Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LADY CATHERINE RAISES A FUSS
Late on Monday morning, the Bennet ladies were startled by the arrival of a carriage which none of them recognised. The younger girls pressed eagerly to the window, chattering as they watched an older lady descend with an imperious hauteur that they could detect even at this distance.
Kitty and Lydia remained pressed close to the window, wide-eyed and whispering furiously. “Look at her carriage! Such fine horses!” Lydia breathed, half in admiration, half in alarm.
They watched as she dismissed the waiting footman with a glare, even rapping his hand smartly with her cane when he attempted to assist her.
Then, with all the authority of one accustomed to command, she advanced upon the front door and struck it sharply with her walking stick, as though daring the household to keep her waiting.
As soon as the door was opened, her voice rang loudly through the hall. “I demand to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet at once! Impeccable sources have informed me she schemes to entrap my nephew into a most unsuitable connexion. I will not have it—I insist upon speaking to her immediately.”
Every eye turned towards the second daughter, whose breath caught as she heard the strident voice. “It must be Mr Darcy’s aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Elizabeth whispered, her face paling.
“Lady Catherine?” Mrs Bennet cried, her hands fluttering. “Mr Collins’ patroness? Oh, heavens, Lizzy, what have you done to bring such a grand lady thundering to our very door?”
“But why would she be here for Lizzy?” Lydia cried.
Elizabeth lifted her chin, even as her heart beat fast. “Mr Collins must have written or spoken of Mr Darcy’s attentions towards me at the ball.
She has long schemed to see him marry her daughter, despite his having assured her more than once that he never wished it.
No doubt she has come to persuade me to release him—but she will find I am not so easily cowed.
We may be only courting, but he has already told me the truth of her claims. She desires the match, but she is the only one who does.
I have no doubt she will be most unkind, Mama. ”
To Elizabeth’s astonishment, her mother huffed indignantly on her behalf.
“Mr Darcy is far too honourable a man to propose a courtship if he were obligated elsewhere. I will tell her so myself, should she dare to say otherwise. You may not be my most beautiful daughter, Lizzy, but you are certainly the most clever, and I am certain your wit and impertinence are a match for her overbearing behaviour. Only stand firm! A lady of her sort will expect weakness—she is used to cowing milksops like Mr Collins—but you must not let her think she can do the same to you.”
Elizabeth blinked, startled. That her mother should defend her so firmly was unexpected; that she should do so with such a backhanded compliment was no less stinging for being familiar.
Yet beneath the sting lay a measure of astonishment that her mother, in her own clumsy fashion, had spoken in her defence.
For once, Mrs Bennet’s bustling, heedless energy was turned towards Elizabeth’s cause, and Elizabeth resolved to draw strength from it, however imperfectly given.
There was no time for further words before Lady Catherine was shown in, Mrs Hill preceding her with a hurried curtsey and an announcement delivered in evident fluster.
The great lady swept into the room at once, her walking stick striking the floor in sharp, impatient taps as though even the walk from the front door to the sitting room where the Bennet ladies sat had tested her patience.
Her gaze travelled over the assembled company with disdain before she thundered, “Which of you is Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Which of you presumes to entrap my nephew in this disgraceful mésalliance?” Lady Catherine’s voice rang like a whip.
“My nephew—the master of Pemberley, the scion of an earl—stooping to marry a country nobody. It is monstrous! It is unthinkable!”
Elizabeth stepped forward, her chin lifting in quiet composure.
“I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet. As for this charge of entrapment, I must deny it. We have not been properly introduced, and I cannot be certain I have ever met your nephew. Indeed, as I have never seen you before, how am I to know who is kin to you and who is not?”
At this, Lady Catherine drew herself up with a sharp gasp, scandalised. “Impudence! Insolence! Never have I endured such audacity from one so young. To speak so of my nephew—of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy—while standing beneath your father’s humble roof! It is beyond endurance, beyond all propriety!”
Behind her, Mr Bennet strode in, clearly ready to determine the cause of the upset, but Elizabeth nodded at him, indicating that she had things well in hand.
As she spoke, Elizabeth’s tone never wavered as she answered the lady.
Her gaze stayed steady, her tone calm though edged with steel.
“You accuse me of designs I have never formed, madam, and speak of Mr Darcy as though he were a man without sense or will of his own. I assure you, he is not so easily led astray. If he has made choices displeasing to you, I suggest you look to him rather than to me for an explanation of his actions. As it is, he is not here to speak for himself, so why have you come to abuse me in my own home?”
Lady Catherine’s countenance deepened to an alarming shade of crimson, and she struck her cane upon the floor with a resounding crack.
“It is unprecedented! That a young woman of no fortune, no consequence, no connexions should dare to raise her eyes to the level of my nephew! It is a degradation—an insult to his name. Do you not comprehend the gulf that divides you? You are nothing; he is everything! He is engaged to my daughter. What have you to say to that?”
Elizabeth’s chin lifted a fraction higher, her tone even, her gaze unflinching.
“Only this, madam—that my worth is not measured by fortune or connexions. If your nephew has honoured me with his regard, it is because he esteems in me those qualities which neither rank nor riches can bestow. As for this supposed engagement, I cannot credit it—unless you would have me believe him so weak as to be shackled by promises devised in the nursery. If others desired such a match, then I suppose it is for him to decide whether he prefers to honour their wishes—or his own.”
Lady Catherine’s gasp was so sharp it might have cut the air. “Shackled by promises in the nursery? Decide for himself?” she repeated, her voice rising in shrill incredulity.
“Insolent girl! My nephew was born to obey duty, not indulge his whims. That you should mock the arrangement made by his most honourable mother and myself—his betters—is beyond endurance! Such impudence! Such defiance! It is not to be borne! That you would have him shackle himself to you—you—who spring from a family such as this. A woman, no longer a gentlewoman, but one who must have snared a gentleman with her feminine arts, taught no doubt by the mother who trapped her own husband and thereby rose above her own station. And that such a family should aspire to be joined with mine—it is unbearable.”
The lady’s cane struck the floor once more, the sharp crack echoing through the parlour like a shot of gunfire.
Mrs Bennet gasped aloud, scandalised at such an accusation.
That her daughter should be accused of such indecency was beyond the pale.
Ordinarily, she might have called for her salts and swooned away, but in this she seemed to take her cue from Elizabeth.
Behind Lady Catherine, Mr Bennet bristled further but still waited for his daughter’s indication that she needed him to step in.
The younger Bennet sisters shrank back, wide-eyed and stricken. Elizabeth alone held her ground. A flush burned in her cheeks, her hands curled tightly at her sides, but her gaze did not waver. She would not permit Lady Catherine’s scorn to unnerve her.
“Whatever my family’s faults, I am not ashamed of who I am. Nor do I presume to force myself upon Pemberley or upon your ladyship. That choice rests with your nephew—and him alone.”
“Silence!” Lady Catherine commanded. “You dare to answer me in this manner? To oppose me when I demand your obedience? I am his aunt, his nearest relation! I will not suffer such impertinence from a country girl with wild manners and a bold tongue. Give me your promise—here, now—that you will never accept his hand, should he be so deluded as to offer it!”
Elizabeth drew herself up, her voice quiet but firm as iron. “That is a promise I will never make.”
A hush fell across the parlour. For a heartbeat, no one stirred—until Mrs Bennet, crimson with outrage, rose abruptly to her feet.
“How dare you speak so of my daughter in my own house!” she cried, her voice trembling with fury.
“You insult her, you insult all of us. My Lizzy has nothing to be ashamed of, and I will not sit meekly while you besmirch all our reputations. If you came here expecting to bully her into meek submission, you are sorely mistaken, Lady Catherine. You may take your insults and your cane, and you may take them out of my house.”
Lady Catherine recoiled, her mouth opening and shutting in scandalised disbelief at such defiance from a woman she considered her inferior. But Mrs Bennet, for once decisive, pointed firmly towards the door. “Mrs Hill will show you out. Now, madam. Before you abuse our hospitality any further.”
Elizabeth, breathless, glanced at her mother in astonishment. Never before had Mrs Bennet’s voice rung with such protective authority—and never had Elizabeth been more grateful.
The great lady sputtered, her colour rising, but with no quarter offered and every eye fixed upon her, she swept from the room in a tempest of silks and indignation, her stick striking the floor with furious cracks. Upon seeing the master of the house standing silent behind her, her frown deepened.