Chapter 18
Rosings
Unsurprisingly, another week passed before the Collins party was invited to Rosings.
During that time, they saw little of Lady Catherine or her daughter.
Elizabeth rightly assumed her ladyship found her nephews’ company more agreeable than the occupants of the parsonage.
They were more of her rank and family, and would naturally be considered better company.
It was also possible they had the added benefit of being more complaisant.
Mary’s first few months in Hunsford had produced a long-running contest of wills between her and Lady Catherine, with the lady of the manor intent on instructing everyone within miles how they should live their lives.
Mary made a good impression by listening to the good advice, and a less favourable one by ignoring what was not, or worse yet, telling the lady why it was not.
Mary finally won the lady over to her way of thinking when she encountered a truly perplexing problem, difficult enough to tempt her to write to Elizabeth, the generally recognised cleverest of the Bennets.
Instead, she asked for a private meeting, laid out the entire issue, and was surprised to receive a clever answer that would never in a thousand years have occurred to her.
Kitty and Lydia’s visit in early March afforded the lady a chance to interrogate them endlessly on their upbringing and chastise them mercilessly for any breaches of decorum.
The lady was shocked when Lydia asked her bluntly to explain why she should act a particular way on an occasion early in their acquaintance. Put out that the young lady would not take a superior at her word, she considered it for some time, then explained in gruelling detail.
When Lydia listened carefully, eventually agreed, thanked her very kindly for her advice, and promised to do her best to comply, an alliance of sorts was forged.
So long as Lady Catherine was willing to explain and defend her position, both young ladies looked to her for guidance.
Eventually, she stopped giving advice she could not defend, for the most part.
By the time Elizabeth arrived, everyone was on good terms, but Lady Catherine still found their company both exhilarating and occasionally exhausting. A week with her nephews, whom she had known since birth, who probably rarely disagreed, must have been very restful.
During the subsequent week, Colonel Fitzwilliam visited the parsonage a few times, but Elizabeth suspected he was merely bored.
With the choice between two pretty and witty young women—one unwed—at the parsonage; and his ancient and cantankerous aunt and two cousins—one timid as a church mouse and the other stoic and brooding—at Rosings, Elizabeth judged it was not much of a contest.
After church on Easter Sunday, following a sermon on which William and Mary had collaborated while completely ignoring a good deal of well-meaning advice from Lady Catherine, they received a request to take the half-mile journey that evening.
The invitation was accepted, and at a proper hour they joined the party in Lady Catherine’s drawing-room.
Her ladyship received them civilly, but it was plain that their company was by no means so acceptable as when she could get nobody else; and she was, in fact, almost engrossed by her nephews, speaking to them, especially to Darcy, much more than to any other person in the room.
Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see them; anything was a welcome relief to him at Rosings, and Mrs Collins’ pretty sister had moreover caught his fancy very much.
He now seated himself by her, and talked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music, that Elizabeth had never been half so well entertained in that room before.
The discussion was interesting and entertaining, which Elizabeth mostly attributed to her low expectations.
She found him mostly indistinguishable from the other man whose name was never spoken, so she expected nothing more.
An analogy occurred to her that she had better keep to herself. Talking to the colonel was akin to playing with a puppy. The play itself was entertaining, so long as one remembered it was a puppy and did not expect much. The only real difference was that, given enough time, the puppy would grow up.
Mr Darcy watched their discussion with apparent curiosity, but unsurprisingly, he made no effort to join or contribute to it.
Lady Catherine demanded to know what they were talking about, and with a great heaving sigh of annoyance, the colonel chose one of their earlier topics at random. “Music. We were talking of music.”
“Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply.”
The lady carried on for some time in that vein, and Elizabeth ceased listening, instead finding Mr Darcy a better object of her curiosity. He did not resemble a puppy in any way; he was not the least bit puppyish.
The gentleman endured a short conversation with his aunt about the ever-accomplished Miss Darcy, which mostly consisted of Lady Catherine issuing instruction after instruction, while Mr Darcy replied as if each word were laboriously carved out of stone with a dull chisel.
Perhaps Lydia’s technique for dealing with her ought to be suggested.
Lady Catherine invited Elizabeth to practise in Mrs Jenkinson’s room, where she would be in nobody’s way, and Elizabeth watched Mr Darcy choke back a response at her rudeness.
She suppressed her own giggle at the original suggestion and his aborted response.
She was not particularly offended, because if she were to practise (as likely as a snowstorm in April), she would much prefer to do so in the suggested location, which was guaranteed to be free of both Lady Catherine and the gentlemen.
She could, however, see that Mr Darcy was put out—probably by the supposed incivility—but not enough to challenge his aunt directly.
Elizabeth barely dragged her attention back to the discussion when Lady Catherine started a familiar refrain.
“Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss if she practised more and could have the advantage of a London master. She has a very good notion of fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne’s. Anne would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn.”
Elizabeth looked at Darcy to see how cordially he assented to his cousin’s praise; but neither at that moment nor at any other could she discern any symptom of love; and from the whole of his behaviour to Miss de Bourgh she derived this comfort for Miss Bingley, that he might have been just as likely to marry her, had she been his relation.
Deciding it was her turn to beard the lion, Elizabeth put on the sweetest smile she was capable of. “Excuse me, Lady Catherine, do you mind if I ask a personal question?”
Everyone in the room started, as nobody ever deliberately pushed Lady Catherine in a direction that could consume hours.
“Certainly. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness.”
“I noticed that about you immediately. Would you mind telling me about your childhood illness? You seem to have recovered well. Was it very terrible? It is a subject of some fascination to me, and I hope Miss de Bourgh will tell me of hers as well, if you do not find the question impertinent or intrusive. My apologies if you do.”
Stunned silence greeted the question, but Elizabeth kept her rapt and curious expression aimed at Lady Catherine.
The great lady fumed for a moment, and finally said, “What an odd question! What possessed you to think I was ill as a child? I have the Fitzwilliam constitution. I have never been ill a day in my life, but perhaps Anne will condescend to satisfy your thirst for knowledge, as she certainly has.”
To everyone’s surprise, Anne calmly replied, “I shall be happy to talk with you as much as you like.”
Elizabeth’s smile broadened. “I am at your disposal. Perhaps we could ride out in your phaeton sometime?”
“Perhaps tomorrow?”
A gleam of anticipation appeared in the young heiress’s eyes, and it might well prove a fascinating day. Elizabeth could hardly wait to begin.
She turned her attention back to Lady Catherine.
“I beg your pardon for the impertinent question. I fear my native curiosity has been my downfall again. It is a wretched nuisance sometimes. You see, I studied logic and philosophy extensively this year. I have done my best to absorb everything from Aristotle to Francis Bacon, and tried the methods. I came to the obviously incorrect conclusion about your potential illness using deductive reasoning[xvi], which is useful, but occasionally in error if one misjudges the initial evidence or misunderstands the logic. I seem to have run afoul there, so I hope I have not offended you.”
She did not particularly care whether she had offended the great lady; but politeness was always best when it could be managed with no inconvenience.
Lady Catherine gasped. “Logic! Philosophy! Those are not appropriate subjects for a gently bred young lady.”
“I am surprised that you in particular would say so,” she replied with all the innocence of a newborn lamb, while Mary smirked.
“Perhaps I will need to redouble my efforts, as I am still failing in my logical pursuits. Based on logic alone, I expected you to be the very last woman in the world to place such a stricture. I suspect it would be best to leave the topic.”