Chapter 9

Nine

Monday, April 13

Later than customary in the middle of the day, Elizabeth was in her room fastening her warm pelisse in preparation for a walk when a hurried and heavy tread pounded upon the stairs.

"Cousin Elizabeth! Cousin Elizabeth!" It was Mr Collins's frantic voice, portending either joyous tidings, doom and gloom, or new shelves in some closet. Opening her door in trepidation, she spotted him ascending, red-faced and gasping for breath.

"You will scarcely believe what has just occurred," he cried upon reaching the landing, advancing towards her, gesturing not unlike a windmill. "Come down. Come down at once! Make haste!"

Fetching her gloves and asking the nature of the emergency, Elizabeth could make no sense of his babble about her good fortune.

Quicker than was advisable for one so ungainly, her cousin clambered down the stairs until at the bottom he hustled Elizabeth out the front door. There, in the lane at the garden gate was Miss de Bourgh sitting in a park phaeton.

Bowing and scraping, Mr Collins rattled on about Miss de Bourgh's superlative presence and divine radiance gracing his humble premises. "And as you so graciously requested, here is my cousin."

The two young ladies greeted one another, and it was with great relief that Elizabeth discerned no physical harm had befallen Mr Darcy's cousin during Saturday's reckless drive. She suspected Miss de Bourgh's character was more complex and interesting than it appeared, for she had observed a perceptible sparkle, a telling gleam in her eye. And when the heiress thought no one was observing, a self-satisfied little smirk often played at the corners of her mouth. Such had been witnessed on those occasions when Lady Catherine had spoken of her daughter's poor health, the accomplishments she might have achieved if not for her frailty, and of her long-standing engagement to Mr Darcy.

The subject of her thoughts addressed her. "Although the sun deigns to shine, it has made little difference in the chill of the air. How providential to see you warmly dressed for an outing, for I have come with the express purpose of inviting you to join me on a jaunt. Will you accompany me?"

"Of course she will." Mr Collins clapped a palm to his black-clad breast. "You pay my poor cousin a great honour. Indeed, you do."

Elizabeth had anticipated a lovely walk alone with her thoughts, but she supposed an outing with the enigmatic heiress might prove enlightening. Shading her eyes against the sun, she accepted the invitation with thanks and added, "Never have I ridden in a phaeton before, but I have heard of their tipping over. I trust you do not drive with excessive speed."

"Cousin Elizabeth, you discredit Miss de Bourgh by implying such incautious behaviour. Never would the daughter of my patroness drive recklessly. As you see, her phaeton is not so very high—although as befitting her exalted station, it would be perfectly proper for her to sit far above others."

The little smirk played about Miss de Bourgh's lips. "The hour grows late. Your cousin and I must be on our way."

While he profusely apologised for keeping the heiress waiting in the cold, Mr Collins clumsily assisted Elizabeth in climbing aboard. Surrounded by upholstered squabs and with her lap covered by a heavy rug, she felt snug and secure as the pair of grey ponies surged forwards to trot along the lane.

Miss de Bourgh explained how the light-weight metals in her carriage's construction resulted in better suspension and ease of steering. "High phaetons do tend to tip over if one turns a corner too quickly, but I assure you that is not the case in a low one such as this."

Elizabeth held on as they navigated a sharp turn past Rosings Park's orangery. "Mr Darcy mentioned you are interested in botany and are compiling an herbarium. Will you be collecting specimens today?"

Gathering the reins in one hand, Miss de Bourgh patted the leather-bound book beside her on the seat. The word ‘Flora' was embossed on its cover. "Patches of wood anemone were discovered in dappled shade near the deciduous copse, and my head gardener cut some for me. We are to fetch them now."

They stopped in front of a thatch-roofed cottage of Kentish ragstone. "This is, as Gilchrist calls it, his bothy." Book in hand, Miss de Bourgh hopped down and rapped at the door. "Gilchrist, are you there?" Receiving no response, she beckoned Elizabeth, then disappeared inside.

Feeling quite the trespasser, Elizabeth set foot in the tiny dwelling which was rich in specimens of nature. Mingled aromas of dried flowers hanging upside down from rafters and the herbs growing in windowsill pots evoked pleasant memories of Longbourn's fragrant still-room, striking her with a painful longing for her home, for her family.

"I was hoping you might meet Gilchrist today." Plucking anemones from a dish of water on the table, Miss de Bourgh carelessly tossed the wet flowers into her Flora. When she noticed Elizabeth watching, she gave a little laugh. "I have only started my collection. So far, I have these anemones and a few wild cherry blossoms."

Elizabeth thought crumpled flowers pressed between two pages would look rather sad. Saying nothing, she glanced through illustrated editions of a botanical magazine and gardening manuals stacked upon the table. Her thoughts, however, turned to other words—ones written in a strong masculine hand in black ink upon hot-pressed letter paper of the finest quality. Lost in thought, she startled when Miss de Bourgh took her by the arm and moved towards the door.

"I am too eager and in too much of a hurry to wait for Gilchrist. I have a surprise for you, Miss Bennet."

There it was again—that telling gleam in her eye. Something was afoot, and Elizabeth did not care for surprises. As they took their places in the phaeton, she said, "Where is your Flora? Did you leave it behind?"

Urging her ponies to walk on, Miss de Bourgh gave an inelegant little shrug. "'Tis unimportant. I shall collect it another time."

Soon they passed wild cherry trees in bloom at the ancient woodland's edge. When they passed the place where she had encountered Mr Darcy, Elizabeth insisted upon knowing their destination.

Aiming her whip southwards, Miss de Bourgh grinned. "We are for Rara Avis, the small estate bordering Rosings."

Such information provided no comfortable feeling. "Rara Avis? But that is where Mr Brinton resides, is it not?" Miss de Bourgh nodded in acknowledgement, and Elizabeth's concern grew apace. "Is it not rather late in the day for making calls? And is there a Mrs Brinton to receive us?"

At a crack of the whip, the phaeton gained speed. "No. He is a bachelor."

Gaping at the young lady, Elizabeth cried, "Then we cannot possibly go there alone!"

"We are not alone. We have each other." Growing more animated, Miss de Bourgh spoke in fulsome praise of Rara Avis, its manor, grounds, plants, and birds. "You will be delighted with the place, I promise. I saw you chatting and laughing with Mr Brinton after church yesterday. Did you not think him charming? The good humour of his countenance is bewitching, is it not?" Without awaiting an answer, she nudged Elizabeth and gave her a wink. "Laurence Brinton is not only single. He is singular!"

Botheration. "Please tell me you are not playing at matchmaking and that is not the reason for our journey thither."

"No, no, not at all, although I do hope to cultivate an intimate acquaintance between you and Mr Brinton." The phaeton was masterfully steered round a sharp bend. "I should warn you, however, that the gentleman is considered the black sheep of his family, and his notions of decorum are not as strict as, say, Darcy's. And speaking of that cousin of mine"—Miss de Bourgh made a face—"what is your opinion of him ? Have you, like certain ladies of the ton , set your cap at Fitzwilliam Darcy? Do you lie awake at night and think of him with excessive awe and infatuation?"

Elizabeth scoffed. "Most certainly not." I shall not denigrate the gentleman, but I will be honest. "He did not make a favourable first impression in my neighbourhood, but he improves upon further acquaintance. The more I come to know him, the more sensibly I understand his disposition. As for infatuation, no. He is far too taciturn and arrogant for my liking. We are complete opposites."

After reading his letter, though, Elizabeth had been well pleased with the conversations they had, and if she were honest with herself, she had not entirely loathed sparring with him months ago at Netherfield.

Miss de Bourgh gave a merry little laugh, a sound previously unheard from her. "Arrogant, oh yes. But taciturn? Rarely do I have an opportunity to observe him in social settings amongst strangers, but with family and intimate friends, he can be talkative enough. In fact—at least with me—he can be rather too fond of expressing himself, making speeches, giving lectures, and issuing orders."

Elizabeth could well imagine that.

Passing through an expanse of conifers and hoping to dispel a degree of anxiety, she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, sensing the humus below and the refreshing, resinous scents of the surrounding pine, spruce, and fir trees. No insects buzzed, no birds sang, no squirrels scuttled. The silence of the woodland was disturbed only by her thoughts and Miss de Bourgh's resumption.

"Despite my complaints, I am inordinately fond of Darcy. He possesses those virtues expected of a true gentleman, such as courtesy, refinement, honesty, and generosity." Elizabeth gave an incredulous, scornful little laugh. "You scoff again, Miss Bennet, but you must understand he is amongst the one or two hundred wealthiest men in England. To be distinguished by the master of Pemberley is something, indeed. Ergo, he is very careful about paying particular attention to any woman or asking them to stand up with him. Dancing with Darcy, you see, confers a special importance upon a lady. You may wonder why I shall not marry him, but all I shall say for now is that I have no desire to be mistress of Pemberley. I have other plans."

Interesting, but what would she say if she learnt he had distinguished me and conferred upon me a most significant importance? Still, Elizabeth's judgment could not be impartial concerning his merit. "Your cousin does not even like to dance, particularly with young ladies who have been slighted by other men or with those who are only tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him."

"You sound embittered." Reining in her ponies beneath a budding deciduous canopy, Miss de Bourgh studied Elizabeth. "Did Darcy speak so disrespectfully to you?"

Bowing her head, Elizabeth fidgeted with the rug's fringe. "Not directly, but he must have known I could hear him. To have spoken so insultingly demonstrated complete indifference to my sensibilities as well as my reputation in my neighbourhood."

She rubbed her brow. I thought I had forgiven him for that. Why must I dwell upon it? "I beg your pardon. Your cousin did apologise for those remarks, and I should not have made mention of them."

"Do not fret. One of these fine days, Darcy will have his comeuppance. Some clever, spirited woman will put him in his place. I have endeavoured to do so, but such an inflated opinion of one's eminence is not easily damped, is it?"

Set into motion again, the phaeton soon turned away from the wooded track, onto the road, down a tree-lined lane, and up to the manor's gravel sweep at Rara Avis.