...
In which Miss Darcy and Miss Earl call on the rectory.
Mrs Ashby is by turns obliged, vexed, alarmed, tearful and obliged again.
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With admirable alacrity did Miss Darcy volunteer to visit the rectory, undertaking to be the harbinger of happy tidings to Mr Sutton and his family by way of an invitation to the evening's ball. Whether or not the chance of meeting a "handsome, raven-haired gentleman" was a motivating factor in this act of charity may be left to others to decide – but it must be supposed it was not a repellent.
Isabella enrolled Mary to accompany her, and the pair set upon their quest as early as politeness dictated that curiosity must acquiesce to.
The walk was both pleasant and near – the rectory living being a mere quarter mile from Pemberley through a network of excellently kept lanes – and the weather proving obliging, the young ladies felt that to leave the carriage at home and venture thither on foot was a gamble well worth hazarding the state of their dress upon.
To any passing observer, Miss Earl and Miss Darcy made a pleasing addition to an environment already well-stocked with charms. Meandering paths and dappled bridleways were most prettily complemented by wispy muslin and bright faces, and the warbling birds' chorus lost no advantage for its being mingled with the echo of lively conversation.
At length the rectory was gained, and the ladies announced and admitted into its front parlour.
Although well-appointed in all other respects, the room was sadly deficient in black-haired gentlemen – indeed, no gentleman of any description was to be found, for Mr Sutton, it was soon discovered, had caught a cold during their recent relocation to Derbyshire, and was presently confined to his bed. Healing pottages and nourishing soups were quickly pledged on behalf of Pemberley's medicinal pantry, and all else that ought to be promised was promised handsomely, and all else that should be said, was said very prettily.
"Should you require a doctor," Miss Darcy advised Mrs Ashby, "you must send for Mr Yarrow in Lambton. He has the trust and patronage of all our neighbourhood."
"Oh, dear me! I am much obliged my dear; your interest is too kind," the lady replied, with an affable little laugh "– for it is always a bad business discovering a doctor whom one can tolerate. They are always so tall and grave. I was most vexed to leave behind our dear Dr Fenwick in Oxfordshire. He was an amazingly respectable man, and not at all towering."
Miss Darcy was at a loss to form a sensible answer, but Mary rescued her by murmuring, "That must have been hard on you, indeed, ma'am."
"Excessively hard, my dear: I declare I cry my eyes out whenever I think of our having moved so far from all we have known and loved. However, it is done, and this new situation is excessively comfortable. I do not think I shall miss Oxfordshire at all."
Only the sternest internal monologue could save Isabella's countenance from a breach of propriety. Presently she was composed enough to say, "I hope all your family will settle in easily. It is a pity your father has taken so ill."
"La, my dear, 'tis only a trifling sore throat and a mist in the head, the smallest head-mist imaginable. My father's constitution is generally very sound, you know, but he would insist on our travelling early. I begged him to delay until the dews had risen, but of course he would not listen to me. And now there he lies at death's door. However a few days will see him quite right."
"I do hope so, ma'am."
Mrs Ashby's appearance was all that might reasonably complement her girlish disposition. Though not younger than five-and-forty, the rosiness of her fair complexion and plump figure leant to her the impression of enduring youth; her artless, frivolous manner (not to mention her hair ribbons) compounded it almost unto juvenility. She had married very early, been widowed young, and – returning to live thereafter with her parents – she had continued in a capacity rather more in keeping with a giddy Miss Sutton than a matronly Mrs Ashby. Her two children she loved fondly but carelessly, and had not much more to do with them than to admire their pretty looks, as once she had admired her favourite dolls, and continue gratified as those exterior charms translated favourably into adulthood.
Mrs Ashby's daughter now sat opposite Miss Darcy and Miss Earl, quietly composed, betraying no outward blushes for the sake of her prattling mama. – Indeed, it seemed to Isabella that Miss Jemima Ashby must inherit her air and aspect entirely from her sire's lineage, for they could hardly prove a greater contrast to her mother's. Her beauty (for she was beautiful) was of a decidedly continental style: cool in tone, exquisitely symmetrical, without blemish, though equally without bloom, giving an appearance of luminosity rather than brilliance.
Miss Darcy was too confident and comfortable in her own good looks to feel the pang of alarm which might have arisen in her breast had she been afflicted with a more jealous disposition. Happily, she was able to regard Miss Ashby with a purely critical eye, and acknowledge her to be very lovely, without her own equanimity being the least part degraded by her findings. With easy cordiality she now addressed her. "I hope you, Miss Ashby, escaped the perils so often associated with travelling."
"Thank you; I did," Miss Ashby replied. "I was a little fatigued yesterday, but am quite recovered."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Isabella. "My cousin," (indicating Mary) "often journeys between Derbyshire and Kent, and it is "ten to one" she will catch a cold every time."
"But I did not this time, Isabella," said Mary.
"Aye – this is the "one" of which I spoke.– You see how it is, Miss Ashby. Mary is always inconveniently disproving my theories whenever I am most wont to parade them."
Miss Darcy was used to her gently-sporting words eliciting at least a smile from her audience, however Miss Ashby merely bowed her head in acknowledgement and murmured, "Indeed."
It was not done coldly – Isabella could not be allowed to quite feel piqued – but nor was she much endeared by such an indifferent response. She coloured a little, and was silent. There was now a general pause in the conversation, which at length ended with Mrs Ashby declaring, "Well, I am sure you are both too kind for calling on us so early. I had never expected to see you so soon."
Quickly collecting herself, Isabella replied, "I am sorry for our intrusion, ma'am – but I hope you will exonerate us when our purpose is properly explained." Here she stood and presented Mrs Ashby with a formal invitation to the evening's ball, which was received by that lady with a mixture of great excitement and greater alarm.
"A ball! – How exceedingly nice, how very kind! – But it is for tonight. Oh, dear me! I have not even unpacked my silks."
"We should perfectly understand if you are not able to attend, ma'am."
"Oh, that would be a great pity! – But I dare say Abigail will have them ready in time." She turned agonized eyes to her daughter. "Do not you think Abigail may have our silks ready, Jemima?"
"Yes, mama," replied her daughter. "I dare say she may."
This reassurance calmed Mrs Ashby for some several seconds, but soon she started up with sudden remembrance, and cried, "But we cannot leave my father alone! He may slip away at any moment."
Miss Darcy ventured to say, "I think you said that he only suffers a sore throat?"
"And a head-mist," said Mrs Ashby miserably.
Rather afeared that a tearful episode – or even a hysterical one – was imminent, Isabella hastily said, "I had something very like, this past winter: a sore throat, and a – a mist in my head. It turned out not to be in the least part dangerous."
"Did you?" The lady began to look hopeful once more. "And it wasn't dangerous, you say? – But, to be sure, a cold is generally not dangerous, unless it turns putrid. But I think it is the wrong time of year for that to happen." An inspiring new thought lit up her countenance. "Perhaps Abigail can tap on his door once each hour, just to make certain he has not slipped away in his sleep. What think you, Jemima?" Again she applied to her daughter to settle the matter. "Will it do?"
"I believe it will do very well, mama."
"How nice!" cried Mrs Ashby happily. "I am excessively fond of an elegant ball, and it would have been shocking to be prevented from attending. What luck that Acland is stopping here until we are settled. He will be our chaperone."
Isabella wondered a little at a widowed lady of forty-five requiring a chaperone to attend a neighbour's private ball, but she only smiled and said, "We shall be glad to see you all there, ma'am. My mother and father wish particularly to meet you."
"Do they? Dear me, I am most obliged, I assure you!"
The ladies then made their adieus, and were shown personally out by Mrs Ashby, with many "too kind"s on the one side, and a proportionate number of "not at all"s on the other.
And although Isabella spent a good deal of the walk home teasing Mary on the subject of the elusive Mr Acland Ashby, she could not for the life of her imagine what kind of gentleman he might really prove to be, with such contradictory indicants as his mother and sister afforded.
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A/N I know this fic will only appeal to a select few, but if you are one of them, then I very much hope you are enjoying it. I would love some feedback if you can find the time :) PS Next chapter will contain A BALL! Yay!