Page 5 of Rosings Park (Happily Ever Afterlife #2)
CHAPTER FIVE
N o matter what she had said to Darcy before, Elizabeth could not deny that fatigue was setting in at last. Ever since falling pregnant, it had become a difficult task for her to stay awake late into the evening, and she generally tucked herself into bed by nine o’clock. A glance at the time from beneath her drooping eyelids told her that it was not yet eight, and already she found herself suppressing a yawn every couple of minutes. She was determined to wait for Darcy to appear before escaping upstairs. Should she make her excuses before then, her husband was liable to send for a physician. Or confine me to bed until I am delivered.
With Lady Catherine and Lady Matlock content to exclude her from the conversation, she amused herself as best she could by taking in the decoration of the room. It was as gaudy and uselessly fine as the rest of the house and boasted the same strong medieval aesthetic. Even the panelling on the walls was composed of golden spokes, which, upon closer inspection, proved to be miniature swords. This realisation served to make Elizabeth smile. Sir Lewis certainly kept to his theme. Although he had clearly taken minute care with the renovation of his home, she regrettably felt he should have used his money more wisely; she had never seen a place so gilded in her life, or a colour palette so hurtful to her eyes. The whole was quite ugly, in her opinion.
Of the greatest interest to Elizabeth were two matched portraits: one of Lady Catherine in her youth and the other of a balding gentleman she supposed to be the Arthurian-inspired Sir Lewis. Wedding portraits, she further presumed, since they were dressed in complementary garments of crimson and gold. The gentleman’s eyes were a warm chocolate brown and shone with kindness, while the lady’s were a gleaming silver and devoid of any identifiable feeling. As Elizabeth had suspected, Lady Catherine had been quite handsome once upon a time with her strong Fitzwilliam features and pale delicacy. The resemblance to her sister, Lady Anne, was quite striking, though the elder sister’s portrait was lacking a certain something that was present in the younger’s. She could not put her finger on exactly what that something was, but she suspected it was some intangible quality that made Lady Anne’s early death so lamentable. Despite their physical similarities, the sisters were seemingly quite disparate from one another in essentials.
The door to the hall opened, and Elizabeth perked up, eagerly watching for the entrance of Darcy. Instead, it was Percy, who announced, “Mr and Mrs Collins.”
The anticipation of being in her friend’s company again reinvigorated Elizabeth as she stood to greet the Collinses, whom she had not seen in person since her last visit to Kent. She had corresponded with Charlotte, of course, but it was not at all the same as being together. Besides, she strongly suspected, from hints her friend had laid, that Mr Collins also read her letters, preventing Elizabeth from being truly open in her wording.
Mr Collins scurried into the room with a bundle of daffodils cradled in his arms. Charlotte followed in his wake at a more reasonable pace, tossing a smile at Elizabeth on her way past. They stopped in the middle of the seating area, where Mr Collins bowed low over the flowers, partially crushing them to his chest, and Charlotte dipped into a proper curtsey. The scene looked like nothing so much as a pair of peasants presenting themselves to the queen. “Lady Catherine, how are you this evening?”
Lady Catherine sniffed disdainfully at the parson, and Elizabeth could not entirely blame her. What a stupid, unfeeling question! “As well as one can be expected the night before her daughter’s funeral. Ring the bell for a servant and request a vase.”
While Mr Collins stammered his apologies to Lady Catherine, with Lady Matlock looking on in disgust as he prostrated himself without dignity, Charlotte pulled the cord and moved to greet Elizabeth. They embraced and sat down upon the sofa.
“It is so good to see you again,” Charlotte said, taking both of Elizabeth’s hands within hers. “It has been nearly a year since we last laid eyes on one another. Not since you stayed with us last Easter.”
“I am sure you must be correct. Oh, how I have missed you!” Elizabeth squeezed Charlotte’s hands in lieu of another embrace, which would not go unnoticed a second time. With a glance at Lady Catherine, which proved her still occupied with her fawning parson, she quietly enquired, “How are you, my friend? Truly.”
“Truly? I am content. Fatigued and often overwhelmed, but content. The life of a parson’s wife is full of responsibility and tribulation. Death, illness…there was a fire in the village not long ago that cost a man his life. Luckily, it was contained before anyone else could suffer substantial harm, but it has cast a great pall over the community. Mr Stephens was well-liked.”
“My goodness,” replied Elizabeth, affected by her dear friend’s difficulties. “I am so sorry for you. Between that poor man and Miss de Bourgh, your duties must be quite wearing on you.”
Charlotte’s expression transformed from one of sadness to warm satisfaction. “I would not have you believe I am unduly burdened by recent events. There has been tragedy, certainly, but there have also been great blessings. Becoming a mother…oh, Eliza, the joy is indescribable.”
Her own face stretching in a smile, Elizabeth enquired, “How is baby Cathy? Is she much grown since your last letter?”
“I dare say she is, for I swear she always appears bigger every time I look at her. Such a remarkable child.”
Miss Catherine Collins had been born four months previously and, by her mother’s accounting, was a healthful, thriving bundle of cooing joy. Mr Collins was understandably disappointed not to have sired an heir yet but had consoled himself by naming his first born after his beloved patroness. On Charlotte’s side, she had written that she had no real concerns over producing a male child eventually; the Lucas clan was even larger than the Bennets and could boast four sons to a mere two daughters. No doubt little Cathy would have a brother ere long.
Elizabeth could not help but wonder whether or not she was carrying the Darcy heir—and whether or not her husband had strong expectations of one. All gentlemen hoped for a son to whom to pass their holdings, but Darcy had assured her that Pemberley was not entailed, so a boy was not required to protect their assets; he could just as well leave the estate to a daughter, as the de Bourghs had done. Still, would her husband be disappointed if their firstborn was female in the same fashion as Mr Collins? Much as she despised comparing the gentlemen in any way, she could not be entirely certain.
After canvassing the perfections of little Cathy, Elizabeth and Charlotte shared news of their mutual Hertfordshire acquaintance. Elizabeth was pleased to describe her sister’s plans for decorating her new London home, and the pair of them quietly tittered at Jane’s relief in avoiding unwanted direction from Miss Bingley. Apparently, the lady was too busy hunting for a husband to be underfoot.
Amidst an anecdote relating to the local washerwoman’s reported sighting of the famed ghostly goat at Netherfield Park, Elizabeth happened to overhear Mr Collins say to Lady Catherine, “I assure you that everything is quite in hand for tomorrow. You need have no worry on that score. And my dear Charlotte, of course, will personally sit vigil with Miss de Bourgh tonight. ”
Elizabeth looked in surprise at Charlotte, who nodded her head in a single affirming bob. “I am honoured to be of service.”
Lady Catherine waved a jewelled hand in Charlotte’s direction. “Yes, yes, good. Now, I want you to ring the bells at precisely…”
In a lowered voice, Elizabeth asked, “You are to remain here overnight? What about little Cathy?”
“She is with her wet nurse, of course,” replied Charlotte. “Lady Catherine recommended Betsey to us, and she has been a godsend.”
“And you do not, um, mind sitting vigil?”
“Oh, I have been in charge of the body since we learnt of Miss de Bourgh’s death. I share the responsibility with Mrs Knight, as a favour to Lady Catherine.”
“Is that not …” Elizabeth wanted to say ‘unreasonable’ but settled for, “unusual?” Generally, a body was cleaned and cared for before a funeral by her relatives and house servants, not the parson’s wife. It was rather presumptuous of Lady Catherine to order Charlotte about the same way she did her housekeeper.
“I am perfectly content in my role. Lady Catherine is my husband’s patroness—it is the least I can do to show our gratitude.” This was said with such gentle firmness that Elizabeth desisted. She would certainly never demand such a thing as mistress of Pemberley, but then it was not difficult to believe that Mr Collins may have volunteered his wife without Lady Catherine even condescending to ask. It not being her place to object, she let the matter lie.
It was not many minutes later that the door opened again, this time to admit the gentlemen. Darcy stalked ahead of his uncle and cousins and made directly for Elizabeth.
“I see that I am about to become de trop .” With a wink, Charlotte dismissed herself to speak to Lady Catherine and left her open cushion to Darcy.