Chapter 23 #2
“And while Lady Catherine has a sharp tongue, Miss Elizabeth, I suspect she has yet to meet your razor.” She flushed, then hurried away to organise the household.
“So, George, you do not deny that Mrs. Bennet and Miss Bennet are staying under your roof?” I entered the room to find the confrontation continuing.
“Why should I deny it, Catherine? Miss Elizabeth suffered a serious injury touring the Lakes, and she and her mother have come to Pemberley, at my invitation, to recuperate. I cannot see how it is of any concern of yours.” Mr. Darcy moved to stand by the mantel.
‘Lizzy, Mr. Darcy and Fitzwilliam look like twins!’ Kitty giggled.
Indeed, it was clear from whom Fitzwilliam inherited the habit; the similarity between the two gentlemen was striking.
Mr. Darcy was slightly shorter, his hair a little grey around the temples—yet, they could be taken for twins, or at the very least, brothers.
“But before we proceed with your ridiculous assertions, I wish to know why Mr. Collins accompanies you.
I had the misfortune to encounter him at Longbourn, where his disrespect for Mrs. Bennet, a lady who had just lost her husband of some twenty years, was such that, if he had not been a clergyman, I would have thrashed him.
Indeed, the other gentlemen of the neighbourhood would have joined me.
“Go on, Mr. Collins! Don’t stand there blubbering.” Lady Catherine glared at the man. Perhaps it was not a glare: her countenance was likely frozen into a permanent state of disapproval.
“M—Mr. Darcy. I am betrothed to Mrs. Bennet—or possibly, Miss Bennet.”
We stared at the man in disbelief. Darcy broke the silence.
“Mr. Collins, you do not know to whom you are betrothed? I would assume, sir, that as a clergyman you know that bigamy is an offence against both God and the law. You can only be betrothed to one lady. Now, which of Mrs. Bennet and Miss Bennet are you affianced to?”
Mr. Collins spluttered. I took a step back lest I be sprayed with drool.
“It is the entail. It specifically states that the heir to the estate be a Bennet of the blood. I am the legal heir—having descended through my grandfather’s line from Jeremiah Bennet, who made the entail. But the heir must also be a Bennet—therefore, Mrs. or Miss Bennet must marry me.”
“And if they do not wish to?” Mr. Darcy’s voice had developed an edge I had not heard before.
“But they must. Lady Catherine’s solicitor advises that it is their obligation to marry the heir.”
I might have swooned, just as Evelina did in the novel. But, in my case, were Mr. Collins attempting to take his life, rather than the impoverished poet Mr. Macartney of the story, I would not have intervened.
At that moment, Mama entered the room, immediately aware of the tension. “Mr. Darcy, I heard there are guests?”
“Yes, my dear. Let me introduce you.” Mr. Darcy led Mrs. Bennet further into the room. “Mrs. Bennet, my pleasure to introduce my sister-by-marriage, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Mrs. Bennet executed a perfect curtsey; sufficiently deep to acknowledge Lady Catherine’s rank both as the wife of a knight—the de Bourghs were not titled—and as the daughter of an earl.
Mr. Darcy then stepped towards Miss de Bourgh, who was huddled on the settee wrapped in multiple layers of shawls. “Miss de Bourgh, another guest of the house, Mrs. Bennet.”
Oh, it was ever so well done. Mr. Darcy was signalling, by naming her last, that Mrs. Bennet was a lady who ranked higher than Miss de Bourgh, the daughter of a knight—and the granddaughter of an earl.
During the confusion of Lady Catherine’s grand entry and that of the fool Mr. Collins, I had not been formally introduced, an omission I truly did not repine.
Fitzwilliam glanced at me, but I shook my head.
Lady Catherine was already roused; I had no intention of reminding her of my existence. I shrank into the shadows.
“Lady Catherine, Mr. Darcy, if you will excuse me. I shall speak to Mrs. Abernathy as to dinner.” Mrs. Bennet appeared to notice Mr. Collins for the first time. “And will Mr. Collins be dining as well?”
“Perhaps. Have Mrs. Reynolds prepare a room—the east wing?” Mr. Darcy looked to me; he knew I had already spoken to Mrs. Reynolds to prepare chambers for the ladies.
I nodded; we were in perfect accord. The east wing was separated from the family rooms and not easily accessible.
The man would be out of the way. With luck, we could ignore his intrusion into the peace we had been enjoying at Pemberley.
Lady Catherine, of course, was an entirely different matter.
* * *
Mama had complained that I was contrary.
Certainly, she had not observed a master contrarian at play.
Dinners at Rosings, I had been told, were a formal affair, the guests entering the dining room two by two, much like animals boarding an ark.
Initially, when we were called to dinner, I thought Mr. Darcy intended the same—taking Lady Catherine’s arm and leading her out of the drawing room.
Shortly thereafter, I saw his mastery in action.
He dawdled in the hall, allowing Mrs. Bennet to overtake him—it being a strictly informal arrangement with no set precedence.
As planned, she took her seat at the head of the table; settings for Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh were to either side of her, both ladies of higher rank than either Georgiana or me, one place further down the table.
Then Mr. Collins, Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Darcy at the foot.
Had I drawn the short straw? Mr. Collins was my neighbour to my left, and Lady Catherine to my right.
Likely not. Fitzwilliam would regret sitting opposite Collins, who, as Mama and I had discovered at Longbourn, possessed an unfortunate habit of both talking and eating simultaneously, providing an excellent view of his partially masticated food whenever he spoke.
Mama smiled graciously at Lady Catherine as Mr. Darcy led the lady to her seat. In London, Mr. Darcy’s hostess not being a relative would have caused quite a deal of gossip. In Derbyshire, it was now accepted that Mrs. Bennet held a special place in the household.
“George, I cannot understand you. At the very least, Georgiana should be acting as your hostess, not a person totally unrelated.”
Mr. Darcy merely smiled. “It is a family meal, Catherine. Mrs. Bennet and I have an acquaintance going back many years.”
“Harrumph!” A well-executed sigh of displeasure—both Darcy and I sniggered.
“You are a widow, my lady? My condolences, for I, unfortunately, only recently endured the misfortune of losing Mr. Bennet.”
“A misfortune, Mrs. Bennet? I do not understand you. All of us must pass, as is ordained by God. A strong woman would not repine at the loss of a husband, but rejoice that she has the strength and will to manage her affairs. Rosings, under my management, flourishes.”
“Quite so, Lady Catherine’s benevolence to the parish is the talk of Kent.” Mr. Collins slurped another mouthful of soup. “Why, only last week, she admonished two of the cottagers for being discontented…”
Lady Catherine continued her discourse, completely ignoring Mr. Collins.
Truthfully, we all ignored his speech, which was only stopped when he hastily put his hand to his mouth as her ladyship spoke over him.
An unfortunate occurrence, for the same hand held his spoon, generously filled with white soup.
I smirked as Fitzwilliam, anticipating a direct assault on his waistcoat, hastily pulled his napkin from his lap to cover his chest.
“Your husband’s estate was entailed on Mr. Collins. I see no occasion for entailing estates from the female line—it was not thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s family. So, having lost your estate to Mr. Collins, you now wish to gain another?”
“Whatever can you mean, Lady Catherine? I have no need for another estate—I am mistress, in my own right, of Hathaway House. Though modest compared to Rosings, it is more than sufficient for Elizabeth and myself.” Mama smiled, her eyes crinkling with good humour—ignoring Lady Catherine’s barb—and signalled a footman to pass the fish to Mr. Darcy.
Fortunately, it had survived being assailed by Mr. Collins’s soup-laden catapult.