The Matters at Mansfield

Seven

Darcy rapped on the battered chamber door. The wood appeared to have suffered a great deal of abuse over time, forced open by countless outraged fathers and others who, like Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, had pursued eloping couples to this inn and arrived too late. The border village of Gretna Green, with its lax Scottish marriage laws, did such a considerable business in hasty weddings that several local inns offered one-stop convenience to expedite the process. Within minutes of their arrival, English couples could wed and bed at a single location, heading straight from the marriage room to an adjacent bedroom, thus thwarting the efforts of anyone who might arrive too late to insist upon a more prudent approach to matrimony.

Whatever had his cousin been thinking, to consent to such vulgar nuptials? Anne had not even been wed by a proper clergyman, but the innkeeper himself — unfortunately, a perfectly legal union under Scottish law. Darcy dreaded having to report to Lady Catherine that her daughter had been married by one of the village’s infamous “anvil priests,” with the innkeeper’s wife and an ostler as witnesses. At least the couple had not wed at the blacksmith’s shop itself; the cottage at the village’s main crossroads was the first building travelers encountered, and as such, Gretna Green’s most notorious wedding venue.

A second knock elicited sounds of movement from within the chamber.

“Who calls?” asked a male voice.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

His answer received no immediate response, making Darcy grateful that Colonel Fitzwilliam stood sentinel outside the window, ready to detain Mr. Crawford if the scoundrel attempted to avoid them. Darcy was glad his cousin had accompanied him — not only for the companionship on what had been a long, hard ride, but also for his impressive regimental uniform that had elicited ready cooperation from all they questioned as they traced the couple’s route. If Mr. Crawford tried anything underhanded, Colonel Fitzwilliam could manage him.

A minute later the door opened, and a short, dark gentleman greeted him with a smile far too self-assured for the circumstances.

“Mr. Darcy! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. We have been expecting you, or some emissary of Anne’s family, since the wedding.”

“Is Miss de Bourgh within?”

“No, but Mrs. Crawford is.”

“I would speak with her.”

“By all means.”

Mr. Crawford opened the door wider and stepped aside. Anne sat perched on the edge of the bed, but upon Darcy’s entrance stood and drew her dressing gown more closely around her. Darcy noted the self-conscious gesture and averted his gaze, which, as there was little else to behold in the tiny room, landed first on the rumpled coverings of the hastily made bed and then bounced back to Mr. Crawford, whose own limited attire comprised breeches and an untucked shirt. When he looked at Anne once more, her face was scarlet.

Any hope he had harbored of having reached Anne before the couple consummated their marriage evaporated. There was no undoing the union now; all that remained was repairing as much damage as possible.

With obvious effort, she raised her eyes to meet his and regarded him anxiously. “Is my mother with you?”

“No.”

Her expression relaxed ever so slightly.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, waits outside.”

She flushed again and looked away.

“And here, Anne, you worried about how news of our nuptials would be received by your relations. Why, we have nearly enough guests to host a wedding breakfast. Do invite the good colonel in, Mr. Darcy. It looks about to rain again.”

Mr. Crawford’s lightness sounded forced; perhaps the bridegroom was not so confident after all. Regardless, Darcy had little patience for levity at present, particularly from that quarter. He was weary and sore from days of travel, and frustrated by his failure to prevent the marriage.

He crossed to the window and signaled Colonel Fitzwilliam to join them, not because Mr. Crawford had suggested it, or because of the cursed rain that had delayed them just enough to thwart their mission, but for motives of his own.

Anne pulled her dressing gown so tightly about her that she strained the fabric. “Darcy, I would rather our cousin not see me in this state.”

“He need not.” Darcy felt awkward enough witnessing her dishabille, and he was a married man. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a bachelor. “He can keep your new husband company while you and I converse in private.”

“Keep me company, or be my keeper? Come, Mr. Darcy. Surely you do not think I would abandon my bride after going to such lengths to secure her?”

Darcy leveled the groom with an impassive stare. “I do not know what to think of you, Mr. Crawford, for I do not know what kind of gentleman prevails upon a lady to abandon her family, her principles, her caution, and her duty to enter into an irrevocable union in a manner that can only engender sorrow and ill will amongst all who know her, and gossip amongst those who do not.”

Actually, Darcy knew exactly what kind of man would do so. His brother-in-law Mr. Wickham was such a man. Several years ago, the fortune hunter had nearly enticed Darcy’s sister into eloping, but Georgiana’s conscience had compelled her to confess their plan to Darcy before it could be enacted. Wickham later succeeded in seducing Elizabeth’s youngest sister, Lydia, a girl of lesser fortune and, regrettably, fewer scruples.

Yes, Darcy indeed had experience with men who allowed selfishness to govern their matrimonial tactics. Mr. Crawford, however, was by Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s accounts wealthy enough to have courted Anne honorably, which made his motives more difficult to comprehend. So, too, were Anne’s. Georgiana and Lydia had each been but fifteen when Wickham preyed upon them, and in Georgiana’s instance her would-be seducer was a man she had known all her life, as much a part of the landscape of Pemberley as its woods. Anne de Bourgh was nearly twice that age, more mature, more cognizant of the consequences of elopement. And far less familiar with her suitor.

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s tread signaled his approach. Darcy greeted him at the door, closing it behind him to shield Anne from view. He spoke in a low tone. “It is as we feared. We are too late.”

Fitzwilliam’s countenance, already strained from their arduous journey, deflated. He likewise muted his voice. “Is Anne well?”

“I believe her welfare might be better determined without Mr. Crawford in attendance.”

“I will escort him downstairs to settle his account with the innkeeper. If Anne’s health can support further travel, shall we depart as soon as the postilions can provide horses?”

Though they were all in need of rest, remaining in Gretna Green was insupportable. “Make the arrangements, but let us journey no farther than Carlisle today.” Carlisle was not ten miles distant; there they could overnight at a proper inn. “Assuming Mr. Crawford’s post-chaise accommodates four, we require horses for only one carriage. He is hardly in a position to object to conveying us.”

“On the contrary, he needs to court our goodwill. Surely they both realize Lady Catherine will not receive them kindly — if she receives them at all.”

“You know our aunt. She will be waiting with her solicitor to attempt to settle some sort of marriage articles with Mr. Crawford the moment we produce the couple at Riveton.”

“Shall I send word to her that we have discovered them?”

“I will write her from Carlisle. Riding in a closed carriage with Mr. Crawford might expose additional information we ought to include.”

“Riding in a closed carriage with Mr. Crawford might reveal more about him than we care to know. This escapade has hardly disposed me well toward him.”

Mr. Crawford called from within. “Mr. Darcy, if you and the colonel have finished talking about us, we have finished dressing.”

“He is unrepentant?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked.

“Utterly.”

“That will change.”

Mr. Crawford departed with the colonel, whose military bearing clearly communicated no tolerance for brash behavior. The pistols he carried at his side brooked no foolishness, either.

Left to themselves, Anne regarded Darcy like a convicted felon awaiting sentencing, or a child anticipating a thorough scolding. Were Lady Catherine here, she would deliver both with vehemence, and he could see Anne bracing herself for a tirade rehearsed over several hundred miles. Rather than face him, she crossed to the window and drew aside its cheap, tattered curtain. A light rain indeed began to fall.

Despite his impatience, he spoke gently. “Did Mr. Crawford coerce you?”

Several raindrops struck the glass. “I expect that is the only explanation that could possibly make sense to you.”

“One of few. You are not a silly young girl. I cannot believe you were so overcome by infatuation that you ran away with a stranger on impulse.”

“It was no impulse, and he is not a stranger. I have known Mr. Crawford nearly a year.”

“How?”

“We met last autumn in Bath.”

“Why, then, was your mother unacquainted with him when we discovered your note?”

“We were introduced after she departed Bath for Pemberley.”

Anne had wintered in Bath while Lady Catherine assisted the Darcys with fraudulent legal charges that had taken five months to resolve. He recalled that she had written her mother several times during that period requesting permission to extend her stay in the city, citing its steady benefit to her health. Lady Catherine had consented, congratulating herself on selecting Bath as the most salubrious of England’s spa towns, and believing her daughter safe under Mrs. Jenkinson’s supervision.

“Did Mrs. Jenkinson approve the acquaintance?”

“Yes, though she did not realize its extent. Mr. Crawford was in and out of town, and when we did encounter each other he seldom paid me particular attention in her presence. He never called at our lodgings, and when we saw him in public he would include Mrs. Jenkinson equally in our exchange of pleasantries. He and I conversed more freely on occasions when other matters, such as retrieving my shawl or procuring a glass of water, occupied her. At assemblies, we sometimes danced whilst she played at cards. She could not have foreseen this turn of events — pray, do not blame her for it.”

“So Mr. Crawford courted you surreptitiously. And you were a willing party to the deception?”

“For most of our time in Bath, I did not think of his attention as courtship, though I confess that as our acquaintance improved I occasionally indulged in the daydream that one might develop. I was simply gratified that a gentleman as charming as Mr. Crawford desired my conversation.”

“Did you never question why?”

She turned. Something like spirit lit her expression. “Is there a reason he should not? Because you never showed interest, am I unworthy of any gentleman’s notice?”

The question so startled Darcy that he could not respond.

“There I was, in Bath, for the first time since your wedding. Can you comprehend the humiliation of returning to a scene where my mother had, since my coming-out, discouraged suitors with the explanation that I was reserved for my cousin by an ‘understanding’? A cousin who had just married someone of significantly lesser status in the eyes of Society? Not only did I bear the stigma of having been rejected by my own kin as a desirable wife, but I was essentially entering the marriage market for the first time at eight-and-twenty: a decade older than most of the girls around me. I was painfully aware that my inheritance constituted my primary, if not sole, attraction to any suitor.

“Believe it or not, there were other suitors, once my mother left Bath. Not many, but a handful of gentlemen, all of whom wooed me only for my dowry and the promise of Rosings to come. The impoverished peers who had squandered their own wealth did not even attempt to disguise their motives. Other gentlemen were more bold and less honest. In fact, Mr. Crawford earned my gratitude, and that of Mrs. Jenkinson, for revealing to us the histories of more than one fortune hunter.”

“While Mr. Crawford was protecting you from the avaricious addresses of other gentlemen, did you or Mrs. Jenkinson enquire into his own reputation?”

“Upon his initial arrival in town, word circulated that he had recently ended an affair with a married lady who had pursued him most shamefully. Early in our acquaintance, he acknowledged the truth of the reports, as well as sincere regret at ever having entered into the liaison. That was the only ill I ever heard spoken of him. Details about his estate and income were easily verified, which put to rest any misgivings I might have harbored about his motives for cultivating my regard. His situation is quite secure without need of my inheritance.

“In addressing me, he courted my friendship, not my fortune. We engaged in agreeable discourse on any number of subjects. Always, when he spoke, I felt he spoke to me — Anne de Bourgh, not Lady Catherine’s daughter or Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s heir. It was the first time in my life that someone took genuine interest in anything I had to say. When his interest developed into something more, I am uncertain. Any hint of partiality I ascribed to my own vanity, for he never declared himself whilst I remained in Bath. For my own part, by the time my mother summoned me home in March, my affections were engaged. I mourned the loss of his companionship, for he had brought diversion to a very dull existence.”

“How was this ‘friendship’ sustained after you returned to Rosings?”

“It was not; communication between us ceased. I was in Kent, he was at Everingham or in any number of other places — York, London, Richmond — he delights in travel and is never in one place for long. We could not correspond; even had propriety permitted it, my mother would not have. To this day, I do not know what transpired during her time at Pemberley, but she returned absolutely determined to arrange a marriage for me with a man of the highest consequence possible. Nothing short of a future lord would do, better if the gentleman already possessed a title. I was to be bound over to the highest bidder as soon as an impressive enough bridegroom could be procured and the marriage articles drawn up.”

“And you rebelled at her plan?”

“Quite the contrary. I am conscious of my duty, Darcy, and I had no reason to hope for better situation than what my mother sought for me. I never expected to marry for affection, and at this point in my life, I realized that was an unlikely luxury.”

“Then how came you to elope with Mr. Crawford?”

“I would have borne a mariage de convenance if it were to a gentleman I could respect, or even a fool who would treat me kindly. But my mother appeared to have settled upon Neville Sennex, and that is a match to which I could not submit.”

“Why not?”

“I am troubled by his character. Indeed, after my observations this se’nnight past, I believe him not just an unpleasant man, but one of violent temper.

“We called at Hawthorn Manor each day after our arrival at Riveton, and both my mother and his father seemed determined to put us in each other’s company. I endured the awkward conversations and tried to make myself agreeable, but Mr. Sennex clearly resented the interviews. As a host, he was not solicitous of my comfort or interests; it was only at his father’s behest that he partook in even the most cursory exchange. His treatment of Lord Sennex fell far short of the respect any father, let alone a viscount, deserves. He displayed such impatience with his lordship’s befuddlement in our presence that I cannot imagine his conduct when they are alone.

“Our third visit saw slight improvement in his manners toward me, but I am afraid the servants suffered as a consequence. He exploded at a housemaid for a trivial oversight, threatening to dismiss her if it happened again. I noticed, as he did so, that she rubbed a faded bruise on her forearm. Twice more that afternoon he berated servants mercilessly for minor infractions.

“The day before the ball, the viscount and my mother — who seemed to desire a private tête-à-tête — insisted that Mr. Sennex lead me on a tour of the house and grounds. He obviously despised the task. We walked through perhaps half a dozen rooms, he barely uttering a word except to enquire how Rosings compared. He could not seem to resolve in his own mind whether he wanted Rosings to be of inferior significance or extraordinary worth. He was quizzing me about the rents — as if I have any knowledge of such business — when he abruptly cut me off.

“We had entered a chamber that contained so many weapons it could have been an armory: rifles, muskets, a set of dueling pistols, a fusil from his father’s military days. There were swords that had been passed down through the family for generations, and I do not know what else — the room could not have held less interest for me, and I wondered that of all the places in the house, he should have brought me there. But he was more animated than I had ever seen him, rattling on and on about the power of the various weapons, as if the information ought to impress me.

“Finally, to my immense relief, a servant entered to announce the arrival of a gentleman whom Mr. Sennex had been expecting. I was quite surprised when, a moment later, Mr. Crawford entered. My presence took him equally by surprise. He’d had no idea of my being in the neighborhood; he himself had arrived only that morning, and called at Hawthorn to collect a horse he was acquiring from Mr. Sennex. The two gentlemen had met at one of their London clubs, and had arranged the matter during a recent visit there.

“Mr. Sennex would have deposited me back with my mother and the viscount, but Mr. Crawford invited me to view the horse along with him. As we walked toward the stables, Mr. Crawford displayed all the congeniality I remembered. Upon close inspection of the horse, however, his demeanor changed. The animal, which Mr. Sennex had represented as a fine hunter, was head shy and scarred from an injury near its left eye that had damaged its vision. The mount was not worth nearly as much as Mr. Sennex had claimed, and from the terse argument that ensued I inferred that the horse had originally been offered to Mr. Crawford as payment for a gambling loss. Mr. Crawford said he would take the horse, but did not consider the debt fully discharged. Mr. Sennex stormed off to the house to retrieve banknotes to make up the difference, leaving us with the horse.

“As we awaited his return, Mr. Crawford asked what had brought me to Hawthorn Manor. I explained that I visited with my mother. Though I did not intend to share my suspicion that she and the viscount plotted a betrothal, he knew me well enough to perceive my discomfort, and I found myself revealing my apprehensions. Mr. Crawford became grave. He said he did not know Mr. Sennex well, but that he had a reputation at the club for a quick temper. He also said that given the behavior of Mr. Sennex’s horse and the look of the injury, he suspected the mare’s scar to be the result of having been struck with the horn hook of a hunting crop, rather than the accident Mr. Sennex had claimed. ‘A man who could injure so valuable an animal…’ He left the sentence unfinished, but I understood him. Striking a wife — also a man’s legal property — is not so very great a leap.

“Mr. Crawford urged me to avoid an engagement with Mr. Sennex. I told him that my mother seemed determined, but that I would speak with her. He extracted a promise from me to meet him in Riveton’s rose garden at dawn to tell him the result.”

“Later, when I attempted to convey to my mother my uneasiness about Mr. Sennex, she would not hear. An obedient wife had nothing to fear, she said, and implied that a betrothal agreement was indeed imminent. My cooperation was not only expected, it was demanded.

“I spent the night recalling the bursts of anger I had witnessed in Mr. Sennex and imagining the force that had caused the horse’s scar applied to me. Early the next morning, en route to my assignation with Mr. Crawford, I encountered Mrs. Darcy and thought for certain that she suspected the rendezvous. By the time I reached the rose garden and Mr. Crawford, agitation so overcame me that it is only by some miracle that he made any sense at all of my utterances.

“Mr. Crawford revealed his partiality for me and declared that he could not stand by whilst I sacrificed myself to Mr. Sennex. He offered himself as a husband and asked whether my mother would consider him an acceptable substitute. When I doubted her accord — he possesses no title, and negotiations with the viscount were so far along — he proposed a desperate solution: an elopement. I could not conceive of such disobedience, but he urged me to consider it for my own welfare. I was to give him my answer at the ball. We would underplay our acquaintance to avoid suspicion, but he would contrive a few minutes’ conversation in which I could indicate my decision by some sign. He would come prepared; if I accepted, we would depart from there, with the distraction of the festivities to mask our disappearance.

“I tried to speak to my mother a final time before the ball, but she cut me off in her haste to meet yet again with Lord Sennex. As I watched her carriage depart for Hawthorn Manor, I knew that I had to act that night, for I would not have the courage to disobey her in person when she put a finalized betrothal agreement in front of me to sign. Now it is done, and I can only imagine the extent of her displeasure. Will she ever receive us at Rosings, do you think?”

“She wants to see you posthaste. Colonel Fitzwilliam and I are to return you and Mr. Crawford to Riveton as quickly as the miles can be traveled.”

Anne sighed and glanced round the shabby room that had been her bridechamber. Her entire posture bespoke resignation. “We can depart whenever you wish. Delaying the reunion will not make it easier.”