Judith Brocklehurst - Darcy and Anne

“It is indeed Lord Francis,” Darcy said, “but he has married…”

“Well?”

“He has married your mother.”

There it was, in all the awful certainty of print, and all the clarity of black and white: On the —th, at Stilbury Castle, in a private ceremony, the Lady Catherine, relict of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, to Lord Francis Meaburn, second son of the Duke of H——.

Lady Catherine had married Lord Francis Meaburn.

The news struck them speechless. The awesome Lady Catherine was a widow no more! come to that, she was “Lady Catherine” no more; and indeed, for the first few startled moments, Anne wondered if she were still her mother.

This was the reason for her disappearance! this the reason for her silence! once they could speak, everyone had a question, everyone had a conjecture. Elizabeth wondered whose idea the match had been; it must, she thought, be the Duchess who had thought of it. Darcy wanted to know what kind of bargain Lord Francis had driven: “My aunt talked of money being tied up,” he said, “but it is not so easy to tie up the income of a married woman, who is unlikely to have any children.” Georgiana wondered how two such old people could get married.

“How old are they?” Elizabeth asked.

“I do not think that there is so great a disparity,” Darcy said. “I found out the other day, when we thought he might marry Anne—I looked him up in the Peerage—that Lord Francis is three-and-forty, and I believe my aunt is not yet fifty.”

“She is eight-and-forty,” Anne said. “She is closer in age to him than I am, though of course she is older, not younger.”

What could have driven them to such a match? “I think the reason is obvious,” Darcy said. “On his side, money; he needs money very badly. On her side, rank; she has become the sister of a Duchess and, since Meaburn's father is still alive, the daughter of a Duke. She will stay at Stilbury—indeed, clearly, she is already there. She will visit at Deepcombe, the Meaburn estate.”

“But how will she like it, associating with such great people?” Elizabeth asked. “She will not be able to scold and manage them, as she does her tenants at Rosings.”

“Could she get a post at the court?” Georgiana asked.

“I imagine so,” said her brother, “if she wished it, and would be happy to stand, wearing all her diamonds, in silence, for three hours together.”

“Might she be a Duchess, one day?”

“No,” said Darcy. “There are two older brothers, each with several children. A half-dozen people would have to die before she became a Duchess.”

Elizabeth caught her breath on the observation that things often turned out the way Lady Catherine wanted them to, and only thought to herself that she would not wager a great deal of money on the lives of the little Meaburns.

At that moment, the butler entered. “Excuse me, madam, sir, the post has arrived, and there is a packet of letters for Mr Darcy, which must be paid for, and will be quite costly, but I do not know the sender. Should it be returned, or do you know a person named Lady Francis Meaburn?”

“No, I do not…” Darcy began. “Yes, of course I do. Yes, Forrest, yes! Pay; and bring it here as fast as you can. It is my aunt! That is her married name!”

The packet was brought, and was almost torn open in the hurry of everyone to satisfy their curiosity. Clearly, it should have been delivered earlier, but the newspaper had arrived first. It might be some vagary of the post office. “But I wonder if they waited, in the hope of getting a frank,” Darcy said. “I think that the Duke of Stilbury is seldom at home. They may have waited a day or so, and then sent it.”

There were two letters, one for Darcy, and one for Anne, and two legal-looking documents, which turned out to be a copy of Lady Catherine's marriage lines, and a copy of Sir Lewis de Bourgh's Will. “That was what they were waiting for,” said Darcy. “Colby must have had to hurry from Rosings to Stilbury with it.”

The sum of the letters was that, “according to established usage,” Lady Catherine's entire assets had been made over to her new husband, as it would all be needed to keep the newly married couple in their station in life. This meant that no provision would in future be made for Anne, “in view of her recalcitrance in the matter of a suitable marriage,” beyond the income she was already receiving from the estate of Sir Lewis de Bourgh. Further, she should not expect the property known as Rosings Park, in Kent, to be bequeathed to her, for, as the Will clearly showed, it was the unentailed property of her mother.

“Established usage, indeed?” said Darcy, “to deprive a daughter of her entire dowry? Lord Francis has driven a hard bargain.”

“More probably his sister,” Elizabeth said.

“However,” her mother's letter informed Anne:

In order to create a proper provision for you, the Duchess has a cousin, the Reverend and Honourable Septimus Whiley, who is willing to marry you. Upon your acceptance, a provision of ten thousand pounds will be made for you. He is currently the incumbent of Munge Parva, near Stilbury Castle, with a stipend of six hundred pounds a year. He should be a highly suitable husband for you, as his tastes are literary and his habits scholarly. He has been for the past ten years engaged on a learned commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians, and will be glad to have an amanuensis to copy out his manuscript in a fair hand, and prepare an Index.

In addition, on the demise of Mr Bennet, Mr and Mrs Collins will vacate the living of Hunsford, by previous arrangement with me, and remove to Longbourn. At that time I shall present the living to Mr Whiley, and you will remove to Hunsford Parsonage, and live near, though not at, Rosings.

“Oh, he sounds dreadful!” Georgiana cried. “Anne, you must not marry him! Brother, tell her she must not!”

But Darcy appeared to be in a brown study. “What?” he said, after a moment. “No, of course she must not, that is, no, nothing must be done.”

“I will not!” Anne exclaimed. “No one shall tell me whom to marry, ever again. I shall live by myself, and write books. Cousin, will you rent the little White Cottage to me, and let me live there?”

“Certainly not,” said her cousin. “My dear"—turning to his wife—"I must go out. I forgot, I have not put on riding clothes; I must change, for I have business.”

“But it rains.”

“Only a little, and it will clear up.”

“Will you not go in the carriage?”

“No, it would not do. I must speak to you before I leave, come with me but one moment,” and grasping his wife's hand, he almost dragged her out of the room.

Anne and Georgiana were left to look at one another in stupefaction. “But, Anne,” Georgiana almost whispered, “she is your mother.” This was the thought that had been in Anne's mind since she had heard the news, this was the realization that gave her pain: that a mother should forget, should ignore her feelings for a daughter so far as to marry, to take on new responsibilities, new duties, and even to have the name of de Bourgh subsumed into a new one, without any discussion, any warning, even!

But as she thought of it, it seemed very much in her mother's character: that decided, impulsive nature; that high opinion of her prestige and powers that believed she could not be wrong; that indisposition, ever to consult, or to ask for advice; that love—to put it vulgarly—of having her own way. Anne could well believe that, once the idea was suggested to her, and she had seen its advantages to herself, nothing would prevent her, nothing would stand in her way; and she would be convinced that her daughter, and her family, would view the matter exactly as she did. Anne had had her chance; she had refused it. No consideration of such a thing as waiting for a handsome wedding, or fear of what others would think, would come between her and her ambition. Indeed, she would probably feel that “if it were done, it were well done quickly,” for clearly she could place no reliance on Lord Francis's affection, should someone else come along, with a better house, and a few more thousand pounds.

Elizabeth came back into the room, looking flustered. “We are to look after you,” she said. “Georgiana and I are to keep you from feeling sad. Come, let us remove to my own room, so that Forrest can clear the breakfast things away, and we can take another look at these papers; perhaps there is some way that you can go to law, and get your fortune back. We will go out as soon as the rain stops; I feel I need a walk, to clear my head. Come, my dear, be assured we will always look after you; whatever happens, Pemberley will be your home.”

“I must go out,” Anne said. “Forgive me, I must walk now, I must think, I will walk Minette.”

“But your piano lesson,” Georgiana said. “Mr Lempriere will be here in half an hour, we cannot put the poor man off.”

“I will come back; no, do not put him off, but I need this half hour. I pray you, forgive me… no, do not come with me, you are very good, but I must go alone,” and waiting only for a warm pelisse, for the weather was chilly, Anne hastened from the house, and made, as always when her mind needed repose, for the stream.

She went there in sorrow, in distress. Yet as Anne reflected, walking there, following the sweet curves of the landscape, something like a curtain seemed to fall away, and she saw a new prospect. She was free! She was rich no longer; Rosings was not to be hers. Walls and pediments fell away, expensive chimneypieces crashed in ruin, formal gardens dissolved, as though she saw them collapsing before her eyes. As for rank, what was it? Rank was nothing without money! I will not do for poor Sir Matthew, now, she thought. She had disinherited herself; for she could not for a moment doubt that her letter had helped to influence her mother to such an unexpected decision. She had set herself free!