by Rowland Jann
That got Mr. Collins’s attention, and his mouth closed with an audible snap. He remained silent for the rest of the time they were all together in the room, but Darcy noted that his eyes rarely left him and Miss Elizabeth, and there was a meager attempt at cunning in their depths. Darcy felt like calling the silly man out.
“I believe you would do well to be careful, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy some time later when Mr. Collins’s attention had been distracted. “I do not believe Mr. Collins means to be thwarted.”
“I shall, Mr. Darcy.” Then she smiled. “I believe I can see through anything Mr. Collins might attempt, so you need not concern yourself.”
Darcy smiled at her. “I believe you shall, Miss Elizabeth. I do not doubt your intelligence or your determination.”
Chapter VIII
It was soon clear that no one could tolerate Mr. Collins’s society—everyone except the man himself. He had a peculiar talent for ensuring that a full room was empty within moments of his coming, for his continual conversation ensured that all within range of his hearing left as soon as they could excuse themselves. While this proved to be a detriment to Elizabeth’s ability to continue to learn more of Mr. Darcy, she truly was in no hurry. She was sure they would have all the time they required.
It was fortunate, therefore, that her father was clever in finding pretexts to take Mr. Collins from Longbourn. He was informed that a good master knew his estate and was instructed to walk or ride the grounds to familiarize himself with the estate he would inherit. Mr. Collins proved inept at riding, but though he was also heavyset and the least exertion set him to wheezing, he gamely walked when Mr. Bennet said he should walk. And with his frequent visits to consult with Longbourn’s pastor, there were enough opportunities for Elizabeth to speak with Mr. Darcy that she had, on the whole, no cause to repine.
It was during one of Mr. Collins’s sojourns two days after the man became aware of Mr. Darcy’s interest in Elizabeth that they were afforded the opportunity to speak privately, and Elizabeth received welcome intelligence.
“I believe I am on the mend, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, after she had expressed some worry for his condition.
“Truly?” She was more than a little skeptical; she had not noticed anything different about the way he carried himself, and she tended to watch him closely for any signs of distress.
“I am. The headache is gone for the most part, though I will own to a little relapse on occasion, and my stomach seems to be a little less tender.” Mr. Darcy grinned. “I doubt I will be up to eating a joint of beef anytime soon, but I believe I might almost be ready for an expanded diet.”
“And the weakness?”
Mr. Darcy grimaced. “That remains, unfortunately. I suspect it will be the last symptom to depart, and only after I have begun to eat again in earnest.”
In a critical fashion, Elizabeth examined him. Though it might be that he was attempting optimism, it seemed to her like he was happier than he had been. The gauntness which had settled over him—had been about him as long as she had known him—was perhaps giving way to a healthier complexion. He was not in any way healthy at present, but perhaps there was about him an air which led her to think that regaining his health was closer than she would have thought.
“It may be that the return of your fever was the last gasp of your illness,” said she at length.
“I hope so, Miss Elizabeth.” The look he directed at her seemed to suggest a fire in his eyes that she had never seen before. “I find there are matters to which I would attend, and I am loath to allow circumstances to delay them much longer.”
“I am happy to hear it, sir,” said Elizabeth, keeping her composure by the strength of will alone. “I wish you the best of luck in those endeavors.”
It was at that moment when Mr. Collins returned, once again curtailing the discussion between them. But the true joke was on the parson, Elizabeth decided, for while he could—and frequently did—interrupt them, he could not prevent all communion between them. As they sat in that room, Mr. Collins taking every opportunity to make inane comments, they spoke as much with their eyes as with their mouths. Mr. Collins could not have put a stop to that, even if he had understood what was happening.
Mr. Darcy’s health was still not sufficient to allow him to linger below stairs and take meals with the family. Though the hearty broth prepared by Longbourn’s cook still comprised the largest part of his diet, he had begun adding other foods—vegetables in the broth, as well as bread and a little fruit. But those meals were always taken in his room, and he still rested a significant part of the day. It was evident to Elizabeth that he chaffed under these restrictions, indicating his nature as an active man, but as he still was not well enough, he submitted to them with good humor.
That evening, after he had retired to his room, the family gathered together in the sitting-room to wait for the call to dinner. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley had returned to Netherfield that evening, so it was the Bennet family alone, along with one barely tolerable intruder.
While they were thus engaged, the sound of a carriage making its way up the drive encroached on their conversation. While the youngest girls went to the window to investigate, as was their custom, Elizabeth looked at her father with confusion.
“Were you expecting anyone, Papa?”
An almost imperceptible glance at Mr. Collins—their last unwelcome and unannounced visitor—was followed by a shaken head, though to Elizabeth it seemed to be filled with resignation. “I was not expecting a visitor, but this intrusion is not exactly unanticipated.”
Then Mr. Bennet moved to the door to the hall, summoned Mr. Hill and gave him some quick instructions. When this was complete, he returned to the sitting-room about the time that Elizabeth became aware of a loud and feminine voice echoing from the vestibule.
“This is Longbourn, is it not? Then lead me to its master at once. I have business which may not be delayed!”
The stump of heavy feet, accompanied by the sharp rap of a cane, resounded through the hall. The door opened, and on scurrying feet, Mrs. Hill preceded the visitors into the room to announce them.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Miss Anne de Bourgh.”
With an imperiousness of manner which would have put the queen herself to shame, a tall woman, followed by her thin, pale reflection, entered the room, and spying an unused sofa, she sat, though with seeming unwillingness, prompting the girl to sit beside her. Lady Catherine was a large, almost brawny woman, standing several inches taller than even Lydia, who was the tallest of the Bennet sisters. Her hair was gathered back in a severe bun, and had turned steel grey, making her appear almost distinguished, if not for the perpetual sneer which seemed painted upon her face. She was dressed in fine fabrics which were rumpled and creased, no doubt from her travels, and Elizabeth wondered almost casually why she had not dressed in more appropriate fabrics.
By contrast, her daughter was small and waiflike, her complexion so pale as to almost be gray, her brown hair lifeless and thin, and her eyes sunken, like two ships lost in a storm. She looked about her with apparent disinterest, showing none of the domineering presence of her mother. In short, she was about as insignificant a creature as Elizabeth had ever met.
“You are Mr. Bennet, I presume?” said the woman after a moment of silence. Her tone was all impatience and insolence, as if she had been kept waiting rather than simply barging into their house without an invitation.
“Can your ladyship doubt it?” asked Mr. Bennet. “You already know Mr. Collins; assuming me to be Mr. Bennet seems safe.”
The lady’s eyes darkened for a moment, and then she turned to Mr. Collins. For his part, the parson was watching the proceedings, his manner smug and knowing. Clearly the lady’s presence here was his doing, and Elizabeth wondered if she herself was to be the object of the lady’s journey. Even the brief attentions Mr. Darcy had been able to pay her around his illness would be cause for concern,
given the daughter’s utter lack of anything resembling feminine allure.
“Mr. Collins. Your cousin seems intent upon making a joke of my coming. Perhaps you would be so good as to introduce us so he may be informed of my identity?”
“Of course, your ladyship.”
The introductions were completed, though not without Mr. Collins’s penchant for flowery language and ornate absurdities. Of course, his introductions of the Bennet family to the grand dame were almost perfunctory in comparison, not that any of them cared.
When Mr. Collins fell silent, Lady Catherine turned her attention back to Mr. Bennet. “I have come hither, Mr. Bennet, because Mr. Collins has informed me of the situation existing in this house.”
Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I cannot imagine why you would concern yourself for how we live our lives.”
“Of course, I do not,” snapped Lady Catherine. “Do not be obtuse, Mr. Bennet. You know who I am and why I am here. Let us not engage in this silly dance—I have not the time nor the inclination for it.”
“Then state your reason for visiting and leave us to our dinner. Your coming has already delayed it.”
The lady’s nostrils flared, but she mastered her pique. “Very well. I am here to collect my nephew, Mr. Darcy, and take him away to where he can receive proper treatment for his illness.”
“I assure you, Lady Catherine, Mr. Darcy is receiving the best care that can be arranged.”
“Perhaps the best care that your meager resources can manage,” sneered Lady Catherine. “But there is much more I can do. You will instruct your servants to pack his personal effects and help him down the stairs, and we will quit this place immediately.”
Mr. Bennet held his hands up in a gesture of apology. “I cannot do that, Lady Catherine. We have been given the most specific instructions that Mr. Darcy not be moved. I am afraid he will need to stay here for some time yet.”
“You mistake my meaning, Mr. Bennet. I did not ask your opinion. I stated my wishes. I expect to be obeyed.”
“Again you have my apologies, Lady Catherine, but I cannot comply. I must follow the physician’s orders. I will not put a man’s life in danger for no more reason than to satisfy your whims.”
The redness which came over the lady’s countenance gave Elizabeth some concern that she would suffer from apoplexy right there in Longbourn’s sitting-room. It seemed, however, that it was nothing out of the ordinary for the lady.
“He cannot stay here!” cried she. She looked about her, contempt oozing from her gaze. “It is insupportable for Darcy to be kept in such conditions. How can you even consider such a thing? I am his nearest relation, and I am best positioned to determine what is best for him when he is incapacitated. I will leave with him. If you attempt to stop me, I will see you are brought before the magistrate.”
Mr. Bennet only shook his head and chuckled. “Considering that I am the magistrate in this district, I believe that would be an amusing sight to see. But it matters little. Mr. Darcy is not so incapacitated as you think—in fact, he has been awake and lucid since only a few days after we found him.
“And as for your insults of my home,” said Mr. Bennet, turning away from her with a flippancy that seemed to incense her, “I will assume that the emotion of the situation has allowed your judgment to overrule your good manners. It is a comfortable home, though I expect not so grand as your estate. It has served us well over the years. If Mr. Darcy does not object to his circumstances at present, what are they to you?”
The lady’s gaze seemed to flay Mr. Bennet where he stood, but he only returned her look with unconcern, and a hint of insolence. The grand lady recognized it, if her glower in response was any indication.
“If Darcy is awake, then I will speak to him.”
“Of course,” replied Mr. Bennet. “I would not dream of keeping you from him.”
Elizabeth watched as her father stood and led Lady Catherine from the room. Mr. Collins had been with them for three days, and though Elizabeth did not know how he had managed it, he had almost certainly sent his patroness an express almost as soon as he learned of Mr. Darcy’s presence. That was the only way to explain the quickness of her arrival.
If that was the case, then his communication had not included the intelligence of Mr. Darcy’s frequent tête-à-têtes with Elizabeth. Though she would not cower before so insolent a lady, Elizabeth could not help but be grateful for the man’s impetuosity. No doubt she would have been the target of Lady Catherine’s vitriol if he had waited another day. Perhaps she would escape the encounter unscathed.
It was not uncommon to hear Lady Catherine long before the lady entered a room. She possessed a piercing sort of voice, which was only enhanced by the volume she always seemed to deem necessary. Fitzwilliam had always said that the lady would have made a brilliant drill sergeant—she could make herself heard from the other end of a square, and her manner would ensure she was obeyed with alacrity.
Darcy had settled into a light doze. He had been provided with his dinner upon his return to his room, and once he had eaten as much as he was able, a certain lassitude had settled over him. And as the family would be eating their own dinner soon and he could not expect Mr. Bennet’s company for some time, he had nestled into the bed to rest his weary eyes. The arrival of Lady Catherine had put an end to any such notion. It seemed like Fitzwilliam had been correct.
Sighing, Darcy propped himself up on his pillows and forced himself to appear as well as possible and in full possession of his faculties. Lady Catherine was adept at discovering any weakness and attacking it, and though Darcy did not doubt his ability to put her off, it was much better to avoid allowing her any perceived upper hand.
When the lady was led into the room, Darcy was amused by the sight of Mr. Bennet’s sardonic grin and his rolled eyes. Darcy wished that he was at liberty to display these simple signs of his own exasperation with the irascible woman.
“Your nephew, Lady Catherine,” said Mr. Bennet. “I shall leave you to your discussion.”
Darcy looked at the man as he hastily retreated, wondering at his sudden treachery. Fitzwilliam should have been summoned the moment Lady Catherine arrived, but it would seem like forever before he managed to attend them.
“Darcy,” said Lady Catherine, “why did you not inform me of your illness?”
“Because there was no reason to concern anyone in the family,” replied Darcy, keeping his voice even and firm. “I am on the mend, as you can see.”
“I cannot see that. In fact, it appears to me that you are very ill, indeed.” Lady Catherine snorted. “I should not wonder at it, considering what I have found since I arrived. I doubt these people have access to a real physician. An apothecary cannot see to your needs in any creditable manner.”
“In fact, I have had regular examinations by a well-respected physician,” replied Darcy, eager to refute her. The best way to halt her diatribes was to lay out the facts; she might not like them, but eventually she would give in. “My physician—one I share with my friend Bingley—was called in from London and has returned several times to examine me. He is scheduled to come again tomorrow, should you wish to hear his opinion.”
“He cannot know his work, if he has left you to languish here,” said Lady Catherine. “I will call my personal physician. He will see to your recovery.”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Catherine,” said Darcy, the firmness in his voice leaving no room for dispute, “but I am well aware of the fact that your physician tells you little except that which you wish to hear.”
“Doctor Douglas is highly respected.”
“He is, in all the drinking establishments near Rosings,” replied Darcy with disdain. “Regardless, I will not consent to be seen by him, so it matters little.”
“Come, Darcy, I must insist. Surely you can see that it is not in your best interest to continue in this place. I, myself, feel the pollution from nothing more than entering through th
e front door.”
“Lady Catherine,” said Darcy, infusing his voice with a healthy measure of steel, “I would ask you to be more circumspect in your words and more gracious toward my hosts. The Bennets not only found me in my time of need, but they have given me unstinting care since I came to be here. Their generous nature is the reason why Georgiana still has a brother. Do not denigrate them in my presence again.”
It was the tone, as much as the words, which finally convinced Lady Catherine to quit her objections, little though she obviously wished to retreat from the field. Though Darcy had no hope that she would moderate her behavior, nor did he think she would ever confess to any gratitude to the Bennets, he thought that for the time being, she would cease her objections to his stay.
“Very well,” said she, her tone grudging. “It seems that you must stay here for the nonce. But I shall ensure that nothing untoward happens during your stay. If you will excuse me.”
Darcy was suspicious of the glint in her eye. What was the termagant planning now?
When Lady Catherine came back down the stairs to the sitting-room, the family was not expecting much from her behavior. It was likely as not that having been thwarted by her nephew—and Elizabeth had little doubt that Mr. Darcy would not bow to her demands—her vitriol would flow, and the Bennets would be the recipients thereof. Mr. Bennet, in particular, Elizabeth thought, was bracing himself for the coming confrontation.
For his part, Mr. Collins seemed to sense the same thing, and his obvious air of satisfaction indicated his anticipation of the event. He was an odd man, Elizabeth decided—odder than she had thought. For a man to venerate a woman so much that he would anticipate such a confrontation seemed to suggest to Elizabeth a less than stable measure of sanity.
But Lady Catherine surprised them. For a lady who had seemed so intent on having her own way, her sudden change was unanticipated, though her insistence in having her own way never altered.
“It seems, Mr. Bennet,” said she upon entering the room, “that you have provided some small assistance to my nephew, and for that, I suppose I must be grateful.”