Old Friends and New Fancies (29 page)

Elizabeth replied that she had heard from Georgiana of Mr. Price's acquaintance with Miss Crawford, but of Mr. Bertram's she had not known, the subject never having been approached while the young men were there.

"I thought not," said Miss Crawford, and after a moment's pause she added, colouring slightly: "I have had too much experience of your kindness to think that you would treat me differently if you did know the whole circumstances; nevertheless, I felt sure that you did not, and I made up my mind before I came here, that I would not be any further indebted to you while you remained in ignorance. Each day I have been expecting you to ask me some question about the reason for Lady Catherine's hostility to us, for you were fully entitled to an explanation after the kind and generous way in which you wrote to me, and which I fear I acknowledged so inadequately." She stopped, emotion and weakness depriving her momentarily of speech, and Elizabeth, who had been endeavouring to check her, took hold of her hand, and with the utmost gentleness begged her not to continue and not to agitate herself.

"Dear Miss Crawford, I am entitled to no explanation, and I do not wish for one. It is you who ought to receive the fullest apologies of the whole family for my aunt's conduct to you. My cousin told us all that happened that evening after we left, and, as I told you in my letter, I can never be sufficiently ashamed and grieved on account of what you were subjected to. If you can forgive us, do not let us revive the subject; it is painful to us both."

Miss Crawford indicated that she wished to be allowed to speak, and after a few moments spent in recovering herself, she went on in a low voice, and looking away from Elizabeth: "I did not mean to refer to that part of it, and least of all with you, whose goodness has almost obliterated it from my mind. I mean the reason for Lady Catherine's attack. You must have surmised that there was some cause for it; she must have told you that she had heard something to my detriment, or, at all events, you have gathered that something of the kind exists? It is that that I wish to make clear; I feel that I owe it to you to tell you exactly, as far as they concern myself, what things are said about me, in order that when you hear them from others, you may be able to separate the true from the false. For some of them are true, you know; that is the unfortunate part of it." As she concluded, she glanced at Elizabeth with an attempt at a smile, though her hands were trembling.

Elizabeth attempted to calm and reassure her. "There is no need for you to tell me anything if you do not feel equal to the effort," she said. "I think I do already know the greater part of the story, and I can assure you that we have never believed the smallest thing disadvantageous to yourself. I had heard enough of it before Mr. Yates appeared to be convinced that you were the person injured and misjudged, and that a maliciously distorted version of events was poured down my aunt's ears. I shall be very happy if some day you will give me your confidence, but I fear it might do you harm to talk of it just now, and recall things in which persons you cared for were involved?"

Elizabeth's manner was so kind, that Mary was glad to allow herself to be persuaded, and lay back on her sofa murmuring: "Yes, you are right," looking at the same time tired and relieved. She presently added, with a little more brightness: "I am glad you know, and that you do not think me such a monster as Lady Catherine described."

"I never thought you were a monster, my dear Miss Crawford," assured Elizabeth, smiling and studying her guest's countenance while her own mind was busy. Miss Crawford definitely, if laughingly expressed desire to be reinstated in the good opinion of Mrs. Darcy, probably included in its object the rest of the family; and, if so, then in spite of their abrupt separation at Bath, in spite of all that had happened since in London, Colonel Fitzwilliam must be among the number. Elizabeth felt as if she were groping in the dark, for she had no clue to Miss Crawford's present feelings towards him; but though she had not intended to speak of him yet, this was at least an opportunity of discovering whether they were feelings of goodwill. She accordingly said, as if continuing the same train of thought: "My cousin was so glad that he had happened to remain behind us, and could therefore attempt to do something, even though it was but little, to remedy the evil caused by those objectionable Ferrars."

Mary started and changed her position, and Elizabeth, though not looking directly at her, could perceive a variety of expressions pass across her face. She did not answer immediately, and her reply, when uttered: "It was very kind of Colonel Fitzwilliam," sounded cold and reserved.

"I do not regard it as kindness," said Elizabeth; "his regard for you and his indignation on your behalf made him anxious to do far more. He told me that he bitterly regretted having left you that evening, after we had gone away. If he had stayed near you, he could have prevented much that followed."

Again Mary took some time to reply, and when she did, to Elizabeth's surprise, it was with more than a touch of scornfulness. "Colonel Fitzwilliam has a great power of self-effacement, has he not? He must have practiced the art of disappearing unexpectedly, with as little warning as the magician in the fairy stories."

"But does he so?" asked Elizabeth, whose astonishment increased. "I had not noticed it. We think him generally a staid and sober person, who does things with even more than the usual amount of consideration. Did he not return--did you not see him that evening at my aunt's?"

"Oh, yes, that evening," said Mary. "I believe he did see us to the carriage; I was not thinking so much of that occasion. But in London--I saw him once or twice, and he talked as if he were going to remain, and then he vanished as if the earth had swallowed him. Of course, it did not matter; he had only himself to please; but I heard several people remark on it."

Elizabeth pondered, and to gain time inquired: "Did he speak as though he hoped to see you again while he was there?"
"Yes--at least we thought so; my sister and I may have misunderstood, or he may have meant nothing; people can hardly be expected to account for all their sudden freaks, can they?" replied Mary, speaking with an indifference so marked that her companion could not help fancying it was assumed. Elizabeth hesitated no longer, and was about to speak, with the intention of telling Miss Crawford why Colonel Fitzwilliam had left town so suddenly, when the door opened to admit Mrs. Grant and Georgiana, so that she was obliged to postpone the communication till some future time, and to leave matters in a state which more than ever seemed to need elucidation.
The opportunity, however, was long in coming. After their half-finished talk, Mary Crawford appeared to avoid being alone with her hostess. She came downstairs more, and gradually began to live almost entirely with the rest of the family, but constantly kept close to her sister and Georgiana on various pretexts. The latter did not venture to speak to her of Colonel Fitzwilliam, but Mary was not in discovering that the name of William Price was a welcome one to her young friend, and seeing that Georgiana wished to
hear,
without having to
ask,
Mary told all she knew of his youth, his family and his past career, descanting on his charm and his fine qualities of character, while Georgiana sat in silence, her downcast eyes and glowing cheeks alone betraying the interest which the subject had for her. Mary guessed at the meaning of it all, but considerately said no word to arouse Georgiana's self-consciousness, and their friendship grew almost unawares, neither knowing how much each thought of, and would have liked to help, the other.
It was not until nearly a week after the subject had first been broached that Elizabeth found it possible to renew it, and then only by deliberately engaging the attention of Miss Crawford, in inviting her to walk with her one morning along the high road. Darcy had driven with Mrs. Grant and Georgiana to a distant part of the estate, and it had been proposed that the other two ladies should come to meet them on their return, so that Miss Crawford could take a seat in the barouche should she feel tired. It was such a beautiful morning, crisp, cold and bright, that Mrs. Grant over-ruled the objections which her sister was beginning to make, and assured her that a brisk walk in such weather could do her nothing but good. Elizabeth half suspected that she would still find some way of avoiding the expedition, but when twelve o'clock arrived, Miss Crawford descended into the hall, saying smilingly: "All ready, you see, Mrs. Darcy. Don't you think I am the most obedient patient you ever saw? At this rate, you will soon be able to send me away a complete cure."
"I hardly think of you as a patient now, and still less do I think of sending you away," returned Elizabeth, as they emerged from the house. "Mr. Darcy and I should be sadly disappointed if you left us directly you were well enough to do so."
"You are always so kind," said Miss Crawford. "But I fear our visit must come to an end soon, as it is less than a fortnight to Christmas, and you will probably be having a large family party for the occasion."
Such a remark could only be interpreted in one way, and Elizabeth, after reiterating her hope that Miss Crawford and Mrs. Grant would make a long stay, and assuring her guest that their numbers at Christmas would be the same as at present, went on almost immediately: "The other day we were speaking of Colonel Fitzwilliam's sudden departure from London, and I wanted to tell you, if it is not tiresome to you to hear, what I believe to have been the reason for it. I am so anxious he should not be misunderstood, or thought capricious."
"Oh, Mrs. Darcy, I did not seem to imply he was. I am sure he has the best of reasons for what he does, and anyhow, they are no business of mine."
Elizabeth would not let the subject be dismissed, and continued very gently: "He had good reasons in this case, and I hope very much you will not dislike my mentioning them, as they concern you. He left London because he cared for you, and had just heard, on what he believed to be unimpeachable authority, that you were engaged to another man. The news was such a blow to him that he could not endure to stay where he might possibly meet you again."
There was a short pause; Mary grew crimson, uttered an exclamation, and then, controlling herself with an effort, said in tones of suppressed anger: "If Colonel Fitzwilliam told you that, Mrs. Darcy, he is deceiving you and himself. It would be much better to admit candidly that when he saw me again in London he did not care for me as much as he had thought, instead of making my supposed engagement an excuse for his disappearance."
Elizabeth stood still for a moment, completely taken aback by this version of affairs, and could only exclaim: "Miss Crawford!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon; I know I ought not to speak to you, who are his relative," said Mary, walking on with quick impetuous steps. "Pray forgive me, Mrs. Darcy; I know
you
are true, who ever else is not. But you cannot guess how hard it is to be accused of sending a person away before they have even approached one; to be blamed for causing trouble when one has never known to be a free agent, and when the trouble has all reacted upon one's self."
"I would not blame you for the world," said Elizabeth. "You must remember I know but little of the facts, and nothing at all of how they appear from the other side. My principal object, as I have said, is to prevent my cousin from being misjudged, not to make any accusations against anyone; will you not tell me a little more, so that between us we may clear the whole matter up?"
Elizabeth was obliged to proceed with the utmost caution, and to speak less openly than she would have wished, for instinct warned her that Miss Crawford was not yet ready to be guided, or even sympathized with. It was far too soon to assume any special interest on her part in Colonel Fitzwilliam, though her last speech had admitted the existence of a trouble not unconnected to him.
"There is really nothing to tell you, Mrs. Darcy," said Miss Crawford. "What happened is simply a succession of negatives. Colonel Fitzwilliam reappeared in London, and showed every sign of wishing to renew his friendship with my sister and me, but he departed without doing so. I was not engaged to anyone at that time, nor have I been since, as he might have easily found out if he had asked the right people."
"Miss Crawford!" cried Elizabeth earnestly; "he
had
reason to believe it. Perhaps he did not ask your nearest relatives, but you are surely aware--it involves no reproach to yourself--but it was talked of, and assumed to be a fact, among your friends generally?"
Mary evidently found it difficult to reply, but at length said: "Yes, I know it was talked of, but there was never any truth in it. I know I was foolish. I went about a great deal with those people--with the Elliots; I let myself be drawn into their circle, and I suppose it was pleasant to be feted and made much of; Mrs. Darcy, I daresay you hardly know what it is to drift into an intimacy that amuses you, and occupies your time, while your heart is never in it the smallest degree."
"I think I understand," said Elizabeth gently. "You had been with them at Bath, and it was difficult to free yourself from the association when you met again?"
"Yes, and my brother liked them--or they liked him--and it is always natural for me to be where he is. But I was not bound to them, and it was not all enjoyment. How often I wished that something would happen to take me out of it! How gladly would I not have gone!"
"My cousin hoped, I think, to have made some arrangements with you and your sister, but he was not sure if they would be acceptable."
"Colonel Fitzwilliam did not put himself to much trouble about it," returned Mary. "The extent of his plans was, that he asked permission to come and call, and then did not do so."
"Because he had heard in the meantime of your engagement," said Elizabeth. "Dear Miss Crawford, you must, you must, indeed, let me convince you of his sincerity. He cared for you in Bath; you know he did for he told your sister so." She looked anxiously at Mary, and received a glance of reluctant assent. "No one more deeply lamented the misfortune which separated you after that; and can you wonder that, when you meet again, the remembrance of what happened made him diffident as to his reception, and uncertain of the place he still might hold in your esteem? But he was as devoted to you as ever, and only longed for a chance of showing it. Oh!"--Elizabeth broke off impatiently, but smiling at herself--"I ought not to be saying this to you in these cold, bald words; I cannot plead his case as eloquently as he could; but at least I can implore you to believe in him. Grant that he acted with over-caution, and did not consult his own best interests: he was afraid of precipitating matters by speaking before he could divine what you felt for him. But that his affection was there, I know positively. A man who had cared less would have stayed, would have pretended indifference, and would have congratulated you on your engagement."
"I wish he had," said Miss Crawford, trying to smile, though the tears filled her eyes, "for then I could have told him of his mistake, and asked him why he was in such a hurry to credit it."
"I do not think he was in a hurry," said Elizabeth sadly; "he would not have believed it if he could have helped it, and if you could see him now, you would know what real grief can do for a man of his nature."
"I am sorry," said Miss Crawford, without much warmth, but a moment later she exclaimed: "Yes, it is bad for a man to bring unhappiness on himself through an error, but I suppose it never occurred to him that by going off in that way, without a word, he might be leaving the same thing for someone else. If I were a man, I would never accept my dismissal except from the woman herself; I would at least have the courage to put my fate to the touch."
Elizabeth weighed these words for an instant, and then turning to look in her companion's face, she said: "I want to ask you one thing, but you need not reply if you do not wish. If my cousin had put his fate to the touch while he was in London, would he have had the answer, or any hope of answer, that he desired?"
Mary coloured deeply, but did not turn her eyes away from Mrs. Darcy's. "It is hardly fair, is it, to ask me a question which he has never asked?" she said, with a slight smile. "But it is useless to try to keep secrets from such a friend as yourself, and I suppose you are answered by now."
They stopped with one accord beside a gate, and stood looking over the long furrows of brown earth in the field, but neither seeing them. Miss Crawford's blush remained, and her lips were set rather defiantly, when Elizabeth turned to her and said with great earnestness: "I said that Colonel Fitzwilliam was not coming back before Christmas, and that is quite true, but may I not tell him to come? I will do nothing without your permission; will not even say that you are here; but will you not give him leave to come, and speak for himself, and try to atone for the mistakes and unhappiness of the past? Indeed, though at this moment he has no hope of it, I know that he would ask no greater privilege." Mary laid her hand on her friend's, and replied affectionately, but without any hesitation: "No, no, Mrs. Darcy, do not tell him to come. I thought you would suggest something of the kind, but I would much rather not. It would be no kindness to either of us." Then, as Elizabeth still looked questioningly at her, she continued: "I really mean it. Since we are to be quite frank, I did feel very much what I thought to be Colonel Fitzwilliam's defection, and Frances would tell you that that accounts for my stupid ill-health this autumn; I do not quite agree, but none the less, I am confident that we had better not meet again. It is too late, when people are getting on towards respectable middle life as we are. You smile, but do you know I am near my thirtieth birthday? No, we have both recovered from the wounds of last summer, and we should be wiser not to risk reopening them."
"It would be a healing, I think, not a reopening," said Elizabeth.
"Do you think so? But one cannot tell. Colonel Fitzwilliam must have been in love with some ideal person, a Mary Crawford who never really existed, or he would not have been frightened away so easily from the actual one. If he were to see me again, there might be a fresh disappointment in store. Does he still think I am to marry Sir Walter Elliot?"
"I do not know. Darcy and I have never told him otherwise."
"Ah, well, do not let him be undeceived; and some day, perhaps in London, we shall be sent in to dinner together, and imagine his surprise and dismay at finding it is plain Miss Crawford, and not Lady Elliot! It will give us something to talk about through the first three courses. Dear Mrs. Darcy, you look disapprovingly at me, but seriously, I do think, if we ever are to meet, it will be best to do so by accident. I could hardly bear a premeditated encounter as it would be here, each of us knowing that we were expected to play a certain part."
"It is better he should not come, of course, if you are not sure whether you could accept him," said Elizabeth.
"That it is; I suppose I am not sure; because, you see, circumstances have combined to make Colonel Fitzwilliam appear in light of a half-hearted admirer, and though I know from you he is not, yet I have no experience of his own powers of recommending himself. Do not be angry with me, or let this spoil our friendship; I am so glad now that you know all, and you will let me come and stay with you sometimes when he is away, will you not?"
A time-honoured custom has ordained that only one reply shall be made to an appeal of this kind, and Elizabeth duly assured her friend that it should make no difference; feeling, indeed, that as she had asked for an explanation, she could not resent Miss Crawford's frankness, nor could she like the highspirited girl less for the glimpse she had given of her heart. There was no denying, however, that the end of their conversation had been a good deal of a disappointment. Mary's confession had been so much more than Elizabeth had ventured to hope for, that it was melancholy to realize that it came, as she herself had said, too late; too late for Colonel Fitzwilliam to be in any way the gainer by it. Many times during the day and the succeeding ones did Elizabeth turn over in her mind a series of plans to bring her two friends together again, in some way entirely unforeseen by both; but all had to be discarded, for Miss Crawford had been so decisive, and it was not certain that the Colonel would make any better use of his chances, unless he could be warned of how he had failed previously. The more Elizabeth pondered over the events of last year, in the new light now thrown upon them, the better she was able to understand Mary's point of view, and to comprehend that it was not solely Lady Catherine's insulting behaviour, or her cousin's want of self-confidence, or Mary's own pride and recklessness, but something of all three, that had ruined their prospects of happiness; and she mourned sincerely over the wreck and the impossibility of restoring it, while they were so obstinately resolved to remain strangers to one another. If only Fitzwilliam had known, when in London, that the prize lay so near his hand! that he had gained Mary's love, almost without trying to do so, merely by watching and waiting, and not submitting to the rebuff she had given him at the end of their stay in Bath! But the opportunity had passed, and he had lost more ground now than he might ever recover, for Elizabeth knew well that Mary's resentment was the real obstacle: