Chapter 79
Before coming to Pemberley, Lady Catherine had spent a rather irritating few months in London.
Summer had approached too rapidly, and the sun was far hotter than it ought to be.
Many of the better families abandoned the capital before the season was over in order to seek shade and sweet breezes on their country estates.
The diversions of the city simply could not tempt them to remain.
Being a woman of stern resolve, Lady Catherine fixed herself to the plans she had made long before the weather became so objectionable. She would not retreat beneath the glaring blue sky.
That was how she found herself stranded amongst the stubborn and the stupid.
She did not see herself as either of these things, but in a class above them: a woman of superior willpower, who would not be overcome by a pitiful heatwave.
This self-flattery was her only consolation for a stifling, dusty sojourn.
Oh, there were some benefits to being alone.
There were far fewer delays in the carriage, for example, and less noise in the parks.
There were fewer scandals to keep track of, which was both a blessing and curse.
Since the warm weather generally brought out the worst excesses in mankind, Lady Catherine felt herself exposed in a tundra of banality.
At least there was less chance of being intercepted at the theatre or in the park by distant acquaintances.
Lady Catherine could not abide the kind of conversation that began with words like ‘How long has it been?’ or ‘I was thinking of you just the other day!’.
They were insincere and generally came from the lips of someone who wanted to secure a favour.
She was a firm believer that one’s neighbours should be kept a sensible distance away - several miles, at a minimum, although more was of course preferable.
There was a small estate five miles from Rosings Park which vexed her greatly, for she felt as if the doddering old gentleman there was constantly underfoot.
In London, of course, she could not simply plant a row of tall trees in between herself and the problem. It was a pleasant reprieve, then, for the weather to have done the job in her stead.
Loneliness was not a concept which troubled Lady Catherine.
At least, not on a conscious level. She carefully tailored her inner circles, omitting more than she ever invited and never changing her mind about someone’s suitability.
A woman like her, whose society was a valuable commodity, would never admit to being in want of company.
But as the hot spring became a hotter summer, Lady Catherine de Bourgh grew very lonely.
She had become invisible.
The fact that Lady Catherine was not connected directly to her nephew’s scandal would have protected her from even the most scathing critic. She would not be affected by that. However, she was harshly punished for her reaction to it.
It must be understood that Lady Catherine de Bourgh had spent most of her life giving advice to others. Mothers with wayward sons, brothers whose sisters were too easy with their dance partners, maidens who spent their pin money at cards… all of them benefitted from her insights.
Nobody would dare return the blunt gesture, and indeed it had never been necessary to offer.
Lady Catherine ‘had her house in order’, as the saying went.
What was there to criticise? The ladies and gentlemen who were given advice did not begrudge her for the sour taste it left on their tongues.
Everyone was treated just the same, so it felt fair.
It was almost like a rite of passage now, for people to survive their first ‘audience’, as it was known.
However, Lady Catherine’s knowledge and experience of society meant that her advice was usually correct, and was often just as valuable as she herself imagined. Nobody would dare tell her to stop.
But now - ah! Lady Catherine did not turn that pitiless eye upon her own family. They were not found wanting! She acted as if they were quite beyond reproach!
Surely, she should say something of her nephew’s drunkenness? Everyone had heard how he had acted in Meryton. They waited for the hammer to fall.
It did not.
The illustrious woman made no apologies or excuses, no opinions or condemnations. She said nothing at all. For once, the endlessly wagging tongue was still.
This did not lose her any respect. Everyone understood, or even sympathised. But it took the fun out of hearing their own friends being ‘helped’. Lady Catherine therefore enjoyed fewer and fewer visits during her at-homes.
She was also denied the company of her niece, who usually visited her at some point when they were both residing in the city.
She blamed the absence entirely on her nephew.
She also missed Fitzwilliam, who had taken on extra duties and not inclined to socialise with an aunt in his limited free time.
Lady Catherine was not a stupid woman. She saw at once that Darcy and Fitzwilliam had fallen out.
Their changed circumstances were perfectly synchronised, and neither of them spoke of the other in their rare, stilted letters.
Her opinion was that it was all due to Darcy’s drinking, and that any efforts she made to reconcile her nephews would be less useful than a strong cup of coffee and a stern talking to.
She felt sorry for dear little Georgiana, caught in between two squabbling guardians, but knew that her niece was in no danger from either of them. She was certain that, of all of them, Georgiana would be unmoved.
Then the rumours began.
They spread slowly in the hot, empty city.
The people who remained there were firmly established in their cool morning rooms or shaded gardens.
They had no desire to run around after every bit of gossip on the wind.
It was too hot to linger in large, whispering groups.
Conversation beyond bare greetings was discouraged, for it prevented the speakers from being able to sip cold lemonade and cool their parched lips.
The upper class clung to their lukewarm existence with trembling fingers.
Still, Lady Catherine heard fragments of news from her maids.
Some of it was things that she already knew.
Darcy had written to her some time ago telling her that he was to be married.
The new rumours about his wife, then, were not news to his aunt.
She knew that Mrs. Darcy only interested everyone because of the upcoming ball at Pemberley, not because there was anything truly remarkable about her.
The ball, however, seemed all the excuse people needed to thoroughly scour the poor woman’s character.
Darcy had written so little about his wife that Lady Catherine could not guess which of the many, many rumours could be correct.
She could ignore many of them. It was obvious to anyone who truly knew him that Darcy would not marry anyone who was slovenly, imbecilic, uncivilised, mannish, shrewish, inconstant or plain.
However much the alcohol had changed him, Lady Catherine knew that some of her nephew’s preferences were set in stone.
Still, the rumours brought about fresh speculation into the wicked life of the drunken Mr. Darcy. Hearing her nephew’s name being casually bandied around London was most distasteful. What could one do but distance oneself?
When her invitation to the ball arrived, Lady Catherine replied at once.
Her stern rebukes within warned her nephew away from the sinful behaviour the gossips expected.
While Lady Catherine did not believe that her nephew would truly sink so low, she reasoned that a blunt word was better than a dangerous omission.
At least, if he did disgrace himself, it would not be her fault!
She had scarcely written half a page when a visitor arrived at the house.
It was Miss Bingley, a woman whom Lady Catherine had not met before.
She knew the name. A few years ago, there had been an irritating rumour that Darcy, who was promised to Anne, had entered into an understanding with Miss Bingley.
When challenged, Darcy’s sneer of disdain convinced his aunt that there was no truth to the tale.
That was the last she had heard of Miss Bingley, until now.
Lady Catherine set aside her letter and signalled for the woman to be shown in. A tall lady in a dark blue muslin dress sank down in a curtsey deep enough to impress an empress. Then, before she had even looked up, Miss Bingley began to speak.
The younger woman did not appear to glance at Lady Catherine throughout her horrific tale, but the woman felt her eyes on her flesh, nonetheless. No matter how much her skin crawled or her heart pounded, she refused to let it show. There was not a single twitch or spasm.
When she finished, the awful stranger looked a little thwarted. She had clearly wanted to cause pain. Lady Catherine looked unmoved.
“How do you say you know this, Miss Bingley?” she asked, raising a perfectly tweezed eyebrow.
“I was there, madam. I saw Miss Darcy for myself.”
“Did you, indeed! You attest that they cast you out for seeing her.”
“Yes, ma’am. I came here to tell you, because…”
The older woman held up an imperious hand.
“Let us not change the subject too quickly, Miss Bingley. I am confused. You tell me that my niece has been locked up in her room for months, kept so secretly that even you had no notion she was there. You claim that she is deformed and that my nephew locked her away to prevent anyone from discovering the scandalous truth. But then you tell me that you have been banished from Pemberley - for discovering the truth! The same truth they have spent months trying to conceal! You are lying, Miss Bingley.”
Caroline drew herself up, her voice as icy as her sparkling eyes. “I assure you that I am telling you the truth.”
“Then my nephew is a fool indeed! If they wished to keep such a secret, then why would they set you loose with it? Why not lock you up, too? I imagine they care for you less than they do Georgiana, and they did not hesitate to lock her away.”
Caroline bristled, “Certain threats were made, I assure you. If you found yourself able to… to prevent the threats from being carried out, ma’am, then I could provide you with all of the other particulars around your family.”
“Other particulars? You spent two minutes in a sleeping girl’s bedroom. What other details could you possibly have discerned in so short a time?”
“I have the testimony of her maid, ma’am. A woman who was hired to care for her after she was unwell. She can answer any questions that I cannot, I am sure.”
“I see. She was hired - so, I deduce, she has been removed from her post. I must say, Miss Bingley, that it is never wise to put your trust into the hands of jilted servants. Having lost her job, the woman will have little loyalty left for her old employers, and every motive to invent falsehoods against them.”
“They are not falsehoods!”
“Perhaps not, Miss Bingley. I cannot judge such matters at this remove, and have no desire to unpick the relationship between yourself and a maid. I thank you for bringing this interesting story to my attention. It has been diverting. If there is any merit to it then I shall let you know.”