SOLITARY, something retired, or in private; remote from the Company, or Commerce of others of the same Species.
A Solitary COLUMN, is a Column that hands alone in any public Place; as the Trajan Column. See COLUMN.
A Solitary WORM, is a Worm Sometimes found in the Intestines, and which is always the only one of the Kind; as being placed in the Pylorus, and extending thence, the whole Length of the Intestines; so that there is no Room for another.
See WORM. - Cyclopaedia, or An universal dictionary of arts and sciences, Ephraim Chambers
Not for the first time in her life, Miss Anne de Bourgh woke to a world of pain and darkness.
As she groaned and wiped her eyes, she could dimly make out a figure moving at the side of her bed.
"Miss de Bourgh!" It was Jackson, her maid. Good.
"Yes?" Anne responded groggily.
"Begging you pardon, miss, but Lady Catherine asked me to let her know the moment you woke up. Would it be all right if I left you to go call her? There's water and some bread for you on the dresser."
"Mmph," she replied. When it became clear that this was too ambiguous a response, she added, "Yes, thank you, Jackson, that will be all."
As her brain slowly unfogged itself, it came upon her that this was not her bed. In fact, this was not even her house.
And then she remembered.
Mrs Jenkinson. Pemberley. That long, horrible, stupid trip.
Anne pulled herself into a sitting position and had a few sips of water. This might be her last chance to settle her thoughts before being sucked back into her mother's orbit. Travelling had been so taxing that she had barely managed to stay awake long enough to get into bed, so they had not had much of a chance to speak after she arrived.
She took a moment to savour the dark irony of her situation. Twenty years or so it had been since the last time she had been at Pemberley. Twenty years of sitting at home waiting for a proposal that never came, of listening to her mother and Mrs Jenkinson assure her of how much better her life would be when she was at Pemberley. And now here she was, she had finally made the long journey, and was lying in Darcy's bed (one of his beds, at any rate), and yet he had married someone else, and now Mrs Jenkinson was dead. Not that much of an improvement, all things considered.
Where was she anyway? She vaguely remembered the main guest bedrooms from her last visit, and this was not one of them. Had Darcy put her in some out of the way attic as a snub against her mother? That did not seem like him. But then she remembered: of course, the main rooms would have gone to Mrs Darcy's family. The giant clan of (by her mother's account) ill-bred, ill-mannered, money-grabbing boors. Anne wondered how many of them were here. That dark dumpy woman in the library had presumably been one of the daughters. She could not help but feel sorry for them: woe betide anyone who got between Lady Catherine de Bourgh and something she wanted.
And like a malicious devil waiting to be summoned by the mere thought of her name, her mother appeared in the doorway.
"Well," she said, "are you feeling much recovered? It was most distressing to see you taken so ill; you should not have taxed yourself so."
Anne merely frowned in reply, not ready to have this argument again.
"No matter, you are here now and obviously not fit for travel. Darcy has said he is happy for you to stay , it seems that he has not completely forgotten his familial obligations despite unaccountably bringing those people into it." She paused and frowned.
Recognising the familiar signs of her mother desiring an excuse to hold forth, Anne asked, "The Bennets do not improve upon further acquaintance?"
"Improve? That woman gets worse and worse. Such impudence! She has no respect for my position. None!" Lady Catherine took a breath and composed herself. "No, I cannot say that I am at all fond of the mother, she is every bit the low-born hoyden I first took her to be. And Mr Bennet has rarely been brave enough to show his face in my presence, so who can say what manner of man he is. But hopefully we will not need to speak to either of the parents much more in the future. I came here with the express intent of welcoming the new Mrs Darcy into the family, and in that regard I believe I have succeeded. She still shows the signs of her poor breeding, but seems to be trying to overcome it at least. She is most assuredly not qualified for the role, and I am sure the estate will suffer for it, but she is one of us now and we must make the best of what family we have, whether we like it or no."
"Yes," replied Anne. "I suppose we must."
Having reassured herself that Anne was not much more sick than usual, and having taken the opportunity to vent several days worth of frustration, Lady Catherine took her leave, and Anne sank back into an uneasy slumber.