Surely, she should say something of her nephew’s drunkenness? Everyone had heard how he had acted in Meryton. They waited for the hammer to fall.
It did not.
The illustrious woman made no apologies or excuses, no opinions or condemnations. She said nothing at all. For once, the endlessly wagging tongue was still.
This did not lose her any respect. Everyone understood, or even sympathised. But it took the fun out of hearing their own friends being ‘helped’. Lady Catherine therefore enjoyed fewer and fewer visits during her at-homes.
She was also denied the company of her niece, who usually visited her at some point when they were both residing in the city. She blamed the absence entirely on her nephew. She also missed Fitzwilliam, who had taken on extra duties and not inclined to socialise with an aunt in his limited free time.
Lady Catherine was not a stupid woman. She saw at once that Darcy and Fitzwilliam had fallen out. Their changed circumstances were perfectly synchronised, and neither of them spoke of the other in their rare, stilted letters. Her opinion was that it was all due to Darcy’s drinking, and that any efforts she made to reconcile her nephews would be less useful than a strong cup of coffee and a stern talking to.
She felt sorry for dear little Georgiana, caught in between two squabbling guardians, but knew that her niece was in no danger from either of them. She was certain that, of all of them, Georgiana would be unmoved.
Then the rumours began.
They spread slowly in the hot, empty city. The people who remained there were firmly established in their cool morning rooms or shaded gardens. They had no desire to run around after every bit of gossip on the wind. It was too hot to linger in large, whispering groups. Conversation beyond bare greetings was discouraged, for it prevented the speakers from being able to sip cold lemonade and cool their parched lips. The upper class clung to their lukewarm existence with trembling fingers.
Still, Lady Catherine heard fragments of news from her maids. Some of it was things that she already knew. Darcy had written to her some time ago telling her that he was to be married. The new rumours about his wife, then, were not news to his aunt. She knew that Mrs. Darcy only interested everyone because ofthe upcoming ball at Pemberley, not because there was anything truly remarkable about her.
The ball, however, seemed all the excuse people needed to thoroughly scour the poor woman’s character. Darcy had written so little about his wife that Lady Catherine could not guess which of the many, many rumours could be correct. She could ignore many of them. It was obvious to anyone who truly knew him that Darcy would not marry anyone who was slovenly, imbecilic, uncivilised, mannish, shrewish, inconstant or plain. However much the alcohol had changed him, Lady Catherine knew that some of her nephew’s preferences were set in stone.
Still, the rumours brought about fresh speculation into the wicked life of the drunken Mr. Darcy. Hearing her nephew’s name being casually bandied around London was most distasteful. What could one do but distance oneself?
When her invitation to the ball arrived, Lady Catherine replied at once. Her stern rebukes within warned her nephew away from the sinful behaviour the gossips expected. While Lady Catherine did not believe that her nephew would truly sink so low, she reasoned that a blunt word was better than a dangerous omission. At least, if he did disgrace himself, it would not be her fault!
She had scarcely written half a page when a visitor arrived at the house. It was Miss Bingley, a woman whom Lady Catherine had not met before. She knew the name. A few years ago, there had been an irritating rumour that Darcy, who was promised to Anne, had entered into an understanding with Miss Bingley. When challenged, Darcy’s sneer of disdain convinced his aunt that there was no truth to the tale. That was the last she had heard of Miss Bingley, until now.
Lady Catherine set aside her letter and signalled for the woman to be shown in. A tall lady in a dark blue muslin dress sank down in a curtsey deep enough to impress an empress. Then, before she had even looked up, Miss Bingley began to speak.
The younger woman did not appear to glance at Lady Catherine throughout her horrific tale, but the woman felt her eyes on her flesh, nonetheless. No matter how much her skin crawled or her heart pounded, she refused to let it show. There was not a single twitch or spasm.
When she finished, the awful stranger looked a little thwarted. She had clearly wanted to cause pain. Lady Catherine looked unmoved.
“How do you say you know this, Miss Bingley?” she asked, raising a perfectly tweezed eyebrow.
“I was there, madam. I saw Miss Darcy for myself.”
“Did you, indeed! You attest that they cast you out for seeing her.”
“Yes, ma’am. I came here to tell you, because…”
The older woman held up an imperious hand. “Let us not change the subject too quickly, Miss Bingley. I am confused. You tell me that my niece has been locked up in her room for months, kept so secretly that even you had no notion she was there. You claim that she is deformed and that my nephew locked her away to prevent anyone from discovering the scandalous truth. But then you tell me that you have been banished from Pemberley - for discovering the truth! The same truth they have spent months trying to conceal! You are lying, Miss Bingley.”
Caroline drew herself up, her voice as icy as her sparkling eyes. “I assure you that I am telling you the truth.”
“Then my nephew is a fool indeed! If they wished to keep such a secret, then why would they set you loose with it? Why not lock you up, too? I imagine they care for you less than they do Georgiana, and they did not hesitate to lock her away.”
Caroline bristled, “Certain threats were made, I assure you. If you found yourself able to… to prevent the threats from being carried out, ma’am, then I could provide you with all of the other particulars around your family.”
“Other particulars? You spent two minutes in a sleeping girl’s bedroom. What other details could you possibly have discerned in so short a time?”
“I have the testimony of her maid, ma’am. A woman who was hired to care for her after she was unwell. She can answer any questions that I cannot, I am sure.”
“I see. She was hired - so, I deduce, she has been removed from her post. I must say, Miss Bingley, that it is never wise to put your trust into the hands of jilted servants. Having lost her job, the woman will have little loyalty left for her old employers, and every motive to invent falsehoods against them.”
“They are not falsehoods!”
“Perhaps not, Miss Bingley. I cannot judge such matters at this remove, and have no desire to unpick the relationship between yourself and a maid. I thank you for bringing this interesting story to my attention. It has been diverting. If there is any merit to it then I shall let you know.”
