Judith Brocklehurst - Darcy and Anne

“Who wrote it?” was the question on everybody's lips, and “Was there more?”

“Papa,” said Elizabeth, “you do not usually read romantic tales— where had you such a story?”

“Why, my dear,” said Mr Bennet, “did you not write it? I found it on my table in the library, and thought that you had put it there for me to see.”

“No indeed,” said Elizabeth, “I never wrote anything in my life, longer than a letter; and surely the handwriting is not mine.”

“All women,” said her father, “write the same vile hand.”

“The story is mine,” Anne said shyly. “I left the sheets on a table in the library; I did not know, sir, that the table was yours.”

There was immediate clamour. They had an authoress in their midst—how long had she been writing? Why had she said nothing? How did the story continue? And how did it end?

“I have written for years,” said Anne. “I had a governess who recommended to me the copying of extracts, to improve my handwriting. I found it very dull copying other people's writings, and began to invent my own: little stories, poems, essays. Then I read a couple of novels and thought them rather silly. I thought I could do as well, and just to amuse myself, I began that story.”

“And how does it go on?”

“Oh, she runs away to the Crusades, and has all kind of adventures. It is all nonsense.”

“But, we must hear it!”

“One moment,” said Mr Bennet. “Miss de Bourgh has been imposed on; I would not have read these pages, if I had known whose work they were. Only she can decide whether to allow us to hear more.”

What authoress is really reluctant to have her story read to an admiring, encouraging crowd? Anne took the manuscript, and began to read. It was a strange feeling to be reading what she had written. All eyes were upon her; but her confidence increased as she read. After three or four chapters, her voice grew thick. “Come,” Said Mrs Darcy, “the rest must be for other evenings, it is too late now. The Lambton assembly is tomorrow,” and the party broke up. Anne was thanked and praised; everyone wanted to hear more. Only Edmund Caldwell was silent.

But it was hard for Anne to sleep. Mr Caldwell and the Colonel were to leave the house as soon as they had breakfasted the next morning. She felt an urgent need to thank Mr Caldwell for his kindness to her the previous day; she could not let him go without thanking him. And yet she dared not ask him for an interview—it would look so particular! As far as she knew, her cousin had told nobody the story—except the Colonel, who, after all, was also a cousin—and somehow she knew that Edmund had not mentioned it to anybody. Suppose she were to sleep late, and he were to leave before she could speak to him? The maid who waited on her had been told to call her, but maids were often unreliable… Anne tossed and turned until it seemed to her that dawn was breaking, and then suddenly there was a voice calling her, and the maid had remembered after all.

There was, in fact, no difficulty; he was standing on the terrace, looking at the view. She tried to put her thanks into words; he cut her short.

“What I did was nothing, and I have no right to assist you; I wish I had. But there is something I wish to say to you,” he said. “Your cousin will have told you this already, but I will repeat it. I read that document; you have every right to your own money, and your mother, however good her intentions, was wrong to withhold it. The matter would be different, of course, if your mother were in any danger of financial hardship; but that is certainly not the case. And even then, she should not have withheld, without asking, money which belongs to you. We all have obligations to a parent, but as we grow into adulthood, our responsibilities change; we owe respect, affection, but not blind, unthinking obedience. We have duties, which a parent cannot forbid us to perform. You are responsible for your money, and it is your task to decide how it should be used. Do not ever allow anyone to tell you, as that man did, that 'young ladies' have no need to think, or no right to learn. Never allow anyone to do your thinking for you.”

“No… no… I will remember. But…”

“But?”

“I do not know… Will you be at the assembly tonight?”

“No. I cannot.”

“And you do not much care to dance, do you?”

“Not much. I can understand why people like to dance, but I am clumsy; the music does not speak to me as it does to some. I am not made for mirth. But you love to dance, do you not?”

“Not as much as Georgiana; I like it, but I am soon tired.”

“You must exercise more, then you will not get tired.”

“But I am learning to ride.”

“That is very good,” said he, smiling, “but you must walk a little, too, every day.”

“Very well, I will try.”

“Now I must be on my way. I must be about my business. I know, why cannot I stay—you must think me a money-grubbing fellow, and that is what I am.

“You see, Miss de Bourgh, there is something I must tell you. My parents had a good fortune, but some years ago, I persuaded them to enter into a doubtful speculation. I was young, I was foolish, I was misled by dishonest people, and they lost a great deal of money. It was my fault, and I must ensure that their fortune is restored. They are all goodness, they have never asked for anything or spoken a word of blame, but that is my responsibility. Our land is not profitable for farming, but the quarry has opened up a very good way of making money, and it gives employment to people, who would not otherwise have work. I chose to employ local men, rather than bring in outsiders, but they are not used to the work, and they require constant attention and supervision. This is why I must go, when I would much rather stay. It may be many years before I have the money to be leisured.”

“I see.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, sir… Mr Caldwell!”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Thank you for telling me about… about… I understand your situation, and I honour you for it.”

He turned to go; turning back, he raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it. Then he was gone.

Mrs Darcy, used to living among a large number of sisters, was really rejoiced to have Anne staying with her, and equally glad to have Lady Louisa and the Caldwells in her home for the night of the Lambton assembly. She enjoyed the happy bustle of the day before a ball.

“The Assembly rooms are almost outside our gates,” she told her husband. “You can have no fears for me. I shall not dance, but I do wish to go.”

“I only wondered,” he said, “If you and Mrs Annesley would like to stay behind. I will tell you what I do fear, and that is, bringing six women to an assembly, and only one man. I have only Caldwell. Fitzwilliam and Edmund Caldwell have left us, and your father refuses to go.”

“I know; he never would go to the dances at Meryton. But my mother brought all five of us, and there was always a shortage of gentlemen as a result. Do you remember the evening that we met? I could not get a partner, and was sitting down. That is why I overheard you, when you were so ungallant as to refuse to dance with me. I know now, of course, the reason for your bad temper: you were just come from dealing with the abominable Wickham,” she said.

“If you remind me of that, I can refuse you nothing. In any case, poor Mrs Annesley should not be required to forgo an evening's enjoyment, merely to suit my requirements.”

“She is an excellent person, is she not? I thought that we would not need her, but she is so good-tempered, so useful. Georgiana still needs a music instructress, and Anne is enjoying her lessons, too.”

“Yes, indeed. In any case, I do not like to dismiss a person who has given us such good service, for who knows whether she would get another post? And besides, my love, in a very few years' time, we will need a governess, will we not?”

In view of her husband's anxiety, however, Mrs Darcy agreed to stay quietly at home for the morning, and allow Mrs Annesley and Georgiana to take Anne into Lambton, to buy a new pair of dancing sandals, and a few other necessities for the evening.

This was enough to spread the news around the town that a large party from Pemberley would be at the assembly. Some said Mr and Mrs Darcy would bring ten women, and eight men, others said there would be six women and five men, but it was generally known that an heiress would be among the party, and someone pointed out that it was twice as good as the first report, for, if one counted Miss Georgiana Darcy, that made two.

Lambton had some excellent shops, and what with the buying of new gloves, and inspecting Georgiana's purchases, and approving of them, the morning flew away. It was just as well, thought Anne, for she had not time to think, and she was not sure that she wanted it.

But a mind like hers, used to solitude, must and will find it. In the course of the afternoon, she found herself at the table in the corner of the library that she had come to regard as hers. Mr Bennet had categorically refused to take it, saying that authors were privileged people, and that all the reward he claimed was the pleasure of hearing more of her story: “The place is enormous, and there are at least half a dozen very comfortable armchairs, where I can sleep in peace,” he told her; and he told his daughter, “I would even let Miss de Bourgh into my own library at home, for I will guarantee that she does not chatter, or disturb one by wanting a pen mended, or an argument settled. She is a very uncommon young woman.”

“There is more to her than any of us thought,” Elizabeth replied. “Who would have thought that she had such an imagination? Such a power of telling a story?”