by Rowland Jann
“She might wish to assist,” said Mrs. Bennet with a sniff of disdain, “but as I told her, I have been mistress of Longbourn for many years now. I am well capable of managing this house without her assistance.”
“Besides, Jane,” added Elizabeth, “a guest should not criticize the mistress. It is simply not done.”
“I believe Lady Catherine is well accustomed to having her own way,” added Mr. Bingley, his tone diffident. “Darcy has spoken to me much of her over the years I have known him, and according to him, she has lived at her estate since her husband’s untimely death, and does not allow for any disobedience, or even opinions contrary to her own.”
“That is all well and good for her, Mr. Bingley,” said Mrs. Bennet, “but this is not Rosings Park. If she has some useful advice to impart, I will listen, of course. But I find her advice to be impertinent and demanding, and I prefer she keep it to herself.”
Mrs. Bennet rose. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have some matters which require my attention.”
And so saying, Mrs. Bennet left the room. Elizabeth, who knew her mother well, was certain that the matters to which she had referred encompassed some rather pointed instructions to Mrs. Hill to clear any demands their guests made with her mistress before completing them. It was, in Elizabeth’s opinion, prudent of Mrs. Bennet to have done so.
The other source of annoyance and frustration was Mr. Collins. It was clear the man had not appreciated his patroness’s demand that he relocate his lodgings to the inn, and even his protestations that as a humble parson, he could not afford the price of a room for long had done nothing to move her—she had simply informed him she would pay for his room and shooed him on his way.
It was not long after Lady Catherine finally was persuaded from the sitting-room by Colonel Fitzwilliam that Mr. Collins made his appearance for the day at Longbourn. Elizabeth had decided to take a short constitutional in the garden. The rain had ceased some few days before, and the area around Longbourn had dried to the extent of making her favorite paths navigable, but though she looked longingly in the direction of Oakham Mount, she decided it was too far distant. With Lady Catherine in residence and not knowing what the woman would attempt next, Elizabeth decided it was best to stay close to home.
The thoughts and reflections flowing through her mind, however, made her insensible to her surroundings, and it was only after the man hailed her that she became aware of his presence.
“How fortunate it is that I have found you,” said he as he approached her. “I had not thought it possible to gain such privacy with so little effort, but it appears like our minds and hearts are in tune with each other.” His smile was all that was unctuous. “Shall we take the path together? I have a great desire to know all there is about you.”
Elizabeth looked at the man, noted his intensity and the way he licked his lips as he spoke, and she was forced to suppress a sigh.
“I am sorry, Mr. Collins, but I am enjoying a solitary walk. I would prefer not to have any company.”
“Perhaps you have mistaken my intent, my dear cousin. Or perhaps your feminine delicacy urges you to shyness. If so, I find it charming. I was, in fact, proposing that we walk together as the first steps toward a deeper understanding.”
“Your meaning was not hidden, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, deciding that there was no reason to hold back and allow him any encouragement. “I have no intention of accepting a proposal of any kind from you, much as I told you the day after you arrived. Please desist, for you have no chance of success.”
“You would dismiss me in this summary manner, without even giving me an opportunity to win your hand?” said the man with an affronted gasp.
“I have no interest in your suit, sir,” responded Elizabeth. She attempted to keep the testiness from her voice, but she was not entirely certain she had managed it. “It was obvious to me within ten minutes of meeting you that we would not suit. I suggest you woo some other, more interested, girl and leave me in peace.”
“But what more could you possibly want?” Mr. Collins threw his hands up in the air and began to pace in front of her. “There are circumstances highly in my favor, as you well know. Not only am I the heir to this estate, holding the power to offer or deny you and your mother and sisters a home in the event of your father’s untimely demise, but I am also favored by the family de Bourgh, in possession of a valuable living, and, I dare say, not unpleasant to those of the fairer sex.”
Elizabeth almost gagged at the thought that Mr. Collins considered himself to be desirable. His hair was lank and greasy, he seemed to have an aversion to bathing, given the odor which hung about him like a miasma, and the best which could be said of his features was that he was homely. When compared with Mr. Darcy . . .
Now there was a specimen of masculinity which appealed to Elizabeth, much more than this pathetic man ever could. Broad of shoulder, tall, and as handsome as any man Elizabeth had ever seen, she would have had to have been blind to consider William Collins a contender, when Mr. Darcy was present.
Shaking thoughts of Mr. Darcy from her head, Elizabeth turned her attention to refuting the parson. He had stopped pacing, and he now looked on her, alive with suspicion and resentment.
“I am sorry, Mr. Collins. Please cease to importune me. As my father has said, he will not force any of his daughters to marry against her will, and as I have no intention of accepting a proposal from you, your cause his hopeless.”
“And this is your final word?”
“I am afraid it is.”
Mr. Collins drew himself up. “Very well. I shall know how to act.
“You have made a mistake today, Miss Elizabeth.” The venom in Mr. Collins’s voice testified to his affront. “I could have made you comfortable. You had best hope that you have somewhere else to go when your father passes, for you surely shall not be allowed to stay here.”
Then, his head held high, Mr. Collins turned and stalked away toward the house. Elizabeth was not sorry to see him go.
In hindsight, Elizabeth should have known what Mr. Collins meant when he informed her that he knew just what to do. She knew little of his background, and her father had not seen fit to inform his family of the nature of his disagreement with Mr. Collins’s father, but Elizabeth had understood his character and known from the beginning of their acquaintance that he was under the domination of his patroness. As a small-minded man, it was also obvious that he was more than a little vindictive, as she had observed those lacking in wit often were. Where else would he go than to the woman he venerated, and what else would he tell her than what he had witnessed upon his arrival at Longbourn?
When Elizabeth was able to speak with Mr. Darcy after the event, he had been incensed, as Mr. Collins had intruded into the house, making his way upstairs to where his patroness was sitting with Darcy and his cousin, and bursting in with the news like a petulant schoolboy, without even knocking on the door.
“It was the silliest spectacle I have ever seen,” Mr. Darcy would say, giving her the account of the parson’s actions. “Mr. Collins burst into the room and without any consideration, said: ‘Miss Elizabeth has refused to allow me to court her, Lady Catherine! I fear she is set upon entrapping your nephew in a most unequal marriage for nothing more than his fortune and connections.’”
“What?” shrieked Lady Catherine, standing and staring down at the now cowering parson. “What do you mean?”
“I have seen them,” said Mr. Collins. “They sit close together and speak together in quiet tones, sharing confidences. I tried to remind Mr. Darcy of his duties, tried to induce my cousin to give up this hopeless quest, but she declares that she will not have me.”
“How could you, Darcy?” said Lady Catherine, turning a furious gaze on Mr. Darcy. “You know you have been promised to Anne from your cradles.”
“As I have told you many times before,” responded Mr. Darcy, “there are no marriage articles. I am not bound to Anne. We do
not suit and I will not marry her.”
“Yes you will,” spat Lady Catherine. Then she turned back to Mr. Collins, who was watching with glee, and fixed her eye upon him. Mr. Collins once again wilted and his back curved into that peculiar crouching position which he always assumed when confronted by her. “As for you, you should have informed me of this the minute I arrived! I will have words with her myself.”
And before Mr. Darcy or Colonel Fitzwilliam could respond, the lady stalked from the room.
Of course, Elizabeth knew nothing of this conversation until she had the opportunity to speak with Mr. Darcy after the fact. All anyone else in the house knew was that there was a burst of temper from the grand dame—a circumstance which had already happened several times, and which the family had learned to ignore—and she stomped down the stairs soon after, looking for Elizabeth.
By this time Elizabeth had returned to the house and was ensconced in the sitting-room with Mrs. Bennet and Mary, while Jane and Mr. Bingley sat in a corner exchanging confidences. Lady Catherine entered the room like a dervish, manic and offended.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” said she, eyes blazing as she looked down her nose at Elizabeth, “I have come to understand from Mr. Collins that you have your eye on my nephew’s fortune.”
“I am sorry, Lady Catherine?” said Elizabeth. “I have not the faintest idea about what you are accusing me.”
“Mr. Darcy,” ground out the lady. “Have you set your eyes upon his fortune and position in society, intent upon insinuating yourself upon his notice, taking the prize of mistress of Pemberley, a role for which you are not only unsuited, but ineligible?”
“And you listen to your parson?” demanded Elizabeth in a scathing tone, completely ignoring the fact that though she had little interest in his position in society, Lady Catherine’s charges were essentially true.
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “Do you deny it?”
“If I had intended to have Mr. Darcy at all costs, do you not think I had ample opportunity when he was yet insensible? All it would have taken was a servant entering the room to find me on the bed with the man, and he would have been irrevocably compromised.”
That brought the lady up short. “So you have no designs on him?”
“Since I declined to do as I have stated, I believe you can have little reason to believe me to be anything but honorable,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy is an intelligent man, as you well know. I enjoy his company. But when it comes to matters of courtship, I am a woman. I could not indicate any interest in Mr. Darcy, even if I was of mind to do so, as that is his prerogative.”
“Of course she cannot,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. It appeared that he had followed his aunt downstairs and was now doing his best to defuse the situation. “Lady Catherine, Darcy has been avoiding fortune hunters in London since he was three and twenty years of age. I believe he is capable of continuing to do so, even if he has been brought low by illness.”
Lady Catherine looked from Elizabeth to Colonel Fitzwilliam, clearly wishing to make some further accusation. It seemed, however, that she was not completely without discretion.
“Be advised, Miss Elizabeth, that I do not take kindly to those attempting to reach above their sphere. I shall be watching you closely. I expect you will behave with propriety and circumspection.”
And with that, the lady whirled and departed from the room. Elizabeth shook her head, wondering what they were all coming to. Why could her father not have simply refused to house the termagant? It was becoming more and more complicated by the moment!
“Courage, Miss Elizabeth,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam with a wink. Then he turned and followed his aunt from the room, no doubt to continue to watch her and prevent the worst of her excesses.
“Are you trying to say that you have no interest in Mr. Darcy?” demanded Mrs. Bennet when he had gone.
“I did not say anything of the kind,” replied Elizabeth. “But I could not exactly inform Lady Catherine of it, could I?”
“‘Thou shalt not lie,’ Lizzy,” admonished Mary.
“If you recall, Mary, I did not speak any untruths. I simply answered Lady Catherine’s questions, but did not offer any further information.”
“A lie of omission is just as serious as an overt untruth.”
“Oh, do be silent, Mary,” interjected Mrs. Bennet, irritation coloring her voice. “Your sister is right—we shall have no peace if Lady Catherine truly becomes upset, and I believe we have only scratched the surface of the true measure of the displeasure that may be unleashed upon us.”
Mary huffed, gathered her book, and removed herself from the room. Elizabeth did not repine her sister’s going. Sometimes Mary could be stuffy and inflexible; now was not the time for Bible sermons. Elizabeth did not know exactly what form Lady Catherine’s displeasure would take should she discover that Elizabeth was half in love with Mr. Darcy already. Furthermore, she had no desire to discover it.
Chapter X
Bedlam. It was bedlam, pure and simple, and Colonel Fitzwilliam did not know how to tolerate it.
He was not a fastidious man—he left such manners to Darcy and certain other members of his family who were more inclined to that sort of thing. Fitzwilliam was content with many different levels of society, from the low to the high, a product of his character, though his time in the army likely had a great deal to do with it as well. Thus, though Lady Catherine often railed against the Bennets, calling them uncouth and savage—and often within range of their hearing!—Fitzwilliam could find nothing wrong with them. They were a diverse set of characters, and the youngest could be loud and exuberant, but there was no harm in them.
In fact, when Fitzwilliam had a moment to think on the situation, he was forced to own to himself how surprised he was that Darcy could tolerate them. Perhaps the presence of a dark-haired beauty, intelligent and quick to laugh, was enough to ensure Darcy’s approbation. Surely if he had met them under other circumstances, he would have written them off as vulgar.
The irony in the situation was that the tumult in the Bennet house was not the fault of the family, though he was certain they could be quite boisterous. In fact, it was his own aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who was the cause of most of the clamor. Having appointed himself her watchdog in order to prevent her from offending the Bennets too much—Fitzwilliam had no hope that he would be able to prevent it entirely—it meant spending far more time in her company than he was accustomed to enduring. Even their yearly visits to Rosings did not result in so much contact with Lady Catherine; Fitzwilliam usually left dealing with her to Darcy, while he surveyed the grounds and inspected the tenant cottages.
Fortunately, Lady Catherine had declared herself fatigued that day, and she had retired to her room. Fitzwilliam, his nerves wound as tightly as the strings of a lute, decided that he would take the opportunity to retreat for a time and relax. Unfortunately, what he found was not relaxation.
Meryton was a town much like any other in the kingdom. It was bustling with activity, servants walking this way and that, purchasing for their masters, while gentlemen and ladies walked the streets, peering in through the cloudy windows of shops to the merchandise inside. In an area between two buildings a small field stood, occupied by several children playing a game, which seemed to consist of equal parts running and giggling. Meryton had not the charm of Lambton, with its cobblestone streets and narrow walkways, but it was a pleasant enough town, he supposed. All seemed well.
Or all was well until Fitzwilliam happened to glance to the side, only to see him. Worse, he was in close conversation with the empty-headed two youngest Bennets, flirting and laughing with them as if he had not a care in the world. The gleam in his eye told Fitzwilliam immediately that the girls’ virtue was in jeopardy.
The tenseness built up after a few days of Lady Catherine’s presence, and the need to keep her from sticking her over large foot into her mouth, coupled with a desire for vengeance which had be
en building for months, saw Fitzwilliam alter his course. If anyone saw him, they would have thought him filled with good humor, intending to greet some friends, but for the hardness in his eyes and the rhythmic flexing of his fists.
Miss Kitty Bennet saw him first, and her eyes lit up. It was an odd time to note such a thing, but she appeared uncommonly pretty, with her face flushed from the chill in the air and a smile of welcome on her face.
“Colonel! Come join us so we can introduce you to our new friend.”
Though he started at the address, George Wickham turned to greet him, no doubt thinking he was the local commanding officer. His words died on his tongue when he saw who it was.
“There is no need, Miss Kitty,” said Fitzwilliam. “Georgie and I are quite well acquainted, are we not?”
Though he swallowed heavily, Wickham attempted a sickly smile and said: “Indeed, we are. How are you, Fitzwilliam?”
“Well enough, old boy.” He smiled at Wickham, prompting the man to flinch and look elsewhere. He looked for all the world like he was attempting to find an escape route, which might be considered curious, if one did not know that the last words Fitzwilliam had spoken to Wickham the last time they met was an offer to do him bodily harm.
“I am curious, however,” continued Fitzwilliam, drawing Wickham’s eyes back to him, “how you managed to put on the scarlet.” Fitzwilliam raked his eyes down Wickham’s form, noting that silly young girls, such as the two by his side, would almost certainly find him dashing. “When I last saw you, I believe you were the midst of certain . . . financial difficulties. Even a lieutenant’s commission in the militia carries a certain cost.”
“It was a gift from a friend.”
“A friend?” asked Fitzwilliam, his tone openly skeptical.
That prompted a response from the man. “Yes, Fitzwilliam, a friend. I do possess some, you know.”
“Perhaps you do,” replied Fitzwilliam with good natured cheer. “For a time you do, until you are forced to find other friends.”