Judith Brocklehurst - Darcy and Anne

“That is a sad story.”

“Yes, it is,” said Edmund. “I often feel sad for those people, ruined for practising what they believed in.”

“But… is it not very wrong, to be a Roman Catholic? I was always taught so.”

“But then, is it not wrong to punish people for their beliefs? And what about those people, who truly believed that they must teach this belief to their children, and no other?”

“Now,” said Mrs Caldwell, laughing, “you have done something, Miss de Bourgh, that no Caldwell can resist. You have started an argument.”

“Say rather, a discussion,” said her son. “Do not be afraid, Miss de Bourgh, we will not get angry.” And, discoursing of religious beliefs, and houses, and history, they reached Pemberley in very good time, and Anne found that she was not tired at all! Walking, she thought, did agree with her, especially when it was done in the company of Mr Edmund Caldwell.

Georgiana, they learned, had scraped her hands, and bruised her knee, but there was no sign of a sprain, and it seemed that the pain she had experienced must have been due to the shock of the fall. Most importantly, she would not be prevented from going to the Lambton assembly, which was shortly to take place.

Each morning, Anne would ride. Colonel Fitzwilliam was very pleased with her, and she found riding far less tiring than walking, allowing her to see more of the park.

One morning, a few days after the walk to the rock face, when the two of them got back, they learned that Mrs Caldwell had gone out driving with Mrs Darcy, but since the pony carriage would only hold two, the others had decided on a walk. Darcy, it seemed, had business letters that would not wait. Colonel Fitzwilliam said he would follow the walking party and catch them up. Anne was disinclined to walk, and went to Georgiana's room to practise at the piano. She had but just begun, when the butler approached her and murmured, “A person to see you, miss.”

“Who is it, Forrest?”

“I understand he is your respected mother's agent, miss.”

“Oh! very well, I will see him.”

The agent was in the library. “Good day, Mr Colby.”

“Good day, miss. I was expecting…”

“Yes, of Course; you were expecting to see Lady Catherine. Well, she is at Burley; she was taken ill, you see, on the way here.”

“Yes, miss, so I understand from Mr Forrest. I shall go there, of course. I will be on my way—but there is just one thing, since you are here, miss. It is regarding the usual business at this time of year,” and, smiling kindly, he withdrew from his case a pile of papers. “If you would just sign over the income, as per usual, your signature is wanted here, and here…”

Anne looked at the papers. “What is this, Colby?”

“Why, miss, you sign it every year, it is just as usual.”

“Yes, but what do I sign? I think I should read it, first.”

Mr Colby looked a little agitated. “Lady Catherine wishes it

Signed, ma'am.”

“But I am not sure that I should sign it, without understanding what is in it.”

“There is nothing different, miss, you sign it every year.” “

Well, that may be so, but I think I should not have signed it, Without understanding it.”

“It is just your name, miss, and it makes over the income.”

Anne began to feel confused, and frightened. Mr Colby seemed So sure; why was she being so stupid? It must be right, to sign; but why could she not know what she was doing?

Just at that moment, Mr Edmund Caldwell came in. “Oh! Excuse me, Miss de Bourgh. I was looking for Darcy.”

“I believe he is in his study,” said Anne; and he made to leave. Suddenly she called out “Oh! pray, Mr Caldwell, do not leave, pray help me.”

He came back into the room. “What is the matter, Miss de Bourgh?”

“It is only… Mr Colby has brought this document for me to sign, and I do not know… I do not understand… I am sure it is right, but should I sign something I do not understand?”

“Certainly not,” he replied, calmly. “Mr… Colby, is it?… that seems to be a legal document that you have there; can you not explain its nature to Miss de Bourgh?”

“Oh, sir,” the agent replied, smiling patronizingly, “young ladies do not want to understand the intricacies of such things, young ladies and legal language do not mix.”

“Then young ladies will be swindled, as older people have been before them,” Mr Caldwell replied, holding out his hand for the papers. He perused the top ones swiftly.

“This seems to be a document handing something over three hundred pounds into Lady Catherine's keeping,” he said. “How comes this about, that Miss de Bourgh should be in possession of such a sum? And this being the case, why should she be expected to surrender it? Do you know anything about this, Miss de Bourgh?”

“No, sir.”

“Excuse me, sir,” the agent said, “but this is a private family matter, and…”

“You are right,” said Mr Caldwell. “It is a family matter, and Miss de Bourgh needs the advice of a member of her family,” and ringing the bell, he ordered the butler. “Request Mr Darcy to come here immediately. Miss de Bourgh is in distress, and needs him.” The butler disappeared. “Oh, do not leave me,” Anne whispered, almost ready to sink. “Do not be afraid, Miss de Bourgh,” he said. “I will not leave until Mr Darcy arrives,” and, taking her to an armchair, he compelled her to be seated, and sat down opposite her in silence, smiling reassuringly at her, until her cousin appeared, whereupon he quietly left the room.

Mr Darcy quickly ascertained the situation, as far as Mr Colby understood it. Sir Lewis de Bourgh had, it appeared, in a codicil to his will, left money in trust to provide a personal income for his beloved Daughter, for her use until such time as she should marry, when a proper provision was to be made. The income, it seemed, was to have been handed over to Anne at each anniversary. Instead, Lady Catherine had always insisted—from no better motive, it seemed, than that love of controlling and dictating that ruled her life—on its being paid over to her, to be used on Anne's behalf. Anne, understanding little of what was happening, since nobody explained it to her, had always signed it away. There was nothing improper about this arrangement, since Anne had always agreed to it; but if she did not like it, she was at liberty, said Mr Darcy, to change it, and have the use of her own money: “For it is her money, is it not, Mr Colby?”

“Yes indeed, sir,” said the agent, “But Lady Catherine wanted…”

“It is a case,” said Mr Darcy, “of what my cousin wants. What do you want, Anne?”

Anne took a deep breath. “I want to have the money, sir.”

Mr Colby said, “But where do you want it assigned, miss? Are you asking to have the capital, which is in trust, or the interest? Do you have a banking account?”

“No, but…”

“Do not be afraid, cousin,” said Mr Darcy. “Mr Colby, my cousin is five-and-twenty years old, she is not a child. Why do we not take this matter elsewhere, and see to it together that the money is put into an account at a bank, in her name, and I will myself instruct her in the use of it. Cousin Anne, will you allow me to act for you in this matter?”

“Oh, yes, cousin, if you please.”

“Very good, it shall be done. Come, Mr Colby.” And he led the agent from the room.

As soon as she was alone, Anne went to a secluded corner, where there stood a writing table, with a comfortable chair placed beside it. Set beside a window, it commanded a fine view over the park and stream, and in the past couple of weeks she had taken to using it every day. Whatever books she was reading, the writing upon which she was engaged, always lay there undisturbed, and she had come almost to regard it as her own. Here she sat, waiting for her cousin to return, and trying to understand what had happened. Her mind was in turmoil.

She had defied her mother; she had disregarded her expressed wishes!

She hoped her cousin would return soon; she needed to talk to him—or, rather, she needed him to talk to her, to explain, to tell her that she had not done something wicked. How strange that she, who had feared and disliked her cousin, should now be regarding him as a protector! he had changed so much, since his marriage; a happy husband, and soon to be a father. But he could not protect her from her mother's anger. She had accepted her cousin as her authority, rather than her mother—and Lady Catherine was already angry with Darcy, so angry that, as Anne knew, she had not wanted to come to Pemberley at all, and only desperation had driven her to it. Yes, thought Anne, desperation to get me married—not to someone who would love me and cherish me, but to someone who would be useful to her! But one could not hate a parent—one could not disobey. Affection, obedience were owed to a parent. Even, wondered Anne, if that parent had no knowledge, no understanding of one's needs?

But before Darcy came, Edmund Caldwell had helped her. She could not have stood up to Mr Colby, she would simply have done as she was bid, if he had not been there. How kind he had been, how steady! Edmund was no hero: stocky, by no means handsome, never well dressed, he cut no figure beside the elegant Darcy, or the soldierly Colonel Fitzwilliam. Yet when he had entered the room, she had immediately had the sense, in the middle of her confusion, that here was someone with whom she was safe. And she had been; she must thank him. But he could not keep her mother away from her. She remembered with a shudder her mother's rage when she had discovered that Cousin Darcy was indeed going to marry Elizabeth; her furious ill-temper with her household; how she had railed at Mr and Mrs Collins; and then had learned, to her fury, that Mr Collins could not be put out of his living.