by Jennifer Joy
Turning right at the top of the stairs, they passed several doors before they arrived at Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. Elizabeth was relieved to see that her walls were papered with a modest floral pattern.
Mrs. Jenkinson welcomed them as she rubbed a liniment onto her knuckled hands, massaging it into her fingers and joints. Her room smelled of camphor, but the draft coming through the windows promised to chase the harsh odor away.
“How delighted I am to see you young people here. Her ladyship enjoys music, and it will please her to know that you have come to improve your skills on the instrument. Do you plan to play tonight?” the lady, who looked to be the same age as Lady Catherine, asked.
Maria smiled nervously. “I will not refuse if I am asked, but I dare not presume.”
Mrs. Jenkinson’s eyes crinkled up, and her cheeks dimpled. “Perhaps I shall presume for you then. I will suggest it to her ladyship before we dine. We cannot have you practice in vain. Now, I must attend to Miss Anne. Please, make yourselves comfortable. If you need anything, the maid will attend to it.”
She closed the door lightly behind her, and Elizabeth and Maria turned to face each other.
“She is kinder than I imagined her to be. I was a bit nervous coming here. I did not want her to think we wanted to impose,” said Maria.
Elizabeth’s impression being similar to Maria’s, she easily agreed. “It is a pity she must attend to Miss de Bourgh to the exclusion of conversation with her patroness’ guests. It must be difficult to take her dinner in her room when her mistress falls ill just to keep her company.”
Maria crossed the room to the pianoforte. “If I were a lady’s companion, I would want it to be for someone closer to my age, someone who travels extensively and has grand parties.”
“That would be a glamorous life and hardly Mrs. Jenkinson’s experience. I doubt she travels much.” Elizabeth sat next to Maria on the bench, so that she might turn the pages for her as she played.
Following along with the notes, Elizabeth thought of the life of a lady’s companion. If she were not so fortunate as to find her match, she would have to find employment. She refused to be a burden on her parents or fall under the protection of Mr. Collins should Father pass. Shivering, her hand trembled as she turned the page. Maria played on, not noticing. How frustrating that Mr. Darcy’s character prevented her from accepting his offer. She shivered again as she remembered his atrocious proposal and his ungentlemanly disregard for social niceties.
As marriage seemed to be an increasingly less likely event, she focused on employment. Of all the ways a lady could earn a living— of which there were too few— Elizabeth thought that a lady’s companion would serve her the best. Of course, it all depended on the lady. Oh, if only she could be content like Charlotte. She would marry Mr. Darcy without hesitation. He was pleasant to look at. Her aunt Gardiner, who grew up near his estate in Pemberley, spoke well of the family in general. Of him, Aunt Gardiner knew little. She had also described the estate, which was so grand as to be toured by visitors to Derbyshire. If it was half as grandiose as Rosings, it would be impressive indeed. Her every need would be provided for, and her family would benefit from the improved connection,… but her spirit would shrivel up and die if she denied her belief in a true love.
The music stopped abruptly, and Elizabeth looked up to see Mrs. Jenkinson standing in the doorway which connected her room with Miss de Bourgh’s.
“Oh! I am sorry to interrupt. You were playing so well. Miss Anne asked if she might enjoy your company for a few minutes before you resume playing.” Mrs. Jenkinson looked at her and Maria expectantly. As if they would refuse.
“Of course, Mrs. Jenkinson. We would love to spend some time with Miss de Bourgh,” said Elizabeth when Maria said nothing.
On the other side of Miss de Bourgh’s room was her sitting room. She sat in a window seat covered with more cushions than the entire parsonage contained.
“How good of you to come. My doctor is to arrive shortly, and your conversation will be a welcome distraction,” said Miss de Bourgh as she indicated a tray of bottles near her. Elizabeth could not imagine having to take so much medicine. The thought of the revolting tonics contained in the dark bottles— What medicine ever tasted good?— churned her stomach.
The lady’s maid opened the door between Miss de Bourgh’s bedchamber and the sitting room and proceeded to look on every table and surface visible, as well as behind the cushions on the unoccupied couch.
“What is the matter, Hortense?” asked Miss de Bourgh as the ladies sat in the chairs before her.
In a lovely French accent, Hortense said, “I apologize, miss, but I cannot find your earrings. You will want them for the dinner this evening.”
Miss de Bourgh leaned back against her cushions with a sigh. “I must have mislaid them again. Whatever would I do without you, Hortense? Those earrings have been in the family for many generations, and I despair to be the one to lose them.”
Elizabeth and Maria looked about them. Elizabeth could not imagine being so careless with something so valuable. She had a set of paste earrings she guarded like the treasure they were to her.
Maria leaned forward to the foot of the window seat where a novel lay with its pages open. “Are these what you are looking for?” she asked, scooping them into her hand and holding them out to Miss de Bourgh.
“You have found them! How thoughtless of me. I frequently take off my earrings when I get a headache, and I must have been so engrossed in the story, I did not remember having done so. Please, Hortense, will you put them away for me?”
Elizabeth had not expected Miss de Bourgh to speak politely to her maid. It was refreshing and distinctly different from Lady Catherine’s terse orders.
Hortense crossed the room and put the small diamond earrings into a jewelry case they could just see through the bedchamber door. How much fun it would be to have enough precious jewels to merit a case to put them in. It was probably lined with velvet or satin to keep them sparkling.
Returning her attention to the book the earrings were found on, Elizabeth read the title of book. Camilla by Frances Burney.
“Are you enjoying the novel? I have read Cecilia by the same author, but I have not had occasion to read this one,” she nodded her head toward the book.
“Oh, it is every bit as good as her previous works. I adore her satire and wit. When I am done, shall I send it to the parsonage for you to read? I am a slow reader, as Mother insists I dedicate myself to books of a more instructive nature, but I will get it to you as soon as I can.”
Elizabeth’s opinion of Miss de Bourgh brightened by the minute. “I would love nothing more. Books feed the soul, do they not?” If only her life were more like a novel where the perfect, romantic hero would sweep her off her feet.
Miss de Bourgh smiled through her melancholy eyes. “For me, they are an escape. I pretend that I am the heroine of the story, and soon I can forget my own troubles.”
Mrs. Jenkinson, who had been readying the table for the doctor’s impending visit went to answer the knock at the door. An elderly gentleman with long, white whiskers stood there with a grave expression and a dark suit. He looked like he had come to a wake instead of a healing treatment.
“Miss Anne, might I see the ladies back to my room so that the doctor may proceed. Maybe their music will alleviate your discomfort?” Mrs. Jenkinson looked toward Elizabeth, who answered her unspoken plea with a smile.
They left the sitting room to the warnings of the doctor advising against company who would only agitate Miss de Bourgh’s delicate state.
Chapter 6
“Lizzy, will you play?” asked Maria, apparently having completed her exercises on the instrument before their visit to Miss de Bourgh’s room.
“I suppose I should. We came here with the purpose of practicing, and I am not above the need to improve. But let us search for a livelier tune, something to bring joy to our hearts and cheer Miss de Bourgh.”
She loo
ked through the sheets of music until she saw one with fewer long notes and flat keys. After a few stanzas, she decided the tempo needed to be increased. So, she played the rest in her own manner. A music teacher would not have approved, but the tune sounded merrier. Maria hurried to turn the pages in time. With a flurry at the grand finale, Elizabeth rested her hands on the smooth ivory keys.
“Oh, do play that again!” begged Maria.
Happy to oblige, Elizabeth tore into the piece again, increasingly confident in the notes and placing of her fingers.
Darcy paused at the top of the stairs. Someone played the pianoforte. The sound made him miss his little sister, Georgiana. She was an accomplished musician, and she played beautifully. Had it not been for Richard, he would be half-way to Pemberley by now. Why had he insisted they stay in Kent? What was Richard about?
Following the melody, he soon found himself standing in front of Mrs. Jenkinson’s door. Looks up and down the hallway confirmed that no one was there, so Darcy leaned against the opposite wall and let himself listen to her play. It could be none other than Miss Elizabeth. He recognized the tune as one that was written to be played slower, but in her jovial nature, she had turned it into a lively tune. He rather liked the change, and he respected her ability not to conform to the restrictions inscribed on the written page.
The song ended, and Darcy prepared to leave when she started in again. It was the same song, but improved by her confidence in having played it before. He stood enchanted, closing his eyes so that he could imagine her sitting in the music room at Pemberley. Georgiana would be seated next to her, and Elizabeth would encourage her to play something other than the melancholy dirges she had taken to since her disastrous stay at Ramsgate. Georgiana would play a song fit for dancing. He would happen by the door. Seeing his wife smiling by his sister, he would swoop her up into his arms and twirl her about the room. Georgiana would laugh and so would Elizabeth. He would do anything to earn her smile.
“Mr. Darcy?” she asked, so close he could wrap his arms around her for another spin about the room. Oh, why did she not call him William?
“Mr. Darcy?” she repeated, her voice cutting through his reverie.
Startled, he opened his eyes to see the very same woman who frequented his sleepless dreams.
“Miss Bennet,—” He bolted into a straight posture. “—you play well.” He shuffled uncomfortably in place as he sought for the words to explain his presence. “I… I do hope you will honor us with a performance this evening after dinner.”
Clutching at Miss Lucas’ arm, she tugged her forward to stand beside her. “I thank you, sir. While I appreciate the invitation, I surrender all requests of hearing my mediocre attempts at musical entertainment to my friend, Miss Lucas. She plays much better than I do and has been practicing a great deal.”
Had she understood his compliment to be sarcastic? He searched her face but she avoided him.
With a bow to Miss Lucas, he said, “I look forward to hearing your performance.”
Miss Lucas blushed. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
Squeezing Miss Lucas’ arm, Miss Elizabeth suggested they depart.
“I will see you out as I am going downstairs as well.” He motioned for them to precede him, the hallway not comfortably wide enough for them to walk side-by-side lest he trip on the multiple furnishings with which his aunt cluttered her house.
Miss Elizabeth furrowed her brow before her normal pleasant expression returned. She must feel as awkward to see him as he did seeing her. Awkward and insecure— emotions he was unaccustomed to experience and ill-prepared to conquer.
Halfway down the stairs, they met Richard. Ugly, green jealousy consumed Darcy as Miss Elizabeth smiled sweetly at his cousin in a manner she never had toward him. His kingdom for a smile!
Polite words were exchanged, but Miss Elizabeth’s desire to depart from his presence was more powerful than her desire to converse with Richard. He saw the ladies to the door and watched through the window pane as his anguish increased with each step she took away from him.
There were no stars to light their way as they walked to Rosings. Even the moon hid behind black clouds. Elizabeth had made the trip more times than she had wished to since her arrival, but she still stepped lightly. Grass stains would not suit her cream colored dress. Her pale green slippers were more forgiving, but she prayed that the inky sky would not bring rain.
Mr. Collins marched a few paces ahead of them, every so often stopping to encourage them on with a wave. “Come, come. We must not keep her ladyship waiting.”
The entrance hall, which had been bright during the day, was lit by an abundance of candles. It looked more like a cathedral’s prayer altar than a home. Servants rushed up and down the stairs, fear overtaking their normally expressionless faces. Elizabeth’s skin prickled with anxiety. She said a silent prayer as they entered Lady Catherine’s drawing room. Something felt dreadfully wrong.
Though the artwork dated the space, with the extravagant baroque murals painted on each surrounding surface, every time Elizabeth entered the room she could not help but hold her breath at the exorbitance of it. Thick rugs covered the floors and hushed their steps. The room seemed more fit for the mythical gods which adorned the walls and ceiling of the entrance hall than for mere mortals.
She sensed Mr. Darcy before she saw him. She felt his look. No doubt, he searched for something to criticize, so that he could add it to his long list of objections against her and her family. She was happy she wore her best dress and Maria had taken special care when arranging her hair. She would not make it easy for him to find fault with her.
Lady Catherine’s voice bit into her appraisal of the room and Mr. Darcy’s intentions. “You arrived later than I expected.”
Mr. Collins stood in the center of a yellow circle of gold in the rug before the great lady in the bowing stance he adopted whilst in her company. “I do apologize, your ladyship. The night is particularly dark.”
Tilting her head so she managed to look down her nose at Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine said, “You should have requested the use of my coach. I always put it at your disposal for your return home, and it would have been no bother to me to send it to bring you here in a more timely fashion.”
Elizabeth looked at the clock ticking against the near wall. They had arrived a quarter of an hour early. Not even Miss de Bourgh had descended to the drawing room as yet, though both of Lady Catherine’s nephews were present. She felt Mr. Darcy’s eyes linger on her, and she tried her best to calm the heat in her cheeks.
Gently raising her bejeweled hand to press on her temple, Lady Catherine added, “This afternoon has been most perturbing.” She glared at Mr. Darcy.
The butler entered the room. His jaw was clenched and sweat beaded on his upper lip, betraying his agitated state through his cool facade. He crossed the room and spoke quietly to Lady Catherine. Elizabeth strained her ears to listen, but she could not even distinguish one word. She looked at Charlotte, who shrugged her shoulders.
Lady Catherine soon appeased everyone’s curiosity. At her violent reaction, both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy stood from their chairs to stand on either side of her stout throne. Her face turned a startling shade of scarlet and her breath came out in puffs and gasps. Mr. Collins rushed to her assistance, tripping over his own feet. He would have landed in her lap had it not been for Mr. Darcy and the butler. They caught him by the arms and helped him to his feet.
The butler stood in front of her, awaiting instructions. Concerned expressions over Lady Catherine’s health were uttered by all. Elizabeth hoped she would not suffer an apoplexy. She did not particularly care for the lady, but she did not want her to come to harm.
Smelling salts were procured, and Lady Catherine came to with her irritation of them being presented. She smacked away the well-meaning hand. “I am not a weakling that I require smelling salts! Get that horrid smell away from me, and tell Anne to join us immediately.”
The butler e
scaped the room to see to his task.
Lady Catherine looked about the room, her eyes settling on Maria and Elizabeth. “You were here this afternoon, were you not?” she asked in such a way to make it sound like an accusation.
Maria cowed in her seat, so Elizabeth spoke. “We practiced the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room, your ladyship.” For good measure, she added, “Just as you had invited us to do.”
“Humph. Were you only in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room or did you look in other rooms of the house?”
Her spine stiffening at her denunciatory tone, Elizabeth answered, “Miss de Bourgh invited us to sit with her in her sitting room until the doctor arrived.”
Lady Catherine’s eyebrow twitched and the side of her mouth jerked up into a snarl. “I see. So, you did not confine yourself to Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. Interesting.” She tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair. “Very interesting indeed.”
Elizabeth did not mean to, but her eyes searched the others for answers— even Mr. Darcy. What was happening? Why did she feel she was being blamed for something? Their puzzled expressions revealed that they knew no more than she did.
Lady Catherine raised her chin, and looked over each new arrival with a scrutinizing glare. “There is a thief in our midst,” she said dramatically. “Someone has stolen Anne’s favorite diamond earrings.”
Between her and Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth felt like she might catch on fire. When Lady Catherine stared at her, she returned the look. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She was not a thief.
