J Croft - Mr. Darcy Takes the Plunge

Lady Catherine de Bourgh was the elder of the three Fitzwilliam siblings; and, to the detriment of her considerable vanity, it showed. The Earl of Matlock and Lady Anne Darcy were still quite handsome despite their mid-life status; however, their older sister had not aged as gracefully. Catherine had always been a self-righteous, conceited woman; and she loathed the crows’ feet and other wrinkles that seemed to multiply daily on her hollow-cheeked face.

She had been as blonde as her sister, Anne, as a child; but to Catherine’s disgust, her hair had become quite lacklustre and mousy when she reached adolescence. This affront crimped her style, and an unfortunate maid tried to help by giving her a fashionable cut; but hell hath no fury as a woman shorn. Not someone to tangle with, Lady Catherine gave her servant the brush off; and the two parted ways. Although she at first hated the new short style, it soon grew on her. Lady Catherine had then attempted to lighten her locks by drenching them with a harsh solution of potassium lye, which she learned Parisian ladies had been doing. Years later, when the first strands of grey had the audacity to appear, Lady Catherine thought she would dye. Instead, she got to the root of the problem; and the offensive items were immediately plucked from her head. Initially she worried about going bald; yet, for every one painfully pulled, three more colourless, wiry ones seemed to sprout. Therefore, she stopped pulling her hair out. The colour, she proclaimed, was thereafter to be referred to as ‘platinum;’ and woe betide the poor soul who dared call it grey.

Although she was quite spry, Lady Catherine walked with an elaborately carved cane. The item was useful as a weapon with which to poke and prod people, and she brandished it expertly. The woman was nearly as tall as her brother but had a more bony build, which she continued to clothe in black bombazine despite the fact Sir Lewis de Bourgh had been dead more than ten years. Always a bit touched in the upper works, the death of Lady Catherine’s husband intensified her peculiar outlook on life; and so she continued to willingly wear the widow’s willow. Her only concessions to fashion were the outlandish lifeless birds, freakish feathers, and peculiar plumes her bizarre bonnets oft-times flaunted.

“Good afternoon, sister dear. What brings you to London? Surely you have not come all the way from Kent simply for a friendly visit. In fact, I do not believe you have ever done such a civil thing in your life as pay someone that sort of courtesy.”

“Where is my daughter, Henry?”

“I was not aware you had a daughter by the name of Henry. Surely, you are not addressing me in such a familiar manner.”

“Oh, get stuffed, brother! And stop calling me Shirley. Where is Anne?”

“Which Anne? If you mean our lovely sister, I imagine she is at her home. I have not seen her since the ball.”

“A ball do you call it? By all accounts, you should more accurately describe last night’s event as a disgusting and distasteful den of debauchery, deviance, dissipation, degeneracy, and depravity. Why was I not invited? If I find out, however, that my Anne was in attendance at such an orgy, there will be the devil to pay. Heaven and earth, Henry! Of what were you thinking?”

“Just now I was thinking you, madam, are demented, deranged, and disturbed.”

“I am most decidedly disturbed, distressed, distraught, and dismayed by all this corruption. I demand you tell me at once! Where is my daughter?”

“You may ask questions which I shall choose not to answer, and that was one of them.”

“This is not to be borne, you egregious earl! You cannot keep me from my own flesh and blood. Nevertheless, that is not the sole reason for my visit. I insist on being satisfied, and you can be at no loss to understand the reason of my journey hither. A report of a most alarming nature reached me via the newspaper this morning. I learned, in addition to having the gall to introduce the wicked waltz last night, it was announced your son, our nephew, and our niece are all engaged to be married. I know the rumours must be scandalous falsehoods, yet I instantly resolved on setting off to Town to insist upon having these reports universally contradicted and retracted in the papers.”

“Catherine, the reports are not merely gossip. Richard, Fitzwilliam, and Georgiana are, indeed, quite happily betrothed.”

“No! A match between Darcy and this Hertfordshire hussy can never take place. Pemberley’s heir is engaged to Anne. They are both descended from our noble line, Henry. We must keep all that splendid Darcy fortune in the family.”

“When will you cast aside unmitigated avarice for the Darcy fortune and irrational jealousy of your own sister? For once and for all, Anne did not steal George away from you. He has always been a perfectionist and recognized your flaws upon first acquaintance. Pemberley and the other Darcy estates and wealth are lost to you just as surely as Rosings will be because of Lewis’ will. Perhaps instead of a match between Anne and Fitzwilliam, you more wisely should have promoted one for her with Richard. Nevertheless, have no fear, Catherine. My second son is a generous man and will, no doubt, allow you to live in the dower house when he inherits Rosings on the eight-and-twentieth anniversary of his birth. By the way, since that day quickly approaches and he is now engaged, we should inform him of the legacy. It is, indeed, unfortunate Lewis died before you could produce a male heir; even so, you shall certainly not be cast out into the hedgerows. Of course, this is all speculation on my part and contingent on your behaviour over the next few months. I have been in favour of committing you to Bedlam each time you have one of your episodes, although the rest of the family has strongly objected to such harsh treatment. Behave yourself, and you may be allowed to stay out of the asylum; the decision is yours, sister dear.”

“You would not dare be so cruel and callous to your own sibling. In any event, Henry … What in perdition’s pit was that?”

“What was what? Are you hallucinating again, Catherine? Do you see pink elephants?”

“No. That. It sounds like laughter … Anne’s laughter! To what wickedness is my daughter now being exposed in this unholy, heathen house of hedonism?”

Lady Catherine de Bourgh stormed off and followed the sound of female giggles and male guffaws to the drawing room, where she was horrified to find Anne and an unknown young man sitting together on a sofa. Her daughter’s companion, the elderly Mrs. Ann Teak, quietly sewed in a corner and was overlooked by the enraged woman. Anne and Bingley abruptly stopped laughing upon Lady Catherine’s sudden appearance; and the gentleman stood, then quickly stepped back as far as the sofa would allow when the harridan advanced upon him and flailed her deadly looking cane in his direction.

Ann Teak made her presence known, but Lady Catherine was not placated. “Mrs. Teak, you are dismissed. Permanently. Anne, go pack your belongings immediately.” The walking stick was held against Bingley’s chest as she addressed him. “And you, whoever you are, how dare you have designs on Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings Park. Well, speak, man. Who are you?”

“Ma’am, I am Charles Bing … ”

“Mr. Bing, do you know who I am? I am Anne’s mother and am, therefore, entitled to know every teeny-tiny, minuscule detail of her life. Now, who are you, and what are your intentions?”

“Mother, please allow me to introdu … ”

“Anne, are you still here? What did I just tell you to do?”

“Well, if you cannot remember, I do not believe I should have to tell you.”

“Obstinate, headstrong girl! Who is this male person?”

“Mother, this is Mr. Charles Bing … ”

“Yes, yes! You have both now told me his name. Be that as it may, who are you, Charles Bing? Who are your parents, uncles, and aunts? What are your bloodlines, wealth, and connections? What is your business here? Let me be rightly understood, Mr. Bing. If you dare have the presumption to aspire to a match with my daughter, I must tell you such an understanding can never take place. No, never! Contrary to popular belief,” continued the contrary harridan, “Anne is engaged to my nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Now what have you to say?” 

Charles desperately tried to remember all the questions fired at him but was saved from having to say anything by the arrival of Miss de Bourgh’s uncle. The Earl of Matlock informed his sister that Mr. Bingley was a guest in his home and had been so on numerous occasions, as he was Richard’s good friend. He then asked her to kindly refrain from further interrogation of the chap and inquired if she needed to be escorted to her carriage. 

Anne saw the terrible transformation begin when her mother’s face contorted with anger; and the fast-thinking young woman grabbed Bingley’s hands, placed them over his innocent ears, and held them in place as Lady Catherine de Bourgh began to cuss like a sailor. Her profanity continued until she was all s-worn out, had worn out her welcome, and was escorted to her waiting carriage. 

“It hardly seemr,s fai Elizabeth,” said Darcy petulantly. “Fitz and your sister only have one chaperone while we have five. Tell me, have you heard the expression ‘two’s company, three’s a crowd?’”

She nodded.

“Well, what is four and five?”

“Nine?”

“Actually, I believe ‘four’s too many, and five’s not allowed.’”

“Well, sir, do you know why six was afraid of seven?”

“No. But I wager you are just itching to tell me.”

“Six was afraid of seven, because seven eight nine.” Darcy looked serious, so Lizzy rolled her eyes and explained. “Seven ate nine, as in consumed, devoured, partook of … Oh, my! I suddenly feel like Little Red Riding Hood. Why are you staring at me in such a wolfish manner, sir?”

“What fine eyes you have, Elizabeth.”

“All the better to see you with, Mr. Darcy.”

“Mr. Darcy is your father-in-law-to-be. Will you not call me Fitzwilliam when we are alone?”

“With five chaperones, we are hardly alone, Fitzwilliam.”

He glanced at the others, noticed they were all engrossed in the game of marbles, and took advantage of the opportunity to move closer to Elizabeth on the park bench. Darcy slid his arm along the top of the seat behind her and contemplated pulling her into an embrace and stealing a kiss. He was just gathering enough courage to make a move when they were startled by cries of alarm from the children, and they hurried over to the grassy field where Kitty, Lydia, and Robert had been playing under the watchful eyes of Alice and Baines. One of Kitty’s marbles had rolled far out of bounds; and when Elizabeth and Darcy reached the others, they saw with dismay Lydia had discovered a dead sparrow. The little girl was kneeling by the body of the bird; she lifted teary eyes, looked at the gentleman and asked, “What happened to it, sir?”

Darcy squatted down to the little girl’s level and explained the sparrow had died and gone to heaven. Robert ran to Darcy, climbed onto his knee, almost threw the man off balance, and raised his arms to be picked up. When Darcy complied, Robert asked, “Did God throw the birdie back down, Mither Darthy?”

One advantage of not having animals in the house was the Bennet children had not suffered the loss of a beloved pet. Darcy had experienced such heartbreak more than once; so, as his mother had done for him, he explained it as best as he could to the youngsters. “Death is a part of life, and most animals have a shorter lifespan than humans.” He said the sparrow was probably old or ill and no longer needed its earthly body. Darcy then suggested they bury the bird in the woods and sent Baines off to find an implement with which to dig a small hole.

While they waited for the footman, Robert was a source of nonstop questions. “Will he be happy in heaven? Will he fly around again there? Will he meet God? Will he be with other sparrows? Will he find something to eat when he gets hungry? Will he sleep on a cloud?” When Kitty suggested a name be chosen for the poor creature before it was buried, Darcy decided ‘Willie’ would be a good choice; and the others agreed.

When the deed was done and an improvised eulogy delivered by Kitty, Robert was instructed to gently refill the hole with soil. Darcy crafted a cross from two twigs bound into formation with long blades of grass, and he placed it into the ground at the head of the grave. At his suggestion, Lydia picked flowers and added them to the memorial; Darcy kindly did not mention they were weeds that made him sneeze. Elizabeth hugged her siblings and needlessly worried they might be upset for quite some time; however, the children soon completely forgot the incident and skipped away to return to their game of marbles.