Chapter 20
London
Elizabeth settled for another desolate day.
Oh, the children were all that were agreeable, and she could pour all her love and care into them, for they, at least, did not care for ruined reputations.
Her aunt and uncle were everything kind, but there was little they could do to cheer their niece, and Elizabeth worried that her being in their home would reflect badly upon them as well.
It was in this state of melancholy that a large carriage drew up outside the house; neither the carriage nor the livery of the servant who preceded it and rapped imperiously on the door were familiar to them.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh was shown into the parlour.
Just before, Mrs. Gardiner had been called away to the nursery, and it fell to Elizabeth to welcome their visitor.
The lady entered the room with an air more than unusually ungracious, making no reply to Elizabeth’s salutation other than a slight inclination of the head, and sat down without saying a word.
“This is a very small room,” Lady Catherine said after a short silence, “though I suppose it is adequate for a tradesman.”
Elizabeth did not reply. If the lady were to be rude, then she would deign to ignore her.
“Is there a garden? I suppose not, for the houses in the street are too cramped to afford what most civilised people would consider obligatory.”
“There is an extensive garden,” Elizabeth replied, thinking that her continued silence would only embolden the lady. “The house sits off Talbott Court, and the garden extends to the mews beyond.”
Lady Catherine glared at Elizabeth, seeming to interpret her response as impertinent. “I had hoped,” she finally said, “that it would be private, but I abhor being made a public spectacle. I shall take my tea here.”
Elizabeth rang for tea, and asked the maid to inform her aunt of their guest. She returned to her seat, determined to make no effort at conversation with the woman, who was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable.
“You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason for my journey hither. What little decorum you possess, your own conscience must tell you why I have come.”
Elizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment. But there was something on the edge of her mind; she could not discern it. Lady Catherine’s thoughts were depressed, fading, as though…
Her silence was taken for impudence, and Lady Catherine continued without noticing Elizabeth’s heightened alarm.
“Miss Bennet,” replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, “you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. I have seen the reports in the newspapers. That you are a harlot I can easily accept, for I saw you use your wiles and allurements on my nephew at Mrs. Fairfax’s soirée.
Do not deny it—it is there, for everyone to know, that you are not only a woman of base character, a wanton, but in league with the French. ”
Elizabeth continued to regard the lady with great concern. The lady’s face was pallid, growing even more pale as she spoke.
“You are at a loss for words,” the woman cried, but her voice was rasping, her breathing uneven.
“Of course, you cannot deny the truth of my words. If you are not soon imprisoned, I shall be astonished. But do not look for Darcy to rescue you, even if you have him bewitched by your charms. No, never. My nephew is engaged to my daughter, Miss de Bourgh. Now what do you have to say?”
Elizabeth was now sufficiently alarmed to ring for the maid, not for her to bring the tea, but a glass of wine, perhaps spirits.
And to call Mrs. Gardiner downstairs with all urgency.
She rushed to Lady Catherine, whose eyes were glazed.
The lady suddenly slumped forward, and would have fallen to the floor were it not for Elizabeth catching her.
“Elizabeth, whatever has happened?” exclaimed Mrs. Gardiner, as she ran into the room.
“Lady Catherine, she has fainted. Oh, I do hope it is not worse. Please, can you send for a physician, for she requires immediate attention.”
After a footman had been dispatched to fetch the physician, Elizabeth, with the assistance of the maid, laid Lady Catherine along the settee, placing cushions under her legs.
“Mr. Jones, the apothecary in Meryton, says raising the legs helps blood flow to the brain,” said Elizabeth. “We must also loosen her stays.”
The doctor came, just as her ladyship’s eyes began to flutter. She coughed, then opened her eyes with a look of dim confusion. She glanced about, disoriented, and her gaze fell upon Elizabeth, who knelt beside her with a damp cloth.
“Where am I?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You are in my uncle’s house, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth replied softly, striving for composure in the face of her own shaken nerves. “You fainted, but the physician is here.”
The doctor, satisfied that the crisis had passed, nodded to Mrs. Gardiner.
“She will recover, madam, but her ladyship must remain quiet for some hours. These things pass quickly; likely some excitement has upset her nerves.” He paused, looking thoughtfully at both Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth.
“Though I would not normally recommend it, it may be best if she were to return to her own home. I will not pry, but from what you have said, Miss Bennet, something has agitated her beyond reason.”
Once Lady Catherine had been assisted into her carriage, Mrs. Gardiner called for tea in the parlour, where, just a few moments before, Lady Catherine had lain prone on the settee. A faint odour of smelling salts lingered in the air.
“Lizzy, why did Lady Catherine come?” asked Mrs. Gardiner. “Was it to speak of the orphanage?”
“No, Aunt. She has read the newspaper article. She came to warn me away from Mr. Darcy. She said that he was engaged to her daughter. And that I should soon be imprisoned for what I have done.”
“Oh, Lizzy, surely she cannot be so cruel!”
“Indeed, she is. But, when I went to her aid, her thoughts did not press upon me. This was different—different from the void which surrounded the French soldiers. I have never experienced such before. But there is little I can do. Perhaps her fainting is a sign of some underlying disorder—but that diagnosis is for a physician, not me, to determine.”
The discomposure of spirits, which this extraordinary visit threw Elizabeth into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she for many hours, learn to think of it less than incessantly.
Elizabeth had become accustomed to tears, and had thought she had cried enough.
But Lady Catherine, sister of Lord Matlock, would certainly hold sway within the family.
Mr. Darcy was lost to her, if he had ever been hers at all.
* * *
“Elizabeth, we would like you to come with us on a trip to Derbyshire, where Madeleine spent her childhood.” Mr. Gardiner spoke quietly to Elizabeth as they sat in the parlour.
“You need to avoid being seen in London, but not stuck inside the house all day. Lords Matlock and Wellington have issued, in The Times, a rebuttal of that scurrilous article in the Morning Post, but there are many in society who will believe it anyway, for they ever wish to think meanly of people.”
“But surely you cannot go,” she replied. “What of the children?”
“Mr. Bennet and Jane are coming from Longbourn. The children love her, for she has a sweetness of temper exactly adapted for teaching and playing with them as much as you do. Mr. Bennet would rather you did not visit Meryton. He thought it best to let the gossip in the town dissipate of its own accord. And, without your being there, it cannot feed upon itself. The nerves of Mrs. Bennet are too frayed to travel, and she will have the care of Mary and Kitty to look after her.”
“But why is Papa coming to London?” Elizabeth asked. “I know he dislikes town immensely.”
“It is felt that if he were seen with Jane, visiting museums and the like, then people will accept that the Bennets at least hold no store by the gossip.”
Elizabeth took her uncle’s hands. “Oh, you are too good to me. I have long wished to travel to see the beauties of Chatsworth, Dovedale, and the Peaks. I would rather it were for a less auspicious purpose—but yes, I would love to go.”
The Gardiners very quickly set out, leaving the day after Mr. Bennet and Jane arrived from Longbourn.
Jane embraced Elizabeth, held her closely as Elizabeth’s tears tumbled down her cheeks, then, almost forcibly, pushed her into the travelling coach, waved farewell, and turned away, lest her beloved sister see her own tears.
“I have received a note,” said Mr. Bennet, as he and Jane returned to the parlour. “It is from Mr. Bingley, who wishes to call tomorrow. Will we be home?”
“Oh, Papa, when he went to London I thought he might not return, as happened before.” She looked curiously at her father. “But how did he know we were in Town?”
“It is Mr. Darcy, Jane. He has been organising everything. He wished Elizabeth to be out of London, at least for three weeks, for he was concerned that the correspondent of the Morning Post, the so-called Mr. Williams, would write more articles; that he would find other ways to defame her, and, by association, the Bennets. Bingley was intending to return to Hertfordshire, but when he found you were coming to London, that trip was no longer necessary.”
“Mr. Bingley was returning to Netherfield—for me?” Jane’s happiness was such that Mr. Bennet was almost at a loss to apply his wit.
“There, there, my girl,” he said, “I can assure you that he does not come to visit me, for though he is an amiable fellow, he scarcely reads—I have yet to hear him quote either Herodotus or Thucydides, though he surely knows I am overly fond of history.”
* * *