Chapter 20
“Was there ever a longer day?” Fitzwilliam groaned as their horses turned up the gravel drive that led to Rosings.
Darcy looked at his cousin with amusement. “Surely you have had at least one or two in the army.”
Fitzwilliam shook his head. “When I have spent all day on the march, or convincing new recruits not to point their guns at their fellow soldiers, at least I know I have accomplished something of purpose. I do not know that we have accomplished anything today.”
“I cannot disagree,” Darcy said thoughtfully.
The whole day had been consumed in visiting tenants on Lady Catherine’s instructions, but the urgency that had dominated their aunt’s manner before they set out had no reflection in what they had accomplished.
“Rarely have I spent a day in anything that felt so much like a wild goose chase.”
“Perhaps it is not surprising,” Fitzwilliam said with a shrug.
“We have both contested Lady Catherine’s authority more than once on this trip.
This may be our aunt’s way of regaining the upper hand.
Did my mother never tell you how Aunt Catherine would try to hide her letters if she displeased her when they were girls? ”
Darcy laughed a little at that. “No, but you might tell me now.”
By the time Fitzwilliam had finished relating the story, the supper gong rang, and they were obligated to retreat to their rooms and freshen their dress in haste.
At the supper table, Lady Catherine’s mood was unusually pleasant.
She made no objection to the near-total lack of success they had in carrying out her errands, and in fact thanked them for going.
Darcy accepted the thanks warily. He would have thought Lady Catherine was mellowing with age, had such a thing not been all but impossible to picture.
More likely, his aunt had perhaps received some news that pleased her, or had some other triumph they would soon hear of at great length.
When supper ended, Lady Catherine did not lead the other ladies in retiring. Instead, she turned to Darcy.
“We shall speak now,” she informed him, and without another word, she turned and left the room.
Darcy looked after his aunt in astonishment. The strangeness of her manner was beyond all explanation. “Excuse me,” he said at last to the others, and followed her.
Lady Catherine led him to the room she used for the business of the estate, though it was not the chamber her late husband had used as a study.
She had chosen a larger space, which allowed Lady Catherine to place a great chair behind a large table of carved oak for herself, and another, smaller chair facing it, for those she wished to cow into submission.
Lady Catherine took the great chair now, and motioned Darcy to the other. He took it without protest, for anyone truly master of themselves did not need furniture to make the point.
“Well, Lady Catherine?” Darcy inquired. “What is it that you have to say to me?”
“I am your aunt, the closest relation you have living,” Lady Catherine began abruptly, in a rather curious dismissal of her own sister. “You ought to listen to me, Darcy, if to anyone. I have been patient with your delay in wedding Anne, but this has gone on too long.”
“You have made your wishes clear,” Darcy replied. “That Anne and I are not betrothed is not due to any lack of understanding, but to our mutual disinclination. Much as I respect my cousin, the match is entirely unsuitable.”
“Unsuitable!” Lady Catherine exclaimed. “Unsuitable! There could hardly be a more fitting match. What is unsuitable is your recent relations with Elizabeth Bennet.”
“My ‘relations’, as you call them, are none of your concern,” Darcy retorted. “Nor are they such as anyone could reprove. Miss Bennet’s honour, and my own, are above reproach.”
“Is that so?” Lady Catherine said contemptuously.
“Is it the action of a gentleman of honour to carry a young woman about clutched to his chest, no doubt enjoying every moment of it? Is it the action of a true lady to allow such a thing, no doubt hoping to ensnare a weak-minded man by allowing such licentiousness? I tell you now that I have viewed your — infatuation — for that young woman with great concern.”
“That is being frank with a vengeance,” Darcy replied levelly. “But I am afraid you are mistaken, Aunt Catherine. It is not an infatuation. I love Elizabeth, and I intend to marry her.”
Lady Catherine snorted. “Her? A young woman of no fortune, connections, or accomplishments? I grant you Miss Bennet is pretty enough, but prettiness fades. What will you have when hers is gone?”
“I shall have everything I want,” Darcy said.
“I shall have a wife of rare intelligence and courage. My partner in life will be a lady of elegance and charm who has shown remarkable faith in me and has shown herself to be imminently worthy of standing in my confidence. And I suspect, aunt, that Elizabeth will be beautiful to me even when she attains an age as great as your own. Both for her lovely eyes, and for her still more admirable character.”
His aunt received this with surprising calmness. “Her character is not what you think it is,” Lady Catherine said gravely.
“What do you mean?” Darcy asked impatiently.
“I regret to inform you, Darcy, that Elizabeth Bennet is gone. I did not think her a woman of moral character, and I was right. Today, I visited her at the parsonage.”
“If you have insulted her —” Darcy began furiously.
“Allow me to finish. I informed Miss Bennet of what would follow such a marriage, namely my utter disapprobation, and that of the rest of the family. Her name would never be spoken by any of us. Then I told her that I was not utterly without feeling, and that if she left now, without delay or any attempt to speak to you, she would go with a considerable sum of money for her pains.”
Lady Catherine then named the sum of money, but Darcy hardly heard her. “Elizabeth would not do that,” he protested.
“She would, and did. Indeed, I must begin to think a little better of Miss Bennet, for she proved more sensible that I feared. When she knew she would not rise in society as she had hoped and saw some gain to herself from a retreat, she agreed to go. I sent her off in the spare carriage at once. She will be back in Hertfordshire soon, if she is not already there.”
“It cannot be,” Darcy said blankly. “I cannot believe it of her.”
“You will see the truth of what I say when you see that she is gone. She left without a word to you, and without so much as packing her trunks. Just as she was paid to do.”
Darcy did not wait to hear more. He stood up in such haste that his chair tipped over, and was closing the door behind him almost before the sound of the crash had stopped.
He did not look back, but if he had, he would have seen his aunt looking after him with an expression of cruel satisfaction.
Darcy did not trouble himself to wait for so much as getting his jacket as he strode furiously towards Hunsford parsonage. The night air had the softness of spring warmth to it, though there was a soft, misting rain.
As he knocked furiously on the parsonage door, Darcy did not spare a thought for the oddity of the situation. He would have the truth, whatever came of it.
After a pause of some moments, a servant came to the door.
“I must speak to Mr Collins,” Darcy said abruptly. “It is a matter of great urgency. Kindly fetch your master at once.”
“Yes, sir,” the maid said, looking astonished and rather cowed. She turned to obey, but before she could do so, Mr Collins came hurrying to the door.
“Mr Darcy, what an honour,” Mr Collins stammered rather breathlessly. “Go now, Melissa. Go about your business; I shall attend to the gentleman. Ah, Mr Darcy, such a pleasure to receive you. How may I be of service?”
“Where is Miss Bennet?” Darcy demanded. “What has happened?”
“Ah — my cousin has returned to Hertfordshire,” Mr Collins said, looking uncomfortably to the side. “Such a shame that her visit was ended early.”
“Is all well?” Darcy asked him. “Was there some emergency at Longbourn? Why has she departed so abruptly?”
“I am pleased to be able to reassure you on that point,” Mr Collins said. “No, all is well with my cousin’s family.”
“Then what was the reason for such a departure?”
Mr Collins flushed with embarrassment. “After speaking with my noble patroness, Cousin Eliza realised it was for the best. Upon realising that Lady Catherine’s proposal was by far the most suitable course available to her, she chose to accept it.”
The words struck Darcy so forcefully that for a moment, he feared he might fall to the ground. It was impossible. Elizabeth could not have done such a thing, yet it was so. Mr Collin’s report exactly confirmed all his aunt had said.
“My wife is packing my cousin’s trunk now,” Mr Collins added in a confidential undertone. “It will be sent after her tomorrow, just as Lady Catherine arranged.”
“Who is that, Mr Collins?” came Mrs Collins’s sensible voice from inside the house. “Should you like to invite them in?”
“How foolish of me!” Mr Collins cried out.
“Why, of course I ought to have invited you in, Mr Darcy! How rude you must think me to keep you standing on the stoop. It is not at all the treatment that Lady Catherine would expect someone in her patronage to extend to her relations. Please forgive me. Will you come in now?”
“No — I thank you,” said Darcy, who could hardly imagine anything he wished less. “I beg your pardon, I shall leave you now.” And with an abrupt bow, he turned and hurried away.
How could it be that Lady Catherine’s story had been confirmed in every particular?
It seemed impossible. It must be impossible, yet it was so.
It contradicted everything he thought he had known about Elizabeth, yet she was gone.
Darcy had been certain Lady Catherine’s story would be proved false at once.
Instead, everything showed it to be the truth.
And if so much were true, what then of her allegations against Elizabeth herself?
It was painful even to admit the thought, but had it truly been his wealth and connections she wanted, not himself?
Had she never truly loved him at all?