"I thought Miss Steele seemed very unwilling to drive back with him," said Fitzwilliam with a smile. "By the way, have you noticed what a wonderful girl she is for asking questions? She almost equals my aunt."
Elizabeth felt her fears returning, and inquired: "Did she manage to find questions to askyou, Robert?"
"I should think she did. She was trying to extract from me why I had not arrived earlier and what I had been doing. I had to admit that I had been riding, and in some way of her own she dragged Miss Crawford's name in too. I simply pretended not to hear, and began talking vigorously about something else. How in the world it can matter to her whether I was riding with Miss Crawford, or Miss Anybody, I fail to understand."
"She is an inquisitive little minx, and I cannot bear her," Elizabeth exclaimed emphatically. "Fitzwilliam, do let us go home. I don't like Bath this year, or the people in it. We can ask the nice ones, like Miss Crawford and Mr. Morland, to stay with us at Pemberley."
"I am quite willing to return, my dear," replied Darcy; "but it would not do to leave before my aunt's reception, or to admit ourselves driven away by a Miss Steele."
"Of course we will stay over the sixteenth, but we will go after that; it only means a week or two less than our ordinary visit. The Wentworths are leaving, and Eleanor Portinscale is too unwell for me to see anything of her, and Aunt Catherine has her extraordinary friends to amuse her; there is really nothing to keep us. You will come too, will you not, Robert?"
To this the Colonel made no reply, and Elizabeth interpreted his silence as her wishes dictated.
The next few days passed without any special event to mark them. Elizabeth wished more and more to leave Bath, and to be able to persuade Colonel Fitzwilliam to come too; for she felt an uneasiness that would not be stifled as to the outcome of the various friendships that had been inaugurated that year. In particular, she suspected the Steele and Ferrars faction of making some mischief with her aunt; they were incessantly with her, and it seemed to Elizabeth that Lady Catherine was becoming what, with all her faults of overbearing pride, haughtiness and love of flattery, she had never been before, namely, suspicious of evil motives and thoughts in those around her. When her nephew and niece were with her she would question them, and hardly accept their explanation of their occupations at other times; she blamed everybody for what they were doing, Mr. Morland for accepting the hospitality of the Portinscales, Lady Portinscale for not entertaining, Captain Tilney for not marrying, Anne Steele for wishing to do so, Colonel Fitzwilliam for coming to Bath, and Georgiana for staying away. Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford were criticized for being in such an expensive place; but on the whole, Lady Catherine said but little about them in a general way, which Elizabeth regarded as a bad sign, for she was sure, that as friends ofherchoice, Lady Catherine must have a great deal to say in private in their disfavour.
As to James Morland, Elizabeth felt there was everything to be said in defence of his present situation; but she was so anxious for it to be known that he was on the way to obtaining work, that she wanted to be at home, in order to set the necessary arrangements in motion; though her husband laughed at the idea of the vicar's resigning any sooner, because the patron happened to be at Pemberley instead of at Bath.
It was, however, in regard to the progressing friendship between Mary Crawford and Colonel Fitzwilliam that Elizabeth felt most troubled, and as long as she remained in Bath, most helpless. Mary and Mrs. Grant would not come and see her more often than she visited them; and although there were numberless opportunities of meeting at the Rooms, the gardens, the theatre, and other public places, on these occasions there always seemed to be something to interfere with the enjoyment of their little party. Either Lady Catherine was there, with the Steeles, who could be depended on to break up any rational conversation or other amusement, or, worse still, Sir Walter and Miss Elliot would appear on the scene, and assuming the privileges of an older acquaintance, would take possession of Mary and draw her away from her newer friends with many protests of "having beenquitedeserted—of having so much to say to our dear Miss Crawford, whom we have missed so terribly lately." They had, of course, a slight previous acquaintance with the Darcys, whom they had intended to become intimate with at one time, as people of fashion; but to Miss Elliot's intense chagrin, Mrs. Darcy had been quite unresponsive to her, and had instead formed a friendship with her younger sister, Mrs. Wentworth. Although the Wentworths and the Darcys were frequently together, Elizabeth could not well confide her difficulties to Anne, when it was so evident that Sir Walter Elliot was another admirer of Miss Crawford, and not at all evident in which direction the lady's choice would lie! It was hard to believe that she could find true pleasure in the company of Sir Walter, with his tedious inanities, or of Miss Elliot, with her artificiality and pride, and yet at times she seemed to greet them almost with a heartiness, and be glad to join them, even though she might have been a moment before in conversation with the Darcy party and showing them her real self in a charming and spontaneous gaiety. But those who watched closely might have noticed that these times coincided with the appearance of Lady Catherine, who, on seeing her nephew Colonel Fitzwilliam, usually endeavoured to detach him from the group he was in and to join him to her own. He, on his part, was always most unwilling to relinquish the society of Miss Crawford, but she gave him no chance to do otherwise, gliding away with a pleasant word of farewell before Lady Catherine's insistent "I want you, Fitzwilliam, if you can spare me afewmoments," made itself heard. He had no key to her behaviour; sometimes it seemed to him as if she really liked him, and as if he might venture to hope he could make her like him more; and then, again, Sir Walter Elliot was so frequently at her elbow, with the compliments and gallantries which seemed to be his native language, and were so foreign, Colonel Fitzwilliam thought, to himself, that, naturally diffident, distrusting his powers to charm and attract, he often felt as if it were hopeless even to think of becoming a suitor; while at the same time his deepening love for Mary compelled him to persevere.
Elizabeth perceived some part of all this, and longed to help; but there was something about Mary's reserve that made it impossible to win her confidence, or to do anything more for Colonel Fitzwilliam than his own powers were able to do for him. Mary never gave him what could be construed into the smallest encouragement; it was only by observing that with him she seemed to be able to talk more naturally, to express her real opinions more frankly, that Elizabeth could surmise his interest in her to be in the slightest degree reciprocated. Had it not been for the very strong liking Elizabeth had formed for her new friend, she would have been disposed to think that her cousin's happiness would best be furthered by separating him from a pleasure that might become such great pain. But after a conversation with him, in which he briefly admitted his growing attachment and the existence of his hopes, she could not advise him to give up the quest, and could only assure him of her sympathy and belief in Mary's being a prize worth winning. He confessed that he felt it was doing a wrong to Georgiana to indulge in such thoughts so short a time after leaving her, and reproached himself with his presumption in thinking that so brilliant and admired creature as Mary could have any warmth of feeling for "a battered old soldier like this," as he styled himself. Elizabeth tried to reason him out of these scruples, and to give him all the good counsel that her knowledge of his character suggested. She found that he did not believe he had at present the remotest chance of being accepted; he only hoped, while they remained in Bath, to win his way in Miss Crawford's esteem, and to be assured that she had no preference for any other man.
Elizabeth was anxious to see as much of Miss Crawford as possible before their departure from Bath, which was now fixed for the 17th of April, the day after Lady Catherine's reception. She accordingly made an excuse to walk down to Mrs. Grant's house on the day before with the piece of music, which it had occurred to her might be arranged with a setting for the harp; and she found Miss Crawford in and alone. Mary was wearing her bonnet and cloak and was wrapping up a parcel when Mrs. Darcy was announced; and the latter exclaimed that she would not stay, as Mary was just going out.
"No, no, I am not—it does not matter—I was only going to take this parcel to Miss Elliot's—pray sit down, Mrs. Darcy—I can send it by the boy"; and recalling the servant, Miss Crawford handed him the package with directions to take it to Camden Place. Then returning, she threw off her cloak and said: "It really does not signify in the least; it is only a fan Miss Elliot lent me a few evenings ago—as an excuse, she said, for seeing me again when I brought it back." This was spoken with a slight blush, but on Elizabeth's repeating her regrets she exclaimed: "Oh, but I would much rather stay and talk to you. I so seldom see you alone; one seldom does see anyone alone in Bath, I think. What have you brought? Some music? How delightful! You will play it to me now."
Elizabeth explained her scheme, and Miss Crawford examined the piece with great interest, and presently declared she thought it would make an admirable duet. As she walked across the room to the harp, Elizabeth remarked: "If you like it, we might play it to-morrow night at my aunt's reception."
Miss Crawford appeared to be busily tuning the strings of her harp, and it was after a moment's pause that she replied: "I do not think we shall be at Lady Catherine's reception."
"Not be there!" repeated Elizabeth, concealing her dismay as best she could. "I am very sorry for that; we shall all be sorry not to see you there."
"Thank you," returned Miss Crawford, and seemed unwilling to say more. Elizabeth, however, could not bear to leave the subject at that point, and after a few moments suggested that if Mrs. Grant did not feel equal to going, she herself would be delighted to call for Miss Crawford and take her to Pulteney Street.
"You are very kind, Mrs. Darcy, but it is not that," said Miss Crawford, at length turning round and showing a countenance expressive of some embarrassment. "The truth is," she continued, "and I know I can speak it to a friend like yourself, that I don't think Lady Catherine really wants such very small rushlights as ourselves in her firmament of glittering stars. She cannot be said to know us; she has not called here since I was introduced to her at that concert, and only sent us a note late one evening asking us to come next day to Clifton. I do not in the least mind being invited only on account of my music, but, as Frances and I always agree, since I am not paid in money, I must be in manners. Oh! I beg your pardon—" she stopped short, colouring and biting her lip—"I should not have said that. Lady Catherine has, of course, a perfect right to do as she likes. I daresay she has long forgotten having given me an invitation."
"My dear Miss Crawford," exclaimed Elizabeth, whose colour had also risen, "say no more; you quite put us all to shame. Was there ever such an ill-mannered family? Of course, I thought that my aunt had sent you and your sister an invitation in due form. You must let me take all the blame to myself, for having omitted to remind her; we had talked, we had assumed all this time that you would be at the reception, which must account for my unpardonable forgetfulness of what should have been an early and most pleasurable duty."
Miss Crawford tried to laugh the matter off by saying that it was in no respect Mrs. Darcy's fault, and that the whole thing was too trifling to deserve a moment's consideration; besides, she added, Mrs. Darcy had presented her sister to Lady Catherine on one occasion, and could not have done more; that she was sure she and Mrs. Grant would not be missed at such a large party, and that she hoped to have other opportunities of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.
"It is because I fear there will be so few more in Bath, owing to our departure for home, that I am so particularly sorry to lose this one, and also for the cause of it," returned Elizabeth. "I can quite enter into your feelings, Miss Crawford, but will you do a very kind and generous thing, and show that you have forgiven me by availing yourself of my aunt's invitation if she tenders it in a manner you can accept?"
Miss Crawford could not be persuaded to give a definite assent to this proposal; she tried to treat the matter of her going to the party or staying away as no consequence, and laughingly protested that she would send the harp alone, which would answer all purposes as far as Lady Catherine was concerned. The utmost she could be induced to say was: "I should be very glad to giveyouthe pleasure"; and with this Elizabeth was obliged to be content. Nevertheless, Elizabeth was so extremely desirous of securing Miss Crawford's presence, partly in the hope that Lady Catherine might be more kindly disposed to her on a closer acquaintance, and partly in order that Colonel Fitzwilliam might be enabled to enjoy her company without fear of interruption from the Elliots, that on leaving Mrs. Grant's house she hastened at once to Pulteney Street, trusting to find Lady Catherine alone and disposed to listen to her errand. In both these objects she was successful; for though the inevitable Miss Steele was in the house, she was upstairs with Miss de Bourgh, and Lady Catherine having just had a disappointment in hearing that some old friends found themselves obliged to quit Bath before her reception, was in a mood to demand Elizabeth's sympathy and to discuss matters connected with entertainment.
"It really is exceedingly trying," she said. "I am not prepared for these annoyances. At my age my friends should take care to spare me them. I am convinced that Lady Alicia Markham's son is not so ill but that he could have done without his mother for another two days."
Elizabeth condoled warmly, and listened to a description of the arrangements for the evening, in which, it appeared, Mrs. Ferrars's help had been invaluable; and when Lady Catherine named the musicians she expected, Elizabeth took advantage of the opening thus afforded her, by suggesting that a more formal invitation should be sent to Miss Crawford, to ensure her presence.
Lady Catherine stared, and in a tone of offended surprise reminded her of the first meeting with Miss Crawford. "You were present, I recollect, Elizabeth, when she was introduced to me, and I gave her the opportunity of bringing her instrument on this occasion."
"Yes, I remember its being mentioned," said Elizabeth, "but I hardly think she took it as an invitation. I fancied you meant to follow it up by calling on her and her sister."
"I may have had some thoughts of doing so," returned Lady Catherine haughtily; "but in the end I decided that I did not choose it; I cannot take up with all the new young ladies who come to Bath, and least of all those who are talked of as much as she is. She is the greatest flirt imaginable: that foolish old beau, Sir Walter Elliot, and half the men of Bath are running after her."
"No, indeed, dear madam; you have been misinformed, and I must defend her," said Elizabeth with more earnestness. "She is not in the least a flirt, and though men may run after her, they receive no encouragement to do so. But if you do not like her, there is no more to be said. Now, whom could you get in her place? I do not know any other lady, but there is a man at the theatre who is said to play the harp tolerably well."
Lady Catherine was silent for a moment with anger; then she broke out, as Elizabeth had expected: "There is no one I can get in her place. The impudent girl! She should be glad to come to a house like this. Probably she is intending to come all the time, if the truth were known; how can you tell she is not?"
"Only that when I last saw her she distinctly said that she and her sister had no reason to think themselves expected."
"No reason! when with my own mouth I said, 'I should like you to come and play at my house on the sixteenth.' Nothing could be clearer. As to her sister, if that is the very ordinary-looking person whom I believe you presented to me one morning, no, I do not recollect saying anything to her; but it is not she who plays the harp."
"She is a very agreeable and cultured woman, widow of a Canon of Westminster, and Miss Crawford goes nowhere without her."
"Well, it is all extremely annoying, and I do not know when I have been so upset. You should have told her, Elizabeth, told her plainly that she was to come. Really, the airs these people give themselves! Here is a card; I will write their names and send it round this afternoon, and I hope after that we shall have no more nonsense."
This by no means satisfied Elizabeth, and the next ten minutes were spent by her in using every means of persuasion she could think of to induce her aunt to repair all previous omissions by going to visit Mrs. Grant and conveying her invitation in person. Lady Catherine at first resisted the proposal indignantly, and would have continued to do so but for her knowledge that Miss Crawford's music was to have been an attractive part of the evening's entertainment, and an uncomfortable recollection of having told many of her friends that they would hear a person scarcely known, in whom she had discovered some remarkable talent.
This she did not betray to her niece, and when the latter left the house it was without having secured a definite promise, but Elizabeth felt she had said as much as she safely could, and she walked home, pondering on what had passed, and wondering uneasily whether what she had done had been a real kindness to Mary. This question was also raised by her husband, to whom she had related the affair on her return. He shook his head over it, and gave it as his opinion that as his aunt had been rude to Miss Crawford, and the latter was fully conscious of it, they would not meet in a spirit conducive to future good feeling.
"But it would have been worse," said Elizabeth, "if Aunt Catherine had counted on Miss Crawford's coming and she had not appeared. There would have been no healing the breach then."
"Would it have greatly signified if there had been a breach?" inquired Darcy. "But never mind, my dear, you have done your best, and it will be interesting to see the result of Aunt Catherine's efforts at conciliation—the first time she has ever appeared in such a role, I should think."
Strangely enough, Lady Catherine's efforts were successful enough, although no one ever knew precisely how she accomplished it. But it was partly accounted for by the fact that she saw Mrs. Grant alone, Miss Crawford being out. She had taken only her daughter with her, not choosing that Miss Steele should be a witness of an interview which was undoubtedly galling to her pride; and Mrs. Grant, realizing but a small part of the great lady's insolence towards her sister, and the nature of Mary's resentment of it, only perceived that Lady Catherine was anxious to have them at the party, and was willing to acknowledge any remissness in her manner of issuing the invitation. Lady Catherine was so relieved at not having to apologize directly to the object of her dislike, that she became, in the course of the interview, more and more condescendingly gracious to Mrs. Grant, whom she found, as she afterwards remarked to her daughter, an amiable, unpretentious person; and actually admitted that she ought to have called sooner, but the pressure of engagements in Bath at this period of the season was so great. The call was strictly limited to a quarter of an hour, and Mrs. Grant described it all to Mary when she came in with much spirit and humour.
Mary, on hearing that her sister had actually accepted, was inclined to be defiant, and to declare that she would have a headache and not go; of course it was kind Mrs. Darcy's doing, but she did not care to accept favours thrown at her at the eleventh hour like this, by ill-tempered old ladies who only wanted to make use of her. Mrs. Grant, whose pride in, and love of, her sister were unbounded, and who delighted in seeing her shine by means of her beauty and talents, had great difficulty in persuading her; in fact, when they met the Darcy party at the Lower Rooms the following morning, Mary still declared that her coming was so doubtful that it was not worth while to give Mrs. Darcy the trouble of learning the duet.
Elizabeth, however, felt fairly confident of seeing her there, and Colonel Fitzwilliam confirmed this by telling Elizabeth with a cheerful glance that "she had not actually said she would not go." Their hopes were realized by the arrival of the two sisters, Mary looking lovely and sparkling in white with a few fine jewels, the gifts of her devoted brother. Elizabeth, who had arrived some time earlier, happened to be near her aunt, and so was able to satisfy herself that their reception by their hostess was properly courteous, if not cordial. Lady Catherine even took the trouble to mention the name of her daughter, who stood close by, and Miss de Bourgh actually exerted herself so far as to make two separate curtsies, though the remark that it was a cold evening was taken out of her mouth by Anne Steele, who was standing next to her, and evidently considered herself included in the introduction.
Elizabeth saw with delight that Colonel Fitzwilliam was impatiently awaiting his turn after these formalities should be over, and that he immediately placed himself by Miss Crawford's side. They seemed to have much to say to one another; and Elizabeth, after greeting the two ladies, and giving Mary an expressive glance of gratitude which conveyed much more than her quiet remark: "It was kind of you to come," began to converse with Mrs. Grant until music should be demanded of Mary.
Elizabeth was very well amused in watching the arrival of the guests, and in noticing which of them were under the special patronage of the Robert Ferrars, who appeared to have brought into Lady Catherine's circle a number of individuals of about the same standing in the world of fashion as themselves. Robert Ferrars was in his element, as though he found entertaining in another person's house a much more satisfactory matter than when the trouble and expense had to be incurred by himself, besides having the advantage of being able to introduce his friends to an earl's daughter as their hostess. When all who were expected had arrived, he, in company with a showy-looking young man, dressed in the extreme of fashion, began strolling about the rooms in search of someone upon whom they could make an impression. Elizabeth thought that she and her husband might at least have escaped Mr. Ferrars's civilities; and great was her surprise when the young men paused before her, and Mr. Ferrars begged leave to introduce his friend Mr. Yates, who had newly come from London. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, he thought, might be interested to meet Mr. Yates, in view of their intended journey, as Mr. Yates would be able to give them all information as to the state of the roads.
Mrs. Darcy had scarcely made her curtsey and was about to frame some suitable reply, when the glance of the newcomer happened to fall on Mrs. Grant, who was seated on a low chair close by. He immediately pronounced her name in tones of questioning surprise, and when she looked up, exclaimed: "Yes, I was sure it was. Upon my word, madam, I take some credit to myself, considering the length of time it is since we met. I hope I am so fortunate as to recall myself to your remembrance?"
"You are very good, sir," replied Mrs. Grant, with a perceptible effort. Her countenance expressed no great pleasure at the encounter. "Of course, I recall you perfectly. Mrs. Yates, I trust, is quite well."
"Very well, I thank you, madam; and I hope the same may be said of your fair sister, Miss Crawford—but perhaps she is no longer Miss Crawford?"
"Don't be under any alarm, Yates," struck in Robert Ferrars; "she is still Miss Crawford, and you can judge for yourself how well she is, for you will see and hear her to-night."
This speech was so offensive to Mrs. Grant that she cut short Mr. Yates's compliments, and remarking, "Yes, I am glad to say my sister is still with me," rose and prepared to move away. Elizabeth immediately suggested that they should go in search of some tea, and the dismayed Mr. Yates saw Mrs. Darcy departing before he had uttered a single word about London, or about the distinguished people he had dined with the night before last.
"Well, I'm very sorry, Ferrars," he replied to his friend's reproaches; "I'm sure I didn't want to talk to Mrs. Grant at all, but seeing her was the greatest surprise; I never dreamt of meeting her here, and, of course, I had to speak a civil word, or she would have thought it so strange."
"My dear fellow," retorted Ferrars, "what on earth did that matter? I should have thought you would understand that Mrs. Darcy is the person to make yourself agreeable to here, not Mrs. Grant, who is only a clergyman's widow. I suppose, as you knew her before, that she lived down at that precious dull place in the country, where you took your wife from."
"Yes, she did," answered Mr. Yates; "but there's a good deal more in it than that—not through her. Do you mean to say that sister of hers is really here, going about in Bath?"
"Of course she goes about; why shouldn't she?" demanded Ferrars. "Is there anything against it? The women are all down on her, I know—you should hear my wife and sister—but only because she's such a devilish pretty girl and proud; she won't have any friends but the Darcys."
"But do you actually not know? Have you never heard all about her and her brother? Between the two of them they managed to lead my wife's family a pretty dance. Neither of them can ever show their faces in Mansfield again, so it was a lucky thing the Grants moved when they did. To think of meeting Miss Crawford again! I shall tell her that Edmund Bertram is uncommonly well and prosperous, and Tom Bertram isn't married yet; and you see how she looks when I do it."
This amiable intention was frustrated, as Elizabeth, who could readily see that Mrs. Grant was disturbed by what had happened, did not need even the hint dropped by her that she hoped Mary would not meet Mr. Yates, as he was connected with the Bertrams, and all that part of her life that it was painful to her to remember, in order to make her strive in every way to protect Mary from any disagreeableness. They went to the tea-room, whither Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mary had, fortunately, preceded them some time before Mr. Yates's appearance. They were there joined by Darcy, and all five formed a happily conversing group. Mrs. Grant whispered a word to her sister, whose countenance changed for a moment; but she shook off the cloud and gave herself up to the delight of the present. Once Elizabeth received a message from her aunt requesting her to "make Miss Crawford play now," and she escorted her friend back to the music-room and did not leave her after the performance until she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam safely stationed beside her. No command to play a second time followed, rather to Elizabeth's surprise, but having a number of friends to take leave of, she could not give it much thought before her own departure, which her husband had insisted should be an early one, in view of the journey on the following day.
Mr. Yates did not, in fact, come near any of this little party during the rest of the evening, but might have been observed conversing earnestly in a quiet part of the room with Lucy Ferrars and her sister, who, judging by their rapt attention and animated countenances, found what Mr. Yates had to say deeply interesting; so much so, in fact, that when his narration was finished the two young women, having faithfully promised to repeat no word of what he had told them, took the first opportunity of slipping away unostentatiously in the direction of their hostess; and having drawn her aside, with a hint of having something very important to communicate, poured into her ears that whole story just heard, a story which, as may be imagined, lost nothing in their version of it. Lady Catherine was so exceedingly angry that her instantly expressed desire was to have both Mr. Yates and Miss Crawford—the latter being, of course, the heroine of his tale—brought before her, with some confused idea in her mind of proving to the world at large that her dislike of Mary Crawford had all the time been well founded; but Lucy's extreme terror of the consequences of this act and her part in it, while Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were there to protect their friend, caused her to implore Lady Catherine to suspend pronouncing judgment till the following day. There would still be plenty of opportunities of meeting Miss Crawford, Lucy assured her patroness. Lady Catherine would make no promises. Only the necessity of attending to her other guests, she replied, delayed her from informing Miss Crawford of her strong disapproval. She would not appear to condone such conduct as Miss Crawford's had been one moment longer than she could help. Lucy and her sister thought it safest to mingle inconspicuously with the crowd until the storm should break over some other heads.
Meantime, Elizabeth and her husband had made their farewells to most of their friends, and were exchanging a few last words with Mrs. Grant and Mary. The latter looked unusually lovely, and an expression of quiet happiness illumined her countenance. Colonel Fitzwilliam did not allow himself yet to adopt the easy manner of an intimate friend, but the earnestness of his glance towards Mary, the eagerness with which he obeyed her slightest request, betrayed the state of his feelings, and his air and manner were those of a man whose thoughts are wholly pleasant.
"I am so sorry that this is really good-bye," Elizabeth was saying, "but I am consoled by thinking it is only for a little while. You will keep your promise and come to us this summer, will you not?" Mary Crawford and her sister repeated a cordial acceptance, and the former added: "You must tell us exactly how to come, Mrs. Darcy, you must explain all the intricacies of travelling between Brighton and Derbyshire, or we shall undoubtedly be lost on the road."
"Brighton! Shall you come from there?" and it was explained that the ladies generally spent the months of June and July at some seaside place, and Brighton had been thought of for this year. "Or we may be in London with my brother," continued Mary, "but wherever we are, if you remember to ask us, we shall come."
The usual protestations of the impossibility of forgetting followed, and very warm handshakes were exchanged; then Elizabeth, turning to her cousin, said: "Are you coming home now, Robert? It will be most unfriendly of you not to, for how else shall we see you again, since you positively decline to go with us to-morrow?"
Colonel Fitzwilliam hesitated, and said he had not thought of going home just yet; but Mary interrupted him by saying: "Pray don't let us keep you, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I am sure our coach will be there now, if you would kindly inquire. Colonel Fitzwilliam was so kind as to wish to put us into our coach," she added to Elizabeth, "but it would not be worth while, just for that, to prevent him from driving home with you and Mr. Darcy."
"I will go and see, certainly," said the Colonel, moving off; "but don't wait for me, Elizabeth. I would just as soon walk back, and I will see you and Darcy at breakfast."
Darcy drew his wife's arm within his, and they made their way to Lady Catherine, who was sitting very upright in an armchair and wearing her most stern and forbidding expression. To Elizabeth's civilly-worded thanks for all the kindness and pleasure which their aunt had bestowed on her relatives during their stay, she made no reply; but when Elizabeth referred to their departure on the morrow, she started, placed her hand coldly within her niece's for a moment, and said: "Yes, you are going, I recollect. You did not consult me in the matter, but still, perhaps this year it is as well you are not staying longer."
Elizabeth was too well accustomed to her aunt's insolent speeches to seek to account for them, and turned away; while Darcy, remarking, "Yes, we have stayed as long as we care to for this year," also shook hands with his aunt, cutting her rather short in the midst of a statement that she could send no message to Georgiana, and without further delay escorted his wife downstairs.
Mary Crawford watched them from the room, and then said to Mrs. Grant: "Let us go and say good-night also, Frances. We may as well be ready—and there will be the harp to be carried down."
"Very well, my dear," returned her sister. "We shall have to take our turn, for everyone else seems to be preparing to leave at once."
They approached Lady Catherine, and when after a few minutes they reached her side, to their surprise she addressed them in a more stiff and stately manner than usual. "Ah! Miss Crawford! I was awaiting you. Will you kindly come this way?" And she preceded them towards a small library, where card-tables had been placed, but which was now deserted.
Mary was not the least apprehensive of harm, and even whispered mischievously to her sister: "Perhaps she is going to present me with a fee!" so that her astonishment was unbounded when Lady Catherine, having closed the door, turned to her and exclaimed in a voice shrill with anger, which she did not attempt to control: "As this is probably the last time we shall meet, Miss Crawford, you will allow me to inform you that I have been entirely under a misapprehension in inviting you to my house, and that I very much regret having done so." The two sisters gazed at her, both silent from surprise, and Lady Catherine made haste to continue: "I see you are on the point of asking me what reason I have for coming to this conclusion. I do not care to enter into particulars; it must be sufficient for you that facts have come to my knowledge—facts which, if you search your memory, will no doubt—"
Mary had by now found words, and she broke into Lady Catherine's speech in a voice that distress and wounded dignity caused to tremble: "I was not on the point of asking you why you propose to forbid me your house. In that matter my decision had anticipated your wishes. But I have a right to ask the meaning of this insult; even your ladyship will hardly refuse to inform me of what and by whom I am accused."
Lady Catherine drew herself up still further, and said: "I repeat that I do not care to enter into particulars. I have no wish to say anything that may be injurious to you in your future life. The facts which have come to my knowledge are facts which you must be well aware are damaging to yourself and any member of your family—only in a lesser degree to you, Mrs. Grant. I shall repeat them to no one. I only wish you to understand our acquaintance is henceforth at an end."
Mary scarcely heard the last words; she had turned to her sister, who seemed quite overwhelmed and could only say, almost indistinguishably: "That dreadful Mr. Yates! I feared—I feared—"
"Frances, dear Frances, do not give way, I implore you. Do not let her make you unhappy. What does it matter about Mr. Yates? The truth cannot harm either of us." Then, confronting Lady Catherine once more, with head proudly thrown back, she demanded: "Now, madam, in justice to my sister, if not to me, will you kindly state what Mr. Yates has told you?"
Lady Catherine, who had expected a shamefaced attitude, was unprepared for this counter-attack, and replied after some hesitation: "It is evident that you know Mr. Yates has something to tell."
"Certainly, we know exactly what Mr. Yates knows," retorted Mary with spirit, "but what he may have told your ladyship is quite another matter. Will you tell us, or are you disposed to wait for the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy? A message from us would cause them to postpone their journey to-morrow."
The taunt was a well-judged one; Lady Catherine felt its truth, and anxious not to involve herself more deeply, she exclaimed: "Mr. Yates has not spoken on the subject to me; it is sufficient for me that he has told others, upon whom I can rely, the whole story of your brother's disgraced connection with that married woman, with whose dishonoured name I will not sully my lips—is that the true, or is it not? You say the truth can do you no harm."
"The fact is true," replied Mary, who had grown very white.
"Oh, Mary, Mary!" exclaimed Mrs. Grant, "let us come away now that we know the worst."
"No," answered Mary, who was retaining her calmness by a great effort, "we will not deprive Lady Catherine of the pleasure of telling all she has heard."
"And you express no contrition, you shameless, you bad-hearted girl?" broke out Lady Catherine, giving rein to her anger. "You think it can do you no harm to have all known of that shocking affair, which alone should make you shun the society of respectable persons, but beyond and above all that, there are your own intrigues with the two brothers of that wretched woman, one of whom you enticed away from the girl to whom he was attached, and your own flirtations here, which I will not enter into, but which I have watched taking place under my very eyes—"
"That will do, I think," said Mary, raising her hand. "You can have nothing further to say. You have insulted us in every possible manner. I only hope, Lady Catherine, that by this outrage you will consider yourself to have taken ample revenge."
"How dare you speak so to my poor sister?" demanded Mrs. Grant, wrath at last overmastering her distress. "If you only knew the real truth of the matter—if you only knew who had suffered and who was to be blamed!—God forgive you your wicked thoughts and your poisonous tongue!"
"Hush, hush, Frances!" interposed Mary, drawing her sister away. "Do not try to convince her. She is not worth it," and the two sisters left the room and walked with fairly firm steps downstairs, where they procured their cloaks, and Mrs. Grant was able, by drawing down her hood, to conceal the traces of her emotion. Mary directed a servant to bring her instrument downstairs, and they awaited it within the cloak-room. A few minutes later the servant knocked at the door, asking for Miss Crawford, and both ladies hastened forward, expecting the announcement of their coach, but Mary drew back on encountering the pale and anxious gaze of Colonel Fitzwilliam, and hearing his eager words: "I feared I had missed you—that you had gone—I searched for you through the rooms—and then I heard you were with my aunt. Is anything the matter, dear Miss Crawford? I fear there is something."
"It is of no consequence, thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam," she replied, speaking with cold pride. "You are come a little too late to be of any assistance. I see the footman has brought my harp, so if you will kindly allow us to leave the house, that is the most you can do."
"I implore you not to speak so, dearest Miss Crawford," he exclaimed, though keeping his voice low on account of the persons standing round. "Is there nothing I can do, nothing I can put right? I could, I am sure, if only I knew what had happened."
"Lady Catherine can best inform you of that," returned Mary in icy tones. "May I again request that you will ask for our carriage?"
"One moment only, and I will not detain you," he said hurriedly. "May I call on you to-morrow, at an early hour? Pray give me permission."
"I shall not be at home to-morrow," answered Mary, and swept proudly past him towards the front door, where a footman had just announced: "Mrs. Grant's carriage stops the way."
"Mrs. Grant!" exclaimed Colonel Fitzwilliam, placing himself beside that lady as she followed her sister, "you will allow me to come and see you? I will not torment your sister, but—you will not close your door on me without at least explaining the reason for this dreadful change?"
"Oh, Colonel Fitzwilliam!" exclaimed Mrs. Grant, with difficulty controlling her agitation, "if you knew all, you would not expect me to receive you; but I cannot altogether refuse, only I must have time to reflect, to consider—and my sister must be my first care."
He could only bow and acquiesce; and he assisted her into the carriage, which immediately rolled away.
Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were dismayed at the haggard aspect of their cousin when he joined them at breakfast the next morning. He looked like a man who had not slept, and whose wakefulness had some distressing cause. To their inquiries he replied by giving as brief and quiet an account as he could of the incident of the preceding evening. Elizabeth exclaimed with consternation when he described Miss Crawford's manner to him at the door, but refrained from making any comment until he had related how he had gone in search of his aunt, to obtain, if possible, an explanation from her. He had had to wait some time, until all but one or two of the guests had gone and he could be alone with her, but she had been most difficult to talk to on the subject; when reproached with her treatment of Miss Crawford and Mrs. Grant, she had admitted that perhaps she did speak rather severely to Miss Crawford, but the latter's attitude had annoyed her; that everything she had said was fully justified, and she was perfectly convinced that Miss Crawford was a most undesirable person, and one she should never have had in her house.
"Good heavens! can such things be said without impunity?" exclaimed Elizabeth. "What did you say, Robert?"
Colonel Fitzwilliam replied that he hoped he had controlled his temper, but it had been no easy matter. His aunt would not even substantiate her charges, and only referred to the shocking conduct of Miss Crawford and her brother towards a family called Bertram, adding that though this information had only just come to her ears, she believed that in London it was common property. Needless to say, her nephew's assurances that whatever the brother might have done Miss Crawford herself was absolutely innocent of any wrongdoing whatever, had not the slightest effect. Neither was she able to perceive that upon no basis but a shred of vulgar gossip she had done a vile thing in attacking and defaming two guests under her own roof.
"That made her more enraged than ever," continued Colonel Fitzwilliam; "she said it was not vulgar gossip, but a well-founded fact; and though she evidently was under a promise not to reveal the source of her knowledge, the word Ferrars slipped out once, so I was assured of what in fact I had guessed before, namely, to whom we owe this whole abominable affair."
"It is most deplorable," said Darcy gravely. "We can never regret it enough. I am sorry for you, Fitzwilliam, and still more sorry for Mrs. Grant and her sister, but I do not see that there is anything to be done, beyond apologies from all who are in any way connected with my aunt. It must be talked of as little as possible, for Miss Crawford's sake. The Ferrars will do their mischievous part; and it must be the duty of her friends to take it for granted and ignore it; there is a modicum of truth in the story, I suppose?"
"I do not know, or wish to know, anything about it," began Fitzwilliam, but Elizabeth interposed eagerly: "I can tell you all there is to know. I heard the story, if you can call it so, from Anne Wentworth only the other day: but I did not mention it again, for there is no use in reviving these things. It is true that Miss Crawford's brother ran away with Mrs. Rushworth, who had been Miss Bertram. He had treated her very badly before her marriage, gaining her affections and then showing her he did not intend to marry her. Mary Crawford had been on terms of friendship with the whole family, and one of the brothers, a young Bertram, had paid her attention. Naturally, the scandal of the divorce separated the two families; and I suppose ill-natured people can find some reason why Mary should be blamed for it, but I know of none."
"How came Mrs. Wentworth to be acquainted with these events?" asked Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to pay little heed; he rose from the table, leaving his untasted breakfast.
"Because they have a great friend, a naval officer, young Lieutenant Price, who is also connected with the Bertrams; his sister married one of the sons. In fact, she was adopted by the family as a child, and would naturally know all its affairs. I suppose the Ferrars got their information from that Mr. Yates who was there last night; I do not know anything about him, but I will ask Anne Wentworth."
"You know my advice, which is, as little said as possible," was Darcy's reply; and he crossed to the window, to lay his hand on his cousin's shoulder, and say warmly: "Do not take it too much to heart, my dear fellow. On reflection, Miss Crawford, when she is a little less upset, will see that you are not to blame, and Mrs. Grant, who is evidently a sensible woman, will take the right line when she has had time to think things over."
"I hope so," returned Colonel Fitzwilliam; but very little hope was expressed in his voice or bearing.
"I wish we could stay another day or two, to do some good in this miserable business," exclaimed Elizabeth. "We might even now put off starting."
"No, Elizabeth, we could hardly do that, and it would not be advisable," said Darcy, with decision. "None of us could make my aunt's peace with these ladies; and if we have to make our own, as well as Robert his, we can do it better by letter. By the way, Robert, how do you stand with my aunt?"
"We parted in anger, I fear," replied Fitzwilliam; "it was inevitable, after the argument we had had. It is immaterial to me; she knows now that I am an advocate for Miss Crawford, and she will consequently not expect to see me again."
"In spite of what you say, Darcy, I do think we might do some good," Elizabeth interrupted. "Let us countermand the carriage. We can easily tell the landlord we wish to keep these rooms till Monday."
Fitzwilliam begged his cousins not to put themselves to such an inconvenience on his account; and Darcy being also unwilling to change his plans at the moment when the carriages were driving to the door Elizabeth was obliged to give up the idea, which she did with greater reluctance through feeling that had she not persuaded Miss Crawford to go to Lady Catherine's reception, this disaster would not have occurred. Revolving in her mind plans for the future, when all the parties concerned should be removed from the influences at work in Bath, she continued her preparations for departure; and when all was ready, and the luggage placed on the vehicles, she walked downstairs with Colonel Fitzwilliam, speaking words of consolation and encouragement to him, promising to write to Miss Crawford from their first stopping-place, and urging him to wait patiently and not be deterred by Mary's being reluctant to see him again for some time after her very painful experience. He promised not to give up hope, but feared that this might cause him to lose the ground he had gained.
"You are very good, Elizabeth," he said, as they shook hands. "Whatever happiness comes out of this I shall owe to you. But it is beyond what I can expect. There never was much reason why she should look at me, and now, if she connects me with this wretched affair, there is less than ever."
Elizabeth once more earnestly begged him to take a more cheerful view, and immediately afterwards she and Darcy started their long journey northwards; and their cousin, having exchanged a few words with James Morland, who had walked round to the hotel a few moments earlier to take leave of his friends, returned to his own rooms and to the thought of Mary Crawford, which, indeed, was never absent from him. His eagerness to be with her once more was only exceeded by his desire to protect her fair name against the danger which threatened it; and in spite of Darcy's advice he came to the conclusion, after long thought, that he was justified in going first to the Ferrars's and then, if necessary, to Mr. Yates, to demand that whoever was responsible for the calumny should retract it. He did not wish to pose as Mary's champion until she had given him the right to take a warmer interest in her than he might yet assert; but as he could not in any case have failed to be aware of the insult last night, and as he was at the same time Miss Crawford's friend and Lady Catherine's nephew, he felt that he could do no less than endeavour to right the wrong himself, having been unsuccessful in an appeal to his aunt, which seemed the most direct.
He accordingly repaired at once to the Ferrars's lodgings, the address of which had been given to him by Anne Steele on one of the many occasions on which she had begged him to call there—a request hitherto ignored; and as soon as he was shown into the room he perceived that his two errands would be accomplished in one, as Mr. Yates was sitting with the Ferrars and Miss Steele. Fitzwilliam would neither shake hands nor take the offered seat, and addressing himself to Ferrars and Mr. Yates, he requested, in a tone as calm and deliberate as he could make it, that they would immediately and unreservedly withdraw all the accusations they had brought against Miss Crawford, and would furthermore go to Lady Catherine and make to her the same complete denial of their previous statements. He was careful to utter Miss Crawford's name as seldom as possible, and refrained from demanding an apology to be made to her personally, as he felt the greatest delicacy about appearing to act on her behalf, and could judge also that it was not the unkind talk, but the insult from her hostess, that had given her such deep offence. He found his present task an easier one than he had expected; and had his heart been lighter, he could have derived amusement from witnessing the kind of turmoil which his words immediately created amongst his hearers. Neither Robert Ferrars nor Mr. Yates was of a quarrelsome disposition; they were alike in living only for trifles, and in being of an idle, careless, gossiping nature, tolerably good-humoured when it did not interfere with their pleasure or comfort. At that moment the matter of greatest importance to them was to set themselves right with this extremely distinguished gentleman, who came to them with an air of such authority; and they hastened with the utmost zeal to assure and protest, to deny, regret or explain away whatever might have happened to annoy any friend of his.
Robert Ferrars, who, beyond listening eagerly to the story, had had nothing to do with the affair, was not long in discovering that his wife and her sister were really responsible for the mischief; and both he and Mr. Yates bitterly reproached the ladies for having broken their promise and carried Mr. Yates's information to Lady Catherine. Anne Steele's composure was not proof against this attack, especially in the presence of her admired Colonel Fitzwilliam, and she found a burst of tears the most convenient resource, but Lucy defended herself with spirit, and declared that she had only told Lady Catherine what it was right for her to know, as certainly her ladyship would not wish to receive Miss Crawford if half of what Mr. Yates had said was true. This produced a renewed flood of eloquence from Mr. Yates, who denied in the handsomest manner having said anything to Miss Crawford's disadvantage, and wound up by boldly asserting that she was a lady for whom he had the greatest respect; that she could not help the faults of her brother, and that as for Edmund Bertram, everyone considered that it washewho had treated her badly, "hanging round her always and never making her an offer—we none of us knew what he could be at."
Colonel Fitzwilliam intimated that he did not wish to know any of these particulars; that he was come simply because he had learnt that Lady Catherine, in consequence of what she had heard, had been led to treat her guests with great injustice—injustice was the strongest word he would allow himself to use—and that, for everyone's sake, it was highly necessary for her mind to be disabused of all false impressions. Mr. Yates, when it was made clear to him, professed himself perfectly ready to go to Lady Catherine and give her what he termed the true facts, and he heartily supported Colonel Fitzwilliam in the latter's request that Mr. Ferrars should accompany him. Mr. Ferrars looked from his friend to his wife, extremely ruffled and uncomfortable; Lucy was reduced to such a state of anger that she could scarcely speak; but Mr. Yates speedily recovered his usual state of easyinsoucianceand volubility, and was the only one of the party able to walk with Colonel Fitzwilliam to the door and usher him out with many bows and smiles and promises to wait on him in the course of a day or two to tell him the result of his forthcoming interview. Mr. Yates was not a man who could long be disconcerted by anything; and he probably looked forward to his scene with Lady Catherine as one in which he could play a leading part.
Colonel Fitzwilliam walked away, smiling for a moment at the thought of the storm of mutual recrimination that was going on in the room he had just left; he feared that what he had achieved would be of little use, for his aunt would be much more desirous of believing the first version than the second. Everything depended now upon the effect of his own influence upon Mary and her sister—upon whether he could succeed in atoning to them to any extent for what they had suffered. He greatly distrusted his own powers, and walked to their house in the deepest dejection of spirits.
The servant said the ladies were at home, and he waited for some time in the drawing-room. Mrs. Grant's countenance, when at last she appeared, was not such as to reassure him. She did not ask him to sit down, and remained herself standing at a little distance while she explained, briefly and formally, that her sister was not at all well, and was unable to receive visitors. Colonel Fitzwilliam's heart sank at this confirmation of his worst fears. He hastened to reply that he knew he could not have expected her to be willing to see any member of his family after what had happened the night before, but that he brought the sincerest, most heartfelt apologies on his own behalf and that of his cousins. He was only too sensible that nothing he could say could obliterate the memory of the treatment to which Mrs. Grant and her sister had been subjected, but he had been endeavouring to right the wrong, and hoped that "when Lady Catherine should be brought to acknowledge—"
Mrs. Grant here interrupted him. "Colonel Fitzwilliam, I must tell you plainly that it is not of the slightest use to mention that lady's name to my sister or myself. I know you mean very kindly, but the harm is done now, and nothing Lady Catherine can do or say can repair it. I do not wish to go into the whole matter, it is too unspeakably painful; but if you had been aware of the language she used towards us, you would see that it is not a thing which can ever be forgotten—I had almost said forgiven."
Colonel Fitzwilliam admitted it fully. He told her who were the real authors of the calumny, as far as regarded Lady Catherine, and he could guess how she had been incited to anger, and how she must have spoken, even though he had not been present, and he repeated that Lady Catherine would be enlightened, and would regret as much as anyone having spoken so hastily; but none of this had any effect on Mrs. Grant. She gradually realized Colonel Fitzwilliam's anxiety to spare her and her sister pain, and thanked him for what he had endeavoured to do; but concluded by saying that she sympathized with her sister in feeling that all intercourse between the two families had better cease.
Colonel Fitzwilliam's dismay was extreme. He felt himself dismissed, but rallied his energies enough to ask: "But you do not identify us, Mrs. Grant, my cousins and myself, with everything that my aunt does? Surely you must know Mrs. Darcy, at least, better than to include her in such a condemnation?"
Mrs. Grant appeared confused. "Mrs. Darcy has been very kind," she said hesitatingly. "I have appreciated it."
There seemed a "but" behind this, and Colonel Fitzwilliam gently pressed for further reasons, when the lady at last said: "The truth is, Colonel Fitzwilliam, if you will have it, my sister feels—and I, though not going the whole way with her, do understand her point of view—feels at present too bitterly about it to be able to judge impartially. She thinks that she should not have allowed Mrs. Darcy to over persuade her—that she did wrongly to go to Lady Catherine's on what was practically Mrs. Darcy's invitation."
"Good God!" broke from Fitzwilliam; "but she does not consider my cousin in any way to blame for this behaviour of my aunt's?"
"No, certainly not," returned Mrs. Grant; "she blames herself, as I have said; but she regrets also that Mrs. Darcy took so many pains to induce Lady Catherine to show us any civility. Lady Catherine disliked us, and when the opportunity of showing her real feelings arrived, she was glad to take full advantage of it."
"Mrs. Grant, believe me, it is not as you think," said Fitzwilliam earnestly. "My aunt is just now entirely in the hands of some evil-natured and unscrupulous persons, who can make her act in any way they choose."
"It may be so; I try to think so; but it does not excuse her conduct," returned Mrs. Grant.
Fitzwilliam took two or three turns about the room, wrapped in thought. At length he approached Mrs. Grant, and in tones which scarcely concealed his emotion, said: "Forgive me, but I cannot take what you say as final. It is, of course, for you and your sister to decide, but I cannot think that you mean to cast us off, myself and my cousins, on account of this thing which has happened, a thing which you know we deplore as much as we condemn. May I not hope to be allowed to call upon your sister, if only for a few minutes? not to-day, I know, but to-morrow, or the next day? Mrs. Grant, I have no right to say anything; but I think you can guess what it means to me."
Mrs. Grant's countenance softened, and she spoke more kindly than she had done during the interview. "I will not pretend to misunderstand you, Colonel Fitzwilliam; but, frankly, my sister would not see you just now, and it would do no good to anyone if you did see her. Her feelings have been deeply wounded—more deeply, probably, than you have any idea of. It would be far better for you not to think of it any more. You are shortly quitting Bath; we, too, shall be leaving for the summer; and at some future time we may, possibly, meet again, and be able then to gather up the threads of our friendship."
Fitzwilliam had turned very pale; for though partly prepared for the blow, he had hoped for some mitigating circumstances, and Mrs. Grant's words conveyed to him at that moment nothing but a counsel of despair. He could not immediately reply, but mastering himself with an effort, he said, steadily: "I only care for your sister's happiness, and whatever she wishes shall be done"; then bowed and quickly left the room.
Mrs. Grant, left alone, reflected with an aching heart upon the scene that had just closed. Resentful though she felt both on Mary's account and her own, yet she had been a very unwilling bearer of the message which she had delivered to her visitor. She had liked him, she liked him still; she had observed with keen pleasure the growing mutual attraction between himself and Mary, for she considered himalmostworthy of that beloved sister. The event of the night before had not shaken that belief; whoever was to blame for it, she knew it was not Lady Catherine's nephew; and when she had partly recovered from her agitation she had tried to persuade Mary to do him equal justice, knowing well that he would not let the matter rest and that they would hear from him again. But Mary had been unpersuadable. The shock had been very great, not only from the incredible insult, but from the sight of the buried past, risen up again to be an undying reproach to her. All that she most bitterly regretted, of her own acts and of other persons', all that she most wished to forget, had been revived in her mind, exactly at a time when she had allowed herself to think that a new prospect of happiness might be opening up before her, in the midst of a set of people and circumstances with which the past should be wholly unconnected. But now the painful memories had intruded into the present, and, thrust upon her in a peculiarly galling manner, threatened to mar and taint the new life. Mary's mind was in a state of too great distress and tumult for her to see that their power of doing so lay in her own hands, that she only could let herself fall back into that wretched, listless, discontented condition from which she had so lately emerged; she only knew that the old influences had returned, and she was bitterly angry at the knowledge. In response to her sister's pleading she replied that she was determined not to see any of them again, they were all alike, proud and hard-hearted; they patronized her, they made her do things she did not want to do, and she wished she had never met one of them. Mrs. Grant ventured to speak a word on Colonel Fitzwilliam's behalf, but Mary, sore at heart and suffering the more for knowing she was unjust, replied that Colonel Fitzwilliam meant well, but really he ought to keep his most terrible old aunt in better order. She would not confess even to herself, far less to her sister, how much she had learned to care for the man whom she was now sending away—through wounded pride, perversity, anger ... she could hardly have told for what reason.
Mrs. Grant could only endeavour to soothe and sympathize. She saw it was better not to continue the discussion of the subject, and looked forward to the lapse of time, and a change of scene and companionship, to restore to Mary some measure of comfort and serenity.
Of these blessings Colonel Fitzwilliam was in even greater need. He walked back to the hotel in an agony of mind such as he had never before in his life experienced. To the pain of his disappointment was added hopelessness, for he felt that the cause of his repulse lay beyond his power to remove. She was too deeply offended to see him, or to hear what he had to say, and as she would not do these things he thought she could not possibly care for him. And now, completely cut off from her, he had no chance of ever winning his way. His anger against his aunt remained unabated; but even were she persuaded to make all the reparation in her power, he had been told that it would be unavailing; there was nothing more that anyone could do.
He called his servant, and gave him directions for leaving Bath early on the following day, then made a pretence of dining, and threw himself into his chair for an evening of sad and solitary reflection. It was nearly half-past nine when a card was brought up to him, and it was with a start of surprise that he recollected he had been promised a visit from Mr. Yates.
That gentleman, well-bred, easy and talkative as usual, was shown into his room a few moments later. Colonel Fitzwilliam had never been more ill-disposed to receive a guest, but this one must be listened to, and it was a relief when he passed from his compliments and observations on the weather to the business at hand, which he introduced with an air of nonchalance, as if he had only just remembered what he had come to say.
"By the way, Colonel," he began, "I was calling on Lady Catherine this afternoon, and I took the opportunity of mentioning to her that subject which we were discussing this morning."
"Did you indeed?" returned Colonel Fitzwilliam. "And I hope you were able to convince her."
"Why, as to that," proceeded Mr. Yates, settling himself more comfortably in his chair, "I hardly know; I have seldom found a lady so hard to convince. But wishing to oblige you, my dear sir, I did my best; in all honesty, I did my best. I explained, as I told you I should, that she had been quite misled. Miss Crawford was not at all the sort of person she assumed her to be, and that was very nearly the end of our conversation; for I give you my word, Colonel, with all respect to her ladyship, that she became quite violent; declared that she did not want to hear the young lady's name or another word about her, that she was tired to death of the whole affair."
"It is probable she would not like to find she had made a mistake," said Fitzwilliam, as Mr. Yates paused, evidently expecting some comment.
"Well, no; I suppose that was what caused the sting; for it seemed as though she did not want to have to think well of Miss Crawford, which could not be so really, you know. I told her what I had said, I mean, what I had intended to convey to the Ferrars, that I was surprised no one knew the story about her brother, and added that I could not imagine how anyone could twist and turn my remarks—merely general ones, made in no ill-natured spirit—to Miss Crawford's disadvantage. That set her off cross-questioning me, as to what there was at the back of it all, till I hardly knew where I was; and I finally had to point out to her that owing to my connection with the family I could not enter into the details of its affairs."
He paused again, and Fitzwilliam forced himself to say: "I am obliged to you for doing what you could, though I feared it might not be of much avail."
"True enough, I thought it was not going to be, but just at the end, her ladyship said, evidently with much resentment: 'There must be something in all this, though you deny it. Why should Mrs. Ferrars and Miss Steele concoct a story to tell me? Why should it be in their interest to vilify Miss Crawford? There was no reason why they should make the worst of what they had heard.' So, of course, in reply to that, I simply told her the truth: 'My dear Lady Catherine,' I said, 'you ask why; the reason is, as everyone knows, that Mrs. Ferrars was anxious to secure Colonel Fitzwilliam for her sister, and both the ladies were very much disappointed when he paid attention to Miss Crawford instead.' Why, Colonel, you are looking quite annoyed; don't trouble to protest, my dear sir; between friends, you know, it is not necessary."
"I wish you would confine yourself to talking of things you know something about, Mr. Yates," broke out the Colonel in extreme vexation; "this is not one of them."
"Nonsense, my good sir; not know anything about it! I could not fail to see what was before my very eyes. Before ever we started for your aunt's reception last night, Mrs. Ferrars and her sister were talking of you in a manner as to make me expect that it would be you who would be in attendance on Miss Steele all the evening—or at all events, that that was what she hoped for. Of course, I said not a word, but I could see that things turned out very differently. And if that were not enough, Ferrars himself told me all about it during the evening, of Miss Steele's fancy, and what they had planned, and so on. Really, I can hardly suppose that being as they are, such friends of Lady Catherine's, she should not have had some idea of it."
Fitzwilliam had not thought that anything was needed to complete his disgust and annoyance where the whole Ferrars party was concerned; but this tale of gossip and vulgar intrigue had that effect, and he was conscious of a strong desire to get rid of his visitor and hear no more of the whole nauseous affair. He rose, and again thanked Mr. Yates coldly for the trouble he had taken, and that gentleman, too courteous not to take the hint, rose also, though with evident unwillingness to end the conversation, and, drawing near the fire, stretched out a foot towards the blaze, and continued: "But I must not leave you with the impression that Lady Catherine wasnotconvinced. On the contrary, I am inclined to think she eventually was, for her manner quite changed after what I had told her; she seemed first astonished at it, and showed considerable incredulity and indignation, asking how anyone dared to think or say such a thing, though, as I explained to her, sorry though I was to have given her any unpleasing intelligence, the idea did not emanate from me. Upon that, she became calmer and seemed to be reflecting, then thanked me and asked to be excused, requesting me, if I was going back to the lodgings, to send Mrs. Ferrars and Miss Steele to her at once. I was not particularly anxious to be her messenger, and I fancy she saw this, for she called me back and said that it did not signify, she would write to them instead."
"I have gathered," said Fitzwilliam, "that Mr. Ferrars did not accompany you on this occasion."
"Oh, Lord, no! I should have mentioned that at first, but it escaped me. No, I could not persuade him to come. I fancy he had private information that his wife did not wish it."
"It was a pity, as he might have confirmed your statements, and afforded further proof to Lady Catherine," observed Colonel Fitzwilliam.
"He might have said something, no doubt, but I hardly think he would have succeeded if I had failed," was Mr. Yates's complacent reply. "My dear sir, I think you may sleep easily. If Lady Catherine is not persuaded of her error now, she never will be. At this moment she is very probably explaining to the Ferrars how unfortunately they have caused her to be mistaken."
Colonel Fitzwilliam felt tolerably certain that his aunt was doing nothing of the kind, and that the interview pictured by Mr. Yates was turning upon a different subject from Miss Crawford's rehabilitation. But even if Mr. Yates's explanation had caused the Ferrars to fall into disfavour, it would not mean that the harm they had done the day before would be wiped out; Lady Catherine would not be more inclined to forgive Miss Crawford because her own friends had made her angry. And angry Fitzwilliam guessed that she must be at the machinations which Mr. Yates had casually disclosed. It was always particularly offensive to her, and her nephew could conjecture that even the tact and ready wit of Mrs. Ferrars would not be able to avert the torrent of her displeasure. It was but poor comfort to him to feel assured that she would disapprove of Miss Steele as a possible wife for him, quite as much as Miss Crawford; and the very idea that such an alternative could have been thought of was so repugnant to him that he was glad to dismiss it from his mind. These people had done their worst, and whatever happened now, they could not injure Miss Crawford any more, or blight his own prospects more completely.
Mr. Yates having, as he considered, disposed of the subject in hand, proceeded to others, but Colonel Fitzwilliam contrived to cut him short, and to hasten his guest's departure, by indicating his wish to make preparations for his early start the following morning. Mr. Yates was desolated to hear that the Colonel would actually have left Bath by eight o'clock. He himself proposed leaving on the morrow; he had come intending to stay with the Ferrars for a week, but really everything was so infernally upset, owning to this tiresome affair—he declared Mrs. Ferrars had as good as called him a liar!—and that he was inclined to shorten his visit and go straight to his sister's place in Berkshire. He feared he could not be ready before twelve noon—would not Colonel Fitzwilliam delay in starting, and accept of a seat in his curricle? The Colonel regretted it was not in his power, but thought Mr. Yates was doing wisely in going away; and in his own mind added the heartily-expressed wish that that well-meaning gentleman had never come.