Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
T he strange man looked over Lady Catherine, took her hand, and said, “What brought her to this?”
“She had a fright,” Elizabeth rushed to explain. “She collapsed from fear, sir.”
“This is more than fear,” said the man in black. He felt Lady Catherine’s forehead, then felt her pulse in her wrist. “Lady Catherine is being eaten by un loup .”
“ The wolf ?” translated Mr Woodhouse. “You mean…”
“Cancer,” The man in black confirmed Mr Woodhouse’s understanding of the mediaeval term for the condition.
“You will have a care for my mother’s privacy, sir!” ground out Anne.
“Is it true, Miss de Bourgh?” asked Mr Woodhouse. “Poor Lady Catherine!” Anne gave her mother’s friend no answer.
Elizabeth was shocked. How could this man have known what ailed Lady Catherine without being told, without even a proper examination? “What kind of doctor are you, sir?” she asked.
“Ladies, Mr Woodhouse, allow me to make an introduction. Woodhouse, this is the man I was telling you about. The alchemist. May I present to you all, The Comte St Germain ? Comte , may I introduce Lady Priscilla Fitzwilliam, The Honourable Miss Anne de Bourgh, Mr Woodhouse, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“ Charmant ,” said the comte in greeting. “Lady Catherine should be moved to her bed as quickly as possible. She is exhausted and ill. She must rest. I will examine her, and do what I can for her there.”
As the men prepared to move Lady Catherine she woke for a few seconds. She looked upon the comte and said, “How can it be you?”
“ J'ai promis que nous nous reverrions ,” answered the count in the most beautiful and flawless French Elizabeth had ever heard as he caressed Lady Catherine’s face. Her hostess slipped back into unconsciousness.
Lady Catherine was moved to her rooms at Bourne House, and changed into a dressing gown. She did not wake when the comte examined her again under Anne’s supervision.
“She is very ill, ma petite ,” St Germain told Anne. “She must rest. She needs an elixir. I will go to prepare it. It will not be ready before tomorrow. I will return.”
The following morning, Lady Catherine awoke and followed her usual routine. There was a row in her rooms, where Anne had spent the night in a chair. Anne expected Lady Catherine to remain in bed and rest. Lady Catherine had no intention of resting. She intended to break her fast downstairs with the other ladies. Anne’s harangues followed her down the stairs and into the breakfast room.
When they all took their seats, Elizabeth said to her friend, “Anne, I agree with you that your mother ought to have remained in her bed, but this discord cannot be good for her either.” Anne looked chastened as Elizabeth continued. “ Comte St Germain is to return today with the elixir he promised. I am certain he will give Lady Catherine an examination, and she will be prepared to hear his advice. Eating breakfast with us is not likely to do her in, my friend. We shall moderate our enthusiasm.”
There was a clatter as Lady Catherine dropped her fork into her dish of kedgeree. “I thought that I’d dreamt him.”
“So you do know him then,” said Anne curiously.
“I feel that my thoughts are disordered,” whispered Lady Catherine, putting a hand to her temple. “It could not have been him. Not as he was. It must be his son. What an uncanny resemblance. Or perhaps he is older, but I saw him as he is in my memory. Perhaps it was delirium? How old was he?”
“I should say no older than fifty,” answered Priscilla, spreading jam on her muffin.
“I would have said younger, even. An exceedingly well-preserved forty-five, perhaps?” added Elizabeth.
“It must be his son, then,” mused Lady Catherine. “The comte was near to that age when I knew him.”
“You still have not told us how you knew him,” retorted Anne. “Who is he?”
“It has been two and thirty years at least,” said Lady Catherine. “I met him the year I came out. I was seventeen. He was a mysterious man who was arrested in London early in the year 1780. England was at war with everyone. America, Spain, France, the Dutch. Tensions were mounting, and foreigners were rarely trusted. He spoke perfect English, but he was unmistakably foreign. He was thought to be a spy. It was not the first time he had been arrested in England, yet the authorities insisted that he had not aged a day since they had arrested him twenty years previous. Two of his interrogators from his previous imprisonment were still alive, and they were shocked by how well preserved he was, but there was no doubt that it was the same man. They held him for some months, but when they could not specify what crime he had committed, and what sort of spy he was, they let him go. My father said it was to watch him and see what he did, if he would incriminate himself somehow.
“Instead, he became quite friendly with the nobility, and spent some months among them in London. He said that he had come to London with a cure for King George. He insisted that his condition could be cured with an elixir he had made, and that if the King’s condition could be improved, that the King would not be so easily led into war. He said that war must cease on the continent, or that in nine years time, there would be an even greater war, one which would destroy France, and throw all of the continent into conflict for more than sixteen years. He insisted that if we were to cure King George, that his advisors could not lead the man astray, and that he would make sound decisions that would bring England back to peace. His prediction proved true, as you can see. France is devastated, and the continent is still destroying itself.”
Lady Catherine sighed. “He never got close to the King, to my knowledge. The King’s mother and advisors controlled everything that he saw and heard, or so the comte said. He spent some time socialising among the nobility in London before several attempts were made on his life, and he disappeared.”
“He spoke to you as if unto a lover,” said Anne, struggling to cast her mother in such a light. “In French.”
“As you know, I never learned the language properly, but he always spoke to me thus. I suppose you could say he courted me, though I am certain that I knew even at the tender age of seventeen that it was never in earnest. I will not deny that I enjoyed his attentions. It was a disappointment when he disappeared, but my father had already warned me that there were no particular connections to make such an alliance desirable, and that it would never proceed. My father wished me to make a match that would satisfy his political ambitions. The man claimed to be a comte , but in all truth, no one knew who he was, and the French were rarely trusted. I knew my father, and he meant what he said. There was little point in allowing myself to be swept away, no matter the comte’s perceived regard. But it is of little importance. The man I knew must be near to eighty or more now. This must be his son.”
“He said that you’d met,” insisted Anne.
“If he is only near to fifty, that would be impossible,” insisted her mother irritably. “As I just told you, Anne, he was near to fifty when I met him more than three decades ago.”
After breakfast, the ladies moved to the drawing room. Anne objected, but Lady Catherine insisted that she was well enough, and the entire party of ladies mutually agreed that no one would venture out today. They would all wait for the comte to arrive, and they would be at Lady Catherine’s disposal, and distract her from wasting her strength. Lydia repaired immediately to the harp, and played a light, peaceful tune that she had mastered easily. They had not been in the drawing room above a half hour when callers started arriving in droves. First, the Fletchers visited, then the Misses Jenkins. Lady Amesbury called, and with her was her eldest son, the heir to his father’s title. The purpose of the visit was to inquire after the health of Lady Catherine, and to hand deliver an invitation to a private ball at their nearby estate, but it soon became obvious that her son, the Viscount Bexley, was present to pay court to Anne.
“As if I should let her marry into such a family,” said Lady Catherine quietly to Elizabeth as the mother and son were shown out. “That family has been known to be in trouble for more than a decade due to the wildness of their sons. His lordship would not hear of any of them taking employment, not even as clergymen. He believes them too far above that. The young men are expected to marry well, well enough that a portion of their wife’s dowry will go to support the earldom. Two of his sons have cut ties since he sold them into marriage, and kept most of their wives’ wealth for the title. The eldest will only marry a mighty fortune. It does not surprise me that our presence brought him running home. There are not many heiresses to compete with Anne. I will be grateful when Darcy arrives, and I can worry less about these rakes.”
“Who is a rake?” asked Georgiana, a moment later when the last caller had departed.
“That abominable viscount is a rake, Georgie, and you must learn to identify these men, and show them the door when they come calling,” answered Priscilla, tossing her head.
“What about that one that is so interested in you? Lord Lennox? And that other one who is interested in Anne, what was his name?”
“Sir Albert Swinton,” Lydia piped up from the harp.
“Yes, that one. I thought he was rather charming,” giggled Georgiana.
“Rakes! Every last one,” declared Priscilla. “Georgie, I want no truck with rakes. A rake is a gentleman that will receive no notice from me. Did you not see them two days ago when we were coming out of the confectioners? Lord Lennox, hanging out the side of his friend's barouche? Calling upon my notice in such a way? No thank you, I keep my ear to the ground, and I happen to know that Eastbourne is positively crawling with rakes who are all terribly out of pocket. It is astonishing how many impoverished fortune hunters there are here, not a single worthy gentleman in the bunch!”
“You learn from your cousin, Georgiana, she will not lead you astray,” advised Lady Catherine.
“Goodness! I am grateful that William will not force me out until I am ready. He has promised me, you see. I have so many fears! The most terrifying thought is my own lack of discernment. How am I to tell the difference between a rogue and a proper gentleman, when bad men are often so charming? And the stories I have heard from Priscilla, about the cruelty amongst the young ladies, well, I should not like to go amongst so many unpleasant people just yet. And the leaders of society! What if they should not like me? I could not bear to be disgraced as Lady Rebecca Stanley was last year by Lady Jersey!”
“Priscilla, it was not kind of you to frighten your cousin, it is not all so bad,” Lady Catherine chided her other niece.
“I would rather know, Aunt, what I am to face, before I must endure it, else how shall I ever be prepared?” worried Georgiana.
“Your mother was revered, was she not? I am certain your brother told me that she was,” Elizabeth said. “The beloved Lady Anne, as was? That by itself must add to your anxiety, living up to be worthy of her.”
“Yes!” cried Georgiana, nodding vigorously.
“What you do not realise, Georgiana, is that this works to your advantage . Everyone loved your mother, and they miss her, so they wish to approve of you. I am told that your mother was very kind and gentle, and I see the same qualities in you. Just be yourself, Georgie, and as long as you do not do anything truly wicked, or cruel, everyone will adore you simply because they wish to do so,” Elizabeth advised. “Later, when they have come to know you for the lovely person that you are, they will learn to appreciate you for your own merits.”
“I could not have said it better myself.” Lady Catherine nodded approvingly. “Miss Bennet, that was remarkably well considered. Georgiana, Miss Bennet is entirely correct. My sister was beloved by all who knew her, and though you are unsure of yourself, because you did not know her, you carry her grace and gentleness. You do not need to fear that you will not do her proud, because you carry her elegance and beauty in your very essence. They will love you simply because they wish to love you, niece.”
“If anything, it is an advantage that none of the other debutantes have, their mother’s reputation for goodness ensuring their success in such a manner,” quipped Priscilla.
“I am not certain that I would call entering society without the support of my mother an advantage,” snapped Georgiana. She then looked chastened. “Oh dear, Priscilla, I should not have spoken that way.”
“Yes, of course you should. That was terribly unfeeling of me, Georgie. I did not mean it how it sounded. I should never wish to hurt you in such a manner. Do forgive me, cousin,” Priscilla begged.
“Of course,” Georgiana said.
“That does, however, only prove that when the time comes to deal with the cruelty of the other young women, you will not be out of your depth,” pointed out Elizabeth. “You might have been sharp, but sometimes that is called for, in order to put another in their place. You do not wish to be so often, no one wants a reputation for being shrewish, but you are the daughter of Lady Anne, you must not allow anyone to cow you, and you rose to that occasion rather well.”
“I cannot but agree,” said Lady Catherine as the next group of callers was announced.
Mrs Mason and her two daughters spent a quarter hour with them, then Sir Albert Swinton, who was determinedly in pursuit of Anne’s notice, and was failing miserably to attain it. Anne spent his visit ignoring him in a most determined manner, taking Lydia’s place by the harp. Her skills were rudimentary, after only a fortnight of indifferent instruction, but she would rather embarrass herself than tolerate Sir Albert’s attentions.
Mr and Miss Woodhouse were announced next. Miss Woodhouse rarely paid calls, due to the nature of her illness. She had fallen ill with influenza the year previous, and had since been victim to weakness, fatigue, and fainting spells since then. Elizabeth thought it was an odd sort of condition, for occasionally Miss Woodhouse seemed quite well, then she would suddenly swoon without warning, and either take to her bed, or spend the rest of the day swaddled in blankets in a comfortable chair, looking weak. Elizabeth had never observed such an illness before.
“My dear lady! Whatever are you doing out of bed!” exclaimed Mr Woodhouse as he took Lady Catherine’s hand and kissed it. Elizabeth had often wondered since arriving in the little town whether Mr Woodhouse might not have quickly developed a particular fondness for Lady Catherine. Her hostess had softened a great deal since entering Hertfordshire the previous December, but it was difficult for Elizabeth to tell if the lady saw the gentleman’s interest, or whether it was welcomed. The two got along very well, although his daughter did not appreciate Lady Catherine’s particular attention, nor her interest in Miss Woodhouse’s illness and recovery.
“Nonsense, I am perfectly well,” said Lady Catherine dismissively.
“Tell me it is not true, what the man said about your condition,” Mr Woodhouse begged.
“I shall neither confirm nor deny anything of the sort, and I will thank you for my privacy,” answered Lady Catherine firmly. “Whatever he said, he ought not have done so in company.”
“I am still shocked at how he made such an assertion at only a glance,” said Elizabeth. “He seems to be an odd sort of physician.”
“The man is an alchemist.” replied Mr Woodhouse. “Such men practise what is called universal medicine; they are scientists, and they often have knowledge that other doctors do not. Most doctors who practise alchemy do not admit it openly. Not much is known about their methods other than that they sometimes use an elixir and special stones to treat illness, and no one knows how it works. It was my hope to obtain an appointment with the man for my Emma; Mr MacArthur had promised me and Fletcher an introduction.”
“As if a mere tonic could cure cancer,” said Anne scathingly. “It sounds like quackery to me.”
“Anne,” her mother interrupted in warning. She did not wish for her condition to be discussed in such a manner.
Lady Catherine had brought her butler with her for the duration of their visit to Eastbourne. Torrens entered the room, and announced. “The Comte St Germain .”
Everyone rose as the man entered and bowed elegantly. He was dressed much as he had been the day before. “Madame, what do you do out of bed? You should be resting,” St Germain said as he approached Lady Catherine and kissed her hand.
“I feel quite well, thank you,” Lady Catherine said, inspecting his countenance with a look of shock. “It cannot be you,” she said. “I believe I met your father, sir, some three decades ago in London.”
“Oh no, dear Catherine, it was indeed I who courted you all of those years ago,” he assured her.
“But then you must be nearly eighty years old! You have not aged a day! Indeed, I believe you may actually look even younger than you did in 1780!”
Comte St Germain smiled. “This is not impossible.”
“But how?” blurted out Anne.
“I am an alchemist,” the man shrugged, as if this explained everything.
“Then prove it,” challenged Anne. when the comte raised a brow, she continued. “Prove it by telling my mother something that only the two of you might know.”
The comte smiled again, and whispered something into Lady Catherine’s ear. Their hostess blushed in mortification, and replied, “You would bring up such a memory, you rogue!” Elizabeth noted that Mr Woodhouse seemed dismayed by this exchange.
“How have you come to visit Eastbourne?” Georgiana piped up timidly.
“I am here because of your country’s witless stupidity,” answered the comte , but gently.
“What is that supposed to mean?” said Anne.
“Exactly what it sounds like,” replied the comte , who would say no more on the subject. “Lady Catherine, I have made an elixir for you. If you have a private room and a maid, I shall examine you again, and administer it.”
“I shall accompany you,” said Anne, rising quickly.
“No, thank you, Anne. I shall meet with the comte for my examination with my maid,” corrected Lady Catherine.
“But-” began Anne in protest.
“I said no thank you , Anne, do allow me the dignity of my privacy,” her mother said firmly. “I am a dowager, and the comte is a physician, I do not require a chaperone other than my own maid.”
Mr Woodhouse had said nothing since the comte had entered, but he stood and asked, " Monsieur le comte , before I leave, could I impose upon you to make an appointment to examine my daughter while you visit Eastbourne?”
St Germain glanced over at Emma Woodhouse, “She’s fine,” he said dismissively.
“She is most sincerely ill, sir!” objected Mr Woodhouse, as Miss Woodhouse turned beet red.
“She most certainly is not,” replied St Germain, turning to follow Lady Catherine out of the drawing room.