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Longbourn Drawing Room - Lady Catherine

L ady Catherine set her cup down with a sharp click that made Hill flinch.

Thank goodness she had remembered to bring her own tea - the smell of their common brew was offensive enough from where she sat.

But where was Mr Collins? The man knew better than to keep her waiting.

Her fingers drummed an irritated rhythm on the arm of the chair as she surveyed the silent women before her.

The longer she waited, the more her displeasure grew.

While pretending to focus on her tea, Lady Catherine studied the women in the room - though she would not dignify them by calling them ladies.

The forward aunt, Mrs Garwood, was not a lady at all.

She must be Mrs Bennet’s sister, the one who had married some lawyer in Meryton.

At least the brother in trade had returned to London, so she need not endure his presence or that of his wife.

Then there were the cousins, particularly the dark one who was engaged to Mr Collins, whom she had met in London with Darcy.

The girl’s name started with an E, she was certain of that much.

Elizabeth? No… Emily perhaps? Or was it Emma?

She could not quite remember - though she supposed she ought to, given how much time the girl had spent conversing with her nephew that evening.

Not that it mattered to someone of her consequence.

After today’s business was concluded, she would never have to see any of these people again.

The girl was comely enough, she supposed.

She could understand why Mr Collins had decided to marry her, though she had thought his first letter mentioned pursuing the eldest. This one kept exchanging looks with the aunt and the blonde handsome sister - who was rather striking herself, she would do well in most drawing rooms. But from the glances being exchanged between them, it seemed this one was more than a pretty face.

Most men when looking for an exceedingly pretty wife were not interested in one who could think for herself.

She distinctly remembered seeing both sisters at that ball in London.

The other two girls were both darker haired than the pretty blonde one, but not as dark as the one engaged to Mr Collins, and neither was particularly handsome.

The one in the corner had not looked up once from her book - some dreary volume that, from its size, must be sermons.

Lady Catherine had always insisted Mr Collins read published sermons rather than write his own; the man had no gift for words.

This girl, with her plain dress and studious attention to religious texts, seemed perhaps the least objectionable person in the room, though certainly the dullest.

The last girl was clearly the most nervous - as she should be in the presence of her betters.

She sat near her elder sisters, and appeared younger than the others, though there couldn’t be much difference between her and the one with the sermons.

Her eyes darted between her teacup and the floor, though occasionally she would venture a timid glance at Lady Catherine, only to quickly look away again.

Lady Catherine allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction; it was gratifying to see that some people still knew their proper place.

A murmur of voices from the hall caught Lady Catherine’s attention - that housekeeper again, and yes, finally, Mr Collins’ distinctive tones responding.

Though she strained to make out the words, they remained frustratingly indistinct.

Her hearing was not what it once had been, though she would never admit such a weakness to anyone.

The effect on the room was immediate - even the dull one with her sermons designed to look up from her book.

The others straightened in their seats, though Lady Catherine noted with disapproval how the dark-haired one - Emma, or whatever her name was - maintained that air of composure that so irritated her.

A moment later Mr Collins burst into the room, and Lady Catherine could barely suppress her shock at his appearance.

The man was positively covered in mud - far worse than those occasions when she had caught him tending his garden at the parsonage.

Really, to present himself to his patroness in such a state!

“Lady Catherine!” His voice held its usual fawning tone, though the effect was somewhat diminished by his dishevelled state. “If I had known you were waiting, I would have returned much sooner - much, much sooner! I am all mortified to have kept your ladyship waiting.”

Mr Collins stood panting before her, clearly having rushed headlong through the house at the news of her presence.

Lady Catherine observed with grim satisfaction how the Bennet women had all risen properly to their feet, though she noted that his intended - Emily, whatever the girl’s name was - seemed more concerned with studying her betrothal’s muddy state than showing proper deference to her future patroness.

Lady Catherine deliberately took one final sip of her tea before setting the cup down with precise care on the conveniently placed table beside her chair.

Rising to her full height, walking stick firmly in hand, she fixed Mr Collins with her most commanding stare.

The other women might as well have been furniture for all the attention she deigned to give them - they were entirely irrelevant to what must now be said.

“Is there another room in this… house where we might discuss some business?” she said, her tone making it clear what she thought of calling such a modest dwelling a house.

Had it not been raining - she could hear the drops hitting the windows - she would have insisted on speaking outside.

But Lady Catherine de Bourgh did not stand about in the rain, not even for matters as urgent as this.

Mr Collins started his usual fluttering and bowing, but before he could speak, that dark-haired girl - Elizabeth, that was it!

- stepped forward. “You can take her Ladyship into my father’s book-room,” she said quietly to Mr Collins, though Lady Catherine noted with displeasure how the girl emphasised the word ‘father’s’, as if she still had any claim to the house.

Lady Catherine did not wait for a reply from Mr Collins. “Well then, lead on,” she commanded, her tone brooking no argument. Mr Collins scurried ahead of her like a frightened rabbit, leaving the other women to their insignificant concerns.

* * *

Longbourn Drawing Room - Elizabeth

Elizabeth, who had maintained her composure through that interminable hour of Lady Catherine’s disdain, finally allowed herself to move.

As soon as the door closed behind their unwelcome visitor, she began pacing the drawing room, her forced stillness giving way to restless energy.

The steady patter of rain against the windows seemed to echo her unsettled thoughts, casting the familiar room in gloomy shadows.

Her mind, which had been racing behind her calm facade while she sat politely drinking tea, now tumbled with possibilities.

What could have brought Lady Catherine all the way from Kent?

The great lady had made it clear during their previous meeting that she considered the Bennets beneath her notice - yet here she was, demanding a private audience with Mr Collins.

And why had she looked so disapproving when she mentioned Elizabeth’s name, as if she knew something particularly distasteful? None of it made sense.

Elizabeth had barely completed her third circuit of the room when Lady Catherine’s voice rang out from the book-room, clear enough to make speculation unnecessary.

The great lady had apparently forgotten - or did not care - that the thin walls of Longbourn carried sound remarkably well, particularly when one was shouting.

“You must return Hunsford to my gift!” Lady Catherine’s voice thundered through the house. “I will not have my living tainted by such a connection!”

Mr Collins’ response was too muffled to make out through the walls, though Elizabeth caught the familiar cadence of his fawning tone. Whatever he said only served to further inflame his patronesses temper.

“No, you will not be appointing a curate!” Lady Catherine’s voice rose even higher, if that were possible.

“You will be returning to Hunsford straight away. I shall give you one week to remove your belongings and I shall send my steward to oversee the transfer of the living, and I will appoint someone more… suitable to the position. Someone without such unfortunate connections.”

Mr Collins’ reply was barely audible through the walls, though Elizabeth thought she caught something about “arrangements” and “consideration for the ladies.” Whatever his exact words, they did nothing to mollify Lady Catherine.

“Whether you marry the girl or not makes no difference now!” Lady Catherine’s contempt cut through the walls like a knife.

“That sister of hers - your own cousin - ran off while living under your roof. She was your responsibility, Mr Collins, just as all these females are now your responsibility. And you failed utterly in your duty. I will not have someone so incompetent associated with me or my parish.”

Elizabeth stood frozen in the middle of the room, her pacing forgotten.

She could hardly believe what she was hearing, yet one glance at her aunt and sisters’ faces confirmed they had all understood Lady Catherine’s meaning.

After everything - her father’s death, her sacrifice, her resignation to this marriage - Mr Collins was going to break their engagement because of Lydia!

The irony of it might have made her laugh, if she weren’t suddenly so light-headed with relief.