CHAPTER 1 #4
Lady Catherine listened with an attention that, though outwardly composed, was not without a degree of interest, interrupting him only where clarification seemed necessary, or where his expressions invited correction rather than contradiction.
Encouraged by her reception, Wickham ventured, with apparent reluctance, to mention the state of the parsonage.
The cottage, he observed, was in need of such repairs as could not, with propriety, be delayed, and though he would not presume to dictate the manner of their execution, he felt it his duty to bring the matter to her notice.
“In the meantime,” he added, with a slight inclination of the head, “I had considered removing myself temporarily to an inn, that the work might proceed without inconvenience to others.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Catherine replied at once. “What business have you in an inn? You and your household will remove immediately to Rosings. There is ample accommodation, and you will be far better provided for here than at Hunsford.”
Wickham hesitated just sufficiently to render his compliance the more acceptable. “Your ladyship is most generous; yet I would be unwilling to occasion you unnecessary expense or disturbance.”
“It seems you are determined to oppose me,” she returned. “I do not invite contradiction, Mr. Wickham.”
He bowed. “I should be sorry to incur your ladyship’s displeasure.”
Lady Catherine’s expression softened, though not without a trace of satisfaction at having prevailed. “You will occupy the chamber near the staircase on the second floor. It is the best appointed.”
“I am entirely at your disposal, your ladyship.”
She regarded him for a moment longer, as though some further consideration had presented itself. “I made it known, before your appointment, that a married clergyman is always preferable in a parish such as this. It commands greater respect. Have you any intention of marrying?”
Wickham did not immediately reply. The pause, though brief, lent weight to what followed.
“I should not presume to speak with confidence on such a subject,” he said at last. “There is—if I may confess it—a lady to whom my regard is most sincerely engaged; yet circumstances do not permit me to declare myself as I might wish.”
Lady Catherine’s interest was decidedly awakened. “And why not? A declaration, properly made, is seldom ill received.”
“In my case, your ladyship, the disparity is such as must render me cautious. I would not expose myself to a refusal which might place me in an unfavourable light.”
“Nonsense,” her ladyship said again, though her tone was now more thoughtful than dismissive. “You must speak. Delay serves no purpose. If the lady is deserving, she will appreciate your candour.”
“I shall endeavour to profit by your ladyship’s advice.” The humility was well judged; it yielded nothing, yet appeared to concede everything.
Lady Catherine considered him once more. “On reflection, the room I first assigned you may not answer as well as I supposed. The one on the first floor, though less handsomely furnished, is nearer at hand. I may require your attendance, and convenience must be considered.”
“Your ladyship’s wishes shall always determine my own.”
“It is settled, then. You will remove to Rosings without delay. I shall order the necessary repairs at Hunsford to begin tomorrow.”
The vicar bowed again, with a composure that scarcely betrayed the advantage he had secured.
The arrangement, though presented as her ladyship’s decision, had not been formed without his assistance; and if he had yielded, it was only in such measure as to ensure that the conclusion should appear entirely her own.
***
It was not left to conjecture for long. Within the hour of Mr. Wickham’s departure from her presence, Lady Catherine de Bourgh caused a message to be sent to her daughter and to Mrs. Jenkinson, requiring their attendance in the smaller parlour.
Miss de Bourgh, accustomed to such summons, obeyed without delay, though not without some curiosity as to its cause. Mrs. Jenkinson followed closely, her manner betraying that mixture of concern and submission which long habit had rendered almost inseparable.
Lady Catherine was already there, waiting to receive them. She stood near the mantel, not seated, as was her custom when receiving visitors, but composed in a posture that suggested a decision already formed and awaiting only declaration.
“I have just made a decision of utmost importance and have thought it necessary to communicate it to you at once. Our new vicar, Mr. Wickham, will reside at Rosings for the present,” she said, without other preamble, and in a tone that admitted neither surprise nor objection.
“The parsonage at Hunsford is in a condition unfit for immediate occupation, and I have directed that the necessary repairs be undertaken without delay. Until such time as they are completed, it is proper that he should remain under my immediate supervision. His servants will follow him here.”
Mrs. Jenkinson inclined her head at once. “Certainly, your ladyship.”
Anne did not immediately speak.
“There is ample accommodation,” Lady Catherine continued, with a composure that suggested the matter already arranged in every particular. “The chamber on the first floor has been assigned to him. It is conveniently situated, and entirely suitable.”
At this, Anne raised her eyes. The arrangement, though presented as one of necessity, was not without a degree of particularity that invited remark.
“You will find him a young man of very proper address,” her ladyship went on, turning slightly toward her daughter.
“Attentive, respectful, and not without understanding. Your indisposition last evening, Anne, deprived you of the opportunity of forming your own opinion; but I have had sufficient occasion to observe him. With direction, he may yet prove of considerable use in the parish.”
“Yes, Mother,” Anne replied, her tone even, though her attention had sharpened.
“I expect that the servants will make such adjustments as are required,” Lady Catherine added. “There is to be no confusion. Mr. Wickham’s removal from Hunsford is to take place immediately.”
Mrs. Jenkinson murmured her assent once more.
“I have also desired that the carriage be made ready,” her ladyship concluded, as though the matter were one of the simplest arrangements. “Mr. Yates will attend to the removal of the necessary effects. I will not have delay where order is concerned.”
The interview, thus concluded, admitted of no further discussion. Lady Catherine dismissed them with a slight inclination of the head, the decision having been delivered with that completeness which rendered all comment superfluous.
Anne withdrew in silence. The declaration, though brief, had not been without consequence; and if its justification lay in convenience, its execution suggested something more immediate, more personal, than convenience alone might require.
***
Though some days had intervened, the summons to the smaller parlour, and the decision there so promptly declared, remained present to Anne de Bourgh’s mind. What had been offered as a matter of convenience did not, to her understanding, wholly bear that character.
Miss de Bourgh withdrew to her own room, the composure she had maintained in her mother’s presence giving way to a more settled and deliberate consideration.
She seated herself near the window. Anne was not in the habit of forming hasty judgements; yet neither was she inclined to disregard what she had observed with increasing clarity.
Mr. Wickham’s presence, at first no more than a circumstance of his office, had already assumed a prominence not easily reconciled with the ordinary duties of a parish clergyman.
His manner, though outwardly respectful, possessed a degree of ease ill-suited to so recent an introduction; and the readiness with which her mother received him—so marked, so unqualified—could not but excite uneasiness.
The smiles were proper, the conversation unexceptionable; yet something in their duration, and in the intervals that followed them, suggested a familiarity not wholly accounted for by his situation.
Anne, long accustomed to the measured regularity of her mother’s preferences, perceived in this deviation not novelty alone, but a change of direction.
Her displeasure, though quietly felt, was not without firmness. That a stranger—and one so newly established—should so quickly obtain a place of influence within her mother’s household was, in her view, neither proper nor entirely safe.
Later, at breakfast, when the household was again assembled and Mr. Wickham was not in attendance, Anne ventured to speak. “Mother, I hope you will not think me impertinent if I observe that you appear… particularly engaged by Mr. Wickham’s society.”
“Anne!” Lady Catherine exclaimed, more from surprise than anger, though a slight colour rose upon her cheek. “You mistake the matter entirely. Mr. Wickham is attentive to his duties, and I find it proper to encourage such conduct.”
“I do not question his diligence,” Anne replied softly. “Only—that his attentions seem directed beyond what duty alone might require.”
“Your observation is unnecessary,” her mother returned, recovering her usual tone of authority. “I am perfectly capable of distinguishing propriety where it is concerned. Mr. Wickham conducts himself as he ought.”
Anne inclined her head. “I meant no offence. I would only wish that you might not be… inconvenienced by any misapprehension.”
“There is none,” Lady Catherine said, with finality. “You allow yourself too much conjecture. Pray do not repeat it.”
The conversation ceased. Anne did not attempt to renew it; yet neither was she satisfied.
What she had perceived could not, she felt, be dismissed as entirely without foundation; and though she was not accustomed to oppose her mother, she was not prepared to disregard what appeared increasingly evident.
Returned to her room, Miss de Bourgh seated herself at her writing desk and began a letter to Mr. Darcy.
Her hand, though not rapid, was steady; and if her style lacked ornament, it did not lack precision.
She described, with as much exactness as she could command, the altered course of the household: Mr. Wickham’s constant presence, the ease of his address, and the particular attention with which he was received.
She did not exaggerate; still less did she soften.
Anne then added, after a moment’s pause, that his presence had not passed without remark among the servants, whose observations, though imperfect, were not always to be disregarded.
When she had finished, Anne read over what she had written, not in search of elegance, but of accuracy; and, finding nothing she wished to retract, sealed the letter with quiet determination.
Whether she had judged rightly, she could not be certain. But Anne de Bourgh was persuaded that what she had witnessed admitted of no easy explanation, and still less of indifference.
The letter, once dispatched, became her only recourse; for the rest, events must take their course—and Miss de Bourgh, though seldom inclined to interference, was not wholly prepared to abandon what she believed to be her duty.