Judith Brocklehurst: Darcy and Anne

He looked at it, and said “Miss de Bourgh, may I ask you to do something for me? Will you refrain from taking these medications, for a few days? I think you will find that you do better without them, especially if you will try to spend some time every day in the fresh air. I promise you, that if you feel at all unwell, I will make up something to make you feel better.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Do you have difficulty eating? Yes, I thought so. It would be surprising if you did not. I will send you some raspberry tea, which I think you will find helpful. It is very simple, very natural, you need fear nothing. We must get you eating a little more, we do not like our young ladies to be quite so thin; we like young ladies a little fatter than this, in Derbyshire. I will tell good Mrs Brown to send you up a very plain supper; you cannot take rich foods, and do not be concerned if you do not feel like eating much, tonight, after the day you have had. But try to drink as much as you can; you may drink water, or lemonade, or tea, but not wine.”

“Oh no, sir, I never touch it.”

“Now, Miss de Bourgh, I must leave you. You will have but a dull day tomorrow, I am afraid, but you have had a great shock, and would do well to take things easy. You may look in upon your mother, but I have given her something to make her sleep; she will not need any attention from you. Mrs Williams knows just what to do. You can walk round the town as much as you like, the old town or the new, we are very law-abiding people here, no bad characters. Go and drink some of our good spring water, it is very useful, though not such a miracle-worker as some people like to think. And of course you will like to go to church; we are proud of our church, a beautiful old building.” And with a courteous farewell he was gone.

Go to church! Good heavens, today was Saturday! Tomorrow was Sunday! She had never given it a thought. Her letter certainly would not be delivered, probably had not yet left the post office. Her cousins would know nothing of her plight until Monday, or more probably Tuesday; and she almost burst into tears, at the thought of her useless, exhausting walk. Well! There was nothing to be done. She must wait. Help would some time come. She lay back and closed her eyes.

The promised supper arrived: some soup, a little roast chicken, and a very good jelly, along with the raspberry tea. Anne found, to her surprise, that she was hungry. The food was simple and good, the portions were small, and best of all, there was no one there to be concerned about what she ate, or how much.

After eating, she wondered whether it really was a good idea to take no medicine at all, whether she should not at least take her opiate; but found that every single bottle was gone. She remembered Dr Lawson working on the catch of his bag, while he was talking; he must have absentmindedly put them in. Never mind! He would certainly bring them back.

She looked in to enquire after her mother. Lady Catherine was asleep, and looked so exhausted, she hardly recognized her. The kind-faced woman who was the sickroom assistant told her not to worry. “I've seen people much worse than her, miss; she will do very well. She will be well enough to be cross tomorrow, you'll see.” Anne found herself so tired, nothing really seemed to matter, and although the sun had barely set, she thought she must go to bed. It was refreshing to think that there was nobody who would object, or even care.

But sleep did not come. She had been in the habit of taking laudanum for too long. Anne tossed and turned for some while; then another circumstance arose, to prevent her from sleeping. Her room overlooked the promenade, the hotel was directly opposite the entrance to the Rooms, and it was an assembly night. She heard the horses' hooves, the murmur of people arriving, she heard laughter; in the end she arose, and watched the carriages arrive, the pretty girls and the lively young men. It was a hot night, few wraps were worn; she could see the shimmer of jewels and the glint of embroidery. The music started. Over the laughter and chatter, she could hear it faintly. Soon the street was almost empty, only a few coachmen lingering, a few horses stamping as they stood. She could hear the music clearly now. Anne was still awake when the music stopped and the sound of laughter, the sound of horses' hooves, told her that the dance was over, and the people were going home.

The next morning was close and warm, with the promise of a sultry day. Anne enjoyed the walk to church, for she knew the way, and felt quite safe. The graveyard had a fine view over the surrounding hills and dales, and the old building was, indeed, a beautiful one, though in the old Gothic style. It was pleasant to hear a well-thought-out sermon—very different from poor Mr Collins's miserable efforts—and as she left the building, Dr Lawson greeted her. Crossing the churchyard, she recognized Mrs Endicott, who bowed and smiled, but did not speak. It was enough to send her back to her solitary meal in a cheerful frame of mind.

But the afternoon tried her severely. She had nothing to read, and no one to speak to. Her mother was sleeping most of the time. Awake, she was not, as Mrs Williams had predicted, cross; she was quite unreasonable, and hardly seemed to know where she was. Anne had no recourse but to sit in her room, or to walk again and again around the hot promenade, and look in the windows of the shops. After three or four rounds, she knew their contents by heart: the ugly bonnet with the purple ribbons, the black and yellow boots, the dashing blue shoes, and the pieces of “Derbyshire spar.” She knew the titles of—and wished she could read—the books in the window of the bookstore; she knew the pattern of the railings and the very cracks in the pavement.

It was boredom, and not devotion, that induced her to attend the evening service at the church. She felt her motives to be much less than admirable, and what no Christian should entertain: to go to church because she really had nothing else to do! However, when she entered it, the ancient building seemed to welcome her like a friend. It was very different from the church at Rosings, which was a handsome, modern building; but it was a church, it had sheltered others in anxiety and loneliness before her. The monuments on the walls reminded her of her father's memorial; people here, too, had loved, had grieved. She prayed for her mother, and felt reassured.

As she was leaving, an elderly woman, simply dressed but obviously a gentlewoman, came up to her and asked if she was Miss de Bourgh. When she replied that she was, the lady said, “My name is Caldwell. I knew your father. My husband and he were great friends, and I met you when you were a very small child; your parents brought you on a visit to Pemberley.”

She enquired after Lady Catherine, and said “My friend Mrs Endicott told me that you were here, and about your situation. I think I should have known you anywhere; you have a great look of your father. We liked him so very much, we were greatly saddened by the news of his death. Now, Miss de Bourgh, what can I do, or what can my husband do, to make things more comfortable for you while you are here?”

Anne did not know what her mother would have thought of this, for Lady Catherine never made any new acquaintance, and always refused to meet new people; but the lady had known her father; it must be proper. And there was one thing she wanted very badly. Hesitantly, she asked if Mrs Caldwell could lend her a book. Any book! or if none were available, a newspaper; she would return it tomorrow, and go to a lending library, but for tonight she had nothing. Poor Anne thought to herself that she would read a cookery book, or a dictionary, if nothing else were to be had.