Lady Catherine’s Cat Part 5

And now the conclusion to August’s short story. Ginger encourages some thoughtful conversation.

If you missed earlier parts, find them HERE

Lady Catherine’s Cat, Part 5

Her insides roiled with his revelations. As much as her heart demanded she must, how could she deny his assertions? He declared himself to have been totally unsuspicious of her sister’s attachment. Charlotte’s opinion had been much the same.  Neither could she deny the justice of his description of Jane. He was right that Jane’s feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her air and manner not often united with great sensibility.

The justice of his charges against her family struck her too forcibly for denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded to at the Netherfield ball could not have made a stronger impression. She remembered them frighteningly, horridly well. The compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt. It soothed, but it could not console her and as she considered that Jane’s disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest relations, and reflected how materially that the credit of both of them must be hurt by such impropriety of conduct. Had there ever been a more depressing thought? She would have hidden her face in her hands save Ginger required them both.

Worse still, they were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laughing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his youngest daughters. Her mother, with manners so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had frequently united with Jane in an endeavor to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia; but while they were supported by their mother’s indulgence, what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia’s guidance, had been always affronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willed and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him; and while Meryton was within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there forever. A shiver coursed down her spine. It was exactly as Mr. Darcy suggested.

Ginger pressed the top of his head to her cheek and purred. She scratched under his chin. “I do not like admitting it, but I understand how my family might be a great impediment to a man’s admiration toward my sister.”

Darcy nodded very slowly. “But it would be nothing if there were true affection on both sides.”

“Do you truly believe that, or are you saying that as it is the societally appropriate thing to say?” She chanced a glance at him.

His face screwed up into knots as though trying to work out whether or not she was serious. Had Colonel Fitzwilliam teased him similarly? Given his disposition it was likely. But it did not seem Mr. Darcy quite knew what to do with it.

“Society is loath to admit it, but with a fortune like Bingleys, and affection in the home as a balm, a very great deal may be overlooked and forgiven.”

He seemed so earnest, even a little timid, so unlike the proud, unfeeling man that he had appeared to be in Meryton.  But no, he could not have changed so quickly. She could not allow herself to be distracted by his deep and feeling eyes. The harm enacted towards Jane and Bingley were not the only charges at his feet. She steeled herself and drew a deep breath. “Forgive me if I note that there seems to be an insincerity to your character which I cannot understand. You seem to be willing to acknowledge the hurt you have caused to one friend, while standing fast against another? What kind of friend are you sir?”

“Pray forgive me madam, but I have no idea of what you speak.”

“Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? Or under what misrepresentation, can you claim now for your imposition upon him?”

Ginger yowled at the sound of Wickham’s name and leapt from her shoulder into Darcy’s arms, leaving several claw pricks along her collarbone. She clapped her hand over her wounds. Spiteful creature!

“You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns.” All warmth left his voice.

“Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help feeling an interest in him?”

“His misfortune! Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed.” Darcy’s upper lip curled back.

“And of your infliction!” She advanced at step toward him. “You have reduced him to his present state of poverty. You have withheld the advantages, which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life, of that independence which was his due. You have done all this! Yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule.”

“So you believe I have, in defiance of honor and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity, and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham; that I have willfully and wantonly thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favorite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage, and who had been brought up to expect its exertion.” He ran his hand along Ginger’s back as though to calm himself.

How strange. While he seemed angry at the accusation, it was an odd sort of anger, as though he believed himself a victim, not a perpetrator.

“I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. The truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity, including my cousin Fitzwilliam. I am sure he would not hesitate to offer an explanation very similar to my own if you ask him about my father’s god-son, the gentleman in question.”

God-son? Wickham was old Mr. Darcy’s god-son? Did that not just make Darcy’s crimes against him even worse? She folded her arms across her chest and willed herself to listen to what surely would be an entirely insufficient explanation.

But what he related, if true—and she would apply to Colonel Fitzwilliam for that—were so astonishing, they must overthrow every cherished opinion of Mr. Wickham’s worth.

Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wished to discredit it entirely, but Darcy’s account of Wickham’s connection with the Pemberley family was exactly what Wickham had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy, of Wickham’s resigning all pretensions to the living, of his receiving, in lieu, so considerable a sum as three thousand pounds, again was she forced to hesitate. She wrapped her arms tight around her waist.

The extravagance and general profligacy which Darcy scrupled not to lay to Mr. Wickham’s charge exceedingly shocked her. But should it? Of his former way of life, nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As to his real character, had information been in her power, she had never felt a wish of enquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. Yet, despite her valiant efforts, she could recall no instance of him demonstrating any of those traits she had willingly attributed to him. In fact, so many times, he had acted the very opposite. The conversation she shared with him at the Philips’ was so entirely improper. She blushed hot.

Worse still, considering Wickham’s attentions to Miss King, Darcy’s tale of his sister’s dealing with Wickham were entirely, despicably, believable. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. How despicable my thoughts. I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! How humiliating is this discovery!  Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind.

“Are you well, Miss Bennet?” He peered at her with such concern.

“I fear what you have related to me has come as rather a surprise.” That was to put it mildly, very mildly.

“Shall I escort you to the parsonage? Are you in need of a place to rest?”

Heavens, she could not encounter Mr. Collins in such as a state as she was in! “Pray no, I prefer to take some air, perhaps continue to walk.”

“Then allow me and Ginger to walk with you.” Ginger echoed the sentiment with a loud ‘Mrow.’

“Thank you for the offer, but I am not likely to be of good conversation.”

“I would think that by now you know well enough, that good companionship does not always require liberal conversation.” He gestured toward the path.

Two ginger cats approve!

Ginger meowed insistently, his shoulder bunching as if to jump. Did he mean to run off so they would have to chase him if she did not agree? Vexing creature probably did.

“Very well, sir, we may walk together this afternoon.”

Something about his smile suggested that she had just offered a gift of great value. What could that mean?

Click HERE for all the posted parts.

So what will become of Ginger and our dear couple? Let me know in the comments.