A Summer in Scarborough

by Blake Smith

  Lady Catherine was full of her habitual condescension when she said, “I admire your activity on my behalf, but any neighborhood in which I stay must have a proper clergyman already in residence. I would never take a house in such a disreputable place as did not have one. But by all means, write to the archbishop. He may be willing to speak to the Archbishop of York on the matter and in any case, it is wise to keep yourself before the people who have it in their power to improve your situation. His Holiness will surely think well of you for it.”

  Mr. Collins expressed in the most fawning language his gratitude for Lady Catherine’s advice. Anne had only a moment to be diverted by their conversation before Mrs. Collins claimed her attention by saying, “Miss de Bourgh, I have neglected to thank you for your gift of the strawberries last week. And little Kitty was so pleased with her new toy- carved animals of wood- such a lovely present for my little girl.”

  Anne made a civil answer- strawberries were no great gift this time of year- and lest she be thought uncaring, asked, “I hope the child is well?”

  Mrs. Collins looked as if she wished to give a good report of her daughter’s health, but finally said, “Unfortunately, she is suffering a bit of a cold. My poor little one; she has never been strong, you know, and I fear the change in the weather has affected her greatly. But do not fear, I have kept her well-wrapped up, and Nurse shall not take her for her walk until I am sure she is well again.”

  Anne had not much experience with children, but she could not see how a change in the weather from sunny and warm to overcast and warm would harm a child, not even one of less than two years. Poor little Miss Collins! To be the only child- and a girl at that!- of such parents. Anne felt for the child, and was saddened to think that Mrs. Collins, who appeared to have some sense despite her origins, was slowly altering in her habits. No doubt she was influenced by her husband, which would be quite proper if the lady was married to anyone but Mr. Collins.

  And talking of Mr. Collins, Anne could not see how that man managed to attend to so many conversations at once, and from the other side of the room, too! For he had heard Mrs. Collins speak of their daughter, and at the first convenient pause turned to the younger ladies and said, “Very true, my dear. You take excellent of our little Catherine, and it is to be hoped that she will soon outgrow this tendency toward colds, and be for the rest of her life in such robust health as her namesake.” He bowed to Lady Catherine, who looked pleased at the compliment.

  But Anne could not wish to see another girl smothered by her solicitous parents, and said, “Take care, Mrs. Collins, that you do not coddle the child too much. A flower kept in a hothouse will not thrive if rapidly transplanted into the garden, yet if it is allowed time to adjust to the open air, it will do very well. I’ve always thought children to be the same.”

  Mrs. Collins looked grateful for this advice, but before she could utter a word, Mr. Collins was saying, “You are very kind, Miss de Bourgh, to offer your advice. But I hope you will not take offense when I remind you that you have no children of your own, nor any younger siblings, and as such, have little experience with infants. You cannot know what it is to watch over them, and pray for their health, and wish to keep them safe from every evil, be it so small as a chill breeze.”

  Since Anne had, in fact, seen her two younger sisters and one younger brother succumb to childhood illnesses, she could hardly like this remark, and certainly not the tone of it. But not wanting to give her mother pain, for Lady Catherine was looking unhappy at being reminded of her lost children, Anne only said, “Indeed I have no children of my own. But I have always thought that while experience was an aid in raising children, one must also have a modicum of common sense, if one is to raise them herself, as Mrs. Collins is doing.” She smiled upon that lady. “I honor you for taking up the task. Miss Collins is surely in good hands such as yours.”

  Mrs. Collins looked pleased, but now Mr. Collins was frowning. Anne suspected he was puzzling over her remark, and wondering if he was being insulted. Luckily, Mrs. Collins showed her good manners by asking Lady Catherine some question about the road to Scarborough, and the rest of the visit passed off smoothly.

  Anne had high hopes that their departure could be accomplished without much hullabaloo, though Lady Catherine would have scolded her for using such a common expression. Alas, she was disappointed. From Dawson falling down the last two stairs into the hall- fortunately, she landed atop the portmanteau she was carrying- to one of the horses losing a shoe before they’d gotten out of sight of Rosings, the beginning of the journey was a fine muddle. Anne was only happy that the servants knew their business and she was not obliged to assist. Last year, her cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam had been forced to repair his own team’s broken reins when one of the horses chewed through the leather. Anne had been rather diverted by the story, told to her in a letter, but she was very pleased not to be in the same circumstances.

  Fortunately, no more catastrophes attended the first part of their journey, and as the countryside rolled by, its green peacefulness occasionally broken by stops to change horses, Anne began to hope that she might reach Scarborough before becoming completely stricken in years. At the very least, she hoped to arrive before she was mortified to death by her mother’s insistence on assisting the servants. As Lady Catherine’s ‘assistance’ was usually rendered in the form of telling these unfortunate beings that they were going about their tasks in completely the wrong manner, and instructing them as to the right way of doing things, the servants derived little benefit and much annoyance from her remarks. Anne was thankful the coachman had been fourteen years in the family and his loyalty was absolute, else she might have worried he would abandon them on the road. As it was, she observed some very sour looks from both the coachmen and the footmen, and overheard some rather untoward remarks when they thought no one was nearby.

  Anne would have liked to pass through London- after all, it was nearly on the road to Scarborough- but Lady Catherine, not liking to be delayed by traffic, insisted that they should go around the city, though that road took them a few miles out of their way.

  As it was nearing the dinner hour, Anne made a brief protest. “Your Ladyship, should we not stop in town to dine? We are not likely to find a decent inn within ten miles if we travel to the west.”

  Lady Catherine looked briefly concerned, and looked intently at Anne, as if to determine whether her protest was from weariness or some other cause. “If you are very weary, we shall halt for the night,” she said. “But I know of no one in town this time of year; we should have to stop at an inn.”

  “I am not very weary,” she said. “I am thinking of the horses.” And of the dinner they were likely to be greeted with, not having written ahead to apprise any particular place of their coming.

  “Nonsense,” was Lady Catherine’s reply. “We changed horses at Bromley; they shall be strong enough to carry us for another fifteen miles.”

  So they drove on far into the evening, and according to the chart Mrs. Jenkinson continually referenced, were but a mile from the intersection with the Great North Road, when there was a sharp crack! and the carriage lurched sideways, spilling Anne onto the floor with a cry of surprise. This was immediately followed by an unladylike, “Oof!” when Mrs. Jenkinson threw herself on top of Anne like a gallant subaltern throwing himself in front of a bullet meant for a superior officer.

  CHAPTER three

  “What on-” Lady Catherine began to say, but the rest of her exclamation was drowned out by mingled shouts from the coachman and a chorus of neighing from the horses. Anne lay still; pinned down by Mrs. Jenkinson, there was nothing she could do, and she was equally grateful when the carriage came to a halt, leaning crazily to one side, and Lady Catherine said, “Get up; there’s no cause to lie about.”

  Mrs. Jenkinson meekly apologized, and Anne was permitted to rise as much as she was able in the tilting coach.

  “We must have slid off the road,” she said, though her voice sounded
odd through the pounding of her heart.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Lady Catherine scolded as she let down the window glass, then shouted to the coachman, “What’s amiss?”

  The coachman’s words were slightly muffled as he replied, “Seems to have broken a wheel, Your Ladyship.”

  Had Lady Catherine been a man, Anne suspected the poor coachman would have found himself the victim of a veritable tirade of bad language and cruel speculation on his abilities and parentage. As it was, Lady Catherine contented herself with ordering the coachman and footmen to ascertain the damage and repair it if they could, or find some other method of conveyance if it was beyond them.

  By this time one of the footmen had opened the carriage door, and handed the ladies out, explaining that they would be more comfortable on level ground. Anne carefully extricated herself and stepped down, then turned to survey the damage.

  It was worse than she’d thought. The entire left rear wheel of the carriage was gone, splintered into pieces that littered the road for five yards behind them. She knew nothing of repairing carriages, but it seemed as though the entire wheel would need to be replaced. And she did know one thing- it was impossible to think any of their servants could do the task out here on the open road.

  She might have preferred to be stranded in a larger town, but their current stopping point was not completely beyond the pale. They were atop a small hill, and Anne could see a cluster of houses, large enough to be a small village, in the valley about a mile distant. Even she could walk that distance, if the pace was slow and she could be assured of a place to rest at the end of it.

  Since she could not, in fact, be assured of any such thing, Anne did not suggest walking to the village. Not only on her own account; it was doubtful if Mrs. Jenkinson had the strength to accomplish such a feat. That lady had been close to fainting ever since they had learned a mere broken wheel was the cause of the accident, not a broken bridge over a rushing river, a swarm of ruffians come to rob them, or any such lurid disaster.

  The coachman was engaged in examining the broken wheel, and announced with relief that the axle was intact. Predictably enough, Lady Catherine’s response to this was, “And what use is that to us? We must have a wheel, if we are to gain the next town.”

  Anne derived some silent amusement from her mother’s unaccustomed dithering; it was obvious to her that while Lady Catherine was full of advice, she had none of the skills she professed, and was as at a loss over the matter as would be any other lady, though she tried to pretend greater competence than the rest of her sex.

  They only stood by the side of the road for a moment, Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson sensibly waiting beneath an ancient oak, the footmen holding the horses’ heads, and the poor coachman being harangued by Lady Catherine as they surveyed the damage of the wheel. But the rattle of another carriage drew everyone’s grateful attention.

  The chaise laden with their baggage now came up, and Anne hoped this might be the end of their adventure, as they might ride among the baggage for the short distance to the little village. But Lady Catherine greeted her suggestion with only disdain. “What!- I, to sit with a bandbox upon my lap and rest my feet upon a trunk? I think not, and I wish you would not make such vulgar suggestions.”

  Anne had managed to draw her a little way from the others, and shot a ferocious glare at Mrs. Jenkinson when that lady sought to approach. She was certain Lady Catherine would be more obstinate than usual if there was a chance one of the servants might overhear their conversation, and under these circumstances, Mrs. Jenkinson, a poor distant relation, must be counted in their company. “Your Ladyship,” she said quietly, “darkness is coming on, and I am weary. I know it is not precisely dignified, but for my sake, may we not be conveyed by the baggage coach to that town nearby? Surely we will find there a place we may rest, and have the carriage repaired?”

  Lady Catherine looked a little silly at this bit of calm sense. “But it is not at all proper, to travel among the servants,” she said.

  “Surely propriety will be more greatly offended were we to walk, and the servants to ride in the carriage,” Anne persisted.

  Her mother was silent for a moment- a strange occurrence of itself- then her eyes brightened and she gazed past Anne, up the road from whence they’d come.

  Alerted by this change, Anne turned to see what had caught her mother’s attention. A neat black traveling chaise was approaching, drawn by a pair of match-greys. It pulled up behind them and the coachman called a greeting.

  Lady Catherine looked about to answer but her own coachman replied first. “Good evening, sir!” that man said politely. “We’ve broken a wheel, and here is my mistress, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, obliged to wait by the side of a country road.”

  Before the conversation could go any further, there was a sharp thump from inside the black chaise. The door opened, the steps were let down, and its owner descended.

  He was a tall and strongly built man of middle years, dressed in the buckskins and Hessians of a gentleman. He strode toward them, and as he approached, Anne saw that his eyes were a deep, sparkling blue.

  He addressed himself to Lady Catherine, naturally. “Good evening, madam. I see you are in trouble; allow me to render you assistance.”

  “Yes, thank you, sir,” Lady Catherine said in her usual imperious way. “But you are a stranger to me; I thought I was acquainted with all of the principal gentlemen of the kingdom.”

  “Indeed, madam; I’m sure you are. But I am recently returned from India, so I really cannot yet be called a gentleman of this kingdom.” He bowed. “Sir Henry Thornton, at your service.”

  “How do you do?” Lady Catherine said, in the manner of one who speaks so because civility is necessary, not because she actually wishes to know the answer. “I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and here is my daughter Miss Anne de Bourgh.”

  Anne curtsied to Sir Henry as Lady Catherine named her, but the gentleman barely returned the salute. He wore a pensive air, and said, “Before I left for India, I was slightly acquainted with a Sir Lewis de Bourgh. Are you his wife, madam?”

  “His widow, if you please.”

  Sir Henry bowed again. “I beg your pardon- you see how little news I have of my country. I am endeavoring to remedy that oversight by travel, and I am pleased I thought to do so, for I now have the opportunity of assisting you. I cannot repair a broken wheel, of course, but you shall have use of my chaise, that you are not obliged to walk to the village,” he said, with a meaningful look at the little group of cottages in the distance.

  Lady Catherine nodded. “I thank you, Sir Henry, for the sake of my daughter. The walk would be mere exercise to me, but Anne is recovering from a cold, and would be overset by the exertion.”

  Anne blinked, surprised, at this. It was the first she’d heard of the matter; she hadn’t had so much as a chill since that storm nearly two months ago. But Lady Catherine was accustomed to her being ill, and saying so to any acquaintance.

  Sir Henry showed himself to be a gentleman of manners by expressing how sorry he was to hear it, and insisting that they should ride with him into the village. Their baggage could follow directly, and the coachman and footmen would attend to the traveling chaise, and see that it was properly repaired. “For I am sure there will be a wheelwright in such a village; were we in India, I would despair of finding any craftsman within a hundred miles, but here we are among civilized people.”

  Lady Catherine assented to this plan with her habitual dignity, and allowed herself to be handed up into Sir Henry’s chaise. Anne followed, offering a quiet, “Thank you,” to Sir Henry.

  He was another moment in giving instructions to the servants, then joined them and the carriage set off. Anne sought for a topic of inoffensive conversation, but Lady Catherine was quicker, and said, “How long since your return from India, Sir Henry?”

  “I stepped off in Southhampton but two weeks ago,” he answered pleasantly. “Then I was obliged to visit my estate in Devonshire for a
time- the place has been reasonably well-kept since the death of my father last year, but it needed the hand of its master to set certain things right. Afterward, I was in town on business, and now I am free to travel for the summer.” He smiled as he said it, and Anne thought that though he was a good-looking man, there was something not quite right about his eyes. But his manners were not utterly deplorable, and when he asked after her health, she had little compunction about telling him that she was well enough, but going to the seaside to see if she might gain some improvement from a change of air.

  “An excellent notion,” he called it. “I have never felt so well as when I am at sea. The journey to India, and the way home from it, were long ones, yet I was never ill so much as a day.” He turned his smile upon Lady Catherine. “You are very wise, madam, to care for Miss de Bourgh’s health in this way. To which bathing-place do you travel?”

  “We are going to Scarborough, to meet my niece Miss Darcy, and some of her friends,” Lady Catherine said. “I advise you, Sir Henry, to make the place an object, if your travels are likely to take you so far north. Scarborough has long been favored for its air in the summer, though the place is intolerable in the winter.”

  Anne was alternately surprised and amused by her mother’s naming their destination so freely, and by the decided manner in which she spoke of a place to which she’d never been in her life. But there was something in Sir Henry’s manner that seemed to appeal to Lady Catherine, a mix of forcefulness and deference for her opinion that was not at all to Anne’s taste. She had lived all her life under a domineering companion in the shape of her mother; she had no wish to introduce another into her society.