“Of course not, that would be very wrong; but why else should we set forth for Pemberley, at the time we did? Come, Anne, do not be so nice, is not the position of mistress of Pemberley one that is worth struggling, conspiring, even fighting for? Would it not have been worth it, had you been here at the right time?”
“No! No! I cannot even think of such a terrible possibility. As for Lord Francis, ma'am, if he will come here, I will consider him, I will listen to what he has to say, but I must warn you… I am sure he is very good-natured, but it needs more than that to make a marriage. There… there must be, if not love, at least affection and respect, and I think there should be some community of interest. He is a man of fashion; my interests are centered in a quiet life in the country. I am not beautiful, I am not lively, I should be very unhappy in a fashionable drawing room. I love to write; do you think Lord Francis wants a wife who is writing a book?”
“Writing a book? Why, what nonsense is this? Do you mean—a novel? Do you intend to publish such a thing? to put our family name on the cover of a vulgar work of fiction, like some parson's daughter who is glad to make twenty pounds, or thirty, out of publishing her work?”
Anne's heart was hammering against her ribs, but she must not give up; she must not give in to her mother.
“Setting that aside for the moment, I am not a parson's daughter, I am your daughter, madam. Would you allow others to tell you to marry a man whom you did not want to marry?”
Lady Catherine was not a loving mother, but she was not an unnatural one, either. She genuinely believed that, by encouraging Anne to this marriage, she was promoting Anne's best interests and doing what would make her happy; most people think that what is good for them must be right for others, and at Anne's age, such a marriage would have made Lady Catherine very happy. With her improved health had come an improvement in temper, and she had no intention of alarming or distressing her daughter. But she could not understand. “Why? What is this? How comes this about? You have barely met him, and yet you are sure that you do not want to marry him? How is this possible?”
“It is very simple, madam; I believe his only reason in wanting to marry me is his lack of money. I have money, but he has nothing to offer me except his rank. You are interested in rank; I am not.”
Lady Catherine had every wish to be affectionate, to be conciliating; but this was too much for her. “So! Are you one of these people who wish to overturn the way our world is run? Do you wish to do away with all the distinctions of rank, and have every plough man the equal of a lord? Unhappy girl! You are being offered a position that anyone in the kingdom might envy. We have never been ennobled; the Stilbury connection would put all of us at the centre of influence and power. Do you realize what it might mean for your family? for Darcy's boy? for any children you might have? And you turn this down, on a whim? Is this some theory that your stonemason has taught you? Do you still cherish the desire to lower yourself by associating with such people?”
As she spoke, Lady Catherine rose from her seat, and stood over Anne. Anne tried to rise, but as she did so, Minette, sensing Anne's distress, began barking and growling, clearly terrified, backing and showing her teeth. Anne stood up, turned away, caught her skirts in the little dog's leash, tried to right herself, fell, and knew no more.
Chapter 21
Lady Catherine felt no inclination to blame herself on seeing her daughter unconscious on the floor; after all, the accident was caused by that ridiculous little dog: it was not her fault. She did as much as she felt any mother ought to do by ringing the bell, and sending the butler for help; and she would undoubtedly have dashed a glass of water onto Anne's face, if such a thing had been available. In spite of these attentions, it was known to every servant in Pemberley—house, gardens, and stables—in the space of a quarter of an hour, that Miss de Bourgh was dead, and that her mother had murdered her. It was even the subject of speculation whether she would be hanged, or whether, as some opined, being such a great lady, they could never stick it to her in a trial.
Anne recovered consciousness almost at once, and found that her mother was nowhere in sight, but that her maid, Georgiana's maid, Georgiana, the housekeeper, and Mrs Annesley were all hovering over her, and trying to attend to her. She declared that she was well, very well, so foolish of her! Nothing had happened, she had tripped; there was nothing the matter, only a slight bump on her head. However, when she tried to walk, she felt so faint and dizzy that she was obliged to sit down at once, and Mrs Annesley had no hesitation in directing that she was to be taken upstairs, and put to bed. “But Minette; let me take Minette with me.”
“No, my dear,” said Mrs Annesley. “Minette must stay; see, Miss Darcy will look after her, will you not, Miss Darcy?”
“Of course,” said Georgiana.
“No, no,” said poor Anne. “Someone may hurt her; it was not her fault,” and nothing would persuade her that the dog was safe with them. She became so agitated that, in the end, Mrs Annesley, who was pretty sure that Anne had a concussion, and that she should be kept quiet, herself carried Minette up to her bedchamber.
Meanwhile it fell to her cousin Darcy's lot to deal with Lady Catherine. As they paced the terrace and entered the formal gardens, his aunt made the full situation pretty clear. While not knowing precisely what had happened, he understood that Anne had received an offer of marriage, that there had been some kind of altercation, which did not surprise him in the least, and that in spite of her wish to be ingratiating, his aunt's temper had got the better of her. She was angry, but even more she was surprised.
“Such a marriage as she could never have dreamed of! For even now, and I must say her looks have much improved, she is not remarkably au fait de beaute, but the Duchess is very much impressed with her, and so is he; and you know, nephew, he could look for a wife in the highest circles in the land. I am very much shocked, I am very much disappointed. Think what it could mean to the whole family, to your son, when he is grown, to have relatives in such a lofty position!”
“That is possibly true, but I do not think it would much gratify Lewis or myself to have his elevation due to his cousin's marriage, rather than to his own character and efforts.”
“Nonsense! Everybody utilizes their family connections to their advantage, it is the way things are done—families rise or fall together. The gravel on these paths is very coarse; we use a finer one, at Rosings.”
“This gravel dries better, when it has been raining.”
“When it rains, we stay indoors. And I wish to know, for one thing, who has been encouraging Anne in these revolutionary opinions she seems to have adopted. For I am sure that she has not learned them from you?”
“Certainly not.”
“She reads too much; that is what has done the damage. By the way, that topiary, how often do you have it cut back?”
“About every six weeks.”
“If you get them to do it once a month, you will get a better result. No, I am very disappointed. If you had some other suitor to propose…”
Darcy mentioned Sir Matthew, Mr Granby, and Mr Kirkman, but in vain; his aunt was clearly familiar with the old saying about the “bird in the hand.”
“Yes, but that is not the same as an offer, a direct offer of marriage. Their attentions may mean nothing—and as for taking this Mr Kirkman, an elderly widower, with no title, instead of Lord Francis Meaburn! Certainly not!”
“Dare I mention, aunt, that Lord Francis is a widower, and by no means young?”
“Nonsense, he is hardly more than forty. Your father brought that marble figure from Italy; we have a far finer one at Rosings. You would do well to cut back those laurels; you would get a better view of it from the wilderness.”