Judith Brocklehurst - Darcy and Anne

Mr Caldwells, smiling affectionately, handed over to Anne her father's letter. She thanked him again and again, and put it away, as a treasure to be kept for life. “I would not deny myself the pleasure of waiting on you, my dear,” he said, “but I do not propose to stay; the weather is not suitable for a walk, all the field ways will be swamped, and the ladies have had the idea of taking you into the warm bath.”

Anne felt doubtful.

“There are only ladies there during the morning hours. It is very harmless, and very pleasant,” said Mrs Endicott.

“And health-giving,” added Mrs Caldwells. “I am sure good Dr Lawson will approve, for he always recommends it. Come, Miss de Bourgh, you will enjoy it, I am sure; and if you do not like it, we will undertake to bring you straight back, at any moment you choose.”

The bathhouse was large, cavernous, and rather ill-lit. It seemed very strange, to be in such a place, and then to be so strangely dressed, but the smiles of the other ladies reassured her—and indeed, they did all cut such comic figures! It was impossible not to be amused, and they all started laughing together. She entered the water timorously, Mrs Caldwells holding her hand, but was at once conscious of the extraordinary warmth, and the feeling both of comfort to her limbs and reassurance to her mind. She began gently moving about, enjoying the sensation of the water flowing about her. “How wonderful it is!” she whispered.

“And how strange to think,” said Mrs Caldwells, “that this flow of warmth, of comfortable, gentle warmth, comes from those terrible fires deep within the earth!”

Her enjoyment was such that she kept asking for a little more time, and they actually had to insist on her coming out at last. She thought it was a long time since she had felt so well.

The sense of well-being stayed with her throughout the day.

Lady Catherine awoke toward the end of the afternoon. Her attendants were pleased with her progress; sitting up in bed in her lace wrapper, she was fully able to converse. She was, as Mrs Williams had predicted, well enough to be cross; and she availed herself of the fact to be very cross indeed. Anne had to relate the history of the previous evening and of the morning—or as much of it as she thought her mother needed to hear. She said nothing of her tears, or the letter, only that the Caldwellss had taken her home to borrow a book, and taken her into the bath.

Lady Catherine was not pleased. “Caldwells? Caldwells? Who are these people? I have no recollection of ever meeting anybody of that name. Sir Lewis was in the habit of making odd friends; but that does not mean that his wife and daughter are obliged to know them. We may have been acquainted, very slightly, but twenty years ago—you are talking about twenty years ago. I certainly have no recollection of any letter of condolence from them, when Sir Lewis died. These people are probably trying to use your situation to claim a connection. Here you are alone in the place and unprotected, and they want to profit from it. As for Mrs Endicott, I recollect her perfectly, and am quite sure that that was what she was doing: she is certainly one of those people who will do anything to get acquainted with a person of rank. You are to have nothing more to do with them, Anne.”

Anything more unjust, Anne could not imagine!

What was she to do? Never, in her life, had she disobeyed her mother; always, her mother had decided what was right and what should be done.

Suddenly, she recalled Mr Edmund Caldwells's remark: “Nobody should tyrannise over another person.” What would he think, if he saw her putting up with injustice to his parents, only because she was afraid?

Taking a deep breath, and in rather a tremulous voice, she said, “As far as you are concerned, ma'am, you are free to reject the acquaintance; but I am not. These people have been kind to me, and I do not believe they did it from any idea of advantage or flattery— they are not in the least like poor Mr Collins. But I have accepted their friendship, I have indebted myself to them, and it would be wrong—it would be unjust—to turn my back on them now.”

She waited for the sky to fall in.

But to her surprise, her mother only said, “Well, well; but I will have nothing to do with it. I will not receive them.”

“Very well, ma'am.”

As for Anne's letter to Pemberley, it was quite unnecessary, she said; she would have written in due course. There was no need of money; she had banknotes and a letter of credit in her jewel-case.

One thing, and one thing only, had pleased Lady Catherine: the Master of Ceremonies had called, and though of course she had not been able to receive him, he had left compliments, and the promise of any assistance she might require—any assistance! Anything!—and the library subscription list, together with the list of those who had attended Saturday's assembly.

She was reading both with interest: “Lady Southwell, the Honourable Henry and Mrs Willington, Doctor and Mrs Rigsby, Captain Stephens, the Reverend Marcus Appleby… That is very well for so small a place, and the season hardly begun; and they tell me the Duchess of Stilbury is expected almost any day, with her brother, Lord Francis Meaburn. You might do very well here, Anne, if you will but pay attention to a more proper kind of people.”

The next few days continued in the same pattern; her friends took her to the baths each morning, and in the afternoon they walked. The country around was magnificent, and Anne found she gained strength every day. Still there was no response from the Darcys, and Lady Catherine decided that Anne's letter had gone astray, otherwise they never would have neglected her. Clearly, it was Anne's fault; Anne had written the direction too ill. But it did not matter, she did not need them.

On Thursday, Anne returned to the hotel toward the end of the morning. She entered her sitting room, and found two people there. One was her cousin Darcy; the other, a young lady, tall and handsome. It must be Mrs Darcy—but surely the lady she remembered did not look like this? Surely Miss Elizabeth Bennet was smaller, livelier-looking, and had not such dark hair?

The lady crossed the room, took both Anne's hands in hers, and cried, “You are my cousin, Anne. Oh, poor Anne, what an unpleasant time you have had! We are so sorry!”

It was her cousin, Georgiana Darcy.

Darcy's greeting to his cousin was as affectionate as Georgiana's. He expressed over and over their concern, their desire to support and comfort her, and their regret that she had been left for so many days, unassisted by them. His manner to her was that of a kind and affectionate brother, rather than the distant, haughty cousin she had always known. Marriage, she thought, had wrought a great improvement in him.

Anne's letter had, by exceptional activity on the part of the post office—that is, a nephew of the postmistress having a sweetheart in service at Pemberley—actually been delivered to the house on the Saturday evening. But it was addressed to “Mr Darcy,” and he was away from home on business. His steward, recognising the name “de Bourgh,” had paid the postage, but pretty well knew that his master would be in no especial hurry to get a letter from that particular sender. The significance of the initial “A” instead of “C de Bourgh” had escaped his notice. The letter lay on Darcy's desk until he returned, late on Wednesday.

“And nobody looked at it,” Georgina said. “His man of business saw it, but seeing it was a private letter, he did not open it. Oh, Anne, to think of your letter lying there, and you alone here, and wretched!” It was clear that Georgiana's tender heart was wrung. Anne felt, in her own mind, that it was a quite providential occurrence, for she had not been wretched, at least beyond the distress of the first day or so. She had enjoyed herself, and more to the point, she had thought and acted for herself for the first time in her life. Her time in Burley had done her a great deal of good. But they had got her in their minds as an ill-used heroine. It might be ill-natured, and would certainly be difficult, to disabuse them. In any case, it was causing them to treat her with very affectionate solicitude, which it would surely be ungracious to refuse.

“The letter was discovered so late in the day,” Darcy said, “that we could not set out, and we decided to leave very early this morning.”

He and his sister had come to Burley with the intention of staying, if necessary; of hiring a house, if it were thought advisable; of bringing them both to Pemberley, if it could be done; in short, of doing anything and everything that might be of use or comfort.

But Lady Catherine refused to be moved. The doctor had assured Mr Darcy that her arm was well strapped up, and that she would feel little discomfort from the jolting of a well-sprung carriage. She thought otherwise; she was sure that it would hurt her a great deal. The truth was, Lady Catherine was not at all anxious to get to Pemberley, where the former Miss Elizabeth Bennet was mistress. She was extremely comfortable in the hotel, where her presence was highly valued. She was being very well looked after, and her slightest wish was obsequiously carried out. And the Duchess was arriving in a day or so: “I should like to meet her. I would be pleased to make her acquaintance, for the family is a connection of ours. And, Darcy, my carriage will be arriving at Pemberley sometime; see to it, will you?”

Anne might go with them, she said; it would be well to remove Anne from Burley, where she had been associating with the scaff and raff of the place. Mr Darcy had tried in vain to make her understand that the Caldwells were old acquaintances, and that Edmund Caldwell was a friend of his childhood. “I even explained to her that Mrs Caldwell is a second cousin, by marriage, of Lady Louisa Benton,” he said. “But she would have none of it; she said she had heard that their son was a stonemason, or a quarryman, or some such thing. Nothing will convince her that he is one of the most respected men in the country, and a very good fellow. Never mind, cousin, we will get them to Pemberley, and you shall meet them again. His home is little more than five miles from us. He and I will have some good talks, too. Nobody is so good a talker as Edmund Caldwell!”