Judith Brocklehurst - Darcy and Anne

Whether all of Mr Darcy's present good temper derived from his happiness in marriage, or whether some of it was due to the fact that he was not going to have to act as host to Lady Catherine in the near future, it would perhaps be as well not to enquire. At all events, he was in a fine flow of spirits, ready to do anything that would promote his cousin's comfort, and anxious to get her to Pemberley as soon as might be.

To Anne's great satisfaction, Darcy and Georgiana insisted, before they would quit Burley, on calling on Mr and Mrs Caldwell to thank them for their kindness to her, and to engage them to spend a few days at Pemberley. The promise was willingly given; they would come, as soon as their son should be able to be of the party.

By late afternoon, Anne was sitting in an open carriage, admiring the magnificent countryside, on the way to Pemberley. In an open carriage, she had no tendency to biliousness, and felt, indeed, as well as she had ever been. It was a clear, windy day, the shadows of the clouds chased each other across the hillsides, and the fields and trees were resplendent in their summer green. On every side of her was beauty; as she gazed around, she could not keep from smiling, and her eyes were bright with pleasure. No one would have recognised her as the forlorn little figure who had wept her heart out on the Caldwells' sofa a few days before.

Mrs Darcy had sent her love, they told her, and had wanted to come, but she was expecting shortly to be confined, and they had felt that the fifteen-mile journey was too much for her to undertake. “What my brother means is,” said Georgiana, “that she is so precious to him, he would not dream of letting her do it, though she wanted to. He put on his black look, and she had to stay. She has had to be content with getting the prettiest possible room ready for you. But we thought a lady should come, so I accompanied him. Mrs Annesley is with her, of course, and Colonel Fitzwilliam is there, too. He is always so kind.” How pretty she looks, Anne thought; the fresh air has turned her complexion pink.

“Is Colonel Fitzwilliam staying with you?” Anne asked. “We heard that his regiment was sent overseas, and that he was dreadfully injured in action.”

“Yes, he is here,” said Darcy. “A bullet grazed his face, and he is somewhat disfigured; and another lodged in his shoulder—he has some trouble using his right arm. But the doctors are pleased with his progress; he will be well again in time.”

“Oh, how terrible!”

“Do not say so to him,” Darcy said. “He makes nothing of it; he will only say that appearances do not matter to a soldier. All he wants to do is to rejoin his comrades.”

“He was mentioned in the dispatches,” Georgiana said. “His regiment is very proud of him. Look, Anne, there is Pemberley; there, you see, through the trees and across the water. This is one of my favourite views.”

“It should be,” said Darcy, smiling. “She has drawn and painted it twenty times at least.”

He began rallying his sister, teasing her that whenever she could not get the drawing right, she put in a tree branch; she was laughing. Anne looked at the sunlit reaches of the park, and the house in its splendid setting. She had lived in an imposing house all her life, and the size and magnificence of Pemberley did not impress her. But Rosings stood on level ground, with no views beyond its formal gardens. Here was an open prospect, the dappled light and shade, the fine trees, the stream, all leading the eye out to glorious views over hill and valley. She thought, “This is what my mother intended for me, that I should be mistress of this.” To be mistress of Pemberley would indeed be something!

But none of its wealth and grandeur, she could see, was of any value to the owner of Pemberley, compared with the beautiful young woman who stood waiting on the terrace, in all the bloom of expectant motherhood. He leaped out of the carriage toward her; she ran to him. There was that lighting glance that she had seen between them at Rosings; but now it was more: it was a look of perfect happiness, perfect delight! After a few words with her husband, Elizabeth Darcy came toward her, and greeted her with a kind smile and handclasp. It was no wonder, she thought, that her cousin was a different man; marriage with Elizabeth would make any man happy. Suddenly the thought darted through her: more than anything in the world, I would like to make someone as happy as that.

“Well, Mrs Darcy,” said her husband, as soon as they were alone together, “what do you think now?”

“I shall never forget the sense of relief, as the carriage came into view. I saw only two ladies in it; one was Georgiana and the other was clearly not Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said. “We have been spared! But I was never so surprised in my life as when I saw your cousin Anne! she is just as thin and small as ever, but she holds herself better; she looks so much livelier, and she smiles and talks much more readily.”

“I never realised before how much she resembles her father,” said Darcy. “I am sorry you did not know him; I was very fond of him. Dr Lawson asked to speak to me, before she arrived at the hotel this morning. He believes that this poor health of hers is due to nothing more than bad medicine and lack of food. He told me she has been taking a mixture of substances that would damage the constitution of the healthiest person; they have depressed her appetite and harmed her nerves, and she has been eating far too little. I never did like that doctor my aunt employs; I believe his only concern was to flatter her, and feather his own nest by prescribing more and more rubbish, for which, of course, she pays him. And since he declared that Anne was ill, ill she had to be.”

“The poor girl! It is monstrous!” exclaimed Elizabeth indignantly.

“No,” said Darcy, musingly, “my aunt is not a monster. She means no harm. She is a capable and clever woman. Rosings is as well managed as Pemberley, and her tenants speak of her with respect, though not with affection. She would never, for example, tell a lie, or swindle one of her tenants. She has two serious faults: one is that she has far too much regard for rank. The other is that, whatever is going forward, whatever is needed to be done, she must be the one to do it; the one to plan, to arrange, to carry out. She cannot allow anyone else to control anything. Her man of business must always consult with her first, and do exactly as she sees fit; she leaves nothing to his judgment. Did you know that the Rosings property is not entailed? Sir Lewis made a will soon after they were married, leaving everything to her, house, land, and money; for he said that he knew she would look after it well, and that where there is an entail, the eldest son always becomes expensive, and selfish.”

“Yes, because he cannot be disinherited. It is a great pity that they had only one child, and that a daughter. She would have managed any number of noisy, self-willed sons.”

“She reminds me sometimes,” Darcy said, “of Queen Elizabeth. I am sure that, if she were in charge of the parliament, the country would be well governed.”

“I seem to recall,” said Elizabeth, “that Queen Elizabeth took almost twenty years to think whether she would cut off the head of the poor Queen of Scots. If Lady Catherine had to decide, I do not think that she would take twenty minutes. But now, what about Anne? It seems to me that now she is here, and without her mother, we have a heaven-sent chance to do some good. I should like to, for I feel she has had but a poor life of it, at Rosings.”

“I believe that my aunt is, in a sense, right; we owe Anne something—or at least, I do. Because of me, she has been allowed to spend years in the vain expectation that we would marry.”

“Could you not have made it clear that you did not intend to marry her?”

“You may well ask, but though clearly it was, for Lady Catherine, a thing understood, it was never referred to, or not plainly. I was frequently asked to Rosings, but there was always a reason: Fitzwilliam was coming to stay, or the pheasants needed shooting, or my advice was wanted about some matter on the estate. There was never a moment when I might stand up and say, 'Madam, I am not going to marry your daughter.' It is not an easy thing to do.”

“I think,” Elizabeth said, “that we must do precisely what your aunt has asked us to do; we must find a husband for her.”

“It will not be as easy as my aunt thinks; her portion is very large, but she is five-and-twenty, and although her looks have improved, I would not call her handsome. I would not wish her to marry a man who only wanted her for the sake of her money.”

“Do you think,” said Elizabeth, hesitantly, “that she and your cousin Fitzwilliam might like to marry?”

“Fitzwilliam? He has known her for years, and I have never seen anything of affection—anything beyond cousinly regard.”

“Well,” said his wife, “I think they would be very well suited. They are close in age, equal in rank, and they know each other. Her money would be in good hands, and it would be very useful to him.”

“But he is a soldier, and he loves the life. If she married him, she must go where he goes, and follow the drum. Would her health be adequate for such an existence?”

“Well, there is another matter that I think I should mention to you. My dear, has it occurred to you that Georgiana is becoming very fond of him?”

Darcy looked astounded. “I think it is only a schoolgirl's admiration,” Elizabeth said, “but it might become more.”

“Fitzwilliam is as good a man as ever lived—but he is too old for her.”