by Jann Rowland
“Oh, indeed,” chimed in her faithful servant, Mr. Collins. “You should learn from Lady Catherine, Miss Bingley. The soup at Rosings is always served at the height of its temperature and is always a veritable treasure to partake.”
“The soup is fine,” rejoined Miss Bingley, ignoring Mr. Collins’s contribution. “It is piping hot. Why, the steam rising from my bowl is enough to be seen clearly.”
Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes at Miss Bingley from the other end of the table, but she did not comment any further on the soup. But when the next dishes arrived, her comments only increased and became much more mean-spirited.
“There is not enough salt on this pheasant,” she would complain. “It is far too bland.” On another occasion, she attacked Miss Bingley’s menu. “Whoever heard of serving wine of this vintage with pheasant? You should have chosen better.” On another, she referenced Miss Bingley’s choice of dress. “That shade makes you appear positively sallow, Miss Bingley. Perhaps a nice rose would suit you better.”
Through all this criticism, Elizabeth learned one thing about Miss Bingley. She had always thought the woman’s greatest failings were her unreasonable pride and her overinflated sense of her importance in the world. In fact, it seemed Miss Bingley’s greatest failing was vanity, for she could not simply ignore Lady Catherine. Miss Bingley, Elizabeth thought, had maintained the hope that Mr. Darcy’s family would welcome her with open arms should she succeed in inducing him to propose, and this display of criticism infuriated her more and more as the dinner hour wore on. It prompted her to respond in kind to Lady Catherine’s attacks.
“In fact,” said Miss Bingley, when Lady Catherine mentioned the pheasant, “our cook is quite excellent in her knowledge of exactly the correct amount of seasoning. The pheasant is perfect.” She made some comment about how the vintage of wine served had been present at other meals like this, and her own nephew, Mr. Darcy, had approved it. Her meanest statement, however, came when the lady attacked her dress.
“Considering,” said she, “that some in attendance have dressed as if they are to enter a ballroom in London, I hardly think you possess the ability to cast stones.”
Elizabeth thought the whole argument was patently ridiculous, as both women were rather overdressed for an evening. Lady Catherine, however, huffed in infuriated affront. “I will have you know, Miss Bingley, that as a member of the first circles, I am always dressed appropriate to the situation.”
“As am I,” replied Miss Bingley.
The two women glared at each other.
“It seems we have another grasping social climber in our company.”
Lady Catherine’s glare raking over Elizabeth informed the entire company—if they could be in ignorance—of who the first was, in Lady Catherine’s opinion. Elizabeth, however, determined to ignore the woman, unwilling to be drawn into their argument.
“Let me be understood, Miss Bingley,” said Lady Catherine, turning the force of her glare back on Miss Bingley. “You will never succeed in your attempts to become the mistress of Pemberley. No, never. Not only is Darcy engaged to my daughter, but he also would never be so lost to all that is decent by actually offering for a woman whose father was a tradesman. You are nothing but an avaricious social climber, and I am ashamed of you.”
Miss Bingley’s jaw might have been chiseled from stone. A scathing reply appeared to be poised on the tip of her tongue, but Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was seated by her side as dictated by propriety, leaned toward her and spoke earnestly. Miss Bingley’s anger did not abate one iota, but she seemed to master it. She directed a withering glare again at Lady Catherine and then proceeded to ignore her.
For her part, Lady Catherine seemed to think she had scored a victory, for she nodded at Miss Bingley in a manner which was condescending and continued to speak. At least this time she made general observations about the entire company, most of which were laughable. In everything she said, of course, she was backed by her faithful lackey and parrot, Mr. Collins, who seemed to consider her higher than a deity. It was one of the silliest spectacles Elizabeth had ever seen.
It only became worse in the sitting-room after dinner, though Elizabeth knew she felt that way because Lady Catherine’s vitriol was directed back at her. She would never know how it had all occurred, but as Elizabeth was entering the room, she happened to be near Mr. Darcy, and he spoke to her in a soft voice:
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth, for refusing to rise to my aunt’s poor manners.”
“It was no trouble, sir,” replied Elizabeth. “I have no desire to draw her attention any more than necessary.”
That was, of course, exactly what happened, for Elizabeth was startled by the sound of the lady’s loud voice once again berating her. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” spat she. “What have I told you about continually trying to turn my nephew’s attention to you? Must you be censured and despised by all for this egregious behavior of yours?”
“On the contrary, Lady Catherine,” said Mr. Darcy, interjecting before Elizabeth could even find her wits, “it was I who spoke to Miss Elizabeth. She did nothing to try to draw my attention.”
“Allow me the greater knowledge of young women of Miss Elizabeth’s ilk,” said Lady Catherine, her tone all airy unconcern. “She is a lady of little quality and no consequence in the world, attempting to raise herself by any means possible. In that respect, she is much like Miss Bingley, though of moderately higher birth and significantly less fortune.”
It seemed that even such an insult was not enough to allow Miss Bingley to lose her superiority. She cast a sneer at Elizabeth, seeming to think she had gotten the better of the bargain. Elizabeth, who was by now, becoming incensed, ignored Miss Bingley altogether.
“Actually, Aunt,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “I consider Miss Elizabeth to be of exemplary quality and a high degree of intelligence and worth, beyond what those foolish of society who measure others only by their physical qualities.”
“Be silent, Fitzwilliam!” snapped Lady Catherine. “There is nothing of quality in such a mercenary woman as Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” Lady Catherine’s eyes raked over her form in disdain. “She is nothing. She never will be anything. I have seen her kind many times before.”
“Lady Catherine,” said Elizabeth in a voice which was nearly a snarl, “you are without a doubt the worst behaved, ill-tempered, unfeeling virago I have ever had the misfortune to meet.” Mr. Collins gasped, even as Lady Catherine’s face turned red with fury. “I think it best to be silent, lest you prove once and for all by your words that you are nothing more than a fool and a termagant!”
Lady Catherine screeched in offense, but Mr. Darcy reached her side, grasped her arm, and led her forcibly to a nearby sofa, where he sat close to her and spoke to her in words which were inaudible. But it was clear he was instructing her to behave in a manner which left no room for disobedience. Lady Catherine appeared as if she was not enjoying the experience of being berated by her nephew, but she was mercifully silent for a time.
“Cousin Elizabeth!” whined Mr. Collins, the other player in the drama who had yet to be silenced. “You will not disrespect Lady Catherine in such a manner! She is everything good and genteel and wise, and she is destined to be your future patroness!”
“I doubt she will ever be anything to me but a haughty, meddling crone with an opinion of her own nobility which is far from reality.” Mr. Collins’s eyes bulged at her, but Elizabeth turned away. “I have nothing further to say to you, sir. If you have any notions of pursuing me, I suggest you reconsider, for I will never have you.”
After these altercations, the party was subdued for the rest of the evening. Lady Catherine could not be silenced forever, but when she began to pontificate in tones too loud or to speak to either Elizabeth or Miss Bingley, a frown from Mr. Darcy would silence her. She would scowl at him, but she did not push him. Mr. Collins watched Elizabeth, seemingly attempting to determine if she had been serious in her words
to him. The Bingley sisters sat whispering, Bingley and Jane were inseparable, Mr. Bennet sat and laughed at everything he was seeing, and Kitty and Lydia giggled between themselves.
It was a relief, therefore, when the hour finally arrived that Elizabeth felt she could excuse herself for the evening. The Bennet sisters all departed at the same time, though not without some reluctance on Jane’s part. It seemed the rest of the company was soon to break up as well, and Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed eager to be away from Lady Catherine’s toxic presence.
“You surely are in hot water,” exclaimed Lydia. Though Elizabeth might not have been able to credit it, her youngest sister actually waited until they were well away from the sitting-room before her outburst. Elizabeth might have expected her to do it at a time when it could cause especial mortification.
“I cannot see how I am,” replied Elizabeth, her tone studied nonchalance. “When the weather improves, Lady Catherine shall leave, and I shall never be in her company again. I care little what she says now.”
Kitty and Lydia exchanged a glance and began to laugh again. “You know,” said Lydia, “I think she is worrying for a good reason. It seems to me that Mr. Darcy has been paying much more attention to you of late.”
Elizabeth turned and glared at her sister. “Do not say such things, Lydia. Do you wish Lady Catherine to overhear and become even more unendurable?”
Lydia only snorted. “She cannot overhear. And even if she should, there is nothing she can do.”
“That is true. But I still do not wish to endure her continual harping on the subject. And Mr. Darcy does not have any interest in me. There is no reason to anger her when I am no threat to her daughter.”
“If you will excuse me, Lizzy, I think you are protesting too much. It is clear to me that Mr. Darcy pays much more attention to you than you will confess. He is a handsome man, even if he is the most disagreeable man I have ever met.”
With that, Lydia went to the door to her room and let herself in. Elizabeth’s other sisters directed wry smiles at her, and then they, too, were gone. Elizabeth was left with entering her chambers and readying herself for bed. And she did wonder if she was denying the attraction which had suddenly appeared between herself and Mr. Darcy. And had Lady Catherine not been present, she wondered if she would be so eager to keep herself from the gentleman.
Chapter X
What relief the company at Netherfield could find was often found in the dead of night when they were all safely ensconced in their beds. Elizabeth was not the only member relieved at the ability to retreat from everyone else and regain a little of her composure. It was the third night of the Bennets’ enforced stay at Mr. Bingley’s leased home. While the company slept on, the snow, which had continued unabated for almost two days, had lessened and finally stopped, though there were still periods in which it fell, further complicating any thought of retreating from the estate.
But while most of the house slept, there was one who moved through the house on silent feet, moving carefully to avoid disturbing any of the residents who slept in their rooms. A sound disturbed the silence, the cry of an owl taking advantage of a break in the weather to search for its next meal. Heart pounding at the noise, the figure stopped, listening for anything more, but when it became aware of what had caused it, the figure continued to walk, its gait a determined step.
When it, at last, arrived at the correct door, the figure paused long enough to listen closely for any signs of movement. When there were none, it let itself into the room, taking care not to allow any screeching of the metal hinges. It then left the door open for a quick escape.
The room was dark, with only a hint of light filtering through the drawn curtains. The angle of what little light there was did not reach the bed situated in the center of one wall, instead spilling out over the floor in front of it.
On ghosted footsteps, the figure approached the bed and, upon spying the person within had knocked a pillow askew, and that it was lying halfway in their face, stepped forward with chilling intent. Grasping the pillow, the figure brought it fully down over the head, holding it there with gentle pressure. A few moments later, the person in the bed began to suffer from lack of air and began to clutch at the pillow.
Throwing all caution to the wind, the figure pressed down with every hint of strength it possessed. The sleeping person awoke and began struggling in earnest. But the figure held on grimly. After a few moments, the struggling weakened and then ceased. And with a smile of satisfaction, the figure hurried back toward the still open door and moved through, closing it firmly behind.
The morning after informing Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Wickham’s sins, Darcy awoke feeling better than he had in many weeks. There was something about receiving the absolution of a good woman, though he supposed Miss Elizabeth herself would not consider it that way, which eased his guilt, washed away his lingering malaise. Georgiana was still on the mend, but Darcy finally felt her ultimate recovery was finally possible.
With an absence of mind, which in reality was nothing more than continuing thoughts of Miss Elizabeth, Darcy rose and, with the assistance of Snell, his valet, dressed and made his way to the dining room. It was entirely fortunate, in his opinion, that he met Miss Elizabeth in the hallway outside her room.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said he, bowing, the gesture more a measure of respect at that moment than the social custom it was. “I hope you slept well.”
“Adequately, Mr. Darcy,” was her response, though she looked at him as if on the verge of some witticism. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you are an early riser. Unless, of course, something particular has drawn you from your room this morning.”
“No, you should not be surprised,” said Darcy, feeling the effect of a grin stretching his face. “When I was younger, perhaps I was in the habit of sleeping later, but that has not been the case for many years. May I escort you to breakfast?”
“Of course, sir,” said Miss Elizabeth, grasping his extended arm.
They made light conversation on their way to the dining room, speaking of matters of inconsequence. But her thoughts were quick and her responses equally so, and Darcy could not help but notice that the sparkle of enjoyment was in her eyes. A sense of pleased satisfaction entered his breast at the thought that he was responsible for putting it there.
They found they were among the first to arrive in the breakfast room; only Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bennet had arrived before they did. As Darcy entered with Miss Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam watched him with an expressive sort of glance, but one which suggested they would be speaking later. Darcy was not eager to relinquish the company of this exquisite creature, but he knew Fitzwilliam’s motives—Aunt Catherine would be unbearable, should she descend and discover them in this attitude. Mr. Bennet only greeted them, a glance passing between father and daughter, the meaning of which Darcy could not fathom.
Inquiring after her preferences, Darcy offered to fix her a plate from the sideboard, which she accepted. Then they sat and began to partake of their meal. It was a companionable time between the diners, much more so than any Darcy had experienced since his arrival at Netherfield. The only other resident who disturbed them as they ate was Miss Bennet, and as she was well mannered and kind, it was no trouble to share the table with her. At least the most divisive members of the party were not present.
After breakfast, the diners decided to wait in the sitting-room for a time, and Darcy was only too eager to accompany Miss Elizabeth once again. He thought to offer her his arm, but Fitzwilliam caught his eye and motioned for him to stay, and Darcy reluctantly agreed. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth went together with their father following behind.
“What do you think you are doing, Darcy?” demanded Fitzwilliam. “Do you wish for Miss Elizabeth to become even more of a target of Lady Catherine’s spleen than she already is?”
“No, Fitzwilliam,” replied Darcy. “But I . . .”
Fitzwilliam broke out int
o laughter. “I believe I see now. The great and stoic Fitzwilliam Darcy has been caught by a woman, and a country miss at that!”
Not knowing what to say, for he suspected it was nothing but the truth, he settled for glaring at his chortling cousin. Fitzwilliam, who had never been intimidated by Darcy’s displeasure, continued to chuckle and shake his head.
“If that is all she was, I would continue to tease you,” said he. “But she strikes me as an intelligent, worthy sort of woman, the kind who would do you good. As such, I will offer my services, Darcy. Go and pay court to your young woman. I will alert you should the dragon lady approach.”
“Thank you, Cousin,” said Darcy, eschewing his usual reproof at Fitzwilliam’s characterization of their aunt.
“One thing, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam as Darcy turned to leave the room. “Make utterly sure she is a worthy woman. She seems to have courage aplenty, but you know she will need it all in society if you pursue this to its natural conclusion.”
There was truly no need to remind his cousin that he was not even courting the woman, let alone engaged to her. He knew it would only increase Fitzwilliam’s teasing. Choosing the easiest option of simply nodding, Darcy let himself from the room. Outside the sitting-room, however, he found Mr. Bennet loitering, and knew he was about to receive another well-meaning caution.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet, “It seems to me you have become much friendlier with my Lizzy in the past two days.”
“I have had an opportunity to come to know her better than I did before,” replied Darcy. “I assure you, Mr. Bennet, that I do not possess any dishonorable intentions.”
“I never suspected you of any such. But you are aware of your aunt’s character, and as Lizzy has already been a focus for her displeasure, I do not wish for you to further excite her anger.”
