Old Friends and New Fancies (8 page)

THE DARCYS TRAVELLED SLOWLY, and they had not been at home for long before a letter from their cousin, who had gone direct to London from Bath, was received by Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam briefly related what had occurred after their departure, his application to Ferrars and Yates, with its more or less successful result, and his totally unsuccessful visit to Mrs. Grant. He omitted, of course, all reference to the second part of Yates's conversation with Lady Catherine, and stated his few facts with the smallest amount of comment, adding that he was grateful to his cousins for their kindness in the affair, but in the circumstances he thought it would be better not to return to Pemberley for the present, but to try to occupy his mind with some work. He had therefore accepted an offer made to him by one of his brother officers, to collaborate in writing a history of his regiment; and he proposed to remain in London, where he would have access to manuscripts and authorities. Darcy need have no fear that he would not correspond as regularly as usual, and he would call in at the Hursts' while they remained in town, so that he would be in continual touch with, as he said in conclusion, "the best friends a man ever had." Elizabeth sighed over this letter, but consoled herself presently with the thought that Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford might possibly be in town during the summer. Darcy, on the other hand, was well satisfied with it, deeming that his cousin had acted with perfect uprightness, and he begged Elizabeth to give up the idea of trying to bring them all together at some future time. "Fitzwilliam, my dear, is of an age when he can be trusted to manage his own affairs, as this proves to us," he said to her.

"I do not think it proves much, except that Aunt Catherine is the cruel domineering old woman we always knew her to be," replied Elizabeth. "Poor Robert! to think of his being so abominably treated! Of course a true, honest man, as he is, was powerless among these insufferable people, who have not a word of truth amongst them."

Elizabeth indeed felt acutely disappointed at such a disastrous and unforeseen ending to her hopes. She blamed herself bitterly for her share in the disaster, and again regretted having persuaded Miss Crawford to come to the reception. She had written to Mary, according to promise, at the first opportunity, but not for more than a week after their return home was an answer received, and then it was a disappointment, like all the rest; merely a note, brief and tremulous, acknowledging Mrs. Darcy's kindness and apologies, begging that no more might be said as to the offence, and breaking off with assurance of the writer's good-will, but of her inability to express herself at greater length. The only sign of the real Mary appeared in the postscript, "I will write again by and by, dear Mrs. Darcy, if you will not mind very stupid letters." The lines of the note clearly showed the writer's shaken health, although her pride forbade her to make it her excuse. Elizabeth was grieved, and felt herself, for the time being, repulsed; she resolved to send, after a time, a cheerful letter on different subjects which might re-establish their friendship on new ground, so that the painful memories which Miss Crawford at present associated with the Darcy family might by degrees be eradicated.

These anxieties occupying her thoughts, and her time being taken up with her children and with Georgiana, who had returned to Pemberley in greatly improved health and spirits, she still did not fail to remark the absence of any news of Lady Catherine, for she had fully expected a speedy communication announcing the lady's triumph over Miss Crawford and ignoring all that had followed it. When her husband, therefore, in opening a letter one morning, observed that it was from his aunt, she was prepared for something considerably more disagreeable than its contents proved to be.

The letter began by announcing Lady Catherine's recent return home with her daughter, and the extreme pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Collins, and of all their neighbours, in seeing them again. The worthy Rector and his wife had come up to Rosings to pay their respects on the very first evening. Mrs. Jenkinson had not yet come back from her vacation; she had in fact written to ask leave to stay for another week, which was excessively inconvenient, as dear Anne depended upon her so much. Anne's sensibility was indeed very great! She might not have inherited her mother's strength of character, but she had such warm affections! They sometimes led her to form attachments to people who proved unworthy of such devotion. There had just been an unfortunate instance of that during their stay at Bath.

Darcy, who had been reading the letter out loud to his wife and sister, hesitated at this point, but Elizabeth urged him to go on, saying that Georgiana knew all about the Ferrars, and was as anxious as herself to learn whether their reign was over.

"You and Elizabeth have probably heard something of the regrettable termination to my reception on your last evening in Bath. The young lady whom Elizabeth was so obstinately anxious for me to patronize must have acted at some former time with extreme imprudence, to say the least of it, though I really do not feel it to be my duty to investigate the rights and wrongs of the matter; still, the information I received was so positive, that I was bound to act upon it, and to point out to her that I regretted having brought her into my immediate circle of friends. I think I may say that she, or, at any rate, her sister, admitted the justice of my remarks. There I hoped the matter would have ended, but immediately afterwards I learned that the very persons from whom I had received this friendly warning about Miss Crawford had been themselves acting towards me in a scandalously hypocritical and underhand manner. You will guess that I refer to the Robert Ferrars and Miss Steele. I cannot enter into particulars of their conduct; suffice it to say that for all the latter part of their stay in Bath it has been a continual course of deception, of nefarious and vulgar schemes for their own aggrandizement. They have traded upon my kindness, and upon the warm regard which my poor innocent-hearted Anne displayed towards Miss Steele, to foster the most impudent designs. Never have I been so mistaken in people whom I regarded as deserving of my interest, never have I met with such vile ingratitude. You may imagine that I lost no time in sending for the whole family and informing them that our acquaintance was at an end, for the reasons I have given, and naturally I declined to listen to any defence; Miss Steele was utterly confounded, but Mrs. Ferrars, seeing that her whole plot was exposed, showed herself in her true colours; she lost control of herself, and used expressions more insolent than anyone has ever dared to do in my presence. Indeed, she was so determined to be heard, that it was only by leaving the room myself and sending my footman to show them out that I was able to rid myself of their presence. The man is a mere weak fool; I could see that by the way he ineffectually tried to control his wife, but even he seemed to have no sense of the impropriety of her conduct and her sister's.

"It is easily conjectured that after such a shock as this all enjoyment in Bath for me was entirely at an end. We should have left immediately, but that Anne was too unwell, on hearing what had happened, to travel for another week. My indignation at the whole affair is still beyond words."

Darcy paused, and Elizabeth asked: "Is that all the letter, Fitzwilliam?"
"Yes," he replied, "that is, she signs her name there, but there is a postscript which is evidently intended for your perusal."
Elizabeth took the letter which he handed to her, and read: "Were it not that out of pure perversity Elizabeth always chooses to act exactly the opposite to my advice, I should suggest that you proceed very cautiously in any further dealings you may have with the young lady I mentioned above." Elizabeth flushed deeply and laid down the letter, but immediately took it up again and re-read Lady Catherine's version of the Ferrars's defeat.
Meanwhile Georgiana was eagerly asking: "What does Aunt Catherine mean, Darcy? She writes strangely, does she not? How can those people have nefarious schemes or designs against her? She does not say how she knew they had."
"I hardly understand it all," said Darcy, "but you know your aunt has often been disappointed in people before, when they have desired more of her favour than she was prepared to give."
"Yes, she takes great fancies, and then forgets about people," returned Georgiana, "but she really seems to be dreadfully angry this time. Elizabeth says that you and she did not like those people, the Ferrars."
"No, we did not, for we considered them undesirable," replied Darcy, "and whatever reason your aunt has for quarreling with them, undoubtedly it is well she should have done so."
Georgiana perceived that she was not to hear more about the Ferrars, and dropped the subject, which, in fact, was what Darcy wished for. It was a distasteful one to him, for they had aroused his dislike more than most of his aunt's proteges, and he was glad to hear they had fallen from favour, without being interested in the reason for it. Elizabeth was quite aware of this, and accordingly refrained from any further discussion of her aunt's letter with her husband. She could not forbear a little private smile over the exposure of the "impudent designs," the nature of which she had quickly surmised; in the circumstances she thought they had hardly merited such severe strictures as those passed on them by Lady Catherine, and but for Mrs. Ferrars's unpardonable conduct towards Miss Crawford, Elizabeth might have spared her some pity for the manner of her dismissal from Pulteney Street.
Georgiana took an early opportunity of asking Elizabeth about the references to Miss Crawford. "That is your friend of whom you told me, is it not, Elizabeth? I wonder what really happened, and why Aunt Catherine speaks of her so harshly. It seems very unkind."
"It was very unkind, Georgiana. Of course Aunt Catherine was entirely misinformed; she listened to some malicious gossip, and was terribly rude to Miss Crawford at the end of the evening after we left. I heard about it from Robert, who stayed later than we did. And the worst of it is, that in consequence Miss Crawford feels deeply wounded, I fear, as regards the whole family."
"Oh, I am so sorry. What a pity it is. Cannot anything be done? Surely you will be able to put it all right again some time, will you not?"
"I hope so; yes, of course, I shall do whatever is possible: I should be so extremely sorry to lose sight of her now."
"She must be charming, from all you say," commented Georgiana, and then asked rather shyly and with a deep blush: "Did Cousin Robert like her too?"
"Yes, he liked her very much, I think. You know, she played the harp, and he is so fond of anything to do with music."
"Yes, I know," said Georgiana; and added, in a low voice: "I remember he would always much rather have listened to my playing than have talked to me."
"Do not let yourself grieve, Georgiana," said Elizabeth, kissing the young girl's fair brow; "you know that Robert has the greatest possible regard for you, and you will find, next time you meet, that you are the best of friends."
Georgiana smiled rather sadly; she often felt that she must have not only fallen in the estimation of a cousin she revered, but that she must also be possessed of no qualities capable of inspiring affection, and what was even worse, of no heart of her own to give. Elizabeth understood her well, and tried often to give her more self-confidence and to raise her lowly opinion of herself; but though she was growing less reserved, and more disposed little by little to trust her own judgments, the old habits of timidity, of reliance on the guidance of those whom she loved, were still strong in her. Elizabeth would often refuse to decide a thing for her, but when she was helped to weigh it in the balance, to judge it by all the standards available, her choice could always be recommended for discretion and clear-sightedness.
The month of May was now nearly half-way through, and the time was approaching when James Morland was expected to pay a visit to his friends at Pemberley. So much of their stay at Bath had been productive of disappointment, that they looked back upon their acquaintance with this young man as its one circumstance of unalloyed pleasure. Darcy, whose regard for him had grown very warm, had received letters from home which enabled him, prior to leaving Bath, to inform Morland that a living in his gift would shortly be vacant, and that he would have the pleasure in offering it to Morland when the time came. This important communication had been received by the young clergyman with a depth of joy and gratitude which had increased the Darcys' satisfaction in being able to assist him. The living, though not a rich one, would suffice for his needs, as he possessed some capital advanced by his father: and its situation, in a hilly and bracing country district, made it most desirable for a person whose health, like his own, had to be considered. The conversation between himself and Darcy, which had been very short, had taken place only the day before the latter's departure, and Morland, still scarcely realizing his good fortune, had hurried round to the hotel the following morning to repeat his acknowledgments to both his friends and to make his adieux. There was time only for a very few words to be exchanged at the house door, and Morland found it difficult to express himself fluently on a subject which lay so near his heart, but Elizabeth and her husband set him at his ease with a few kind remarks, repeating cordially an invitation already given, that he come and stay with them on the conclusion of his visit to the Portinscales. Since their return home the resignation of the old Rector at Kympton, the living in question, had been made public. He was to leave within a few weeks; so that Morland's visit would afford him, as the rector-designate, an opportunity of getting to know the place and of meeting some of his future parishioners. Pemberley was not in the parish, for Kympton was eighteen miles away, but the link between the two places had always been strong, and the distance was frequently bridged, for Desborough Park, the home of the Bingleys, was the principal house in Kympton Parish, and only a mile and a half from the parsonage house. Morland's pleasure was extreme on hearing that his nearest neighbours would be the brother-in-law and favourite sister of Mrs. Darcy. Next to being within a stone's throw of the Darcys themselves, it was the best thing imaginable.
Morland arrived at Pemberley late one afternoon, just in time to prepare for dinner, and was introduced to Miss Darcy when they all assembled in the drawing-room before the meal. Georgiana's intense shyness generally caused her to appear at a disadvantage with strangers, but there was something in the young man's open countenance and pleasing, unaffected manners that attracted everyone to him at first sight, and they were soon chatting together completely at their ease. Morland was deeply interested in everything that he could learn of his future home, and asked eager questions of his hosts. Georgiana had been so lately staying at Desborough, and had, while there, so frequently called on old Dr. and Mrs. Taylor, that she was able to give more particulars of the house and garden than her brother and sister were able to recollect. The evening passed quickly away with conversation and music, and Morland learned that on the following morning the whole party were to drive over to Desborough Park to dinner, starting early that they might have time to walk through the village and inspect the church and parsonage as well.
The weather proved propitious, and the drive, through some of the most beautiful vales of Derbyshire, was agreeable to all, but especially delightful to Morland, feeling as he did that he was within reach of the goal he had so long desired--restored health and the power to do the work he loved amid congenial surroundings. It was in vain that Darcy, not wishing to raise his hopes too high, told him that the parish was very scattered and the roads bad, that the climate was exceedingly cold and the distant cottages were almost inaccessible in stormy weather, that some of the farmers were people of a very independent way of thinking, difficult to get on with--he could discover no drawback, only fresh incentives to throw himself into his task. Elizabeth commended him for his enthusiasm, but added a sly reminder that he might be disappointed in the house; large, rambling and picturesque though it may seem when tenanted by the Taylors and their seven children, it would, she feared, be an inconvenient residence to a bachelor.
"It will be too big, I have no doubt," responded Morland, "but, you know, I need not furnish more than a part of it. Besides, I intend, as soon as I am thoroughly settled to have my sister Sarah to stay with me if she can be spared from home."
Georgiana was interested in hearing of the sister, and James Morland at her request gave an account of his home at Fullerton, and of his brother and sisters, eight besides himself and Catherine, who was now Mrs. Henry Tilney. Catherine was evidently the favourite--there was a smile and a lightening of the eye when he spoke of her--he wished it had been possible for her to come and help him with his settling-in, but they lived such a great distance away--Woodston was forty miles away from Bath, quite at the other end of Somerset.
Mr. Darcy's chaise and four rolled through the village of Kympton not long after twelve o'clock, and paused to put down its owner, his sister and his young guest. There was so much to see, but Georgiana was an untiring walker, and intended staying with the gentlemen until the carriage should be sent back to bring them to Desborough in time for an early dinner. Elizabeth drove on for another two miles, and was presently alighting at the door of a handsome modern house built in the Italian style, and being warmly welcomed by Bingley and Jane, whom she had not seen for some weeks.
Bingley, on hearing what had become of the rest of the party, immediately decided to walk down to meet them; and the sisters strolled into the garden, for the weather was remarkably warm and sunny for that time of year, and they could venture to seat themselves upon a bench that was sheltered by an angle of the house, whence a beautiful view was obtained of the wide-spreading park, with its chestnut trees in full bloom and clumps of pink and white hawthorns. Desborough was not so imposing and extensive a place as Pemberley, but it was pleasant and homelike, and the grounds were particularly delightful, including as they did an orchard, a shrubbery, and lawns and flower-borders laid out in a series of terraces which sloped towards the park. The Bingleys took great pleasure in their garden, and had made many additions and improvements during the two years of their occupancy.
"I am overjoyed that you are come, Lizzie," began Jane, "for I have so much to tell and ask. I have not seen you since we brought Georgiana home, nearly a month ago. You really think she is better?"
Elizabeth warmly assented, and declared that Georgiana seemed in greater spirits than she had been for many months. Jane anxiously inquired after Fitzwilliam, and Elizabeth made out as good an account of him as she could, but as she was naturally not at liberty to mention what had passed at Bath, she could not perfectly satisfy Jane as to his well-being. Choosing a safer subject, she talked of Mr. Morland, praised his modesty, ability and good sense, and repeated her conviction that the Bingleys would find him a thoroughly agreeable neighbour. Jane listened with interest and promised every kind of help and support to the new Rector, who was to come with such strong recommendations; but she was clearly a little preoccupied, and Elizabeth, seeing this, asked what news she had to communicate.
"I am afraid it is not very good news," began Jane hesitatingly; "but--you will have guessed it, I expect--I have had a letter from Lydia. She is going abroad, Elizabeth, fancy, almost immediately! Poor Lydia! Wickham's regiment is ordered to the West Indies, and he insists on her going with him."
"I am not sure why it should be 'poor Lydia,'" returned Elizabeth, smiling; "you have such a terribly compassionate heart, Jane! I should think Lydia would like the West Indies very much, though she probably dreads the voyage."
"Oh, no, she does not think she will like them at all; it is so hot there, and she cannot bear the idea of being waited on by negro servants. She says there is only one consolation, very few of the ladies of the regiment are going; there will not be more than six of them, and no one as young as herself."
"Since so many are staying behind, I should have thought she could have arranged to do the same; though I confess I think it is much better she should be with Wickham."
"Yes, you are right, I believe, Elizabeth; she says she would rather have stayed in England, and that Wickham declares he does not particularly want her, only he cannot afford to keep up an establishment for her at home while he is abroad." Jane sighed. "It is very sad that they talk like that to one another; I only hope they do not mean it."
Elizabeth preferred to waive this question, and continued: "I suppose she goes on to ask you for money?"
Jane admitted that this was so, but said that Lydia would need a suitable outfit for the West Indies, and everything of that kind was very expensive, it appeared. She added that Lydia was anxious to come to Derbyshire before she went away, if a remittance for the journey could be sent, but Jane had not made any response to the suggestion.
"No, I do not think that that is at all necessary," Elizabeth remarked. "Well, Jane, of course I will give you some bank-notes to send with your own, on the usual condition that Lydia does not know from whom they come; but I only wish one could believe that they will be used for paying debts to the Newcastle tradespeople--of which there are sure to be plenty. Could you not persuade her to give you a statement of what she owes? You could then perhaps arrange for some of them to be paid off first."