Eleven

“He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined. If your Miss Bertrams do not like to have their hearts broke, let them avoid Henry.”

—Mary Crawford, Mansfield Park

You need not trouble yourself,” Mr. Crawford said to Darcy as they descended the stairs.

“Lady Catherine requested that I accompany you.”

“Ah. From my initial encounter with my new mother-in-law, I apprehend that it would cost you more trouble to refuse. Tell me, so that on future occasions I might better perform the role of a model son, do the members of this family always obey her ladyship’s orders?”

“I comply when it suits my interests to do so.”

“And at present, it suits your interests to play nursemaid? If you offer me a sweet, I promise not to misbehave.”

“At present, I wish to see my cousin restored to her mother’s good will, which is more easily accomplished if Lady Catherine can be assured of your reliability.”

“That suits my interests also. Very well, monitor this meeting with Mrs. Rushworth if doing so will prove my devotion to Anne, though I hardly require a chaperone. I have no idea what motivates Maria’s call, but I can state with certainty that we will not be arranging any sort of tryst.”

Darcy was not quite so certain. His faith in Mr. Crawford was provisional, the elopement having prejudiced him to a degree not easily mitigated. Upon reaching the parlor, however, he was more inclined to accept Crawford’s pledge on the likelihood of renewing an affaire de coeur with Mrs. Rushworth.

The room was empty save for one well-dressed couple. The lady wore a tall hat, short gloves, and one of the most forbidding countenances Darcy had ever beheld. Flinty eyes penetrated the creases of a visage which had looked upon the world for at least threescore years. Was this truly the face that had launched a thousand ships? At nine-and-twenty, Anne must have seemed a debutante by comparison.

“Your friend is more . . . mature . . . than I anticipated,” Darcy said.

“That is not Maria. It is her mother-in-law.”

The much younger gentleman, whom Darcy took to be Maria’s husband, was tall and broad, and might have cut an impressive figure were his frame not weighted by evidence of an abundant table. Darcy guessed him to be of similar years to himself, but the unnatural roundness of his features made his age difficult to judge with greater precision.

Mrs. Rushworth regarded Henry with disdain. “So it is true. You had the effrontery to return to Mansfield.”

“Believe me, madam, I find myself here entirely by accident.”

“I have seen how you conduct yourself, Mr. Crawford. Nothing you do occurs by accident.”

Her gaze shifted to Darcy. She silently assessed him, betraying no hint of the opinion she formed. “Whoever your companion is,” she said to Crawford, “I would caution him against continuing to associate with a gentleman who repays trust with treachery.”

“And if he is married, I hope he knows to keep you away from his wife,” Mr. Rushworth added.

“Mr. Darcy, I am sure, appreciates your caveats, but he need have no anxiety on either of those points. Have you additional advice to offer him, or is the remainder of your business with me?”

“Most assuredly with you. Perhaps he could withdraw whilst the three of us discuss respect for what belongs to others.”

“I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the subject.” Henry turned to Darcy. “Pray excuse us.”

Darcy welcomed the dismissal. He had just endured one conversation between Henry Crawford and an incensed mother-in-law, and did not care to witness another, let alone one with the added fuel of a betrayed husband. He could predict the course of their dialogue. They wanted the satisfaction of voicing their indignation, and it would matter little whether Mr. Crawford attempted to placate them or silently subjected himself to the tirade. Darcy left them to air their grievances and sought out the far more desirable company of his wife.

He found Elizabeth in their room. Though he wished he were coming upon her in their chamber at Pemberley, after a week of exhausting travel under even more exhausting circumstances, he was glad she was in Mansfield. He never liked to be separated from her for long. He drew her toward him.

“Now that we are alone I can greet you properly.”

She smiled. “Or improperly.”

At present he would settle for a kiss. “You left Lily-Anne well?”

“Yes. Her new tooth is growing in quite nicely. She should give Mrs. Flaherty no trouble now that they are home, and I expect we will be able to join them there soon.”

“Meanwhile, you have abandoned Anne to Lady Catherine?”

“Your cousin pleaded a headache and asked everybody to leave so that she might sleep. Had she not, I myself might have pleaded a headache.”

“Did my aunt submit to Anne’s request?”

“Knowing her to be ever protective of Anne’s health, what do you suppose?”

“I expect she chased you and Colonel Fitzwilliam from the chamber, then remained to dull Anne’s pain with heavy remonstrances.”

“Such seemed her plan, but it was thwarted by the colonel, who suggested she remove to her own chamber to make notes in preparation for the solicitors’ arrival. She is now, I believe, happily occupied in planning the best means by which Anne’s children can eventually inherit Rosings without its ever falling under Mr. Crawford’s control, while at the same time ensuring that Anne and her descendents are irrevocably established as the sole heirs to Everingham.”

“The latter may require some persuasion. One cannot know the future, and while no bridegroom wants to contemplate the possibility of becoming a widower, a gentleman of integrity and foresight would wish to provide for all of his children, including those of a second wife should he marry more than once. The matter of Rosings, on the other hand, should prove a fairly ordinary arrangement for Lady Catherine’s solicitor to draw up. It is already held in trust for Anne, with her ladyship and two of Sir Lewis’s brothers as trustees.”

“But will her solicitor draft the documents with the proper spirit of contempt for Anne’s husband? Infuse her last will and testament with sufficient invectives to enable her ladyship to continue chastising Mr. Crawford from beyond the grave? These finer points require her direct oversight.” She opened her reticule, which had been lying on the bed, and withdrew a fan. “This room is stifling. The recent rain did nothing to banish the summer heat.”

The day was indeed hot. Darcy opened the window to admit a light breeze. He had closed it earlier because it overlooked the inn’s main entrance, and the sounds of coaches and patrons’ voices carried. A fine carriage that he presumed belonged to the Rushworths yet waited below.

“Tell me more of Mr. Crawford,” Elizabeth said. “By now you have spent sufficient time with the gentleman to have formed an opinion of him.”

He came away from the window. “Actually, I do not know that I have. He is intelligent and amiable, and seems to genuinely care for Anne. Yet he is also unrepentant about the elopement, and I cannot decide whether that attitude represents an admirable strength of conviction in the face of opposition, or ungentlemanly arrogance and selfishness.”

“I understand he gained his independence early. Therefore he likely has become accustomed to doing as he pleases.”

“I inherited Pemberley almost as young, and I like to think that I inherited a sense of responsibility along with it. A true gentleman considers the welfare of those who depend upon him. In persuading Anne to elope, he has put his wife in an untenable position with her mother.”

“He bears the greatest portion of her ladyship’s wrath himself. Indeed, one could argue that when they fled to Scotland, Mr. Crawford thought only of Anne’s welfare. I spoke with Anne after Lady Catherine left her chamber, and she revealed her reservations about Mr. Sennex. Both she and Mr. Crawford believe the elopement rescued her from an evil far greater than her mother’s censure. Lady Catherine may, in time, forgive Mr. Crawford, whereas once a marriage took place between Anne and Mr. Sennex, she would have become his legal property and no one would have been able to protect her.”

“What of Mr. Crawford’s affair with Mrs. Rushworth, and the position in which it has left her? Can that be construed as anything but selfish?”

“Adultery is hard to defend, and as I am unacquainted with the particulars, Mr. Crawford will have to provide his own justification if he can. How did he behave toward her just now?”

“The Mrs. Rushworth awaiting him was not his former paramour, but an irate mother accompanied by her wronged son. I suspect that any justification Mr. Crawford attempted to offer was not well received.”

“Mr. Rushworth’s resentment no doubt runs deep.”

“I think his mother’s might run even deeper, and she is not a woman one would want to cross. If Henry Crawford found dealing with his own mother-in-law unpleasant, Maria Rushworth’s is worse. Today has been enough to make me grateful for my own.”

“Indeed? My mother will be in such transport over your admission that she might require a visit of several months to sufficiently vocalize her felicity. Shall we invite her to Pemberley as soon as we return ourselves?”

“I am not that grateful.”

“Just as well. I do not think the bachelors in the neighborhood have quite recovered from her previous stay.”

“Perhaps, then, her next visit ought to be postponed until she has succeeded in her quest to find a husband for your remaining unattached sister.”

“I think that endeavor will gain momentum when she no longer has Kitty’s imminent wedding to distract her.”

“The wedding is not until next spring. I would hardly define that as ‘imminent.’ ”

“It is a wedding, and we are speaking of my mother. By the time our nuptial day arrived, you could have persuaded me to elope.” She fanned herself. “The air is still close. Does the window open farther?” She rose and crossed to the window. Something in the courtyard below caught her attention. “Mr. Crawford appears to have moved his conference outside. I must say, Mrs. Rushworth looks terribly young to have an adult son.”

“Young? The sun must be in your eyes.”

“You can see that the sky is overcast. No, the woman Mr. Crawford argues with is definitely no older than I.”

Darcy approached the window to see for himself. A young woman in high dudgeon carried on an animated quarrel with Mr. Crawford. The Rushworths were nowhere in sight. In the distance, a carriage climbed the rise of the road that led out of the village.

“That is not Mrs. Rushworth. At least, not the Mrs. Rushworth I met.”

The woman might have been pretty, were her features not contorted in fury. As she stomped and waved a paper in her hand, the words “humiliation,” “divorce,” and “ruined” drifted through the window, followed by something not fit for a lady’s ears, let alone lips, which cast aspersions on Mr. Crawford’s parentage.

Her outburst drew the notice of several passers-by. Two women heading toward the church paused to observe the drama.

“Maria, get command of yourself.” Though Mr. Crawford remained calm, he spoke loudly enough for the Darcys to hear. His words only incited Maria to greater hysteria.

“I do have command of myself! I know exactly what I am about. Would that I had possessed such clarity of mind when I first had the misfortune of meeting you!”

The two female spectators divided. One continued toward the church, while the other hurried down the lane toward a white house. Maria and Henry did not want for observers, however. Mr. Gower, the ostler, and two more villagers from a nearby shop found their way to the courtyard.

Mr. Crawford glanced at the gathering crowd. “Perhaps we could discuss this matter in a more private location?”

“So we can be accused of further criminal conversation? Is one trial not sufficient? No, I will not subject myself to more gossip.”

“Arguing about this in front of the entire village will not create gossip?”

“Since your arrival they already talk about nothing but you—you and your wife.” She choked out the final word.

“Maria—” He stepped toward her and said something in a voice too low for others to hear. She regarded him with fresh scorn and shook her head. He spoke again.

She responded with a slap to his face.

“You stay away from her, Mr. Crawford!” cried a lady hurrying down the lane. She had apparently been summoned by the woman who had raced off to the white house and who now trotted in her wake. “Stay away from my poor niece!”

“Mrs. Norris.” Henry rubbed his cheek. “How delightful to see you again.”

“You despicable rake! Have you not caused my dear Maria enough grief?”

“Indeed, madam, I—”

“How dare you show your face in this village? How dare you flaunt your new wife before Maria, before us all—a family who treated you so well? Maria was content with Mr. Rushworth until you led her astray. And now that she has been cast from her father’s home, with no one in the world but me to treat her kindly, you arrive in Mansfield with your bridal entourage to humiliate her further.”

“I assure you, that is not my purpose in—”

“Sir Thomas knows you are here. Your presence is an insult not only to Maria, but to all her family, especially her father. And to me, who took her in, thinking nothing of myself or my own reputation. I performed my duty as a Christian and as an aunt, despite the burden of supporting us both on a poor widow’s income. And whilst I sacrifice and Maria suffers, you blithely parade through the village with no conscience or shame. I have never seen the like in all my days . . .”

She excoriated him in this manner for several minutes more. Henry Crawford was a rogue, a knave, a scoundrel, a libertine. He was evil incarnate, and apparently entirely to blame for the falls of Maria, someone named Julia, and the Holy Roman Empire.

“She left out Adam and Eve,” Elizabeth said to Darcy.

“I think she simply has not gotten to them yet.” Darcy closed the window against the sound of Mrs. Norris’s voice rising to another fevered pitch. Overhearing the scene below caused him greater discomfort than the temperature in the room. Though the actors insisted on a public performance, observing it nonetheless felt like eavesdropping. He moved away from the window, no easy feat in the tiny chamber.

Elizabeth, too, turned her back on the display. “Do you suppose we ought to rescue him?”

“Mr. Crawford is responsible for himself and must make whatever amends he can with the people he has wronged.”

Mrs. Norris’s euphonic tones carried through the glass. Darcy winced.

“But perhaps we can contain the spectacle.”