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Miss de Bourgh's AdventureProduct Details : |
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An Excerpt from Miss de Bourgh's Adventure The Reverend William Collins, who, through the affability and condescension of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, held the living of Hunsford—and who deemed it his duty, on that account, to offer to his great patroness those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies—had more than once remarked to her ladyship that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess; that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her; and that Miss de Bourgh’s indifferent state of health, by preventing her being in London, had deprived the British court of its brightest ornament. Such sentiments as these were frequently, and most eloquently expressed by Mr Collins. And Lady Catherine herself declared that, in point of true beauty, Anne was far superior to the handsomest of her sex, because there was that in her features which marked the young woman of distinguished birth. But if the truth were told, Miss Anne de Bourgh was thought by many to be rather plain. Not so hideously plain as to frighten small children, but plain nonetheless: thin and small and pale; with a timid air, and insignificant features. Having said so much, it seems unnecessary to add anything more by way of a description. A young woman without beauty, however estimable in character, can have no attributes worth naming—no thoughts worth revealing—and certainly no business being heroine of a novel. One thing further, nevertheless, might be said of Miss de Bourgh: she was heiress to a great fortune, and to very extensive property; and it was very well that she should be. If a lady cannot be beautiful, she ought at least to be rich. Miss de Bourgh’s father, Sir Lewis de Bourgh, was long deceased; and she had, for many years past, lived in retirement with her mother, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and her companion and former governess, Mrs Jenkinson, at Rosings Park, the family estate near Westerham, in Kent. She was believed by all and sundry (herself included) to be constitutionally delicate, with a strong tendency to ill-health; and doubtless, in comparison to her mother, whose extraordinary vigour was a matter almost of legend amongst her acquaintance, Anne was somewhat deficient in vital energies. Yet it must be owned that her perpetual weakness and languor were perhaps owing more to mental fatigue and lowness of spirits, than to any real physical debility. Like many another young lady of large fortune, Miss de Bourgh might have found great pleasure in having the power to do as she liked; but to do as she liked had never been in her power. She had lived her life under the sharp eye, firm hand, and commanding tongue of her respected mother; and had exercised as little authority over the course of her own life as may well be imagined. Had Sir Lewis de Bourgh lived, or had her ladyship been blessed with a large family of children, Anne might have been able sometimes to escape her mother’s harassing superintendence. Most unhappily, however, Anne de Bourgh was Lady Catherine’s only child. Like most mothers, Lady Catherine desired to see her child well disposed of in marriage. Towards that end, she had, from their infancy, intended a marriage between her nephew, Mr Darcy, and her daughter; and Anne herself was not averse to the idea of marrying her handsome cousin, if the gentleman were willing. But alas! Mr Darcy had never shown the smallest inclination for the match; and he had, in the end, disappointed Anne, and outraged her mother, by marrying Miss Elizabeth Bennet—a young woman without family, fortune, or connections—in spite of all Lady Catherine could do or say to prevent him. Her ladyship exerted to the full all her celebrated sincerity and frankness of character in the effort, thoroughly abusing Miss Bennet to her face, and to Mr Darcy as well; but to no avail. After a little time, however, Lady Catherine rallied, and concocted another plan: she had a second nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam; he would marry Anne. It was not so good a match as the first. The Colonel, though the son of an Earl, was but a younger son, with only a small fortune at his command. Still, it was in every other way a most eligible connection, and her ladyship again employed all her faculties to see it accomplished. But poor Lady Catherine was most unfortunate in her nephews. Colonel Fitzwilliam, too, chose to marry elsewhere; and Anne seemed doomed to a future of elegant spinsterhood, ruled by her mother, and with no other friend to sympathize in her cares than old Mrs Jenkinson, her paid companion. Anne sometimes thought she might have found a friend in Mrs Collins. Charlotte Collins was her own age, and on the whole, a kind, and an exceedingly sensible young woman; but she had one defect too serious to be overlooked. To Anne’s astonishment (for despite the gallant compliments he was wont to lavish on her, Anne could not but consider Mr Collins a very disagreeable gentleman), Mrs Collins appeared quite oblivious to her husband’s prosing stupidity. To be married to a man so idiotic, so irksome as William Collins, and yet to look upon him with a bland indifference—to never betray any feeling of disgust or annoyance in his society, was a degree of sense, or of insensibility, which Anne could neither understand nor respect. So, though she saw Mrs Collins tolerably often (for the Collinses dined twice each week at Rosings; and Anne, when taking the air in her phaeton with Mrs Jenkinson, frequently stopped just outside the garden gate of Hunsford Parsonage to speak to her, though she was scarcely ever prevailed on to get out), no real intimacy had ever arisen between them. Thus, at the dangerous age of nine-and-twenty, and despite the sumptuousness of her surroundings, and the possession of every luxury in the way of gowns, jewels, servants, and carriages which heart could desire, Miss Anne de Bourgh’s prospects for future happiness looked exceedingly bleak. But if adventure and romance will not find a young lady at home, she must perforce leave her home to seek them. Lady Catherine, almost despairing of a worthy candidate presenting himself at Rosings in the foreseeable future (for she had quite exhausted her supply of eligible nephews), was yet determined on finding a princely consort for her noble daughter. Accordingly, she seized upon a little lingering cough of Anne’s as a pretext for carrying her to Bath, and introducing her at last to that aristocratic society which she had been formed so manifestly to grace. Indeed, where better than Bath, her ladyship reflected, to make new acquaintance, and to renew old? She congratulated herself upon the shrewdness of the plan, and set about at once to accomplish it. Within a week’s time, a superior house in Sydney Place had been taken in their behalf, and Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh, accompanied by Mrs Jenkinson, and Dawson, her ladyship’s maid—and with a proper number of postilions and outriders to attend them on their journey—set forth from Rosings with every appointment that comfort or luxury could require. Lady Catherine talked almost without pause until they reached the first stop of their journey, Mrs Jenkinson taking advantage of a few very brief silences to enquire whether Miss de Bourgh was quite warm enough—to ask whether she would like the glass let down a little, or put up entirely—to rearrange her cushions—to offer her refreshment—and to express a fear that she was indisposed. "When we get to Bath, Anne," said Lady Catherine, "you must go into the warm bath every morning before breakfast. Mrs Jenkinson" (nodding at that lady) "will attend you. I recommend also that you will continue with your regimen of Holt’s Elixir, one dose morning and evening; and by these means, your cough will soon be cured entirely. I shall take you myself to Madame Le Clerc for new gowns; for you have had nothing new this season, except the half-dozen morning gowns from Mrs Leland—and those I do not regard as anything; the work of a mere country seamstress, not fit to be seen away from home. But Madame Le Clerc is the best modiste in Bath, and you may be sure will be au courant with the very latest fashions. When your dresses are ready, we will begin by visiting the Pump Room in the afternoons, where perhaps we may find we have some prior acquaintance. In any event, I will be able to survey the Book, and see who is arrived. I make no doubt we will meet with many who are known to me from one place or another, and we shall have no difficulty situating you in a sphere befitting your rank and fortune. However, I think you had best not attend the Assembly; your health will not allow it. You are far too delicate for dancing—which is most unfortunate, indeed. Had your health permitted you ever to learn, your proficiency would certainly have been far superior to the common, for you possess that natural grace characteristic in those of aristocratic descent. I am confident you would have danced delightfully. But, as I was saying—to sit about in the hot, stuffy Rooms all night, would be altogether too much for you. And some of the less exalted persons who may be met with at such a public gathering you would scarce be equal to encounter. You have not been used to keep such company; and I would advise you not to hazard it. You will find more than enough of such society at the Pump Room, where at least you may benefit from drinking the waters; and once we have established you in the proper circle, of course, you will be able to accept invitations for the occasional private dinner or card party, where the company is to be confined to a select few, and which will therefore be sufficiently elegant, and quiet enough not to overpower you." Her ladyship continued on these themes for some time, and when they were disposed of, found no shortage of other subjects upon which to discourse. They changed horses at Bromley, came through London in their way, and stayed overnight at Reading; and by leaving very early in the morning, reached Bath the following evening in time for supper. With considerable agitation had Anne set out from Rosings, and with greater still did she alight at Bath. Her life had been always so confined—she had mixed so little in society—that she was at once apprehensive and elated in the prospect of new acquaintance and new experience. Though her own ill-health had been given as the reason for this trip, Anne was aware her mother had another motive for the visit; and she felt much in doubt as to what would be its final outcome. She dreamt of forming an attachment such as she had read about in novels; of escaping her mother’s tyranny by marrying a handsome and tender gentleman, who would treat her with affection and kindness, and devote himself to fulfilling her every wish. But at times she thought it more likely that (as now and then also happened in novels) she would be deceived—misled—taken in; would find herself the defenseless prey of a devious and heartless man, who only wanted her for her fortune, and whose baseness and cruelty would make her regret Lady Catherine’s milder sovereignty. Or (perhaps worse still!) she might excite the interest of no man whatever; and be obliged in the end to return home to Rosings, an abject figure of failure and disgrace. All that lay before her was uncertain in the extreme; but Anne endeavoured, as nearly she could, to hope for the best.
Lady Catherine and her daughter were soon settled in their new quarters, their linen, plate, and other necessities having been sent on to Bath ahead of them, and all having been made ready for them before they arrived. At first, Anne found little more to enliven her at Sydney Place than she had found at Rosings Park. As her mother commanded, she went into the warm bath attended by Mrs Jenkinson, and saw scarcely anyone but gouty old men and rheumatic old women. She went dutifully to the modiste and the milliner with Lady Catherine, where she was fitted for a profusion of gowns, pelisses, bonnets, spencers, shawls, and other attire, all of her ladyship’s choosing, and therefore with more of ostentatious richness, and less of real elegance, than Anne herself would have preferred. And she submitted to the prescribed regimen of Holt’s Elixir, though with rebellion in her heart, and queasiness in her stomach, at each repeated dosing. At last, however, her new finery was ready, and Anne was ushered with all due solemnity into the Pump Room, Lady Catherine on one side, and Mrs Jenkinson on the other. Her ladyship found them acceptable seats, and then walked off to inspect the Book. As Anne took the glass of water proffered by Mrs Jenkinson, she noticed a young lady and gentleman, both very elegant and both very handsome, standing nearby. Gazing on them with admiration, she raised the glass to her lips and swallowed a large mouthful of water. With a cough and a splutter, she gave forth an exclamation of disgust, and screwed up her features in a manner hardly consistent with dignity, but indicative of the strongest distaste. The elegant young lady caught her eye and smiled in sympathy. "It is rather vile stuff, is it not?" the young lady ventured to say. "But my dear Louisa!" said the young gentleman. "How could it be otherwise? Do you suppose the precious gift of health is to be acquired without suffering for it? What, after all, is the influence of nourishing food and drink—of fresh air and sunshine—of refreshing sleep—of wholesome amusement—beside the bracing effects of foul tinctures, nauseous nostrums, and poison pellets? Would you hold at naught all the accumulated wisdom of that honourable profession, which would bleed and purge and poison us to death, to cure us of our maladies?" The young lady laughed at her companion and abused him as ridiculous; and Anne, thinking of the hated Elixir, could not but smile. Before anything further could be said, however, Lady Catherine returned from her perusal of the Book. "I find, my dear," said she, "that Bath is by no means full as yet; it is still a little early, however. In another fortnight we shall find a great deal more society than is here at present. But I believe I have seen the name of one dear friend, whom I knew long ago, before I married Sir Lewis de Bourgh. Mrs Arabella Wynnewood is listed as letting a house in the South Parade—quite a respectable address—with Mr George Wynnewood and Miss Louisa Wynnewood. Mrs Wynnewood can be none other than my old friend, Miss Hatfield, who married a gentleman by that name. The Hatfields are of noble descent; Miss Hatfield’s uncle was the eighth Baron Hatfield. And Mr Wynnewood was (like your father) the representative of an ancient and illustrious, though untitled line—and possessed of a very large property. They will be a most suitable family for you to associate with, Anne; though whether the Mr Wynnewood whose name is inscribed in the register be husband or son, I know not." This speech, delivered with Lady Catherine’s customary authoritative resonance, was overheard by the handsome young gentleman, who was at that moment standing alone, his female companion having just gone off to talk with another acquaintance. He stepped closer and said, "Mr Wynnewood, I believe, is the lady’s son, ma’am." Lady Catherine turned to stare at him, amazed at his impertinence. Not wishing to cut him entirely, however, lest he should prove to be someone worth knowing, after a moment’s hesitation she asked in her coldest and most stately tone, "You are acquainted with the family, are you, sir?" The young man appeared not the least intimidated by her ladyship’s imposing demeanour, and replied with perfect equanimity, "Intimately, ma’am. Indeed, I am in a position to satisfy you particularly on this point. I spoke with Mrs Wynnewood only an hour ago. The gentleman you were so kind as to make mention of is her son; and though I am sorry to have to perform so unpleasant an office, I feel I must just drop a little hint of caution to you, that you may not be taken entirely by surprise. You will find the young man but a boorish fellow, I am afraid—quite a clown. Of course, I need not enlighten you as to the excellency of Mrs Wynnewood’s character, since she is already known to you. And with Miss Wynnewood, I will not hesitate to assure you, you will be perfectly delighted—should you choose to pursue the association, that is." "Thank you, sir," she said dismissively, turning away. She opened her mouth to say something further to Anne, when to her unmatched astonishment the young man spoke again. "But after all, why should dread of the boorish brother hinder you from making the young lady’s acquaintance? Here comes Miss Wynnewood now—will you allow me to introduce her to you? But I beg your pardon; I must first introduce myself. Mr George Wynnewood, at your service." He swept her ladyship a very low bow, and ended it with a quite audacious little wink at Anne, who, no doubt, ought to have been highly affronted at his impudence; but who was instead so bewitched by his good looks, and so flattered by his notice, as to see nothing but perfection in his manners. Even Lady Catherine, though far more worldly, and more scrupulous than her daughter was, could not but be affected by Mr Wynnewood’s manly beauty, which, it must be owned, was far beyond the common. He was, besides, the son of her old friend, and a gentleman of very fine family. Who could say but that he might not do very well for Anne? "Upon my word," she declared, "you are a very pert young man! But your mother, as I recollect, was not without her ebullitions of vivacity; I suppose you have inherited her wit. And so, that young lady is your sister, is she? I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh; this is my daughter, Miss de Bourgh." The young ladies curtsied at each other, and Mr Wynnewood bowed again, first to her ladyship, and then to Anne. Lady Catherine thereupon deigned to hope his mother was well, and began to question him: Was his father living?—Had he any more sisters or brothers?—Where was their home?—When had they arrived in Bath?—What had brought them there?—How long did they intend to stay? When at length she paused in expectation of an answer, he addressed her with respect, but with none of that awe she was accustomed to receive. "My mother," he said, "has been a widow these twelve years past, your ladyship; I am her only son, and Louisa her only daughter. We three are come to Bath solely for the winter pleasures, as we are all so fortunate as to be in excellent health. The home which I inherited from my excellent father—Abbey Chase, in Cumberland—is a very grand estate, with a large pleasure grounds, and a fine old mansion, surrounded by a lovely countryside—and with every charm which that implies, to be enjoyed in the milder seasons; but it is somewhat dark and forlorn in the colder part of the year. For my sister’s sake, and for my own, my dear mother determined this year on our spending the winter in a more lively spot, where we might find some congenial society to cheer us; and all of us being agreed in preferring Bath to London, we made the journey a fortnight ago yesterday, and are now quite comfortably settled in a house at the South Parade." He then listened most attentively as Lady Catherine began to speak of herself and, to Anne’s discomfiture, of her daughter—Rosings Park—Sir Lewis de Bourgh—her brother, the Earl of _________—her nephew, the master of Pemberley—Miss de Bourgh’s delicate health—Miss de Bourgh’s education—Miss de Bourgh’s good taste and refinement—&c., &c. Miss Wynnewood (perhaps taking pity on Miss de Bourgh’s embarrassment) engaged Anne in a friendly conversation, whilst her ladyship extolled Anne’s virtues to Mr Wynnewood. Anne felt her kindness; and they talked a little of Bath, and of other topics, until Lady Catherine announced to Anne that they would accompany Miss Wynnewood and her brother back to the South Parade, that she might lose no time in being reunited with her old friend. They all walked out together, Lady Catherine giving instructions to Mrs Jenkinson, who was to run a few errands for her whilst they paid their call—and who previously had been all but forgotten, by both Anne and herself, in their pleasure at meeting with Mr and Miss Wynnewood. When they reached Lady Catherine’s waiting carriage, she asked where their own carriage was. "Our coachman is an exceedingly leisured fellow, your ladyship," said Mr Wynnewood, "and our horses the most pampered creatures on earth; for my sister and I are in the habit of walking everywhere, and scarcely ever bother with the carriage." "My mother, ma’am," explained Miss Wynnewood, "has often lectured us on the wholesomeness of the exercise, and its benefit to the health; and even she herself, when she goes out, most often goes on foot. We always walk a great deal when we are in the country; and though we find ourselves now in town, have yet to relinquish the habit." "Your mother is indeed correct," affirmed her ladyship. "Walking is a most healthful exercise; and, would her health permit her to undertake it, I should certainly recommend it to Miss de Bourgh as a very salutary activity. But it is, unfortunately, much beyond her strength; she would find such an exertion entirely too fatiguing. I am sure, however, you will both consent to accompany us in the carriage." They acquiesced most graciously; but Anne was conscious of a little feeling of resentment in her heart towards her mother. She could not deny that she was easily fatigued; but why must Lady Catherine be forever publishing her debility? If she really wished to see her daughter well-married, was it not impolitic to dwell so upon her weakness to every acquaintance? Was it possible any gentleman worth having would wish to wed so feeble a creature as her mother continually represented her to be? Lady Catherine’s footman was hard by, and ready to help the ladies into the carriage, but Mr Wynnewood superseded him. He offered his hand first to Lady Catherine, who declined his assistance, indicating that she had some final commands to communicate to Mrs Jenkinson before they departed. After handing the two young ladies into the carriage, he climbed in himself; and it suddenly occurred to Anne that, not only were the Wynnewoods without a carriage, but they had also no servant attending them. "Do not you have a maid or footman to accompany you when you are out, Miss Wynnewood?" she asked. "Ah! Our country habits betray us again, Louisa," said Mr Wynnewood. "We relish our independence, you see, Miss de Bourgh, and when we go out, we dislike to be hampered, either in our movements, or in our conversation, by the presence of a servant. Instead, I myself serve as my sister’s footman and chaperon; for I am so very favourably impressed with my own strength and skill at pugilism (the only field of study in which I excelled at Cambridge), as to believe myself an adequate protector, both of her person, and of her honour." "How very singular," cried Anne, envying them the freedom they enjoyed, and the companionship they found in each other. Perhaps it would have been so for me, she reflected, had I had a brother. "Your strength and skill indeed, George!" Miss Wynnewood exclaimed. "Is he not an abominable coxcomb, Miss de Bourgh?" "Oh! no—not at all." "My sister speaks the truth, Miss de Bourgh. I am quite a bad character altogether, and you ought to have nothing to do with me. I tremble to think what might become of you, if you were to spend much time in my company—though, for myself, I confess, I can think of nothing more delightful." "Oh!" she replied with a blush. Mr Wynnewood looked back at her with a smile which caused her to blush more deeply still, and look away. He really was quite the handsomest man she had ever seen—a good deal handsomer even than her cousin, Mr Darcy! She was thinking these thoughts, and looking out at the carriage window to hide her confusion, when, in a kind of odd detachment, she saw Lady Catherine striding purposefully across the street, and heard the sound of a carriage, driven very fast, clattering over the cobblestones. There was a yell, and a shriek, and an awful crunching and cracking; and the next thing she knew, her mother lay lifeless before her eyes, broken and bleeding in the middle of the pavement!
© 2004, 2005 Joan Ellen Delman
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