A Summer in Scarborough

by Blake Smith

  Sir Henry responded, but Anne was already retreating, her mind a whirl. So Sir Henry was fixed in Scarborough? And Lady Catherine had agreed that he should hang on their doorstep? It was absurd, as Lady Catherine would say.

  Anne shivered as she tiptoed up the stairs in search of her bedchamber. Lady Catherine had not mentioned her intentions toward Sir Henry, but the only logical conclusion was that she wished him to pay his addresses to Anne. And at the age of twenty-five, she would be expected to accept any offer that came her way, even if she disliked the person making it.

  Her immediate object was to avoid Sir Henry until she could decide what else to do, so she gained her bedchamber with alacrity, then sat upon her bed and drew the curtains, resolving to plead illness if anyone should happen upon her. This plan was temporarily thwarted by the realization that she was still wearing her walking dress and boots. After a moment of indecision, she traded her boots for slippers and crawled back into bed. Her dress was not dirty, miracle of miracles, and the sheets could be changed easily enough.

  “Now,” she said silently, “what to do about Sir Henry?” He could not be allowed to propose to her, if that was indeed his object. And she did not care to invite such an unwelcome conversation, in any case. She must avoid him, discourage him, talk to him as little as possible, all while appearing perfectly polite. Were these schemes to draw the attention of Lady Catherine, Anne would come in for a rare scolding.

  But how to avoid Sir Henry? Anne knew she must not allow him to come near her any more than necessary, yet she could not spend the rest of the summer sneaking out the back doors of tradesmen’s shops and running down alleyways.

  “I could pretend to be ill,” she mused. She had done so occasionally as a child, when she did not want to practice on the pianoforte or be forced to endure the inanities of her governess, and no one had questioned her. After so many years of real illness, everyone was perfectly ready to believe her any time she hinted that she was unwell.

  But perhaps because she had spent so many years in a state of real illness, Anne did not want to be ill, or even pretending. For the first time in her life, she was living away from Rosings, in an entirely new part of the country. She did not wish to give up her little walks by the sea, or the novelty of going to the shops.

  “I should acquire a dog,” she murmured, as she recalled Mrs. von Ghlen walking with her lapdog. A dog always needed to be walked, giving her an excellent excuse to leave the house if Sir Henry were to call. And having a protector to accompany her on her walks would be most comforting.

  And it would never be allowed. Lady Catherine thought lapdogs utterly tiresome, Mrs. Jenkinson sneezed whenever she was in the presence of one for more than a few minutes, and even Anne disliked their high-pitched barking. She thought a dog could be trained not to bark, but had no idea how to do such a thing.

  So her plan to imitate Mrs. von Ghlen must be discarded. But perhaps another solution could be found. Anne thought for a long while, and by the time Harris found her an hour later, she had a plan.

  It was hardly ideal. She would spend as many mornings with Georgiana as she could, and would walk by the sea- with as many companions as possible- on all other days. Sir Henry could, and likely would, approach her during these times, but Anne was confident in her ability to pawn him off on her companions. She imagined him hinting for an invitation to join their party, and the others giving it out of politeness. This gave her momentary pause, but her imagining was succeeded in her mind’s eye by a picture of her determinedly remaining with her friends despite Sir Henry’s repeated attempts to separate her from the group and subject her to his proposals. That was a much more satisfactory conclusion, and would not oblige Anne to keep to her bed or be saddled with a pet whose care might prove beyond her knowledge.

  The best part of this plan was that she was not made to immediately put it into practice. Lady Catherine announced at dinner that she had engaged a physician, Sir Harold McGee, to visit them two days hence. Sir Harold would determine if Anne was in good health, and since she had not been plagued by so much as a chill since their arrival, she hoped he would allow her to continue her exercise and amusements.

  Anne disliked the notion of consulting with an unfamiliar physician, but Sir Harold McGee proved to be an intelligent man and, perhaps more importantly, since he would be obliged to converse with Lady Catherine as well, a man of address.

  “Miss de Bourgh is in good health,” he pronounced, after questioning her minutely. They were all sitting in the drawing room, Lady Catherine upon her usual throne-like chair, Mrs. Jenkinson hovering, and Anne perched upon the sofa, listening intently to the man who held so much of her future amusement and employment in his hands.

  “May I walk abroad?” she ventured to ask.

  “Certainly,” was his verdict, and she breathed a soft sigh of relief. “You must take care not to get chilled; your lungs are not strong,” he continued. “But I recommend a steady course of fresh air and exercise. So long as you do not make yourself ill, exercise can only improve your health. Breathe deeply of the sea air, keep your head and neck well-wrapped up when the wind is blowing, and slowly increase the length of your walks. Do not exhaust yourself,” he cautioned, “your limbs should not be uncomfortable or sore the next day, but rather you should feel invigorated by your walking. And you need not only walk by the sea,” he said, smiling gently. “Walking to the shops, or to visit your friends, may also be considered exercise. It is lucky that Your Ladyship”- turning to Lady Catherine- “had the sense to take a house near to the shops. Miss de Bourgh may take her exercise in that way, and may take shelter from sudden changes in the weather, or rest if she happens to overexert herself. You chose well, Your Ladyship, when you chose Brooke Street.”

  “Thank you, Sir Harold.” Lady Catherine inclined her head in regal acknowledgement. “I am not perfectly satisfied with your advice, however. Miss de Bourgh is of a weak constitution; I greatly fear that so much time spent out of doors will injure her health.”

  “You are right to be cautious, Your Ladyship,” Sir Harold said. “But Miss de Bourgh will never grow any stronger if she is kept constantly at home. She must begin slowly, only walking short distances, but as she grows accustomed to the exertion, she must increase her exercise, or she will derive little benefit from it. The air of Scarborough can be most beneficial to invalids, but only if they are allowed to partake of it.”

  Sir Harold’s calm firmness seemed to sway Lady Catherine, and Anne was hopeful that her mother’s decided character would lead her to continue thinking well of Sir Harold’s advice. Her opinion of the physician lasted longer than his presence in the house, at least. A few minutes after he’d been shown to the door, Lady Catherine turned to Anne and said, “Well, he appears a gentleman, and seems to know what he is talking of, though I advise you to take more caution than he recommended. You must confine your walks to days of fine weather, at least. If it looks like rain, you must stay indoors.”

  “Certainly, Your Ladyship,” Anne said, already dreading the day when Lady Catherine decided it looked like rain even when there was not a cloud in the sky. But that argument was in the future, so she said, “I shall take great care, especially at first. Sir Harold seemed to think that as time goes on, I shall not feel the changes in weather as acutely as I do now. But really, ma’am, I think this is very good news. I shall be happy to tell it to Georgiana, when we dine at Number Eight tomorrow evening.”

  “If you are allowed to speak at all,” Lady Catherine said sourly. “I am sure I’ve never seen such a dull party. They might call themselves dignified, but I see only a group of people with little manner and no conversation. Georgiana is the only inmate of that house worth talking to; Mr. Hurst is an elegant fool, and Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley talk only of themselves.”

  Anne could not disagree. “I think Mr. Hurst derives much amusement from his wife and his sister-in-law’s manners. They each have a way of turning the conversation to herself that can be irks
ome when it is directed at one, and rather entertaining when witnessed from afar.” Rather like Lady Catherine’s manner, now that she thought of it, though Lady Catherine had much more confidence in her station than Miss Bingley ever would.

  Lady Catherine only harrumphed at this observation, and Anne was left to rejoice over her visit with Sir Harold, and his conclusions as to her health and exercise.

  CHAPTER twelve

  Anne prepared to dine at Number Eight with the liveliest pleasure. Even the oddities of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the strange picture that Mr. Hurst was sure to present, could amuse instead of revolting her, if she could share her enjoyment with Georgiana.

  And perhaps with Mr. Jeffries. He was sure to be present, and with his talent of blunt but diverting speech, she was sure to be well entertained through the evening. If she could only keep Lady Catherine from insulting him- and, in truth- the entire Hurst family, she would have nothing to wish for.

  Lady Catherine was in spirits that evening, and even troubled to say, “You look well, Anne,” without prompting.

  “Thank you, your Ladyship,” Anne said as she smoothed her dress, having held it out of the way as she descended the stairs. “And you look positively magnificent,” she added.

  It was perfectly true. Lady Catherine was both tall and strong, and in her gown of purple silk, glittering with diamonds and garnets, she looked ready to attend any gathering in the land. The ostrich plumes rising above her headdress nodded formidably at the room, and her looks were remarkably fine for a woman of her age.

  Anne was torn between admiration of her mother’s appearance and worry that her manners would be found wanting. Her feelings toward Lady Catherine were always a mixture of such when they went into company. But she, an unmarried woman, must have a chaperone, and though Mrs. Jenkinson filled that role perfectly well in matters of walking out, shopping, and receiving callers, she was not quite fine enough company for dining out.

  It was almost enough to make her think of marrying. But not to someone like Sir Henry, Anne reminded herself as they left the house in a parade to shame the finest royal retinue. There were footmen before their party and behind them, all carrying lights and looking like living statues in their bewigged livery.

  They entered Number Eight to the accompaniment of their names, shouted out that everyone might know of their arrival. Anne looked about her, pleased anew at the house. It was only a little smaller than Number Twelve, and decorated in the same fashionable style. At least the Hursts understood the importance of appearance, and did not shame their guests by inferior surroundings.

  Their manners were not quite so satisfactory- full of anxious elegance and confiding without warmth. As they entered the drawing room, Miss Bingley was seated upon the sofa, looking about to see if anyone was looking at her, though she was also laughing and talking with her sister. But everyone rose to bow or curtsy to Anne and Lady Catherine; they were such a small party that it would have looked strange not to.

  But Anne took greater pleasure in the sight of Georgiana coming toward them. The other guests had returned to their conversations, but her cousin broke away from the little group with whom she’d been standing, and reached out to Anne.

  “Anne I have not seen you for an age!” she said brightly, her face wreathed in smiles. “Well, perhaps only a few days, but it seems an age. And my dear aunt,” she curtsied to Lady Catherine, “it has certainly been longer since we have been together. How do you do?”

  “I am well enough, thank you,” Lady Catherine said regally. “Though I am surprised at you, Georgiana. To wear your hair in such a manner- it is very singular.”

  Georgiana’s maid had drawn her hair away from her face and into a plain knot, with only a single curl escaping to brush against her cheek. It was rather plainer than the usual curls of a young girl, though she had pinned a few pearls within the mass of golden hair. But her smile hardly dimmed at Lady Catherine’s remark, and she said, “Indeed, ma’am; I am sure you have not seen me appear so. But I have been told it is fashionable in town, and wishing to see if the style looked well on me, I ventured to attempt it. We are among friends this evening, and if it looks terrible, I shall not wear it so again.”

  “I think it looks very well,” Anne said truthfully. “You are so fair, and your skin quite delicate; it would be a shame to hide your forehead behind many curls.”

  “But you must own that it is very singular,” Lady Catherine persisted.

  “Perhaps it is,” Georgiana said.

  Lady Catherine took this for agreement and moved on to attack someone else. Anne waited until she was out of earshot, then said, “I still think it looks well.”

  “And it’s no concern of hers if I look odd,” Georgiana murmured, looking after Lady Catherine with an expression that indicated she had not been as uncaring of Lady Catherine’s remarks as she pretended to be.

  “You are family,” Anne noted. “And no doubt she wishes to look out for your interest.”

  “Indeed,” was all Georgiana could say before another party- some cousins of Mrs. Hurst, Anne thought- was announced, and the conversation dropped.

  But shortly before they went in to dinner, their party received an alteration most pleasant. Anne happened to be looking toward the door when Mr. Jeffries positively dashed into view, slid to an abrupt halt, straightened his coat, and stepped into the room, his manners perfectly composed and calm. Anne giggled at the sight.

  No one else seemed to notice his rather odd arrival, and he came toward her, greeting the other guests as he went.

  Anne greeted him happily, and once each had said everything civil, gently teased, “You forgot there were guests coming to dinner, didn’t you?”

  “Nonsense,” he said, smiling. “I would never forget such a thing. I merely… lost track of time. Yes, that’s it.”

  His prim tone was at such odds with his laughing eyes that Anne burst into giggles again, muffling her mirth with her gloved hand. “You are incorrigible,” she scolded mildly. “It is a wonder poor Mrs. Hurst does not write a note of each day’s events and pin it to your forehead every morning.”

  “An excellent suggestion,” he called it. “I shall mention it to her.”

  Anne thought he was in jest but could not ask him. Dinner was announced and they were obliged to separate for a time.

  But a few short hours later, the whole party was gathered again in the drawing room. Georgiana had been prevailed upon to play for the company; Miss Bingley turning the pages for her. Tea had not yet been served, and Anne was happy to talk again to Mr. Jeffries.

  She learned that he had been writing a letter to his aunt, Lady Jeffries, and had not realized the time. This she allowed as a plausible excuse, recalling that his uncle had been ill. Surely Lady Jeffries was allowed the consolation of a beloved nephew during such a troubling time.

  She said everything that was proper on the subject, wishing for Sir William’s swift recovery and for Lady Jeffries’ peace of mind. He accepted her good wishes with thankful politeness.

  Tea was served shortly after, and with that interruption, he turned the topic and asked her what she thought of the other guests. They were a little removed from the others, and as they were seated near the pianoforte, which Miss Bingley was now playing, Anne was sure they would not be overheard.

  She expressed her admiration of Miss Bingley’s dress and of Georgiana’s playing, and was about to remark on the prettiness of Miss Paxton, one of Mrs. Hurst’s cousins, when a beam of reflected light caught her eye and diverted her thoughts.

  “Your brother is rather blinding this evening,” she said. For the light had come from Mr. Hurst’s watch, which he had pulled out of his pocket, no doubt wondering how many hours had passed and when he could go to bed. A more indolent man she had scarcely ever seen, though she did not say so to Mr. Jeffries. “But perhaps such decoration is the fashion.”

  “In certain circles, I believe you are correct. For now, it pains me to say that my brother
is the most shocking coxcomb,” he said ruefully. “If only he would be a little less nice in matters of dress, all the rest could be forgiven.” For Mr. Hurst’s bright yellow pantaloons and absurdly waisted coat were eclipsed only by the height of his collar-points and the jingling seals and fobs that flashed in the candlelight whenever he moved, which he fortunately did not do very often.

  Anne fully agreed. There was a vast difference between following the fashions, and making a cake of oneself. Mr. Hurst had neither the fortune nor the manners to keep himself from looking ridiculous. But she couldn’t bring herself to insult the man to his brother, and merely said, “Mr. Hurst is likely to attract notice, which is perhaps his object. But for myself, I prefer a more understated look.”

  “And understated speech,” Mr. Jeffries said with a smile.

  She returned the smile. “I hope I always tell the truth, sir, though I have often thought that there are many such ways of speaking, some more agreeable to one’s audience than others. I always wish to be agreeable to my friends, if there is any way of doing so.” Of their own volition, her eyes found Lady Catherine, who was sitting across the room. She appeared to be instructing Georgiana on some matter, Anne could not determine what, but by Georgiana’s expression, it was not to her taste.

  Mr. Jeffries’ gaze followed hers. “Lady Catherine’s manner has one great virtue, I suppose. One is never in doubt as to her meaning.”

  “I cannot disagree with that,” Anne said. “Whereas delicate speech may give rise to misunderstanding, my mother has never been misunderstood in her life, I think.” But it does not follow that she is well liked because of it, she added silently.

  And of course, the evening could not pass without at least one moment of awkwardness. Anne would have thought it a dream if it did. But shortly before they were to leave, Mr. Jeffries was helping Anne on with her shawl when Lady Catherine came up to them.