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This cold scene she observed through the carriage window, filled her with a sense, not of melancholy but excitement. She felt an eager feeling of anticipation, but for what she could not say.
The rest of the party did not feel the same way. They had exhausted themselves along the way, discussing their expectations endlessly, speculating on the various diversions and opportunities which the visit would afford.
There were many dinners and diversions promised, including on Christmas Eve the unveiling of the newly gilded cupola, although how they would see it in the dark Elizabeth did not know.
In Longbourn, Christmas Eve was a time to remember the poor who would come wassailing at the door to receive gifts of money and cups of hot punch. Elizabeth could not help thinking that Lady Catherine kept Christmas in a very different way than the Bennets.
Mrs. Bennet was dozing fitfully, waking from time to time and looking about as though to see if they’d arrived at their destination and then, when she detected they were still in motion, settling back down to sleep. Jane had been doing needlework, but in the failing light, she had it resting on her lap and was looking out the window with a vacant expression. Mary was reading a book of sermons, and Kitty was sound asleep and had been for the last hour.
The carriage swayed along over the rutted road. The notion of “good” road was a subjective one, Elizabeth decided, for although all the roads so far had been uniformly passable, and the ones near London had been quite good, many were such that a lesser conveyance would have jolted them quite badly. Lady Catherine’s carriage, however, was solidly built and well-sprung so that it navigated the ruts and gullies with some semblance of decorum, swaying and rocking rather than bouncing and shaking as the carriages Elizabeth had traveled in on her last journey when she had traveled post had done.
“Do you know how much further it is?” Jane whispered, leaning forward. She was seated across from Elizabeth.
Elizabeth couldn’t recognize the landmarks; there was not much to distinguish one field from another. But she had a vague recollection of the times traveled, and she knew Lady Catherine had arranged for their arrival before nightfall; it was dangerous to travel by night through the countryside unless the moon was full.
“Nearly there, I should think. We’re the better part of an hour past Westerham,” Elizabeth said, keeping her voice low so as not to wake those who were sleeping. “I believe we have about half that much further to go.”
“Oh,” said Jane. “We shall soon be there then. Are you excited, Lizzy? I feel as though I should be, but to be honest, I feel a bit afraid. I know I shouldn’t be, but I do not know what to expect. I do not think that the assemblies at Meryton have prepared me sufficiently for the society in which we are to mix.”
Elizabeth recalled the slights and snide remarks which had been visited upon her and her family from Caroline Bingley and Caroline’s sister Mrs. Hurst. She supposed that they could expect similar treatment from the fine ladies who would doubtless be in attendance at Rosings Park.
But on the other hand, their brother, Mr. Bingley had been quite polite to them, at least until Mr. Darcy had worked his mi
schief on the young gentleman’s affections.
“Do not worry about fitting in, Jane. Our advantage shall be in our number. And if that fails, Mary shall give them a sermon.”
Mary frowned at this and glanced up at them from her book as though she wished to say something sensible but knew not how.
Elizabeth recalled how it was it was at Rosings Park that she had learned of Mr. Darcy’s interference in the relationship of Mr. Bingley and her sister Jane.
She had been on a ramble within the park as was her custom, when she had encountered Mr. Darcy’s cousin, Col. Fitzwilliam. Col. Fitzwilliam was the son of an Earl, but as pleasant and agreeable companion as one could wish for. He had none of the proud air or haughty mien Mr. Darcy displayed.
Col. Fitzwilliam had informed her—not realizing that she was a member of the very family involved in the unfortunate matter—that Mr. Darcy had interceded between Mr. Bingley and a young lady to prevent him from entering into a very imprudent marriage. Mr. Darcy, according to his cousin, had some very strong objections to the young lady. Col. Fitzwilliam did not know that the young lady whom Mr. Darcy had strong objections to was her sister, Jane.
Elizabeth regarded Jane, who had turned to the carriage window, perhaps hoping that she would soon glimpse the great house to which they were bound.
That anyone—much less Mr. Darcy! —could have “strong objections” to Jane was inconceivable. Jane was the soul of kindness, and her character was all goodness and pleasantness. Her sister was as good as she was beautiful and if this was not unique in the world, it certainly was a rare thing and worthy of praise, not disparagement.
And it was after this interference no less, after ruining Jane’s chances with the man she loved, that the rogue had had the impudence to make a proposal of marriage to Elizabeth.
Oh, he made no secret of the fact that she was beneath him, and that her family was such that the match was an unfortunate one from his standpoint, but that having wrestled against his better judgment, and despairing of prevailing, he had found himself reduced to asking for Elizabeth’s hand.
Elizabeth had already learned about Mr. Darcy’s character from Mr. Wickham, who was now her brother-in-law. Mr. Wickham had grown up with Mr. Darcy, being the son of the steward of Pemberley, the grandest estate in Derbyshire, which Mr. Darcy had inherited from his father.
Mr. Darcy’s father had been Mr. Wickham’s godfather and had been so fond of him that he had arranged for him to receive a valuable living and enter the church and become a clergyman. But when the living became vacant after the death of Mr. Darcy senior, young Mr. Darcy had treated the arrangement as a recommendation only, and declined to install Mr. Wickham in it.
Though destined from childhood to enter the clergy, Mr. Wickham was forced to enter the militia instead. He had since obtained a commission in the regulars, and after marrying her sister Lydia—which had been an odd marriage in that neither her sister nor Mr. Wickham had sufficient means to support themselves; Elizabeth supposed that Mr. Wickham must have loved her sister a great deal to marry a girl without fortune—and the couple was now with his new regiment in the north.
Before he had proposed to her, Mr. Darcy had made it a habit of intercepting Elizabeth as she walked through the park. She was grateful that she would now be able to enjoy the paths which circumscribed it unmolested, and even better, she would have Jane to accompany her.
She would help Jane to put Mr. Bingley out of her mind, and this could be a fresh start for them both. Jane turned then towards her and smiled as though she could tell what Elizabeth had been thinking. Elizabeth smiled back. Soon her sister’s heart would be mended. It must be so.
“What’s that up on top?” said Mrs. Bennet, who was leaning over Jane in the carriage to peer out the window. The carriage was moving smoothly now as they rode along the graveled lane to the great house. “It looks like a tent.”
Elizabeth looked up at the peak of the great house which towered like a man-made mountain against the darkening sky. At the center of its roof line flapped large sheets of canvas which had been draped about its cupola—presumably to conceal its new gilding—like a shroud.
“It’s awfully large,” said Kitty, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “How many rooms does it have? I wonder where we will stay?”
