“I must tell you something…difficult…unexpected…possibly serious.”
Darcy gave a tolerant smile. Johnson was not one to hesitate, accustomed as he was to his master’s habits and preferences, and quick to act when needed.
“Spare me the preamble. What has happened? Has someone broken a vase?” he asked in good humour, clearly unconcerned about whatever the matter might be. But the man shook his head, clearly embarrassed by the subject.
“Several days ago I noticed that I delivered one fewer letter than had arrived for you…”
“How is that possible?” Darcy asked, his tone already more guarded. He recalled Johnson asking whether he had taken a letter from the hall tray, to which he had replied indifferently that he probably had.
“You said you could not recall, and I assumed all was in order—”
“And?” Darcy asked, now impatient.
Johnson took a breath, steadying himself.
“Speak, Johnson, for heaven’s sake.”
“The maid who cleaned the guest rooms this morning…while changing the bedding in Lady Catherine’s chambers…she found something. A letter addressed to you. The missing letter, I believe.” The poor man flushed with shame, aware that he was accusing Lady Catherine of something his master would detest.
He handed Darcy the letter and left in silence, his task completed.
Darcy stared at it for several moments. The seal had been broken, though someone had taken care to conceal it. His anger flared, and when he opened it and read the missive, afury unlike any he had known took hold of him. He looked down into the garden, hoping to see Lady Catherine, but the tournament had already ended. He found them in the drawing-room, drinking lemonade—Georgiana, Anne, their companions, and Lady Catherine.
He entered, the letter raised in his hand, and waved it in front of Lady Catherine, who understood at once what had happened.
“Since when do you censor my correspondence?” he asked, his fury unchecked.
“Darcy! Let us not discuss this here, in front of—”
“We shall speak wherever I choose, Lady Catherine. This is my house. How dare you hide a letter from me!”
Lady Catherine, however, would not yield easily.
“What sort of house is this, where servants go through the belongings of guests? Perhaps my pearls have gone missing as well.”
“Mother!” Anne exclaimed with indignation.
“You remain silent, girl. No one asked for your opinion. All of you—leave,” she said, turning to the girls and their companions, who had already risen.
“No one leaves until I say so,” Darcy declared. To Lady Catherine’s apparent displeasure, everyone resumed their seats.
“The Gardiners and Miss Bennet wrote to announce their arrival, as Georgiana requested. They are ten miles from here and have been for”—he glanced at the date—“at least ten days. And you dared to keep that from me by hiding the letter. When did you intend to give it to me?”
He did not wait for an answer, his voice now low but sharp with suspicion.
“Did you know the Gardiners and Miss Bennet would be here?”
He fell silent, the very idea sounding absurd even to him—but the flush that spread across Lady Catherine’s face told him he had guessed correctly.
“How did you know?” he asked, his eyes fixed on her, demanding a reply, suddenly aware that she had controlled his correspondence because she suspected Elizabeth would come.
“From Anne,” she said thoughtlessly.
But then something remarkable happened. Anne stood and, in a calm yet clearly angry tone, replied, “How can you speak such lies, Mother?”
The room went still. Even Lady Catherine looked stunned, her flush deepening. Then she rose as if to strike, shouting, “Silence, you foolish girl!”
She seemed about to approach Anne, but Darcy stepped between them, and Lady Catherine, defeated, sank back into her chair.
