Chapter Three: Crossing Paths

I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there's a pair of us?
Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!

—E. Dickinson

"Well, what a pleasant surprise this will be for Lizzy, our coming three days early! There is certainly nothing so agreeable as seeing one's parents. And you know, Mr. Darcy will not mind. He was always quite the gentleman; yes, I dare say he will be quite delighted. And there will certainly be room enough—a place as grand as Pemberley! Why, I am sure they could host all of the King's army if they wished it." Mrs. Bennet had been rattling on in this way for most of the duration of the long journey to Derbyshire, having determined that it would be better to impose herself upon her second daughter sooner rather than later; and these self-assurances that it was the best thing in the world for her to do so were more for herself than for her husband, whom she sat beside as the carriage bumped along a country road. Catherine, who sat across from her mother, smiled placidly, though her thoughts were already at Pemberley.

"Yes—I am sure Lizzy has found that all of the radiating sense in her household has become quite oppressive," muttered Mr. Bennet, who rather felt they were taking too much of a liberty by arriving, unannounced, before they were expected; but he could not very well contradict his wife once she was set on doing something. Mrs. Bennet conveniently chose to ignore this insinuation, and instead addressed Mary, who had been intently poring over a book since they had left an inn in a small country hamlet early that morning.

"Mary, my dear, why not look out the window rather than read? You can do quite enough of that at home. The country is so wild in these parts—look at that little cliff in the distance! It is quite the thing. What a splendid place our Lizzy lives in now. I am prodigiously proud of her. My nerves were quite out of sorts when she turned down Mr. Collins, but I see the sly little thing had planned to get Mr. Darcy all along. Oh! My dearest girl! I am sure she must keep so many carriages, and wear such fine jewels." Mary momentarily lifted her eyes from the page she was reading, but then finding her mother quite content in raving about Elizabeth, recommenced her studies. She was not going to allow her mother's opinion of her inadequacy be shoved into her face when she might divert herself with something useful.

Mr. Bennet, on the other hand, was rather amazed at his wife's ability to completely misconstrue Elizabeth's character; but he decided to keep this sentiment to himself, feeling that it would be utterly futile to express it. Catherine paid no attention to these ravings, though she did find that the little cliff alluded to was quite delightful. She had never traveled very far from Longbourn herself, so her infatuation with these foreign landmarks was like that of a young child's. She was feeling antsy and anxious to be at Pemberley and to be dining with Mr. Darcy's high relations. Would Elizabeth buy her a new dress? Well, of course she would! She smiled at the thought, thinking her vanity would be much flattered this Christmas. A light frost had settled on the ground outside of the carriage, and it would have probably been quite chilly in the car had the four not been so nicely crammed in.

Even Mrs. Bennet eventually gave way to some reverie or other, and so the rest of the journey passed by in relative silence; only were the senses of each stirred when the carriage slowed and then came to a stop. Mrs. Bennet's dark eyes immediately glittered with the prospect of at last seeing that fabled house that she so often bragged of, and her chatter immediately returned, spoken with increased fervor and speed.

When she alighted from the carriage after her husband, she was exclaiming: "Oh! It is everything I imagined it to be and more! Look, Kitty—is it not the grandest place you have ever seen? My goodness, and to think that my Lizzy is mistress of all of this! Mr. Bennet? What is it? Who was that you were just speaking with?"

"I was speaking with the footman," explained he, sidling up to his wife; "and the Darcys, it seems, are dining out. That is the price to be paid coming unanticipated, you see."

"Oh, never mind that! There are servants enough to accommodate us, my dear. And it will make the impact of the surprise all the more thrilling. I am glad that they are not here just yet. I dare say they will return very shortly. And the footman will show is into the drawing-room, I suppose? Come along, girls! I have a great hankering to see the interior of this fine place immediately!" She clapped her hands together and bustled along towards the stairs leading up to the veranda.

Catherine and Mary trailed their mother, both in evident admiration of the splendor that was Pemberley. It was certainly not like any fine house that either had seen before; it was surrounded and nurtured by nature and beauty, and void of all of the tacky improvements that usually made an evident point of the tastelessness of its owner rather than complimented it. It is like a paradise, thought Catherine, and privately adding that perhaps Mr. Darcy was not as proud and disagreeable as she had supposed him to be formerly. She tucked a stray hair into her bonnet as she proceeded, then pausing for a moment as she studied the stream which ran alongside the stone building.

"Make haste, Kitty, and be a good girl. You should know by now that if you are naughty, there will be no balls at all for you," threatened Mr. Bennet jestingly. Catherine felt the full force of the insulting nature of this comment, however, feeling that she had deserved no such allusion to the (imagined) resentment that her father harbored against her since her concealment of Lydia's intentions to elope with Mr. Wickham. The tears filled her eyes, and she turned away, saying in a bitter passion:

"I do not want to go inside just yet. I will walk around. I have a will of my own, you know." And she started off in the opposite direction, as she could perceive a trail which went off the drive, hastily wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Kitty! You will get lost, certainly!" cried Mrs. Bennet somewhat exasperatedly. But she didn't stop. She was too upset with her father and the rest of her family for not understanding her sudden desire to be alone. The only thing which could console her hurt pride was the inoffensive dead foliage of Pemberley's grounds. She stalked off along the trail, examining with needless intensity the leafless trees and frosty undergrowth. She crossed her arms defiantly as she went up the winding hill, not heeding her family's protests that she immediately return.

Catherine walked around in this brooding way for some indefinite period of time, till she became suddenly conscious of the cold and the gathering clouds above her. She pulled her bonnet forwards so that it shielded her brow from a slight chilly breeze, and then wrapped her arms the more tightly about herself, clenching the sleeves of her cream-colored traveling coat. Luckily she had kept to the trail, so she did not deem herself to be hopelessly lost. She could no longer see the house through the scores of thickly-clumped trees; but she turned round with every intention of going back. It was enough that her father would be sorry for his offensive joke; and perhaps her sister had returned by now. She started a bit, though, when she heard some rustling behind her. She turned round again on her heel, secretly hoping that it was only some harmless hare that had come skipping across her path. She saw nothing, however, and stood still for some moments, paralyzed by her paranoia. However, soon she could perceive someone approaching her.

"Halloa!" cried a small voice. Catherine relaxed a little, finding that she appeared to be approached by no frightening creature. As the figure drew nearer, she saw that it was only a little girl, about eight years of age. Her face was glowing with the warmth of exercise despite it being a drafty, chilly day. She was dressed in a heavy wool cloak and she had a bonnet fastened round her neck, though it had fallen so as to reveal her long flaxen curls which hung somewhat untidily about her cheek. The girl smiled widely at Catherine, seeming to think this chance meeting no strange or disagreeable thing at all. Remembering her manners, she quickly fell into a slight curtsey.

"Hello," replied Catherine amiably, mimicking the civility and allowing her arms to fall languidly at her side. She could not but be positively affected by the pretty little child.

When she looked up from studying the girl, she was surprised to see a young man standing behind her. His complexion was likewise flushed, and he was breathing a little unsteadily from apparently chasing after the blooming adolescent. He had delicate, effeminate features with curling blonde hair of a slightly dustier shade than the girl's, and steely blue eyes. Catherine thought he looked too young to be the girl's father, and thought perhaps he was her older brother.

"Mrs. Darcy, I assume?" said the man with a hasty bow; "I am very sorry if we have intruded on your privacy—" But he stopped when Catherine began laughing.

"Oh, I am not Mrs. Darcy!" she quickly said in explanation; "I am her sister Catherine—or Kitty if you prefer—Bennet. But I will not tell Lizzy that you were here, if you rather I didn't. "

"Of course: Miss Bennet; we are exceedingly obliged to you. We don't make a hobby of trespassing on our neighbors' grounds, but Edith was admiring this trail, and I didn't see the harm in going on it this once." He gestured to the girl at his side to indicate that she was Edith. "But you are probably wondering who we are. I am Simon Mulligan, the rector at Kympton—and this is my charge, Edith."

A clergyman, thought Catherine with some disappointment. Her previous experience with men of that profession was not the best. When she thought of clergymen, she thought of strange, droll creatures who gave long sermons and read mind-wrenchingly philosophical books. Sort of like Mary. Her curiosity, however, was piqued by the fact that she recalled her brother-in-law Mr. Wickham once speaking of Kympton as the living he ought to have had; and that Mr. Mulligan referred to the young girl at his side as his "charge". She did have some sense of delicacy, however, so she did not inquire into this interesting choice of word.

Mr. Mulligan was examining his companion, like Catherine, with the utmost curiosity. He thought she looked a very pretty, genteel sort of girl, with clothing not entirely of the fashionable sort, but not quite plain either. Her amber-colored eyes seemed to almost glow in the dreary, bleak day—like something ethereal; a fairy, perhaps. She looked a bit disheveled, with mousy tresses flowing from beneath her bonnet in no particular arrangement; and as he studied her closer, he saw that those pretty eyes were slightly swollen and red, probably from crying. He thought perhaps the poor thing had undergone some sort of dilemma; so, with added gentleness, he said:

"We will not importune you any longer, miss. Good day."

"Good day," mimicked Edith with a nod of the head, then taking her guardian's hand, and they walked off in the opposite direction together. Catherine likewise turned and began retracing her steps towards the house. It began to snow a little as she neared Pemberley, which caused her to quicken her pace to a fast jog, and she consequently dirtied the hem of her dress from this reckless speed.

When she was shown into the guest parlor, she was met with several loud exclamations from her mother, who declared that her nerves had been sent in such a tizzy, what with her wandering around in a strange place. Catherine dealt with this the best she could, smiling mildly and dismissing claims of her being taken ill. Then she could greet her sisters Jane (who had arrived a few days previous) and Elizabeth and their husbands. She had never been very close with her two eldest sisters, but she was nonetheless pleased to see them. Marriage, she observed, had treated each well, and had by no means stripped them of the bloom of youth.

"Such a good house you keep, Lizzy!" said Mrs. Bennet, glancing around at the handsome furnishings and elegant draperies with satisfaction. "I dare say there is no need to economize when it comes to expenses—ten thousand a year! My heart flutters at the idea. But then it is not an idea, is it? Here is the reality. Oh, such a charming house: so fine, so grand!"

"Yes, Mamma," interposed Elizabeth wearily, noting that her husband had turned away since he could probably no longer fake a placid look; "In fact, I was wanting your opinion on—which color the sitting-room in my boudoir ought to be done in. I'll show you it right now, if you'd like."

"Of course, my dear," responded her mother, looking much flattered by her opinion being wanted on the décor of such a house. Elizabeth had not really planned for this little excursion, but she thought it preferable to her mother embarrassing them all as she rattled on in her thoughtless, impertinent way. Elizabeth took her mother's arm and they left the room.

No one spoke immediately once the door closed, as they were all apparently getting used to the sensation of not having Mrs. Bennet's shrill voice echoing through the room. Catherine glanced around, seeing Jane and Mr. Bingley seated beside each other on the window-seat, her father and Mary on chairs across from her, and Mr. Darcy in an arm-chair adjacent to the sofa on which Catherine was lounging. She could hear the faint tick of a grandfather clock in the corner, and feeling a bit oppressed by the silence, decided to say something to break it up.

"Are your relations coming for Christmas then too, Mr. Darcy?" She spoke of a subject which frequently entered her thoughts, for she very much wanted to dine with elegant ladies and gentleman whom she might have the honor of calling her family. And if there were a great many gentlemen, who was to say that one of them might not fall in love with her?

"Some of them," was the response. She thought this was all the response that she was to receive, and sunk back in the sofa; but then, thinking he ought to exert himself to be a little more sociable, added: "Two of my cousins are arriving on the morrow."

"Indeed!" said Catherine; "And who might they be?"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Rosaline."

"They're married, I suppose?" Disappointment was evident in Catherine's tone.

"No, neither of them!" said Mr. Darcy, almost with a laugh; "They're brother and sister." Catherine colored slightly at her mistake, and decided that she wasn't going to speak anymore. After all, Mr. Darcy was a very high and imposing man, and she was a little afraid of offending him. But this may not be so bad after all, she added as an afterthought, remembering that her mother had always recommended her marrying a wealthy colonel. And then there was Mr. Mulligan—oh! But he was just a clergyman. Colonel Fitzwilliam was sure to be agreeable, and most likely dukes and earls dined at Pemberley all the time; and Catherine fancied with the eventual object of finding a wife: so why couldn't that wife be her?