to decide which, of three beguiling new novels, she wished to buy, when she found herself addressed: “My dear Miss de Bourgh, how very pleasant to meet you here!” It was Mr Caldwell, Edmund's father.
She was delighted, and stammered a greeting and an enquiry after his family. Now she would hear, at least, how Edmund was. “We are all well, my dear, very well, and we have some news that I am sure will interest you,” Mr Caldwell said. “We are losing Edmund; he is going away.”
“Away? Why… how is this? Where? When?” Anne realized that she was stammering, and tried to bring her words into order. “You will certainly miss him… is it business that takes him? And when will he leave?”
“He is to set out for Barbados, in a month or so I am not precisely sure—he will go to Liverpool shortly, to enquire about a passage.”
“Barbados? But that is…”
“It is in the West Indies. Yes, an island in the West Indies. Does that not sound interesting, Miss de Bourgh? He has been thinking about it for some time, and did not seem sure, but yesterday—no, yesterday was Sunday, it was Saturday, it was the day before yesterday, he came to us and said that he had made up his mind, he should go.”
Mr Caldwell was delighted to tell her the particulars: the family had unexpectedly received word that they had inherited, from a distant kinsman, a property on the island, of which little was known except that it had been abandoned on the owner's death, and left unclaimed for some years. Edmund believed that something might be made of it; that he might live out there, and operate it; that at least it would pay him to go out there, see it, and if nothing could be done, make arrangements to sell it. His careful work on the quarry, he believed, had paid off; he could leave it under the control of a manager in whom he had confidence.
“His greatest concern,” Mr Caldwell said, “is that, with his views, he could not contemplate the operation of the place by the use of slave labour, for it still goes on, you know, though it should not; the trade still continues, though there are laws against it. But Edmund wants to discover if he might not run the place using paid workers. It seems there are many white men there, who lost their employment years ago when the plantation owners went over to owning slaves, and have been living in poverty ever since. Is not that a dreadful thing, Miss de Bourgh?”
Alas! Anne could learn very little of all she wanted to know; Mr Caldwell was far more interested in the burning issue of slavery than in the material business of his son's journey. She was able to learn the approximate date of his departure, but then her companion called to her; even Mr Bennet was aware that they had spent too much time, and must leave. Taking a rapid farewell of Mr Caldwell, with only just enough time to send her warmest wishes to Mrs Caldwell, “…and my… my compliments to your son, if you please,” she was forced to hurry away.
Chapter 18
The farewells were cordial, promises were made to come back soon, it was a fine breezy day, and the journey back was a pleasant one. Anne heard nothing, saw nothing, and could not remember, later, in what terms she had taken leave of her mother. All the way back, she could think of nothing but what she had heard, and was trying to recall every word that Mr Caldwell had said, in case she forgot some circumstance, however trivial.
Edmund was leaving, Edmund was going away!
If only she had had more time to question Mr Caldwell, or even better, to go and see Mrs Caldwell, she could surely have found out more. He had decided, his father said, suddenly—and on the Saturday, the very day that he had met her, arm in arm with Lord Francis! But was that mere coincidence? Was she refining too much on her impressions? After all, she had no real proof of his affection for her; only that one conversation, that one gesture… it was very natural that a man, an ambitious man, should, on learning of such a bequest, decide on such an adventure.
Barbados! the word had a terrifying ring in her ears. Anne knew very little of the West Indies, but she knew that there were tropical diseases, there were hurricanes, and she was very sure that there were poisonous snakes. He might die before he even arrived there, swept overboard by a storm. If not, he would die of bad food, or be captured by a French privateer, or shot by angry sugar planters for trying to abolish slavery. He would marry a Creole beauty and stay there, and be lost to her for ever. But he was already lost to her—how could she have married him?—when her mother would certainly refuse to meet either him or his parents!
All she could think was that she must get to Burley again; she must find out more. She might say that she wanted to buy more books; she might say she wanted to see her mother again; Lady Catherine had, after all, been very happy to see her, and the visit had been an enjoyable one. Yes! she would do so, she would go there again, as soon as possible. If she were quick, she might even see him; he was going, Mr Caldwell had said, “In a month or so.” Oh! how long was that? It could mean almost anything. She would certainly go back to Burley! Perhaps she could persuade Mr Bennet to make the expedition with her, with the promise of spending more time in the fascinating bookstore; after all, she had been so overwhelmed with the hurry of the last few minutes, and the news she had received, that she had not bought one single book!
But this resolution was not carried into effect. The next morning, when Anne was awakened as usual, by her maid, the girl told her that the whole household was in confusion, for Mrs Darcy had been taken ill in the night, four weeks or more before her time, and the month nurse not yet arrived, and nobody dared speak to the master, and Mrs Reynolds was in such a state as never was.
“Mrs Reynolds?” Anne asked. “Why, what has she to do with anything?”
“Well, nothing, miss, as you might say, but there she is, crying and taking on, and it seems she had a sister what died, of a baby, Excuse me, miss, and she thinks that Mrs Darcy will die too, because of its being too soon- like.”
Anne dressed hurriedly, and went downstairs. There were only Mrs Annesley and Georgiana in the breakfast room, where the meal seemed much less carefully laid than was usual at Pemberley. However, since nobody was eating, this did not seem to be of much moment. Mrs Annesley, looking as composed as usual, told her that, since the month nurse was at a house ten miles away, and was known to have a very sick patient, she would probably not be able to come.
“But Georgiana's old nurse is here,” she said. “Since her retirement, she quite often goes to help with the village births, and she is a gentle, clean, sensible creature. Mrs Darcy knows Mrs Grainger well, and likes her so much!” and she smiled at Georgiana, who was looking very white and anxious, and tried in vain to smile back.
The nurse, she said, had already been with Mrs Darcy, and talked ominously of a possible cross-birth, saying that a doctor should be sent for. Mrs Darcy had been seen once by Dr Turley, who was the Lambton practitioner, but she had very much disliked him—had thought him pretentious and vain. Mrs Annesley did not know what to do. She had sent a servant to fetch the two gentlemen, who were walking in the gardens, for, she said, Darcy could neither sit, nor eat, nor speak, and his cousin, not liking to leave him alone, had gone with him.
“Would not Dr Lawson be a better choice?” Anne asked. “He has such good sense, and is so kind; there is no nonsense about him.”
At that moment her two cousins entered, and Mrs Annesley repeated the nurse's opinion, and Anne's suggestion to them.
“Lawson!” Darcy said. “He struck me as a sensible fellow. I wish he could be got here. But it is fifteen miles to Burley. It would take a carriage, or even a horse, several hours to cover the distance, and by that time…” and he sat down at the table, and buried his head in his hands.
“Excuse me,” said Anne, “but if I recall correctly, cousin, I remember it was mentioned that Mr… Mr Edmund Caldwell's house is but five miles from here, and Mrs Caldwell told me he lived less than half an hour's ride from Burley. I understand that it is not a carriage road, but could the two of you not ride there by that road, and bring Dr Lawson back on horseback? I remember he mentioned that he quite often rides, when he goes to see his patients, for the countryside is so rough.”
Darcy looked up. “You are right!” he said. “The track is hilly and steep, it has never been made up for carriage traffic, in bad weather it cannot be used, for so much water comes down—but it cuts off a huge swath of country. Yes, in this weather it will certainly be passable, and we might ride there in an hour, or a little more.
