Chapter Text
“I knew enough of your disposition to be certain, that had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine frankly and openly."
Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, "Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.”
—Pride and Prejudice, vol. III, ch. xvi, p. 275
Elizabeth returned from her revealing interview with Colonel Fitzwilliam with no very pleasant feelings; and the agitation of her mind was due only to increase over the course of the day. The afternoon’s occupation of crying, and of exasperating herself with lengthy consideration of the injury which Mr. Darcy’s prideful interference had done her sister, succeeded to the no more pleasant evening’s occupation, of nursing the head-ache which resulted.
Mr. Collins, Charlotte, and Maria departing then for Rosings, Elizabeth staid instead behind at the Parsonage; divided between being really unhappy over Jane, and resolving not to be unhappy over Colonel Fitzwilliam himself. He had made it clear that he had no intentions at all: his upcoming departure from Kent, therefore, could be of no great moment to her, save in the loss of agreeable conversation, which must be its consequence.
While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell; and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of her visitor being that same gentleman, whom these contemplations concerned. He had once before called late in the evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room.
In a hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health; she answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner—and halted abruptly, when the door-bell sounded once again.
Elizabeth's amazement surpassed even what she had lately felt, when the door re-opened, and Lady Catherine swept through it, with an air more than usually ungracious. She declined all offers in the lines of refreshment and of furniture, and responded to her nephew’s terse greeting merely with a peremptory nod of her head. After a moment’s pause, she turned back to Elizabeth, and said stiffly—
“I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. I would be glad to take a turn in the park with you, if you will favour me with your company.”
Elizabeth, though her headache threatened to reassert itself, was preparing to answer favourably, when interference came from an unexpected quarter.
“You can have nothing to say to Miss Bennet, that you may not say before me.”
Lady Catherine reddened; she appeared to be losing a battle for control over her expression. “Very well. I had hoped to spare you some unpleasantness—but, by all means, let us converse here, if you will hear what I have to say.”
“And what is it, madam, that you have to say?”
“Did you seriously imagine that you could impose upon me in this way?” the great lady burst forth. “Did you believe that your intentions, your infatuation, your dereliction of what you, no less than I and every body else connected to you, know to be your duty—did you believe that these things would not appear clearly before someone of my understanding?”
“I am not infatuated, madam. Nor are my intentions any violation of my duty.”
“So it is true! She has drawn you in! What have you to say for yourself?”
At this last, she turned back to Elizabeth, and seemed even to expect a reply—but what reply could be made to so incomprehensible a speech?
“I will thank you not to speak of Miss Bennet in this manner. She has done no such thing.”
Elizabeth, growing exasperated with being spoken of as though not present, and angry at herself for her late hesitation in responding, which alone must have made Mr. Darcy’s interference appear necessary to him, now hurried to interject:—
“Will you please speak plainly, your Ladyship? I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. I will be happy to provide clarity on any point on which you desire it, as soon as you elucidate your purpose to me.”
“Miss Bennet,” replied her Ladyship, in an angry tone, “you can be at no loss to understand the reason for my address, however insincere you may chuse to be. You have been seen, madam! Seen, walking the pathways of my family’s ancestral seat, alone, in company with my nephew—my own nephew! Even now, you remain in the Parsonage, and alone—quite alone! to draw him from the influence of his relatons and into a private interview with you. You will not fool me, for all that your arts and allurements seem to have made him abandon the use of his reason. Well? Can you deny that you have done it?”
Elizabeth flushed in embarrassed indignation—and in sudden understanding. Her conduct with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and his with her, had, in fact, been unguarded enough to open her up to the suspicions of the impertinent. Still, Lady Catherine might have saved her breath: had she not just been settling with herself, that a proposal from that quarter was not forthcoming?
But a moment's further consideration told her, that this would not do for an explanation after all; for why, then, had Lady Catherine addressed Mr. Darcy on the subject of his infatuation? Had she, in fact, named Colonel Fitzwilliam in her late speech, or merely referred ambiguously to “her nephew”? Elizabeth could not recall. Her head pounded and swam. She was no longer in any mood to attempt civility, and spoke over whatever speech Mr. Darcy was just then beginning—
“A woman capable of behaving in such a manner, must also be capable of denying that she has done so. Therefore, my denial would serve no purpose.”
“Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this! I insist on being satisfied at once. Has he, has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage?”
Here, Mr. Darcy again found it necessary to object to his aunt’s line of questioning. Must this man believe that everything concerned him, and that everyone needed a dose of that insolence which Colonel Fitzwilliam chose to term his “care”? Caught between a lady she did not much like, who demanded that her question be answered; a man she liked still less, who demanded that it not be answered; and her own conflicting desires to be as contrary as possible, and to bring this interview to a close for the sake of her head, which was now sharply throbbing—caught between these conflicting impulses, Elizabeth opted for frankness. It did not matter which nephew her Ladyship spoke of, for the answer was the same:
“He has not.”
Lady Catherine seemed pleased.
“And will you promise me never to accept an offer from him?”
Elizabeth hesitated, and flushed. Here—even though the Colonel had decried any serious intentions towards her—here, somehow, it did seem to matter which nephew was being referred to.
“Aunt, that is quite enough!” Mr. Darcy cried, more impassioned than at any other point during the conversation. “You have no right thus to interfere in my affairs!”
“‘Interfere’? ‘Your affairs’! I am almost the nearest relation you have in the world! My insisting upon setting our affairs to rights cannot, therefore, be termed ‘interference.’ Myself, and a relation still nearer to you than myself—your own dear mother—have formed a plan for you, and Anne, from your cradles! This union was your mother’s own favourite wish! Is it now to be prevented by a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to the family?
“Once for all, I will be satisfied! I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require,” she continued, once more addressing Elizabeth. “Do you promise me, that you will never accept an offer of marriage from Darcy?”
Now all was clear and easy. “Certainly. Indeed I have no desire to do so.”
Mr. Darcy, who had opened his mouth as if to speak, suddenly closed it, looking stunned. He must think her very stubborn indeed, if he could believe her capable of setting herself against making a promise that was so wholly—well, if not reasonable, at least moot—merely to prove that she would not be intimidated!
Lady Catherine drew herself up, somehow still more regal in happiness than in dudgeon. “I knew you were a reasonable young woman, under all of your impertinent manners. I knew that you were too sensible of your own good to wish to quit the sphere in which you had been brought up! You understand that you owe me a debt of gratitude for my attentions to you these past five weeks. You understand what is due to me on that score. I shall certainly do whatever I can for you, to bring you into more society with gentlemen nearer your own rank. You must stay on as Anne’s guest at Rosings. I will arrange a few evening parties with suitable young men. You shall visit Anne’s modiste to have two new dresses made—the ones you have brought will not do.”
Elizabeth, while Mr. Darcy stared at her, perplexed and ashen, resisted every offer of assistance from Lady Catherine—though each was repeated several times. Her Ladyship’s taste in clergymen being what it was, Elizabeth had no desire to discover her taste in suitors; and her father had already once written (a rare occurrence in itself) to tell her that her presence was wanted at home. At length, Lady Catherine and her august nephew quit the Parsonage; leaving Elizabeth finally free to pursue some rest as a curative for her splitting head.