Chapter 10
“There is nothing more healthful than a family Christmas together, full of peace and the vast superiority of Rosings.”
-Lady Catherine de Bourgh
The next day we walked over to Rosings for Christmas dinner. It was a crisp, gorgeous winter day and my heart felt light and joyful, even though the tip of my nose was cold and pink.
Mr. Bingley pulled my husband aside as soon as he came in, laughing as he looked up at Mr. Collins.
“Just the fellow I wanted to see!” he said. “I need your help lifting—”
I didn’t catch what he said as he hurried William away but felt another flush of pleasure. It pleased me more than I could admit to see them appreciating my husband’s good qualities.
Then I was startled to see Mr. Radcliffe come up to me, clearly desiring speech. I was startled because he had never taken much notice of me. I was too plain and quiet to interest a man like him.
“I hear you are the one responsible for reuniting Lady Catherine with her precious pigs,” he said.
“Yes, my husband and I found them while we were on a walk,” I replied composedly, not sure what he was getting at.
He smiled at me, his white teeth looking uncomfortably sharp and wolfish.
“Clever little madam, aren’t you?” he said, suddenly grasping my wrist with his hand.
“Let me go or I will call for my husband,” I said in a low voice.
He must be drunk. There was no other explanation for such bizarre behavior.
“Just keep your nose out of any more sleuthing,” he snarled at me. “Or you’ll be sorry.”
This speech seemed unbearably melodramatic and made me even more suspicious that he must be drunk, although I did not smell alcohol on him. Perhaps he was practicing for a play? But no, even a rake like him wouldn’t dream of putting on a private play in a respectable home.
I said nothing and he repeated, “Keep your nose away from me.”
Then, giving me a little vicious shake, he dropped my arm abruptly and stalked away.
I felt a shiver of fear go through my body. What could this behavior mean? Was he drunk? Or was he really trying to warn me off because he had stolen Lady Catherine’s necklace?
I hastily moved into the dining room, and it was Lady Catherine’s turn to buttonhole me.
“How are you progressing?” she asked, her breath a hot blast of anger in my ear. “Have you found the culprit so I can horsewhip him yet? Perhaps it is two culprits,” she added. “Two unprincipled men who will stop at nothing to hurt me.”
As we sat down to dinner, I reflected on her words.
Two unprincipled men.
Stop at nothing.
They want to hurt me.
And suddenly I thought I knew the solution to the mystery.
“Can you do a nice long blessing before the meal starts?” I whispered in my husband’s ear. “I need a little bit of time to see if my theory is correct.”
I could not have imaged asking Mr. Collins for such a thing a week ago. But I knew he was the perfect person to create a distraction.
He didn’t ask questions. If I had asked for it, I must have had a good reason.
And so he stood up majestically from the table, his waistcoat expanding as he stretched his big arm.
“Before we eat,” he said, beaming upon the assembled company, “I would like to say a few words in praise of this elegant and gracious repast and, of course, our benevolent hostess, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
I noted with a look of wicked inner glee, that Anne, her two suitors, Lizzy, Darcy, Jane, and Bingley, all closed their mouths firmly, surely watering painfully at the delicious smells of the tempting repast before them.
They stared longingly at the glistening roasted boar’s head, the savory cooked goose, the roast beef, the still-steaming mince pies.
Then I turned and slipped along the silent corridors of Rosings, heading for Lady Catherine’s rooms.
I knew my way around very well. I knew the hallways would be almost deserted for the big Christmas meal, all the servants pressed into service for the meal that creaked and strained even Lady Catherine’s big table.
I had a brief moment of doubt before I opened the big ornate doors to her room.
Should I be doing this?
But I had always been a sensible person. If I wanted to see if my hypothesis was correct, this was the way to do it.
I had never been in her chambers before, and my eyes flicked rapidly around her high bed, luxurious carpets and curtains, and the elaborately carved bureaus.
Where would she put it?
What kind of woman was Lady Catherine?
Autocratic, confident, sure of herself.
I headed for her jewel box and there, barely hidden by a pearl necklace, was the acrostic one Lady Catherine claimed was stolen.
What a bold move, to put it where everyone had already looked multiple times.
I picked it up with careful fingers, holding it to the light as the jewels sparkled.
Then I wrapped the necklace in a handkerchief, put it in my pocket, and made my way back down to the dining room.
When I got back, I was pleased to hear that my husband was still going.
“The Good Lord,” he was saying, “has ordained that every moving thing that lives shall be food for you. Moving on to the second chapter of Colossians. . .”
I saw him catch my eye, and he sat down again, not even slightly winded. I do believe he could have gone for another 45 minutes without breaking a sweat.
After dinner, the servants brought out the Christmas pudding to pleased cries from the assembled company, the cooked raisins and brown sugar smelling enticing.
“Lady Catherine,” I asked, trying to conceal the irritation in my voice as I realized she had sent me all over the grounds of Rosings on a series of wild goose chases, “may I have a moment.”
I led her to the sitting room.
“What is it?” she asked. “Have you found someone for me to horsewhip?”
“I guess that depends,” I said. “You hid the acrostic necklace yourself. Why?”
Lady Catherine’s small hard eyes narrowed at me. “I did no such thing,” she said. “You’ve gone insane, young woman. I shall have to speak very strongly to your husband about this.”
I took the acrostic necklace from my pocket. “Behold, I have solved the mystery. I am returning your necklace to you. And now I would like an explanation.”
Her sour face looked angry. “How dare you! Maybe it was you who stole it!”
I almost rolled my eyes.
“I don’t think anyone will believe that.”
“We’ll see if they do,” she said sharply, reaching for the bell.
“I don’t think Bertram will believe that the necklace was sitting all the time in your jewel case,” I said. “I don’t think Bertram will buy that at all. That would mean she hadn’t looked thoroughly for it. I wonder if she has a verse in Ezekiel that would convey her displeasure?”
I saw Lady Catherine’s face crumple and I knew I had her.
She flounced into a chair.
“Oh, very well. Thank you for your assistance in solving this mystery. You can go now.”
“An explanation, if you please,” I repeated.
Lady Catherine only pinched her lips together. “I have nothing to say to you.”
I crossed my arms and thought hard. I really wanted to solve this mystery.
“You were trying to pin it on Mr. Radcliffe or Sir Francis,” I said suddenly. “But why?”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said, but I knew it was true, and suddenly I knew the reason for it.
“You didn’t want either of them to marry Anne. You want to keep Anne with you.”
Lady Catherine shifted uncomfortably in her chair and bit out, “Fine, all right. She is my only child. I don’t want her moving far away, even if it is a brilliant match.”
“Mr. Radcliffe is a rake and Sir Francis is a nincompoop,” I said. “They would never make her happy.” I paused for a moment, then decided to press my advantage. “Why not someone like Mr. Crawford? He lives nearby and you would be able to see Anne frequently.”
Lady Catherine looked horrified. “A mere solicitor? The great family of the de Bourghs could never stoop so low.”
“I wonder,” I said ruthlessly. “If anyone would find it interesting that you were roaming around Rosings in the mud, letting your own pigs out their pens.”
“No one would believe that,” she said.
“I have a very reputable witness,” I said, hoping she didn’t call my bluff.
“The shame of it,” she tried, but I shook my head sternly. “Mr. Crawford comes from a very good family and I think he’ll be kind to your daughter.”
“All right,” she huffed, looking displeased. “Whatever Anne wants, I suppose.”
I smiled. I knew very well what Anne would want.
Her eyes showed it every time she saw Mr. Crawford.
Back in the dining room, just as the men were about to break away for a glass of port, my husband’s patroness decided to make an announcement.
“There is a jewel thief in the neighborhood,” Lady Catherine said dramatically, causing gasps around the table, except in my husband, whose poker face was not his strongest suit. “My acrostic necklace has been stolen. But luckily, the necklace has been recovered.”
She cleared her throat and added ungraciously, “with the help of Mrs. Collins.”
The cries of astonishment and requests for more information were immediate.
“Remarkable news!” my husband thundered, trying his best to pretend like this was the first he was hearing about it.
I had to make up a story quickly about finding the necklace outside on a walk. I wasn’t sure if this story was convincing, but it was all I could come up with on the spur of the moment.
Lizzy pounced on me as soon as the men left for their port, excitedly drawing me outside.
“It’s so cold out here, Lizzy,” I laughed.
But she turned to me, her eyes sparkling.
“Charlotte, you sly devil!” she said. “There’s more to you than meets the eye. More to you than even I know. What really happened with the necklace?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I promised. “Let’s go inside by the fire now. It’s too cold out here!”
I turned with her to go her inside, but, to my surprise, I looked across the yard and saw Mr. Radcliffe sneaking into the stables.
We looked at each other and followed him cautiously in, hurrying across the frozen yard and creeping carefully after him.
I was shocked to see him preparing to mount Sir Francis’ fine horse and I couldn’t stay silent any longer.
“What are you doing?” I burst out, and Mr. Radcliffe jerked around, an angry look on his handsome rakish face.
He was carrying a thick leather bag.
“What’s in there?” Lizzy asked sharply, and she moved fearlessly toward him.
“You’re a jewel thief!” I said in shock, seeing a tiny flash of bright sparkle as the bag lifted up slightly.
He moved threateningly toward us, raising his fist.
“I told you not to poke your nose where it wasn’t wanted,” he said viciously, but he stopped to run his eyes appreciatively over Lizzy’s slim, lissome figure and big, luminous eyes.
“Maybe I’ll just take you with me, you little vixen,” Mr. Radcliffe snarled, grabbing Lizzy’s arm.
Lizzy didn’t scream, but I saw no virtue whatsoever in a false bravado, so I did scream, loudly and efficiently.
Mr. Radcliffe had barely begun to drag Lizzy back to his horse with one meaty arm when I felt a shadow pass over the entrance to the stables and a tall, angry body stalked swiftly beside me.
It was Mr. Darcy, and in a few quick strides, he had grabbed Mr. Radcliffe by the arm. As Mr. Radcliffe turned around, Mr. Darcy hit him brutally in the face, sending the bigger man staggering back.
Lizzy screamed then, and Mr. Darcy caught her as she wrenched herself free of the villainous Mr. Radcliffe.
Mr. Radcliffe got up and I saw blood on his face. He lunged at Mr. Darcy, trying to knock him off his balance.
“Back, you whelp!” Darcy said, and I saw him kick one shiny black booted foot out, connecting with Mr. Radcliffe’s thigh.
With his free hand, Mr. Darcy grabbed one of the whips hanging on the wall of the stable, and he began to horsewhip Mr. Radcliffe most energetically.
Mr. Radcliffe was made of stern stuff, and he still came at Mr. Darcy, swinging a wild punch that Mr. Darcy had to move quickly to avoid.
Then suddenly, my husband was there, grabbing Mr. Radcliffe in his big arms, squeezing him tightly.
Mr. Radcliffe gasped, the breath getting crushed out of him by William’s strong arms.
I felt my heart begin to beat faster.
“Let him go!” said Mr. Darcy hotly. “I plan to flay the skin from his body for touching my wife.”
“Not on this august holiday,” Mr. Collins said. “Not on the sacred grounds of Rosings. It would put a damper on the festivities. We’ll turn him over to the magistrate.”
Mr. Darcy stared at my husband for a moment, his face stone-cold with anger.
I waited, my breath caught in my throat. Mr. Radcliffe was a big, thickly muscled man, but he was turning purple in my husband’s arm as Mr. Collins squeezed him tightly. I thought about how gently and carefully those arms had held me last night.
“Please, Fitzwilliam,” Lizzy said. “Think of what would happen if this news got out.”
Mr. Darcy smiled at Mr. Radcliffe, and his face was cold and brutal. “You have convinced me,” he said.
Lizzy and I breathed in relief. Think of the scandal!
My husband beamed, his good humor imperturbable. “I, of course, apologize for giving you what was perhaps an unwelcome suggestion,” he said, gradually relaxing his hold on Mr. Radcliffe. “But I thought it might be advantageous to exhibit the quality of mercy on this particular occasion.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Darcy. “I’m afraid when it comes to my wife I am very protective.”
He was not a demonstrative man either, but he clapped my husband on the shoulder. “I appreciate you stopping me. I would hate for any of this scandal to affect Georgiana’s chances of a good marriage.”
“Just so,” my husband said enthusiastically.
Lizzy smiled at him, too. “Thank you, Mr. Collins,” she said.
“I too, am very protective of my wife,” William said solemnly. “I would like to see any vile seducer try to make off with her.”
I, too, thought that would truly be something remarkable for a woman as plain as I was, but I said nothing, just smiled at my husband as he put a big arm affectionately around my waist. Lady Catherine’s advice about the dangers to clergymen in excessive romance had been forgotten, on Christmas and every day after that.
Mr. Darcy gave us one of his rare smiles. “Let’s tie this villain up for the magistrate,” he said.
“I could use another mince pie,” said Mr. Collins, and I followed my husband back inside, my heart warm with the bigness of his heart, his voice, and his love.