Jump to new as of November 28, 1998
Part I: The Family
Posted on Sunday, 09-Aug-98
My dear aunt,I am pleased to inform you that Miss Elizabeth Bennet has accepted my proposal of marriage and in three weeks' time will become my wife. Please treat the newest member of our family with the respect and honor she deserves.
Yours truly, &c.
Fw. Darcy
"Respect!" screamed Lady Catherine de Bourgh. A Wedgwood vase met the paneled wall opposite its pedestal and exploded in a thousand porcelain shards. Her daughter Anne shrank in her seat.
"Honor!" As the pedestal's cornice was marble, it naturally did not break quite as easily as the vase; but it proved very useful for shattering one of Rosings' fifty-six plate glass windows. Mr. Collins winced.
"Our FAMILY!" The round cherry pedestal itself toppled with a single well-placed kick. Unforeseen to Lady Catherine, however, it then proceeded to roll, chasing her across the highly polished dining room floor before running her aground near the aforementioned wall. The third member of the trio watching this display merely smiled.
Her ladyship rose with the greatest dignity and adjusted her veil. Anne cowered, Mr. Collins silenced his words of concern, and even the outsider grew appropriately solemn under her glare. "He uses those words in connection with HER, and I will not have it. Do you understand me?" Three nods. "Good. You have not understood so well in the past, which is why we are in this situation in the first place." She spied a cherrywood chip dangling from the lace of the veil and paused to pick it out.
Anne knew what her mother planned to say next and attempted to forestall the inevitable.
"Mother, I understand that you object to my cousin's marrying Miss Bennet," she said as quickly as possible, "but I do not quite understand the reasoning behind your objection."
The glare withered Anne in her chair. "My dear, I can express it in one phrase: the honor of Alfred Fitzwilliam."
Several generations previous, Alfred Fitzwilliam had become captivated by a local signorina while on a tour of southern Italy, and against all dictates of sense and good breeding, married her. His actions brought immediate ruin and disgrace to the Fitzwilliam name, but the ruin and disgrace proved only temporary after Alfred was instructed in the traditions of his wife's family. Suddenly, members of society who had vowed never to mention the Fitzwilliams again inexplicably befriended the entire clan (including the lady's well-built brothers, who accompanied her everywhere); Alfred soon received the lordship, and the Fitzwilliam fortunes prospered in several lines of business, not all of them strictly legal. In time, "Big Alfie" passed his power on to "Little Willie," who was then succeeded by "Hail Mary," "Slim Jim," "George the Gorge," and now the eldest living Fitzwilliam of her generation, Catherine "Fat Cat" de Bourgh.
Catherine had not yet decided whether the title would pass to her daughter Anne, already colloquially known as the "Shrinking Violet," or to one of her nephews: Michael Fitzwilliam, for whom she had procured both a pristine record and a Parliament seat but the year before; his younger brother Richard, who her minions guarded from the embraces of tens of damsels a day and for some reason had been dubbed "Hot Pants Dickie"; or her former favorite, "Ritzy Fitzy" Darcy. She had hoped to induct the Colonel and Darcy into the family secrets the previous Easter, but they always seemed strangely distracted... Darcy's marriage to a woman not approved by her Ladyship was an implicit rejection of the Fitzwilliam tradition and might encourage further insurrection among the family. Anne comprehended all this immediately and reddened, but her mother continued:
"Besides, Anne, I do this in your interest. Darcy is meant for you and always has been. I have not protected him from fine eyes and fair figures for twenty-eight years in order to have my plans destroyed now... and the fact that they stand in jeopardy is directly attributable to these two idiots!" The glare fixed on her perspiring parson. "Mr. Collins, if you had married Miss Nobody Bennet as I ordered you to, we should not have to deal with this problem. My nephew's valet warned me of his uncommon interest, I sent you there to capture her attention, and what do you do?"
"Lady Catherine, she refused me, I--"
"You marry her best friend, who brings her here and returns her to my nephew's notice! Of all the incompetent imbeciles... no." She turned her attention to the fourth person at the table. "That title is reserved for your eminent name. I dare say he" -- indicating Collins -- "could have handled a simple seduction less ineptly than you managed to do it."
George Wickham smirked. "I carried out your ladyship's orders in full. It is not my fault Darcy insisted on paying me off."
"A waste of money," Catherine declared. "Darcy has been bewitched. I can see no other explanation for it."
"Perhaps he is in love with Miss Bennet and wished to spare her pain?" ventured Anne.
Her Ladyship snorted, a most unlady(ship)like sound, and continued with business. "According to Darcy's letter, the wedding is in three weeks. Ridiculous haste -- she obviously knows that I disapprove and wants to trap him before he sees sense. In any case, your assignment is obvious: this wedding must be prevented at all costs."
"Costs you will assume, of course?" Wickham said smoothly. His rent was six days past due.
"Of course."
"May my cousin Jane still wed Mr. Bingley?" queried Collins.
Catherine considered. "Yes; his father was a common tradesman, so the marriage does not offend societal dignity. Besides, his sister did me a service once."
"Have you any suggestions for, ah, persuasion?"
"Well, you can't talk to her; the girl is obstinate as a mule and unreasonable besides. She actually said the resentment of Darcy's family would not give her one moment's concern!" A malicious smile passed briefly across her ladyship's face. "She might wish to rethink that moment."
"May we then use any means necessary?" asked Wickham.
"I warned her I should know how to act if she persisted in her stubbornness." The smile appeared again, echoed on Wickham's face. "Yes, you may employ any means necessary."
"Even" -- Collins gulped -- "violence?"
Catherine's dreamy expression snapped into her habitual scowl. "Mr. Collins, did you ever hear how your present position came to be vacated?" He shook his head frantically. "I thought not. Do you have any further protests?" He shook his head even more frantically. "Good." Her ladyship stood up, signalling the end of the meeting. Collins struggled from his seat, while Wickham glided silkily out of his: each took her extended hand to bestow the traditional kiss. Catherine had a handkerchief at the ready after her parson's turn. "Gentlemen, you have your assignments: do not fail me again. This meeting is concluded." She strode towards the door, thumped it once with her cane, and an invisible footman opened it from the other side. "Anne, get a maid in here to clean this up."
"Mother," said Anne softly. She paused in the doorway. "My cousin and Miss Bennet seem to be in love. Do you really think we have the right--"
"Why, of course I have the right," said Lady Catherine. "I am the Godmother."
And with that, the door closed behind her.
Part II: The Traitor
Few people acquainted with Lady Catherine de Bourgh could believe her capable of attachment and tenderness for anything other than herself. But, in fact, there was one being on Earth whom Lady Catherine loved more than her family and her position, whose welfare and good humor formed objects of the utmost importance to her, and for whom she would stop at nothing to satisfy the smallest whim.
His name was Fluffykins.
The similarities between Fluffykins Fitzwilliam de Bourgh and his mistress far outnumbered the differences. Each kept a regal and upright bearing, ever conscious of its importance in the world; each presented a small fat face with sagging jowls, and was slightly deaf in the right ear. That Fluffykins was covered in constantly-shedding white fur and was, in fact, a feline of the Persian persuasion counted very little in the equation; alike in character as in countenance, both cat and Catherine were egotistical, insufferable, and able to command death at the wave of a claw.
Thus as Anne de Bourgh entered her mother's chambers not long after the scene described above, she was met by not one but two pairs of steely blue eyes, both scornful of her trembling existence. Though Anne's knees weakened, her resolve did not, and she began her case directly.
"Mother."
"Yes, dear?"
"I have come to ask you to remove the death sentence you have ordered for Miss Bennet."
"You do jump to extremes, Anne. I have not ordered a death sentence for the strumpet -- only a small fright, perhaps."
"But it's so unnecessary! If you are acting for my cousin's happiness— "
"Why should I value such a paltry thing as his happiness?" Lady Catherine snapped. "One marries for money, power, or family, not for love." She looked at her daughter suspiciously. "Have you been reading those novels again?"
"I— "
"I did not provide you with Signor Machiavelli for my own amusement. He will do you a world of good, I dare say. Read it. Memorize it." The cat flexed on her lap, and Lady Catherine lilted into baby talk. "My darling Fluffykins loves little Nicky, doesn't he? Doesn't he?"
"Mother, do you care about my happiness?"
"Considerably; and that is why I cannot understand your preoccupation with saving Miss Bennet. You should be leading the attack, not hindering our efforts."
"But if I don't want to marry my cousin Darcy?"
"Who should you marry instead?" Lady Catherine did not heed her daughter's sudden flush. "No one else would have you, so you may well make yourself useful and keep him from shaming us all."
The flush died under the insult, but Anne retained her temper. "Have you never thought that if Alfred Fitzwilliam had not married beneath his status at that time, you could not command the power you do? You could not now arrange Darcy's life and mine with as much ease as you here display?"
"Of course I could. Your father's family** is quite as ancient as my own, if slightly less – aggressive, shall we say?"
"Aggressive…" She considered. "You said 'a small fright.' As you frightened Lucy Snowden?"
The long-nailed hand paused over the cat's fur, and Anne knew she had gone too far. "She should not have screamed." The momentary weakness conquered, "And she lived, even if she never could marry. But I think I have heard quite enough from you today, young lady, and if you approach me on the subject one more time, I will take steps to ensure you cannot again. Do I make myself clear?"
Anne looked first at Lady Catherine, then at Fluffykins nestled nearby. So long as she could remember, the cat had ever held the privileged place in her mother's affections, and she had no doubt that, had genus and sex not been a barrier, her mother was as likely to have wed the cat to her cousin as herself – except that she might display more care for the feline's feelings. He yawned contemptuously, as if bored by the proceedings, and she felt dismissed twice over.
"Anne?"
"I understand perfectly," she said, and left the room.
** A weak and sissy scion of the original Mafia family fled to France and Normanized his name before his children emigrated to England. Thus, while Lucrezia Borgia would have been most ashamed of her descendant Lewis de Bourgh, she would find much to admire in his wife.
"And then she said, 'Do I make myself clear?' And what could I say? She did make herself perfectly clear, she insists upon hurting Miss Bennet, and I have no means of stopping it—"
Safely returned to her private suite, Anne paced the chamber and poured the results of the interview out to her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson. Anyone who saw her in such a state could never think her an invalid – indeed, he would suspect what her listener had long known, that Anne's supposed infirmity was only a means of getting her mother's attention. Nevertheless, Mrs. Jenkinson pitied Miss Anne more than she resented the (largely unconscious) deception, and she watched her charge with deep and genuine concern.
"Could you tell your cousin?" she queried gently.
Just before the gentlemen's departure the previous April, Darcy had disappeared from Rosings for an entire evening, while Lady Catherine had been so displeased by his absence that she retired early. This left the nervous Anne and the despondent Colonel Fitzwilliam to amuse one another: and they had succeeded, rather to the surprise of both. Since that time, a cautious but affectionate correspondence had proceeded between them, and Anne doubted not that the Colonel could easily take measures to protect Miss Bennet's life. Still…
"I do not dare it," she said desperately. "My mother putting -- I think it's called a 'contract' -- out on my cousin's betrothed? To murder her? The Colonel would never credit it. Nor would Darcy or Miss Bennet if I should tell them. There is just such a degree of outrageousness in my mother's behavior that it cannot be believed, and therefore she can get away with it."
"Then…"
"Then I don't know what to do." She sat down heavily in a chair. "And really, what could they do if they were told? My cousin could employ a bodyguard for himself and Miss Bennet, or they could call off the wedding; but neither I nor they want the latter, and I'm not sure how effective the former would be, especially against Mother's — people."
"But perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam," Mrs. Jenkinson suggested again.
"He is an excellent guard, and he will be with Darcy within the week. But Miss Bennet is unprepared—and she's the one we really must protect." Anne smiled faintly. "Though what I've heard of Mother's interview with her, it appeared as if Mother needed the protection." The smile faded into thoughtfulness. "I've seen something in the Family histories… There's an old tradition for warning your enemies before you make an attack, an honourable way of evening the battleground." She explained the idea.
Her friend nodded. "I approve of it, but… you would use your Family's methods?"
"I do not dishonor my Family or its history or power; only the violent means they have used to wield it, and the ends for which they have chosen to employ it. This action is not vicious, it is simply repulsive. Outrageous acts require outrageous warnings."
"And the object?"
She sighed. "Ah, there's the rub. We need something thoroughly disgusting, something loathsome, something absolutely repellent…" Anne's eyes fell on her prayer book. She had embroidered the cover the year before: a white cross, an oval of violets, the initials A B d B – and unknown to anyone besides herself, a tiny black-and-gold bee hiding near the flowers' edge. Its presence promised rebellion: someday, Anne de Bourgh would sting.
Today, the promise would be fulfilled.
"I have it, Mrs. Jenkinson. But I will need your help."
Late the next afternoon, Mr. Collins felt he had reached a new pinnacle in his relationship with the noble Rosings family. Miss de Bourgh had condescended to call upon him! To leave her carriage and enter his house! To propose that they take a walk! And she showed herself so solicitous, so concerned for his welfare, in her insistence that he wear his dark hat with the veil. He did feel a little foolish, to be sure, in donning a hat meant for summer in the December cold, and the fast pace she set seemed entirely unsuited to her status as a delicate invalid; besides all of which, her then confiscating the chapeau appeared rather eccentric. But he could no more question the wisdom of Miss de Bourgh's actions than he could wish himself master of Rosings, and he soon settled to write the account of his walk in his book of remembrances and prepared compliments.
"I will see you in the morning then?" whispered Elizabeth.
"As soon as possible," he promised. "Good night, my sweet Elizabeth."
"Good night, my dear Mr. Darcy." As they stood in the Longbourn entryway, she could only touch her hand to his cheek as a farewell; but the tenderness in his eyes told her this was quite enough. At last he departed, and Elizabeth drifted up the steps and down the hall to her bedroom. Only two more weeks... Smiling to herself with memory and anticipation, she donned her nightgown, washed her face, and braided her hair. Only then did she notice the icy temperature in the room; someone had left the windows open. Elizabeth pulled the shutters closed and hurried towards the promised warmth of the bedcovers.
A scream rent the calm evening and echoed throughout Longbourn House. Mr. Bennet dropped his book in the library. Mary could not hear it over the sound of her own voice, but Kitty paused in her cough, and Mrs. Bennet in her complaints. Jane covered the remaining stairs in a bound and dashed into the room she shared with Elizabeth. Her sister stood shaken, one hand to her mouth, the other still holding the quilt, staring horrified at the sheets.
"Lizzy?" said Jane uncertainly.
She started. "Oh, Jane," she shuddered. "I'm sorry—I dare say I'm being quite silly—only when I saw this I had the worst presentiment…"
Mr. Bennet appeared in the doorway, followed by his wife and Kitty. "Elizabeth? Whatever in the world?"
"I'm sorry, Father." She dropped the quilt. Her father peered at the bed through his spectacles.
"A hat?"
It was, indeed, a very ugly felt chaplain's hat, but against the clean linen sheets it could have been evil incarnate. Yards of black beekeeper veiling spun around it like an evil web, and it reeked of bad cologne, sweat and sugar, something odious and yet familiar… Mr. Bennet plucked it from the sheets with two fingers and held it at arm's length.
"There's a note underneath," said Jane, "addressed to… 'Miss Elizabeth Bennet.'" She handed the envelope to her sister, who opened it gingerly. Its letters appeared to have been very precisely cut from newspapers and spelled out in a neat line:
BEE-WARE, MISS ELIZABETH. SINCERELY, A FRIEND.
Upon reversal, the card featured the printed appellation "Mr. William Collins, Esq."
"Naturally," said Mr. Bennet. "Only he could make such an abominable pun."
"Mr. Collins' hat!" cried Elizabeth in horror. "In my bed!"
"And it's still rather damp, Lizzy -- he must have brought it to you directly from his efforts in the hives."
Hill was sent to bring fresh sheets and instructed to burn the old ones.
"But what?" "When?" "And why?" "And how?"
"We were in the drawing-room all evening, were we not? We should have seen him go up the stair."
"Or heard him," Mr. Bennet added. "He could not come within twelve feet of us and fail to mention Lady Catherine de Bourgh."
"Unless he disapproves or Lady Catherine disapproves of my coming marriage strenuously enough that he felt it necessary to warn me."
They fell silent.
"Well, there's nothing we can do about it right now," said Mr. Bennet gruffly. "Will you be all right, Lizzy?"
"Yes, Father."
"Jane? You are well?"
"Yes, Father."
"What about me?" demanded Mrs. Bennet. "My nerves…"
Her husband rolled his eyes and left the room. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty soon followed. The elder girls helped Hill make up the bed and climbed shivering between the cold sheets.
"What will you tell Mr. Darcy, Lizzy?"
"Nothing, I think. It is too strange to be seriously regarded."
"But the warning?"
Elizabeth's glance was almost merry. "It would take Mr. Collins himself in my bed to frighten me from marrying Mr. Darcy."
The two sisters laughed, then shuddered.
"You were on the trellis for how long?" gasped Anne.
Mrs. Jenkinson smiled ruefully. "Nearly half an hour. I dared not move with your cousin and Miss Bennet in the doorway, then he left and the other gentleman—"
"Mr. Bingley—"
"Yes, he and the elder Miss Bennet had to say their good-byes. As soon as he left and Miss Elizabeth screamed, I ran for the horse and rode like a madwoman." She winced slightly as she stretched her arms. "I haven't had an adventure like that since I was a girl in Devon."
"I wish I could have gone," Anne said enviously. "And I might as well have -- Mother never sent for me all day. Do you think Miss Bennet understood the message?"
Her friend grinned. "Judging from that scream, I would certainly bee-lieve it."