Lady Catherine's Necklace

by Joan Aiken

  ‘But Joss, don’t you wish you had a garden of your own?’

  ‘Some day I shall,’ said Joss without impatience. ‘I can wait. I’m planning. I’ve a flower book my ma left me. My garden’ll have all the flowers that’s in it. Bachelors’ buttons, Canterbury bells, sweet william, forget-me-nots, wallflowers, snapdragons.’

  ‘Where is Pluto?’ asked Anne, looking around and noticing the dog’s absence for the first time.

  ‘Didn’t ye know? Lady Catherine had him done away with.’

  ‘Done away with? Pluto?’

  ‘Aye.’ Joss reached down and tweaked a buttercup root out from between two hyacinth bulbs. ‘Her eye lit on a pile of badger dung, out there on the grass, and she blamed Pluto. No use to tell her dogs ’on’t eat hips and haws; she told Smirke to have him put down, and Smirke he told Muddle and Verity to see to it; so ’twas done. Time I was clearing out the lily pond; I allus shuts the dog in an empty stable stall those times, for he gets that excited in the water; you know how he is, Miss Anne—’ Joss spoke simply and without rancour, as if Pluto were still in being.

  ‘What did they do?’ Anne asked, trembling.

  ‘Tied a stone round’s neck and chucked him in the millpond, reckon; I didn’t ask. Done’s done.’

  ‘I hate my mother.’ Anne spoke with intense vigour. ‘I really hate her. I hope she drowns on the way to Great Morran.’

  ‘Now, Miss Anne! Ye must not feel so.’

  ‘But I do! How can I help it?’

  ‘What Lady Catherine does is her affair, not yours. And she will have to answer for it, surely. But your business, my deary, is to get quit of those viperous thoughts that’s in ye, for they’ll turn to gall and brimstone and eat away at ye and do ye all manner of harm. Look,’ said Joss, and forked out another tussock of buttercup roots, ‘ye do some of this work, dirty your hands a bit, turn yourself to do something worthwhile, and that’ll ease your mind, wash all that blackness and bile out of ye.’

  ‘I could pull up a whole meadow full of buttercups and I’d still hate my mother,’ said Anne, nevertheless doing as he suggested.

  ‘Drop the weeds in the trug here,’ Joss directed. ‘Don’t scatter them abroad on the gravel-plat. I’ll go to the tool shed and fetch a smaller fork for ye to use. That one there be a dandelion, ye have to go deep for him, his roots go down to Tartarus.’

  ‘Good heavens, Joss, where did you learn about Tartarus? Was that one of the things Sir Felix told you?’

  ‘Aye, he had a book about all they Greek gods and goddesses – ramshackle lot they were, simmingly,’ said Joss, and went off whistling to the tool shed.

  While he was gone, Smirke the head gardener came by, and paused to give Anne his toothy smile.

  ‘Deary me, Miss Anne, what in the world would her ladyship say to see ye so clarted up and mucky, doing the garden-boy’s work? What would she say?’

  ‘Her ladyship is halfway to Exeter,’ Anne said defiantly.

  ‘And what about the gentleman, Colonel FitzWilliam? I doubt he’d not be best pleased to see ye – and that was a snowdrop ye just dug up.’

  ‘I don’t think the colonel would care in the least.’

  Anne hastily thrust the snowdrop back into its earthy hole.

  ‘’Tis no fit occupation for a young lady.’

  ‘I like doing it.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Smirke indulgently, ‘we mun see what the colonel has to say. Don’t let Miss Anne tire herself now,’ he told Joss, who came back at that moment with another hand fork. ‘And you, boy, you see those lettuce seedlings are pricked out in the glasshouse afore this morning’s past!’

  ‘’Tis a wonder he didn’t send me off right away to cart muck,’ said Joss, when Smirke had gone.

  ‘I think,’ said Anne, ‘that Smirke encourages us to be friendly for – for reasons of his own.’

  ‘Aye?’ said Joss. ‘What manner of reasons be those, do you think, Miss Anne?’

  ‘So that later on he can ask me for money, and threaten otherwise to make a scandal. About us,’ Anne said hardily.

  Joss burst out laughing.

  * * *

  ‘“Are there no overgrown hedges,”’ Mr Delaval read aloud from The Gentleman’s Magazine, ‘“that rob you of hundreds of yards of ground, that might be cut in, and converted into firewood, pea-sticks, or rubbish to burn into manure? What if the hedge were cut close in, the walks made few and straight, and no wider than three feet, and every inch of wall covered with something useful, or beautiful, or both?”’

  ‘I am tolerably sure that my Aunt Catherine has no lack of firewood or pea-sticks,’ remarked Colonel FitzWilliam. ‘And I do not believe that she would wish her walks to be reduced to three feet wide.’

  Priscilla twitched the magazine away from her brother and continued reading: ‘“I know from what I see, as I travel up and down the country, that there are few gardens, and especially those of the industrious classes, but might be made to produce double what they do, and everything of better quality!” But Ralph, you must admit that Lady Catherine’s produce could hardly be bettered – those grapes and peaches equal anything that you might find in Mediterranean lands.’

  ‘Of course, my dear, of course. But just listen to this: ‘“Are there no old and useless trees, that shut out the best of the morning sun, and prevent you from cropping to advantage some of the best ground you have? Are not your fruit trees overgrown, and many of them occupying ground for which their annual crops are no equivalent?” How about that? How about those great overgrown Spanish chestnut trees? And that huge, gross oak? I dare swear it is as much as twenty feet round the perimeter, and who needs all those acorns? It is not as if Lady Catherine kept pigs.’

  ‘Sir Lewis de Bourgh was particularly fond of that tree,’ Mrs Jenkinson put in timorously.

  ‘Let me understand you, Mr Delaval,’ said the colonel. ‘Did my Aunt Catherine give you carte blanche to cut down and root up what you please of her timber and fruit trees? Is it such projects you had in mind when you promised her splendid surprises on her return?’

  ‘Her ladyship has approved most magnanimously all my suggestions up to this time,’ Mr Delaval countered. ‘And her tastes in horticulture conform to mine in a highly gratifying degree.’

  ‘Well,’ suggested FitzWilliam, ‘before you undertake the wholesale lopping of the timber in the park, or the uprooting of the knot-garden, or the felling of the apple orchard, I believe you should consult the feelings of my Uncle Luke, who was, after all, brought up in Hunsford Castle, which once occupied the site where this house now stands. He knew the garden from a boy – what gardens there were in those days. I think his opinion should be sought.’

  ‘Oh, certainly, that’s of course,’ said Mr Delaval, ‘but Lord Luke seems remarkably little interested in such matters.’

  Coincidentally at that moment Lord Luke himself appeared, with dust on his cravat and his sparse grey locks somewhat disordered.

  ‘Ah, there you are, my boy. Ring for Frinton and have him bring up a bottle of sherry, will you? I am as dry as an oast house. Those attics! Catherine must have had every shred of cloth, every scrap of paper, every splinter of wood that was housed in the old castle carried up there. And the light under the roof is abominable. There are but two windows. I have had Muddle and Verity transfer as many boxes as possible to an area where their contents may be inspected, but I misdoubt me it is going to be a task that will take many days, if not weeks…’

  He rubbed his hands as if this prospect, on the whole, was an inviting one.

  ‘But I need a helper.’

  He looked hopefully at his four auditors, but their silence and expressions exhibited such a lack of intention to oblige him, that he sighed.

  ‘Muddle and Verity?’ suggested Colonel FitzWilliam. ‘Having moved the boxes for you, would they not be the best—?’

  ‘Dear fellows, both of them, excellent in their way, most willing,’ explained Lord Luke. ‘But neither of them can read.’ />
  ‘Perhaps my cousin Anne might be interested?’

  Mrs Jenkinson looked scandalized.

  ‘Grubbing about in the attics?’ she said faintly. ‘Surely no occupation for the Lady Anne?’

  ‘Since she seems to spend most of her time just now grubbing about in the flower borders with the garden-boy, I should have thought—’

  ‘The garden-boy!’ Lord Luke exclaimed. ‘Can he read, I wonder?’

  ‘I really have no idea.’

  ‘You are sure you would not care to join me, Fitz? Who knows what treasures of history may not be found up there?’

  ‘My dear Uncle Luke, I would not for worlds deprive you of the pleasure of making such a dramatic historical discovery yourself.’

  ‘But how will you pass your time here – if the task should take me several weeks?’

  ‘What precisely is it that you are searching for, Uncle?’

  ‘Oh – old school exercises and papers from my childhood. They are of no intrinsic value or interest to anybody except myself,’ Lord Luke explained with an air of great unconcern.

  ‘I see. Well, I shall be quite content strolling about the grounds, consulting with Mr Delaval about such improvements as he may think fit to put in hand – fishing in the lake, perhaps shooting a pigeon or two. Possibly Miss Delaval will honour me with her company from time to time in a game of croquet?’

  ‘I am so sorry, I should have enjoyed that. But, unfortunately, my ankle…’

  ‘Oh, of course. I had quite forgotten. Your ankle. And I imagine that will also prevent your furnishing any advice or assistance to Lord Luke in the attics?’

  ‘Most unfortunately, yes!’ She responded to Colonel FitzWilliam’s look of slightly ironic inquiry with a display of her dimples.

  ‘I believe I saw a harp up there?’ Lord Luke pleaded. But he added fairly, ‘It had remarkably few strings.’

  ‘However many strings it had, I should have been unable to play it. My ankle…’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I wonder if that agreeable Miss Lucas could be persuaded to give me some assistance? She might be glad to escape, once in a while, from all the domesticity at the parsonage.’

  ‘Ask her by all means,’ shrugged FitzWilliam.

  Frinton came in with the sherry and told Lord Luke:

  ‘My lord, there are two persons here from London, who both claim to have authorization from Lady Catherine to clean her diamonds. Were you cognizant of her ladyship’s intentions in the matter?’

  ‘Rundell and Bridge—’ began Mr Delaval, but Lord Luke interrupted him.

  ‘No, I am certain that my sister had the intention of hiring Gray’s of Sackville Street to do her business.’

  ‘Why not fetch down her maid?’ suggested FitzWilliam. ‘She must have been in Aunt Catherine’s confidence.’

  ‘An excellent idea,’ said Lord Luke. ‘Let Pronkum be sent for, Frinton. And tell her to bring the gems. And show the men in here.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. And shan’t I let Anderson the footman stand by the door while the persons are in here looking at the stones, sir, just to be on the safe side?’

  ‘Not a bad notion, Frinton. For it does seem a trifle odd that she sent for both men.’

  ‘Do you think one of them is an impostor?’ suggested Mrs Jenkinson, looking scared to death.

  The two men were ushered in by Frinton, who announced: ‘Mr Foster of Rundell’s, Mr Bolton of Gray’s – would you stand here, if you please,’ as if he expected one or both of them to snatch up a porcelain dish or a silver snuffbox and make a bolt for it. Both men looked intensely respectable. Both were dressed in drab shop-men’s wear of snuff-coloured broadcloth, and eyed each other combatively.

  ‘I have a letter from a Mr Delaval, countersigned by Lady Catherine de Bourgh,’ said Mr Foster.

  ‘I have a letter from her ladyship herself,’ said Mr Bolton.

  Pronkum came in carrying an immense black jewel case and a look of extreme disapproval. She was a tall, bony woman with dyed black hair, a long face, high cheekbones and a highly coloured complexion.

  ‘Well, well, Pronkum,’ said Lord Luke. ‘Can you explain this puzzle? To which of these establishments was Lady Catherine about to entrust her diamonds?’

  ‘She hadn’t yet decided,’ said Pronkum, throwing a sour look at the newcomers. ‘She said, “Pronkum, I leave it to you. If you don’t like the trim of either of them, you just keep a-cleaning the stones yourself, as you always have done, in lye made from soapy water, and brushing them with a brush of badger-hair. You judge these gentry for yourself, Pronkum,” says she, “and if you don’t favour ’em, send them off with a flea in their ear.”’

  ‘Oh!’ said Lord Luke, rather taken aback. ‘Well, as you’re here with the stones, let us take a look at ’em and hear what the fellers have to say. Frinton, why don’t you lay a baize cloth over the tea-table and stand close at hand?’

  Frinton did so, and Pronkum, showing considerable reluctance, drew a key from her reticule, unlocked the jewel case and then, with slow ceremony, laid out the jewels on the cloth: first the ear-bobs, then the brooches, then the tiara and finally the great three-strand necklace. Then, with even more reluctance, she stepped back from the table.

  Everybody in the room was irresistibly drawn to the glittering display.

  ‘Don’t touch!’ warned Pronkum sharply. ‘Hands off! Diamonds smear easy!’

  ‘Humph,’ said Lord Luke, peering short-sightedly. ‘Well, gentlemen, what do you say? What price are you empowered to charge Lady Catherine for polishing up these sparklers? If I know my sister, she would go for the lowest bid!’

  The two men drew near and cautiously inspected the gems. Then the man from Rundell’s said:

  ‘That’s a big job. All those facets need polishing. Can’t possibly be done here. I’d have to carry them back to town. And the price would be fifty pound. At the very least.’

  His companion looked at him with utter scorn.

  ‘Hark at him!’ he said. ‘The man’s a gyp. He’s a fleece. He’s a sham! If he believes what he says, he don’t know a diamond from a duck’s egg. For a start, it would cost twice that figure to clean them, maybe three times. But in any case those stones are fakes. They are imitation. Ask me, I’ve been fetched down here on a fool’s errand!’

  Pronkum turned as white as rice-paper and dropped the jewel case.

  VII

  Letter from Miss Maria Lucas to Mrs Jennings

  My dear madam,

  Mr Collins has not yet returned to Hunsford. We learn that the drains at Longbourn Manor are in a shocking condition, and the house cannot be let until they are put in better order. (Mr Bennet, it seems, was a sad heedless householder who permitted many parts of his estate to fall into a parlous condition of neglect – my sister has had many communications from her husband lamenting this state of affairs.) By great good fortune Lady Catherine is away from home at this time, otherwise I am very sure she would never have permitted her incumbent clergyman to absent himself for so long.

  As matters are, we go on very peacefully. At least in this household. But now, dear ma’am, I have to relate to you a dreadful fatality which lately took place in this neighbourhood.

  I told you in an earlier letter about the two painters who had been friends of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, and who for many years have occupied a house on the Rosings estate. And I also told you of the couple, Mr and Miss Delaval, who, due to a carriage accident, have been staying at Rosings House. Mr Delaval, who is most knowledgeable about improvements, and has a very persuasive manner, has been advising Lady Catherine on how best to perfect and develop her parkland and pleasure grounds, and she has been listening to him with a very willing ear. (The lime avenue is to go, I grieve to report, and the cherry orchard is to be grubbed up.) Mr Delaval’s most recent piece of horticultural and aesthetic counsel related to the cottage where the two painters have been living for the past twenty-odd years. He persuaded Lady C. that it was a sad eyesore and should be pulled
down, to make way for a grotto or a Grecian temple. She was most ready to comply with this advice, and gave the two friends one month’s notice to quit. (Neighbourhood gossip has it that the two men, Mr Mynges and Mr Finglow, had been great friends of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh and that Lady Catherine, who by all report was not on good terms with her husband, had disliked the two men on no better grounds than because they were favourites with Sir Lewis.) Lady C.’s edict was such a shock to the elder of the two men, Mr Finglow, who was already in a low state of health, that he suffered a severe seizure which rendered him blind; also, for two days, paralysed. Rousing from this latter condition he quitted the cottage, at a time when his friend was not at hand, tottered out of doors, and contrived to fall, or cast himself, into a great blazing bonfire composed of unwanted canvases, frames and articles of furniture, etc., which had been set burning not far distant from the house. From the shock and burns ensuing upon this accident, Mr Finglow soon succumbed after every possible measure to save him had been tried in vain, and his last rites were performed three days ago by the curate, Mr Lawson, attended by a very large concourse of people not only from the village and surrounding countryside, but also from town, for the two men were very popular. Lady Catherine and the Delavals did not attend the service, which may have been just as well, for I understand there is some local feeling against them. It is not greatly to be wondered at.

  Lady C. is now gone into the West Country to visit her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Anglesea, who resides on an island off the Cornish coast, and the Delavals remain at Rosings until Miss D.’s ankle is mended, which seems to be a mighty slow business. Poor Miss Anne de Bourgh has been greatly distressed by the tragedy; she grows thinner daily and looks as if she cried her eyes out every night. Col. FitzWilliam does not seem able to comfort her. And Lady Catherine’s brother, Lord Luke, though still resident at Rosings, is hardly to be seen (Mrs Jenkinson informs us), for he spends all the hours of daylight ensconced in the attics at Rosings, hunting for some document…