Page 12 of Pride, Prejudice & Wicked Pleasure

Lizzy went back inside the house to inform Charlotte and Mr. Collins. “Surely neither you nor Lady Catherine would object to this act of goodwill?”

“Lady Catherine is a benefactress of the orphan asylum as well,” Mr. Collins replied. “As her ladyship exemplifies philanthropy, she would have taken action if she saw a great need for additional charity.”

“The books would do no good sitting in the Trenwith library.”

“I think it rather ill of Mrs. Trenwith to engage your assistance in her housecleaning.”

“I, too, am a good judge of character. If there is anything nefarious in the way of Mrs. Trenwith, I shall discern it soon enough.”

“What if you are not returned when Miss de Bourgh passes by?” Maria asked.

“I do not think she would venture out in such questionable weather, and she would hardly notice my absence as she clearly prefers the conversation of Charlotte or yourself.”

Nothing could be said to deter Lizzy. Mr. Collins, looking more displeased than the moment when he had finally realized Lizzy was never going to accept his hand in marriage, declared a need to work in the garden, but not before saying,

“You will only confirm Lady Catherine’s appraisal and find you have wasted a good many hours in the effort. I hope in the future you will see the efficiency of using her judgment for your own.”

Returning outside, Lizzy eagerly climbed into the curricle.

“You may think it rude of me not to have alighted,” Abby said, “but perhaps Mr. Collins has shared with you that he does not welcome my presence.”

With such knowledge, it was brazen of her to call at the Parsonage, Lizzy thought. Then she remembered that Mrs. Trenwith did not concern herself much with the opinions of others.

“As he knows me little, his sentiments toward me are more a reflection of the attitude of Catherine de Bourgh,” Abby continued.

Lizzy perfectly understood why Lady Catherine would disapprove of the free and outspoken Mrs. Trenwith.

“I have not heard her to mention you, but Mr. Collins did note your absenteeism from church,” Lizzy replied.

“No doubt he considers me a great heretic.”

The idea amused them both, and they shared a smile.

“You must be aware, my dear Elizabeth that you risk censure in your association with me.”

“Yes,” Lizzy contemplated, “and perhaps it is selfish of me to seek your company for I have certainly upset Mr. Collins and perhaps Charlotte, too. I hope that Lady Catherine is dispassionate enough not to fault Mr. and Mrs. Collins for my errant ways. I have no fear of her wrath and would prefer it to fall upon my shoulders alone.”

“I should not have placed you in such a difficult position and will call upon you at the Parsonage no more, though I admit that, on occasion, as with this morning, I am given to the whims of mischief such that I cannot refrain from perturbing Mr. Collins or even Lady de Bourgh. Mistake me not, she is to be respected in her right, but we are cut from different cloths.”

“I think you would get on very well with my father,” Lizzy remarked.

“Would I? Well, if he is half as agreeable as you, my dear, I should think you correct.”

Back at Trenwith House, Abby showed Lizzy into the library, a splendid room stuffed to the brim with books on every wall, save for the one with the large bay window. Lizzy could see herself spending hours engrossed in a book while curled before the hearth or among the cushions at the window or lounging on the long sofa. The inventory Mrs. Trenwith had acquired, stacked upon the tables and in boxes upon the floor, consisted of diverse genres. Lizzy and Abby combed through everything from John Milton to Adam Smith to find books appropriate for young girls. Lizzy found there were few works of great literature that Abby could not comment upon. Mrs. Trenwith was certainly the most well-read woman she had ever come across.

Lizzy had just finished setting aside copies of The Fables of Aesop when Mr. Singh entered to inform Mrs. Trenwith that a Mrs. White had come to call and was most anxious to speak with Mrs. Trenwith.

“This may take some time,” Abby informed Lizzy, “but I think a respite is required. You have been most industrious.”

“I would have gone at a faster pace had I not been drawn to read a bit for myself,” Lizzy admitted.

After Abby had left, Lizzy decided to stretch her legs by walking about the room and perusing what books the Trenwiths kept. She found a section of literature devoted to the abolition of slavery, with the writings of Olaudah Equiano and Granville Sharp, and a section on philosophy, with the works of John Locke and Mary Wollstonecraft, among others. The wall on the far side of the room began with rows of poetry at the bottom, followed by the dramas of Ben Johnson and Christopher Marlow, and on the top shelves, inaccessible without aid, were the writings of the Comte de Mirabeau, Rétif de la Bretonne, and the Marquis de Sade.

Lizzy narrowed her eyes, unsure that she had seen correctly. She pulled a chair from the writing table and used it as a stepstool. She had not been mistaken. Reaching for one of the books, she pulled out a copy of Justine ou Les Malheurs de la vertu. Why did the Trenwith library have a work Napoleon deemed “the most abominable book ever engendered by the most depraved imagination?” Was Abby aware of the book? If so, did she know its contents?

Like Pandora holding a pithos, Lizzy weighed the book in her hands. What little she knew of the book and its author suggested the substance to be far more offensive than anything found in Fanny Hill. Did she dare open the cover?

After a moment of hesitation, she opened the book to an arbitrary page and glanced at a passage: