“But she has not recovered. How unfortunate that she did not follow Miss Porterman in matrimony.”
Lizzy pursed her lips, and fanned herself with a slip of paper I had discarded upon the table. “Can one ever reconcile oneself to so material a change? I am sure it has broken her heart. To be removed from a condition of elegance — a house in Town, a carriage at one's command, and every comfort contrived — the very best circle of Society — and to accept, instead, the instruction of a girl such as Fanny—! Who, however excellent in her way, must be a trial to one for whom every prospect of future delight must seem so decidedly at an end?”
I could offer no reply for several moments; my heart was torn. There are too many young ladies of good family and little fortune, consigned to the near-slavery of the governess trade — a condition neither exalted nor demeaning, but open to both influences, as the temper of the employer's household must dictate. Such women live in a half-world, neither domestic nor genteel, and must suffer a thousand slights, a thousand deprivations, a thousand hopes deferred; they end their days as impoverished as they began, forced to live on a pittance saved from the successive rounds of foolish young girls they have scrambled into a little learning — their own beauty quite wasted, the better part of their youth sacrificed. But for the generosity of my brothers, whose incomes must make up the default of my late father's, Cassandra and I might find ourselves dependent upon a similar fate — urging the haughty and condescending among our near-acquaintance to pay for the privilege of our indifferent French, our accomplishments on the pianoforte, and our claims to such elegance as a few years' residence in Bath might afford us. I shuddered and averted my eyes from the small figure of Anne Sharpe, now several hundred yards beyond the haven of the temple.
“I do not know what to do for her, Jane,” Lizzy said quietly. “A little higher, and she might be my intimate; a little lower, and I might be her patron. But as it is—”
“You may only preserve her from further degradation, with the sum of twenty pounds per annum. No wonder she longs to go to Town.”
Lizzy glanced at me swiftly. “Does she? I had understood she abhorred London. The dirt — the noise—”
“She was wild to be gone but a few days since. The prospect of packing assured her of the event's achievement. I thought I had denied her dearest wish, when I informed her that a removal was only a distant possibility.”
“How very odd,” Lizzy murmured. “Perhaps she has had a letter… an acquaintance returned to London…” She straightened up and shook the dust from her flounces. “We shall be late for Eastwell, Jane, and much tho' it should give me pleasure to incommode Lady Elizabeth, your brother is correct in believing that I cannot allow her the pleasure of despising me. In any case, we cannot plumb the depths of Anne Sharpe by speculating at a distance. It puts me in mind of the sort of complacent old cats who lined the ballrooms of my girlhood, making matches and scandal between the most improbable of lovers.”
“They line the ballroom still, Lizzy,” I replied, “and I am in a fair way to joining them myself.”
WE RETURNED TO THE GREAT HOUSE, AND PETITIONED Cook for raspberry cordial; it arrived almost directly from the ice-house, beaded with the most delicious moisture, on a silver tray. It was as we had finished one glass, and had determined we must exchange our morning gowns for travelling costumes more suited to the rigours of an open carriage, that Neddie and Henry returned from Mrs. Grey's funeral.
“My dear!” Lizzy cried, with more appearance of animation than was usual for her, “we are on the point of dressing for Eastwell, but cannot stir until you have told us all the news. How was the service conducted? Did the Comte and Mr. Grey come to blows? Who was so judicious in feeling as to attend?”
“Mr. James Wildman — Mr. Edward Taylor — Captain Woodford, of course; Mr. Toke, Mr. Sansible, and a few others not unknown to you.[34] Denys Collingforth failed to put in his appearance, as did your brother Edward, Lizzy; but the former was hardly expected, and the latter we may suppose to have been detained by his duty to his mother. Our Henry, however, was generally acclaimed the most sportingly — if inappropriately — attired.”
“And Mr. Grey?” Lizzy persisted. “How did he appear?”
Neddie eased himself onto one of the drawing-room's uncomfortable gilt chairs with a grimace. “We were denied the pleasure of meeting Mr. Grey, my dear.”
“You have no pity on my poor nerves,” Lizzy scolded him crossly. “Jane and I have exhausted nearly every occupation open to a woman this morning — needlework, novel-reading, and the sketching of a quantity of children”—in this, she exaggerated a little, given the indolence of our employment in the temple—“in feverish expectation of your return. I am sure that Jane wore out her pen entirely in her repeated efforts to sharpen it; and yet she cannot have composed more than two sentences together, in the entire course of the morning! You are unspeakably cruel to serve us out in this manner. Mr. Grey, fail to attend his wife's funeral! Impossible, Neddie! Impossible!”
“Improbable, perhaps — unpardonable, even; but impossible? Not at all. The Larches' housekeeper — an excellent woman, one Mrs. Bastable, and a deft hand at blood pudding, as Henry may attest — informed us directly we arrived that the master was called to Town in the early hours of morning. He is expected at home this evening, however — so your visit of condolence cannot be put off.”
“How extraordinary!” Lizzy exclaimed. Her countenance was less composed than I had ever had occasion to remark it. “To ride into Town, when one's wife is as yet unburied, and without the slightest regard for public opinion!”
“We can know nothing of Mr. Grey's regard for public opinion,” Neddie objected. “It might be quite strenuously excited by his demonstration of poor taste. Indeed, his concern for the feelings of his neighbours on this point might even deprive him of sleep. You should not judge harshly, Lizzy, without a full knowledge of the particulars.”
“Excuse me, my dear, but I know exactly how I may judge,” Lizzy rejoined tardy. “Such nice distinctions between intention and action, belong solely to the province of the Justice, who must stand above reproach. His wife may indulge all the force of prejudice, and declare Mr. Grey an unfeeling brute.”
“Did his housekeeper confide the reason for this sudden journey?” I enquired.
“According to Mrs. Bastable, the master received an express from Town just before dawn, presumably on a matter of business. His journey necessarily resulted from it. To suppose more than this, would be sheer conjecture.”
“A pressing matter of business, then, to prevent his attending his wife's funeral. I should imagine it the sort of summons that might not be denied — from a person whose powers must command even Grey.”
“There can be very few of those,” Henry remarked. “A summons from Prime Minister Pitt himself, perhaps? — Who requires another loan to fund the ambitions of Lord Nelson and our brother?”
“Perhaps we should peruse the London papers,” I suggested with a smile, “and find in their subtle hints the reason for so much haste. The Comte, I suppose, was in evidence?”
“He might have been the bereaved husband himself, for all his display of anguish,” Neddie replied.
“You thought him insincere?”
“No, Jane — merely less restrained than an Englishman might be. His grief bore every appearance of arising from the deepest sense of loss. He accepted the sympathies of the assembled mourners with becoming grace, and begged us all to take some refreshment in the house, when once the service was over.”
“He took nothing himself, however,” Henry supplied, “and said even less.”
“Did you press him, Neddie, on the subject of Mr. Grey's flight?”
34
Women never attended funerals in Austen's day, even those of close family members. They were deemed too delicate to support the pain of witnessing an interment, despite the fact that they presided over innumerable deathbeds. —