Darcy and Anne (9 page)

T
HIS ATTENTION FROM LADY CATHERINE'S ACQUAINTANCES brought something to Darcy's mind; he and Elizabeth both thought that it was time Anne paid a visit to her mother. Anne could not but agree with them; for a daughter to neglect her mother for any greater length of time would be unacceptable. The only wonder was that Lady Catherine had not written to request her presence.

“I think the reason is,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “that she is really very happy in Burley. She is the most admired woman in the place.”

“She used to be a handsome woman, I remember,” Darcy said.

“Well, she looks splendid now that she is fashionably dressed; the Duchess and Lord Francis spend part of every day with her; the baths are doing wonders for her; and remember, she has not seen, as we have, the improvement in Anne's health—she thinks of her as a sickly, timid creature, who would find life at Burley too much, and be a disadvantage to her.”

“Well, we must go; we cannot send Anne alone; some of us must go and see her,” said Fitzwilliam, and the end of the week was quickly fixed upon for the expedition.

It only remained to decide who should go with Anne, to settle details of carriages, etc, and to write to the hotel to bespeak rooms for them all, for a fifteen-mile drive, each way, would consume far too much of the day. It must be an overnight stay at Burley; nay, two nights, for Saturday would be an assembly night, which would allow them the pleasure of attending the dance, and then they would stay over Sunday, and return on Monday.

Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam said they would go, but Darcy felt he must stay at Pemberley with his wife. Mrs Annesley said she would stay, too, knowing that Lady Catherine would not have the slightest wish to meet her; but to everyone's surprise, Mr Bennet announced that he would accompany them. Of course, he said to his daughter, he was very much alarmed, but he could not resist the opportunity to write to Mr Collins and tell him that he had met Lady Catherine, and give him his impressions of her. Another consideration, he admitted to Anne, was that Darcy had told him that Burley possessed a bookstore, which was held to be remarkably well stocked.

They started early, and well before noon, were actually promenading round the Pump Room with Lady Catherine. She was, indeed, dressed in the height of the fashion, and in as good a mood as Anne had ever known, delighted with the attention, and strongly approving of Georgiana's looks, and quiet, ladylike demeanor. But her highest praise was reserved for her daughter. “I never saw you in better looks,” she said, “and your health seems much improved, too.”

“It is, indeed, madam.”

“Well, now we must drink the water, for it does a great deal of good.”

Anne had tasted the water already, and disliked it. She had hoped to do a little shopping, for, like Mr Bennet, she had her eyes on the famous bookstore. But Lady Catherine was already heading over to the pump. However, the plan of drinking the water was quickly overthrown, for at this moment the Duchess and her brother came into sight. If Lady Catherine had been genial before, she was effusive now, and so was the Duchess in her turn. “We seem to be witnessing a great meeting of minds,” Mr Bennet observed quietly to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“I think it is rather a great meeting of interests,” the Colonel replied.

It had to be made clear, with a great deal of repetitious detail, that there was no need of introductions, for they had all met each other; and then the Duchess proposed a country walk. None of the other ladies had shoes for such an undertaking, but Her Grace's word was enough for Lady Catherine. She immediately agreed, and, no opportunity being given to anybody else to give an opinion, or ask to do anything different, they all presently found themselves walking up the main street, in the direction of the open country.

As they got into the older part of the town, the streets became narrow, and instead of stone pavements, they found themselves walking on old-fashioned cobblestones. The others were a little ahead, with Lady Catherine and the Duchess arm in arm. Turning around, the Duchess said, “Do take my brother's arm, Miss de Bourgh, the pavement is very uneven. Francis, give her your arm.” Lord Francis seemed to have very little will-power of his own, but to leave every decision to his sister. He obediently extended an arm, and Anne took it, with Minette's leash on her left hand.
What on earth shall we talk about?
Anne wondered. But Lord Francis was equal to the challenge.

“Dog likes a walk,” he said.

“Yes, she does.”

“Nice little thing. Like bigger dogs, myself.”

“Gentlemen mostly do, I believe, sir.”

“Ha. Like a dog that can do something useful.”

“I think you mean hunting, sir, do you not?”

“Ha. This little thing wouldn't be much use after a fox, heh?”

“I think the fox would chase her, sir.”

“Haw, haw! Very good, Miss de Bourgh! The fox would chase her! Very good!” and Lord Francis threw back his head, and gave a loud, braying laugh. Anne, relieved at finding conversation so easy, looked up at him and laughed, too.

At that very moment, Edmund Caldwell came out of a side street, turned, and almost walked into them.

It was over in a flash. Anne had barely time for a startled glance, barely time to take her hand from Lord Francis' arm, and try to hold it out, but already he had sketched a bow, was past them, and gone down the street.

“Friend of yours?” Lord Francis said.

“A… an acquaintance sir.”

“Seems to be in the devil of a hurry.”

“Yes… yes… I think he did not see me.”

“I tell you what, Miss de Bourgh, if I saw you in the street, I wouldn't run by you in such a hurry, by Jove, no, I would not.”

Anne could have screamed with vexation!

That they should have met by such a chance, that they should have met at all—and then, not to be able to speak to him, to greet him, even! And that she should have been arm in arm with another gentleman—and this particular gentleman, as well— laughing with him, as though there were an understanding between them! Nothing could have been more unfortunate! Lord Francis went on talking—about what, she really had no idea, for she was saying “Yes,” and “No, indeed,” almost at random. They walked quite far into the countryside, far enough to return with weary ankles and spoiled shoes, but the magnificent scenery was wasted on Anne; she saw nothing, and it took her the rest of the day to recover her composure, and to reflect that, in the course of the next day, she might well meet Edmund, and would surely be able to rectify the misunderstanding.

If she had thought that Edmund might be there, the prospect of the assembly that evening would have held a good deal of suspense for her, but she knew that he would not be. Her best chance must be at church, on the following day—but then, what was she to say to him? “I do not really like Lord Francis, it was all a mistake"? Still, she would be at least able to greet him, to enquire after him, and of course his parents would probably be there, too; she could certainly talk to them… she must take care to come out of the church well behind her mother. She must dally a little, look at a tombstone or some such thing, so that with a little good luck, she might be able to greet him, to talk to him, to show him that she was still his friend!

This thought enabled Anne to enjoy the assembly. It was a far different affair from the Lambton assembly, where everybody knew everybody else, and many of those attending came from a quite modest sphere in life. Here, at a spa town, the company consisted, for the most part, of those wanting to make an impression on people they had, for the most part, never met before. Here, clothes were everything, for the eye is the easiest to impress, and many of those present had certainly spent more than they ought in the shops around the Promenade.

Happy was Lady Catherine, as she proceeded into the room, resplendent—nay, refulgent—in yellow satin, lace, and diamonds, and followed by two handsome young ladies, and two gentlemen. Mr Bennet had withstood, for twenty years, the arguments, the sighs, the pleadings of his wife, and never attended an assembly, but he was no match for Lady Catherine; she had forced him to attend. The Master of Ceremonies almost fell over himself in his deference, and his eagerness to greet them all. Even the Duchess and her brother did not command more attention. Lady Catherine did not dance, but she sat at the top of the room with the dancers circling below her, like the Presence itself. Anne danced a great deal, and Lord Francis danced with her twice, but she scarcely noticed her partners; she could only think of what the morrow might bring.

But all her conjecture was wasted: she did not see him at church. Arriving early, they were shown to a pew almost at the front. It was impossible to turn around, and look behind, and by the time they emerged, slowed up by the crush of people in front of them, most of the congregation had left. She tried to go to the evening service—Mrs Caldwell, she thought, might very probably be there—but she was prevented. “What are you thinking of, Anne?” her mother said. “You know that we are to drink tea with the Duchess,” and she was obliged to sit there, for hours, and endure all the insipidity of the Duchess' conversation and Lord Francis' near-silence.

The next morning, no one seemed to be in a hurry to leave. At breakfast, Mr Bennet said, “If none of you object to waiting a little, I would be very glad to visit the famous bookstore.” Anne, ready to leave, and wishing for some fresh air, said she would go with him: “They would only take a few minutes, they would be back almost at once,” and on this understanding, the carriage was ordered, and Georgiana and the Colonel were happy to stroll around the Promenade with Lady Catherine. But who can take only a few minutes, in a bookstore? Anne was trying to decide which, of three beguiling new novels, she wished to buy, when she found herself addressed: “My dear Miss de Bourgh, how very pleasant to meet you here!” It was Mr Caldwell, Edmund's father.

She was delighted, and stammered a greeting and an enquiry after his family. Now she would hear, at least, how Edmund was. “We are all well, my dear, very well, and we have some news that I am sure will interest you,” Mr Caldwell said. “We are losing Edmund; he is going away.”

“Away? Why… how is this? Where? When?” Anne realized that she was stammering, and tried to bring her words into order. “You will certainly miss him… is it business that takes him? And when will he leave?”

“He is to set out for Barbados, in a month or so I am not precisely sure—he will go to Liverpool shortly, to enquire about a passage.”

“Barbados? But that is…”

“It is in the West Indies. Yes, an island in the West Indies. Does that not sound interesting, Miss de Bourgh? He has been thinking about it for some time, and did not seem sure, but yesterday—no, yesterday was Sunday, it was Saturday, it was the day before yesterday, he came to us and said that he had made up his mind, he should go.”

Mr Caldwell was delighted to tell her the particulars: the family had unexpectedly received word that they had inherited, from a distant kinsman, a property on the island, of which little was known except that it had been abandoned on the owner's death, and left unclaimed for some years. Edmund believed that something might be made of it; that he might live out there, and operate it; that at least it would pay him to go out there, see it, and if nothing could be done, make arrangements to sell it. His careful work on the quarry, he believed, had paid off; he could leave it under the control of a manager in whom he had confidence.

“His greatest concern,” Mr Caldwell said, “is that, with his views, he could not contemplate the operation of the place by the use of slave labour, for it still goes on, you know, though it should not; the trade still continues, though there are laws against it. But Edmund wants to discover if he might not run the place using paid workers. It seems there are many white men there, who lost their employment years ago when the plantation owners went over to owning slaves, and have been living in poverty ever since. Is not that a dreadful thing, Miss de Bourgh?”

Alas! Anne could learn very little of all she wanted to know; Mr Caldwell was far more interested in the burning issue of slavery than in the material business of his son's journey. She was able to learn the approximate date of his departure, but then her companion called to her; even Mr Bennet was aware that they had spent too much time, and must leave. Taking a rapid farewell of Mr Caldwell, with only just enough time to send her warmest wishes to Mrs Caldwell, “…and my… my compliments to your son, if you please,” she was forced to hurry away.

T
HE FAREWELLS WERE CORDIAL, PROMISES WERE MADE TO COME back soon, it was a fine breezy day, and the journey back was a pleasant one. Anne heard nothing, saw nothing, and could not remember, later, in what terms she had taken leave of her mother. All the way back, she could think of nothing but what she had heard, and was trying to recall every word that Mr Caldwell had said, in case she forgot some circumstance, however trivial.

Edmund was leaving, Edmund was going away!

If only she had had more time to question Mr Caldwell, or even better, to go and see Mrs Caldwell, she could surely have found out more. He had decided, his father said, suddenly—and on the saturday, the very day that he had met her, arm in arm with Lord Francis! But was that mere coincidence? Was she refining too much on her impressions? After all, she had no real proof of his affection for her; only that one conversation, that one gesture… it was very natural that a man, an ambitious man, should, on learning of such a bequest, decide on such an adventure.

Barbados! the word had a terrifying ring in her ears. Anne knew very little of the West indies, but she knew that there were tropical diseases, there were hurricanes, and she was very sure that there were poisonous snakes. He might die before he even arrived there, swept overboard by a storm. If not, he would die of bad food, or be captured by a French privateer, or shot by angry sugar planters for trying to abolish slavery. He would marry a Creole beauty and stay there, and be lost to her for ever. But he was already lost to her—how could she have married him?—when her mother would certainly refuse to meet either him or his parents!

All she could think was that she must get to Burley again; she must find out more. She might say that she wanted to buy more books; she might say she wanted to see her mother again; Lady Catherine had, after all, been very happy to see her, and the visit had been an enjoyable one. Yes! she would do so, she would go there again, as soon as possible. If she were quick, she might even see him; he was going, Mr Caldwell had said, “In a month or so.” Oh! how long was that? It could mean almost anything. She would certainly go back to Burley! Perhaps she could persuade Mr Bennet to make the expedition with her, with the promise of spending more time in the fascinating bookstore; after all, she had been so overwhelmed with the hurry of the last few minutes, and the news she had received, that she had not bought one single book!

But this resolution was not carried into effect. The next morning, when Anne was awakened as usual, by her maid, the girl told her that the whole household was in confusion, for Mrs Darcy had been taken ill in the night, four weeks or more before her time, and the month nurse not yet arrived, and nobody dared speak to the master, and Mrs Reynolds was in such a state as never was.

“Mrs Reynolds?” Anne asked. “Why, what has she to do with anything?”

“Well, nothing, miss, as you might say, but there she is, crying and taking on, and it seems she had a sister what died, of a baby, Excuse me, miss, and she thinks that Mrs Darcy will die too, because of its being too soon-like.”

Anne dressed hurriedly, and went downstairs. There were only Mrs Annesley and Georgiana in the breakfast room, where the meal seemed much less carefully laid than was usual at Pemberley. However, since nobody was eating, this did not seem to be of much moment. Mrs Annesley, looking as composed as usual, told her that, since the month nurse was at a house ten miles away, and was known to have a very sick patient, she would probably not be able to come.

“But Georgiana's old nurse is here,” she said. “Since her retirement, she quite often goes to help with the village births, and she is a gentle, clean, sensible creature. Mrs Darcy knows Mrs Grainger well, and likes her so much!” and she smiled at Georgiana, who was looking very white and anxious, and tried in vain to smile back.

The nurse, she said, had already been with Mrs Darcy, and talked ominously of a possible cross-birth, saying that a doctor should be sent for. Mrs Darcy had been seen once by Dr Turley, who was the Lambton practitioner, but she had very much disliked him—had thought him pretentious and vain. Mrs Annesley did not know what to do. She had sent a servant to fetch the two gentlemen, who were walking in the gardens, for, she said, Darcy could neither sit, nor eat, nor speak, and his cousin, not liking to leave him alone, had gone with him.

“Would not Dr Lawson be a better choice?” Anne asked. “He has such good sense, and is so kind; there is no nonsense about him.”

At that moment her two cousins entered, and Mrs Annesley repeated the nurse's opinion, and Anne's suggestion to them.

“Lawson!” Darcy said. “He struck me as a sensible fellow. I wish he could be got here. But it is fifteen miles to Burley. It would take a carriage, or even a horse, several hours to cover the distance, and by that time…” and he sat down at the table, and buried his head in his hands.

“Excuse me,” said Anne, “but if I recall correctly, cousin, I remember it was mentioned that Mr… Mr Edmund Caldwell's house is but five miles from here, and Mrs Caldwell told me he lived less than half an hour's ride from Burley. I understand that it is not a carriage road, but could the two of you not ride there by that road, and bring Dr Lawson back on horseback? I remember he mentioned that he quite often rides, when he goes to see his patients, for the countryside is so rough.”

Darcy looked up. “You are right!” he said. “The track is hilly and steep, it has never been made up for carriage traffic, in bad weather it cannot be used, for so much water comes down—but it cuts off a huge swath of country. Yes, in this weather it will certainly be passable, and we might ride there in an hour, or a little more. Fitzwilliam, will you come with me?”

“Of course,” said his cousin. Servants were called, grooms were sent for, all was hurry, bustle, and purpose.

“Stay a moment,” Mrs Annesley said. “Hard riding uphill will tire your horses. I will tell the grooms to bring extra horses up, slowly, behind you, and they can meet you as you return. That way you will get back sooner.”

“Mrs Annesley, you should be a campaigner,” Fitzwilliam exclaimed. “Well thought of, indeed!”

“My husband was a military man,” Mrs Annesley said, smiling. “Do you go on your way; I will see to it.”

After that, things happened as they will, when gentlemen have made up their minds, and wish to be gone; and within a very short time they were on their way.

“Now,” said Mrs Annesley firmly. “I think we should all three sit down, and eat this quite dreadful breakfast. Come, my dears, you must eat something, it will not help Mrs Darcy to have you starve yourselves.”

They both tried, but made a poor showing. As they were still at the table, the sound of a horse approaching was heard. Instructions had been given that visitors were to be denied, but the butler entered, and asked if someone would speak briefly with Mr Rackham, who had brought a letter from his mother, which, he said, wanted an answer.

The letter was simple and very kind. Mrs Rackham had heard already, in the mysterious way that everything is known in the country, of Mrs Darcy's situation, and wrote to suggest that Miss Darcy, and if she wished, Miss de Bourgh as well, might like to spend the day with Mary. They would do everything in their power to alleviate the distress of a day as anxious as this one must be, and would send regularly, to ask for any news.

“Oh no!” said Georgiana, faintly. “I cannot leave.” But Mrs Annesley thought otherwise. “I shall be very much occupied, my dear Miss Darcy,” she said. “The very best thing you can do would be to go. Then I shall have the comfort of knowing that you are in good hands. I assure you, it would help me very much.”

Anne was amused to see with what tact Mrs Annesley dealt with Georgiana. As she had already observed, Georgiana was high-strung, and she could see that the prospect of calming her nervous fears, with no idea how long matters might go on, was not an agreeable one. Eventually, Georgiana agreed to go; she would ride in the pony carriage, with Mr Rackham escorting her. “Miss Rackham is one of those people who naturally protect and cherish others,” Mrs Annesley observed. “She will look after her friend very well. Now, Miss de Bourgh, I must go and speak to Mrs Reynolds. The household has rapidly fallen into the sort of disorder that all households do, when unexpected things happen. I think you refused to go to the Rackhams' because you have a purpose; am I right?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Anne. “I am going to the library. We have forgotten Mr Bennet. I think I should go to him.”

Sure enough, there, in his usual chair, sat Elizabeth's father. He was neither reading, nor writing, and seemed hunched over, as if he had somehow shrunk. Anne had the idea that, if nothing were done, he would sit there all day. Suddenly she wished very much that her mother were there. Lady Catherine would perhaps not understand his misery, or have any sympathy for it, but she would know what to do. She would scold, Anne thought. I cannot. But he is suffering dreadfully; I must do something.

“Mr Bennet!” she said, as firmly and loudly as she could. He looked up, startled.

“Come, sir,” she said. “Minette needs her walk, and we need you to come with us. You must, indeed you must,” and putting her hand on his arm, she tried to make him get up. The only thing that will get him up, she thought, is if someone needs him. “I cannot go without you, sir. I am alone, and I need you. I am frightened, too.”

Whether he were too startled, or too apathetic to resist, she did not know, but he got up; he went with her to the door; the footman was there, with Minette. “Thank you, Thomas,” said Anne. She took the dog's leash, guided them both outside, and they went along the terrace, past the formal gardens, until they reached the woodland path that followed the stream.