The Angel of Longbourn Read online

  “I tell you, Darcy, the woman is fit for Bedlam,” said Fitzwilliam one morning as Darcy was preparing to descend. “I cannot imagine how the Bennets have endured her for as long as they have.”

  “Were Mr. Bennet’s character anything other than what it is, he almost certainly would have ordered her from his house.”

  Fitzwilliam grunted. “I find him an intelligent and interesting man, but his proclivity for laughing at all and sundry is repellent.”

  “I think, Fitzwilliam, that is how he has survived all these years in this house,” replied Darcy. “Think how you would endure a house of six women, three of them invariably silly.”

  “He should exert more control,” was Fitzwilliam’s sour reply.

  “I do not dispute that,” agreed Darcy. “But I can empathize with it, to a certain extent.”

  And empathize Darcy could. Without the example of Lady Catherine here to distract Darcy, he was certain he would have found Mrs. Bennet’s manners difficult to tolerate, the young girls nothing more than silly flirts, and Miss Mary a bluestocking. As it was, all of their imperfections paled when compared to Lady Catherine’s antics. He was suddenly grateful that the woman had secreted herself at Rosings for many years, for otherwise the family would have been the laughing stock of London!

  “Snell, there’s a good man,” said Fitzwilliam, greeting the valet who had just come into the room. “Is Lady Catherine already below stairs with the family?”

  Had Darcy not known the man was inscrutable, he might have missed the brief flash of distaste Fitzwilliam’s question provoked. “I believe she descended some ten minutes ago, sir.”

  Darcy and Fitzwilliam shared a glance. Lady Catherine among the Bennets without someone to manage her was a recipe for disaster. “Then let us hurry to prepare,” instructed Darcy. “I have a great desire for my aunt’s company this morning.”

  It was a bald-face lie, and Fitzwilliam snorted at the mere thought. Darcy turned and bumped into a cot which had been folded and set into a corner during the day. He scowled at the inoffensive piece of furniture—there was little enough open space in the small room as it was, and the necessity of having the cot there was another annoyance to lay at his aunt’s feet.

  “You have my apologies, Snell,” said Darcy, turning back to his valet. “That cot you sleep on cannot be comfortable.”

  “There is nothing the matter with it, Mr. Darcy,” replied Snell as he helped Darcy with his jacket.

  “Better Snell sleep on a cot in your room than allow Lady Catherine to compromise you with Anne,” grunted Fitzwilliam sourly.

  “Quite,” said Snell. The man was loyal to a fault, and Darcy knew he considered it no hardship to safeguard his master’s person.

  “Does Lady Catherine still attempt it?” asked Fitzwilliam. “I have never been so shocked in all my life as when you told me that she had tried to get into this room with Anne in tow.”

  “I believe she has abandoned such plans for the present,” replied Snell. “I have not heard anything outside the master’s door for the past several nights. But I believe we should continue to be vigilant.”

  “Undoubtedly,” murmured Darcy.

  “It was fortunate that your room was locked that first night,” said Fitzwilliam.

  “Good fortune has nothing to do with it. I know of what our aunt is capable, so I spoke with Mr. Bennet. He ensured that only he and I have keys to this room.”

  Fitzwilliam laughed. “I understand Lady Catherine was in high dudgeon the day after she was thwarted.

  “I believe I can bear her ill humors quite cheerfully.”

  “If she was not at Longbourn where her ill humors can bother the Bennets.”

  Darcy nodded his head in agreement and allowed the subject to drop. Lady Catherine would be Lady Catherine, and there was not a lot he could do about it. She had made one or two probing comments to him, but Darcy had taken the simple expedient of ignorance, and she had soon dropped it. He knew she had not given up her quest to see him married to Anne, but at least her schemes were not now so blatant.

  Overall, Darcy’s health was improving daily. His aching head was now mostly in the past, while his stomach was very much on the mend as well. The lack of strength and stamina which had plagued him since the beginning of his illness still lingered, but he began to feel that the end of that ailment was in sight as well.

  Thus, Darcy had taken to joining the company on a more regular basis, though he had not yet joined them for dinner, and Fitzwilliam was grateful he had. Bearing the sole responsibility of watching Lady Catherine and ensuring she did not offend the Bennets was wearing on him. Privately, Darcy thought it was a lost cause, but he assisted wherever possible.

  “It seems like you are improving,” observed Lady Catherine that morning. It had been about ten days into her own stay at Longbourn. To Darcy it seemed like a lifetime, and he was certain the Bennets agreed with his assessment. “I believe the time has come for us to remove to Rosings.”

  “I am afraid that is not possible, Lady Catherine,” said Bennet, interrupting what Darcy had been about to say. Darcy was grateful to the man—though he was as fatigued by Lady Catherine’s presence as Darcy was himself, he would not hear of them leaving. He would have been within his rights to eject them all as soon as may be.

  “As you know,” continued Bennet, “the doctor was here yesterday, and he indicated that your nephew is still at a delicate stage of his recovery. I would not wish him to suffer anew due to an injudicious move.”

  Lady Catherine sniffed at Bennet and turned back to Darcy. “What say you? If we leave tomorrow, we may stay the night in town, and be at Rosings the day after. Surely you would wish to recover in pleasant surroundings.”

  It was one of those little insults that Darcy was certain his aunt was not even aware of making. The Bennets, by now, were so accustomed to the lady’s poor behavior that Darcy thought they did not even notice it. Much as the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families had become inured to the woman, it seemed the Bennets were to be put in the same category.

  “If I was to leave, I would almost certainly stay with Bingley at Netherfield,” said Darcy. “And after that, I would leave for Pemberley.”

  “Pemberley! Why that is three days’ journey!”

  “Two and a half,” said Darcy absently. “We are half a day north of London, so the journey would be shorter.

  “Regardless,” said Darcy with an apologetic smile at Bennet, “I am afraid our host is correct. The physician was quite explicit in his instructions. I would risk my health by departing Longbourn now. I am afraid we must trespass on the Bennets’ kindness a little longer.”

  “It is no trespass, Darcy,” said Bennet. Lady Catherine’s mouth tightened into a hard line, as it did whenever their host addressed Darcy informally. “In fact, we quite enjoy having you here.”

  He did not need to say that his words were for Darcy alone, and not Lady Catherine. Then again, the Bennets likely did not mind hosting Anne either, for she was unobtrusive, rarely spoke a word, and was not demanding in the way her mother was. There were several times when Darcy noticed Anne speaking with Miss Mary. They were both of dour characters, quiet and inflexible, so perhaps they were suited to be friends, should Lady Catherine allow it, of course.

  As time had worn on, Darcy began to see the interactions in the house as sort of a game. Miss Elizabeth saw the same thing, which should not have surprised Darcy, considering her intelligence. Not long after their conversation about whether to stay or go, Darcy found himself seated beside her, and their conversation turned to that very subject.

  “Mr. Darcy,” said she in a low tone, her gaze fixed upon his aunt, “is it my imagination, or is your cousin actively attempting to distract your aunt?”

  Darcy covered his laugh by coughing quietly into his hand. Lady Catherine was at that moment pontificating on something to do with the woods of Rosings Park and how they were much prettier than anything found
at Longbourn, a subject which had been prompted by Fitzwilliam’s rather innocuous comment about how pretty he found the local area.

  “I believe he is,” said Darcy.

  “Is there a particular reason for this behavior?” asked she. Her arch look at him suggested she suspected much.

  “Surely you know that my aunt is . . . difficult,” said Darcy. “If he can keep her talking about such subjects, there is much less time for her to criticize.”

  The look Miss Elizabeth fixed on him suggested that she did not quite believe him, but she did not say anything further. In fact, she looked away from him, a slight blush staining her cheeks, which looked quite fetching, indeed.

  “Darcy, of what are you speaking with Miss Elizabeth?”

  His aunt’s voice was almost manic with displeasure, and she glared at them, suspicion evident in her tone.

  “Criticism, Aunt,” replied Darcy. “We were speaking of how there are some who seem to take every opportunity to criticize.”

  Though Darcy had almost spelled it out for the woman, he was not surprised that Lady Catherine missed his meaning entirely, though Fitzwilliam choking back his laughter along with Mr. Bennet’s grin told him that they had not missed it.

  “I do not care for people who do nothing but criticize,” said Lady Catherine. “It shows a remarkable lack of breeding and an unkindness which I find intolerable.”

  “Mr. Bennet,” said Fitzwilliam in a strangled tone, clearly trying not to laugh out loud, “shall we not retire to your study for a game of chess. I find myself sorely in need of a break from the sitting-room.”

  “Of course, Colonel,” replied Mr. Bennet, clearly in the same state. “I find I am yearning for a game myself.”

  The guffaws which followed them out into the hallway was a release of mirth Darcy found himself wishing he could join. Fitzwilliam returned not long after his departure, leading dc to believe they had not actually used the chessboard, and the game continued—Fitzwilliam would say something to catch his aunt’s attention, guiding her into her pontificating, and leaving Darcy and Miss Elizabeth to speak together, until Lady Catherine noticed, directed some cutting remark at her, and watched them until the next time Fitzwilliam distracted her.

  All this would have been tolerable had Lady Catherine not kept her choicest insults and disparagements for Miss Elizabeth. Though she had not said anything further concerning Darcy’s attentions to her—and Darcy was careful to avoid anything overt in company—she still looked on them with suspicion. Whenever possible, she attempted to inform Darcy of how unsuited Miss Elizabeth was, how low her connections were, or how pedestrian her accomplishments.

  Miss Elizabeth handled herself with aplomb, parrying Lady Catherine’s criticisms with a grace and good humor which would have been nigh irresistible if he had not already been half in love with her.

  But the part that made it most interesting, and allowed Darcy to keep his growing fury at bay, was the way Bennet watched and assigned points to the winner of any exchange. The first time it happened, they had all been gathered in the sitting-room after dinner—Darcy having joined the company again once they had finished eating—and as it was often dull in the evenings, Miss Elizabeth or Miss Mary would entertain them on the pianoforte, or they would play games, or other activities. On that first night, Miss Elizabeth had taken her turn at the instrument and then returned to the company.

  “It seems your talents on the pianoforte are not at all capital, Miss Elizabeth,” said Lady Catherine with a derisive sniff.

  “I have never claimed them to be, Lady Catherine. I enjoy playing, but I enjoy so many other things, that I do not take the time to practice as often as I should.”

  “Neglecting practice is a shameful habit,” replied Lady Catherine. Her sidelong look at Darcy informed him that she was speaking for his benefit. “It is the duty of all young ladies to obtain the most they can out of the talent with which they were blessed, so that they may provide enjoyment to others.”

  Miss Elizabeth only smiled at Lady Catherine in that disarming way of hers. “Perhaps that is true, Lady Catherine. Tell me, do you play at all? I would dearly love to hear you have a turn.”

  “I do not,” snapped Lady Catherine. “But you can be assured that had I ever learned, I would have practiced most conscientiously and would have been a true proficient.”

  “Then is it unfortunate that you did not learn,” murmured Miss Elizabeth. “It is clear we have all been denied the great uplifting boon of hearing your performance, something for which we will continue to pine for the rest of our lives.”

  Fitzwilliam coughed again—which seemed to have become a habit—while Darcy was forced to clench his teeth together tightly to avoid laughing. Most of the rest of the company were immersed in their own concerns, but Bennet, who was grinning openly, directed a long look at Elizabeth, and said:

  “That’s one!”

  No one understood his meaning on that occasion, but to those with wit to understand, it soon became clear he was keeping score. To Lady Catherine’s detriment, the tally on Miss Elizabeth’s side soon grew far more quickly than her own. Bennet was fair in allocating points, but it soon became clear that the only time Miss Elizabeth did not best her opponent was when Lady Catherine made her so angry that to say anything would be to say something impolite. On those occasions, she held her tongue.

  As for Lady Catherine, every time Bennet spoke up, she looked at him with suspicion, laced with a hint of disgust. But Darcy did not think she ever truly understood why he was forever counting, no doubt because she was incapable of thinking that anyone could find her behavior ridiculous.

  But Fitzwilliam was not the only person to distract Lady Catherine. The lady did an admirable job of that herself, for she simply could not resist the urge to continue to dispense her infernal opinion on everyone within range of her piercing voice. To Mary, she was even harsher than she was on Miss Elizabeth, particularly when it came to the pianoforte.

  “That is enough, child,” said she, one day when Miss Mary had been practicing. “Considering how much you practice, it obviously helps little, as your playing is just as pedantic now as it was ten days ago. Perhaps your father should arrange for you to have some time with a master, for I doubt anything else will improve your playing.”

  Privately, Darcy agreed with her assessment. But it was the height of rudeness to say such a thing. It was fortunate, then, that Miss Mary seemed to take everything in stride and was not inclined to take offense—at least she was not prone to such displays.

  “Thank you, Lady Catherine,” replied Miss Mary. “I am finished with my practice for the day anyway. Perhaps there would be some benefit in a master—I shall speak with my father about it.”

  Lady Catherine just sniffed and turned away.

  Darcy was forced to hold in his laughter later that day when he discovered just how mischievous Miss Elizabeth could be.

  “Mary, perhaps a little more practice on that Mozart sonata would be advisable. I understand you would like to perform it at the next event in the area.”

  Miss Mary frowned. “I had thought the Handel aria instead.”

  Having heard the girl sing, Darcy almost cringed. She had a particularly strident voice, one which could carry a tune, but was better when mixed with others. She certainly was not suited to singing an aria.

  “Perhaps not, Mary,” said Miss Elizabeth. “That is rather challenging and will undoubtedly take a lot more practice. I believe the sonata will garner much more appreciation.”

  Seeming to consider it, Miss Mary nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are right.”

  “Excellent!” Then Miss Elizabeth glanced back in Lady Catherine’s direction, the slyness in her gaze evident. “Play loudly, and put in a good hour’s worth of practice, Mary. I believe the rest of us would enjoy hearing you.”

  It was clear that the girl instantly understood the thrust of her sister’s comment. The evil grin she shared with Miss El
izabeth was perhaps the first time Darcy had ever seen her smile. A few moments later, she was seated at the pianoforte, plunking out the notes with perhaps a little more force than necessary. Darcy might have found the sound to be a little overdone, had he not been immensely entertained by the pinched expression with which Lady Catherine received the middle daughter’s practice.

  The youngest Bennets ignored Lady Catherine, and in truth, she seemed to recognize that they would not be receptive to her interference. She confined herself to occasional comments such as “Chasing after officers is disgraceful” or “Perhaps a little more decorum would be advisable” when she paid them any attention at all. Miss Bennet was immune to Lady Catherine’s criticisms, or at least nothing showed in her demeanor.

  “It would appear you have little in the way of accomplishments, Miss Bennet,” seemed to be Lady Catherine’s favorite criticism. “Perhaps you should take the time to develop some.”

  “In fact,” said Bingley, often quick to jump to Miss Bennet’s defense, “I believe she is lovely the way she is. I would not change a thing.”

  Lady Catherine muttered something that sounded like “Mooncalf,” but Bingley simply ignored her.

  As for Miss Bennet herself, she would always respond, saying: “I am accomplished at those things which interest me, Lady Catherine. I love to sing when Elizabeth plays, I am skilled in the stillroom and can draw tolerably well, and all my sisters will say my stitches are even and my embroidery pretty.”

  “You are the best of us,” Miss Elizabeth would say, and Lady Catherine would drop the subject, only to raise it again later.

  It was a strange sort of situation. The family obviously saw Lady Catherine as nothing more than an intruder, uninvited and unwelcome. Darcy could not blame them, given the way she had come to stay there, not to mention her constant words of criticism. Darcy could only count himself fortunate that Miss Bingley did not come. Her brand of insolence would only throw fuel on the conflagration.