Judith Brocklehurst - Darcy and Anne

She was reading both with interest: “Lady Southwell, the Honourable Henry and Mrs Willington, Doctor and Mrs Rigsby, Captain Stephens, the Reverend Marcus Appleby… That is very well for so small a place, and the season hardly begun; and they tell me the Duchess of Stilbury is expected almost any day, with her brother, Lord Francis Meaburn. You might do very well here, Anne, if you will but pay attention to a more proper kind of people.”

The next few days continued in the same pattern; her friends took her to the baths each morning, and in the afternoon they walked. The country around was magnificent, and Anne found she gained strength every day. Still there was no response from the Darcys, and Lady Catherine decided that Anne's letter had gone astray, otherwise they never would have neglected her. Clearly, it was Anne's fault; Anne had written the direction too ill. But it did not matter, she did not need them.

On Thursday, Anne returned to the hotel toward the end of the morning. She entered her sitting room, and found two people there. One was her cousin Darcy; the other, a young lady, tall and handsome. It must be Mrs Darcy—but surely the lady she remembered did not look like this? Surely Miss Elizabeth Bennet was smaller, livelier-looking, and had not such dark hair?

The lady crossed the room, took both Anne's hands in hers, and cried, “You are my cousin, Anne. Oh, poor Anne, what an unpleasant time you have had! We are so sorry!”

It was her cousin, Georgiana Darcy.

Darcy's greeting to his cousin was as affectionate as Georgiana's. He expressed over and over their concern, their desire to support and comfort her, and their regret that she had been left for so many days, unassisted by them. His manner to her was that of a kind and affectionate brother, rather than the distant, haughty cousin she had always known. Marriage, she thought, had wrought a great improvement in him.

Anne's letter had, by exceptional activity on the part of the post office—that is, a nephew of the postmistress having a sweetheart in service at Pemberley—actually been delivered to the house on the Saturday evening. But it was addressed to “Mr Darcy,” and he was away from home on business. His steward, recognising the name “de Bourgh,” had paid the postage, but pretty well knew that his master would be in no especial hurry to get a letter from that particular sender. The significance of the initial “A” instead of “C de Bourgh” had escaped his notice. The letter lay on Darcy's desk until he returned, late on Wednesday.

“And nobody looked at it,” Georgina said. “His man of business saw it, but seeing it was a private letter, he did not open it. Oh, Anne, to think of your letter lying there, and you alone here, and wretched!” It was clear that Georgiana's tender heart was wrung. Anne felt, in her own mind, that it was a quite providential occurrence, for she had not been wretched, at least beyond the distress of the first day or so. She had enjoyed herself, and more to the point, she had thought and acted for herself for the first time in her life. Her time in Burley had done her a great deal of good. But they had got her in their minds as an ill-used heroine. It might be ill-natured, and would certainly be difficult, to disabuse them. In any case, it was causing them to treat her with very affectionate solicitude, which it would surely be ungracious to refuse.

“The letter was discovered so late in the day,” Darcy said, “that we could not set out, and we decided to leave very early this morning.”

He and his sister had come to Burley with the intention of staying, if necessary; of hiring a house, if it were thought advisable; of bringing them both to Pemberley, if it could be done; in short, of doing anything and everything that might be of use or comfort.

But Lady Catherine refused to be moved. The doctor had assured Mr Darcy that her arm was well strapped up, and that she would feel little discomfort from the jolting of a well-sprung carriage. She thought otherwise; she was sure that it would hurt her a great deal. The truth was, Lady Catherine was not at all anxious to get to Pemberley, where the former Miss Elizabeth Bennet was mistress. She was extremely comfortable in the hotel, where her presence was highly valued. She was being very well looked after, and her slightest wish was obsequiously carried out. And the Duchess was arriving in a day or so: “I should like to meet her. I would be pleased to make her acquaintance, for the family is a connection of ours. And, Darcy, my carriage will be arriving at Pemberley sometime; see to it, will you?”

Anne might go with them, she said; it would be well to remove Anne from Burley, where she had been associating with the scaff and raff of the place. Mr Darcy had tried in vain to make her understand that the Caldwells were old acquaintances, and that Edmund Caldwell was a friend of his childhood. “I even explained to her that Mrs Caldwell is a second cousin, by marriage, of Lady Louisa Benton,” he said. “But she would have none of it; she said she had heard that their son was a stonemason, or a quarryman, or some such thing. Nothing will convince her that he is one of the most respected men in the country, and a very good fellow. Never mind, cousin, we will get them to Pemberley, and you shall meet them again. His home is little more than five miles from us. He and I will have some good talks, too. Nobody is so good a talker as Edmund Caldwell!”

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.”