He was a man who often preferred to be quiet, and he often required encouragement to feel comfortable enough to speak easily. Mr. Darcy had said many times that he found it difficult to converse with strangers. They were not strangers, but they had been separated for nearly six months.
The arrangement of seats placed Elizabeth next to Colonel Fitzwilliam, and he made some effort to charm her with his conversation. She quickly found herself at ease with him. They spoke freely and with plenty of laughter. Though, on occasion, the recollection intruded that he was the son of an earl, and thus too far above her for Elizabeth to have any real right to speak with him on easy terms.
She felt herself often caught between two types of “Elizabeth”: The quiet, ill-dressed girl, who never spoke out of turn—except when alone with Mr. Bennet—and a charming, sparkling young Miss, beautiful enough to gain the attention of any gentleman, though not beautiful enough, the way that Jane was, to demand their unwilling submission.
I never want to again be the way I have always been at home .
That thought, mixed with simmering anger towards either Mrs. Bennet or herself, or maybe even Mr. Bennet, would erupt at the strangest moments. Like when she caught Mr. Darcy looking at her again with admiration.
Near the end of the dinner, Lady Catherine’s repeated attention towards Elizabeth turned into an inquisition. Her Ladyship went so far as to move her chair closer to Elizabeth’s, making Mr. Collins switch positions, and then she began with: “I hear that you are a penniless relation of Mrs. Collins’s father. You are a prettyish thing. But who were your mother’s people? What relations do you have beyond the Bennets.”
Elizabeth shrugged.
This was a question she was seldom asked, as no one in the vicinity of Meryton ever had any particular curiosity to know more than the general story. Or more, what curiosity they had, had been satisfied by Mr. Bennet fifteen years ago when Elizabeth was too young to speak on the matter.
Mr. Darcy had once asked, and Elizabeth had likewise been unable to satisfy him.
“Do answer me,” Lady Catherine insisted, “There can be no shame in telling me of your connections, even if they are low, it is always best to own them.”
“I do not know, madam.”
“Do not know!” Lady Catherine pressed her lips together. She stared at Elizabeth again, as if searching something out in her face. Then she said, “Do not be absurd. I have never heard such a thing. You mean to say that you do not know every detail of the family history, or the details of all of their deeds, and that the connection with your mother’s people has been wholly severed, but at the very least you can tell me what your mother’s family name was, and what county she hailed from.”
Elizabeth felt something like the vertigo she’d feel when looking down from the window of a particularly high tower.
She did not know.
All she knew about her mother was from a few cryptic hints Mr. Bennet had dropped.
Mr. Bennet specifically wished for her to not be informed upon these points. Even after she’d told him that she knew about her mother’s sins he still had not told her more. Perhaps a desire to avoid having her questioned was a part of why he had never brought her to London on his rare visits to town, and why he had been hesitant to permit her to visit Mary.
“Speak. Who was your mother. I am not in the habit of being disappointed.”
Mr. Collins looked at Elizabeth with an open mouth, as though he were shocked that Elizabeth would refuse her Ladyship anything that she might wish for. Mary frowned with confusion, as though she had suddenly realized that nothing about Elizabeth’s family was ever said by Mr. Bennet.
Miss de Bourgh appeared wholly uninterested in the subject.
The look that Mr. Darcy gave her showed both concern and kindness.
“I have always been introduced as a Bennet,” Elizabeth said slowly, with her face red from embarrassment, “I know nothing else.”
The whole of this confusion was because of her illegitimacy.
Probably her mother’s name was Bennet. It was her father’s about which she had no knowledge.
The low Elizabeth. That is who she felt she ought to become again. The one that Mrs. Bennet wanted her to be. She only deserved to be the grateful small creature hiding her light under a bushel because she did not deserve to shine.
The true story was horridly shameful, and that was why neither she nor Mary had been told it.
“Your name is given as Bennet,” Lady Catherine said. “So, your father would be the Bennet. Who were your mother’s people. This is a simple question. I find it odd, I find it suspicious, that you cannot answer.”
Something in her rebelled. Even if she was illegitimate, even if Lady Catherine was about to deduce this and proclaim it to everyone in this room, she would not be that tiny mousy version of herself .
With a confident smile Elizabeth replied, “There may be a simple solution. Is it not possible that both my mother and father were Bennets? It is not such a rare name and that would explain why Mr. Bennet never needed to specify the mother’s name to me.”
“Do not be impertinent, girl. This is an important matter.” Lady Catherine leaned back with a huff. She frowned at her and shook her head. “Mr. Bennet told you nothing about your mother? Is that true?”
Elizabeth did not reply, but she thought that her failure to reply told everyone that Lady Catherine had guessed right enough.
Elizabeth still sat taller than before.
She would behave the way...the way that she imagined Darcy would under such an inquisition. No...not how Darcy would, but hopefully in a way that Darcy might approve of.
Elizabeth half expected Lady Catherine to intuit simply from this that she was illegitimate, and then to screamingly throw her from the house and order Mr. Collins to have her sent home the next morning.
A touch placed on the locket that lay on her chest, and Elizabeth felt confidence fill her. If that happened, at least everyone would at last know.
Lady Catherine studied her. She said three times, “How odd. How odd. How odd—and that style of arranging your hair. It reminds me of when I was younger. How came you to the notion of using such a style?”
This change of topic made Elizabeth blink. “I, ah...” She did not wish to tell this woman that she was imitating the miniature of her mother that sat inside the locket on her chest. “It felt appropriate.”
“I see.” A piercing look. “What arrangements has Mr. Bennet made for your support. Your conversation and manners show that you were raised to be a gentlewoman. Has he set any money aside for you.”
“Not so far as I know.”
“Nothing! And does he mean for you to become a governess?” Lady Catherine had a tone much like Elizabeth imagined a prosecutor in a criminal case might have as he sought to catch the man accused of a crime in a lie so that the jury would know his guilt.
Elizabeth did not answer. She wondered herself what Mr. Bennet meant for her to do. Lady Catherine added, “I have settled many young persons as a governess. Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson are most delightfully situated through my means; and it was but the other day that I recommended another young person, who was merely accidentally mentioned to me, and the family are quite delighted with her. If Mr. Bennet means to make you a governess, I might be of aid.”
“I thank you for that kindness, madam, but I do not think he has any such notion.”
“I begin to imagine that he has no notion at all.”
This roused something of Elizabeth’s anger at her Ladyship’s own impertinence. “I assure you that Mr. Bennet has been a diligent and kind guardian. He has a plan for my future; he has told me so much. He said that I will find a situation that matches my birth.”
“That matches your birth? Those were his words? Exactly?”
Elizabeth did not reply.
“They must have been. They must have been. But yet—has he spoken to you of marriage? Is there some gentleman that he has encouraged you towards? Perhaps someone connected closely with him?”
“No, not at all,” Elizabeth replied, a little surprised by that suggestion as she guessed a woman with as much perception about her as Lady Catherine seemed to have would have guessed that she was illegitimate.
“Do you plan to marry? You say you have no fortune. You believe that there is no money. Surely you have put some thought to this. What future have you been taught to expect?”
When Elizabeth did not reply, Lady Catherine said, “Everything you say about Mr. Bennet seems so strange. Mr. Darcy, you have met the gentleman, have you not. Did he seem to be a wholly sensible man?—was there anything strange about him?”
As Elizabeth had not been able to bear to look at Darcy until now, she did not know how he had taken to listening to Lady Catherine’s queries, but in reply to his aunt’s request he spoke with his ordinary calm and collected manner. “Mr. Bennet seemed in all cases to be devoted to Miss Elizabeth’s welfare, and to think very highly of her. I am confident that he has some plan in mind for her placement in a suitable situation, as Miss Elizabeth has already said.”
“You did not find anything amiss in him? Nothing to dislike? No weakness of character visible in the face of physiognomy?”
Elizabeth noticed that Mary looked slightly offended at this line of questioning, as it revolved around her father.
Besides, if Lady Catherine wished to have information about Mr. Bennet’s character it would have made more sense to ask one of the girls raised by him. No—Mr. Darcy was her nephew, whose opinion and judgement she must have more confidence in, and who was also an unbiased observer.
“I thought well of Mr. Bennet, and his appearance.” Mr. Darcy said, “I do not put much stock in looks as a proof of character. However, his behavior towards Miss Elizabeth, while not to my taste in every particular, showed him to be a responsible gentleman.”
“Looks say a great deal,” Lady Catherine replied. “The physiognomy often reveals the soul—but they are not infallible. That no doubt is what you mean. But even if there is nothing of a sly underhanded sort going on, even if my—well I’ll not speak about that. But all of this seems to be a most helter-skelter mode of management. It is most suspicious.” She turned her gimlet eye on Elizabeth. “He cannot depend upon you marrying. And he cannot wish to see you permanently in a position of dependency upon him and his daughters. I assure you that if I were to undertake the rearing of a ward I would not behave in such a way—would you like the work of a governess? Has he really given you no preparation for such a position.”
“I do not know. I have never given it any thought.”
“Not given it any thought! Nor to your future at all, I imagine.”
“All ahead seems dim to me,” Elizabeth replied honestly. “I am in the situation I am in, and I can see nothing beyond.”
“Nothing you might do! Why at the very least you might decide that you wish to become a governess.”
Mr. Darcy interrupted, “Lady Catherine, can you not see that Miss Elizabeth has been made uncomfortable with this line of conversation? Unless you mean to convince her of the virtues of being a governess, you may as well cease.”
“How did Mr. Bennet have you educated,” Lady Catherine ignored her nephew’s suggestion. “Do you play?”
“Not at all.” Elizabeth’s voice became more assured again. She smiled. She had no cause to be ashamed of herself, and it thus should amuse her, the way it would amuse Mr. Bennet, that Lady Catherine would no doubt think that she ought to be ashamed.
At least Darcy stood beside her.
“Most queer. Most suspicious. I imagine that you do not draw either?”
“No, I never enjoyed it—I much prefer to read.”
“Never enjoyed it! And I imagine you frittered all your time away upon novels? So many girls of your generation do. When I was young—but tell me, why do you think enjoyment should govern how you spend your time?—but your French, how clear is your accent?”
“I have no accent in French, as I cannot speak it. I can read the language easily enough.”
Lady Catherine had a grim satisfaction at hearing that. Her expression was that of a person satisfied in hearing the announcement of an expected catastrophe that she had predicted. A self-satisfied Cassandra. “Mr. Bennet certainly does not mean you to be a governess. I imagine you have no accomplishments at all.”
“I do not think I am wholly bereft of talents that are worthy of note,” Elizabeth replied. “Though I imagine you might. Mr. Bennet superintended my education most closely.”
“She can speak Greek and Latin more fluently than I can,” Mr. Darcy interjected. “Miss Elizabeth is a great reader, and from our conversations, I believe that she would make a fine astronomer. Her mathematical abilities are excellent. Also, she is a better shot than I am when shooting partridges.”
“Mathematics! Hunting! Dead languages!” Lady Catherine exclaimed. “Not suspicious but eccentric. Did he mistake your sex? Tell me, is Mr. Bennet full aware that you are not a boy? There is no purpose for a lady to know more of Greek than enough to be able to say ‘but to me it was Greek’—Mr. Bennet taught you Greek but neglected to give you tutoring in French and the piano? Most queer, most odd. Entirely eccentric. And you know nothing of your mother’s people. Nothing? Not even from what part of the country they hailed?”
Elizabeth had tired of the inquisition. “The subject of my parents has always been painful to Mr. Bennet, and we have never spoken of any details.”
“Painful! Ha! And when did you come to Mr. Bennet’s care? At what age were you.”
“Five, madam—but might I ask to what point these questions tend. You are seeking to learn some particular, but I cannot imagine what it is.”
“Five. And what year was this? I would guess it to have been fifteen years now. Are you twenty? You look to me to be twenty. What is your birthdate?”
“I cannot deny that my present age is twenty. And I will even confess to my birthday being celebrated on September 20 th .” Lady Catherine seemed struck. She did not speak for a little while, and she seemed to be mouthing the date to herself.
“Now,” Elizabeth said firmly, “if you wish me to answer another question, you must give reply to mine.”
“You have some of that confidence which you ought, despite the best efforts of your guardians to deprive you of it. I am glad to see that.”
This reply and the approving manner of Lady Catherine greatly surprised Elizabeth, as she expected the woman to become offended and angry at Elizabeth’s refusal to continue the game.
“I have one final question,” Lady Catherine said. “If you will but let me hear your answer, I will cease this ‘inquest’ as you labelled it. I beg you to do me the kindness, if you recall it, of telling me your mother’s Christian name.”
Elizabeth had suddenly her own suspicion, and queer idea.
What if Lady Catherine thought she recognized her or knew something of her family. What if she could tell her the things that Mr. Bennet had refused to say? “Amelia, I believe it was Amelia. Now I beg you, can you tell me what you...what this all tends towards? What do you suspect about my mother’s people?”
Lady Catherine frowned in silence. Mr. Collins began to speak, but the great lady held up her hand to silence him.
“I must think. I must think about all that you told me. But you ought to take up the piano. It can never hurt a girl to know how to play. If I had ever learned, I would have been a great proficient, but it was not so common when I was young. Anne’s ill health prevented her as well. You ought to use that fine one which Mrs. Collins keeps in her parlor.”
Elizabeth nearly asked Lady Catherine again what she had been trying to learn, but there was something in Lady Catherine’s unsettled manner which made Elizabeth think she would venture no reply, and that combined with a remnant of the diffidence Mrs. Bennet had raised her to have prevented Elizabeth from saying anything more.
Instead, noting how Mr. Collins looked at her, Elizabeth replied, “That is very kind of you, madam, to advise me. I will make an effort to learn a little of the instrument.”
Elizabeth meant that.
Mrs. Bennet had never wished her to learn to play, so she had not. But Mary would like to teach Elizabeth a little.
Lady Catherine seemed almost disappointed by that reply. But after a while the grand woman said, “You are a good sort of creature. Odd, but that is to be expected.”
As Lady Catherine kept Elizabeth sitting near her during the whole of their time in the drawing room, she did not have any chance to speak in any particular way to Mr. Darcy. But he did stay in that small party until they went home, speaking little but often looking at her.
As soon as Elizabeth went up to her bedroom, Mary shortly followed her and sat down by the candle with a puzzled frown. “How very odd. Lady Catherine was right. There is something odd—I never realized it, that Papa never said anything about your parents. How very odd. You do not even know your mother’s family name?”
Elizabeth shrugged.
She felt chill go through her, once more. It must be a secret for a good reason. She did not want Mary to know that she was a bastard.
That is no shame for you . You had no choice in the matter. Why do you always assume everyone would hate you ?
That voice, the one which had given her extra confidence when facing Lady Catherine, was speaking again in the back of her soul.
“Do you think Lady Catherine knew your mother?” Mary asked. “Her questions aimed at something. But why would she not say so much if that was what she suspected?”
“How might I know. She said nothing of her purposes. Just as Papa never says anything.” A pause of several heartbeats. Then Elizabeth realized what she said in her anger, and corrected herself, “I mean Mr. Bennet. I know that—”
Mary embraced her. “We are sisters. Of course, you think of Papa as ‘Papa’. How could it be different.”
“I should not. He is not, and—”
“We are sisters,” Mary repeated. “No matter that our relation is not one of blood, we were raised together. I remember you always there, since the very earliest that I can remember. And you always cared for me when I was very tiny, and you were always very kind. And, and—we are sisters, do not forget that, Elizabeth.”
She tried very hard not to cry. Elizabeth had longed to hear something like this. But she was also suddenly so scared.
After a little bit Mary asked again, “Why has Papa not said anything? But maybe he only thinks that it is a great joke, like when he did not tell us that Mr. Collins was to visit until the day he was to arrive.”
But that sounded off to both of them. The matter was far more serious.
“Do you know why Papa is so secretive?” Mary asked again, “Or at least suspect?”
What if Mary knew that she was illegitimate? Perhaps it would change nothing. Perhaps Mary would still say that they were sisters. Or perhaps she would reject her entirely.
Elizabeth did not want to lie to her though.
“I suppose it would hardly be a secret if he told you,” Mary added with a smile when Elizabeth did not reply.
“I have a suspicion,” Elizabeth said at last, her voice was a little shaky, “but I do not wish to say what it is.”
“How horrible might it be? But I understand. If you do not know, it is likely better not to speculate. But the whole is so odd.”
That Elizabeth could heartily agree with.