Mr. Collins' four youngest children, two schoolboys on holiday and the two little girls who were in Cloe's charge, were already established in the nursery rooms that had once belonged to Elizabeth and her sisters; and Mrs. Collins was engaged in trying to find rooms for all her multifarious relations who cared to stay, to feast on the sight of their own Charlotte in her inheritance. The Darcys scarcely knew where they were to sleep themselves, and had already had quiet thoughts of repairing to an inn, until their horses, servants, and belongings could be made ready for the trip home.
Mary, much oppressed by her father's death, had cried so much that her countenance was much affected; but she heard Mr. Collins' remarks with indignation and put down her pocket-handkerchief long enough to say, "Indeed, Mr. Collins, I would never think of staying: I have been mistress of this house - it contains many memories of my dear parents, memories which, you know, are to be respected, as things of that sort should be; and I passed the whole of my marriage with Mr. Smith here."
"Indeed," said Mr. Collins formally, with a small bow, "far be it from me to ever denigrate such sacred memories. They are as safe with me, the new master of Longbourn, as they could be with any one else; and I assure you, I shall never step into my library without thinking of your lamented father, and of Mr. Smith, though I never had the honour of meeting that gentleman."
"That is kind," said Mary, somewhat mollified. "But I assure you that I am very well aware what your rights are, according to the entail, and I would not deprive you of them for an instant.
Indeed, it would pain me to stay here, for it is your domicile and not mine, and I do not wish to inconvenience you for even a moment, but shall depart at once."
"Why, where shall you go?" he asked, rather in surprise. "I assure you, we have no wish to dispossess you untimely, so near a relation as you are, and so good a neighbour to my wife's family for many years, a recommendation that I will never overlook, you may be very sure. You cannot be thanked enough, in my opinion. Shall you make your home at Pemberley now?"
Exasperated as well as diverted as she was by Mr. Collins, for bringing the matter to the point, Elizabeth thought it might as well be settled now as at any other time; and since she and Mr. Darcy had already had sufficient leisure to consider the matter, she joined him in a very gracious and prompt invitation to Mary to make her home with them, where she would have the further comfort and advantage of being with her sister Kitty.
Mrs. Smith was not averse, for upon her few visits to Pemberley she had never yet got to the bottom of Mr. Darcy's very fine collection of books; and she looked brighter at once. "It will be strange to live in the county of Derbyshire, after living in Hampshire all my life," she observed. "I hope I shall like it. It is above the fifty-third number in latitude I believe, and consequently has somewhat less light in the winter, than our more southerly regions. The air around Pemberley is healthy, I know, and I must own that the change will be to my liking. Change, I believe, is an important part of life. If we do not change at times, we cannot expect to grow wiser; and in a new county I expect there will be much to learn and to observe."
"You must have a good rest after your labours," put in Elizabeth kindly, "no duties; just enough for happiness - that is, if you want solid activity, there are Mr. Darcy's books that have not been arranged this long time. Books are all over the house I confess, he is always ordering more, and no one ever puts them back in their right places. We need a grand re-arrangement."
"I would not have believed such a thing," said Mary, shocked. "Any disorder in books is what always should be prevented. But your fine collection of natural history - the botanical books - I hope those are not out of place? And your music books, I suppose Jane has had them out, to play the pieces, and not returned them."
"No; you need not be afraid. I do not think any one has disturbed those since your last visit, and Jane does not play very much. But you will enjoy yourself putting all to rights, will not you, Mary? And I confess, now that our dear father is no more, it will be pleasant to have three of us sisters together."
"And Jane will be near at hand. Only Lydia will not be with us. How far is Newcastle from Derbyshire, sister? More than one hundred twenty miles I believe. We shall have to look it up. Mr. Darcy has an excellent atlas, I recollect. Will you have Lydia for a visit? She must want a change more than I do. So many children as she has - I confess it makes me thankful I have not any. My excellent husband being only an attorney's clerk, could not have afforded them; and with children, I should not have had time to read very much. Children, I believe, are a grave responsibility. To have a human soul to form, with such consequences if not properly directed, is so serious an undertaking that I do not understand how anybody can attempt it. Children must look up to their parents; but the parents must be above reproach themselves. It is sad that Mr. Wickham is so deplorable a man. Shall you have any of their children to stay, sister?"
"Not, perhaps, immediately," said Elizabeth, recollecting with what difficulty Lydia had been got rid of, and what had been the results of the last visit of some of this selfsame sister's children.
Here Cloe entered with her two little charges, followed by Mrs. Collins and that lady's mother, old Lady Lucas, carrying materials for the cutting-out of dresses for the little girls.
Mrs. Darcy smiled at her niece. "Here is one who will always be welcome at Pemberley," she said goodnaturedly. "Cloe, my dear, you must come to us and have a holiday soon."
Cloe looked up brightly, from trying to quiet the children, whose noisy request to be at a game of cat's-cradle, instead of stitching their samplers, was beginning to make itself distracting. Cloe was as glad to see Mrs. Darcy again as Mrs. Darcy could wish her; but apart from offering her formal greetings and condolences, she had not much opportunity to speak to her aunt. Her post with the Collins family was no sinecure, and she was kept running all day long with different errands for the family. Charlotte was a kind mistress, but the mother of half-a-dozen children, even though only four of these were still at home, had too much to do not to depend heavily upon her governess, especially in a household where there were few servants. More importantly, Mr. Collins was a continual interferer, always contradicting his wife's orders, interrupting his daughters' lessons, and lecturing Cloe on her own deportment and morals advice meekly taken outwardly, but often made tolerable only by a vigorous call upon her own patience.
"Does that please you, Cloe? Would you like to come to Pemberley, when we remove from here? Charlotte, I do not mean to threaten you with the temporary loss of your governess, but there are many fine young women in the neighbourhood who might act substitute, and I am sure your sisters could put you in the way of such a one."
"Oh certainly," said Charlotte easily, "it would be very little difficulty; nursery-governesses are to be had; so Cloe, if you should like to go, do not consider yourself bound or be concerned about us in the least."
"Yes, indeed," put in Mr. Collins, "we should be sorry to lose you, Miss Wickham, when you have just got Maria and Catherine in order - I say, there, little daughter, do put down Miss Wickham's thread, it is not at all the thing to play with - and her scissors do tell them, Miss Wickham, to be on their guard.One must take great care. Samplers are dangerous things. No, to say the truth, I would be tempted, if Miss Wickham leaves us, to employ a young person with a knowledge of figures. Miss Wickham's arithmetic is very faulty; and I am afraid she will transmit this fault to the girls. I observed it when I asked her to calculate the hectares in the back pasture - which she could not. Then I noticed that she had not spent as many hours reading sermons to the children as I should have thought proper on a Sunday, in a clergyman's house; no, they always walk out, instead. Not that I consider exercise as something irreverent - far from it - the body is our temple you know, it is our temple; and I do not intend any criticism, my dear. You are an obedient young person, I am sure, and we are very well pleased with you. If you are to leave, however, it would be best for you to do so before the begin
ning of the next quarter, to make all neat; and as that is two weeks away, you can give that time as notice and be quite ready to go away with Mrs. Darcy when she goes."
Elizabeth could see Cloe turn pale even by candlelight, and was sorry she had ever started the subject, particularly as a matter of such general discussion.
"I do not - I had no intention of going to Pemberley," said Cloe, looking at her earnestly, "please do not think that I am asking to go there. Indeed, there are reasons - I think I had better not. Mrs. Collins, I should like to continue my duties, if you are not dissatisfied with me," she added modestly.
"Very well, my dear," said Charlotte indifferently, "there - oh! I knew that would happen," as the child put her hand down upon the scissors, cutting her finger slightly, and setting up a fearful howling. "Catherine, my love, how troublesome you are. Why do you not take them both upstairs, Miss Wickham, it is full time."
Cloe took the little girls one by each hand and bore them upstairs, and the subject, along with most of the noise in the room, was dispelled.
Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were not sorry to leave Longbourn. Mr. Collins was as proud as a dog with two tails, Elizabeth privately observed to her husband; and the noise, and the bustle, of the Collins family, their children, their servants, and the presence of so many of Mrs. Collins' relations, was a continual irritation to Elizabeth's spirits, so that even Charlotte's kindness was little alleviation. It was uncomfortable, too, to see poor Cloe as a governess, kept with the children, with so few resources for her own recreation or amusement; and Mrs. Darcy did regret leaving without her. In Mrs. Smith's grave joy at her removal to Pemberley there was some compensation, however, but on the whole it was in an uncharacteristically depressed state of mind that Elizabeth finally took leave of what had been her father's home for the last time.
Saddened as she was, she had no expectation of any sources of happiness that might remain to her; and she was surprised, upon her return to Pemberley, to be met in the portico itself by both Henry and Jane, eager to tell her some rapturous news.
"Fitzwilliam is awake, Mama! He has spoken! Oh! You must see for yourself," cried Jane.
"Is it…" Elizabeth asked, bewildered, looking at Henry, "can this be true?"
"Indeed, he is in a great state of amendment Come."
And before Elizabeth could divest herself of her traveling clothes, her son and her daughter led her upstairs to see the miracle.
Yes, Fitzwilliam had come to himself, and although still unable to move his limbs, he could speak. He said his mother's name, and she fell upon his bosom as any mother in the kingdom would.
When she had wiped her tears, it was time to laugh, and for Henry to tell how all had awaited the first words with great suspense, and how Fitzwilliam had crossly demanded some pale ale, in a most beautifully natural tone.
"Did he? Did you, Fitzwilliam?"
"That I did," he assented, with a weak smile.
"I declare he shall have some now - it won't harm the lad," said Mr. Darcy.
"It's all right, Mother," Fitzwilliam answered her worried look. Then turning his head slowly to gaze at his father, he added, "And you must believe me, sir - how sensible I am of your concern for me, after all the trouble I have caused."
"Don't speak of it, my dear boy, don't speak of it," said Mr. Darcy quickly, while Elizabeth leaned against her husband in relief and satisfaction.
From this moment, thankfulness was felt throughout the whole house of Pemberley, for the change might be looked upon as the restoration of Fitzwilliam.
Though still immobile, pinioned to his bed, he was recognizably himself, and talked with his father and his mother with fullest affection and gratitude. They did not sit by him long, so as not to tire him; but his improvement was so great that Elizabeth dared to entertain hope of still further advances, though the doctors conscientiously discouraged such thoughts.
Nothing, however, could now dim her spirits, which positively brimmed over in her wholehearted joy; and, with the feeling of a burden removed, she was able to turn her attention to the rapturous exclamations and embraces of her two other children.
Jane had returned to Pemberley from her visit to Georgiana, and she was full of a great happiness, which she hardly had patience to wait to communicate to her mother. The hour or two that Elizabeth had been in the house, had seemed to Jane like an eternity.
"Mother, he wants to marry me!" was Jane's joyful whisper, the moment Elizabeth was in her own room, and at last in the act of taking off her bonnet. "May he come to ask my father? He is at Buxton but will ride over tomorrow. I thought you could not disapprove."
Elizabeth certainly could not, as she knew perfectly well that ‘he’ was Lord Frederick Neville.In addition to being a thoroughly eligible and worthy young man, with a pretty estate of his own in Cheshire, he was the younger brother of Georgiana's husband. The Darcys had known the young man all his life, and they had not forgotten to wish for the union almost before its arrangement could even seem possible. Jane had always been very fond of Lord Frederick, who had visited Pemberley frequently, and their affection had grown up with her own growth, so that it wanted only Jane's partiality and respect to ripen into a stronger affection; and her recent visit to her aunt's house, where she had the advantage of seeing him every day, seemed to have done the business in the most natural way. He was, in addition to everything else, on the friendliest terms with Henry; and Jane seemed in a very fair way for happiness. She looked lovelier than ever, her shining hair arranged in a simple coronet at the crown of her head, and her delicate features set off by the grandeur and dignity of her flowing grey silk gown, in the latest fashion, with large, sloping sleeves, a narrow waist, and full, trailing skirts held out by crinoline.
"Engaged, and so soon? Not even a London season?" said Elizabeth, between laughter and tears, kissing her daughter tenderly. "You are sparing us a great deal of trouble and expense, dear Jane. I shall not have to sit in fifty London ballrooms as a superannuated matron and chaperon; and I could not be happier. Are you quite sure you do not feel cheated?"
"Oh, no! I am not so silly as to require a season, I hope I have more serious thoughts in my head than that," said Jane, "and besides, you know Frederick - " she pronounced his name shyly - "says we shall certainly take a house in town, so we shall see all that is going on. And perhaps we can go to Buxton in the summer, dear Buxton, where it all happened." She picked up her skirts and danced around the room. "It was the loveliest thing imaginable - there were private balls, and the opera, and I so enjoyed staying at Aunt Georgiana's house, the new baby is a love; and oh, Mama, I never knew Frederick so well before. He is all I could ever want in a man. I never suspected he was so very fond of me. I am so glad his hair is dark; I should not like a light man at all; and it is so nice that Henry likes him so much. Everything is so perfect, if only you think that Papa will not mind."
"He will miss his daughter, of course, but you are not going very far away," said her mother fondly, "and he will be happy to see you in such hands."
"Oh! If Fitzwilliam were all well, and if Henry could only be as happy as I am! Then I should have nothing in the world to wish for. Mama, I am sorry you were not successful in bringing Cloe with you. He is excessively disappointed."
"He loves her then? You think so, do you?"
"Indeed he does. I have been observing him narrowly. He blushes and starts when her name is mentioned, quite lover-like, you know. And besides, he has told me."
"What has he told you? That is - do not repeat it, if it violates a confidence between you - but I confess I should like to know."
"Oh, there's no harm. He told me all about it, and he should not dislike you knowing. That he loves her, and told her so long ago; but she would bury herself in Kent, and now Hertfordshire; all to avoid him. It is so sad, poor boy."
"We did invite her," said Mrs. Darcy, concerned, "but she would not come. I am sure she likes him, though I do not know how far it would be right to manoeuvre to bring them t
ogether. It is safest to leave it as it is, perhaps. I do not like to meddle."
"Oh, Mama, I hope never to grow older if I am to become so careful and prudent as that. You would think you had never been in love. Henry is unhappy without her, I tell you - and she is such a charming and deserving young woman, I should so like to have her for my sister. It is dreadful for her to be a governess. What is your hesitation? Why did not she come here?"
"Why, indeed," said her mother with a sigh. "Well: you must invite her to your wedding.
" "May I?" asked Jane, smiling. "My wedding! When will it be? Perhaps in May, or June? That is not too soon."
"My love, we are getting ahead of ourselves. It is not right to speak of such things until your father has approved it all. You had better go to him at once; and mind, it is not an engagement until he says so. Frederick is in Buxton, is he? And he comes tomorrow?"
"Yes; you will be quite settled in by then, I know, and Papa at leisure."
Lord Frederick did arrive before noon the following day, and by the time the family sat down to dinner he had gained the blessings of both parents. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy smiled upon their daughter, who never stopped chattering; Henry could not congratulate his friend enough. To crown all, he was taken upstairs to stand by Fitzwilliam's bedside, and receive the invalid's hearty congratulations, while the aunts watched the performance with great critical interest.
"Now, Frederick - you had better take care of my sister, or I shall have to get up and see to you," Fitzwilliam feebly quizzed his brother in law elect.
"That will hardly be necessary, old boy. Jane has informed me that she can take care of herself; and she is such a nineteenth-century young lady, there will be nothing for me to do."
Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 14
