Chapter 14
The three days preceding the girls’ arrival were the most arduous of Elizabeth’s life.
Though Jane and Mary came daily to the Academy to assist her, there were so many matters to learn and arrange that she scarcely slept four hours a night.
Dinner was most often a slice of cake hastily eaten with a glass of milk.
The building was immense—far larger than she had imagined when first viewing it from without—and though there was a housekeeper, several maids, and attendants enough for every practical purpose, there was always something that required her presence.
In all, besides the seven lady professors, she had more than twenty persons under her direction.
“Does the school yield a profit?” she asked Mr Clinton one morning at breakfast. Each day he came to dine with her, a habit retained from the time of Mrs Clinton, which he had never abandoned.
“I should be glad if it ceased to bring loss,” he replied, and by that elegant answer, she understood that the school generally produced none but losses.
“You shall see, when you speak with the lawyers, that we have a summer residence at Hampstead Heath, standing in the midst of a domain with farmland extending towards Finchley, yielding near four thousand pounds a year—Hampstead Hall.”
“Oh,” she said in surprise. For Longbourn, though it had always appeared considerable, possessed a revenue little above one thousand pounds.
“But you must perceive that the management of the Academy is far more extensive. There are also the parents’ contributions; yet, in general, I should be content if we were merely at the limit, and the Academy required no further funds, which, as you suppose, I supply.”
At a most exhausting pace, Elizabeth familiarised herself with all that concerned the Academy, which involved far more than instructing the pupils.
On the first evening, in her elegant suite of two rooms, she had wondered what subject she might teach.
But after three days, she realised that, for a long while, she would labour only to ensure the proper functioning of the establishment.
Her role as teacher would come later, when matters were settled according to her design and could proceed without her continual oversight.
At length, the last evening before the girls’ arrival came, and with some degree of alarm, she perceived that she had not yet read the list of pupils nor the details of their families—information indispensable when the daughter of a count, or perhaps someone connected with the royal household, was concerned.
She took the list to bed, determined to study it, but fell asleep with it in her hand; and the night seemed to last but a moment before the housekeeper, Mrs Robertson, arrived to wake her.
She had grown thinner, yet the gown that came with a small trousseau the previous day fitted her perfectly.
Her wardrobe, hastily assembled, had been managed by Jane and Mrs Gardiner—the only matter that appeared perfect and under control.
The light grey gown, adorned with discreet lace inlays and a heavy shawl, gave her a taller air.
“Imposing,” said Jane, smiling, when she arrived for breakfast before the girls came.
“Elegant—distinguished,” added Mr Clinton with evident satisfaction, as though Elizabeth had been his own creation.
“I have written to the parents and guardians, that they may be informed of the changes and come to make your acquaintance,” Mr Clinton had told her from the first day.
“Ten girls shall arrive on the first morning, and for each you shall have a quarter of an hour. Mrs Robertson has clear instructions to show the family to the door the instant the time elapses. You need not concern yourself—she knows precisely what to do.”
It was the moment she had awaited, though she could not help but feel some apprehension, wondering whether she might acquit herself in a manner worthy of the prestige the Clinton family had brought to the school during its more than twenty years of existence.
The girls’ arrival would mark the true beginning.
She looked into the great mirror in the hall for the last time. About her neck hung a small, precious watch she had received from Mr Clinton as a welcome gift. The moment had come.
At five minutes to ten, she proceeded to the parlour on the ground floor, where she was to receive the pupils and their families.
She seated herself in the vast room, resolved to read the list; yet she was so agitated that she closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself.
At ten o’clock precisely, the first pupil arrived—a daughter of one of the wealthiest merchant families in England, a little vain of their importance.
Yet Mrs Grimsley, the girl’s mother, departed convinced that her daughter was now in the best possible hands.
Miss Bennet had charmed her at first sight.
Rarely had she seen such distinction joined with such composure.
One after another, three more girls arrived and departed soon after their introductions, leaving Elizabeth for a few minutes alone before the next meeting. She rose and went to the window overlooking the garden, where spring had already begun to make itself felt.
The daffodils, standing in golden ranks, their heads moving lightly beneath the faintest breeze, gave her a sense of joyful confidence.
It was no easy mission, yet thus far all had proceeded perfectly.
She smiled at the trees, still half bare yet touched with the first uncertain green, as though spring herself had paused to consider whether to advance or retreat—a state so like her own.
She knew that even now she might yet withdraw, but in the end all the trees would turn green, and she felt assured that she too should find—or invent in time—her own place.
She drew a deep breath, awaiting Mrs Robertson, who presently entered with a tray of visiting cards and announced,
“Mr and Miss Darcy.”
“Impossible!” she would have exclaimed but she just closed her eyes, for she had but a moment before regained her calm and confidence.
In the few steps she took to meet them, she wondered, almost obsessively, what could have brought them there—and how she had not known.
Then she perceived the list, forgotten upon the little table beside her chair, and felt a moment’s anger with herself for not having read it—then with him, for disturbing this day, which ought to have been perfect, the first day of a new life.
Her eyes first fell upon Miss Georgiana Darcy, and unwillingly the image of Wickham arose before her—hateful and odious—for before her stood a young girl who had scarcely passed the age of playthings.
She would have placed her hand upon her face to learn whether she had coloured, for all at once she felt nothing, as though emptied of every emotion; and only then did she meet his eyes.
His countenance appeared as astonished as her own.
Yet, beneath his composure, there was something else—an effort to master surprise, to speak without betraying it.
Had Mr Clinton told him nothing? So it seemed.
Nor had he told her; yet she instantly recollected the unread list.
“Miss Bennet,” said Mr Darcy, and his voice, though steady, carried a strange constraint that startled his sister.
What folly to have neglected the list, thought Elizabeth in near agony.
At least she would have been prepared—she might have formed a strategy—for she now stood almost paralysed after curtseying before them, and Miss Darcy introduced herself.
She contrived to smile and to say, as decorum required, “Mr Darcy.”
He seemed equally astonished. The letter from Mr Clinton that had invited them to present themselves had probably stated only that a new administration had taken charge of the school.
Elizabeth could not help wondering whether Mr Clinton had deliberately omitted to say who that new administration was.
Was there some small masculine satisfaction in withholding it from a man much younger than himself?
But why? No one knew, save those at the Parsonage, of his proposal of marriage.
“I am happy to make your acquaintance,” Elizabeth said at last to Miss Darcy, who smiled in visible confusion, glancing from one to the other, for it had been impossible not to perceive how strange this meeting was.
“You are acquainted?” asked Miss Darcy with the innocence of a child, and only after speaking did she realise her impropriety and blush deeply.
Elizabeth was silent, leaving him to decide the answer; but a man such as he could not lie, and something of her old resentment stole once more into her heart—not the vexation that he had spoiled her day, but the frustration of that scene at the Parsonage, which had so much to do with that honesty which, in his hands, had been an arm.
“Yes, we were acquainted,” replied Mr Darcy. The long pause before his answer rendered the atmosphere still more peculiar.
“Miss Bennet resides in Hertfordshire,” he added, his voice calm again.
And though Georgiana longed to learn more, Mrs Robertson entered at that moment to conduct Miss Darcy to her chambers, as she had done for all the other girls.
Thus, Elizabeth was left alone with Mr Darcy.