Page 95 of The Secret Diary of Anne de Bourgh

I do not think I have ever been so glad of an interruption.

Darcy introduced them, and James greeted Mr Byerly with perfect good humour. Anybody entering the room then would have supposed that we had all been enjoying a very pleasant conversation, rather than one which was growing increasingly tense as James became increasingly overbearing.

Mr Byerly spoke of having made Darcy’s acquaintance in Derbyshire. James asked whether he had been visiting relations, and learnt of his sister’s marriage to Matthew Thurston.

Their conversation presently turned to Hugh’s wish to purchase an estate. He spoke warmly of all Darcy had taught him, and mentioned his recent visit to Rosings with Richard.

James looked towards me at that. I could not tell what he thought, but he became very attentive to Mr Byerly.

Later, when Hugh drew a chair nearer mine and asked whether Georgiana had recovered from her exertions at the Bingleys’, I noticed James watching us.

Richard remained where he was. He joined the conversation when addressed, but did not offer to reconsider his answer.

I was glad of that.

I had not liked the way James spoke of sending for him. Richard has done a great deal for his father since returning to England, and I know how readily he assists Darcy. I do not think it unreasonable that he should wish to be asked, rather than ordered.

James bade him goodbye quite pleasantly when he left, but I was not persuaded that he had ceased to be annoyed.

17 November

James thinks I ought to write to Lady Catherine.

He called while Darcy and Richard were out. Elizabeth was resting, but Georgiana and I were in the drawing-room, and for a little while he spoke of ordinary things.

Then he asked whether I had written to my mother lately.

“No,” I said, flatly.

“Then you ought to do so. A few affectionate lines would give her a great deal of pleasure.”

I looked down at the work in my lap, trying to conceal the distress even the mention of her name caused me. “I do not wish to write to her.”

“She is your mother, Anne.” James spoke very gently, as though I had said something which required a patient explanation. “Whatever has passed between you, surely you can spare her so small a kindness. You are comfortably situated here, with every attention paid to you. She has very little to make her happy.”

I did not know what to say to that. For a moment I felt ashamed of the comfortable room, and the fire, and the fact that I had been quite happy before he arrived.

Then I remembered that I had not always been comfortable.

“I am glad that she is being properly cared for,” I said. “But I do not wish to write an affectionate letter.”

“Must it be made into so considerable a matter? I am not asking you to visit her.”

Georgiana had put down her sewing. I could feel her watching me, though I did not quite dare to look at her. I could feel hot tears prickling at the backs of my eyelids, and I feared any sympathy in her expression would release the torrent which threatened.

James continued to explain how little was required of me. I need not discuss anything unpleasant. I might simply tell Lady Catherine of my health and occupations, and express a hope that she was well.

He made it sound very easy. I wondered whether he understood how many years I had spent being told that I must do whatever would please her, no matter how distressing or injurious to myself.

“I am not going to write,” I said stiffly.

His patience clearly diminished, he snapped: “I should be sorry to think that others had encouraged you to dwell upon imagined grievances.”

“Nobody has told me what to think,” I answered. “And my grievances were certainly not imagined. I was there, James. You were not.”

He looked displeased, and I was frightened that I had been rude. But I could not think how to apologise without appearing to withdraw what I had said.

Georgiana moved from her chair to the place beside me.