Miss Price's Decision

by Eliza Shearer

  I studied the sketch. Slowly, I began to be able to identify where both men’s features differed. Mr Darcy’s nose was longer and his eyelids heavier, while Jamie’s lips were thicker and his brow more unruly. I was about to alter the face on the piece of paper and to turn it into Jamie’s when Julia walked into the drawing room. I instinctively covered my drawing with my arm, but Julia approached me with the determined air of a hawk which has spotted a country mouse amongst the grass.

  “Concealment is very unladylike. Did Fanny not instruct you in what constitutes acceptable behaviour when you arrived at Mansfield Park? Show me what you are hiding.”

  “It is just a trifle.”

  “I insist that you show it to me.”

  I lifted my arm. The fabric on my sleeves had blurred the sharpest pencil strokes, but on the whole, Mr Darcy’s face was still very much there. Julia crossed her arms, tilted her head and observed the portrait for a few moments.

  “It is nobody in particular,” I mumbled. “Sometimes I draw faces for my amusement. Half of the time I don’t know who they are.”

  I regretted the lie as soon as I uttered it. She looked at my work and her lips thinned.

  “How extraordinary.” Her voice took an accusing edge now.

  “As I said…”

  “Do not try to deceive me. Now, give me that drawing.”

  I could have ignored her request, but I knew my position in the household. Shaking with indignation, I ripped the piece of paper off the sketchbook and handed it to her. Julia took it with a smile of satisfaction and left the room.

  It was a mild and dry evening and, as Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy stepped into the house, the former explained with his usual bonhomie that it was so pleasant that they had walked all the way from their accommodation on Sidney Place. Mr Darcy, however, looked sombre, as if he was in deep mourning. It did not help the overall impression that he was wearing a dark coat in spite of it being almost midsummer, making the contrast of his disposition with Mr Bingley’s even more pronounced than I remembered. Even Tom, who had shaved and was wearing freshly pressed clothes, appeared to be marginally less miserable than Mr Darcy. In any case, Mr Bingley surely made up for his friends’ lack of loquaciousness.

  “Upon my word, Tom, it is good to see you! I am glad that Balfour was able to spare you for a few days. Are you in Bath long?”

  “Just a few days,” said Tom, laconically.

  “Splendid! What a great occasion to reminiscence the past. Cole is also coming, is he not?”

  At the mention of Mr Cole my heart stopped, but I quickly composed myself. Mr Cole would never dare speak to me about what happened in polite company, but tonight I must follow Fanny’s example, remain vigilant and keep quiet, so as to attract as little attention as possible.

  Mr Cole arrived soon afterwards. His cold eyes studied me as soon as he saw me, but to my relief, he made no attempt to engage me in conversation. Later, in the dining parlour, I sat across from Mr Darcy and Miss Bingley. She was trying to engage him in conversation, but he was even sparser with his words than usual.

  “Charles said you have recently returned from visiting your aunt in Kent. Lady Catherine de Bourgh is in good health, I hope?”

  “She is, I thank you.”

  “I shall not ask about poor Miss de Bourgh. I very much wish to meet her some day, for Miss Darcy speaks very highly of her. Did you coincide with the Colonel?”

  Mr Darcy nodded, noncommittally.

  “Such a charming man. You were quite a small party, then.”

  “Actually,” said Mr Darcy in a neutral a tone of voice, “Mr Collins was a regular visitor to Rosings. I believe you met him in Hertfordshire.”

  “I remember him well. What a funny little man. Did he not address you without having been previously introduced? His awful manners did not surprise me, considering the general incivility of his wider family circle.”

  “He is now married, and we saw a great deal of him, his wife and their guest. You are acquainted with both ladies.”

  “Am I?” asked Miss Bingley, playfully.

  “You met Mrs Collins when she was still Miss Lucas, and you will surely remember Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  Miss Bingley, who was naturally pale, turned paler still, and her eyes widened. Slowly, she took a drink of wine, and I noticed that her hand was shaking. She spoke little for the remainder of the meal. Mr Darcy, for his part, seemed to enjoy the silence. I caught him a few times lost in the distance, as if he was not really in the room, and I wondered what events were behind his withdrawn behaviour.

  In the drawing room, while I was serving Lady Bertram her tea, Miss Bingley and Julia took refuge in a corner. Miss Bingley, visibly agitated, was the one doing most of the talking, while my cousin attempted to soothe her. They kept their voices low, but a few fragments of their conversation reached my ears. Miss Bingley was terribly upset at her presence in Rosings, and feared that he might be under her spell again. I wondered if the lady Miss Bingley was referring to was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whom Mr Darcy had mentioned. The name sounded familiar, but I could not remember where I had heard it before.

  When the gentlemen joined us, Miss Bingley had regained her composure. She sat at the pianoforte and began to play with much technical adroitness, if little sentiment. The languid movements of her long and elegant fingers made her look bewitching, but in spite of the harmonious vignette and her occasional glances, Mr Darcy remained oblivious. After the performance, Mr Darcy walked towards the wall where my drawings hung to study them more closely. Miss Bingley, undeterred, followed him there. Noticing their interest, Lady Bertram, who was seated nearby, spoke to them. Mr Darcy’s eyes looked at me for the first time that night, and he bowed in my direction.

  “Susan, can you fetch Mamma’s shawl?” Julia’s voice startled me. Although she was standing right next to me, I had not noticed her. “There is a draft near that window.”

  “I dare say Miss Price does not wish to be disturbed. She appears much entertained by the observation of her betters,” said Cole with a smirk.

  I coloured deeply and clenched my fists. Because of my absent-mindedness, I was now on my own with the only two people in the room I wished to avoid.

  “Is that what you were doing?” Julia looked towards the opposite end of the room, where Miss Bingley and Mr Darcy were standing. “Oh, I see. You were watching Mr Darcy.”

  “I did not intend to…”

  “No need to look for an excuse, my dear lady,” said Mr Cole, interrupting my discourse. “If my only vice had consisted in observing the lives of others, I would have saved myself a great deal of trouble. Mrs Yates cannot object to such a harmless pastime.”

  “I suppose I cannot be displeased by a harmless case of amour fou,” said Julia with a sly smile.

  “Do you believe Miss Price to be hopelessly in love with Mr Darcy?” asked Mr Cole.

  “I am perfectly sure of it, and have the proof to show the world,” replied she with a flirtatious gesture.

  “My cousin jests,” said I, feeling my heart beat faster.

  “I do not! You see, Mr Cole, I caught Miss Price working on a portrait of Mr Darcy. Do you not consider it a testament to her vain hopes?”

  I looked at Julia in disbelief. Cole raised his eyebrows.

  “Is that so, Miss Price?”

  “It was just the sketch of a face,” I said brusquely, immediately regretting my defensiveness. My cheeks were burning now.

  “A very particular face, too, for several people are in perfect agreement that the subject is indeed our very own Mr Darcy. Miss Bingley thinks so, and so does the interested party himself.”

  I felt a wave of mortification and shame.

  “As long as it is hopeless love only, and not a desire to act upon it, I do not think we can reproach Miss Price for her behaviour,” said Cole fixing his eyes on me, his voice full of foreboding. “Of course, things would be entirely different if your cousin were spying on the lives of others.”

&n
bsp; “I agree, Mr Cole, for I despise nosiness.”

  “In that case, dear madam, I have some intelligence that may well surprise you.”

  My insides churned, and I was preparing for Mr Cole’s blow when Julia took hold of Mr Cole’s arm.

  “Let us forget Miss Price. I believe some players are gathering for a game of whist. Will you do me the honour?”

  Mr Cole could not deny Julia’s request, but before they sat at the card table, he gave me one warning look. I shuddered and went towards the window to find some peace. The constant attacks from Julia were like daggers, but I must be more careful with Mr Cole, for he held the power to disgrace me in front of the Bertrams. I took a deep breath.

  “I am told you drew the botanical sketches on that wall. I admire the rigour in their execution. You are very talented.”

  Perhaps in an effort to escape the attentions of Miss Bingley, Mr Darcy was now standing by my side.

  “I thank you,” I said, my cheeks burning. “And please do not pretend that they are the only example of my work that you have seen today.”

  Mr Darcy flinched and meditated for a few moments before replying.

  “It is not, but I did not intend to embarrass you in any way. Please forgive me.”

  My heart sank, but I felt compelled to explain myself.

  “I have made mistakes on occasion when it comes to choosing my subjects, and the sketch that my cousin has likely shown you is an example of it. Because of this, I mostly prefer to dedicate my attention and energy to depicting plants.”

  Darcy nodded.

  “I suppose they are much less likely to comment on the likeness of a portrait.”

  His comment made me smile in spite of myself. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again.

  “I believe you might enjoy the prints produced by a Mrs Merian, a German illustrator. She, too, had a talent to depict plants, as well as insects. Woodstones on George Street houses a handful of her studies of butterflies, which I highly recommend you go and see.”

  “It is a remarkable coincidence that you should mention Mrs Meriam. I saw some of her work for the first time just the other day, in a print shop on Putney Bridge.”

  “My late uncle possessed a few prints by her, which I admired very much as a young man. I have never forgotten their brilliance and nuance.” For a fleeting moment I saw the soul of a passionate man, capable of being moved by subtle artistic expression. “Did you know that Mrs Merian travelled to Surinam with only her daughter for company? She was an extraordinary woman.”

  “She must have been determined to see the truth with her own eyes. That is my wish as well: to perceive reality as it really is.”

  “Truth can never be the only guide in our lives, for there are many other factors to consider.”

  “I cannot agree, sir. Truth is paramount, and we must allow it to dictate our actions, even if others object.”

  Mr Darcy fell silent for a few moments.

  “If I understand correctly, you are suggesting that one should live one’s life embracing what is true and just, ignoring social conventions and familial expectations.” Mr Darcy let out a deep sigh. “I did it once and I am afraid to say that I failed spectacularly.”

  “Trying once was perhaps not enough. There is a woman I much admire. She is gentle and timid, but also the most perseverant person I know. She was in love with a man for years before he began to love her in return, and they are now happily married. If she had not pursued her truth, she would have married another, and today she would be a miserable creature.”

  “So you believe we should all be more constant in our endeavours.”

  “I can think of no better advice, particularly when it comes to the matters of the heart.”

  I was blushing and feared that, carried away by my thoughts on Jamie, I had bared my soul to a man who was little more than a passing acquaintance. However, Mr Darcy appeared pensive.

  “I suspect you may be right, Miss Price,” he mumbled, thoughtfully.

  We were silent for some time, until Miss Bingley came looking for Mr Darcy and dragged him to the card table.

  “Miss Bingley’s cause is hopeless. Anyone can see that Darcy is not interested.”

  Tom, who had remained silent for most of the evening, had joined me by the window.

  “She is certainly persistent.”

  “It is a waste of time. She ought to leave and not see him for a good while. Lick her wounds and all that. Just as I am doing, Susan. Miss Ewing is a cruel woman, taunting me and toying with my affections, incapable of deciding whether she loves me or another. At least, Miss Bingley will one day appreciate the fact that the object of her love never misled her. You, too, have the consolation of being in love with a man well above your station, with whom an attachment would be impossible.”

  “Cousin, that will not do,” I said with a sad smile. “You deserve to know the truth. I am not in love with Mr Darcy. True, I have drawn his likeness, and I believe him to be a very handsome man. But it is not he that I admire.”

  “Who is it, then?”

  “Someone else he reminds me of.”

  “You are blushing!” he said with childlike delight. “It must be true. So, is the object of your affection attainable, or is any hope of an attachment a delusion?”

  I thought of Harriet’s interest in Jamie. Both of them were in London at the moment, and I had not heard from her in weeks, so I could not know if she had seen him again, and if so, the outcome of their encounters. At the same time I had to admit that I was concerned about Mrs Robinson, who was so highly spoken of as patroness of the arts. A young widow with money is the most blessed creature on earth, able to decide her own destiny whilst knowing that she has her best years ahead. Many before her had married younger men out of choice. I shook my head.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “My dear cousin, let us toast to our foolish loves with some sweet Madeira wine. Come,” said Tom, putting my hand around his arm and leading me to the table where the refreshments had been laid out. It was a sweet gesture, and one that helped me overcome the ignominy of Julia’s betrayal, but even in the company of my cousin I could not forget the way Cole’s icy eyes had looked at me earlier.

  Chapter 14

  I slept soundly that night. In spite of Julia’s affront and Mr Cole’s veiled threat, I was pleased to have confided in my cousin Tom. Sharing my secret had made me realise that my situation was far from exceptional. I was even more satisfied to have found an unlikely ally in Mr Darcy. His delicacy upon realising my embarrassment had been exquisite, and he had also acted like a very thoughtful friend in recommending that I should further explore the works by Mrs Merian. I was beginning to see beyond his chiselled features and his 10,000 pounds a year to see him as a man of true virtue and knowledge, and to realise that his pride was but the armour of a timid heart against a vile world.

  As I was descending the stairs, I heard Julia and Miss Bingley’s voices rise up from the ground floor.

  “Do not mind his behaviour, Caroline. It is just a passing fancy.”

  “No, Julia. He was hurt, devastated. I have known him, nay, studied him all this years, and I had never seen him so utterly desolate. It can only be that insolent woman. What can she have possibly done to him to bring him such suffering?”

  “It must be sorcery!” whispered Julia.

  I opted to return to my chamber, lest Julia think I had been spying on them. After a prudent period of time, I entered the breakfast room.

  “Well, well, well,” said my cousin in a mocking tone. “You surely had a lovely time last night, did you not?”

  Lady Bertram, who was already at the table, intervened.

  “We all had a lovely time, I believe,” said my aunt with a smile. She was in excellent spirits.

  “Indeed, Mamma, but Susan was lucky enough to attract the attention of a gentleman.”

  “Did she, now?”

  Lady Bertram, who was feeding chicken morsels to her pup in an attem
pt to teach the dog how to sit down, looked at her daughter with surprise.

  “He is not of the sort of man I would have looked at twice, of course, but in Susan’s situation I think she should consider herself very lucky indeed. A marriage with Mr Cole would be an excellent match.”

  “Mr Cole?” I was genuinely baffled.

  “Certainly! He is a bit rough, and the kind of man that at times makes unsavoury comments, but Susan grew up in Portsmouth and may well have a taste for it.”

  “I must say that I did catch him glancing in Susan’s direction every now and then,” mused Lady Bertram. “Is he rich?”

  “He is an orphan but grew up under the protection of a very wealthy uncle, who gave him an excellent education. He lived in the West Indies for some years, but upon the death of the uncle, his widow begged Mr Cole to return and take charge of the family affairs.”

  “I dare say that he will marry one of his cousins without caring much which one,” said Lady Bertram.

  “The poor girls are in very poor health, as well as decidedly not handsome. Mr Cole is an active young man with a fond desire to travel, and I very much doubt that he is willing to attach himself to an invalid. He only needs to be patient and wait for nature to take its course. As the only close relative, the family fortune will be his one day.”

  “We shall see, but in any case, I am pleased to hear that Susan may have in him an admirer,” replied Lady Bertram with a smile on her lips. “As for you, my dear Miss Bingley, did you enjoy seeing your brother and Mr Darcy? I know you were very much looking forward to it.”

  Miss Bingley, usually so composed, let out a whimper, brusquely placed her napkin on her plate and left the dining parlour immediately. Julia stood up right after and, giving her mother a look of reproach, followed her friend out of the room.

  “What did I say?” asked Lady Bertram, her face the picture of confusion.

  At that moment, the footman came in with the post. There was a letter addressed to me from my friend Harriet, one that contained a fair number of pages, judging by its thickness. It was her first missive from London, where she was still staying with the Allens. She described in great detail the many joys and amenities of city life, but my heart stopped when I saw Jamie’s name in one of her paragraphs.