Page 2 of United By Happenstance
Lady Catherine, apparently satisfied to sense that she had won her point, turned towards the scenery as the carriage rolled along. For several blessedly quiet miles, she commented only to note her approval of the roads, which had benefitted from four days without rainfall.
In the relative calm that settled over the breezy equipage, Elizabeth recovered from her embarrassment, only to find herself shifting uncomfortably in her seat and fiddling with her hat in a useless attempt to settle any lingering self-doubt resulting from Lady Catherine’s last words.
Since reading, and then re-reading, Mr Darcy’s letter, Elizabeth had experienced some of this phantom discomfort already. She had been forced to acknowledge that her judgment of his character had erred, especially her accusations of perfidy in regards to Mr Wickham. Her failure there seemed magnified as she reviewed the injustice of her subsequent prejudice against Mr Darcy, which she had allowed to grow unchecked by feeding it with anger at his interference with Jane and Mr Bingley. The harm that Mr Bingley’s ensuing departure had caused her sister had been real enough, but it was humbling to discover from Mr Darcy’s own defence of his part in it that the ill intent she had attributed to him had existed only in her own imagination.
It left her to now ponder: Had she known the real Mr Darcy at all?
She decided she had not. She had never sought to understand him before, and now she had severed any possible ties to him with her refusal. There was no way to call back her own words or undo what they had wrought. He had gone from Kent the very next day, and she knew immediately what he had meant by it—that she would never know more of him.
She could not decide what troubled her more: this abrupt severance and the enduring mystery surrounding Mr Darcy’s real character, or her failure to understand him since the beginning of their acquaintance.
She was not to discover the answer now, for she was pulled most unexpectedly from her thoughts by Maria Lucas.
“Oh, look!” the girl called out, pointing most indecorously over the lip of the carriage. “There is an inn. Shall we stop, your ladyship?”
“I think not until we reach Bromley, Miss Lucas,” Lady Catherine replied. “The horses are still fresh and the road is dry. With a fine day and no hurry to tire them, there is no need for a change so soon before London. That is, unless you require some refreshment.”
“Oh, no,” said Maria, looking abashed. “Your servants have packed a basket, and there is wine too. I do not think I will require—that is, I did not mean to imply that I lacked anything, ma’am.”
The exchange made one tolerable addition to their conviviality in the carriage: it reminded them of the food available. With more practical grace than elegance, Elizabeth offered to pour some of the cold German wine thoughtfully packed for their refreshment on the warm day. Lady Catherine accepted a small amount. Maria reached deeper into the basket, discovering there a braided loaf and cut cheeses wrapped up in cloth, as well as a sampler of fruit.
They partook lightly of it all—more to keep busy than to slake hunger, as it was only then approaching calling hours when refreshments might be expected. Elizabeth finished her portion then sampled enough of the quiet to feel sufficient in her good humour to ask whether Lady Catherine was in the habit of travelling often.
“You might well wonder, with such comforts as this at my command, that I do not travel more than I do. But then you might recall my Anne, who is often so delicate. There are some times in the early summer, or very early in the mildest part of autumn, when the weather holds and excursions may be possible. I have taken her only once to London, cesspool of sickness that the city is. When my daughter was younger andmore hale, I more often ventured to take her all the way to Pemberley and to my brother’s home at the Matlock estate.”
Maria, who had just taken another sip of wine, said boldly, “The Earl of Matlock! Even I have heard of him and his holdings. But what or where is Pemberley?”
“Did you not know that Pemberley is the estate of my nephew, Mr Darcy?” Lady Catherine replied with superior amusement. “The land has long been in the keeping of his ancestors, and that great portion passed to him when his father died some five years ago. The house of Pemberley is situated in a very pretty spot in Derbyshire, and is surrounded by an immense property. One might think managing such an inheritance a challenge to a man so young, but my nephew is certainly a capable landlord. He even advises me in regards to my property at Rosings. I trust him most implicitly.”
Elizabeth, still weary from her own rumination on the subject of Mr Darcy, did her best to turn the conversation away from admiration of the man. “I have never travelled to that part of the country. Is it located near the Peaks?”
“Yes, it encompasses some territory thereabouts. I never took Anne into the hills unless we were forced to traverse them on our way, but having been brought up in that part of the country, I am partial enough to that scenery.”
This vein, once Lady Catherine entered it, suited her and Elizabeth, as chief listener, very well. Her ladyship went on describing some of the sights of the Peak District in a didactic style sometimes lightened by nostalgia.
Their own scenery in the farm lanes beyond the barouche, thus far rustic and lovely, flashing green and bright with the florid spring, slowly began to change. They approached the Bromley Inn at last and made the change of horses, and as they progressed once again a full half an hour later, their way became more congested with wagons and carriages. Thestraggle of villages and clusters of civilisation that heralded their approach to London were beginning to appear on the horizon. Lady Catherine took inspiration from the view and spoke with condescending admonition regarding the tradesmen taking advantage of the highway proximity, the creeping taint of their influence in society, and her suffering at the sight of the hovels that paved their path.
Elizabeth bit her lips again and again. Prudence told her that her breath would be wasted in giving instruction on the needs of the lower classes to a matron already so firmly set in her position and perspective. Their journey went on slowly as the horses led them inexorably onwards, off the highway roads and across the river, past the smoky throngs of workshops and shipyards and the clamour of street merchants, and towards quieter streets lesser changed by struggle and the shifts of time. There, gardens and gates and elegant houses stood aglow in the mid-afternoon sun like dignified monoliths to a nobler age.
“Ah,” said Lady Catherine, “there is St George’s. We are very near to my relations. I understood from Darcy that although he was to travel often this month on business, his sister might be at home receiving masters for her studies. Nowthatis a girl of taste and accomplishment. I daresay that you and Miss Lucas may benefit from exposure to such a specimen of breeding. She is much like her mother, my late sister, the Lady Anne,” declared Lady Catherine, who then rapped sharply with her cane to alert her driver. He seemed to understand her wishes well enough without a single word. The carriage turned, and very shortly they drew up to a tall and elegant home with its own gated garden nestled beside it.
A groom scurried around the carriage to open their door, and Elizabeth felt herself turn breathless with the prospect of this unexpected call.
“As their nearest relation, I never pass by Darcy House when its knocker is up,” said Lady Catherine, who withdrew her card from her beaded reticule and passed it to her groom. He rushed it up the steps to Darcy House, and they waited for a moment that seemed rather long to Elizabeth’s beating heart. Presently, the door of the house above them was opened by a welcoming butler, and Lady Catherine sat taller and gathered up her cane to disembark the carriage steps. “Come, you will accompany me on this call.”
THREE
Maria Lucas sprang up from the carriage seat with eagerness; Elizabeth followed at a pace that may have appeared sedate, but was instead weighed down by dread and disordered feelings. Her eyes darted here and there, gleaning bits of her own scattered senses from what she saw: well-kept steps and handsome cut stone, the fine cut of the butler’s clothing and the pride in his bearing, the sheen of the long windows she passed, and the polished marble with its darker inset pattern on the floor as she drew inside. She raised her eyes enough to take in the graceful sweep of stairs and the gleam of gilded frames of portraits and landscapes. A tall potted palm sat upon the top landing, reaching still higher, gathering the light that came from some bright window set within the roof, placed to catch both sun and stars.
From upon that very stair, she heard a timid voice. “Lady Catherine! I mean, Aunt Catherine! How kind of you to call upon me so soon after my lessons.”
Elizabeth turned her eyes upon the young lady and was immediately struck with the confusion of unrecognition. There was nothing here to resemble anything that had been described to her regarding Miss Darcy aside from her healthy height. MrWickham had called herproud—yet clearly, as she stammered and showed herself equally embarrassed and eager to extend welcome, she gave no hint of aloofness. Miss Bingley had declared her elegant, and while the girl’s clothing was certainly fine and well-fitted, it was not a testament to fashion beyond comfort and usefulness, and somehow even seemed girlish in its trimming. The figure it covered was well-formed and womanly, yet the girl’s soft-featured face showed her to be sixteen summers at most. In such a quandary of surprise and unmet expectations, Elizabeth found it was even difficult to trace in that countenance’s good-humoured symmetry anything of the noble beauty of the girl’s brother.
She felt her cheeks heat to think of Mr Darcy now—and as beautiful, no less. As she met Miss Darcy’s astonished gaze, she saw the girl was blushing too.
It seemed that Lady Catherine had been speaking throughout this encounter. Elizabeth roused herself just in time to hear her ladyship say, “And this young lady is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who I believe knew your brother when he came into her home county in Hertfordshire last autumn.”
Miss Darcy dropped a hasty curtsey. “Miss Bennet, ah! And—Miss Lucas, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
