It was done, with many raised eyebrows shared between the ladies in the room and a third cup of coffee ordered by the superior Lady Catherine. After a small delay, seeing that his aunt had no patience, Darcy ordered that a small pony trap be readied and sent to the dower house without delay. Otherwise, he muttered to Elizabeth, Mr. Collins would have a long and wearisome hop ahead of him.
“Something puzzles me, aunt.” He said, stopping his habitual pacing about the room to linger beside the woman’s chair. “You wrote that you had heard stories about Georgiana, and that they concerned you. Horrible stories, by the sounds of it. Now that you have seen my sister, can you tell me if they were accurate?”
“They were not.” Lady Catherine sniffed. “They exaggerated a great deal! They said that she was…” she caught sight of Georgiana, who was sitting beside the window pretending to watch the birds. Sighing, the older woman shook her head. “They were falsehoods, and I shall ensure that they are not repeated again in my hearing.”
Elizabeth frowned at the expression on Lady Catherine’s face. It was, temporarily, unguarded. However blase she pretended to be about the horrible stories she had been told, it was clear that Georgiana’s plight had utterly traumatised the poor woman. Controlling the rumours - and the people who had made them - was the only power that still remained to her.
Lizzie cleared her throat, drawing Lady Catherine’s attention back to the present.
“We thought to dispel such rumours ourselves, by allowing Georgiana to go to the ball. She watched from the balcony, but many people saw her there.”
Lady Catherine blinked, and then a slow smile crossed her face. “That was well done, Mrs. Darcy. I am sure that it will silence most wagging tongues. The most spiteful ones will, I think, take longer to silence - if you think it worth the attempt.”
“What do you mean, madam?” Elizabeth asked, frowning. The woman took a sip of her coffee.
“The most malicious rumours are being spread by Miss Bingley. I understand she was lately at Pemberley and claims she saw Georgiana while she was here. It was she who spoke to me, claiming to know all of the particulars and offering to share them with me in exchange for protection from her brother’s anger.”
Elizabeth exchanged a resigned look with Darcy. They had guessed as much; it was obvious that Caroline would not simply disappear just because Bingley had sent her away. Lady Catherine saw their worried expressions and held up a hand.
“Do not meddle in this. I shall deal with it in the appropriate manner. Such people are like the hydra. If you cut off one head, another one springs up. It is best to simply ignore them. No doubt she was anticipating my visit here, and will visit me again as soon as I return home. I shall let her know that she was incorrect, thank her for her concern, and wish her the best of luck with her brother.”
“But…”
“Sheiswrong, Mrs. Darcy. There is nothing wrong with Georgiana, and no reason for people to gossip about her treatment here. Scores of people saw her at the ball, after all. Did they see any of the horrors which Miss Bingley described? Of course not!”
Elizabeth fell silent. Her stomach felt very odd. It fluttered nervously one moment, and the next was completely at ease. Lady Catherine wielded rumour and fact with such careless skill that the whole world seemed to bow inwards towards her narrative. If she declared that Lydia had a beard, then Lizzie was convinced that whiskers would spring forth in an instant.
Chapter 79
Before coming to Pemberley, Lady Catherine had spent a rather irritating few months in London. Summer had approached too rapidly, and the sun was far hotter than it ought to be. Many of the better families abandoned the capital before the season was over in order to seek shade and sweet breezes on their country estates. The diversions of the city simply could not tempt them to remain.
Being a woman of stern resolve, Lady Catherine fixed herself to the plans she had made long before the weather became so objectionable. She would not retreat beneath the glaring blue sky.
That was how she found herself stranded amongst the stubborn and the stupid. She did not see herself as either of these things, but in a class above them: a woman of superior willpower, who would not be overcome by a pitiful heatwave. This self-flattery was her only consolation for a stifling, dusty sojourn.
Oh, there were some benefits to being alone. There were far fewer delays in the carriage, for example, and less noise in the parks. There were fewer scandals to keep track of, which was both a blessing and curse. Since the warm weather generallybrought out the worst excesses in mankind, Lady Catherine felt herself exposed in a tundra of banality.
At least there was less chance of being intercepted at the theatre or in the park by distant acquaintances. Lady Catherine could not abide the kind of conversation that began with words like ‘How long has it been?’ or ‘I was thinking of you just the other day!’. They were insincere and generally came from the lips of someone who wanted to secure a favour.
She was a firm believer that one’s neighbours should be kept a sensible distance away - several miles, at a minimum, although more was of course preferable. There was a small estate five miles from Rosings Park which vexed her greatly, for she felt as if the doddering old gentleman there was constantly underfoot.
In London, of course, she could not simply plant a row of tall trees in between herself and the problem. It was a pleasant reprieve, then, for the weather to have done the job in her stead.
Loneliness was not a concept which troubled Lady Catherine. At least, not on a conscious level. She carefully tailored her inner circles, omitting more than she ever invited and never changing her mind about someone’s suitability. A woman like her, whose society was a valuable commodity, would never admit to being in want of company.
But as the hot spring became a hotter summer, Lady Catherine de Bourgh grew very lonely.
She had become invisible.
The fact that Lady Catherine was not connected directly to her nephew’s scandal would have protected her from even the most scathing critic. She would not be affected by that. However, she was harshly punished for her reaction to it.
It must be understood that Lady Catherine de Bourgh had spent most of her life giving advice to others. Mothers with wayward sons, brothers whose sisters were too easy with their dance partners, maidens who spent their pin money at cards… all of them benefitted from her insights.
Nobody would dare return the blunt gesture, and indeed it had never been necessary to offer. Lady Catherine ‘had her house in order’, as the saying went. What was there to criticise? The ladies and gentlemen who were given advice did not begrudge her for the sour taste it left on their tongues. Everyone was treated just the same, so it felt fair. It was almost like a rite of passage now, for people to survive their first ‘audience’, as it was known.
However, Lady Catherine’s knowledge and experience of society meant that her advice was usually correct, and was often just as valuable as she herself imagined. Nobody would dare tell her to stop.
But now - ah! Lady Catherine did not turn that pitiless eye upon her own family. They were not found wanting! She acted as if they were quite beyond reproach!
