The Matters at Mansfield: (Or, the Crawford Affair) (Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) (5 page)

Six

“An engaged woman is always more agreeable than a disengaged . . . All is safe with a lady engaged; no harm can be done.”

—
Henry Crawford
, Mansfield Park

L
ikely Miss de Bourgh has recovered from her headache and returned to the ball,” Elizabeth said. “Have you sought her there?”

“Of course I have!” Lady Catherine replied. “What do you think I have been doing for above an hour?”

“Perhaps you might tell us, instead of abusing Mrs. Darcy for a perfectly reasonable question,” Darcy said.

Lady Catherine expelled an exasperated breath. “I sent Mrs. Jenkinson to Anne directly after supper to enquire after her headache. When she reported to me that Anne was not in her chamber, I looked for her in the ballroom. No one had seen her recently, but Lady Winthrop mentioned that earlier in the evening she had witnessed Anne dancing.” She cast a stern look at Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I thought surely Lady Winthrop had mistaken some other young lady for my daughter, but the colonel has admitted his guilt in the matter. I do not know what you were thinking, Fitzwilliam, to risk Anne’s health by exhausting her.”

“I did not believe any harm would derive from a single dance.”

“No harm? Look what your rash action has come to. Anne developed her headache as a result of overexertion, and now cannot be found.”

As Lady Catherine did not include the Darcys in her indictment, Elizabeth inferred that Colonel Fitzwilliam had omitted their involvement from his confession. She would have to thank him later for his discretion.

Recalling the previous night, when she had encountered Anne headed for a walk, she asked, “Have you looked in the gardens? It is a warm night, and I noticed numerous guests strolling outside earlier. Perhaps she decided to take some air.”

“Anne knows better than to expose herself to the night air,” Lady Catherine declared. “She never so much as sleeps with a window open.”

“Nevertheless,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “after searching all the rooms where company is assembled, I indeed circled the gardens, and sent two servants through the hedge maze. They startled more than a few couples, but Anne was not amongst them.”

“I should hope not!” Lady Catherine snapped.

“Has Southwell been informed?” Darcy asked.

“The earl is occupied with his guests,” Lady Catherine said. “He is a useless creature anyway when it comes to serious matters, and therefore performs greater service by distracting others from this crisis rather than taking the situation in hand himself. That is why I must rely upon Colonel Fitzwilliam and you.”

While concerned for Anne’s well-being, Elizabeth thought this situation hardly constituted a crisis. “Miss de Bourgh is a grown woman in familiar surroundings. Surely she is somewhere in the house, perfectly safe and unaware she has even been missed. In fact, she might have even returned to her chamber by now.”

“As I told you, we just came from there, after searching the ball. She is not in her room. And before you suggest that she has returned whilst we have been in conference, Mrs. Jenkinson waits for her there and would have informed me. Her chamber is only round the corner.”

Darcy reached for his coat. “Then let us search the remainder of the house. I agree with Elizabeth—Anne cannot have gone far. In the time we have spent discussing this, we could have found her and all of us returned to our own affairs.”

As he thrust one arm into the garment, the other sleeve disturbed the note Elizabeth had set aside upon his entrance. She had quite forgotten it. The sheet drifted to the floor and landed at Lady Catherine’s feet.

Her ladyship looked at Elizabeth sharply and took it up. “What is this?”

“I discovered it upon returning from the ball, but had not yet found opportunity to read it,” Elizabeth said. “It bears the de Bourgh seal. Is it not from you?”

“This is Anne’s handwriting.”

“Let us open it directly, then.” Elizabeth reached for the letter.

Lady Catherine broke the seal herself. “Yes, let us.”

“I beg your pardon, but that note is addressed to me.”

“I beg no one’s pardon. It is from my daughter. She can have nothing to say to you that I may not read. I am privy to all her communications.”

Elizabeth extended her hand. “You are not privy to mine.”

Lady Catherine ignored her and unfolded the letter. In the interest of finding Anne, Elizabeth allowed her to continue rather than descend into argument. Darcy’s aunt kept them all in suspense as she read the lines silently, but the rapid transformation of her expression from one of self-righteousness to one of fury revealed that the letter held news of some import.

Lady Catherine turned to Elizabeth. Her complexion mottled, she crushed the edge of the paper in her hand as she held it to Elizabeth’s face. “What, in heaven’s name, is the meaning of this?”

“How can I possibly answer you while I remain ignorant of the letter’s content?”

“Ignorant! That you are, without doubt! In countless subjects. But apparently you are perfectly well informed of the news this letter contains.”

Dear Mrs. Darcy,

Forgive my burdening you with the responsibility of imparting news to my mother which it will distress her to hear, but you alone understand the decision I now make. I have taken your counsel: Tonight I leave for Gretna Green with Mr. Crawford. You advised me to accept his offer if it would make me happy, and it does. Though the grief that I am conscious of causing others, particularly a parent who has been ever mindful of my welfare, burdens my heart, it is lightened by hope that my transgression may in time be forgiven, and that my mother will come to accept the gentleman I have chosen as my husband.

I am indebted to you for the courage to act in the manner that will constitute my own happiness, and repent the difficult position in which I leave you. Consider me ever
—

Your most grateful and obliged servant,
Anne de Bourgh

Colonel Fitzwilliam regarded Elizabeth with shock. Even Darcy beheld her with astonishment. But the most bewildered person in the room was Elizabeth herself. When had she encouraged Miss de Bourgh to run off to Scotland with a man she just met?

“Who on earth is this Mr. Crawford?” Lady Catherine demanded.

Elizabeth could scarcely order her thoughts enough to speak. “A gentleman we met tonight—a friend of Admiral Davidson.”

“And you urged her to
elope
with him?”

“No! He invited her to dance and I—”

“You stupid, common baggage! How dare you presume to offer my daughter advice on any matter, let alone one so critical? Do you think because of your sister’s elopement that this is an acceptable way for a young lady of Miss de Bourgh’s station to wed? Do you think at all? Are you capable of intelligent thought?”

The force of Lady Catherine’s rage struck Elizabeth almost as a physical blow. She was not one to cower in the face of conflict, and had stood up to Darcy’s aunt on previous occasions, but she had never in her life been the object of such wrath.

“I did not encourage Miss de Bourgh to elope with Mr. Crawford or anyone else. Indeed, I cannot imagine what led her to believe I had, nor the circumstances which brought the opportunity about. When last I saw her, Colonel Fitzwilliam was escorting her out of the ballroom, while Mr. Crawford remained behind with me—”

“Plotting this caper?”

“No! We exchanged a few pleasantries and then parted.”

“Whereupon with your blessing he abducted my daughter. You have ruined her future, utterly ruined it! Do you so much as begin to comprehend the damage you have wrought with your heedless counsel? How, on the eve of a betrothal that would have merged the de Bourgh line with an ancient, worthy family, you have jeopardized the union I labored hard to achieve? Or was that your goal? You were not satisfied with usurping Anne’s intended place as Darcy’s wife, so you sabotaged her chance at a superior match?”

“The marriage may yet be prevented,” Darcy said. “Surely they travel the Great North Road. If I leave directly and pursue them on horseback, perhaps I can overtake them before they reach Scotland.”

“I will accompany you,” Colonel Fitzwilliam offered.

Darcy nodded. “Let us find Mr. Crawford’s uncle and Admiral Davidson, if they are still here at Riveton. If we can confirm what time the couple departed and their means of conveyance, we can seek them more effectively.”

“The two admirals have already gone home,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I saw them leave as we searched for Anne. Should we stop at Admiral Davidson’s house on our way?”

Darcy glanced toward the window. Black had shifted to dark grey. “I hesitate to take the time. Dawn will break soon, and with the daylight their carriage can increase its pace. You are familiar with Mr. Crawford’s appearance, and so can provide a description when we enquire after him along the road?”

“I can.”

“Then let us not lose another minute. Tell a servant to ready our horses. I will meet you in the stables, so that our own departure will be less apparent to the other guests.” He turned to Lady Catherine. “What would you have me do when I find them?”

“Wed or unwed, bring them both back here directly. I will deal with Mr. Crawford myself.”

Seven

“I answer no such irrelevant and insidious questions.”

—
Henry Crawford
, Mansfield Park

D
arcy rapped on the battered chamber door. The wood appeared to have suffered a great deal of abuse over time, forced open by countless outraged fathers and others who, like Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, had pursued eloping couples to this inn and arrived too late. The border village of Gretna Green, with its lax Scottish marriage laws, did such a considerable business in hasty weddings that several local inns offered one-stop convenience to expedite the process. Within minutes of their arrival, English couples could wed and bed at a single location, heading straight from the marriage room to an adjacent bedroom, thus thwarting the efforts of anyone who might arrive too late to insist upon a more prudent approach to matrimony.

Whatever had his cousin been thinking, to consent to such vulgar nuptials? Anne had not even been wed by a proper clergyman, but the innkeeper himself—unfortunately, a perfectly legal union under Scottish law. Darcy dreaded having to report to Lady Catherine that her daughter had been married by one of the village’s infamous “anvil priests,” with the innkeeper’s wife and an ostler as witnesses. At least the couple had not wed at the blacksmith’s shop itself; the cottage at the village’s main crossroads was the first building travelers encountered, and as such, Gretna Green’s most notorious wedding venue.

A second knock elicited sounds of movement from within the chamber.

“Who calls?” asked a male voice.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

His answer received no immediate response, making Darcy grateful that Colonel Fitzwilliam stood sentinel outside the window, ready to detain Mr. Crawford if the scoundrel attempted to avoid them. Darcy was glad his cousin had accompanied him—not only for the companionship on what had been a long, hard ride, but also for his impressive regimental uniform that had elicited ready cooperation from all they questioned as they traced the couple’s route. If Mr. Crawford tried anything underhanded, Colonel Fitzwilliam could manage him.

A minute later the door opened, and a short, dark gentleman greeted him with a smile far too self-assured for the circumstances.

“Mr. Darcy! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. We have been expecting you, or some emissary of Anne’s family, since the wedding.”

“Is Miss de Bourgh within?”

“No, but Mrs. Crawford is.”

“I would speak with her.”

“By all means.”

Mr. Crawford opened the door wider and stepped aside. Anne sat perched on the edge of the bed, but upon Darcy’s entrance stood and drew her dressing gown more closely around her. Darcy noted the self-conscious gesture and averted his gaze, which, as there was little else to behold in the tiny room, landed first on the rumpled coverings of the hastily made bed and then bounced back to Mr. Crawford, whose own limited attire comprised breeches and an untucked shirt. When he looked at Anne once more, her face was scarlet.

Any hope he had harbored of having reached Anne before the couple consummated their marriage evaporated. There was no undoing the union now; all that remained was repairing as much damage as possible.

With obvious effort, she raised her eyes to meet his and regarded him anxiously. “Is my mother with you?”

“No.”

Her expression relaxed ever so slightly.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, waits outside.”

She flushed again and looked away.

“And here, Anne, you worried about how news of our nuptials would be received by your relations. Why, we have nearly enough guests to host a wedding breakfast. Do invite the good colonel in, Mr. Darcy. It looks about to rain again.”

Mr. Crawford’s lightness sounded forced; perhaps the bridegroom was not so confident after all. Regardless, Darcy had little patience for levity at present, particularly from that quarter. He was weary and sore from days of travel, and frustrated by his failure to prevent the marriage.

He crossed to the window and signaled Colonel Fitzwilliam to join them, not because Mr. Crawford had suggested it, or because of the cursed rain that had delayed them just enough to thwart their mission, but for motives of his own.

Anne pulled her dressing gown so tightly about her that she strained the fabric. “Darcy, I would rather our cousin not see me in this state.”

“He need not.” Darcy felt awkward enough witnessing her dishabille, and he was a married man. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a bachelor. “He can keep your new husband company while you and I converse in private.”

“Keep me company, or be my keeper? Come, Mr. Darcy. Surely you do not think I would abandon my bride after going to such lengths to secure her?”

Darcy leveled the groom with an impassive stare. “I do not know what to think of you, Mr. Crawford, for I do not know what kind of gentleman prevails upon a lady to abandon her family, her principles, her caution, and her duty to enter into an irrevocable union in a manner that can only engender sorrow and ill will amongst all who know her, and gossip amongst those who do not.”

Actually, Darcy knew exactly what kind of man would do so. His brother-in-law Mr. Wickham was such a man. Several years ago, the fortune hunter had nearly enticed Darcy’s sister into eloping, but Georgiana’s conscience had compelled her to confess their plan to Darcy before it could be enacted. Wickham later succeeded in seducing Elizabeth’s youngest sister, Lydia, a girl of lesser fortune and, regrettably, fewer scruples.

Yes, Darcy indeed had experience with men who allowed selfishness to govern their matrimonial tactics. Mr. Crawford, however, was by Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s accounts wealthy enough to have courted Anne honorably, which made his motives more difficult to comprehend. So, too, were Anne’s. Georgiana and Lydia had each been but fifteen when Wickham preyed upon them, and in Georgiana’s instance her would-be seducer was a man she had known all her life, as much a part of the landscape of Pemberley as its woods. Anne de Bourgh was nearly twice that age, more mature, more cognizant of the consequences of elopement. And far less familiar with her suitor.

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s tread signaled his approach. Darcy greeted him at the door, closing it behind him to shield Anne from view. He spoke in a low tone. “It is as we feared. We are too late.”

Fitzwilliam’s countenance, already strained from their arduous journey, deflated. He likewise muted his voice. “Is Anne well?”

“I believe her welfare might be better determined without Mr. Crawford in attendance.”

“I will escort him downstairs to settle his account with the innkeeper. If Anne’s health can support further travel, shall we depart as soon as the postilions can provide horses?”

Though they were all in need of rest, remaining in Gretna Green was insupportable. “Make the arrangements, but let us journey no farther than Carlisle today.” Carlisle was not ten miles distant; there they could overnight at a proper inn. “Assuming Mr. Crawford’s post-chaise accommodates four, we require horses for only one carriage. He is hardly in a position to object to conveying us.”

“On the contrary, he needs to court our goodwill. Surely they both realize Lady Catherine will not receive them kindly—if she receives them at all.”

“You know our aunt. She will be waiting with her solicitor to attempt to settle some sort of marriage articles with Mr. Crawford the moment we produce the couple at Riveton.”

“Shall I send word to her that we have discovered them?”

“I will write her from Carlisle. Riding in a closed carriage with Mr. Crawford might expose additional information we ought to include.”

“Riding in a closed carriage with Mr. Crawford might reveal more about him than we care to know. This escapade has hardly disposed me well toward him.”

Mr. Crawford called from within. “Mr. Darcy, if you and the colonel have finished talking about us, we have finished dressing.”

“He is unrepentant?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked.

“Utterly.”

“That will change.”

Mr. Crawford departed with the colonel, whose military bearing clearly communicated no tolerance for brash behavior. The pistols he carried at his side brooked no foolishness, either.

Left to themselves, Anne regarded Darcy like a convicted felon awaiting sentencing, or a child anticipating a thorough scolding. Were Lady Catherine here, she would deliver both with vehemence, and he could see Anne bracing herself for a tirade rehearsed over several hundred miles. Rather than face him, she crossed to the window and drew aside its cheap, tattered curtain. A light rain indeed began to fall.

Despite his impatience, he spoke gently. “Did Mr. Crawford coerce you?”

Several raindrops struck the glass. “I expect that is the only explanation that could possibly make sense to you.”

“One of few. You are not a silly young girl. I cannot believe you were so overcome by infatuation that you ran away with a stranger on impulse.”

“It was no impulse, and he is not a stranger. I have known Mr. Crawford nearly a year.”

“How?”

“We met last autumn in Bath.”

“Why, then, was your mother unacquainted with him when we discovered your note?”

“We were introduced after she departed Bath for Pemberley.”

Anne had wintered in Bath while Lady Catherine assisted the Darcys with fraudulent legal charges that had taken five months to resolve. He recalled that she had written her mother several times during that period requesting permission to extend her stay in the city, citing its steady benefit to her health. Lady Catherine had consented, congratulating herself on selecting Bath as the most salubrious of England’s spa towns, and believing her daughter safe under Mrs. Jenkinson’s supervision.

“Did Mrs. Jenkinson approve the acquaintance?”

“Yes, though she did not realize its extent. Mr. Crawford was in and out of town, and when we did encounter each other he seldom paid me particular attention in her presence. He never called at our lodgings, and when we saw him in public he would include Mrs. Jenkinson equally in our exchange of pleasantries. He and I conversed more freely on occasions when other matters, such as retrieving my shawl or procuring a glass of water, occupied her. At assemblies, we sometimes danced whilst she played at cards. She could not have foreseen this turn of events—pray, do not blame her for it.”

“So Mr. Crawford courted you surreptitiously. And you were a willing party to the deception?”

“For most of our time in Bath, I did not think of his attention as courtship, though I confess that as our acquaintance improved I occasionally indulged in the daydream that one might develop. I was simply gratified that a gentleman as charming as Mr. Crawford desired my conversation.”

“Did you never question why?”

She turned. Something like spirit lit her expression. “Is there a reason he should not? Because you never showed interest, am I unworthy of any gentleman’s notice?”

The question so startled Darcy that he could not respond.

“There I was, in Bath, for the first time since your wedding. Can you comprehend the humiliation of returning to a scene where my mother had, since my coming-out, discouraged suitors with the explanation that I was reserved for my cousin by an ‘understanding’? A cousin who had just married someone of significantly lesser status in the eyes of Society? Not only did I bear the stigma of having been rejected by my own kin as a desirable wife, but I was essentially entering the marriage market for the first time at eight-and-twenty: a decade older than most of the girls around me. I was painfully aware that my inheritance constituted my primary, if not sole, attraction to any suitor.

“Believe it or not, there
were
other suitors, once my mother left Bath. Not many, but a handful of gentlemen, all of whom wooed me only for my dowry and the promise of Rosings to come. The impoverished peers who had squandered their own wealth did not even attempt to disguise their motives. Other gentlemen were more bold and less honest. In fact, Mr. Crawford earned my gratitude, and that of Mrs. Jenkinson, for revealing to us the histories of more than one fortune hunter.”

“While Mr. Crawford was protecting you from the avaricious addresses of other gentlemen, did you or Mrs. Jenkinson enquire into his own reputation?”

“Upon his initial arrival in town, word circulated that he had recently ended an affair with a married lady who had pursued him most shamefully. Early in our acquaintance, he acknowledged the truth of the reports, as well as sincere regret at ever having entered into the liaison. That was the only ill I ever heard spoken of him. Details about his estate and income were easily verified, which put to rest any misgivings I might have harbored about his motives for cultivating my regard. His situation is quite secure without need of my inheritance.

“In addressing me, he courted my friendship, not my fortune. We engaged in agreeable discourse on any number of subjects. Always, when he spoke, I felt he spoke to me—Anne de Bourgh, not Lady Catherine’s daughter or Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s heir. It was the first time in my life that someone took genuine interest in anything I had to say. When his interest developed into something more, I am uncertain. Any hint of partiality I ascribed to my own vanity, for he never declared himself whilst I remained in Bath. For my own part, by the time my mother summoned me home in March, my affections were engaged. I mourned the loss of his companionship, for he had brought diversion to a very dull existence.”

“How was this ‘friendship’ sustained after you returned to Rosings?”

“It was not; communication between us ceased. I was in Kent, he was at Everingham or in any number of other places—York, London, Richmond—he delights in travel and is never in one place for long. We could not correspond; even had propriety permitted it, my mother would not have. To this day, I do not know what transpired during her time at Pemberley, but she returned absolutely determined to arrange a marriage for me with a man of the highest consequence possible. Nothing short of a future lord would do, better if the gentleman already possessed a title. I was to be bound over to the highest bidder as soon as an impressive enough bridegroom could be procured and the marriage articles drawn up.”