The next day, Colonel Fitzwilliam returned. Lady Catherine, he said, was well and in good spirits, and sent proper messages to everyone. Sitting beside Anne, at their midday cold collation, he quietly told her, “I had no trouble in bringing her round, cousin, over the matter of your inheritance.”
“I thought she would be very angry. How did you do it?”
“I told her how wise she was, to do as she has done. I told her that she had shown very good judgment in entrusting you now with the bequest, for she obviously knew the difficulties that young women, with no experience in handling money, often have when they marry; and I reminded her that at that point there will be a large fortune to be managed. I happened to mention this in the Pump room, in the company of her friends, who smiled, and agreed, and mentioned several instances of young married women of very good families who had run into debt. She could hardly admit, in front of them, that she had been forced into doing what she did; and she did not at all object to their being reminded that she is a very wealthy woman. Now she regards it, first, as a settled thing, second, as a thing admired by people she respects, and third, as something she thought of herself. I am an army man, remember,” he said, smiling. “There are tricks that work very well when one is dealing with senior officers.”
The conversation became general, and he explained that he had stayed overnight in order to dine, at his aunt's invitation, with the Duchess of Stilbury, and her brother, Lord Francis Meaburn. Lady Catherine, he said, was in very good spirits; and, he added, was dressed exactly like the Duchess, that is, in the very latest fashion. He thought her petticoats might be a little thicker than was generally worn, but she had a huge poke bonnet, and a pair of black and yellow boots. She and the Duchess were the best of friends, and the rest of the town, both visitors and residents, looked up to them with awe. “I should like to know what Meaburn thinks of it all, though,” he said. “He is not the kind of man to sit down in a small spa town, drinking the waters and going to bed at eleven, because he loves his sister; he is more of a Brighton man.”
“I fancy,” Darcy said, “that money might have something to do with it.”
“I think it has everything to do with it,” agreed Fitzwilliam. “He was a Colonel in the—th, you know. I know some of the officers in that regiment, and I remember they told me that his extravagance was unbelievable. Eventually he was forced to sell out, because his gaming debts were so huge.”
“Did he not marry Lord W——'s daughter?”
“He did. They say he had run through all her money by the time she died. But tell me, cousin, what has become of Dawson? there was a sour-faced woman in her place. Did she leave your mother's employment?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Anne. “If you remember, whenever we went anywhere my mother would have her sit on the box, and she was always quite willing. As it turned out, she was in love with the coachman; we could hear the two of them, laughing. Then he left, and she eloped with him. My mother does not like to have new people around her, so she promoted Mullins, who was the sewing maid before. I was sorry, for Dawson was very good-natured, and Mullins is not.”
The languor of the day after a ball was being felt; Lady Louisa had left, and no one wanted to walk. They were sitting on the terrace, when a servant came and said that Mrs Caldwell was wanted. She returned looking rather flustered.
“My dear,” she said to Anne, “There is something—I do not know what you will think, but my son has sent a gift for you. But he says that if you do not like it, it is to be sent back.”
“A gift for Anne?” said Georgiana. “But what is it? And where is it?” and they looked round, expecting to see a parcel.
“It must be a book,” said Anne, trying to speak calmly. “We were speaking of several titles that—but he offered to lend them— there is no need, Mrs Caldwell, I will return it.”
“No,” said Mrs Caldwell, “It is not a book. It is—it is in the stable yard. And if—if Mr and Mrs Darcy do not quite like it, it is to be sent back.”
By this time, the curiosity of the rest of the party had been thoroughly aroused, and everyone wanted to see the mysterious object. They all accompanied Anne to the stable yard, Mr Darcy enquiring rather anxiously if his friend had given his cousin a horse? A groom was standing there, holding a swathed bundle.
“Are you not Mr Caldwell's servant?” Mr Darcy asked. “Hinkins, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, Hinkins, what have you got for us?”
The groom knelt down, opened the bundle, and put a small, white and brown puppy on the ground.
“Oh!” screamed Georgiana. “Oh! Anne!”
Anne fell on her knees. The little creature wagged its tail, and licked her hand. All the women made the kind of noises that ladies make, confronted with anything small and endearing. She patted it, and bent over it, trying to hide her face, for tears had sprung to her eyes.
“It be what they call a King Charles, sir,” the groom said.
“It will not grow very large, will it?” Darcy asked.
“No, sir. Quite small, they are. Not near so big as a regular spaniel.”
“And quite useless, I suspect.”
“No good for hunting, sir, they be a lady's dog, like—a pet.”
“A letter came, too,” Mrs Caldwell said. “My son says, 'Tell Miss de Bourgh that she does not walk enough, and Minette will see to it that she takes a walk every day.'”
“But…” said Mrs Darcy, glancing doubtfully at her husband, “I do not know whether…”
Anne, still kneeling, looked up at her over the little creature's head. Elizabeth saw her face, saw her tears, and read the whole story in her eyes.
“I know about it,” her husband said to her privately, later. “Caldwell came to me the morning he left. He has behaved very well. But I did not know, and neither, I think, did he, that it had gone so far with her.”
“We cannot do other,” Elizabeth said, “than let her keep the dog. It is the saddest thing!”
“I hate small dogs,” Darcy said. “How could this happen? They have only known each other a week or so.”
“I saw his face last night, while she was reading. And how long did it take you, to make up your mind about me?”
“I do not know. But I am sure that, after the ball at Netherfield, if I had not seen you again, it would all have been over. If you had not come to Hunsford while I was staying with my aunt…”
“So do you think,” said Elizabeth, “that if they do not meet again, it will be forgotten?”
“Caldwell knows that it would be a most unsuitable match. If he has made up his mind, he will make no attempt to see her. As for her, I do not know.”
“Nor I,” said Elizabeth. “I think she is a girl who feels things very deeply; I think none of us knows her. But I know that this business has hurt her.”
“I am sorry for it. But who could have known? I know one thing: I do not like the idea of sending her back to Rosings to pine. Perhaps her mother, even after she goes home, would allow Anne to make her home with us for a while. Meanwhile, this makes it all the more necessary to find someone suitable to marry her. A man of character would certainly not agree to go and live at Rosings, and Anne would have her own home, which is what she needs. Let me see, did not Sir Matthew Brocklebank dance with her the other night? He has no money, but there is the title, and he is a pleasant-looking fellow.”
“But he can talk of nothing but horses,” Elizabeth protested. “He never opens a book. If he knew that Anne is writing one, he would be too frightened to speak to her, let alone ask her to marry him.”
“There was Mr Kirkman, he is bookish enough. A widower, but that might suit Anne very well; she is not so young, now. There are few men of five-and-twenty still unmarried.”
“But she is becoming quite pretty, I think, with those large dark eyes and her chestnut hair. There is a bronze-green silk being made up for her, for Lady Louisa's ball; I think she will look quite lovely in it.”
“How about that older brother who is staying at the Rectory with Mr Granby? He will inherit the baronetcy one day.”
“Yes, and it would be pleasant to have her married to the Rector's brother,” said Elizabeth. “But although Anne danced with all three of them, I do not believe she even noticed them. And meanwhile, I think we must let her keep the dog, for she needs something to love.”
“I can see very well that Georgiana will want one, too. It is very unjust that a man should have his house filled with small animals, only because his cousin is crossed in love.”
In view of the size of Pemberley, Elizabeth thought this something of an exaggeration, and said so.
“Oh, very well, very well; since she and Georgiana have been playing with the creature all evening, I suppose it must stay,” Darcy said, resignedly. “It could be worse; at least Caldwell had the sense not to give her a pug.”