“It was a splendid experience—but we did not get out of the carriage,” acknowledged Mr Gardiner, glancing at Elizabeth; the two smiled at one another with comic guilt.
“I hope I shall see it myself,” declared Mrs Bennet, and it sounded like an order. “I would never allow you to reside anywhere I have not first inspected.”
“It is not as though she were removing to her husband’s house,” observed Mr Bennet, with his customary humour. “I fearthat there you shall not be mother-in-law, and so shall enjoy no rights at all.”
“Rights?” exclaimed Jane, in a tone very foreign to her gentle nature, which betrayed that she had not yet forgiven her mother for the interference that had helped to part her from Mr Bingley. “A mother-in-law has no rights in her son-in-law’s house.”
“I am inclined to agree,” said Mr Bennet.
But the attention of all soon returned to Elizabeth, for it was her evening. Questions and laughter flowed until near midnight, and even the youngest remained upon their chairs to the end.
“A new chapter begins in the history of our family,” said Mr Gardiner, visibly moved.
“And who knows,” added Mr Bennet with a knowing smile, “perhaps likewise in the lives of many young ladies who shall pass through the doors of Clinton Academy, whilst Elizabeth presides there, and for many years thereafter.”
Chapter 14
The three days preceding the girls’ arrival were the most arduous of Elizabeth’s life. Though Jane and Mary came daily to the Academy to assist her, there were so many matters to learn and arrange that she scarcely slept four hours a night. Dinner was most often a slice of cake hastily eaten with a glass of milk.
The building was immense—far larger than she had imagined when first viewing it from without—and though there was a housekeeper, several maids, and attendants enough for every practical purpose, there was always something that required her presence. In all, besides the seven lady professors, she had more than twenty persons under her direction.
“Does the school yield a profit?” she asked Mr Clinton one morning at breakfast. Each day he came to dine with her, a habit retained from the time of Mrs Clinton, which he had never abandoned.
“I should be glad if it ceased to bring loss,” he replied, and by that elegant answer, she understood that the school generally produced none but losses.
“You shall see, when you speak with the lawyers, that we have a summer residence at Hampstead Heath, standing in the midst of a domain with farmland extending towards Finchley, yielding near four thousand pounds a year—Hampstead Hall.”
“Oh,” she said in surprise. For Longbourn, though it had always appeared considerable, possessed a revenue little above one thousand pounds.
“But you must perceive that the management of the Academy is far more extensive. There are also the parents’ contributions; yet, in general, I should be content if we were merely at the limit, and the Academy required no further funds, which, as you suppose, I supply.”
At a most exhausting pace, Elizabeth familiarised herself with all that concerned the Academy, which involved far more than instructing the pupils. On the first evening, in her elegant suite of two rooms, she had wondered what subject she might teach. But after three days, she realised that, for a long while, she would labour only to ensure the proper functioning of the establishment. Her role as teacher would come later, when matters were settled according to her design and could proceed without her continual oversight.
At length, the last evening before the girls’ arrival came, and with some degree of alarm, she perceived that she had not yet read the list of pupils nor the details of their families—information indispensable when the daughter of a count, or perhaps someone connected with the royal household, was concerned. She took the list to bed, determined to study it, but fell asleep with it in her hand; and the night seemed to last but a moment before the housekeeper, Mrs Robertson, arrived to wake her.
She had grown thinner, yet the gown that came with a small trousseau the previous day fitted her perfectly. Her wardrobe, hastily assembled, had been managed by Jane andMrs Gardiner—the only matter that appeared perfect and under control. The light grey gown, adorned with discreet lace inlays and a heavy shawl, gave her a taller air.
“Imposing,” said Jane, smiling, when she arrived for breakfast before the girls came.
“Elegant—distinguished,” added Mr Clinton with evident satisfaction, as though Elizabeth had been his own creation.
“I have written to the parents and guardians, that they may be informed of the changes and come to make your acquaintance,” Mr Clinton had told her from the first day. “Ten girls shall arrive on the first morning, and for each you shall have a quarter of an hour. Mrs Robertson has clear instructions to show the family to the door the instant the time elapses. You need not concern yourself—she knows precisely what to do.”
It was the moment she had awaited, though she could not help but feel some apprehension, wondering whether she might acquit herself in a manner worthy of the prestige the Clinton family had brought to the school during its more than twenty years of existence. The girls’ arrival would mark the true beginning.
She looked into the great mirror in the hall for the last time. About her neck hung a small, precious watch she had received from Mr Clinton as a welcome gift. The moment had come.
At five minutes to ten, she proceeded to the parlour on the ground floor, where she was to receive the pupils and their families. She seated herself in the vast room, resolved to read the list; yet she was so agitated that she closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. At ten o’clock precisely, the first pupil arrived—a daughter of one of the wealthiest merchant families in England, a little vain of their importance. Yet Mrs Grimsley, the girl’s mother, departed convinced that her daughter was now in the best possible hands. Miss Bennet hadcharmed her at first sight. Rarely had she seen such distinction joined with such composure.
One after another, three more girls arrived and departed soon after their introductions, leaving Elizabeth for a few minutes alone before the next meeting. She rose and went to the window overlooking the garden, where spring had already begun to make itself felt.
The daffodils, standing in golden ranks, their heads moving lightly beneath the faintest breeze, gave her a sense of joyful confidence. It was no easy mission, yet thus far all had proceeded perfectly. She smiled at the trees, still half bare yet touched with the first uncertain green, as though spring herself had paused to consider whether to advance or retreat—a state so like her own. She knew that even now she might yet withdraw, but in the end all the trees would turn green, and she felt assured that she too should find—or invent in time—her own place.
She drew a deep breath, awaiting Mrs Robertson, who presently entered with a tray of visiting cards and announced,
“Mr and Miss Darcy.”
“Impossible!” she would have exclaimed but she just closed her eyes, for she had but a moment before regained her calm and confidence.
