst, for she also has a young lady to chaperone – indeed, I believe that is Miss Hawkins beside her. Come this way, my dears!”
The two ladies, alerted by Mrs Thorpe’s eager gesturing, were already moving towards them. Mrs Partridge looked to be about Mrs Thorpe’s age; her charge, on the other hand, was a young woman perhaps one or two-and-twenty. Miss Hawkins was very pretty, wore a modish gown and had her hair styled in accordance with the latest fashions. Still, there was a certain want of elegance about her person – almost an excess of finery in her dress – and a little too much pertness in the way she regarded her new acquaintances.
Miss Bingley disliked her instantly.
Mrs Thorpe, however, happily went about performing the introductions, taking no notice of Miss Bingley’s and Mrs Hurst’s unenthusiastic responses as she prattled on.
“How fortunate that I should have spotted you, my dear Mrs Partridge! I was just telling Mrs Hurst that I had been wishing to introduce you to each other. And Miss Bingley, I believe you to be very close in age to Miss Hawkins. No doubt you will become great friends – girls of an age always do. Why, I remember when my own Isabella…”
As Mrs Thorpe began relating yet another tale about her offspring to Mrs Partridge and Mrs Hurst, turning away from the younger ladies, Miss Hawkins and Miss Bingley were left to appraise each other. Miss Bingley, determined to discourage any aspirations towards a closer association, decided that cool civility would serve her best – but before she could deliver a suitably chastening remark, she found herself forestalled.
“Fear not, Miss Bingley – I shall soon see to it that you are quite comfortable in Bath. It is natural that you should feel a little out of your depth in new society, but you are very fortunate to have found the right circles. I spend part of every winter here and am acquainted with everybody worth knowing. I shall take you under my wing and introduce you to some of my friends, and you will soon find yourself quite flooded with invitations.”
Miss Bingley found herself in the rare predicament of being lost for words. She had certainly encountered her share of presumptuousness during the years she had been out in society, but never had she received such patronizing treatment from someone with so little to justify her condescension. Rendered momentarily speechless, she could only don her haughtiest expression as Miss Hawkins continued: “I only wish that my sister and her husband were currently in town, for they would be a valuable connection for you indeed. Mr Suckling has a very fine estate near Bristol – Maple Grove, perhaps you have heard of it?”
“I have not had that pleasure,” replied Miss Bingley repressively.
“Oh – ‘tis very well known in these parts, I assure you!” cried Miss Hawkins. “But then,” she continued with a self-satisfied smile, “Mrs Thorpe did mention that your family hails from the north. Well, not to worry – we shall set you to rights. I am sure you will learn your way around Bath and its environs in no time.” She laughed affectedly. “Never heard of Maple Grove, indeed!”
“And has Mr Suckling’s estate been long in the family?” enquired Miss Bingley, who, having had a moment to recover her equilibrium, now perceived a potential weakness in her foe’s armour. She immediately saw that she had struck true: a faint trace of colour rose into Miss Hawkins’s cheeks.
“Oh! I do not precisely recall – but I know it was purchased by the present Mr Suckling’s father. Yes, I am almost certain that he had completed the purchase before his death. Certainly my brother has been nearly ten years a resident there.”
“Indeed!” said Miss Bingley, imbuing her voice with as much disdain as she could muster. Then, before the awkward matter of her own brother’s being only a tenant could be brought to light, she pressed her advantage by changing the subject. “And do you spend much time in London, Miss Hawkins?”
“As much as I could ever wish to,” retorted Miss Hawkins, rallying quickly. “My brother is very fond of town – he is forever traveling back and forth between Maple Grove and London. For my own part, I must confess that I much prefer the country. London is well enough in small doses, but the noise – the bad air – no, I can endure Bath for a few weeks every winter, but I believe a season in town would quite exhaust me.”
“I must say I have always found the better parts of town quite comfortable,” said Miss Bingley, judiciously allowing herself a little smile, “but it is certainly wise to guard one’s health if one has not the advantage of residing in one of the more wholesome neighbourhoods.”
“Oh – as for that, I assure you that my brother always takes care to secure the best lodgings for us. No, my dear Miss Bingley, I believe I have simply been spoiled by the comforts of Maple Grove. The grounds are so lovely that one might happily spend the entire summer wandering about the park without ever stirring beyond the paling – though I must admit that I am quite fond of our exploring parties into the countryside. Mr Suckling, you know, is exceedingly fond of exploring. Indeed, he has been meaning to purchase a larger carriage for the purpose—”
But Miss Bingley was spared further details about Mr Suckling’s carriages by the welcome interruption of Mrs Thorpe.
“I so dislike to interrupt a comfortable coze between young girls, but I do believe it is time to go into the tea room. But are you not glad that I introduced you? I was certain that you would become bosom friends, and here we are!”
“Indeed,” said Miss Hawkins with a sweet smile, linking her arm with Miss Bingley’s before the latter could object. “I have just been telling Miss Bingley how fond I am of the countryside. But enough of me – my dear Caroline, you have not yet told me where your family estate is located. Is it very far from town?”
Miss Bingley, unwillingly pulled along into the crush of people heading towards the tea room, suddenly felt the beginnings of a headache coming on.
It was going to be a very long winter indeed.
London, spring 1815
The morning after Mrs Fraser’s ball opened on a leisurely scene in the Darcy household. At the breakfast table, Mr Darcy was hiding from the world behind his newspaper. His wife, knowing that he required a substantial amount of coffee to recover after late nights, was generously refraining from conversation, though an occasional amused glance in his direction hinted at teasing to come. (Miss Darcy, who had been quite exhausted by dancing every set, had not yet emerged from her bedchamber.)
Mrs Darcy, rarely inclined to sleep late, had been up in good time before breakfast to visit the nursery and confer with the housekeeper. Now, while stirring her tea and waiting for her husband to regain his faculties, she was contemplating the problem of Caroline Bingley.
She could admit to herself that, two or three years ago, she would have found a great deal of mischievous amusement in seeing Miss Bingley embarrassed by the likes of Mrs Elton. She would have thought the humiliation well deserved and would have had little sympathy for a woman in whom she had at the time seen only superciliousness and disdain.
Mrs Darcy still did not count Miss Bingley among her bosom friends, but with a little more age and experience had come a degree of understanding that she had previously lacked. She had learned to perceive Miss Bingley’s better qualities and to somewhat comprehend, if not always approve of, the motives behind her actions.
Miss Bingley, Mrs Darcy had concluded, was simply not made to be dependent on others. Her ambition and natural talents required an outlet which the life of an unmarried woman could not easily supply. No, Miss Bingley was the sort of woman who would thrive with a household of her own to arrange as she pleased and a husband and children whose prospects she could better. She had been more or less content to manage her brother’s home and servants before his marriage, but even then, she had had her sights firmly set on finding a more permanent and more advantageous situation. Now, having been obliged to make way for her new sister-in-law, she had lost both influence and precedence in Mr Bingley’s household; and though she was careful to conceal her discontentment, Mrs Darcy could perceive that she was chafing.
It was not a position which Mrs Darcy could easily empathise with. Though she was very pleased with her marriage, she had not, prior to falling in love with Mr Darcy, been in any particular hurry to wed. Despite the occasional trials of living at Longbourn, she had been reasonably content in her parents’ household, and though she had certainly hoped to marry one day, her hopes had centred more on finding a man she could respect and esteem than on the elevation in standing which marriage would bring.
Mrs Darcy’s two yet unmarried sisters seemed to be of a similar mind. Kitty, who alternated her time between the Bingley and Darcy households, certainly enjoyed the more varied society she had been introduced to and was happy to dance and flirt with the young men of her elder sisters’ acquaintance. Still, she did not appear to be in any hurry to exchange this carefree existence for the responsibilities of marriage.
Mary, meanwhile, seemed quite content to be the only daughter left at home. With no sisters to compete with, she received more attention both from her parents and from Meryton society at large than she ever had before. The charm of being styled “Miss Bennet” and having her accomplishments praised by her neighbours had not yet faded, and no suitable young man had so far appeared on the scene to tempt her with a different kind of attentions.
Besides, Mrs Darcy thought a little cynically, Mary was a decidedly pragmatic creature and did not care to exert herself unduly. In her father’s house, she was free to devote her time to her books and her pianoforte, with few obligations towards anybody else. Married life was unlikely to afford her such leisure, and thus Mrs Darcy suspected that Mary would remain at home for some time to come yet.
Miss Bingley, however, was a different sort of woman. She was not content to amuse herself with idle flirtations or to purchase praise through the mastery of new accomplishments. No, Miss Bingley wished to rise in rank and influence, and to do that, she must marry.
Yet, Mrs Darcy mused, Miss Bingley was not the sort to choose hastily. With her fortune, looks and education, she could easily have caught a husband already; certainly she did not lack admirers. Miss Bingley, however, was both too cautious to be swept off her feet by a charming fortune-hunter and too ambitious to settle for a respectable but dull country squire. Neither did she discount the importance of a man’s character: Mrs Darcy had seen her firmly discourage men with a reputation for drinking to excess, playing recklessly high or flaunting their mistresses too openly. The charming but scandalous Mr Crawford had met with no success in his attempts at flirtation, and young Mr Bertram, notorious for his spendthrift habits, had also been decisively dismissed. Miss Bingley could be unscrupulous when it suited her, but she recognised the prudence in choosing a husband with strong morals.
Truly, Mrs Darcy thought, she could not fault Miss Bingley for having once set her cap at Mr Darcy. There were not many men who could boast such a combination of wealth, rank and high principles. And of course Mr Darcy had other attractions as well – Mrs Darcy spared an admiring look for her husband’s aristocratic profile as he absently turned the page of his newspaper.
Still, having now been out for several seasons, Miss Bingley was perhaps becoming a little sensitive about the fact that she remained unmarried. Mrs Darcy could not blame her – people could be exceedingly cruel about such things. She still blushed at recalling the remarks her own mother had made about the former Charlotte Lucas and her lack of marriage prospects. Charlotte had always calmly pretended not to hear, but Mrs Darcy had no doubt that the comments had been felt keenly.
Miss Bingley, of course, had no need to marry for security. She had sufficient wealth to be entirely comfortable and respectable as a spinster, should she so wish. Miss Bingley, unlike most women, had the luxury of choice. Perhaps she would not marry for love, but Mrs Darcy was certain that she would at least choose a man she could respect.
But what sort of man, Mrs Darcy pondered, would be the ideal partner for Miss Bingley? Certainly he would have to be a man of good character and respectable connections. He must not have any close ties to trade – that was a world that Miss Bingley meant to leave permanently behind. Rather, he should be in the habit of associating with people of rank. He must also enjoy society, and he ought to have some ambition – whether it be improving his estate, rising through the ranks of his profession, gaining influence through politics, or—
A sudden rustling of the newspaper startled Mrs Darcy out of her reverie. Turning to look at her husband, she found him regarding her with rather more alertness than he had displayed earlier in the morning.
“Ought I to prepare myself for some particularly clever teasing?” he enquired. “You are wearing the expression you usually do when you plan to amuse yourself at my expense.”
Mrs Darcy regaled him with an arch smile. “I shall certainly tease you if you wish it – and even if you do not,” she replied. “However, I must confess that my mind was otherwise engaged. I am hatching a most cunning plot, which I believe will come to benefit more than one person of our acquaintance.”
“Indeed? Should I write the Lord Chamberlain’s office and advise them to lock up the crown jewels?”
Mrs Darcy laughed. “No, my plans are not of such nefarious nature. I merely mean to engage in some match-making. Tell me, my dear, when will your cousin be back in town?”
Highbury, 1815–1816
Mrs Elton returned from London in triumph. The events she had attended, the connections she had made, the fashions she had seen – oh, such a wealth of intelligence to impart on her less fortunate neighbours! She was sure that her success in town would be discussed in many a family circle for months to come.
“But of course,” she assured Miss Bates after a thorough recounting of the events of Mrs Fraser’s ball, “it is such a relief to be home again. London has its amusements of course, but the deluge of invitations – scarcely one evening in the week spent at home – and so many new acquaintances whose calls one must return. Naturally, unmarried ladies must endure the season every year until they find a husband; but for my own part, I was obliged to confess to Mrs Darcy that all the delights of town could not compare to the joy of being settled in my humble vicarage.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Bates. “It is very good of you to be so attached to our little village! Very kind indeed! But then you are always so very attentive to your neighbours.”
Mrs Elton smiled her acknowledgment of this praise and prepared to continue her reminiscences, but Miss Bates was not yet done.
“Dear Jane,” she continued, “is much the same as you in that regard. It was quite recently that she wrote – I do not recall whether it was in the letter we got two weeks ago or the one before that, but certainly quite recently – that she much prefers Enscombe over town. She enjoys the opera and the concerts, of course, and Mr Frank Churchill does love to take her to balls – our Jane was always such a graceful dancer – but the unhealthy air is a trial to her. Oh, how did she phrase it again? It was so elegantly expressed, but I do not recall exactly. I shall find the letter for you – no, I assure you it is no trouble at all! Only I cannot imagine where I have put it – but indeed, here it is! I should have recalled that I had placed it at the bottom of my workbox, for I was showing it to Mrs Cole just last week…”
Mrs Elton would soon discover that her conversation with Miss Bates was a sad portent of the behaviour of the rest of her neighbours. For the first week or two after her return, her accounts of London did meet with a great deal of interest; but once the ladies of Highbury had satisfied their curiosity regarding the fabrics and sleeve lengths most in style, their attention rapidly returned to matters closer to home. Scarcely a fortnight had passed since her homecoming when Mrs Elton found her tales of town eclipsed by the news of Mr Perry’s finally setting up his carriage.
“I should understand the interest,” she wrote bitterly to her sister, “if he had purchased a landau or even a landaulette (not that such a vehicle would be within the Perrys’ means, of course), but it is only an ordinary gig! It is truly quite astonishing how little is needed to impress this sort of country village. Such a fuss made over something that you and I would think an entirely pedestrian concern.”
Mrs Elton was, in fact, harbouring decidedly uncharitable feelings towards her neighbours. It seemed as if they were incapable of properly appreciating the fact that she had made the acquaintance of Mrs Darcy – related by marriage to an earl! – and danced in the same set as Lady Stornoway, who was frequently mentioned in the newspapers. She could only conclude that this deficiency was due to ignorance and lack of refinement. It was certainly a trial, sometimes, to be settled in such a backwards place!
Yet even the greatest disappointments are eventually recovered from, and life moves on. As spring turned to summer, Mrs Elton found that she had a different sort of news to share with her neighbours: that of an expected addition to her family. To her great satisfaction, the distinction of being in an interesting condition restored her to her rightful place as the most talked-about lady in Highbury. The older married ladies clucked wisely and offered sage advice, the younger ones enquired sympathetically about the symptoms she was suffering, and the unmarried girls and spinsters, Mrs Elton thought with a certain smugness, looked upon her with ill-concealed envy. Thus, though the experience also involved an unexpected amount of discomfort and unpleasantness, Mrs Elton decided that motherhood would suit her very well.
After being safely delivered of a little boy, Mrs Elton was for a time able to enjoy all the attention that she felt to be her due. Alas, such happiness was not made to last. The residents of Highbury were destined to disappoint her once again.
Through some perverse quirk of fate, little Philip’s birth was, within a few short months, followed by the arrival of several other new additions to the neighbourhood. Mrs Knightley, Mrs Weston and Mrs Martin were all brought to childbed in their turn, and even Mrs Perry, who in Mrs Elton’s opinion had more than enough children already, was obliged to begin letting out her gowns again.
The result of this influx of infants was that little Philip, despite being both uncommonly clever and exceedingly precocious for such a young child, received far less notice than he deserved. The Eltons’ neighbours were either busy with their own offspring or obliged to divide their attention and compliments between the new babies. Even Miss Bates, who was exceedingly fond of children, could not be relied upon to have her priorities in order. If Mrs Elton wished to hear a word of admiration for her son’s rapid growth, she must also submit to hearing all the news about Mrs Churchill’s little daughter.
As summer approached again, Mrs Elton was, therefore, feeling more than a little ill-used. She had lately begun to perceive more and more signs that her little circle did not regard her quite as highly as they should. Her attempt to form a musical club had fallen flat; a proposal to arrange an exploring party to Painshill Park had met with a lukewarm response; and to add insult to injury, she was starting to suspect that Mrs Churchill was writing more frequently to Mrs Knightley than to her.
It was while she was in this state of dissatisfaction that Mrs Elton received news of Caroline Bingley’s engagement. The news would have been galling enough if Miss Bingley had caught some ordinary gentleman. However, as if to rub more salt into Mrs Elton’s wounds, Colonel Fitzwilliam was the son of an earl – a cousin, in fact, of the Darcys, with whom Mrs Elton had been so proud to associate.
It was exceedingly unjust, Mrs Elton thought, stabbing viciously at her embroidery, that Miss Bingley should have secured a place in the first circles when she was stuck in an insignificant country village. Miss Bingley would continue to move among the cream of London society, making connections and being noticed. Mrs Elton, meanwhile, would languish in obscurity, forced to endure the indignity of giving precedence to Mrs Knightley and of knowing that her husband must haggle with common farmers about his tithes.
What superior qualities did Miss Bingley possess that Mrs Elton did not? Certainly she was not Mrs Elton’s superior in beauty. In accomplishments, perhaps, Miss Bingley had a slight advantage, but Mrs Elton nevertheless flattered herself that her own abilities, honed at a very fine sort of school, were by no means lacking. As for birth, Mrs Elton could not think Miss Bingley’s antecedents so much better than her own – after all, they both derived their fortunes from trade, though Miss Bingley’s family had admittedly progressed a little further on the road towards true gentility.
No, Mrs Elton concluded bitterly, it was the difference between ten and twenty thousand pounds that must have played the deciding part. Had her father been only a little richer, Mrs Elton, too, could have counted earls and countesses among her relations. Instead – well. She looked about her parlour, which she had once decorated with such enthusiasm but which now appeared sadly small and plain. The future Mrs Fitzwilliam would spend her married life in far grander surroundings.
Not that Mrs Elton could ever regret marrying her dear Mr E., of course. They thought and felt so alike on every matter, and he had courted her so charmingly and been so flatteringly proud of securing her hand. Besides, their union had produced her darling little son – no, she could never regret him!
But surely a man as handsome and well-spoken as Mr Elton ought, by rights, to be entitled to more than a small, poorly situated vicarage and the pittance of an income that it provided. Mrs Elton knew that her husband was in agreement with her on this point – he had, of late, been frequently complaining of the recalcitrance of his parishioners in paying their tithes. If only he could gain a better living in some livelier and more cultured neighbourhood! A large and wealthy parish, close to London, Bath or some other large town, would be just the thing.
And indeed, thought Mrs Elton, abandoning her embroidery to pace about the room, why should her husband not be appointed to a second living? Surely many a parish would be delighted to have a young, energetic vicar to tend to their flock – particularly as he would bring with him an elegant and accomplished wife to take the lead in local society. She could envision it already: the whispers and curious looks as she entered the church for the first time, the eagerness of everybody to get to know her, and the new, admiring friends that she would make. It would be almost like being a new bride again, with all the visiting and attention due to a newcomer to the neighbourhood.
Thus, in the span of half an hour, Mrs Elton had made up her mind. The only difficulty would be finding a suitable patron (for Mr Suckling, for all his wealth, had no advowsons in his possession). The Eltons must utilise all their connections to improve their situation. Fortunately, however, Mrs Elton had already made a good beginning on that front when she was last in London.
Mrs Darcy, for one, had seemed very impressed by her grand relations at Maple Grove. The Darcys were known to have considerable patronage in the church and surely also had many relations with livings in their gift. A well-worded letter, with Mr Elton’s aspirations to a better living casually mentioned in some small aside, might accomplish all that the Eltons needed.
When Mr Elton returned home that evening, he found his wife in an unusually cheerful mood. Scarcely had he begun unburdening himself about how intractable Mr Knightley had become in parish meetings since his marriage, when Mrs Elton interrupted him with a self-satisfied smile.
“My dear Mr E.,” she began, “I have just today had the most splendid idea, which I believe may be the solution to your troubles…”
Pemberley, 1816
“Fitzwilliam,” said Mrs Darcy, looking up from her correspondence, “are any of the livings in your gift likely to fall vacant in the near future?”
“Not as far as I am aware,” replied Mr Darcy, putting down his book to give his full attention to his wife. “But if you have some relation in need of preferment, I shall of course keep his name in mind for the future – or if you wish it, I shall write to a friend or two who may be able to assist in the matter.”
“No,” said Mrs Darcy immediately, “I should be much obliged to you if you did not. I would not like to inflict this particular acquaintance on anyone whose friendship we wish to retain. I am very pleased that we have no livings available – it saves me the trouble of concocting some polite excuse as to why we cannot be of assistance.”
“I am glad to be of service,” replied her husband drily. “Has your acquaintance any other inconvenient requests that you should like me to refuse?”
“I thank you, no,” said Mrs Darcy. “I shall merely write her my regrets—” She paused abruptly, a pensive expression overspreading her countenance.
“Elizabeth? Is all well?” enquired Mr Darcy.
“Oh, yes – I am exceedingly well. It is merely that I was just struck by a delightfully reprehensible notion.”
Mr Darcy, recognising the mischievous sparkle in his wife’s eyes, replied cautiously: “Indeed?”
“Did not Lady Catherine mention in her last letter that the vicar in one of her parishes is getting on in years?”
“I believe she did. I understand that the current incumbent at Brasted is growing rather forgetful.”
“Do you think,” asked Mrs Darcy, “that she might like another exceedingly silly parson for her whist table?” She glanced down at her letter again. “For based on his choice of wife, I cannot imagine Mr E. to be a sensible man.”