Chapter 12
She did not speak to Mrs Gardiner or to Jane of Mr Clinton, for there was in truth little to relate.
It had been rather her impression than a certainty that he had shown her particular regard.
Yet she was far from imagining, when her aunt announced, a few days later, that a gentleman was asking for her, that the visitor in question should prove to be Mr Clinton.
As she descended the staircase, her heart beat violently, for until she entered the drawing-room, she was persuaded it must be Mr Darcy.
Her astonishment was extreme when she beheld her uncle conversing with Mr Clinton, who presently withdrew without a word.
“Mr Clinton!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her surprise evident in her voice.
“Miss Bennet,” he returned with a smile. “I perceive that my visit astonishes you. Yet I told you I should call upon you.”
“When persons meet during a season of leisure, they make many promises,” she answered, smiling likewise.
Yet inwardly she was far from tranquillity.
Already she wondered how she might refuse the proposal she expected, and what she ought to say to a gentleman who might well have been her father.
Still, the words of refusal would not form themselves clearly.
For one brief instant, she even thought of accepting—of saying yes to his offer of marriage, and, as her uncle often advised, of looking upon life with greater practicality.
Five daughters without portion might at any time find themselves turned out of their home by Mr Collins, who would think little of claiming Longbourn once her father were gone.
This gentleman, at least, might satisfy her desire for occupation and usefulness, since he would undoubtedly require that the Margaret Clinton Academy should be directed by her.
When he began to speak, she was still uncertain what her answer ought to be.
“I do not suppose you suspect why I am here, nor why I have come in such haste. I took the liberty of enquiring of Lady Catherine whether you remained in Kent, and learnt only this morning that you had returned.”
“Mr Clinton—” Elizabeth endeavoured to interrupt, hoping to express, politely yet firmly, her want of inclination for marriage at that time. But the gentleman made a decisive motion with his hand.
“I shall be very brief. I come to ask your—”
From the height of her agitation, Elizabeth, for the first time in her life, nearly lost consciousness. She did not faint nor fall, but her sight grew dim, and she heard nothing of his following words.
She returned to herself on hearing her name spoken with some vehemence—“Miss Bennet!”
Mr Clinton stood before her, smiling as ever, though plainly surprised by her silence. He seemed unaware that she had not heard his question. Yet, as she looked at him, she knew she could never marry him, whatever misfortunes might threaten her family.
“Allow me to state my proposal more fully.”
Elizabeth, distressed, feared that her silence had been taken for acceptance.
“I have managed, since my wife’s death—until two years ago—with but one lady.”
Elizabeth felt the colour rise to her cheeks. Did he mean to ask her to be his mistress? How else could he manage with one lady? Yet she was not a woman to lose her composure.
“Mr Clinton, I am not sure I understand correctly what it is you desire of me,” she said with studied coldness. But even that did not discourage him.
“That is because I have not yet been clear. My wife died twelve years ago, leaving behind a very well-organised academy under the direction of Mrs Talbot, who, alas, died two years ago. Since then, I have endured much difficulty, for three ladies have succeeded her. If one proved unsuitable and had to be dismissed, the other two married within months of their arrival. And I must confess that I had chosen them precisely because I believed that, though still comparatively young, the ladies in question would not marry. Being around thirty years of age, they appeared rather disposed towards a single life…but I was mistaken. As though our academy existed to arrange matches rather than to educate young ladies.”
“When I met you at Rosings, it seemed to me a divine ordination—or rather that, from above the heavens, dear Margaret took pity on me and led me to Lady Catherine’s, that I might meet you.”
Elizabeth at last smiled, though she had not yet entirely understood his meaning. As she remained silent, Mr Clinton went on:
“The Academy stands in need of a young lady like you.”
“The Academy?” she repeated.
“Yes, and I also, for during these two years, I have been distracted from my pursuits, and above all from my purpose of promoting education beyond the great centres of Oxford and Cambridge.”
“And what would be my role?” she asked at last, gathering courage, resolved to refuse at once the idea of becoming his wife, however she might wound him.
“I have not yet fixed upon a title, but I thought we might adopt that of Principal of the Academy—a title which, as you may know, exists at least in one Oxford college.”
“And that would mean?”
“That you should govern the Academy as you see fit. When I met you, I entirely altered the description of the lady I sought to direct it. You answered perfectly in point of education, though formerly I had looked for older women. I have since perceived that your youth is in truth an advantage, not a hindrance.”
“And…is there something more? Are there other conditions?” she asked, striving to appear composed, though her heart beat fast.
“What more should there be? That is precisely my design: I wish not to manage, but to behold, with perfect satisfaction, an establishment conducted without my interference.”
“You would have me be…the Principal?”
“Indeed. Yet there is one more point,” he continued, and Elizabeth discerned hesitation in his voice.
She grew fearful again. To be what he called the Principal of an academy was a dream she had scarcely dared to imagine—the crown of all her secret wishes of independence.
She would have accepted at once, had that been all, but there was clearly something more.
She could not be his wife, and she now felt determined to refuse his proposal without delay.
She forced herself to be calm, hoping that reason might convince him she could be an excellent Principal but a most unsuitable wife.
“I am listening,” she said.
“In the past, just after Mrs Talbot died, I endeavoured to find a lady between forty and fifty, but unfortunately, those who came had no notion of my design. I need a young, active, educated woman who can build upon what Margaret began. I need a new and—if I may say so—a revolutionary vision. Then the ladies of thirty married, as I told you.”
“A difficult enterprise,” observed Elizabeth cautiously.
“Indeed it was, until I met you. I need you, Miss Bennet. Yet there is one condition. I observed how Mr Darcy looked at you.”
Elizabeth coloured slightly. “I have no intention of ever seeing Mr Darcy again.”
“Good. I had been under the impression he was about to offer you marriage.”
“I have no intention of marrying any one at present,” she replied so decisively that Mr Clinton sighed and smiled.
“That is precisely what I wished to hear.”
“With no one,” she repeated, now almost relieved to give expression to her feelings and her resolution.
“That is excellent news, Miss Bennet. You see, the difficulty with single women is that they often marry. Twice have I engaged one, and twice have I been obliged to part with her; for though I can have a married woman to manage the Academy, no married woman will choose to remain in such a post.”
He paused a moment, as though to give his words more weight. “Miss Bennet, I can offer you four hundred pounds a year to become Principal at once; but if you will accept one condition, I shall make it double.”
“Double?” Elizabeth repeated, scarcely believing her ears. It was an immense sum—half her family’s income.
“Exactly eight hundred pounds,” said Mr Clinton distinctly.
“If?” she asked again, a little fearfully, yet resolved to refuse any proposal of marriage; but after all, why should he offer a salary if he intended her for his wife?
“If you will agree to a firm engagement to direct the Academy for five years.”
“You mean to impose a condition that I must not marry during that time?” Elizabeth asked, half laughing, yet plainly relieved to discover that it was not a proposal of marriage.
“I could not impose such a rule, but if you consent to manage the Academy for five years, that will suffice. I trust your honesty.”
“And you know well that no man would tolerate his wife presiding over an academy.”
“Most probably not,” returned Mr Clinton, smiling.
“Five years!” exclaimed Elizabeth, with evident hesitation.
“Yes, it is the minimum term required for establishing a sound system of education for young ladies when a new vision appears. That is why I have fixed it so.”
Elizabeth reflected for some time, and Mr Clinton made no attempt to interrupt, understanding well her hesitation and her doubts.
“For the present, I am happy to accept the position you offer me,” she said at last. “At this moment I am alone and under no obligation…but five years is a long time. If you agree, I would first accept your offer to be the Principal for now. I promise not to leave for a year. And you know that I shall not depart without ensuring that my work will be continued with equal seriousness.”
“Precisely. I may say that I have discerned what manner of person you are, and I trust both my own judgement and Margaret’s assistance,” he added with a touch of humour, glancing upwards. “Then you accept for one year?”
“Exactly; and if, in the meantime, my view should alter and I decide to remain for five, I shall inform you.”
Elizabeth said this chiefly to dispel the look of disappointment upon his face. She would certainly remain for one year, whatever the near future might bring; yet she could not help hoping that great love would appear, and when it did, she might be obliged to relinquish her post.
“I know very well the reason for your hesitation,” said Mr Clinton.
“I am sure you do. And I cannot but reflect that, although I have always thought myself a woman of modern principles—desiring independence and wishing to maintain myself by honest employment—still, when it comes to love and marriage, these prevail with me as with others.”
Elizabeth looked at him, a little disconcerted, for the admission surprised her and stood somewhat in contradiction to the opinion she had long held of herself.
“Do not be disappointed,” said Mr Clinton unexpectedly.
“You are indeed a woman of these times, thinking differently from your mother and grandmother, desiring another manner of life; but around us, nothing has changed. Society and its rules remain the same. It is natural to wish for employment and independence. Still, you should not be forced to choose between working and marrying. Both ought to be possible, if that be your wish.”
Elizabeth looked at him with gratitude. “When might I begin?”
“You are in haste, Miss Bennet.”
“Indeed, I am. Every day of liberty and independence counts,” she replied, and both laughed, well content—each with the result of that meeting.
“And naturally, before all is arranged, I must first confer with your father, Mr Bennet,” he added.
When he was gone, she sat awhile in silent reflection, hardly knowing whether to laugh at the strangeness of the proposal or to rejoice in the prospect of such independence. Still, she now had the difficult task of convincing her family that it was indeed an exceptional opportunity for her.