Chapter Text
There is something so opposite to Christian charity in those family feuds which frequently disgrace domestic life; a house divided against itself so evidently totters to decay.
— Medora Gordon Byron, The Englishman: a Novel; 1812
The house was just as Mr. Gandjee’s agent had described it to them: a handsome, modern brick edifice of two stories, built on a plan perfectly elegant and regular. It was furnished, but only slightly; and all the walls and surfaces quite plain. Elizabeth, Mr. Gandjee, and Miss Harding therefore spent several days after their arrival haunting the upper story of the Auction Mart on Bartholomew-lane, purchasing furniture, pictures, plate, and linen. Margaret, as Elizabeth had predicted, prided herself on possessing a good deal of discrimination in these matters, and was always very willing to share her opinions. She had, in particular, a perfect horror of the “asymmetry and tasteless profusion” of the Louis XIV style; on occasion, Elizabeth would pretend very seriously to be considering one of these pieces, only to twit her.
Elizabeth was surprised, on her uncle’s writing the first cheque, to find that he did not draw against the account containing the funds that had been raised to support her endeavour, but against his own: he accepted her embrace, but declined her thanks, only insisting that “it was little enough.”
Maids, cooks, nurses, and orderlies must then be found, until such time as residents could be asked, or trained, to fill some of these posts. The tasks of advertising for servants, inquiring for characters, and deciding whom to hire, were ones with which Elizabeth was wholly unfamiliar; and Mrs. Gandjee, as soon as she had returned from fetching Karim and Manoj from Longbourn, aided her in them a good deal. Saira Das was almost invariably present during these meetings, and Elizabeth was frequently asking her opinion. If Mrs. Gandjee was a little surprised at Elizabeth’s maid being consulted, she soon reminded herself, that the manner of Saira’s entry into their household may render her peculiarly useful in these proceedings, and said nothing about it.
Saira’s being involved in matters relating to the House meant that she and Margaret were often in company together. Elizabeth saw this circumstance with some concern, till she assured herself from observation that the women were cordial with each other. Margaret seemed determined to induce Saira to laugh; which imposition Saira seemed equally determined to resist. Elizabeth was not certain whom she most wished success.
Mr. Darcy was in receipt of Mr. Bennet’s—very laconic—letter of consent by the middle of August. On or about the same day, the author of this letter arrived, in propria persona, at Russell Square. He was by no means satisfied with the idea of his favourite daughter, who had been absent for many months together, returning home for only a few days, before she intended to be absent in perpetuum; nor was he satisfied with being assured of her desires merely in writing, and unable to put questions to her himself.
When Elizabeth was called down to attend her father, she rushed into his arms, and accepted his affectionate embrace. Time and distance had softened her memory of every impropriety of conduct she had to accuse him of; and she found, now he was before her, that she had missed him very much.
“What is this about, my Lizzy? What are you doing? Am I to find out about all of your business only in letters, and you not twenty-five miles away? Come, come, sit down with me. So, you are an engaged woman, are you?”
“Oh, papa! You are the one who must tell me. You do not, then, mean to refuse your consent?”
“No, indeed. I have given it him already. He is the kind of man I would not readily refuse any thing he chose to ask of me. But how did this come about? You liked each other well enough in Meryton, without any thing so serious as this having come of it. I must suppose he finally came to his senses?”
The cast which this put on the matter was a little too flattering to herself, and a little too derogatory to Darcy; but she could not correct the misconception, without laying his past conduct open to scrutiny, as well as her own; and so she only answered, rather vaguely, that they were both wiser than they had been.
“And is this all the explanation I am to have of the matter?”
“Papa! Who can explain such things? How do any two people come to decide that they are necessary to each other’s happiness? We liked each other in Meryton, and in London; but we quarrelled, too; and I suppose we both felt that a nearer association would be unwise. But we could not meet in Kent, and be so often together at Pemberley, without coming to love each other as we do now. It was the passage of several months, which convinced us that the—the regard, which we had early felt for each other, was not of a slight or fleeting nature—and that our union would really be to the advantage of both.
“When you come to understand him better, you will not wonder that I esteem him as I do. He is an earnest, sensible, respectable man—but it is more than that: he is clever, but without behaving as though every thing I say must be nonsense; he has a mind, and a temper, capable of listening to reason, and of hearing persuasion, but without being really compliant, or without conviction. Then can you be surprised that I said yes, with all my heart, when he explained himself to me?”
“No, my dear,” said he; “I cannot, indeed, when it is all put before me in these terms. I can see, as well, what you do not care to say—namely, the attractions which a mind such as your’s must have, to a man of such a stamp as you have described. I hate to part with you: but there will be some comfort in knowing that the man who is to take you from me, deserves you.”
Elizabeth was soon to learn that her father meant to stay at Russell Square until such time as they must all travel to Longbourn for her marriage. Here was some little constraint: the family’s meals were now taken in the larger dining room, rather than the smaller, whether they were entertaining or no; and Elizabeth was now uncertain that her father’s presence was adequate recompense for the change which it had caused.
The next week passed away in a succession of highly important trifles. Mr. Gandjee must make arrangements for the transfer of donated funds from himself, to Elizabeth’s betrothed husband. Elizabeth herself must write and place advertisements, directing the public when the House was to be opened, where it was to be found, and on what terms residents would be accepted. She must decide what phrase ought to be written on the tickets, which they were to ask the public to hand out to mendicants; that phrase must then be translated into as many Indian languages as she, her uncle and aunt, and all the Russell Square servants could manage between them; and a printer must be found, whose compositors could set Hindy and Guzerati characters. Elizabeth and Miss Harding must direct various workmen on where to place various pictures and items of furniture; Elizabeth and Mrs. Gandjee must determine with the cook that the kitchen was in condition to be used, and make up a menu, and tell the kitchen maid what to give, at the most, for so many pounds of such a vegetable.
There were also the preparations for the marriage to consider. Mrs. Gandjee brought the waxed paper parcel of powdered mindy up from the pantry, and Saira (who insisted that the work could be done only by herself) practiced its application on any body who would consent. Then there was the gown to be chosen; the gold and silver bangles to be readied; the trousseau to be sewn; and a few requests for dishes to be prepared on the day of the wedding to be sent to her mother, though she had but little expectation that they would be complied with.
Elizabeth, in short, was so busy, that she scarcely had time to think of any thing but the most immediate of objects and plans. The approach of a chaise and four, one day when the family were at breakfast, therefore took her very much by surprise: all her perspicacity was insufficient to help her in forming any expectation of to whom it might belong. The horses were post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to her. At the moment, however, that the door was thrown open, she felt that she ought to have suspected the identity of the visitor before. It was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.