“I daresay the walls of Pemberley will not crumble,” Mrs Sinclair said, hobbling up to join them. “Unlike your walls, which seem to be crumbling of their own accord without any such provocation.”
“Oh, take her away, Fitzwilliam!” Lady Catherine wheezed.
He thought that an excellent idea and duly did as he was bid. A backwards glance, indeed, several more glances over the remainder of the day, revealed an uncommonly pensive Lady Catherine intently observing a certain gentleman and his new wife.
Friday 9 October 1812, Hertfordshire
“It is absurd,” Caroline said, following her brother into the room and closing the door behind her. “This is the sixth day in succession she has remained in her rooms.”
“Yes, I am aware,” he replied wearily, dropping into a chair.
She walked behind the opposing one and leant over it with both hands on the back, glaring at him. “You cannot allow it to continue. The servants are beginning to talk.”
Charles’ head fell back, and he stared at the ceiling. “Let Jane stay in her room for as long as she pleases. I have no wish to see her.”
“What you wish is neither here nor there. You must put it right! Is it not enough that you married so far beneath you? Must you satisfy everybody’s contempt by allowing it to be known the marriage is falling apart before the first twelvemonth is out?”
He only sighed.
“Charles!” She slapped the back of the chair. His head whipped upright. “What efforts have you made to persuade her to come down? Have you even spoken to her since she locked herself away?”
“No.”
For a moment, Caroline squeezed her eyes shut in vexation, repressing the urge to hurl something at him. “Never did I think the day would come that I should be defending Jane’s character to you, but for heaven’s sake, she is not a monster! You cannot mean to ignore her indefinitely.”
He sat up, all indignation. “She slapped her sister!”
“And? Never was there a woman more in need of a slap! I should rather give her a medal.”
“Caroline!” Her brother launched himself to his feet, though he appeared unsure what to do next and merely stood frowning uselessly.
“Oh, Caroline nothing. When will you overcome this ridiculous fascination with Eliza Darcy?”
“I am not fascinated!” he cried with more than enough affront to convince her of quite the opposite. “I require no romantic inclinations to persuade me that slapping one’s sister, a guest in one’s house and the wife of one’s husband’s oldest friend, is a reprehensible thing to do!”
“It was an impolitic thing to do certainly, but she was distressed. Would you punish her forever and ruin all our reputations over one instance of passion? I should have thought you would be pleased to discover she had some!”
“What had she to be distressed about?”
Caroline regarded him incredulously. How he had reached three-and-twenty unscathed with such a gaping want of penetration, she would never know. “Well, let us consider. Could it be that her delightful mother announced to the entire family that she was with child when she was not? Or that her sister then tactfully informed her that she is? Or simply that, in general, she is cursed with the most lamentable relations in the kingdom?”
Her brother abruptly lost all colour from his countenance and slumped heavily back into his chair. “Lizzy is with child?”
She threw her hands in the air. “Lord save us! It ought to be nothing to youif she is!”
“Itisnothing to me—except a surprise. Darcy did not mention it.”
“For which we must all be thankful, for if you had swooned in this manner before him, he would certainly have wished to know why!”
“How do you know of this?” he enquired weakly.
“As I said, the servants are talking, and they will continue to do so for as long as you give them cause. Pray, end this stupid quarrel before it becomes a scandal.”
“And how do you suggest I do that when she will not see me?”
“I thought you said you had not attempted to speak to her?”
“I went to her twice before she and Lizzy argued—on Saturday evening after her family left and again on Sunday morning. Both times, I was refused admittance. She will not see me.”
