Therefore, if she could think of some other way to maintain herself, pleasanter and more productive of a competence, she should take it. She recoiled from advertising again: it was so cold blooded a way of doing, and to go to the house of strangers took more courage than she felt she presently possessed, especially as her situation was not absolutely desperate. She knew she should be thankful that it was not, but when she thought of Mr. Collins, and Lady Catherine, a rebellious spirit arose. How far it should be indulged and given rein she did not know; and in the uncertainty of what was right, and the possibility of improving her station, and the not wishing to seem ungrateful, she sat perplexed.
Though in general self-sufficient, and thinking for herself, as the circumstances of her family life in Newcastle had taught her to do, Cloe felt herself wishing for someone who could advise her - a prudent person, with more experience of the world than herself, but partial to her and understanding her situation. She thought of one, but the thought must be put away as one not to be indulged. She loved Henry Darcy, and knew she loved him, but she had no right to do so. She could not forget him, by simply ordering herself to do it, and the idea darted into her mind, unbidden, - how delightful it would be to talk all over with him! Reminding herself that this was impossible, her next thought was of Henry's mother, and here she felt herself on better ground. Mrs. Darcy was her aunt; she had been unfailingly kind and sound in her judgement, and Cloe could not doubt that she sincerely wished for her happiness. She felt she could consult her aunt; and to take such a step would even be prudent, for, in her position, Mrs. Darcy must be acquainted with many families, and might know of a situation for Cloe that would be all she could desire. With the first sensation of hopefulness since Lady Catherine had started speaking to her, Cloe wrote a letter, feeling all the awkwardness of framing her request, for it occurred to her as she was writing, that it might be construed as an application for an invitation to Pemberley, or of putting herself in Henry's way. Therefore, she endeavoured to do away with any such implications; and what with her constraint, and her anxiety, the resulting letter was short.
Mrs. Darcy's feelings, on reading it, were as warm, or warmer, than even Cloe could desire. She walked into her husband's library, her face in a glow, to set it before him; but only Mary was there, arranging a pile of volumes.
"Have you seen Mr. Darcy?"
"Why, yes: he was in here, but he would not remain. I hope I have not made him feel uncomfortable in his own room. But I happened to ask him if he minded if I put out all the works of Hannah More here, on this little table in the alcove, where every one may consult them: her wisdom ought to be imbibed every day, you know, and really with Jane in the house, the Essays for Young Ladies ought always to be at hand. It would be far better than having the tables covered with Dickens, and Scott, and Miss Edgeworth. It is not good for young people to read too many novels; they will meet with too much excitement, and I am almost sure Mr. Darcy agreed with me, though he did not say so. Do not you think he did?"
"I don't suppose he would mind which books you put out; but where, where did he go?" asked Elizabeth impatiently.
"Who - Oh! Mr. Darcy. I believe he is writing in the parlour."
A little checked, Elizabeth ran thither, and found Mr. Darcy just blotting his letter. He looked up and smiled.
"There you are, my dear. I have just finished writing to my sister. I hope she will join our family party for the wedding, if she can leave the children; she will hardly want to bring them all. Well: what have you there?"
"It is a letter from Cloe. Look here."
She showed him the letter, which was to this effect:
"My Dear Aunt,
Ihope you may excuse my forwardness in writing in hopes of obtaining your kind advice upon aparticular subject, namely, my position at Longbourn. Please do not think that Iam unhappy in my situation with Mr. and Mrs. Collins. They are always extremely kind, and Iam well treated; and my health is excellent. But Lady Catherine has intimated to me ('Intimated! Mr. Darcy, that is good!' exclaimed Elizabeth) that she is not satisfied with the respectability of my relations -in especial, my sister; and although Mrs. Collins assures me that the circumstance of Bettina's profession is no impediment to her, Iam persuaded that Mr. Collins feels differently. He will not absolutely dismiss me, but Ican see that he agrees with Lady Catherine at heart. Therefore, while Ihave been extremely obliged to you for helping me to obtain so eligible a situation, Ibelieve that Iought to look for another if one can be found where my unfortunate family's reputation is not regarded as ahindrance. Iwould wish to do nothing, however, without consulting you and Mr. Darcy, who have shown me such tender consideration, and interest in my well doing. Iknow, Aunt Darcy, how ready you are to invite me to Pemberley; but Ibelieve it will be right for me to remain at my post until actually presented with another, and Iam sure you will agree with my judgement on this point. Iwould be only too grateful if you would favour me with what advice occurs to you; with your knowledge of the world, superior to mine, and of what is aproper course for ayoung person like myself to take, Ishould feel great trust and confidence in whatever you might recommend to me. My hope is that aposition in a family of your acquaintance, that Iam qualified to fill, may become known to you. Iknow Ineed not apologize for the liberty; your kindness has taught me that. Ihope that Mr. Darcy and all your family are well; and Iremain, &c., &c.,
Your grateful niece,
Cloe Wickham"
"Lady Catherine has been at her, has she?" commented Mr. Darcy, passing the letter back to his wife.
"Yes, poor girl. But you see she trusts to us; we must be careful how we advise her. I should like to get her to Pemberley - after living in Mr. Collins' home, it must be what would be best for her."
"Undoubtedly; but you see she does not want that. Very properly, she seeks employment. It seems to me, Elizabeth - that is, I am no governess hiring agent - but sometimes these things do not want so much thinking-out as that; in short, something has just occurred to me. Why should she not go to Georgiana? There she would be comfortable. My sister certainly wants help with the children, and she would treat Cloe as an attached friend."
"She would so truly be one of the family," cried Elizabeth, her eyes sparkling. "Oh! Mr. Darcy, what a happy thought. But it is what I should have expected from you. What a clear thinking brain you have, and what a delight that it has been at my disposal these five and twenty years - never have I had better cause to hug myself, and you," suiting action to word.
Mr. Darcy suffered her caress with very good grace; for, though he was formal in public, he showed his wife great fondness when they were alone.
"No use complimenting me over such a very trifling matter. I have not yet closed my letter to Georgiana; shall I put that in?"
"Certainly. There can be no doubt of her compliance with our demands, so good tempered and obliging as she always is; though I suppose I must not write to Cloe until the offer has actually been made."
"No, but you may be easy. Georgiana is a very ready and forward correspondent, and you will hear very soon."
It was not three days before the Darcys had Lady Neville's reply and they were glad to know her as anxious to please, and willing to be of use, as she had always shown herself. All was soon settled. Cloe would be engaged to help with the Neville children, she would live only a day's drive from Pemberley, and only a few miles from her friend Jane, who was excited at the prospect of seeing Cloe again, for Mrs. Darcy would take no refusal. Cloe was to make a stay at Pemberley for two or three months for a thorough rest before taking up her new duties, which would by no means be as arduous as those in the Collins home. It was all as perfect as good will could make a plan; but even so, Cloe might have hesitated in consenting, had Mrs. Darcy not taken care to mention that Henry had by now taken up full residence at the rectory at Manygrove, and was too busy in his new parish to come to Pemberley very often. Cloe would be at Pemberley for Jane's wedding, however, which prospect filled both Jane and her mot
her with satisfaction; and Cloe admitted to herself that there was great pleasure at not only being so welcomed and loved in the family, as a most important addition to the wedding party, but that she would see Jane's husband, and watch her happiness.
It was, in truth, all very delightful to think of; and in Cloe's parting with Mr. and Mrs. Collins she was so light of heart and gay in spirits that she had a hard time pretending a proper reluctance at bidding them farewell. She could not regret leaving their house, and tiresome as was the long journey by rail and by carriage, she felt very few of the jostles, minded not the people staring at her in the rail-carriage, and could even smile at the fat lady in the coach, with so many parcels, crammed in like herrings in a barrel, who insisted on putting some upon her, Cloe’s, feet. She felt that she was going home, and she had to keep reminding herself that she had no right to think of Pemberley so.
CHAPTER XVII
The next few weeks were very happy ones for Cloe, as they were for everyone else at Pemberley. The beauty of this particular Tspring seemed unprecedented, and the inmates of the house, walking in twos or threes over vast carpets of bluebells in the Pemberley woods, or past the tossing daffodils that fringed the trout-stream, seemed to find every reason to be out of doors nearly all day long.
Fitzwilliam had been promoted to being pushed in a wheeled chair, and on the very finest days, when there was no danger of a shower, he was wheeled out under the trees, where he could sit and watch the sport of the others, and join in their chat.
Though an engaged couple, Lord Frederick and Jane were very far from requiring to be exclusive in their own company. They made entertaining and enlivening poor Fitzwilliam their special occupation.
"Are you turned around in the right direction, brother?" Jane asked solicitously. "I see the horses are moving off. Shall we move your chair, so you can continue looking at them?"
He had been peaceably watching the horses grazing in the paddock for half an hour.
"Oh, no, I've had enough. Might as well go upstairs. Fine piece of horseflesh that Deliberation's going to be; Exigency was his sire, you know. Pity they had to shoot him."
"He was in no state - " began Lord Frederick uncomfortably.
"Oh, Fitzwilliam, after doing you such an injury, I wonder you can be so forgiving."
"Wasn't the animal's fault, Janie; mine. I'd been drinking you know, and you take your chance, when you ride in such a state. Even the best horseman does. No, no, I got what I deserved, that is what. No matter. As long as I can go to the races do you think I may be well enough to be taken in a chair to Newmarket, perhaps next season? The doctor won't hear of it, damn the fellow, but I think I may, whatever he says. It's my neck that's bust, not his."
"It is not for me to say, but I hope you will be well enough. Perhaps there may be a race meeting nearer home."
"Yes; if I can't ride, I can still watch races. But now I think a nap's the thing. Call Simmons, will you - no, no, Frederick, don't take me up, you want to be walking with Jane."
Whenever Fitzwilliam was comfortably occupied in the house, the young couple rambled idly together, out of doors. They delighted in Cloe's joining them on boating-parties, and in long walks with the dogs in the blossoming park, catching sight of tiny blue-and-white butterflies, and brown rabbits, and all the other manifestations of nature in its most springlike state.
Within this Arcadia, little attention could possibly be given to events in the rest of the world; but there was one piece of general news which penetrated even to the lovers and their friends at Pemberley, and that was the death of the King, in the month of June. After some solemn things had been said about the death of the good old man, the topic on everyone's lips was the new eighteen-year-old Queen, and there was a general wonder about how anybody so young, and a female, would conduct herself in such an awe-full position. They had not to wonder long, for there soon arrived a visitor who was well able to inform them on these points. This was Jeremy Bingley, who had been spending some time in town, rather against his parents' wishes, who feared another opening of the Bettina question.
Jeremy, however, when he was together with the other young people in the park, spoke more confidentially than he would have done with the elders present.
"I am going home to be a good boy now, and thought I would take Pemberley in my way," he drawled. "One is always sure of being well fed and well housed here - excellent dinners, beautiful country - Swanfield cannot hold a candle to it. My father certainly has not the way of doing things Mr. Darcy has, but then, he has not half the income. Less, now, I am sorry to say, with what I have managed to get through."
"Jeremy! For shame!" cried Jane, dropping the handles of Fitzwilliam's chair, which she and her lover had been pushing, four-handed. "How can you talk so of my aunt and uncle - and they so kind to you? I hope you have not been gaming. That would be so very shocking."
"Oh, no, no; not at all; not lately, that is. Not since the last little trouble - five hundred pounds, it must be confessed, I lost in a single bet on the turf with - but there, hang it, I am very sorry, I did not mean to speak of it to distress you, old boy."
"That is all right," said Fitzwilliam, "It was my fault. I know I led you astray, in the bad old days, and I am sorry for it now. See where all my foolishness has got me - instead of me leading you, now you must push me."
"Oh, surely, now, you mustn't blame yourself. That is not fair. You meant no harm, we all know, and I hope you'll soon be back on your feet again."
"Not likely. Not I. No, it's the push-chair for me, for life; I am reconciled to it. The doctors say I won't move anything below my middle again, not on this earth. I fancy they are right. At least, I can speak, and eat and drink, and I tell you cousin, I have had time aplenty to think."
"That you have," said Jeremy uncomfortably.
Fitzwilliam went on, "Yes; and I see things more seriously now, I can assure you. I had my failings, I was thoughtless and heedless enough, and did many bad things."
He dropped his big head on his chest, almost the only movement he could make, and looked the very picture of sadness, a big, immobile child. No one could think of any thing to say for a moment, and Jeremy finally advanced, "I was the worse fool than you cousin; it was not all your fault. Don't think any more of it, pray."
"Yes, dear brother, do try to be cheerful. See how lovely it is in the park, and how nice it is we are all together, all of us who love you," Jane tried to console him.
"True, true," cried Frederick, and tactfully tried to turn the subject. "Jeremy, won't you tell us how things are going on in town? That will entertain Fitzwilliam better, and the rest of us too, I'll be bound. Is everyone talking about her new Majesty?"
"Yes, I should like to hear about her," said Cloe, with a grateful look at Lord Frederick. "Only think, she is exactly the age of Jane and me. I cannot imagine being a Queen, can you, Jane?"
"Oh, no! It must be quite frightening to have to discuss matters of state, and dull, too, to have to sit in council with old men and ambassadors every day. But still it is a grand thing - to be Queen of England. Did you see her yourself, Jeremy?"
"To be sure I did," he answered. "Once in the Park, riding, and another time at a levee - my friend, Sir Humphrey Horeland, got me into that, and it was a dreadful crush, but I saw her just the same. With difficulty, it is true, for she is so small. I had to crane my neck over the crush - like this - "
He demonstrated, and they laughed.
"But is she so very small?" cried Jane, "smaller than I am, or rather, smaller than Cloe, for Cloe is the littler."
"Oh, yes, Cloe is quite a giantess beside her: I do not think the little Queen can be four foot eleven. Perhaps not four foot ten. And she is plump, and not pretty, with a sort of German face, a hooked little nose, and teeth that stick out."
"Oh! Jeremy! How horrid, how disrespectful!" cried the girls. "You are making it up," added Jane.
"Indeed, I am not, but I do not mean to say she is positively ugly, for she has
a very pretty skin, and smooth light hair - rather your colour, Cloe - and a most remarkable air. Every one says they have never seen anything like it. Though she is so tiny, she has the most perfect carriage, and tout ensemble; a real look of Majesty. I wish you could see her. But you will go to Court when you are married, and be presented as a married woman, will you not, Jane?"
"Yes, I think I shall," said Jane positively.
Jeremy went on, "But there, I have forgot - I hope you don't mind my mentioning it, Fitzwilliam, and don't take it wrongly, but the fact is, I have a message to you, Miss Cloe, from your sister."
There was a frozen silence. Cloe must feel that any mention of Bettina was a gross breach of propriety, and when it was done by Jeremy, Bettina's lover, and before Fitzwilliam, her former lover, it became so dreadful that no one knew how to look. Jane found her voice first.
"Jeremy, surely you do not mean to talk to Cloe about her family here and now, in company? And I am certain it is too much for Fitzwilliam. He must be wanting his tea. Shall we wheel you back, brother?"
Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 16