Judith Brocklehurst - Darcy and Anne

Then she thought, But then I was ill. Then I had no money. And Mr Collins could not be put out. It had all died down, and between the lady of the manor and the parish priest an uneasy peace had descended. Civility, if not friendship, had been restored. When people must live together, Anne thought, they do.

Now she was well. Now, suddenly, she had money. How miserable could her mother make her, when she could still learn to play the piano, for now she could pay for a master? When she could hire a maid for herself? I will buy myself some new dresses, of my own choosing, she thought. I will buy myself a horse, and ride it!

But I do not want to go back to Rosings. Oh, why does my cousin not come?

In the end, it was Georgiana who came to find her. The walking party had returned, she said, “And there is a cold collation in the dining room, and there is a visitor as well, whom I think you will like.”

“Is it Lady Louisa Benton?” Anne asked, for she knew her mother's friend was expected that day.

“No, she is not here yet, but it is Elizabeth's papa, Mr Bennet. I do not like her mama so very much, but he is the greatest dear, so droll. He always turns up when we do not expect him. And Anne, he has come from Longbourn, to give us the news that Elizabeth's sister, Mrs Bingley, has been brought to bed, and she has a little girl. Come, you must come!”

They found the party in the dining room gathered round the table, and with them a small, elderly, bright-eyed gentleman in a long, grey travelling coat. Elizabeth was happily perusing a letter, apparently from her mother: “Jane is well, very well, and the baby is to be called Elizabeth Caroline. Caroline Bingley and I are asked to stand godmothers, and the godfather will be a Mr Robinson, a school friend of dear Bingley.”

“Oh, why not my brother?” cried Georgiana.

“They are saving him for a boy,” said Mr Bennet.

“But tell us more, papa! What does it look like? Whom does it resemble? Mama says it looks like dear Bingley, but do you think so?”

“Oh, I do not know. It is either a boy, or a girl, and it looks like a baby; that is, there are a great many long clothes, and nothing much else. Bingley allowed the lease to expire, you know, on Netherfield, for he thought they would be in this part of the world, in their new home, long before the child was born. He would—he always expects that things will be for the best. But it was not so, and the new people wanted to get in, so he and Jane came to stay with us. I do not know when we will get them out. I came away because the women were making such a cackle, you could get no sense from any of them.”

“You mean, you could get no attention, sir,” said his son-in-law, laughing. “But things will be no better here, you know, within a few weeks.”

“Well, well, I think, my dear sir, that you will retain a few shreds of good sense; and my daughter Elizabeth has more of quickness about her than my other girls. Whatever happens, your library is bigger than mine; I shall be able to retire into my own small corner, and get away from the noise.”

“Come to us, sir,” said Mr Caldwell. “We will take you walking in the hills, and tell you all about our fossils, and our remarkable curiosities.”

“But it will be such a happy event!” said Mrs Caldwell, not quite understanding.

They were all talking; they were all laughing. She could not get to her cousin; she could not get to Edmund. Anne's head ached, she could eat nothing; she could feel sickness coming on. Suddenly she heard kind Mrs Annesley's quiet voice: “Miss de Bourgh, I think you are not quite well. Come, let me take you upstairs, you should lie down on your bed.” Georgiana jumped up immediately, and insisted on taking her to her room, and got her maid. The housekeeper herself brought her up some lime leaf tea. She lay down; she slept.

Later that afternoon, she woke. She felt quite well, and when she came downstairs, Mr Darcy took her on one side. “As far as Mr Colby and I can ascertain,” he said, “the original sum provided by your father must have been five thousand pounds. In the usual way, that would have given you an income of two hundred and fifty pounds—a very proper provision for a young woman of your rank, coming out into the world, to buy her clothes, etc, and get used to the handling of money.”

“Two hundred and fifty pounds!”

“Wait, there is more. In the normal way, that would have been the case; as it was, your mother decided to continue living at Rosings, you were never presented at Court, or brought out into society, and you never had the use of the money. With the interest never being spent, but always added back into the capital, the original amount—how long ago was it, when your father died?”

“Ten years ago. I was fifteen years old, and am now five-and-twenty.”

“Yes, we thought so. In that time, you see, the capital has increased to well over seven thousand pounds, and the income to almost four hundred: three hundred and eighty-seven, to be exact. Of course, you understand that, once you begin spending the interest, the capital will not increase.”

Anne was not sure that she understood anything! The situation, her cousin reflected, was an excellent lesson in the power of compound interest, but was completely outside the range of Anne's knowledge and experience. The cottager's child who takes a shilling to the baker's, and brings home the change in pennies, he thought, probably knows more about money than she does.

However, Anne surprised him.

“Cousin, I must learn to keep track of my money. How can I do so? I might write a sort of list of the things I would like to buy, and how much they might cost. Do you think that would help me? If I do that, will you look it over for me?”

“Certainly. In fact, I have a better idea, which is that you should consult with Elizabeth. From being brought up in a family that is not rich, she has a far better idea of the planning and spending of income than either Georgiana or I—she knows, for example, how much clothes ought to cost—and I know she will be happy to assist you. And if you wish, I will be your banker until an account is arranged for you. Would you like to have something now, to be going on with?” he asked. “Would twenty pounds suffice?”

Twenty pounds! It was more money than she had ever seen!

“And when you have your bank account, you can write me your first draft, to repay me. One other matter: Edmund Caldwell must go home tomorrow, his business does not allow him to be longer away. I have arranged for Fitzwilliam to ride with him, and go into Burley to visit your mother. It is time one of us went and enquired after her health. While he is there, he will talk to her about this business. Trust me, he will get her approval. She likes Fitzwilliam, and he can usually get her to see things from his point of view. But for now, this must wait. I see a carriage coming up the drive.”

Lady Louisa was a kind and sensible woman. She had been a close friend of lady Anne Darcy, and for her sake, held her son and daughter in affection. She had never been as fond of Lady Catherine, though she corresponded with her regularly, and Anne she hardly remembered. She had come to Pemberley out of concern for Georgiana. Mr Darcy, in his letter of invitation, had hinted that it was time Georgiana was thinking of a husband, and that there seemed to be few suitable young men available. Lady Louisa, from a wealth of experience, wondered if an unsuitable one were in the picture.

Now, she realized, the picture was complex. It did not take her five minutes to recognize Georgiana's admiration for Colonel Fitzwilliam, and to discount it; the Colonel, at his age, was not likely to fall in love with a young girl. Nor, if he did so, would he think it right to persuade his wealthy cousin to marry him. Georgiana was young enough, she would get over it; but another admirer or two would certainly help. And, if she were in the habit of falling in love (there had been rumours), it would be as well to get her suitably married as soon as might be.

Anne was another matter; her mother had described her as sickly and frail, but she was nothing of the kind. However, she was five-and-twenty if she was a day. Catherine was a great fool, Lady Louisa thought, to let her hang around all those years after Darcy, who anybody could see would only marry a woman of the greatest charm and beauty, a woman to sweep him off his feet. This was not such a girl, though she would not make a bad wife, either. Edmund Caldwell obviously thought so, but that was no use—he could not aspire to the heiress of Rosings and thirty thousand pounds. Lady Louisa began making a list of the men she knew—not too young— deserving of Anne and thirty thousand pounds. It was a quite encouraging list, and she decided to give a ball within the next few weeks.

The evening was warm and sultry. Dinner was late, and afterwards, everyone was too hot for dancing. The doors of the drawing-room opened on the terrace, and at first everybody strolled about, feeling listless; presently they were all assembled inside. “Would Miss Georgiana play for them?”

Georgiana played two or three pieces, but seemed disinclined for more. Then Mr Bennet quietly said, “If the company would like it, I will read to you.” Everyone expressed an inclination—to be read to was the very thing, for all they need do was sit, and listen.

Mr Bennet began, reading from some papers in his lap. It was an historic tale—a prose story, written in such a vein as to be almost poetry; a tale of a castle by moonlight, and a young girl waiting, sadly, for someone who did not return. The water fell plashing into the fountain, the white roses bloomed, the young girl wept. When Mr Bennet stopped, Georgiana drew a deep breath, and Mrs Caldwell wiped away a tear.