North by Northanger

Thirty-One

“Mrs. Darcy, where — precisely — did you say my nephew is at present?”

Elizabeth experienced a moment’s panic. Where had she said Darcy was this morning? In the village, meeting with tenants? No, that was yesterday. Riding? Perhaps — she had used that excuse multiple times. Penning a letter to Mr. Harper? That seemed like a safe pretense. He had no lack of business requiring communication with his solicitor, as his aunt well knew.

She struggled to a standing position to acknowledge her ladyship’s appearance in the doorway of her morning room. The baby was now so large that there was no truly graceful way to rise from her seat anymore. Were Lady Catherine a more sympathetic woman, she might have bade Elizabeth dispense with the formality — but then she would not be Lady Catherine.

“I believe he is in the library dispatching some correspondence,” Elizabeth said.

“I have just come from the library; it is unoccupied.”

Confound it. Ever since Dr. Severn had circumscribed Elizabeth’s mobility, Lady Catherine was literally one step ahead of her. Though upon the physician’s departure Elizabeth had reverted to his original dictate of restricting herself to sitting within the house — the subsequent order of confinement to bed having, in her mind, resulted solely from his fit of pique — the command had rendered it nearly impossible to monitor Darcy’s aunt. Her ladyship moved about Pemberley too freely, and consequently had caught her in more than one falsehood regarding Darcy’s whereabouts. If Darcy did not return home on the morrow, Elizabeth doubted her ability to maintain the facade any longer.

“He was there earlier. He must have completed his letter.”

Lady Catherine stalked across the drawing room to plant herself in front of Elizabeth. “Does my nephew avoid me? Has he no respect for his aunt? No sensibility of the duties of a host to his guest? I have not seen him in weeks! Every time I seek him out, he has just left the room, or has requested not to be disturbed, or has retired for the evening. Is he truly so engaged every day that he cannot come to dinner?” She narrowed her eyes. “I begin to wonder if you play some game with me, Mrs. Darcy. I will not be taken for a fool.”

“I assure you, Lady Catherine, I play no game.” She found the burden of keeping up appearances not the least bit amusing.

“Hmph.” Lady Catherine settled herself into a chair.

Elizabeth returned to her own seat and picked up her book. She had originally come to the morning room for a change of environs as she wrote some letters of her own, but the glare of the sun at this particular hour drove her from the desk. The other side of the room had proven more hospitable, so she had sent a servant to retrieve the Chaucer volume from her apartment. After hearing Georgiana read Lady Eglentyne’s description from the opening of The Canterbury Tales, Elizabeth had thought perhaps the Prioress’s Tale would provide amusement. It turned out, however, to be the grisly story of a murdered child, a theme not at all suited to her present spirits or general taste. At the moment she also lacked the patience and concentration that Chaucer’s language required of her, and had been about to abandon the volume altogether when Lady Catherine entered.

“That is an enormous tome,” her ladyship declared. “What on earth do you read?”

“Geoffrey Chaucer.”

“Not those bawdy tales, I hope? Though I suppose you might find such matter diverting.”

The appearance of Mrs. Reynolds provided a welcome distraction. “You have visitors, ma’am. Your—”

“Lizzy!”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Mama! What a”—she swallowed—“delightful surprise.” Her father, an even more unexpected guest, also entered. “And Papa.” She mustered a smile. “I did not anticipate you for another month, Mama.”

“Now, Lizzy, you know babies come early sometimes. Look at Jane! If we waited another month I might miss all the excitement.”

That had been the general idea.

Elizabeth extricated herself from her seat once more and waddled forward to greet them. An embrace with her father proved awkward — her protruding middle preceded her into it by some distance — so she settled for grasping hands with her mother.

“Look at you!” Her mother beamed. “So fat!” She reached out and patted Elizabeth’s roundness. “Gracious, Lizzy, you are big as a house!”

Elizabeth’s smile became still more forced. “Thank you, Mama.”

Mrs. Bennet touched her belly again. “And you are carrying low — that means it is a boy! Mr. Bennet, we shall have another grandson!”

“Before you issue the announcements, my dear, I would remind you that you cited the same evidence five times to assure me you carried a son. And it all came to naught.”

“Oh, but I was never as plump as Lizzy!”

Perceiving that her mother’s hand threatened a third dart toward her abdomen, Elizabeth sidestepped the assault by turning toward Lady Catherine.

“Your ladyship, I believe you have met my mother.”

Lady Catherine acknowledged Mrs. Bennet with a nod and displayed enough civility to submit to an introduction to her father. When the formality had been performed, Elizabeth invited her parents to sit.

Her father, in passing, caught her arm and winked. “Your mother was plumper,” he whispered.

When all were comfortably settled, Elizabeth enquired after their journey.

“Oh, it was fair enough,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Though long. Did it not seem long to you, Mr. Bennet?”

“Indeed, it seemed much longer than when I traveled alone in August.”

“The roads were probably better in summer,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Did your ladyship find them agreeable?”

“Perfectly agreeable. My carriage is well sprung and comfortably outfitted.”

“Oh, yes! I recall admiring your chaise when you honored us with your visit to Longbourn.”

Lady Catherine offered no reply. Mrs. Bennet, who could never bear silence, cast about for another topic.

“We did not expect the pleasure of finding you at Pemberley, your ladyship. Are you come in anticipation of Elizabeth’s lying-in?”

Lady Catherine cast Elizabeth a pointed glance. “I have business with my nephew.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Mrs. Bennet smiled at Lady Catherine, but the disdainful stare she received in return discouraged her from gazing too long in her ladyship’s direction. She instead focused her admiration on Elizabeth’s belly. “Lizzy, how is Mr. Darcy? I hope he spoils you. A gentleman cannot indulge his wife too much when she is in a delicate condition.”

“He is quite well.”

“Surely he hopes for a son. Men always do, at least until they have an heir.” She sighed. “Lord knows we would have preferred to keep Longbourn in the family. Not that we begrudge Mr. Collins the entail,” she said emphatically, looking at Lady Catherine. The Bennet heir served as her ladyship’s rector back in Kent. “But for years I worried about what would become of us should misfortune take Mr. Bennet.”

“It comforts me exceedingly to know you spent so much time contemplating my demise,” he said.

“I never gave a thought to myself, mind you. But I agonized, as only a mother can — surely your ladyship sympathizes — over the futures of my five daughters, with no inheritance of their own and no brother to provide for them. What would have become of them? But now three are happily married, and Kitty too as soon as her young man is of an age to take orders. Poor Mr. Dashwood — he had a great fortune, but lost it in some confusing business in London last spring, so now he is gone into the church. However, with Jane and Elizabeth so well established, I hope Mary will find a rich young man who can hold on to his money.”

“I imagine you do,” Lady Catherine said coldly.

“Well, Lizzy, you shall have a boy, and Pemberley will be safe. Such a grand estate your Mr. Darcy has! I suppose he is off somewhere now attending to some important matter. Keeping track of all his money must occupy much of his time.”

“Mr. Darcy does manage to fit other pursuits into his schedule on occasion.” Such as clandestine excursions to Newcastle and Gloucestershire. Elizabeth hoped more fervently than ever that he would return soon. She did not feel herself equal to single-handedly entertaining both her mother and Lady Catherine at once.

“Papa, did you happen to visit Jane en route?” The Bingleys had recently quit Netherfield for their new estate in Staffordshire. Elizabeth anticipated with great pleasure a visit to her sister as soon as she was at liberty to travel once more.

“There, Mr. Bennet — see? Lizzy also thinks it would have been a good scheme. I long to see Jane’s new home, Lizzy, but your father insisted we allow her more time to establish her household. And then Jane herself said she was departing within a fortnight to come here for your lying-in. But that cannot be correct — it is a full two weeks earlier than you advised me to arrive.”

In sharing the estimated dates of her confinement, Elizabeth might have created a slight — and, of course, entirely unintentional — discrepancy between the information her sister and mother received. As if to reprove her, the baby awoke and practiced its pugilistic skills on the inside of her ribs, causing sharp pains that she was hard-pressed to conceal from her guests. Perhaps she carried a boy after all.

“Jane brings Nicholas, and wished to allow additional time to get settled at Pemberley before the arrival of a new cousin put the nursery at sixes and sevens.”

“If only Lydia would come, also. Newcastle is not so very far.” Mrs. Bennet addressed Lady Catherine. “My youngest daughter’s husband is in the regulars, and his regiment has been stationed there over a twelvemonth. I miss her excessively, though she keeps so busy with her husband and new friends that I am certain she scarcely has time to give her mother a thought. She is so popular among the other officers’ wives. Everybody adores her. What a wonderful thing it is to be young and carefree! I quite envy her sometimes.”

Lady Catherine made not the slightest effort to disguise her contempt. She turned to Elizabeth. “Mrs. Darcy, I trust Mrs. Wickham will make no reappearance at Pemberley in the near future?”

Dear heaven, she hoped not. Adding Lydia to this delightful family assembly might send Elizabeth seeking asylum in her bedchamber for the remainder of her pregnancy. Already, Dr. Severn’s order of bed rest held increased appeal.

“She has conveyed no such intention to me,” she replied.

“Lizzy, why do you not write and invite her? Only think how merry we would be! Lydia is such a cheerful creature. Her companionship would divert us all. Mr. Wickham could bring her — did he not grow up at Pemberley? I am sure he would love to visit.”

“Heaven and earth!” Lady Catherine exclaimed. “Have you no sense at all?”

Mrs. Bennet appeared confused and injured. “I — forgive me, your ladyship, if I somehow gave offense. I only meant that—”

“Mr. Wickham, invited to Pemberley? Could its woods be polluted any further?”

Though Mrs. Bennet’s gabble often provoked impatience in Elizabeth, she could not countenance Lady Catherine so abusing her mother. “I daresay a home as venerable as Pemberley can survive the unbecoming conduct of any relations of mine — or of my husband’s.”

Lady Catherine huffed in disgust. “You are as common as the rest of them.”

The baby, naturally, chose this moment to perform a somersault. Elizabeth gripped the arm of her chair in an unlikely attempt to maintain her composure. Could her situation become any more uncomfortable? Mercifully, Mrs. Reynolds interrupted.

“Another visitor, madam. Your sister has arrived.”

Jane had come already? Relief flooded her. If Darcy could not be here to ease her suffering, Jane offered the most ideal substitute. “Do show her in.” She eagerly fixed her gaze upon the door.

At the sight of her sister, something less than felicity seized her. Mrs. Bennet, however, sprang to her feet with glee.

“Lydia!”

She was in hell.

Truly. Elizabeth thought she had glimpsed hell once before in her life, but nothing she had encountered during the last London social season could match the tribulation of her present circumstances. The conjunction of her mother, Lydia, and Lady Catherine was an event that ought to be described in the dire inflections normally reserved for doomsday prophecies. Even Pemberley was not large enough to contain three such forces of nature simultaneously.

Dinner had been an ordeal; the drawing room afterward, a crucible. Her father — lucky man — had withdrawn to the library for a time, leaving the ladies to divert themselves in the formal reception room until he joined them later. Both Lady Catherine and Mrs. Bennet had remarked on Darcy’s absence from dinner, inspiring Georgiana to seat herself at the small pianoforte to offer a distraction. Her efforts, however, only resulted in allowing the married ladies to engage in discourse on topics that would have gone unmentioned in Georgiana’s hearing and Elizabeth’s preference. Mrs. Bennet had nearly nine months’ worth of sage maternal advice to impart, and Lady Catherine, torn between impulses to demonstrate her superiority through haughty silence and to issue a contrary opinion on every matter raised, at last yielded to the latter. The pair of them commenced an inharmonious duet, each verse of which underscored Elizabeth’s incorrect resolution on some issue related to her impending motherhood. Lydia chimed in with a descant voicing her disinclination for the entire theme. Elizabeth, though the chief subject of the opus, was all but drowned out by the more impassioned vocalists and contented herself with marking time. The performance reached a crescendo in a spirited arioso by Lady Catherine on the subject of wet nurses which almost drove Lydia to cover her ears before the entrance of Mr. Bennet ended the discordant concerto.

Now, just when Elizabeth thought she had escaped to the sanctuary of her bedchamber for the night, an incessant pounding rattled her door. Was it Lydia, come to hint that a spare twenty or fifty pounds would finance her extravagant habits for another few months? Beyond citing an implausible desire to be useful to Elizabeth during her confinement, her youngest sister still had not offered an explanation for her appearance at Pemberley, and Elizabeth had been too much occupied in maintaining civility between her and Lady Catherine to extract the truth. Perhaps it was her mother, come to rhapsodize further over how fat Elizabeth had grown. The subject had served as a refrain for every conversational lull at dinner. Pregnant pauses, indeed.

She donned her dressing gown and opened the door to reveal candidate number three: Lady Catherine. Of course. Who else would consider herself justified in disturbing her hostess after she had retired for the evening? Elizabeth had just been about to climb into bed and begin a futile attempt to find a comfortable sleeping position.

“Lady Catherine, what do you require at this time of night that a servant cannot procure for you?”

“My nephew. Hide-and-seek is a children’s game, Mrs. Darcy, and I have done with it. If your husband is in fact here at Pemberley, he ought to be in his bedchamber at this hour. I demand that you produce him now.”

“I would do so, your ladyship, but I am afraid he is—” She desperately sought an excuse she had not yet employed. “Exhausted.”

“Exhausted?” Lady Catherine repeated scornfully. “In what has he engaged that left him exhausted?”

Elizabeth did not reply, only pulled her dressing gown more tightly closed and raised her brows innocently.

Lady Catherine’s eyes widened. “In your condition!” For the first time in Elizabeth’s recollection, the slightest tinge of embarrassment stained her ladyship’s cheek. “You should be ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what?” Lydia strolled down the hall. “Lizzy never does anything of which she should be ashamed.” She giggled. “Though perhaps you ought to, Lizzy. It might be good for you.”

“Brazen hussies, both of you!” her ladyship choked out.

Lydia giggled again, then disregarded her ladyship altogether. “Lizzy, the fire in my chamber has died.”

“Lydia, it is late. I tire easily these days. Why do you bring this to me instead of simply ringing for a housemaid?”

“I did ring — she has not responded yet. Besides, I thought you ought to know. One cannot be too strict with the help, after all. Does your ladyship not agree?”

To be first ignored by someone she considered inferior and then solicited for corroboration on the subject of servants as if she and Lydia were on equal footing nearly sent Lady Catherine into spasms. She cut Lydia from her view entirely. “Mrs. Darcy, I demand to see my nephew. Now.”

“Oh, Lizzy! Thank heaven you are still awake!” Mrs. Bennet bustled down the hall toward them. “I have been thinking about your finding a husband for Mary.”

“Lizzy, it is cold in my chamber—”

“—Are there any eligible gentlemen in the neighborhood?”

“Mrs. Darcy — my nephew!”

If she sank to the floor and began rocking with her head between her hands, would any of them notice? Their voices swirled around her like a maelstrom. And then, miraculously, the voice she most longed to hear broke through the cacophony.

“Perhaps this conversation can continue on the morrow.”

She turned round to be certain she had not imagined it, so fervently had she wished for the sound. A set of dark eyes met hers, and order was restored to her world.

Darcy was home.