Elizabeth clutching at the doorpost for support as she listened, while her heart beat so rapidly as to suffocate her, had found herself unable to move from the spot. At length, horrified by what she heard, she forced herself to step forward into the room. There, in a corner, seated at an ancient spinet, was Georgiana, while Acworth, his arms folded upon the lid of the instrument, leaned eagerly towards her.
“Georgiana,” she articulated faintly. At the sound of her voice Acworth raised himself and turned swiftly round, and Georgiana rose from her seat and came towards her. Elizabeth saw them looking at her aghast, as if she had been a visitant from another world. She felt very ill, but she held herself upright by a supreme effort and spoke again, though in a voice not much above a whisper.
“We have been looking for you everywhere. Your brother—it is time to go home.”
She felt herself swaying. Acworth stretched forth an arm, Georgiana hurried to her side. The same moment footsteps were heard on the stairs and Darcy and Mortimer entered one after the other. The relief of seeing her husband was so great that it overpowered her senses and she knew no more.
When she came to herself she was lying on a sofa in a room downstairs, and Mrs. Gardiner and her husband were beside her. Rain could be heard falling heavily on the flagstones outside and the air was become perceptibly cooler. As she opened her eyes and gazed about her, Mrs. Gardiner spoke a word of encouragement, and Darcy bent down and placed a glass of cordial to her lips. A few sips of it did her instant good; she sat up and asked whether the carriage had come. She was eager to be at home, but Darcy said that it was still raining too hard for a start to be made, and that in any case she ought to rest a little longer. She therefore resigned herself to wait with what patience she could. As she lay back with her eyes closed, the conversation she had heard in the attic returned to memory, but so confused was her mind that she began to wonder if she had not imagined the half of it. But for Mrs. Gardiner being there she would have begun speaking to her husband about it; as it was she could only remain silent.
She was already looking better, and Darcy, knowing Mr. Bennet to be in a state of anxiety about his daughter, went into the hall to tell him of her improvement. Mortimer, Kitty and Bingley stood in a knot talking together; Wakeford, his back turned to the rest, was studying a framed map of Derbyshire which hung upon the wall, while Georgiana, as far as possible removed from everyone else, gazed upon the floor with grave and conscience-stricken mien. Mr. Bennet happened to be standing close to the door from which his son-in-law had issued and looked up at him with an expression of concern which changed to one of relief as soon as Darcy had spoken.
Almost before Darcy had finished his account of Elizabeth, Acworth came up and began a rapid apology for having kept everyone waiting.
“It was my fault entirely,” said he. “Miss Darcy and I, having unaccountably lost the others, in search of them, looked into an attic and saw the spinet. To our amazement the instrument had not so much suffered that it could not be played upon, and I persuaded Miss Darcy to try it. In this way time passed without our knowing. I would not for the world have occasioned so much alarm to Mrs. Darcy—to yourself—as I appear to have done.”
Darcy beheld his agitation, his feverish, imploring gaze with an unmoved countenance. “It was unfortunate,” he said very quietly, and turned away.
Acworth made a movement after him to regain his attention, but thinking better of it resumed his former position against the wall.
At the end of half an hour the rain ceased and the journey back to Pemberley could be begun. It was accomplished by the ladies in silence. Neither Elizabeth nor Georgiana had any desire to talk; Mrs. Gardiner respected their evident wish to be let alone, and Kitty, though longing to indulge her excited feelings in chatter, had to bottle them up very much against the grain.
How grateful to Elizabeth’s eyes was the first glimpse of her own house. But alas, the trials of this ill-starred day were by no means over. No sooner had she descended from the carriage than she was met by Jane, who hurried towards her with a look so harassed that it was immediately apparent to every eye that something dreadful had happened.
The news was soon told. Two hours previously Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter had arrived all unexpectedly. Lady Catherine, as might be supposed, was extremely indignant at finding no one at home to receive her but a mere Mrs. Bingley, and although Jane made every endeavour to appease her, the lady continued very angry and would accept no excuses whatever. She asserted that she had always intended to come to Pemberley on this day—the eighth of June—and that any mistake on her part was inconceivable. Never had she been treated so scandalously. She knew, however, whom she had to thank for this mark of incivility.
“She would take no refreshment,” said Jane, “and demanded that she and her daughter be conducted to the apartments they were to occupy. Reynolds attended them there and perhaps has been able to soothe her ladyship’s wounded feelings. Such apparent neglect must have been so very vexatious to her notions of what is due to her, that I cannot wonder at her speaking as she did.”
The brunt of Lady Catherine’s wrath had fallen upon poor Jane’s meek and unoffending head. But so far from resenting all the injustice of it, the angelic creature was able to rejoice that her beloved Lizzy had escaped the flagellation, which she herself had endured.
Chapter 14
Unequal as she felt to meeting Darcy’s formidable aunt, Elizabeth summoned all her courage to sustain the encounter. Her husband, seeing that she was still far from well, would have had her keep her room for the remainder of the day, but although nothing would have pleased her better had there been no Lady Catherine in question, she pretended to have so far recovered as to be able to perform the duties of a hostess without too much fatigue.
“It would never do if I failed to appear downstairs the first evening of their arrival,” she said. “Do consider what a handle it would give Lady Catherine. I should never be able to hold my own with her again. She would think I was frightened of her.”
Darcy would hardly admit her argument, but he saw that it was perhaps better to give way to her than to enforce his authority. She was in a state of nerves when no peace of mind was possible until the meeting with Lady Catherine was over. He yielded, therefore, with the understanding that she was not to exert herself any more than was absolutely necessary, and particularly not to talk too much.
“Nothing that you can say or do will please Lady Catherine half so much as the sound of her own voice,” said he. “Let her talk as much as she chooses and she will soon forgive and forget any fancied slight.”
“I shall not have the smallest objection,” she replied, “so long as I am not obliged to listen to every word. I do not talk for my own pleasure, but for that of others.”
Darcy smiled. “Very well,” said he, “that is understood. Now, if you are determined on going downstairs we had better go.”
“A touch of rouge is sometimes of assistance,” said Elizabeth, looking at herself in the mirror. “What do you think?”
“Certainly not,” said Darcy taking her hand and leading her to the door. “You know I do not approve of it, and besides I prefer on this occasion to have you looking pale and languid and all eyes, so say no more, but come.”
They descended to the saloon. Mrs. Gardiner, Bingley and Jane were there before them, and soon they were joined by Mr. Bennet and the two girls. Major Wakeford and Mr. Acworth entered last, and it was noticeable that each avoided the group in the centre of the room and went apart, though to different stations.
Dinner was ready to be served, but Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh still delayed their appearance. The knowledge and sense of Lady Catherine’s displeasure affected everyone’s spirits, and showed alike in Bingley’s forced laughter and talkativeness and in the determined cheerfulness of Mrs. Gardiner. Georgiana, pale and silent, sat beside Elizabeth with her eyes fixed on th
e door. Mr. Bennet, who in general never showed what he might feel, kept looking uneasily at Elizabeth. Only Kitty, thinking of Mortimer and all the tender meaning conveyed in his whispered adieu, was without any care at all.
The period of waiting was at length terminated by the entrance of Lady Catherine and her daughter. Darcy and Elizabeth immediately advanced towards her; the ladies exchanged curtsies, and the gentleman kissed first his aunt’s and then his cousin’s hand with grave ceremony. The presentation of followed. When Lady Catherine had suffered everyone present to be made known to her she turned her back on them and engaged Darcy in conversation. Elizabeth meanwhile spoke to Anne de Bourgh. The first endeavour of the Darcys was to clear up the misunderstanding that had so unfortunately arisen. Anne de Bourgh was civil enough to present at least an appearance of accepting Elizabeth’s explanation, but her mother was not so easily mollified.
“You ought to know, Darcy,” said she, “that I never make a mistake of the sort you are trying to impute to me. I am the very soul of method, and every engagement I make is clearly and accurately noted down for daily reference. With all the calls on my time where should I be if I did not? I am always telling your wife’s friend, Mrs. Collins, that she is not nearly particular enough in such matters.” The last sentence was said in so loud a tone as to reach all ears and cause Elizabeth to flush with annoyance.
Her nephew was spared the necessity of a reply by the appearance at that moment of Master Richard Darcy in his nurse’s arms. This was a diversion Darcy himself had planned with reasonable hope of success. Taking the child from the nurse he brought him to Lady Catherine with justifiable pride in his son’s size and beauty. Richard, a little shy at the sight of so many people gazing at him, made a lovely picture of cherubic gravity. That Lady Catherine was already melting was highly apparent. She began to smile widely, exhibiting a still excellent set of teeth. Darcy, watching the effect of Richard’s charms upon the lady, was unfortunately not prepared for the effect of her display of good humour upon the little boy, nor did he become aware that anything was amiss until, looking aside at his wife, he saw upon her countenance an expression of alarm. Lady Catherine advanced her smiling visage and was about to kiss Richard upon the cheek when a shriek burst from him. Burying his face against his father’s head he began to cry aloud, and when Darcy tried persuasion on him, and Lady Catherine, not yet offended, seconded his efforts by exhorting dear Richard to be a good little boy and look up, screams and wails issued from him which, though intelligible to nobody else, were audible to his parents and his grandfather, as “Go—away, naughty woof. Go—away.”
Remonstrance as well as cajolery proving useless, Darcy delivered his son back to his nurse, who, as fully ashamed of her charge as his nearest relatives could be, bore him back to the nursery. The spectators of the scene began smiling in an embarrassed manner and finding excuses for Richard’s deplorable behaviour. The storm had probably upset the poor little boy, it was his bed time, and he was doubtless tired and fractious. Mr. Bennet alone had thoroughly enjoyed the incident, for he was in the secret of Richard’s affright at the sight of Lady Catherine. The lady, in fact, with her large and prominent teeth, bore no small resemblance to the picture in Richard’s story book of the wolf pretending to be Red Ridinghood’s grandmother, which Richard demanded to have explained to him every time his grandfather visited him in the nursery.
After this inauspicious prelude, dinner passed off better than could have been hoped. Lady Catherine sat beside Darcy and addressed herself to him in a loud and authoritative tone on subjects of a family or domestic nature which could have no interest whatever for anyone who was not privileged to be one of her intimates. The effect of her discourse upon those who had never before experienced her style was to keep them utterly silent. They had to listen whether they would or not. Anne de Bourgh was on Elizabeth’s right hand, and answered only in monosyllables to the polite enquiries of her hostess, in that way speedily exhausting every subject that could be brought forward. Soon Lady Catherine had all ears to herself.
She made it known that she had just come from the residence in Warwickshire of some very old friends—Sir John and Lady Beaumont—and was full of praise of everything seen there. The house, of noble dimensions, equal to Rosings and perhaps even larger, had recently been re-furnished throughout in the most modern style and in well-nigh ducal splendour. The park was ornamented with the most magnificent trees, the pleasure gardens laid out with the utmost taste, and replete with the greatest variety of shrubs and plants ever assembled in one place. But the peculiar glory of Bardesley Park was a noble avenue of beech trees stretching from the front of the house for at least a mile, at the centre of which Sir John Beaumont had erected a pagoda. So high was this pagoda that it rose even above the trees and could be seen from all quarters for many miles around.
“You must build a pagoda here at Pemberley,” said she. “I know the very spot for it. Rising from beside the stream it would make a most striking addition to the surroundings. Your mother, Lady Anne Darcy, would have been delighted with a pagoda in the grounds.”
“My father’s aim was always to preserve the natural beauty of the park,” replied Darcy. “It was once suggested to him that he should build a Gothic ruin, but he scouted the idea.”
“So would I,” said Elizabeth. “I could not endure the sight of a new Gothic ruin among our trees.”
“I will not say that I care for ruins myself unless they are prodigiously well done,” Lady Catherine graciously conceded. “But a pagoda! Darcy, you must build one, I insist.”
Darcy merely bowed, but Elizabeth, hot with indignation, would have made a rejoinder had not her father, who was sitting on the other side of her, said in her ear, “Never mind, Lizzy. Let them build an avenue of pagodas a mile long, each pair higher than the last.”
She had to smile, but looked aside directly to see whether Miss de Bourgh had overheard. Either she had not or had not understood. Elizabeth had long since come to the conclusion that Anne de Bourgh was not so much proud and disagreeable as stupid. But she was wont to reflect that thirty years of such a mother would reduce any daughter either to idiocy or revolt.
When the ladies quitted the dining-room for the saloon, Elizabeth braced herself anew for one of her ladyship’s characteristic onslaughts. But she had reckoned without her elder sister’s unexampled thoughtfulness and unselfishness. In some manner altogether unlike Jane, whose delicacy was proverbial in the family, she managed to attract Lady Catherine’s attention entirely to herself. Pleased with the deference she was receiving, and deciding at once that Mrs. Bingley was after all a genteel, pretty sort of woman, vastly superior to either of her sisters, Lady Catherine began subjecting her to one of her famous catechisms. Jane was required to state how long she had been married, the name and extent of her husband’s estate, what portion she had brought him, and how many children had been born of the union. On hearing that Jane had brought two into the world in the space of three years, whereas Mrs. Darcy had produced but one in the same period, she heartily commended her, but subsequently tempered her approval on hearing that they were both of the inferior sex.
“You must go on, Mrs. Bingley,” said she. “You must really continue. I do not like to think that your husband has no son to succeed to the estate. A dear friend of mine, Lady Maria Bassett, had six children, all daughters, before the seventh, which was a boy.”
“And did she then stop, madam?” Elizabeth could not resist enquiring.
“By no means,” answered Lady Catherine. “She had three more children, all sons.”
“Poor woman,” said Elizabeth, “what a reward of her fortitude and perseverance to have ten children to plague her!”
“You mistake the matter if you think so,” her ladyship replied tartly. “Lady Maria was an excellent mother and her sons and daughters were the most obedient, well-behaved and well-spoken children I ever saw. Not only that, they grew up to be a
credit to their parents and the comfort of their old age.”
A silence fell, which Elizabeth broke by asking Georgiana to play for her aunt. She came forward at once to do what was required of her, but performed so listlessly that it must strike anyone well acquainted with her usual expressiveness. Lady Catherine was nevertheless loud in her praises, declaring that a very great improvement had taken place since the last time of hearing her niece. But even she could not but remark Georgiana’s lack of animation.
“You do not look at all well, Georgiana. I would prescribe a change of air. When we return to Rosings you must come with us. I will speak to your brother.”
Georgiana looked quite aghast at the proposal and while expressing her thanks very properly, spoke haltingly of the numerous engagements which must stand in the way of her quitting Pemberley for many weeks to come. But Lady Catherine beat down all her excuses.
“Nonsense, child,” she said smiling. “What engagements can you have that may not be broken? Six weeks to two months at Rosings will set you up for the rest of the year. There is no finer air, anywhere, I believe.”
Georgiana coloured and was silent. She looked pleadingly at Elizabeth who said immediately, “Georgiana does not like missing the ball, Lady Catherine. Can you imagine any girl of her age forgoing such an enjoyment as that? Otherwise I am sure she would be most happy to accompany you.”
“A ball!” cried Lady Catherine. “Do I understand there is to be a ball at Pemberley? Why has it not been mentioned to me before?”
“We should naturally forbear to trouble your ladyship with a matter which could have no interest for you, or for Miss de Bourgh in view of the delicate state of her health,” Elizabeth said, already repenting her invention as she saw in array the ill-consequences that might flow from it. “Besides it will not take place within the period of your stay here.”
Pemberley Shades Page 18
