“They were not. Jane can no longer deny what I had suspected all along, that their friendship was a mere pretense.”
“But they showed such particular attention to her at Netherfield.”
“Does not the serpent linger in perfect stillness, its orange-hued scales gleaming deceptively in the sun, waiting for the perfect moment to strike its unsuspecting prey?”
Charlotte’s eyebrows arched high upon her forehead, disappearing momentarily beneath the neat arrangement of her chestnut curls. “My dear Eliza,” she finally breathed out. “You speak with unusual harshness. I have never heard such venom inyourtone.”
“I speak as I find,” replied Elizabeth, “though I must exclude Mrs. Hurst from my criticism. Our recent encounters reveal her to be rather agreeable, and she is thoroughly embarrassed by her sister’s behaviour.”
“This comes as quite a revelation.”
“I find myself somewhat grateful that Miss Bingley revealed her true nature,” Elizabeth continued, her dark eyes flashing with conviction. “Jane, as you are aware, perpetually seeks the good in others, and needs to perceive her as we do. It has, to some extent, soothed the wound inflicted by her brother.”
“I think that gentleman acted the cad,” declared Sir William, his voice gruff with indignation. “We all witnessed his attention to your beloved sister, and then to depart in such a fashion…”
“I agree, Sir William,” Elizabeth nodded, her posture straightening with sisterly pride. “Happily, Jane flourishes in the company of my uncle and his wife. They are more than content to squire her around to numerous entertainments and gatherings. She has scarcely had time to dwell on the conduct of an immature young man who evidently lacked readiness for matrimony, despite appearances to the contrary.”
“That is good. I am glad for Miss Bennet.”
“As am I, Sir William. As am I.”
Mr. Collins came rushingdown the lane the following day, his face flushed with exertion, his clerical collar askew.
“Charlotte!” he exclaimed between laboured breaths. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself requested our presence at Rosings Park for dinner this very evening. A most distinguished honour.”
Charlotte’s face fell, her usually composed features betraying momentary dismay. “The cook has already begun preparing our meal, the beef joint is roasting, and the pudding is set. Whatever shall we do with it all?”
“Perhaps the portions could be divided among several households.” Elizabeth suggested. “Some of your parishioners might welcome such a gesture, and bring comfort on this chilly spring day.”
“Indeed, we know of three widows in difficult circumstances,” Charlotte replied, her expression brightening as she glanced at Elizabeth with grateful approval. “I will consult with the cook immediately about arranging the baskets.”
Before long, their party of five set out for Rosings Park along a winding path, with Elizabeth attired in what Mr. Collins had termed, with his characteristic pomposity, “whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest.” His remarks about her chosen ensemble had amused her moments before their departure.
“Cousin Elizabeth, do you think it is appropriate to wear such a garment?” Mr. Collins had enquired upon her entrance to the front parlour.
Elizabeth glanced down at her cream muslin gown with its delicate ivy embroidery adorning the hem and sleeves, the work of countless hours by a skilled hand. Her matching pelisse of spring green and straw bonnet with its single modest ribbon completed the ensemble perfectly.
“You did specify my finest dress,” she responded with feigned earnestness. “I possess grander ones in London, of course, but this is the best available. Shall I request one of my silk gowns be sent express for our next engagement with Lady Catherine?”
“No, that is not necessary.” He pressed his lips together andlooked anxiously at the clock ticking solemnly in the corner of the room. “We do not have time for you to change into attire that is more... befitting your position.”
Befitting her position? Elizabeth nearly scoffed aloud. What could be more appropriate than fine muslin with hand-worked embroidery? Were she to dress according to her actual standing, she would parade through Kent adorned in nothing but the finest silks and satins from London’s most fashionable modistes. Clearly, nothing would ever please her cousin; he seemed determined to find fault at every turn.
The weather proved agreeable for their half-mile stroll across the park to Rosings, and Elizabeth admired the grounds with genuine pleasure. Mr. Collins, however, dampened her spirits by cataloguing the manor’s windows and reciting, down to the last shilling, what Sir Lewis de Bourgh had paid for each pane before his death.
Inside, a butler led them to Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Miss de Bourgh’s companion, Mrs. Jenkinson. Her ladyship rose at their entrance, her tall figure adorned in rich silk. Charlotte made the necessary introductions with perfect composure, presenting Elizabeth as her particular friend, while Mr. Collins bowed so deeply that Elizabeth feared he might topple forward. Their party of eight exchanged pleasantries until dinner was announced, and they proceeded to the dining room with so much ceremony it seemed that Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine had choreographed the processional between them.
Following the meal, the entire company retired to the drawing room, as custom dictated when gentlemen were few, and Lady Catherine dominated the conversation without pause until coffee arrived. Her pronouncements on every topic came with such finality that Elizabeth, perched uncomfortably on theedge of a stiff settee, suspected few dared challenge her opinions, lest they face the arctic chill of her ladyship’s disapproval. She then watched in astonishment as the mistress of Rosings interrogated Charlotte about household matters, offering unsolicited directives on everything from linens to livestock. Nothing at the parsonage escaped her scrutiny, not even the poultry yard. Elizabeth silently wagered that Lady Catherine’s closest encounter with a hen was likely the boiled egg served at her breakfast table.
That great lady, having finally exhausted her litany of suggestions, turned her hawkish gaze upon Elizabeth.
“Remind me of your sisters’ number, Miss Bennet,” she demanded, though Elizabeth had already supplied this information several times that evening.
“Four, your ladyship,” Elizabeth replied with practiced patience.
“And their ages in relation to your own?”
“One elder and three younger than myself,” Elizabeth replied, keeping her answers succinct.
