The Companion

by Jann Rowland

  “I am not trying to induce you to disobey Lady Catherine,” said Elizabeth, speaking slowly and with care. “But you are of age and may do as you please. You need not be beholden to her every whim.”

  “No, but the furor and outcry which must proceed from flouting my mother’s strictures are not worth the gratification I might receive.” Anne paused and then smiled at Elizabeth. “Come, let us ride in the phaeton for a time. Perhaps we might be fortunate enough to see a deer or some other animal.”

  Agreeing, Elizabeth returned to her room and took a bonnet and spenser to wear, informing Tilly that she and Anne would be out for a time. As she made her way down through the house, she considered the problem that was Anne and Lady Catherine. Elizabeth had quickly learned that she was entirely mistaken about the Anne de Bourgh, though given how she had presented herself, Elizabeth did not think she could be blamed.

  In the first place, though she was not robust and did not possess an especially hardy constitution, Anne was also not frail. In fact, more of the frailty she often displayed before company was nothing more than Lady Catherine’s coddling. How Lady Catherine could treat her daughter, a woman full grown, in such a manner was beyond Elizabeth’s understanding. She had also learned that part of Anne’s seeming ill-health was because Anne, herself, presented it that way as a means to keep her mother at bay.

  “You must retire for your nap, Anne!” cried Lady Catherine the afternoon after Elizabeth had agreed to become Anne’s friend. “You are quite clearly exhausted, no doubt from Miss Bennet’s overactive sense of exercise.”

  “I will own to a little fatigue,” said Anne, and when Elizabeth looked on her, she could see that Anne was drooping, her eyes heavy lidded. “I shall take Miss Bennet with me and retire to my room.”

  “Of course, she must go with you,” said Lady Catherine, waving to dismiss them both from the room. “She is your companion, is she not?”

  By this time, Elizabeth was inured to Lady Catherine’s words and the sneering tone she often used when she spoke to or of Elizabeth, so she did not care about what Lady Catherine said. Anne rose and Elizabeth followed her from the room, but she watched her charge as she climbed the stairs, and Anne did not give the impression of a woman who was asleep on her feet, for she climbed the stairs spritely enough.

  “What shall we do with the afternoon, then?” asked she when they had gained the security of her room. “Perhaps we could read together?”

  “Are you not fatigued?”

  Anne only laughed and shook her head. “I have often found that my mother prefers that I rest often, so I give her ample opportunity to order me from the room.”

  Even now, a few days after the event, Elizabeth was not certain what to think of Anne’s subterfuge. On the one hand, that anyone would desire to be out of Lady Catherine’s company was not a surprise—Elizabeth rarely wished to be in her company! On the other, however, such behavior only encouraged Lady Catherine to continue to treat Anne as if she was a girl of seven, rather than a woman of more than twenty.

  Elizabeth truly was not attempting to foment discord in the house, nor was she trying to teach Anne defiance. But she was an adult; should she not be allowed—encouraged even—to make her own decisions? In this house, and with such a passive disposition, Elizabeth could not help but suppose that Anne would never be able to choose for herself, and furthermore, if her mother suddenly passed on, what would Anne do then? It was imperative, in Elizabeth’s mind, that the Anne develop a hint of independence.

  Another discovery Elizabeth had made was that Anne was quite intelligent. They spoke together on an equal level, and though Anne was not quick with a reply like Elizabeth, her intelligence was sufficient for her to hold her own in a discussion of differing opinions. What she lacked was the courage to disagree with her mother—or rather to state that disagreement openly.

  “I do not wish for an argument,” replied Anne one evening when they had been discussing some piece of literature Elizabeth had introduced to her.

  Intrigued, Elizabeth asked her what she meant. “It is simply that . . . Well, I do not think I agree with you, so if I say my opinion, then I risk an argument.”

  “Not all discussions end in argument, Anne. Some of the most interesting discussions in which I have ever engaged were contrary in nature, with differently held opinions. But debates are healthy, for they encourage critical thinking and learning.”

  Anne paused and considered this. “But these debates of yours—did they not end in hard feelings between you?”

  “The trick is to respect the other person for their opinions, even if you disagree with them. Just because you and I read the same passage and interpret it differently, for example, should not be cause for us to hate each other. As we are different people with different experiences, it is not a surprise that we think in a different manner too.”

  “My mother would never agree. Her opinion is paramount, and she does not tolerate disagreement.”

  “With all due respect to Lady Catherine,” replied Elizabeth, “she is not perfect, and as such, she cannot have a perfect understanding. There is only one perfect person in the history of the world, and I can assure you that your mother is not that person.”

  Anne giggled, and then she directed a mock glare at Elizabeth. “Do not allow mother to hear you say that. I am certain she has never considered the possibility she might be wrong about anything.”

  “Of course,” replied Elizabeth. “I would never argue with her. But you will allow me to disagree in the confines of my own thoughts, I hope.”

  Though Anne was intelligent, Elizabeth soon learned that she was not well educated at all. Lady Catherine, it seemed, was more interested in informing Anne of what she thought Anne needed to know and avoid all those pesky consequences which would result in her daughter’s having any opinion which that contradict with her own. Anne had read relatively little literature, she had not been to London to partake in anything of culture, and she showed a shocking lack of knowledge of anything which was happening in the world at the time, whether it was the war with the French or the situation between England and its former colonies.

  When Elizabeth reached the bottom of the stairs, she made her way toward the stables where the phaeton was being made ready by the stable hands. Anne was already there, and she watched the activity with an almost child-like excitement. It was one of the only things that she was allowed able to do by herself and without Lady Catherine looming over her—Lady Catherine herself rode in a carriage wherever she went. From this, Elizabeth had determined that Anne longed to be free, but she, unfortunately, lacked the ability to even contemplate removing herself from her mother’s domination.

  This was where Elizabeth came in and had found her place in Anne’s life. Though she knew she would be required to depart for her father’s home, she hoped that she would be successful in imparting some of her skills to Anne. Perhaps Anne could assert her independence in small measures over time, giving her mother an opportunity to become accustomed to each step and the new reality of her daughter’s life. But for Anne to be successful, Elizabeth knew she would need the tools, so Elizabeth spent as much time as she could educating Anne of the world beyond her mother’s estate.

  “You are to go out in your phaeton?”

  Elizabeth turned at the sound of Lady Catherine’s voice, and she noted the lady walking toward them, her appearance neither pleased nor displeased.

  “Yes, Mother,” replied Anne. Elizabeth had noted that she never referred to her mother as “mama” or any other more familiar term.

  Lady Catherine nodded. “Do not stay out longer than an hour—you remember how strict I am about such things.”

  “Of course.”

  “And Baines will ride along behind you.”

  “Yes,” replied Anne, gesturing toward where a towering footman was inspecting the saddle of a gelding. This footman accompanied Anne whenever she drove out.

  “Very well,
then.” Lady Catherine turned to Elizabeth. “Remember to leave your bonnet on, Miss Bennet. I will not stand for anyone of my household becoming excessively brown.”

  Lady Catherine had forgotten that Elizabeth was to depart for her father’s house before too many weeks had passed and seemed to consider her the same as she would one of her employees. Elizabeth had known this was likely, and she had decided there was no reason to contradict the lady. She only assented to Lady Catherine’s instructions and watched as the woman retreated.

  “It seems you are becoming proficient already, Elizabeth. It is much better to simply agree with her, then she will only nod and take her leave.”

  Though she agreed with her companion, the brief exchange brought another thought to Elizabeth’s mind. Anne was, she decided, far more rebellious against Lady Catherine than Elizabeth—or Anne herself—had ever thought. But her rebellion against her mother was of a more passive variety. Anne would not contradict Lady Catherine, nor would she disobey her when given a direct order—unless she managed to wriggle free when the woman was not looking. It was these traits, this ability to recognize that she did not always wish to do exactly as she was told, which gave Elizabeth hope that Anne would one day succeed in asserting her independence.

  “Let us go,” said Anne, breaking through Elizabeth’s reverie. She climbed up onto the front seat beside Anne and watched as the other woman flicked the reins, the pony in front of her beginning to move forward.

  They rode on in silence for some time, Elizabeth enjoying the feeling of the wind in her face and the warmth of the sun shining down upon them. It was still late March, and the wind still carried a bit of a bite, but, overall, Elizabeth was pleased by the weather which had been laid out for them. Anne handled the reins with an expertise borne of much practice, her subtle motions guiding the ponies with no hesitation. But whereas Elizabeth was enjoying the weather and the scents of the season, Anne seemed to enjoy the movement of the phaeton, of being in control, and the ability to escape Rosings.

  “It is a lovely day, is it not?” said Elizabeth when they had been traveling some time.

  “Yes,” replied Anne. “I do not like it when it rains, as I am denied this pleasure.”

  Elizabeth looked at the woman with sympathy. The phaeton was truly her only pleasure, and it must be hard, indeed, to be denied it.

  “Where did you receive your instruction?” asked Elizabeth.

  “We used to gather with my extended family every year. My uncle, who is the Earl of Matlock and my mother’s brother, as well as my aunt, who was my mother’s sister, and their families. Before my aunt’s husband passed away, he insisted on alternating the location of our gatherings, so we would travel to Derbyshire, as their estates are quite close. It was on those occasions when I first learned to drive, though I was young enough that I was not allowed to do it myself.

  “Of course, my mother has often given me instruction as well, though her words have always been more commands. It is even more curious as I have never seen my mother drive, and I am not sure if she has ever learned.”

  Elizabeth was forced to stifle a laugh, for she knew exactly to what Anne was referring. But then Anne surprised her by confirming Elizabeth’s opinion and speaking of the matter out loud.

  “In fact, I have come to the conclusion that my mother, though she claims superior knowledge about any subject, actually knows very little.”

  This time Elizabeth could not hold in her laughter, and she said: “Yes, but if she had ever learned, she would be a true proficient.”

  Anne joined her in laughter. “I see you have been listening when my mother mumbles her officious nothings.”

  “Indeed, I have,” replied Elizabeth, wondering at her companion’s sudden critical comments of her mother. Apparently, Anne saw her expression.

  “I have always recognized these things about my mother, Elizabeth. But I have no desire for confrontation with her.”

  Elizabeth nodded, still not quite understanding. “Then of what shall we speak? We are in a position where we cannot be overheard. It would be wise of us to take advantage of that fact.”

  And speak they did. They discussed one of Shakespeare’s sonnets which they had read that morning, and Elizabeth was heartened to hear Anne espousing an interpretation different from that which Elizabeth had stated. They spoke of the war in France, Anne informing Elizabeth that her cousin, the second son of her uncle the earl, was a colonel in the army and had seen battle in Spain against the tyrant’s forces. They spoke of some of the art Lady Catherine had displayed in the house at Rosings—Elizabeth had learned that art was an interest Anne possessed, though she had never visited any art galleries in London and had only the pieces her mother possessed for reference.

  Through these discussions, Elizabeth attempted to tutor her charge, encouraging her to state her opinions with confidence, but also to be open to the opinions of others. Of the supposed engagement between herself and Mr. Darcy, nothing was spoken, and Elizabeth did not expect her to share such private matters. But she was quickly coming to the opinion that Anne deserved better than to be tied for life to such a stern, unfeeling man as Mr. Darcy.

  “I am astounded at your having such well-formed opinions,” said Anne as she was guiding the ponies back toward Rosings, which loomed in the distance. “My mother would consider much of what we discuss to be unladylike.”

  “Perhaps she would,” replied Elizabeth. “But I do not think that women should be ignorant of what happens in the world around us. Though there are certain separations of what the sexes can properly do, we should still be aware.”

  “How did you become so educated? Did you attend school?”

  “No, I had not that pleasure, though I would have appreciated the opportunity. My father is an intelligent man. He allowed his daughters to direct their own education, to concentrate on those subjects for which we had an interest, and he assisted us when we identified those subjects which bring us pleasure.”

  “Your father educated you?” asked Anne, her tone incredulous. “My mother always says that daughters are not of much consequence to a father.”

  “But my father has no sons,” replied Elizabeth. “I was always my father’s favorite, for I am most like him in temperament. But it is not completely accurate to say that he educated me—rather, I educated myself, with his assistance.”

  “Is that what you are attempting with me?”

  Elizabeth blushed and demurred. “I am not educating you, Anne.”

  “Because I am educating myself. You need not spare my feelings, Elizabeth. It has become clear to me that I have not learned the things that I should have. I am quite indebted to you for taking me under your wing.”

  There was nothing to say to that. Elizabeth only smiled at her companion and indicated that she was happy to be her friend. Anne, who had likely never had a friend in her life, beamed, as she always did when Elizabeth spoke of friendship, and guided the ponies to a stop outside the stable. The animals and the conveyance were left to the care of the stable hands, and the two women returned to the house. It was clear almost immediately that there was some uproar.

  “I suppose we should attend my mother at once,” said Anne. The reluctance in her tone matched Elizabeth’s feelings, for she had learned that Lady Catherine was unpleasant when vexed. “If we do not, she will seek us out later.”

  They approached the sitting-room, from whence the commotion was emanating, and when they stepped in, it was to the sight of Lady Catherine with a piece of paper clenched in one fist, her heightened color suggesting that she had been in this state for some time.

  “What is the matter, Mother?” asked Anne, approaching the virago with more confidence than Elizabeth.

  “What is the matter?” echoed Lady Catherine. “Your cousin has written to inform me that he will not visit Rosings this year! He claims some matter of business which prevents his being away from town. What business could possibly be more important t
han attending you, his future bride?”

  “I know not, Mother, for I have not read his letter.”

  It was clear that Lady Catherine had hardly even noted Anne’s response. “No, no, no, this cannot be allowed to stand. Darcy will do his duty and attend to us as usual. I shall write him a letter, informing him of his duty.”

  “But his matter of business,” said Anne. “Surely he would not have cancelled his visit if it were not imperative.”

  “It matters not!” snapped Lady Catherine. “He must come. I know you have your heart set on marrying him, and I was counting on his proposing this year. If he proposes, you will no longer need a companion, and Miss Bennet may return to her home.”

  “Then I will leave you to your letter writing.”

  The reminder that she was to write a letter provoked Lady Catherine to action, and she turned, without acknowledging them, and hurried to the escritoire. Within moments, the scratching of her pen testified to her imperious demands to her nephew, and Elizabeth wondered that she had not torn holes in the paper.

  Without a word, the two ladies departed, leaving Lady Catherine to her anger and her furiously written letter, and they made their way back toward Anne’s room. Elizabeth could not help but be curious.

  “Are you set on marrying Mr. Darcy?”

  Anne’s eyes found Elizabeth and her brow furrowed. “Are you acquainted with my cousin?”

  “I am,” replied Elizabeth, now wishing she had kept her own counsel. “Mr. Darcy stayed for some months in Hertfordshire last autumn at the leased estate of his friend, Mr. Bingley.”

  “I did not know that,” replied Anne. “In response to your question, I believe it is my mother who is set upon the marriage. “I esteem my cousin, but I do not think I wish to marry him. He is far too austere for my tastes.”

  It was an opinion with which Elizabeth could agree. “It does, indeed, seem like your mother is set upon it.”

  Anne shrugged. “I believe I have no fear. When he comes, Darcy pays me no more than civility, I am certain due to my mother’s propensity to assume anything more is an indication of an imminent proposal. I have never known Darcy to do anything he does not wish, so I am certain I am safe.”