Lady Catherine's Necklace (6 page)

As you may know, the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh demolished the remains of the ancient, picturesque but highly inconvenient Hunsford Castle in order to erect the commodious, modern-planned Rosings House on its site. The house was built in his lifetime, but the gardens, for which he had ambitious plans, were never completed, since his early death put an end to such activities for some years, and Lady Catherine, it seems, took little interest in his projects and has not troubled herself to finish what he began. But Mr Delaval's ideas, apparently, are much to her taste, and meet with her approbation. Meanwhile his sister is attempting to befriend Miss Anne de Bourgh, though in this endeavour, I think, her success is not so marked. Miss D. is herself remarkably elegant, both in wardrobe and deportment, but her attempts to smarten up Miss Anne have so far met with little response. We should soon be able to observe any changes, for they frequently come calling at the parsonage, Miss Delaval propelled in a basket-chair by her brother, as she is not yet equal to a half-mile walk, although I understand she is now able to take short strolls about the pleasure gardens and add her opinion to the discussions. They are so good as to felicitate me on my playing, and often pass pleasant mornings at this house when Lady C. is away from home sitting on her Justices' bench, chatting and listening to all the delightful music you sent.

Did I mention a Colonel FitzWilliam when I was staying with you? He is a son of the Earl of Wrendale, nephew to Lady C., whom I have met here before, on previous visits to Hunsford. He is now engaged to be married to Miss Anne. He arrived here recently, having escorted an elderly brother of Lady C. from his home in Derbyshire. The brother, Lord Luke Sherbrine, has some family business to transact, relating to their sister, the Duchess of Anglesea. We at the parsonage have not been informed as to the details of this, but it seems to give rise to no little anxiety and disagreement. Colonel F. does not come this way very much … I expect he will soon return to Derbyshire. He and Miss Anne do not spend much time together, by all accounts. Charlotte says the match has been arranged with a view to fortune, not the affections of the parties concerned, as is customary among that class of person…

Miss Anne is having her portrait painted as a wedding gift for her future husband, Colonel FitzWilliam. This is being kept a secret at present, both from her mother, and from the colonel. I became privy to the secret by chance, for I happened to call on the painter while a sitting was in progress. He lives with a friend, also a painter, in a cottage on the estate here. I had met them on a previous visit, and was returning a book on birds which they had lent to my sister. They are a most engaging pair, not young, most unusually well informed, well bred and conversible. The portrait, painted by the older man, Mr Desmond Finglow, of whom you have probably heard (I believe he is very well known), has caught a quality that is not often seen in Miss Anne – a thoughtful, attentive, eager, listening expression. As I think I may have mentioned before, the poor girl is, in general, decidedly plain, and most of the time wears a dull, downcast look, which intensifies to downright sulks and ill temper at such times as her mother addresses her. This is not greatly to be wondered at, for Lady C.'s remarks to her daughter are mainly severe reprimands or exhortations to sit up and look pleasant. The only time
I
have ever seen her look pleasant was on this occasion, when I chanced upon her in the painters' barn studio, sitting for her likeness. I could hardly have believed it was the same girl! She seemed so happy and at ease, addressing the painters as ‘Old Tom' and ‘Young Tom' and permitting their cat to sit on her lap. I do wonder, very much, what will happen when the portrait is done and presented and the cat is out of the bag! Old Tom – Mr Finglow – says this will be his last portrait, as his sight is failing, which is very sad. Young Tom, Mr Mynges, tells me that the style of this picture is very different from his former work: the outlines softer and freer, the whole (which he has painted with some difficulty) being intended to convey an image of Miss Anne's interior being rather than her external appearance. I wonder what Lady Catherine will make of it! When I look at the portrait I wish to make friends, achieve a closer acquaintance with Miss Anne. But this she will by no means permit. She is a strange girl. Perhaps she takes after her uncle, Lord Luke, who is decidedly eccentric. But the two seem to get on no better for that…

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 my 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…'