Chapter Eleven

Only Mary and Elizabeth travelled to Kent to attend to Jane during the month prior to her confinement. There simply was not enough room for all of them to move into the parsonage, and as not all of the sisters could fit there, Mama needed to remain at Longbourn to supervise Kitty and Lydia.

Elizabeth departed for the parsonage directly from Gracechurch Street, and she took to the journey with eagerness.

Though her time with her aunt and uncle had been good for her soul and spirit, and though she had enjoyed the advantages of a sojourn in London, the simple fact was that she was a woman who preferred wood and rill to street and lamp.

The City possessed a variety of fine, large, excellent walking parks. But none so close to the abode of her aunt and uncle that it was an easy matter of simply stepping outside to reach them when the urge for seeing the wind blow the leaves and watching the birds hop from branch to branch took Elizabeth.

And none of them could be the same as the truer wildernesses found in the countryside.

In even the most abandoned greenery in the vicinity of London, one still met another man every twenty minutes, and there was nowhere without a plenitude of beaten trails. She never gained that sense of peace, of communion with the sublime that she missed.

Now to the countryside! Now a return to wide fields, muddy ponds, wide mowed lawns and small hidden alcoves. And what was more, she would enter a fresh countryside that she had never seen before. To add one final generous dollop of sugar to the cup of her delight, that best of seasons, Spring, had begun.

Elizabeth further anticipated fine amusement from her likely opportunity to receive the condescension of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Though it was unfortunate that the woman would no doubt remind her of Mr. Darcy. But everything that she had heard of Lady Catherine said that she would call up remembrance of Darcy's worse traits, rather than his better ones. Enough time had passed that Elizabeth did not fear that she would cry without warning, or even have a particular urge to do so.

And the Lady herself was an object of awesome curiosity.

A woman who inspired such devotion from Mr. Collins, such tolerance from Jane, and such distaste from her own beloved nephew was a woman well worth meeting.

The road up to the parsonage allowed fine rural views: Cows, fences, stiles, and growing wheat. Through an orchard, past a brief look at the manor house sitting across a closely mowed field, and then up to a stop in front of what must be the parsonage.

Upon seeing Jane, Elizabeth leapt out of the post carriage the moment it had come to a stop, not waiting at all for Mary to follow her. “My dear Jane!”

Her sister smiled widely. Jane was full of bloom and glowing with radiance and health. Her belly bulged out hugely, though Jane’s frame allowed her to look elegant and beautiful even when heavy with a child.

The two embraced, and Elizabeth was careful not to squeeze her sister. Jane whispered to her, “I missed you so much! My dear, dear Lizzy.”

“I am here with you.”

“Oh,” Jane exclaimed, and Elizabeth could feel the kick of the baby through Jane’s clothes and stomach where she had held her sister.

“A strong one,” Jane said. “Your nephew is happy that you are here.”

“Or niece,” Elizabeth replied smiling.

“Cousin Elizabeth, greetings.” Mr. Collins interrupted the sisters’ greeting, and Elizabeth a little reluctantly gave Mary her chance to embrace Jane.

After they bowed to each other Mr. Collins said, “Lady Catherine informed me that the child is most likely to be a boy. In cases where only girl children were born in one generation, the generative aspects particularly wish to produce a son.”

“Truly, I had not known that Lady Catherine was such an expert on matters scientific and obstetric.”

“She is an expert in all matters that fall under her domain, you shall see. We dine with her twice every week, and she sends us home in her carriage, or I should say in one of her carriages, for she has several. You can see from this how truly blessed your sister is to live with me.”

“I never doubted that.”

“Your friend Mr. Sykes has recently married a woman from Norfolk, and he is visiting her family.” Mr. Collins said with pique, “So you shall not have an opportunity to renew the acquaintance.”

Elizabeth put an expression of frowning disappointment on her face. “He is taken already?”

“I fear that he has. Despite his deficiencies, it would have been a good thing to be settled, and so near your sister, would it not have? I see you begin to mourn that opportunity which has been lost, and that can never return. This shows the truth of that old adage, ‘better one in the hand than two in the bush’?”

“Unless this wife also dies, what shall I ever do?”

“There are other men, but unless you promise not to be so difficult in the next case, I shall proffer none of my aid,” Mr. Collins replied. “But I beg you to tell Lady Catherine nothing of your presumptions towards the hand of her nephew. I assure you, I have not spoken of it to her, nor has Mrs. Collins. Lady Catherine would be profoundly enraged were she to hear of it.”

Elizabeth theatrically pinched her lips shut, and then the group went inside, as Jane wished to sit down once more.

“It is quite peculiar being enceinte ,” Jane said laughing to Elizabeth as she sat down. “Soon as one becomes well used to some necessary unpleasantness, there is another. I am quite as heavy as a carriage.”

“You are not, dear,” Mr. Collins contradicted her. “A carriage is larger by far. You still can fit into Lady Catherine’s carriage easily.”

For a moment Elizabeth thought that Mr. Collins had made a joke, and perhaps even that she had all along thought worse of the gentleman than she ought to have. The silence following that statement slowly disabused Elizabeth of that notion. Jane was blushing, but she smiled at her husband and patted his hand. “You have the right of it, dear. Might you show Mary and Elizabeth about the house? I must sit for a few minutes.”

The whole of the place was snug and tidy. It was not very large, but everything was excellently furnished, and Mr. Collins had had a much larger kitchen built to the side, he’d expanded the gardening shed and constructed a carriage house and small stables. Despite all of this, it was clear that their expenses were not particularly great, and Elizabeth guessed that the couple could put more than a thousand pounds aside each year. This was promising for the wellbeing of her future nieces and nephews, even if it showed a highly unfashionable tightness that Elizabeth could not wholly approve of.

Jane walked around the grounds with them, saying that she always needed to walk, as Lady Catherine insisted that it was essential to the health of any woman with child.

Elizabeth was torn between resentment upon the behalf of her sister — it was not the place of Lady Catherine, or even her husband, to dictate how Jane behaved — and Elizabeth’s own belief that more frequent walks than Jane had ever been accustomed to were salutary for her sister.

Mr. Collins spoke a great deal, and his pride in the land was very clear. While much smaller than Longbourn, it was managed more intensively, and with a better use of the terrain. When Mr. Collins said something particularly foolish — which was frequent — Jane did blush, and she looked towards Elizabeth with an awareness of the fact that her husband was not a man her sister could either like or respect.

Her poor sister.

It was particularly easy for Elizabeth to pity her, as Elizabeth herself had never since her father’s death been less deserving of pity. She had delighted in her time with her aunt and uncle. She’d had ample opportunities for conversation, to exercise her capabilities, and she had spent the last months in close contact with friends who understood her, and who she understood in turn. There was little missing for Elizabeth, except perhaps the gentleman who would complete her and make her the happiest creature in the world.

When the tour was completed, Mr. Collins went to his study to work upon his sermon, so that he could submit it to Lady Catherine for approval before he delivered it the Sunday following. Mary sat reading and writing out extracts in the drawing room, delighted by the selection of improving texts in Mr. Collins’s possession — many of the books had been suggested by Lady Catherine, and he had added in a non-inconsiderable way to the library.

Elizabeth went with Jane to the small breakfast room that Jane said she often used as a sitting room as well.

“My dear Jane.” Elizabeth had not forgotten how her sister had sobbed when she’d pushed her to see herself as not content. Not again. “The whole here is very snug.”

“No, no. I am wholly content. And I do enjoy being a clergyman’s wife. There are so many opportunities to do good, to proffer advice, and to be kind.”

Elizabeth smiled. “That speech is very like you. To particularly see an advantage coming from the chance to do good for others.”

“I am content!” Jane exclaimed. “I saw how you looked at Mr. Collins. How you despise him. He is very much not to your taste, I know.”

“My dear Jane, I know you are content.”

“You want me to be discontent!” Jane exclaimed. She grabbed Elizabeth’s hand. “I beg you, I beg you from the heart to stop.”

“Jane, I do not wish you to be discontented. I truly do not.”

Jane sighed. “I often feel judged by you.”

“I would have no right. I did not always see that, but I do now.”

“I do accept… accept that this is the life which I live. I am not someone who is special… who is blessed in the way you wish I was. I am married to Mr. Collins, not… not the handsome, friendly and generous gentleman you imagine me with, who has twice his income, and whose virtues and conversation match me precisely. I can rail against fate, or I can seek to admire my husband in so far as I can, I can seek to take joy in my duties, and I can look forward eagerly for my child. I choose the happy path and to walk the path I am placed on, without thinking that I ought to be upon a different path.”

What was there to say to that?

Two days after their arrival at Hunsford, the great fortune was bestowed upon Elizabeth and Mary to attend dinner at Rosings Park, the abode of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

They walked across the park to dine, and during the crossing of the grand lawn, Mr. Collins described at great length the greatness of Lady Catherine, the greatness of the windows, the great number of the windows, the great size of the park, the greatness of Lady Catherine, the great expense with which all of the rooms had been decorated, the great number of apartments, and, of course, the greatness of Lady Catherine.

The servility of Mr. Collins was surprising in a way to Elizabeth.

He was a gentleman with an independent income, and while conflict with the great house might cause discomforts and difficulties to arise in his position as the rector, it was not an appointment that his benefactor could withdraw.

As Mr. Collins continued his endless discourse upon the infinite virtues of Lady Catherine, Elizabeth concluded that the simple fact was that Lady Catherine had chosen her devoted slave well.

Upon reaching the entrance hall, Mr. Collins rapturously pointed about, and explained how well-proportioned the room was and how fine and expensive the ornaments were.

Upon being greeted by the grey-headed butler, they were conducted to the drawing room where Lady Catherine sat alone in state.

Her Ladyship rose to greet them, and Mr. Collins made a deep bow.

At the first seeing of her, Elizabeth felt a shock of recognition. The family similarity with those who she missed was clear. She was the grandmother of Emily, and the aunt of Mr. Darcy. It was impossible for Elizabeth to not study the face with the aim of seeing if she could trace every similarity to Mr. Darcy or Emily. Her face was rather more similar to the young girl’s than to Darcy’s, but the nose and chin was very like Mr. Darcy’s as well.

The eyes were wholly different.

When greeting them Lady Catherine spoke in the authoritative tone which Elizabeth had expected from her. A demand was made of her to explain the situation of her London relations in particular detail, and to see if that matched with what Lady Catherine had learned from Jane.

When Elizabeth finished that explanation, Lady Catherine spoke of the importance of every person remembering their situation in life, and the necessity of acting in accordance with the dictates of that station. She inquired how frequently Elizabeth attended church, upon her talents at languages and music, and upon whether she drew and sewed.

Elizabeth’s answers proved to be highly satisfactory to the lady. Her notion that she may one day be obliged to seek employment as a governess had not been forgotten, and Elizabeth had spent several hours most days improving upon her skills in the common accomplishments which a governess was expected to be able to teach to her pupils.

After these questions Lady Catherine sighed. “I have the most excellent taste in music, and had I deigned to develop a talent, I would have been proficient.”

It was impossible for Elizabeth to not smile inside in response to such a claim. “I am certain that had you made the effort,” she replied, “that your talent would have been far superior to my own.”

There was a flash of something in Lady Catherine’s face that convinced Elizabeth that she could not freely say things to her that had an insulting interpretation. The woman had enough cleverness to be reasonably likely to understand what she did.

“You have met my nephew and my daughter’s child, have you not, Miss Bennet? I was told by Mr. Collins that you were on intimate terms with them when they visited that friend of theirs, the one whose father had been in trade.”

“Yes, Ma’am. We spoke frequently.”

“Is not my granddaughter an exceptional child? Beyond ordinary?”

Elizabeth had no response to that. “I liked her very much, and she was a healthy growing creature. In only the two months I knew her, she began to run more easily and became taller.”

“Yes,” Lady Catherine responded in a tone of grumpiness. “She is likely to be very tall. It is the Darcy blood.”

“Mr. Darcy is one of the tallest gentlemen I have met,” Elizabeth agreed. “But he is very well proportioned.”

“ That ,” Lady Catherine insisted, “is the salutary effect of his Fitzwilliam blood.”

“The blending of two such fine families,” Elizabeth said in a tone of complete seriousness, “must have been a cause for much rejoicing.”

“Oh, we were happy when the boy was born. When his sister was born as well, though time proved that our pleasure at that was a mistake. But I have sworn to never have her name mentioned in my presence.”

Mr. Collins said, “Lady Catherine is punctilious on all such matters. She provides an example of Christian charity and probity to all within the scope of her patronage.”

With difficulty Elizabeth suppressed her urge to agree that never having the girl’s name be mentioned was incontrovertibly highly charitable. “It must have been a severe shock.”

“My nephew Darcy has proven to be a disappointment. The Fitzwilliam blood must be thin in him. He has too much of Darcy’s arrogance. And he continues to keep that girl with him, and I believe he demands the neighbourhood recognize her, even when all know about the crimes and sins she committed. And he did not kill Mr. Wickham. He did not even fight that man. It shows a lack of virility and vigour.” Lady Catherine spoke passionately. “And despite the evident failures of his educational methods, as proven by the permanent loss of his sister’s virtue, he insists that he shall not place my granddaughter into my hands so that she might be educated properly — tell me, how did my dear child behave when you saw her?”

“She was… a child? She enjoyed running about, shouting, playing with animals and looking at books. She likes prints very much,” Elizabeth replied slowly.

There was something rather pathetic about the old woman who clearly was eager for such information, though it was second hand and out of date.

“Running about! Children should be made to stand in place. It teaches them their place. She ought to be trained to appear stately, and to act as a Fitzwilliam ought. If only my nephew would listen . But he never does.”

“I would agree,” Elizabeth said, without smiling, “that Mr. Darcy always strongly hewed to his own course.”

“You say she likes prints? Has he yet taught her to read?”

“I believe not, but then the girl was not beyond a year of age. Is that not proper early?”

“Not for a girl with Fitzwilliam blood. Her accomplishments ought to astonish and impress the crowds. My daughter Anne would have been like that, if only her health had permitted. But everyone who has seen her says that my granddaughter’s health is excellent. There is no excuse for her to not exceed ordinary children in every way.”

The stately woman’s eyes had a sort of menacing light to them as she said this. If nothing else, Elizabeth now could confidently think that Mr. Darcy had been very much correct to not permit his aunt to have much business with educating the girl. Such a mix of extreme attitudes, Elizabeth did not think that a girl raised in such a way would be a sensible, happy creature when she reached her majority.

After having interrogated Elizabeth, Lady Catherine turned her questioning tone to Mary, and asked about all of her accomplishments, abilities, and preferences. It seemed to Elizabeth that though what Mary said satisfied her more than Elizabeth’s responses to similar questions, that Lady Catherine had somehow enjoyed the conversation with Elizabeth to a greater extent.

Both of them were then given leave to practice their piano upon the instrument in the housekeeper’s quarters, as neither of them would be in anyone’s way there. Though it was possible for Elizabeth to feel that the manner of the offer was rude, both Mary and Elizabeth promised to take her up on the offer. Mary because her practice was essential to her view of herself as the most accomplished of the Bennet daughters, and Elizabeth because she found little joy in the practice, and she was frightened that if she allowed it to be interrupted for any great length of time, she would constantly make excuses to not resume it.

They were made to play the grand piano in the drawing room that evening before they played at cards, though it was not a real game as neither Elizabeth nor Mary were possessed by enough money to meet the low stakes that Lady Catherine played with Mr. Collins and Jane at.

This prompted an approving speech from Lady Catherine upon how girls in a dependent position, such as Elizabeth and Mary, ought to learn to do very well with a highly limited allowance. Mr. Collins was roundly praised for having followed, once more, Lady Catherine’s advice. The grand lady then interrogated Mr. Collins at length with detailed questions about how much money he had put aside, and in what form it was put aside — mostly government stock, but he had also purchased a few shares in the EIC.

Over the next few days Elizabeth settled into a pleasant routine. She spent the majority of each day with Jane, sitting in the same room, reading books — even though all of the books were approved by Mr. Collins, there were enough of interest that Elizabeth could avoid tearing the pages and her hair out in boredom during the two or three months that she expected to spend with Jane.

She talked a great deal with her sister, and they took a half hour turn through the park every morning, especially enjoying a grove that soon became a favourite of Elizabeth’s. Jane’s pregnancy had not made her sister enjoy walking more than before however, quite the opposite, and her sister gratefully returned to the house, and settled herself onto the Chesterfield next to the collection of clothes she had taken from the poor box to sew up. She laughingly showed Elizabeth how swollen her feet had become, and gratefully took the barley water or tea that Elizabeth had made up for her.

The two talked a great deal, and with Mary as well when she was not busy copying out extracts. Mary was delighted by Mr. Collins’s library, and usually their conversation with her focused upon the dour delights of a fine collection of sermons.

Elizabeth embarked upon a private long walk several times each day. The budding of the leaves was delightful to see, the air still had a piquant chill. The whole neighbourhood was novel to Elizabeth and made appealing by the contrast from crowded and loud London streets, filled with men and women hurrying to and fro, and shouting at all times of the day.

The absence of City smells of human waste, piled trash, and dying dogs was an additional reason for Elizabeth to rejoice in her current countryside abode.

Despite this preference for the country, Elizabeth's intention was to return to London and the Gardiners after spending a few weeks in Longbourn following Jane’s recovery from her confinement. The simple fact was that she was happier with her aunt and uncle. Their situation was wholly superior from the standpoint of society. But she would leave behind the countryside with sadness.

Nothing perfect in life.

Twice a week they dined with her Ladyship. Elizabeth found less of interest after her first visit. She had already met the old woman and sketched out her character and foibles. Each occasion was an evening of absolute statements, Mr. Collins’s hearty agreement, Jane’s smiled and ambiguous agreement, and her own need to frequently keep her high spirits from flying into a speech that might make difficulty for herself with both Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine.

Despite her inclinations, Elizabeth found features to admire in Lady Catherine. She was an intelligent woman — small minded, but clever within those constraints. Active, eager to help — though again, a help that must match her notions of how things ought to be done. She dedicated herself to the benefit of others. Though, Lady Catherine’s help was such that the benefited others would frequently prefer to have not been aided.

One evening after Elizabeth had been present for about a fortnight — during which time Jane had become yet larger, and yet more uncomfortable as she awaited the birth of her new child, Lady Catherine announced to Elizabeth’s enormous surprise that two of her nephews were to visit, along with her granddaughter.

Elizabeth sat straight, feeling a shiver go through her whole body. Surely, she had misheard. “Mr. Darcy is to come here ?”

“He plans to spend Easter at the estate,” Lady Catherine said with satisfaction. “I knew that he would not keep Anne’s child from me forever. And that the happy memory of my connection to his own beloved mother would eventually bring him to return. I think he avoided me because the memory of Anne’s death — a death that would have been prevented if he had only allowed me to send my physician to oversee Anne during the time she was enceinte — plagued him with guilt.”

“I had not expected him to visit,” Elizabeth said, feeling discomposed. She schooled herself to show and feel less. He was a friend, a dear friend. But Mr. Darcy had clearly informed her that he looked upon her solely in the nature of a friend, and that he was determined to never flag in his determination to punish himself for not having always valued Anne in every way that he ought — that is to not marry again.

She would smile, nod, and curtsey when she met Darcy again. In every way she would show herself to be happy to see the gentleman, but no particular sensibility could be permitted to return.

Lady Catherine was also oddly affected by the promise of her nephew’s visit, as she drank many toasts to Emily and the promise that she would see her soon. One time, instead of referring to Emily as “my granddaughter”, or “my daughter’s child”, as Lady Catherine always did, she called the girl “Anne.”

Though she had noticed nothing of the sort before, this briefly left Elizabeth concerned for the health of the woman’s mind. But then it was not an unusual thing for a person to make such a mistake.

After dinner, when the party returned to the drawing room, Lady Catherine called Elizabeth to sit next to her. It was apparent that she was a little in her cups. The great lady imbibed freely as they spoke from yet another crystal decanter of fine wine. Elizabeth possessed more than a little curiosity as to what face the Lady Catherine would show when top-heavy.

The woman said as soon as Elizabeth was near, “Mr. Darcy never heeded my advice as he ought. He is too independent. Not enough family spirit. Too… and he continues to keep that girl with him. At least he did not ask to let that woman come with him to Rosings. I would not have countenanced his sister, even if, according to all reports, she escaped her disgrace without more than the destruction of her virtue and reputation.”

“Does not,” Elizabeth smiled at the woman, and looked down in a submissive way, “his devotion to his sister and daughter show family spirit? — when he spoke to me, he always talked about the importance of his name, his estate, and his determination to do well by his duties.”

“Darcy matters! Darcy. But he should see himself as a Fitzwilliam first, and beyond all.”

“You can hardly expect him to see matters in such a way when his last name is Darcy .”

Though Elizabeth feared this reply would make Lady Catherine angry at her for contradicting her too openly, Lady Catherine was wholly engrossed by her own concerns. “I tried to make Anne understand that the Fitzwilliam name was vital. But also, to give her pride in her de Bourgh heritage.”

“Two households both alike in dignity, in fair Kent,” Elizabeth said in a serious tone, calling upon her inner Mr. Collins, “and well represented by such a woman as yourself.”

“That is very kindly said, though there was no family strife in the joining, as you perhaps imply,” Lady Catherine said. She swallowed her wine back, and had another glass poured for herself. The woman was slightly shaky. “Mr. Darcy and my Anne. We planned their marriage while they were in their cradles. Anne and I did.”

“She already wished to marry Darcy while still in leading strings,” Elizabeth said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

Lady Catherine stared at Elizabeth for a full minute, in a sort of bleary confusion. Then at last she barked a laugh. “No, you dullard. My sister, Darcy’s mother. When both Anne and he had been born, we agreed that they would marry… I named my child after her. Anne had wished to name Georgiana after me, Catherine, but after my family had been honoured by giving Darcy the name Fitzwilliam for our family, they decided to name the girl after her father, since they did not expect another child. It always made me sad, until her fall from grace. Now I know that God had protected the good name of Catherine from suffering the burden of such a person.”

“One of my sisters is named Catherine,” Elizabeth said in reply to that. “I hope you do not mind.”

“What is her character? I’ve heard nothing bad of any of you.”

Not from Mr. Collins, I would not imagine that you would have .

“A little silly,” Elizabeth replied, “as the very young often are. But tolerably biddable and not prone to behave wildly.” Unlike Lydia .

“I have never understood why your mother allowed all five of you girls into society. A girl out, when she has three or four older sisters unmarried? — it is not so bad now that Mr. Collins has married Mrs. Collins, and I understand that you are no longer generally resident. You serve as the governess for your little cousins?”

“Not exactly, but I do assist in their education.”

“Good, good. One placed in a dependent position should always strive to be industrious and useful. But do not spare those children out of affection. In my experience, it is often the parents who indulge their children by far the worst due to misplaced affection. Let a child be reared by total strangers, that is my motto.”

“Was Anne — that is Mrs. Darcy — was she raised in such a way?”

Lady Catherine made a doleful sigh. “Her health would not permit it. I had to keep her close by me. She nearly died from a fever when she was not yet a year old, and afterwards we took such good care of her. But she never flourished.”

“Mr. Darcy always spoke highly of her character.”

“Did he?” Lady Catherine exclaimed. “Did he! — when it is wholly his fault that she died.”

Elizabeth did not think it politic to mention that death in childbirth was common, no matter what the husband did. It was also not a comfortable thought for her, seeing how Jane sat speaking to Mary and Mr. Collins, ready to burst from her own child.

“It is not Darcy who angers me. He has the Fitzwilliam spirit along with his Darcy pride. He would have been a worthy son! — oh if only I had him as a son, and not Anne. Then I would be wholly happy. And he spoke highly of her? Lies. I am sure—” Lady Catherine greedily swallowed more of her wine. “I am sure.” She coughed hard, it seemed the swallow had gone slightly amiss. “I am sure that she disappointed him as much as she always disappointed me.”

“What a horrid thing!” Elizabeth exclaimed. Poor woman to have been raised by a woman who could say such a thing about her.

“You cannot imagine how many pains I took over Anne’s education. But she always resisted me. She would say that she would do a thing, but then she would sit at it and stare. She was scared to ride. She would not stand straight, and she claimed that she could not. She did not learn the piano, nor the harpsichord, nor any other instrument. She did not have the lungs to sing. Her knitting and embroidery were imprecise and too tight or loose by turns. No matter how I castigated her, she refused to become better. She showed no energy, she became more lethargic. We bled her to take the excess off, but even that exigency improved nothing. And then as she became a woman, she was an ugly little thing. I am a tall, strong woman. She was… insignificant, quiet, a mouse. No spirit. No will. Nothing.”

“Did she ever speak back to you? Show any spirit when she was younger?”

That spasm of pain came over Lady Catherine’s face. “Never in any real way. We were terrors for our parents, all of us in my generation. And she… just sat there. Never a word back.”

The two sat quiet.

“Only once. When she was a little older. She’d had a doll she doted on, kept as her friend, talked to, kissed on the forehead. This was seemly when she was a young child, but she kept the doll about her, even when she had already reached twelve years of age. It was too old. I could not bear the shame of it. I knew those amongst my acquaintance who laughed at me for permitting my daughter to so openly dote upon a doll, when she ought to be full of accomplishments.”

“How odd,” Elizabeth said, pale with a sense of horrified expectation for where Lady Catherine’s story would go.

“Miss Bennet, if you have girls, I beg you to never let them become used to any childish possession, whether a blanket, a doll or a toy. Be like Rousseau recommends, taking away anything they value so that the only habit they can form is the habit of having no habits.”

“I promise,” Elizabeth replied quietly, “to not soon forget your words.”

“So, I took it from her.” Lady Catherine swirled the wine in her glass again. She drank the rest back, and continued, “Anne screamed, and cried, and hissed like a woman possessed. I thought she’d burst a vein. I had some hope afterwards that she would show a like spirit on a matter of importance, but never nothing else.”

There was a lapse into silence.

“What happened to the doll?” Elizabeth asked, when it became clear that Lady Catherine did not mean to include that information in the story.

“Oh, what? Oh, yes. We had it burned. In that fireplace across from us now. We stirred up the ashes so there would be nothing to be found, and made Anne watch so she would not pine in hope that I may one day relent and return it. Only sensible course.”

Elizabeth had a sudden desperate urge to write to Mama and make sure that a little rag doll she’d been very fond of as a child was still packed away safely in the attic. She would certainly retrieve it when she visited Longbourn again, and take it with her, as a small, meaningless way of spiting Lady Catherine.

Her Ladyship added, “Darcy did not mean to marry her. He’d told me as much, that he was determined against it. I could not have that, so as my sister was dying, I convinced her to beg him to marry Anne, as the last favour to a dying woman. He is a good boy. He was. Since Anne’s death, he has proven wholly ungovernable. At least he has sworn, or so I have heard, to not marry again. He should not. He should make his whole life a temple to Anne’s memory.”

Elizabeth sipped her own wine. She made a half nod, which might have been taken as approbation by Lady Catherine. It was odd, this mix of loss and grief. The way that Lady Catherine clearly had despised her own daughter.

Some mixed feelings, such as what Elizabeth felt towards her mother, seemed to be within the ordinary course of nature, but this was not.

For a while neither spoke, and in her contemplative mood, Elizabeth was not inclined to bother her Ladyship. From the state of drunken melancholy that was evident in her Ladyship’s every lineament, it was not likely that any attempt at conversation would be welcome. Elizabeth by no means held Lady Catherine in the sort of affection that might lead her to attempt to tease the woman out of her poor moods.

Quite the opposite.

“Another glass of wine. Pour.” Lady Catherine imperiously ordered. “My hand is unsteady.”

Elizabeth followed the order and gave the glass to Lady Catherine, who eagerly drank.

“And after that greatest triumph, when the blood of Fitzwilliam was to be mingled again, she disappointed me once more. Every time the girl became with child she miscarried. Again, and again. What an… ungrateful daughter.”

“It was not a matter in her own control!” Elizabeth exclaimed, unable to stop herself.

“And then she died! When she finally carried a child to term, she only gave us a girl. A girl . Darcy says he will not marry again, but he might. And he might have a son . And then Rosings and Pemberley will be split again. My daughter failed in the end. Damn her memory.”

Elizabeth stayed silent.

Lady Catherine was volatile in this dank mood. The light was dying outside, the evening was far advanced, and the conversation on the far side of the room was subdued. Everyone studiously did not look towards them. They must fear catching Lady Catherine’s eye when she was in this present state.

Sad, pathetic old woman.

“Anne, or Catherine. She should have named the girl after me or my beloved sister. Darcy would not have objected,” Lady Catherine said. “But that is not what she asked. With nearly her last voice she spat on me.”

“Emily is not a family name?”

“It was the name of that bedamned doll!”

The ringing crack of the voice wholly silenced the conversation across the room. Lady Catherine spilled the wine on herself as she shouted.

The harsh features of the woman’s face stood out. Lady Catherine was all angles and planes; her face may have once been handsome, and it was still imposing. She sat tall, burgundy dripping down the lace of her collar.

A thoroughly pitiable display.

Elizabeth had not known that it was possible to both despise and grieve for a person at once.

“I am done here.” Lady Catherine rose. She grabbed her cane. In the times before, Elizabeth had never seen her need to lean on it. The old woman shook it at everyone. “You all are to go home. Begone now.”