by Blake Smith
Impertinence to which that lady seemed utterly oblivious. She next asked, “Have you traveled?”
“Yes, Your Ladyship; to France, Italy, and Switzerland for a year, and once to Antigua on my uncle’s business.” Thank goodness, he seemed to have regained control of his annoyance, and both the words and the tone were perfectly civil.
“Have you a house in town?”
“Not one of my own, but I have been often staying at my uncle’s house in Green Street.” That was not one of the most fashionable addresses, but reasonably respectable all the same.
Lady Catherine next said, “I have not seen you in town.”
This was too much for Anne. “Oh, Mamma,” she cried, “Neither you nor I have been to town these past three years. How are you to have met Mr. Jeffries there?”
Her outburst brought on a fierce glare from her mother, who said coldly, “I am acquainted with all of the highest society, as you well know. I have met Sir William Jeffries, but I have not heard of a nephew until now.”
She seemed to be implying that Mr. Jeffries was an imposter, and from the sudden rigidity of his countenance, he knew it. “I assure you, madam,” he said, with icy civility, “that I am who I claim to be. Think you that Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley would introduce me to your daughter if I was not?”
Lady Catherine had been not quite facing Mr. Jeffries, but now she altered her position to look him in the eye and leaned forward in her chair. “I think those ladies would like very much to play a joke on my Anne, and neither she nor I will be made ridiculous!” she hissed.
“Mamma!” Anne exclaimed, shocked by the turn of the conversation. “Mr. Jeffries has been kind enough to wait on us. I am sure he is a gentleman, and perhaps this discussion should be continued at another time.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Jeffries said, still coldly civil. He rose from his chair and bowed to Anne. “Miss de Bourgh, I was and am pleased to make your acquaintance, but I think I have taken up too much of your time today. I bid you a good day, and hope we may meet again under less-” darting a glance at the fuming Lady Catherine- “trying circumstances.”
Anne managed to say good-bye without bursting into tears of frustration and mortification, but a moment after they heard the front door close, she gave way to her feelings. She had never been demonstrative in happiness or grief, but a few tears rolled down her cheeks and her breath came in sobs.
Lady Catherine sat ignoring her, as though the sight of Anne weeping was nothing, but Mrs. Jenkinson crept to her side. “Oh, Miss de Bourgh,” she said gently. “Do not put yourself into a pelter; all will be well. Your mamma is only looking out for you. You wouldn’t like to be taken in, would you? And if he is a gentleman, you need have no fear of his spreading the story about town.” She produced a handkerchief, and Anne took it with a murmured thanks. “There, now,” Mrs. Jenkinson said, once Anne had wiped her eyes. “All will be well. Calm yourself, Miss de Bourgh. We cannot have you making yourself ill, which you will surely do if you continue like this.”
Anne had never been so grateful to Mrs. Jenkinson; that lady’s soft cooing, usually so irritating to the nerves, was a balm to her spirits. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said, once she was able to speak again. “I think I shall be well; I am only a little angry.” This last was accompanied by a glare at her impassive mother.
Lady Catherine saw it, and said, “I have no idea why you should be angry. It is my duty, as a parent, to discover all I can of my acquaintance, particularly one who calls not upon me, but upon my daughter. Would you like it better if I ignored his impertinence, and allowed him to carry you off without so much as a protest?”
“Of course not!” Anne snapped, roused to express her anger by this unjust comparison. “I know you are looking out for my interest, Your Ladyship, but to do it in such a fashion! You were positively rude to Mr. Jeffries, and I cannot see that he did anything to deserve your ire. If you speak so to all of our acquaintance, we shall shortly have none. You say you have not previously met Mr. Jeffries, yet you talk as thought he’d grievously offended you in the past. Has he done so?”
“He has not,” Lady Catherine admitted after a pause. “But he was rude to me, and I see no reason to be polite to a man of no title and little fortune, if he cannot at least be well-mannered. And,” she added, “if you insist on continuing to speak so to me, I see no reason to be polite to you, either.”
“Your Ladyship, you may have driven away a man who has been nothing but pleasant to me,” she said, recalling how he had assisted her in escaping from Sir Henry. “He is well-educated, well-looking, and has the promise of fortune and title, yet you shun his acquaintance. Is that not an excuse for some anger on my part?”
“It is not. If you continue to act in this vulgar manner, I shall forbid him to cross the doorstep. I shall not have encroaching mushrooms influencing you to behave badly.”
Anne had never been so angry in her life. Not wanting to say something she would regret late, she picked up her work, curtsied perfunctorily, and left the room.
CHAPTER Nine
The remainder of the day passed in quiet, grinding tension, and Anne was glad to seek her bed at an early hour. She slept poorly and rose early, thinking that, now that she had been in Scarborough for three days, she might finally walk by the sea. Her scheme might have been more pleasant without Mrs. Jenkinson’s anxious company, but at least she could pretend not to hear her remarks. There was a fine breeze blowing in off the water, so her temporary deafness might even be true. It threatened to carry away her parasol as she walked down from Brooke Street, but Anne was determined to carry out her purpose. She would walk by the sea. There was no chance of persuading Mrs. Jenkinson to allow a bit of sea-bathing, not until Anne- and more importantly, Lady Catherine- had consulted with a doctor, so she would content herself with being near to the sea.
It was a fine day, sunny and warm, and Anne smiled as she opened the gate which separated the walking paths from Brooke Street and its environs. There were many routes from which she could choose her way, some sheltered from the wind by stands of trees, others with a more open prospect. After a moment of indecision, Anne turned left. She wished very much to climb to the top of the hill that crowned the northernmost point of the bay, but it was too far for her current strength. So she would content herself with keeping the hill in sight as she meandered down the path.
Mrs. Jenkinson, of course, was not perfectly satisfied with this decision. “Would you not like better to walk on the plank road? Your shoes are very thin; you will surely take cold if you walk on these paths. They have hardly any gravel at all; they are nearly bare dirt!”
“Ma’am, I am only going for a short walk,” Anne said. “And, look ahead of us. The path becomes less dirty in a short distance and a little further on, it joins with the plank road. I shall be very comfortable,” she concluded, and sallied forth on her chosen course.
She would never admit it to Mrs. Jenkinson, but the ground was rather cool under her feet, not having had the benefit of the sun because of the neatly trimmed hedge that bordered the east side of the path. It was just tall enough that Anne could run her right hand through it, and she did so for the sheer novelty of it. No one was near enough to see, and Anne, her mind full of the joy that comes with being in a new place, had few scruples about engaging in a bit of innocent amusement. It wasn’t as though she had removed her shoes and paraded along the beach in her bare feet; she’d heard tell of some ladies who did that only to find themselves injured by shifting sand or worse, scolded by anxious mammas and strict chaperones.
Anne did not wish to bring any more censure down on her head; no doubt Lady Catherine would be angry that she was walking out of doors at all. Even though the path did, in fact, join with the wood-plank walkway a little further on, Anne was sure her walk along the graveled part of the path would be to blame if she happened to take ill at any point in the next week.
But it was a lovely place. This early in the morning, it was less crowded tha
n Anne expected, though they met half a dozen parties in a very short time. She was not acquainted with any one, and confined her civility to nods and smiles. The mingled views of land and sea offered more interesting entertainment.
The hill ahead of her was of course smaller than the sea on her right, and its greenery was more familiar to a girl who had spent most of her life in the country. The hill was a goal, and her ascension of it was far in the future. But the sea held her attention. She had never seen so much water in one place, stretching to the horizon and who knows how many feet deep. All sorts of creatures lived in the sea, she’d been told- sharks and whales and the most enormous fish, all lurking under the surface and ready to eat any person who strayed too close. Safe on land, Anne shivered delightedly at the thought of danger. Nothing could persuade her to go into deep water, so she thought she might be safe from marauding sea-creatures.
In fact, the water looked rather jaunty from her current vantage point, she decided. The water was grey-blue, shining in the sun, and little whitecaps bounced along the surface. A tiny boat bobbed along, painted red and likely belonging to some hardworking fisherman, looking merry and peaceful at such a distance. A little further out, the water seemed to blend with the sky, the colors mingling so Anne could not see where one left off and the other began.
She walked for perhaps thirty minutes at Mrs. Jenkinson’s insistence. Really, could she not see that Anne wished to become stronger, and that cutting her walks short would not aid in that purpose? But Anne did not like an argument, and agreed to turn back.
By the time they reached Brooke Street, Anne felt the justice of Mrs. Jenkinson’s concern. She was growing weary, and decided to call in at Number Eight. Ostensibly, she wished to see Georgiana, and she could rest her feet for a moment at the same time.
The butler agreed that Miss Darcy was at home, and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst with her. Anne happily ascended the stairs to the drawing room, anticipating a comfortable conversation with her cousin.
But there was another person in the room, and his appearance caused her the halt on the threshold, blushing with remembered embarrassment. For it was Mr. Jeffries, and though he smiled at her, Anne could not be comfortable in his presence.
He was talking with Georgiana, who excused herself and jumped up when Anne was announced. “Dear Anne!” she exclaimed, coming forward with her hands outstretched. “You look as if you have been walking; did you go near the water, or in town?”
Anne returned the greeting with fondness. “I went along the beach, on the plank walkway. It’s a beautiful morning, and Mrs. Jenkinson was kind enough to accompany me,” she said somewhat at random, for she dreaded an awkward silence above all things at this moment.
Georgiana took her words at face value, and said to Mrs. Jenkinson, “How kind of you to walk with Anne. She must take exercise, you know, or she becomes shockingly ill.” She put her arm around Anne and led her to a chair, gesturing that Mrs. Jenkinson should sit nearby.
Anne wished to protest; the chair to which she was being directed would oblige her to converse with Mr. Jeffries. But he was still smiling slightly, and said, “Do not worry, Miss de Bourgh; I do not bite,” which broke some of the tension.
“No, I did not think you did, sir,” she said, with a little residual awkwardness.
Georgiana broke the brief silence that followed. “Did you see anyone of interest on the beach?”
“No one of my acquaintance,” Anne said, grateful for the introduction of an innocent subject of conversation. “Though I did see an amusing sight- a lady walking her lap dog, only the dog took exception to the ruffle of her skirt, and would yap and nip at it every time the breeze blew up. It was unfortunate, for they made an otherwise striking picture. The lady was tall and stout, and wore orange ostrich plumes in her hat, and the dog had such long fur that had it been still I might not have known its head from its tail.”
Georgiana’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I suspect you saw Mrs. von Ghlen. She lives in Zurich, I have heard, and has the most astonishing number of dogs. I’m not acquainted with her, but I have seen her walking, and the most surprising thing about your anecdote is that she was only accompanied by one of the dogs!”
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Jeffries chimed in. “She usually has an entire pack of them- five or six- with her at any given time. And I have never seen a servant accompany her to take charge of them.”
“Perhaps she does it a-purpose,” Anne mused. “If she is obliged to keep the dogs in order, she cannot be stopped by any acquaintance for conversation, and such a large number of- albeit small- protectors must keep her safe from any insult.”
“Take care!” Georgiana warned, laughing. “If you mention the idea in public, every lady shall equip herself with a dog, and we shall be treated to nothing but their barking every time we set foot out of the house.”
Anne assented to this, though she rather liked the idea. No doubt her mother would deem it absurd, and so she did not set her heart on acquiring a pet of her own.
While she was musing on the subject, Mrs. Hurst discovered that Mr. Hurst’s remarks on her purchases of lace and ribbon were not sufficiently complimentary, and called Georgiana to her side, leaving Anne tête-à-tête with Mr. Jeffries.
They were silent for a moment, then, gathering her courage, Anne said, “You must allow me to apologize for my mother’s behavior to you yesterday. She is always forthright, and occasionally less than civil to new acquaintances. I wish she had not spoken to you in that manner.”
“I wish she had not done so, either, but I am not offended,” he said in a low voice. “I admit, I was unprepared for her to dislike me, but as you had previously mentioned that she is accustomed to speaking with authority, and dislikes any disagreement, I was only a little surprised by her manner.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “It was most civil of you to call on me, and I would not like to see civility discouraged.”
He nodded, but his smile grew rather arch. Anne wished to know what was privately amusing him, and was thankfully spared the necessity of asking when he said, “You may thank Miss Darcy for reminding me of my obligations. I had many things on my mind that morning, and it was only when she asked if I planned to call on you that I recalled my manners. Oh, you mustn’t think I intend to be uncivil- I don’t. But my uncle is rather a recluse, and did not trouble to teach me the forms of politeness from earliest childhood.”
“How awful,” Anne murmured, saddened that this young man’s education had been neglected and wondered how he had managed to acquire any manners at all.
But he shook his head. “It’s not so shocking as you seem to think it. I was sent to school, and learned to conduct myself as a gentleman. But I do not enjoy society, in general, and so I occasionally have to be reminded of the niceties.”
This was very like to Georgiana’s description of him. Anne wasn’t sure she could like a man who confessed his weaknesses so easily, but she could sympathize with anyone who had been forced to stay at home. “May I ask what was troubling you that morning?” she said politely.
“Some news from Salford,” he said. “My uncle is not well, and the bailiff wrote to ask my advice on a few subjects. I may be obliged to cut short my stay here, if my uncle does not recover enough to take up the business on his own.”
Anne made a civil reply, hoping for his uncle’s swift recovery and the easy resolution of whatever difficulties plagued the estate. She wished to talk more with Mr. Jeffries, to learn of his childhood and express her sympathy for his troubles, but Mrs. Jenkinson reminded her of the time, and they were obliged to go.
.
CHAPTER ten
Anne did not speak to Mr. Jeffries again for three days, but she was so busily occupied during that time that she hardly had a moment to lament his absence. The day after their meeting at Number Eight was a Sunday, and they spent much of it in church. Lady Catherine was not particularly devout, but Anne quite enjoyed the peace she found in most churches and the calm
instruction of a good sermon, and Mrs. Jenkinson was the most religious of the three ladies; she might have been a nun had she lived in France.
The church near Number Twelve was a fine old building of stone, and comfortably fit all of the families of the neighborhood. Anne knew a few of them by sight, and though Lady Catherine would not allow her to show more civility than a smile and nod, she did what she could with those small gestures.
The sermon itself was rather long, but Dr. Greene was quite unlike Mr. Collins, and Anne was glad of it. The past two years had given her a pronounced distaste for Mr. Collins’s style, which was both pompous and ponderous, and she listened with real pleasure to Dr. Greene’s crisp and sparkling lecture.
Predictably enough, the other ladies of the party disliked it. ‘An undignified romp,’ Lady Catherine called it, in scathing tones. Mrs. Jenkinson confined her complaints to the jarring speed of Dr. Greene’s speech, though she acknowledged that he must be a learned man. Anne allowed them to talk of the matter without interruption. It was clear to her that her opinion was not wanted.
The next day promised to be one of real pleasure. Anne had met Georgiana as they entered the church and in a few moments of rapid discussion settled it that they must visit the shops as soon as possible, Anne citing her declining stock of ribbon and the need for a new hat. She could have sent Harris to fetch the necessary items for her, but having lived in Scarborough for four days without exploring the town was an intolerable situation to her, and must be rectified without delay. She did not mention that Lady Catherine expected a visit from Sir Henry Thornton, and that to be out of the house when he arrived with an object with her.
At the appropriate hour, Anne departed Number Twelve, Mrs. Jenkinson trailing a step behind her, and went to Number Eight. The house was in a minor uproar; wash day in such a compact house was sure to cause chaos.
