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The bell rang for dinner and all the guests arose from their seats. Darcy made a move back towards Elizabeth, but was stopped by his aunt’s voice.
“Darcy, you will take Anne into dinner,” Lady Catherine directed.
A look of annoyance crossed Darcy’s face and he paused; Elizabeth saw Anne flush with humiliation and her heart went out to the girl. Quickly, she turned to Mr Hargreaves and said with a smile, “I hope you will escort me into dinner for I should dearly like to hear more of your Oxford escapades.”
“With pleasure, Miss Bennet,” said Mr Hargreaves, smiling and offering his arm.
This left Darcy with no choice but to turn to Miss de Bourgh. Lady Catherine smiled smugly as Anne laid her hand on her cousin’s arm and was escorted into the dining room, with the others following.
The dining hall was an impressive rectangular room with soaring ceilings featuring a fresco of exotic birds and cherubs and long panelled mirrors along its walls. In pride of place at the centre of the room was a large walnut table. Footmen were silently arranging a smorgasbord of dishes across its clothed surface and the aroma of roasted meats, creamy casseroles, and hearty ragouts rose to tantalise their senses. The room was ablaze with candles, glowing from the chandeliers above and the flickering candelabras along the table. Their golden light gleamed on the polished silver and sparkling wine glasses, giving everything an air of luxury.
Lady Catherine had made sure to seat Elizabeth at the far end of the table, away from Darcy, whilst keeping him next to her, with Anne on his other side. If her plan was to encourage intimacy between the cousins, however, it did not seem to find much success. Darcy sat silent through most of the dinner, a stony expression on his face, whilst Anne kept her eyes down on her plate and made no attempt to converse with anyone, save for the occasional word to Mrs Jenkinson who fussed over her from the other side.
Elizabeth did not mind being relegated to the other end of the table—she welcomed the relief from Lady Catherine’s overbearing company, though it was hard to escape that booming voice even on the other side of the dining room. She had been placed between Maria Lucas and Mr Hargreaves. The former was too in awe of their surroundings to utter a word and barely found the appetite to eat. The latter, however, was an entertaining companion, though Elizabeth noticed that his eyes strayed often to the other end of the table and lingered on Anne. Has he developed a tendre for Lady Catherine’s daughter? she wondered.
“I understand from Miss de Bourgh that you and she have known each other since childhood,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, I came to visit Rosings frequently with my parents when I was a boy, and I often played together with Anne... when she was allowed to play, of course,” Hargreaves added with a rueful smile. “I had not seen her for several years, but it has been most pleasurable renewing our acquaintance. She has not changed much since childhood and we still share many of the same interests.”
Elizabeth smiled. “The sentiment is returned. She was just expressing to me this morning how much she has enjoyed your company.”
“Did she?” asked Hargreaves eagerly. Then he recollected himself. “Er... yes, it has been exceedingly pleasant escorting Miss de Bourgh on walks about the gardens and discussing books with her in the library. I hope you shall have the opportunity of getting to know her better during your stay.”
“She seems very different from her mother,” Elizabeth observed.
Hargreaves laughed. “Indeed! Yes, Anne does not have her mother’s desire to dominate the conversation. But I find her quiet company a refreshing change after the incessant chatter of so many of the debutantes in society.”
Elizabeth was sorry when dinner was over and the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, for she had little patience with Lady Catherine’s self-conceit. As she had dreaded, the grand lady talked without intermission, giving her opinion on every subject, with scant heed for anyone else’s feelings. Thankfully, the gentlemen joined them soon afterwards and their presence immediately lightened the atmosphere.
Taking advantage of the disturbance caused by their entry, Elizabeth attempted to find a seat next to Anne in order to engage her in conversation, but she found the young lady occupied with fetching some books for her mother from the nearby bookshelf.
“... there is a passage here, Mr Collins, that I have marked for your benefit. You shall see fit to include it in your sermon next Sunday... now, where was it...” Lady Catherine looked through the three slim volumes Anne had placed in her lap. “Ah... yes... I believe I marked the place with a letter... hmm, though it appears that this is a different missive...” She opened one book and frowned at the folded piece of paper tucked between the pages. Extracting it, she broke the seal and unfolded it, scanning it carelessly. “What is this nonsense? How many times have I told Mrs Poole not to allow the villagers to petition me directly with their petty squabbles? They must bring their complaints formally before the village council where I shall mediate on their behalf. I cannot abide these sundry notes of their woes and injustices.” She tossed the letter irritably aside.
“I shall inform Mrs Poole myself, madam,” said Mrs Jenkinson quickly. She pursed her lips. “One wonders that she does not know better after so many years as housekeeper.”
“Yes, yes... and tell her I find her method of carving most unattractive and inconvenient,” added Lady Catherine pettishly. “She would do well to study the carving diagrams in John Armstrong’s book! I cannot fathom how a housekeeper of such senior status can be so poorly proficient in this art. Darcy!” She looked imperiously at her nephew. “I hope you have not allowed Georgiana to neglect learning such skills.”
“I assure you, the art of carving has been included in her curriculum,” said Darcy.
“Good.” Lady Catherine settled herself more comfortably in her chair. “Now... where is that passage...?” She flipped through the pages of the book, then spread it wide and handed it to Mr Collins. “There, Mr Collins, behold the third paragraph on that page. It is a most edifying piece, is it not?”
“Indeed, madam,” said Mr Collins eagerly, holding the book as if it was one of Moses’s sacred tablets. “And I shall be sure to include it within my discourse on Sunday. Can I take this opportunity to say, Lady Catherine, how gratified I am to receive your gracious suggestion for my—”
“Where is the tea?” Lady Catherine suddenly demanded. “Shouldn’t the footmen have brought the tea by now?”
Mrs Jenkinson hurried to reply: “Ah... your ladyship, you will remember that James is ill with the flu today and you sent Stephen into the village on an errand after dinner. Hopkins is on leave so—”
“Well, Mrs Poole can take care of the tea! Ring the bell for her. Where has the woman got up to?” Lady Catherine shrugged her shawl off restlessly. She seemed to be growing more and more irritable by the minute, causing Anne to hover nervously around her and Mr Collins, Mrs Jenkinson, and Charlotte to rush to do her bidding.
At that moment, the door to the drawing room opened and a middle-aged woman in a severe grey gown stepped in, carrying a large tray with a silver tea service. She placed the tray on the sideboard, but before she could pick up the teapot Lady Catherine called out:
“No, I should like Mrs Collins to serve the tea. She did so most elegantly on the previous occasion and I like her style. Nothing like your ham-fisted approach, Mrs Poole.”
Charlotte looked uncomfortable again as Mrs Poole went white, then red. But the housekeeper said nothing and turned stiffly to stand aside as Charlotte took her place beside the tray. Elizabeth felt a wave of pity for her friend. It appeared that Charlotte had unwittingly become Lady Catherine’s favourite and that was not a comfortable position to be in!
“You may go now, Mrs Poole.” Lady Catherine waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, and I noticed that Emma’s apron was tied in the most slapdash manner. Really, Mrs Poole, the female servants are under your management, and I expect far better standards than this!”
The housekeeper started to say something, then pressed her lips together and dropped her eyes, “Yes, your ladyship,” she muttered.
“Hmm.” Lady Catherine eyed her for a moment longer, then turned away and began talking to Mr Collins again.
Mrs Poole stood for a moment, her face flushing again with angry colour, then turned quickly and left the room. Charlotte hastily began pouring tea. Elizabeth approached her friend and offered to help serve the other guests.
“Thank you, Eliza, that would be an enormous help,” whispered Charlotte as she added some milk to a teacup. “I will take this one to Lady Catherine myself.”
A momentary peace descended in the drawing room as everyone sat down with their cup and saucer, and conversation began to spring up in small groups. Elizabeth could not quite shake off an uneasy feeling, however—she felt tensions lurking beneath the veneer of civility, like a pike lurking in the murky depths of a pond, unseen from the surface.
Smiling inwards at her fanciful analogy, Elizabeth pushed the thoughts away and attempted to join the conversation. She found that she had been abandoned by Hargreaves: the young gentleman had secured a seat next to Anne and was talking to her earnestly. Elizabeth could not see Anne’s expression properly—the girl had her head demurely lowered—but she thought she caught the hint of a smile on Anne’s lips and a matching delight on Hargreaves’s face. Elizabeth wondered whether her mother knew about the attachment developing there; a glance in the other direction showed that Lady Catherine was too preoccupied with discussing a passage in another book with Mr Collins.
Elizabeth looked around the room for another choice of companion. Maria and Sir William were sitting, sipping their tea, occupied with listening to Lady Catherine and Mr Collins. Mrs Jenkinson had joined Charlotte by the tea tray and was complimenting her on her “superior” tea skills with a brittle smile.
“I fear you shall have to be content with me for society,” came a deep voice next to Elizabeth.
She whirled to find Darcy standing beside her, much closer than she had expected. She took an involuntary step back, sloshing tea out of her cup. “Oh!”
“Careful.” Darcy reached out and caught hold of her hand which held the cup, steadying her.
Elizabeth felt the sting of the hot tea which had spilled onto her wrist, but even more intensely, she felt the heat of his fingers through the silk of her gloves. Somehow, it was almost as if his fingers were on her bare flesh and she caught her breath at the sudden intimacy of the moment.
“Th-thank you,” she stammered.
He stared at her wordlessly and Elizabeth felt herself drawn into the depths of his eyes. They were a deep brown, darker than her own, and filled with an intensity of emotion she could not understand. Then the next moment, he seemed to become aware that he was still holding her wrist. He released her and Elizabeth stepped quickly away, putting some distance between them. She threw a glance around the room, but the others continued oblivious in their own pursuits.
“My apologies,” said Darcy quietly. “It appears that I have quite the habit of startling you.”
Elizabeth thought back to that first encounter when Darcy had come upon her as she was walking to Netherfield Park to see Jane, who had taken ill while visiting there. It had been the first of many occasions when she had cause to be alone with Darcy and, as always, his presence had brought on a strange mixture of pleasure and discord, of heightened awareness and tense confusion. No other man affected her thus and the sensations frightened Elizabeth. A part of her wanted to run like a hunted deer and yet another wanted to embrace the feelings aroused.
She realised that he was still waiting for an answer and cast about for something to say. “Nay... it is as much my fault as yours, sir. I should endeavour to have a greater awareness of my surroundings.”
He raised an amused eyebrow. “Are you agreeing with me, Miss Bennet? This is surely a momentous occasion.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “May you cherish the memory, sir, for it is not an event that is likely to be repeated often.”
“In that case—”
“Your ladyship? Are you well?” Mr Collins’s voice was raised in alarm.
Elizabeth looked around. Lady Catherine had staggered to her feet and was standing, swaying by her chair. Her face was suffused with colour, her breathing rapid and laboured. She clutched her stomach suddenly and heaved, casting up her accounts on the floor.
Mr Collins jerked backwards in horror as Anne screamed. Elizabeth rushed to support Lady Catherine.
Mrs Jenkinson clapped a horrified hand to her cheeks and cried: “It is happening again! Lady Catherine has been poisoned!”
