Judith Brocklehurst - Darcy and Anne

Barbados! the word had a terrifying ring in her ears. Anne knew very little of the West Indies, but she knew that there were tropical diseases, there were hurricanes, and she was very sure that there were poisonous snakes. He might die before he even arrived there, swept overboard by a storm. If not, he would die of bad food, or be captured by a French privateer, or shot by angry sugar planters for trying to abolish slavery. He would marry a Creole beauty and stay there, and be lost to her for ever. But he was already lost to her—how could she have married him?—when her mother would certainly refuse to meet either him or his parents!

All she could think was that she must get to Burley again; she must find out more. She might say that she wanted to buy more books; she might say she wanted to see her mother again; Lady Catherine had, after all, been very happy to see her, and the visit had been an enjoyable one. Yes! she would do so, she would go there again, as soon as possible. If she were quick, she might even see him; he was going, Mr Caldwell had said, “In a month or so.” Oh! how long was that? It could mean almost anything. She would certainly go back to Burley! Perhaps she could persuade Mr Bennet to make the expedition with her, with the promise of spending more time in the fascinating bookstore; after all, she had been so overwhelmed with the hurry of the last few minutes, and the news she had received, that she had not bought one single book!

But this resolution was not carried into effect. The next morning, when Anne was awakened as usual, by her maid, the girl told her that the whole household was in confusion, for Mrs Darcy had been taken ill in the night, four weeks or more before her time, and the month nurse not yet arrived, and nobody dared speak to the master, and Mrs Reynolds was in such a state as never was.

“Mrs Reynolds?” Anne asked. “Why, what has she to do with anything?”

“Well, nothing, miss, as you might say, but there she is, crying and taking on, and it seems she had a sister what died, of a baby, Excuse me, miss, and she thinks that Mrs Darcy will die too, because of its being too soon-like.”

Anne dressed hurriedly, and went downstairs. There were only Mrs Annesley and Georgiana in the breakfast room, where the meal seemed much less carefully laid than was usual at Pemberley. However, since nobody was eating, this did not seem to be of much moment. Mrs Annesley, looking as composed as usual, told her that, since the month nurse was at a house ten miles away, and was known to have a very sick patient, she would probably not be able to come.

“But Georgiana's old nurse is here,” she said. “Since her retirement, she quite often goes to help with the village births, and she is a gentle, clean, sensible creature. Mrs Darcy knows Mrs Grainger well, and likes her so much!” and she smiled at Georgiana, who was looking very white and anxious, and tried in vain to smile back.

The nurse, she said, had already been with Mrs Darcy, and talked ominously of a possible cross-birth, saying that a doctor should be sent for. Mrs Darcy had been seen once by Dr Turley, who was the Lambton practitioner, but she had very much disliked him—had thought him pretentious and vain. Mrs Annesley did not know what to do. She had sent a servant to fetch the two gentlemen, who were walking in the gardens, for, she said, Darcy could neither sit, nor eat, nor speak, and his cousin, not liking to leave him alone, had gone with him.

“Would not Dr Lawson be a better choice?” Anne asked. “He has such good sense, and is so kind; there is no nonsense about him.”

At that moment her two cousins entered, and Mrs Annesley repeated the nurse's opinion, and Anne's suggestion to them.

“Lawson!” Darcy said. “He struck me as a sensible fellow. I wish he could be got here. But it is fifteen miles to Burley. It would take a carriage, or even a horse, several hours to cover the distance, and by that time…” and he sat down at the table, and buried his head in his hands.

“Excuse me,” said Anne, “but if I recall correctly, cousin, I remember it was mentioned that Mr… Mr Edmund Caldwell's house is but five miles from here, and Mrs Caldwell told me he lived less than half an hour's ride from Burley. I understand that it is not a carriage road, but could the two of you not ride there by that road, and bring Dr Lawson back on horseback? I remember he mentioned that he quite often rides, when he goes to see his patients, for the countryside is so rough.”

Darcy looked up. “You are right!” he said. “The track is hilly and steep, it has never been made up for carriage traffic, in bad weather it cannot be used, for so much water comes down—but it cuts off a huge swath of country. Yes, in this weather it will certainly be passable, and we might ride there in an hour, or a little more. Fitzwilliam, will you come with me?”

“Of course,” said his cousin. Servants were called, grooms were sent for, all was hurry, bustle, and purpose.

“Stay a moment,” Mrs Annesley said. “Hard riding uphill will tire your horses. I will tell the grooms to bring extra horses up, slowly, behind you, and they can meet you as you return. That way you will get back sooner.”

“Mrs Annesley, you should be a campaigner,” Fitzwilliam exclaimed. “Well thought of, indeed!”

“My husband was a military man,” Mrs Annesley said, smiling. “Do you go on your way; I will see to it.”

After that, things happened as they will, when gentlemen have made up their minds, and wish to be gone; and within a very short time they were on their way.

“Now,” said Mrs Annesley firmly. “I think we should all three sit down, and eat this quite dreadful breakfast. Come, my dears, you must eat something, it will not help Mrs Darcy to have you starve yourselves.”

They both tried, but made a poor showing. As they were still at the table, the sound of a horse approaching was heard. Instructions had been given that visitors were to be denied, but the butler entered, and asked if someone would speak briefly with Mr Rackham, who had brought a letter from his mother, which, he said, wanted an answer.

The letter was simple and very kind. Mrs Rackham had heard already, in the mysterious way that everything is known in the country, of Mrs Darcy's situation, and wrote to suggest that Miss Darcy, and if she wished, Miss de Bourgh as well, might like to spend the day with Mary. They would do everything in their power to alleviate the distress of a day as anxious as this one must be, and would send regularly, to ask for any news.

“Oh no!” said Georgiana, faintly. “I cannot leave.” But Mrs Annesley thought otherwise. “I shall be very much occupied, my dear Miss Darcy,” she said. “The very best thing you can do would be to go. Then I shall have the comfort of knowing that you are in good hands. I assure you, it would help me very much.”

Anne was amused to see with what tact Mrs Annesley dealt with Georgiana. As she had already observed, Georgiana was high-strung, and she could see that the prospect of calming her nervous fears, with no idea how long matters might go on, was not an agreeable one. Eventually, Georgiana agreed to go; she would ride in the pony carriage, with Mr Rackham escorting her. “Miss Rackham is one of those people who naturally protect and cherish others,” Mrs Annesley observed. “She will look after her friend very well. Now, Miss de Bourgh, I must go and speak to Mrs Reynolds. The household has rapidly fallen into the sort of disorder that all households do, when unexpected things happen. I think you refused to go to the Rackhams' because you have a purpose; am I right?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Anne. “I am going to the library. We have forgotten Mr Bennet. I think I should go to him.”

Sure enough, there, in his usual chair, sat Elizabeth's father. He was neither reading, nor writing, and seemed hunched over, as if he had somehow shrunk. Anne had the idea that, if nothing were done, he would sit there all day. Suddenly she wished very much that her mother were there. Lady Catherine would perhaps not understand his misery, or have any sympathy for it, but she would know what to do. She would scold, Anne thought. I cannot. But he is suffering dreadfully; I must do something.

“Mr Bennet!” she said, as firmly and loudly as she could. He looked up, startled.

“Come, sir,” she said. “Minette needs her walk, and we need you to come with us. You must, indeed you must,” and putting her hand on his arm, she tried to make him get up. The only thing that will get him up, she thought, is if someone needs him. “I cannot go without you, sir. I am alone, and I need you. I am frightened, too.”

Whether he were too startled, or too apathetic to resist, she did not know, but he got up; he went with her to the door; the footman was there, with Minette. “Thank you, Thomas,” said Anne. She took the dog's leash, guided them both outside, and they went along the terrace, past the formal gardens, until they reached the woodland path that followed the stream.

They seated themselves on a rustic bench, with a view of the beautiful stream and the surrounding countryside. Now that he had a companion, Mr Bennet seemed more at ease, and only wanted to talk, and to talk of Elizabeth. He told Anne of her childhood, of her early promise and childish achievements in talking, in reading, in memory, and what a delightful companion she had proved for him, even as a small girl. Their mother, never averse to expenditure on finery, had thought it not worth the cost of sending them to school. “And indeed, my dear, I think schools for girls do little more than screw the girls out of health and into vanity.” He talked of his other daughters, and it was clear to Anne that none of them had the hold on his heart that this child had. It was evident that Jane's outstanding beauty, her mother's pride, seemed insipid to him beside Elizabeth's wit and cleverness; and though Mary shared some of his love of books, he had not thought it worthwhile to cultivate her mind, for she was serious and a little slow. I might get on well with Mary, Anne thought.