From Longbourn to Pemberley - Winter 1810-1811

by M-C Ranger

  ‘Did you know, Jane, that I was not the least bit enchanted by this stay in London and that my mother insisted that I accept Mrs. Jennings’ invitation? And now we have met one another and become friends. That has much improved the situation, I might add!’

  ‘Thank you, Elinor, but because Mrs. Jennings knows countless people, you will spend time with many more people than I would ever meet. You will therefore make many friends.’

  ‘I’m more reserved, and I often feel quite distant from young people I’m introduced to. I know that we will soon be going to the ball, one of the most popular of the season. We received the invitation this week. Marianne is hoping to meet a special someone there; I would prefer not to go...’

  ‘Come, Elinor, it will be a distraction for you. I’ve noticed that you are sometimes in a state of melancholy; you must not allow yourself to be overcome by this agony that appears to reside within you...ʼ

  ‘And who are you addressing, dear Jane? I do not believe I am the only one to suffer in silence. Do you think I have not noticed? Oh! I am not asking you to tell me about it, but at the very least you must understand why we were instinctively drawn to one another.’

  ‘It’s true,’ added Jane Bennet, thoughtfully, ‘that this is what drew me to you. We have not told each other, at least not on this first outing, about our mutual disappointments, our education, and...’

  ‘...our reputation as young accomplished women could suffer as a result,’ Elinor Dashwood finished, a smile contradicting her disquieted tone.

  Both barely had the time to exchange a gaze of complicity when Miss Steele caught up to them, a sweet smile on her lips and a breathless Mrs. Jennings on her heels.

  ****

  If one were to believe that only young women - Mrs. Jennings being barely able to catch her breath - were able to play their cards right when it came to sensitive subjects, one would be wrong. It would suffice to follow Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was quickly climbing the stairs of one of the elegant residences on Grosvenor Square, where he was quickly introduced and then led towards the library, the preferred room of the master of the house.

  ‘Richard, what a pleasant surprise! I didn’t think I would see you before tomorrow,’ exclaimed Fitzwilliam Darcy, standing up to warmly shake his cousin’s hand.

  ‘Everything is fine. We returned somewhat earlier than planned, and in all honesty, I was eager to enjoy a good brandy in good company Naturally, I went by the house first. Father sends you his regards, and Mother is concerned as she hasn’t seen you very much. I told her that you were most certainly nursing some heartbreak, and that is why you were hiding yourself!’ the colonel said, bursting into laughter.

  ‘Richard, when will you stop talking nonsense?’ asked Darcy, ambivalently.

  ‘Fitz, please, have a sense a humour. It’s precisely because this is inconceivable in your case that I said this to Lady Matlock. Incidentally, she did not believe me in the least.’

  Darcy handed him the glass that he’d just filled and hastened to change the subject. If Richard Fitzwilliam had realised that he’d hit the mark, he would not have backed down, something that those who knew his cousin would have no doubt about.

  ‘You will know that no later than yesterday, I was at the Society of Antiquaries. I had a long discussion with the president.’

  ‘And what did you and Lord Leicester talk about?’ inquired the colonel, politely, historical artefacts not being one of his biggest interests.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy began to talk about Arbor Low, a circle of large limestone blocks located in the White Peak area. And as everything that had to do with Derbyshire concerned the master of Pemberley, Richard Fitzwilliam was given a little lesson in archaeology. This was the price to be paid for teasing his cousin.

  ‘Now I understand why Lady Matlock did not see you at Almack’s that Wednesday,’ said the colonel, smiling.

  ‘Joking aside, will you dine with us? Georgiana will be happy to hear that you are in London.’

  ‘With pleasure. How is she? I found she was still somewhat frail the last time I came through, when you were in Hertfordshire.’

  ‘Still scarred, yes, still,’ said Darcy, slowly, ‘but I believe she is on the path to recovery.’

  ‘Who knows what goes on in the heart of a young woman of this age? Certainly not you, nor I, incidentally...’

  Both remained pensive for a few instants, sipping their brandy.

  ‘Sometimes, she returns to a state of melancholy and she retreats into the music salon for several hours. The pianoforte sounds as though she is grabbing onto a buoy.’

  ‘She feels guilty, and she feels sorry that she was the source of so much worry. I know that you told her a hundred times that this was not the case, and I did the same, believe me.’

  ‘You’re right. But spring is coming, and she seems more relaxed, more interested in life around her. Imagine, for the first time, she asked me to tell her about my stay in Hertfordshire, in the most minute of details; the information I sent to her in my letters had piqued her curiosity. And so I took it upon myself to paint her a very vivid portrait of the people and places in this part of the country. She found this all rather amusing, particularly my description of the Bennet family and their five daughters, and of...’

  ‘The Bennet family? Five daughters? I too would like to hear more!’ exclaimed Richard Fitzwilliam, astonished to see his cousin suddenly so animated.

  ‘It’s nothing, just some anecdotes to entertain young women,’ Darcy replied, somewhat quickly, turning to his desk to rearrange some scattered documents in order to conceal his discomposure.

  Confound it! In his haste to provide his sister with somewhat more positive news, he had almost betrayed himself. He was most certainly not going to provide his astute cousin with any bait, because that would be the death of him. The letter he held in his hand gave him a pretext to draw the conversation away from Hertfordshire.

  ‘This arrived this morning, from Kent.’

  ‘Oh, it’s Lady Catherine. How is your dear aunt?’

  ‘True to herself, as always. She reminded me, as though I could forget, of our next visit over Easter. She also indicated that Anne’s health is slightly improving, which makes me happy... and this truly does make me happy, believe me, Richard,’ Darcy emphasized, in response to his cousin’s sceptical gaze.

  ‘Alright, but you will not marry her regardless, and that is something our aunt will never understand; her allusions are pointless.’

  ‘These prearranged marriages from birth are delusional; Anne and I understood this a long time ago, but Lady Catherine is stubborn... One moment, I had one more paragraph to read when you arrived. Let me read it to you:

  ʻYou will be happy to hear, my nephew, that our new pastor, Mr. Collins, has just married, following my charitable advice. This would concern you indirectly, as he met the woman who has become his wife during a stay in Hertfordshire while you were staying there with one of your friends. You know him already; in addition, it appears that you also know Mrs. Collins, whose family lives near Meryton...’

  On reading these words, Darcy’s voice grew quieter; his cousin looked up at him, questioningly.

  ‘Fitz, it seems that you are moved because Reverend Collins has found happiness in marriage.’

  ‘No, I am simply astonished, because when we left Netherfield Park, none of this had been decided... It seems to me that William Collins has surprised everyone...’

  ‘Perhaps he married one of the five young Bennet women you were talking about earlier? That would be amusing, would it not?’

  ‘Amusing? I don’t think so. You have not yet had the opportunity to meet him... Convenient, however, I believe... I had been told that Mr. Bennet’s estate was the subject of an entail of which he would be the fortunate heir.’

  In weighing the consequences of what he was putting forward, Darcy had all the difficulty in the world to hide his dismay in thinking that Mrs. Collins could prove to be Elizabeth. Was Mrs. Bennet not wo
rking extremely hard to properly place her daughters? And this would be an excellent “placement”, a thought that caused him to shake with disgust when recalling the obsequious pastor he’d had to tolerate at the Bingley’s ball... and this was nothing compared to what the woman who was his wife would have to endure! Then, remembering that his cousin was sitting there, he regained his composure and continued reading.

  ‘... The father of Mrs. Collins, Sir William Lucas, will soon be arriving, but will only stay for a week. However, Miss Lucas, who will accompany him, as well as a friend of Mrs. Collins’, will stay longer. I will see these visitors in a short time, as I have the pleasure of currently enjoying the visit of Lady Dalrymple and her daughter, Miss Rose Carteret, who have come to rest...’

  Darcy tried, rather unsuccessfully, to hide his relief. Elizabeth was not Mrs. Collins. He smiled to himself. How could he have, for even one instant, thought that a young woman as lively and frank as she would accept an offer such as this? Even under maternal pressure, he could not picture her wavering in her refusal. Then, suddenly, he became bewildered. Why did he feel such relief? Miss Bennet could do whatever she wished, marry whomever she wished; he had deliberately chosen to exclude her from his life. Well, he had failed; she still represented something important to him. He was startled from his reflections by his cousin’s voice.

  ‘Fitz, this is the first time that I’ve seen you so moved by news from Kent. Wait until I mention this to Lady Catherine, she might not be very enchanted...’

  ‘Not enchanted. What are you talking about?’

  ‘When she finds out that you almost went into a trance on reading the name of Miss Rose Carteret.’

  ‘Miss Carteret? Yes, that’s it, Richard, it’s the daughter of the viscountess I was thinking about!’ exclaimed Darcy, and smiling slightly, he let his cousin follow him. ‘Come, Georgiana must be back from her visit with Miss P*** by now.’

  *****

  It wasn’t until Rose Carteret and Anne de Bourgh came out of the salon and into the boudoir of the latter that the viscountess Dalrymple finally consented to talk about the terrible news that she so badly desired to share... And the timing was perfect, as Lady de Bourgh was finding it extremely difficult to hide the interest she had in this. After all, had Miss Carteret not almost succumbed to the charms of this John Willoughby last spring? Anne would never have displayed such weakness, of that she was certain. If Miss Carteret seemed out of danger, what could have happened to put her friend in such a state?

  ‘My dear, imagine, just before leaving Bath, I received a letter from one of my cousins, Ruth, with whom I’d spent all my summers as a child, just so you know how close we were. She admitted to me, in a great state of discountenance, that her trust had been violated, and that she’d had to change the contents of her will!’

  ‘Her will!’ Are you truly serious, Lady Dalrymple? Good heavens! What could have happened for your cousin to have needed to go to such extremes?’

  ‘In fact,’ the viscountess said, lowering her voice, ‘her late husband had decided to leave his Allenham Court estate, in Devonshire, to his oldest nephew. The solution was readily accepted by my cousin, as the couple has no children. Now, imagine that she learned that this nephew had, how might I say, abused a poor fifteen-year-old young woman, and then deserted her. She is to have given birth to a boy a few weeks ago. Is that not scandalous?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ replied her interlocutor, who was savouring the story, all while being relieved that the chaste ears of her own daughter were occupied elsewhere. ‘I sincerely pity your poor relative but is it true? Perhaps this is nothing but salacious gossip, you know that a reputation...’

  ‘Alas, it appears that this John Willoughby is truly an unscrupulous charmer! It is said that this young woman is not the first...’

  Before the horrified gaze of Lady Catherine, the viscountess felt it wise to indicate that she had not said a word to Rose and that, incidentally, the latter, who had only met this lout once or twice... suffice to say she did not know him, that she did not, as it were, know who he was. This went without saying.

  ‘In consideration of behaviour such as this,’ continued Lady Dalrymple, ‘I totally understand the decision of Ruth to disinherit this Willoughby. She finished her letter by specifying that she had summoned him to leave Allenham Court and to never return.’

  ‘Your cousin did the right thing. I would have done the same!’

  ‘And now more than a month has passed and he has not returned, much to the relief of Ruth.’

  ‘Please have some more tea,’ offered the mistress of the house, compassionately. ‘This entire story has made you very distraught, as I can see.’

  ‘My Lord!’ repeated the viscountess, ‘Our vigilance, Lady Catherine, is the only defence we have, as poor, defenceless widows who must watch over our dear daughters!’

  Lady de Bourgh looked at her guest in surprise: it was certain that she had to watch over her daughter, but she hardly considered herself a poor, defenceless widow.

  As the air in Miss de Bourgh’s boudoir was a bit stuffy, Miss Carteret opened one of the windows before getting a warm shawl for her friend.

  ‘Anne, I am convinced that fresh air is the best for health. Do you not think so?’

  ‘Yes, but I’d have to convince my mother of this, and that is not easy. She has her own theories regarding my health and the way in which I should be cared for.’

  ‘What fun we would have if you could come to Bath!’ exclaimed Rose Carteret. ‘It would do you well. I will try to broach the subject with my mother, perhaps she’ll manage to convince yours.’

  Anne de Bourgh sighed comically. What good would it do to explain her situation? There was nothing to be gained when your mother was Lady Catherine. Fair enough! She did not want to spoil this wonderful moment in which she had a visitor and nobody was dwelling on her condition.

  ‘Rose, you were talking about Bath. Please tell me what you saw. I am dying to hear what happens outside these walls!’

  ‘Just before we left to come to Rosings, Miss Amelia Grantley, someone I see rather frequently at different social evenings, confided some very recent news to me. I am certain that it will entertain you, as you know the name of one of the protagonists.’

  ‘Don’t keep me waiting, Rose, you know that even the smallest thing will make my day!’

  ‘Do you remember that last season, I had written, in one or two of my letters, that I was courted by a seductive young man by the name of John Willoughby?’

  ‘Naturally!’ This seemed to have entertained you ... For some time, at least.’

  ‘You are right. Mr. Willoughby is charming ... And a fearsome hunter! Above all else, he enjoys hunting several hares at the same time. I was not deceived for very long, even if Mother saw him as a good match.’

  ‘A good match?’

  ‘Yes, after all, he had inherited a great estate, Combe Magna, in Somerset. Several young women were sensible to the attractions of Mr. Willoughby, and he was quick to capitalise on this, in order to appear in the grandest salons of the Capital.’

  ‘But Rose, this was in London, a few months ago. What does Bath have to do with all this?’

  ‘I’m getting there, Anne. Last week, Miss Grantley received a letter from one of her dear friends, a certain Miss Grey. She informed her that she would be marrying.... John Willoughby! This skirt chaser had his hands on a big fortune, because Miss Grey is worth approximately 50,000 pounds!’

  ‘How on earth could she have let herself be taken advantage of in this way? That’s incredible!’ exclaimed Anne de Bourgh, deeply enraptured with her friend’s account.

  ‘It appears that Miss Grey had decided to collar this handsome unmarried, highly visible man, even if rumours had started to circulate regarding debts of honour, you imagine the sort... gambling, young naive women... And Mother who had no idea!’

  ‘So she will be disappointed to learn that Mr. Willoughby is no longer on the “market”! And it seems that
several young ladies’ hearts were broken, too!’

  ‘Not mine, rest assured,’ affirmed Miss Carteret, a little smile on her lips. ‘I have yet to convince my mother that an umpteenth unmarried man will present himself shortly and that he will be, without a doubt, the right one! After all, should a young accomplished woman not exhibit patience?’

  ‘Rose, you could learn German or how to play the harp, and you would be even more accomplished and your patience would be even greater!’ suggested Miss de Bourgh who, when her mother had the good idea of leaving, showed an extremely pleasant sense of humour.

  Chapter IV

  In which it is important to

  most obligingly thank the postal service

  for the important role it plays here

  London, the 10th of March 1811

  Darcy,

  I stopped by during your absence to inform you that I will be out of the city until the beginning of next week. I must, against my will, drive Caroline to her friends, the Manwarings in Langford, where she will stay for some time. She insisted that I accompany her, as she wishes to present me to some young woman or other. When do you think she will let me live my life? As much as I tell her, in a myriad of ways, that these encounters are of no interest to me, you know her... However, I must admit to you that, since London scarcely inspires me these days, I finally capitulated. And so, as you read these words, I find myself on route for I know not where, to meet I know not who. In short, do not be surprised by my absence from the city and from training.

  In friendship, Bingley

  P.S. You must admit that this missive is longer than and the clearest of any you have ever received from me!

  These are the words Fitzwilliam Darcy read when he returned from Fleet Street, where he had gone to browse at John Murray’s. He was well aware of the machinations of Caroline Bingley; however, he was preoccupied by his friend’s lack of interest in the fairer sex since leaving Hertfordshire. Of course, he had, on returning to London, resumed certain activities. He had even presented him to William Wilberforce, who also patronised Boodle’s, albeit with decreasing frequency. It was thus that Fitzwilliam Darcy had been able to discuss with the deputy of Yorkshire the relentless work that had been required to prohibit the slave trade, and that this had increased his willingness to support this law by refusing all ties with slavery, regardless of the benefits – of which there were many. This was followed by some discussions that were as interesting as they were enriching, but Bingley seemed to have lost interest, as though a flame had been extinguished. It was the same at a dinner at Sir H***’s, ten days or so earlier. As soon as the women had withdrawn, the men had launched into a lively discussion on the trade union protests that had been brutally suppressed in Nottingham. The revolt by the workers had been written about extensively, and there were fears that the movement would continue; however, some acknowledged the difficult conditions maintained in the factories. Here, too, Bingley had shown no interest in the issue, closing himself off in a silence that was worrying for those who knew him well. Ever since, the young man often isolated himself in his home, only going to Jackson’s, on Stafford Street, for training. Lost in thought over all of this, Darcy went to the library to leave his purchases there. Could it be that he had been mistaken regarding Miss Bennet’s feelings? He remembered her visit with Miss Bingley and her sister. He shook his head in an attempt to think of other things, but he had been instilled with doubt for some time. This doubt pursued him regularly, just like the gaze of a certain young woman, incidentally, and he seemed unable to escape this doubt or this gaze.