22. Misguided Wrath
Misguided Wrath
After an early morning walk brought no sign of Mr Darcy, Elizabeth stared at the faded wallpaper in Hunsford’s parlour and worried over her next opportunity to see him.
Perhaps she might encounter him on an afternoon walk in the direction of the old maze?
She wished desperately to apologise to him and canvass his well-being.
The thought that he might throttle or cut either of the Bingleys gnawed at her conscience.
Her remorse about misjudging at least one aspect of Mr Bingley’s character remained fresh, but it was Mr Darcy’s almost violent response to her disclosure about Miss Bingley that troubled her.
Was there more to the lady’s hopes and assertions about Miss Darcy, something that truly alarmed him?
Surely Mr Bingley has his faults, but he would not betray his friendship with Mr Darcy by dawdling with his sister, a girl of only sixteen!
She could not discount that his anger might also be directed towards her for not disclosing Miss Bingley’s words earlier.
“Mrs Collins! Come quickly! I have need of your assistance.”
Elizabeth cringed at the wheedling voice of her cousin sounding through the parsonage. Charlotte set aside her sewing basket and, visibly unhappy to be so beckoned, rose from her seat in the parlour.
Sighing, as the monotony of her task confined her for another hour or two, Elizabeth reapplied herself to the dress she was mending for the parsonage charity basket. She had been at work for only a few minutes when Charlotte returned.
“Lizzy, the post has arrived. You have two letters from Cheapside, which I hope will relieve you of your mulligrubs.” She looked expectantly at Elizabeth, undoubtedly hoping to continue her earlier efforts to pry further about the cause of her friend’s dull spirits.
Elizabeth merely smiled and reached eagerly for her letters. “Jane and my aunt have been too occupied to write, and you know I feared they were becoming dilatory correspondents like my papa.”
Beyond Sir William and Lady Lucas, whose letters brought Charlotte a feeling of home as well as admonishments about pleasing her husband and Lady Catherine, Charlotte’s most regular correspondents were currently visiting her at the parsonage.
Thus she was eager for any news of those leading lively, interesting lives.
Elizabeth felt her friend watching her as she read Jane’s letter and accordingly shared titbits that did not disclose any of her sister’s feelings.
In fact, Jane had written little of Mr Catesby beyond recounting her enjoyment of their expedition to Kew Gardens.
Elizabeth glanced at the date on the letter.
It had been written some eight days ago!
Disturbed by her sister’s unusual laxity in posting the letter, Elizabeth hesitated to ask Charlotte if delivery of the post was delayed often—or if perhaps it was sent first to Rosings.
Her friend gazed at her expectantly, clearly hopeful of some happy aside to carry her through the long hours of her days here.
“Jane says our cousin Susan has announced she will marry Captain Catesby but fears it may be a very long engagement as she is just now learning her numbers,” Elizabeth said in a merry voice. “Oh, to be scarcely six years old and have one’s husband decided.”
“A rival for you, Lizzy! You are a favourite of this Captain Catesby, and both Mr Wickham and Colonel Fitzwilliam have been rather fond of your company.” Charlotte grinned. “Lydia would be quite envious of your position with these redcoats.”
“Captain Catesby is in the Navy.”
“Still, he is a man in uniform.”
Elizabeth frowned at the blitheness of her friend’s opinion. “A gentleman of limited means must be prudent in his attachments, and so must a lady of small dowry.”
“Prudence does not preclude a chance at happiness.”
Despite thinking Charlotte must remind herself of that adage every day, Elizabeth assured her, “I have no interest beyond friendship with two of them. The other I hope never to meet again.” She wished to see only one man, to ensure he was well. And that he does not resent me.
Charlotte appeared puzzled by which man she despised but, perhaps seeing Elizabeth’s impatience to open her letter from Mrs Gardiner, thankfully said no more about gentlemen—whether in uniform or a satin waistcoat—who might admire Elizabeth.
This letter, too, was written a full week ago, just after Easter, she saw with dismay.
My Dear Niece,
Events here are as always, with the children busy and noisy from dawn to dusk and your sister kindly entertaining Harriet and Susan while nurse tends to the boys.
Mr Catesby has been a frequent visitor, though he departed two days ago for Faversham, where he is to meet with his steward and, I believe, consider the changes a mistress would bring to the house.
Elizabeth smiled at her aunt’s sly allusion to the event—a proposal—they all anticipated. Her eyes moved to the next paragraph, written in a less well-formed script.
Lizzy, I set aside my letter last night and return to it now with news I hope you can explain more clearly than did your sister. Much has happened this morning. I have had a letter from my aunt enquiring as to the rumours of Miss Darcy and Mr Bingley.
Elizabeth gasped. Miss Bingley’s fabrications had become known? Was Mr Darcy aware of it? What would he say when he learnt the lie about his sister had been made known? And possibly by Jane, if she had been careless and shared the story of her unhappiness with her friend!
Feeling Charlotte’s curious gaze, she returned to Mrs Gardiner’s letter.
Was there truth to what Miss Bingley wrote to Jane? I thought not, but if so, the call Mr Bingley made this morning to Gracechurch Street is truly scandalous—although whether for Miss Bingley as a liar or Mr Bingley as a feckless rogue, I cannot say.
Your sister was quite overcome, as we know she never again expected to see him, but his own nerves, once settled, led to a polite conversation, which I admit, was held mostly between the gentleman and myself, as Jane’s astonishment never gave way to smiles or ease.
I wondered whether Mr Bingley’s sisters had confessed to him Jane’s presence here, but when I enquired as to how he learnt of her whereabouts, he said he obtained the direction from Mrs Bennet.
It seems Mr Bingley called at Longbourn when he returned to inspect Netherfield before making his final decision about the lease.
I believe he was expecting Jane to help him resolve whether he should remain in the neighbourhood.
She gave him cause for neither hope nor distress, instead remaining nearly silent for the quarter of an hour he sat in our parlour.
How I wish your uncle had been here to furrow his brow in that severe way he has; I did not dare confront Mr Bingley, and Jane gave me no hint which direction I should take.
Since Mr Bingley departed, she has said little of the visit but, at my urging, has promised to speak of it to Mr Catesby.
A man deserves to know whether a heart is set for him.
Mr Bingley was not a faithful suitor, and although now seeming eager to renew the acquaintance, gave Jane no such assurance of his purpose in calling nor his further intentions, a point which I gently reminded her of, and yet she—
“Oh,” she murmured, turning over the letter, desperate to know her sister’s thinking.
“Lizzy?”
Hearing Charlotte’s expression of concern, Elizabeth looked up.
Though shocked by the news about Mr Bingley, she dismissed her outburst with a prevarication about her young cousins’ exploits and was spared any further explanation when Maria flew into the room.
“Lizzy, Lady Catherine’s carriage has arrived.
Do you think she has come to ask about Mr Darcy’s visit the other evening?
It was very kind of him to be so solicitous of your health. ”
Astonished, Elizabeth stared at Charlotte, who looked pained as she mouthed an apology.
“You, there you are,” cried Lady Catherine, waving her walking stick in Elizabeth’s direction. She eyed the parsonage’s low ceiling before plopping onto the sofa.
Elizabeth frowned uneasily as she rose from her curtsey. The powdered, heavily perfumed dowager was shaking with anger, all of it seemingly directed toward her.
“Trollop! Such audacity, a country hoyden with neither refinement nor education, claiming to have enticed my nephew into a private rendezvous to force him into marrying you! He is all that is admirable and decent, not thoughtless like other full-blooded young men! Although I know it must be a lie, I demand to know—what have you done to perpetrate such a malicious slander on his character and drive him from Rosings?”
Even through the thick cloud of her own distress, Elizabeth could hear Mr Collins’ strangled cry and gasps from Maria and Charlotte from the corridor to which they had been exiled. The shocking insults Lady Catherine hurled at her struck with force, but it was her final words that struck hardest.
“He is gone?” Too late, she realised she had spoken her thoughts aloud.
“Of course he has left, abandoning his duties to me in order to escape your audacious schemes and intrigues! Rumours of any connexion with you would disgrace him in the eyes of everybody,” cried Lady Catherine.
“You are a brazen wanton, your very breath polluting the shades of Rosings.” She pounded her cane on the floor.
“Miss Bennet, you are undeserving of my charity.”
Nearly trembling with anger, Elizabeth began defending herself against the unjust humiliation.
“I do not require charity from a woman who accuses me of wanton acts without any awareness of my true character. I am the daughter of a gentleman, madam. You come here to defend your nephew’s character while impugning mine, and yet what charity do you show to either of us by repeating accusations of which there is no proof? ”
“Do you deny an assignation with my nephew?”
“You claimed such an event to be a scandalous falsehood,” said Elizabeth, colouring with astonishment and disdain, “so why have you accused me of such behaviour?”
Lady Catherine’s face flushed an even deeper red. “Did you meet with Darcy?”
Wary of the lady’s temper—and the heavy cane she wielded only a few feet away—Elizabeth took a step back before replying, “Conversation between a gentleman and a lady is not an assignation.”
“You are a low-born, impertinent, ungrateful schemer, heedless of your betters,” Lady Catherine hissed, a speck of spit landing on a horrified Elizabeth’s gown.
“My nephew is mindful of protecting his reputation and the delicate feelings of my Anne. He will only return when you have gone, hence you will be sent to your family on the earliest post-coach. Do not imagine you will ever again see my nephew or enjoy such polite condescension as I have shown you.”
Although mortified, Elizabeth raised her chin defiantly. “You have assumed the worst of your nephew and insulted me in every possible way. Although the scenery is delightful, I shall be happy to part ways with Kent and all it contains.”
Lady Catherine was clever enough to take the insult over the compliment. She rose, her brows knitted in the manner that had long given her deep creases in her forehead.
“Darcy took no leave of you, nor shall I, Miss Bennet.” She swung her cane as she turned to depart, and though it seemed unlikely she meant to injure Elizabeth with it, the wooden shaft lifted both letters from Cheapside into the air and towards the fire.
They, and the news they contained, turned swiftly to ash.
Aghast, Elizabeth could only liken it to her friendship with Charlotte.
Chagrin set in as she watched her friend bow her head and curtsey deeply to Lady Catherine before rushing into the parlour.
Mr Collins ran after his patroness, desperately trying to placate her as she climbed into her carriage.
“Lizzy—”
“I have nothing to say, nor any apologies for my behaviour,” Elizabeth said quietly, unable to meet Charlotte’s gaze.
She looked round the room for any possessions she should collect before adding, “Although none of her accusations are remotely true, I am sorry to have brought Lady Catherine’s wrath down upon your household.
I will retire to my room until morning. The post is at seven?
I ask only for help with carrying my trunk to the carriage. ”
Now, hours later, having flung herself on her bed and wept, paced the floor, and packed her belongings, Elizabeth closed her small trunk and sank onto it, her head in her hands.
The questions she had about Jane’s heart and Mr Bingley’s intentions were made small by the charges hurled by Lady Catherine.
While her angry invectives still rang in Elizabeth’s ears, her concern lay less with her own supposed disgrace than with Mr Darcy.
What had happened at Rosings? Had Lady Catherine driven Mr Darcy away with her temper, or had he determined Miss Darcy was in some danger from Miss Bingley’s mercenary insinuations and left quickly to address it? Had both occurred?
To say nothing of my own procrastination in alerting him to the claims in her letters. Oh, how he must despise me!
She was no better than Lady Catherine in making spurious accusations. There was more truth in what that lady had claimed than in any of the suppositions Elizabeth had had of Mr Darcy. I was unkind. When he told me he loved me, I called him imprudent. Foolish, obstinate girl!
Sighing, Elizabeth rose from the trunk, moving to stand by the window and stare at the grey skies that so perfectly matched her mood.
Once, he may have felt something for me, but the quarrels and misunderstandings between us and my laxity in disclosing Miss Bingley’s intimations have destroyed any hope of maintaining our connexion.
She would never see him again.
The pain of that realisation, that her inaction might have harmed his sister and lessened any affection he felt towards her, brought on fresh tears. She liked him more than she had understood, and certainly more than he could know.