Pemberley Shades

by D. Bonavia-Hunt

  There came a moment when it seemed best to leave her alone, for her wandering gaze seemed to be asking for solitude. She had not slept the last two nights, and after seeing her laid upon her bed and lightly covered over Elizabeth stole away.

  Deeply affected by Georgiana’s suffering, she herself was in no humour for any society but her own and would gladly have remained apart for the next few hours, but on her way to her dressing-room she was overtaken by Jane who came to announce an event which everybody had expected.

  “Oh, Lizzy,” she said with an air of serious happiness, “I was just looking for you. Kitty and Mortimer have now come in from their walk and say they are engaged. Father was in the library, and they went to him at once and obtained his consent. How pleased Mamma will be!”

  “Kitty is indeed fortunate,” said Elizabeth coolly. “An amiable, easy-going husband and Clopwell Priory into the bargain. And now, I suppose, I must hurry downstairs to welcome Mortimer into the family.”

  Chapter 18

  Kitty’s engagement brought her into a prominence which she would have found wholly delightful had it not drawn upon her Lady Catherine’s particular attention. In her ladyship’s apprehension a portionless miss (for what is a thousand pounds?) was quite beneath her notice in the ordinary way; but an engagement, whoever the parties, must always excite the strongest feelings, whether of jubilation or the reverse, and Lady Catherine was not slow to express her very great surprise at Mr. Mortimer with the utmost frankness, or to prophesy that the marriage would turn out badly, assisted by her conviction of never having been proved wrong in any single previous instance. This, however, did not discourage her from giving Kitty the benefit of that advice which her superior wisdom made so extremely valuable.

  “It is customary for a young lady to be married from her own home,” said she, “but in the present case I do not recommend it. Your sister, Mrs. Darcy, who has a tolerable taste in dress—though not equal to Miss de Bourgh’s—can give you all the assistance you may require on that head. All preparations can be made here. You need not return to Hertfordshire.”

  Lady Catherine had learnt from her former dealings with Mrs. Darcy to reserve the most candid of her utterances until the lady was not present to hear them. She now became sensible of being at a serious disadvantage among her niece-in-law’s relations, in finding them a vexatious check upon that freedom of speech she so greatly cherished. Mr. Bennet was so misguided as to prefer his own opinions as to what was for his daughter’s good; Mrs. Gardiner, though with all the deference due to exalted rank, likewise declined instruction, and even Mrs. Bingley could not be brought to agree entirely with her ladyship’s views concerning the unsuitability of the match. There remained her own nephew and niece. Georgiana appeared either not to be giving her whole and undivided attention or to be rather deaf; and Darcy, though invariably polite, couched his replies to her observations in terms which left nothing further to be said. Alone with him one day, she profited by the occasion to speak out plainly.

  “Mrs. Darcy will be well-advised to press on the wedding with all despatch. Mr. Mortimer is a simple, unaffected young man—I like him excessively—but he may begin to feel that he could have done very much better.”

  “I cannot imagine that Mortimer would hold himself superior to a connection by marriage with the Darcys of Pemberley House,” said Darcy thoughtfully.

  Sad would have been Lady Catherine’s predicament but for the most civil attentions of Mr. Acworth. Polite, unassuming, sympathetic, he was all that she could desire to keep her in a cheerful humour. At her request he walked and talked with her and her daughter, sat beside either one or the other at table, and occasionally drove out with them in their carriage.

  She began to speak of him with enthusiasm. “He is a most delightful young man,” she said to Georgiana, “so truly the gentleman. There is a something about the members of our aristocratic families that cannot be mistaken.”

  As Georgiana did not reply, and indeed looked as if she desired to escape, her aunt continued in her kindest manner, endeavouring to overcome her supposed reluctance to disobey the wishes of her brother in marrying a widower.

  “I understand that he was not married above a year,” she said. “That can hardly be called a marriage at all, and I would not regard it as such. Were I consulted I should have no hesitation whatever in saying that you could be happy with him.”

  Confused and distressed, Georgiana begged her aunt to desist from persuasion. “There is not, and never could be anything between myself and Mr. Acworth,” she said with some vehemence. “I like him very well in some ways, but not in that way. I do not intend ever to marry.”

  “Nonsense, child,” replied Lady Catherine. But from that time, despite her disinclination to drop an idea once adopted by her, she said no more on the subject and appeared to forget it.

  Since the expedition to Clopwell Priory, Mr. Acworth’s demeanour, perhaps from motives of prudence, had undergone a striking change. No longer did he obtrude himself upon the notice of those about him by a parade of sentiments and opinions likely to shock them, but in the course of a single night he had become silent, retiring and conforming. An alteration so strong could not pass without general remark, but it remained for Jane to rejoice. The improvement must be lasting, and as such tend to convince all who had hitherto doubted it, of the inherent goodness of human nature. In glowing terms she spoke to Elizabeth of the transformation that they had been privileged to witness.

  “And what, do you suppose, has brought it about?” asked her sister.

  “It may, nay it must be that in a period of reflection he has seen the error of his past ways, and is now seeking to mend them.”

  “Well, there is another explanation, and you shall hear it. My own belief is that his altered behaviour is merely a ruse to draw attention to himself. He is insatiable for notice, and having exhausted one form of display, has now hit upon another.”

  “You will never be serious, Lizzy,” said Jane smiling. “Fortunately I know that you do not mean half that you say.”

  Coming upon her husband shortly afterwards, Elizabeth called on him to share her own private amusement at this fresh instance of Jane’s incorrigible optimism.

  “Jane is happier today than she has been this long while,” she said.

  “Indeed!” replied Darcy. “And what, may I ask, has produced her present felicity?”

  “She has become convinced that Mr. Acworth is a reformed character. Her faith in mankind is therefore justified and established. One may well envy her.”

  “Decidedly,” he returned. But instead of smiling at her dancing eyes he looked grave and some feeling of constraint was visible, while he turned uneasily in his chair.

  “I have recently had some conversation with him,” he said. “He agrees with me that it is not in his interests to stay here much longer, but the date of his departure is not yet fixed. Some days must still elapse.”

  “So soon?” cried Elizabeth. “What a relief! My poor Fitz, how your patience and forbearance must have been taxed by that young man in some of his moods. I feel now towards him as if he were already departed; one can speak freely but without rancour of his improprieties of speech and behaviour—everything that has rendered him obnoxious. At least I could, but Lady Catherine and I are calling at the Parsonage this afternoon, and I must go and get ready.”

  As she was quitting the room Darcy said, as if upon a sudden recollection, “I must tell you that Mr. Gardiner has written that his coming, which he hoped would be within a day or two, must be further delayed. His business still detains him.”

  “It is very long,” said Elizabeth, raising her eyebrows.

  “Yes,” he replied. “A hitch has occurred—unavoidable. A relapse—the illness of the other gentleman concerned.”

  Elizabeth was really in a hurry to be upstairs dressing for her drive and could not stay to question him as
she might have done.

  “It is disappointing,” she said, “for I begin to fear that he will not come at all. Does my aunt know?”

  “Yes, she knows.”

  “I wonder she has not spoken of it to me. But wherever Lady Catherine is, the concerns of other people can have no place. Adieu, my love, I must indeed go. I assume that you send your compliments to the Miss Robinsons.”

  Lady Catherine had a numerous acquaintance around Pemberley from having stayed there frequently when her sister, Lady Anne Darcy, was alive. Every dame and dowager within ten miles was a very old and dear friend of hers, grown dearer in retrospect, perhaps, than in the past. She delighted in visiting them all, and each day the carriage bore herself and her daughter away to some touching reunion. Elizabeth did not always accompany them, but sometimes she thought it expedient to do so, and that morning, Lady Catherine having announced her intention of descending upon the Parsonage later in the day, her conscience prompted her to seize the opportunity of paying off her own duty in that quarter. Her ladyship, she discovered too late, had made up her mind to a longer visit than usual that she might have a good long talk with that excellent Miss Robinson. Very often did the carriage stop at the Parsonage, but sometimes the Miss Robinsons were merely called to the door, or at other times Lady Catherine entered the house but to make a few friendly enquiries on her way to somebody else’s mansion. Approving most heartily as she did of the Miss Robinsons, she was not disposed to neglect the prior claims of rank and consequence in the bestowal of her attentions. The ladies of the Parsonage must wait their turn.

  That turn had however come, and Lady Catherine set off in a complacent and gracious humour. No one, thought Elizabeth, as she sat beside her, had ever extracted more unalloyed pleasure from her kind actions. The sense of conferring a boon was felt in the highest degree, and that proportionate gratitude must follow was never doubted.

  The Miss Robinsons had been warned to expect Lady Catherine and her daughter and were dressed in their best to receive her. After the first formalities had passed and chairs had been proffered and accepted, cake and wine were brought in, partaken of by all and pronounced by Lady Catherine to be excellent. Some talk of home-brewed wines ensued—none could compare with those made by the Rosings housekeeper—and after a polite acquiescence to save breath and dispute Elizabeth found herself with nothing more to say upon the subject. She had taken a seat near the window which looked out upon a very pretty view of the garden, now at the height of its flowering. Glancing outwards over her shoulder in the design of bringing forward a fresh topic between herself and Miss Sophia, she saw Acworth issue from an espaliered walk and approach the house as though about to enter it. So sudden was his appearance that she was unable to repress a start. Before she could turn away her head again he had reached the window, stopped and looked in. Instantly she lowered her eyes and resuming her former attitude observed upon his presence to Miss Sophia.

  “I did not know that Mr. Acworth was here,” Miss Sophia said without surprise, “but he is so much at home with us that he comes and goes as he chooses. Sister and I are quite accustomed to see him walk into the room unannounced.”

  From her manner of speaking Elizabeth collected that she, at any rate, was ignorant that very shortly the gentleman would no more be seen walking in and out of the Parsonage. Before she had leisure for further reflections the door opened and Acworth walked in. On seeing the company he looked astonished and began an apology for his intrusion, but Lady Catherine welcomed him with such unfeigned delight, and was so pressing in her invitation to him to join them that with a show of embarrassment he obeyed and seated himself modestly in a corner of the room. If obscurity and neglect were what he truly desired, Lady Catherine was not in the least disposed to gratify him. She ordered him forward with playful authority and kept him talking by asking his opinion on every subject that was mentioned. The Miss Robinsons eagerly seconded her exertions and soon he was made to appear the principal person in the room. Elizabeth thought that he did not much like these attentions; he looked distinctly uneasy and soon began glancing towards the door as if he wished to be away again.

  Lady Catherine had never made a secret of her pleasure in the society of handsome young men. She loved them all, and was persuaded that they loved her in return. They probably experienced varying degrees of warmth in her affection, for she was noticeably more encouraging as a rule to those of higher rank or greater fortune. Although Mr. Acworth was indubitably the son of an earl, he was the youngest of several brothers, and were appearances to be trusted, had no more than the bare means wherewith to support his situation in life. Notwithstanding these drawbacks Lady Catherine was as attentive to him as if he were his eldest brother and as rich as Croesus. Had she been a younger woman an observer might have supposed her enamoured. Regarding herself as beyond criticism, and therefore scorning concealment, she made none of his power to charm her, and whenever she addressed or looked at him her countenance proclaimed her very strong partiality. She could not behold him without smiling broadly.

  Such open admiration at length proved too much even for Acworth’s vanity, and having consumed his cake and wine, after a suitable interval he asked Miss Robinson’s leave to retire to the study that he might write a pressing letter. Elizabeth rather expected that Lady Catherine would show displeasure or pique—it was plain that she did not want to lose him, but as at the moment he could do no wrong, she commended his industry while relinquishing him with regret.

  As soon as the door had closed behind him she burst into eulogy of his several perfections. He was the most delightful young man in the world, so truly the gentleman, so extremely clever and accomplished, an acquisition to the highest society. Miss Robinson, while heartily agreeing and supplying superlatives on her own account, lamented his delicate health. He would have been the very rector for Pemberley, but most unfortunately the climate of Derbyshire did not suit his constitution, he feared what he had heard of the winter. Miss Sophia, with ears only for the subject which interested her beyond all others, made one or two vain attempts to draw Mrs. Darcy into the chorus of praise. Any other conversation at the same time was in truth well-nigh impossible, the vigour, authority, and vociferation of Lady Catherine precluding it.

  Curiosity and diversion as well as disdain kept Elizabeth silent. She wondered how far Lady Catherine and Miss Robinson would go in defiance of the sense and moderation proper to their age. But at length it occurred to her that Anne de Bourgh, likewise silent, might want for entertainment, and seeing her eyes stray towards the window, she invited her to a chair near her own. After a little hesitation Anne came, and looking out upon the garden observed that it was very pretty, much prettier than the one at Hunsford. Having said thus much she seemed disinclined to say any more, and cast down her eyes in what appeared a reverie. Elizabeth therefore had no choice but to continue listening to Lady Catherine and Miss Robinson.

  “Sir Lewis de Bourgh could never endure the winter at Pemberley,” said Lady Catherine. “We spent one Christmas here—I shall never forget. As soon as Sir Lewis was able to travel after the festivities were over we returned to Rosings. There he revived immediately and I recall his saying that it would be the last time he visited Derbyshire. He spoke truly—it was the last time. Mr. Acworth has the same delicate appearance as Sir Lewis—he is far from robust. The mild climate of Kent would, I am persuaded, suit him infinitely better than Pemberley. The short distance of Hunsford from London makes it extremely eligible as a place of residence. He would be able to visit his brother, Lord Egbury, and other friends in town whenever he chose.”

  Elizabeth looking just then at Anne saw that although her eyes were still fixed upon the ground she was listening intently to her mother.

  “Poor young man,” said Miss Robinson. “How well your ladyship understands the matter.”

  “At Rosings he would be rated at his true worth,” continued Lady Catherine. “He would receive rath
er more consideration than—I flatter myself that I enter into his thoughts and feelings perfectly.”

  “I am sure he could not have a better or kinder friend, madam,” interjected Miss Robinson. “I and my sister have done our best to make him at home in our own house, but unfortunately we are not everybody.”

  “You can do much, my dear Miss Robinson,” replied Lady Catherine, “but you cannot improve the climate of Derbyshire. Even I cannot do that. If everyone were as reasonable as yourself! There is such a thing, you know, as an exchange of livings.”

  “An exchange of livings!” echoed both the Miss Robinsons.

  “Certainly. Nothing is easier. It must be done every day. Mr. Collins, I am sure, would be perfectly agreeable to the transfer, and even if he were for a moment undecided, I have no doubt I could overcome any hesitation on his part.”

  “But, your ladyship,” cried Miss Sophia in a state of alarm, supposing the business to be already accomplished, “what are we to do? For you know we had settled it that if Mr. Acworth stayed we could all live together in this house; but Mr. Collins is a family man according to what we hear, and if he came he would very likely require us to quit the Parsonage immediately.”

  “I do not see the least necessity,” said Lady Catherine kindly. “The matter could be compromised to the satisfaction of all parties with a little good will—the slightest disposition to yield a point on the part of some. This house, so suitable for yourselves, would be much too large for the Collinses; they would be at a loss to furnish the half of it. Some smaller house could doubtless be found that would satisfy their modest requirements.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Miss Robinson. “Yew Tree Cottage is still empty, I believe.”

  “Capital,” cried Lady Catherine. “Nothing could be better, I am sure. Now if only what we have planned with such ease as we sit here could readily be put into execution, how many people would be benefited! You and I, Miss Robinson, see what should be done. It remains only to convince others of its suitability.”