Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
E lizabeth spent the remainder of the afternoon ‘resting’ in the bedchamber she shared with Darcy, blessedly alone. He had attempted to look in on her a couple of hours ago, but she had instructed Blake to send him away under the premise that her indolence was not to be disturbed. She had felt it prudent to brood a bit longer before attempting any semblance of dispassionate discourse lest it devolve immediately into another argument. A short respite is all I need.
Even so, it was time to come down from her high horse and prepare for dinner. The gong had sounded a quarter of an hour ago, and despite her lingering irritation, she had instructed Blake to dress her for the evening. Darcy had already come and gone, offering to make her excuses to Lady Catherine, and she had snappishly sent him off with a word over her cold shoulder.
He lingered just outside their bedchamber, standing as stiffly as any of the suits of armour about them. “Are you certain you are well enough to go down?”
“If I feel faint, I shall signal you to fetch my salts.”
Darcy muttered something indistinct under his breath and held out his arm for her. She took his elbow, and he led them both downstairs.
Their party was greatly diminished since last evening, what with the greater portion of the Matlock contingent returned to London and the Collinses at their own home. A glance at Anne’s empty chair, placed near the hearth with a screen nearby to protect its absent owner from the heat, increased this sense and beset Elizabeth with palpable heartache. What will it be like for her ladyship when the rest of us leave?
Darcy led Elizabeth to a sofa, but she manoeuvred herself into a single chair. He breathed a subtle sigh and settled himself in the one beside her.
Lady Catherine looked at Elizabeth down the slope of her prominent nose. “I see you have finally decided to grace us with your presence, Miss Bennet. Were you really so unwell after your ill-advised walk that you required the entire afternoon to recover?”
On the edge of her vision, Elizabeth saw Darcy’s jaw tighten. She laid a staying hand upon his clenched fist, forced as pleasant a smile as she could muster, and spoke quickly. “I am afraid I overestimated my stamina today. I am much refreshed now.”
“You look lovely and refreshed to me, dear cousin. Far too good for the likes of Darcy,” said the colonel from across the circle with a wink. She appreciated his attempt at levity, even if no one else did, and thanked him for the compliment .
“Balderdash, she is all peaky,” declared Lady Catherine with a regal sniff. She then leant in and employed her spectacles, which hung about her neck by a chain, to observe Elizabeth more closely. “Are you positive you are well?”
My, but she does love to flatter me. “Perfectly so, your ladyship.”
“Nonsense, you do not look healthful to me at all. You ought to partake of that tonic I recommended to you the other day to improve your constitution. Fortunately, I have taken the liberty of having some made up for you.” Lady Catherine waved to a small phial of sickly yellow liquid on the tea table before her. Somewhere within the house, a bell jangled sharply.
“What is in it?” Darcy queried, eyeing the tonic with a suspicious tilt to his mouth.
She disregarded her nephew’s query and addressed Elizabeth directly. “It is meant to be taken with tea to make it more palatable. Anne always said it had a bitter taste.”
Elizabeth’s uneasy gaze darted between the phial and her hostess. “Miss de Bourgh used to take this tonic?”
“Yes, twice daily. It did wonders for her.”
Wonders, indeed! Right up until she died. “I thought…forgive me, I thought you mentioned before that this tonic was meant for women who are with child.”
Lady Catherine waved her hand dismissively. “It is good for anyone, but especially those who suffer from weakness.”
Somehow, Elizabeth doubted that very much. She did not think there was much comparison between her own condition and the late, poorly Anne’s. “I thank you, but I truly do not require a tonic. I am quite well.”
Lady Catherine scoffed. “If you were as well as you purport, you would eat my dinners. Do not think I am blind to the fullness of your plate every evening.”
If Lady Catherine were to employ her memories of last spring, she might recall that Elizabeth had disdained her table then too. Rich sauces and tough meats had never been to her tastes, and being enceinte only increased her disgust of them.
“I shall admit to a sensitive stomach these days, but?—”
“Ah, here we are.” They all turned as the drawing room doors opened to admit a maid burdened with a tea tray. It boasted a pot as well as a single cup and saucer, making Elizabeth believe that it had been arranged just for her.
That mysterious bell chimed again out of sight, somehow louder and more urgently than before. She instinctively turned, searching for the source, but naturally one was not apparent from her position.
“It is best to take it before a meal, so it has a chance to improve your appetite.”
The tray was placed upon the table between them, and the maid set about pouring a single cup of the steaming beverage. Into the brew was added, by Lady Catherine’s own hand, a generous dose of the yellowish tonic, turning it a jaundiced tint. There was nothing else she could do when Lady Catherine all but thrust it into her hands; it was either take it or suffer an unpleasant burn.
When Elizabeth brought the steaming beverage up to her face, she gagged as an acrid aroma filled her nose. She disguised it as a cough, but only after setting the tea away from her.
Darcy was immediately upon her, stroking her back. For once, she was pleased by his attentive ministrations. “Elizabeth, are you well?”
She blinked the sting from her eyes and nodded. When she spoke, her voice emerged as a croak. “Quite well.”
He took up the teacup himself and proffered it to her from his own hand. “Drink your tea.”
When Darcy lifted the cup to her lips, Elizabeth’s stomach threatened to rebel again, and she pushed it aside. “N-Not just yet, thank you.”
Darcy’s eyes darted between his wife and the tea, and Elizabeth could practically see his brain making the connexion. After smelling the beverage himself, his expression shifted into one of subtle revulsion. He set the cup and saucer aside on the table. “I do not think Mrs Darcy ought to partake of this. It seems more liable to make her ill than give her strength.”
“I agree,” added the colonel, siding with his cousin. His face bore the faint signs of detecting a foul odour. “One cannot be too careful.”
“It will help, I say,” Lady Catherine impatiently snapped, her face turning a blotchy red. She then fixed her imperious stare upon Elizabeth and demanded, “Go on, drink it.”
“You need not,” countered Darcy, moving to push the cup farther away from her.
Even if the concoction smelt vile and she was sure she could not possibly drink the entire cup, Elizabeth was willing to choke down a sip or two to preserve the peace. If she allowed Darcy and Lady Catherine to carry on like this, the breach they all sought to avoid would become imminent. “If it means so much to Lady Catherine, I shall try it.”
Elizabeth lifted the tonic and brought it to her lips. Just as she was about to take a tentative sip, she was once again distracted by the chiming of bells. This time, it was a number of them, and they were jangling a frantic tune. She set the cup back in its saucer and frowned thoughtfully. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Darcy asked.
“The bells.”
Their party was silent for several seconds, allowing the persistent jingling to fill the room. “That is odd,” said the colonel, brow furrowed. “Why would they be ringing like that?”
“What difference does it make?” demanded Lady Catherine, slapping the arm of her golden throne. “Drink, girl!”
Before the porcelain could so much as touch her lips, the cup was somehow wrenched from her fingers and flung away from her. Elizabeth turned her head to follow the sudden motion and observed with wide, aghast eyes as it landed in Lady Catherine’s lap, soaking her skirts and bodice. Not unreasonably, her ladyship shrieked at the sudden assault.
Both Darcy and Fitzwilliam were on their feet a moment later, rushing to their aunt’s aid. She pushed them aside and stalked away, screeching invectives as she swept from the room in a cloud of black bombazine. The maid who had poured the tea scampered after her, calling for Mrs Knight.
The bells slowed their tolling and at last grew silent.
Could it be…? Elizabeth’s eyes darted about her, half expecting to see an inexplicable shadow, perhaps in the form of a slender young woman, looming over the back of Lady Catherine’s throne. She saw nothing out of place aside from the overturned teacup.
It was an accident, nothing more. There are no spirits lurking about and abusing the crockery. Such she told herself, yet she was not wholly certain she believed it.
“Elizabeth, are you burnt?” Darcy asked, kneeling next to her chair.
“No, not at all. Merely confused. I do not know what happened.”
The colonel, who stood watching her with mild concern over her husband’s shoulder, admitted to his own bafflement. “It looked almost as if the cup were wrested from your hand and flung at Lady Catherine.”
“I swear I did not intentionally target her.”
“No, of course not,” said Darcy, shooting a glare at his cousin.
“I did not mean to imply you had,” the colonel said with an apologetic bow. “It is just so strange.”
“Elizabeth has been rather clumsy of late,” Darcy said, eyeing her speculatively. “The midwife said it was common for an expectant mother to fumble things.”
Elizabeth frowned at him. “I did not ‘fumble’ anything. It went flying across the room.”
Darcy raised a brow at her. “Do you have a better explanation?”
She opened her mouth to retort but found she had no alternative theory to offer. The inkling of one tickling her brain would be dismissed outright as preposterous, and fairly so. “I believe I ought to return to our rooms, for I do not imagine Lady Catherine will wish to see me again this evening. I shall make a point of apologising to her tomorrow.”
Stupid, clumsy girl! Lady Catherine was beside herself with fury as she thrust open the double doors of her chambers, sending them flying into the walls behind them. The plaster would be cracked, but she hardly cared; it was already in disrepair from similar strikes. Why would she not simply drink it? Then we might all be rid of her!
She went immediately to her dressing room, where her lady’s maid had the good sense to already be present. Renfield trembled as she undressed and re-dressed her mistress.
When Lady Catherine re-emerged, it was to unwelcome news. Mrs Knight stood with hands folded primly at her waist. “Your guests have sent their regrets for dinner, my lady, and will be taking trays in their rooms.”
“What, all of them?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lady Catherine banished her housekeeper from her sight without so much as a thank you, furious at this turn of events. There would be no further opportunities that evening to press Miss Bennet into taking the tonic. Curse that wily chit! And my nephew for hovering so diligently.
She lowered herself into a chair by the fire. “I shall simply have to invite my new niece to a private tea tomorrow, just the two of us, where Darcy cannot intervene.”
Elsewhere in the house, those accursed bells began ringing again. Lady Catherine shouted to no one in particular, “Cease that infernal chiming!”
Against her express wishes, the bells continued their defiant tune, assailing her ears relentlessly. None of the servants she called up could determine the source, though they flitted about the place searching for one. In the end, the ringing ceased as abruptly as it had started, the perpetrator undiscovered.