A Summer in Scarborough Read online

  A Summer in Scarborough

  A Pride & Prejudice Sequel

  Blake Smith

  Copyright © 2019 Blake Smith

  Cover art by Sarah A. Hoyt

  All rights reserved.

  CHAPTER one

  Mrs. Jenkinson could move silently as a cat, but Miss Anne de Bourgh had through long experience learned the small changes that gave away her companion’s movements. A slight smell of her distant relation’s distinctive perfume, a change in the air currents of the room, the quick scrambling patter of the housemaids’ shoes as one of those unfortunate creatures scuttled out of the way.

  Oh, yes, Anne had learned both to value her rare moments of solitude and to determine exactly when they would end. If Mrs. Jenkinson wasn’t intruding on her reading or sewing, her mother was. The two ladies were quite respectable, of course, and Anne was fond of them in her way, but they were very different. Mrs. Jenkinson’s intrusions were quiet and bore an air of hesitation, but were intrusions nonetheless. Lady Catherine de Bourgh had never in her life done anything quietly or hesitantly.

  But that tiny scuffle alerted Anne that Mrs. Jenkinson was but a few steps from the drawing room, and she leapt into action. She’d been seated by the window, having opened it a few inches to allow in some of the fresh June air, and now slammed down the sash, wincing when it crashed against the sill. She regained her seat and took up her book a bare instant before Mrs. Jenkinson minced into the room, a habitual look of suspicion upon her gaunt features.

  “Miss de Bourgh, is something amiss?” Mrs. Jenkinson said. “Only I thought I heard a noise.”

  “Oh!- I’m afraid that was my fault,” Anne said. “I dropped my book.”

  She disliked lying to Mrs. Jenkinson, but such was that good lady’s concern for Anne’s health that she was likely to go into hysterics, where she to learn that Anne had been staring out the window- and an open window at that!

  Mrs. Jenkinson looked rather silly for a moment as she searched for some small worry to express. Finally, she hit upon, “Well, my dear, I’m sure your hands have taken cold from the wind; I’ve felt it myself this morning.”

  “Oh, no, I’m not cold at all,” she attempted to protest, but Mrs. Jenkinson was not to be silenced.

  “Oh, but you must be, my dear. I am of stronger constitution than you and I’ve have felt chilled since I rose from my bed. Come away from that window; it’s terribly drafty, and I shall fetch you a shawl. Oh, no, you already have one. Well, perhaps a heavier shawl will do.”

  Since Anne was quite comfortable, and indeed thought she might be comfortable even without a shawl, she could hardly be enthusiastic about this plan. But before she could give voice to her opinion, there was the click of her mother’s shoes upon the parquet floor, the swish of her gown, and the formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh appeared in the doorway.

  Anne wished she could lie to herself and say that she wasn’t afraid of her mother. But to be perfectly frank, she often wished Lady Catherine would simply leave her alone. It was an uncharitable thought, to be sure, especially to a woman who, though of robust health herself, had lost many children and in consequence cared very, very deeply for the safety of her one surviving daughter.

  Anne understood her mother’s anxiety, but in truth, she suspected there was very little amiss with her health that would not be cured by fresh air, exercise, and time away from all those who solicitously wished to smother her into good health. Little wonder that she was often cross with her anxious companions.

  In this she was joined by her mother, who upon her entrance exclaimed, “Mrs. Jenkinson, what are you doing? Have you no better way to occupy yourself than by scuttling about like a mouse?” For Mrs. Jenkinson had hurried to curtsy and station herself at Anne’s side, that she was not blocking the daughter from the sight of the mother.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Ladyship,” Mrs. Jenkinson whispered.

  Lady Catherine made no answer, but turned her attention upon Anne. “How do you do this morning, Anne?”

  “I’m very well, Your Ladyship,” she said, with perfect truth. “I think, if the day continues fine, that I’d like to order the carriage. An airing will do me good, no doubt.”

  But by Lady Catherine’s expression, the healthfulness of a carriage drive was in doubt. “We’re to have rain by evening,” she pronounced. “You shall take a chill if you go out.”

  “Then I shall go now, before the weather turns,” Anne dared to argue, spurred on by a beam of sunlight streaming through the window to caress her face.

  “You shall not,” Lady Catherine said, and there was no countering such an order, delivered in stentorian tones as only she could do.

  Anne subsided into her chair, having rather lost interest in the conversation now that there was no chance of gaining her point. This of course sent Mrs. Jenkinson into a flutter of dismay, in which she repeatedly expressed her concern for Anne, fearing that the argument with Her Ladyship- as if three or four sentences could be considered an argument!- had exhausted Anne. When this failed to provoke a response, she began lamenting the poor weather, seemingly oblivious to the gentle breeze and brilliant sun that rattled the trees and cast crystal clear shadows upon the ground outside.

  When Mrs. Jenkinson was in such a poor humor, as she commonly was, the only recourse was to allow her to talk uninterrupted. Any attempt on Anne’s part to soothe her was likely to be met with even more chatter and anxiety, all centered upon how weary Anne must be, or that she had been cast into melancholy by the rooms being too warm or too cold. Of course, any argument was caused by illness; even more absurdly, something so usual as silence was the result of Anne’s not feeling well. In short, Anne was always held to be in poor health, caused by any cause or no cause at all.

  At the moment, Anne found common ground with her mother in ignoring Mrs. Jenkinson’s chatter. Lady Catherine expressed her anxiety for Anne in a rather different manner, by pronouncing that she was not to overtax herself, and such was Anne’s mingled fear and respect for her mother that she rarely sought to go against such orders. But Lady Catherine would, Anne knew, consult with Mrs. Jenkinson in private as to the perpetual matter of ‘Anne’s health’.

  Ever since she was a child, she had been subject to colds and general weakness. Nothing seemed to cure her, and none of it seemed likely to kill her. She often wondered if her companions’ worry would be assuaged more completely by her death, or by her complete recovery. Mrs. Jenkinson, at least, seemed to find much to occupy her in the subject, and would be sorely disappointed to find that avenue of concern no longer open to her.

  All the while, that good lady was expressing her agitation, fluttering about the room like a moth, if moths wore dresses of grey stuff and tied their hair back in a severe and unflattering knot.

  Yes, it was best to ignore Mrs. Jenkinson at the moment. So Anne said to her mother, “I received a letter from my cousin Georgiana this morning.”

  “Yes, I saw it at the breakfast table,” Lady Catherine said before Anne could say another syllable. “I hope she is well.”

  “She is, and she’s invited me to accompany her and her friends to Scarborough in a fortnight.”

  Lady Catherine looked disapproving. Anne’s heart sank- she hadn’t seen her cousin in over a year, since well before Georgiana’s brother had married that woman- but Lady Catherine only said, “Georgiana would have done better to write to me on the matter. No doubt Mrs. Darcy led her astray,” with a habitual touch of acid in her voice.

  Anne couldn’t say that she liked Mrs. Darcy- she was too quick and lively for Anne’s taste, and though not completely vulgar, seemed not to have quite the proper respect for wealth and rank that Anne thought necessary. But Lady Catherine positiv
ely hated poor Mrs. Darcy, ever since she’d realized that a mere Miss Elizabeth Bennet was likely to gain the heart of Mr. Darcy. Lady Catherine had been often speaking of the matter to Anne, and though Anne had as a girl cherished some small hope of marrying her cousin, she gradually grew more reconciled to the impossibility of it, and more sympathetic to the new Mrs. Darcy.

  She had often wondered if the force of Lady Catherine’s disapproval had increased her good-will toward Mrs. Darcy. It was a hard thing, to be subject to the wrath of a Lady Catherine, and Anne well understood how Miss Elizabeth Bennet had wished to escape her parents’ home. No doubt she had felt unable to resist Mr. Darcy’s proposals, such was the force of his character, and indeed, may have even welcomed them. Anne had heard Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were not at all the thing, and she sympathized with their daughter’s desire to leave them behind and rise into the ranks of the wealthy and respectable.

  But all of that was over and done with, and now only Anne was obliged to bear Lady Catherine’s frequent expressions of disapproval. Anne only hoped Lady Catherine’s anger would not prevent her from allowing Anne to visit Georgiana, who was, after all, innocent of any wrongdoing.

  She quickly marshaled her scanty resources. “Perhaps Georgiana wished to learn if I had any objections to the Scarborough scheme, before she intruded on your notice. No doubt she would be disappointed were you to give your permission, only to find that I had obligations that prevented me from going.”

  “Perhaps,” Lady Catherine allowed, barely opening her lips to allow the unaccustomed word to escape. “Have you the letter? Show it to me.”

  Anne held forth the missive, and all was silent for a moment while Lady Catherine read the relevant paragraph. Even Mrs. Jenkinson had exhausted her concern for Anne, and retreated to a corner, ready to return to the fore the instant she was required- or not.

  “Mrs. Annesley is to accompany her,” Lady Catherine noted. “And the Hursts. Very well. Mr. Hurst is an intolerable fool, but he is from a respectable family. And the Darcys will not be of the party.” She gave a quick, decisive nod, then her brows drew together. “But I shall not be able to accompany you, not with Mr. Collins and Mr. Watson arguing over the boundary between the glebe and Mr. Watson’s north field. They’ll never agree if I don’t make them do so, and the fields will lie fallow all year.”

  Anne was well-accustomed to her mother’s insistence on aiding her neighbors, even when the neighbors had no need of her advice. Mr. Collins was a newcomer to the neighborhood, of course, but Mr. Watson was a gentleman of the first stare and had lived at Oakwood all his life. Anne had a great, though silent, curiosity to see who would be the victor.

  And Lady Catherine’s presence would make no difference to the outcome. She argued forcefully and decisively for each side; Mr. Collins was her loyal retainer but Mr. Watson commanded all the respect that wealth and an ancient name could command. Anne had derived much amusement from hearing her mother switch back and forth depending on which party appeared to be winning the argument. No doubt the magistrates would decide the matter, and perhaps it would be better for them if Lady Catherine was not nearby at that moment. “Your concern for our neighbors is an example to us all,” Anne said, having decided to try flattery, “but I’m sure you have exerted yourself ably on behalf of your friends. Sir James Hodgson will decide the matter, and you know him.”

  “Sir James is an insufferable mushroom,” was Lady Catherine’s decided opinion. “No one had ever heard of him before he bought Grace Court, and now he thinks to set himself up as a magistrate. I have no opinion of such men.”

  “You’re quite right not to notice Sir James,” Anne said. “I have also thought him intolerable, and I’m thankful we do not meet. But he is likely to decide against whichever side you take as your own. If you support Mr. Collins, Mr. Watson is sure to be the victor, and if you speak for Mr. Watson, Mr. Collins will gain an addition to the glebe.”

  Lady Catherine gave a thin smile. “If I had not such an abhorrence of deceit, I would argue on behalf of the party I disliked, that Sir James might go against me and in so doing, decide in favor of the party I truly supported.”

  Anne was suddenly and forcefully grateful her mother was of such decided character. If Lady Catherine ever began to practice deceit, the world was likely to end. Not liking the notion, she said, “No doubt you would turn the neighborhood on its head in such a case. But really, Your Ladyship, I cannot imagine you doing such a thing. Come to Scarborough with me. Georgiana really depends on my company, I think; she cannot like Mrs. Hurst.”

  “Nor could anyone.” Lady Catherine was silent for a moment, then, “Very well. To Scarborough we shall go.”

  Mrs. Jenkinson gasped and fell to the floor in a dead faint.

  CHAPTEr two

  When she later reflected upon the circumstances of their journey, Anne must laugh lest she weep from exasperation.

  It had all begun so well. Mrs. Jenkinson was quickly revived and some of her fears assuaged by the reassurance that she would not be left behind at Rosings. Of course, that good lady continued at intervals to express her distress at the damage that would be done to Anne’s health by spending a summer by the seaside, but Anne was able to ignore her and as for Lady Catherine, she would never demean herself by retracting any statement, and once she had given her consent to the scheme, they would go to Scarborough no matter what else occurred.

  That was all to Anne’s taste, and she was in spirits when she sent a letter to Georgiana, expressing her happiness at the invitation and warning her that Lady Catherine was to accompany them. Her happiness was only a little dampened by the preparations that must be made before their departure. An entire new wardrobe was necessary, and Anne was obliged to assist with some of the more decorative sewing, lest her dresses not be completed in time. And she must be visited by Dr. Johnson, who of course did not examine her, but asked a great many probing and sometimes embarrassing questions before pronouncing her in slightly indifferent health but assuring Lady Catherine that a bit of gentle sea-bathing would be beneficial.

  “But I can I not persuade you to go to a nearer watering-place?” the good doctor asked. “The journey to Scarborough is a long one, and it has been found that if a patient takes the sea-air, it should be the closest that can be found to her native air.”

  Luckily, Lady Catherine was determined that Scarborough was their destination, though Anne suspected that she might have been persuaded to remove instead to Brighton, had she not already told all of their acquaintance that they were to go to Scarborough. Anne was simply happy to be traveling to a place that was not Rosings. She had been once to Canterbury, to see the cathedral, and once to London to consult one of the best physicians, but her life had been otherwise quite circumscribed.

  All was well- or at the very least, normal- for a few days until their neighbors learned of their upcoming journey. Anne bore without complaint the raptures of the empty-headed Lady Francis and her equally silly daughter Miss Prachett, was able to thank Mr. Johnson for his advice when he told her that sea-bathing had cured his gout and would surely benefit her health, and even managed to avoid laughing when Mrs. Hambleton expressed her sincere worry that Anne would be carried off by a fortune hunter.

  Mrs. Hambleton had barely sailed out of the drawing room, her head held high in satisfaction at having imparted what she called wisdom to a young person such as Anne, when Anne herself burst into giggles, hastily muffled by her hand.

  “That’s quite enough, Anne,” Lady Catherine said sternly from her spot on the sofa. “Mrs. Hambleton may be a silly woman, but she expresses very proper concern for your welfare. Why do you think I must accompany you to the sea? If you are seen to be abroad without protection- it is not to be thought of. Scarborough is a respectable enough place, but its very respectability attracts men and women who are only seeking to marry a fortune.”

  As the future heiress of over two hundred thousand pounds, and current possessor of twenty thousand, Anne knew she w
as a prize, and had she gone at all into society, she would have contended with more than a few offers for her hand. But having never encountered a real fortune hunter, she had a great though silent curiosity to meet with one. Surely she could recognize such a ruffian on sight, and avoid being taken in. “Your Ladyship, I assure you I will take care to avoid such men,” she said, to placate her mother.

  “And I shall see that you do,” Lady Catherine replied firmly. “I will not have my only child entrapped into marriage with a vulgar man.”

  No doubt she was thinking of Mr. Darcy, who in Lady Catherine’s mind had been taken in by Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Anne wasn’t so sure, but she only murmured, “Thank you for concerning yourself with my welfare. I know not of many parents who would do the same.”

  But on the day before they were to leave, Anne had an encounter with a similarly concerned parent, and it was not at all to her liking.

  Mr. Collins had been a silly and pompous man from the moment he was introduced to Anne nearly two years ago. She hoped that his marriage might have improved him- Mrs. Collins was of low origins, but people of that class often possessed a practicality that might influence Mr. Collins to act more rationally- but unfortunately, that did not seem to be the case.

  Mr. and Mrs. Collins presented themselves in the East Drawing Room at the proper hour for a morning call, and from their first appearance, Anne wished she had thought to plead a headache and excuse herself. But to leave the room in front of callers would be intolerably rude, so she stayed.

  Mr. Collins was solicitous of her health, as always, but saved most of his remarks for Lady Catherine, whom he was seated nearby.

  “I flatter myself that Your Ladyship will forgive my impertinence when I mention the importance of finding an able man in orders to care for your spiritual health when you are so far from your usual servants. If I may be allowed to make myself useful to Your Ladyship, I might crave your permission to write to the archbishop, who certainly knows the names of the men under his authority, and could suggest an able clergyman to assist Your Ladyship during your time at Scarborough,” Mr. Collins said with barely a pause for breath, and certainly no pause long enough to allow for a response.