Read Mr. Darcy's Daughters Online
Authors: Elizabeth Aston
Letty gave a shriek that must have been heard in the next square, and proceeded to throw a fit of the most determined hysterics. Not all the efforts of Camilla, Fanny and Dawson could persuade her to calm herself, and they were little helped by the twins offering remarks about how comical it was, when you considered how Letty despised a jilt, and what fun it would be to tease Tom when next they saw him, how foolish he would look, and he was bound to come to London, was he not?
Dawson’s expression was severe, for although her own mistress was a volatile creature, she didn’t hold with such conduct as this. How could Miss allow herself to show her feelings so?
Camilla could see Dawson eyeing the jug of water that held flowers; to be strewn with damp leaves and green water might bring Letty to her senses, but at the cost of much mortification, not to mention a ruined gown, and one she had only put on for the first time that morning. She stepped forward to administer a firm slap to Letty’s cheek. The wail dissolved into a hiccup; Letty’s drenched eyes lost their tragic look and filled with anger. She raised a trembling hand to her cheek and shot a furious glance at her sister.
“Indeed, I’m sorry to hurt you,” Camilla said, not feeling or sounding in the least contrite, “only you were working yourself into such a state and alarming poor Fanny so.”
Poor Fanny, now that the din and confusion had ceased, took charge. She dismissed the twins, bidding them summon a maid to take them to their room. Turning to an aghast Mr. Roper, who was now perfectly white and edging towards the door, she said he, too, had better go.
“Certainly, ma’am. I am most dreadfully sorry. I had no idea—I had heard that Tom was—that there was a previous attachment in the case—I never dreamed that Miss Darcy was the one! And her sisters so very amused, and never mentioning a word of it; I never saw such heartless behaviour, I assure you.”
“And pray have the goodness not to mention this scene to your friends,” said Fanny. “I dare say you like to carry a lively tale, only since there is a lady in the case it would be better for you to hold your tongue.”
Apologising and protesting, he was almost pushed out of the room, promising that he would call to ask how the young lady did, and swearing that not a word of what had occurred would pass his lips.
“Not that it will make the slightest difference,” observed Fanny after Dawson had escorted an exhausted Letty from the room with directions as to smelling salts, tisanes and a brick to her feet. “One way or another, the whole of London will know all about it by this evening, only by then Letty will be said to have died of grief or her brother will have threatened someone or other to a duel, and no doubt your father will be known to be returning post-haste from Constantinople, horsewhip in hand.”
Camilla knew that what Fanny said was all too true. “At least it will be a while before the news reaches my parents, they being so far away. Should I write to tell them what has happened?”
Fanny was relieved. She had much rather not be the one to send the news to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. “At once, if you will. It will be best if they learn the unvarnished truth before some strange, distorted tale is carried to Turkey to alarm and worry them.”
“Mr. Fitzwilliam will no doubt advise how I may most quickly send a letter.”
“I’m sure he will, and you will know just what to say; I do not wish to rouse your father’s ire.”
Mr. Roper’s revelation was so extraordinary; it would be difficult to explain the situation to her parents. “Can it be possible that a young man has not the wits to know who he is and yet the sense and self-possession to marry? And not some violent fling with a landlord’s daughter or a wench of the town, but a lady of quality and standing. It is all very remarkable.”
“Dawson is sending for Dr. Molloy, the physician, and after he has seen Letty and prescribed some soothing draught, we may ask him his opinion of such behaviour. For myself, I am not surprised to find that a man’s head may be all to pieces without his other parts being in the least affected—it is always the way with men. And so this Count de Broise’s daughter is a pretty little woman, according to Mr. Roper at least, and he strikes me as being a young man with an eye for beauty.”
Fanny rang the bell to give directions for when Dr. Molloy arrived and to order a glass of wine for herself and Camilla: “To soothe our shattered nerves, my dear; a little wine will do you good.”
While Fanny settled herself on the sofa to flick absentmindedly through the pages of the
Morning Post,
Camilla sat down to her task at the writing table. The sooner the letter was written and despatched, the better. She tested the pens laid out for use, drew a sheet of paper in front of her, dipped her nib in the inkstand and began to write.
My dearest Papa and Mama.
That was easy enough, as were enquiries about their journey, how long the stages had taken, where had they stopped, what sights they had seen. She wrote about how they had settled in at Aubrey Square, the kindness of the Fitzwilliams, the pleasures of new clothes and well-stocked libraries and every day making new acquaintances. The Gardiners were all in sound health, she added for good measure, although much taken up with the preparations for Sophie’s nuptials.
She bit the end of the quill as she came to the heart of the letter, looked out the window for inspiration, found none and returned to her writing.
Belle and Georgina arrived in London this very day, in excellent spirits and escorted by an amiable young man called Mr. Roper, who had also been staying with the Downings in Oxford—he is a connection of theirs, I believe. He brought the strangest news, which has cast Letty into some considerable depression of spirits, as you will understand when I tell you that Tom Busby—our neighbour, Tom Busby, of Derbyshire—is not dead at all, but alive and in Belgium, where he has married the elder daughter of a Count de Broise. You will say that it is no more than a malicious rumour, but indeed it is not. Mr. Roper was formerly at school with Tom and knows him well. He—Mr. Roper—was in Brussels not a fortnight ago, and was strolling across the Grande Place when he saw Tom, as large as life, walking with a pretty young woman on his arm. He immediately addressed him, as you may imagine, calling out his name and exclaiming with wonder. Tom did not recognise him at all at first, but on Mr. Roper repeating his name and reminding him of school and other times spent together, he seemed to come to some recollection of the friendship.
This was the point when Letty had let out her first faint scream—“With a woman on his arm?”—and collapsed on to the nearest sofa.
The three of them then repaired to a nearby coffee-house, with Tom, Mr. Roper said, in a state of some agitation, and the lady also appearing to be very startled by the encounter with Mr. Roper. Tom remembered nothing of his life in England or in the army, although he did have some vague notion of hearing gunshot. He had come to his senses to find himself alone in a wood, with a dreadful wound to his head and with no recollection of who he was and why he should be there and dressed in little more than his shirt. He wandered about for some considerable time and in the end came to a house, that of the count, where they assumed he had been attacked by
thieves and left for dead. He fell ill of a fever and spent many weeks hovering between this world and the next, during which time, of course, the battle of Waterloo had been fought and won, and his name posted among those slain in the conflict.
The count knew him for a gentleman, from his manner of speaking and the quality of his few clothes and his dimly recalled life at school and at home. However, he remembered neither his name, nor the place of his birth or his family’s residence.
Camilla had heard of blows to the head depriving a man of his memory. Falls caused by hunting could have such an effect, with someone brought home on a hurdle, and coming to with no recollection of anything that had occurred since breakfast. But in such a case, the sufferer generally knew perfectly well who he was, and even after a severe concussion, memory gradually returned. Three years was such a time! Could Tom so thoroughly forget family and friends and home? Have no memory of childhood or time in the army? Have no idea in the world that he was betrothed? Why, he might even have been married already; if he could be unaware of an engagement, then why should he not have forgotten a wedding? A wife, children—Surely this must have occurred to the count’s family, been a cause for enquiry at the very least.
Camille heard a voice outside, and the butler announced Dr. Molloy. He was a slight man with grey hair and a most penetrating eye. Miss Darcy, he informed them, was now resting and should soon recover her equanimity. Perhaps they could give him some information about what had caused the nervous attack; he understood it was disagreeable news of some kind, but his patient was disinclined to speak of it.
Fanny gave him a lively account of what had happened; he pursed his lips and looked grave. Would she say that Miss Darcy was of a highly strung temperament? Ah, this young lady was her sister, who better to give him information on this point?
Camilla hesitated. Letty was certainly given to frets and fancies, but she wouldn’t describe her as being highly strung. She listened to Dr. Molloy’s adroit questions with growing respect as he drew out from her a good portrait of her sister’s habit of mind.
It was as he thought. She must be watched, for a shock of this kind could have its effect on the body; the mind and body were, as they must know, inextricably linked, especially where young ladies were concerned. And in this case, if he might say so, her amour propre was touched; she would benefit from being encouraged not to dwell on the misfortune, but to have her attention turned in other directions. He had bled her a little, administered a powder, and in due course a glass of red wine would prove restorative. On the morrow, gentle exercise, a walk in the park with her sister, would refresh her spirits.
Camilla thanked him. Letty was, in her opinion—one she kept to herself—suffering from temper as much as anything. She hated to be thwarted or deflected from her chosen path. It was a remarkable story, she said; Dr. Molloy must have considerable experiences of such cases—was such a long-lasting loss of memory really possible?
Dr. Molloy, Fanny’s physician, has visited, and assures us that Letty will soon recover. I asked him about Tom’s case, and he replied that such a sequence of events is indeed possible, and the effects of a blow to the head may remain with a man for the rest of his days. In this case, it is to be hoped that being reunited with his family and returning to formerly familiar places will restore Tom’s memory; Dr. Molloy says that it is often so.
To continue with my account of Tom’s life in Belgium: he stayed with the family for many months, and they developed a great regard for him. Mr. Roper told us that Tom and the lady who was the count’s daughter were reticent on the subject of their affection for one another, and he said that he was of the opinion that the count, although he liked Tom well enough, was far from willing for his daughter to marry a man without a name, a past or a family. However, married they were.
She paused again, not wanting to mention the howl of dismay with which Letty had greeted the news of the marriage.
“Married? No, no, it is impossible! You wicked man, you are making up a vile tale to torment me, you have been set to it by my sisters; it is not true, no, not a word of it.”
Belle and Georgina had hotly refuted this suggestion, their voices and Letty’s rising to a crescendo of accusation and counter-accusation, ending only when Letty buried her face in a handkerchief and collapsed into loud and shuddering sobs.
Letty was much affected by this news, as you may imagine. We exclaimed at the improbability of it ourselves; it seems hardly possible that three years should pass without Tom being recognised, but he seldom came to Brussels, he said, and indeed, out of uniform and dressed in the Belgian fashion, he would no doubt pass for a native of the country. Although to be sure, there is the red hair, so striking; it was that which caught Mr. Roper’s eye.
I know you will find this an amazing tale, but we have every reason to believe it true, and one has to consider the very great happiness that the almost miraculous restoration of their son will have upon Tom’s parents and indeed all his family.
“What a prodigious long letter you are writing,” said Fanny, looking up from her newspaper.
Camilla sat back in her chair, considering the sheets in front of her. “I want to tell them enough to counteract whatever extravagant rumours may reach them, but I think they would not like to hear of the violence of Letty’s reaction upon hearing of Tom’s resurrection and marriage.”
“For heaven’s sake, do not mention it! I am quite sure it is better that they should not, for what, in Vienna, or Constantinople, or wherever they may be, can they do about it? And for my part, I dread hearing that her name is being bandied about the clubs and coffee-houses, for Tom Busby has made a fool of her, there is no denying that, even though there was no intention on his part to do so. One must heartily wish that she had not made such a parade of her loss and her grief. To present a picture of such devotion and then to have the object of it reappear with another woman as his wife must make her look ridiculous and set tongues a-wagging.”
“You take a very gloomy view. Why, how many people in London know about the strength of her attachment to Tom’s memory? We are strangers in London, who will be interested?”
Fanny shook her head. “No, that will not do,” she said in a decided voice. “You come from a distinguished family, your father and mother move in the highest circles. Letty is the granddaughter and niece of an earl, and an heiress besides. There will be plenty of tittle-tattles from your part of the country who will remember the engagement and know how ostentatiously Letty has remained true to his memory. It is a mistake to show such sensibility; a young lady, a young unmarried lady, should always be careful to control her feelings. I pity her from the bottom of my heart; however, I know how enjoyable it is to indulge oneself in such a way.”