CHAPTER 70 #2
She informed him that she and Mr. Darcy expected to remain in Derbyshire for the winter; that Mrs. Albright should continue the ordinary management of Portman Square; that Mr. Beaker should be made aware of any necessary alterations in London business; and that her testamentary arrangements must be reviewed in light of her present condition.
Then she paused, and added:
I rely upon your judgment to tell me what must be done, what may wait, and what must not be left to chance.
The sentence made the child real in a way no public congratulation had quite managed.
Elizabeth set down the pen.
Fitzwilliam’s hand moved from the chair to her shoulder.
“You need not finish that one now.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, after a breath. “I do.”
She signed it before courage could become revision.
Those letters might go.
Jane’s remained untouched.
Fitzwilliam observed the empty sheet beside the others. “Not Jane?”
“Jane least of all.”
His brow lifted.
“She will care more than anyone,” Elizabeth said. “Therefore she must not be dispatched with the rest like a notice of altered residence.”
“No.”
“And I do not yet know what I mean to ask of her.”
He came nearer, his hand resting on the back of her chair. “You might ask her to come.”
Elizabeth looked up. “To Pemberley?”
“If you wish to see her. My father said expressly that you were to invite anyone who could make you comfortable.”
The words moved through her more gently than she expected.
“He said that?”
“He did.”
For a moment she thought of Jane’s face, Jane’s soft happiness, Jane’s ability to be pleased before she was frightened. Then Lady Catherine’s voice carried faintly from below, severe enough to make even distance seem impertinent.
Elizabeth looked toward the door.
“No,” she said. “Not while your aunt remains in occupation.”
Fitzwilliam followed her glance and understood.
“No. Perhaps not.”
“I love Jane too well to offer her Lady Catherine as a comfort.”
“No one should receive my aunt without warning.”
“Or armour.”
His mouth softened.
Elizabeth set the blank sheet aside. “Jane may wait until I know whether I am inviting her to a home or a battlefield.”
The answer from Rosings came before noon, eight days after Lady Catherine’s first express had gone south.
Elizabeth heard of it because the footman’s steps halted in the passage, Lady Catherine’s voice rose, Lord Matlock’s lower tone followed, and Mrs. Doddridge, without lifting her eyes from her work, said, “Do not rise.”
“I had not moved.”
“You had considered it.”
Elizabeth had, in fact, considered it.
Within ten minutes, the letter had been brought to the sitting room of Fitzwilliam’s chambers, because Lady Catherine would not be denied the audience of her own vindication, and Mr. Grant had forbidden Elizabeth the stairs with a firmness she considered excessive in a man who had been summoned to her only yesterday.
It was one more indignity of invalidism that, because she could not descend to the family, the family must be admitted to her.
Lady Catherine entered with the paper in her hand and triumph in her posture.
Lord Matlock followed, grave and already wary.
Lady Matlock came after him, composed but pale about the mouth, and Richard, last, closed the door with the air of a man wishing to know where the exits were before the battle began.
Fitzwilliam stood behind Elizabeth’s chair.
“Rosings has answered,” Lady Catherine said.
Elizabeth looked at the letter.
It was not a servant’s hand.
She said nothing. There were entertainments in life which improved by not being interrupted.
Lord Matlock held out his hand. “Let me see the direction.”
Lady Catherine hesitated, then surrendered the folded paper with obvious reluctance.
His eyes moved over it.
“This is from Mrs. Wickham.”
“She writes from Rosings,” said Lady Catherine.
“That is not the same thing.”
“I wrote to Mrs. Jesper,” Lady Catherine said, as if the distinction were an annoyance invented by others. “My housekeeper. I gave proper instructions.”
Elizabeth knew enough of those instructions by then.
Lady Catherine had not ordered Mrs. Wickham thrown from the estate.
Even under pressure, she had maintained the proprieties of rank, connexion, and her own idea of justice.
Mrs. Wickham was to be removed from direct attendance upon Miss de Bourgh and lodged elsewhere on the estate, with every proper comfort.
She was not to see Anne without express permission.
No gentleman callers were to be admitted to Miss de Bourgh in Lady Catherine’s absence.
Mrs. Jesper was to write back immediately.
Mrs. Jesper had not written back.
Mrs. Wickham had.
Lady Catherine took the letter again and opened it with sharp fingers.
“My dear Lady Catherine,” she read, and her voice was already less certain than her entrance had promised.
Then she stopped.
“Continue,” said Lord Matlock.
Lady Catherine’s eyes flashed, but she read.
My dear Lady Catherine,
I take the liberty of answering at once, as Mrs. Jesper was much distressed by the severity of your ladyship’s instructions and thought it best that I should assure you of the true state of matters at Rosings.
Dear Miss de Bourgh is in tolerable spirits, though your ladyship’s letter caused her some agitation.
I have endeavoured to quiet her by assuring her that nothing need be decided in haste, and that your ladyship would never wish an old family connexion removed from her presence as if she had committed an offence.
Lady Catherine’s mouth tightened.
Elizabeth sat very still. It was, on its surface, not a dreadful letter.
That was the worst of it.
Lady Catherine resumed.
I hope most sincerely that your ladyship’s presence has assisted in restoring proper feeling at Pemberley, and that poor Mr. Darcy has not suffered undue pain from explanations which, however necessary, must be most distressing to a gentleman in his condition.
She meant Fitzwilliam’s father, of course; even Mrs. Wickham’s pity had the precision of a hook.
Fitzwilliam’s hand went still upon the back of Elizabeth’s chair.
She did not look up at him, but she reached back and touched his fingers where no one else could see.
Lady Catherine continued, more quickly now.
You will not, I trust, think it improper that my son and Sir Edmund have called here more than once during your ladyship’s absence.
Miss de Bourgh has received them with all the gentleness natural to her, and Sir Edmund’s manner is so calm and respectful that even those most inclined to caution could find little to object to.
I have thought it kinder not to distress her with alarms where none are needed.
Richard’s expression altered at the name of Sir Edmund.
Lord Matlock’s face did not alter at all, which was worse.
Lady Catherine lowered the page a fraction.
“Sir Edmund Wester?” he said.
“A respectable baronet,” Lady Catherine snapped. “Of good family.”
“I know the name,” said Lord Matlock. “A respectable baronet. With embarrassed property.”
“That is not uncommon.”
“No. Nor is it comforting.”
Elizabeth watched Lady Catherine absorb that and dislike the taste of it.
“There is more,” said Lady Matlock quietly.
Lady Catherine read the final paragraph.
My husband has gone northward, I believe, to settle what business remains after so many painful disturbances. He would not wish resentment to trouble dear Miss de Bourgh’s peace, and I am persuaded your ladyship will approve our efforts to preserve quiet until your return.
I remain, with grateful respect,
Your ladyship’s obliged and affectionate,
M. Wickham
No one spoke for a moment.
Outside, a servant passed in the corridor with steps so careful they seemed part of the silence.
Lady Catherine folded the letter with a precision that did not conceal the tremor in her fingers.
“Well,” she said. “Anne is well.”
“Anne is being managed,” said Lord Matlock.
“She is in tolerable spirits.”
“According to Mrs. Wickham.”
“Mrs. Wickham has perhaps presumed, but—”
“She has answered a letter addressed to your housekeeper,” said Lord Matlock.
“Your housekeeper did not obey you. Mrs. Wickham read, received, or was given your instructions. George Wickham has called more than once. Sir Edmund Wester has been admitted to Anne in your absence. John Wickham is somewhere northward and unaccounted for. Which part of this do you find reassuring?”
Lady Catherine’s colour rose. “Mrs. Jesper has been with me eight years.”
“Then she knows precisely how your house is governed,” said Lord Matlock. “And Mrs. Wickham appears to know it too.”
Lady Catherine’s head jerked up.
The room changed.
Elizabeth saw the moment memory arrived too late.
“Mrs. Jesper,” Lady Catherine said slowly, “was recommended to me through Mrs. Wickham.”
Richard exhaled, very quietly.
“Not directly,” Lady Catherine added, as if that repaired anything. “Through a connexion. A perfectly respectable connexion.”
“Fenwick?” said Elizabeth mildly.
Lady Catherine did not answer quickly enough.
The word Fenwick had become, in Elizabeth’s opinion, less a family name than a method.
Lord Matlock took the letter from Lady Catherine’s hand. She resisted for half a second, then let it go.
“Anne has no business having gentlemen callers whom you have not approved.”
“My daughter is not without judgment.”
“No,” he said. “But she is gentle, often ill, accustomed to obedience, and presently surrounded by people who have decided that your orders are suggestions to be interpreted by Mrs. Wickham. You must return to Rosings.”
“I require no escort to my own house.”
“In ordinary circumstances, no. These are not ordinary circumstances. Your housekeeper has not obeyed you, Mrs. Wickham answers your orders, and strange gentlemen have been admitted to Anne in your absence. I shall travel with you.”
“You presume very far.”
“Not farther than Mrs. Wickham has already presumed.”
That silenced her more effectively than courtesy would have done.
Lady Matlock folded her hands. “We had better leave as soon as the carriages can be made ready.”