Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Elizabeth could not sleep. She wandered the Parsonage and then the gardens at dawn, having forced herself to remain in Mary’s bed and as still as possible until the first fingers of light reached across the cloudless sky. Then she slid out of the room, needing to move and explore.
Papa had returned to the house after dark without Mr Bingley, who would stay at Rosings.
The men would meet in the late morning to review funeral plans with Lady Catherine’s daughter.
Elizabeth desired to speak with her, but could not think what to say.
Papa said that Miss de Bourgh was stoic.
She wondered if the young woman’s lack of emotion was due to her health or relief at the passing of Lady Catherine.
Relief? Had she just thought that? Indeed, she had.
It might be that the passing of such a formidable woman was a blessing, especially if Lady Catherine picked at Miss de Bourgh as she picked at everyone else.
Yet Miss de Bourgh was sickly and dependent, and her entire world was Rosings.
Who else did she have save servants in a drafty mansion with miles of corridors, dozens of rooms, and lands that reached the horizon?
It seemed lonely. Elizabeth would be kind if they found themselves in conversation.
It was the least she could do…since she killed the young woman’s mother.
Mary rose and they ate breakfast with their father.
Mary shared her plans for the new cottage and assured Papa that she was content with her situation.
Then they all went to Rosings. The sisters decided they would depart if Miss de Bourgh did not wish to have them present, for the walk would do them good regardless.
As they approached the great house, Mary extolled the virtues of Rosings much as Mr Collins had done during Elizabeth’s first visit. She could practically hear his voice sharing information about the grounds, the windows, the types of fish stocked in the pond.
They knocked and were received by a stony but well-trained butler who escorted them to a dove-coloured receiving room, quite different than the dark rooms she had seen before.
The room faced the east, and through the large windows, Elizabeth noted how the morning glow, though easing into midday brightness, still tinged the green forest with bits of gold.
“We are so sorry,” Mary was saying to Miss de Bourgh, and the two were hugging, though Miss de Bourgh with limp arms that indicated weakness due to illness or a lack of experience with warm embraces. Elizabeth was not certain which was worse.
Elizabeth curtseyed to Miss de Bourgh, and Miss de Bourgh bowed her head in reply.
They exchanged pleasant greetings with Mr Bingley, as well as Miss de Bourgh’s companion, Mrs Jenkinson, the solicitor, the undertaker, and the new rector (who was letting a cottage in town for the time being).
Miss de Bourgh rose before they had even finished discussing arrangements with the undertaker, declaring that she was weary and trusted them to make the remainder of the decisions. She added that they ought to stay for luncheon and that she might join them if she felt well enough.
Elizabeth asked Mary if they ought to stay, and Mary decided they should. “I do so enjoy the meals here. Their cook is quite fine.”
Elizabeth thought funeral arrangements might trouble Mary, but she appeared calm as she pulled out a book of sermons and began to read until the meal.
Elizabeth had not thought to bring a book, and so asked the solicitor, the nearest to an authority in the room, if she might go to the library. He said he could not see why not, so she strolled down the corridor, attempting to discern which door it might be.
When she opened the first, it was another parlour, this one painted a deep blue with mahogany furniture.
The next one was a music room, and Elizabeth nearly laughed recalling Lady Catherine’s declaration about playing the pianoforte: “If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient.” The lady was nothing if not confident.
It was that same confidence that had led her to Longbourn, claiming Mr Darcy’s attentions to Elizabeth to be impossible.
Lady Catherine had been impossible! What right did she have to say whom her nephew could or could not marry?
Had a formal decision been made within their family that Lady Catherine was the true authority, so whatever she desired must be?
Or was it Lady Catherine’s belief that all should simply bend to her will?
She opened the next door and found Mrs Jenkinson whispering with a maid. The maid’s eyes flew wide and she bobbed a curtsey to Elizabeth as she scooted past, disappearing down the corridor.
“I was looking for the library,” Elizabeth said.
Mrs Jenkinson said, “At the end of the corridor on the right.” Elizabeth began to leave, but Miss Jenkinson added, “Mr Darcy belongs to Miss de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth turned back. “I beg your pardon?”
“They were promised to each other.”
Elizabeth blinked a few times, wondering how to answer to this. “Promised at birth. By their mothers.”
“Yes,” Mrs Jenkinson said with finality, yet this answer was not enough for Elizabeth.
“People have free will. They can marry whomever they wish to marry.”
“Not when they are of the ton.”
Elizabeth raised her chin. “What matter is this to you?”
“Miss de Bourgh is in my charge, and I care that her future is secured.”
“With all of this,” said Elizbeth gesturing to their grand surroundings, “she is more than secure.”
“But not in love.”
Elizabeth laughed without intending to, which darkened Mrs Jenkinson’s countenance. Elizabeth said, “It would not be a love match. It would be a torture to him and of no benefit to her.”
“Torture! You certainly express your opinions freely and cruelly.”
“It is not cruelty, but honesty. He is vibrant, young, and desires—”
“You?” Mrs Jenkinson said with disgusted disbelief.
“I was going to say ‘adventure’.”
“And are you just such an adventuress?”
The word was like a slap. No, worse. Like a punch. She was no fortune-seeking whore.
“How dare you?”
“How dare you? A connexion with you must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody!”
Elizabeth’s counterargument caught in her throat. Where had she heard those words before. Lady Catherine had said them at Longbourn. “You!” When Mrs Jenkinson did not react, Elizabeth rushed towards her and repeated, “You!”
Mrs Jenkinson held her arms in front of her face as if Elizabeth might strike her, and Elizabeth did, for a moment, consider it.
“What did you see?” asked Elizabeth. “What did you hear? What did you tell Lady Catherine?”
From the haughty expression on Mrs Jenkinson’s thin face, it was clear she knew precisely what Elizabeth meant. “It was my business to tell her everything occurring under her roof.”
“And what was occurring?”
Mrs Jenkinson tightened her lips.
Elizabeth’s anger flared as it did when Lydia or Kitty were being especially hateful, but she refrained from slapping this woman as she might a younger sister.
“I saw the sort of things your father might not wish to know.”
Elizabeth’s mind reeled, and she merely stared in disbelief.
“I might be convinced not to tell him if you promise to depart.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I will happily tell my father what occurred between myself and Mr Darcy.” Was Elizabeth bluffing?
Would she be happy to tell him? No. Would she tell rather than be manipulated by this glorified servant?
Yes. He would likely laugh, as he did whenever his daughters misbehaved, and say it was part of growing older.
Though she generally disapproved of his less-than sufficient concern with his daughters’ behaviour, it would be to her benefit in this instance.
Mrs Jenkinson asked with scepticism, “He won’t mind knowing about kisses and proposals made in dark corners of this very house?”
How had she known?
“There was no proposal,” Elizabeth said.
Mrs Jenkinson tsked.
There had been a near proposal. Twice. “I thought I could be without you, but I cannot,” he had said mere steps from here.
And “Would you do me the honour” at Longbourn.
For the first, they had been interrupted, and for the second she had fled like a foolish girl.
She ought to have listened to him. Spoken with him.
She ought to have explained her concerns.
“There was no proposal,” Elizabeth repeated. But when Mrs Jenkinson merely pursed her lips, Elizabeth’s anger flared, and she added, “You killed your mistress for nothing.”
“Killed? Whatever do you mean?”
“Your gossip sent her to Longbourn and she died from—” She was going to say “the shock of our conversation” but stopped herself. Should she tell the full truth? No, this woman was nothing and did not deserve to know. “Who knows? Exertion? It was a long journey for a woman of her years.”
Mrs Jenkinson’s lower lip began to tremble. “I-I…I thought it best to tell her. To stop— He must marry Miss de Bough!”
“Mr Darcy would never. Not even if he and I had never met! He is kind to his cousin, from my observations, but a marriage of the sort you suggest would not be beneficial. They would likely resent one another.”
“Many marriages are of that sort. The man often finds…other ways to happiness outside of marriage.”
Elizabeth sucked in a breath. “Mr Darcy does not strike me as the sort of man to desire lying and acting against God’s will to break the covenant of marriage.
” She had seen a cross sticking out from Mrs Jenkinson’s collar and thought this might be enough to end this unpleasant conversation and Mrs Jenkinson’s threats.
Elizabeth was not sure if Mr Darcy felt this way, though she hoped he did.
Mrs Jenkinson’s gaze dropped, so Elizabeth thought she might have won the round. But then Mrs Jenkinson said, “I still believe they belong together.”
Elizabeth turned and left the room, her breath short.