Chapter 57 Angered
Lady Catherine could not remember ever being so angry, not even when the villagers of Boxwell had cruelly deceived her regarding the identity of Anne's new husband.
Of course, she had not yet gotten over that incident and all the other frustrations of the time, and now one thing after the other kept deepening the simmering well of anger the collapse of her plans had engendered.
First, there was her unsuccessful trip to Boxwell where the Countess took amusement at her expense.
Had she learned Anne's location it would not have been so annoying, but that had been denied her.
How dare Lady Ferrell make sport of her in such a manner?
That woman knew exactly what she was doing. Well, one day she would pay.
Then, to be denied entry to Darcy House and the Fitzwilliam townhouse as well? It was insupportable! Both Darcy and her brother, who she knew must be behind the Earl's orders, would feel the full force of her wrath when she finally caught up to them. She could only hope that time would be soon.
Her night at the hotel had been no less frustrating.
The officious clerk had placed her in rooms far too close to the portion of the hotel given over to the public taproom.
The sounds of boisterous groups of revelers intruded into her rooms and soured her mood even more.
When she complained, she was given no satisfaction whatever.
Those were the only rooms available, she was told.
If they were not acceptable, she could leave.
Had it been earlier in the evening, she would have.
She almost did anyway, despite the likelihood of ending up somewhere even more objectionable.
After her argument with the clerk, she had returned to her room in a state near apoplexy at the utter disregard the man showed for her rank and position in society.
He had behaved as if she was no more than some trollop off the streets!
Between the noise of the public house patrons and her own anger, it was several hours before Lady Catherine fell asleep.
As a result, she woke much later than she had intended.
To top it off, she was faced with one minor delay after another, including damage to her carriage wheels that her coachman noticed only as they were about to depart.
By the time repairs were made, it was well into the afternoon.
Nevertheless, Lady Catherine determined to continue with her plan to vent her now greatly increased wrath upon the Bennet family. She needed a target that would not fight back and they seemed the likeliest. They were also the only ones she knew where to find.
Traffic leaving the city was far more congested than she would have expected.
It was summer, after all, and most people of quality had already removed to the country.
Yet, somehow, she seemed trapped in a crush of vehicles exiting London.
That part of the trip took full twice as long as she had expected.
The road outside the city seemed almost as bad.
Heavy carts lumbered along, kicking up choking clouds of road dust while blocking the progress of all other vehicles.
A few times they slowed to such a crawl that Lady Catherine even considered giving up the trip and making a hasty retreat to her nice, safe, quiet home in Kent.
Realizing the traffic would be just as bad if she turned back, staying on course seemed the best option.
As the journey dragged on, Lady Catherine occupied herself planning all the cutting remarks she would make to each member of the Bennet family.
No one would escape her censure. It almost lifted her mood to think on how they would be crushed by her disapproval, particularly Mrs. Bennet.
She would love to see that silly woman's face crumple in despair at the insults laid upon her.
She had nearly come to the end of her ideas when, finally, they turned off the main road and the flow of traffic thinned.
With fewer vehicles, the dust cleared somewhat and she could once again open the curtains for a little bit of air to cool the interior of the carriage.
As they passed the inconsequential village near the Bennet estate, she drew a deep breath, satisfied that the moment of her triumph was near at hand.
The satisfaction was short-lived. When they topped a rise and looked down on the house nestled in the valley below, it seemed that all the crowds of people that had blocked the road had preceded her here.
A host of carriages were drawn off into the side yard by the stables, tended to by coarsely laughing, talkative men.
More crowds of men she took to be servants gathered around tables loaded with food or drank from tankards she assumed were filled with cheap ale.
The house was ablaze with lights, obvious even though dusk was only just starting to darken the sky.
Torches flickered in the gardens where crowds of well-dressed people roamed.
So many carriages had arrived before her that her man could not even get close to the front door.
Seeing an opening to the garden area, she descended as close to it as he could manage and went in search of the Bennet family.
All her carefully planned insults fled as she entered the area and saw the occupants.
It was not just the Bennets and whatever company they could find in this backwater place.
That she could have handled. No, as she looked around, she recognized person after person she had not expected to find in what she considered to be a veritable den of iniquity.
The first person she recognized, although only just, was Anne.
Her daughter wore a gaudy yellow dress that showed just how much her standards had slipped since leaving her mother's guidance.
Worse yet, she was smiling and positively chattering at the man who stood with her and two equally brightly dressed young women, one of whom greatly resembled Lady Catherine's late sister.
Of course, she knew her niece, Georgiana, was too young to be out yet, but she could think of no one else the girl could be with that hair and face.
As if to make her niece's presence more likely, she recognized her brother standing not far off, deep in conversation with a group of men.
As she watched, Peter burst out laughing and the others all joined him.
Not far from them, Sir Phillip stood talking with a slip of a girl who looked as young as the one she had taken for her niece. What kind of a company was this?
Turning towards the house, Lady Catherine saw that horrible woman, Mrs. Bennet.
Following close behind, each with a smiling hussy clinging too intimately to their arms, came both Richard and Darcy.
Now, she knew why they felt so drawn to this place.
Clearly the lure was company with fast women and wild gatherings.
After taking a deep breath to steady herself, Lady Catherine bellowed out the only words that came to mind, "What is the meaning of this uncouth display?"
Much to Lady Catherine's surprise, Mrs. Bennet had a ready answer which she delivered in disgustingly cheerful tones. "Why, Lady Catherine! Surely you recognize a party when you see one. I am sorry we did not think to invite you, but you are so nearly family that you are welcome all the same."
Lady Catherine tried to respond, but no words came to her.
In all the possible conversations she had imagined, nothing like this had even occurred to her.
The effrontery of the woman simply stunned her.
To suggest that she, the daughter of an earl, was somehow deficient for not recognizing a party!
Why, Lady Catherine had attended parties with royalty present and some paltry overcrowded country soiree hardly deserved such recognition.
Then, to imply an exercise of bad manners in arriving without an invitation!
Why should she need an invitation if she condescended to offer her presence to lowly people like Mrs. Bennet?
She had not known they were to have guests, after all.
Worse yet, to assume she would even wish an invitation to be among such people!
And finally, to imply these imaginary offenses could be excused by assuming some kind of non-existent familial relationship?
That was preposterous, unless…Lady Catherine looked at her nephews and suddenly suspected the women with them of being Bennets hunting for high-class husbands.
Of course, she had not seen any of the Bennet girls in years, but there was something of a resemblance. No! It could not be!
She looked around the now silent garden and realized everyone was looking at her with varying degrees of curiosity and what could only be interpreted as contempt.
Faces even filled the windows as those inside the house jostled to see what would happen.
She would show them. All the fury that had built up in her over the last weeks came to a head.
Lady Catherine stepped forward, determined to slap the smile off that silly Bennet woman's face.
Ladylike behavior be da**ed! As she did, her toe caught in a small divot in the grass, causing her to trip and twist her ankle.
Instead of falling forward, she overbalanced to the side and fell into one of the large, healthy damask rose bushes that, due to the recent run of hot days, were now in the full glory of their growth and bloom.
She crashed into the canes, releasing a shower of fragrant pink petals.
Reaching desperately for something to stop her fall, her hand closed on a thick cane covered in thorns that ripped at her palms and fingers.
Instinctively, she let go and momentum carried her farther into the whippy branches of the plant.
Two industrious bees that had been working late among the nectar-laden blossoms flew from among the collapsing canes.
Landing on Lady Catherine's face, they took their revenge for the disruption she had caused by stinging her on the throat and temple.
Lady Catherine screamed, more from fury than pain, as she attempted to pull free of the web of grasping canes.
Her face and throat started to tingle and swell, but she barely noticed that.
She was not quite aware of what was happening as strong hands pulled her free of the clinging plant, although she began to cough and gasp.
Instead of being thankful her nephews had come to her aid, she suddenly remembered she had always hated the scent of roses, yet here she was drenched in it.
She wanted to complain to Richard, who had picked her up for some unaccountable reason and was carrying her through the house, but words simply would not flow past the swelling in her throat.
The inability to speak and complain angered her more than the fact that she could no longer breathe.
Anger was all she could feel, not fear or anything else.
Before the final darkness closed in around her, Lady Catherine had one more clear, strong thought that echoed through her mind - "It is NOT to be borne! "
Yet, there was nothing she could do to change the manner of her end.
Had she thought of it, she would at least have been gratified to know her death would, to some extent, disrupt the party Mrs. Bennet had put such time and energy into planning, but that comfort escaped her along with all the other things she had still intended to complete.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh's schemes and plots had failed, ended by some loose earth, a rosebush and a pair of bee stings.