Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

by Diana Birchall

  "I was asleep when Bettina came to bed," she faltered, "and I have not seen her this morning.Sometimes after she has been at a ball, or an assembly-dance, at home, she does not sleep at all. I thought she must have gone out for an early walk."

  "Gone out with Fitzwilliam," said Elizabeth with energy, pushing back her chair.

  "Hush, my dear! Calm yourself. They have only gone riding, and surely will be back directly," protested Mr. Darcy.

  "I should not have thought that a man and a maid riding about the countryside, could be countenanced in a Christian household," said Mr. Collins gravely, "and I am sorry for it. I fear, Mr. Darcy, you are remiss in your duty. Young ladies under your protection ought to be properly chaperoned, and how Miss Wickham can so forget herself I cannot imagine. There has been grievous mismanagement here, depend upon it, and when they come in, I had better have a word with both the young people."

  Mr. Darcy had it on his tongue to angrily retort, when Sykes reappeared. "Sir - the stable man tells me that Mr. Fitzwilliam took out the town chaise and his matched hunters before first light this morning. He told Thomas he was taking the London road and expected to be in town by tomorrow nightfall; and, sir, he had the young lady with him."

  There was a dreadful silence, and Mr. Darcy broke it by trying to question the servant farther; but there was no more information to be elicited. It was certain that Fitzwilliam and Bettina were gone, and that they were now beyond the power of the fastest horses to retrieve them.

  "But there is the train, Mr. Darcy," said Lydia with unexpected presence of mind, "which my daughters only took the other day; sure you could go to town on that. The main line can be got at Manchester and from there it goes to London in a whirl. You could get there ahead of them and make them marry, could you not?"

  This speech, considering Mrs. Wickham's own past history, was dreadful to Elizabeth, who gave her husband one wild, despairing look.

  "This too much recalls scenes of the past," he said grimly, "which I prefer not to revive. Indeed, I do not believe that I ought to go. Fitzwilliam is of age, and he has, it seems, taken his own way. No doubt we will hear from him soon."

  "But my Betty! My darling child!" exclaimed Lydia, her hand on her heart.

  "She accompanied him of her own volition, in full accordance, I have no doubt, with your teaching; and whether or not she will become his wife I have no power to foresee."

  There was now a disturbance at the other end of the table, as Cloe grew suddenly very pale, and laid her head down upon her arms, as if she might faint. Everything was done that is usually done in such cases; Jane fetched water, the suffering lady was fanned, and her wrists chafed. When she was able to stand, Jane, Lydia and Mrs. Clarke escorted her to her room, to lay her up in lavender, while the others of the Pemberley house party consulted as to what was best to be done. Mr. and Mrs. Collins withdrew to the drawing-room, to enjoy a thorough contemplation of its ornaments and the family morals; while Lord Frederick, thinking his presence more likely to be burdensome than helpful, made arrangements for an early departure, though considerately assuring Henry that he should return at a moment's notice, if he could be of any use.

  Henry joined his parents, who had withdrawn to his mother's room.

  "Father, excuse me for presuming to remonstrate with you," said he diffidently, "but I wish you had not said such a thing before that poor girl that her mother's teachings should have such a result as that. It is an insult to her. No wonder she felt it."

  Mr. Darcy was concerned. "I am very sorry, Henry. I would not have done so for the world. I was not thinking; I was provoked, as you certainly can comprehend. Yes, poor girl! You are right. I shall say something to her when she comes downstairs again."

  "But can you get no word of them?" asked Elizabeth anxiously.

  "They will not hide themselves," said Darcy. "I cannot believe Fitzwilliam so entirely dead to decency as that. We will have letters as soon as possible, I have every hope."

  Elizabeth passed her hand over her face. "It is so like Lydia - as if that dreadful time has come again. I can hardly credit it."

  Her husband looked at her soberly."Console yourself, Elizabeth," he said. "Probably, Fitzwilliam means nothing so very reprehensible, after all. He knows we disapprove of his choice of wife; he marries privately. Much to be deplored, but there may be nothing left to do but to welcome our new daughter and to try to see the match in the best light."

  "Do you think it will be a match?"

  "You know as much as I do."

  CHAPTER IX

  Letters did not reach Pemberley for nearly a week; and when they did arrive, they were not of a sort calculated to bring much comfort.

  This was Fitzwilliam's:

  "Iam very sorry, my dear father, for any distress and alarm Ihave caused you and my mother; but my extreme passion and love for Miss Wickham is such that Imust have her. Therefore Icalculated that removing to London was the only way to achieve this aim. Be assured, that my respect for you would never allow me to marry where you did not approve; and Iknow your reasons for withholding your permission are good, she being my cousin and of inferior blood. It can be no harm to take her into my protection, however, as she has no respected name to lose; and Ishall care for her and give her as comfortable ahome as she will rejoice in having. Many of the best drawing-rooms in London will be open to us, married or not, as attitudes on such points differ in some circles than at home in the country; and Idaresay my Bettina will be satisfied in the distinguished society in which she finds herself. Heaven knows I can pronounce myself ahappy man. Ishall come up to the country when the weather moderates, to see about the hounds. In the meantime, Thomas knows about their diet, and perhaps Henry will not dislike giving them some exercise. Ihope Iknow enough not to insult my mother by bringing my mistress to Pemberley, so you may all be easy on that score. Hoping you will call on us, however, while you are in town, Iremain,

  Your's, &c.

  Fitzwilliam.”

  The style of Miss Wickham's letter to Cloe was not superior to Fitzwilliam's, any more than were its contents:

  "You will perhaps not much like what Ihave done, but Ilove my Fitz too well to live without him for aday, and the Pemberley people seem determined that Ishall not marry him. Ido not think Ishould ever do better, and scorn to be tied down in the country to some poor parson as is all our fortune entitles us to do, unless by some great good luck. And dear Fitz is the dearest man in the world; he is that to me, because -you will smile when you hear -he has agreed to give me five hundred a year, afine apartment in Half Moon Street, where all the fashionable world is to be met with for ever, and my own carriage and some jewels his mother has given him, thinking, as it was, for her future daughter-in-law, which it won't be my fault if Iam not. In the meantime, Ihave no cause to repent, and think it no matter if Iam not presented at Court, just now, for there are plenty of fine people who will not be too proud to meet me, and Idaresay Ishall make my courtesy, some time orother. And while my Fitz loves me Icare for no one else but him and him alone. Ihope you will not cast me off yourself, but remember that my situation is really no different from that of awife, in all respects, which Imay yet be one day, and that no matter what befalls, Ishall always be,

  Your attached sister,

  Bettina”

  Cloe, bitterly ashamed as she was of having such a sister, who could not only act as Bettina had done but express herself in such a way, longed to show the letter to no one, but to burn it; however, she felt she owed it to her mother to do otherwise. Lydia had rendered the feelings of the rest of the house party still more miserable all the week by loudly bewailing her daughter's fate to any body that would listen. Lady Catherine would take no notice of her; Mr. Collins lectured her every time she came near; but Cloe felt that, however lamentable her mother's behavior on the occasion, she ought to know what had befallen her favourite daughter, and how far she was culpable for the result of her teachings. For these reasons, in the course of a morning when Lydia
was keeping to her dressing-room, calling herself too weak and fretful to go downstairs, Cloe placed the letter into her mother’s hands.

  Lydia, reclining on the sofa, still in her dressing gown though it was past eleven, seized the letter and read it hastily.

  "Five hundred a year! Well, that is something like. It will do for her pin money - but I wonder if she is not to pay for her lodgings and carriage out of that? That would be quite a different thing, and I wonder what Mr. Fitz means by it. She must consult a lawyer, and have articles and a proper settlement drawn up, that is what. I will write and tell her so this minute. And her clothes - she went with little but what she was standing up in. He will have to buy her everything, all new."

  Cloe was accustomed to her mother's violent views and unwise partizanship of Bettina, but this blindness to a daughter's infamy shocked her. "Mama! You do not consider - you do not realize what this means. Unless they can be made to marry, Bettina is lost - lost to us forever. You will have lost a daughter, I a sister."

  "Oh, no, surely not. There is no call for that. Only because they did not stand up before a minister for ten minutes. How can such a thing signify? I came very near not standing up with your father, and what difference has it made, may I ask? I am very sure Fitzwilliam will keep to her only and she to him, and she is our very own selfsame Betty, with five hundred a year besides. She has done very well. I shall certainly not cast her off, but will visit her in London, and I vow I will find her in mighty fine circumstances."

  "But, Mama, do you not see that what she has done is a dreadful sin? It is against all the teachings of society, against custom, and against religion. Surely you know that if you countenance this immorality, and visit Bettina, no one will ever receive you again."

  "Well, and no one receives me any way, my dear," said Lydia comfortably. "I am too old, and too ugly, and too poor; and I don't go into society."

  "But no one will receive Betty, either. She will be an outcast all her days. No respectable woman will ever speak to her. Her children will be illegitimate."

  "Now, Cloe, don't take on in such a way. Don't you think, when young Fitz sees his pretty firstborn, he won't make an honest woman of Betty, and take his high-and-mighty parents by storm? Oh, yes, we will see her at Pemberley yet, that we will."

  "I scarcely dare to hope you are right, Mama," said Cloe soberly, "for I believe it to be impossible. The woman whom Fitzwilliam has taken into this disgraceful sort of keeping, can never hope to have her situation regularized, or have the presumption to aspire to a respectable position here. I believe such things very seldom happen, and can see no hope for Bettina at all. And consider, Mama, what will become of her should Fitzwilliam ever tire of her? She will have to seek the protection of another gentleman - she will be a forgotten creature."

  "Upon my word, you know a great deal! - a young lady like you should not know the existence of such things, I am sure I did not, when I was your age. But that is what the world is coming to," said Lydia, with indignation. "I should think you would be a great deal too nice to talk of them."

  Cloe, not for the first time in her life, felt all the uselessness of remonstrating with her mother, and the almost impertinence of her trying to do so; but there was no one else who might more properly perform this office, and prevent Mrs. Wickham from behaving in a way that would, if anything could, worsen the family's disgrace. A childlike mother is a terrible burden for a daughter, and Cloe was more than ever sensible of it as she attempted to speak firmly and rationally, though her own feelings were agitated.

  "I only want to ensure that you comprehend the seriousness of the situation, Mama, else I should certainly think it too dreadful to mention at all. But you must remember that it does concern me: for what Bettina has done must serve to absolutely invalidate all her sisters' chances of ever marrying respectably. And I am sure of one more thing: that our presence at Pemberley must be inflicting the utmost pain on dear Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and I will be the cause of this no longer. Now that we know Bettina's fate, and that there is nothing to be done for her, no purpose can be served by our remaining at Pemberley to make our hosts miserable. Therefore I propose our removing home to Newcastle at once."

  "Leave Pemberley! Have you gone distracted? I have hardly been here a fortnight, and have no idea of leaving these three months. It is very right my sister should do her share in helping us; and living so comfortable here, is what I can appreciate, if you cannot."

  "But my father - have you no wish to go home to him and the children, to console them for what my sister has done?"

  "Pish, my dear, they won't care about it. Wickham can shift for himself, he always does; he has the boys to fetch spirits for him, and he cares nothing for my company, I can assure you, for he is out with his friends six out of seven nights in the week, as you know very well. What should I want him for, or he want me? Only he might go to town and make Fitz marry Betty; but I know he never will."

  "No, you are right there. But still, Mama, I am convinced that we are not welcome at Pemberley, and if you do not take steps for our departure, it will be my duty to arrange the manner."

  "You shall do no such thing. The impertinence! Until my sister Darcy tells me to be gone, here I shall remain; and your duty is to me, your mother, not her. I require you to stay here, so say not another word on the matter. Besides, I have not lost hope that Mr. Henry may be induced to speak to you."

  "That he never will do, now, if ever he once thought of it," said Cloe quietly, rising to go back to her room, "and if he so forgot himself, it would be my duty to refuse him. And I think that is quite enough upon that subject. Now, Mama, I will not disobey you; but if you will not permit me to arrange for us to return home, then perhaps you will not object if I should seek a situation of my own."

  "What, never a situation like Betty's? But you are so violent against such things."

  "No, Mama, how could you think that? You must know that what suits Betty would not be likely to suit me. Have not we been entirely dissimilar in our taste, and in our characters, since we were children? - No, I thought of answering an advertisement - of becoming a governess."

  "What, you? But you know nothing, no Italian and music and that. It is a great pity you don't, to be sure, for such an accomplished young lady might attract the gentlemen. However, I should hardly like to see a daughter of mine in service, unless perhaps in a Duchess's household. That might do; but you have not the qualifications, and otherwise, the thing itself is horrid. Such a disgrace, I never could hold up my head again, or go home to face your father. Yes, Cloe, I think I should die of shame, if you became a governess."

  "I hope you would not," said Cloe soberly, "for it is the only alternative I see open to me. I have been taking lessons of my cousin Jane's masters, you know, and I am not so ignorant as I was when I first came. I believe that I am fit to instruct in English, in the use of the globes, and in mathematics, for which I always had a liking: the principles of drawing have been opened to me, my French is improved, and I can dance. It is not much, to be sure, but I might perhaps teach some very young ladies, or be a nursery-governess, if nothing better offers. You would not really object, Mama? I should earn a little money, enough to keep myself; and there would be that much less for you to worry about. I might, in time, even be able to send something to you and my father. Perhaps one day I could succeed well enough to open my own little school."

  "You! A school! Well, that is fine talking, for a girl not eighteen. You should try to get Mr. Henry to marry you, that is what. A clever girl, like Bettina, would make fast work of his prudishness and scruples, and all that. But there, I have done. You have got this romantic teaching nonsense into your head. It is as great a disgrace as anything I ever heard, and I should think your father will not have anything to do with you ever again, much less your great Pemberley relations; but I am not one to oppose my girls. If you want to throw yourself away, and take a dreadful place for housemaid's wages - for I do not expect you would make more than twent
y pounds a year, while there is Betty who has got five hundred - well, then, it is no more than you deserve."

  Taking this conversation, all in all, as approval, Cloe felt authorized to dispose of herself as she wished; though she remained in some doubt as to whether her mother could ever be persuaded to quit Pemberley. She had introduced the suggestion, however, to her mother's querulous mind; and a little more thought brought her to the sense that she owed duties to her aunt and uncle as well as to her mother. As she was under their roof, and meant to open a correspondence seeking a position, while still at Pemberley, and before removing to Newcastle, she lost no time seeking a tête-à-tête with Mrs. Darcy, and succeeded as that lady was taking her morning turn about the shrubbery.

  It was a bleak January day, that made farther walking out undesirable; but there was little snow on the ground, and the first signs of snowdrops were to be seen here and there, despite the cold. Mrs. Darcy, wrapped in her long fur pelisse, looked pensive as she paced, and Cloe hesitated to disturb her. But Mrs. Darcy looked up and smiled a good morning.

  After exchanging greetings, Cloe began, with resolve, "There is something I wished to say to you, ma'am. I am only sorry to interrupt your walk."

  "Not at all; I am glad of the company," said Mrs. Darcy. "There are some in the house to whom I should not like to give up the pleasures of a solitary walk; but you are not in that number. I hope you are not the bringer of bad tidings. They are all we have had lately, it seems."

  "No, I do not have it in my power to distress you in that way at the moment; and I hope I never shall. Indeed, my dear aunt, I hope you will allow me to tell you, how truly sensible I am of your great kindness in retaining me as your guest, after what my sister has done."

  "Say no more about it, Cloe. My son is not blameless in the matter; the fault was on both sides; and your presence at any rate is a pleasure and a comfort to me."