by Meg Kerr
“What is the ground of their opposition?”
Mr. Gardiner was a little annoyed, and also strangely disappointed, by this disingenuous question. “It would be a very degrading affiliation. The young lady has a position in society that is not to be thrown away on a dissolute beggar. They deprecate the connexion in every light. ”
“How, though, is it impossible? We wish to marry, and are both free to do so without any parent’s or guardian’s permission. As to our present difference of income, we shall have thirty thousand pounds to live on, when Miss Darcy comes of age in a year.”
“You intend then to live off your wife’s fortune?”
Amaury laughed. “Many a man has done it. Why not I?”
“Mr. Amaury, do not palter with me. You are quite aware that the obstacle to your marriage with Miss Darcy is not age or income, but your own character.”
“Miss Darcy knows my character, I can assure you. If it is of no material consequence to her that I pursued her for her money, what concern is it of her family’s?”
Mr. Gardiner had not imagined that Amaury would ‘bow and sue for grace with suppliant knee’. He had come prepared for real work, and now he commenced it. “Last night you met with Miss Darcy at Lord and Lady Metcalf’s. That meeting was witnessed and is now widely talked of.”
Amaury’s expression grew forbidding.
“It is supposed by all London that you had her consent for an assignation, although she herself has told us that she was unaware of your intention to accost her there. Sir, you cannot be unaware of your own ill repute. You are notorious for your dishonesty, violence and incontinence. That one meeting has now so stained Miss Darcy’s name that the gentleman to whom her family intended to confide her future wrote this morning to terminate his addresses. With excellent conduct and the passing of time, this blemish on her may be lessened or removed. But think: if a single public meeting can so besmirch Miss Darcy, what will a marriage do? Such an ignoble union would defile her and bring her the keenest misery. She will be separated from her family, spurned by her friends and all of society. Bitter remorse would soon destroy any happiness she thought to achieve. Once reduced to absolute dependence on you, how long would her affection endure? It is but infatuation that she feels, based not on a knowledge of your merits but an ignorance of your infamy.”
Amaury heard him out with quiet attention. When Mr. Gardiner finished, he was not immediately able to say anything. He was certainly cognizant of what had been spewed forth about him in the past, but he found himself unprepared to learn that the vitriol that had driven him from England remained in good enough supply to splash over Georgiana. He felt the reproof at his heart, and unable to conceal his feelings, he walked to the window. He had pretended to believe that by confessing the truth to Georgiana, and finding that she loved him still, he had erased the wickedness of his courtship. Nature had hereto fended off understanding but now he saw that he had led Georgiana into a situation of acute danger. Could he but recall those cherished minutes of the preceding evening! He had involved her in his own disgrace and she would be censured and despised as his object of prey. Anxiety on her behalf now became his prevailing concern. He debated what answer it would be best to give Mr. Gardiner, uncertain that there was one.
His visitor did not allow him much time for internal discourse. “Do you claim to love Miss Darcy?”
Here was an answer of which he was certain. Without turning he replied, “Yes. I love her.”
Mr. Gardiner was convinced that he did not feel the slightest regard for her but rather than challenge him he said, “Yet you have persecuted her when you ought to have protected her. The whole of your conduct has been grounded on self-interest. In the long run what gratification will you receive from it, when it must involve Miss Darcy’s ruin?”
In his present mood Amaury was forced to grant the truth of these remarks, and although his features remained invisible to Mr. Gardiner, he could not prevent his attitude from expressing the distress he was now enduring. Mr. Gardiner was almost a little sorry for him, but pressed ahead to gain his advantage.
“Mr. Amaury, I ask you to write a letter to Miss Darcy telling her that you do not love her, that you have no intention of seeking her out again, and that you are releasing her from any engagement that may exist.”
Amaury half-turned. “Why must it say that I do not love her?”
“Because that is the only reason that she will accept an irreconcilable rupture.”
Amaury did not speak, and Mr. Gardiner added, “If you are generous, you have the ability to defend Miss Darcy from the contempt of the world.”
Amaury’s gaze reverted to the window.
“And I am authorized to tell you that if you will be generous to her, Mr. Darcy will be generous to you.”
At this a rapid change came over Amaury. Vigour returned; alertly he faced his opponent.
“How generous? What is your offer?”
What a worthless young man! Mr. Gardiner thought with grim pleasure that he had reached the nub of the matter. For a price he was ready to desert Georgiana without the smallest compunction. “Mr. Darcy is prepared to settle on you for life an annuity of one hundred pounds a year, on condition that you remain outside England.”
Amaury smiled in genuine amusement. “It seems to me that the generosity will be all on my side. Give up thirty thousand pounds for one hundred a year?”
“The sum is not fixed. Mr. Darcy will also pay you immediately five hundred pounds.” Surely five hundred pounds in hand must be a strong inducement to a man living in a garret.
“Is that all that Miss Darcy is worth in this market? Five hundred pounds down and one hundred a year?”
“Miss Darcy is worth incalculably more than you. Two hundred a year.”
“Make it six hundred a year, and two thousand pounds at once.”
“Four hundred, and a thousand.”
“One thousand immediately, and five hundred per annum, payable quarterly to my bankers, the first quarter to be paid in cash together with the one thousand.”
Mr. Gardiner bowed, to signify his agreement. This, he thought, hath lost this miscreant Heaven, and restored it to the Darcy family. “There is pen and ink,” he said, pointing to the desk. “Write the letter now and let me see it.”
Amaury went to the desk, quickly wrote some lines and blotted them, and handed the paper to Mr. Gardiner. “Will this do?”
Mr. Gardiner cast a rapid eye over the letter.
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London, June ~.
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Dear Miss Darcy,
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I have just had the compliment of a visit from Mr. Gardiner, who has strongly impressed on me the wrong I did in approaching you last night at the ball and the impossibility of any connexion between us. I reproach myself for failing to have been more circumspect in my behaviour, and entreat your forgiveness of my offence. Although I shall always reflect on our former acquaintance in Brussels with the greatest joy, I must now bid you farewell for the last time as I sail shortly for the Continent and have no intention of visiting England again.
God bless you.
JOHN AMAURY
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He looked up at Amaury. “You have not said that you do not love her.”
“Nor will I ever tell her so. She is dearer to me than my soul – black as it may seem to you. I deceived her once with falsehoods, and I will not do it again. This is as much as I will do, for a thousand pounds or ten thousand.”
Mr. Gardiner experienced some difficulty in behaving with temper at this continued and contemptible pretense of esteem for Georgiana. His indignation would have been much stronger than it was, but that he had achieved his purpose, and therefore he contented himself with saying, “Love is for such men as have hearts. But the letter will do, I daresay.”
“Do you have the money with you?”
“What – travel about London with a thousand pounds in my pocket! Certainly not. An arrangement will be made for the money to be paid over to you, at the same time that you tender the letter. I will send you a line where to find me for the exchange.” He held out the paper to Amaury.
“That is unnecessary. You may take it with you now.”
“You will trust me for a thousand pounds?”
“You may keep your thousand poundsit is worth no more to me than thirty pieces of silver. Take the letter and go. What I have done, I have done for Georgiana’s sake, not for the Darcys’.”
Mr. Gardiner’s surprise may only be guessed at. If he had entered the parley with one idea, it was that moral conduct could not be expected of this cold-blooded young man, of whom all the world knew nothing but evil; that he had been sporting with the affections of Georgiana Darcy, in the execution of a design so reprehensible that it scarcely bore investigation. And yet his actions spoke a real regard for her and a consciousness of his own misconduct, that now prevented Mr. Gardiner from believing Amaury to be as emphatically unprincipled as testimony stamped him. A strange conundrum! but one that he had no interest in fathoming. After a pause Mr. Gardiner bowed and went away, with the letter in his hand. Amaury did not return the bow.
Mrs. Younge was well-nigh beside herself when she learned that Amaury had suffered the Darcys’ envoy to depart not one penny the poorer. She had been grossly misled as to the young man’s qualities! She threatened to turn him out of her house instantly, and he had signal trouble in pacifying her. When she was left to herself she thought of the Duke of Wellington’s boast that when he got into a scrape, his army got him out of it, and renounced any claim to resemble the Duke in generalship.
Reflecting on the encounter as he was driven back to the Darcys’ townhouse, Mr. Gardiner was on balance satisfied. It was very strange how the bribe had been refused; but the desired letter had been written. There was something in the young man, though. He was a scoundrel, there could be no question of that. But his easy wellbred manners combined with his quick comprehension and his decisiveness caught Mr. Gardiner’s interest. A thoroughly bad young man, no doubt, but he had missed his calling in life – perhaps he was a good gambler, but he would have made an excellent merchant!
When Amaury ascended to his room, he was less satisfied than Mr. Gardiner. He stood for some time silent and thoughtful, sombreness upon him. With each minute he saw the situation from directly opposing sides. Was his declaration of perfidy a blessing on Georgiana, a release from calamitous evil (a bond for life with him), or a perpetual curse on her happiness? Had he liberated her or had he condemned her to a lifetime of disappointment and suffering? His own wishes were unchanged, but he would submit to the pain of losing her in order to save her. Would the cruelty of his letter change her wishes?
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Mr. Gardiner made his report to the Darcys and presented them with the letter; and then he and Mrs. Gardiner went to their own home, where he gave her a slightly different account of the interview.
“He is as gleaming as Lucifer – he could have sat for a portrait of the rebel angel – you have rarely seen his equal for beauty of countenance and grace of action.” He described his mixed impression of Amaury. He was an unusual young man. More to him than met the eye. But it was likely he was now in a desperate situation; he had probably not a farthing left on earth, and excluded from society he would not be able to remain in England. With no reputation to preserve, the good-for-nothing fellow might do something desperate.
“Yet you say this fallen angel heard your argument and was persuaded to give up Georgiana for her own sake, and never see her again. Surely this does something to solve the contradiction? To me it seems like good.”
Mr. Gardiner said in a low grumble, “‘And out of good still to find means of evil.’”
“I should very much like to see him,” continued Mrs. Gardiner calmly. “We must invite him to dinner.”
Her husband was not befuddled by his wife making such a suggestion, for he was aware that his description of Amaury must have intrigued her, but he had no intention of admitting anyone guilty of such inexcusable conduct into his domestic circle. “Upon my word, you have the most degraded taste! This young man disgusts all the world, yet you are anxious to make his acquaintance.”
“I should like to know better the hold he has over Georgiana. What is his attraction? How are we to deal with her if we know nothing of him? You met him and came home safely. We need only count the forks and spoons before we bid him good night.”
“Your notion is ludicrous. I wish him at the devil!” He was not to be prevailed upon, and she let the subject drop.
As they sat after dinner she was aware that he was deep in thought. Unobtrusively she watched varying expressions play across his face for a time, and then putting down her work she said, “What are you thinking, my love?”
“I am thinking about that young man, Mary. It may have been selfishness and corruption that led him to raise his eyes to Georgiana in the first place, but there was real affection for her in his manner. Whatever the world says of him, he is neither heartless nor conscienceless.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Gardiner, taking up her work, for she saw immediately that her point had been gained, “stop thinking about him and ask him to dinner.”
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CHAPTER
23
London, June 1816
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Sir John Thorn’s opinion was very frequently sought by the members of his coterie in London. There were some who actually wished to hear it (hoping for information that could be turned to their own use), but as is natural most made the request as a preliminary to proffering their own.
“Sir John, what do you think of this recoinage matter? I will tell you what I think. A gold standard – a dangerous innovation. We have long since ceased to be acquainted with the sight of gold coins.” “It should not be done at all. In our present unfavourable economy an expensive recoinage runs contrary to demands for reductions in public spending.” “And what of the lower orders? The prospect of losses in the adoption of a new coinage may lead to riotous behaviour. The plan seems provocative at this time.”
Sir John listened with constrained patience to those surrounding him and then spoke. “I see no urgent necessity for a swift reform of coinage. Wage rates in the cotton industry have been in decline since last year, reducing pressure on the money supply. But if the Government will proceed with its Act, this is an ideal opportunity of applying the principal of a decimal division of money. Coin an ounce of standard gold into five twenty-shilling pieces, with each shilling worth ten pence of the existing money.”
Lady Mallinger listened with all of her habitual interest to Sir John’s pronouncements, although he was not speaking to her. She was seated a little distance away and taking care not to show that he had caught her awareness. Her mind was oppressed. She yearned to talk confidentially to him but she no longer entertained hope of exclusive converse with him. At length she rose and went to seek solitude in an adjoining room that was unoccupied, and there for several minutes together she walked up and down endeavouring to dispel her frustration.
She was suddenly interrupted by a movement at the doorway, and to her amazement, she saw Sir John walk into the room.
“A word with you, madam,” he said.
His sudden appearance threw her into confusion but a higher form of self-command came unbidden to her aid and recommended her to take the immediate occasion of showing him her indifference. With an adopted carelessness she said, “Sir John – I see you are quite beguiled by our London society. It must be greatly to Ma
nchester’s detriment that you are so much in town. We all are very much intrigued to find that you have forsaken the North.”
Perhaps if Lady Mallinger had on her side begun the discussion differently, it might have proceeded differently. Incensed, he interrupted her. “I have been seeking for some time the opportunity of meeting you privately. I have something to say to you.”
This opening caused her spirits to flutter a little under some undefined expectationor was it apprehension, for his tone scarcely suggested abiding affection? Without waiting for any reply he closed the door and advanced towards her.
She felt a growing unease, yet with no failure of bearing she said: “Sir, this is the most extraordinary conduct, and shows a want of judgment.”
“Your conduct requires it, madam. You must, therefore, pardon me for demanding that you remain here while I speak.”
She felt the shock of his words, but looked at him with a smile of affected incredulity and turning aside from him would have haughtily passed out of the room. But he was not to be persuaded to abandon his intention and he moved to obstruct her path.
She would not allow herself to shew any of the alarm she now felt. But alarm was coupled to a singular degree of displeasure at his actions. She said repulsively, “You may depend upon it, sir, that your words will receive every possible attention from me.”
He looked grimly at her and said, “It gives me no fulfillment to dwell on events of the past, but I am determined to put this matter to your conscience. I wish to be told why I was rejected by you without explanation or courtesy.”
Sir John’s reproach was undoubtedly true, and her behaviour therefore little defensible. But Lady Mallinger, who had no ability to laugh at herself, had even less the capacity to condemn herself. Further, the want of delicacy on his part was no small trifle to her: he was condemning and upbraiding her rudely. Resentment engulfed her. Instead of meeting his accusations with honest embarrassment and due self-criticism she said, “And I wish to be told why you have confined me here with the manifest purpose of insulting me.”