Page 89 of Bitterness of Spirit & The Painting

Wilson stopped and glared at him. “What does my sister have to do with this miserable story?”

“What would you have done if a man stalked your sister and tried to insinuate himself on her? You lost your mind over my sister; I can understand that since you were only a young boy. You easily took the kindness of such a woman as partiality. It was no one’s fault. You imagined yourself in love with her, and in your madness, you imagined she might return your lunatic affection. You put her in danger, and she came to me, begging for help. What else could I have done?”

“That is what she told you?” Wilson asked, red with fury.

“Yes! I asked you to leave her alone. But you continued to search for her. You crossed paths several times!”

“You were a bigger fool than I was. You knew nothing about the truth, and you threatened me, forcing me to leave. You said you would hurt my family if I said a word to the Darcys!”

“I had to in order to protect my sister. I would not have harmed your family—or you if you had left my sister alone as I demanded!”

“Your sister was never in danger. I cannot listen to this stupidity any longer, earl or no earl. Call me out if you want, but this time fight like a man at least!” Wilson shouted hatefully. He turned to leave when the door opened again and a livid doorman stepped inside, speaking in a desperate voice.

“Master, please forgive me! I had no choice. Lady Catherine de Bourgh is here. She demanded to speak to you and—”

“Go away, you idiot! You are not needed!” Lady Catherine cried and slammed the library door behind her.

A long, heavy silence fell as the three looked at each other in utter consternation.

In their secret place, Elizabeth’s hands quivered so that she clasped them together. Darcy gently took her hands and guided them to rest on his arm. She held it tightly, supporting herself on him. The astonishing scene they watched through the narrow slit in the door seemed like a scene from a play. The revelation of a tragic past involving the three unexpected characters was tormenting.

For a while, Elizabeth thought the sister Lord Matlock spoke of was Lady Anne. And she realized that Darcy’s fears were not far from her own. But as the conversation progressed and the story unfolded, the truth was easy to guess.

“How strange that you order my servants too, Catherine,” Wilson said.

“Do not call me Catherine! You have no right to do so!” she said spitefully.

“Lady Catherine, then? Or your ladyship? Or is there another form you prefer?” Wilson asked mockingly.

“You are impertinent just as you are a thief! You pretended to be dead for years—God knows for what purpose. What are you doing in London?”

“I have returned. Forever. And I am just searching for my proper place. For now, I live on the same street as the two of you. What are you doing in my house, Catherine?”

“How dare you call my sister by her Christian name?” the earl interrupted.

“And how would you address a lady who is an old and close acquaintance?”

“You insolent man!” Lady Catherine cried. “Insolent and a charlatan! You changed your appearance so nobody would recognize you, and now you change it again. I presume you will cease hiding behind the beard!”

“I hid my appearance for a while, I admit. But no more. I am relieved that you arrived in time to clarify your brother’s doubts so we can have everything out in the open—no hiding, no concealing.”

“You are a useless scamp! You pretended to be dead all this time, and now you appear like a—”

“Like what, Catherine? You did not care how I left, so why should you care how I returned? And should I ask your permission before I proceed? Must the world do that? I was told—and I have observed—that you demand everyone listen to your opinions and obey your wishes. I never would have recognized you—not only in appearance but also in your manners. Dear Lord, what a horrible woman you have become.”

“How dare you!”

“You keep saying that, Catherine, because you cannot believe I may dare do whatever I please. Unlike your brother, at least you do not pretend I am a stranger. It is only fair since you knew me much better than he did and, apparently, than you told him.”

Her ire made Lady Catherine’s voice tremble. “I shall leave now and return at another time. This is a conversation that I wish to keep private. And if you possessed a trace of honour, you would wish the same, Wilson.”

“Private from whom, Catherine?” the earl shouted. “What do you have to conceal from me? Did you not tell me everything twenty-five years ago? What else is to be discussed? I am not going anywhere until everything is clear—and neither are you!”

“Oh, stop this nonsense, brother. I came here to settle the matter accordingly. I do not wish you to be involved!” Lady Catherine dismissed him coldly.

“But I already am involved and will be until we end this. What do you wish to accomplish, Wilson? How do you want this to end?”

“Well, having the two Fitzwilliam siblings together in front of me is already one accomplishment. The second one—which became urgent after our earlier debate—would be to clarify the nature of our acquaintance from twenty-five years ago, Catherine. I cannot allow my name to be sullied.”