Chapter 6 Prudent Measures #2
She had risen to offer a curtsey to the younger lady, noting that Miss de Bourgh offered no curtsey in reply, merely studying her with a disinterested gaze.
At length, the lady gave a petulant little huff and addressed her mother.
“Mama! She is too pretty! How am I to find a husband with a prettier friend at my side!”
“She is not that pretty,” Lady Catherine soothed. “I daresay when you are done up in your finest—”
“Do you play any instruments?” Miss de Bourgh demanded, making it sound like a crime if Elizabeth did.
“I play the pianoforte very ill,” Elizabeth assured her. “And I have no experience at the harp, nor the harp-lute.”
Miss de Bourgh made a disgruntled noise. “Neither have I. What of drawing?”
“No talent whatsoever. But I confess I am an able dancer.”
Lord Saye ambled over and stood by Elizabeth’s side. “Annie, pray do not forget, you have the greatest charm of all—money. Lots of it. And property. Miss Bennet has nothing to her name.”
“Do not call me Annie,” said Miss de Bourgh, but the vinegar had left her tone. She had been soothed, it seemed, by the mention of her own wealth.
“It is true,” Elizabeth said reassuringly. “I have nothing. Even the money settled on me by my father was spent.”
“Indeed?” Miss de Bourgh considered that. “You are poor, then?”
“I am afraid so.”
“Where did you come by such a nice gown, then?”
“Well…” Elizabeth glanced between the others in the room, unsure how much she should admit.
“Before my father told us he was ill, he took us to London to shop. He said he had an announcement for us but not before he had properly celebrated his ladies. My sisters and mother and I each had three new gowns and various other things as well, thinking he was to speak to us of some inheritance or another.”
“But then he died?”
The lady’s frankness was difficult to bear, but Elizabeth did, sedate as she said, “He told us he was ill and expected to die from it and that he wished to run up a few debts for his heir. Evidently such personal effects cannot be inherited, even if the bills for them are.”
Miss de Bourgh gave a thin smile at this. “I think I would have liked him. He met his end with spirit.”
“Miss Bennet lost her home to Mr Collins,” Lady Catherine informed her daughter.
“Mr Collins, eh? Well, that does put quite a different stamp on things.” Miss de Bourgh nodded. “Would you like me to show you where your apartment will be?”
Elizabeth glanced at Lady Catherine who, oddly, suddenly appeared as if on the verge of falling asleep.
Lord Saye observed it as well and said, “Mrs Jenkinson, will you help my aunt to her bedchamber while the young ladies go see Miss Bennet’s lodgings?”
“Come along, Miss Bennet,” Miss de Bourgh ordered, and Elizabeth, after a curtsey in Lady Catherine’s direction, obediently followed.
“We have water closets,” Miss de Bourgh announced as they ascended the stair. “Do you know what those are?”
“I do,” Elizabeth said. “But I confess I have never used one.”
“You will like it above all things and wonder that you ever managed without one. Are your sisters pretty?”
“They are, particularly my sister Jane.”
“Is she married?” They had reached the top of the stairs then, and Elizabeth noticed that Miss de Bourgh was remarkably out of breath. She paused a moment, pretending to admire the wallpaper so that the other lady could recover.
“She is not married. None of my sisters are.”
Miss de Bourgh crooked a finger as if to say ‘follow’ and Elizabeth did, going down a short hall laden with a vast quantity of ornate mirrors, portraits in gilt frames, and landscapes which all seemed to depict the same house in various seasons and situations. It was…overwhelming.
“I suppose Mama has told you about Darcy?”
“She has indeed. I am sorry to hear you were made to suffer so for the vagaries of a man.”
To this Miss de Bourgh made no comment. They had arrived at the room that would be Elizabeth’s. Miss de Bourgh paused, and after a brief moment, Elizabeth realised that she was likely unaccustomed to opening doors for herself, and so stepped forwards to perform the office.
The room was luxurious in an ostentatious way, with heavy carved furniture, a dark-coloured tapestry dominating the largest wall, and heavy curtains shrouding the windows. “It is lovely,” Elizabeth said politely.
“Mrs Jenkinson’s room is between us,” Miss de Bourgh told her. “In the event I need her in the night.”
“I understand.”
“I wish for a husband who is small,” Miss de Bourgh announced. “Small and neatly kept. Perhaps old enough that his animal lusts have been tempered.”
Elizabeth hardly knew what to say to that. “That seems…reasonable.”
“You and I will have such fun finding me a much more suitable husband and then you will have some money to find your own.” Miss de Bourgh’s colourless lips moved into a different shape; it was likely meant to be a smile.
“We will begin after Easter. Mama says no one with any decency would attend parties during Lent and it would be far too detrimental to my health to be going about London in the winter.”
“Then after Easter it shall be,” Elizabeth agreed with a smile.
“Excellent,” Miss de Bourgh said. “Now let us go into my dressing room, for we need to see you properly attired.”
What followed was something out of a fever dream. Elizabeth went into a room that bore more gowns—evening, day, walking, riding—than she ever might have imagined any one lady to own. Miss de Bourgh began to fly through them like a dervish, creating an enormous pile of cast-offs for Elizabeth.
“I hate them all,” she informed Elizabeth once she had finished. “But they will do very well for you, I think. We will move them into your chambers for you for spring.”
Elizabeth, who had scarcely had a moment to see what each looked like, could only nod and thank her.