Page 30 of Mrs Darcy’s Dilemma
Lady Catherine de Bourgh found herself unprecedentedly lonely at Rosings, in the absence of the large Collins family to dominate and condescend to daily.
Mr. Collins’ replacement at Hunsford parsonage was his own oldest son, newly in orders, a quiet and self-sufficient young man who shyly kept to himself, yet was prickly and independent enough, in her Ladyship’s view, not to be patronized or bullied into matrimony.
He proved a poor substitute for the wider field of the many things that were wrong with the Collins household that required Lady Catherine to set right.
Before the spring was far advanced, therefore, she sallied out to visit Longbourn, to see Mr. and Mrs. Collins in their new home and to tell them how best to manage.
“This wilderness has grown up considerably since I last visited here,” she commented to Charlotte, “I remember, and do you sit upstairs with the girls all day, or what room do you take for your own?”
“I take Mr. Bennet’s library that used to be. Mr. Collins thinks it gloomy, and he prefers the downstairs parlour that opens into the garden. The governess gives the girls their lessons upstairs. There are bedrooms enough, even for our family, now the boys are at school.”
“Yes. The Bennets had five children, and you have only four at home, so you are comfortable enough. And with the little boys gone, the house is really empty. But the governess, you say—you still have Miss Wickham, I think?”
“Yes; she does nicely with Maria and Catherine, and has been teaching them all about the geography of Europe.”
“Of Europe! Has she, indeed! But what can that little thing know of such matters? I observed her closely at Hunsford, and I did not consider her equal to her task then. I must tell you, frankly, that I am surprised that you have continued her in your household so long. I beg you will have her called down, Mrs. Collins. I should wish to examine her.”
Charlotte did not like this, but she did not dare to oppose Lady Catherine, knowing her oldest son’s comfort depended greatly upon not offending her; and so Cloe was summoned. If she was too much harassed, Charlotte reasoned, she could always be reassured privately afterward.
“So! Miss Wickham, I mean to examine you for your post, and I must tell you at the outset that I think you very young-looking. You are eighteen?”
“Yes, ma’am; just.”
“I cannot think such a young governess at all justified. I never had one under thirty for my own dear daughter; and all the many I have recommended to friends were all older than you. Why do you consider that you are qualified at such an age, when others are not?”
“Excuse me, ma’am, I don’t know that I am, but I have been teaching Catherine and Maria these two months, and if Mrs. Collins were not pleased, I think she would not keep me.”
“So you suggest that I apply to her, for information concerning you? That is rather impertinent. You must know that I have done so already, and she has given me a tolerably good report. Mrs. Collins, however, is too yielding, not strict enough in her standards, very soft tempered. I have often observed it, and that is why I must concern myself about her daughters’ education.
I believe I am acquainted with the degree of learning which you possess.
Fit to be a nursery-governess perhaps, but where will you be when your charges grow older and begin to require real instruction?
Can you pretend to be qualified to teach girls of older years? ”
“Not, perhaps, at present, but I assure you I am endeavouring to improve myself. I read daily, do some French work, and Mrs. Collins has given me leave to practice upon the piano.”
“Hum! that is well—but I will come to the point, Miss Wickham. While you may pass as an indifferent sort of teacher at present—likely not to do very much harm to the girls’ understanding, at any rate—there is one subject in which you cannot instruct and in which you are answerable to a higher power than even myself. ”
“And what is that, ma’am?” said Cloe impatiently.
“I mark your tone, young woman, I do, and it does not speak well for you. It is a mark against you, at a time when I am adding them up, and it may even be the deciding one. You know very well that I speak of religion, of morality, of giving these children high religious principles, and I have formed the conclusion that for this awe-full and important office, you are by no means qualified.”
“How have you discerned such a thing in me?” asked Cloe, distressed.
“I am sure I have omitted nothing in the children’s religious instruction.
I should not be likely to, in the home of a clergyman, you know.
Mr. Collins sermonizes the girls very constantly, and their mother reads the Bible with them and often instructs me to fulfil this office, when she cannot. ”
“Silence! Do you think that I am not aware of all that? Naturally, in this house, the girls’ religious education can hardly be wanting, but I am referring to their instruction by a person of inadmissible morality herself.”
“I?” asked Cloe. “But, what can have I done?”
“It is not what you have done; it is what you are. You sit there quietly, presenting the appearance of an innocent young miss, and it is all the more insidious. How can anyone pretend to be virtuous, coming from a family such as yours?”
Cloe now fully understood whither Lady Catherine’s remarks were tending. “I was placed in this house by your own relations, my aunt and uncle, the Darcys of Pemberley,” she stated slowly, with resentment, “and Mr. Collins, a clergyman, perfectly approved of this measure.”
“You do not know any such thing. You are not aware of the many, many heart-wringing discussions I had with your employers, aye, late into the night, upon the subject. We all knew very well who and what your parents are. Your father was a ne’er-do-well—nay, a seducer—long before he was lost to drink, and he is lost, that much is well-known. ”
“Whatever his failings,” said Cloe, angrily, “he is my father and has never been unkind to me; you have no right to speak of him.”
“I have every right to speak of the drunkard son of Mr. Darcy’s late steward, Miss.
I abhor strong language; but the words are the only ones to perfectly describe him.
It is you who dare not contradict me. We all know that indulgence like his runs in families, and while I am willing to concede that you are personally abstemious, there is another kind of laxity that you are still more prone to fall into: witness the moral conduct of your own mother, a violent, headstrong woman, who lived with your father before they were married. ”
“Lady Catherine,” said Cloe, rising to her feet though the room seemed to sway around her, “that was a quarter of a century ago. My mother has paid for her indiscretion (for indiscretion was all that it was) a thousand times over. She has had a hard life, with many children, in much want and with many hardships, but through it all she has been a virtuous wife, and I am proud that I am able to spare half my salary to her. If you do not forbear to mention my parents again, I must leave the room.”
“You may rest easy, my girl. I shall not mention them again, though I must say in passing that their station in life hardly qualifies you as a lady, and a half-lady is no fit governess for a gentleman’s family. But I have done with that. The person whom I must mention is your sister.”
“Bettina? How can this concern her?” said Cloe, scornfully.
“I will tell you. You may have been kept—quite properly—from a full knowledge of her conduct, but it has not been possible to conceal it from me. In passing through London, you must know, I saw billboards—common public billboards—actually advertising the appearance of your sister, Miss Wickham, as an actress upon the Haymarket stage. What do you think of that?”
“I should consider it quite out of the scope of this conversation, which I firmly believe ought to be concluded.”
“Nonsense! I made inquiries, for I have heard, that however disgraceful an actress’ life may seem to us—to me, at any rate, as I cannot expect it to strike someone like yourself so—there are some of that class that do not lead completely unvirtuous lives.
I would never wish to condemn anyone unfairly.
It is not in my nature. I have often served, in my own county, as a kind of informal magistrate, and I assure you I have always given a hearing to all the facts, as is consistent with British justice.
I am quite a proverb for fairness. But, as an unlettered young lady, you probably know little about such matters. ”
Not knowing how to retort to this, Cloe sat still, meditating a hasty rush upstairs, to take refuge from Lady Catherine, but concluded that it was not worth it.
She would only distress Mrs. Collins, who had been kind to her, and in any case it was far from improbable that Lady Catherine would pursue her even into the far recesses of her room.
There was no hope of peace, so she submitted to hear her out, trying to remember that she was an elderly lady, and deserving of compassion and respect on that score, if no other.