Page 72 of Lizzie’s Spirit

“Fitzwilliam, George Darcy!” Lady Catherine’s imperious voice filled the entrance hall to Pemberley.

“They are not yet returned from the estate, my lady. Can I offer you refreshments in the drawing-room?”

She grunted, a most unladylike sound. “I am most seriously displeased. Miss de Bourgh and I travelled a great distance from Kent… and not to be welcomed… it is shameful. I would expect such of George Darcy, who has no noble blood, but not of my nephew, the grandson of an earl. This is not to be borne. Very well, we shall wait in the blue drawing-room.”

“Lady Catherine, if we had received a note, both Father and I would have welcomed you. Our apologies, but a bridge on the western boundary is unsafe, and we sought to know whether to rebuild completely or to repair it.”

“I care little for your bridges!” Lady Catherine remained seated, making no attempt to rise at their entry. “You knew I would come. Particularly because you, Fitzwilliam, made no effort to visit me at Rosings.”

“Welcome to Pemberley, Aunt, and you, Anne. I trust the journey was not too arduous.” Darcy was all that was obsequious—her former rector, Mr. Collins, would have been proud—but rather than seeing him as mocking, which he was, Lady Catherine took his deference as her due.

“Indeed it was. Anne’s health has been seriously compromised. And ‘tis all your fault and that of your father.” She cast George Darcy a disparaging look. “Why my sister ever thought to marry so far beneath her, I do not know.”

Darcy stepped further into the room, towering over his aunt; against his bulk she appeared diminutive even though she was a large woman and seated upright in a stiff-backed chair. Now, no humour lightened his tone.

“If you wish to stay the night, Lady Catherine, I suggest you refrain from insulting both my Father and my Mother.” He paused, glaring at her such as to make Anne, who was sitting near her mother, shrink into her seat.

“We Darcys are accustomed to a little more respect, though I doubt you know the meaning of the word.”

“Impertinent, disrespectful! Must I remind you that I am the daughter of an earl?”

“Indeed, you must,” said George Darcy, coldly, “for you are behaving like a harridan.” He paused. “And why are you here, Catherine? As you said, it is a long journey from Kent to Derbyshire. And expensive, since you live off Darcy charity.”

The lady responded in an angry tone, “You ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with. You, Darcy, are to marry Anne, as promised before you left England for that vile penal colony, whatever it is called. That you should so disgrace your heritage!”

“When was such a promise made?” said Darcy, striving to remain calm.

“When you imperiously called me to Rosings to have me act for your sycophantic, unctuous parson, Mr. Collins? No, ma’am, such is a fiction, invented by you to cover your gross indebtedness.

You look to Pemberley to rescue you. Shame on you. ”

“How dare you speak to me thus!”

“I dare,” said Darcy, “because I can see deceit when it stands before me. You fail to realise, Lady Catherine, that I have been a judge these past three years. I rule from the bench in military and civilian tribunals alike. I am prosecuting magistrate, jury, and sentencing judge—were you not Matlock’s sister, I would take you now before a magistrate and have your dissembling exposed.

” To fight a bully, he must be one. He continued,

“Never was any promise made to marry Anne. Who do you think the magistrate would believe? You, a bankrupt commoner, or me? Lieutenant governor, judge-advocate, adviser to Lord Bathurst.”

Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment and then replied,

“What are you, Fitzwilliam? You are not the man who left England. You’ve come back infected by the vulgar felons with whom you lived these past four years—where are your manners? You have lost all decorum.”

Furiously, she turned to Darcy’s father, “And you, George, standing there like a fool as your son insults your wife’s memory. You well know his engagement to Anne was planned in the cradle, that it was both sisters’ dearest wish. To see the great estates of Pemberley and Rosings united.”

Abruptly, Lady Catherine arose. “Enough! A room should be prepared by now. Anne, let us retire. I am weary from the road and need to refresh myself.”

Darcy and his father looked at each other in astonishment. Then, taking a glass, they sank into the cushions to recover their equanimity, the brandy as astringent as Catherine’s diatribe.

“She’s mad, utterly deranged. No acknowledgement of the debts she has accrued, no contrition. I can see why Matlock gets nowhere with her. This is a disaster, for how does one deal with a lunatic? From whence does this madness come?” Darcy cursed under his breath.

“We cannot deal with her,” said his father.

“We must obfuscate until Elizabeth returns. There is little else we can do. I fear, however, that Matlock will increase his pressure on you to offer for Felicity. For he sees your marrying Anne the better match because Rosings would be yours under the settlement. Otherwise, the mortgages would need to be paid out and proceedings started to take control of the estate. A messy and possibly public business.”

Darcy winced, then laughed. “’Tis only hypothetical. Shortly, you’ll cradle Pemberley’s heir in your arms. And all this sorry mess can be left for Matlock to untangle.”

***

“I’m so looking forward to meeting Elizabeth. You’ve told me so much about her. At last, having sister and being an aunt! ‘Tis ever so thrilling.”

“You’re not upset that I’m not marrying Felicity?”

“Oh, no. She’s already a cousin—with Elizabeth, I gain a sister—‘tis what I’ve always wished for.”

Georgiana sat with Darcy in the library, the smell of leather-bound books their long-time friend—they both immensely enjoyed reading. In this room, they were unlikely to be disturbed. Aunts Alice and Catherine thought bookishness was unladylike.

Both siblings took a moment to contemplate Lizzie’s coming.

Her arrival was only days away; they awaited word of the Grosvenor’s arrival in the Thames estuary.

There were horses stationed at each of the major posting inns between Pemberley and London—Darcy could be in town in less than four and twenty hours, in time to meet her at the wharf.

Hearing a disturbance in the hallway, they were unsurprised when Winthrop entered. “My apologies, but more unexpected guests have arrived.” He grimaced, so unlike his normally unflappable self. “Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, and Mr. Bingley, who said that you had invited him.”

“Bingley? What the devil is he doing here? Oh, very well, show them into the west parlour. And please have Mrs. Reynolds prepare bedchambers in the guest wing.”

“Did you know Mr. Bingley at Cambridge?”

“You’ve a good memory, Georgiana. Yes, we were at university together for two terms. I recently met him again in London, in July; by chance, he saw me in the street.”

Darcy thought for a moment. This visit could be to their advantage.

“Georgie, I believe you can assist me. I was introduced to Miss Bingley at a soiree at the Hursts’ house in Grosvenor Street.

Mrs. Hurst is Bingley’s sister. At the soiree, my rank of lieutenant governor and my being heir to Pemberley made me a target for Miss Bingley, a social climber of the first rank.

Of course, she is outclassed by Lady Felicity, the daughter of an earl, and by Cousin Anne, an heiress.

But she suffers from the delusion that her dowry of twenty thousand pounds and her attendance at an exclusive seminary compensate for her family being in trade.

Ironically, my being a barrister—which was all that I was—would have made her an eminently suitable wife. ”

Georgiana laughed, a knowing smile brightening her face.

“I understand completely, William. We wish to throw a cat amongst the pigeons and have Miss Bingley compete for your attentions against Felicity and Anne.

This is so wrong of me. ‘Tis not proper for a lady, but I will enjoy the diversion immensely.”

***

Dinner was all that could be expected from such dissimilar people.

Precedence was easily determined, with Lady Matlock, Lady Catherine, Lady Felicity, Miss de Bourgh, Mrs. Hurst, Miss Darcy, Miss Bingley, and Mrs. Annesley being handed into the small dining-parlour on the arms of Mr. Darcy, lieutenant governor Darcy, Mr. Hurst, and Mr. Bingley.

Of course, Lady Matlock sat at the head of the table, with Mr. Darcy senior at the foot.

The Art of Seating , thought Darcy, recalling how Elizabeth had ensured that, at table, all were seated so as to avoid acrimony and create harmony. ’Tis similar to Sun Tzu’s The Art of War—subdue the enemy without fighting .

Caroline Bingley, much to her displeasure, was seated between Mr. Hurst and Mrs. Annesley, opposite her brother.

Having Anne next to Lady Matlock and opposite Darcy, with Felicity opposite Lady Catherine, who was next to her nemesis, George Darcy, had caused some annoyance.

Lady Matlock wished Felicity opposite Darcy, while Lady Catherine wished to impose her oversight on Anne’s conversation.

What a joke! Darcy glanced at his father, who was chuckling at the scene unfolding before them.

Certainly, as each of the ladies and their minders vied for priority, Darcy was left mostly unmolested.

He felt sympathy for Anne, who knew nothing of society apart from dinners with neighbours at Rosings, hosted by her mother.

She looked bewildered. Mrs. Annesley, seated next to her, gently led the conversation.

Between her and Darcy, the discourse was carried on, but Anne was surprisingly well informed.

And, as she gained confidence that her views were taken seriously, she joined in their discussion of politics, the war against the tyrant, and the latest novel by a Lady , just published in town.

Lady Matlock, who had never bothered to acquaint herself with her niece, could only purse her lips in frustration—that Felicity was chattering animatedly with George Darcy at the far end of the table, and that Anne was talking amiably with Fitzwilliam at the other.

“Mr. Bingley, a long time since we met, in the year ‘02?” said Mr. Darcy, after the ladies had retired and the gentlemen were partaking of port and cigars.

“Indeed, sir, it was ‘02, before the Lent term at Cambridge.” He cleared his throat, coughing slightly, possibly from Hurst having lit a cigar—none of the other men had the habit.

“I intended to take up residence in an estate I leased in Hertfordshire. However, after the recent heavy rains, a bridge required repair and my removal has been delayed by a month. Dashed awkward, really.”

“Yes, we’ve similar problems with bridges on the estate. But Derbyshire seems a long way from Hertfordshire. Are you on your way north? For I recall that was where your family resided.”

“An aunt remains in Scarborough, but the truth of the matter is my sister, Caroline, did not wish to return to London and thought to come here. We hope not to inconvenience you, particularly as you already have guests, but Darcy did extend an invitation…”

“Ah, I understand. No inconvenience—‘tis almost a house party. Do you return to Hertfordshire, or do you intend to continue to Scarborough?”

Bingley was pinned down and admitted he hoped to remain at Pemberley for some three weeks, until the end of October. For Mr. Darcy, the issue only assisted Fitzwilliam and himself—Miss Bingley certainly had claws; though whether there were pigeons was yet to be seen.

Darcy saw he was closely watched by Miss Bingley, and he could not speak a word, especially to Felicity, without calling her attention.

The lady was at a great disadvantage. Cousin Anne was an heiress, but she appeared pale and sickly; her features, though not plain, were insignificant.

Miss Bingley considered herself the handsomest woman in the room; thus, she felt no competition from that quarter.

On the other hand, Lady Felicity was very pretty and well-dowered, being the daughter of an earl. Moreover, Darcy had an easy relationship with her. That Lady Matlock, a countess, was pushing the match seemed an insurmountable challenge to Miss Bingley’s ambitions.

Darcy watched her face as her resolve hardened.

Once again, Sun Tzu sprang to mind— keep your friends close and your enemies closer .

Glancing conspiratorially at his father, who was occupied with Mr. Hurst, he stepped up to Miss Bingley, intending to engage her in conversation.

Immediately, however, Lady Matlock called to him, and he was obliged to attend to her.

Lady Catherine then demanded his presence, expounding on Anne’s remarkable skill at cassino, and asking why card tables had not been set up for the enjoyment of his guests.

Thus the evening dragged on until all were exhausted by the pas de quatre— Darcy, le danseur noble; and les danseuses, Lady Felicity, Miss de Bourgh, and Miss Bingley.