Susan

A Jane Austen Prequel

by Alice McVeigh

Introduction to the extract from Chapter 6

Sixteen-year-old Susan Smithson – pretty but poor, clever but capricious – has been fortunate enough to attract the patronage of intimidating Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

After meeting her at the de Bourgh mansion, the Earl of Mornay kindly included her in an invitation to a ball. There she was charmed by his saturnine younger brother, Mr Oliver.

As this chapter opens, she has been requested to accompany Lady Catherine to a concert at the Argyll Rooms, in London…

Lady Catherine surveyed her. ‘I find your gown very suitable, Miss Smithson. At any rate, one sees a great many dressed worse, and – I suspect – at far greater expense.’ And in the carriage, ‘I cannot devise why the streets should be so crowded. Surely not everyone is attending the concert!’

Susan agreed. She had decided that it was most politic to agree with her ladyship on every occasion, unless she could submit some observation likely to amuse, or to pique her curiosity. As they neared the concert hall her own spirits rose. She enjoyed the attention as she was handed down from the coach, and as she entered the vestibule, a few graceful steps behind her patroness. A single glance proved that neither the Earl of Mornay nor his brother was present, but the concert began so promptly that she had little further leisure for observation.

Salomon himself was leading the orchestra. He was still reckoned the finest in London, though Susan thought he bobbed about rather comically, as if his musicians were unable to encompass their own violin or double bass parts without him.

‘Well met, Miss Smithson!’ she heard, from the row behind. It was Mr Sullivan, her musical acquaintance, who added, ‘Have you come to hear the divine one?’

Lady Catherine intervened, rather tartly. ‘She has accompanied me, Mr Sullivan, because Colonel Fitzwilliam is not in town. He is still poorly; he has not been entirely well for some time. In fact, I believe Mr Darcy is quite concerned about him… Fitzwilliam is the elder of course, by several years.’

‘So I should have supposed, ma’am, though perhaps it is merely that he has a more sombre mien. But’ – in real consternation – ‘should the Colonel delay beyond next week, he will miss hearing Catalani completely!’

‘I doubt that would be of such consequence to him as it might be to you,’ said her ladyship. As soon as her attention was captured by another acquaintance, Mr Sullivan leaned forward and whispered to Susan, ‘It is a sad, sad tale, of course!’

‘Why, what tale do you mean?’

‘Did you never hear that the Colonel was also in love with Darcy’s wife?’

‘No – truly?’

‘Well, he is so guarded a fellow that no one can be certain – but he has seemed quite a different creature the four or five years since.’

Susan thought Catalani was indeed divine, though her mouth moved rather oddly when she sang. In the interval she was introduced to several patrons as ‘my protégée, Miss Smithson,’ and once she overheard Lady Catherine saying, ‘From Somerset. Her father was in the Guards.’ She also heard some stranger remarking, ‘fainted in the foyer, I understand, and could not rise for half an hour.’ Though another lady, magnificently bejewelled, mistook her for Lady Catherine’s niece and was promptly snubbed, ‘for that lady, as you must know, is Miss Georgiana Darcy.’

Now Susan had long been intrigued by the notion of this niece, and longed to hear more. She knew of course of Lady Catherine’s eminent nephew, Mr Darcy, but had never seen either him or his wife, as they lived quite northwards, and preferred the country to the town. But Georgiana, sister to Mr Darcy, seemed rather a mystery. Why was she never with her ladyship? Was she nervous – was she shy – was she peevish? Or was she simply spoilt, with her £30,000 and all her reputed accomplishments?

As the music began again, she suddenly saw him, making himself pleasant to a pale young lady in white. She glanced away, furious to find herself colouring. For what was Mr Oliver to her? – He would certainly not approach her, did not appear to have even seen her. Yet how her heart sped! The orchestra was essaying some endless work. How the violoncellists sweated – how Salomon wagged his bow about! She was wondering when Signora Catalani was to reappear when she heard Mr Sullivan say to someone, ‘Infernally warm, is it not?’

It was he. He had moved, as if on purpose, to sit just behind. During the bustle that followed the bass singer’s entrance, he tapped her on the shoulder: ‘Forgive me, surely I cannot be mistaken – Miss Smithson, is it not?’

She turned, exhibiting a very pretty profile, and a very pretty confusion as well.

‘Why, Mr Oliver! I did not know that you were here.’

‘I have only just arrived.’

‘You are in luck, for Catalani is expected to sing again.’

‘I hear that she is in very fine form, indeed.’

What he said was merely the same as any other man might say, thought Susan, but he had so powerful a presence that she felt unnerved. Lady Catherine then turned around to rebuke the speaker. However, as the gentleman half-bowed, she relented, observing, ‘Ah, Mr Oliver, of course. And you met Miss Smithson –?’

‘At my brother’s ball.’

Lady Catherine looked surprised and Susan, with sinking heart, realised that, until that moment, her patroness had likely considered herself the only person of any consequence to have taken the slightest notice of her. How strenuously she wished that her ladyship would not be offended! At that point the bass singer began some endless lament. (‘Why do Italians never sing of anything but lacerated hearts?’ she wondered.) Then Lady Catherine said, so audibly that several people turned to listen, ‘So, you visited at Mornay’s, did you?’

‘Indeed, ma’am, but only once.’

‘The Earl’s manners are reckoned quite a pattern.’

‘He hardly spoke to me, ma’am.’

‘I should think not. And did you enjoy the house?’

At the conclusion of the section, Lady Catherine observed a friend whom she wished to speak to. Soon afterwards, as she had half-anticipated and half-feared – Susan found Mr Oliver at her elbow, his eyes as mischievous as Frank Churchill’s.

‘And so, did you survive the inquisition?’

‘It is as if she wishes to own me!’

‘She might not be alone in that.’

They were interrupted by a very fashionable young lady, who upbraided Mr Oliver with spirit, for having failed to appear at some event at which he had been expected.

After Catalani had finished, Susan glanced around for Mr Oliver in vain. He arrived late, he left early: he was maddening. But the strength of those shoulders, the intensity of those eyes!

Lady Catherine, meanwhile, had the air of being most comfortably settled. Engaging Susan’s attention with a glance, she said, with her customary air of command, ‘Miss Smithson, I might remain some little while. Perhaps you would prefer to procure a chair?’

Susan curtseyed and slipped down the stairs, like a schoolgirl unexpectedly released from class. But to requisition a chair, after such an important concert, was by no means as simple a proposition as her ladyship had supposed. Innumerable carriages passed, and any number of chairs, but none was empty. In the end, Susan decided to return to the hall. As she began to ascend the steps, she met Mr Oliver, coming down.

‘Why, Miss Smithson, and all alone? Surely her ladyship has not deserted you?’

‘She is engaged, sir, but I can find no chair.’

‘Then allow me to accompany you – for this is probably the direst place in town in which to requisition a chair. I pray, take my arm.’

‘I do not wish to put you to any trouble,’ she faltered.

Susan felt uncertain about accepting a young man’s protection, in such a place and in such a way. But she had insufficient energy to resist, and her feelings were in a most disordered state, as they set off together. Outside, he twice attempted to flag down a sedan chair, but both were taken by people on the opposite side of the street.

‘Do not worry, Miss Smithson. We shall be more fortunate another time. I trust you enjoyed La Catalani?’

‘I did.’

‘You do not sound entirely convinced, however.’

‘Oh! I was! – though I wondered at her expression.’

‘In what respect? For her phrasing is exemplary, or so say all the best judges.’

‘I daresay,’ said Susan, ‘and I cannot pretend to any authority. But to me her voice seemed to possess a rather glassy perfection.’

He stopped to examine her, in the dim light. ‘Good heavens! Is it possible that you are discerning as well as beautiful?’

Susan felt herself colouring and removed her hand from his arm. ‘I think I should return to her ladyship, perhaps.’

‘Nay, do not go. I promise to be less impertinent – and besides, we have yet to locate a chair. Now tell me, Miss Smithson, for I long to know –’

But what he longed to know was never discovered. Just as another carriage passed, Susan’s new shoe was caught on a pavement stone. She stumbled and half-fell, but Mr Oliver caught her and clasped her securely – too securely. For half a moment, as another coach clattered by, she was unable to move, almost unable to breathe, a bird caught in a huntsman’s trap. Then she slipped away, and instinctively began running back towards the hall, the strings of her cape flying behind her.

She believed she heard him calling for her to wait – but she did not – and, in a shorter time than she could have imagined possible, she had located a chair and was on her way home. But with how disordered a mind!

What had he intended, by detaining her so? Was such boldness usual in fashionable young men, or had she truly been in danger? She was also nervous about the coaches that had passed them. Had it been obvious what had happened? And what if Lady Catherine were to hear of it and to blame her, for having left the hall – or even for running away?

Susan rushed from the chair to her uncle’s door, recalling some of Aunt Emily’s warnings. (‘A gentleman will never restrain you. Should this happen, you must instantly reprove him’… ‘A woman’s reputation is her most precious asset. Any rumour that she might be likely to yield is itself a stain, which might never be erased.’)

But had she truly been restrained by Mr Oliver? She had been in danger of falling, which might serve as his excuse – but she could not forget the moment when she had tried to move, and he had held her.

Only the dozing housekeeper awaited her: her aunt and uncle, in full dependence on her ladyship, had long since retired. Susan accepted a lit candle and ascended the stairs, still nervously wondering, ‘Am I safe?’

She was not to know until the morning.