Judith Brocklehurst - Darcy and Anne

As she spoke, Lady Catherine rose from her seat, and stood over Anne. Anne tried to rise, but as she did so, Minette, sensing Anne's distress, began barking and growling, clearly terrified, backing and showing her teeth. Anne stood up, turned away, caught her skirts in the little dog's leash, tried to right herself, fell, and knew no more.

Lady Catherine felt no inclination to blame herself on seeing her daughter unconscious on the floor; after all, the accident was caused by that ridiculous little dog: it was not her fault. She did as much as she felt any mother ought to do by ringing the bell, and sending the butler for help; and she would undoubtedly have dashed a glass of water onto Anne's face, if such a thing had been available. In spite of these attentions, it was known to every servant in Pemberley—house, gardens, and stables—in the space of a quarter of an hour, that Miss de Bourgh was dead, and that her mother had murdered her. It was even the subject of speculation whether she would be hanged, or whether, as some opined, being such a great lady, they could never stick it to her in a trial.

Anne recovered consciousness almost at once, and found that her mother was nowhere in sight, but that her maid, Georgiana's maid, Georgiana, the housekeeper, and Mrs Annesley were all hovering over her, and trying to attend to her. She declared that she was well, very well, so foolish of her! Nothing had happened, she had tripped; there was nothing the matter, only a slight bump on her head. However, when she tried to walk, she felt so faint and dizzy that she was obliged to sit down at once, and Mrs Annesley had no hesitation in directing that she was to be taken upstairs, and put to bed. “But Minette; let me take Minette with me.”

“No, my dear,” said Mrs Annesley. “Minette must stay; see, Miss Darcy will look after her, will you not, Miss Darcy?”

“Of course,” said Georgiana.

“No, no,” said poor Anne. “Someone may hurt her; it was not her fault,” and nothing would persuade her that the dog was safe with them. She became so agitated that, in the end, Mrs Annesley, who was pretty sure that Anne had a concussion, and that she should be kept quiet, herself carried Minette up to her bedchamber.

Meanwhile it fell to her cousin Darcy's lot to deal with Lady Catherine. As they paced the terrace and entered the formal gardens, his aunt made the full situation pretty clear. While not knowing precisely what had happened, he understood that Anne had received an offer of marriage, that there had been some kind of altercation, which did not surprise him in the least, and that in spite of her wish to be ingratiating, his aunt's temper had got the better of her. She was angry, but even more she was surprised.

“Such a marriage as she could never have dreamed of! For even now, and I must say her looks have much improved, she is not remarkably au fait de beaute, but the Duchess is very much impressed with her, and so is he; and you know, nephew, he could look for a wife in the highest circles in the land. I am very much shocked, I am very much disappointed. Think what it could mean to the whole family, to your son, when he is grown, to have relatives in such a lofty position!”

“That is possibly true, but I do not think it would much gratify Lewis or myself to have his elevation due to his cousin's marriage, rather than to his own character and efforts.”

“Nonsense! Everybody utilizes their family connections to their advantage, it is the way things are done—families rise or fall together. The gravel on these paths is very coarse; we use a finer one, at Rosings.”

“This gravel dries better, when it has been raining.”

“When it rains, we stay indoors. And I wish to know, for one thing, who has been encouraging Anne in these revolutionary opinions she seems to have adopted. For I am sure that she has not learned them from you?”

“Certainly not.”

“She reads too much; that is what has done the damage. By the way, that topiary, how often do you have it cut back?”

“About every six weeks.”

“If you get them to do it once a month, you will get a better result. No, I am very disappointed. If you had some other suitor to propose…”

Darcy mentioned Sir Matthew, Mr Granby, and Mr Kirkman, but in vain; his aunt was clearly familiar with the old saying about the “bird in the hand.”

“Yes, but that is not the same as an offer, a direct offer of marriage. Their attentions may mean nothing—and as for taking this Mr Kirkman, an elderly widower, with no title, instead of Lord Francis Meaburn! Certainly not!”

“Dare I mention, aunt, that Lord Francis is a widower, and by no means young?”

“Nonsense, he is hardly more than forty. Your father brought that marble figure from Italy; we have a far finer one at Rosings. You would do well to cut back those laurels; you would get a better view of it from the wilderness.”

“I think there is one thing I must make clear to you, ma'am: my cousin is five-and-twenty years old, and she knows her own mind. She dislikes Lord Francis, as she has made abundantly clear; and for my part, given the differences between them, I cannot believe that it would be a happy marriage.”

“Pooh! Nonsense; he is as good-natured a man as ever lived. There is no reason why he would not make a perfectly amiable husband. If she is so foolish as to wish to write books, he is not likely to raise any objection.”

“No, as long as he has money to spend on his gambling and profligacies. I am surprised, ma'am, that you would wish to see the resources you have husbanded so well, at risk of being wasted.”

“Oh! He has given up his gambling; all that is at an end. Of course Anne's money would be tied up, in some way. The lawyers would see to it. In any case, she cannot stay here for the rest of her life. Well! She must come back to Rosings with me. We will have the Duchess and her brother down to visit, for she has several times said that she would like to see the place, and we will see if Anne cannot be persuaded. But she is not to bring that detestable little dog with her; I cannot abide it. It is savage, and should be shot.”

“I beg you, madam, do not attempt to persuade her into an unhappy marriage.”

“You married to please yourself, and it has turned out well; now you think that every marriage, made for family reasons rather than love, must be unhappy. It is not so. And Anne is not the girl to choose well, left to herself. Stay—she has not done so? Is that the reason for all this high-flown sentiment? Has she said anything to lead you to think that she has some person in mind?”

“No, madam.”

“Then answer me: who gave her the dog?”

“I could not lie to her,” Darcy told his wife, later. “I made it clear that Caldwell had abandoned all pretension to her hand, and is leaving the country besides, and that she has said nothing as to any attachment; but I could not lie.”

And Lady Catherine marched back to the house to speak to her daughter. When she went to climb the stairs, however, she found herself confronted by Dr Lawson. He had ridden over to take a look at Mrs Darcy, and found that she was very well. But Anne was a different matter. He remembered Lady Catherine, and waited for no greeting.

“If you are thinking of seeing your daughter, madam,” he said, “it is impossible; you must wait.”

“Must? Must? Nonsense, man! It cannot hurt her to see her mother. Stand aside.”

Dr Lawson was a large man, and his bulk effectively blocked the stairway. He did not budge.

“Do you want to kill her, madam?”

“Out of my way, sir!”

Dr Lawson repeated, “Do you want to kill her, madam? She has had a severe concussion; she is sleeping; she must not be disturbed.”

“Oh, very well. But I cannot be hanging about here all day, I wish to be on my way. I will write to her. Darcy, I must ask you for the use of your writing desk.”

“Very well, ma'am. But my cousin is not well. I beg you not to write what will distress her.”

“I think, nephew, a mother is the best judge of what she may write to her daughter.” And Lady Catherine sat down to write.

When Anne read the letter, it threw her into a fever. Her worst terror was the threat to Minette. She could even bear to go back to Rosings, she thought, but she would rather die than go there and risk her dog's life. No, she did not trust anyone. Her mother might promise to spare Minette, but then if she so much as growled at some servant or keeper, there would be the excuse to get rid of her. If Minette died, she would die, too. Or, if worst came to worst, rather than die, she would marry Lord Francis, at least he had said that he liked the dog—but would she be able to keep Minette alive until the wedding day? Perhaps she could leave Minette at Pemberley for a while—but the idea threw her into a passion of tears. Dr Lawson became anxious.

Anne was ill with misery all that day and the next. Then something strange happened. At some time, in the middle of a sleepless night, she began, instead of suffering, to think. It was not good enough to cry; crying would not save her or Minette; she must do something. It was never of any use to appeal to her mother's sympathy—she never felt sorry for anyone. Nor was maternal affection a powerful impulse with her. She got her way by being forceful, by being determined, by always being sure that she was right. Well! she was her mother's daughter; she would use her mother's weapons; supposing her to be in this situation, what would Lady Catherine do?