Lady Catherine's Necklace

  My paper reminds me to conclude now, dear Mrs Jennings – also Charlotte’s housekeeper, Mrs Denny, is come to tell me that it is the twins’ feeding-time, and I am under contract to play the piano during those periods in order to keep them all calm and cheerful.

  With very deepest gratitude and love

  Your affectionate friend,

  Maria Lucas

  ‘The expression dusty-foot,’ said Lord Luke, carefully dissecting a pineapple, ‘properly derives from Pié poudré, a court formerly held at a fair on St Giles’s Hill, near Winchester. It was originally authorized by the Bishop of Winton. Similar courts were held elsewhere, at wakes and fairs, for the summary treatment of pedlars and hawkers who had given short measure, to make them fulfil their contracts.’

  Lord Luke’s sister regarded him with detestation.

  ‘Lucius,’ said Lady Catherine, ‘will you kindly desist from irrelevant maunderings and tell me what, precisely, it was that Caroline ffynch-Rampling told you in her letter concerning our sister-in-law Adelaide, and her declared intention of altering her testamentary dispositions?’

  Lord Luke gazed vacantly at his sister. His pale blue eyes watered a great deal at all times. He now dabbed them with a snowy handkerchief.

  He said: ‘It is somewhat remarkable that pige should be the Norse word for maiden, and hog or og Gaelic for young persons generally. Thus ogan is a young man, and oige a young woman. The common notion that “please the pigs” is a corruption of “please the pix” is wholly unworthy of credit.’

  ‘Luke! Will you, pray, be so good as to reply to my question?’

  ‘The word question, as meaning the application of torture to extract an answer, was used in 1593,’ replied her brother. ‘Of course it may have been employed before that time; how can we tell? But of that date we can be tolerably certain.’

  ‘Lucius. I shall be obliged if you will show me the letter you say you have received from Caroline.’

  ‘Alas, my dear, I fear I must carelessly have left it behind in Derbyshire. Or, perhaps … lost it somewhere along the way here. The Derby Stakes, did you know, were instituted by the twelfth earl in 1780, the year after his establishment of the Oaks Stakes. Hence, Derby Day is the second Wednesday of the great Epsom Spring Meeting. Should we, perhaps, make up a party to go there? Do you not think that would make an agreeable outing? My finances are at low ebb, so a lucky bet would recruit them agreeably. I doubt of Epsom’s lying much more than fifty miles from Hunsford, hardly more than half a day’s journey…’

  Lady Catherine contained herself with a great effort.

  ‘Lucius! You must be aware of the importance of this matter, or you would not have bestirred yourself to travel all the way from Derbyshire to Kent. You know that our sister-in-law Adelaide inherited a very substantial sum when her father-in-law died?’

  ‘Hmm,’ murmured Lord Luke, ‘something decidedly havey-cavey there…’

  ‘And since both her children perished in the Arethusa shipwreck off the Irish coast, there are no direct heirs. It is our plain duty to see that this important property is not assigned away on some foolish, headstrong caprice of Adelaide. You must acknowledge the necessity for firm direction in that quarter?’

  ‘Quarter,’ vaguely repeated Lord Luke. ‘Were you aware that the derivation of that word, as applied to sparing the life of an enemy, comes from an agreement anciently made between the Dutch and Spaniards, that the ransom of a soldier should be one-quarter of his pay? It makes one reflect that the rules of war are no more than some primitive, preposterous game!’

  ‘Lucius!’

  ‘My dear Catherine, you know as well as I do that our sister-in-law Adelaide is a law unto herself. Her only response to any suggestion from you, or indeed from myself, would be to act in a manner flat contrary to what was suggested.’

  ‘Yes. And by making use of that propensity she may be guided,’ Lady Catherine grimly replied, doing her best to disguise her relief at her brother’s sudden descent into rationality.

  He sighed and spread out his hands. Lord Luke was a slight, spare, shrunken man with a few strands of greying hair dispersed tidily and carefully over his balding crown, a receding jaw and two small eyebrows that perched like circumflexes over pale, startled eyes.

  ‘But Catherine,’ he said, ‘what is your object in all this? I have no offspring – thanks to a beneficient Providence which has preserved me from matrimony or any such entanglements – and your daughter Anne is sufficiently provided for. Did you not inform me that she will have a cool fifty thousand to sugar the nuptial pill for poor FitzWilliam? Can it, therefore, really be worth undertaking an embassy to that distasteful island – Great Morran is its name? The trip to Brinmouth itself must occupy several days of fatiguing carriage travel, and that cannot but be followed by a sea passage. It does not bear thinking about.’

  ‘If you yourself are so averse to the idea of visiting Adelaide,’ retorted his sister, her cheeks flushed with annoyance, ‘why, pray, give yourself the trouble of riding all this way into Kent?’

  ‘But my dear Catherine, a visit to Rosings, with its admirable chef, its succession houses, above all its superlative system of heating,’ Lord Luke spread out his gnarled hands gratefully to the noble fire, ‘must always be a treat, especially at this time of year, when snow still lies thick upon the Derbyshire hills. (Not that I do not still regret the picturesque ancestral pile of Hunsford Castle, not that I did not deeply, deeply lament its destruction in order to give place to this commonplace example of modern domestic architecture),’ he glanced disparagingly about the large salon, ‘but still, if ancestral relics must be rudely done away with it is something if at least they are exchanged for Rumford stoves and a lavish supply of hot water … now what, I wonder, might be the derivation of the term succession house? From the succession of crops, do you suppose? Succession powder, of course, was the poison employed by the Marquise de Brinvilliers in her poisonings for the benefit of successors – it is said that King James was so murdered by Villiers, Duke of Buckingham … Some connection with the succession of crops, I fancy it must undoubtedly be. I will ask that excellent gardener of yours, Smirke – is not that his name? I do trust that he is still in your employ; he has a fine hand with asparagus.’

  ‘But to travel to one of the Isles of Scilly, my good Catherine, at this season of spring gales; no, no, my dear sister, you really must hold me excused. You are, without a shadow of doubt, the properest person to undertake that mission – that is, if you really consider it worth the trouble and time spent.’

  ‘It is not in the least convenient.’ A frown creased Lady Catherine’s brow and ran up into her satin turban. ‘I have the Dale-Rothburns dining here on Thursday night – I cannot put them off – and Sir Marmaduke and Lady Towers next week.’

  ‘Ah, dear old Marmie, I am always happy to see him again.’

  ‘If you intend to prolong your stay here, Lucius,’ said Lady Catherine, ‘you must tell that man of yours, Sarcot – is that his name? – to be a great deal more civil in his manner to my maid Pronkum.’

  ‘But surely, Catherine,’ responded Lord Luke limply, ‘surely you will be taking your attendant with you to the isle of Great Morran?’

  ‘Pronkum is quite useless on a ship. She at once becomes completely prostrated by mal de mer, and this puts her in such a wicked temper for the week preceding and the week after, that taking her to Great Morran is not to be thought of,’ said Lady Catherine irritably. ‘If I go, I must take Hoskins, a woman I have recently hired to assist Pronkum, which is not a satisfactory arrangement. My mind is by no means made up on the matter…’

  Lord Luke appeared prepared to launch into a series of arguments in favour of his sister’s mission, when the Delavals entered the room, Ralph propelling his sister in the basket-chair.

  ‘So stupid,’ Miss Delaval explained with her quick, mischievous smile. ‘I wanted to go as far as the lake – I had heard so much of its beauties – but the walk proved too far for m
y ankle. Ridiculous me! And the outcome is that I am back on wheels once more. But we interrupt a family conference! Forgive us, we will go into the library.’

  ‘No, no, pray do not think of going, my dear Miss Delaval!’ exclaimed Lord Luke. ‘You may help to persuade my sister that a visit to the isle of Great Morran at this season of the year can afford her nothing but pleasure – the flowers, the gardens of Morran Manor, I understand are quite magnificent.’

  There had, it seemed, been some slight former acquaintance between Lord Luke and the Delavals; Mardale Place, the crumbling establishment inhabited by Lord Luke in Wensleydale, was not too far distant from Mr Bingley’s newly built house, where the brother and sister had recently spent a period of time advising the latter about the layout of his grounds.

  ‘If you are quite sure that we do not intrude … My sister and I have been discussing (and admiring) the prospect from your knot-garden, Lady Catherine, and we are entirely agreed upon one point…’

  Welcoming the change of subject from the Duchess of Anglesea’s grounds to her own, Lady Catherine was prepared to listen.

  ‘All the views from Rosings are unequalled,’ she pronounced. ‘But what is it that you have in mind, sir?’

  ‘Oh, madam, you are quite right, they are indeed unequalled, but it seemed to us very unfortunate that from the knot-garden – and, in fact, from the southerly windows on the first and second floors of this house – that scrubby little cottage and shed intrude so wretchedly upon the scene. Without them, or perhaps with some pleasing grotto or classic temple erected to replace them—’

  ‘Humph,’ said her ladyship, considering, ‘there may be something in what you say.’

  She did not observe the appalled expression on the countenance of her daughter Anne.

  ‘Something quite plain – Doric columns, or perhaps a replica of the Parthenon?’

  ‘Is the cottage occupied?’ inquired Miss Delaval. ‘Will it be necessary to rehouse the occupants if the building is pulled down?’

  ‘The cottage is rented. In such an eventuality the tenants must find themselves other accommodation. That would be their affair. I am under no obligation—’

  ‘But Mamma,’ ventured Anne in a very small voice, ‘Mr Mynges and Mr Finglow live there. They were Papa’s friends.’

  ‘My dear, do not put yourself forward in matters which are no concern of yours,’ said Lady Catherine sharply. ‘It is most unbecoming.’

  Anne fell silent. Miss Delaval gave her a slight, sympathetic smile, raising her brows as if to say, I perfectly comprehend your feelings, but what can I do?

  She has freckles on her nose, thought Anne de Bourgh. Her skin is smooth but thick, like the pith of an orange. It is not so fine as my skin, or that of Maria Lucas, who has a very delicate, clear complexion, though somewhat pale. I do not trust Miss Delaval. She reminds me of the cat Alice…

  IV

  At this season Anne de Bourgh frequently rose before six, comfortably conscious that nobody else in the mansion who might be likely to pursue her with reprimands and prohibitions would be stirring for some time yet.

  Her first objective was a cherry orchard, which lay to the east of the vegetable gardens. In early morning the rays of the sun rising over Hunsford Hill caught the white blossom here and turned it to a spectacular dazzle.

  ‘Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough,’ Anne murmured to herself, staring up at the snowy canopy. ‘Oh, how I should like to have a cherry orchard of my very own.’

  ‘But all this’ll be yourn one day, will’n it, missie?’ said Joss the garden-boy, coming up beside her with a trug full of turnips, his black-and-white mongrel dog Pluto following behind.

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Anne, ‘but by then I shall be married to my cousin FitzWilliam. And I heard him yesterday agreeing with the Delavals that this orchard should be cut down because the trees are old, too big; picking the fruit takes too much labour, and in any case the orchard cuts off the view of the lake from the library windows. I do not imagine that I shall have any say in the matter.’

  ‘That do seem wholly unfair,’ remarked Joss, ‘when ’tis through you that the orchard come to be his’n. But there! Things hardly ever is fair.’ He whistled a few bars of ‘Cherry Ripe’, and added inconsequentially, ‘My mam used to make wondrous good dried cherries. ’Twas a receipt she told me she had from Mrs Godwin the parson’s lady.’

  ‘The one before Mrs Collins,’ said Anne. ‘She died when I was a baby. I never tasted her dried cherries. I’ll ask Mrs Collins if she still has the receipt; I believe that when the Collinses moved into the parsonage, they found a number of old books that had belonged to the Godwins. There may be a receipt book among them.’

  ‘I’d best get on,’ Joss remarked, ‘or Cook’ll have my tripes for pot-holders.’ Noticing Anne’s downcast expression, he added, ‘Come, you, missie, and see my Pluto take his morning dip. That always rouse your sperrits.’

  Between the cherry orchard and the knot-garden lay a small walled courtyard enclosing a fountain. This consisted of a bowl, raised on a pedestal about four feet above the flagged pavement, with a series of smaller basins above, each less in circumference than the one below, topped by a spout of water thrown upwards to fall back from basin to basin. The bottom one, somewhat larger than a hip bath, was greatly favoured by Pluto, who now sprang up into it, rolled himself luxuriously under the sheets of water that fell from above, then jumped down to the ground and shook himself with vigour. Anne laughed, as she always did, at this enjoyable scene, while keeping herself safely distant from the flying drops of spray.

  ‘Again, Joss! Make him do it again!’

  Joss whistled between his teeth, but Pluto needed no urging and repeated the procedure with enthusiasm.

  ‘Come on now, boy, or us’ll be in trouble,’ ssaid Joss, and strode off whistling.

  Ralph Delaval, returning from an early-morning excursion to the village of Hunsford, thought what a startling improvement laughter made to Anne de Bourgh’s looks.

  ‘Good morning!’ he greeted her. ‘Have you, like myself, been calculating what a fine crop of cherries there will be? We must persuade Lady de Bourgh to postpone the execution of the orchard until the crop has been gathered in.’ He noticed how her expression at once fell back into its habitual look of sour withdrawal.

  ‘It is no use wasting your civilities on Anne de Bourgh,’ his sister Priscilla had said to him. ‘She is betrothed to her cousin and resigned to it.’

  ‘You could put out your best arts and entice him from her,’ suggested Ralph.

  ‘He has no money,’ Priscilla’s tone was sad but resigned. ‘If I were ten years younger I could break my heart over him as I see Maria Lucas doing, but unless some windfall comes his way – that aunt in the Scillies – no, no, I am past the age for such follies. I think! Now: if Anne were to die, after he married her; if he were to become a wealthy widower—’

  ‘Come, come, my love!’ her brother said, laughing. ‘Enough of such morbid imaginings! We must address ourselves to the task in hand…’

  ‘I know, I know! We might do better in London. If you, dear brother, had not lost such a large sum at Garthover Chase—’

  ‘It was unfortunate,’ he said, shrugging. ‘How was I to know that Carrick would be there also? I had to give him his revenge.’

  ‘I am so glad that I am not a man, subject to such a ridiculous code of honour. And how fortunate it is that neither Lord Luke nor FitzWilliam are card-minded.’

  ‘Fortunate indeed, since neither can afford to lose. But a few games of whist would pass the time until madam comes to a decision.’

  ‘You are certain that she will do so?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said with casual confidence.

  Now, looking at Anne de Bourgh with the same instant judgement, he saw there was no possibility of cajoling or ingratiating himself into her favour; so he bowed, raised his hat and made for the glasshouses, where he would be fairly sure of e
ncountering Smirke.

  Anne walked in the other direction, towards the lake.

  * * *

  Down at the parsonage, Maria had been providing her usual musical accompaniment for the breakfast of her twin nephews.

  ‘How quiet the house seems when they are both asleep,’ she remarked at the end of this ceremony when the infants, replete, were fathoms deep in slumber, each in his own osier basket.

  ‘I miss Sam and Lucy,’ Charlotte said. ‘I think I shall send for them tomorrow. The house is too quiet without children’s voices. It must have been sad indeed in the time of the Godwins.’

  ‘Had they no children?’

  ‘No, she died in childbirth, poor thing. And the child died too, I believe, not immediately but later, during the typhus epidemic. So Mr Godwin became a disconsolate widower and was happy to move to Canterbury when he was offered a stall. Lady Catherine and he, you know, did not always see eye to eye; he did not take such pains, as Mr Collins does, to see matters from her point of view at all times.’

  ‘And his wife, Mrs Godwin? What sort of person was she?’

  ‘Much younger than her husband. Very young and pretty. So I hear from Mrs Hurst, and people in the village. She was a great walker, and knew a deal about birds and flowers and where rare orchids were to be found. Lady Catherine, I believe, did not wholly approve of her, and said that it was a judgement on her, for all her gadding about the woods and meadows, that she died in childbed. But she was quite a favourite with Sir Lewis, I understand; he too was interested in hellebores and monkey orchids, which it seems are to be found in abundance in these parts. Among the Godwins’ books I found a little manual of orchids that he had given her.’

  ‘Perhaps they went botanizing together.’

  ‘Oh, I do not think Lady Catherine would have approved of that.’

  ‘I wonder if he can have been a sensible man? I cannot imagine that a sensible man would have married Lady Catherine.’