Page 10 of Rosings Park (Happily Ever Afterlife #2)
CHAPTER TEN
E lizabeth had held the unreasonable expectation that such a sad day must have weather to match the melancholy of the occasion. Instead, it was the finest day she had yet experienced since her arrival, and she was a touch insulted by it, however irrational that was. Or perhaps she was experiencing another of those inexplicable mood shifts that had beset her lately; the midwife had assured her that such was perfectly natural, but it was disconcerting and exhausting to cry over burnt toast or feel prickly about a beautiful day.
To distract herself from her unfounded annoyance, Elizabeth withdrew her gaze from the window and looked about the withdrawing room instead. In the brightness of the unreasonably pleasant morning, the Throne Room was not nearly as impressive as it appeared in evening shadow. Its grandeur was fading like an ageing débutante ; the walls were peeling along their seams, a tapestry to her left did not entirely cover a spreading water stain, and even the fireplace that Mr Collins liked to remind them cost in excess of eight hundred pounds was cracked and patched in places. She rather doubted that any significant work had been done on the estate since Sir Lewis’s time.
She, Charlotte, and Lady Matlock were forming the usual half circle with their hostess presiding over them from her throne. The tea table in the centre held the vase of daffodils given by the Collinses. The arrangement sat high enough to obscure her friend from view and prevent any attempt at conversation. Lady Matlock sat just below Lady Catherine, and neither of them was speaking either. It was a miserable occasion, and they were only gathered together to await the return of the gentlemen from the churchyard where they would inter Anne; and so they sat like a silent murder of crows while the bells tolled their sorrowful melody against the expanse of a flawless blue sky.
Poor Darcy was utterly distraught by his cousin’s death, and it had been all she could do to give him a small measure of comfort before he departed for the church. For reasons unfathomable to her, he seemed to feel as if Anne’s demise was somehow his fault, as if he could have prevented it had he only done…something. Even he did not seem to know what that something was, but such did not lessen the guilt he professed for not being at hand to effect some sort of change in events. Elizabeth had assured him that he took far too much upon himself, but there was no reasoning Darcy out of his feelings on the subject. He was, as she knew well, prone to blaming himself beyond his due.
And how must Lady Catherine feel? A glance at her ladyship did not reveal any particular sensibility other than ennui, but Elizabeth was sure she must be deeply affected by Anne’s death. Whatever her faults of temper and understanding, she had been a devoted mother and was surely desolate without her daughter. I cannot even imagine what it must be like to lose a child.
Without conscious purpose, Elizabeth’s hand moved to cup the small bump hidden beneath her gown. She could not call herself a mother quite yet, but fears aside, she had already formed such a sincere and intense attachment to the child growing within her belly as to ache at the thought of losing him or her. Tears welled in her eyes, and she furiously blinked them away; she did not wish to burden Lady Catherine with her overwrought emotions when the lady was so encumbered by her own.
Beneath her palm, the babe fluttered. Elizabeth wondered whether it could feel her sadness and sought to comfort her.
“I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Elizabeth started and turned her attention to Lady Catherine, who watched her with a sharp eye. Her ladyship nodded at Elizabeth’s midsection, where her hand still rested. Quickly, she returned the appendage to her lap. “Darcy must be gratified. Every man wants an heir.”
“Oh, yes. We are both quite pleased.”
“You have our congratulations as well,” said Lady Matlock with a regal nod to Elizabeth. “It is well that you know your duty to your husband. Some brides are far too missish about such things and put it off for as long as possible. Now you need only take steps to ensure the child is a boy. I have heard that most of the best opportunities occur before conception, but I suppose there is no helping that now. And I am sure you will be wanting a recommendation for an accoucheur .”
“Um…I thank you, but?—”
Lady Matlock pushed on, apparently unaware that Elizabeth had made the effort to speak. “Lady Bertram’s daughter—the younger, respectably married one—recently endured her own confinement. I shall ask whom they used.”
“Nonsense,” said Lady Catherine, also apparently unconscious of her niece’s intentions to speak for herself. With a quiet sigh, Elizabeth relented and let the lady have her part in the conversation. “Why should you trust the recommendation of a woman who could not contain the baser impulses of her own daughters? The younger might be married, but whether or not the arrangement is ‘respectable’ is up for debate. They eloped, you know.”
Lady Matlock’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I cannot see what that has to do with a recommendation for an accoucheur .”
“Why, the entire family’s good sense is called into question by their horrid behaviour. One daughter ruined forever, the other only barely respectable, a son recently wed to a penniless cousin… No, I would not stand for any of their lot to advise me. Nichols will almost certainly know of a worthy candidate.”
“But all the best physicians are situated in London. We ought to seek one out there.”
“Mr Darcy prefers that I take my confinement at Pemberley,” Elizabeth interjected. Both of her aunts-by-marriage turned to her with queer expressions, almost as if they had quite forgotten she was in the room. “He says the local midwife there is excellent.”
Mrs Green was a delightful woman, and one who had served Lambton well for more than twenty years. The ladies thereabouts swore by her methods, and by and large, most had healthy children to show for it. Those that did not…well, Mrs Green was not God. Some things were simply out of mortal hands.
Lady Catherine sniffed. “As if men know anything of female matters. No, my sister is correct—you will require the attendance of a capable London physician.”
Elizabeth abstained from mentioning that the accoucheur would be a man also. “I would, of course, welcome your recommendations and will pass them to Mr Darcy.” If it would appease her husband’s family, she would pretend to consider their advice, then continue as she had before. It was certainly an improvement over their studied indifference.
“In the meantime,” Lady Catherine continued, an oddly fierce glint in her eye, “you ought to ensure your own health. There is a particular tonic that I recommend for ladies in your condition. One that will ensure a strong child and robust vigour for yourself. Your symptoms will simply disappear.”
“Oh, my nausea is all but gone now and?—”
Lady Catherine flicked her hand at Charlotte. “Mrs Collins, ring the bell for tea. I shall have the tonic brought up now. It is best taken with a beverage.”
Full of umbrage that Lady Catherine, yet again, was treating her dear friend like a servant, Elizabeth protested, “Truly, it is not necessary. I had some slight discomfort early in my pregnancy, but it has been many weeks since I last felt truly ill.”
“I insist. Mrs Collins, the bell.” Again, Lady Catherine waved at Charlotte in that dismissive, insulting way, riling Elizabeth’s temper.
“Really—”
“It is well, Eliza,” said Charlotte, rising from her chair above the towering bouquet of daffodils. Once her face was visible, Elizabeth could see that her features were rendered in placatory lines. “I do not mind.” So saying, she carefully stepped round the table and made for the gold-tasselled bellpull over by the window.
Outside, the church bells began ringing again, signalling the end of services for Anne. This timely reminder of Lady Catherine’s grief cooled Elizabeth’s temper even as the baby, perhaps feeling its mother’s irritation, jumped and wriggled. She placed her hand upon the curve of her belly and stroked it in soothing circles. There now, little one. All is well.
When Charlotte was already halfway across the room, Elizabeth heard a shuddering rattle. She turned to the tea table just in time to see the vase of daffodils tip over, spilling flowers and water everywhere. The vase itself—an ugly thing with a busy pattern of red and gold flowers on a black background—practically burst upon impact, breaking into dozens of tiny shards that could not possibly be fitted back together again. It was no great loss to good taste, though it more than likely cost a ridiculous sum.
Lady Catherine was on her feet and pointing a shaking finger in Charlotte’s direction a blink later. “You clumsy girl! That vase was an heirloom worth more than your entire house.”
Lady Catherine continued to shriek invectives at Charlotte for upsetting the arrangement, though Elizabeth did not see how her friend could possibly be blamed; she was the farthest from it and certainly had not upset the tea table on her way to the bell.
Perhaps it had been a draught? Or an unseen presence…
Do not be absurd, Lizzy. Just because Miss de Bourgh recently died, it does not necessarily follow that her spirit lingers.
Such silent admonitions did not entirely banish Elizabeth’s inexplicable suspicion that Anne was with them. She shivered and rubbed absently at the goose-skin prickling her arms as an army of servants, heralded by Lady Catherine’s shouting, arrived to clean up the disorder.