Judith Brocklehurst: Darcy and Anne

“Oh, what must you think of me?” was her first exclamation.

“We think that you have had a dreadful two days, and are tired and distressed,” was Mrs Caldwell's reply. “Now, Miss de Bourgh, here is a cup of tea; do you drink it, and then you shall wash your face and feel better.”

The tea did make Anne feel better, and then she found that Mrs Endicott's carriage had been ordered to take her back to the hotel. In spite of her protests, she was glad of it. When they got outside they found that it was needed, for the sultry weather of the past few days had broken, and a heavy rain had begun. Both ladies went with her, bringing a number of novels; and saw to putting her to bed, and the ordering of a bowl of bread and milk. She felt much more comfortable, but her mind was still in great distress.

“Mr Caldwell, oh, poor Mr Caldwells. What a terrible thing for me to do. I must have made him feel so dreadful,” she lamented.

“He is only sad for you,” said Mrs Caldwells, who knew that her husband was, in fact, saddened and distressed beyond measure. Anne knew it, too. Tired as she was, and late as it was, she must not allow her friends to leave, without at least trying to put the matter right. An idea came to her.

“Do you think,” she asked, “that Mr Caldwells would allow me to keep the letter? It chances that, since I was always at home, my father never wrote me a letter. I have nothing in his writing, which is why I was so overcome. It would mean a great deal to me, to have it.”

“My dear!” exclaimed Mrs Caldwells joyfully, “it will make him so happy. I can answer for it—he will be delighted.”

The two ladies left, promising to call the next day and take her for a walk to see the beauties of the surrounding countryside. Anne lay back and closed her eyes. What a pleasant thing it was, to be with people who talked about books, and ideas; and who argued but never got angry! She remembered Edmund Caldwells, smiling at her over the little stone platter; the thought came into her mind that Mr Edmund Caldwells had smiled at her very agreeably indeed.

She found, it seemed only a few minutes later, that she had slept the night through.

Monday dawned with some improvement to Lady Catherine. Her assistants assured Anne that she would sleep a great deal, and was best not disturbed, for the time being.

The rain had stopped, but the roads were still wet. Mr and Mrs Caldwells arrived, and told her that Mr Edmund had returned to his home to attend to his business. “He spends a great deal of time with us,” said his mother, “and I think the reason is, that he has never married. He says that he has never seen the woman he wants to marry, and that the lead mine, and the quarry, must come first with him, and I suppose it is very right that they should; but I should like to see him with a good, kind wife, and some little children of his own.”

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.