But it was hard for Anne to sleep. Mr Caldwell and the Colonel were to leave the house as soon as they had breakfasted the next morning. She felt an urgent need to thank Mr Caldwell for his kindness to her the previous day; she could not let him go without thanking him. And yet she dared not ask him for an interview—it would look so particular! As far as she knew, her cousin had told nobody the story—except the Colonel, who, after all, was also a cousin—and somehow she knew that Edmund had not mentioned it to anybody. Suppose she were to sleep late, and he were to leave before she could speak to him? The maid who waited on her had been told to call her, but maids were often unreliable… Anne tossed and turned until it seemed to her that dawn was breaking, and then suddenly there was a voice calling her, and the maid had remembered after all.
There was, in fact, no difficulty; he was standing on the terrace, looking at the view. She tried to put her thanks into words; he cut her short.
“What I did was nothing, and I have no right to assist you; I wish I had. But there is something I wish to say to you,” he said. “Your cousin will have told you this already, but I will repeat it. I read that document; you have every right to your own money, and your mother, however good her intentions, was wrong to withhold it. The matter would be different, of course, if your mother were in any danger of financial hardship; but that is certainly not the case. And even then, she should not have withheld, without asking, money which belongs to you. We all have obligations to a parent, but as we grow into adulthood, our responsibilities change; we owe respect, affection, but not blind, unthinking obedience. We have duties, which a parent cannot forbid us to perform. You are responsible for your money, and it is your task to decide how it should be used. Do not ever allow anyone to tell you, as that man did, that 'young ladies' have no need to think, or no right to learn. Never allow anyone to do your thinking for you.”
“No… no… I will remember. But…”
“But?”
“I do not know… Will you be at the assembly tonight?”
“No. I cannot.”
“And you do not much care to dance, do you?”
“Not much. I can understand why people like to dance, but I am clumsy; the music does not speak to me as it does to some. I am not made for mirth. But you love to dance, do you not?”
“Not as much as Georgiana; I like it, but I am soon tired.”
“You must exercise more, then you will not get tired.”
“But I am learning to ride.”
“That is very good,” said he, smiling, “but you must walk a little, too, every day.”
“Very well, I will try.”
“Now I must be on my way. I must be about my business. I know, why cannot I stay—you must think me a money-grubbing fellow, and that is what I am.
“You see, Miss de Bourgh, there is something I must tell you. My parents had a good fortune, but some years ago, I persuaded them to enter into a doubtful speculation. I was young, I was foolish, I was misled by dishonest people, and they lost a great deal of money. It was my fault, and I must ensure that their fortune is restored. They are all goodness, they have never asked for anything or spoken a word of blame, but that is my responsibility. Our land is not profitable for farming, but the quarry has opened up a very good way of making money, and it gives employment to people, who would not otherwise have work. I chose to employ local men, rather than bring in outsiders, but they are not used to the work, and they require constant attention and supervision. This is why I must go, when I would much rather stay. It may be many years before I have the money to be leisured.”
“I see.”
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, sir… Mr Caldwell!”
“Yes, ma'am?”
“Thank you for telling me about… about… I understand your situation, and I honour you for it.”
He turned to go; turning back, he raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it. Then he was gone.
Chapter 14
Mrs Darcy, used to living among a large number of sisters, was really rejoiced to have Anne staying with her, and equally glad to have Lady Louisa and the Caldwells in her home for the night of the Lambton assembly. She enjoyed the happy bustle of the day before a ball.
“The Assembly rooms are almost outside our gates,” she told her husband. “You can have no fears for me. I shall not dance, but I do wish to go.”
“I only wondered,” he said, “If you and Mrs Annesley would like to stay behind. I will tell you what I do fear, and that is, bringing six women to an assembly, and only one man. I have only Caldwell. Fitzwilliam and Edmund Caldwell have left us, and your father refuses to go.”
“I know; he never would go to the dances at Meryton. But my mother brought all five of us, and there was always a shortage of gentlemen as a result. Do you remember the evening that we met? I could not get a partner, and was sitting down. That is why I overheard you, when you were so ungallant as to refuse to dance with me. I know now, of course, the reason for your bad temper: you were just come from dealing with the abominable Wickham,” she said.
“If you remind me of that, I can refuse you nothing. In any case, poor Mrs Annesley should not be required to forgo an evening's enjoyment, merely to suit my requirements.”
“She is an excellent person, is she not? I thought that we would not need her, but she is so good-tempered, so useful. Georgiana still needs a music instructress, and Anne is enjoying her lessons, too.”
“Yes, indeed. In any case, I do not like to dismiss a person who has given us such good service, for who knows whether she would get another post? And besides, my love, in a very few years' time, we will need a governess, will we not?”
In view of her husband's anxiety, however, Mrs Darcy agreed to stay quietly at home for the morning, and allow Mrs Annesley and Georgiana to take Anne into Lambton, to buy a new pair of dancing sandals, and a few other necessities for the evening.
This was enough to spread the news around the town that a large party from Pemberley would be at the assembly. Some said Mr and Mrs Darcy would bring ten women, and eight men, others said there would be six women and five men, but it was generally known that an heiress would be among the party, and someone pointed out that it was twice as good as the first report, for, if one counted Miss Georgiana Darcy, that made two.
Lambton had some excellent shops, and what with the buying of new gloves, and inspecting Georgiana's purchases, and approving of them, the morning flew away. It was just as well, thought Anne, for she had not time to think, and she was not sure that she wanted it.
But a mind like hers, used to solitude, must and will find it. In the course of the afternoon, she found herself at the table in the corner of the library that she had come to regard as hers. Mr Bennet had categorically refused to take it, saying that authors were privileged people, and that all the reward he claimed was the pleasure of hearing more of her story: “The place is enormous, and there are at least half a dozen very comfortable armchairs, where I can sleep in peace,” he told her; and he told his daughter, “I would even let Miss de Bourgh into my own library at home, for I will guarantee that she does not chatter, or disturb one by wanting a pen mended, or an argument settled. She is a very uncommon young woman.”
“There is more to her than any of us thought,” Elizabeth replied. “Who would have thought that she had such an imagination? Such a power of telling a story?”
But this afternoon, Anne's mind seemed empty. She could not write a line; she could not review what she had written previously; she could not even read. All she could think of were Edmund's words, Edmund's look, Edmund's gesture.
He had kissed her hand. Men did not commonly kiss a woman's hand; she had never known such a thing. Taken in conjunction with what he had told her, it was as if he were saying goodbye. A farewell. She knew it, and she knew why: he loves me, and I love him.
It would never do. She knew it; and she understood it was his way of telling her that he knew it, too. His lack of rank, his r
estricted means, his occupation, not to mention his egalitarian ideas, all would make him unacceptable to her mother. Lady Catherine would refuse even to be introduced to him. Darcy too, she thought: even though he had married a penniless woman, of lower rank than his own, and liked Edmund as a friend, he would not welcome him as a cousin. It was very well for a woman to marry above her station, but for a man to seek to wed a woman of higher rank, and great wealth, with nothing to offer in return, would be regarded as fortune-hunting of the meanest description. Edmund would never do it. Rosings was hung around her neck, a burden she could never escape. Her wealth, instead of giving her freedom, would forever imprison her.
Musings like this kept her miserably occupied until Mrs Annesley came to find her. “My dear Miss de Bourgh,” she cried. “What is the matter? You are quite pale. And the assembly tonight! You have the head-ache; you have been reading, you have been writing too long!” Anne had no wish to explain the real reason for her wan looks, and allowed Mrs Annesley to persuade her to take a gentle turn around the grounds, and even to walk as far as the stream, which made her feel much better.
The evening was fine, and the drive pleasant. As they went down the hill through the little town, Mrs Darcy exclaimed, “Oh, my dear, we forgot to find a tenant for the White Cottage.”
“I did not forget,” Darcy said, “but I like to rent it to someone connected with the family, and there is no one, at the moment, answering that description. I want a good tenant, for it is a pretty place.” The carriage was stopped so that they could see it. It was, indeed, pretty. It stood a little back from the street, separated from it by a small garden, with a good-looking orchard behind.
“Rent it to me,” Anne suddenly said. “It is just the sort of little place I should like. I will live there, cousin, and write books.” Everyone laughed.
By the time they got there, the rooms were beginning to fill. It was pleasant to see the kind of stir, the whispering, the smiles of gratification, as the word spread through the room that the party from Pemberley was come. Anne, who had been used to stiffness, embarrassment, and forced cordiality, suddenly realized that her dress was pretty, her jewels exquisite, and her hair very well dressed, and that these people were pleased to meet her. She was introduced here and there; she was asked to dance again and again; and greatest Of wonders, she had no difficulty in dancing, for her partners were so kind and forbearing! She hardly had time to think, and her spirits lifted, in spite of her distress. A ball was indeed delightful!
She soon noticed that Georgiana was not enjoying herself. At first, Anne thought she was missing Colonel Fitzwilliam, but she quickly realized that Georgiana was simply shy in a large company. She did not know how to reply to well-meant commonplaces, and was uncomfortable with those of lower rank. Her manner was stiff; she looked haughty, even plain. Anne remembered what it was like to be young, and trying to make a good appearance to strangers. There was something to be said, she thought, for being five-and-twenty years old.
After several dances, Anne found herself without a partner, and felt tired. Mrs Darcy was sitting at the side, talking comfortably to her neighbours. Seeing an empty chair beside her, Anne went to sit down. Elizabeth said, “We miss Colonel Fitzwilliam, do we not?”
“Indeed, cousin,” Anne said. She realized that she had not given him a thought; nor had she thought of his errand to her mother. The whole day, in every leisured moment, her thoughts had been with Edmund Caldwell: He cannot marry—he meant to tell me that he cannot marry, not for many years; that he cannot marry me… I will live there, and write books…
“Anne, I have made three unexceptionable remarks, and you have not answered,” Mrs Darcy said. “I admit that they were all three very dull—but is something amiss?”
“Oh, no,” Anne said. “No, not at all… Oh, Elizabeth, who is that girl that Georgiana is talking to? Do but look at her!”
Both looked. Miss Darcy was standing talking to a pretty girl, and the change in her manner was remarkable. They were too far away to hear anything, but Georgiana was smiling, she was laughing, she was clasping the other girl by the hand, and the flush on her cheeks spoke of happiness.
Elizabeth turned to her neighbour. “Who is that, Mrs Hatherley, the young lady in the blue muslin?”
“It is Miss Rackham, ma'am; that is her brother, dancing with Mrs Shipton. His mama is sitting down, over there; she is a widow.”
“Of course, we were introduced just now,” said Mrs Darcy. “So those are her children.”
“They are but just come into the country. His uncle was old Sir William, a sad invalid, at Wharton Place, you know, ma'am. He died a few weeks ago, and this young man has inherited the title and the property, but they say it is in a terrible state, for the old gentleman did nothing to it. He is not at all handsome, but a very pleasant, well-spoken young man.”
But she had not time to say more, for Georgiana came over to them, bringing the pretty girl, and introduced her.
“She was at school with me,” she explained. “I was homesick, and Mary was so kind to me. It was the horridest place you can think of. I became sick, and then my dear brother came and took me away, but Mary was sick, too, at the same time, and I never got her direction—and here she is!”
Arrangements were rapidly made: they were to ride together, to draw together, and as soon as the weather should be wet, to play the pianoforte together. As they drove away, Georgiana seemed a different girl, and Lady Louisa made up her mind, when she gave her own ball, to include the young Rackhams in her invitations.
Chapter 15
The next day, Colonel Fitzwilliam returned. Lady Catherine, he said, was well and in good spirits, and sent proper messages to everyone. Sitting beside Anne, at their midday cold collation, he quietly told her, “I had no trouble in bringing her round, cousin, over the matter of your inheritance.”
“I thought she would be very angry. How did you do it?”
“I told her how wise she was, to do as she has done. I told her that she had shown very good judgment in entrusting you now with the bequest, for she obviously knew the difficulties that young women, with no experience in handling money, often have when they marry; and I reminded her that at that point there will be a large fortune to be managed. I happened to mention this in the Pump room, in the company of her friends, who smiled, and agreed, and mentioned several instances of young married women of very good families who had run into debt. She could hardly admit, in front of them, that she had been forced into doing what she did; and she did not at all object to their being reminded that she is a very wealthy woman. Now she regards it, first, as a settled thing, second, as a thing admired by people she respects, and third, as something she thought of herself. I am an army man, remember,” he said, smiling. “There are tricks that work very well when one is dealing with senior officers.”
The conversation became general, and he explained that he had stayed overnight in order to dine, at his aunt's invitation, with the Duchess of Stilbury, and her brother, Lord Francis Meaburn. Lady Catherine, he said, was in very good spirits; and, he added, was dressed exactly like the Duchess, that is, in the very latest fashion. He thought her petticoats might be a little thicker than was generally worn, but she had a huge poke bonnet, and a pair of black and yellow boots. She and the Duchess were the best of friends, and the rest of the town, both visitors and residents, looked up to them with awe. “I should like to know what Meaburn thinks of it all, though,” he said. “He is not the kind of man to sit down in a small spa town, drinking the waters and going to bed at eleven, because he loves his sister; he is more of a Brighton man.”
“I fancy,” Darcy said, “that money might have something to do with it.”
“I think it has everything to do with it,” agreed Fitzwilliam. “He was a Colonel in the—th, you know. I know some of the officers in that regiment, and I remember they told me that his extravagance was unbelievable. Eventually he was forced to sell out, because his gaming debts were so huge.”
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“Did he not marry Lord W——'s daughter?”
“He did. They say he had run through all her money by the time she died. But tell me, cousin, what has become of Dawson? there was a sour-faced woman in her place. Did she leave your mother's employment?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Anne. “If you remember, whenever we went anywhere my mother would have her sit on the box, and she was always quite willing. As it turned out, she was in love with the coachman; we could hear the two of them, laughing. Then he left, and she eloped with him. My mother does not like to have new people around her, so she promoted Mullins, who was the sewing maid before. I was sorry, for Dawson was very good-natured, and Mullins is not.”
The languor of the day after a ball was being felt; Lady Louisa had left, and no one wanted to walk. They were sitting on the terrace, when a servant came and said that Mrs Caldwell was wanted. She returned looking rather flustered.
“My dear,” she said to Anne, “There is something—I do not know what you will think, but my son has sent a gift for you. But he says that if you do not like it, it is to be sent back.”
“A gift for Anne?” said Georgiana. “But what is it? And where is it?” and they looked round, expecting to see a parcel.
“It must be a book,” said Anne, trying to speak calmly. “We were speaking of several titles that—but he offered to lend them— there is no need, Mrs Caldwell, I will return it.”
“No,” said Mrs Caldwell, “It is not a book. It is—it is in the stable yard. And if—if Mr and Mrs Darcy do not quite like it, it is to be sent back.”
By this time, the curiosity of the rest of the party had been thoroughly aroused, and everyone wanted to see the mysterious object. They all accompanied Anne to the stable yard, Mr Darcy enquiring rather anxiously if his friend had given his cousin a horse? A groom was standing there, holding a swathed bundle.
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