Page 17 of Mrs Darcy’s Dilemma
“That he never will do, now, if ever he once thought of it,” said Cloe quietly, rising to go back to her room, “and if he so forgot himself, it would be my duty to refuse him. And I think that is quite enough upon that subject. Now, Mama, I will not disobey you; but if you will not permit me to arrange for us to return home, then perhaps you will not object if I should seek a situation of my own.”
“What, never a situation like Betty’s? But you are so violent against such things.”
“No, Mama, how could you think that? You must know that what suits Betty would not be likely to suit me. Have not we been entirely dissimilar in our taste and in our characters, since we were children?—No, I thought of answering an advertisement—of becoming a governess.”
“What, you? But you know nothing, no Italian and music and that. It is a great pity you don’t, to be sure, for such an accomplished young lady might attract the gentlemen.
However, I should hardly like to see a daughter of mine in service, unless perhaps in a Duchess’s household.
That might do, but you have not the qualifications, and otherwise, the thing itself is horrid.
Such a disgrace, I never could hold up my head again or go home to face your father.
Yes, Cloe, I think I should die of shame, if you became a governess. ”
“I hope you would not,” said Cloe soberly, “for it is the only alternative I see open to me. I have been taking lessons of my cousin Jane’s masters, you know, and I am not so ignorant as I was when I first came.
I believe that I am fit to instruct in English, in the use of the globes, and in mathematics, for which I always had a liking; the principles of drawing have been opened to me, my French is improved, and I can dance.
It is not much, to be sure, but I might perhaps teach some very young ladies or be a nursery-governess, if nothing better offers.
You would not really object, Mama? I should earn a little money, enough to keep myself, and there would be that much less for you to worry about.
I might, in time, even be able to send something to you and my father.
Perhaps one day I could succeed well enough to open my own little school. ”
“You! A school! Well, that is fine talking, for a girl not eighteen. You should try to get Mr. Henry to marry you, that is what. A clever girl, like Bettina, would make fast work of his prudishness and scruples, and all that. But there, I have done. You have got this romantic teaching nonsense into your head. It is as great a disgrace as anything I ever heard, and I should think your father will not have anything to do with you ever again, much less your great Pemberley relations, but I am not one to oppose my girls. If you want to throw yourself away and take a dreadful place for housemaid’s wages—for I do not expect you would make more than twenty pounds a year, while there is Betty who has got five hundred—well, then, it is no more than you deserve. ”
Taking this conversation, all in all, as approval, Cloe felt authorized to dispose of herself as she wished, though she remained in some doubt as to whether her mother could ever be persuaded to quit Pemberley.
She had introduced the suggestion, however, to her mother’s querulous mind, and a little more thought brought her to the sense that she owed duties to her aunt and uncle as well as to her mother.
As she was under their roof and meant to open a correspondence seeking a position, while still at Pemberley, and before removing to Newcastle, she lost no time seeking a tête-à-tête with Mrs. Darcy and succeeded as that lady was taking her morning turn about the shrubbery.
It was a bleak January day that made farther walking out undesirable; but there was little snow on the ground, and the first signs of snowdrops were to be seen here and there, despite the cold.
Mrs. Darcy, wrapped in her long fur pelisse, looked pensive as she paced, and Cloe hesitated to disturb her.
But Mrs. Darcy looked up and smiled a good morning.
After exchanging greetings, Cloe began, with resolve, “There is something I wished to say to you, ma’am. I am only sorry to interrupt your walk.”
“Not at all; I am glad of the company,” said Mrs. Darcy. “There are some in the house to whom I should not like to give up the pleasures of a solitary walk, but you are not in that number. I hope you are not the bringer of bad tidings. They are all we have had lately, it seems.”
“No, I do not have it in my power to distress you in that way at the moment, and I hope I never shall. Indeed, my dear Aunt, I hope you will allow me to tell you, how truly sensible I am of your great kindness in retaining me as your guest, after what my sister has done.”
“Say no more about it, Cloe. My son is not blameless in the matter; the fault was on both sides; and your presence at any rate is a pleasure and a comfort to me.”
“I have been only too aware,” said Cloe, with diffidence, “that at such an unhappy time you must prefer to be as nearly alone with Mr. Darcy as possible and must wish that some of the Christmas guests did not remain at Pemberley quite so long into the new year.”
“I mention no names,” said Elizabeth, “but to be frank, you speak nothing but the truth. However, let me say again, this does not apply to you, my dear niece, and indeed Mr. Darcy and I both wish very much that you will remain with us and accompany us to town when we go—though the trip must be delayed, and the season will be no occasion for great pleasure, as we once had the right to expect. But I know that Jane will depend on your company, on your being in London with us.”
“But, dear Aunt, that is exactly what I believe I ought not to do,” replied Cloe. “You see, I must do something for myself, and this is the very best time to begin. Should you be very sorry, Aunt, to have a niece that is a governess?”
“Sorry? Indeed I should. Ashamed, no—I honour you for your resolution, but I am sorry that you think yourself forced to it. Your prospects are not so bad as such a determination implies.”
Both were silent for a moment, neither wanting, in all delicacy, to approach near Henry’s name.
“If you will forgive me, ma’am, I think they are bad, for I have no fortune, and few respectable young men will incline to marry a woman with such a sister.
And as I have no expectations, I ought to make plans to dispose of myself.
My mother will return to Newcastle, I am sure, when you set out for London, but I do not wish to accompany her.
Home has little attraction for me, and I know better than to think myself necessary to my parents: I have respect but have never thought with them, and I believe my presence is only an irritation.
With so many brothers and sisters, the best help I can render them is to provide for myself, and if I am to have a life of governess-ship, I should wish it to commence at soon as may be.
May I, therefore, with your permission, answer advertisements?
Here you see are two that are in the papers we have received by the London mail.
A gentleman in Surrey—another in Hertfordshire.
I shall write to them both without delay, if I may, and see what sort of reply I receive.
Will not it be the best course? I will do nothing without your advice. ”
Mrs. Darcy looked at her in dismay. “But my dear—this is sudden indeed. I have not a word to say against the prospect, but is it truly necessary, and so soon? We hoped to take you and Jane to London—not for a complete season, the circumstances being what they are, but we do not believe the pleasures of some young people ought to be broken up because of the indiscretions of others. We should like to bring you out, show you a little of the world, before you begin upon such serious labours.”
More than ever, Cloe felt all the worth of her good heart.
“Your kindness,” said she gratefully, “could not be more sincerely felt, but it is impossible to accept. A governess had better not set up for a London fine young lady, and I have no wish to be on the catch for a husband—” she looked down—“none at all. I think it will be best for me to go.”
Elizabeth regarded her keenly for a moment. “If you think so, I will not question your judgment,” she said gently. “What are your wishes? Do you want to make your intentions known, or shall I say nothing?”
“Oh, say nothing, say nothing,” said Cloe quickly. “There may be no answer to these letters after all, and I should dislike being the object of much discussion.”
“It will be as you wish, my dear,” said Mrs. Darcy, and they turned into the main sweep, and back to the house, for the wind was become piercingly cold.
If Cloe wanted to keep her intentions to herself, however, she was out of luck in having Mrs. Wickham for her mother; for Lydia could no more keep such news quiet than she could fly, even considering, as she did, that Cloe’s going out as governess was more disgraceful than her eldest daughter Bettina’s elopement.
At dinner, therefore, she enlivened the meal, at which the entire company was assembled, dull and out of sorts, from the hostess’s uncharacteristic depression, the host’s abstraction, the unusual quietness of the young people, and the inability of the rest to ever say anything of much sense under any conditions at all.
“What do you say, Sister,” cried Lydia, leaning across Mrs. Clarke, “to my Cloe’s going out as governess?
She means to do it, indeed. She has told me this very day that she means to write to two gentlemen about it, a Mr. Barnett and a Mr. Smart, I believe, but I don’t think it will answer, for neither one is a Duke. ”
“I had known of this already,” said Mrs. Darcy quietly, “and as Cloe has made up her mind, I think we ought to oblige her and not discuss the subject.”