The Matters at Mansfield
Page 9
“But will her solicitor draft the documents with the proper spirit of contempt for Anne’s husband? Infuse her last will and testament with sufficient invectives to enable her ladyship to continue chastising Mr. Crawford from beyond the grave? These finer points require her direct oversight.” She opened her reticule, which had been lying on the bed, and withdrew a fan. “This room is stifling. The recent rain did nothing to banish the summer heat.”
The day was indeed hot. Darcy opened the window to admit a light breeze. He had closed it earlier because it overlooked the inn’s main entrance, and the sounds of coaches and patrons’ voices carried. A fine carriage that he presumed belonged to the Rushworths yet waited below.
“Tell me more of Mr. Crawford,” Elizabeth said. “By now you have spent sufficient time with the gentleman to have formed an opinion of him.”
He came away from the window. “Actually, I do not know that I have. He is intelligent and amiable, and seems to genuinely care for Anne. Yet he is also unrepentant about the elopement, and I cannot decide whether that attitude represents an admirable strength of conviction in the face of opposition, or ungentlemanly arrogance and selfishness.”
“I understand he gained his independence early. Therefore he likely has become accustomed to doing as he pleases.”
“I inherited Pemberley almost as young, and I like to think that I inherited a sense of responsibility along with it. A true gentleman considers the welfare of those who depend upon him. In persuading Anne to elope, he has put his wife in an untenable position with her mother.”
“He bears the greatest portion of her ladyship’s wrath himself. Indeed, one could argue that when they fled to Scotland, Mr. Crawford thought only of Anne’s welfare. I spoke with Anne after Lady Catherine left her chamber, and she revealed her reservations about Mr. Sennex. Both she and Mr. Crawford believe the elopement rescued her from an evil far greater than her mother’s censure. Lady Catherine may, in time, forgive Mr. Crawford, whereas once a marriage took place between Anne and Mr. Sennex, she would have become his legal property and no one would have been able to protect her.”
“What of Mr. Crawford’s affair with Mrs. Rushworth, and the position in which it has left her? Can that be construed as anything but selfish?”
“Adultery is hard to defend, and as I am unacquainted with the particulars, Mr. Crawford will have to provide his own justification if he can. How did he behave toward her just now?”
“The Mrs. Rushworth awaiting him was not his former paramour, but an irate mother accompanied by her wronged son. I suspect that any justification Mr. Crawford attempted to offer was not well received.”
“Mr. Rushworth’s resentment no doubt runs deep.”
“I think his mother’s might run even deeper, and she is not a woman one would want to cross. If Henry Crawford found dealing with his own mother-in-law unpleasant, Maria Rushworth’s is worse. Today has been enough to make me grateful for my own.”
“Indeed? My mother will be in such transport over your admission that she might require a visit of several months to sufficiently vocalize her felicity. Shall we invite her to Pemberley as soon as we return ourselves?”
“I am not that grateful.”
“Just as well. I do not think the bachelors in the neighborhood have quite recovered from her previous stay.”
“Perhaps, then, her next visit ought to be postponed until she has succeeded in her quest to find a husband for your remaining unattached sister.”
“I think that endeavor will gain momentum when she no longer has Kitty’s imminent wedding to distract her.”
“The wedding is not until next spring. I would hardly define that as ‘imminent.’ ”
“It is a wedding, and we are speaking of my mother. By the time our nuptial day arrived, you could have persuaded me to elope.” She fanned herself. “The air is still close. Does the window open farther?” She rose and crossed to the window. Something in the courtyard below caught her attention. “Mr. Crawford appears to have moved his conference outside. I must say, Mrs. Rushworth looks terribly young to have an adult son.”
“Young? The sun must be in your eyes.”
“You can see that the sky is overcast. No, the woman Mr. Crawford argues with is definitely no older than I.”
Darcy approached the window to see for himself. A young woman in high dudgeon carried on an animated quarrel with Mr. Crawford. The Rushworths were nowhere in sight. In the distance, a carriage climbed the rise of the road that led out of the village.
“That is not Mrs. Rushworth. At least, not the Mrs. Rushworth I met.”
The woman might have been pretty, were her features not contorted in fury. As she stomped and waved a paper in her hand, the words “humiliation,” “divorce,” and “ruined” drifted through the window, followed by something not fit for a lady’s ears, let alone lips, which cast aspersions on Mr. Crawford’s parentage.
Her outburst drew the notice of several passers-by. Two women heading toward the church paused to observe the drama.
“Maria, get command of yourself.” Though Mr. Crawford remained calm, he spoke loudly enough for the Darcys to hear. His words only incited Maria to greater hysteria.
“I do have command of myself! I know exactly what I am about. Would that I had possessed such clarity of mind when I first had the misfortune of meeting you!”
The two female spectators divided. One continued toward the church, while the other hurried down the lane toward a white house. Maria and Henry did not want for observers, however. Mr. Gower, the ostler, and two more villagers from a nearby shop found their way to the courtyard.
Mr. Crawford glanced at the gathering crowd. “Perhaps we could discuss this matter in a more private location?”
“So we can be accused of further criminal conversation? Is one trial not sufficient? No, I will not subject myself to more gossip.”
“Arguing about this in front of the entire village will not create gossip?”
“Since your arrival they already talk about nothing but you—you and your wife.” She choked out the final word.
“Maria—” He stepped toward her and said something in a voice too low for others to hear. She regarded him with fresh scorn and shook her head. He spoke again.
She responded with a slap to his face.
“You stay away from her, Mr. Crawford!” cried a lady hurrying down the lane. She had apparently been summoned by the woman who had raced off to the white house and who now trotted in her wake. “Stay away from my poor niece!”
“Mrs. Norris.” Henry rubbed his cheek. “How delightful to see you again.”
“You despicable rake! Have you not caused my dear Maria enough grief?”
“Indeed, madam, I—”
“How dare you show your face in this village? How dare you flaunt your new wife before Maria, before us all—a family who treated you so well? Maria was content with Mr. Rushworth until you led her astray. And now that she has been cast from her father’s home, with no one in the world but me to treat her kindly, you arrive in Mansfield with your bridal entourage to humiliate her further.”
“I assure you, that is not my purpose in—”
“Sir Thomas knows you are here. Your presence is an insult not only to Maria, but to all her family, especially her father. And to me, who took her in, thinking nothing of myself or my own reputation. I performed my duty as a Christian and as an aunt, despite the burden of supporting us both on a poor widow’s income. And whilst I sacrifice and Maria suffers, you blithely parade through the village with no conscience or shame. I have never seen the like in all my days . . .”
She excoriated him in this manner for several minutes more. Henry Crawford was a rogue, a knave, a scoundrel, a libertine. He was evil incarnate, and apparently entirely to blame for the falls of Maria, someone named Julia, and the Holy Roman Empire.
“She left out Adam and Eve,” Elizabeth said to Darcy.
“I think she simply has not gotten to them yet.
” Darcy closed the window against the sound of Mrs. Norris’s voice rising to another fevered pitch. Overhearing the scene below caused him greater discomfort than the temperature in the room. Though the actors insisted on a public performance, observing it nonetheless felt like eavesdropping. He moved away from the window, no easy feat in the tiny chamber.
Elizabeth, too, turned her back on the display. “Do you suppose we ought to rescue him?”
“Mr. Crawford is responsible for himself and must make whatever amends he can with the people he has wronged.”
Mrs. Norris’s euphonic tones carried through the glass. Darcy winced.
“But perhaps we can contain the spectacle.”
Twelve
“I cannot think well of a man who sports with any woman’s feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of.”
—Fanny Price, Mansfield Park
By the time Elizabeth and Darcy reached the courtyard, another gentleman had ventured into the fracas. He was a tall, serious-looking man perhaps a year or two younger than Darcy, and wore the black coat of a clergyman. Despite his sober mien, he had a kind face, though Elizabeth privately admitted that her assessment might be influenced by the fact that he had somehow induced Mrs. Norris to stop talking—a kindness to them all.
He was speaking to Maria’s champion as they approached.
“Aunt Norris, if Mr. Crawford is capable of contrition, I am sure he feels it now. Let us leave him to the reflections of his own conscience.”
Mr. Crawford cleared his throat. “Edmund, I—”
He stopped at a look from Edmund. It was the clergyman whose expression seemed to hold the most regret.
“We are no longer on such intimate terms of friendship. You may address me as Mr. Bertram.”
“Of course.” A look of remorse indeed seemed to overcome him. “Mr. Bertram, I am sorry for my part in the events of last year.”
Mr. Bertram regarded him in silence for a long minute. “Maria, this man is not worth your anguish. Return home with our aunt.”
“One moment.” She removed her ear-bobs, large sapphires that had set off her eyes to advantage. “Here,” she said, holding them out to Henry.
He shook his head. “Keep them. They were a gift.”
“I no longer want them.” When he did not take them, she overturned her hand and let them fall onto the ground. “Give them to your wife, bury them right there in the dirt—it matters not to me, so long as they are forever gone from my sight. As I wish you to be.”
As she and Mrs. Norris departed, a shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds. Henry bent to retrieve the earrings. Anne appeared in the doorway of the inn, supported by Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“Henry?”
“Anne? Good heavens! What are you doing out of bed?” Henry hastily shoved the ear-bobs into his coat pocket as she took tentative steps forward to meet him. When they were reunited, Anne traded her cousin’s arm for her husband’s. He glared at Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I cannot believe you brought her down here!”
“I agree entirely—she ought not to have left her bed. She heard the uproar and insisted on coming to see you,” the colonel explained. “I attempted to dissuade her, but she threatened to descend the stairs by herself if I would not aid her. And her mother—”
“Heard the disturbance as well,” Lady Catherine announced from behind them. She shouldered her way through. “I expected you to possess enough consciousness of basic propriety to avoid so public an exhibition. I suggest you assist your wife back to your chamber.” Her eyes swept the assembled villagers. “And I suggest all of you return to your own business.”
Her command, coupled with the arrival of a coach, dispersed the idle onlookers. The first passenger to alight caused Lady Catherine’s countenance to reflect the closest thing to satisfaction that Elizabeth had seen on it since the ball.
“Mr. Archer,” her ladyship greeted him.
Elizabeth recognized the name of Lady Catherine’s solicitor. His lean frame nearly bent in half, so deep was the bow he offered his employer. His fob chain caught the afternoon sunlight and gleamed against his black suit. When he uprighted himself, large eyes set in a thin, unsmiling face rapidly assessed his environs.
Before approaching Lady Catherine, Mr. Archer paused to assist a female passenger emerging from the coach. Henry wheeled Anne toward the door of the inn.
“Your mother is absolutely correct,” he said in a low voice. “You should be resting inside.”
“But—”
“Do not protest.”
He guided her forward, but she moved with such excruciating slowness that witnessing her struggle made Elizabeth’s own leg hurt.
“Mr. Crawford,” said Lady Catherine, “Mr. Archer will want to see you later this afternoon.”
Henry nodded without turning around.
Mr. Archer, meanwhile, had dispatched his chivalrous duty for the day. The moment his fellow passenger was safely on the ground, he abandoned her to glide over to Lady Catherine.
The young woman he had assisted looked around, absorbing her new surroundings. She was a slip of a girl, possessing one of those faces and figures that might pass for sixteen or six-and-twenty with equal credibility. She wore a simple calico gown that had seen better days, a similarly exhausted bonnet, and no gloves. Her sole adornment was an amber cross on a gold chain that hung round her neck. A lock of red hair had come loose from her bonnet and hung behind her like a fox’s brush. She clutched in her hands a small card.
For all her waiflike appearance, her eyes reflected intelligence and purpose as she scanned the retreating spectators. Her gaze lit on a dark-haired gentleman in a brown coat who was walking toward the livery.
“John!”
The gentleman, his back to her, apparently did not hear her call and continued walking. She ran toward him and stopped him with a hand on his arm. “John!”
When he turned around to face her, the woman’s own countenance fell. “You are not John.”
“No, madam. I am sorry to disappoint you.”
The woman released his arm and he continued toward the livery. Meanwhile, the woman turned toward Elizabeth and the others. “I’m looking for a man named John Garrick. Do any of you know him?”
No one acknowledged familiarity. She turned a hopeful face to Elizabeth, who shrugged sympathetically and shook her head.
The woman addressed Edmund. “A handsome man, he is. Dark, though not very tall. A merchant marine. He might not be in Mansfield presently, but I believe he has family here, or has at least visited. Have you ever seen such a man here, Reverend?”
“All sorts of travelers pass through on the coach, but no seamen have lingered here in recent memory,” Edmund said. “Being so far from any port, Mansfield does not often host sailors.” He cast a confirming glance at the innkeeper. “Correct me if I am in error, Mr. Gower. You see far more visitors than do I.”
“Last sailor I recall in Mansfield was your wife’s brother, when Mr. Price came for your wedding.”
The woman’s expression deflated. “Are you certain? Do none of you know him, or anyone named Garrick?” She fingered her necklace, looking as if she might break into tears. “I need to find him. I’ve come so far, and I’ve nothing to return to.”
“Perhaps you have not traveled quite far enough,” Darcy said. “There is a larger Mansfield in Nottinghamshire. Might you have mistaken his direction?”
She shook her head. “He gave me no direction at all. I came here because of this.” She held out the card in her hand. It was a trade card from Hardwick’s shop, advertising its address and selection of goods for sale. “John gave me this necklace the last time I saw him. I assumed he bought it during his travels, but after he left again, I discovered this card under the lining of the box. He sometimes spoke of a sister, used to visit her now and again, but never said where she lived. I hoped maybe his family came from Mansfield, and he found the chain while visiting her.”
“Mr. Crawford,” Elizabeth called.
He murmured something to Anne and kept moving toward the door.
“Mr. Crawford,” she repeated more loudly. “Do stay a moment. Perhaps you can aid this woman.”
The hail caught not only his attention, but that of the woman. “Oh! Can you, sir?” She went over, coming round his side to stand before him. And gasped as a look of pure joy overtook her countenance.
“John!”
Mr. Crawford stiffened and halted his advance.
“Daft girl!” Lady Catherine growled. “That is Mr. Crawford. Mr. Henry Crawford of Everingham—a gentleman, not some vagabond marine.”
Her ladyship’s less-than-gracious introduction seemed to go unheard. The woman had ears, and eyes, only for Henry. “John, thank heavens I’ve found you! Mama’s gone—so is the house—there was a fire. I didn’t know how soon your ship would return or where else to go, so I thought I’d try to find your sister—”
Henry regarded her wordlessly.
“Are you deaf?” Lady Catherine bellowed. “This man is not John Garrick!”
The woman stared at Lady Catherine in confusion.
“John Garrick, indeed!” her ladyship continued, so agitated that one of her facial muscles twitched. “Crawford! His name is Crawford!”