Too Close to Mr Darcy Page 7

  If Lady Catherine’s words were to be trusted, of course.

  Another disturbing thought surprised Elizabeth and lodged itself in her head.

  Why would Mr. Darcy be so keen on marrying a dying woman?

  As she weaved her way through richly ornamented hallways and lavishly decorated galleries on the way back to her room, Elizabeth was suddenly exhausted. If she did not have to finally go and meet Miss Anne de Bourgh in less than half an hour, she might have even taken a short nap, as uncharacteristic as that would have been for her this early in the day.

  The overwhelming sense of tiredness was not purely physical. Her mind was drained and her head ached after experiencing so many emotions in the course of a single morning. Lost in her disarranged thoughts, she absently passed by the open doors of a small study.

  The sound of a familiar voice slowed her pace. Then she heard her own name spoken. Elizabeth Bennet. There was no mistake about it.

  Her heart fluttered. Mr. Darcy was bringing her up in conversation. But with whom? And what about? Her feet felt nailed to the thick carpet. She could not take another step before she found out what was being said of her. As much as she wished to, Elizabeth could not afford to take a peek inside the room. She settled by the wall instead and tried to still her breath.

  Then she listened.

  “… would not last a week,” Mr. Darcy said with a haughty laugh. “I know my aunt. She would squeeze every last bit of energy and enthusiasm that Miss Bennet might have arrived with. It is rather sad really, the depths she has fallen to since I last met her.”

  Elizabeth’s stomach heaved. She clutched her throat with her hand and suddenly felt dizzy. The portraits of family ancestors that hung on the opposite wall of the hallway danced before her eyes. Despite her immediate desire to run, she found herself stuck to her place, unable to move or even breathe.

  “Did you hear what happened to the other three companions Aunt hired for Anne?” another voice said. Elizabeth recognized it as Colonel Fitzwilliam’s. “And those were professional women with years of experience. I wonder what undid them, Anne’s antics or Aunt’s pleasant disposition.”

  Mr. Darcy laughed again. The sound stabbed Elizabeth like a sharp blade.

  “So,” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked. “How long do you reckon Miss Bennet’s stay will extend?”

  “Not longer than ours,” Mr. Darcy said and his companion burst into laughter.

  Elizabeth’s face burned crimson and her throat tightened. She ran down the hallway, already careless of any noise she might be making. All she wanted was to get to the privacy of her room where she could at least temporarily ward off the voices and faces that inhabited this evil place. Tears obscured her vision and she stumbled time and again, hoping she could hold off her outburst until she had at least reached the right floor.

  A thunder tore through the slate sky as soon as Elizabeth closed the door to her chamber. She threw herself upon the bed and let the tears pour out of her like an unruly mountain stream.

  Outside, the first drops of rain softly pattered on the window.

  10

  The weather had not improved by the time Elizabeth’s heaving chest finally settled and her eyes dried. She stared outside at the drenched gardens with their leafless bushes and trees, absently crumpling her soaked with tears handkerchief in her hands. The landscape was all gray, brown and black. Or was it a dark veil over her vision that prevented Elizabeth from seeing color and light?

  Eventually, she got up from the window seat and decided to do the only thing that might bring her comfort at this moment — write to Jane. Of course, she could not tell her sister of her misery, not in detail at least, or Jane might worry too much. She probably had enough of a burden of her own, settling down at Netherfield and tending to Miss Bingley’s capricious temper.

  Elizabeth sat down and lit a candle. It was not yet noon and still, the gloom in her room warranted additional light. Although she was no longer crying, her fingers still shook and her chin quivered as she tried to start her letter.

  The words did not come.

  Elizabeth had rarely lied to Jane and now that she was faced with the task, she did not know how to go about it. In fact, Jane was the only person in the world that she could be genuine with. However, until now they had always lived together and seldom had there been a reason for Elizabeth to feign her emotions.

  She almost threw the quill across the desk in her frustration but what would that accomplish? Eventually, she settled for relating only the facts to Jane, while abstaining from imbuing them with her feelings.

  She had traveled safely. After a somewhat turbulent arrival, she had been welcomed rather warmly. She had not met her mistress yet. Mr. Darcy was here…

  Now, just at the refreshed memory of him, she did throw the quill angrily across the room. An ugly ink stain blossomed against the bedcover where it fell.

  Elizabeth stood and examined the watch she kept on a chain around her neck. It was nearly time to appear before Miss de Bourgh and she still looked like she belonged in an asylum. The sudden sense of urgency finally brought her back to herself.

  Perhaps Miss de Bourgh would not be as unpleasant and corrupt as the rest of Rosings. Perhaps this entire endeavor would not be so doomed after all…

  Recovering her energy, Elizabeth first splashed some cool water on her face, then smoothed her hair to the best of her abilities. She selected a shawl to wrap around her shoulders in order to cover the inevitable wrinkles her gown had incurred after Elizabeth’s earlier outburst on the bed. She practiced a smile in the mirror, revealing her small, but even and luminously white teeth. She snorted at the absurd face she was making, but it did lighten her disposition.

  When the time came, a maid appeared helpfully at her doorstep and escorted her to Miss de Bourgh’s rooms. There was little need for the maid’s assistance as the young mistress’s rooms were only a few doors down on the same floor where Elizabeth’s chamber was. That would prove convenient later on when she assumed her real duties.

  The maid knocked lightly on the massive door and retreated a step as if she were afraid of what might burst out of the room. Elizabeth stiffened as she waited for a response to come from behind the wooden panel. It was quiet.

  The maid smiled apologetically at Elizabeth after enough time had elapsed for both of them to feel uncomfortable standing in front of the closed door. She reached and knocked again. This time, a barely audible response came through. It sounded more like a newborn kitten's mewl than a human voice.

  Taking this as an invitation, the maid opened the door and stepped inside. Elizabeth followed. Immediately, she needed to squint to allow her eyes to adjust to the pervasive dusk in the room. The maid introduced her and quickly retreated into the candlelit brightness of the hallway.

  Elizabeth was on her own with Miss de Bourgh, but she still could not make out her silhouette or that of any other object in the room.

  "Come closer," a weak, hoarse whisper directed her. Elizabeth was able to discern that it came from the direction of the bed, so she felt her way towards the sound. Eventually, her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom and she was able to distinguish the bulky shape of the four-poster bed as well as the bedside table, a large settee by the dead fireplace and an armchair facing the bed.

  There was indeed a candle in the room, but its fickle light was obscured by a screen that made it almost redundant. If there were any windows, and Elizabeth did not doubt that a room as large as this one would have a number of tall, magnificent windows facing the front lawn, they were covered with such thick draperies that not even a speckle of daylight managed through.

  The sound of Elizabeth's footsteps was muffled by thick carpets. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she was able to tell that every wall, surface and nook in the room was smothered in luxuriant fabrics, cushions and tapestries so as to eliminate every possible noise.

  It might be essential for Miss de Bourgh's condition, she thought.

  A
nother odd aspect of the room that offended her senses almost to the degree of causing her to become lightheaded was the intense mixture of scents that permeated the stuffy air. It was clear that the bedchamber had not been aired in days, if not weeks. Elizabeth could pick out the pungent smell of vinegar overpowering the softer scents of lavender, orange and onion.

  When she reached the bed, her eyes strong enough now to provide assurance that she would not stumble over the bedside and tumble on top of Miss de Bourgh, Elizabeth sank into a deep curtsy.

  "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, at your service," she said and waited for a sign that her mistress was awake. Her form was still a mystery within the large bundle of pillows, bedsheets and blankets that covered the bed.

  "It is a pleasure," Miss de Bourgh said wanly. "Could you please fetch me my smelling salts?"

  Elizabeth was glad she finally had an instruction that related to her new job. If only she could better orient herself around here. What a mess!

  There was not a corner in the room where piles upon piles of objects were not neatly ordered or hastily placed or stuffed. There were stacks of books and boxes, a rich assortment of medicine jars, bottles and pouches with herbs, pillows, baskets and various labeled cases. With all the clutter, Elizabeth supposed dust abounded in every nook and cranny.

  "And, please," Miss de Bourgh said with a sigh, "call me Anne."

  Elizabeth was immediately certain she would never call her mistress by her Christian name, but she could settle for Miss Anne.

  "Certainly, Miss," she said. It was still foreign to her to speak as a member of the help.

  As she knelt by the bed and examined one jar with a tiny handwritten label after another, Elizabeth finally stumbled across the smelling salts. It was unthinkable to her that anyone would want to inhale a scent so intense in addition to the already dizzying odor in the room.

  She neared the bed to hand the small glass jar to her mistress and was finally able to discern her face. It was just about the only part of her visible above the bedcovers. The young girl looked not much older than Elizabeth herself and might have even been younger. Her features were birdlike, small and delicate, which gave her an even frailer appearance.

  The covers suddenly stirred and a small, pale hand reached out towards Elizabeth. Elizabeth took an involuntary step back when a sudden image of a hysterical madwoman scratching at her face with long, untended fingernails flashed in her mind.

  "I do not bite," Miss Anne said with a tired smile. "Nor am I contagious."

  "Ah, forgive me," Elizabeth hurried to say, "I thought I stepped on something. It is indeed rather dark in here. Would you like me to part the curtains a bit?"

  "No!" Miss Anne snapped, visibly shivering under her blankets. “Natural light is not favorable for my condition and brings on the worst of headaches." She reached for her smelling salts with the trembling fingers of an old woman and as soon as she snatched them from Elizabeth's hand, she sunk even deeper into her pile of covers.

  "You may sit," the young mistress said, as she sniffed vigorously at the jar's opening. Elizabeth used the moment to look around for somewhere to sit and found the large, heavy armchair that appeared impossible to move any closer to the bed. As soon as Elizabeth stepped away from Miss de Bourgh, she lost clear sight of her expression and was left to guess her moods by her tone and words.

  "Ah, that is much better," Miss Anne said and propped herself up a little. "Now, tell me all there is to know about yourself. It looks like Mama insists I spend my time with strangers or she would have tired of hiring new companions for me years ago. I wish she would realize I would much rather spend my time engaged in my own pursuits than talk aimlessly with anyone who has been paid to accompany me."

  Elizabeth was rather startled by the honesty of Miss de Bourgh's words. At first, she did not know whether to be offended by it or take it as a good sign. At the very least, Miss Anne did not appear mad.

  She was also not dangerous. There would be no clawing out of eyeballs, so Elizabeth found herself finally relaxing in her company. Yes, Miss Anne de Bourgh appeared frail, jaded and exhausted, but she did not look like anyone capable of storming out of bed to attack her companion.

  "And what might those pursuits include?" Elizabeth asked, ignoring the rest of what Miss Anne had said. She would leave speaking about her own person for later, if Miss Anne allowed.

  As far as she could make out in the gloom, the girl eyed her suspiciously from behind her fortress of blankets. Perhaps Elizabeth had asked yet another inappropriate question?

  After a moment of silence, during which Miss Anne was probably debating whether she should trust the newest stranger at her bedside, she whispered, "Reading."

  Her tone was unmistakably confidential.

  Elizabeth sat up straighter in her armchair. Another response that had caught her unawares. So, the two of them might share something in common after all, she thought hopefully after having constructed a rather dull image of her mistress by pure presumption.

  "How lovely!" Elizabeth said. "I myself am an avid reader and find no occupation as satisfying as losing myself inside the pages of a riveting read."

  "I doubt we share much of the same interests," Miss Anne said, again sounding distrustful. "All my previous companions had a rather different idea of what pleasurable reading constitutes."

  "Well," Elizabeth said, deciding to be upfront and possibly risk sharing too much with someone she barely knew, "I would never turn down anything that has to do with a romantic affair, an abduction, a hidden treasure or a ghost.”

  While she spoke, the glimmer in Miss Anne's eyes intensified and Elizabeth was almost certain she saw her wriggle around in her sheets to better position herself to listen. She wondered when the last time was when the poor young woman had left her bed. Her hairstyle was neat enough as if it had been freshly made only this morning, but there were enough signs of damage on the curls that framed the pale face that spoke of hours of lying on her side since then.

  "That is unusual," Miss Anne said after long silent consideration. "If Mama knew, she would send you away as fast as she gets rid of a chambermaid caught with her hand in a jewelry box. Perhaps you should not share your reading habits so openly around here."

  "Why is that?" Elizabeth asked. "Does Lady Catherine not encourage you to enjoy your favorite pastimes? It is my experience that a good book can act as a balm to the dampened spirit and even to the weakened physique."

  Elizabeth bit her lip. She might have overstepped her boundaries by suggesting that not every measure for improving Miss Anne's health had yet been attempted. Her mistress did not appear bothered by her comment, however.

  "On the contrary," she said. "Mama insists I read daily to stimulate my mind, but she or her newest favorite Reverend select what suitable reading is for me. Mama is adamant that I should focus on enriching my soul while I am bound to my bed. Just this morning, in fact, I completed my third reading of Sermons to Young Women. It is among the books most recommended to me by those who pride themselves in being experts on the betterment of a woman's state."

  Elizabeth instantly detected the sly sarcasm in Miss Anne's voice. After having spent only a brief time in her company, she decided she liked the young woman.

  "So, we do not share the same interests after all," she said cautiously. She was aware she was taking yet another risk. If her premonition was wrong, this might be the last time she saw Miss Anne before she returned ingloriously to Longbourn.

  "Oh, but we do! I assure you," Miss Anne said with more energy than she had employed in any of her actions thus far. "If only I could get my hands on a copy of any of Sir Walter Scott’s latest novels, I would not have to be forced to reread the same old tattered copies of Rob Roy and Ivanhoe I keep hidden under my mattress."

  Elizabeth laughed. She could not help herself. There was definitely a spirited young woman buried inside all those blankets and under the pale mask of sickness.

  "You still have not told me much about yours
elf," Miss Anne said, interrupting her thoughts. "Is there anything else I should know about you? It might make our time together more bearable if we knew each other a bit better."

  Elizabeth chose not to be offended. The young woman was clearly so bored from lying in bed all day and being sent one dull companion after another or being forced to peruse tome after tome of instructional literature that she had developed an odd way of speaking plainly to the point of being blunt.

  Elizabeth thought about what she might share with her and decided against relaying her history. She suspected her mistress was already melancholic enough without her adding to it by speaking of death, grief and longing. Also, despite gaining a surprisingly good initial impression of her new mistress, Elizabeth did not yet feel secure enough in her company to share something as personal as having lost her parents and the way it had shattered her and her sisters' lives.

  Perhaps Miss Anne was already informed of her misfortunes. Perhaps not. In any case, Elizabeth chose to focus on a topic she thought innocent yet revealing enough of her character to possibly bring the two women closer.

  "In addition to reading," she said, "I am quite fond of walking."

  "Walking," Miss Anne repeated in a dull tone. As far as Elizabeth could tell, she frowned. "What could you possibly find enjoyable about that?"

  Before she considered Miss Anne's nearly outraged tone, Elizabeth launched into an impassioned defense of her favorite pastime.

  "Oh, but the benefits are innumerable," she said. "In fact, I trust you might find it rather invigorating. May I suggest we go outside for a short stroll before luncheon? The weather is rather dull, but..."

  "What?" Miss Anne yelped. "No!"

  She wheezed as her breathing became labored with indignation. Elizabeth had assumed too much. She sank into her seat, wondering what had prompted this reaction and what she could say to remedy the situation and reinstate the amicable connection she had begun to establish with her mistress.

  "Have you not come with any recommendations at all?" the young girl shrieked, though the sound coming from her weakened throat sounded more like a croak. "Mother's standards must be truly failing if she has come to accept just anyone as my companion regardless of their credentials. Do you know nothing about caring for the sick? My doctors might faint at the frivolity of your suggestion. I have been prescribed a firm regimen of bed rest and as little exertion as possible. Were you not informed that I even take my meals in bed and rarely leave this room and that you, as my companion, are expected to do the same?”