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But Mr Donavan did not leave.
When the clock chimed three, Lizzy startled awake from a light doze. She had been huddled in the window seat overlooking the mews for hours, waiting and hoping. Had she slept through his departure? She stood then nearly fell, her cramped limbs numb; she had to cling to a chairback until painful feeling returned to her toes. The room was dark, but a light snore from her bed told her Georgiana slumbered soundly.
What to do? Assume she had slept through the doctor’s departure and attempt a visit to the second floor? Another option occurred to her, however. Lady Catherine had ordered a footman to await the doctor and call for the carriage when Mr Donavan was ready to leave. Mrs Taylor had assured her that James would not leave his post for the night until the doctor departed. Would he still be in the entry?
After lighting a candle, she cautiously slipped out the door, moving quietly down the corridor until she reached the staircase. She descended about halfway before she had visibility to the entryway below.
And there was the footman, James, hunched in a delicate chair beside the door, legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded, chin to chest as he slept. It was an answer and a dreaded one.
Mr Darcy’s only companionship this night would be Stimple and Donavan.
* * *
Georgiana managed to discover, from the housekeeper, that Mr Donavan had not departed until after seven that morning. Lizzy, who had slept fitfully, claimed a megrim to avoid sharing the breakfast meal with Lady Catherine. She truly feared that her ire would liberate her tongue, that she would speak aloud her true thoughts—and be summarily ejected from the household.
The day dragged on. It was with dismay that they greeted Mr Donavan’s return, just after tea. He did look rather the worse for wear; dark circles ringed his eyes, and he did not seem quite so cocksure as he had on previous occasions. But he nevertheless spoke to Lady Catherine of ‘the battle in progress’ as if he were nearly victorious.
At dinner, Lizzy bit her tongue, and Georgiana said less, but Lady Catherine seemed to notice nothing of her audience’s silence. Instead, she gleefully related her news from Rosings—the earl’s minions had arrived to interrogate her, and her people had dutifully sent them on to Birmingham, her supposed location with the Darcys. Her trail of clues from that point, she declared, would take them all over England and go cold somewhere in Wales. That, at least, was news of interest.
Once the subject of the earl’s search for them was exhausted, however, she lapsed into repetitive grievances pertaining to people Lizzy had never heard of, and broadsheet gossip moralising on the fall from grace of those she had. By the time the meal was ended, Lizzy’s pretend megrim was real.
Afterwards, they withdrew to the music room, where Georgiana played while her ladyship held forth on the excellent guidance she provided for Rosings, Hunsford, and all points in between, which she explained without any intermission till coffee was served.
When they were finally able to retire, the two girls made their way gloomily to Lizzy’s room. Finally, Lizzy suggested that they try to sleep. “When my sisters and I wanted to waken in the night, we would drink as much water as we could before falling asleep. Whoever wakened first, wakened the others.”
“Why would you want to waken in the night?” Georgiana asked, curious.
How to explain?Lizzy thought. They bore with lives of restraint and sameness, but she had always urged her sisters to seize what fun they could. When a full moon coincided with a generous snowfall, to sneak out upon pastures made new with blankets of white, to giggle and toss snowballs and dance and make snow statues and snow angels until they were blue with cold and hilarity…all but Mary had looked upon such moments as the pinnacle of life. Poor Georgiana, to have never had sisters.
“We liked, occasionally, to play games during the first snowfalls, unchaperoned and unseen by adults with too many dull opinions—to our way of thinking,” she admitted, smiling ruefully. “It was not, perhaps, quite the thing, and I admit to being the chief instigator.”
“It sounds perfectly wonderful.” Georgiana sighed.
They drank their water pitchers dry, refilled them, drank more, and finally, managed to sleep. Even so, Lizzy was so tired that she did not awaken until around three in the morning. But James still dozed in the cold entry.
Neither did Mr Donavan depart after that. At breakfast, before Lady Catherine appeared, Mrs Taylor confirmed that the doctor was yet in the house. What was more, Mr Hudson had failed to turn up that morning. Mr Stimple had departed regardless. Only the doctor remained with Mr Darcy.
“Mr Hudson, he was the best of the lot.” Mrs Taylor fretted aloud for the first time in Lizzy’s hearing. “Cared about getting Mr Darcy’s meals to him timely, he did. It’s not like him to decamp like this. I don’t like it.”
Lizzy did not like it either. Had Hudson wanted no part of what he’d witnessed the day previous? Why had Mr Donavan not asked for Mrs Taylor to provide new assistance from one of the footmen, or even required Stimple to stay longer until a replacement could be found? What was happening in that nursery?
Another interminable day followed, an excruciating combination of tedium and terror. They found excuses to avoid being in company with Lady Catherine until dinner, endured the hour of inanity, and were once again ordered to the music room.
“Do you play, Miss Bennet?”
“A little,” Lizzy replied.
“If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, had her health allowed her to apply.”
Lizzy fought to keep her eyes from rolling while Lady Catherine pontificated.
“This room is sadly out of date. I told Darcy he ought to refurnish it in the Egyptian style.”
Mr Darcy suffering above stairs, and she speaks of redecorating! Incredible!
“The entire neighbourhood depends upon me for such advice. It was but Tuesday before last—or was it Wednesday? Yes, Wednesday. I recommended gold draperies to Lady Metcalfe, instead of dark green, and the family is quite delighted with them. Lady Metcalfe finds them a treasure. ‘Lady Catherine,’ said she, ‘you have suggested to me a treasure.’”
Lizzy had long since drawn the only possible conclusion: for all her rank, Lady Catherine had little sense. She could relate the number of courses Lady Metcalfe regularly served for dinner or the titbit that she would take extra helpings of pudding whenever her husband was away but nothing whatsoever of that lady’s character or intelligence. Whenever Lizzy delicately enquired as to Mr Donavan’s education or successful cases, her questions were brushed aside as meaningless.
