A Summer in Scarborough

by Blake Smith

  “Who can say? Sometimes we take an immediate like or dislike to a person, for no reason at all. But you say he is gently mannered; perhaps Her Ladyship wishes him to be of more decided character.”

  This was likely true, though Anne did not see anything undecided in Mr. Jeffries’s manners. “I am hopeful- perhaps stupidly hopeful- that she will be civil to him if he does call, and if she cannot be civil, that she is not nearby.”

  Mrs. Jenkinson was sympathetic but did not hold out much hope for either of these circumstances. “We shall see. Perhaps we should go into the drawing room, that you are ready when callers come.” She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Good heavens, is that the time? I had no idea it was so late.”

  It was indeed later than Anne had thought, so she followed Mrs. Jenkinson to the drawing room without protest. There she waited, occupying herself with stitchery and reading. The first sign of attention was a bunch of flowers from Mr. Caverleigh, carefully chosen to signify friendship, not love of any sort. Anne was pleased with them even if a small girlish part of her wished to see every man of her acquaintance desperately in love with her. But Mr. Caverleigh was a very good sort of acquaintance, and though they had not spoken of it, she had the feeling that by dancing with him, she was rescuing him from some unwanted attention as much as he was rescuing her.

  The clock struck four, and her worst nightmare came to fruition. The tea had been recently replenished and Mrs. Jenkinson had stepped out of the room to fetch a book from the library, when the butler announced Sir Henry.

  Anne unthinkingly leaped to her feet, but Sir Henry came in on the heels of the butler, and there was no time to deny him. It seemed his rudeness had outlasted the evening, and now she would be obliged to fend off his attacks without aid.

  He looked much the same as ever, large and imposing. The cut of his coat unfortunately could not conceal the marks of a middle aged man gone slightly to seed, and though such an appearance might have been fatherly and comforting on another man, Sir Henry’s flinty blue eyes and large proportions made him look rather like a bear about to eat her.

  She greeted him with cold civility. It had no dampening effect. He bowed, properly enough, and said that he was well. “I have come to see for myself if you were not overset by the events of yesterday,” he said.

  “You are kind to inquire, but I found myself equal to the exertions of the ball, and have suffered no ill effects.”

  “I am glad to hear it. When you said that you would not dance any more, I worried that you had injured yourself.” His words expressed concern, but his tone did not.

  “It is because I excused myself at such an early hour that I found myself feeling quite well for much of today.”

  He nodded, and merely stood watching her for a time. Anne grew uncomfortable beneath his direct and silent gaze, but did not fidget. She would not give him any opening for conversation, nor any excuse to come near her in the guise of offering assistance.

  To no avail. He was determined not to understand her, and stepped forward to take her unresisting hand. “Dear Miss de Bourgh,” he said, and though the words were unexceptional, he trembled to hear them, “I so admire your strength. Your calm temper. I have attempted to ruffle your feathers at times, because I wished to see if you would break under any adversity. But I see that though the body is small and weak, the mind is of a higher stamp. It gives me great pleasure to be near a lady of your quality. I should like to do so for the rest of my life. You need not fear your honored mother’s disapproval,” he added, perhaps mistaking her panicked glance at the door for worry that Lady Catherine might see them, “I have spoken to her of the violence of my feelings- feelings that, I might add, manifested themselves at our first meeting- and she has assured me of her consent on the matter. All that remains is for you to answer, and I shall be the happiest man in the world.”

  Had he composed his speech in advance? Anne wondered. The entire thing sounded like a poor actor reading his lines directly from the script of the play. Yet she could not mistake his meaning. “If you are asking me to marry you,” she said coolly, “please know that I shall not.” She removed her hands from his grasp. “I am sorry for any mortification you may endure as a result, but I believe we do not suit each other, and would only make each other unhappy.”

  As she could have predicted, Sir Henry was not pleased by this response. “But this is not at all what I expected,” he cried as he managed to regain possession of her hand. “My attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Tell me that you do not mean to be cruel.”

  “Sir, I have no idea what you could possibly mean,” she said coldly. “I will always be civil, but I will not pretend to have feelings that I do not, simply to spare your feelings. I despise coquetry in females, and even more do I despise people who refuse to understand the word no.”

  “But you have not said no, and that gives me hope.”

  “Then allow me to make myself as plain as I can. I am sensible of the honor of your proposal, however I cannot marry without affection, and therefore I must refuse you.”

  Unfortunately for Anne, Lady Catherine sailed into the room in time to hear the end of her sentence. She entered with an expression of pleasant satisfaction upon her features that quickly changed to one of absolute fury.

  “Why, what is this?” she demanded, swelling with anger. “Anne how could you say such a thing to Sir Henry? I thought I had taught you better than to refuse a man you mean to accept.”

  Anne had recoiled from her mother’s formidable presence, but now she lifted her chin and took a step forward. “I do not mean to accept Sir Henry, so it would be useless and cruel to give any other reply.”

  Lady Catherine actually stared at her for a moment. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am perfectly serious,” Anne said stoutly, though inside she quaked like a jelly. She had expected opposition from Lady Catherine, but this was an even worse beginning than she’d bargained for. “I have told Sir Henry that he honors me with his proposal, but that I do not think we would suit.” She darted a glance at Sir Henry, who had risen at Lady Catherine’s entrance and was standing at an angle to both ladies. She could only be devoutly thankful he had not chosen to loom over her shoulder.

  Lady Catherine looked as if she’d been struck between the eyes with a mallet. Of course, Anne had never before gainsaid her in such determined fashion. “I gave Sir Henry leave to address you,” she said sternly, “I would not do so if I thought him an unsuitable match for you.”

  “Sir Henry is suitable, but we do not suit; one is not the same as the other,” Anne snapped.

  “You argue over semantics at a time like this?!”

  “Yes, I do!”

  It was at that moment that Sir Henry stepped forward, thankfully directing his attention to Lady Catherine. “Madam, with your permission, I shall take my leave for a time. I believe you may represent my case to Miss be Bourgh with greater frankness than I, and your conversation will certainly be less awkward if I am not present.”

  “Yes, yes,” Lady Catherine said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I will send for you later.”

  Sir Henry bowed and went away. Hardly had they heard the front door close than Lady Catherine rounded upon Anne. “How dare you! You have driven away one of my friends, a perfectly respectable man who has offered marriage to you. How could you be so stupid?!”

  “It is not stupidity that caused me to refuse him,” Anne shot back, stung by this assessment of her intelligence. “I do not like Sir Henry. I never have.”

  “Nonsense! He is my friend; you must like him.”

  “I shall do no such thing! I am not obliged to have the same friends as you, nor to judge anyone according to what you think is best. I am five-and-twenty, Your Ladyship, not a green girl of sixteen!”

  “You are certainly behaving like it! He is rich, respectable, and likes you. You have no reason to refuse him.”

  “He likes me because I am small and quiet and he thin
ks he can force me to do whatever he wants!” Anne argued, her voice rising until she was shouting. Shocked by her own fury, she took a deep breath and tried to be calmer. “Your Ladyship, why this insistence that I should accept Sir Henry? Do you owe money to him, or something of the like? I cannot understand it.”

  “I have told him that I would forward his suit of you. I will not be made a laughingstock, or worse, a liar!”

  “Forwarding his suit is not the same as attempting to force me into a marriage I do not want! I am not an enemy of matrimony in general, yet I see no reason to marry a man I dislike. It is not as though I shall be destitute if I remain single.”

  “You are five-and-twenty; you should be grateful that any man wishes to pay his attentions to you.”

  Anne was so stunned by this strange argument- and coming on the heels of her assertion that she didn’t mind spinsterhood, too!- that she was silenced for a moment.

  “I see how it is,” Lady Catherine said, her eyes hardening to flint. “You have found someone you think is better. That Mr. Jeffries, no doubt.”

  “Mr. Jeffries has not said a word of his intentions to me,” Anne snapped. “But if you must know, yes, I like him better than Sir Henry. At least he has given me no cause to fear him.”

  Crack! Anne stumbled back, gasping at the pain in her cheek. She couldn’t recall the last time Lady Catherine had slapped her, and stood blinking away tears as her mother said, “I will not stand by and hear you slander my friends! You stupid girl! If anyone heard you, they could have you up in front of the magistrates!”

  “And no matter what those same magistrates decided, at least they would not attempt to force me into marriage, which makes me prefer them to you at the moment!” Anne said, hardly aware of what she was saying, only wishing to hurt Lady Catherine as much as possible.

  Lady Catherine flung out one hand, and Anne recoiled. But her mother only pointed to the door. “If those are your true feelings, then you may get out of my sight! I will not speak to such a selfish and ungrateful girl. You will go to your room, and remain there until you can speak civilly.”

  Anne was frozen for a long moment, stunned by the slap and not wishing to abandon the field of battle. Then Lady Catherine took a step toward her, snarling incoherently, and her courage broke.

  She fled to the door, pausing only to say, “I shall go, then. And I cannot see why I should speak civilly to a person who has assaulted me.” With that final shot, she ran for the stairs, leaving Lady Catherine fuming in the drawing room.

  Her strength carried her only to her bedroom, but that was enough. She flung herself on the bed, gasping for breath amid sobs of fear and righteous anger. She had stood up to her mother- had argued with her and refused to obey!

  All her life, Lady Catherine had the last word. Anne had never before defied her in such spectacular fashion.

  Of course, never has she attempted to force me into such an awful situation, she thought bitterly. And she would certainly continue her efforts.

  How long can I hold fast? she wondered. Never having done so, she suspected her defiance would crumble sooner than she liked, and certainly before Lady Catherine gave in.

  The situation was intolerable, and, exhausted and upset by the argument, Anne simply lay on her bed and cried for a time, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

  Her misery was interrupted after a while by Harris, who came in, stopped in her tracks for a long moment, then hurried to Anne’s side. “Why, Miss Anne, what is this?”

  Harris must have been out of the house during the argument; Anne thought it impossible that any servant had not heard the shouting. She sat up, wiping away her tears. “Lady Catherine wants me to marry Sir Henry Thornton.”

  “And you don’t want to? My poor girl.” Harris patted her on the shoulder. “She must have rung quite a peal over your head.”

  Anne nodded. “And now I don’t- don’t know what to d- do,” she said, the words catching on her renewed sobs.

  “Perhaps someone else might talk to her,” Harris suggested.

  This was not a terrible idea, yet, “I would ask Mr. Darcy to do so- at one time he could persuade her to think differently- but she’s still angry with him over his choice of Mrs. Darcy.”

  “There must be someone else- Mr. Jeffries, maybe? He’s been a good friend to you.”

  “That would be even worse. She doesn’t like him at all, and there’s not even filial affection to recommend him to her notice. And please don’t suggest Mrs. Jenkinson. She is a very good person, but she would sooner fly to the moon than attempt to gainsay Lady Catherine.”

  Harris agreed that this was likely true. She handed Anne a handkerchief and they were silent for a moment. “Perhaps, miss, you should leave the house for a time. Not run away, of course, but stay with some friends until everyone has calmed down a bit.”

  Anne would not have considered such a solution, but it was to her liking. Lady Catherine could not object to her calling upon, say, Georgiana, and if Anne happened to ‘fall ill’ when visiting, who was going to say that she was not, in fact, ill, and should be returned to Number Twelve? And, she remembered, Georgiana was to remove to the White Rose that day, where she would stay with the Darcys until their departure. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy could be formidable allies if Lady Catherine stormed the premises and attempted to remove her by force. Anne was not certain if her mother would commit such an act that would expose her to the censure of society, but her character was certainly forceful enough to think it a reasonable plan.

  “God bless you, Harris,” she said with real feeling. “I like the idea very much. I shall go to Georgiana at the White Rose. Will you desire one of the footmen to escort me? And pack some of my things. I think I shall be there only a day or two, but in case I do not return here, please only pack what is mine. I do not wish to take anything that was purchased for me by my mother’s money.”

  If Harris found these instructions at all strange, she did not comment, and Anne had changed her dress, gathered some money and jewelry, and prepared to leave in only a few minutes. Harris would follow behind her with a valise and bandboxes.

  Preparations made, Anne steeled herself and descended the stairs. Lady Catherine was raging and storming at someone in the drawing room. Anne winced; the unfortunate soul was probably Mrs. Jenkinson, whose conduct in the entire affair was blameless.

  But she could not rescue Mrs. Jenkinson until her own safety was assured, so she donned the cloak held out to her by a footman, and slipped out of the house.

  CHAPTER Nineteen

  She met no one of her acquaintance as she walked to the White Rose. It was far enough removed from Brooke Street that Anne was growing weary by the time she ascended the steps. The exertion stripped away both her agitation and her ability to keep from showing it, and a tear slipped down her cheek as the footman went to inquire after her relations.

  She stood, waiting, for a moment, then there was a soft touch to her elbow. She flinched, startled, and turned to behold Mrs. Darcy, looking down at her with great concern. “Miss de Bourgh, is something wrong? You seem in great distress; do you require assistance?”

  “I am in distress,” Anne admitted. “I wish to see Georgiana.”

  As she’d hoped, Mrs. Darcy’s questions were silenced, and she said only, “I believe Georgiana is within; she has taken a liking to the pianoforte in our rooms.” She took Anne’s arm, which was not to Anne’s liking; and supported her as they ascended the stairs, which was.

  The soft strains of a concerto drifted through the open door, soothing Anne’s nerves. And the sight of her cousin was of greater benefit to her, though she was not particularly gratified by the way Georgiana abruptly broke off playing at the sight of her, leaped to her feet, and came to Anne’s side, saying, “Good heavens, Anne! What has happened?”

  Anne did not wish to expose herself before Mrs. Darcy, who at this time had no interest in her concerns, but she found herself saying, not of her own volition, “Sir Henry came to the house on
ly a few minutes ago and proposed to me.”

  Georgiana’s eyes grew enormously wide. “I hope you refused him!”

  “I did, but my mother was so angry,” Anne whispered, recalling the scene she had left. “She raged for I know not how long, and when I finally escaped, my only thought was to get out of the house. So I came here, and I cannot say if she’ll ever let me return to Number Twelve.”

  “Of course she will,” Georgiana said soothingly, but a slight movement from Mrs. Darcy indicated her opinion of the matter.

  Anne abruptly recalled that Mrs. Darcy had, while still Miss Elizabeth Bennet, endured Lady Catherine’s ire without flinching. Perhaps she, who had sense despite her upbringing, would be able to offer some advice, though Anne misliked to ask her directly. “What am I to do?” she said to the room at large.

  “First, I think you should sit down,” Georgiana said. “You look about to faint.”

  This seemed quite sensible to Anne, so she seated herself on the sofa. Georgiana went to ring for tea, and Mrs. Darcy sat beside Anne. “I am sorry for your distress, Miss de Bourgh. I have seen the wrath of Lady Catherine, and I would not ask anyone to endure it. If I may do anything to aid you, only ask.”

  “That is very kind of you,” was the only answer Anne could manage.

  Georgiana returned to them a moment later, and seated herself on Anne’s other side. “Poor Anne,” she whispered, putting her arms around Anne’s shoulders.

  “It was only to be expected,” she whispered miserably.

  “But to have to endure the attentions of Sir Henry and an angry Lady Catherine!”

  “Is this Sir Henry very disagreeable?” Mrs. Darcy inquired.

  “My mother likes him,” Anne said. “He is forceful and decisive, yet he still flatters her. But I find him frightening. You may think me missish, but I cannot change my feelings.”