"Nothing much,sir," Thomas replied.
"What of Mr. Collins?"
"After the previous curate's death, Lady Catherine sent a letter to St. Luke's Seminary and asked them to send three of their best candidates as a possible replacement. About ten days later three men showed up at her door. She interviewed each one, then chose Mr. Collins and that was that."
"As easy as that?"
Thomas shrugged, "as near as I can tell, Mr. Darcy. The only thing I can add is that I couldn't find one soul who is pleased with her choice. They despise him and want him gone."
"And their reason?"
Thomas laughed. "They think he's ungodly."
"In what way?"
"Well, they've been brought up to believe that god speaks to them through their clergyman, but they know that Lady Catherine writes his sermons and they know she isn't god despite what she may think of herself. These are their words, not mine, sir"
"Understood."
"They also find him arrogant and pompous. Apparently it took all of two days before the entire village knew that he was the heir of an estate in Hartfordshire, which will give him a clear two thousand pounds a year upon the demise of the present owner. He also boasted that he was a frequent dinner guest at Rosing's Park. Their previous curate was a sweet and kindly old man who usually joined the villagers for a pint or two down at the local on a Friday night. Mr. Collins doesn't mingle with them nor do they want him to."
"And what do they say about my cousin Anne?"
"They feel sorry for her. They remembered her as a bright and happy child, sweet and polite. What they remember most about her is that she was always cheerful and loved to laugh. After her father died, something inside her seemed to die. One of the villagers said it was like the light in her went out."
The morning had dawned on what promised to be a beautiful day. Fortunately, Lady Catherine was a late riser so Darcy, Richard and Anne had the breakfast table to themselves. Unlike Lady Catherine who thought servants couldn't hear, the three cousins knew the opposite was true and were always prudent in their remarks though Anne sat in silence sipping her coffee.
It was the first time Darcy had gotten a close look at Anne in the bright light of day in almost five years. She was not at all what he had expected. He'd heard from all his relatives how sickly she was. Her face was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes but Darcy supposed that if she was as unhappy as he began to suspect she was, sleep would be hard to come by.
Beside him, he heard Richard take a deep breath and address Anne, "cousin, do you still take your chaise out and ride around the countryside? If you do, you couldn't pick a finer day for your amusement."
Anne looked at Richard, then at Darcy who was busy eating and seemed lost in his own thoughts. "It's about my only amusement, cousin," she replied.
"Do you ever visit the old oak tree? It's still standing I hope."
"It was last month and as you well know, Richard,if anything happened to the tree it would be a matter of some importance. It might be discussed for the next seven months or until the next tree died. And in answer to your first question, unless I'm feeling particularly masochistic, I seldom visit the old oak tree. I never remove my boots and stockings and splash around in the creek either. It's been several years since I put childish things behind me."
Darcy heard the bitterness in Anne's voice and his heart went out to her. He imagined his own dear sister being deprived of all the happiness she deserved. It was hard to fathom how or why a mother would allow her child to descend into such misery and bitterness.
"Well," Darcy said, "I think I'll take a ride around the countryside. Maybe I'll run into old friends. Care to join me, Richard?"
"No, I don't believe so. I think I'll stick around here and visit with our Aunt. There's something I want to talk to her about."
An hour later Darcy stood on a rise overlooking the village. He watched the small chaise turn expertly onto the old creek road. The trees blocked his sight for a few moments then the chaise reappeared pulling into the shade of the ancient oak tree. Anne stepped down gracefully and removed her bonnet and tossed it into the chaise. She turned and walked slowly towards her cousin.
Darcy reached out and embraced her tightly. "It's so good to see you again, Anne. But I can see you're not happy and I'm sorry for it. Truly I am."
"According to Mr. Collins, it's a woman's lot in life to suffer for bringing about the downfall of Adam and for causing such agony to her mother during the birthing process. He's so dense he doesn't realize that this would apply to his patroness as well. And she's so dense she thinks this reasoning makes perfect sense."
"Tell me how all this came about, Anne. Richard and I are at a loss to understand how things changed so drastically since we last saw you."
"Things happen to the best of us, Darce. And I can take some blame for what I've become."
"And what has become of you, Anne?"
"I've become old and angry, and embittered. I hate my mother and that fat slob of a clergyman who looks at me the way he looks at a leg of lamb."
"Anne, you're only one and twenty. You have your whole life ahead of you."
"I wouldn't wish my life on my worst enemy."
They sat down near the creek enjoying the gentle sounds of the water rushing across the rocks. Darcy took her hand in his.
"How did it come to this, Anne, tell me everything."
Anne took a moment to gather her thoughts, then began to explain how the lives of the three best friends had diverged in the past five years.
"Do you remember how you and Richard used to spend hours talking about your futures? You made it so exciting and I couldn't wait until I could go to Cambridge and study Latin and Greek. I dreamed of walking the halls where some of England's greatest minds had studied. I remember how you laughed and told me that girls didn't go to Cambridge. I thought you were just teasing me. It never once occurred to me that I wouldn't one day attend college with you. Even when I brought the subject up to my father, he laughed and patted my head. But I was still determined that one day I would attend Cambridge with my best friends."
"But Anne," Darcy said, "you were so young. I think Richard and I just assumed that it was just a phase you were going through. We knew your life would never be like ours. You were, after all, a woman and woman are not allowed to study at Cambridge or any other college.
"After all, I was just a woman," Anne sighed. Once father died, I learned what it meant to be just a woman. My education would consist of learning to stand straight with shoulders back. I would learn to modulate my voice into dulcet tones that would entice men. In other words I would learn to be a wife. Specifically, your wife."
"That's when she began to spread the rumors that we were engaged to be married?"
"Probably. I don't really remember. What I did know was that I didn't want to marry my playmate." She laughed softly. "I suppose you were about seventeen years old when I last saw you, but memory being what it is, I thought of you as a little boy who played with wooden swords and who one day had stolen a kiss beneath the old church tower."
Darcy laughed, "I'd prefer you forget that incident, Anne."
"How could I? It was my first and last kiss."
"Surely she hired tutors for you."
"I tried to get her to hire me tutors so I could keep up with you and Richard but she would have nothing to do with it. She said that men despised bluestockings, and you in particular would never want an educated woman as a wife. Everything I wanted was always weighed against whether it would be suitable for a wife of the heir to Pemberley."
"Why didn't you tell someone. You could have spoken to my father or Richard's parents. They would have done something."
"By that time Richard was off to Cambridge and Pemberley was taking up all of your time. You and Richard were getting on with yours lives and I was left behind. I was lonely and in despair. I missed you both so much but I had no right to make demands on you. In any case, there wasn't much either of you could do. You were both still young and you had your own worries."
Darcy was horrified at these revelations. "Anne, why didn't you leave once you became of age? You had the money."
"She told me that I could only have ten thousand pounds. The other ten would only be released upon my marriage and then only at her discretion. She told me that if I left, she would offer no help in establishing a residence in London or in any other town. By then my spirit was so broken that I was afraid to make any decisions. Oh, Darce, you don't know what it's like to be a woman who depends on the goodness of another human being. Georgianna doesn't know how lucky she is to have you as a brother.
Tears slid silently down her face and she wiped at them angrily. "Sorry, she said, "I don't usually allow myself the relief of tears. It tends to make things worse."
"Anne, Richard and I are going to work something out. We're going to try to get you to Pemberley. But for now, you had better return to Rosing's Park before your mother sends out the hounds."
After Anne left, Darcy removed his boots and stockings and walked into the shallow creek enjoying the feel of the cleansing waters. He stood there oblivious to the world around him while he thought about the life he'd led so far. He was a man born into a man's world. His wealth was beyond the imagination of most men and he was the lord and master of one of the most beautiful estates in England. His name gave him entrance to most any of the great homes in England. There was little or nothing that he could not possess if he so desired. He was the chosen one.
His cousin Anne was born into the same family and though her wealth was only half of what his was, it was still substantial. She was born to lead a good and comfortable life. She was intelligent and beautiful or would be as soon as she was free again. She was a chosen one. The difference was that she was a woman.
He had never thought of what a vast chasm divided the sexes. The women in his world had money and family which would always protect them. He didn't think he'd ever look at another woman without taking into consideration the reasons she acted the way she did. It was not only money she sought, but protection in an unfair world. He could even feel a bit of sympathy for Caroline Bingley; a little, but not more than that.
There was no reason to doubt Anne's story, but still parts of it seemed incredible. He remembered Anne's father as a kindly man who loved his daughter, even doted on her. That he would leave his only child unprotected and subject to the whims of a woman not known for her warmth, was beyond his comprehension. As Richard would say, it was time for the heavy artillery.