The Lower Shrubbery
The next morning brought a sky of pale grey and a breakfast table much quieter than Rosings had allowed anything to be.
Mr Collins spoke for some time on the honour of the previous evening, Sir William agreed with everything, and Maria applied herself to toast with the solemn concentration of a girl still recovering from notice.
Elizabeth answered when spoken to, missed two opportunities to tease Mr Collins, and once poured tea into a cup already full.
Charlotte waited until the gentlemen had gone before she said, “You made an impression.”
Elizabeth dabbed at the flooded saucer. “An impression may be made by dropping a plate.”
“You did better than that.”
“I am relieved to hear it. I had begun to fear Lady Catherine was deciding whether I ought to be corrected, catalogued, or dismissed.”
Charlotte smiled faintly. “If she meant to dismiss you, she would have done it before the fish.”
From the hearth, Maria said, “She asked you about Mr Darcy.”
“So she did,” Elizabeth said, and took up a cloth before the tea reached the table edge.
“Do you think he will really come at Easter?”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, certainly. Mr Darcy, if Lady Catherine expects him.”
“That is not quite an answer,” Charlotte said.
“It is the sort of answer one gives when Lady Catherine is not present to demand a better one.”
“He was very grave at Meryton,” Maria said.
“He often is.”
Elizabeth folded the cloth with unnecessary care. “Though perhaps not always from choice.”
Sir William left Hunsford after a week of compliments, bows, and sincere satisfaction with everything he had seen.
After his departure, Kent settled into a quieter shape.
Mr Collins went daily to his garden, Charlotte managed her house with calm efficiency, and Maria, to her own astonishment, acquired a friend.
Miss Stourton began by lending her the second volume of Rome, then confessed, on their next walk, that she preferred novels when no one was asking improving questions.
By the third visit, they were exchanging books with great secrecy and very little success at concealment, for Lady Catherine noticed everything and only remarked that young women might do worse than read nonsense together.
Elizabeth also discovered that Lady Catherine’s approval was not restful.
It produced extra invitations, pointed questions, books sent down with orders to return an opinion, and one summons to admire a border that Lady Catherine had already decided was badly arranged.
If Elizabeth disagreed, Lady Catherine argued.
If she agreed too quickly, Lady Catherine accused her of cowardice.
By the end of a fortnight, Elizabeth understood that being liked at Rosings Park was very nearly as demanding as being corrected there.
Then, a few days before Easter, Rosings changed. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy had arrived.
The intelligence came by Mr Collins, who returned from Rosings flushed with consequence and mud on his shoes.
“My dear Charlotte, cousin Elizabeth, Maria, such news. Such very great news. Her ladyship’s nephews arrived.”
Elizabeth, who had been cutting thread from Charlotte’s work basket, snipped it rather too short.
“Both nephews?” Charlotte asked.
“Both. Colonel Fitzwilliam in excellent spirits, and Mr Darcy in very fine health, though perhaps a little grave from travel. Her ladyship expects we shall see them very soon.”
“How soon is very soon?” Maria asked.
Mr Collins spread his hands. “That must depend entirely upon her ladyship’s pleasure, and upon the convenience of the gentlemen themselves. We must be ready at any moment.”
Charlotte folded her sewing. “Then we shall be ready after dinner, as we usually are.”
“My dear Charlotte, this is no ordinary call.”
“No,” she said. “It is one we have been expecting for three weeks.”
Elizabeth set down the scissors. “Then surprise would be ungenerous of us.”
“I trust you will be composed, cousin,” Mr Collins said.
“Have I given you reason to expect otherwise?”
“No, no, certainly not. Only, your respected mother has expressed herself, I believe, with some warmth on the subject of Mr Darcy’s attentions.”
Charlotte’s hand stilled.
Mr Collins lowered his voice, which did not make it less audible. “In a house so near Rosings, any appearance of encouragement would be most unfortunate. Mr Darcy is Lady Catherine’s nephew, and young ladies must be guarded where gentlemen of consequence are concerned.”
Elizabeth set the scissors down very carefully. “How kind of my mother to provide Hunsford with material for moral instruction.”
“Lizzy,” Charlotte said softly.
“I speak only from concern,” Mr Collins said.
“Then I shall endeavour to deserve less of it.”
Before Mr Collins could decide whether this was gratitude, the sound of voices came from the little sweep before the house. Maria rose so quickly her work fell to the floor.
“They are here,” Charlotte said.
Elizabeth did not move to the window. Charlotte rose and smoothed her skirts. Maria retrieved her work from the floor and did not sit down again.
Colonel Fitzwilliam came in first, which Elizabeth suspected was deliberate. He was easy in manner, quick to bow, and had the gift of filling a room without imposing on it.
“Mrs Collins. Miss Bennet. Miss Lucas.” He smiled at each in turn. “What excellent news that you are all here.”
Mr Collins was already speaking. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, you do us the greatest honour. The greatest honour indeed. I was only saying to Mrs Collins not an hour since that I had every hope your visit to Rosings would afford us the very great pleasure of—”
Mr Darcy came in behind his cousin. Mr Collins did not stop speaking. He did not need to. He was well practised at continuing without audience.
Elizabeth became aware of nothing else in the room.
He was exactly as she remembered him, and entirely different.
The same height, the same composure, the same stillness that had always made him difficult to read.
But she had read him better since November, had been reading him all winter without knowing it, and now she knew what that composure cost him.
He bowed to Charlotte first, then to Maria, and finally to Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet.”
“Mr Darcy.”
“I hope you find Kent agreeable,” he said.
“Very much so. It has proved instructive.”
His mouth almost curved.
“Instructive?” Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated. “That is a dangerous word near Rosings. My aunt considers instruction one of the natural resources of Kent.”
Charlotte smiled. “Then we have been favoured with abundance.”
“Excellent. I should hate to think we had arrived too late for improvement.”
Mr Collins laughed with dutiful enthusiasm.
Mr Darcy turned to Charlotte. “I trust Lady Catherine has not overwhelmed you with her kindness, Mrs Collins.”
“One learns to receive it in measured quantities.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced from Darcy to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth understood.
Whatever could be said, it could not be said here: not with Mr Collins bristling with concern, not with Maria watching in alarm, and not beneath Charlotte’s roof where every visitor from Rosings arrived already half-observed.
She turned slightly towards Colonel Fitzwilliam. “And do you find Kent improved by your return, Colonel?”
“Immeasurably,” he said. “Though I have only been here an hour, so my judgement may yet recover.”
The call lasted the better part of an hour.
Colonel Fitzwilliam carried most of it with easy competence.
He asked about Charlotte’s garden, admired Mr Collins’s description of the parsonage improvements, drew Maria into conversation about her journey from Hertfordshire with such genuine interest that she forgot to be terrified, and generally created the impression of a very pleasant social occasion.
Mr Darcy spoke when addressed and listened with more attention than he appeared to give. Mr Collins spoke continuously. Elizabeth spoke when she chose to, which was not often, and Colonel Fitzwilliam ensured that no gap in the conversation became conspicuous.
Once, she caught Mr Darcy watching her. He turned away first.
Charlotte offered tea, which was accepted. The garden was discussed. Lady Catherine’s plans for Easter were relayed by Mr Collins at considerable length, annotated with observations that Lady Catherine had not made but would have approved.
At last Colonel Fitzwilliam rose. “We must not keep you any longer. Lady Catherine expects us before dinner.”
The rest of the party rose as well, and as the gentlemen were at the door, Elizabeth said, as though the thought had only just occurred to her, “I have been enjoying the grounds at Rosings very much. The path beyond the lower shrubbery is pleasant in the morning.”
Mr Darcy’s hand stilled on his hat.
“Is it?” the Colonel said lightly. “Then we must hope the weather continues fair.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “I hope so.”
Mr Collins accompanied their departure to the gate and some distance beyond it. Elizabeth picked up Charlotte’s sewing from the table and studied it without seeing a stitch.
“Well,” Maria said quietly.
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed.
Charlotte came back in, closed the door, and sat down.
“He came here knowing you were at Hunsford,” she said.
“He came to visit his aunt.”
“Yes. And you were at Hunsford.”
“That proves very little.”
“It proves enough.”
“Did Colonel Fitzwilliam know too?” Maria asked.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam knows a great many things,” Charlotte said. “He was very careful that no one should notice which of them he knew.”
“Maria, I believe Miss Stourton’s book is still in your room. You meant to return it tomorrow.”
Maria understood dismissal when Charlotte made it gentle. “Yes. I shall fetch it.”
She left them, closing the door carefully behind her. Charlotte put down her work.
“William told me about the fire, when we were still at home.”
Elizabeth picked up the sewing again, though the needle remained idle between her fingers.