He soon fell asleep, leaving the colonel alone with the desolation that had passed from one heart to the other—and from which he knew he could not easily be freed, for the restoration of peace was never so simple as Darcy hoped.
Chapter 33
The Academy was alive with activity. From the classrooms came, at times, a pleasant murmur, at times the voice of a teacher—now severe, now gentle—and from the music room floated clear and melodious notes.
“The harp?” asked Mr Clinton in surprise and pleasure, as he walked beside Mary along the corridor where most of the classrooms were situated.
“Yes. We found a lady who plays divinely upon the harp. One of the mothers recommended her, and though I believed we should have difficulty in finding girls desirous of learning such an instrument, five had been truly delighted.”
“Excellent!” Mr Clinton was exceedingly gratified by the manner in which the year continued. Even though Miss Elizabeth had arrived one term after the school had commenced, in the Easter Term, which began on April 20, now, in the third and final—the Michaelmas Term, lasting from October 10 until the Christmas holiday—he already felt that the bustle had restored the Academy to that state of serious activity ithad once enjoyed in Mrs Clinton’s time. Moreover, Miss Mary’s decision to devote herself also to the school had been that happy occurrence which had turned a good state into an excellent one.
There was a new spirit within those walls, full of energy and an eagerness to learn, which he found with delight among the pupils. He looked at Mary with great affection. He had not known her before; to him, Miss Mary Bennet was this accomplished young woman, unusually well read, ever ready to assist her sister in all matters concerning the Academy, yet secretly dreaming of being only a teacher. He had been astonished to learn that she was younger than Miss Elizabeth, for from the first she had appeared more reserved, possessing a wisdom beyond her years, and that constant desire to explain which many lady teachers retained even outside the classroom. But he valued this quality highly—it was precisely what the Academy required. At times, he even allowed her to explain things at length, for it amused him. Yet, Mary was not without humour herself, a gift which always happily completed a person’s character.
“And you?” he asked with curiosity. “What do you intend to teach?”
Mary already gave lessons in literature, but he suspected she wished for something more. She regarded him thoughtfully. Her spectacles lent her a somewhat severe air, and he tried not to smile, for he guessed she was about to begin a discourse. Yet on that bright October morning, he surprised himself by finding that it was precisely what he desired. It seemed to him that the Academy had come to life again, and more than once he had dreamt of Margaret smiling. He did not believe in dreams, yet he was glad to remember her thus—cheerful and serene—for he had been too long in mourning.
Mary launched into an animated exposition on the necessity of teaching the girls history, of telling them of women who, in former times, had ruled kingdoms and empires.
“You mean to teach history, then?”
Mary reflected for a moment. “Not quite—that is, I do not intend to take Miss Brown’s place, but rather, as I said, to offer them examples of strong women, even in a world of men—”
“Excellent!” exclaimed Mr Clinton warmly.
“You might stop me,” she said in a playful tone that pleased him exceedingly.
“Why should I?”
“Because you are a man, and I am attacking your world. That is how change begins…sometimes a person as insignificant as I may kindle a spark that could grow into a fire—”
“I hope not within the Academy,” he laughed. “And besides, you are far from insignificant. I should say you are quite the reverse.”
“So this is how some of us spend our mornings!”
The voice, cheerful yet reproving, left no doubt as to who it was. They turned and discovered Elizabeth. Deep in conversation, they had not heard her approach. In her usual haste, she paused only for a moment beside them.
“Two more girls from the youngest class are to arrive today. We had a long conversation with them, and we are both delighted with their lively minds.”
Mary assented. They had received back all the former pupils, yet had resolved that, in future, admissions should be selective, so that the selection itself might become a mark of distinction for their Academy.
“Miss Darcy has not returned,” Mary whispered to Mr Clinton after Elizabeth had disappeared into the library.
“Why not?” he asked. “She was but sixteen, I think.”
Mary lifted her shoulders helplessly. She suspected the reason, but the matter concerned Elizabeth, and she would never discuss such a thing—not even with Mr Clinton. He valued this quality in her above all others. Loyalty was essential, and Mary possessed it in full measure.
“A pity,” she said at last. “I liked Miss Darcy—perhaps a little too timid, yet full of charm and eager to improve. She plays the pianoforte beautifully. I believe she must be unhappy if this decision was not her own.”
That was all she said, but Mr Clinton understood, and, remembering that young man he had liked—and with whom he had unknowingly contended for Miss Elizabeth—he could not help but reflect. The victory had been his, or rather, the Academy’s. Yet he felt some regret for the gentleman, for the suffering born of love is a condition that too often drives one to rash deeds. He would have liked to ask Miss Mary more, for he had since learnt that the gentleman was already betrothed to Lady Elizabeth, whom he knew well, she having attended the Academy for three years. But he refrained, for he was certain that Miss Mary would only have blushed and fallen silent. And, after all, that too was what he liked in her—that air of modesty, sincerity, and gentle reserve which adorned so gifted a young woman.
Instead, he merely said, “Indeed. I am also sorry that Miss Darcy has not returned.”
Chapter 34
Though an air of contentment reigned within the walls of Mrs Margaret Clinton’s Academy, the same could not be said of Lord Matlock’s house. For several days, Georgiana had been staying with her aunt. Though this in itself was nothing unusual, for the young lady often sought female company in that agreeable household, the circumstances were new, for the first time in her life, Georgiana found herself displeased with her brother.
At the end of September, Darcy had informed her that she was not to return to the Academy, where she had passed the happiest year of her life, immediately following the calamity at Ramsgate, when she had stood on the brink of disgrace.
