Chapter 19
Sometimes nothing has yet been arranged, and yet everything has been decided.
After the conversation she had with Darcy under the shade of an old oak, Elizabeth felt it was so.
He had not yet made her the offer that would change their lives forever, but Elizabeth had no doubt it would soon come.
When it did, she would not need to consider her answer.
With such pleasant thoughts to occupy her, Elizabeth was not sorry to be left alone at the parsonage the next day.
Mr Collins had been summoned to Rosings Park by Lady Catherine, as evidentially happened with some regularity.
Having no other engagements, Charlotte and Maria had gone out together soon after breakfast for a walk into the village, after civilly offering not to go and fearing that Elizabeth might be lonely.
Politeness would have required Elizabeth to urge them on regardless, but it was no great sacrifice.
If she could have, Elizabeth would have enjoyed the exercise, but her ankle was still too weak to go so far.
Since she could not have the pleasure of a walk, Charlotte and Maria might as well enjoy it for her.
After offering to stay with her once again, Charlotte at last set out, her sister by her side.
The morning, thus left to her own disposal, might have been employed in any number of ways.
A book lay within reach, and there were letters which might have been answered.
Yet she found herself inclined to neither.
Her thoughts were not easily directed toward any occupation that required sustained attention.
It was a far more agreeable employment to allow them to wander where they would: directly to Darcy.
The pain in her ankle seemed to disappear as Elizabeth thought back to the sunlight shining through the leaves of the tree above, to Darcy’s face, by turns serious and amused, and to the strength of his hand taking hers. It was a moment in which she might have gladly lived forever.
In one sense, Elizabeth supposed, perhaps she might — or better still, might store up a treasure of similar moments, different in time and place, but all wonderfully the same in that they might be shared with a gentleman who had gradually come to occupy a place in her heart so uniquely his own.
Elizabeth was shaken out of her reflections by the sound of wheels on the gravel in front of the house.
The approach of a carriage was sufficiently uncommon at that hour to engage her attention, and Elizabeth waited for the servant to announce the visitor with considerable curiosity.
No visitor could be so welcome to her as Darcy, but it could not be he.
The distance between Rosings and the parsonage was so small that he would not have ridden, let alone taken a carriage.
Elizabeth’s wait was then over, as Lady Catherine strode into the room.
Her manner was not hurried, and she walked with an air of stately superiority. Mr Collins followed close behind her, his expression a queasy mix of self-importance and uneasiness. Elizabeth rose to greet them and gave a small bow.
“Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine said without troubling herself to bow or make any other civil greeting, “I have called upon you on a matter which admits of no delay.”
“Good morning, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said civilly. “Please tell me why you have come, then. I am quite at your service.”
“As you ought to be,” Lady Catherine said, with very particular emphasis. “I am informed that you have been much in the society of my nephew.”
Though Elizabeth could not entirely keep a blush from her cheeks, her voice was level. “Mr Darcy has been so obliging as to visit the parsonage.”
“Very obliging indeed,” Lady Catherine said contemptuously. “You wish me to believe, then, that my nephew’s actions are nothing more than those of a concerned gentleman performing his social obligations for an injured neighbour?”
Elizabeth did not immediately answer.
“I shall speak plainly,” Lady Catherine said in a tone of ice. “Your conduct has not been such as I can approve. You have permitted attentions which were not proper for you to receive, and which are still less proper for you to encourage.”
“I have done nothing of which I need be ashamed,” Elizabeth told her. “My conduct has been entirely free of impropriety.”
Lady Catherine regarded her with increased severity. “You cannot suppose me ignorant of what has passed. My nephew is not a man to bestow his time without motive, and I am not to be deceived by any appearance of indifference on your part.”
“I do not claim to be indifferent,” Elizabeth told her, meeting Lady Catherine’s gaze without a flinch. “Only to have acted in accordance with my obligations and with the proper dictates of society. But perhaps your ladyship has been misinformed on this point, and I can now reassure you.”
“I have not been misinformed,” Lady Catherine said icily.
“I know very well what is due to Darcy, and what is required of those who are admitted to his acquaintance. You have not acted with the discretion which your situation ought to have dictated. Not content with the sphere of your birth, you have shamelessly attempted to entice my nephew.”
Elizabeth gasped in insulted astonishment, and Mr Collins, who had been shifting from one foot to the other with increasing agitation, now spoke up.
“My dear Lady Catherine,” he said, “Miss Elizabeth can have had no intention, no improper intention, I am persuaded. Her conduct has always been most correct. Most exemplary.”
Lady Catherine silenced him with a look.
“I am not accustomed to forming my opinions without sufficient grounds,” she said.
“Nor am I inclined to alter them at the suggestion of others.” She turned again to Elizabeth.
“You will therefore understand me when I say that your remaining in this neighbourhood can no longer be permitted. You will leave Hunsford immediately.”
“Leave Hunsford?” Elizabeth said in astonishment. “I assure your ladyship, I shall leave it soon enough. My return is to take place in two weeks.”
“It will take place today,” Lady Catherine told her. “You will leave now.”
This proposal was so absurd that Elizabeth could not immediately think of an answer. “I cannot imagine that you are serious,” she said at last. “I cannot at all comprehend your meaning.”
“It is not necessary that you should comprehend it,” Lady Catherine replied. “It is sufficient that I require it.”
“I am a guest in this house,” Elizabeth protested. “I cannot suppose that I am to be dismissed from it without the consent of its master.”
She turned toward Mr Collins as she spoke, but he only appeared more distressed. “My dear Cousin Elizabeth,” he said, “the wishes of Lady Catherine must always be paramount. It would be highly improper, highly unbecoming, to oppose them in any particular.”
Elizabeth regarded him with astonishment.
“Do you mean to say,” she said, “that I am to leave your house at a moment’s notice, merely because Lady Catherine commands it?
Is there nothing improper in sending a member of your own family, an injured young woman, on a journey which must prove both uncomfortable and likely to provoke comment? ”
“My situation,” he replied, with an air of painful importance, “is one of peculiar obligation. I cannot, in conscience, refuse her ladyship anything which she may be pleased to require.”
“You have protested quite enough,” Lady Catherine said with smug satisfaction. “I believe you now see that the matter is settled. There is no occasion for further debate.”
Elizabeth sat down abruptly, equally overcome by the pain in her ankle from standing so long and by the shock of such insults. “I had intended,” she said, after a moment, “to remain only a short time longer. I shall therefore make my preparations to leave as soon as I am able.”
“That will not be necessary,” Lady Catherine returned. “You will leave at once.”
“At once?” Elizabeth repeated faintly.
“My carriage is at the door now. You will return to your family in it. Your trunk may follow when it has been properly secured. Mrs Collins shall pack it for you.”
For a moment, Elizabeth could not think how to answer her.
That Lady Catherine should order hers to leave a house of which she was not the master, and that Mr Collins would not exert his rights in so humiliating a case, was extraordinary in its own right.
That she would be expected to do so immediately, without so much as packing her things, was almost beyond belief.
Yet the manner in which it was urged left little room for argument, and she was too well aware of Mr Collins’s disposition to suppose that any further appeal to him would be of use.
“I should wish,” she said at last, “to write to my family before I set out. To arrive when they do not expect me for another fortnight would be shocking.”
“Your family shall learn of your journey by the fact of your arrival,” Lady Catherine returned. “There is no advantage in postponing your departure.”
Elizabeth did not immediately speak again.
To escape the arrangements Lady Catherine proposed would not be easy. She could not remain at the parsonage if denied it by its master. Any attempt to seek shelter elsewhere would cause considerable comment, and walking any considerable distance remained impossible.
She had no choice but to allow Lady Catherine to send her home like a parcel, or perhaps like a naughty child. But all the indignity of the journey was nothing compared to leaving before she had seen Darcy.
He must know what was being done to her.
She must tell him she did not wish to leave him without a word.
But even as Elizabeth thought desperately of how she might arrange to send word, she realised it was impossible.
It was precisely to prevent her from doing any such thing that Lady Catherine was sending her without time to so much as pack her trunk.
She must go without speaking to him. The conclusion brought pain, but composure with it as well. As there was nothing else for her to do, Elizabeth would keep her dignity.
“I am ready,” she said.
Mr Collins nodded in satisfaction, looking more than a little relieved that there would not be a scene.
“My dear Miss Elizabeth,” he began, “permit me to assure you that no personal inconvenience, no temporary discomfort, can outweigh the satisfaction of complying with the wishes of Lady Catherine, whose judgment in all matters must ever be regarded with the highest respect.”
Elizabeth did not trust herself to answer him.
Lady Catherine rose. “You will follow me at once.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, and, with as much steadiness as she could command, followed her from the room.
The passage to the door was soon made. A servant had already brought her shawl.
She would once have thought it extraordinary to quit a house under such circumstances without even the formality of a farewell.
She now found that the omission was of little consequence compared with the necessity of preserving her composure.
Two carriages stood before the house: the large and elegant carriage which Elizabeth had seen Lady Catherine use before, and another, which had once been a fine vehicle, but was now a little worn and faded, obviously much the older of the two.
Lady Catherine gestured imperiously for Elizabeth to enter the latter, and Elizabeth, after a moment’s pause which served only to confirm what was already resolved, did so.
The coachman closed the door behind her.
The carriage moved forward without delay, the sound of the wheels on the gravel giving way to the more even motion of the road beyond. From the window, Elizabeth could see Lady Catherine’s carriage turning away from them, returning to Rosings.
Elizabeth felt at one moment that she might cry from shock, fright, and humiliation, and at the next that she was too angry for tears.
That she should have been compelled to leave in such a manner was not the most pressing part of her concern.
The inconvenience would soon be remedied.
Her family would receive her, and the explanation, however imperfect, might be given when there was leisure to do so.
What occupied her more immediately was the circumstance from which the whole had arisen.
Lady Catherine’s meaning had not been obscure.
That she should attribute to Elizabeth a degree of intention which had never formed, and a design which she would not have knowingly pursued, was mortifying, but not, upon reflection, entirely surprising.
Her ladyship was not a woman to suppose that others might act without reference to the distinctions she herself held to be of such importance.
Yet the conclusion Lady Catherine had drawn did not follow from the premises she had assumed.
Elizabeth shook her head at Lady Catherine’s folly.
She could not believe that Mr Darcy’s conduct had been so entirely misunderstood.
With a steadiness that was not easily shaken, she recalled all that had passed between them during the last days of her stay.
There had been nothing in his manner that could justly give rise to the suspicions his aunt had expressed.
His attention had been marked, but not improper.
His regard had been evident, but not presumptuous.
He had distinguished her, it was true, yet always within the bounds of that respect which she could neither misinterpret nor resent.
If there had been any fault, it had not been his, and she could not believe that his feelings would be altered by what had passed. He was not a man to be governed by the interference of others, however closely they were connected to him. His judgement was his own, and not easily turned.
That his aunt should attempt it was entirely in keeping with her character. That he should submit to it was not. The thought steadied her.
Darcy would be surprised when he learned what had been done. He would be displeased, perhaps greatly so, and when he understood how she had been sent away, he could not remain indifferent.
What he might do next, she did not attempt to determine. It was enough that she did not doubt him. Darcy would find her.
The road stretched on before them, the distance increasing with every turn of the wheels, yet Elizabeth found that her thoughts did not follow it. They remained fixed where she had left them, in the quiet garden at Hunsford parsonage, and in the conversation that had changed everything.
Whatever might follow, that could not be undone.