Darcy and Anne (11 page)

L
ADY CATHERINE FELT NO INCLINATION TO BLAME HERSELF ON seeing her daughter unconscious on the floor; after all, the accident was caused by that ridiculous little dog: it was not
her
fault. She did as much as she felt any mother ought to do by ringing the bell, and sending the butler for help; and she would undoubtedly have dashed a glass of water onto Anne's face, if such a thing had been available. In spite of these attentions, it was known to every servant in Pemberley—house, gardens, and stables—in the space of a quarter of an hour, that Miss de Bourgh was dead, and that her mother had murdered her. It was even the subject of speculation whether she would be hanged, or whether, as some opined, being such a great lady, they could never stick it to her in a trial.

Anne recovered consciousness almost at once, and found that her mother was nowhere in sight, but that her maid, Georgiana's maid, Georgiana, the housekeeper, and Mrs Annesley were all hovering over her, and trying to attend to her. She declared that she was well, very well, so foolish of her! Nothing had happened, she had tripped; there was nothing the matter, only a slight bump on her head. However, when she tried to walk, she felt so faint and dizzy that she was obliged to sit down at once, and Mrs Annesley had no hesitation in directing that she was to be taken upstairs, and put to bed. “But Minette; let me take Minette with me.”

“No, my dear,” said Mrs Annesley. “Minette must stay; see, Miss Darcy will look after her, will you not, Miss Darcy?”

“Of course,” said Georgiana.

“No, no,” said poor Anne. “Someone may hurt her; it was not her fault,” and nothing would persuade her that the dog was safe with them. She became so agitated that, in the end, Mrs Annesley, who was pretty sure that Anne had a concussion, and that she should be kept quiet, herself carried Minette up to her bedchamber.

Meanwhile it fell to her cousin Darcy's lot to deal with Lady Catherine. As they paced the terrace and entered the formal gardens, his aunt made the full situation pretty clear. While not knowing precisely what had happened, he understood that Anne had received an offer of marriage, that there had been some kind of altercation, which did not surprise him in the least, and that in spite of her wish to be ingratiating, his aunt's temper had got the better of her. She was angry, but even more she was surprised.

“Such a marriage as she could never have dreamed of! For even now, and I must say her looks have much improved, she is not remarkably
au fait de beaute,
but the Duchess is very much impressed with her, and so is he; and you know, nephew, he could look for a wife in the highest circles in the land. I am very much shocked, I am very much disappointed. Think what it could mean to the whole family, to your son, when he is grown, to have relatives in such a lofty position!”

“That is possibly true, but I do not think it would much gratify Lewis or myself to have his elevation due to his cousin's marriage, rather than to his own character and efforts.”

“Nonsense! Everybody utilizes their family connections to their advantage, it is the way things are done—families rise or fall together. The gravel on these paths is very coarse; we use a finer one, at Rosings.”

“This gravel dries better, when it has been raining.”

“When it rains,
we
stay indoors. And I wish to know, for one thing, who has been encouraging Anne in these revolutionary opinions she seems to have adopted. For I am sure that she has not learned them from you?”

“Certainly not.”

“She reads too much; that is what has done the damage. By the way, that topiary, how often do you have it cut back?”

“About every six weeks.”

“If you get them to do it once a month, you will get a better result. No, I am very disappointed. If you had some other suitor to propose…”

Darcy mentioned Sir Matthew, Mr Granby, and Mr Kirkman, but in vain; his aunt was clearly familiar with the old saying about the “bird in the hand.”

“Yes, but that is not the same as an offer, a direct offer of marriage. Their attentions may mean nothing—and as for taking this Mr Kirkman, an elderly widower, with no title, instead of Lord Francis Meaburn! Certainly not!”

“Dare I mention, aunt, that Lord Francis is a widower, and by no means young?”

“Nonsense, he is hardly more than forty. Your father brought that marble figure from Italy; we have a far finer one at Rosings. You would do well to cut back those laurels; you would get a better view of it from the wilderness.”

“I think there is one thing I must make clear to you, ma'am: my cousin is five-and-twenty years old, and she knows her own mind. She dislikes Lord Francis, as she has made abundantly clear; and for my part, given the differences between them, I cannot believe that it would be a happy marriage.”

“Pooh! Nonsense; he is as good-natured a man as ever lived. There is no reason why he would not make a perfectly amiable husband. If she is so foolish as to wish to write books, he is not likely to raise any objection.”

“No, as long as he has money to spend on his gambling and profligacies. I am surprised, ma'am, that you would wish to see the resources you have husbanded so well, at risk of being wasted.”

“Oh! He has given up his gambling; all that is at an end. Of course Anne's money would be tied up, in some way. The lawyers would see to it. In any case, she cannot stay here for the rest of her life. Well! She must come back to Rosings with me. We will have the Duchess and her brother down to visit, for she has several times said that she would like to see the place, and we will see if Anne cannot be persuaded. But she is not to bring that detestable little dog with her; I cannot abide it. It is savage, and should be shot.”

“I beg you, madam, do not attempt to persuade her into an unhappy marriage.”

“You married to please yourself, and it has turned out well; now you think that every marriage, made for family reasons rather than love, must be unhappy. It is not so. And Anne is not the girl to choose well, left to herself. Stay—she has not done so? Is
that
the reason for all this high-flown sentiment? Has she said anything to lead you to think that she has some person in mind?”

“No, madam.”

“Then answer me: who gave her the dog?”

“I could not lie to her,” Darcy told his wife, later. “I made it clear that Caldwell had abandoned all pretension to her hand, and is leaving the country besides, and that she has said nothing as to any attachment; but I could not lie.”

And Lady Catherine marched back to the house to speak to her daughter. When she went to climb the stairs, however, she found herself confronted by Dr Lawson. He had ridden over to take a look at Mrs Darcy, and found that she was very well. But Anne was a different matter. He remembered Lady Catherine, and waited for no greeting.

“If you are thinking of seeing your daughter, madam,” he said, “it is impossible; you must wait.”

“Must? Must? Nonsense, man! It cannot hurt her to see her mother. Stand aside.”

Dr Lawson was a large man, and his bulk effectively blocked the stairway. He did not budge.

“Do you want to kill her, madam?”

“Out of my way, sir!”

Dr Lawson repeated, “Do you want to kill her, madam? She has had a severe concussion; she is sleeping; she must not be disturbed.”

“Oh, very well. But I cannot be hanging about here all day, I wish to be on my way. I will write to her. Darcy, I must ask you for the use of your writing desk.”

“Very well, ma'am. But my cousin is not well. I beg you not to write what will distress her.”

“I think, nephew, a mother is the best judge of what she may write to her daughter.” And Lady Catherine sat down to write.

When Anne read the letter, it threw her into a fever. Her worst terror was the threat to Minette. She could even bear to go back to Rosings, she thought, but she would rather die than go there and risk her dog's life. No, she did not trust anyone. Her mother might promise to spare Minette, but then if she so much as growled at some servant or keeper, there would be the excuse to get rid of her. If Minette died, she would die, too. Or, if worst came to worst, rather than die, she would marry Lord Francis, at least he had said that he liked the dog—but would she be able to keep Minette alive until the wedding day? Perhaps she could leave Minette at Pemberley for a while—but the idea threw her into a passion of tears. Dr Lawson became anxious.

A
NNE WAS ILL WITH MISERY ALL THAT DAY AND THE NEXT. THEN something strange happened. At some time, in the middle of a sleepless night, she began, instead of suffering, to think. It was not good enough to cry; crying would not save her or Minette; she must do something. It was never of any use to appeal to her mother's sympathy—she never felt sorry for anyone. Nor was maternal affection a powerful impulse with her. She got her way by being forceful, by being determined, by always being sure that she was right. Well! she was her mother's daughter; she would use her mother's weapons; supposing
her
to be in this situation, what would Lady Catherine do?

She could not refuse to go to Rosings; no young woman could do such a thing; it was beyond the bounds of possibility. Nor could she ask her cousins at Pemberley to house her in defiance of her mother's expressed wish; such a request would place them in a position of great embarrassment. However, suppose she could make it clear to Lady Catherine that she was a different person now, that living at Rosings would be a different experience for both of them?

As soon as it was light, Anne rang for her maid, got herself put into a dressing gown, and writing materials brought, and wrote a letter. It took her several hours, and we will not enquire how many sheets were left torn up on the floor, but the letter was eventually written:

As soon as the letter was written, Anne had breakfast brought to her. Then she decided to try to get dressed. She found to her surprise that she had much more strength than she had expected. To all enquiries, she caused the reply to be given that “she was better, and would be downstairs shortly.”

About mid-morning she went downstairs, saw to the letter's being dispatched, and herself walked Minette. Then she went to the drawing room. There was a visitor there, Lady Louisa. And more than that: her cousin Elizabeth was there, as well. She had made a rapid recovery, due, Dr Lawson said, to her youth, a good constitution, and happiness. Mrs Grainger's predictions had not been realized, the obliging young woman from Torgates had not been needed, and a very few days after her child's birth, Mrs Darcy had announced that she was tired to death with her bedchamber, and did not wish to stay there. Sitting on the sofa, with her baby in her arms, she looked more lovely than Anne had ever seen her.

A conference had been going on, and she was its subject. The unknown, disregarded cousin had become a loved and valued citizen of Pemberley; she who had been thought of as a burden was now an asset; and everyone was there, including Mr Bennet, to discuss her situation, and what they might do to help her. Lady Louisa had arrived with a scheme of her own, but heard it all out in her usual alert, kindly manner, saying nothing until everyone had spoken, and she had the full history of Lady Catherine's visit.

Mr Darcy had alluded—as he thought, very delicately—to the subject of Lady Catherine's disagreement with Anne, but Lady Louisa had no time for delicacy.

“In love with somebody else, is she?” she said. “Well, I am not surprised, it always happens so with your lonely, cloistered girls, who cannot tell anybody about their feelings, and keep things to themselves. Give me a girl who cries, and writes love-letters, and keeps her sisters awake at night; she will grow out of it. Miss de Bourgh has been kept too close, had nobody to confide in; girls like her always fall in love with the first man who is kind to them, and never get over it. And her family can think themselves lucky if it's not a dancing-master, or a groom of the chambers, or some such thing.”

There was a kind of sudden stillness in the room, and Lady Louisa saw that Georgiana's face was scarlet.
So… there was something!
she thought.
I'll wager fifty sovereigns, it was that handsome scamp, what was his name, Wigby or Wilson—the steward's son. It seems to run in the family. “
Now, what is to be done?”

It was at this point, fortunately, that Anne entered the room. There was a general expression of delight on seeing her, and in the middle of the exclamations, and enquiries as to her health, and finding her a comfortable chair, and Anne being allowed to take little Lewis in her arms and admire him, Georgiana's complexion had a chance to recover.

However, at this point, there was another interruption. Mr Lewis Bennet Fitzwilliam Darcy, having been disturbed, and picked up, and kissed, chose this moment to demand attentions from his mother that only she could provide; and Elizabeth was obliged to leave them. “But,” she said, “you have matters well in hand, and you have my full approbation for whatever you may decide, and any assistance that Lewis and I can give.”

As soon as they were all settled, Lady Louisa brought up the reason why she had come to Pemberley; she was going to London in a few weeks, and wished to invite Georgiana to go with her, and have a season in town. She was of the opinion that Georgiana needed the society of more young people, “and not young men,” she said, “So much as young girls; she needs to spend more time with young women of her own age. Look how happy she is when she is with Miss Rackham. You need to laugh with other girls, Georgiana, to be foolish if you will; you need to be young.”

“You are right,” said Darcy. “She must leave us old married people to themselves.”

“Well, I see no reason why Miss de Bourgh, if she is well enough by then, should not come too,” Lady Louisa said. “It would be far better for you, my dear, than going back to Rosings; yes, yes, Minette would be welcome. If she comes to London,” she pointed out, “Miss de Bourgh will certainly meet Lord Francis, for he is sure to be there for the season; but she will also meet other eligible gentlemen. After all, with thirty thousand pounds, why should the heiress of Rosings be limited to considering one elderly suitor, whom she does not like? She might do far better.”

“But supposing Lady Catherine decides to go to London?” Mr Bennet asked.

“She will not do so,” said Lady Louisa. “I have known her for five-and-thirty years, and she will never go anywhere that she is not first in importance. That is why she has been so happy at Rosings, where she rules; that is why she likes Burley, where she is outdone only by the Duchess, who treats her as an equal because she hopes for a rich wife for her brother. She will not go to London. But she may well let Miss de Bourgh go; believe me, she sincerely desires what is best for her daughter.”

Anne could only listen, and thank her, and hope.

On this basis, a plan was concocted. Lady Louisa's ball was to take place within a few days; everyone should go, except Anne. Mrs Darcy, of course, was not able to go, and Mr Bennet, who did not like balls, would stay to bear them company. They should all insist to Lady Catherine that Anne was really unwell, and must stay for the time being at Pemberley. At the ball, or more probably the next day (for they must stay the night), they would mention the plan of Georgiana's going to London. Lady Catherine, it was felt, would certainly approve of Georgiana's having a London season, since it would materially increase her chances of getting an eligible husband. Georgiana would then beg as a favour that Anne should join her and Lady Louisa for the season, and Lady Louisa would put forward every argument in her power to persuade Lady Catherine of the eligibility of the plan.

“I am sorry,” Mr Bennet said, “to be of so little use to Miss de Bourgh that I can only assist her by
not
being present, but it is just as well. I have had letters from home, and I must leave you all pretty soon. My new granddaughter, little Miss Bingley, is to be christened next week, and they seem to think the child cannot become a Christian unless I am there to witness the proceedings.”

There were exclamations of regret, but everyone must acknowledge that it was, indeed, time for him to rejoin his wife and daughters. In addition, he would be able to describe in person all the perfections of little Lewis, “but nobody shall make plans for their marriage,” Darcy said. “Look what a bad thing it is, to decide these matters on behalf of two people, while they are still in the cradle.”

“I have something to tell you, too,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “and perhaps it might be as well not to mention this to Lady Catherine, as we do not want to make her angry. I have been recalled. I must return to my regiment in a very few days; and I find that I do not like the idea of being parted from Mrs Annesley. So I have asked her to marry me, and she has said yes. She has been a soldier's wife before and likes the idea of being one again. We plan to marry very quietly, a couple of days after the ball, and we will leave together immediately after the ceremony.”

There was no one who was not surprised on hearing the news; there was no one who was not delighted. But as for marrying quietly! They were not to think of it, for everyone wished to be there, and as for leaving right after! No! No! there must be a breakfast. Mrs Annesley hastily explained that “quietly” of course meant “only their friends,” and “immediately after” meant “after the breakfast.” In response to a discreet question from Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam explained in an undertone that his godfather, who had recently died, had left him a sum of money quite sufficient, with care and good sense, to support the expense of a family.

Anne could only be happy for them, though when she was alone, it must be a subject for melancholy reflection, to contrast their happiness, and perfect suitability for each other, with her own situation. She grudged them nothing; she could only long for such felicity for herself, and fear that it was not to be.