Page 101 of A Question of Character

“She heard it from her niece, who heard it from the housekeeper’s cousin, and that is very near certainty.”

Elizabeth traded a glance with Jane and hid her smile in her cup.

Mary, never one to let a new tenant escape moral application, observed that fortune was a trust and should be employed for the benefit of others. Kitty wished to know whether he had sisters. Lydia declared sisters a nuisance unless they brought gowns worth copying. Mrs. Bennet began calculating, aloud, how many young ladies in the neighborhood might reasonably be considered rivals, then remembered she possessed five daughters and grew distracted by maternal hope.

“His name is Bingley,” she said. “Mr. Charles Bingley.”

Elizabeth’s cup paused halfway to the saucer.

Bingley.

Could he be Mr. Darcy’s friend?

For an instant the breakfast room receded, replaced by a London parlor and Darcy’s voice speaking with warm affection of a gentleman too eager to be pleased to manage fashion properly. Mr. Bingley, who had been in the North. Mr. Bingley, whose sisters remained in town. Mr. Bingley, for whom Darcy meant to find an estate.

Jane’s eyes moved to Elizabeth with sudden awareness.

Mrs. Bennet noticed nothing. “Of course Mr. Bennet must call upon him directly.”

“Must I?”

“You know very well you must.”

“I know very well that if I do, I shall be deprived of the pleasure of hearing you argue the point for another quarter hour.”

“That is abominable of you.”

“It is economical. I obtain amusement without leaving my chair.”

Mrs. Bennet narrowed her eyes, then unexpectedly laughed. “Very well, sir. I shall argue no more. I shall merely inform the girls that their father refuses to introduce them to a handsome gentleman of fortune and that all future disappointment lies at his door.”

“An effective strategy.”

“I thought so.”

Mr. Bennet folded his paper enough to peer over it. “You need not distress yourself, my dear. I shall call upon Mr. Bingley when he arrives, provided he does not first flee in terror from the reports of us.”

Mrs. Bennet beamed. “I knew you would.”

“You knew no such thing.”

“I hoped it very confidently.”

Elizabeth laughed then, and even Mr. Bennet’s eyes warmed.

The excitement did not remain confined to breakfast. By noon, Mrs. Philips had sent a note confirming every particular Mrs. Bennet had received and adding three more, each contradicting one of the others. By dinner, Longbourn had learned that Mr. Bingley was either to arrive alone, with two sisters, with five gentlemen, or with a dozen servants and a French cook. By the next morning, Meryton had supplied him with chestnut horses, a scarlet curricle, a taste for music, a dislike of boiled fowl, and a mother who had either been dead for ten years or expected on Tuesday.

Mr. Wickham, calling with Mr. Philips that afternoon, entered directly into the spirit of the thing.

“So I am to have a rival,” he said, accepting tea from Jane with a look of exaggerated resignation.

Lydia straightened in her chair. “A rival?”

“This Mr. Bingley. A gentleman of fortune. New to the neighborhood. Probably in possession of polished boots and a very fine watch. I see how it is to be. Miss Lydia will throw me over before Michaelmas.”

Lydia wrinkled her nose so violently that Kitty laughed. “That is ridiculous. I would not trade you for five such gentlemen.”

Mr. Bennet lowered his book. “Five, Lydia? It would be positively scandalous for my daughter to entertain so many suitors at once.”