“He told me then that, before leaving town, he had made some enquiries that he should have made before he engaged Mrs Younge, and had learned that she had been for some time the partner, in an irregular connection, of Mr Wickham. There could be no doubt; he had spoken to some people, cousins of hers, from whom they had rented some expensive furnished lodgings, from which they had decamped without paying any rent.
“I recalled all manner of speaking looks, of gestures, of things said, that had obviously a meaning from which I was excluded. The scales fell from my eyes. I was the victim, the foolish victim of a vicious deception, intended to put them both in possession of my fortune, for only the want of money had caused them previously to part, and go their separate ways. If my kind brother had not come when he did… If I had eloped, if I had married him…”
Anne shuddered.
“So you see, Anne, that is why Mr Wickham cannot be invited here; and since he cannot be invited, neither can his wife. I have never set eyes on him since that day. I could not bear it, and neither could my brother.”
“But I am glad I have told you this, cousin. I have said nothing of it to anyone, not even to dear Elizabeth. She knows, of course, but we have never spoken of it; and I only mentioned it, because I could not let you think my brother unkind; but telling you has somehow made it more bearable; I do not know why.”
Anne said everything she could to reassure Georgiana and tell her how honoured she felt by her confidence. Poor girl! As they walked back to the house, Anne thought of Edmund's honesty, the delicacy and integrity of his behaviour, and of her own good fortune. She could only hope that her poor cousin's heart would soon receive its only proper cure, in the affections of such a man—but where was another to be found to compare with Edmund?
The gentlemen were to return by midday, and it had been agreed that they would all meet in the dining room. She could hear men's voices: yes, they were back. As she hurried to the library, to leave Minette in her accustomed basket, she wondered whether Edmund would guess where she was, and meet her there. As she crossed the hall, one of the younger Miss Bennets came hurrying out of the library, and she recognised the elder sister, the rather plain Miss Mary.
“Oh, Miss de Bourgh,” Miss Bennet cried. “I went to look for you, everyone is looking for you. You are to come at once, for they are all in an uproar. Mr Darcy has had a letter, and Lady Catherine has taken all your money away, and they say that you cannot be married.”
Chapter 29
Mr Darcy's fears had proved well founded. A second lawyer's letter had arrived, to inform them that Sir Lewis de Bourgh had left the five thousand pounds, which his daughter was enjoying, in trust, only “until such time as she should marry,” at which time, of course, he had assumed that a proper provision would be made for her. It has been said that what always happens, after legal provisions have been made, is the unexpected; no one could have envisaged that Anne would marry without her mother's consent or approval. Such, however, was the case: her mother was very angry, and with the entire estate at her discretion, was not prepared to allow Anne anything at all.
Anne was a little surprised to find the entire Bennet family abuzz with the news; she liked them very well but knew them little; it might have been expected, she thought, that Mr Darcy would discuss the news with her and Edmund privately, at least at first; and as she hastened to his business room, she even thought, What could he mean by such horrible indelicacy?
“My dear Anne,” Elizabeth cried, “we are so sorry!” it transpired that Mr Darcy, appalled by the letter, had dashed into his wife's sitting-room, where she was occupied with her child, and informed her of the whole, giving full vent to his feelings, and unaware that Mrs Bennet was sitting with her daughter, screened from his view by the back of a large armchair. From such a woman, of course, there was no hope of discretion, and the news was all over the house in the course of half an hour.
Mr Darcy's lawyer was hastily summoned: suits and counter-suits were suggested, for clearly it had been Sir Lewis' intention that Anne should have, not less money, but more, on her marriage. “My dear sir, intentions do not matter,” said Mr Foreman. “Unless she is feeling charitable, and wants to provide a good living, for some years, for several lawyers and their wives and children, Miss de Bourgh should certainly not go to law, for nothing else would be gained by it.”
Everyone had a voice, everyone had an opinion. Mrs Bennet's, expressed only to her daughters, was that Anne was well served for not marrying the son of a Duke; Mr Bingley's was that it was the worst thing he had ever heard, which he repeated until even his wife grew tired of hearing it. Miss Mary Bennet had been reading in the library, and found an old book of household recipes; how it got there, no one could imagine, but it assured the reader that it was possible to live on sixpence a week. Anne felt that this, at least, was an attempt to be practical; and “Look, Edmund,” said she, “it says that a very good soup can be made from watercress, which grows in the streams, you may pick it for nothing; and they say that beer can be brewed from nettles.”
“I think that nettle beer might make you bilious,” said Mrs Darcy. “I think we should find some other solution.”
Edmund, taking Anne's hand, declared firmly that he would not hear of breaking the engagement, or even putting off the wedding: he was willing to risk everything, and marry, if Anne were willing; and if they could not live in England, they would go to Barbados. Anne, hand-fasted with her lover, begged Mr Darcy only to procure them a special license, and they would marry that very day!
At this point, it was insisted by Mr Darcy that a moratorium should be called until everyone's feelings died down, and everybody separated, to exclaim, and advance their own views, and propose their own solutions.
Darcy and Elizabeth did not at all like the idea of their young friends going to Barbados; but Edmund's house, as well as being historic and beautiful, needed a good deal of money spent. Darcy was concerned for the roof, and Elizabeth for the furnishing. “And Anne has had no experience of running a house,” she said.
“But you knew very little,” her husband said. “Do you not recall your mother saying that only Miss Lucas knew how to cook, that you and your sisters had nothing to do with housekeeping?”
“That is true; but even so, I know more than Anne, for she has always lived either at Rosings, or here, great houses with butlers and housekeepers; as far as she knows, dinner comes to the table, and washing gets done by itself. She must have a capable housekeeper, at least, or she will have a terrible struggle, and it is all very well to say that she can earn some money by writing, but how is she to find the time to write? Especially if they have some children, as I hope they will. But where there are little children to care for, and very little money, a woman has no spare time at all; she is fortunate if she gets a few hours' sleep at night.”
Matters went on in this way for several days, with everyone making suggestions, and no one suggesting anything useful, for the fact was that, though his prospects were excellent, Edmund's income, at present, could not be thought sufficient to support a wife and children, as well as his parents. The best advice that anyone could give was that recommendation, so depressing to a lover's hopes, so killing of youth and joy: “Wait.”
Chapter 30
Surprisingly, it was Lord Francis who saved the situation. He was not a clever man, nor particularly generous, but he was not unkind, and he knew his world. During their short acquaintance, he had liked Anne, and he bore her no resentment for her refusal of him, since he had made a far better match in her mother. Also, he was in an exceedingly good temper.
It had been agreed, as a condition of the marriage, that Rosings should be sold, for “What good does it do for one's standing in the world,” said Lord Francis, “to be shut away in the country, when you could live at Stilbury castle with my sister?” Lady Catherine, delighted at the prospect of living with a Duke and a Duchess, had consented; and a buyer, a rich manufacturer, had been found, and a very handsome p
rice agreed upon, far more rapidly than could have been anticipated. In the course of subsequent financial discussions, Lady Catherine happened to mention that an advantageous saving had been made in the denial of Anne's dowry.
To her astonishment, Lord Francis told his bride that it was a d—d shame. “I don't like her choice of a husband,” he said, “but it ain't right to pauperize the poor girl. And don't think it won't be talked of,” he added. “People always know; everything gets known.
Girl marries a quarryman, they talk about her. You cut her off without a shilling, they talk about us. Sort of thing that gets in the papers. Don't want that. D_ it, ma'am, I won't have it. Let the girl have ten thousand. I'll see Colby about it tomorrow.”
Lady Catherine, on both of the occasions of her marrying, had thought nothing, standing beside her bridegroom, of promising to “honour and obey” with no intention of doing any such thing. Now, for the first time in her life, she actually found herself in a position of being obliged to do something, whether she wanted to, or no; and Anne's marriage was not long delayed.
Anne went to live at the house on the hillside, and the room with the wide-sweeping views was the beloved haven where she wrote her books. The little white cottage became the home of Georgiana's old nurse, Mrs Grainger.
The quarry prospered, and in a very short time Edmund had a quite sufficient income to support a family. Although they never made a large amount of money, the series of historic novels by “A. Caldwell” (publisher: John Endicott) enjoyed a good success with the more discerning members of the reading public.
Anne's impression that she might like Mary Bennet was well-founded. Mary, who had never received much affection from either her two silly sisters or her two clever ones, found a friend in Anne. By suggesting books that she herself liked, exchanging letters, and receiving Mary for the occasional visit, Anne was able to direct her mind, and actually persuaded her, rather than collecting extracts, to try a little writing. Mary wrote some pretty verses, and became more self-confident, and much happier. Her looks improved with the improvement in her spirits, with the result that she and her mother actually began to enjoy each other's company. They lived together with much more of mutual cheerfulness, and Mary, having got a few of her verses published in the kind of periodicals that ladies read, became something of a star in Meryton society, and received the admiration she had always craved.
Darcy and Elizabeth continued as happy as they had always been. Lewis Bennet Fitzwilliam Darcy grew up a beautiful, clever, and sweet-natured child, and had several brothers and sisters, all as delightful as he. Their favourite excursion was to ride their ponies up the track to see Cousin Anne, who read them the most wonderful stories, and spoiled them, their father said, quite dreadfully. The road to Pemberley was never made up for carriages, but that deterred none of them from making the journey very frequently, for Anne regarded Darcy and Elizabeth as a brother and sister, and Pemberley as her second home.
Georgiana had one season in London, enjoyed it very much, came home, and married Mr Rackham; thus becoming happily settled within two miles of Pemberley; and when Minette had a litter, Anne gave her a puppy.
Mrs Annesley, now Mrs Fitzwilliam, was, as her husband had suspected, a perfect soldier's wife. She went with him to every place that he was sent to, could make a home anywhere, in any circumstances, was never dismayed by bad weather, supply problems, or the sound of cannon fire, and was beloved by everyone in the regiment.
As to the happiness of Lady Catherine and her husband, it may be assumed that she reaped the reward of her marriage, in the opportunity it gave her, as the sister of a Duchess, to associate with those of the very highest rank. The happiness of Lord Francis may be inferred from the fact that, soon after they were married, he spent forty thousand pounds of her money to purchase the command of a regiment of cavalry.
Chapter 31
Lady Francis Meaburn to Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy
Stilbury castle
My dear Nephew,
I was pleased to receive your letter, for it has been quite a period since we corresponded. However, I cannot accede to your request to forgive my daughter, come to Pemberley, and be reconciled, merely because she has given birth to her second child. Nor can I do so for the other reason you mention, to celebrate the publication of her new book. I cannot regard this as a fortunate circumstance, much less a cause for congratulation.
Nothing will ever induce me to countenance her marriage to that stonemason, and I absolutely refuse to meet him. Families like ours do not admit such people to our circle of acquaintances. Anne has betrayed her family by her disgraceful marriage, and she does not deserve to be received or acknowledged. If you choose to do so, I cannot prevent you, but I shall always look upon it as the lamentable result of your own marriage to a woman with no rank, and no money.
As for Anne's writing, I suppose I must be thankful that she publishes under her married name, and has not disgraced the ancient and honoured name of de Bourgh. I have not read any of her books, and do not intend to. If she had published a book of elegant extracts, it would have been perfectly acceptable; or she might have written pleasant little verses, as the Duchess' sister, Lady Augusta, does. But ladies of quality should not write works of fiction, to amuse the idle and the unlearned. Novels ought to be forbidden, for they are only read by women who spend their time uselessly and neglect their duties. I never read, except for the newspaper; I have better things to do, unless for any reason I am not able to go to church, when I read from a collection of sermons by the late Reverend Dr William Grisby, a friend of my late father's. When I have come to the end of the volume, I begin again at the beginning. This has been my practice for thirty years, and I see no reason to change it.
I am residing at Stilbury, as you see; and the poor dear Duchess is with me. The Duke's behaviour is becoming very strange. I can manage him; but she is afraid to be alone with him. I am not betraying a confidence in revealing this to you: everyone knows about it since the incident in Piccadilly, but he cannot be shut up, not yet, at any rate.
I dare say you saw the announcement in the newspaper, of Lord Francis' appointment to the command of the —th cavalry regiment. It is the finest regiment in the Army. The appointment cost a great deal of money, but no other regiment, and no other command, would do for a person of such lofty rank and distinguished family.
Since he was gazetted, Lord Francis has been continuously in London, working very hard in the service of his country. I expect you have seen those disgraceful articles in the newspapers, casting aspersions on his way of life. The wretched people who write these things should be arrested and punished, but it seems they cannot be stopped. He is not a spendthrift, as they say; military life is very expensive; you should see the bills I have had, for hundreds of pounds, and a note with them saying that they are for his uniforms.
He has spent a great deal on uniforms for the men, too, for he likes his troops to look smart, which is very unselfish of him, for if they have to go and get killed, the uniforms will not be returned, and we shall be out of pocket.
It is certainly not true that he drinks three bottles of champagne in an evening; he never drinks more than two, and he quite often visits the troops, or at least the officers, though of course if there is a war, he will not risk his life in the line of battle; why should he? The soldiers do that sort of thing; he will stand on a hill, with a telescope, and direct things. After all, they have not paid for their employment; and if he were killed, forty thousand pounds would be lost.
I still hold the living of Rosings, and I want to put Mr Septimus Whiley in there, for he is excessively tedious and thinks of nothing but his books; the Duchess wants to be rid of him. The Collinses could exchange with him, leave Hunsford and come here, for though Mr Collins is equally tedious, he does show a proper respect for rank, and can be useful in little ways; but Mrs Collins writes that they do not want to move away, only because the fruit trees that Mr Collins planted are beginning to bear! You would
think, after all that has passed, that they would be willing to oblige me. But people of that class are extremely insensitive.
Believe me, nephew, I am not dead to all family feeling, and there is nothing I would like better than to come to Pemberley again. If ever you come to your senses, regain the consciousness of your rank, and give up Anne's acquaintance, I shall be delighted to visit you. Until then, I remain, believe me,
Your affectionate aunt,
C. de Bourgh Meaburn.
About the Author
Judith Brocklehurst was more fortunate than Elizabeth Bennet, for she got to the lakes—in fact she was brought up there, and it was on visits to the magnificent scenery of Derbyshire that her passion for Jane Austen was developed. She won a scholarship and attended Cambridge university, then emigrated to Canada in the sixties with her husband and two young daughters, and worked as a teacher and newspaper columnist. Her greatest pleasure was writing Jane Austen sequels by installments and sharing them electronically with Janeites all over the world.
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Darcy and Anne Page 15
