masculine coattail, just disappearing at the far end of the landing. The young sons and daughter of the house had fled, on hearing the noise of their arrival, and were making their escape down another set of stairs.
A few days later, her mother had announced that they were going to Pemberley, where the new Mrs Darcy was to find a husband for her! Mr and Mrs Darcy, Lady Catherine had explained, owed it to them, after the disgraceful way Anne had been treated, to find her a husband.
“Whom will they find?” she asked. “Who will want to marry me?” she did not like to say “as plain and stupid as I am.” Her mother had replied, “Really, Anne, I wish you will not talk such nonsense. Of course you will get a husband. You will have thirty thousand pounds.”
So thirty thousand pounds was to be spent. The money would be paid over, and she would never see it. I wish, she thought desperately, they would just give me the money and let me live alone. But of course, the money was not only buying her a husband, it was going to provide a companion for her mother.
Conversation with Lady Catherine was at all times a matter of listening rather than speaking, and the expressions most commonly in use were “Yes, ma'am,” and, occasionally, “No, ma'am.” Anne was quite used to following her own train of thought in silence. Now she realized that her mother had some time ago ceased speaking. Looking up, she saw that Lady Catherine's face had lost its usual ruddy hue, and was very white. Suddenly Lady Catherine fell forward. Mullins gave a startled exclamation, then, seeing her mistress gasping for breath, screamed. Lady Catherine was in the throes of a sudden, extremely painful sickness. Anne tried to hold her, she twisted and writhed; Anne called to her; she could not reply.
The postilion had felt the movement, even before he heard the noise; he pulled up the horses; the carriage stopped. But even as it did so, Lady Catherine wrenched at the door handle, thrust herself out, and set foot on the step. The carriage jerked to a halt; she slipped; she fell. The ditch at this point was steep and stony; she fell into it, onto the stones.
Mullins cried, “My lady! My lady!” Anne thought she screamed, too; then they were all standing in the road. When Anne, trying to help her mother to stand up, took her arm, Lady Catherine gave a cry of pain, and collapsed back onto the ground. Mullins gasped, “Oh, she is dead!” and went into hysterics. All was fright, distress, and confusion.
Chapter 3
Vehicles were passing on the road, but the bulk of the chaise, and the depth of the ditch, mostly shielded them from view. However, a carriage—a gentleman's carriage by the look of it—did stop, and a sensible-looking woman over the middle age got out, spoke to the coachman, and came toward them. “You are in a sad case,” she said. “Can I or my carriage be of use to you?” Anne, frightened, and ashamed of the figure her mother must make, could hardly speak, but managed to stammer out her thanks—“She did not wish to be troublesome, and the carriage had sustained no harm, but they were indeed in difficulty'—and an account of their circumstances.
At this point, Lady Catherine opened her eyes. “Where are we?” she said. “Anne, what are you doing? What is happening? Who is that person? I am very ill,” and she lost consciousness again. Mullins screamed “Oh, she is alive!” and stood wringing her hands. Anne and the lady scrambled down into the ditch, and tried to support Lady Catherine, while the coachman and footman maintained that air of lofty indifference which seems to be the attitude of all hired drivers, even though their passengers might happen to be dying.
“Your mother is indeed alive,” the lady said, “but we cannot know what ails her. What do you want to do? Would you rather take her to some place where she can get help, though it might hurt her to be moved, or wait here with her and I will see if a doctor can be sent out to you? By the way, my name is Endicott, and I live in Hoddersley.”
Anne had never in her life made a decision on behalf of herself, let alone her mother. But there could be but one answer to that. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Anne knew, would endure any discomfort, any pain, sooner than stay there, sick and distressed, her hair disordered and her clothing soiled, in view of passersby.
“We were on our way to Pemberley,” she ventured.
“Pemberley! that is at least fifteen miles from here. I think she is too ill to travel so far.”
“Can you tell me, ma'am, where we are?” Anne asked. “Are we close to any town or village?”
“We are within a mile or so of Burley, ahead of us, and four miles the other way from Hoddersley,” Mrs Endicott said. “Hoddersley is a big town. You would certainly find everything there that you require.”
“We passed through it,” Anne said, remembering the noisy town, full of manufactories, with its dirty air and bad smells. “Is Burley the town with the famous medicinal well?”
“Yes,” Mrs Endicott said. “Do you know it?”
“I have read about it,” Anne said. “Is it not a resort for invalids? Surely, there would be a doctor there? I think perhaps we should go there. Only a mile, and it would be better for my mother. Is that what I should do, ma'am?”
“I cannot make the choice for you or her, my dear; only you can do that,” Mrs Endicott said.
Anne took a deep breath. “Then we will go to Burley.”
“I think that is the right thing to do. You can be on your way as soon as that silly maid helps your mother into the carriage. The Royal George is the best inn. I will drive there with you, and speak to them. Come, woman! help your mistress. Put your arm round her; that is right. Now, if I lift her on the other side…”
It was done, more quickly than she could have thought possible. Lady Catherine, inert, took up a good deal of space, and Mrs Endicott offered to take Anne in her carriage, but Anne thought she ought to stay with her mother. Mrs Endicott took Mullins up instead, gave directions to the coachman, and bade her a kindly farewell. The door closed, the coachman whipped up his horses, and they were on their way. Anne sat forward awkwardly on the front seat, holding her mother's hand, and trying to tell her calmly that they would soon be there; soon the doctor would make her feel better. Her own mind was in disorder, as she repeated the words, and all she could recall was that the lady had called Mullins—the formidable Mullins—silly.
Twenty years ago, the famous Burley spring was a damp depression in a meadow, where women brought their washing, and the sick sometimes their aching bones. Then progress—or rather the desire for money— arrived. The hot spring, imprisoned in a fine stone casing, was surrounded with a Pump Room, bathhouse, and promenade, and renamed the “Burley Chalybeate.” Assembly Rooms, shops, and several hostelries and elegant lodgings sprang up around it. But numerous other springs had been so apotheosed, and many resort towns had hopefully sprung up. The number of visitors to the remote Derbyshire dale was not so great as could be wished. Although the summer was becoming very hot, the hotels were still not full, and the Duchess of Stilbury, whose visit was the most anticipated event of the season, had chosen to hire furnished lodgings rather than stay at the Royal George.
Had it been otherwise, even Mrs Endicott might have had trouble getting any attention for the timid young lady in the close bonnet and old-fashioned dress. As it was, the name of “Lady Catherine de Bourgh” was all that was needed. The proprietor, the proprietor's wife, the waiters, the chambermaids, the ostlers, the very potboys, all smartened up and bustled themselves about at the prospect of a Lady Catherine; and almost before she knew it, Anne was in possession of a very decent bedchamber, a private sitting room, and the services of a chambermaid, while in a rather larger bedroom, a capable-looking doctor, hastily summoned, was attending to her mother, with Mullins obeying his every command.
Dr Lawson soon joined her, and told her that Lady Catherine had broken her arm. But her principal problem was a very bad case of poisoning. She had obviously eaten some noxious food, probably some meat that had gone bad in the warm weather. He did not think that her case was desperate, but it was serious; a few hours would show how bad it was. In any case, she must not expect her mother to be well again in a few days, or even weeks. Lady Catherine would require attention by day and night, to a far greater extent than her maid could provide; he would like to send in a sickroom assistant, an excellent woman whom he had employed in several cases; would Miss de Bourgh agree to the expenditure? Anne assented.
“Now, I must leave you,” he said. “I have several other cases to see to; but I will return, and Mrs Williams will probably arrive before I do; I will tell them downstairs to send for her as soon as may be, for I think your maid is a little bewildered,” and he left.
Anne felt that she, too, was bewildered. But she must rouse herself, she must think. There was money in
