Too Close to Mr Darcy Page 6

  For the second time today Elizabeth wished she could extract objects from people’s hands with the sheer power of her will.

  “I might not turn out to be such an interesting subject for discussion,” Elizabeth said. “Please, sit.” She invited her guest to one of the two chairs by the low table in front of the window.

  “Believe me, anything new around here holds great interest for the staff. I wish we had more time so you could tell me all about yourself, but I think Mrs. Byrd expects you shortly. I myself am about to join Lady Catherine for tea.”

  Elizabeth did not feel the least bit reassured by the girl’s words and did not feel the slightest inclination to reveal all about herself so it could be talked about at length behind her back. As it stood, she resolved to keep as much to herself as possible and focus on her duties in order to avoid any conflicts.

  Suddenly, she got an idea. She could satisfy her curiosity on one other subject while Miss Ashburn was here. It looked like the young woman was very informed about the comings and goings at Rosings.

  “By the way,” Elizabeth said casually, “I think I am not the only newcomer at Rosings today and rather suspect, I must be the less interesting one.”

  Miss Ashburn frowned for a moment while she struggled to gather what Elizabeth meant. Then her face lit with recognition and she finally put down the silver brush.

  “Mr. Darcy, you mean?” she said with barely contained enthusiasm. She seemed impressed with Elizabeth’s knowledge of the latest news. Perhaps assuming that Elizabeth knew more than she actually did, the girl added, “It is rather scandalous that he would be marrying Miss Anne in the state she is in, is it not?”

  Elizabeth’s heart dropped. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of disappointment that she could not assign any explanation to. So, Mr. Darcy was here to arrange his marrying Miss Anne de Bourgh… The piece of news did not concern her personally and until a few hours ago she had despised Mr. Darcy with a passion.

  Why was it that she suddenly found it hard to breathe?

  Like a drowning woman, Elizabeth focused on what Miss Ashburn had said and desperately searched for a suitable response. She could not let the young woman detect her sudden turmoil or it would undoubtedly become a topic of delicious discussions later on. She hoped her face had not betrayed her momentary lapse of self-control.

  “And what state would that be?” Elizabeth asked, remembering Miss Ashburn’s last words.

  “You mean you do not know?” Miss Ashburn asked in shock.

  Elizabeth shook her head. The grave expression the girl before her suddenly assumed chilled her. With every passing moment, she started to get the nagging feeling that her coming to Rosings, knowing so little about it and its inhabitants, had been a mistake.

  “Ah, you poor thing,” Miss Ashburn said and smiled mirthlessly, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Unfortunately, Miss de Bourgh is completely mad.”

  9

  Elizabeth woke up disoriented. Finding herself in an unfamiliar bed, facing an unfamiliar room made her sit upright at once and frantically look around. The pale morning light seeped through the narrow parting between the heavy draperies and cast eerie shadows across the floor and bulky furniture. Dust motes danced in the strip of weak sunlight.

  Elizabeth wiped her damp forehead. Beads of sweat dotted her brow after another fitful night, during which she had barely gotten any rest. First of all, the way she missed Jane felt almost like a stab with a dagger to her abdomen. Second, the knowledge she had acquired from Miss Ashburn yesterday had only fueled her apprehension.

  In her estimation, she had only managed to drift off near dawn.

  Miss Anne de Bourgh, mad?!

  Every time Elizabeth thought of it, she felt tricked into accepting a position that was neither within her ability nor close to her heart. She did not possess the strength of an orderly to contain the outbursts of a raving lunatic, nor was she equipped with a doctor’s knowledge of how to approach a mad person.

  In fact, apart from reading of madness in her novels, she had not yet been in contact with a mentally unwell person in her life. The mere thought of it made her shiver. All she pictured when she thought of Miss Anne were piercing screams in the middle of the night, roaming eyes obscured by white fog, and long, untended nails aimed at scratching the face of anyone who dared to approach her.

  I should not form opinions off the words of only one person, Elizabeth tried to convince herself.

  And then there was the matter with Mr. Darcy. First came the shock of experiencing anything other than resentment towards him after he had offered his help. What of the mysterious disappointment that accompanied the knowledge that he would be marrying soon?

  Finally, there was the utter confusion at why anyone would seek to marry a sick woman, unless he himself was sick. Elizabeth felt her stomach squeeze with discomfort as she considered all this.

  What is this blasted place I have come to? she wondered in trepidation.

  There was a knock on the door that further jolted her awake. During the remainder of the previous afternoon and evening, she had learned that there was to be a lot of foot traffic through her room. She had been visited in turn by Mrs. Byrd, the housekeeper, a couple of footmen bringing in the rest of her travel cases, a maid, informing her that she was expected at breakfast with Lady Catherine in the morning and, eventually, by another maid, bringing jugs of hot and cold water so Elizabeth might wash herself before bed.

  Elizabeth had managed to arrange through that last maid that nearly all her clothes be tended to after the carriage disaster had ruined them.

  Presently, it was only another maid with more water for her. Elizabeth saw to her morning appearance quickly in hopes that she would not be interrupted. She washed her hands and face and dressed her hair in a hurry. Then, she selected a gown that was not her best but one that had withstood the misfortunes of the rest of her wardrobe.

  Through the entire routine, her fingers were cold and jittery, her shoulders stiff and her teeth tightly gritted together. Elizabeth could hardly recall an instance when she had felt that agitated.

  She was grateful to find Mr. Collins’ greasy, yet comfortingly familiar face at the breakfast table. He beamed at her from across the room as if to tell her, “See? I was not fabricating all this. I am very well-received at Rosings.”

  Elizabeth returned the smile in a haste and focused on curtsying as masterfully as she could before her new patron, Lady Catherine. Her first impression of the woman, though she had only met her eyes for a brief moment, had been that she was quite pompous and condescending in her manner. While her figure had rounded over the years and her features begun to sag, it was clear to Elizabeth that the mistress of Rosings had once been a beauty.

  “We are pleased to have you,” Lady Catherine said in an icy tone. “After your cousin’s exuberant recommendation, I hope you will fit well within the household and prove to be everything he has promised. More than anything, I entrust you with my daughter’s care and there cannot be a duty I regard any more highly than that. I hope that the two of you will establish a good rapport soon and that you might have a favorable effect in her life.”

  “At your service, Madam,” Elizabeth said and curtsied again. “I will do my utmost. I am thrilled to make Miss Anne’s acquaintance soon.”

  As soon as she had entered the breakfast parlor, Elizabeth had discreetly surveyed the room for the mad Miss de Bourgh. Unfortunately, apart from Lady Catherine, Miss Ashburn and herself, there were no other women present.

  Lady Catherine studied her with unblinking eyes. She reminded Elizabeth of a falcon focused on a piece of easy prey. The uncomfortable silence stretched and Elizabeth wondered if she had said anything wrong or offensive. She could not help but feel the distinct taste of loneliness at being the odd one out in the room. Well, apart from her cousin, of course.

  “Sadly, she is feeling slightly indisposed and will be unable to join us this morning,” Lady Catherine said, then picked up
a teacup as a way of demonstrating that she was done with the conversation. It appeared that she had lost all interest in Elizabeth once they had been formally introduced.

  The old woman now turned to a gentleman sitting on her left and engaged in a whispered discussion with him. Elizabeth suspected the mistress of the house could afford to be this rude. She only hoped she was not the subject of their talk.

  Fortunately, a footman invited her to take a seat between Cousin Collins and another gentleman, so she was no longer stranded in the middle of the room with nothing to occupy her hands or attention with.

  As soon as she settled into her chair, Elizabeth’s nose twitched and her pulse quickened involuntarily. A familiar scent wafted towards her from the right and tickled her nostrils. She closed her eyes briefly and breathed in.

  Orange peel, pinecone and musk.

  “Miss Bennet?” sounded the deep, masculine timbre that accompanied the scent. “I hope you have been settling well and have not sustained any injuries after the carriage accident.”

  Mr. Darcy.

  Seated with his back to the parlor door and right next to the empty seat that awaited Elizabeth, he had remained unseen thus far.

  Elizabeth’s teacup rattled against the porcelain saucer. Her fingers trembled. She gave up on bringing the cup to her lips and rested it back on the table until she recovered herself.

  “I am well, thank you,” Elizabeth said, clearing her throat when her voice came out husky and broken. She winced and resolved not to speak any more lest she betrayed her uneasiness around the gentleman.

  Mr. Darcy, however, seemed set on tormenting her. His slightly curved lip revealed his amusement.

  “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “It is quite lucky not all of your wardrobe has suffered an unfortunate fate and we can enjoy your company this morning.”

  Had he just referred to her undergarments? Elizabeth was horrified. Her face and ears burned with humiliation. So, he was not merely being polite. He was devious.

  “Quite lucky indeed.” Elizabeth fumbled with her napkin, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a decent response.

  “It must be a relief to take a rest from worrying about your wardrobe in your new position,” Mr. Darcy pressed on.

  Elizabeth nearly spilled her scalding tea in his arrogant face. How dare he! She pursed her lips, nearly draining them of color.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered, slightly bending his head towards her. “This has been uncalled for. I have learned of your dreadful ordeal and I am sorry for the loss you have endured. I know what it is like to lose one’s parents and I would not wish it upon my worst enemy.”

  Elizabeth was still struggling to calm her quickened breath, but this time she detected only genuine sympathy in Mr. Darcy’s voice.

  Breakfast stretched longer than it was usually the practice at Rosings. Over a light course of rump steak pie, tea and dry fruit, Elizabeth learned that the gentleman sitting next to Lady Catherine, who provided much of the old lady’s entertainment throughout the meal, was, in fact, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy’s cousin. Well-spoken and rather charming, he was also a guest at Rosings who had only arrived yesterday alongside Mr. Darcy.

  While cordial and polite to Elizabeth the rest of the time, Mr. Darcy remained in a generally brooding and reserved disposition regarding the rest of the company. He did not engage in much of the conversation and appeared nowhere as witty and spirited as his cousin.

  Elizabeth tried to listen and learn rather than participate in the ongoing talk. She was still unsure of how much freedom her position afforded her, so she took close notice of Miss Ashburn’s manners. Lady Catherine’s young companion was every bit as loud and vigorous as Colonel Fitzwilliam, which did not seem to irritate her mistress but amuse her. For some reason, Elizabeth felt that the same frivolity would not be tolerated with her.

  Mr. Collins struggled to find opportunities in the conversation where he could join but his remarks, undoubtedly well-rehearsed in his head before uttering, often fell flat or arrived too late. This provided for a number of awkward situations when the animated flow of the conversation was interrupted, so it took either Colonel Fitzwilliam’s or Miss Ashburn’s quickness of mind to reestablish the lightness of mood around the table.

  Elizabeth found herself feeling sorry for Mr. Collins. So eager was he to fit within the distinguished crowd that he stood out like a sore thumb.

  Eventually, it was Lady Catherine who indicated to the company and to the butler that she was finished both eating and talking. Elizabeth was relieved. Her conversation with Mr. Darcy had stalled and she longed for a breath of fresh air. The exquisitely maintained park was begging her for a visit from behind the tall windows despite the dark gray clouds that loomed from the angry morning sky and threatened with a downpour.

  After a brief parting with Mr. Collins, who was to travel back to Longbourn immediately, Elizabeth realized she was now completely on her own in this foreign place. Not that her cousin had provided much comfort, but at least he had been someone familiar who had still connected her in some way to her old life.

  The realization that she was largely alone now formed a lump in her throat and made her eyes smart. She could not recognize herself. Usually strong-willed and independent, now she felt like an abandoned child in need of a mother’s embrace. All that Elizabeth wanted to do after the long breakfast was hide in her room and pour her heart out into a long letter to Jane.

  However, it was not to be. She did not have her freedom and her days at her disposal anymore. She was an employee.

  In this regard, before she had had any time to ruminate what had happened at breakfast or become desolate over her fate, Elizabeth was informed that Lady Catherine expected her for a private audience in her own sitting room. On her walk there, Elizabeth felt faint and nearly nauseous, her stomach rolling with trepidation.

  Elizabeth found the old woman seated in a large wing armchair near the window, cradling yet another cup of tea in her elegantly gloved hands. Elizabeth calculated it must be her third or even fourth helping! Lady Catherine appeared as cool as a cucumber, however. She invited Elizabeth to sit opposite her.

  The flickering flames in the fireplace failed to warm Elizabeth’s numb hands. She was anxious again and wished that Lady Catherine would cease studying her with that signature reptilian stare, but would rather speak. Elizabeth would feel much more confident in conversation than in this silent exchange of looks. Eventually, her wish was granted and Lady Catherine spoke in a low, measured tone.

  “I realize that your appointment here has been somewhat unusual in nature,” she said. “However, after the disastrous failure of the three previous companions I have employed for my daughter, I must admit I have become rather desperate.”

  Elizabeth struggled to find words to fill the momentary pause that followed but nothing Lady Catherine had said warranted a response. So, even conversation would prove to be strenuous with the woman. Fortunately, the silence only lasted for as long as to allow Lady Catherine to sip from her tea and clear her throat.

  “In my hopelessness,” she continued, “I have tried to think of an unconventional solution and I was reminded of Mr. Collins and his new situation. Consequently, he has recommended your character with such keenness that I was curious to see whether my luck lied where I would least expect to look for it.”

  Suddenly, Elizabeth felt even less assured about her place at Rosings. It appeared now that her appointment had been a last resort in a desperate situation and one Lady Catherine was more surprised with than anything else.

  “Through Mr. Collins’ lengthy description of your various merits, I have glimpsed an unlikely chance to provide my daughter with exactly the type of company she might need.”

  “I can only hope that I would live up to Mr. Collins’ recommendation,” Elizabeth said demurely.

  All the while she wondered how he had presented her to Lady Catherine and what were the qualities he had praised that the old wom
an had found so appealing that she was willing to overlook Elizabeth’s complete lack of experience. Surely, it had not been her propensity for reading what he considered vain literature or her inclination towards disobedience or even her open displeasure with activities he thought commendable in a young lady.

  Lady Catherine seemed to ignore Elizabeth’s last words. She appeared focused on some internal monologue she was having that she happened to share aloud for Elizabeth’s benefit.

  “I believe Mrs. Byrd has already familiarized you with your duties. It is up to myself, however, to inform you of some peculiarities of Miss de Bourgh’s health.”

  Elizabeth shifted towards the front of her seat. She felt her eyes and ears strain to capture what would next come out of Lady Catherine’s mouth. The small hairs at her nape stood up. Here was the moment she would learn the truth about her new mistress.

  Was she truly insane?

  “She is very frail,” Lady Catherine said with a sigh, her expression softening as she spoke about the sensitive topic. “Unfortunately, her condition is not improving and despite the various treatments, doctors and remedies we have tried, she seems to be worsening with every passing day.”

  “May I ask what the nature of her affliction is?” Elizabeth said, hoping she sounded sincere and concerned, rather than rudely curious.

  Lady Catherine frowned, her eyes trained on the crackling fire. Currently, she appeared completely oblivious to Elizabeth’s presence.

  “If I could buy the answer to that question with gold, I would have,” she said. “Long ago. However, during all these years, I have watched my child languish and expert after expert claim that he can determine what the matter is with her. To this day, it is not certain. I feel as if we have already treated her for every disease known to man but to little effect.”

  Elizabeth instantly felt guilty that she had breathed out a sigh of relief. So, the young lady was not mad. She was sick. Dying perhaps.