“I cannot deny that my present age is twenty. And I will even confess to my birthday being celebrated on September 20th.” Lady Catherine seemed struck. She did not speak for a little while, and she seemed to be mouthing the date to herself.
“Now,” Elizabeth said firmly, “if you wish me to answer another question, you must give reply to mine.”
“You have some of that confidence which you ought, despite the best efforts of your guardians to deprive you of it. I am glad to see that.”
This reply and the approving manner of Lady Catherine greatly surprised Elizabeth, as she expected the woman to become offended and angry at Elizabeth’s refusal to continue the game.
“I have one final question,” Lady Catherine said. “If you will but let me hear your answer, I will cease this ‘inquest’ as you labelled it. I beg you to do me the kindness, if you recall it, of telling me your mother’s Christian name.”
Elizabeth had suddenly herownsuspicion, and queer idea.
What if Lady Catherine thought she recognized her or knew something of her family. What ifshecould tell her the things that Mr. Bennet had refused to say? “Amelia, I believe it was Amelia. Now I beg you, can you tell me what you...what this all tends towards? What do you suspect about my mother’s people?”
Lady Catherine frowned in silence. Mr. Collins began to speak, but the great lady held up her hand to silence him.
“I must think. I must think about all that you told me. But you ought to take up the piano. It can never hurt a girl to know how to play. If I had ever learned, I would have been a great proficient, but it was not so common when I was young. Anne’s ill health prevented her as well. You ought to use that fine one which Mrs. Collins keeps in her parlor.”
Elizabeth nearly asked Lady Catherine again what she had been trying to learn, but there was something in Lady Catherine’s unsettled manner which made Elizabeth think she would venture no reply, and that combined with a remnant of the diffidence Mrs. Bennet had raised her to have prevented Elizabeth from saying anything more.
Instead, noting how Mr. Collins looked at her, Elizabeth replied, “That is very kind of you, madam, to advise me. I will make an effort to learn a little of the instrument.”
Elizabeth meant that.
Mrs. Bennet had never wished her to learn to play, so she had not. But Mary would like to teach Elizabeth a little.
Lady Catherine seemed almost disappointed by that reply. But after a while the grand woman said, “You are a good sort of creature. Odd, but that is to be expected.”
As Lady Catherine kept Elizabeth sitting near her during the whole of their time in the drawing room, she did not have any chance to speak in any particular way to Mr. Darcy. But he did stay in that small party until they went home, speaking little but often looking at her.
As soon as Elizabeth went up to her bedroom, Mary shortly followed her and sat down by the candle with a puzzled frown. “How very odd. Lady Catherine was right. There is something odd—I never realized it, that Papa never said anything about your parents. How very odd. You do not even know your mother’s family name?”
Elizabeth shrugged.
She felt chill go through her, once more. It must be a secret for a good reason. She did not want Mary to know that she was a bastard.
That is no shame foryou. You had no choice in the matter. Why do you always assume everyone would hate you?
That voice, the one which had given her extra confidence when facing Lady Catherine, was speaking again in the back of her soul.
“Do you think Lady Catherine knew your mother?” Mary asked. “Her questions aimed at something. But why would she not say so much if that was what she suspected?”
“How mightIknow. She said nothing of her purposes. Just as Papa never says anything.” A pause of several heartbeats. Then Elizabeth realized what she said in her anger, and corrected herself, “I mean Mr. Bennet. I know that—”
Mary embraced her. “We are sisters. Of course, you think of Papa as ‘Papa’. How could it be different.”
“I should not. He is not, and—”
“We are sisters,” Mary repeated. “No matter that our relation is not one of blood, we were raised together. I remember you always there, since the very earliest that I can remember. And you always cared for me when I was very tiny, and you were always very kind. And, and—we are sisters, do not forget that, Elizabeth.”
She tried very hard not to cry. Elizabeth had longed to hear something like this. But she was also suddenly so scared.
After a little bit Mary asked again, “Why has Papanotsaid anything? But maybe he only thinks that it is a great joke, like when he did not tell us that Mr. Collins was to visit until the day he was to arrive.”
But that sounded off to both of them. The matter was far more serious.
“Do you know why Papa is so secretive?” Mary asked again, “Or at least suspect?”
What if Mary knew that she was illegitimate? Perhaps it would change nothing. Perhaps Mary would still say that they were sisters. Or perhaps she would reject her entirely.
