Page 18 of Mrs Darcy’s Dilemma
“A governess!” said Lady Catherine, paying no heed, “in this family! Well, that is unfortunate! I cannot contemn the connection more strongly. Still, if it is to be, then surely the girl need not disgrace herself further by answering public advertisements and going off to anybody who asks her. You may be aware that I have always been extremely fortunate in getting young persons placed in desirable situations, and I insist, Miss Wickham, that you put yourself into my hands and make absolutely no move at all until I have been able to make proper inquiries for you.”
Mr. Collins had been fidgeting throughout this speech, preparing to say something, and now he broke in eagerly.
“Forgive me, Lady Catherine, if I commend the kindness and condescension which have always characterized so great a lady as yourself. Who would have thought that a young lady, bent on going out to service for the first time, might immediately attract to herself the goodwill of such a distinguished patroness? You are more fortunate, Miss Cloe Wickham, than you know, more fortunate than any other young lady in the kingdom in your situation has ever been, I believe, in having Lady Catherine de Bourgh take an interest in you. I am qualified, I think, to bestow your thanks where they are due—and also to say that Lady Catherine’s kind offices, which distinguish you so particularly, will not, happily, in this instance, be needed; for by a remarkable coincidence it happens that my wife and I were only talking this matter over the other day, and we have determined that we are in need of a governess ourselves, at our house in Kent.
Our two youngest girls are growing of an age to require such a person; the nursery girl we have does not suit, not having sufficient acquirements for the post; and indeed we had intended to speak to Lady Catherine on this score upon our return to Kent, had we not, Charlotte, my dear? ”
“It is all very true,” said Mrs. Collins calmly, “but you put Miss Cloe Wickham on the spot. I should be most happy to have her as governess to Catherine and Maria, but she must know it is not a very high position, little more than nursery governess. The girls are only six and eight. Our elder children have been grown up so many years that their governess departed long ago, and the youngest ones do not yet require anything very difficult in the way of accomplishments. Someone kind, and firm, and sensible, who can teach them some writing and French, is all I condition for. Miss Cloe would suit admirably, I think, but she may, with justice, choose a more distinguished situation. She should be allowed to consider it all on her own. We must not importune her.”
“Certainly not, my dear, certainly not; that was never what I was going to do, though if a girl must be a governess she can hardly do better than to remain in her own family—and as I am heir at law to her grandfather, it really is her own family. When the living falls at Longbourn, we shall actually be living in what was her grandfather’s house.
Nothing could be more suitable; and therefore I urge Miss Wickham to close with the offer immediately.
Twenty pounds a year, I think, will be sufficient, there is no call for anything more—with, of course, full eating privileges, which are of incalculable value.
We shall be very glad to allow her to take her all meals with us, even dinner, as she is quite a relation; her position in society will be unaltered, and there is no reason for anyone to think that she will be in a servant’s place.
I am sure we shall have Lady Catherine’s entire approval of a plan so highly estimable. ”
“Indeed, Mr. Collins, you are too kind,” said Cloe, “but I hardly know what to say on the occasion; I hope you will allow me to consider, some little time.”
“Exactly, Miss Wickham, I am glad to see that you hesitate, very glad upon the whole,” put in Lady Catherine, “for I cannot so readily ascertain that you are precisely the right kind of young person to bring up little Catherine and Maria. Do you have a knowledge of Latin? Is your stitchery perfect? If you please, Mr. Collins, I should like to examine the young lady thoroughly, before any offer is made and any irreversible step taken. Nothing can be done in a hurry.”
In truth, Lady Catherine did not like any plan being made which had not been initiated by herself and was angry that it had not occurred to her to think of Cloe for the Collins household.
“Oh, no, Lady Catherine, we should never be hasty in so important a matter,” put in Mr. Collins in an agitated, rushed fashion. “We should never take any step you thought rash or ill-considered. Yes, Miss Wickham, the matter certainly must be further examined and studied.”
Cloe was beginning to say that she had no objection, when Lady Catherine interrupted. “I do not say it is ill-considered. Only that I should wish to know more of the young lady before any decision so momentous can be taken.”
“You have all been staying under the same roof with her for a month,” cried Mrs. Darcy.
“How much more do you need to know? But let us discuss the matter no more at the dinner table. Miss Cloe Wickham is surely qualified to be your governess, Charlotte, as you are perfectly aware, and she ought to have the position if she wishes it, though I dislike her leaving us.”
“My dear, it is a point in which Miss Wickham must make up her own mind,” said Mr. Darcy gently. “And nothing need be settled tonight.”
Henry and Jane had listened with alarm to the discussion; it was the first they had heard of Cloe’s intentions, for talk of her possibly becoming a governess someday had seemed far removed indeed, and Jane, at any rate, had thought little of the future insofar as it pertained to anything beyond her own introduction to the delights of London.
Henry, sitting next to Cloe, said in a low voice, “I did not know you planned to take this step so soon.”
“Yes; I must.”
“And my party—you are to go to London with us,” said Jane anxiously.
“I wish it were in my power. I am afraid it is not.”
“You must not urge her, Jane; she knows what is best,” said Mrs. Darcy. “Mr. Darcy, was the shooting good today? I do not think I have heard you say so.”
“Not bad, my dear; Henry and I got several fine rabbits and could have got more,” he said.
The talk of sport, much livelier when Fitzwilliam was present, faltered after another desultory remark or two, and then Charlotte, with thoughtful concern for her friend Elizabeth’s feelings, started talking of the Collinses’ plans for returning into Kent and the muddiness of the roads, which brought about an animated discussion of the conditions of roads and cart ruts in general, and the dirtiness of the season, a subject of interest to everyone.
Henry was shocked and grieved by Cloe’s decision.
Although he was perfectly convinced that Fitzwilliam’s elopement with Bettina precluded his right to address her sister, he could not immediately do away with his feelings for her; and though prevented from speaking and bound up in his own distress, he understood after the briefest consideration of the matter that he could not see the woman he loved go into servitude as a nursery-governess in Mr. Collins’ house, without some interference.
Accordingly, the next morning, as Cloe set forth early, intending a walk to get herself away from Pemberley as well as to put her two letters into the Lambton post, Henry overtook her on the country road, which was, in truth, considerably dirty.
“I have been hoping to see you this morning,” he said. “You are not going to town in this weather?”
“Indeed I am; why not? It does not rain; and as for the mud, I have my pattens on, you see, and my wonderful machine, the umbrella, and am therefore all fitted for the country. Besides, I have letters to take to town, and the walk will agree with me, body and mind.”
“Those letters! That is why I want to speak to you, if you will allow me.”
“I wish you would not, Cousin. It can only cause pain. I have thought over this matter, as you must be aware, and it is certain that I must take this course; and as Mr. Collins’ offer may not be tendered again and may be the most suitable situation open to me, I think it prudent to make inquiries in other quarters. ”
“Suitable! No, that I should think not,” said Henry. “But I can say nothing against your logic—only one thing, and that is, you would not have to go into such servitude, if you were to marry me.”
Henry had hardly been aware himself, that his remarks had been tending toward this conclusion, but having said so much, he felt only relief and gladness that he had done so, and he waited for Cloe’s answer, looking at her very earnestly.
“Certainly, I would not,” said Cloe, taking a breath, after recovering from her surprise, “but there is no use in talking of such a thing, for I could not marry you even if you asked me. I could not go against the very well-known wishes of my aunt and uncle.”
“They have never once said that I must not make proposals to you,” said Henry seriously, “and in fact, I know very well that they love you and would accept you as their daughter. Besides, I am of age; I have a competence to enable me to marry, but you know all that. What you may not be aware of is that I care for you with all my heart and can think of nothing that would make me happier than to have you as my wife. And, though it is hardly fit to speak of this in the next breath, I must do so, because I know what your objections will be: and that is, I do not think that we should allow the wickedness of my brother and your sister to ruin our lives and our happiness, as well as their own.”
Cloe could hardly speak, from a mixture of joy and anxiety, which showed itself upon her face, despite her best efforts to compose herself.
“Mr. Henry Darcy,” said she, after a moment’s struggle, “I cannot thank you—thanks are impossible. It pains me, you cannot conceive how much, to have to say that I cannot accept your proposal, but I must not. Even if your parents could be persuaded to agree to your wishes, it would surely be against their own, and I cannot bring your family into ridicule, after all they have done for me and mine. My mother is living on their bounty at this moment—I am dependent myself—it would be in every degree indelicate and wrong. I am very sorry, but you are young and will soon forget me, and it is my duty to do the same, painful though it is.”
“It is painful—you do admit that?”
She acknowledged it with an inclination of her head, and he took her hand and held it.
“I cannot give you up, my Cloe—I cannot. Please allow me to think, that if things were different—”
She withdrew her hand. “But they are not different, and I cannot see that they ever can change. My sister’s situation will become only more disgraceful—my obligations to your family greater. We must consider this subject closed, and forever. Excuse me, sir, I think I had better go on, alone.”
But he would not suffer her to do so, and they walked to town together, though saying very little.
The few farmers and village people who saw them, if they considered the matter at all, would have thought the two cousins quiet and decorous enough in their demeanour, but Cloe’s heart was in a tumultuous state.
Her exquisite happiness, at being beloved, was combined with inexpressible grief; and the result was that, between joy and wretchedness, she hardly knew how she felt or what she did.
After this meeting, Henry would not importune her again, and in a very few days the offer from the Collinses was repeated, with firmness, and accepted with the same.
No answer came from the posted letters that could interfere with Cloe’s resolution of engaging herself to the Collinses, and in a few days more, not later than the first week in February, Mr. and Mrs. Collins and Lady Catherine departed for Kent in the great lady’s carriage, and with them was the Collinses’ new governess.