Virtue and Vanity: Continuing Story of Desire and Duty

by Ted Bader

  The children greeted Mr. and Mrs. Darcy before excusing themselves to the kitchen.

  Sarah settled herself onto the couch beside Elizabeth. “I am so sorry Andrew is injured. . . perhaps if I had not been there. . . .”

  Elizabeth took her hand. “My dear, it is certainly not your fault that he was accosted.”

  “Indeed not,” said Mr. Darcy as he stood and began to pace. “We shall have to do something about these highwaymen–it seems there is no safe place to travel anymore.” Taking his seat once again, he softened his voice, “Perhaps if you could tell us what happened. . . give us some clue as to the attackers identities.”

  “I am afraid I cannot tell you much. . . it all happened so fast.” Sarah said; but, with gentle prompting, her novelist’s mind recalled more details than she thought possible.

  “Do you think any of this will help you find those terrible men?” Sarah asked.

  Mr. Darcy said with earnestness, “If this information does not allow us to catch them, I believe it will put us close enough on their heels that they will leave the area.”

  “I hope so,” Sarah said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to sit with Andrew again. Certainly one of us should be there when he wakes up.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded his approval.”We are so pleased you are feeling better today and appreciate your keeping an eye on him. His mother and I will plan to share the nightwatch.”

  Elizabeth smiled, “I hope you rest well tonight; I fear your nursing skills will be sorely needed for the next several weeks.”

  “I am glad you will entrust his care to me.” Sarah replied. “Will you call me if he awakens?”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  The night passed quietly. The Darcys retreated to their home before dawn. Sarah was beginning to fear Andrew would never wake up; but, if he did, she wanted to be there to care for him. She took her meals at his bedside and sat working on her embroidery between meals; although, an observer might have found her paying much more attention to the sleeping Andrew than to her stitchery project.

  Late that afternoon she heard the Darcys arriving again. Sarah cringed a bit as she heard Laura’s voice bubbling greetings–she acted like she had come to attend a ball, not to visit an invalid. Mr.and Mrs. Darcy talked quietly with Georgiana in the hallway. Laura bounced into the room. “Andrew, I have come to cheer you. . . .“ She stopped as she took in his bruised face. Her voice dropped to a fearful whisper, “Sarah, I had no idea he was so badly injured.”

  “His face will heal,” Sarah replied with a sigh. “It is his broken leg and the blow to the back of his head that are of real concern.”

  Laura turned toward the bed once again and noted the unusual bulging of the blanket from the huge splint which protected the broken leg. With tears in her eyes, she turned and hurried from the room, “Poor Andrew. He will probably never dance again.”

  The next day Sarah was reading by Andrew’s bedside. An uneasiness stirred her and she placed the book in her lap and just sat watching her patient. His eyes began to blink and he moaned. Sarah rushed to his side and grasped his hand. “Oh, Andrew, please wake up.”

  After several more blinks, Andrew’s eyes remain open. He looked up at Sarah and then slowly glanced around the room.

  Sarah quickly gave him some sips of water from the bedside stand. With a slight smile he said, “I see I am a houseguest.”

  Before she realized what she was doing, she bent over and gave him a brief hug.

  “I shall visit more often if I can awaken to this kind of treatment,” he jested.

  With cheeks ablaze, Sarah pulled herself away. Smiling, she said, “I am so glad you are awake that even your teasing will not bother me today. Is there anything I can get you?”

  “Some more water, please.” Gratefully, he took several sips. Pointing to the bulging sheet, he said, “I take it my leg is broken?”

  “Yes. I have some medication for the pain, if you’d like.”

  “I think I’d rather visit with you for awhile before I take something that will likely make me sleepy again. I’ll let you know when I need the medicine.”

  After helping him settle comfortably, Sarah instructed, “Now lay still. I need to tell Sir Thomas and Lady Staley that you are awake. They will want to send word to your parents at once.

  “My awakening from a nap is not usually cause for such excitement. I take it I have been here for some hours?”

  “Two days is more like it. We will talk more of it later,” she said as she rushed to spread the good news.

  A messenger was immediately sent to Pemberley. Sir Thomas and Georgiana quickly came to Andrew’s room to see for themselves how he was faring. Anna and Edgar barely glimpsed Andrew, who winked at them, before Sarah shooed them all out of the room.

  “I suspect his parents will be coming as soon as possible,” she said, “so we had better let Andrew rest for awhile.”

  As Sarah left the room, to allow Mr. and Mrs. Darcy to visit with their son, Mr. Hand, the foreman, approached her in the hallway and asked, “Miss Sarah, may I be so bold as to ask a word with you?”

  She smiled, “Of course you may, Mr. Hand. I was just going to take a turn around the garden. Perhaps you will escort me?”

  “It will be my privilege, indeed, Miss Sarah,” he said as he offered his arm.

  “It feels good to be outside on such a lovely day,” Sarah said as they stepped into the garden. Turning to her companion with an encouraging smile, she added, “But, I am sure you wanted to discuss something more important than the weather.”

  “Yes, Miss. As steward of our Methodist class I have been asked to inquire if you might consider filling in for Grannie Williams while she is ill.”

  “Perhaps I could. I have never met this Grannie Williams, though. What is it that she does for your group?”

  “For many years she has been our class leader,” Mr. Hand answered somewhat hesitantly.

  Sarah gasped and pulled them to a stop. “Your class leader? Surely this is not a job for a woman. . . and if it were, I am certainly not qualified!”

  Mr. Hand smiled, “My dear wife said you would have such a reaction; but, she also said we could depend upon you to be fair. You do not need to give your answer now, just pray about it and, if it is convenient, visit with Grannie and ask her if you are qualified.”

  “Surely there is someone else you could enlist.”

  “We could think of no one we would rather have teach in Grannie’s place. It would, of course, just be until she is well enough to return.”

  Sarah softened visibly, “Being a temporary leader would a different situation than a regular teacher,” she mused. “However, teaching men, and women much older than myself, seems out of the question.”

  “Pardon me for saying so, Miss, but you have done a fine job teaching men and women of all ages how to read and write.”

  “But, I have not the audacity to try and teach spiritual truths to those who certainly know far more than I.”

  Mr. Hand smiled as they returned to the entrance of the house, “Just pray about it, Miss; and, if you would like to visit with Grannie Williams, I’ll be happy to see you safely there.”

  “I will consider it,” Sarah promised. “Perhaps if I visit her I could discover someone else in the class who would make a good leader. . . You may schedule a visit when it is convenient; but, mind you, that does not mean I am obliged to be your class leader.”

  “Aye, Miss. I do not take that to be your meaning at all,” he said seriously, without hiding a broad smile.

  As Sarah removed her wrap in the hallway, she overhead Andrew saying, “I am sorry to hear Grannie Williams is so ill; but, perhaps now the Methodist class will be forced to get a male teacher, as would be proper. You would never see such a thing in our church as a woman having the presumption to teach men about the scriptures.”

  “I daresay,” Mr. Darcy replied, “the Methodists have been most helpful to the poor in England. Perhaps we need to be a
little more tolerant of them in this area.”

  “I don’t think so father,” Andrew said. “This is one area I am sure our Anglican leaders have right.”

  Sarah quickly sat down in the hall chair. “Indeed,” she thought, “they are probably right, women should not be religious teachers; but, is it better to have no teacher at all?” With a sigh she wandered toward her room, where she spent the next hour in prayer. “Lord,” she asked, “Is this your plan for me? You know I do not want to do it; but, I am not sure if my reluctance is because it truly is wrong or because I don’t want Andrew to think unkindly of me. Please help me to be open with you about my feelings and to listen to your voice as you direct me. When I visit Grannie Williams show me what is right.”

  When she returned to the sick room, she immediately noticed a vase of lovely, multicolored roses. Andrew smiled at her, “Anna thought I might enjoy some of ‘my flowers’ as she calls them.”

  “They are indeed beautiful, especially the white ones.”

  “Indeed, I have many beautiful things to look at while I recover,” he said.

  Sarah turned to find him gazing at her. To cover her surprise, she said, “Perhaps you could see better if we open the drapes. Do you think your eyes can tolerate a bit more light?”

  “I hope so. More light would be cheery. Why don’t you open the drapes on the north side first and we’ll open the others after my eyes adjust?”

  “You are a very wise patient,” she said as she went to move the room darkening material. “You’ll notice we positioned your bed so you could see into the garden.”

  Andrew said something so quietly that Sarah could not hear, but she decided it might be best to not inquire about it.

  Soon the room was full of light each day. The Staley children enjoyed hunting for interesting plant specimens to show Andrew. He would then spend time teaching them about different plants. They were amazed when they brought in a nondescript leaf that Andrew could tell them what the plant it was attached to had looked like. Edgar especially enjoyed learning about plants that were edible (should he ever be stranded while on some victorious quest).

  Days passed quickly now as Andrew continued to heal. Sarah spent many hours reading aloud to him. She was surprised the first time he asked her to read something she had written, since she believed him to be opposed to women writers–perhaps he was more opposed to women being published than to women writing per se. She began with a few of her shorter poems and before she knew it she was reading her first novel to him.

  “You have a wonderful way of describing things,” he said. “It almost seems as though I’m part of each story.”

  Sarah hoped he didn’t notice her chagrin, for in a sense, it finally dawned on her that he was a part of all her stories. Every hero she wrote about incorporated some of Andrew’s fine qualities and every villain was given at least one trait that could not be found in Andrew (deceit, dishonesty, cruelty, etc.). Until Sarah began to read the stories aloud to him, she had not realized that he was the source of much of her ideal of manhood. “Oh, Lord,” she prayed silently, “don’t let him recognize himself in my stories. He must not know my foolish desires–he is intended for my sister, Laura.”

  .

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Three days later, Sarah and Lady Georgiana were sitting in the parlor of Staley Hall. Anna was sitting between them and trying to learn a new fill stitch as she was embroidering.

  Maria was ushered into the room. Sarah noted the lack of usual gaiety on her visitor’s countenance as she entered the room. After the customary greetings, Sarah asked, “Is anything bothering you?”

  Maria looked at the floor.

  “We can talk in private if you wish.”

  “No. . . no. . . I would like my aunt to hear this also.”

  Georgiana turned to Anna, “Please go up to your room or outside to play so we can talk with you cousin.”

  After Anna left, Maria began to explain. “I have been distressed since Mr. Paul Westbrook’s visit three days ago. As you know, he followed the usual custom of calling the day after the ball and we took a turn in the south garden.”

  “Our conversation was pleasant. I do not recall our words exactly, but he seemed to make an encouraging remark, something like, ‘I enjoy our times together.’ and then I replied, ‘Why, Mr. Westbrook, I enjoy being with you. Indeed, you may court me, if you like.”

  “He became very quiet for a long time whilst we were walking back. At the end of the walk, he made a few observations about the beautiful garden and then begged to leave. I watched with an uncomfortable feeling as he walked away.”

  Sarah noticed tears began to form in Maria’s eyes, as her cousin continued, “This morning I received a note from him. Since you have been my counselor, Sarah, please read it.”

  Sarah took the note and read:

  Maria,

  I am sensible of the honor of your interest. Your friendship is valuable to me, so I must speak the truth in kindness.

  My objections to beginning a courtship are several-fold. First, the roles are somehow reversed and I should be the one who is seeking a greater intimacy. This may be old-fashioned and traditional, yet I cannot avoid it. Second, your disdain of the social level of Mr. Johnson is troublesome. Even though I am adopted by worthy parents, my birth is of much lower origin than even Mr. Johnson’s. I should think that irksome to you.

  Finally, my call to the ministry involves the sense of servanthood. Love demands service. As our Lord hath said, ‘If any man desire to be first, the same shall be last of all, and servant of all. . . . Even as the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many.” Any woman who would be my wife would need to understand the gentle humility of service to others. Growing up in your exalted position, I am uncertain as to whether you can wait on yourself, let alone attend others.

  Please forgive me for my bluntness. However, as one of my acquaintances has said, ‘Honesty is the best policy where there is no hope.’

  No one has a greater desire for your lifelong happiness than this correspondent.

  Your devoted friend,

  Paul Westbrook

  After reading the note, Sarah handed it to Georgiana. Maria then sat down and asked, “What shall I do?”

  “What do you wish to do?”

  “I wish he would change his mind about me and begin the courtship.”

  With gentle tenderness, Sarah asked, “What about his objection about initiating the courtship?”

  Maria waved her hand, “Oh, that. . . I think he will get used to the idea. Probably after a few months he will think it was his idea all along.”

  “What of his low birth? How do you feel about it?”

  “I had no fondness at all for Mr. Johnson. His social position was a convenient excuse for the refusal. Mr. Westbrook, on the other hand, was adopted by quality parents. . . I think he could be reassured on his qualifications along that line.”

  Sarah felt compassion for her visitor as she softly asked, “Have you ever fixed your own hair?”

  “Why should the ‘pampered princess of Pemberley’ fix her own hair?”

  “Have you ever prepared a meal?”

  “No. Why should that matter? Ladies are not required to do those things. What does he mean by servanthood? Does he actually expect me to become a servant to please him? I know I need to yield to my husband, but is this carrying it too far?”

  “It might not be a bad idea,” Georgiana spoke her thoughts aloud after she finished reading the letter. “I mean, the part about your becoming a servant for awhile.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Maria asked incredulously.

  “Certainly you should take a good look at what it would mean to be a clergyman’s wife before you spend time pining over such a position.” Georgiana continued gently, “If you are to become a rector’s wife, it means a life of service to those who need help. You may not always have a maid to help fix your hair or prepare the
meal.”

  Maria replied thoughtfully, “I begin to comprehend your meaning.”

  Her aunt continued, “Those activities represent practical examples of a deeper theological mystery involved in the ministry.”

  “I have struggled over the past few days with the vanity of my life,” Maria replied. “What do I have to show for my life? Nothing.”

  The trio was quiet for a minute.

  Maria spoke slowly as she pulled at a button on her dress, “If I become a servant for awhile, I must do it without reference to Mr. Westbrook. I doubt he will ever seriously consider me again. I must do it for my own soul.”

  Sarah asked, “Where can you be a servant?”

  Maria appeared perplexed.

  Georgiana said, “Obviously, you must not do it at Pemberley or its near environs, because if you are known as Miss Maria Darcy, you would not be treated the same as any other servant. Indeed, you would probably not be allowed to serve others.”

  “What do you suggest?” Maria asked.

  Sarah replied tentatively, “I know a wonderful old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Busby, who run a roadside inn in Yorkshire. Mrs. Busby used to be the assistant housekeeper for my parent’s house.”

  “What is she like?” Maria asked eagerly.

  “A more jolly woman you will never know. However, her kindness is not weakness, as she knows how to keep order in her household. I have seen her chase a few servants with her spatula to make her point.”

  Maria looked at Georgiana, “Will you help me explain this decision to my parents? Your influence on my father is second only to my mother’s.”

  “Certainly; however, first we must canvass Mrs. Busby’s opinion and then think about how long you are to be in service.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sarah stood in front of Granny Williams’ humble cottage with mixed feelings. Would the elderly woman beg her to take the class? Would she be dogmatic and authoritative? Or, would she be weak, ill and confused? She almost walked away. Finally, she timidly knocked as though fearful of being answered.