This one is quite footnotey, for those who like that.

Recap

After Mr. Bennet and Mary's deaths, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy strike up a cold and dysfunctional relationship at Netherfield, before he leaves suddenly for London, taking Bingley with him. Kitty later marries Mr. Collins, who agrees to allow the Bennet's to remain Longbourn for the time being. After reconnecting with Elizabeth at Rosings, Mr. Darcy proposes. He is disbelieving of her refusal and their argument soon develops into passionate, but angry sex. They fight over Mr. Wickham, and Darcy's involvement in Bingley leaving Netherfield. Darcy accuses Elizabeth of using him to satisfy her baser urges and refuses to continue their tryst until he can clarify her feelings for him. She is blunt in her dislike of his haughty behaviour and he leaves declaring he will never see her again. He has Colonel Fitzwilliam deliver a letter to her the next day in which he explains his involvement with Wickham and Bingley. Elizabeth and Jane both return home to Longbourn where Elizabeth tells her about her affair with Darcy. Jane is initially angry, but tries to see the problem from both sides, criticising Elizabeth's treatment of Darcy as well as his own conduct. She is convinced of Darcy's love for Elizabeth, but Elizabeth is still sceptical. While holidaying with her aunt and uncle in Derbyshire Elizabeth encounters a changed Mr. Darcy at Pemberley. She comes to rethink her opinion of him. They make love at Pemberley and Darcy proposes. Elizabeth accepts, though she still has reservations about their relationship. All rights reserved © 2017

Chapter 21

The pair slipped out the door and walked hand-in-hand down the corridor. Mr. Darcy marvelled at how small and fine Elizabeth's hand felt in his. He eventually placed that hand on his arm before walking down the stairs and out the door. The vestibule was suspiciously lacking in servants, but Mr. Darcy was too happy to be concerned. He collected the curricle himself and they drove back to Lambton in the evening sun.

They agreed that he would speak to Elizabeth's uncle on the morrow. She pecked him on the cheek and alighted at the outskirts of Lambton before Mr. Darcy could trouble himself to aid her, sprinting the short journey back to the inn. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had not returned when she arrived, but a letter awaited her from Jane. She opened it promptly, eagerly anticipating the pleasure of reading it.

The introduction contained an account of all the family's little parties and engagements with such news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, conveyed more troubling intelligence:

Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you—be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. I have found out, by way of Kitty—who has had it in a letter from Lydia herself—that she has been meeting in secret with one of the officers; to own the truth, with Mr. Wickham!

Elizabeth's first feeling, in her state of shock, was surprise at Lydia having willingly written a letter. She was proud, though, that Kitty had had enough sense to report the scheme to Jane.

I approached Lydia with the letter and she, apart from being very angry with Kitty and me, did not have much to say on the matter. She did, at length, admit that she has been meeting Mr. Wickham, and she led me to believe that she intends to run away with him to Gretna Green. She shows no remorse, Lizzy, and I cannot convince her that what she is doing is dangerous, or even indecorous. She is determined to have him. What his feelings are, I do not know.

I am willing to hope for the best and that Mr. Wickham's character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet, I can easily believe him, but perhaps this plan, if true, at least marks a true affection for Lydia and an intention to rectify their imprudent actions with marriage. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know that our father has left her almost nothing.

My dear Lizzy, I know not what to do. I do not believe Mama should know of it as the only positive feature of the whole affair is that their association is not widely known. While I do not doubt that our mother would object to this scheme and attempt to prevent it, I do not think that Mama could keep our troubles to herself in front of the servants. It would shortly be known all over Meryton and Lydia would be ruined.

My problem now is who else to turn to for help in dealing with this matter. I did consider our Uncle Phillips, but I do not believe that he would attempt to conduct such a delicate conversation with Lydia without the aid of his wife; and you know that whatever Mrs. Phillips is party to, will soon be shared with Mama as well as half of Meryton. Never have I wished for our father more!

Oh Lizzy, I cannot help begging you all to come home. I know that my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner would gladly assist with Lydia, were they here, and would meet with far more success than I have myself, thus far.

I only ask as the militia is due to leave for Brighton on the 12th and I fear that Lydia and Mr. Wickham could act before then. I am sure that my uncle can persuade Mr. Wickham of the foolishness of his actions, if indeed he does intend to elope with Lydia. I know my dear aunt and uncle so well, that I am not afraid of requesting their help, though I do regret having interrupted your tour in this most unfortunate way.

When Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner arrived home after a day of visiting and nostalgia, they found Elizabeth in their private parlour. She could not voice her distress and mastered her shaking hands only long enough to hand over her letter. Her aunt and uncle did not initially see it as a cause for much concern and thought her a little dramatic.

They believed Lydia's infatuation was a folly of youth and, while meeting a gentleman alone was inadvisable and enormously reckless, neither believed that anything would come of this plot to elope. They were satisfied that the Mr. Wickham they knew could not sink to the depravity of which Elizabeth was accusing him.

So it was that she was forced to tell them, without revealing the source of her information, that Mr. Wickham—far from being the amiable gentleman-officer that he had presented himself to be—was not the type of man to entrust with a young girl's affections. She relayed, in general terms, his past misdeeds.

From that moment on, Mr. Gardiner took command. He arranged for transport, settled their bill, and sent a polite but ambiguous note taking leave of Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Gardiner penned a similar message to his sister. Elizabeth had not been invited to correspond with her, but Mrs. Gardiner offered to convey a few lines in her own note (1). This proxy communication was as much as she could do for the two young people whose acquaintance she truly wished to forward.

As it was, Elizabeth was at a loss as to what she could write to Georgiana; what message would covertly convey to her brother, whose bed Elizabeth had only recently departed, that she now left the county unwillingly and, possibly, broken-heartedly. The task was beyond her and she declined.

Within the hour, they had set off for home, hoping that they would not be too late. Elizabeth did not know what they would find on their arrival; she only knew that her family's very respectability was in jeopardy and her tenuous betrothal to Mr. Darcy along with it.

She spent the two and a half days of their journey imagining every possible scenario that they may encounter upon reaching Longbourn, each more calamitous than the last. This occupation had, at least, the unexpected benefit of averting her thoughts from Mr. Darcy. At night, though, as she twisted and turned on a succession of prickly mattresses, it was always Mr. Darcy's face—his person, his expressions, and his sweet words—which shepherded her into sleep (2).

Elizabeth leapt out of the carriage, almost before it had stopped outside Longbourn, but the house and its inhabitants were, outwardly, just as she had left them three weeks before. Their arrival was met by Mrs. Bennet's exclamations of surprise, which were answered with vague references to Mr. Gardiner's business interests. Lydia was not fooled; thus she scowled at them from across the drawing room while tea was called. Jane looked haggard and weary as Mrs. Bennet reported on all of the local gossip, oblivious to the tension around her.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were returning suddenly to London on the pretext of pressing business. They made a surprising offer: they would take their youngest niece with them to London. Lydia's relations had never done so before, due to her age and idiocy, and all but Mrs. Bennet knew why they did so now. Lydia expressed enough surprised delight at the thought of her first trip to Town to avert her mother's suspicion and her consuming obsession with all things London warred with her plans to beat her sisters to the altar.

After the household had retired, Mrs. Gardiner, Lizzy, and Jane proceeded to Lydia's room and attempted to dissuade her from her course. It took ten minutes to induce her to disclose her plans for elopement. There was very little new or productive to be gained from the discussion, but they did at least hear that it was Mr. Wickham who had talked of running away together. Whether he had actually proposed marriage was less clear, though it was evident that Lydia believed this to be his intention (3).

Elizabeth saw a flicker of Mr. Darcy—of all people—in her wayward sister's delusions: Mr. Darcy as he had been last April. She was replicating his error in confusing lust for love and using her own wishes to validate vague insinuations. However, Elizabeth did not think that Lydia would be as responsive to reasoned argument as Mr. Darcy had been. She imagined that Mr. Wickham was also knowingly misleading Lydia to suit his own purposes—in a way that she had not. Whoever was to blame, she felt certain that Lydia did not have the right of the situation.

The trio eventually extracted a half-hearted acknowledgment from Lydia that her plans were—perhaps—ill-advised. No-one was fooled as to Lydia's change of heart, and Jane volunteered to remain with her overnight to keep an eye on her. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner would leave in the morning, taking Lydia with them and away from temptation; and not a moment too soon.

After retiring to her room, Elizabeth was joined by her aunt.

"I think that this will all work out, Lizzy." Mrs. Gardiner whispered, to ensure confidence between them. "When Lydia gets to Town she will forget about Mr. Wickham and he will be gone by the time she returns. So there is no reason for this to affect any of your prospects."

After a pregnant silence, which Elizabeth did not break, Mrs. Gardiner continued, pausing periodically in the hope that her niece would speak. "I rather enjoyed Mr. Bingley's company at Pemberley. He certainly spoke fondly of his time here and I wonder, now that he has been reminded of it, might he return…It may be that he will bring his friend."

This was the most bare-faced allusion to Mr. Darcy's abbreviated courtship that she had ever made; Elizabeth was startled by how much her aunt had seen. Were we so transparent? Mrs. Gardiner's face shone with heart-breaking optimism and Elizabeth felt crippled under the weight of her aunt's hopes for her, not knowing whether they would ever, now, come to fruition.

"Do you think that Lydia would really attempt to bolt in the night?" Elizabeth asked to effect a change of topic.

"I should never have said so three days ago, but I suppose it is as well to be cautious. Dear Jane will look out for her tonight. Nevertheless, I think now that her trunks are packed, she will be looking forward to her visit: I have never known Lydia to forego the inducements of shopping and society, no matter how tempting the alternative. " Knowing that this should soothe her, Elizabeth went off to bed, but she could not shake her gnawing apprehension.

She woke, luxuriating in the comfort of her own bed and listened for a time to the soft snores audible through Longbourn's thin walls. Elizabeth did not immediately realise what had woken her, but the distant creak of a floorboard alerted her to someone on the stairs.

It could be Annie, up early to light the fires, but the tread was too careful. No. Annie would endeavour not to wake the family, but she would be too busy going about her morning tasks to be so tentative. She knew that the prowler had reached the front door by the squeak of its hinges and their pained groan marked an exaggeratedly slow movement—the surest sign of suspicion.

An icy dread gripped Elizabeth, and she was suddenly awake in a way that seemed to deny her slumber of only a few minutes before. She rose carefully, not wishing to wake the house just yet. First, she crossed the hall to Lydia's room and was met with the sight of Jane, passed out in exhaustion in the bed: Lydia was gone and the majority of her wardrobe was strewn across the floor, as if she had taken apart her trunk and re-packed a small bag in a hurry. Lizzy peered out of her window, looking for Lydia, but she was already outside the park boundary.

She shook Jane awake and informed her groggy sister that Lydia had fled. Before racing out the door, she admonished her to wake their aunt and uncle for help. "But mind you do not draw the servants' attention." There was no time to dress and she merely threw on a shawl and laced up her boots. She still had hopes of overtaking Lydia before she had gotten too far from home and of keeping her escape concealed.

Where she had gone was not difficult to predict, or at least to whom she had run. The only question was whether she would go north to meet Mr. Wickham in Meryton or, God forbid, whether they had previously arranged to meet that morning and catch the post en route on the southern road (4).

She thought that, since their arrival had been so unexpected the evening before, it was more likely that she was hot-footing it into Meryton in the hope of effecting a spur-of-the-moment elopement.

Lizzie was almost half a mile down the road, before she began to worry that she had misjudged and that her sister could be even now boarding a stage coach. Still, considering that she was half way to Meryton, there was little she could do but continue and hope that her uncle would think to investigate the southern route.

Finally, Elizabeth glimpsed her sister's red cloak in the distance as Lydia crossed the stone bridge at the entrance to the town and her relief only just outstripped her annoyance. She would not catch Lydia now, before she arrived, but Elizabeth hurried on, in the hope that nobody else would be up and about at this ungodly hour. When she caught her, she would forcibly march Lydia down the road if she had to.

The main street was potholed and deeply rutted. It had rained the night before, so that the surface was muddy and slick; not so deep as in the winter months, but sufficient that Elizabeth was required to take care in her steps and lift her nightdress to avoid the mud.

By the time she turned the corner around which she had seen Lydia scurrying, her sister was rapping insistently on a ground floor window pane. Elizabeth drew up beside her berating her in a hushed voice.

"Lydia, what are you doing here? Come away, before we are seen."

Lydia was not in the least abashed at being caught attempting to abscond. "No-one asked you to follow me Lizzie. You can go home and tell everyone that I have run away with my Wickham and I am deliriously happy about it. Only, mind you give us a few hours head start.

"And I shall still get to go to London; for Wickham is to take a house for us there and we will attend plays and assemblies every night. I shall be sure to write and tell you all about it."

Was this true? Was this another fancy of Lydia's or had they in fact gone so far as to plan to run off with each other this morning. If so, it didn't speak well for their relationship that Mr. Wickham hadn't even bothered to escort her from Longbourn.

The very man then opened the door. He was dressed in his shirt and short drawers, confused, but amused by Lydia's presence (5). His wolfish smile fell and he started on seeing Elizabeth, scowling caustically in her shawl and still trying to work on Lydia to leave.

Lydia was not in the least put out by his state of undress or her sister's reproaches. She moved into the doorway and stood far too close to the gentleman for Elizabeth's liking, gazing, dovelike, into his handsome face. She launched into the story of her relatives' interference and her plan for their immediate departure. She wove a tale of true love thwarted and cruel interference by the Gardiners who, for no reason other than pure malevolence, would see them parted.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at Lydia's histrionics. Mr. Wickham's eyes grew wide and it was clear that, whatever were his intentions towards Lydia, he was not prepared for an early morning rout by a tyrannical uncle.

When her sister reached over and grabbed her arm, wishing to drag her home—Lydia began screeching incomprehensibly and dived into the doorway to hide behind Mr. Wickham. He was no more eager than Elizabeth to see her entrench herself in his lodgings and the bizarre circumstance occurred of their combining their efforts at cajoling to try to persuade Lydia back onto the street. When Elizabeth mentioned that Mr. Gardiner had been informed and was likely on his way even now, Mr Wickham himself stepped out the door in an increasingly alarmed effort to encourage his paramour to come out.

At that juncture, a movement brought the pair's attention to the main street. There stood the baker's apprentices—who must be on their way to their work—slack-jawed in amazement, at the sight of a man and woman out in public in such a state of dishabille. Elizabeth heard the ominous word 'Bennet' among their whispered exclamations.

She recognised, for the first time, her undressed state as she stood in her night dress with her shawl hanging from her shoulder. They both goggled at the boys, acutely aware of being caught out so scandalously. Elizabeth ducked through the door, which was the side entrance into an inn and Mr. Wickham followed her in retreat.

"Damn!" he cursed. Mr. Wickham was no more pleased at having been seen in an apparent tryst than she and wanted the sisters gone.

"Lydia this is not proper. You must return home before anyone else sees you," Mr. Wickham declared.

Lydia snorted in response. "That's not what you said on Thursday last in Hater's field. You said then that you did not care for convention. You said that I was your wife in spirit.

"Well, now I can be your true wife, Wiki. We were to leave soon in any case," Lydia wittered, still not grasping the depth of his indifference for her.

Mr. Wickham had gone red and glanced between the girls in alarm. Even standing in the hall in his small clothes, with his professed lover nagging him to elope, he had enough vanity to be concerned with Elizabeth's opinion of him.

"Miss Lydia, you must go," he said slowly, attempting to retain an affable manner yet be firm in his refusal.

Her efforts were becoming increasingly desperate and she clung to him, whimpering her pleas and declarations of affection. Mr. Wickham threw his head back to prevent her kissing him and his colour was now high. Elizabeth watched this and felt embarrassed for the all of them, even a little for Mr. Wickham, whose debonair reputation was of such importance to him: for it was all that he had.

He had reached the limit of his patience and now gave up all pretence of gentility. He did not look in Elizabeth's direction again. After manhandling Lydia out the door with alarming efficiency he shook her by the shoulders. Elizabeth followed, alarmed by this new display of force. Thankfully the baker's boys had left (6).

"Lydia. Go home. I am never going to marry you," he declared in an agitated tone.

Lydia's confusion was unmistakeable. She looked up at him for the first time without the prejudice of her infatuation. His eyes were hard and his jaw was set: there was no love or promise in his face and his grubby small-clothes and icy mien hardly tallied with the dashing hero that she had expected to meet that morning.

Lydia wilted. She visibly shrank, as confusion gave way to disbelief. Mr. Wickham released her callously and slammed the door in their faces as Lydia swayed in shock. This offered Elizabeth the opportunity to hustle her further down the alleyway and around the back of the pub. She took her by the arm and guided her by stealth out of the town.

On the way home, they encountered Mr. Gardiner. He had clearly dressed in a hurry, his harried manner and flushed face confirming his panic. He was wise enough to delay the lecture that was certainly justified in coming and concentrated on escorting the girls home unseen. They decided to take a route through the fields. Mr. Gardiner had to almost carry Lydia at times, but they eventually reached Longbourn.

Lydia was deposited in her room, where Mrs. Gardiner was ready to comfort and scold her. They were all shocked and angry, of course, but chose to carry on with their plans to leave that day—as early as possible—before Lydia could cause more trouble. They need not have worried, as she merely sat on her bed, her spirits crushed by the morning's events.

Mr. Gardiner was within a few moments of returning to Meryton to call out Mr. Wickham, but his wife was on hand to calm him and convince him that drawing any attention to the scandal would only put Lydia at further risk. He satisfied himself with rebuking her repeatedly for her foolishness.

When Mrs. Bennet entered, much later, all talk on the subject was over. Elizabeth and Jane helped Lydia to finish packing as their mother fluttered in and out, offering her their gowns and accessories. The Gardiners did eventually leave, but not before Lydia had seized the opportunity to indulge her rampant emotionalism and her wailing did not end with her entrance into the carriage as they made for the post stop. Elizabeth and Jane heaved a sigh of release, tempered, in one case, by the familiar anxiety for her reputation.

Elizabeth, thinking back later on the morning's events, regretted not having had more to say to Mr. Wickham and spent a diverting evening daydreaming about how she could humiliate him in front of the whole of Meryton, in a manner at once cutting and refined. The boys who had witnessed their encounter were a more pressing concern. She would simply have to trust that their story would not be believed, for she held out little hope that it would not be told.

Their Aunt Phillips' call to Longbourn was the first notice Elizabeth had of the gossip that was circulating regarding the event. She returned from her walk to find that Mr. Phillips had seen fit to drag himself from his office and join his wife in her visit, an ominous sign in itself.

When Elizabeth entered the drawing room her mother cried out and lunged at her, and only her own tangled skirts and Mr Phillips' surprising agility kept her from striking her daughter. She shrieked from behind her brother's arm that she would disown Elizabeth; that she had heard it all and was ashamed of her disgusting second child—that she no longer had a second child.

"I know what you've been up to!" she cried. "You were seen in Meryton—by a baker of all people—with Mr. Wickham!"

Elizabeth froze in panic. This was what she had feared. Her mind raced as she considered her options. Lydia did not seem to figure in the gossip and Elizabeth did not know what to make of that.

"Well, all your scheming has come to nothing," Mrs. Bennet continued. "Wickham has run off, so there will be no recompense there—not that he has two pennies to rub together, in any case. What were you thinking, dallying with someone so poor?!"

So that was the tale; that Elizabeth herself had been having an affair with Mr. Wickham!

"I'm ashamed of you, you selfish girl. So wanton! You could not wait to run off to see him the moment you arrived."

She turned at that point to Mr. Phillips. "Oh, but you will go after him, brother. You will force him to marry Lizzy won't you? (7)"

Mrs. Bennet's hope was short-lived as Mr. Phillips' blustering face, ever reddening, attested that he would do no such thing.

"Oh, if only your father were here. He would fight him; he would kill Wickham and rescue your reputation." Elizabeth did not correct her faulty logic and was only half listening. Her mind raced with the full, dire consequences of this new position in which she found herself.

"Mama, please. I have would never allow Mr. Wickham to take any liberties with my person."

"Oh, because you're so prim and proper? You were always wild, running all over the county and coquetting with gentlemen—with all your nonsense talk. But your father would not listen."

Elizabeth did not know what to say to this; she was reticent in her answers, never going so far as to insist on her innocence, mostly because she was not, in truth, innocent. In her darkest moments, she had considered herself to be just as bad as Lydia: two lusty hoydens, whose outrageous antics would put all their sisters' reputations at risk. Everything that Elizabeth was sure was rumoured to have transpired between herself and Mr. Wickham had indeed happened, just not with him. She had allowed liberties to be taken, yet scolded Lydia for her willingness to allow the same. She had lain with a man and it had been wonderful

She tried another strategy. "I do not even like Mr. Wickham. He is a blackguard and I would never marry him."

"Oh, pish posh. I've seen you flirting with him. Not like him?! That man has the face of an angel and the figure of Beau Brummel (8). Why, if I were twenty years younger, I might have been tempted myself…In fact, I do recollect a redcoat encampment in my youth; there was one young captain, I recall-"

"Fanny! This is not helping." Mr. Phillips stifled her.

Elizabeth attempted again to convey her point to her mother and moved closer, speaking in soft tones. "Mama, listen to me. I did not do what these people have alleged."

"Then why is the whole town talking of it? Why is half the town still in the bakehouse listening to all the salacious details of your undergarments on display in the street?"

Elizabeth hesitated to answer. She could dispute the logic of walking around Meryton in her night dress if she was wishing to conceal an illicit meeting, but logic would hold no water with her mother. She could tell her the truth, but what good would it do now to expose Lydia? Lydia, who had had the good fortune to be stubborn and foolish, and step through a doorway at the right moment. Elizabeth would not be exonerated by it. No doubt the scandalous story would ensure Lydia's downfall, but Lizzie would be likewise tainted. She said nothing. The truth would comfort nobody.

When Mrs. Phillips left her sister's house that evening, it was without the rebuttal that she had been seeking. With no alternative tale to tell, she comforted herself with divulging to all of her acquaintance her niece's lack of remorse or satisfactory elucidation and thereby fuelling the scandal—and ensuring Elizabeth's ostracism—as a result.

Mr. Wickham, taking the bumpy journey to London, would have been excessively diverted had he known. (9)

Footnotes

1) As the recipient of a letter had to pay for the postage (before the advent of stamps), you could not just go writing to whoever you liked willy-nilly. The higher person in consequence would invite the other to write to them, if they wished to begin a correspondence. That would be up to Georgiana in this case.

2) Bill Bryson writes an excellent account of beds and bedding at the time in his book At Home. Beds were wooden with a lattice of ropes to support often a number of mattresses. He cites the top ten preferable filling for mattresses as: down, feathers (for which an establishment's geese would be live-plucked three times a year), wool, hair, cotton, wood-shavings, sea-moss, sawdust and straw. As Bryson says, "When wood shavings and saw dust make it into a top ten list of bedding materials you know you're looking at a rugged age." I imagine that the mattresses in post inns were primarily horse hair, or perhaps (in less exclusive establishments) straw, given the availability of the materials.

Another interesting fact about travelling in this era is that it was an ordinary precaution to travel with your own sheets, as those provided could be dirty and damp.

3) In the book, Mr. Wickham has no way of knowing of Mr. Darcy's interest in Elizabeth and, by extension, Lydia, before running away with her. He doesn't actually intend to marry her until forced/ bribed to by Mr. Darcy. Otherwise he would have made for Scotland—the only place he could marry an underage girl. Lydia's own beliefs are a little harder to fathom. Though not exactly the soul of propriety, she could surely not have been so silly that she would agree to run off with no promise of a marriage to protect her. She claims to believe that they 'should be married some time or other, and it did not much signify when': Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 52.

Here Mr. Wickham knows, or at least suspects that Mr. Darcy has had relations with Elizabeth. I think he would get a thrill out of bedding one of her sisters, and therefore connecting himself in some way to Mr. Darcy—a sort of warped version of brothers-in-law. It would also be soothing to his ego which is bruised by his perceived and actual inferiority to Mr. Darcy. Of course he would also simply enjoy hurting Elizabeth in retaliation for her insults.

4) A paper on JASNA researching the location of Longbourn and Meryton, purports to have found a likely real location on which they were based. We know that they are both in Hertfordshire, and within a mile of each other. From the book, as well as by examination of other documents, the author supposes that Loungborn is South/South East of Meryton, with Netherfield being on the other side of it. She claims that Meryton is in fact a town called Harpenden and that Longbourn is Redbourn—a village a mile away from it: The Probable Location of "Longbourn" in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, jasna[ ]org/assets/Persuasions/No.-27/smith[ ]pdf

5) Short drawers were more like modern boxers than the long-john type undergarments that we associate with the of underwear was increasing at the time, but still not expected. There is a lot written on the uniform of the British military, the cost of which was deducted from the wages of its members, but I haven't found anything on the specific requirements of the Army for underwear or for nightwear. Many gentlemen would have worn long nightshirts and nightcaps. Here I have him wearing the shirt and small clothes that he would wear during the day as his night wear—taking into account his finances and the time of year.

6) In her biography of Jane Austen, Claire Tomalin discusses each of her major works. In the case of Pride and Prejudice, she outlines the weaknesses of the book, as she sees them: the caricature nature of the Bingley sisters being one such flaw. The other is the character of Mr. Wickham, who she describes as 'more agreeable than reliable'. His evil deeds occur off stage and in person he appears 'more frivolous than evil' so that his iniquities seem artificial: he is an opportunist rather than a cold-hearted villain. I have written before in my notes how tricky I find it to strike the balance with Mr. Wickham. For me, the least successful Wickhams are those that degenerate into out and out evil.

7) Under the Bastardy act of 1733 unmarried pregnant women were to be taken before the magistrate and forced on oath to name the father. The named man then had the choice of paying the parish for the upkeep of the child (for at least 7 years), marrying the woman—if he was single—or a spell in prison. If he ran away, a reward might be offered for his recapture: Jane Austen's England; Roy and Lesley Adkins 2013. This, of course, relied on his being found and that the family was willing to go through the shame of having their case heard in court. Mrs. Bennet's talk about Mr. Phillips fighting Wickham, refers to duelling, by sword or pistol, which was another option for the wronged woman's family—illegal, but still popular at the time.

8) Beau Brummell was an iconic figure in Regency English fashion. A friend of the prince regent, he established a fashion for understated, but perfectly fitted and tailored bespoke garments. He was famous for his fastidious dress, crisp clothing and elaborately knotted cravat. He also popularised daily bathing and he claimed he took five hours a day to dress. The style that he began was referred to as dandyism. A video of him dressing in the movie about his life can be found here [that video website address] /LrKQ0OLmnOA.

9) I found an article in The Guardian that was written on the 200th anniversary of P&P's publication: [guardian website]/books/2013/jan/26/pride-prejudice-200th-anniversary

In it several authors analysed a character each. It included a sympathetic discussion of Mrs. Bennet's 'pathological response to a genuine social grievance' and rather harsh indictment of Mr. Bennet as a cruel husband and absent father. The discussion of Charlotte Lucas' lot is poignant and more probing than most blithe imaginings of her life with Mr. Collins.

The discussion of Elizabeth was very interesting. Zoe Williams describes her as, through perceived duty to her father, despising her mother and, by extension, all the women around her. She only likes women who are quiet (Jane, Charlotte, Georgiana etc.), probably by his influence. Perhaps, also, part of her reluctance to marry is the rejection of the feminine, which she perceives as weak. She wants the women around her to be meek and demure, but rejects the role for herself, just as Mr. Bennet has rejected it for her. To him she is, for all intents other than legally, his son and heir.

This interpretation puts her opinions of the rest of her family, Mrs. Bennet and Lydia in particular, in a different light. Is Lydia the true feminist of the book? Personally, I think that it's a little much to say that Elizabeth hates women, but she certainly has some of her father's feeling of superiority and cynicism.

Sebastian Faulks describes Mr. Darcy as the first depressive to be a romantic lead. He takes a very bleak view of his character and reasons for marrying Elizabeth, who he describes as 'his lifelong Prozac in an Empire-line dress…who will be good at sex, kind to his sister and will laugh at his aunt.' He believes that Elizabeth will find it hard to deal with Mr. Darcy's lack of vitality in their marriage. I think it's true that Mr. Darcy likes Elizabeth at least in part because of her energy, but I don't see that this is necessarily a negative. Isn't this what a partner should be—a complementary and compensating personality. Elizabeth herself, recognises qualities in Mr. Darcy that would complement her vivacity.

As for his being depressed, I think that's a misunderstanding of his introverted, thoughtful personality. He claims that Mr. Darcy 'doesn't do anything' and has no interests. I am not sure where he gets that idea from, other than reading into a few lines about being bored of a Sunday evening to support his idea of Darcy as a sufferer of 'chronic depression'.

Faulks also has a crack at Darcy's transformation at the end of the book. He quotes Mr. Darcy's as saying that 'Painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not be repelled', as evidence that he is constantly dwelling on the past, but unable to take responsibility for his own actions (he blames his parents for spoiling him). The fact that he is silent when he returns to Netherfield is taken as proof that he has not changed.

I completely disagree with Faulks here. The fact that he will not brush off his past transgressions and insists on analysing them is proof of his capability for change, as opposed to Mr. Bennet, to whom everything is a joke, and who never will.

I like that Mr. Darcy is quiet when he comes back to Netherfield. He still doesn't know what to do with Mrs. Bennet and being paraded about as Lizzie's fiancé is hard for him. He will never be the life and soul of the party and he becomes aloof when uncomfortable. He is the same basic personality that he has always been-distant and clever, deeply feeling, but uncomfortable with emotion-and there is nothing wrong with that. Sebastian Faulks claims that Elizabeth's love is 'more, really, than he deserves', but who said you had to be perfect to be loved.

Also Faulks calls Lizzie middle class, so he clearly knows nothing.

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