"Excuse me, but I do not know how modern she is," said Aunt Mary earnestly. "I have never yet succeeded in making her read The Last Days of Pompeii, and I wish she would - it is true it is only a novel, but so instructional. She will not be a well-read wife, I fear, Lord Frederick, though I have tried to make her so."
"I am sure you have had more success than you credit yourself with, Mrs. Smith," said Lord Frederick, in a mood to be amiable to all the world.
"In my view she has read quite enough, but as for housekeeping, she knows next to nothing," sniffed Mrs. Clarke. "You know it is true, Lizzy painting and singing are all very well, but has she ever opened a receipt book? Will she be able to manage her household? I very much doubt it."
"Why, I have been watching Mama all my life, Aunt," said Jane serenely. "Watching is the best teaching."
Before going to bed that happy night, Jane did not omit to write of her joy to Cloe, carefully wording a most urgent invitation to come to the wedding; but by return of post came the reply, full of earnest wishes for Jane's happiness, but with a firm and decided refusal of the invitation. She could not leave her duties; would not if she could; did not wish to be indebted to the Darcys for transportation, and thought it wisest not to come to Pemberley - but Jane would understand. Jane did understand, and she told her lover, "We will have to devise another way to get Cloe here. I will think of one; you may trust me for that. I want Henry to be as happy as I am."
"You are happy then?" he asked her, as they passed under a flowering apple-tree in Mr. Darcy's garden - her answer fully occupied them for a considerable time.
CHAPTER XV
Lady Catherine de Bourgh found herself unprecedentedly lonely at Rosings, in the absence of the large Collins family to dominate and condescend to daily. Mr. Collins' replacement at Hunsford parsonage was his own oldest son, newly in orders, a quiet and self-sufficient young man who shyly kept to himself yet was prickly and independent enough, in her Ladyship's view, not to be patronized or bullied into matrimony. He proved a poor substitute for the wider field of the many things that were wrong with the Collins household that required Lady Catherine to set right. Before the spring was far advanced, therefore, she sallied out to visit Longbourn, to see Mr. and Mrs. Collins in their new home, and to tell them how best to manage.
"This wilderness has grown up considerably since I last visited here," she commented to Charlotte, "I remember; and do you sit upstairs with the girls all day, or what room do you take for your own?"
"I take Mr. Bennet's library that used to be. Mr. Collins thinks it gloomy, and he prefers the downstairs parlour that opens into the garden. The governess gives the girls their lessons upstairs. There are bedrooms enough, even for our family, now the boys are at school."
"Yes. The Bennets had five children, and you have only four at home, so you are comfortable enough. And with the little boys gone, the house is really empty. But the governess, you say - you still have Miss Wickham, I think?"
"Yes; she does nicely with Maria and Catherine, and has been teaching them all about the geography of Europe."
"Of Europe! Has she, indeed! But what can that little thing know of such matters? I observed her closely at Hunsford, and I did not consider her equal to her task then. I must tell you, frankly, that I am surprised that you have continued her in your household so long. I beg you will have her called down, Mrs. Collins. I should wish to examine her."
Charlotte did not like this, but she did not dare to oppose Lady Catherine, knowing her oldest son's comfort depended greatly upon not offending her; and so Cloe was summoned. If she was too much harassed, Charlotte reasoned, she could always be reassured privately afterward.
"So! Miss Wickham, I mean to examine you for your post; and I must tell you at the outset that I think you very young-looking. You are eighteen?" "Yes, ma'am; just."
"I cannot think such a young governess at all justified. I never had one under thirty for my own dear daughter; and all the many I have recommended to friends, were all older than you.Why do you consider that you are qualified at such an age, when others are not?"
"Excuse me, ma'am, I don't know that I am; but I have been teaching Catherine and Maria these two months, and if Mrs. Collins were not pleased, I think she would not keep me."
"So you suggest that I apply to her, for information concerning you? That is rather impertinent. You must know that I have done so already, and she has given me a tolerably good report. Mrs. Collins, however, is too yielding; not strict enough in her standards, very soft tempered. I have often observed it, and that is why I must concern myself about her daughters' education. I believe I am acquainted with the degree of learning which you possess. Fit to be a nursery-governess perhaps, but where will you be when your charges grow older and begin to require real instruction? Can you pretend to be qualified to teach girls of older years?"
"Not, perhaps, at present; but I assure you I am endeavouring to improve myself. I read daily, do some French work, and Mrs. Collins has given me leave to practice upon the piano."
"Hum! that is well - but I will come to the point, Miss Wickham. While you may pass as an indifferent sort of teacher at present - likely not to do very much harm to the girls' understanding, at any rate - there is one subject in which you cannot instruct, and in which you are answerable to a higher power than even myself."
"And what is that, ma'am," said Cloe impatiently.
"I mark your tone, young woman, I do, and it does not speak well for you. It is a mark against you, at a time when I am adding them up; and it may even be the deciding one. You know very well that I speak of religion, of morality, of giving these children high religious principles; and I have formed the conclusion that for this awe-full and important office, you are by no means qualified."
"How have you discerned such a thing in me?" asked Cloe, distressed. "I am sure I have omitted nothing in the children's religious instruction. I should not be likely to, in the home of a clergyman, you know. Mr. Collins sermonizes the girls very constantly, and their mother reads the Bible with them, and often instructs me to fulfill this office, when she cannot."
"Silence! Do you think that I am not aware of all that? Naturally, in this house, the girls' religious education can hardly be wanting; but I am referring to their instruction by a person of inadmissible morality herself."
"I?" asked Cloe. "But, what can have I done?"
"It is not what you have done, it is what you are. You sit there quietly, presenting the appearance of an innocent young miss, and it is all the more insidious. How can any one pretend to be virtuous, coming from a family such as yours?"
Cloe now fully understood whither Lady Catherine's remarks were tending. "I was placed in this house by your own relations, my aunt and uncle, the Darcys of Pemberley," she stated slowly, and with resentment, "and Mr. Collins, a clergyman, perfectly approved of this measure."
"You do not know any such thing. You are not aware of the many, many heart-wringing discussions I had with your employers, aye, late into the night, upon the subject. We all knew very well who and what your parents are. Your father was a ne'er-do-well - nay, a seducer - long before he was lost to drink; and he is lost, that much is well known."
"Whatever his failings," said Cloe, angrily, "he is my father, and has never been unkind to me: you have no right to speak of him."
"I have every right to speak of the drunkard son of Mr. Darcy's late steward, Miss. I abhor strong language; but the words are the only ones to perfectly describe him. It is you who dare not contradict me. We all know that indulgence like his runs in families, and while I am willing to concede that you are personally abstemious, there is another kind of laxity that you are still more prone to fall into: witness the moral conduct of your own mother, a violent, headstrong woman, who lived with your father before they were married."
"Lady Catherine," said Cloe, rising to her feet though the room seemed to sway around her, "that was a quarter of a century ago. My mother has paid for her indiscretion (
for indiscretion was all that it was) a thousand times over. She has had a hard life, with many children, in much want and with many hardships; but through it all she has been a virtuous wife; and I am proud that I am able to spare half my salary to her. If you do not forbear to mention my parents again, I must leave the room."
"You may rest easy, my girl. I shall not mention them again, though I must say in passing that their station in life hardly qualifies you as a lady, and a half-lady is no fit governess for a gentleman's family. But I have done with that. The person whom I must mention, is your sister."
"Bettina? How can this concern her?" said Cloe, scornfully.
"I will tell you. You may have been kept quite properly - from a full knowledge of her conduct, but it has not been possible to conceal it from me. In passing through London, you must know, I saw billboards - common public billboards actually advertising the appearance of your sister, Miss Wickham, as an actress upon the Haymarket stage. What do you think of that?"
"I should consider it quite out of the scope of this conversation, which I firmly believe ought to be concluded."
"Nonsense! I made inquiries, for I have heard, that however disgraceful an actress' life may seem to us - to me, at any rate, as I cannot expect it to strike someone like yourself so - there are some of that class that do not lead completely unvirtuous lives. I would never wish to condemn anyone unfairly. It is not in my nature. I have often served, in my own country, as a kind of informal magistrate, and I assure you I have always given a hearing to all the facts, as is consistent with British justice. I am quite a proverb for fairness. But, as an unlettered young lady, you probably know little about such matters."
Not knowing how to retort to this, Cloe sat still, meditating a hasty rush upstairs, to take refuge from Lady Catherine; but concluded that it was not worth it. She would only distress Mrs. Collins, who had been kind to her, and in any case it was far from improbable that Lady Catherine would pursue her even into the far recesses of her room. There was no hope of peace, so she submitted to hear her out, trying to remember that she was an elderly lady, and deserving of compassion and respect on that score, if no other.
"Well! I made inquiries, you may be sure. I am not unacquainted with the fashionable world, you may know, though my adventures in it were many, many years ago, when I was Lady Catherine Fitzwilliam. Society was quite different then. No young lady was given over to the care of a governess not of the very highest character." She paused impressively to let this sink in. "I was a very handsome young lady, much more handsome than my younger sister, Lady Anne Darcy - that is, she was pretty in a delicate sort of way, but she suffered ill health, poor thing; and she died sadly young, you may have heard, only a dozen years after her marriage, leaving her children, Darcy and Georgiana, quite motherless. I have been a second mother to them, however, and they are quite devoted to me, as is entirely proper. Indeed, I was instrumental in forming their characters, and think they do me honour on the whole. - Such a pair has seldom been seen - and Georgiana, at least, is nobly married."
She was quiet a moment, thinking, and Cloe did nothing to encourage her to speak again. She resumed, however, "I always think that appearance is best which announces robust health; my own poor daughter Anne would have been beautiful if she had only been healthy. But high breeding always makes for a most aristocratic appearance. My brother, the Earl of Osmington, married a very handsome, high bred woman; and their two sons, the present Earl, and General Fitzwilliam, are the finest men in England in both appearance and character. That is Fitzwilliam is in India, of course. He will inherit my property when I go. He is unmarried; I have often wished differently, but I have done with planning young people's marriages: they are an ungrateful set.Well, and what was I saying? My mind does wander at times, these days, which is only natural to my age; my memory, however, is wonderful, as remarkable as it ever was, but I do fall into musings, which is not strange, considering all that I have to think about, and serious matters, too. Oh: yes, the fashionable world - and good breeding tells - you have quite a delicate appearance, and I hope will not pass any dreadful consumptive complaint on to the Collins children, poor little dears."
"I am not at all ill, madam," said Cloe, controlling herself.
"Well, well, and why should you be, living in the abode of comfort, in fine places such as Pemberley, and Hunsford, and now Longbourn? Such houses! I really think no other young woman in your situation can ever have had such opportunities. It would surprise me if you did not improve in such places as these. But, oh! yes company - I have high connections in London, you know. There is old Lady Scarborough, and some of poor Queen Adelaide's ladies - well, never mind their names, it would hardly be fit for me to speak of people in high life to you, the governess - but I asked a few well chosen questions about this actress, not telling anyone she was in any manner a connection of my own, however distant. Not that anyone would have believed such a thing of me, my character speaks for itself; but I found out the whole story."
"Did you, ma'am?" Cloe felt she was to hear it; it could not be avoided, and she only could not decide whether curiosity or dread most informed her feelings upon the occasion.
"Oh, yes. Your sister is, as I feared, an actress of the very worst character. Off the stage she is quite as wicked as upon it, for she is kept in great style, in a most scandalous fashion: by some gentleman or other, I do not pretend to know whom. I must not elaborate on such matters to you - it is not proper to say such things to a young unmarried woman. The differences between the married and the unmarried must be preserved; remember that. It is a mark of excellent taste. Are you quite well, Miss Wickham? You look pale. You are not going to faint?"
"I am not, but I should like some water," and she managed to ring for a servant, for her shaking hand would not let her deal with the pitcher, and she would not ask Lady Catherine. She did, however, gather courage to ask the question weighing upon her.
"Lady Catherine - I do not wish to know details, believe me, but can you only tell me, as a matter of humanity, is my sister well? She cannot write to me, you know - so I have heard nothing."
"No. It would be wrong if she did, and if ever she does write, you should tear up her letter, unread. She certainly ought to be dead to you and to all your dear family. But I daresay it will not be wrong for me to tell you that she seems to be prospering finely in her wickedness - such things sometimes do happen in this world - though it is a wonder that God allows one of that sort to flourish, and be healthy, and prosperous. But as I say, no particulars. Remember, Miss Wickham, that her being well now, means nothing. She will be punished, as surely as anyone is punished, hereafter; she will be ill, and persecuted, and die in a low state, I am certain. I would not have her immortal soul, for the world." Lady Catherine paused to complacently regard their respective fates at the seat of Judgement.
"Lady Catherine, you must understand that what you have told me has been very shocking to me - and that I wish to retire."
"Oh! Yes, I daresay. Quite so. Well, I have done with you: quite done. Now, surely, you understand why you will never do as governess to the Collinses; and if you try to take a like position anywhere else, I will think it my duty to write and tell your new employers of your antecedents. I do not do this to be cruel, but so that you understand there is not the least use in trying to pass yourself off with any degree of credit, anywhere. I wish you no ill; you have evidently comported yourself as properly as you can, given your disadvantages; but you can see that you must no longer remain in this house, the sister of such a person as that."
She is not to instruct the Collins girls, "ma'am," said Cloe wearily, "but there is little use in arguing with you on the subject, and any continuance of it will only bring me pain."
"You will, however, leave at once, as I have demanded?"
"I do not know; I must beg to retire. I can only say that I will think over the things you have told me," said poor Cloe, feeling herself perilously close to childish tears, and not wanting to sho
w them before Lady Catherine. She went upstairs, leaving that noblewoman standing her ground in the sitting-room, well pleased with her good morning's work, and confident of having rid the Collinses of a succubus, and an unworthy governess.
CHAPTER XVI
It was not left, after this conversation, for Mrs. Collins to say much to reassure or to comfort Cloe. She nervously asked the girl if Lady Catherine had seemed pleased with her, and Cloe replied that she "believed so, except for her family and in particular her sister."
"Oh! I was afraid that would come up," said Charlotte, frowning. "How unfortunate. I have the utmost respect for Lady Catherine - she is a very good woman, and we owe her a great deal I believe but, she did not actually say she wished you to leave, did she? It would be very awkward if she did, though you must believe, Miss Wickham, that we think you a very good girl and we do not at all wish to lose you."
"Perhaps it will be best if you talk the matter over with her; I hardly know what was said, or what was intended on that point," said Cloe, "indeed, my head is reverberating from it all, as if I were sitting next the organ in church: she does talk so loud."
"Poor girl! Yes, Lady Catherine has been growing deaf of late, and she always had a fine declamatory tone. Well - suppose you lie down and use some of my lavender water. My youngest sister and I can take the little girls into the garden; and if you remain upstairs for a bit, you will probably not encounter Lady Catherine again before she leaves which will be wisest."
Cloe certainly thought that it was; and she took Mrs. Collins' excellent advice and was soon laid down upon the bed, but sleep did not come, and she found herself revolving in her mind, what she ought to do. To stay at Longbourn did not seem possible; she felt her place in the house was a matter of indifference at best to nearly every person in it; and if that was the natural consequence of being a governess, she might, at least, be better compensated in another position. Mr. Collins was a close man, as evidenced in many ways, not least of all in the smallness of her own salary; and his wife was too good a manager and wise a partner to counteract his lifelong habits of penury and thrift. Cloe felt that she was fond of the little girls, and had engaged their affections, but she was convinced that they would do equally well with any governess of ordinary good nature; and surely the Collinses were too conscientious as parents to engage any other kind.The only advantage that Cloe could see in her present position was that she was not amongst strangers, for the Collinses were connections, if distant ones. There must be some security in this, though when she considered Lady Catherine's discourse, she did not feel very certain on that point. She was not ill-treated by her employers; and by having accepted the position, she might be considered obliged to remain as long as she was needed; yet she could not feel that this obligation lay heavy upon her.
Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 15