by C. J. Hill
“You have said enough, Sophie. You have made it perfectly clear to me what I must do because you are too young and ignorant to see for yourself. You have informed me that you know nothing of a young man with whom you have entered into a tenuous agreement – whether you believe you have or not – you have no idea of his family, who or where they are, you cannot provide me with names of acquaintances who will vouch for his character and means, and you really have no idea of how he provides for himself.
“In short, he could be anyone, as I have already protested, looking to make a most advantageous match with the first young, and naïve lady who appears to be sufficiently affluent and independent of chaperones to be allowed into close contact with him.
“You may get undressed, Sophie. I shall instruct your maid to bring you a cold plate to your room. You will not be attending the opera tonight, or any other function, until Sir Lewis has spoken with this Mr. William Collins and has obtained some degree of satisfaction regarding his eligibility and prospects. Do not argue with me,” she continued as Sophie rose to protest her harsh treatment, “you have done enough damage thus far and will not be allowed to continue on your selfish and ignorant way any longer, at least not while I have sole responsibility over your welfare.”
Catherine gave her sister one last forbidding look which immediately quelled any resistance in Sophie, and swept out of the door to interrupt her husband’s dressing in order to inform him of his impending duties for the morrow.
Unfortunately, Sir Lewis was unable to assuage his and his wife’s concerns regarding the eligibility or intentions of Mr. Collins, but not through any fault of his enquiries amongst his contacts in his London Club, and those whom he knew at the Bar. No one had anything to say about Mr. Collins because none knew him intimately. They knew of him, had seen him here and there, liked the look of him, believed him to be a London man but further than that they could not say. Moreover, no one seemed to know the first place to look for him; it would appear that he materialised at evening parties but no one knew who had invited him there. They would ask their ladies and report back to him; how about a brandy, my dear sir? How is married life at Rosings Park?
As he reported back to Catherine each evening, it was as if Mr. Collins only existed when Sophie was abroad: when she was absent, so was he. Perhaps, he suggested, they should admit her an outing so that he could attach himself to the gentleman when he appeared and have a discussion with him then?
“Perhaps we should do that, my dear. Sophie’s absence has been noted and it is becoming impossible to answer why she is indisposed but no doctor has been summoned. People are becoming curious; she is the new mystery which keeps the gossips busy, and that is what we want to avoid.”
“No, indeed! She shall not be released into public as a lure for a man who is becoming more and more suspicious with every day that passes without his appearance. No, I shall demand to know of his whereabouts from her this instant; I believe she knows more about him than she has been willing to divulge.”
Sir Lewis watched in admiration as his wife sailed through the door and mounted the staircase, determination written in her every stride. She was not a warm creature, he was the first to admit, but she was determined and loyal and in those two attributes he could not fault her.
Lady Catherine found Sophie reading at her desk when she entered her living room and Catherine immediately demanded to see the missive when Sophie attempted to cover her letter in confusion.
Sophie argued and shouted and refused to co-operate but finally handed the letter over.
Catherine glanced at the salutation and immediately glared at her sister. She scanned through the contents of the letter, her mouth thinning to a straight line and her hand starting to shake.
“When did this man deliver a letter to you? I demand to know. All correspondence has gone through me this past week – how can his have broken my security unless someone in the house is in league with you? Which of the servants has done this? They shall be immediately released from their post for going against my express wishes and instructions. How dare you inflate your egregious behaviour to include innocent staff?
“He says here that he is aware that my husband has been making enquiries about him and that he will lie low until I have released you from your imprisonment! ‘Imprisonment’ he says! What a champion he will be for you, my dear sister! He will ‘lie low’ until the danger passes! What a true hero he must be! No mention of coming to rescue you from your ‘imprisonment’, no mention of seeking to clear his name and become an eligible suitor by approaching Sir Lewis to explain himself and his actions. No, all of his actions, in this letter and elsewhere, point only to one truth: that he is not what he seems to be, he has something to hide and he will not reveal himself to anyone, not even you, dear sister, you may depend upon it.
“How I regret the fall of your favourite in such an ignominious manner! I see by your expression that you do not intend to co-operate with us in providing me with this man’s address so I shall not waste my husband’s time any longer on this foolishness. We shall not prolong our stay in London – I believe you to have had enough of society for this season. You need to be removed from temptation and back into the care and responsibility of our parents who, as yet, know nothing of your exploits. They shall be fully instructed in what has passed and will hopefully instate some semblance of stricter influence over you in the future; I cannot take any more responsibility for your welfare – I am your sister, not your parent and on them the task must fall.
“I shall send in your maid and you will be ready to leave by tomorrow morning. I shall instruct my husband of our intentions to leave; whether he chooses to accompany us is another matter but that is for him to decide.”
She left Sophie sitting at her desk, holding the letter in her hand, stony-faced and non-responsive.
The remainder of the story still caused Lady Catherine despondency to recall. Her final words had been in anger towards her sister, and the following day, when she went to check that Sophie was ready to leave, she found, to her horror, only an empty room and a letter propped against the mantelpiece which indicated, in no uncertain terms, that Sophie had left the de Bourgh family’s protection to follow her heart and the man over whom they had argued. She had left no forwarding address and had not indicated how her life may unfold; the letter was resolute and succinct.
Catherine sat upon the bed in utter distraction and was found there by her husband a while later who, after understanding the consequences of the action taken by his wife, attempted, without much success, to console her: her sister was an ungrateful and selfish young woman who needed to improve the maturity of her mind and would never realise what great pains Catherine had taken for her welfare until it became too late for her to redeem herself. He railed against Sophie and her actions until Catherine begged him to stop and to return her to Rosings Park without delay, after she had sent an urgent missive to her parents alerting them to the crisis that had befallen their entire family thanks to their one incorrigible daughter. She could no longer cope with the horror of it all and desperately needed advice from her father as well as her husband.
She recalled with darkness in her mind the fruitless search for her sister and the young man, Collins, which spanned the best part of a year before anything was heard of them. She no longer held any hatred or animosity towards either of them; if only they would reappear and relieve her and her parent’s anguish at the loss of a sister and daughter. If they were married and truly happy, then all would be well and the whole incident could be erased, is what her father had voiced very recently, and Catherine was at such a point that she almost agreed with him, although she could not think she would ever trust her sister again.
After almost a year, when everyone in the family had tried to carry on with their lives without Sophie in them, on one nondescript morning, the doorbell rang at Rosings Park and a messenger delivered a post-haste from her father.
My dear Catherine,
&nb
sp; Prepare yourself for the contents of this letter as it has not been easy for me to write without considerable anguish and pain.
I heard yesterday from Mr. Collins. He arrived at the manor house in the early afternoon and was dressed all in black and quite distressed which, from his dress, I mistakenly thought indicated that he was a clergyman who had got lost upon his travels or been set upon by vagabonds. Once I ascertained to whom I was speaking, my heart grew heavier still as your sister had not accompanied him. He was deeply distressed, as I have mentioned, and it took quite some while for me to inveigle from him his news, and, believe me when I say this, after I had finally done so I was quite sure I would rather I had been unsuccessful in my attempt.
He and your sister had run away, directly after she had left your house in London that fateful night, and had gone to marry at Gretna Green. Even though he had told her of his circumstances and their inevitably reduced mode of living should she continue with her plan, she insisted upon marrying him – apparently she had informed him of her argument with you and had declared that she would rather live in penury with him, than live like a princess with her family.
However, further to that information, Mr. Collins also apprised me of the fact that a month ago, your sister had given birth to a baby boy, which was the true cause of his grief and distress. I am sorry to have to report that both Sophie and the infant died during the event and this was, of course, very painful to hear; your mother has taken to her bed from the shock of it all. Dr. Martin attends her every day and says she will recover slowly. That she should have been a grandmother and not known it or been able to assist in the usual manner of these things has caused her considerable distress and self-loathing. She is distraught that Sophie was in such dreadful circumstances and that it possibly contributed to her and the infant’s death.
How they had lived before the tragic deaths was not revealed to me but Mr. Collins was truly in despair; I have never seen a man so utterly bereft. His love for my daughter must have been very real indeed to feel such grief. I feel that in our ignorance of the facts we were too harsh in our judgment of him and his level of affection for Sophie; of course your mother believes that to be true and that if we had been a little more understanding of Sophie and her erratic behaviour, then she would be with us still as a happily married woman and mother.
Still, it is not to be, and blaming ourselves for other’s decisions cannot make them return howsoever we may wish it. Everyone must make their own way in life and decide what life they will or will not have.
Mr. Collins refused to stay with us to recover his equanimity despite my pressing him to do so - he preferred to return directly to London without leaving a contact address. He merely wanted to deliver the news in person and ensure that Sophie’s family understood that the magnitude of his grief for the loss of his wife matched theirs; he wanted nothing from us other than our understanding and forgiveness for estranging us from our daughter, and that I freely gave to him. I wished him well in his endeavours and do not expect that our paths will ever have cause to cross again.
And so I leave you, my dear, I know, in a very subdued and sombre frame of mind upon receipt of this terrible news, as are we all. You would not have wished this upon Sophie, none of us would; it could have turned out much better but it did not. Pray, do not distress or place unwonted blame upon yourself – we can all partake of a share in that. You discharged your sisterly duties with great diligence and sacrifice and to no avail; Sophie was always going to behave and proceed as she thought fit regardless of any attempts to influence her and you cannot blame yourself for her strong will.
I shall apprise you of any further developments if any should arise.
Your loving father,
J. Greville Esq. etc.
Catherine still had that fateful letter tucked secretly away in her personal effects and she knew the wording of it by heart. How long she had blamed herself for the tragedy that befell her sister, a tragedy that could have been prevented had she, Catherine, not been quite so stringent in her duties regarding her sister’s behaviour. This letter had informed her, more than anything else, that her prejudgment of a young man and his intentions, before he had time to explain them, had been precipitous. She had condemned him out of hand as a fortune-hunter who had mistakenly fixed upon Sophie as his ticket to a wealthy lifestyle.
What she had learned, both from the letter and from several subsequent discussions with her father, was that Sophie had been truly in love with this man and he with her. He had tried to provide sufficiently for them both and they had apparently been happy in their short time together regardless of the difficult circumstances in which they lived. Mr. Collins’ grief had been obvious, her father had said, and he was inconsolable for his loss, something not easily fabricated without true feelings being involved.
Catherine had, in short, spent her entire life since her father’s letter secretly regretting her decision and actions regarding her sister but knew not how she could make amends; her sister was dead, what could she possibly do?
It was not until a chance remark, made by one of her former clergymen, that she finally was able to glimpse the possibility of redemption.
XXVI
This clergyman, a Mr. Attwood, who had been in the service of the de Bourgh estate for many years and was generally a close confidant of the family, although he knew nothing regarding the sad circumstances, previously related, that had affected his benefactor, was taking tea with Lady Catherine about twelve years after the demise of Sophie. They were discussing charitable works being performed in the village and the conversation turned to how he considered one of the most beneficial works to be that of providing eligible young men of lower connections the opportunity to attend university to pursue an education to elevate their situation and improve their chances of success in life.
“For you know, Lady Catherine, although there is much to be said for providing charity, there is nothing so useful as giving a person the tools with which to improve his life; it is a benefit not only for that one person but also for everyone whom he is able to affect through that education.
“A very great friend of mine who works in the inner boroughs of London is a firm believer in this notion and implements it as often as circumstances permit.”
Lady Catherine considered his opinion as she sipped her tea but felt that she should remind her clergyman of the reality of his proclamation.
“This is a most unusual idea, one which goes against the very fabric of our society – to raise a person up beyond their situation surely cannot be good for them. To quit the sphere into which they have been born must only cause eventual grief when they come to the realisation that they will never be accepted as a true inhabitant of any. Although my husband and I are very much in favour of helping the unfortunate of this world, it must be rather disconcerting for the person involved to be so raised above his state in life. How many persons has your friend been able to improve through this novel idea, Mr. Attwood? And how can he be sure, after the passage of some years, that his efforts are so amply rewarded? I expect some of them have faltered upon the higher expectations placed on them by such a great change in their situation. Does he have any verification of the benefits or the calamities that befall them after they have left his oversight?”
Mr. Attwood then responded enthusiastically regarding the several methods employed by his friend to ensure, as far as possible, that the beneficiary in question is trained fully for his new role and situation in life; that most of them have gone on to be successful, productive and esteemed members of their community with none of the negative possible outcomes that Lady Catherine had so thoughtfully brought to light.
“My friend, Reverend Huxley, has informed me in a recent letter that he now has a young boy in his flock who would benefit from such an intervention in his life. His family is in a sorry state with the father being a drunkard and the mother dead, but the boy shows promise apparently, particularly in the area of the church; he is devo
ut, serious and shows a remarkable degree of humility which is rare in one so young. My friend intimated that it had been his hope to have the boy educated sufficiently to be admitted into one of the universities to continue his theological studies, and although he has contrived over the past few years to contribute enough from the parish funds for the boy to attend a local boys’ school, he unfortunately can see no way in which this funding can continue for the more expensive private secondary and university education required. He regrets that such a promising young man should fall by the wayside for want of a sponsor, he says, but can see no way forward for him without one.”
“A drunkard, you say? How dreadful that must be for one so young and impressionable, particularly without a mother’s intervention and guidance. I have been most particular about the degree of guidance impressed upon my own children so that they understand their situation in life and the expectations the world will have of them. A young person so adrift in such a desperate place as London will not always have the necessary presence of mind to successfully navigate through its perils and into a safer and more beneficial harbour. He will be forever fighting the decadence and dissolution of his surroundings; if he does not eventually succumb to it, he will have demonstrated possession of a stronger disposition than is usually seen. But you say he is seriously determined to become a clergyman so to improve the lot of others more than for himself? That is a credit to his benefactor, Reverend Huxley, who is clearly a devoted and most selfless servant to his people; he has inspired this young man to think higher than his surroundings would generally encourage.