Six Inches Deep in Mud

Chapter 16

W hen I left Hertfordshire to see Lady Catherine, I had expected an unpleasant meeting, but the reality meets my worst imaginings. Lady Catherine has claimed control over my entire London household, and the tears of joy and relief in Georgiana’s eyes prove that my decision to come was well grounded.

It is after dinner when I arrive home — a dinner that Lady Catherine always takes according to country hours even when in town, meaning very early. I find Georgiana in her rooms with Mrs Annesley, and I spend some time with her, requesting a dinner tray be brought to me. She repeats to me that I should not have ruined my plans and come to London so hastily, but her distressed voice reveals the opposite. After she has calmed down slightly, she asks me about Hertfordshire, and I cannot help mentioning Elizabeth a few times. I feel so much better simply remembering her and the things we shared and speaking about them. With Lady Catherine, I only exchange a few words, letting her know that I am home, then I withdraw to my chambers, but as expected, I sleep little and poorly. My only comfort is that most of the night I think of Elizabeth; the memory of her lips and the taste of her skin are enough to build outrageously sweet, tender dreams about her.

In the morning, even before breakfast and despite my aunt’s opposition, I send for Dr Hanscombe, who has served our family while in town since I was an infant. He is well acquainted with Lady Catherine and Anne — whose illness is known to him. As on several other previous occasions, he suggests that Anne should remain under his care for a longer period of time so he can supervise her treatment and observe her improvement. This is nothing new. Dr Hanscombe has been suggesting as much for at least seven years, but Lady Catherine always refuses obstinately, while Anne obediently agrees with her.

This time, I am less inclined to be patient with Lady Catherine and sympathetic to Anne than in the past due to my eagerness to resolve the situation, make certain Georgiana is well, and return to Netherfield. To Elizabeth. Therefore, when the quarrel resumes, due to my insistence they should remain in London under Dr Hanscombe’s observation, and Lady Catherine replies viciously that I have no say over Anne’s health until I marry her, I lose my temper. My self-control, which I have exercised for years and prided myself in, abandons me.

Under usual circumstances, I would never shout in front of guests or in the hearing of servants.

Unfortunately, these are not usual circumstances as I miss Elizabeth exceedingly, I am already vexed, tired, and anxious, and I resent Lady Catherine for forcing me to leave Hertfordshire at such a moment. So I do; I shout in a manner that stuns the doctor, silences my aunt, makes Anne cower, and is probably heard throughout the house. I shout, “How many times do I have to tell you I shall never marry Anne before you finally understand it and cease deluding yourself?”

In the next moment, I regret my outburst, and I try to carry on a reasonable conversation, pointing out what is in Anne’s best interest. My aunt has never known the meaning of the word reasonable, so she replies with accusations that I have disrespected my family, my name, my beloved mother’s wishes, and so on, with no regard to the doctor’s presence. Fortunately, Dr Hanscombe has heard and seen Lady Catherine at her worst over the decades.

I am not aware that Georgiana has sent Mrs Annesley to fetch Lord Matlock until my uncle enters in the middle of my row with Lady Catherine.

From that moment on, things worsen; we are all blood relations, and we share the same bad traits. Consequently, none of us is wise enough to end the conflict, for which I take the greatest share of blame. Lady Catherine and Anne leave the house an hour later — and I am not sure whether they will return to Kent or remain in London. I am not sure I care either. I later find out it is the former, and I have some regrets in regard to Anne. If she is truly more ill than usual, my quarrel with her mother and their subsequent sudden departure could put Anne’s life in more danger. But she is as stubborn in obeying Lady Catherine as she is weak in opposing her.

Lady Catherine has always tried to dominate everyone, from her brother, her husband, and her daughter to her household and everybody else over whom she wields some power. I do not remember Mama ever arguing with her sister, probably because my mother always felt safe under my father’s protection. But with Lord Matlock — her own brother — and his entire family, Lady Catherine is often in violent opposition, as happened this time.

For years, I have tried to keep the peace between our families, especially after Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s will granted me significant responsibilities in regard to Rosings Park. As soon as Anne came of age, I informed her she was the heir to Sir Lewis’s entire fortune and, therefore, was free to make her own decisions. Still, Anne has no strength, no knowledge, and no desire to disagree with her mother; nor does she allow me or the Fitzwilliams to help her claim some independence.

Since she was old enough to understand, she has lived under the presumption of an engagement between the two of us, even though I never agreed to it. When Anne turned eighteen, I had a serious conversation with her on the subject, both in private, during a stroll in Rosings Park, and in the presence of Lady Catherine and my father. Almost six years have passed since then, and Lady Catherine still has not abandoned the idea. Somehow, she assumes that, since I am not engaged to anyone else, in the end, I shall settle for marrying Anne. I was appalled when she even suggested to me that I could marry according to everyone’s expectations and take my pleasure elsewhere, discreetly, as most gentlemen did. That was at Easter, when I last visited Rosings. I was so stunned and mortified that I only replied that the conversation was disgusting and absurd and we should never ever mention it again.

And still, Lady Catherine is neither discouraged by my decision nor willing to accept it. This latest meeting, latest quarrel, will hopefully force her to accept a reality that she has wilfully denied for so long. Regardless, if my prayers are listened to and my hopes are to be fulfilled, very soon I shall announce my engagement, which will clarify any misunderstandings and put an end to any other speculation and expectations.

Three days later, there are still many details to be discussed and settled regarding my responsibilities in managing Rosings Park and Anne’s fortune. They were granted to me by Sir Lewis, in his will, and they are lawfully mine. To settle them, I shall have to meet with Sir Lewis’ solicitors and my own. But I decide that will have to wait until the next time I am in London. I have concluded my business for this short visit. Georgiana is safe and comfortable, the house has been restored to peace, and Lady Catherine is back in Kent. It is time to return to Hertfordshire, before the ball. If not for the short notice, I would ask Georgiana to come with me. Bingley and his sisters would be happy to host her, and I would be happy to introduce her to Elizabeth. But I cannot impose on my sister to prepare for travel in such a short time. And I cannot be delayed. No obstacle will keep me away from Elizabeth and from the chance of dancing with her. I have already broken my promise to visit her after our meeting at Oakham Mount — after she fell onto me and I felt her sweet lips on mine. Now I plan to compensate for my sudden absence. I selfishly hope she has missed me and will be happy to see me.

Despite my haste, I leave London around noon, and I know I shall arrive late in the afternoon. My first stop will be at Longbourn, even if only for a few minutes. I am already anticipating the moment I shall see Elizabeth’s dear countenance, tell her I have returned, witness her surprise, and rejoice in the gaze of her sparkling eyes. I would like nothing more than to speak to Mr Bennet directly and tell him of my intentions towards Elizabeth. But I feel I need to talk to her first and secure her agreement, to reach a clear understanding between us. There will be little chance — if any — to meet at Oakham Mount on the morning of the ball. It would be a sweet, tender dream, but unlikely. I know ladies need a long time to prepare for such an event, and I am sure Bingley will require my presence too.

But I shall be with her at the ball. I wish to engage her for the first and the supper sets. Or the first and the last. The rest of the time, I plan to talk to Mr Bennet — as we already agreed. He is an interesting and witty fellow, and I enjoy his kind of humour. However, I know I must dance a couple of other sets too; I cannot single Elizabeth out and cause embarrassing rumours. And I should do my duty towards my hosts and ask Bingley’s sisters to stand up with me. Maybe Jane Bennet too. I believe that will do. These are my thoughts as I ride into Hertfordshire.

I am so captivated by my own thoughts and plans that I hardly notice the time pass, and I find myself entering Meryton. It feels like the journey back is half as long in time and distance as the ride to London three days earlier.

When the carriage stops in front of Longbourn, my heart is pounding and my stomach churning. I feel as silly as a schoolboy. As I enter, I hear voices and laughter, and I assume Bingley is calling on the Bennets. That would be fortunate since it will give me the opportunity to stay longer. When the door to the drawing room opens, my heart is laughing with joy, and I am smiling. Indeed, the first thing I notice is Elizabeth’s beautiful face and her clear astonishment.

It takes me only an instant to be thrown from the loveliest dream into the most dreadful one, seeing George Wickham sitting nonchalantly on the sofa, joyful as ever. George Wickham, the last man in the world I ever wish to see again, apparently occupies a place of friendship and respect at Longbourn, sitting only inches away from my Elizabeth.

Yes, I notice the scoundrel is stunned too, but I wish I could wipe that smirk from his face with my fist. He deserves no better. What he is doing here, how such awful rotten luck could have brought him to the town during the three days of my absence, is impossible to understand, especially in my perturbed state of mind. Engaging in conversation in the presence of that scoundrel is unbearable to even contemplate. Simply being in the same room as him without being able to throw him out is inconceivable. There is nothing left for me to do but greet the family with the remnants of civility I still have and then resume my ride to Netherfield, hoping Bingley will have some details to enlighten me and help me plan my next step.

It pains me to leave Elizabeth in that villain’s company even for an evening, but I have no other choice. I shall explain it to her, and she will understand.

***

“Darcy, I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you have returned,” Bingley says later, as we are having dinner at Netherfield.

I have already asked him about Wickham, and I was stunned to hear that the scoundrel had joined the militia regiment two days ago. He had come from London while I was away. What sort of sordid coincidence can this be? How did it happen? Where did he find the money for a commission? What bad luck that he happened to join this precise regiment. Are the fates mocking me?

My anxiety has only increased since I left Longbourn; I cannot stop thinking of Wickham, and I must fight against the temptation to go back there and settle the matter.

“You have told me, Bingley. Several times. I thank you for your enthusiasm.”

“We were worried about your sudden departure, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley says. “Especially since you declared your intention of staying for this silly ball.”

“It is hard to believe that you made the trip to London and back in four days,” Hurst says. “You must have had a good reason to leave and to return so quickly.”

“I did. But I confess I am quite tired, so I shall retire soon.”

“You should sleep as much as you want tomorrow morning,” Bingley says.

“I intend to do so, if I can. If not, I shall go for a ride,” I say.

“Oh, if you do, I shall come with you,” Bingley immediately says. This is not what I planned.

“It might rain, though,” I answer. “We shall see.”

Soon afterwards, I withdraw to my chamber and prepare for the night. My mind keeps returning to Wickham and Elizabeth. Has he spoken to her? He certainly will not have overlooked the opportunity to besmirch my name as soon as he learnt of my presence in the neighbourhood. What has he said to her, of all the miserable lies he usually spreads about me? And if he has told her something, what will she think of me? Most people believe Wickham at first. Did Elizabeth too? And if he only arrived in Meryton several days ago, how is he already so friendly with the Bennets? Anxiety keeps me awake, despite the wine I drank during dinner. I wish — I need! — to speak to Elizabeth, but very likely there will be no time before the ball.

I hear the rain falling, and the noise increases my irritation.

I am not sure how the night passes, but it is certainly one of the worst I have experienced in a long time. The rain keeps pouring, and it still has not stopped by morning. I go downstairs at an hour too early for breakfast, so I ask for some coffee, which, of course, brings back more recollections of Elizabeth and the coffee we shared.

“Darcy, why are you awake so early?” Bingley says, entering the room.

“I slept badly, and there was no use in staying in bed longer. This pouring rain is terribly annoying.”

“I am sorry to hear that. I can see you are in a poor disposition. So, you stopped at Longbourn yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“I was there too, but yesterday morning. I believe the Bennet family will be here a little earlier than the other guests this evening. Mrs Bennet promised me so.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes…and I have already asked Miss Bennet to open the ball with me. I mean, the first set. And I asked for the supper set as well.”

I smile; for once, Bingley and I are thinking the same.

“Darcy, there is something very important that I wish to tell you. I am considering proposing to Miss Bennet.” I can sense the hesitation in his voice; he probably wishes for my approval.

“If that is your decision, I wish you all the best, Bingley.” What else can I say? I cannot say I am surprised. “May I ask when you intend to propose? Today?”

“Oh no, of course not! After the ball, before I leave for London.”

“I wish you the best of luck with your decision, Bingley, and all the happiness you seek.”

“Thank you. I have reflected quite a lot on what you told me. I am absolutely certain that I love Miss Bennet. I am not just infatuated — I truly love her. And I trust her feelings are no different.”

“Congratulations, then.”

“Thank you! I feel so much better to know you have no objections. I know Jane is without fault, but there are some issues with her family… Their behaviour…um…their connections… I know, of course, it is an important matter.”

“If you have already examined the situation carefully, I have no other objections to raise. Only you can see whether your affections are returned, and that is the most important consideration. I trust your judgment, as it is your own marital felicity at stake.”

“This is such a relief! And a joy! I look forward to finding the right moment to speak to her…to propose. I was tempted to go this morning, but I know they are all busy, and I am busy, and there is also that cousin of theirs who is quite annoying and always present.”

This last piece of information draws my attention. Who?

“Cousin?”

“Oh, did you not meet him yesterday?”

“No. Nobody mentioned him. What cousin?”

“Mr Bennet’s cousin, a Mr Collins. The one to whom Longbourn is entailed.”

“I see…”

“But wait, be prepared for a big surprise. Apparently, Mr Collins is a clergyman, and he was recently granted the living of the parish of Hunsford! By Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who is his noble patroness, as he calls her.”

“You must be joking, Bingley!”

“Not at all. The man expressed a strong desire to meet you, and he already seems to adore you. He kept asking when you would return, to be certain he meets you before he leaves the county.”

Irritation has already caused me a headache as I wonder why the fates are being so cruel to me. What sort of dreadful jokes are these?

“Oh, and there is more — I am happy I can share it and laugh about it with someone, as I did not dare tell my sisters. This Mr Collins came with a clear purpose established by your aunt, whom he seems to worship — to find a wife!”

Bingley is exceedingly amused, but to me, it is more vexing.

“He came fifty miles to find a wife?”

“Yes. He seemingly wishes to propose to one of his cousins. I believe he was told about my admiration for Jane, so he seems determined to court Miss Elizabeth. The poor man follows her like a puppy, I am certain she wishes to slap him, from what I have seen.”

My disposition, which was already poor, is now foul, and I stand up with my head aching fiercely. Bingley is laughing, so it must be some sort of poor joke. Another one.

“How can you suspect his intentions? Has he told anyone that he wants to court E…Miss Elizabeth?”

I feel suddenly panicked, remembering that the expression on Elizabeth’s face had not been the one I had expected at our reunion. Do I have a reason for concern, other than Wickham?

“Jane implied it more than said it directly. I called at Longbourn yesterday, and while I spoke to Jane, I observed the man. I assume he has spoken to Mrs Bennet, who probably encouraged him. I am sorry to say so, but Mrs Bennet always seems to be chasing husbands for her daughters.”

I am growing angrier by the second. Perhaps this is the right path after all — and the shortest one. I should simply go and talk to Mrs Bennet and confess my feelings for Elizabeth. Although I know the matron dislikes me, she would likely force a wedding in a fortnight.

“Poor Mr Collins has not enough wit to realise that a clever woman like Miss Elizabeth would eat him alive. I only warned you to be prepared for tonight. I dare say Mr Collins will share his adoration between you and Miss Elizabeth. It should be fun to watch.”

“I doubt that very much, Bingley,” I reply with a harshness that contrasts with his light tone. “If Miss Elizabeth does not welcome his attentions, she must be embarrassed, and that is no reason to laugh for a gentleman.”

And if she does welcome that man’s attentions, I shall never laugh again for the rest of my life. I shall have to wait and see what fate has prepared for me. Between Wickham and Mr Collins, with all the uncertainty about Elizabeth, it will be one of the worst balls I have ever attended. I can only hope the joy of dancing with her will compensate for all the tumult I find myself in.