“Well, I want you to consider, and to ask the other servants as well, whether there is any young woman who could come, for I think someone may be needed.”
Mrs Annesley's conviction that mother and child were expected to live, and the thought that she herself was wanted and could be useful, worked powerfully on Mrs Reynolds. She dried her eyes, and set to thinking: She knew of the very person! A young woman living only three miles away, very clean, healthy, “…and she is a Methody, all the family are, and go to the chapel, which I cannot like, but it is all for the best, for they never touch liquor, or even beer.” She would at once send to Torgates Farm, and set about making the necessary arrangements; oh yes! the young woman would come if she were needed, anybody would come, to help Pemberley.
Mrs Reynolds' restoration to her usual self quickly restored the spirits of the other servants. “Servants always go to pieces,” Mrs Annesley said, “if the person in command is suddenly removed. I told them that Mrs Darcy, when she is up and about again— when, not if—will expect to find that everybody has done their duty, just as if she were there. They are all very fond of her, which helps, and everything was right, once the cook knew what was wanted for dinner, which he could perfectly well have thought of for himself.”
Shortly before midday, the gentlemen returned with Dr Lawson. Darcy looked better for his ride, and everyone felt convinced that now things would soon be right. But there was no news, and the afternoon seemed very long. The Rector of the parish came to visit, and was admitted. He was an intelligent, gentlemanly, serious- minded man, to whom Darcy had recently presented the living, saying that he did not want a man who would flatter and obey him, but one who would take care of the people. He sat with them quietly for some time, and then left. Anne did not think that his presence had helped anyone very much, for he was not a man of optimistic mind, and could not hide the fact that he did not know if he would next be called upon to baptize, or to bury.
A little later, Anne proposed that they might attend the evening service, at the church. Mrs Annesley said she would go; Colonel Fitzwilliam wanted to go with them, but did not know whether he should leave Darcy; however, Mr Bennet quietly offered to take Darcy on at a game of chess, or walk with him, whichever he might prefer.
When they got to the church, it was surprisingly full. It seemed that many of the people of Lambton had had the same thought, and as they entered, there was a murmur of quiet sympathy. As they made their way forward to the Darcy pew, Anne saw Georgiana, and with her, Mr Rackham, his mother, and Mary.
The ancient words of the Prayer Book were comforting. Anne felt sorry that it was not the day or time for the Litany, for
Georgiana returned with them. Dinner was a miserable affair; the cook might as well not have troubled himself, for very little was eaten. When it ended, the gentlemen did not stay behind, but went straight to the drawing room with the ladies. Darcy made for an armchair and sat, his head in his hands.
“I will ring for tea,” Mrs Annesley said. “It will do us good. Oh, Forrest, there you are, I was just going to ring…”
But it was not the butler. Dr Lawson stood in the doorway.
“Mr Darcy,” he said. Darcy looked up at him. Anne thought,
“Mr Darcy, sir, you have a son.”
Chapter 20
“He is a fine young fellow,” Dr Lawson said. “A little small, but that was only to be expected; however, there is nothing to worry about, he has every intention of living, and so has his mother. She is sleeping; you may go to her, sir, but you must not speak to her, do not be trying to wake her up. You will have all the time in the world to talk to her, later.”
Elizabeth was safe, and she had a son! Anne thought that she had never before experienced such felicity. She and Georgiana threw their arms around each other. She saw tears running down Mr Bennet's face; she thought she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam kiss Mrs Annesley; then she burst into tears herself. Darcy disappeared upstairs. They had recovered their composure somewhat by the time he came down, accompanied by the nurse. She was carrying a swaddled bundle, which contained Lewis Bennet Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Mr Bennet, now quite himself again, looked cautiously at the infant, and observed that he looked very small for such a colossal collection of names. Then Georgiana said, “Oh, my goodness, I am an aunt!” With the child's birth, she had become that happiest and most useful of human beings, an aunt! After the tears, there was laughter; the butler brought wine, and the cook sent up sandwiches and soup, for everybody was suddenly very hungry. Then someone—she thought it was Mrs Annesley— said “Oh, listen!” They all went to the French windows of the drawing room, which were open, for it was a fine, warm night. The church bells were ringing.
The next few days passed in a happy blur of visitors, letters, messages and congratulations. However, they also brought two things to Anne herself that were very welcome. First of all, three new dresses were delivered— three dresses that she had decided on, and ordered, and paid for herself. Hardly had she recovered from the pleasure of trying them on, and finding that she looked delightfully in them, than her cousin came to find her; there was a letter for her.
“It must be from my mother,” she thought. But it was not; it was from Mrs Endicott. Mrs Caldwell, it appeared, had read Anne's manuscript to her and her husband, and they were much impressed with it. They both believed that the story, entertaining and lively, would appeal strongly to the public. They hoped very much that Anne would finish the story, and if she were to think of publication, would she do them the favour of discussing the matter with them, before approaching anyone else?
Here was material for delighted reflection! No one else was interested; everyone was busy, everyone was happy; but Anne carried the letter around with her all day, took it out from time to time, and read it again. No letter from a lover is ever more welcome, brings more joy, than a publisher's expression of interest does to a new author! In the midst of her satisfaction, however, Anne had time to wonder: did Edmund know about it? Had he been there, when the story was being read? Had he been the one to read it? Had he thought of her? Was he still at home? The date Mr Caldwell had mentioned was still ahead, but anything could have happened to hasten his journey.
This led to other thoughts: she began reflecting on what Mr Bennet had said to her, while they sat by the stream; that most people have to cut their coat according to their cloth; and that people like Mrs Collins could still have a happy life, or at least, a life of small, quiet satisfactions. He had not said a word about himself, but she suspected, more from what had not been said, that this might be his own situation; and that this was why Elizabeth's marriage was such an especial source of joy to him. Elizabeth, she thought, had taken a great risk in refusing Mr Collins. Her family was not rich, and she might never have got another offer of marriage. As it turned out, she had been right; but what a risk she had taken!
But what did all this mean for her? What bearing did it have on her own situation? Ought she, like Mrs Collins, to find a suitable, good-natured husband, and make what she could of a less rapturous, but possibly quite happy marriage? Ought she to forget her love? Forget Edmund? Never! She could think of no one among her circle of acquaintances who might replace Edmund in her heart. No! she could not do it; like Elizabeth, she could not make do with someone else. There was to be no second-best for her.
But since he could not marry her? Well, possibly friendship could take the place of love. When he came back, or if he came back, he would have forgotten her, and would marry someone else (if he did not bring back the Creole beauty); and sitting alone, thinking along these melancholy lines, she had been present at his wedding, stood godmother to several of his children, and would shortly have attended his funeral, had not Georgiana come to the library to call her to go riding.
Pretty soon, however, all these reflections were thrust into the background, for Lady Catherine came to Pemberley.
She was just as cheerful as she had been at Burley: just as smiling, just as fashionably clad. Anne had
