Chapter Eight
January’s bitter frost gave way to February’s damp chill, and the earl and his wife set off for Bedfordshire without their middle daughter.
Mary, having asked and obtained permission to remain in Meryton, was comfortably installed with Aunt Philips and a new upright piano.
Assured of her contentment, Lord Rumley allowed himself to relinquish the lingering guilt he had borne since the Netherfield Ball.
Although his middle daughter was unaware of how close she had come to public humiliation at the piano, Bennet carried the memory keenly and resolved to make every possible amends.
Her stay in Meryton was only the first of them.
Lady Rumley, less pleased at having her daughters scattered across the country like autumn leaves in a brisk wind, took comfort in knowing that Jane and Elizabeth would join her in Bedfordshire come July, accompanied by her brother and his family, before they continued to the Peak District for the long-awaited holiday amid its verdant hills and dramatic stone outcroppings.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth arranged to visit Charlotte in March, with plans to stay six weeks.
The journey from London took just under four hours, with a brief halt at Bromley to rest the horses, and for Elizabeth and her maid to attend to necessary errands.
When the carriage turned off the main road onto the narrow lane leading to Hunsford, Elizabeth peered eagerly through the rain-speckled window for the first glimpse of her cousin’s modest parsonage.
One final bend and it appeared, nestled behind a low laurel hedge, glistening with droplets of recent rain.
On the covered portico stood Mr. Collins and Charlotte, joined by Sir William and Maria, who had arrived in Kent a week earlier.
They waited until the carriage came to a halt on the gravel drive, then stepped forward to greet her.
Mrs. Collins offered a warm, almost exuberant welcome, her usually placid features animated with genuine pleasure, while Sir William repeated, with undisguised enthusiasm, “Capital. Just capital!” his ruddy face beaming.
Elizabeth quickly perceived that her cousin had by no means forgotten the slight he believed he had suffered at her family’s hands during his first visit to Meryton.
His recital was exhaustive, from the exact proportions of every room (Fourteen feet by sixteen, with a southern exposure), the quality of the furnishings (Note the sideboard, a most generous gift from Lady Catherine herself), and, in particular, the layout of his garden with its neat paths and industrious beehives humming with activity despite the season.
Elizabeth met Charlotte’s gaze and offered a crooked, half-amused smile.
Her dearest friend’s calm expression betrayed no surprise; she knew exactly what had transpired in the breakfast room at Longbourn the morning after the Netherfield ball, and yet, she had still consented to marry the man.
With any luck, Mr. Collins would calm after a few hours, allowing the ladies to converse at leisure.
But no sooner had dinner begun than talk inevitably turned to Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Mr. Collins leaned forward eagerly, his voice rising in pleased anticipation.
“You will find Lady Catherine most charming, Cousin Elizabeth,” he proclaimed, his voice swelling with pride.
“She is quite the model of gracious politeness, tempered, of course, by her signature condescension. You may expect a gracious nod or two, just as my revered father-in-law and dear sister-in-law have received. Why, she invited us to dine scarcely an hour after our arrival and insisted we not walk home. She even ordered her carriage for us, or rather, I should say, one of her carriages, for she has several.”
“Your patroness is a most attentive neighbour,” Elizabeth observed, her tone measured.
Truth be told, a twinge of irritation bothered Elizabeth at such attentiveness, particularly upon discovering that Lady Catherine had ordered him to install shelves in the closet.
What was to become of her clothing? Would her maid be reduced to draping gowns on the curtain rod?
She repressed an amused giggle at the image of her two finest dresses festooned about the window like tawdry drapery.
She could only hope that the spacious armoire she had glimpsed in the dressing room earlier would accommodate her wardrobe.
By the time the first course was removed, their discourse shifted to Hertfordshire.
Sir William, proceeded to update her on the latest Meryton news, which remained largely fixated on the militia, and Maria expressed dissatisfaction that the officers would soon march to Brighton for the next phase of their training.
Subtle questions were asked with regard to what the Bennet family was doing in town, how Lydia and Kitty were faring in their schools, and whether Mary was enjoying her time with their aunt and uncle Phillips.
Elizabeth’s reply had all the restraint her father’s confidences demanded, and the candour her upbringing required.
“My two youngest sisters are thriving in their respective schools. Kitty has unveiled a remarkable aptitude for sketching and watercolours, and Lydia, much to everyone’s surprise, has displayed a natural gift for mathematics, a talent none of us expected.”
“Mathematics? How singular,” Charlotte murmured, brows arched in polite surprise, then deftly shifted her curiosity to the elder siblings. “And what of Jane? Has she spoken with Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst since she arrived in town?”
A small moue of distaste pinched Elizabeth’s lips at the mention of Mr. Bingley’s sisters. Or rather, the one sister that truly mattered, with her haughty airs and barely hidden dislike of everyone in Meryton.
“Jane had planned to pay them a call,” she said, her voice low and cool, “but providence, or perhaps ill fortune, led my sister and me, accompanied by Aunt Madeline, to encounter them quite by chance on Bond Street.”
“Were they not civil?” Charlotte enquired, her gaze bright with genuine interest, like a bird spotting a tasty crumb.
“They were not. Jane can no longer deny what I had suspected all along, that their friendship was a mere pretense.”
“But they showed such particular attention to her at Netherfield.”
“Does not the serpent linger in perfect stillness, its orange-hued scales gleaming deceptively in the sun, waiting for the perfect moment to strike its unsuspecting prey?”
Charlotte’s eyebrows arched high upon her forehead, disappearing momentarily beneath the neat arrangement of her chestnut curls. “My dear Eliza,” she finally breathed out. “You speak with unusual harshness. I have never heard such venom in your tone.”
“I speak as I find,” replied Elizabeth, “though I must exclude Mrs. Hurst from my criticism. Our recent encounters reveal her to be rather agreeable, and she is thoroughly embarrassed by her sister’s behaviour.”
“This comes as quite a revelation.”
“I find myself somewhat grateful that Miss Bingley revealed her true nature,” Elizabeth continued, her dark eyes flashing with conviction.
“Jane, as you are aware, perpetually seeks the good in others, and needs to perceive her as we do. It has, to some extent, soothed the wound inflicted by her brother.”
“I think that gentleman acted the cad,” declared Sir William, his voice gruff with indignation. “We all witnessed his attention to your beloved sister, and then to depart in such a fashion…”
“I agree, Sir William,” Elizabeth nodded, her posture straightening with sisterly pride.
“Happily, Jane flourishes in the company of my uncle and his wife. They are more than content to squire her around to numerous entertainments and gatherings. She has scarcely had time to dwell on the conduct of an immature young man who evidently lacked readiness for matrimony, despite appearances to the contrary.”
“That is good. I am glad for Miss Bennet.”
“As am I, Sir William. As am I.”
Mr. Collins came rushing down the lane the following day, his face flushed with exertion, his clerical collar askew.
“Charlotte!” he exclaimed between laboured breaths. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself requested our presence at Rosings Park for dinner this very evening. A most distinguished honour.”
Charlotte’s face fell, her usually composed features betraying momentary dismay. “The cook has already begun preparing our meal, the beef joint is roasting, and the pudding is set. Whatever shall we do with it all?”
“Perhaps the portions could be divided among several households.” Elizabeth suggested. “Some of your parishioners might welcome such a gesture, and bring comfort on this chilly spring day.”
“Indeed, we know of three widows in difficult circumstances,” Charlotte replied, her expression brightening as she glanced at Elizabeth with grateful approval. “I will consult with the cook immediately about arranging the baskets.”
Before long, their party of five set out for Rosings Park along a winding path, with Elizabeth attired in what Mr. Collins had termed, with his characteristic pomposity, “whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest.” His remarks about her chosen ensemble had amused her moments before their departure.
“Cousin Elizabeth, do you think it is appropriate to wear such a garment?” Mr. Collins had enquired upon her entrance to the front parlour.
Elizabeth glanced down at her cream muslin gown with its delicate ivy embroidery adorning the hem and sleeves, the work of countless hours by a skilled hand. Her matching pelisse of spring green and straw bonnet with its single modest ribbon completed the ensemble perfectly.
“You did specify my finest dress,” she responded with feigned earnestness. “I possess grander ones in London, of course, but this is the best available. Shall I request one of my silk gowns be sent express for our next engagement with Lady Catherine?”