Seven
Elizabeth returned to the house, shivering. She went directly to her room and closed the door, disregarding her mother’s repeated calls.
Mr Ash immediately jumped into her lap, and she hugged him tearfully. Such a tight embrace was not exactly to the cat’s liking, so he mewed, demanding to be released.
“You sweet boy,” she whispered, stroking him.
So the unthinkable had actually happened: Mr Ash had turned out to be Miss Darcy’s lost cat — an unthinkable coincidence that might change many lives.
But there was much more drama behind the story that Elizabeth hardly dared to consider. Mr Darcy’s warning about Mr Wickham, his mention that he was closely acquainted with Mr Wickham’s dishonourable behaviour, was a hint that the past behind their disagreements was deeper and more tormenting than either of them had revealed so far. To believe either of them, she would need evidence, as Mr Darcy had implied. She was determined to request as much from Mr Wickham at the first opportunity. Of course, he was not obliged to indulge her, but since he had been the one to open the subject with her, he should expect further enquiry.
Besides Mr Ash’s story, Elizabeth was troubled by Mr Darcy’s confession regarding herself. The more she thought about his words, the more they sounded as if he had confessed a sort of admiration for her, which was difficult to believe and even more to understand. Surely a man like Mr Darcy could not haveserious designs on her. Their situations in life were so utterly different that it made any possible connection — other than a friendship — impossible to conceive. She finally joined the family for breakfast, her hair still in some disorder and with little appetite.
Mr Collins met her with his large smile, which he probably considered charming, and Elizabeth felt even less inclined to eat.
“Lizzy, where have you been? I have been calling for you!” Mrs Bennet asked.
“I went for a walk, Mama.”
“Who were you talking to, Lizzy?” Lydia asked.
“Talking?” she repeated, sipping her tea.
“Yes, you were talking to a man. Was it Mr Darcy? I believe it was.”
“Mr Darcy?” Mrs Bennet repeated.
“Yes, Mama. Mr Darcy was taking a morning ride, and we happened to meet. He enquired about Papa and about you all, and that was it.”
“How strange that Lizzy met Mr Darcy alone in the woodland,” Lydia said, chuckling. “How funny it would be if Mr Darcy turned out to be Lizzy’s suitor?”
“Lydia!” Elizabeth cried, hot with mortification. “How dare you say that?”
“Why not? What would you say if I sneaked out of the house to meet a man? An officer, maybe? Perhaps even Mr Wickham — there is nobody more handsome than him!” Lydia and Kitty laughed loudly; Mrs Bennet shook her head in a poor attempt at scolding, laughing too.
“Lydia, do not tease your sister,” Mrs Bennet said. “We all know a man like Mr Darcy would never be her suitor. But you must admit it is a little strange that he keeps coming here. If not for Lizzy, he must come either for your father or for the cat — they seem to like each other.”
“Lydia, Mrs Bennet, enough! You should be honoured that a man like Mr Darcy calls on me. He was so generous as to lend me some truly valuable books. He is a man of consequence with whom you should not be trifling. I will not have it!”
Their father’s harsh rebuke silenced the ladies, but Mr Collins continued.
“Indeed, Mr Darcy is not the sort of man to make jokes about,” the clergyman said, frowning as he looked at them all. “He is one of the most remarkable young men this country has, as Lady Catherine has pointed out many times. He cannot be anyone’s suitor — he is meant to marry someone who is his equal in fortune and connections.”
Mr Collins paused briefly after this outburst of praise, then continued, “And you, Cousin Elizabeth, should not walk alone or meet any man without a chaperon. It is highly improper for a respectable young woman. Lady Catherine always insists upon the importance of following the rules of decorum.”
“Mr Collins, I have taken walks about the area, alone, since I was a child. I shall not change my habit because someone entirely unconnected with me disapproves of it. I find nothing improper in enjoying a little exercise,” she replied coldly, causing a change in Mr Collins’s countenance.
“Lizzy! Mind your words,” Mrs Bennet scolded her.
“I am sorry if my telling the truth upsets you, Mama. Please excuse me. I am not feeling well. I hardly slept at all last night, and I have a headache.”
“Lizzy, we are going to Meryton. Are you not coming with us?”
“No, thank you. I hope you have an enjoyable time.”
She hurried to her room and threw herself onto the bed, tormented and with a strange desire to cry. She heard Jane entering, but she pretended she was sleeping. Her attempt to put her thoughts in order failed, and her tumult increased.
The fact that Lydia had made such poor jokes that could have turned into harmful rumours affected her less than the revelation that Mr Collins was right: Mr Darcy was certainly meant to marry someone who was his equal. Why would she even be troubled about that? How foolish could she be to even assume anything more? Lydia had called him her suitor as a joke, and only a simpleton would take such a thing in earnest.
