"A lovely complementary novel...
Austen would surely give her smile of approval."
—beverly wong, author of PRIDE & PREJUDICE PRUDENCE

The

Pemberley Chronicles

A Companion Volume to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice

a novel by

Rebecca Ann Collins

P

BOOK 1

The
Pemberley Chronicles
A Companion Volume to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice

DEVISED AND COMPILED BY

Rebecca Ann Collins By the Same Author

The Women of Pemberley Netherfield Park Revisited
The Ladies of Longbourn Mr Darcy’s Daughter My Cousin Caroline
Postscript from Pemberley Recollections of Rosings A Woman of Influence
The Legacy of Pemberley

Copyright © 2008 by Rebecca Ann Collins
Cover and internal design © 2008 by Sourcebooks, Inc. Cover photo © Bridgeman Art Library

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
FAX: (630) 961-2168
www.sourcebooks.com

Originally printed and bound in Australia by The Pink Panther. First published 1997. Reprinted 1998. Revised and reprinted May 1998. Reprinted 1999 and 2002. Revised and reprinted 2003. Reprinted 2004 and 2006 by SNAP Printing, Sydney, Australia.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Collins, Rebecca Ann.
The Pemberley Chronicles : A Companion Volume to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice /
Devised and Compiled by Rebecca Ann Collins
p. cm.
1. Bennet, Elizabeth (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Darcy, Fitzwilliam (Fictitious
character)—Fiction. 3. England—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction. I.
Austen, Jane, 1775–1817. Pride and Prejudice. II. Title.

PR9619.4.C65P46 2008 823'.92--dc22
2007049507 Printed and bound in the United States of America VP 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To the beloved Jane Austen

An Introduction . . .

A LIFELONG FAN OF JANE Austen, Rebecca Ann Collins first read Pride and Prejudice at the age of twelve and fell in love with its characters. Since then, she has gathered a wealth of information about its author and her work, seeking to inform herself about the life and times of the “Pemberley families.”

Two things set in train the current stage of her splendid obsession: the BBC’s magnificent production—which brought Jane Austen’s brilliant, witty story and characters so dramatically alive in a stunning visual context—and the appearance in bookshops of a rash of sequels. Some of these turned the lives of the characters into a soap opera in which Elizabeth and Darcy, for whom one had developed an abiding love and regard, appeared suddenly to behave like figures out of Dynasty! It was in this context that Miss Collins began work on the chronicles, placing her favourite characters in their original environment: nineteenth century England.

She at no time presumes to imitate the literary style of the original author, nor does she distort the essential core of main players, who are so well drawn in the novel, with tortuous twists of character or bizarre behaviour that seem gratuitous and hard to believe. Rebecca Collins is concerned to observe them in the context of an era of profound economic, political, and social change, perhaps the most dynamic period of English history, certainly the most interesting.

She observes them as they make their way through the changing landscape, with only an occasional push from the chronicler—a change of direction or emphasis rather than of character. All the main characters essentially remain recognisably Jane Austen’s, except that they age, mature, mellow, and sometimes depart the scene.

Children are born and others—both old and young—die, as they did in all the families that Miss Austen herself knew, personally. Consequences flow from tragedy and triumph alike. It was ever thus. As the Pemberley families face the changes that confronted all the people of England, Ms Collins, not content to hang the bland “happily ever after” tag upon them, observes the impact upon their lives. How Elizabeth, to whom Pemberley represented elegance and stability as well as love, copes with personal tragedy is as important as the influence of the commercial entrepreneurship of Mr Gardiner on the landed gentry facing rural recession.

Coincidentally, the author’s assumption of the pen name and identity of Rebecca Collins is a useful device, allowing her the freedom of an internal narrator, working from personal, anecdotal, and documentary sources within the Pemberley group, without appearing to take undue liberties with their privacy.

The story lines are clearly drawn and the characters observed with affection and humour, as one would expect from a member of their circle. All those interested in the story of Pride and Prejudice, its historical and social setting, will enjoy this companion volume.

If you watched spellbound as millions did as it unfolded on your television screen and, seeing the two couples drive away as the closing credits and that magic music rolled, you wondered where life would have taken them, then Emily Gardiner’s prologue, which opens the chronicles, will start you on that journey.

It is for these readers, and not for the J.A. Specialists or the literary establishment, that Rebecca Ann Collins has compiled The Pemberley Chronicles. It is to them, as much as to the beloved Miss Austen herself, that the book is dedicated.

November 1997.
viii PROLOGUE TO

The Pemberley Chronicles

T HE WEDDINGS ARE OVER. There are rose petals everywhere. Jane and Elizabeth Bennet have been married to Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy on a shining Autumn day, and everyone is smiling with the joy of sharing in their happiness. “They looked more beautiful than princesses,” said the little maids, Caroline and Emily Gardiner, who with Kitty Bennet and Georgiana Darcy had assisted the brides.

“Could anyone have looked happier than Lizzie?” asked her aunt. “Not unless you looked across at Jane, who seemed as if she was all lit up like a candle,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. Both bridegrooms looked extremely well. Mr Bingley was the favourite, of course, being universally charming. But even those who had reservations about Mr Darcy, thinking him proud and reserved when he first came to Netherfield, could not deny how well he looked: tall and very handsome, his countenance suffused with delight as he and Elizabeth stepped out into the sunlight.

Sir William Lucas said over and over that we were losing the brightest jewels in the county and Mr Darcy was a real dark horse, because no one had guessed he was in love with Lizzie, whereas everyone knew, he said, from the very first evening they met, that Mr Bingley had lost his heart to Jane. Sir William even claimed credit for the match, having been the first to call on Mr Bingley and invite him and his party to Meryton. He was boasting of his success to Mr and Mrs Gardiner, who knew a good deal more of these matters, being particular friends of both Mr Darcy and Elizabeth, but they just smiled and let him chatter on.

Later, on the way home they would comment that, had he known it was at the reception at Lucas Lodge that Mr Darcy had first noticed Lizzie’s beauty and found himself wanting to know her better, Sir William might have become quite impossibly conceited about his role in their marriage, too.

Jane and Charles Bingley are gone to London, where Charles wants to show off his beautiful wife, while Lizzie and Darcy have left for Oxford en route to the estates on the borders of Cheshire and Wales that are part of Darcy’s family inheritance. Mrs Gardiner, who helped Lizzie and Jane pack for their journeys, says Lizzie is longing to see Wales, never having visited the area before. They are all to meet in London some six weeks hence to dine with the Gardiners.

The servants gathered up the debris on the lawn, and the guests began to leave. Some of them seemed more reluctant to go than others. Mr Bennet looked as if he would like them to be gone, but Mrs Bennet would not stop talking, endlessly, to Mrs Long, Aunt Philips, Lady Lucas, and anyone else who would listen, detailing her joy at having her two most beautiful daughters so well married and settled. She was full of news too about Jane and Charles and their journey to London and bemoaned the fact that she knew so little of Elizabeth and Darcy’s plans, except the couple were to be at Pemberley for Christmas. She was still too much in awe of Mr Darcy to ask him outright.

As we were to learn later, while the Bingleys headed for London, Darcy hoped the time and the environment of the lovely border country would give Lizzie and himself a chance to be alone together as they never could, amidst the bustle of friends and families at Longbourn.

They broke journey and spent their first few days at a very pleasing hostelry outside the university town of Oxford. At Oxford, Darcy, a Cambridge man himself, took his wife to meet an old friend, a clergyman, who had spent some time at the Kympton living in Derbyshire prior to returning to continue his theological studies at Oxford. Dr Francis Grantley was two years Darcy’s senior, learned and witty with it, not at all sombre and pompous as some clergymen one could name! “Poor Charlotte,” Elizabeth sighed for her

x

friend as she recalled with a shudder the silliness of Mr Collins. Dr Grantley was quite another matter, said Elizabeth in her letter to Mrs Gardiner, written before the couple left Oxford:

I am sure, my dear Aunt, that you would like him very much indeed. He is Mr Darcy’s dearest friend and they have known one another for many years, since Dr Grantley was assistant to the curate at Kympton, the picturesque little parish we visited in Derbyshire last Summer. We spent all day with him, visiting some of the wonderful libraries and College Chapels, including his own college, St John’s, which has a renowned Chapel choir and delightful gardens. Mr Darcy has invited Dr Grantley to return to the living at Kympton, which is now vacant, during his sabbatical and I for one would welcome it; we could do with another gentleman of education and taste at Pemberley!

Elizabeth was interrupted at this point by her husband, who came in to dress for dinner, having given instructions for their journey to Bristol on the following day. In a touching gesture, he had brought her a rose, picked fresh from the garden, taking her by surprise, as he would do often in the future. Recounting the incident to her aunt, Elizabeth confessed she was more pleasured by these unexpected and spontaneous expressions of affection, than by the ritualised courtliness affected by many men in smart society.

She let him read her letter while she completed her preparations. It was the first time she had let anyone other than Jane see any of her letters, and she was conscious of what it signified between them. That he was pleased with what he read, she knew from his smile as he handed it back to her and the warmth with which he embraced her before they left the room to go to dinner. There would be an openness between them that would enhance the intimacy of their marriage, and she was excited by its rich promise for their future together.

Later that night, Elizabeth rose quietly from bed as her husband slept, and finished her letter to Mrs Gardiner:

You will be happy to learn, dear Aunt, that my dear husband approves of my excellent judgement—not only with regard to my appreciation of Dr Grantley but more especially in my love and esteem for himself—as expressed earlier in

xi

my letter; both feelings, he assures me, are returned in full measure. I need not say again how very happy we are, but I almost fear that were I not to say it, you may not know how completely certain I am of the correctness of my decision to marry Mr Darcy. I know my dear father had his doubts, but you, I am sure, did not share them. Indeed, in your letter to me after Lydia’s dreadful faux pas, relating the part Mr Darcy played in resolving the problems caused by Wickham and Lydia’s stupidity, you were most generous in your praise of him, and had I not already realised that I loved him, I would certainly have been persuaded to look again at this paragon! I am so glad, however that I needed no such persuasion; having come to understand how deeply I cared for him, it was good to have your confirmation of his virtues. Since then, every occasion that we have been together, whether alone or in company, has only served to confirm my good opinion of him. Dear Aunt, he is a most generous and honourable gentleman and as I have discovered since our marriage, a truly loving husband.

Thank you again, my dearest Aunt and Uncle, for your part in bringing us together; for persuading me to visit Pemberley on that beautiful morning. We have spoken often of those Summer days in Derbyshire, and Mr Darcy agrees with me they will forever be part of our most precious memories. He sends you his love and best regards.

A sudden sound outside the window, and Darcy stirred in his sleep. Elizabeth, fearful of disturbing him, hurried to conclude her letter:

Mr Darcy tells me that Dr Grantley has agreed to spend his next sabbatical at Pemberley, where he will have access to the library for his work. He is, I am told, a theologian of some repute. Even better, he will be with us at Christmas, when you will be able to meet him, a pleasure I can promise you, with confidence. Georgiana will also be there, more pleasant company to look forward to.

We leave tomorrow for Bristol but are to stay at Clifton, so should you have time to write, we shall be at the Royal at Richmond Terrace for ten days.

It is late, and I should close this before I go to bed, so it will be in your hands as early as possible. Do give our love to the children and say we look
xii

forward to seeing them. (Caroline and Emily were the sweetest of little maids and though our bridesmaids Georgiana and Kitty were very handsome, the little ones got most of the compliments!)

I’ll say goodnight with love,
your affectionate niece, Lizzie.

The following morning, after breakfast, they left for Bristol. Elizabeth looked forward to the journey, which took them through Gloucestershire, with which she was not familiar. Darcy, on the other hand, had travelled these roads often en route to Cheltenham, Gloucester, and the family properties in Wales. He was, therefore, well informed and able to prepare Lizzie for the scenes and vistas to look out for as well as provide some of the information about the places they could visit along the way.

The countryside was new and interesting to her; there were many places to study and admire. Darcy was a particularly good teacher, and Elizabeth was eager to learn. It was, for her, a most satisfying and salutary experience. She was both disarmed and charmed by her husband’s patience in answering all of her questions and pleased to discover how much she could enjoy depending upon him.

Reaching their destination late in the afternoon, Elizabeth was tired with travelling all day, and Darcy, whose solicitude for his bride knew no bounds, insisted that she should go directly to their rooms, while he had their luggage carried upstairs. Within the next half-hour, not only did she find herself ensconced in a spacious and comfortable suite of rooms overlooking the river, well down from the bustle of Bristol, but a pleasant young woman had presented herself, offering her services as a lady’s maid. When Darcy appeared, some time later, he was accompanied by a manservant who brought in a collation of cold meats, cheese, bread, and fruit for the travellers, as well as wine and a great pot of tea to comfort the weary.

To complete her happiness, Darcy had in his hand a letter from Jane, which had awaited their arrival at Richmond Terrace. Elizabeth cried out and hugged him with an excess of enthusiasm that quite astonished and delighted her husband, who was singularly unaccustomed to such overt displays of affection. For Lizzie, no amount of appreciation was too much for the care and pleasure with which he had surrounded her.

xiii
As she later wrote to her sister Jane:
There was not one more thing I could have wished for, except perhaps to share my pleasure with you, dearest Jane, which I am doing now.

After they had eaten, Darcy went out for a walk around The Mall, urging his wife to take some more refreshment and rest awhile. Elizabeth was not at all averse to complying with his instructions. Comfortably tucked into a chaise lounge with a fire to warm the room, which was pleasantly invaded by an Autumn breeze, she opened up Jane’s letter. It was, just as Elizabeth had expected, full of her happiness and her husband’s kindness and love. Jane could barely get the words out to convey to her sister all the new experiences she was enjoying. Marriage, combined with the excitement of London, with its balls and parties and crowded shops, a rush of new places and people—she must have been left breathless by it all. It was almost with relief that Lizzie read that they were to spend a week away at Maidenhead, at the invitation of one of Bingley’s friends.

Oh Lizzie, I have to confess we are both looking forward to it mainly for the peace and quiet. We have spent so little time alone for we are forever surrounded by kind friends, who will insist on our dining or going out to balls with them. They are all full of compliments and mostly very charming, but I tire of all this and long to curl up on the sofa and dream as we used to . . .

Elizabeth laughed out loud, since this was exactly what she was doing. She knew just what Jane meant as she read on:
Dearest Lizzie, do you recall our conversation on the night before our wedding?

Elizabeth remembered it well. Despite the conviction that they had both made the right decision in accepting two of the most eligible, fine, handsome, young men they were ever likely to meet, there had been a moment of trepidation as the two sisters had embraced before parting that night. That they loved their chosen partners they knew only too well, for they had carried the secret in their hearts over many months. Nor were they in any doubt that they were deeply loved by two men, who had made them the envy of ladies for miles around.

Still, there was anxiety perhaps from the lack of an example of a happy marriage at home, for though they rarely spoke of it, Jane and Elizabeth knew that their parents’ lack of mutual respect and understanding and their obvious incompatibility had made for a very poor sort of marriage. Both sisters had been determined never to fall into such a trap, however well baited it may be. Elizabeth remembered her aunt’s sage advice, when she had thought—nay feared—that Lizzie might be falling in love with Wickham. A cold shiver passed through her at the thought of her escape.

Jane’s happiness and her confidence in the love she had found with Charles Bingley spilled across the pages of her letter:

My dear Sister, I want so much to set your heart at rest on my behalf. I have been so blessed that I have no doubts at all and indeed I wonder at my ever having had them. Mr Bingley has made me so happy. Lizzie, I am the happiest person in the world!

Once more, Elizabeth laughed, this time softly and indulgently, as her mind slid gently on to the subject of her own marriage and the happiness she and Mr Darcy were finding each day they spent together. The letter fell to the floor, as she gazed out at the distant horizon across the river, letting her thoughts follow. It was in this pleasant reverie that Darcy found her when he returned from his walk.

On reading Jane’s letter, he understood her mood and was happy to match it for the rest of the evening. As on previous occasions, when they had been alone together, neither needed to say very much to express feelings deeply held: sensations that Darcy had struggled for months to overcome and Elizabeth had not known she could feel. Yet, now, as they discovered their need for each other, they flowed easily and naturally. As always, there was a mixture of passion and playfulness between them; of laughter and love, which would ensure that theirs would be an ardour free of the cloying effects of excess. Elizabeth’s excellent sense of humour and Darcy’s quiet dignity would always lighten and balance their marriage.

Elizabeth decided to postpone her reply to Jane for a day or two. She wanted time to absorb and enjoy the experiences she was sharing with her husband. She did not feel capable of putting her present emotions on paper; she could barely

xv

express them to the man she loved so much and then only with some degree of shyness and much loving encouragement. She longed to share her joy with her beloved sister but wanted more time to hold it close to her own heart first.

J

Clifton and its salubrious environs afforded Elizabeth and Darcy many hours of entertainment. Having visited many more castles—old and new, some in the strange pseudo-Gothic style—than either of them had hoped to see in their lives, they decided they would see no more but would enjoy a leisurely drive through the West Country. They stopped at Kingsweston to admire the exquisite prospect stretching across three counties, broke journey at Cheltenham, and then proceeded to cross the border into what was for Elizabeth new, uncharted territory amongst the mountains and valleys of Wales.

The wildness of the Welsh landscape, at times almost over-powering, added a new dimension to their enjoyment. Travelling slowly, without the pressure of timetables, Darcy and Elizabeth found time and solitude conducive to their mood. That Darcy ardently and sincerely loved her, Elizabeth was left in no doubt. For her part, she was learning to enjoy being so deeply loved and found new excitement in falling more in love with a man she admired and esteemed. That this man was now her husband—a circumstance unthinkable a mere six months ago—made her smile.

More and more she longed for the days when they would be at Pemberley together, the environment in which she was sure they would find the greatest happiness, where their dearest wishes could be fulfilled. As they travelled, they had talked of their future plans, and Darcy made it very clear to Elizabeth that she would be Mistress of Pemberley in her own right and should feel quite comfortable with her role. He invited her to talk with Mrs Reynolds and suggest what changes she felt were needed. “You must feel free to suggest whatever you decide is appropriate, Lizzie, because Pemberley is your home now, and I shall depend on you to tell me what needs to be done to improve it.”

It was of no use to protest that there appeared to be very little that needed improving in such a gracious dwelling. Darcy would reply with a degree of reasonableness that there was always something that needed improvement.

Darcy was finding that he was enjoying more and more the lightness and humour that Lizzie constantly brought into their life together. Almost in spite of himself, he enjoyed her teasing ways and often found himself responding in like manner. As he later confessed to Bingley, Lizzie was clever enough to balance playfulness and gravity with ease, never overdoing one or the other, and her keen sensibility told exactly how far she could go, never embarrassing her husband in any way. While this was new to Darcy, it had also brought an element of fun and liveliness into his life, which had been too serious for too long. Since his father’s death, he had carried all the responsibilities of his family, and it had left very little time for the lighter side of life. He was almost thirty years of age and determined that the next decade of his life was going to be a good deal more interesting than the last. With Elizabeth at his side, he was sure this would be easily achieved.

Before leaving for London, Lizzie wrote to Jane with news of all the fascinating places they had visited and yet could not hide her longing to see her sister:

I would have written before, dear Jane, but for the reluctance I felt to put pen to paper, knowing we were still weeks away from seeing you. Now we are but five days from being in London, I can write and know that there will be but a day or two at most from the moment this letter is in your hands to the time we shall see you again. Can it be five weeks since we left Longbourn? You and Mr Bingley to speed to the excitement of London, while Mr. Darcy and I have wandered through several counties—at a most leisurely pace. And yet, from your letter and my own feelings there appears to be no difference in the degree of our happiness. Pray, dearest Jane, that it will be ever thus.

Elizabeth explained that Mr Darcy had business in London, which involved both Bingley and their Uncle Gardiner. He had suggested that the ladies might take in the theatre and the London shops and perhaps, a soirée at one of London’s salons.

I cannot tell you how highly Mr Darcy rates the advice he seeks from our Uncle Gardiner. This, dear sister, is especially pleasing to me, because I already knew that he liked both our Uncle and Aunt exceedingly well, ever since our chance meeting at Pemberley, last Summer. However, to know that he would seek them out for advice, denotes a new level of regard, not at all a part of his desire to please me.

xvii

His appreciation of Mr Gardiner’s experience and judgement and Mrs Gardiner’s good taste and subtle gentility had endeared Darcy to her quite early in their courtship. This new evidence of his respect only strengthened her esteem and love for him.

The letter she had received from Mrs Gardiner had remained unanswered until they were two days from London, since plans had already been agreed between them to dine with the Gardiners. Writing a short note, which Darcy arranged to send by express with some papers for her uncle, Lizzie entreated her aunt to forgive her for not writing more fully, but promised that there would be many hours to spend together, while their husbands attended to business, when the three of them would scarcely catch breath for all the news they would have to impart to each other:

I promise you, my dearest Aunt, that Jane and I will be at your command—it will be almost like it was before last Summer. Oh, how much has happened since then! Mr Darcy and I look forward most eagerly to being with you very soon. He sends his love to all of you.

Your loving niece, Lizzie.
THE PEMBERLEY CHRONICLES

Part One

CHAPTER ONE

Reunions

S

INCE HER MARRIAGE TO Mr Darcy some seven weeks ago, Elizabeth had wanted for nothing to complete her happiness, unless it was a chance to see her sister Jane again. Which is why her excitement increased

markedly as they drove into London and around mid-morning found themselves approaching Mr Bingley’s house in Grosvenor Street. Her husband could not conceal his amusement, as she cried out, “There they are!” like a little girl on her first visit to the city. As the carriage pulled up, she could barely wait to be helped out, before she flung herself into the welcoming arms of her sister.

Charles Bingley, who had been waiting beside Jane, smiled broadly as he exchanged greetings with Darcy, now his brother-in-law. They waited for the sisters to break from their warm and tearful embrace, the men’s expressions of indulgent affection mixed with a degree of helplessness. It was Mr Bingley who intervened as the servants unloaded the travellers’ trunks onto the footpath. Putting a solicitous arm around his wife and her sister, he said, “Shall we go indoors and let the luggage be taken upstairs?” He led them indoors, while Darcy followed, carrying Elizabeth’s silk shawl, which had slipped off her shoulders as the sisters embraced.

They passed from the open hall into the comfort of a warm, pleasant room, where a fire crackled in the grate and a sideboard with an ample array of food and drink welcomed the travellers. While the gentlemen helped themselves to sherry and warmed themselves in front of the fire, Jane and Lizzie escaped upstairs, ostensibly so that Lizzie could divest herself of her travelling clothes and boots.

There was nothing the sisters wanted more than the privacy of a bedroom, where they hugged and kissed again as the words tumbled out, with neither able to wait for the other to finish a sentence. There was mutual acknowledgement that they had missed each other, they were both blissfully happy, they had the best husbands in the world, and they wished everyone could be as blessed as they were. The only matter upon which they could not agree was the question of which of them was the happier.

There was so much to tell, but it had to wait awhile; Jane promised they would have the afternoon to themselves as Bingley had planned to take Darcy out to his club to meet mutual friends.

Coming downstairs, they found Georgiana Darcy and Mrs Annesley come to call; they were staying in town at Mr Darcy’s elegant townhouse in Portman Square and had been invited over by Jane to meet the returning couple. Georgiana, whose love for her brother was matched only by her devotion to her sister-in-law, whom she regarded as the sister she had always longed for, greeted Elizabeth with warmth and affection. Jane, looking on, wished she too could feel the same confidence of gaining the affection and approval of her in-laws, Caroline Bingley and Mrs Hurst. She felt not a little sadness as she saw the obvious satisfaction that Darcy felt as Lizzie and Georgiana embraced and talked together for all the world like loving sisters.

But, being Jane, she soon shook herself free of any trace of melancholy, as her husband came to her side and whispered, “I’ve arranged to take Georgiana and Mrs Annesley back to Portman Square, after which Darcy and I will go on to Brooks for an hour or two—that should give you and Lizzie plenty of time together. How would you like that, my love?” Jane replied that she would like it very much indeed and added her heartfelt thanks to her husband, whose sensitivity was a source of constant pleasure. As she said later to Lizzie, “I can hardly believe that he is so good and kind a man and yet preferred me above all others, knowing he could quite easily have had any of a dozen young ladies of greater substance and standing than myself.” To which, Lizzie’s reply was a reproachful reminder to her sister not to let her natural modesty trap her into undervaluing herself.

“For there is no one I know with a nature as good or a disposition as sweet as yours. Believe me, Jane, Mr Bingley is well aware of it and is considered, by his friends, to be a singularly fortunate man.”

Earlier, they had partaken of a light luncheon of fresh rolls, sliced ham, cheese, and fruit, with tea, hot chocolate, or wine, as desired, before Georgiana and her companion left with the two gentlemen, who promised to be back in time for dinner. As the servants cleared away the remains of the repast, the two sisters returned upstairs to the comfort of Jane’s boudoir to spend the rest of the afternoon in the kind of happy exchange of news and views that only two loving friends—both newly wed and blissfully happy—could hope to enjoy. Unhappily, the news from Longbourn was not good. Mrs Bennet, whose health was never the best, had not been well, having suffered from exhaustion after giving away two of her daughters at once. Their father, in his last letter to Jane, had asked that Lizzie be permitted to complete her travels undisturbed by this news.

“You know how it is, poor Mama will insist on having everyone over for Christmas; but this year, Lizzie, your kind invitation to us and Uncle and Aunt Gardiner to spend Christmas at Pemberley has relieved Mama of the strain. Because she cannot undertake the journey to Derbyshire, Papa has decided that he will remain with her at Longbourn, while Mary and Kitty will travel North with Aunt Gardiner,” Jane explained. At this piece of bad news, Lizzie cried out, for she had been hoping so much to have her father at Pemberley, because she wanted him to see how happy she really was, especially in view of the doubts he had expressed at the time of Mr Darcy’s proposal of marriage.

Jane offered some comfort, “Lizzie, Mr Bingley and I have talked about this. We knew how disappointed you would be if Papa could not be with you, so we have a plan. How would it be if Mr Bingley and I returned home at the New Year and had Mama to stay at Netherfield, so Papa could come to you for a few weeks?”

“Has he agreed to this?” asked her sister, somewhat surprised. “Not yet, but we think he will, if Mr Darcy will ask him, tomorrow,” said Jane. “Tomorrow?” Lizzie was astonished and more so when Jane replied, “He is to be at Aunt Gardiner’s where, you will remember, we are all asked to dine tomorrow.”
Elizabeth’s pleasure at the news that she would see her father sooner than expected was much enhanced by the realisation that her sister Jane had gained in marriage a totally new confidence. If there was one criticism that could have been made against Jane, for all her sweetness of nature and strength of character, it was a diffidence—a reluctance to make judgements. To Elizabeth, it seemed as if this tiny flaw, if one could call it that, had disappeared since her marriage to Mr Bingley. However, she said nothing, not wanting to embarrass her sister. Besides there was so much to talk of their new lives, their husbands, their travels and so much love and happiness, that they quite forgot the time, until a maid ran upstairs to tell them the gentlemen were back.
Lizzie wished to bathe before dressing for dinner, and the luxury of a hot bath scented with lavender oils, prepared for her by Jane’s maid, reminded her that this was London and not the inns of Gloucestershire or Wales, which, despite their charm, had been less than modern in their toilet facilities.
When they joined the gentlemen downstairs, they found there, to their surprise, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had not been heard from since their weddings, when he had carried out his duties as Darcy’s groomsman with aplomb.
Having greeted both sisters with affection and expressed satisfaction at finding them looking so well, he let Bingley explain his presence. “We found him at the club, where he has been staying all week,” said Bingley, which led Jane to protest that he should have come to them.
“You could have stayed here, we have many empty rooms.”
“I did not wish to intrude,” Fitzwilliam said apologetically, “and I had no idea when Darcy and Elizabeth were expected.”
“Well, you are here now, and you must stay,” said Bingley firmly, as if that was the end of the matter, “until your ship is to sail.” Amid cries of astonishment from the ladies of “What ship?” and “Where is he sailing to?” Fitzwilliam explained that he’d been at a loose end after the end of the war with France, and when he was offered a berth on a ship going to the new colonies of Ceylon and India, he had accepted. “That’s the other side of the world!” said Jane, but Fitzwilliam assured her it was opening up fast and many people were going out there.
“I wanted a change of scene,” he added by way of explanation.
It was an explanation Jane did not fully accept. Later that night, she reminded her sister that it was Charlotte’s opinion that Fitzwilliam had been very partial to her, when they had been at Rosings last year, before Mr Darcy entered the picture. Elizabeth laughed and brushed it aside as a rumour, mainly a product of young Maria Lucas’ romantic imagination. Fitzwilliam had left promising to return the following day to go with them to the Gardiners, to whom also he wished to say his farewells.
As they went to bed that night, Darcy and Elizabeth both agreed on the remarkable change in Jane since her marriage. It was a change Darcy welcomed for her sake and that of his friend, Bingley. “She will make him a stronger and better wife, and that will make him a stronger and better man,” he said, adding more gently, “it was an aspect of your beautiful sister I used to worry about, my love, because I knew how important it was for Bingley.” Ever ready to tease her husband, Elizabeth asked if he’d had any doubts about her own strength, to which Darcy replied firmly, “None at all, because, my dearest, you never left me in any doubt right from the start. Indeed, it was what I first admired in you, apart from your beautiful eyes, of course.”
So pleased was his wife with this response that she stopped teasing and relaxed into the gentleness that she knew he loved. Darcy had never doubted his own feelings; Lizzie wanted him to have no doubt at all of hers. On such openheartedness was their marriage founded that concealment or archness was unthinkable.
The following day, plans were made to visit the shops on the other side of town, since the ladies wished to see the shoemakers and milliners. While breakfast was being cleared away, a carriage drew up, and, to the huge delight of their nieces, Mr and Mrs Gardiner were announced. The visitors, though unexpected, were warmly welcomed, especially by Mr Darcy. Elizabeth noted with great satisfaction the obvious pleasure with which he greeted them, and the sincerity of his welcome left no doubt in her mind of his regard and affection for them.
Mr Darcy’s instant response of open friendliness and respect for her aunt and uncle, when they first met at Pemberley last Summer, had been the turning point in her own appreciation of his character. Their relationship had grown slowly and with increasing confidence upon this foundation. It had grown in strength, and each time they had met with the Gardiners, whose estimation of Darcy was of the highest order, Elizabeth found her opinion endorsed by them. That Darcy, whose family had, by his own admission to her, encouraged an inordinate level of pride in class and status, could have developed such a strong relationship with Mr and Mrs Gardiner, was remarkable in itself. That his behaviour to them was not merely correct in every particular of courtesy and etiquette, but was genuine in the friendship and affection he showed them at every turn, was proof enough for her that her husband was a man of estimable qualities. That she could be so much in love with a man she had almost loathed a year ago was well nigh miraculous!
Elizabeth knew she could have married him in spite of his low opinion of the stupidity of her sister Lydia or the silliness of her mother, but never could she have formed an alliance with anyone who did not share her love and regard for her favourite aunt and uncle. Their mutual respect was now something she took completely for granted. It was an essential part of their love for each other.
It was agreed that the ladies would drive to the shops in Mr Gardiner’s carriage, while the gentlemen would stay behind to discuss matters of business. Soon, capes, shawls, and bonnets were fetched, and they set out determined that they would not be seduced into buying French fashions, which seemed to be in vogue! In the carriage together, Lizzie and Jane were keen to discover what business it was that their husbands were discussing. Mrs Gardiner was able to enlighten them, just a little. “I do not know the detail of it, my dears, but I believe your husbands have been clever enough to realise the great opportunities for trade with the new colonies and have expressed a wish to invest in your uncle’s business. I think a partnership has been suggested.”
“A partnership!” Both sisters were intrigued. They were well aware of the Bingleys’ links with trade—it was the source of their fortune—but Darcy?
Elizabeth felt sure he would tell her all about it, when there was more to tell. Having satisfied some of their curiosity, Mrs Gardiner protested she was far more interested to hear how her favourite nieces were enjoying being married. The girls had no difficulty convincing their aunt of their current state of bliss; she could see for herself. “And what about Christmas?” she asked, to which Lizzie replied, “That’s been settled—you are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas.”
And so they went out to the shops in excellent humour and spent an hour or more in the pleasantest way. Lizzie bought some new boots—her own were worn with travelling, she declared, and Mrs Gardiner insisted on buying her nieces two pairs of French gloves in the most modish colours of the season. Mrs Gardiner was delighted to find Jane and Lizzie so happy. She was young enough to understand the intoxicating effects of love and marriage on two lovely young women, recently wedded to two of the most eligible young men one could hope to meet.
When they returned to Grosvenor Street, they parted almost at once, since the Gardiners had to hurry back to await Mr Bennet, who was arriving by coach around midday. Driving back to Gracechurch Street, Mr Gardiner was as anxious as his wife had been to hear the news about his nieces. “And how are Mrs Darcy and Mrs Bingley, my dear? Such grand names!” he said in jest, almost mimicking his sister, Mrs Bennet.
Mrs Gardiner was delighted to tell him of their happiness, “I am so pleased, Edward, I could not be more so if they were my own daughters. Indeed, I should be well pleased if Caroline and Emily were half as fortunate as Jane and Lizzie.”
It was a verdict she was to repeat to her brother-in-law, Mr Bennet, over lunch, appreciating his keenness to hear news of his daughters. Her husband added, “And having spent quite some time with Mr Darcy recently, what with one thing and another, I can safely endorse those sentiments, Brother. There would not be two young men more deserving of your wonderful daughters than Mr Darcy and his excellent friend, Mr Bingley.”
Mr Bennet waited impatiently for the evening, when he would see his beloved Jane and Lizzie again. His memories of their wedding day were a blur of activity, smiles, and the unending chattering of his wife. He had missed his daughters terribly and longed to know they were happy. When the party from Grosvenor Street arrived, Mr Bennet noted that Jane and Lizzie looked extremely well.
The young Misses Gardiner—Caroline and Emily, given special permission to dine late with their cousins—admired the exquisite jewels, gifts from their husbands, and fine gowns they wore and begged Lizzie to tell them all about the wonderful places she had visited.
After dinner, there came the usual request for music. Lizzie obliged with a song and invited Caroline and Emily to join her in a pretty ballad, which they had all learned last Summer. It was a great success, and an encore was immediately demanded. Fitzwilliam, who had a fine tenor voice, was pressed into service next; he delighted everyone by singing a pretty little duet with young Miss Caroline Gardiner, whose sweet, clear voice harmonised perfectly with his. Mr and Mrs Gardiner looked so proud that Jane, sitting with her aunt, thought she would surely weep with joy, but she merely gripped her niece’s hand very tightly and applauded enthusiastically when it was over. Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed deeply and kissed Miss Gardiner’s little hand in a very gallant gesture, at which Bingley jumped to his feet and applauded again.
Mr Bennet did not need to ask if his daughters were happy. He could see, from the glow on Jane’s face and the sparkle in Lizzie’s eyes, that they had no regrets about the men they had chosen to wed. Watching his sons-in-law as they stood engaged in animated discussion, he turned to Lizzie, who had just brought him his coffee, “I have to say, Lizzie, that Mr Darcy appears to be much more cheerful and relaxed. Marriage has done him a deal of good, and it must be all your own good work, eh?” “Whatever do you mean, Papa?” asked Lizzie, pretending to be quite unable to understand his drift.
“Why, Lizzie, I have never seen Mr Darcy smile so much and look so pleased. I do believe I even heard him tell a joke—or perhaps that was Bingley?”
“Well, I did assure you he was perfectly amiable, did I not?”
“You did, my dear . . .” he began, but at that moment, Mr Darcy approached, and Lizzie went to him, leaving her father smiling, quite certain his daughter’s happiness was not in question. Was it Chance or Destiny, or was Mrs Bennet right after all? Poor Mr Bennet would never know the answer. Later, when the guests were gone, and he sat with his brother-in-law before a dying fire in the drawing room, he returned to the topic.
“They are fortunate to have married two such fine young men—but then, Jane and Lizzie deserve the best,” he observed. Mr Gardiner was quick to agree, adding that while Mr Bingley was a most charming and amiable young fellow, it was Lizzie’s Mr Darcy, whose nobility of character, generosity, and devotion to his wife had endeared him to them, who was their favourite.
“Mrs Gardiner and I are agreed that, had your Lizzie been our daughter, there is no other man above Mr Darcy to whom we would have preferred to entrust her happiness.” This was high praise, indeed, and Mr Bennet was content. He could return to Longbourn and face Mrs Bennet’s unending chatter about all the servants, carriages, and fine clothes they would have, knowing that both his daughters were cherished and happy.
The following day, as Mr Bennet waited for his coach, Darcy called very early in the morning. He’d come to invite his father-in-law to spend a few weeks with them at Pemberley, in January, since sadly he was unable to join the family at Christmas, due to Mrs Bennet’s state of health. “If you would advise me, Sir, of dates and times, I shall send my carriage to meet the coach at Lambton,” said Darcy, adding that they were all looking forward to his first visit to Pemberley. His graciousness, generosity, and good humour completely won over Mr Bennet, in whose estimation Mr Darcy had been rising very rapidly. He accepted the invitation gladly adding that he was looking forward very much to using the excellent library of which he had heard so much. Darcy looked very pleased, and they parted, each man having increased his respect for the other, both looking forward to their next meeting.
Darcy returned to Grosvenor Street and found Lizzie in their bedroom, looking out on the deserted street below. She had risen late and assumed he had gone out riding with Bingley. When he told her of his visit to her father, she turned to him in tears, “My dear husband, I told him you were a good and amiable man, but I did not say you were perfect!” at which he coloured deeply and fumbled for words, saying it was of no consequence . . . simply a part of his love for her. Elizabeth was in a teasing mood, “You should have let me see, rather earlier in our acquaintance, how kind and generous you really are; it might have saved us both a great deal of heartache,” she complained.
Darcy, touched by the warmth of her love so sweetly expressed, was serious as he held her close. “How could I, Lizzie? How could I lay claim to qualities and values I barely recognised, until you, my dearest, made me acknowledge my own inadequacy.” She tried to hush him then, unwilling to rake up the memories of her reproof and his agonising over it, but Darcy was determined to acknowledge it. “No, my dear Lizzie, it is all your doing. If I have done some good things, if I have been less selfish and arrogant, it is because of you, because I loved you and sought your love in return.” His voice was very low with the unaccustomed weight of emotion, and Lizzie, knowing the strength of his feelings, let him speak, responding only with a loving kiss.
Later, Georgiana came over and stayed to lunch. They made plans; Georgiana and her companion would travel to Pemberley on Tuesday, with instructions for Mrs Reynolds to prepare for the arrival of Mr and Mrs Darcy with the Bingleys, a week later. They would be staying on in town only until Fitzwilliam sailed. Mrs Reynolds was also to arrange for the accommodation of the other guests at Christmas; Lizzie noted that the list did not include the Hursts or Caroline Bingley. Jane had already reassured her that the Bingley sisters and boring Mr Hurst were invited to Rosings, by Lady Catherine de Bourgh! “Ah well,” Lizzie remarked, “They’re sure to get on exceedingly well. No doubt much time will be spent expressing their indignation at my daring to defy Her Ladyship’s orders and marry her nephew!” The other guests were the Gardiners and their children, Kitty and Mary Bennet, and Dr Grantley, who would be arriving on Christmas Eve. Darcy explained that his sister always had her own party on Christmas Eve for the children of the Pemberley Estate. Jane thought it was a wonderful idea to have a party for the children of the estate, and Georgiana said that it had been her brother’s idea, when she, as a little girl, had been unhappy that the children of their tenants and servants had no party of their own at Christmas.
“He started it, and it was such a success, we’ve had it every year.” Lizzie thought how well it fitted with Mrs Reynolds’ picture of a caring Master, whose tenants and servants rewarded him with singular loyalty.
Looking across at Darcy, she felt proud to be his wife, proud of the innate decency and goodness that was now so clear to her. She felt ashamed of the prejudice that had been allowed to cloud her judgement, when they had met, but just as quickly she put aside her guilt, blaming Wickham for poisoning her mind with lies. She looked again at her husband; this time their eyes met, and they smiled.
The Bingleys intended to stay on at Netherfield Park only until Spring, when the lease ran out. Charles had already sought Darcy’s advice on purchasing a suitable estate, not far from Pemberley, unless as he said, “You want Jane and Lizzie to be forever pining for each other.” Darcy agreed that this would not do at all and promised to make inquiries about suitable properties in the area. The prospect made Jane and Lizzie very happy indeed. Elizabeth realised that Mr. Bingley seemed to thrive on the bright lights and social whirl of London and her sister Jane, to whom this was an exciting new world, appeared to match his enthusiasm. Darcy, on the other hand, loathed the social obligations and artificial rituals of the London Season, and Elizabeth had no taste for them either. They couldn’t wait to get away to Pemberley, but there were contracts to be signed and Fitzwilliam to be farewelled, so they remained in London, moving into Darcy’s townhouse at Portman Square.
They spent many hours in Galleries and Museums, attended a soirée and a chamber concert, and when they dined at home alone, indulged in that favourite pastime of loving couples—congratulating themselves on their excellent judgement in marrying each other!
The following Sunday, their last in London, with the Bingleys visiting friends in Windsor, Darcy and Lizzie took advantage of some rare Winter sunshine and drove down to Richmond. This beautiful spot on the Thames, which had become quite fashionable with the London set, afforded them the privacy they craved.
They talked of Jane and Bingley—for they had both noticed how Jane seemed much less diffident about showing her feelings. Recalling Jane’s concealment of her affection for Mr Bingley and the inordinate length of time taken by Charles to declare his love for her, Elizabeth rejoiced that they appeared so much in love, with so very little concern as to who knew it. Darcy said he thought they had both matured a good deal in the last year. Elizabeth agreed but wondered aloud whether everyone was as cautious in such situations; but, even as she spoke, before she could finish her sentence, she saw her husband’s wry smile, stopped, and started to laugh. “Oh dear!” she said, as Darcy smiled and shook his head, “Neither of us were particularly cautious, I’m afraid.”
They recalled that first occasion at Hunsford, when Darcy had declared himself in the strangest way, rushing headlong, throwing caution and sensibility to the winds, and Elizabeth had responded with a degree of sharpness of which she had never dreamed herself capable. She begged him not to remind her of the hurt and harm she had done, with her reproaches, but Darcy disagreed, claiming that her frankness and honesty had been just what he had needed to jolt him out of his smugness and complacency. “It forced me to look at myself to confront the fact that I had no right to claim the status of a gentleman unless I behaved like one to all those I met and mingled with. No, Lizzie, had you not spoken and taught me the lesson I had to learn, we might never have found out that we cared for each other.” Lizzie’s cheeks burned as he went on, “Look at us now, could we ever have been this happy if we had not been honest with one another?”
“You are probably right in that, dearest, but are we in danger of becoming a tiny bit smug and complacent ourselves?” She was teasing him, but he replied seriously, “Never Lizzie, whilst ever you set such high standards for us both.” Lizzie smiled. “I must agree we are very happy and comfortable together. I had feared we might be too reserved with each other, but it has not been so,” she said.
“That is because you, my love, with your open, honest manner, would defy anyone to be reserved,” he said, smiling as he added, “it was the quality I found most engaging and hardest to resist.”
This time, Elizabeth could not help but tease him. With her eyes sparkling, she quipped, “Especially when you were so determined to do just that!” Darcy would not permit her to continue, not even in jest, protesting that he had proved his love and would do so again, if necessary. At this point, Lizzie decided she would tease him no more; there was never any doubt at all of his love for her. “Could we go home?” she asked, softly, and sensing her changed mood, Darcy rose immediately and helped her into the carriage.
There was something very special between them. Theirs was no “unequal marriage” of the sort her father had warned against: a marriage in which one partner found it hard to respect the other, the kind of union that, they acknowledged without ever saying a word, existed between her parents. This type of marriage Lizzie had dreaded all her life. She and Jane had frequently vowed to remain unwed, rather than submit to that ultimate indignity. With Darcy, Elizabeth already knew she had a marriage after her own heart; she could unreservedly say that the love they shared was stronger for the esteem they had for each other.
They drove back into town, wrapped in a warm, affectionate silence, and went directly to Darcy’s townhouse in Portman Square. “We’re home,” he said, helping Lizzie out. They embraced as she alighted into his arms and went upstairs, leaving their coats and scarves in the hall.
That evening, they dined with Fitzwilliam and the Bingleys. He was sailing on the morrow for Ceylon and India, where he was to work with the East India Company for at least three years. He confessed to being suddenly sad to leave, knowing it would be a long time before he would see England and all his friends again. He had dined the previous evening with the Gardiners, and all these farewells were taking their toll upon his spirits.
Elizabeth had sensed the sadness that seemed to overlay his earlier enthusiasm and said so to her sister. Jane was convinced that it had more to do with losing Lizzie than leaving England. Their husbands, on the other hand, much more interested in the business opportunities than in Fitzwilliam’s state of mind, did not remark upon it at all.
Two days later, they were on the road themselves, deciding to make the journey North before the weather worsened. When it was decided to break journey in Oxford, Elizabeth was delighted. It would give Jane a chance to meet Dr Grantley. Jane, who had heard so much about him from her sister, was in complete agreement with her after they met and dined with him that night. His distinguished appearance, cultured conversation, and remarkable reputation quite overawed her, until his unassuming manner and friendliness drew her out.
When they retired after a most pleasant and stimulating evening, Jane expressed her surprise that he was unmarried. Lizzie laughed and warned her against matchmaking—which had been the bane of their lives at home. Jane protested that she had no intention of doing so but added, “Lizzie, he is such a charming and educated gentleman, that I find it impossible to believe, that had he wished to marry, he could not have found a suitable partner. Surely, he does not intend to remain a bachelor?” Lizzie laughed and begged her to remember that Dr Grantley was but a few years older than Mr Darcy, so there was hope for him yet!
And so, on to Pemberley . . .

CHAPTER TWO

. . . To make a celebration

T

HE DRIVE TO PEMBERLEY took them through wooded country stripped partially bare by the Winter winds. Though Elizabeth had been to the house both before and after her engagement to Darcy, she was, on this

occasion, assailed by a tumult of emotions, which kept her unusually silent. Beside her, her husband was also quiet and thoughtful, but this was not particularly unusual for Darcy. It was left to Charles Bingley to keep up a commentary for the benefit of his wife, pointing out every item of interest, every lovely aspect, quite unashamedly showing off his familiarity with his friend’s fine estate. There was no snow on the ground; in fact, the sky was clear and blue. But the clouds gathering up ahead suggested that there might be snow on the way.

Elizabeth’s mind kept harking back to the first time she had come here driving from Lambton with her aunt and uncle, hoping merely to get a visitor’s view of Pemberley, never suspecting that they would meet the owner himself, returning unexpectedly early. She recalled her confusion and embarrassment on seeing him standing there not twenty yards from her, his face suffused in a deep blush. She smiled to herself as she remembered their encounter and all that had flowed from it.

Had it really been only last Summer? She sighed and turned slowly from contemplating the cold wintry woods to look at her husband. She was rewarded with a warm smile that confirmed her suspicions that he was remembering too. Unwilling to break the spell of the moment, she said nothing, knowing there was no need for words. The magic moment was gone, however, as Bingley asked, “Not much longer now, is it, Darcy?” to which he replied, “No, just half a mile down the road, and we shall be into the park.” Lapsing into a reverie again, Lizzie recalled how it had looked last Summer as they descended into the valley and drove towards Pemberley House. The handsome, stone building had made her catch her breath as her aunt and uncle admired its elegant lines and noble proportions, set as it was in a beautifully landscaped park, against a background of wooded hills.

When they had been here again in Autumn, after her engagement to Mr Darcy, she’d had more time to appreciate the myriad of colours in the woods above the house as well as the streams and valleys below it. Darcy had taken special pleasure in showing her his favourite views, and they had walked along the stream till it reached its confluence with the river, which meandered along a lovely winding valley as far as the eye could see. When she had pointed out that it was an ideal spot for a picnic, Darcy had immediately promised they would have one there next Summer, to commemorate her first visit to Pemberley. She had teased him gently then, asking if he really wanted to perpetuate the memory of that day, which had been so embarrassing to both of them. To which Darcy had replied, “But of course, dearest, for after the initial astonishment, I think we got on very well indeed. For my part, it was the day that saw the resurrection of my hopes. I shall never forget the happiness I felt after I had seen you here at Pemberley.” This time, Elizabeth, who had never seen it in Winter, almost gasped at the first view of the house, its graceful architecture thrown into relief by the starkness of the Winter landscape and the dark foliage of the pine and fir trees in the grounds around it.

Jane, who by now had changed her seat so she could see the way ahead more clearly, was asking questions about the estate, and Darcy, with the courtesy of a gracious host, was answering her enquiries.

Listening to them, Elizabeth wondered again at her blindness in believing Wickham’s wicked lies that had Mr Darcy as a haughty, short-tempered man with little or no patience for those he presumed to be beneath him. Every circumstance had proved her wrong, as she experienced not only the love and affection he lavished upon her but much more the generosity and genuine graciousness of his behaviour towards all members of her family. As a husband, brother, and friend, Mr Darcy had passed every test. Involuntarily, Lizzie smiled, and Bingley caught her eye as she did. Bingley, whose admiration for his friend knew no bounds, smiled broadly and said in his own amiable way, “I told Jane, Darcy would be the man to tell her about Pemberley; he’s so besotted with the place.”

“I can understand why,” said Lizzie, as the carriage crossed the bridge and drove to the great front door.
They alighted and went up the steps into the hall, to be received by Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper, who had not seen them since the wedding. Her delight at having her Master back was so apparent it was quite moving, especially to Elizabeth, whom she greeted with warmth and deference, asking if they had had a comfortable journey and showing them into the saloon, where a lively fire was burning and a table was laid for afternoon tea. There, waiting for them was Georgiana, whose greeting was as affectionate and warm as their parting had been, just a week ago. She was obviously delighted to have her brother home again, and of course, now her affection extended to Elizabeth.
Jane was overwhelmed with the scale and grace of the rooms and the elegance of the furniture and accessories. “Oh Lizzie,” she whispered, “It’s beautiful.” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled, but she forbore to tease her sister, as she had done on that night many months ago when she attributed the first stirrings of her love for Darcy to her appreciation of his beautiful estate.
After tea, they were shown upstairs to their rooms—to rest awhile before dinner, which was always at seven in the Winter unless they had company, other than family. Mrs Reynolds, concerned for their comfort, provided Elizabeth and Jane with a lady’s maid, her niece, Jenny, a pleasant young woman with a strong family resemblance to her aunt. Mrs Reynolds hoped she would be satisfactory, and Lizzie, who had shared a maid with her mother and four sisters, assured her that Jenny would do very nicely. Before leaving them, Mrs Reynolds took the opportunity to explain that she had, in consultation with Miss Darcy, decided that it was not appropriate to present the household staff to the new Mistress of Pemberley as soon as she had arrived after a very long journey. However, the staff would be ready to receive them in the hall before dinner. Lizzie thanked her for her kind consideration and added she was looking forward to meeting them. She understood the formal protocol, and as Darcy explained later, it was a significant day for the staff, too. There had not been a Mistress of Pemberley for many years, since the death of his mother. “Will you be there too?” she asked, a little anxiously, and sensing her nervousness, he smiled and answered, “Of course, my dear,” and she was instantly at ease again.
When they went down to dinner, Lizzie was glad she had worn her new green silk gown and the jewels her husband had given her; the servants, all of them, were so smartly turned out. With Mr Darcy at her side, she acknowledged them all, and she accepted their good wishes and the welcoming words spoken by Mrs Reynolds. A little girl—the daughter of one of the men— approached with a bunch of Winter roses, and everyone was charmed, when Lizzie, quite spontaneously, bent to thank her with a kiss. Looking on, Darcy knew that these men and women had been enchanted, just as he had been—not just by the beauty, but also by the unaffected charm of their new Mistress. He had known most of them all his life and could sense their pleasure and approval.
Dinner was a simple but excellent meal, with soup, fish and poultry, roasted vegetables, and a dessert which was declared to be Darcy’s favourite, as well as the best wines from the cellar. Elizabeth could barely suppress a smile at the spoiling of the Master that seemed to be the order of the day.
After dinner, it was time to talk of plans for Christmas, with Georgiana pointing out gently that there were but ten days to Christmas Eve and her important party for the children of the Pemberley Estate. Lizzie and Jane promised to help, and it was decided that on the following day, the three of them would sit down after breakfast and draw up some plans. Darcy and Bingley were going to be riding into Lambton, so they would have the morning to themselves.
Later, Georgiana and Lizzie were persuaded to oblige them with music, and again memories of last Summer came flooding back as Elizabeth played and sang with her sister-in-law, who was now much more at ease than before. Looking across at Darcy, she saw again the expression that she had first seen in this very room. At that time, it had led her to wonder at his feelings for her; she knew now that it was a confirmation of them. The last time they were in this room and she was at the instrument with Georgiana, they may have both preferred to conceal their feelings from each other and the rest of the company; now, they were in love, and it mattered not who knew it. Mrs Reynold’s smile as she brought in the candles and bade them all goodnight suggested that she knew it, too. Lizzie recalled their conversation when they had visited Pemberley last Summer as strangers—Mrs Reynolds was not sure there could be a woman good enough for her Master, who, she had assured them, had been the “sweetest tempered, most generous hearted boy in the world.” Even allowing for some partiality born of loyalty, it had been agreed that this was high praise indeed. Lizzie could now assert that to the best of her own intimate knowledge, that boy had grown into the most generous and kindhearted of men and the best of husbands. She acknowledged herself the most fortunate of women, that he had chosen her to be his wife. Based on her reception and the kindness, concern, and respect extended to her, Lizzie had reason to believe that Mrs Reynolds approved of his choice.
As they went to bed that night, she told Darcy of that conversation and was assured that he had not always been the perfect little boy Mrs Reynolds recalled. He confessed that he may well have been selfish and stubborn in his behaviour as a young man. “And I need not tell you, my love, that Pride sometimes got in the way too.”
“Oh, hush,” said Lizzie, not wanting to spoil this lovely evening with memories of recriminations, but Darcy persisted, wanting her to understand the extent of her own influence upon him and the depth of the change he had wrought upon himself for her.
“Since you wish to credit me with this happy transformation, I will certainly accept it, my dearest,” she said, “but believe me, I have often reproached myself for the harshness of my judgement, the cruelty of my words, and the hurt I must have caused you. So, shall we say we have both accepted our faults and pledge never to hurt one another again? Are we agreed?” Darcy nodded, took both her hands in his, and drew her close; he had no words to express the happiness of this moment, and neither had she, but, no matter, for none were needed.
The following morning, Mr and Mrs Darcy rose late, dressed, and went downstairs to find that most of the others had done the same, except Bingley, who had always been an early bird. Lizzie recalled how very early in the day he used to call on them at Longbourn, much to the confusion of Mrs Bennet. She reminded Jane of the day he had proposed to her, having arrived before any of them were dressed, and the total chaos it had made of their mother’s plans; the sisters laughed together at the memory, commenting as they did on the delightful consequences of that day upon all their lives. “Of course, Lizzie, I had no idea then that you and Mr Darcy were in love and so close to becoming engaged,” Jane teased, prompting both Darcy and Lizzie to protest that they barely knew it themselves at the time, and it was to the amazing intervention of Lady Catherine de Bourgh that they owed the good understanding that followed and actually led to their engagement.
Jane laughed a delightful happy laugh as she took both their hands and drew them to her side, “I well remember the visit of Lady Catherine to Longbourn, and I swear I would never have believed at the time that any of us would owe our happiness to her!” Elizabeth looked quickly at Darcy’s face, but he was laughing with them and proceeded to declare that Lady Catherine was bound to suffer even more discomfiture very soon, when she discovered, shortly after Christmas, that her nephew James, brother of Colonel Fitzwilliam, was engaged to Miss Rosamund Camden, the daughter of one of Darcy’s neighbours.
Lizzie and Jane knew nothing of this; Darcy proceeded to explain that the couple had met a year ago when the Fitzwilliams had stayed at Pemberley. “Rosamund is several years older than Georgiana,” Darcy explained, “and a very personable young lady. Naturally, James spent most of the time with her. They have much in common—both coming from similar farming families—and I was not surprised to hear from Fitzwilliam that he was sorry to be missing his brother’s wedding, which he believed would take place at Easter.”
“And why are you so certain of the effect this will have upon Lady Catherine?” asked Elizabeth, unaware of the ineligibility of Miss Camden as a bride for Darcy’s cousin.
Darcy smiled, “Because as you well know, my dearest, my aunt likes to manage people’s lives, and she had hoped that James would look favourably in the direction of a certain lady, whom you both know well,” he said, and of course, they demanded to know who it was. “It’s Miss Bingley,” he said quietly. Jane and Lizzie were amazed. “Miss Bingley? Caroline?” they cried, unable to believe their ears.
Darcy chuckled. “Indeed. Her fortune is twice that of Rosamund Camden’s. She and her sister have been presented at Court and own a valuable house in London, and that would carry more weight with my aunt than almost anything. In addition, Miss Bingley is very deferential to Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh, and that is much appreciated. Indeed, I believe they are at Rosings this Christmas.” Jane testified that this was indeed true. “Well, Lady Catherine will be hoping that Fitzwilliam will soon be joining them, unaware that he is already with the Camdens at Rushmore Farm, near Lambton, which is where Bingley and I are going later today,” said Darcy, obviously enjoying himself in the telling of it.
“That is indeed as droll a tale as ever I’ve heard,” said Jane, and Lizzie had to agree that her husband had certainly surprised them.
Bingley, who had been out riding very early, returned as they were finishing breakfast, which ended the conversation, since none of them wished to offend him in any way. He sat down to breakfast, assuring Darcy he would not be late for their ride into Lambton, adding, “I am very keen to see the horses; Fitzwilliam recommended a particularly promising pony.” Lizzie and Jane exchanged glances, but clearly, Darcy had not said a word to his friend of his aunt’s plans for Caroline Bingley!
After breakfast, the gentlemen set off for Lambton and Rushmore Farm. Lizzie and Jane were immediately drawn by Georgiana into the morning room, where the warmth generated by a crackling fire augmented the rather watery sunshine that struggled through the clouds.
Unaccustomed to the vagaries of the Northern weather, Jane shivered, and Georgiana, concerned, asked for a shawl to be brought for her. Lizzie, alerted by her husband, had dressed in warmer clothes and seemed comfortable enough but was solicitous of her sister, who did not have a particularly strong constitution.
Plans for the children’s party were soon on the table. Mrs Reynolds needed to know details of their requirements, so she could instruct the cook, the maids, and the butler. Lizzie was feeling a little tired, when after a couple of hours, they had not got very far with ideas for the entertainment.
Georgiana wondered if there was something new they could do as everyone was tired of Punch and Judy, and not all the children could be trusted with fireworks. “Do they sing?” asked Elizabeth, suddenly. Both Jane and Georgiana said, “Sing?” looking quite confused.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “after all, it is Christmas, and they could sing Christmas carols.” “Oh Lizzie,” cried Georgiana, “what a wonderful idea!”
“It’s a lovely idea, Lizzie, but how would they learn them?” asked Jane.
“We shall have to get them together and train them,” said Lizzie.
“Do you mean like a choir?”
“Exactly, a children’s choir—the Pemberley Children’s Choir,” said Lizzie. Both Jane and Georgiana were delighted, and immediately, there was a sense of excitement. Mrs Reynolds, who came in to ask if they would like some tea, was requested to provide the names of staff with children who could be taught to sing Christmas carols. A little confused and uncertain at first, she soon got into the spirit of things and provided a dozen or so names. By the time the gentlemen returned, much had been accomplished. Neither could quite believe that a choir of Pemberley children could be trained to sing carols in less than ten days, but they were willing to help the ladies try. From then on, the music room and an adjoining sitting room became a hive of activity, with preparations for the Pemberley Children’s Choir taking precedence over all else. Darcy was particularly pleased to see how well Georgiana worked together with Jane and Elizabeth.
The staff whose children were to be trained to sing were so delighted they couldn’t do enough to help—many staying on after their work was done to help with costumes and decorations. A stage had to be built at one end of the large room that was always used for the party; Bingley supervised the carpenters, while Mr Darcy organised the transport for the children. They seemed to enjoy singing, but few of them, except for a very young lad with a high sweet voice, had ever been in a choir. Elizabeth played, and Georgiana sang along with them, while Jane plied them with tea and ginger bread, courtesy of the cook. It was hard work, and every so often, Elizabeth wondered what had possessed her to suggest a choir! Then, they would behave and sing like angels, and she knew it was all worthwhile. It was amidst all this activity that a message came from the inn at Lambton that the Gardiners had arrived, with Mary and Kitty, and would be driving up to Pemberley on the following day. The news, which Darcy whispered to Elizabeth in the midst of a rehearsal, immediately lifted her spirits, for there were going to be several more helpers and a few excellent to passable voices among them. That would make a considerable difference to their little choir.

J

When Elizabeth and Jane came down to breakfast the following morning, the clouds that had threatened sleet or snow all of the previous day had been blown away overnight by great gusts of wind. The gardeners were out early, clearing away the debris, piles of fallen leaves and shattered branches, which lay all over the park. A very pale sun struggled above the horizon.

Darcy and Bingley returned from their early ride, and Mrs Reynolds was quick to produce fresh pots of tea and hot food for the gentlemen, who were coming in from the cold. Jane and Lizzie had already commented with some amusement at the way in which the men of the household were thoroughly spoilt by the staff. Having grown up in a house full of women, where their father spent a good deal of time trying to keep out of the way of the womenfolk, they found the situation at Pemberley quite diverting. Jane thought it was probably the result of Mrs Reynolds taking on the care of the children when their mother died. Lizzie suggested it was more a mutual admiration society, because the servants felt that lavishing attention on their wonderful Master and his sister was their appointed role, while the Master and his sister would wonder how they would ever get on without the help of their staff. “Oh Lizzie,” Jane protested, “I do believe you are too harsh; besides, I cannot see any harm in it.”

“Nor can I, but you must admit, it is the relationship of mutual dependence that holds them together so well. I cannot see a similar situation at Longbourn, could you?” Jane confessed that it did not seem likely and added that while the servants at Bingley’s house in Grosvenor Street were most efficient and attentive, they did not appear to have the same familial attitude that existed at Pemberley. It must have something to do with being in the country, she thought.

Elizabeth did not entirely agree but kept her counsel, not wishing to offend or hurt her beloved Jane by pointing out that, grand though Mr Bingley’s house was, it was not Pemberley, where generations of servants had served the Darcy family. While the servants at Grosvenor Street had been hired for their excellence, those at Pemberley had been mostly born into service, and loyalty was their strongest suit. There was certainly no suggestion that Darcy and Georgiana had any reservations about the staff, and they appeared content to leave most of the management of the household to Mrs Reynolds. Mr Darcy had urged Elizabeth to instruct the housekeeper about arrangements for the Christmas guests. Mrs Reynolds herself had, on the day after they’d arrived home, apologised for troubling her but asked if Elizabeth had any special instructions for the meals. Content to leave things in her capable hands for the moment, Elizabeth had thanked Mrs Reynolds but pointed out that since she had plans already in hand, Elizabeth would not want to make changes. However, perhaps in the New Year, after she had got accustomed to the way things were done, she might wish to make some suggestions. The happy smile on the housekeeper’s face convinced her that she had said absolutely the right thing.

It was midmorning, when the sound of horse’s hooves and carriage wheels on the gravelled drive attracted Jane and Lizzie to the windows of the upstairs sitting room. No sooner did they see the Gardiners, than they ran downstairs to greet them. The servants were helping the travellers out and unloading their trunks, when Lizzie and Jane embraced their aunt and uncle, the young Gardiners, and their younger sisters, Mary and Kitty, whom they had not seen since their wedding in October. Kitty was especially tearful, having missed her two elder sisters terribly, while Mary had so many books and manuscripts with her, she appeared to have come prepared for long periods of study and practise on the piano.

Darcy was already out greeting Mr and Mrs Gardiner and welcoming them back to Pemberley. Elizabeth did not doubt that they would all have recalled the last occasion when they had stood there together. How much had changed since then; she caught her aunt’s eye, and they smiled.

It was left to Mrs Reynolds to persuade everyone to come indoors and enjoy the warmth of a fire and tea in the morning room. Georgiana, who had been practising in the music room, came out to join them, and the halls of Pemberley, which had been so quiet a mere half hour ago, were filled with many voices, including those of the four young Gardiners.

Caroline Gardiner, who was meeting Georgiana for the first time after the weddings of Jane and Lizzie, was delighted to be asked to help with the choir. After tea, Mrs Gardiner went upstairs with her nieces to take a look at their rooms, unpack her presents, and enjoy a long conversation with her favourite young women. This time, she had good news for them. Their mother was feeling much better, and was planning to go North to Newcastle to Lydia and Wickham, who were expecting their first child in Spring. Jane and Elizabeth gave silent thanks that they were not at Longbourn to share in their mother’s enthusiastic and expensive preparations for the birth of her first grandchild.

More news, this time from the Lucas household: it appeared that Charlotte’s sister, Maria Lucas, was being courted by the new doctor at Meryton. “Maria Lucas!” cried Jane, “but she is younger than Kitty.”

“Only by a few months,” said Lizzie, “but nevertheless, this is a surprise. How did it come about?”

“Apparently, Lady Lucas was unwell and sent for Mr Jones the apothecary, who happened to be away visiting his daughter. In his stead came a young man recently arrived in Meryton, a Dr John Faulkner, a physician, who has set up his practice in the town.” Mrs Gardiner explained, and seeing that her nieces were agog for more, she went on, “Of course, young Maria Lucas was on hand to assist her mother and to offer Dr Faulkner tea afterwards.”

“Is that all?” Lizzie sounded disappointed, but her aunt had more to tell. “Your mother tells me that he has visited Lady Lucas four times in the last fortnight, and Hill has heard from the Lucases’ cook that he spends most of his visit, having tea and walking in the conservatory with young Miss Maria.”
“No doubt Mama is very vexed,” quipped Lizzie “that Kitty has not been preferred by the new doctor.”
“But Kitty is not likely to be planning to catch herself a suitor, however much mama might wish it,” said Jane. Mrs Gardiner agreed, saying Kitty had seemed quite unfussed by her friend Maria’s achievement, except to say “Dr Faulkner was much less boring than Mr. Collins!” “So it seems Kitty approves of Maria’s choice,” said Jane, to which Lizzie added that it was hardly Maria’s choice; more likely Dr Faulkner had done the choosing.
Their aunt decided she had to stop her nieces from having young Miss Lucas married off to the Doctor in the next few minutes. “Now, let us not run on so fast, my dears, there is not even talk of an engagement as yet—much less a wedding,” she warned, and Lizzie laughed.
“Yes, and we know one cannot count on these romances always turning out as one might expect. But I do not want you to think that I don’t wish young Maria well. She is a very pleasant girl, and I do hope she is happy.” Jane and Mrs Gardiner agreed, and the conversation was closed abruptly as they were interrupted by Emily and Caroline who came to say luncheon was on the table.
Later, the children came to rehearse their concert of carols, and what a delight it was for the visitors. When they had run through the chosen carols— mostly of old English vintage—and been heartily applauded by their audience of family and servants, Elizabeth and Georgiana invited the four Gardiner children to join them.
Ranging from ten year old Caroline and Emily, who was seven, to Richard and Robert, who were six and four, they could all sing and made a spectacular contribution to the volume and quality of the choir. Mary was happy to assist with the accompaniment and so released Elizabeth to sit with her guests, while Kitty was totally engrossed with making appropriate Christmas hats for the children. Mrs Gardiner suggested the older children hold little candles, a European custom she had found appealing, while on a visit to France.
Later, after hot chocolate and cake had been duly consumed, Georgiana persuaded Caroline to try a solo carol, and they chose the gentle Virgin’s Lullaby, which almost had the listeners in tears. The excellent work done by the ladies received much praise, while Mr Darcy had never looked happier.

J

Christmas Eve dawned cold and bright.
After breakfast, everyone who wanted to got rugged up and went into the woods to collect boughs of fir, pine cones, and holly for decorating the rooms and the stage. The younger members of the family enjoyed this part of the preparations most and spent all afternoon making garlands to hang across the windows.
Shortly before lunch, a carriage arrived, bringing Dr Grantley, who apologised for being late but assured everyone he was willing and ready to help, “I’ll do anything,” he offered, and Lizzie, seeing poor Jane and Georgiana working very hard in the music room, sent him along to help them. With everyone pressed into service, the house hummed. Bingley and Darcy wandered in and out of the rooms, amazed at the activity. Darcy swore he could not recall an occasion when there was so much going on at Pemberley.
By late afternoon, everything was in readiness. The children had all been fetched and costumed like little choristers. The fires burned brightly and burnished all the dark oak and copper as well as the glowing red berried garlands around the walls and over the windows.
By six o’clock, the room had filled with guests and neighbours, and when the children walked in carrying their candles, there were gasps of surprise. Their glowing faces and sparkling eyes told of their excitement.
Jane, Elizabeth, and Georgiana shepherded them into place, and then, Dr Grantley read the story of Christmas from the Bible. It was the perfect touch, suggested by Georgiana and gladly carried out by Dr Grantley. When the singers began, a little nervously at first, but stronger and sweeter by the minute, the tears in the eyes and the smiles on the faces of the audience told the story. The parents of the children of the estate ranged from yeoman farmers to grooms, maids, and gardeners. Never before had they seen their children afforded such an opportunity as this to participate in the festivities at Pemberley. When it was known, mainly through Jenny and Mrs Reynolds, that it was all Mrs Darcy’s doing, her popularity among them soared. When they broke for an intermission, to allow the little voices some rest, Elizabeth came over to Darcy who was sitting with the Gardiners. She had wanted reassurance that it was proceeding well; what she got was adulation from everyone around her. Elizabeth glowed, and Mr Darcy could barely contain his joy. If Mrs Gardiner needed any proof of the success of this match, for which she and her husband felt partly responsible, she had it there in front of her as Darcy reached across and took Elizabeth’s hand and said, “I cannot honestly remember a happier Christmas Eve, since I was a boy.”
When they went upstairs, Elizabeth embraced her aunt. “If it had not been for you, I may never have come to Pemberley last Summer, never have met him again in such happy circumstances, and never found the happiness we have today,” she said. Mrs Gardiner had never doubted that Jane and Bingley would have a felicitous union, for they were both so similar, so attuned to each other, that it was not difficult to imagine them making a harmonious marriage. With Lizzie and Darcy, it was more complex: they were both strong characters, with high standards and high expectations; she had, despite her love for both of them, worried that their very strength could lead, even unwittingly, to tension and unhappiness. Seeing them in London some weeks ago, she had been very impressed with the promise of maturity in their relationship. Seeing them at Pemberley together confirmed her hopes. Here indeed was the happiest couple she had ever had the pleasure of knowing. She could only pray that their future would be as blessed as the present.
Later, Darcy and Mr Gardiner joined them. Sensing the unspoken query in Lizzie’s eyes, Darcy explained that Jane and Mr Bingley had sat down with Georgiana and Dr Grantley to a game of whist. “Whist!” exclaimed both ladies together, unable to believe that anyone had sufficient energy left at the end of this day for a game of whist.
“Indeed,” said Darcy, “a somewhat merrier version of it than usual.”
“I was just saying to Mr Darcy how well Lizzie and Miss Darcy have done in putting together the entertainment this evening. No one would believe that most of the children had never sung in a choir before,” said Mr Gardiner.
Darcy agreed enthusiastically and, putting an arm around his wife, said, “I am very proud of them, especially Lizzie, whose idea it was. I have never enjoyed a better Christmas Eve, and what’s more, my dear, Dr Grantley is so impressed, he has asked that they sing when he takes Evensong in the chapel, tomorrow.”
Lizzie and Mrs Gardiner were delighted. “Now that is an honour, indeed. Knowing the reputation of the choir of St John’s, I must say it is very kind of Dr Grantley,” said Lizzie, adding that the four young Gardiners had made a vital contribution to the success of the evening. The Gardiners gently disengaged themselves on the pretext of getting their lively children to bed. Darcy and Elizabeth smiled and did not try to keep them from going. Much as they loved the Gardiners, it was the first time in almost twenty-four hours that they had found themselves alone together, and the pleasure was as sweet as it was unexpected.

J

A light snowfall overnight created a picture book Christmas scene as the family and guests went to church in the village below the Pemberley Estate, where Dr Grantley joined the resident curate, Mr Jenkins, in conducting the service. The little church was full with the young “choristers” sitting together at the front. The singing was sweet and strong. Elizabeth was delighted to hear the voices of the children in natural harmony. Exchanging glances with Mrs Gardiner and her husband, she vowed to carry on the Pemberley Children’s Choir, “We’ll make a tradition that Pemberley will be proud of,” she thought, as she listened.

Later, the young curate congratulated her, “I’ve never had such fine singing here before, Mrs Darcy. I believe we have you to thank.”
Elizabeth blushed. “Oh no, Mr Jenkins, many people including Miss Darcy and my sister Mrs Bingley helped. And ultimately, it was the children themselves; they were so keen to learn to sing.”
“Well, it looks to me we could have the beginnings of a proper choir at Pemberley,” said Mr Jenkins, who was Welsh and heir to a fine tradition of choral singing.
“I think we should build on this excellent foundation,” Elizabeth agreed, and her husband added, “I think you have started something here, my dear.” They invited Mr Jenkins to join them at Pemberley for Evensong that night and stay to supper, an invitation that was readily accepted by the young clergyman.
Christmas dinner was a splendid feast. Mrs Reynolds excelled herself, and the cook had produced delectable dishes of game and poultry prepared in the traditional style, as well as a range of side and corner dishes to tempt the palate on a cold afternoon. Punch and mulled wine were served before, and hock and claret accompanied the courses, until finally Christmas pudding and a festive centrepiece of fresh fruit and syllabub, with small bowls of nuts and preserved ginger, were placed on the uncovered table.
Elizabeth was so pleased, she thanked Mrs Reynolds and asked to be taken to the kitchen so she could thank the staff and especially the cook for the splendid meal. No previous Mistress had done such a thing. The staff was surprised and gratified at the gesture and thanked Mrs Darcy for her appreciation. It was clear that she had made an excellent debut at Pemberley.
The festive mood seemed to affect everyone—as the diners rose and proceeded to the music room to sing and play, while the children played Hunt the Slipper and Hide and Seek—their voices ringing through the halls and corridors of the house. The often awesome atmosphere of the stately building was lightened with an infusion of fun overlaying generations of formality and tradition.
Darcy, too, appeared to have shed the shyness that masqueraded as a serious and taciturn disposition and revealed a whole new aspect of his nature. His hospitality and concern for his guests were impeccable and moreover, were warm and sincere. Jane, tiring a little of entertaining the children, came over to where Elizabeth sat, a little apart from the company. “You seem tired, Lizzie,” she said, as she sat down beside her.
Lizzie nodded but added, “Yes, but, oh so happy, Jane . . . I cannot believe that a year ago we were all so sad and despondent.” Jane smiled as only the truly contented woman can and said, “I know exactly how you feel, Lizzie. Mr Bingley and I have noticed how much Mr Darcy has changed—he is so much more sociable; he does not seem to stand apart as he used to before. We are quite sure it is all due to you, Lizzie. He is happier and therefore more at ease with everyone. Bingley is very pleased.” Elizabeth smiled and wondered at the perceptive comments of her sister; she knew in her heart that Jane was right but was reluctant to accept all the credit for herself. She hastened to say that Darcy had always been amiable and had no improper pride; his shyness and uncertainty of acceptance had led to a reputation for hauteur, which was, for the most part, undeserved. Jane put an arm around her, “I have no need to be convinced of this, dear Lizzie, Mr Bingley has always told me that his friend was the best of men, and I know you would not have accepted him if it were not so.”
Afterwards, Georgiana came to sit with her; as they watched Darcy move among the guests, she said, “Lizzie, I cannot tell you what a lovely Christmas this has been,” and spoke with such warmth and sincerity that Elizabeth had to believe this was more than a polite expression of thanks. “I have no memory of enjoying myself so much, and I am sure that my brother feels the same. You only have to look at him to see how happy he is. Lizzie, it is all due to you, and I am so very grateful.” Elizabeth coloured with pleasure and some embarrassment; she had not expected all these compliments, and much as she enjoyed the appreciation, it troubled her a little to accept so much praise. Darcy, seeing them together, came across and put his arms around them both and hugged them in full view of everyone. It left no one in any doubt that the Master of Pemberley was having his happiest Christmas in many years.
To complete a wonderful day, after everyone had exchanged gifts, they filled the little chapel at Pemberley for Evensong. This time, the choristers were joined by the family and visitors, Mary, Kitty, and the Gardiner children together with the resounding Welsh tenor of Mr Jenkins making the place ring with the loveliest sounds ever heard in this great house. Darcy, standing beside his wife, felt for the first time that he was making his own mark as the Master of Pemberley; with Elizabeth beside him, he was confident this was only the beginning of a new era. Elizabeth sensed his happiness and gently pushed her hand into his to share a moment of tenderness. Bingley and Jane looked across at them, and, catching her sister’s eye, Elizabeth smiled, her felicity there for all to see.

J

On the morning of Boxing Day, the traditional Christmas boxes were handed out to the servants and farm workers of the Pemberley Estate. Darcy’s generosity was now clear, with the very substantial rewards he gave to people who had provided services to the family through the year. Through the day, they were visited by the tenants and their children. Later, Mr Darcy and Georgiana invited Elizabeth to accompany them as they drove out to the far side of the estate to visit two families, who had not been able to attend the Christmas festivities at the house.

In the case of the Lawsons, the father was an invalid—having hurt his back in a farm accident, and the mother had worked for years to bring up their children—one of whom was apprenticed to the Pemberley stables. Georgiana explained to Elizabeth that her brother had always insisted on coming himself to visit them. It being Boxing Day, they brought the usual Christmas box, as well as a hamper of festive fare packed by Mrs Reynolds. Seeing the pleasure this brought to the Lawson family, especially the hardworking wife, reminded Lizzie of the words of Mrs Reynolds praising Darcy’s generosity and his concern for his tenants.

Georgiana showed she was learning valuable lessons from her brother. Her caring and gentle nature was touched by the misfortune of the Lawsons. She spoke sympathetically, without any hint of patronage, to inquire into the needs of the family and, like her brother, seemed ready to provide some practical help. Learning that one of the children was ill with a bad cough, she promised to send a vehicle that afternoon, so the child could be conveyed to the apothecary at Lambton.

That she had made the promise without even consulting her brother suggested to Elizabeth that brother and sister were agreed upon these responsibilities and she didn’t need to seek his approval. It was an indication of the remarkable level of personal responsibility accepted by Mr Darcy for the people on his estate. It was reinforced by their next visit to a very old man, Tom Hobbs, a former horse trainer who had lost a leg in an accident and had lived with the pain and disability for many years.

As Georgiana helped put away the rest of the fare, she talked with his daughter. Elizabeth overheard the girl say, “He cannot stop talking about you and Mr Darcy, Ma’am. He knows how kind you have been to us. It is so good of you to come out in this weather.” Elizabeth recalled again the words of Mrs Reynolds, last Summer. “He is the best landlord and the best Master . . . there is not one of his tenants or servants but what will give him a good name,” she had said.

At the time, they had made allowance for a degree of partiality on her part, because of her long association with the family, but time and again Elizabeth had seen evidence that served to enhance the veracity of the housekeeper’s words. The very genuine concern and kindness in his actions and manner towards the people who lived and worked on the Pemberley Estate were plain for all to see. He made no speeches about it, but the strong sense of responsibility he demonstrated convinced her that her husband was indeed “an excellent man,” as well as being “the best landlord and Master, ever.”

Later, she shared her experiences and feelings with her aunt and sister, as they relaxed in her private sitting room enjoying shortbread and tea. Mrs Gardiner also recalled the words of Mrs Reynolds and added that she had never found it difficult to accept the housekeeper’s praise of Mr Darcy, because it had been more than confirmed by his amazing generosity and single-minded pursuit of Lydia and Wickham. “I realize, Lizzie, that it was all done for love of you, but even so, his general demeanour and his behaviour to your uncle and myself were always so pleasing, so much more genuine than some other gentlemen we have known, that I could not possibly believe him to be other than the best of men,” said Mrs Gardiner, making her niece very happy indeed.

That evening, as the younger members of the party dressed up in masks and costumes for the customary pantomime, the sisters watched their husbands help to set the stage for the performance. Georgiana and Dr Grantley were busy organising the music, and Mrs Gardiner with the help of the maids was putting the finishing touches to the costumes. Jane and Lizzie, who had the task of judging the best performance, sat apart in the alcove at the back of the room. They did not need to say very much; there was such a close understanding between them, they could enjoy the felicity of their situation, without saying a word. Of the success of Elizabeth’s first Christmas at Pemberley, they had no doubt at all.

CHAPTER THREE

A seal upon thine heart

T

HE WEATHER CLOSED IN after Boxing Day and made travelling much more difficult. It was generally acknowledged that staying indoors was the best option, and several activities were organised to keep everyone

entertained. Mary was quite content to spend hours in the library or the music room, oblivious of the weather outside or the people inside the house. The Gardiner children were generally well able to entertain themselves with a range of games, and Kitty was still sufficiently youthful to join in.

Dr Grantley, who was working on a paper on early English church music, was grateful for the assistance that Georgiana could give him, and the two of them spent a great deal of time in the library and the music room, going through the extensive collection, which was the work of many generations of the Darcy family.

Elizabeth spent some time with them and came away fascinated by the extent and variety of the resources available to them at Pemberley. She talked to Darcy about providing a scholarship, perhaps in memory of his mother, for students of music, who may wish to use the library. She was convinced that the treasures of the Pemberley collection could be shared with others who had no opportunity to appreciate them in this way. “It is such an excellent collection, much too valuable to be hidden away,” she declared, adding that Dr Grantley had said that there were students of his at Oxford who could benefit from a visit to the library. Darcy promised to consider it and talk to Dr Grantley.

He was, in fact, quite delighted that his wife, like his mother, had realised the richness and value of the Pemberley heritage. He experienced a twinge of guilt that he had ever doubted Elizabeth’s suitability to be the Mistress of Pemberley. He thrust the thought out with the absolute certainty he now felt about her ability to fill the role with distinction and be an adornment to their family.

J

The following day, a party from Rushmore Farm came to call, in the middle of what could almost be called a blizzard, so blustery and cold was the weather. Though not the best day for entertaining, it did give Elizabeth and Jane an opportunity to meet James Fitzwilliam and Rosamund Camden, who had become engaged at Christmas. Recalling Darcy’s droll tale of Lady Catherine’s vain hope of marrying James off to Caroline Bingley, Jane and Lizzie could not help but wonder at her lack of judgement—for the gentleman was so unlikely to suit Miss Bingley as to make the whole idea ludicrous.

James Fitzwilliam was a solid farmer if ever there was one. He was plain speaking and fairly ordinary in appearance, unthinkable then that a sophisticated and fashionable woman like Miss Bingley would be an appropriate partner for him, in spite of his lineage. Rosamund Camden, on the other hand, seemed a sensible young woman, with sufficient personal style to fill her role, whenever her husband succeeded to his title and estate. Mr and Mrs Gardiner agreed that the couple appeared well-suited and they had no doubt at all that James Fitzwilliam would not have been making a good marriage had he followed the wishes of his Aunt Catherine, instead of his own heart. Before the Camdens left, an invitation was issued to all at Pemberley to dine at Rushmore Farm the following day.

After days of poor weather, when they had stayed mostly indoors, everyone and especially the children looked forward to the visit to Rushmore Farm, where Bingley promised them they could see the famous horses of the Rushmore Stud. Unfortunately, these plans were disrupted on the following day, when Jane became unwell and quite unable to leave her bed. Mrs Gardiner was determined to stay behind with her. Elizabeth was also reluctant to leave her sister but was persuaded by both Jane and Mrs Gardiner that she ought to accompany her husband.

The evening dragged on for both Elizabeth and Bingley, whose anxiety about Jane could not be concealed. Elizabeth apologised to her hosts for her preoccupation and was persuaded only with difficulty to accompany Caroline and Georgiana on the pianoforte, when they agreed to sing after dinner.

Darcy, realising the extent of her anxiety, had proposed an early departure and they made their excuses to the Camdens. On the short journey home, he tried to reassure her. He knew Jane was not very strong and prone to colds and chills: they recalled her unhappy illness two years ago, during a visit to Netherfield.

On their return to Pemberley, Bingley alighted from the carriage and ran up the stairs to the room where Jane was resting, while Lizzie went in search of her aunt. She found her in the sitting room taking tea and talking with Mrs Reynolds, whose countenance did not suggest that there had been any bad news. Both women smiled as Lizzie rushed in, taking off her cape as she entered. Even before she could speak, Mrs Gardiner stood up and came to her. “Sit down, Lizzie,” said her aunt, seeing her anxious expression, “Jane is going to be quite all right.”

“What did the doctor say?” she asked and seeing her aunt smile, “Do tell me please, what is it?”
Mrs Gardiner spoke gently. “He said what I expected him to say, Lizzie, but I had no right to tell you until the doctor had seen her: your sister Jane is going to have a baby.”
Elizabeth cried out, tears filling her eyes; she leapt up and ran out of the room, ran back in again, hugged her aunt and Mrs Reynolds, and then ran upstairs to her sister’s room. She found Jane sitting up in bed with her husband beside her, both of them looking very happy indeed. The sisters embraced, and there were more tears.
Bingley decided to leave them alone for awhile and went down stairs to give Darcy the good news. They could barely speak for the emotion that welled up in them. “Oh darling Jane, what a wonderful Christmas present!”
“Lizzie, I cannot believe how fortunate I am; I am sorry to have caused all of you so much concern,” said Jane.
“Oh hush, I was concerned that you might have caught a chill in all this bad weather, but my aunt says she expected the doctor’s verdict. I have to say, Jane dearest, I cannot wait to be an aunt.” Lizzie’s voice bubbled over with joy, as her sister reached out and held her hand tight. “We have already decided that Mr Darcy and you are to be godparents,” she said, and Elizabeth was ecstatic.
Darcy was so pleased for Jane and Bingley that Elizabeth felt the tiniest tinge of regret that she had not been able to give him the news herself. Later that night, preparing for bed, she ventured to tease him about being godfather to the Bingley’s child. But he had anticipated her and refused to be teased, saying only that he knew how much it meant to Jane and Bingley and what good parents they would make. “Bingley,” he said, “is very fond of children and will make an excellent father.”
“As I know you would,” said Elizabeth, determined to find out how he really felt. This time, he did as she plainly wished him to, as he took her in his arms and said, “Of course, my dear, when we have our own children, I have no doubt that we shall make excellent parents,” adding with a smile, “I know you will insist upon it.”
On the following Sunday, the weather had cleared sufficiently to enable the Gardiners and Bingleys to leave Pemberley for London and thence to Netherfield Park and Longbourn. Bingley, in particular, had been very reluctant to have his wife put at risk in any way by rough weather and bad roads. Elizabeth had been very touched by the extraordinary care he showed towards her sister.
Parting from both Jane and Mrs Gardiner at once was heart wrenching, and for Lizzie, it was also a realisation that she was now on her own at Pemberley. Without her aunt and sisters, she felt suddenly alone, despite the loving support of her husband and the admiration and affection of her sister-in-law. This prompted her to invite Kitty to stay on while Mary returned home.
“You could stay on until after Father arrives and return to Longbourn in the Spring with him,” she suggested and was a little surprised at the cheerful alacrity with which Kitty accepted, asking only that her mother pack a couple of her favourite dresses and a bonnet, to be sent over with her father’s things when he came to Pemberley. Elizabeth was pleased. She and Jane had only recently discussed the change in Kitty since being separated from Lydia. “Yes, and I do believe if she were to return to Longbourn, our mother will very likely take her North to Newcastle, when she travels there in March,” said Jane, adding, “and all the good work we’ve done will be undone.”
“Indeed it will, and I am sure it will not be in Kitty’s interest to fall in with the type of person with whom Wickham and Lydia are likely to keep company,” observed Lizzie, thinking, as she spoke, that it would never do for their family to have to contend with another catastrophe of the kind visited upon them by Lydia and Wickham.
She could imagine the outrage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and the sneering comments of Caroline Bingley, which would surely sour her own marriage, should such a circumstance arise again. Darcy’s forbearance and generosity of spirit were likely to be sorely tested, and neither he nor Bingley would feel comfortable trying to explain away another faux pas by one of their sisters.
For Kitty’s sake, too, it was far better that she complete her development in the society of people far superior to those her errant sister could provide in Newcastle. Strangely, it seemed Kitty had come to the same conclusion, because she appeared to spend much of her time with Georgiana, actually practising the piano, helping with her music and the Children’s Choir.
Elizabeth wept as she parted from Jane; they had grown even closer together since being married, and the knowledge that Jane would probably not return for the wedding of Rosamund Camden and James Fitzwilliam, later that year, saddened her sister considerably.
Darcy noticed her distress and moved to console both sisters with a promise that they would surely be visiting Netherfield very soon. After many affectionate hugs and kisses and faithful promises to write almost at once, if not sooner, they were gone, leaving a tearful little party on the steps, for even the servants had grown so fond of the lovely Mrs Bingley. With her sweet nature and gentle ways, she was their favourite.
Close behind them, the Gardiners’ carriage, with Mr and Mrs Gardiner, Mary, and the little Gardiners hanging out of the windows, rolled forward, and there were more hugs and tears. When the two carriages had disappeared from sight, Elizabeth turned and found her husband close beside her, took his arm, and went indoors, not even trying to hide her tears.

CHAPTER FOUR

Letters

I

N THE MONTHS THAT followed, many letters flowed between Pemberley, London, Netherfield Park, and Longbourn. Elizabeth had not spent more than a few days before she longed to put pen to paper. In her private sitting

room, overlooking the park, she pondered on all that surrounded her at Pemberley. It was not just the years of tradition and family history or the exquisite treasures of Darcy’s forebears, nor was it the presence of an army of servants and tenant families, who regarded her husband with so much deference and respect, that now flowed through to her. It was much more than that. It was a sense of stability, an environment of elegance and harmony that prevailed throughout, almost defying the ravages of conflict, to create a pervading atmosphere of tranquillity. It was this same stability she had begun to appreciate in her husband, with his unswerving consistency of behaviour, based upon a high sense of personal honour and responsibility. Combined with the constancy and tenderness of their mutual love and esteem, it was an ideal Elizabeth may only have dared to dream of.

There was no doubt, however, that she was missing her beloved sister. Writing to Jane, she struggled to put her thoughts into words:

I have tried, these many hours, to think how I might best convey to you, my dearest Jane, the sense of loss I feel at your departure from Pemberley. Each night since you and my dear Aunt and Uncle left us, we have sat but a short time at the table after dinner, yet no sooner have we risen and gone upstairs to our sitting room, than we speak longingly of the days just gone and the evenings filled with laughter. Oh Jane, both of us miss you so. Darcy has promised that we will visit you soon, probably when father returns to Longbourn. There is no need for me to tell you how much I look forward to seeing you, again.

Meanwhile, I cannot let you believe that we are all gloom and despondency, for that would be unfair to the efforts of Mr Darcy to engage my interest in a dozen different schemes. Tomorrow, we hope the weather will be as good as it is today, which only means cold and dry, instead of cold and wet, for we are invited to a reception for the Duke of Wellington at the estate of the Earl of Lichfield in Staffordshire. The Duke is being feted for his splendid achievements at Waterloo and elsewhere, now that the war is over. The family at Pemberley has had a long association with the Ansons, whose family are the Earls of Lichfield. Mrs Reynolds has told me that Darcy’s father, who was much loved and respected, was a close friend of the late Earl.

Afterwards, Darcy has promised we shall visit Lichfield, where my dear favourite Doctor Johnson was born, to attend a choral recital at the great Cathedral there. It is a pleasure I should only have dreamed of, dear Jane, and one I shall enjoy all the more knowing that Darcy will share it with me. He has an excellent understanding of music and will often help Georgiana or myself in reading and interpreting some of the new European compositions. This is especially good for me, since my knowledge of music is mostly self taught, as you know, and not particularly extensive. Georgiana and Dr Grantley are to accompany us; although they are not asked to the reception, they will visit the castle and High House at Stafford, while Mr Darcy and I attend the function for the great man. As you know, Dr Grantley has a great interest in Church music, and Georgiana has been helping him with the material in the Pemberley collection, and he is very appreciative of her interest in his work.

Will you forgive me, my dear sister, if I mention this with some little trepidation, but I fear Georgiana is in danger of falling in love with Dr Grantley. I have not spoken a word of my suspicions to anyone but you, so I beg you keep this to yourself alone. Do not ask me if it is requited, dear Jane, for Dr Grantley is of an age and a level of maturity, being a year older than Darcy, that enables a man to keep his feelings to himself. Georgiana is of such a tender age, being younger than Kitty, that he may not wish to encourage her in any way. If my husband knows anything of it, he has not indicated it to me, but I am sure he will have noticed that they are together for many hours each day. Let us leave it until we meet; there may be more substance to the matter by then, or perchance there may be no more of it, since Dr Grantley returns to his College at Oxford in the Spring. I must close now but will write again when we are returned from Staffordshire. Do give our love to Bingley, and, dear Jane, I beg you please look after yourself. You are always in my thoughts.

Yours very affectionately, Lizzie.

On returning from Staffordshire, Elizabeth found two letters waiting for her. The first, from her father, had been expected for some time, since Mr Bennet had accepted Darcy’s invitation to visit Pemberley in the New Year. Elizabeth was overjoyed to read that he was finally coming, having ensured that Mrs Bennet was safely off to Newcastle. He asked Elizabeth to tell her husband that the coach would arrive at Lambton on Saturday afternoon, remembering that Darcy had offered to send the carriage for him.

While I regret that I have delayed my visit to Pemberley, I think, my dear, you will agree that it was done in a good cause, for by waiting until your mother was ready to leave for Newcastle, taking her maid Sarah with her, I have spared your sister Jane the responsibility of entertaining both your mother and Mary for several weeks. I would have felt guilty had I done so and would not have enjoyed my stay with you quite as much as I intend to. As it happens, Mary is gone to Netherfield Park; Hill and John will watch over Longbourn, while I avail myself of the delights of Derbyshire in general and Pemberley in particular. Please tell your husband I am looking forward very much to burying myself in his remarkable library, of which I have such excellent reports.

Elizabeth hurried over to find her husband and give him the news. She found him in the sitting room, reading a letter from Mr Gardiner, thanking them for their hospitality over Christmas and urging them to consider a visit to London, preferably before they went on to Netherfield in Spring. When she handed him her father’s letter, Elizabeth was delighted to see the genuine pleasure with which he read it and turning to her, said, “There you are, my dear, I knew you would soon be smiling again. I know how much you’ve been missing your father—why you’re looking better already.” Elizabeth knew he was sincere, despite the teasing tone of his voice.

“I shall ask Hobbs to arrange for the carriage to meet him, unless you and Kitty would like to go, too.” Elizabeth considered this but decided she would prefer to wait for her father at Pemberley, with Darcy beside her. She said so, and from his approving smile, she knew it was the right thing to do.

Tea was served and as the others helped themselves, Elizabeth took hers upstairs hoping to read the second letter she had received, in the privacy of her sitting room. She had recognised the hand; it was Charlotte’s and posted at Hunsford. Even before she opened it, Elizabeth felt a sense of gleeful anticipation; Charlotte would surely have news from Rosings where Lady Catherine must have held court during the festive season, with the Bingley sisters and Mr Collins showing appropriate respect.

On opening it, Elizabeth read it quickly through and then re-read it as she was wont to do when she wished to savour the pleasure of a letter from a favourite source. The first few paragraphs contained sundry pieces of information relating to household matters and then there was news from the domain of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Charlotte wrote:
Dear Eliza,

You probably will not be surprised to hear that your marriage to Mr Darcy has not found favour with his aunt. She seemed to think you had done it out of spite or some determination to flout her Ladyship’s wishes. It was a judgement with which Mrs Hurst and Miss Caroline Bingley seemed ready to agree with alacrity, though it must be said that Mr Hurst did not wish to become involved. He was of the opinion that Mr Darcy “had had his eye on Miss Eliza Bennet since the day of the Netherfield Ball,” and this rather threw them all into confusion. You will be pleased, I am sure, to hear that Mr Collins and I remained staunchly aloof from any vilification of your selves and when the opportunity arose, I remarked to Miss Bingley that I was quite certain both her brother Mr Bingley and his friend Mr Darcy were considered extremely fortunate to have married two of the most handsome ladies in the county.

“Oh Charlotte, I can wager anything, she did not like that,” said Lizzie, chuckling to herself, visualising the scene at Rosings and enjoying the discomfiture of Miss Bingley as Charlotte described it.

More than for herself, Elizabeth found it hard to be charitable to the Bingley sisters on account of their treatment of Jane last Summer. It remained a mystery to her that their brother could be such an amiable and sincere gentleman while growing up in the company of sisters whose meanness of understanding and total selfishness of character were hard to conceal. She could not restrain her laughter when she read of Lady Catherine’s response to the failure of her nephew James Fitzwilliam to present himself at Rosings for Christmas.

Her Ladyship appeared most put out when a message arrived on Christmas Eve, from her nephew James, elder brother of Colonel Fitzwilliam, saying he was unavoidably delayed up North and could not get back to Kent for Christmas. Mr Collins did try to discover why Lady Catherine was so particular that he should be here, but no one seemed to know.

Elizabeth, recalling Darcy’s tale of Lady Catherine’s plans for her nephew, laughed out loud. When Darcy came in search of her, Elizabeth had reached the last page of Charlotte’s letter:

My main reason for writing, dear Eliza, is to tell you that I am going to be at Lucas Lodge from the beginning of March until my baby is born in May and probably for a month afterwards. My dear parents have asked me to stay, and Mr Collins agrees with me that Dr Jones would engender more confidence, having attended almost all members of our family, than the physician recommended by Lady Catherine. Again, I doubt that I have pleased her Ladyship with my decision, but I am convinced I must do as I see fit.

Elizabeth gave a cry of joy, as if she was cheering Charlotte on in her defiance, and Darcy looked on in astonishment, until she acquainted him with the reason for her satisfaction. She passed the letter to him, having read the last paragraph, in which her friend expressed a wish that Lizzie should not fail to visit her when she came to Longbourn. Elizabeth had not been unaware of Mrs Collins’ condition, having heard of it at the time of her own wedding in October, but her happiness was intensified by Charlotte’s news that she would be at Lucas Lodge—probably without her odious husband, so that a visit would bring real pleasure. “It will be almost like old times,” she said, and Mr Darcy, who had always felt some regard for the pleasant, sensible, and long-suffering Charlotte, agreed. They laughed together at the news from Rosings, especially the remark from Mr Hurst about Darcy and Elizabeth and Charlotte’s description of Lady Catherine’s aggravation at the non-appearance of her nephew.

“She cannot have learned of his engagement to Rosamund,” said Darcy, adding that he was glad not to be at Rosings to hear her reaction.
Finding him in this very light-hearted mood, Elizabeth pressed her request for an early visit to her sister at Netherfield, with the possibility of seeing Charlotte at the same time. It wasn’t difficult to extract a promise that when her father returned home in four weeks’ time, they would all go, probably via London. In addition, he had other, more advanced plans. “I know how much it means to you, dearest, and I have already made arrangements for our stay in London, probably for four days. I have only been waiting on Mr Bennet’s arrival to discover whether he would like to join us or stay here with Dr Grantley and Kitty.
“Once we know his preference, you can make whatever arrangements you wish with Mrs Gardiner for your entertainment during the day, when Mr Gardiner and I will be busy with matters of business. Your uncle has also obtained tickets for the Opera, and we must confirm our arrangements as soon as possible,” he said.
Elizabeth was delighted. She threw her arms around Darcy and thanked him with an enthusiasm that both surprised and delighted him. As soon as matters were decided, she intended to write to Jane and Charlotte and give them the good news. As for Mrs Gardiner, she was owed a letter, and Elizabeth decided it was going to be written without delay.
Outside, the weather was still wintry, but in her heart, it was already Spring. This feeling of lightness flowed through into her letter:

My dearest Aunt,

It gives me so much joy to write with good news, and so much of it. First, my father arrives on Saturday for four weeks, having ensured that my mother has safely left for Newcastle to be with Lydia. He apologises for his tardiness in coming to us but is certain that it was in a good cause, since it preserves dear Jane and Bingley from having Mama to stay for two weeks before her journey North. I have no doubt at all that Jane and Bingley are profoundly grateful, although they are both much too polite to say so.

My second is that Charlotte Lucas has written to say she is going to Lucas Lodge for the next three months until her baby is born. The greatest good news, dear Aunt, is Mr Collins needs must stay behind at Hunsford, since the spiritual needs of his parishioners and the wishes, nay commands, of his patron Lady Catherine must come first. Which means, when Father returns to Longbourn next month, we are to go, too. I shall be able to see Charlotte without her husband’s constant attentions and interruptions. What bliss! Can you imagine?

We are also to stay a week with Jane and Bingley, at Netherfield Park, to which I am looking forward very much. With Mama away, Mary is with Jane at Netherfield until Papa and Kitty return.

Speaking of Kitty, she has started to practise her piano again and is getting quite good at it. She is happy to help us out with the Children’s Choir, which has become a fixture of late. Last Sunday, the Rector— Reverend Huw Jenkins—who is Welsh and with an excellent voice himself, thanked Kitty especially for the hard work she had put in with the choir. She looked very pleased with the special attention she received. We are all agreed that the change in Kitty is very good news indeed.

Even better news, Mr Darcy has arranged for us to come to London for four or five days. The date is not as yet set, but he will send an express to our Uncle Gardiner as soon as it is settled.

I do look forward to London in March, so close to Easter too. I believe we are to go to the Opera with you, and I shall have to order a new gown for the occasion. Not having been to the Opera in London, any advice from you on an appropriate style will be much appreciated. I think I should also purchase a new bonnet, for daytime, if we are to go driving in Hyde Park together. Would you advise me if your milliner has something suitable? I must stop for now as Mrs Reynolds wishes me to look at the rooms they have prepared for Father. I shall write more tonight.

Mrs Reynolds escorted Elizabeth to what they used to call “the quiet wing” of the house, since it was situated away from the main living rooms and the nurseries. The Library, accommodated in a fine room from whose windows one could look out on almost every aspect of the grounds except the woods behind the house, was elegant and inspiring, with its remarkable collection housed in a series of magnificent cabinets. Reading tables and comfortable chairs all placed to take advantage of the natural light pouring in at the windows gave the room a most welcoming atmosphere, unlike some cold and musty rooms which passed for libraries in many houses she had visited. Elizabeth was sure her father would enjoy this place. Mrs Reynolds wished to point out a special reading desk and chair that Mr Darcy had had moved into an alcove beside one of the windows overlooking the park. “The Master said it would suit Mr Bennet, Ma’am,” Mrs Reynolds explained, and when Lizzie asked where it came from, she was astonished to hear her say, “From Mr Darcy’s father’s study.” Elizabeth’s pleasure showed plainly on her face as Mrs Reynolds led her down the corridor and across the main landing to a suite of rooms comprising a bedroom of medium size with its own dressing room attached and beyond a little sitting room, complete again with its own writing desk and book case. “The Master asked that these rooms be prepared for Mr Bennet, Ma’am, but he insisted I was to ask you if you approved and if there was anything more you wanted done.”

There were tears in her eyes as Lizzie looked around the rooms, and so overwhelmed was she by the generosity and kindness of her husband, she failed to hide them from Mrs Reynolds. The housekeeper spoke gently and with understanding, “It is very like the Master, Ma’am, as you would know, he is kindness itself and nothing is too good or too much trouble for a friend. He said Mr Bennet was a learned and well-read gentleman, with a partiality for a quiet atmosphere, Ma’am. So this was the right room for him, being so close to the Library too.”

Elizabeth agreed, “He is right, my father’s favourite room is the library.”

Mrs Reynolds smiled. “Mr Darcy said as much, Ma’am. He is a good judge of people.”
Recalling her father’s impression of Darcy, an impression largely fostered by her own uninformed and prejudiced views, Elizabeth’s tears fell, coursing down her cheeks, and only the sound of footsteps, unmistakably those of Mr Darcy, saved her from further embarrassment.
Mrs Reynolds moved into the corridor as Darcy entered the room and seeing Elizabeth, said, “There you are, my dear, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I’ve just been showing Mrs Darcy the rooms we have made ready for Mr Bennet, sir,” Mrs Reynolds said by way of explanation, and as Darcy turned to thank her, she slipped away, leaving them together.
He asked at once, “What do you think, Lizzie? Do you approve?” He seemed eager to have her approval, as he had been when they first met in the grounds of Pemberley last summer. Then seeing her tears, he was immediately concerned, “Dearest, are you not pleased? Is anything amiss?”
“Oh no no, not at all, it’s so kind of you to go to all this trouble,” she said, and as he took her hands, she wept and had to be comforted.
“You like it then?” He was keen to please her.
“Yes indeed, it’s perfect. My father will love the library and this beautiful room.”
“That was my intention, and I hoped you would agree. I felt your father made his library a haven from the ups and downs of domestic life and I thought he would like a similar atmosphere here. Should he care for company, he needs only to walk downstairs, and he would be just outside the main living room.” By this time, Elizabeth had recovered her composure and smiled at his eagerness to convince her.
“Dearest, he will love it, it’s exactly the way he likes it. My father, as you know, is not the most sociable of people; he enjoys good books and his own company. I must thank you most sincerely for your concern for his comfort.”
That night, Elizabeth finished her letter to Mrs Gardiner. She wrote of the arrangements Mr Darcy had made for her father’s visit:

Unlike my uncle, with whom Darcy struck up an easy friendship from their very first meeting, as you will remember, my father has been a difficult person for him to get acquainted with, and it was not made easier by the terrible business of Lydia and Wickham.

Darcy, who is a very loving brother, takes his responsibilities as a guardian very seriously, and being extremely careful of his young sister could not understand the easygoing attitude of my parents to Lydia’s behaviour. Now, however, he is so transformed, so anxious to make up for any hurt he may have caused, that he is kind and generous to a fault. I must be the most fortunate creature in the world, dear Aunt, do you know of any other?

J

On Saturday morning, Mr Bennet arrived at Pemberley, the carriage having called for him after breakfast at the inn at Lambton. Elizabeth waited for him with Darcy and Kitty at her side. She was conscious of the fact that it was the first time her father was visiting Pemberley and indeed the first time since their wedding that Mr Darcy and she were to welcome him together.

In spite of the wintry cold, Pemberley looked splendid against the sky, and Lizzie hoped her father, whose good taste in art and writing had influenced her own appreciation, would notice the elegance of line and proportion that characterised the handsome house. She was not disappointed. No sooner had he alighted and embraced his daughters—Lizzie twice and Kitty with special mention on how well she looked—than he turned to Darcy, who greeted him most warmly and welcomed him to Pemberley. Mr Bennet responded with genuine enthusiasm. “This is indeed a fine place you have here, Mr Darcy; there are not too many places I have seen which manage to avoid looking bleak and cold in Winter; Pemberley certainly does that. The park with those stands of evergreen trees looks much less bleak than some of the bare grounds I saw on my way here.” Darcy was clearly pleased and, as he ushered him indoors, explained that the park and grounds at Pemberley had been lovingly designed by his late mother.

Elizabeth and Kitty following close behind, exchanged glances and smiled. They recalled that their father it was who had taken an interest in the layout of the grounds at Longbourn, while Mrs Bennet had shown no interest in it at all. Once inside, Mr Bennet turned again to his favourite daughter, “Lizzie, you look so well, I must compliment your husband. Mr Darcy, congratulations, I am sure I have never seen Lizzie look so radiant. Marriage obviously suits both you and Jane, I saw her and Bingley before I left Longbourn, and they’re looking extremely well.”

Embarrassed, Lizzie, who knew her father was teasing her, turned to her husband and urged him to pay no attention, but Darcy, catching Mr Bennet’s mood, was determined to join in the game. “Why thank you, Sir, I’m sure I agree with you; I have not seen Lizzie look more beautiful than she does now. However, I cannot take all the credit; she has been happier than ever since we had your letter advising us of your visit.” Elizabeth blushed, mainly with the pleasure of hearing the ease with which her husband and father appeared to exchange these pleasantries, without a hint of awkwardness. And yet, there was regard and respect in Darcy’s tone, which truly pleased her.

As she wrote later, to Jane:

I cannot say too much about the warmth and sincerity of Mr Darcy’s welcome to our father. In his conversations and general demeanour, he has in every respect been so pleasing, often deferring to my father, where I may not have done. We have had so many conversations, Jane. Did you know that Father was seriously concerned about the lack of schooling for children of many tenant farmers? At dinner, we were joined by Dr Grantley and Georgiana, and Papa expressed his outrage that while Britain was “well nigh bursting with national pride” after the war with Napoleon, the nation had only haphazard and inadequate schools for its children, except for the sons of the rich and privileged, of course. Surprisingly, both Dr Grantley and Mr Darcy agreed with Papa, and indeed Darcy went so far as to say that his father had once wanted to start a school for the children of Pemberley’s tenants but had been opposed by the then-curate of the parish of Kympton, who had probably seen it as a threat to the authority of the church, which provided only a Sunday School.

I have put that information aside in a corner of my mind, Jane, and I intend to ask Darcy if we may not try again, since we have at present, no incumbent at Kympton. It would be good to have a school for the children of the estate.

Dear Jane, when I think how much we learned to appreciate the value of reading, it does sadden me to think so many young children are without any teaching at all. Dr Grantley pointed out that scholars at Oxford are mostly the sons of the rich and not all appreciate the value of learning. So many of our great men are self-taught, and it seems a shame that only a few of our girls are ever taught at all. Oh Jane dearest, I seem to have run on so, forgive me, but it has been such an exciting day. Papa is rather tired from travelling and has retired to his rooms, but hopes to be awake bright and early tomorrow, when Darcy has promised to drive him around the park and show him more of the countryside. I shall continue this letter tomorrow, when I hope to be more certain of our plans for London.

Goodnight, dear Jane.

Mr Bennet’s stay at Pemberley brought both him and his daughters more pleasure than any of them had anticipated. For Elizabeth and Kitty, it was an opportunity to see their father in a new light. Away from the dominating, intrusive presence of their mother, their father expressed a range of opinions on subjects dear to his heart; subjects to which he had never cared to speak out. Because he knew they were of no interest to his wife, he had unfairly assumed that his daughters would have no interest in them either.

Yet now at Pemberley in the company of Darcy and Dr Grantley, he was much more expansive and talked of many matters that had concerned him, matters that were in the news, like the increasing moves towards enclosing the farmlands and taking over the commons or the rapid and unconscionable increases in rents.

He found in his son-in-law and Dr Grantley men of like mind, well-educated, well-read, and more amenable to enlightened ideas. Elizabeth listened with increasing astonishment to the flowering of her father’s reformist zeal and wondered at the frustration he must have experienced these twenty-odd years, with so little opportunity to express his opinions in congenial company.

“You will have seen it in this county too, Mr Darcy,” he said after dinner one night, “I certainly see it all over Hertfordshire, every landowner with a little property and a modest house has decided to re-build or expand or improve, call it what you will, acquiring a field here, enclosing a meadow there or worse still, adding bits of classical architecture to perfectly good English houses.” Both Darcy and Dr Grantley agreed immediately; to Elizabeth, it was like a breath of fresh air to hear their views.

Dr Grantley complained that people in London were being taken in by the new tribe of decorators and designers who were re-modelling everything in the Classical image, whether or not it was appropriate. Darcy said he had been approached twice by disciples of Humphry Repton, who had offered to force the stream that ran through the park into a series of cascades, ponds, and fountains, ornamented with classical statuary! Elizabeth cried out on hearing this, only to be reassured by her husband that it was the very last thing he would permit at Pemberley. Mr Bennet congratulated him on his good sense and judgement. “Because,” he said, “Pemberley is the kind of handsome, solid house that needs no such embellishment. The naturally flowing stream enhances the house and the park because of its very simplicity; it does not need fountains and peacocks.” Everyone laughed at the idea of peacocks in the park at Pemberley until Dr Grantley pointed out that Lord Derby had just added a new wing with a dining room that overlooked an enclosed garden that housed exotic birds imported from India! Mention of India reminded Elizabeth of the exotic tastes of Warren Hastings as exemplified by the interior design of his famous residence Daylesford, which they had visited on their travels. Darcy observed that it was far too ornate and exotic for his taste.

Their evenings passed in musical entertainment and excellent conversation, of a level Elizabeth had rarely enjoyed at Longbourn. She had the satisfaction of knowing that her father had shown, as her Uncle Gardiner had done before, that he was the equal of any gentleman. Recalling her encounter with Lady Catherine, Lizzie permitted herself a little smug smile. It was a special pleasure for her to see how easily Darcy and Dr Grantley engaged him in conversation and the degree of respect they accorded his views. Frequently, the Rector, Mr Jenkins, would call and stay to dinner, adding his views to the conversation or his excellent voice to the singing, with Kitty to accompany them on the pianoforte. Elizabeth noticed that Mr Jenkins was there more often of late and believed him to be rather lonely and glad of the company.

Mr Bennet was so enjoying himself, that he had no desire at all to go up to London; he expressed a preference for accompanying Dr Grantley, Georgiana, and Kitty on a drive to the Peak District. He had heard a great deal about the area from Lizzie and the Gardiners, when they toured there last summer, he said. Elizabeth was surprised that Kitty preferred to stay but was later not quite so surprised, when it was revealed that young Mr Jenkins, the Rector, had been invited to join their party.

Completing her letter to Jane, briefly, for there were preparations to be made, Elizabeth mentioned the interest that Kitty was showing in the work of the little church at Pemberley. She added that the Rector was perhaps as great a source of interest as the rest of the Rectory. “He is a very well-mannered and thoughtful young man, and Mr Darcy likes him,” she said, but she urged Jane to keep her counsel on this, “until we meet and can speak privately.” To Charlotte, Elizabeth was particularly cordial, since she felt she owed her oldest friend some special consideration. Their friendship had been shaken, when Charlotte chose to marry Mr Collins, and Elizabeth felt the need to make amends.

She wrote:

I am looking forward very much to seeing you, dear Charlotte. God willing, we shall meet in May, before your baby is born, and have the time to talk as we used to in days gone by. God bless you,

Your friend, Lizzie.
CHAPTER FIVE

Relations and friends

I

N THE SPRING OF 1816, London was a thriving, exciting metropolis and a political, mercantile, social, and cultural centre. Many people came there to do business, to make political or social contacts, or simply to see and be

seen in the right places, with the right people.

For Darcy and Elizabeth, their visit to the big city meant much more than this. While Darcy did have business to negotiate and Elizabeth intended to do some shopping in the fashionable emporiums recommended by her aunt, their main interest was the opportunity to enjoy the company of the Gardiners, with whom they shared a most satisfying relationship. Whether talking of matters pertaining to business or attending some entertainment in one of the numerous venues around London, both Darcy and Elizabeth were completely at ease with Mr and Mrs Gardiner. On matters concerning themselves or their families, they were able to speak frankly and openly, because there was between them a strong sense of trust as well as an affectionate concern for one another.

Darcy and Mr Gardiner needed to discuss a proposal to extend their business, based on reports from Fitzwilliam on the opportunities involving the trade in Tea and Spices from the Eastern colonies of India and Ceylon.

While Darcy had little experience in the business of trade, he was wise enough to see the direction in which British commerce was moving, and being no longer hobbled by snobbery, he found working with the practical and amiable Mr Gardiner rewarding and engrossing. He was content to leave the actual organisation and administration of the business in the hands of Mr Gardiner but took a lively interest in its progress. Darcy was also aware of the other consequences of the great expansion of industry and commerce that was taking place in England. It had been troubling him, and Elizabeth knew he felt strongly about it.

After dinner one night, he mentioned the subject of the new industries that were spreading across the country. “Are you aware,” he asked quietly, “that there are factories being opened up in places such as Sheffield and Birmingham, which employ young children? I’ve had a letter from Fitzwilliam, who speaks with some horror of child labour in the Colonies; I wonder if he knows that it is happening here, in the very heart of England.” Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner exchanged glances. It was obvious from his countenance and the tone of his voice that Darcy was speaking very seriously. Mr Gardiner responded cautiously, wondering how extensive the practice was.

But Darcy persevered. “I understand it is very popular with the cotton spinners and weavers,” he said, adding with some sarcasm, “The children are thought to be small enough to crawl under the machines and clean them,” and hearing Elizabeth gasp, he looked at her and added, more gently, “I have this on the best authority, my dear. I know it seems unbelievable, but it’s true. What is more, I’m told that all over the Midlands and in parts of the West Riding and Cheshire, the landscape is being blackened with pits and smoke while the trout streams are being choked with wool scour and dye wash.” He sounded angry, and Mr Gardiner, realising that Darcy was always passionate about the land, agreed that it was a worrying trend. Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner had remained silent at first, but they added their voices in support of Darcy, only to find that their guest, a banker, was adamant that this was the way of the future.

“It’s progress,” he declared, “and there is a price to be paid for it.” “If that is true, I want no part of it,” said Darcy in a voice so determined that everyone at the table was left in no doubt of the strength and sincerity of his words. “I have no desire to see the fields and rivers of England sullied and the ordinary working people and their children enslaved by the owners of pits and workshops, just so they can make a great deal of money.”
Mrs Gardiner was quite surprised, pleasantly so, on hearing Darcy speak out. Being from the same part of England, she shared his apprehension about the despoiling of the land and was glad to hear it spoken of so passionately. She whispered to her niece, “Lizzie, this is a side of Mr Darcy we have not seen before.” Elizabeth assured her aunt that she had become aware of Darcy’s concern since their marriage and knew it to be a matter of considerable importance to him.
Elizabeth’s pride in her husband grew as she heard his words. She had never heard him speak of these matters with such a degree of passion before, but she knew he had concerns, because from time to time he had been troubled by information he had received.
Recently, there had been incidents reported of rural labourers’ being thrown out of work as their masters enclosed the small farms and the commons and introduced “labour saving” machines. Their families, deprived of food and shelter on the farm and rendered homeless, wandered the streets, begging from passers-by.
Worse still, laws had been recently passed to make the casual taking of game punishable by transportation or, in some cases, death. Poachers, as they now were trying to grab a hare, fish, or pheasant to feed a hungry family, might well find themselves arrested, charged, and sentenced to be transported to Botany Bay. Their wives and children either went with them or starved.
Elizabeth knew that Darcy had protested strongly about this abuse of the poor at a meeting with some of the new landowners in the neighbourhood. She’d heard of this from Rosamund Camden whose father had agreed with Darcy and supported his stand. Many others did not. They were caught up in a rush to produce more with less and enrich themselves at the expense of the landless poor who had worked hard for them for generations.
The banker, Mr Fletcher, appeared to be unmoved. “Does that mean you will not enclose the commons on your property, Mr Darcy?” he asked.
“I most certainly will not,” replied Darcy, reddening as he spoke, “The commons and some of the woodlands have been set aside for the use of everyone. It would be a gross injustice to enclose them and deny the village people use of the land.”
Young Caroline Gardiner, who had been called in by her mother to help with the tea and provide some after-dinner entertainment at the pianoforte, heard part of the conversation and when an opportunity arose asked her mother why Mr Darcy was so angry. On being told, she expressed total sympathy with his point of view and, as Mrs Gardiner later told Elizabeth, solemnly promised that she would never marry anyone who had enclosed their fields and turned out their farm workers. “She was completely at one with Mr Darcy,” said Mrs Gardiner as Elizabeth took a cup of tea with her before retiring, “Caroline thinks that you and Mr Darcy are the most wonderful couple in the world, Lizzie, and tonight, she was so impressed by his eloquence and anger that I can wager she will soon want to join the Reformists or even Mr Cobbett’s Radicals!” Elizabeth laughed and when she went upstairs, related the tale to Darcy, who would not agree that it was precocious of young Caroline, saying only that the child had intelligence beyond her tender years and it was indeed a pleasure to find that a little girl not yet thirteen could be so moved by injustice.
Later that night, Elizabeth confided in her husband the sense of loyalty and pride she had felt as he spoke at dinner. She added that she wished she had known more about the circumstances of the textile trade; she would have had an opinion to offer when Jane had written to her about the new and lucrative business that her in-laws, the Hursts, were investing in. “I know all about it; I believe his sisters and Mr Hurst have actually persuaded Bingley to buy shares. Well, I intend to enlighten him about the pernicious nature of the enterprise, and if I can, I shall persuade him to sell out,” said Darcy.
“Sell out?” Elizabeth could not believe her ears, “Do you think he will?” Darcy’s face and voice had the kind of determination that Elizabeth had learned to recognise as implacable.
“I certainly intend to try my best, my love; I hope to convince him that his valuable patrimony will be far better used to purchase a very attractive property in Leicester, some twenty miles from Pemberley,” he said, with a sly smile. The news sent Elizabeth into transports of delight as he went on, “Since he is soon to be a father, it is surely time he acquired a family home. He has frequently asked me to look out for a suitable place. Your sister is naturally keen to be close to us, so I have done his bidding, and I am fairly confident that if you and Jane were to add your considerable powers of persuasion to mine, we shall soon convince Bingley of the wisdom of moving his money from the hideous squalor of the textile industry to the still green and pleasant vales of Leicestershire.”
Elizabeth, who had not heard Darcy speak with such passion and eloquence on the subject before, was quite amazed at his scheme. She couldn’t help admiring his determination and dedication, but even more was she delighted at the thought of the Bingleys moving to Leicestershire, not twenty miles from Pemberley. “Will you not tell me where this Paradise lies?” she asked, and Darcy told her it was one of the properties being sold by Lord Thompson, who was getting too old to leave his own considerable estate in Hampshire and travel around the country. Two of the smaller properties—one in Leicestershire and another in Staffordshire—were to be sold, although this was not publicly known. Darcy was familiar with both properties and was certain the one in Leicester would suit the Bingleys well. “We could look it over on our way to Longbourn and Netherfield, next month—would you like that?” he suggested.
“I can think of nothing I would like better,” answered his wife, and so it was settled.
When it was time to leave, their farewells were drawn out and sad as they left the Gardiners. Darcy and Mr Gardiner had successfully negotiated their business, while Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner had spent many hours together, undisturbed and alone but for young Caroline and Emily, so they could talk to their hearts’ content. Elizabeth’s affection for her aunt was exceeded only by her love of her sister, and both aunt and niece were looking forward to being with Jane in August, when her baby was due. The Gardiners were to stay at Longbourn. “Your father insisted,” said Mrs Gardiner, smiling, “He made me promise I would be there to keep your Mama calm.” Elizabeth laughed. She knew exactly what her father had meant but added hopefully that, just maybe, having been with Lydia when she was brought to bed would help her mother remain calm.
She was grateful that her aunt had not pressed her about her own prospects of having a child. They had talked about it once, when Lizzie, feeling a little low in spirit, had admitted to having some anxiety about it, and Mrs Gardiner had hastened to reassure her; after all they were not as yet married a year, she’d said.
Returning to Pemberley, they found the party happily engaged in a variety of pursuits. Dr Grantley, who was shortly returning to Oxford, having completed his research in the Library, was working with Kitty, Georgiana, and Mr Jenkins the Rector, on a new program for the Children’s Choir. Choosing the right music—not too ambitious, but with more variety than their first program—was an important matter, Kitty declared. Rosamund and James had visited and asked if the choir would sing at their wedding in the Autumn. Georgiana and Kitty felt this was a huge honour and could hardly speak lucidly as their words tumbled out to express their delight at the invitation. There was so much to be done, Georgiana asked if Kitty may be allowed to stay on at Pemberley to help. Their friendship had come on apace, much to Elizabeth’s delight. Mr Jenkins declared solemnly that they could not possibly manage without Kitty, and even Dr Grantley appeared to agree that she was so “good with the children” that she was invaluable to the project. Darcy and Elizabeth could not, in the face of such unanimity, see any objection, and it was left to Mr Bennet to give the final answer.
When he was applied to for permission, Mr Bennet seemed quite bemused. “Of course, Kitty may stay. Lizzie my dear, I cannot believe she is the same silly young person to whom I had to speak so severely, so often at home,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “your own influence and the excellent example of your young sister-in-law have completely altered her shallow, foolish ways. No, Lizzie, Kitty is transformed—let her stay, the longer the better—if you and Mr Darcy can bear it.” Of the last condition, there was no question, so it was settled. Kitty would stay on. The smiles on all their faces attested to the popularity of the decision.
That Sunday, after Evensong, Mr Jenkins stayed to dinner. He and Kitty seemed to have a great deal to discuss, not all of it appeared to do with the choir either. On retiring to their room that night, Elizabeth could not resist asking Darcy if he had noticed their growing closeness, and he immediately smiled and said, “Of course I have, dearest, I would have had to be blind not to notice. I think we can safely say that Mr Jenkins is deeply smitten and Kitty is not entirely unaffected either.” Even though she knew he was teasing her, Elizabeth was surprised at the accuracy of his observations. She wondered how he could have failed to notice a similar situation between his sister and his friend, Dr Grantley. Indeed, he’d said nothing at all on the matter, and Lizzie did not feel she wanted to interfere.
On the subject of Kitty, however, he was even more generous in his praise than her father had been, frankly admitting that he had been too harsh in his original criticism of her, for she was then too young and her character too immature to be so judged. Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised to hear him say, “Kitty is developing into a very pleasing young person; Georgiana is very fond of her, and I am sure with a little guidance and a mature influence in her life, she will surprise us all.” So astonished was Elizabeth at this statement that she failed to seize the moment and ask if he thought Mr Jenkins would be a sufficiently mature influence, for by then he had turned and put his arms around her as if to indicate that they had talked enough of others and he was of a mind to concentrate on themselves.

J

Two days later, Dr Grantley left to return to Oxford, having said his goodbyes and thanked everyone individually, wishing them well and promising to return.

In vain did Lizzie look for any sign that he and Georgiana had reached an understanding; she found none. Having spent so much time together, perhaps, she thought, they had come to the realisation that they were not suited. After all, he was older than Darcy, and Georgiana had an almost fatherly regard for her brother. Neither was there any sign of sorrow at their parting, as one might have expected; no trace of a special friendship except when she smiled so sweetly for him as he turned and waved before entering the carriage that was to take him to meet the coach at Lambton. Elizabeth found it difficult to hide her disappointment. Darcy had not said a word; nor had Georgiana.

Writing to her Aunt Gardiner, Elizabeth expressed her bewilderment:

It is difficult to believe that after all these weeks, during which they have spent so much time together, there has not been some understanding reached between them. At first, I had thought her too young to appreciate his worth, but the more I saw them together, the more interests they seemed to share, and the more they appeared to suit one another. I am indeed disappointed, my dear Aunt, that Darcy has not spoken of it at all, and yet I am reluctant to mention it myself.

Perhaps, I should really mind my own business and stop worrying, but as you know, Georgiana has had one unfortunate disappointment when she was but fifteen, and I would have been very happy to see her settled with someone worthy of her, as Dr Grantley undoubtedly is. However, there is nothing for it, now he is gone back to Oxford, and we are not likely to see him for several months.

For myself, I shall concentrate on the journey to Netherfield and Longbourn and hope all goes well with dear Jane and Charlotte too. I had forgotten that Lydia will be having her baby very soon; we must pray for a safe birth in her case as well. Concerning Kitty, I hope to have some news soon. We are due to leave for Longbourn with my father, and it is reasonable to suppose that Mr Jenkins may want to declare himself prior to Papa’s departure.

Two weeks later, on the afternoon before they were to leave for Longbourn with Mr Bennet, Kitty approached Elizabeth in her sitting room. She was remarkably calm for Kitty, though a little flushed, and her hands were held tightly together. Elizabeth knew at once that some moment of truth was about to be revealed. She guessed that Mr Jenkins may have proposed. She was right. He had indeed, that morning, as they walked back from church, and Kitty had accepted him. Elizabeth was pleased for Kitty but astonished at the insouciance with which she had gone through it. She held out her hands, but Kitty, instead of grasping them, wrung her own and said, “But Lizzie, do you think Papa will consent? He has been so angry with me ever since Lydia and Wickham . . .” Her voice trailed away, and Elizabeth put her arms around her.

“Kitty, of course he will, if Mr Jenkins asks him, and you are both quite sure it is what you really want. Why should he not?”
“Oh. I don’t know, I’ve told Huw—Mr Jenkins everything, even Lydia’s foolish behaviour, and he said it did not matter, he loves me, Lizzie!” Elizabeth felt genuine concern for her young sister, realising how little time their parents had spent with their children, preparing them for the vicissitudes of life and love! Their mother, apart from her obsession with marrying them off to eligible, preferably rich, men, had done little to advise them of the pitfalls along the road to matrimony. Their father, concentrating solely on keeping them fairly wellprovided for in a material sense, had shown little interest in his daughters.
Jane and Elizabeth had been fortunate enough to develop an intimate and rewarding relationship with their aunt, Mrs Gardiner, but the others had no one of equal sensibility or maturity to turn to and were largely left to their own devices. Realising that it was necessary to reassure Kitty quickly, Elizabeth spoke soothingly and vaguely of their father’s being no longer angry but quite well-disposed towards her. Kitty then asked if it was all right for Mr Jenkins to approach Mr Bennet, while he was at Pemberley. Unsure of the etiquette, they had been reluctant to do anything that might offend anyone at all. Elizabeth was certain Mr Darcy would not mind, but wanted to be sure. She urged Kitty not to worry, dried her tears, and left to find her husband.
Meanwhile, Darcy, who was beginning to wonder why his wife was so late dressing for dinner, was surprised to see her but not at all surprised by her news. In fact, he informed Elizabeth that Mr Jenkins had already confided in him and been assured of his blessing and support, should he and Kitty succeed in obtaining Mr Bennet’s consent. “What did you say?” she asked, pleasantly surprised at this new turn of events.
“I had to be certain that they were quite firm in their decision; I was assured they were, and I agreed that if they could wait until after Christmas to be married, I would have the Rectory renovated for them and would increase the Rector’s stipend, by an agreed amount each year, so he could more comfortably support his wife.” Elizabeth’s delight was indescribable, and she could not wait to tell Kitty the news. Kitty was astonished, “Mr Darcy said that?” and when Elizabeth nodded, “Oh Lizzie, he is a wonderful man; Mr Jenkins thinks so. I’ve always been a little afraid of him, but oh dear, I do think the same now.”
With Lizzie’s having reassured Kitty that it was quite proper for Mr Jenkins to approach her father after dinner when he retired to the library, the sisters embraced and went downstairs. Kitty went directly to her brother-inlaw and thanked him. He smiled and wished her every happiness. Darcy was painfully aware that he had misjudged Kitty, whose fault had been her youth. A lack of direction from her parents and the wrong example from her sister Lydia had placed her temporarily in jeopardy. Observing her over the last few months, it had become clear to him that Kitty, removed from the influence of Lydia, was a totally different young woman—gentler, quieter, and more thoughtful. He was pleased to acknowledge this to himself and his wife, as he had done the night before.
Shortly afterwards, Mr Jenkins approached Elizabeth and apologised for not having sought her approval first. Elizabeth assured him that she did not feel in the least offended, since Kitty was eighteen and well able to make up her own mind. However, she added that she was pleased with her sister’s decision and wished them happiness. Mr Jenkins was clearly pleased with this reply. He then spent the rest of the evening deep in conversation with Kitty.
After dinner, Mr Bennet retired to the library, forewarned by Elizabeth to expect Mr Jenkins. “If it’s about Kitty, my dear, I have to say I’m delighted. He seems a thoroughly respectable and sensible young man; so long as he knows that Kitty has no fortune of her own.” Elizabeth remarked that she didn’t think he had any illusions on that score and enlightened her father about Mr Darcy’s part in the matter. He was thoughtful for a moment, then breaking into a smile said, “Good God, Lizzie, what will your mother say when she finds out I’ve given Kitty away, while she was in Newcastle?”
Mr Jenkins went into the library and came out very soon after with a message for Kitty; her father wanted to see them both. Kitty was still apprehensive, but Mr Bennet, seeing her tears, told her she was a good girl and deserved a good husband. He added he was confident that Mr Jenkins would look after her better than her father had done these eighteen years. Before Kitty could protest, he waved them away. “Remember, my dear, that your sisters Jane and Lizzie are your dearest friends and your best examples. If you must thank anyone for your present happiness, you should thank them.”

J

Mr Bennet, Mr Darcy, and Elizabeth left for Longbourn the following morning. They had left a day earlier than expected, so they might look at the property in Leicestershire and call in at the Gardiners,’ in London.

There were a few tears, but no real sorrow at this farewell. Kitty and Georgiana seemed already like sisters—being of an age when young women are fond of confiding in each other—they looked forward to spending plenty of time together. Elizabeth had already informed Mrs Reynolds of Kitty’s engagement to Mr Jenkins. She was not surprised to learn that the staff at Pemberley had anticipated it for some time. Mrs Reynolds promised to take good care of both young ladies. Mrs Annesley, who had been away visiting friends, had returned, so they left the girls in excellent hands.

The stability and certainty of Pemberley and all it stood for had given Elizabeth the kind of confidence she appreciated; just as marriage to Darcy had given her the emotional fulfilment she had yearned for all her life. When, as a young woman, she had contemplated matrimony, she had often doubted if her dream of a passionate relationship could be realised. It had made her wary, even distrustful of suitors. Yet, in the warmth and generosity of Darcy’s love, Elizabeth had found complete contentment.

Writing later to her Aunt Gardiner, Elizabeth recalled the moment as a point in her life with Darcy, when every feeling came together:

It is not that I ever doubted the correctness of my decision, but that I had gone through so many turbulent emotions in my relationship with him in the course of one year, that I was unable at first to sort out my true feelings. But, today, as we drove away from Pemberley, I knew the strength and goodness of my husband and the love we shared was at the very centre of all those feelings and it would travel with us, no matter where we went, or what fate befell us. I know you will understand, dear Aunt, because you have enjoyed the blessing of a good marriage. I pray that what I feel now is the foundation of a similar state for Darcy and myself.

The letter was posted in London, surprising her aunt when it arrived a day after they had been at Gracechurch Street themselves, but on reading it, Mrs Gardiner understood exactly why it had been written.

CHAPTER SIX

Family matters

E

LIZABETH WAS EXCITED BY the prospect of seeing the property in Leicestershire, if only because it was close enough to Pemberley to make for regular visiting. Both Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley were well

aware of the close and affectionate bond that existed between their wives. That the current distance between them distressed both Jane and her sister was wellappreciated. Jane’s husband had promised at an early date to seek a resolution to this situation, by moving from Netherfield Park, when the lease expired, to a house he intended to purchase for their family home. That he had requested Darcy’s help in finding a suitable place was an indication of the value he placed on his friend’s taste and judgement as well as his determination to acquire the best property his money could buy.

Elizabeth was unfamiliar with Leicestershire and depended upon Darcy to draw her attention to places of interest. A county rich in historic places— Roman antiquities, Norman churches, ruins of medieval castles and abbeys, and the site of the battle of Bosworth Field—all lay within a short distance of each other. Farmers working the fields might well turn up artefacts from any of these periods of history. Leicestershire was closer to the hub of English history than either Hertfordshire—where Elizabeth had lived most of her life, or Derbyshire—where she expected she would spend the rest of it. Mr Bennet asked about Oakham Castle, which was a site he remembered visiting many years ago, and Elizabeth was surprised at the amount of information Darcy was able to provide about this example of 12th century Norman architecture.

As they crossed the river and the ancient Roman Road that ran North into Nottinghamshire, the rocky outcrops or “scarps” jutted out from the softer pastures that supported good herds of cattle and sheep. The landscape was very different from anything Elizabeth had known, being at once harsher and more interesting than the gentle fields and woodlands of the South, but in her opinion, less majestic than the celebrated beauty of the Peak, Matlock, and Dovedale, which she had enjoyed on her tour of Derbyshire last Summer.

Passing through the village of Ashfordby, the road to Melton-Mowbray branched away to the North, and they gradually climbed out on to a long ridge which afforded an excellent view of the entire valley to the Southeast as well as the rising scarps and sandstone caps to the North.

Situated on gently rising land, surrounded by attractive woods and an ample park of some two hundred acres, which included a farm and an orchard, was Ashford House. Though it had none of the breathtaking impact of Pemberley, Elizabeth was immediately attracted to the house and its environs. A large place, initially of Jacobean design, complete with arched windows and steeply pitched roofs—Ashford House, bathed as it was in Summer sunlight, with a fine collection of trees throwing dappled shadows on the lawn, was the very picture of an English country house. The slopes behind it were wellwooded, and the rising steeple of an old Norman church emerged in the middle distance, against a clear blue sky. Elizabeth was charmed.

Darcy dampened her enthusiasm somewhat by suggesting that while it might look very good on the outside, where nature had played its part well, the previous tenants may not have been as kind to the interior. But, in this he was only proved to have been cautious, as usual, because the manservant who admitted them informed them that the master had instructed that everything was to be in readiness for Mr Darcy’s visit, and so it was; the interior was impeccable.

From the warm and welcoming hall to the gracious library, sitting and drawing rooms, and excellent dining room overlooking a rose garden, the house spoke of care and comfort. Everything she saw, the handsome fireplaces, fine hangings and furniture, and several elegant bedrooms, convinced Elizabeth of the rightness of Darcy’s judgement. She could see Jane here. She turned to Darcy and smiled when he asked, “What do you think, my dear, would it suit?”

She replied, without hesitation, “Perfectly well, I shall have no trouble recommending this place to Jane; it’s beautiful.”
Darcy permitted himself a satisfied smile, as Mr Bennet joined in to praise his judgement. “There can be no doubt, if as you say, Bingley wishes to purchase a place, this property would be an excellent choice,” he said.
They spent an hour or so looking out of windows, admiring the aspect— North towards the wooded ridge, or sloping away to the meadows, and a fast tumbling stream to the East. A useful little dairy and a hothouse for nurturing fruit and green vegetables in the cold seasons both added to the desirability of the property. Finally, Lizzie had to be dragged away from the spacious kitchen and pantry that looked out on a perfect kitchen garden, so they could make good time on their journey to London.
As they journeyed, Elizabeth’s enthusiasm continued unabated, until teasing her Darcy said, “I shall soon begin to worry that you like Ashford House better than Pemberley, Elizabeth,” which brought such a strong denial, he had to retract his words immediately.
In London, they went directly to Darcy’s town house in Portman Square and, having rested and partaken of tea, went later in the evening to Gracechurch Street, to dine with the Gardiners.
Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner had barely sufficient time to eat, so busy were they giving and receiving the news. First, there was Kitty’s engagement to Mr Jenkins, whom the Gardiners had met, but of whom, except for his remarkable voice, they recalled little. Mrs Gardiner wanted to know more, and Elizabeth amused everyone with the statement that they would not know Kitty when they met her, so changed was she from the naïve, rather silly young person she had been before. “I do not wish to be thought complacent, Aunt, but if we succeed in keeping Kitty to ourselves and by that I mean away from Newcastle, where the greatest peril lies, I am convinced we shall have gained a remarkably pleasing young sister, with much promise for the future,” said Elizabeth, looking across to her husband for support.
Mrs Gardiner looked at him and smiled. “Is this right, Mr Darcy? Or is Lizzie teasing me with this tale of Kitty’s miraculous transformation?” she asked. Darcy, not usually keen to venture opinions on his in-laws, was, on this occasion, completely supportive of his wife.
“No indeed, Mrs Gardiner, Lizzie is quite right. We have been very proud of the way Kitty has worked with my sister Georgiana to improve her performance on the piano, and of course, everyone has admired the generous work she has done with the Children’s Choir,” he said, and both Mr Bennet and Elizabeth smiled with pleasure at his words.
For Elizabeth, who was painfully aware of the low opinion Mr Darcy had held of the impropriety and foolish behaviour of her younger sisters, this was a special moment, and she loved him all the more for saying it to her family, in her presence. As for Mr Jenkins, Darcy assured them that Dr Grantley, who had known him at St John’s in Oxford, had vouched for him when he first applied for the living at Pemberley, and since then, Darcy had found no reason to doubt that he was anything but a fine and sincere young man and very devoted to Kitty.
Mr Bennet, at this point, volunteered that he was of the same opinion. “I shall be eternally grateful to Elizabeth and Mr Darcy for affording Kitty an opportunity to extend and improve her circle of friends and her mind at the same time; a consequence that has not always been apparent in Kitty’s case,” he said.
“And when do they plan to marry?” asked Mrs Gardiner, unable to resist the inevitable question.
“Probably after Christmas,” said Lizzie, explaining that Mr Darcy had plans to renovate the Rectory, drawing more praise for her husband from the Gardiners, who already had the highest opinion of him. Then there was the excitement of Ashford House, which Elizabeth was absolutely certain would suit Bingley and Jane to perfection. She was so excited that Mr Gardiner teased her about liking it better than Pemberley and for the second time in a day, Elizabeth was compelled to deny this, amidst a great deal of teasing.
This time, it was her father who came to her rescue, “The reason for Lizzie’s excitement is quite plain to me,” he said. “She knows her sister will depend totally upon her opinion and with Bingley so confident that Mr Darcy is the best judge of such things, they cannot go wrong. I will wager London to a brick that Lizzie will have her sister ensconced at Ashford House, not twenty miles from Pemberley, before Christmas.”

J

It was scarcely four months since the sisters had been together at Pemberley, yet Elizabeth and Jane were both tearful and ecstatic at their reunion. At Darcy’s suggestion, they had driven directly to Netherfield Park, having left London very early that morning, arriving around midday.

The warmth of summer had more impact in Hertfordshire, and together with a naturally healthy glow, it had given Jane a lustre that Elizabeth noticed immediately. “Dear Jane, you look beautiful!” she cried, contrasting her own still pale complexion with her sister’s radiant health. Jane blushed at the compliment, but everyone agreed that she looked remarkably well. Elizabeth felt tears sting her eyes. Jane’s beauty was of a very special kind. The serenity her marriage had given her greatly enhanced it.

There was so much to talk about that the sisters had to go away upstairs. They repaired to the same spacious bedroom that they had shared some years ago, when having been caught in the rain as a consequence of one of her mother’s foolish plans, Jane had been very ill and had to stay at Netherfield, with Lizzie arriving to nurse her through her fever. The room brought back so many memories, that they were both overwhelmed by the thought of all that had happened since they were last there together. When they could finally speak rationally, Jane asked, “Tell me, Lizzie, what news have you of Kitty? I cannot believe she is already engaged to Mr Jenkins.”

Elizabeth told her what had happened, and she was at first scarcely able to believe it, but then as she heard it all, including Mr Darcy’s kindness and generosity to the young couple, she wept with happiness and embraced Elizabeth. “Oh Lizzie, how happy I am that you were spared the agony of a marriage with Wickham and waited for Mr Darcy. How grateful I am that we are both blessed with good and generous husbands. Poor Charlotte is at Lucas Lodge; she is soon to have her baby, and yet I feel for her, because it seems she would rather be away from Mr Collins. I could not bear to be separated from Bingley at this time, and I cannot help thinking that it must be so hard to be alone.”

“Not if one has a fool for a husband,” said Elizabeth, sharply, still angry that her dear friend Charlotte had, by marrying the stupid Mr Collins, so compromised her chances of a dignified and happy marriage. “We must call on Charlotte tomorrow. I shall send a message when Father returns to Longbourn, that we will visit later in the day.” The time sped by as they talked and made their plans, while downstairs lunch was served, and Bingley, who had been hearing of the solid advantages as well as the delights of Ashford House from both Darcy and his father-in-law, came upstairs himself to persuade the ladies to join them.

J

The following day, Mary—who had been at Netherfield since Christmas— and her father left for Longbourn soon after breakfast. Mr Bennet had enjoyed his sojourn up North but nevertheless looked forward to his own fireside and library, even more so because his wife was still at the side of her daughter Lydia in Newcastle. The prospect of perfect silence and peace at Longbourn attracted him greatly.

Elizabeth sent a note to Charlotte, which John was to deliver immediately and then the ladies would drive over for afternoon tea. Charlotte had not seen her dear friend Elizabeth in nine months. She was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing her and Jane that afternoon. No sooner had they alighted from the carriage than she was out to greet them, admiring them both and wanting to know how Elizabeth was. They embraced and greeted each other warmly. “Dear Eliza, you look remarkably well, and what a fine gown this is—doesn’t she look quite the lady of fashion, Maria?” Charlotte began, and young Maria Lucas, who had last seen Lizzie at her wedding, seemed completely in awe of her now. Her eyes widened as she nodded and agreed with her elder sister. But she was much more interested to hear about Kitty, disappointed that her friend was not with them. The news that Kitty was about to be engaged and was likely to be married at Christmas astonished them both.

“Kitty engaged!” said Maria. “She vowed she would never wed, after Lydia . . . ,” her voice trailed away, in some embarrassment at having brought up the forbidden topic of Lydia’s escapade with Wickham. But Elizabeth was no longer troubled by it, and while Jane reddened a little, she laughed and brushed it aside, saying, “Well, it seems she has changed her mind; having been away from the foolish influence of Lydia for nigh on a year, Kitty, believe me, is a changed and mature young person. I assure you Maria, she is quite transformed and we are all very proud of her.” Charlotte was herself amazed at Elizabeth’s news, but unlike her younger sister, Charlotte’s own quiet wisdom enabled her to understand how the excellent marriages of Elizabeth and Jane and the social opportunities afforded them had advantaged Kitty, too.

When they had finally satisfied all of Maria’s curiosity about Kitty and Mr Jenkins, Elizabeth and Jane were ushered by Charlotte into the parlour, and there they were served a splendid tea. Lady Lucas had not been very well, said Charlotte, apologising for her mother’s absence, and Sir William was expected later; he’d been out shooting on a neighbouring manor.

Meanwhile, Charlotte asked to be told all the news. “Eliza, we heard from Lady Catherine, shortly before I left Hunsford, that you and Mr Darcy had not only displeased her by your own union, but were now responsible for thwarting her plans for her other nephew—James Fitzwilliam—Darcy’s cousin. Is this true?” Even Charlotte could not keep a straight face, and she lost control altogether when told of the abortive plans of Lady Catherine to contrive a match between her nephew James and Caroline Bingley.

“Miss Bingley?” Charlotte could not believe her ears, “Oh Eliza, we met her and her sister Mrs Hurst. I do beg your pardon Jane, but I gather you are not entirely without criticism of your sister-in-law,” and as Jane nodded and smiled to indicate she had no inhibitions on that score, Charlotte continued, “As I was saying, she was at Rosings last Christmas, and, oh dear, she was impossible to please. There was always something amiss, though she did not dare say so to Lady Catherine. But Eliza, I cannot honestly say that I see her as the Lady of the Manor.” Both sisters agreed that they could not imagine it either, pointing out that they had met James Fitzwilliam and his bride to be—Rosamund Camden—and did not believe that a better marriage might have been made by Lady Catherine.

“Should the opportunity arise, Charlotte, you may wish to set her Ladyship’s mind at rest. Mr Darcy and I had nothing whatever to do with the match; the couple were already engaged before we met them at Christmas,” said Elizabeth, with a twinkle in her eye. “It may not change her opinion of me, but she may at least understand that yet another of her nephews is sufficiently adult to make his own marriage arrangements, without interference from her.”

From the tone of her comment, Charlotte gathered that there had been some earlier attempt by Lady Catherine to intervene where she had no right to do so and was determined to hear the tale. Elizabeth, who was an excellent mimic, regaled them with such a vivid description of the visit of Lady Catherine to Longbourn and her strenuous efforts to intimidate Elizabeth into promising never to accept Mr Darcy, that she had all of them in gales of laughter.

Charlotte, whose admiration for her friend increased as she listened, confessed she had not laughed so much in months, “I wonder how I shall keep a straight face when I am next at Rosings,” she said, as Lizzie went on to explain that far from achieving her goal of preventing her nephew’s engagement to her, his aunt had actually advanced it. In this and other agreeable conversations the afternoon passed, and as the sisters were preparing to leave, Sir William Lucas arrived. His delight at seeing them there enhanced the pleasure he had of having spent a very good day with his friends, bringing home a good bag of game. Upon discovering how long Elizabeth and Darcy were to be at Netherfield, Sir William announced his intention to have a dinner party in their honour at Lucas Lodge and extracted a promise that they would all be there.

On the way home, Jane, who had been rather quiet all afternoon, spoke softly, “Do you see what I mean about Charlotte, Lizzie?” Elizabeth nodded gravely and reached for her sister’s hand, “You were right, dearest Jane. Charlotte’s happiness is solely in looking forward to the birth of her child. She did not once mention Mr Collins, odious man! Oh Jane, I feel guilty that you and I can be so happy, so blessed in our dear husbands, and Charlotte, who has no less a right to the same happiness and good fortune, needs must put up with such a poor substitute for a happy marriage.”

“It is clear that she is happy to be back at Lucas Lodge.”
“No doubt she is relieved to get away from the strictures of Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” said Elizabeth, remembering Charlotte’s long suffering forbearance at Rosings, when Lady Catherine probed and queried their every action, while the obsequious Mr Collins only encouraged her rude intervention. Jane agreed, “I cannot believe that it would have been very comfortable for Charlotte, to be under such scrutiny, when she was first married and went to live at Hunsford.”
“And to prepare to face Lady Catherine whenever she deigns to honour them with a visit? I cannot imagine anything worse!” said Elizabeth with spirit and sincerity, “She is such a rude, meddling old woman. Oh Jane, it must have been intolerable!”
Jane’s countenance revealed her distaste at the prospect. “I must say that when Mr Bingley and I were married and went to London, I was pleased to find that we had the house at Grosvenor Street all to ourselves, except for the servants, of course.” Elizabeth concurred, recalling that she and Mr Darcy had greatly appreciated the time they had spent together after their wedding, travelling through several counties and staying where they chose, free of the scrutiny of friends or family.
There was still plenty of light in the sky as the carriage turned into the drive at Netherfield Park. As they reached the house, they could see Bingley and Darcy on the lawn. “I wonder what has happened,” said Jane, realising that it was unusual for the gentlemen to be out at that hour.
As they alighted, Mr Bingley came up to Jane and, taking her arm, led her indoors. Mr Darcy did likewise, whispering as they went that there had been an express communication come for Jane from Newcastle. Lizzie hurried into the main parlour, where Jane was seated and Bingley had just opened up the express letter. That it was news of their sister, whose confinement was imminent, she was sure. As Jane took the letter from Bingley, Lizzie sank down beside her. It was in Wickham’s hand and announced the birth of their son— Henry George. The brief message said both the child and Lydia were well and a letter would follow. There followed a request that Mr Bennet and Elizabeth be informed of the news and concluded with the usual felicitations. It was signed George Wickham.
Jane’s tears expressed her relief that Lydia and the child were both safe and well. She seemed delighted that her parents were blessed with a grandson and hastened to send a servant with the message for her father. Elizabeth, on the other hand, could not feel the same unalloyed pleasure, remembering all that had gone before with Wickham and Lydia and her own unthinking acceptance of Wickham until his duplicity was exposed. The hurt it had caused to Darcy, whose character had been so unfairly impugned, she would never forget nor forgive. It seared her soul to think that her first nephew, her father’s first grandchild would be Wickham’s son. Conscious of all that Darcy had been through because of the stupidity of her sister and the dishonourable behaviour of Wickham, she was unable to rejoice simply, as Jane had done.
Sensing her unease, Darcy tried to reassure her that he had long ceased to care about Wickham and she must not let what had happened in the past upset her again and again, each time he touched their lives.
“We are far too happy to be distressed by those memories, my dearest Lizzie. There is no reason why Jane and you should not be happy on this occasion.” Grateful for his generous spirit and the assurance of his affection, she brightened up considerably and went in search of Jane.
She found her upstairs, composing a letter to Lydia, congratulating her and urging her to take good care of herself and her baby. It was as simple and sincere as Jane’s responses usually were. As her sister appeared, she stopped, “Do you wish to write something too, Lizzie?” she asked. But Elizabeth could not.
“No, Jane, it is best you write for us all. Send her our love and good wishes, and let us hope she will be less foolish in future—now she is a mother.”
Jane was shocked by the harshness of her sister’s voice. “Oh no, Lizzie, you must not say that. I’m sure Lydia will settle down.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Do not depend upon it, dearest Jane; do not forget that Lydia is not yet eighteen and still as vain and silly as ever. Unless by some miracle, her feckless husband is transformed into a mature and responsible person, I cannot see our sister settling into sensible motherhood.”
Seeing the shocked and troubled look on Jane’s face, she relented, “Oh dear Jane, don’t look so upset. I may be wrong; I hope I am; I hope they turn into exemplary parents with perfect children.”
“Oh Lizzie, please do be serious, do you really think Lydia is unchanged?” asked Jane, almost pleading for some hope.
“I do not know Jane, how could I? I have not seen her in more than a year. She may have redeemed herself. But, I am not very confident.” Looking a little less certain, Jane folded and sealed her letter, and they took it downstairs to send off to the post before joining the gentlemen for dinner.
Despite the best intentions of Sir William, the dinner party at Lucas Lodge did not eventuate. At first, it was postponed because of Lady Lucas’ continuing ill health, but in the following week, Charlotte herself was brought to bed without warning.
Elizabeth and Jane were visiting her one warm afternoon, and while they were having tea, Charlotte was taken ill with severe pains. Fortunately, Dr Faulkner had called to see Lady Lucas and stayed on to have tea and continue his courtship of Maria, with whom he was walking in the garden at the time. Elizabeth ran into the garden and called out to them. Dr Faulkner proved to be most capable, calmly organising everything, giving clear instructions, and swiftly moving to make Charlotte as comfortable as possible.
At his request, Elizabeth sent a servant for Mr Jones and arranged for her sister to be driven home. “I think I shall stay and see if Charlotte needs me. You could send the carriage for me later,” she explained to Jane, who went reluctantly, realising that it was for the best. Not knowing quite what she could do for Charlotte but wanting very much to be with her friend at this time, Elizabeth went to her and sat with her while her maid and the housekeeper bustled around with their preparations for the doctor. Mr Jones arrived within the hour, by which time Charlotte appeared calmer, but shortly afterwards the midwife was called in, and Lizzie had to leave the room. She spent a couple of difficult hours unable to do anything to help except perhaps pray and once sat down to scribble a note to her aunt but could get no further than the first two lines. She went outside to a Gazebo, where she sometimes used to read with Charlotte and found young Maria there, curled up, very frightened, and quite unable to cope.
After what seemed like an eternity, Dr Faulkner came in search of them, and seeing his face with relief written all over it, Elizabeth knew it had to be good news. “It’s a little girl, and . . .” He got no further, for Maria had hurled herself into his arms and Elizabeth, knowing it was useless to try to get anything more coherent out of him, ran indoors, where she found Charlotte, a little pale but otherwise well. Elizabeth went to her at once and took her hand.
Charlotte smiled and thanked Elizabeth for staying with her. Her daughter lay in a crib beside her. “Eliza, meet your namesake—Catherine Elizabeth Collins” she whispered, and in spite of herself, Elizabeth was crying for joy. “I was going to ask you, but she became impatient, rather like you do, and I did not have the opportunity.”
Elizabeth reassured her, “I am delighted you have given her my name, Charlotte.” Charlotte apologised, “I am sorry about the Catherine; I’m afraid it could not have been otherwise—Mr Collins insisted, if it was a girl, it had to be Catherine, but she’ll always be ‘Little Eliza’ to me.”
“And to me,” whispered Lizzie, as she said goodnight and left.
Elizabeth and Darcy were glad to be leaving for Pemberley, since news had arrived that Mr Collins was on his way from Kent, travelling by coach and having sent express messages to practically everybody in the county to announce the birth of his daughter. Having seen the curious letter her father had received earlier in the week, in which Mr Collins had presumed to warn Mr Bennet of the imminent birth of a male heir and its effect upon the entail of Longbourn, Elizabeth had no desire whatsoever to meet him.
“Stupid, odious man!” she said to Jane, as they spent their last evening together at Netherfield, “Fancy writing such a letter to Papa; he has lost none of his pompous self-importance! Poor Charlotte, how does she cope?” They visited Charlotte later and having left congratulatory messages for her husband and a gift for little Eliza, said their farewells.
Jane and Elizabeth parted reluctantly, but Bingley travelled with them, for he had been almost convinced by Darcy to sell his shares in the heinous textile industry and invest the money with the rest of his inheritance in Ashford House. He wished, however, to see the property himself before making the final decision.
Jane was quite content to depend upon the judgement of her husband and brother-in-law, knowing already in her heart that Elizabeth’s recommendation alone had sufficed to convince her of the complete suitability of the property. As her father had said on another occasion, so certain was Jane of her sister’s taste and good opinion, that she needed only the additional attraction of the place’s being a mere twenty miles from Pemberley to declare herself completely satisfied.
As the sisters parted this time, they smiled, promising each other that they would soon meet again. Jane’s child was due in August, and God willing, she would be safely delivered of the baby. “Just think, Lizzie,” Jane whispered as they embraced, “we may be at Ashford House by Christmas.”
“I shall pray that you will. Dearest Jane, take care,” said Elizabeth, knowing that she and Darcy would do everything in their power to make it happen. If Bingley purchased Ashford House, they would certainly be there by Christmas.

CHAPTER SEVEN

New beginnings

R
ETURNING TO PEMBERLEY,ELIZABETH and Mr Darcy found Kitty

and Mr Jenkins engaged. Kitty wore a ring on which it appeared Mr Jenkins must have expended most of his worldly goods. Happily, it turned out that the ring had been his mother’s and Mr Jenkins was in no danger of being pauperised by the purchase. Elizabeth was very relieved. They were so obviously pleased with themselves, that she did not have the heart to say anything to disappoint them. They admired the ring, wished them happiness, and broke out a celebratory bottle of champagne. Later, however, Elizabeth expressed some reservations, that the couple had not waited to visit Longbourn and have Mrs Bennet meet her future son-in-law, before becoming formally engaged. “I am convinced,” she told her husband as they dressed for dinner, “that Mama will blame me; she will feel that I have deliberately neglected to inform her of Kitty’s engagement.”

“That should not concern you, Lizzie,” said Darcy. “No more than it concerns me that Lady Catherine believes I am in some way responsible for subverting her plans for Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley.” Elizabeth laughed at the memory but was uneasy. She had no desire to upset her mother or cause trouble between Mrs Bennet and Kitty.

“I think,” she said tentatively, “I shall write directly to my father and have him send Mama a letter. It may not save me from her censure, but it will spare Kitty and Mr Jenkins an inordinate amount of aggravation.” Darcy agreed.

Elizabeth’s letter to her father relating their safe return to Pemberley and the news of Kitty’s engagement contained just one piece of advice:

Mr Darcy and I both feel it is best that Mama be told of Kitty’s good news as soon as possible. We are also agreed that it would be best coming from you, Papa, perhaps with a promise that Mr Jenkins will be invited to Longbourn to meet Mama, on her return from Newcastle.

That night, Lizzie asked her husband’s opinion of her letter and received praise, “Very diplomatic indeed, my dear. I can see no cause for offence at all.” said Darcy. When, a week later, her father’s reply was received, they were both amused by his response:

As for the matter of Kitty’s engagement, it has all been done, my dear Lizzie, exactly as you and Mr Darcy have suggested. Have no fear, while you are indeed in loco parentis while Kitty is at Pemberley, remember that I gave them permission to become engaged. I have said as much to your mother, adding copious praise of Mr Jenkins. I am certain that when your mother reads it and realises that she is about to be relieved of another of her lovely daughters, she will be so overcome with joy, that no other concerns will signify at all.

However, your suggestion that Mr Jenkins be invited to visit Longbourn when Mrs Bennet returns is an excellent one. I intend to despatch such an invitation forthwith. I trust my dear that Mr Darcy and you can survive without his ministrations for a week or so in the Autumn. Mary and I are bearing up well. Mrs Hill and John do their best for us, but we miss you all, Lizzie, especially you and Jane. God bless you both, and I look forward to your next visit . . .

Lizzie felt deeply for her father; it was clear that his life had changed so totally in the last eighteen months; she was sure he was experiencing great loneliness, which in the midst of her present happiness, saddened her greatly. Darcy sensed her sadness, and though he said little at the time, he had made up his mind to invite Mr Bennet back to Pemberley at the earliest opportunity. Despite their lack of communication earlier in their acquaintance, he had, during the last few weeks when there had been time to get to know him better, come to understand and respect his father-in-law. Mr Bennet’s alert, well-informed mind and his great zest for reading, combined with the quick, sarcastic sense of humour that played upon everything and everyone, made him a most stimulating guest. Darcy, whose own view of the world always had a sardonic edge, now softened somewhat by his wife’s sensibilities, had appreciated Mr Bennet’s observation and wit.

There were, however, other matters of more immediate concern, which demanded Darcy’s attention. Recently, his steward had been asking questions about the new developments in farming. With some of the landholders in the area enclosing commons and fencing out their old tenants and farmhands, many people were anxious and insecure. Georgiana had spoken to her brother of the fears of her maid—whose parents and grand parents had lived and worked on the estate for generations. Even Mrs Reynolds, whose husband had been his father’s manservant, was concerned. Her son, who was a gamekeeper, had hoped to take up the tenancy of a vacant farm, with a cottage and pigpen. His wife, a local girl from the little village of Trantford below Matlock, had already seen her parents ousted from their small holding, when the new absentee landlords sent the bailiffs in to enclose their fields and prepare them for pasture.

Darcy wished to reassure them that they should not have any fears of such developments on the Pemberley Estate. Talking to his chief steward and the men who worked to run the estate, Darcy gave an assurance. “There will be no compulsory enclosures at Pemberley. We have plenty of land here, some of which is lying fallow and not fully used. Should we wish to increase our flocks or extend our cultivation, we can do so without enclosing the commons, woodlands, and meadows. And every family on the estate will have access to the river.” Turning to his Steward, he said, “I want to get that message to all our people; they will not lose their cottages or their farms. Miss Darcy, Mrs Darcy, and I are the only persons concerned. The estate is not encumbered in any way, and no one else can influence the way Pemberley is managed. What we do and who lives on our estate, under what conditions, is our business entirely. I can assure all of you that we have no intention of undertaking any enterprise that will cost any of you your homes or your livelihood. Everyone is free to continue working and living here, unless they wish to leave, voluntarily.”

If the Steward and his men were at all surprised by the vehemence of the Master’s words, they certainly did not show it. The Steward’s confidence and loyalty were demonstrated by the way in which he appeared almost to take Mr Darcy’s words for granted, as if he had never doubted his intentions. Four generations of his forebears had served Darcy’s family, and they had always trusted each other. The other men, mostly tenant farmers, did look relieved and expressed their appreciation to Darcy as they filed out. It was heartening to have good news to take home to their families. On the following day, they would gather their labourers and farmhands together and tell them too.

As Darcy walked back to the house, the sun was setting, casting lovely, long, indigo shadows across the park. Elizabeth and Georgiana came out to meet him. “We thought we might have tea out here,” said Elizabeth, “it’s such a beautiful afternoon.”

“What a good idea,” he said, drawing both of them to his side. “You look tired,” Elizabeth observed, and his sister agreed he looked weary. Darcy explained, “I’ve been speaking to the men. They’ve been worried by all the talk of enclosures in the neighbourhood. There are moves afoot to enforce the law and deprive tenants of their rights to use the woods and commons. I hope I have set their minds at rest.”
As they reached the lawn where the table was laid for tea under a graceful, spreading elm, Mrs Reynolds came towards them. She had just been speaking with her son, who had told her of Mr Darcy’s assurances to the men. There was gratitude in her eyes, as she grasped his hands and thanked him. Unembarrassed, touched, and pleased to have achieved what he had set out to do, at least in her case, Darcy repeated his reassurance that no one would be thrown out of their cottage or farm on the estate.
“You did not need me to tell you, Mrs Reynolds, you should have known I would never countenance such a thing.”
“I did indeed, Mr Darcy, but my son was most anxious,” she explained and thanking him once more, left to fetch the tea tray.
It was an index of her affection that she would often personally carry out a service for the Master, which would usually be the task of a maid or footman. With Georgiana and Darcy and now, increasingly, with Elizabeth, she did not stand on ceremony. Darcy spoke passionately. “It is unforgivable that men and women who have worked the land and served us for generations should be so bewildered and fearful, because of laws made to accommodate the greed of others,” he said, “Laws are meant to make the lives of citizens better, not worse.”
As he explained the gist of his message to the tenants and farm workers of Pemberley, both women listened eagerly, conscious of their perceptions of him in his role as the Master of Pemberley. To Elizabeth, here was more proof of the astonishing generosity of her husband, a character trait she had not expected to find in him when she had first made his acquaintance, but one for which she and her family had every reason to be grateful. To Georgiana, it was her brother being himself; she had never known him to be otherwise.
When they had finished their tea, Georgiana asked to be excused. She was expected at the church for choir practice. Kitty had gone ahead. “It’s a special programme for Rosamund’s wedding,” she explained.
“When can we come and listen?” asked Elizabeth.
“Oh! Not just yet,” she said as she disappeared indoors, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth alone, in the luminous twilight. They sat in silence awhile, enjoying the quiet evening. A flock of starlings flew over the house, wheeled around, and flew out towards the woods, with the rays of the dying sun gilding their wings. Reluctantly, they agreed that it was time to be going indoors.
The following week, Mr Darcy received from Sir Edmond Camden an invitation to attend a meeting of landlords in the neighbourhood. Since it was summer, he had decided to ride over to Rushmore Farm with his Steward and a groom. Aware of the controversy surrounding some of the enclosures that had followed the passage of the Enclosure Laws by the Parliament, Darcy had been prepared for an argument with some of his neighbours but not for the level of anger he encountered. Like Sir Edmond, Darcy was unwilling to enclose common and woodland for agriculture, to the detriment of tenants and farmworkers, who had lived and worked on his family estates for generations.
Since childhood, their families had impressed upon them the sense of responsibility that must accompany the ownership of land. The relationship, though paternalistic, was one of mutual obligation and in many cases engendered respect for each other. It was something that had been conspicuously absent in France. No one who had seen the forces unleashed in the terrible conflict of the French Revolution could ever forget.
For Darcy, who had been at College while the revolution erupted and tore France apart, the bloodstained hands had seemed to belong to men on both sides. Though it was not in his nature to be fired by revolutionary causes, he could not help seeing that the exploitation of peasants and labourers had led directly to the overthrow of the French regime and the Terror that followed. At that time, when life had been cheap in France, it had been easy to feel morally and socially secure as an Englishman. But, the onset of the agrarian revolution in England had brought deprivation to a large number of small holders and peasants and the enrichment of a privileged group of rich landlords who had a stranglehold on the Parliament.
Those like Dr Grantley and William Camden, Rosamund’s young brother, had shared his concern, but neither had been placed as Darcy had been on the death of his father, in a position to do something about it. Many others, sons of English landlords across the country, seemed not to notice the evil consequences of the enforced, arbitrary processes of enclosure upon the people they displaced. They spoke glibly of “improvements” or “the price of progress,” unconcerned that for the farm labourer these “improvements” had taken away their open fields, their commons, woods, pastures, and in many cases their cottages, which had been passed down from one generation to the next.
The “dandies” and “swells,” as they came to be called, spent hardly any time getting their shoes, much less their hands, dirty with English soil. Most of them left the management of their properties to bailiffs and stewards, at whose mercy were the now-landless rural poor, while they spent their time in the assemblies of London and the country mansions of their peers. For two or three years, Darcy had ignored the way landlords around the country had used their political power to strip the peasants of basic rights, while they enriched themselves. His family had never needed to exploit their tenants and instead had encouraged and received a high level of personal loyalty. Now, some ten years after the first Enclosure Bills, there was pressure being applied to those among the landed gentry who did not conform.
At the meeting hosted by the Camdens, there was a new group of landowners—lately rich and prosperous—bemoaning the sudden reversal of their fortunes, after the war. The demobilisation of the armies and the crashing grain prices caused by markets flooded with wheat from the very fields they had enclosed and made more productive were causing a rural depression such as England had not seen in living memory.
The new rich, who had little knowledge of the ebb and flow of fortunes in farming, were impatient of the slump in corn prices and the declining value of farms, which they had purchased, hoping to make a fortune. They demanded to know why some landlords were not using the new Enclosure Laws, which Parliament had passed to enable them to maximise their profits and minimise their losses.
Several rather trashily dressed young men asked questions of Sir Edmond Camden, implying that he and some other older landlords were dragging their feet and not supporting the efforts of the newcomers to make the best of their land holdings. One of them, a haughty looking, overdressed man carrying a heavy riding crop, called out across the room. “Darcy, I believe your people are preparing for the harvest.” Mr Darcy, to whom he had not been introduced, looked across at him but said nothing. “Well, are they?” he persisted, “And do you intend to let them proceed to feast and get drunk and dance at your expense as well?” Darcy muttered something about that being his own business. William Camden, standing beside him, ventured an answer, “Harvest Home has been a tradition here for centuries. It is about as important as Christmas,” he said.
“Not on my land it isn’t,” said the original speaker, raising his voice so all may hear him, “and if you let ’em carry it on, you’re a damned fool!” Darcy bridled, visibly angry, but said nothing. Another man, standing next to William, added, “Look, it only encourages them to drink, and then the others will be demanding it too. I certainly have no intention of throwing away my good money on feasting and drunken revelry.”
Still another of the men addressed Sir Edmond, “What about your rents, Sir Edmond? Do you intend to raise them next season?” Sir Edmond said curtly, “I do not.”
“What about you, Darcy?” Darcy took a deep breath—he was offended and angry at having to engage in a discussion with them but was determined to make a point.
“I have no intention of increasing the rents of the tenants and farmworkers. In difficult times, when crops have failed or prices have fallen, my family, like Sir Edmond’s, has provided some relief for our tenants and labourers.
“Most of them have lived on the estate for generations; their fathers and grandfathers have worked the land; they are making a reasonable living and working very hard for it. I can see no reason to burden them with an impost they cannot afford. I have no wish to see them deprive themselves or, worse, their children of food or clothing, just so I can collect more rent.”
There was a sullen silence in the room as Darcy, warming to his theme, continued, “As for enclosing the commons, I would not even consider it. There is no land for sale on the Pemberley Estate. We have plenty of arable land lying fallow, should we wish to expand cultivation; we have no good reason to enclose the commons.”
“Does that mean you will not support us?” the first man demanded. William had by now informed Darcy that this man was Barlow, a stockbroker from London, who had bought up several small holdings in the neighbourhood.
“You have no need of my support, sir,” Darcy replied. “You are free to use the law and do as you please on your land. On my own estate, I shall do what I think is in the best interests of my family and the people who work for us.”
“But do you not see that those of you who are working outside the Enclosures Act are making it damned difficult for us who need to use it to make a profit on the lands we have recently purchased?”
Mr Darcy shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry, but that is not my problem. As I see it, we have a system, which allows each landholder to use or not use the processes of the Enclosures Act. In the case of the Pemberley Estate, we have no need to use its provisions, nor do I need to increase the rents of my tenants.”
He turned to William and indicated that he had had enough of this and wanted to leave. William Camden, the only one of Sir Edmond’s sons to show any interest in the family farm and stud, had watched Mr Darcy’s determined stand against the “Johnny-come-lately” Londoners with admiration. But he was also well aware of the anger of these men. They had been to see his father a few days ago, before it was decided to call the meeting. They were confident in the rightness of their cause, certain that only through widespread enclosure and extensive mechanised farming would England feed her increasing population and the landowners prosper. Sir Edmond had tried to calm things down, pointing out that Mr Darcy was acting within his rights and should be free to manage his estate as he thought fit. James Fitzwilliam, who was not wellknown to the newcomers from town, spoke up, too. He reminded the gathering that unlike new landholders with recently purchased acreage, families like his had farmed the land for centuries and they had responsibilities towards their tenants and workmen.
This brought a hoarse laugh from the “town toffs” as William called them, which seriously irritated Darcy, who spoke from the doorway, “You might not acknowledge it, but there is a thread of mutual obligation that runs through the fabric of our society, which we have to thank for the security we enjoy today. While French peasants joined the poor in Paris to forge the revolution, English farmers were not seduced by slogans, because the system we have here assured them of freedom and security of tenure. If you destroy those threads and rend the fabric of English society, you do so at your own peril.”
As Darcy walked out, his Steward and groom, who had waited outside the meeting hall, fell in beside him. There had been some audible voices agreeing with him but many discordant ones, grumbling, disputing his right to speak out. William, feeling somewhat uneasy at their overt hostility, followed Darcy out to the stables. They stopped awhile to talk with Sir Edmond and his steward, who were both apprehensive that Darcy was riding back to Pemberley in the gathering darkness. “Would you not prefer to leave your horses here and take my carriage?” Sir Edmond offered. “My groom can bring them over tomorrow.” Darcy was not very concerned.
“They are hardly likely to attack us, surely. It would be foolish, after they’ve been clearly seen here.”
“You could not count on them being anything other than hotheads, sir,” said Sir Edmond’s steward. “If you insist on riding out to Pemberley tonight, I’d be of a mind to accompany you with a few of my men.”
Sir Edmond quickly endorsed the idea, and Darcy was reluctant to argue. Moreover, he was anxious to get back to Pemberley, since it was already later than he had expected to be. Darcy and his two men mounted their horses and rode on ahead, while William Camden, James Fitzwilliam, Camden’s steward, and some half a dozen men followed at a discreet distance.
There was a half moon rising, still rather low in the sky, but the late Summer night was only half-dark. Instead of riding through Lambton as they had come, Darcy suggested they take a shorter route across the woods, along a familiar bridle path that crossed the boundary of the two estates. They rode on untroubled by anything untoward, until they had almost reached the point where the path descended steeply towards the stream. As arranged, Darcy’s steward whistled to indicate to those following that they were almost home; once across the stream they would be within the park and quite safe from any trespassers. There was a rustling and sounds of horses, which they took to be the party from Rushmore turning back. Then, a shrill, quite different whistle pierced the night, and without warning they were in the midst of a crowd of some six or seven men, some on foot and others on horseback, all with their faces hidden under hats or scarves. The steward’s horse reared up in fright and its cry must have reached the others, who wheeled around and rode back as fast as they could, arriving just in time to find Darcy confronting a stocky man with a heavy stick upraised, while his Steward and the groom were grappling with two others on the ground.
Obviously outnumbered, they were very relieved to have the party from Rushmore arrive in time to subdue and arrest the vicious ruffians, no doubt in the pay of some disgruntled dandy who blamed Darcy and his ilk for the fall in his profits. Darcy’s Steward, Thomas, and the rest of the men from Rushmore Farm decided that they would take the miscreants back and hold them until the morrow, when they would be brought before the magistrate. William Camden and his groom accompanied Darcy the rest of the way to Pemberley House, ignoring his protestations that he was quite safe.
Elizabeth, anxious as darkness began to fall, was at an upstairs window watching out for her husband, when the small group broke out of the grove and crossed the bridge. Recognising Darcy as he rode towards the house, she ran downstairs and was at the front door before he had alighted from his horse. Seeing William Camden with him and noting that Thomas and the groom were missing from the party, Elizabeth sensed something was wrong. However, she knew better than to make a fuss, waiting until he was upstairs and had flung off his coat and boots before she asked the reason for his somewhat ruffled state and the missing men. Not wanting to alarm her unduly, Darcy made light of the matter, not telling her too many details, attributing his own rather dishevelled condition to the rough ride through the woods on a windy night. Elizabeth was not fooled. She was determined to discover what had taken place to cause her husband to return in some disarray, minus two of his servants and accompanied by William Camden and his groom. She knew Darcy would not lie to her if she asked him directly, but seeing he was tired, she did not pursue the matter, intending to find out some facts first. Meanwhile, after holding her very close for a moment, as if he was afraid for her safety rather than his own, he went away to bathe and dress for dinner. Georgiana was at dinner, and not wishing to alarm her, they said no more. That night, Darcy, clearly exhausted, was not averse to retiring early and soon fell fast asleep. Elizabeth on the other hand, unable to sleep, wrote to Rosamund Camden, begging her to ask her brother William for more information. She suggested they meet at the church on Sunday.
On receiving Elizabeth’s letter, Rosamund approached her young brother immediately. Since no one had told him otherwise, William had no reservations about telling his sister exactly what had happened that night. The urgency of Elizabeth’s note and the anxiety it expressed told Rosamund that this was a matter that could not be delayed until Sunday. On the pretext of consulting Elizabeth about some detail of her wedding clothes, Rosamund came the following afternoon to Pemberley, while Darcy was out.
Her account of the incident so terrified Elizabeth that she wept and was quite unable to think rationally for a while. Rosamund assured her that Sir Edmond, who was also the magistrate, had come down very hard on the villains, who had been captured and produced before him. He had asked his daughter to set Mrs Darcy’s mind at rest; he would be taking further steps to ensure that those responsible for the abortive attack would be incarcerated and the men behind it would pay dearly, too. Rosamund did not know whether the identity of the men behind the attack was known but assured Elizabeth they would be found.
It was some time before Elizabeth could collect her thoughts, so anxious was she about her husband’s safety. She thanked Rosamund again and again, for her prompt attention to her request and decided to write first to her Aunt Gardiner and seek advice.
When Darcy returned later that evening, Elizabeth tried very hard to conceal the fact that she knew any more than she did when he had left her that morning. She talked with false brightness about the approaching wedding and asked if Darcy was looking forward to being best man for his cousin. Darcy soon began to suspect that all was not as it seemed, and when they retired for the night, he chose the moment to probe the matter, only to find that he had opened the veritable floodgates of emotion, anxiety, fear, and bewilderment.
Never in her relatively sheltered existence had Lizzie experienced anything like the threat of violence against any member of her family or circle of friends. Moving from the peaceful but modest environs of Longbourn to gracious, elegant Pemberley, it was the very last thing she had expected to confront. Though she had heard talk of unruly behaviour of newcomers to the district, they were so far removed from her, so unlikely to cross her path, that it was a matter to which she had given no thought at all.
To discover that, despite the elegance and comfort of their life at Pemberley and the very high regard in which the family of Mr Darcy was held all over the county, there were emerging new and hitherto unexpected forces that impinged upon their lives was unsettling. It had shaken her more than she cared to admit, and she could not conceal it from her husband.
Astonished by the strength of her feelings and the extent of her distress, Darcy, who had hitherto treated her concerns rather lightly, relented. He realised that his best efforts to spare her anxiety had only exacerbated the situation. He apologised for not having taken her fears seriously. Quietly and clearly, he told her what had occurred and explained his subsequent actions.
As she realised that both Mr Darcy and Sir Edmond had the ability to take action against the men involved and to protect themselves in the future, she was better able to accept it as a rash attempt by stupid, foolhardy men to intimidate their neighbours. “There is nothing they can do, dearest, nothing” he said, reassuring her, hoping his firm words would convince her that her fears were groundless. “We know who they are, and we have their measure. Should they make one more mistake, they will face transportation, no less. I cannot believe that any of them will fancy a stretch at His Majesty’s pleasure, upon a wretched prison hulk or worse in New South Wales.”
Despite the gentleness of his tone, a result of his concern for her, the determination in his voice gave her some comfort, and for the first time, she smiled. “Is it not likely that they will try again?” she asked, but he was very certain.
“If they do, they will not succeed, my dearest; they have shown themselves to be hot-headed and stupid. Should they try again, we will be ready for them.” Elizabeth seemed reassured and agreed to set her fears aside, but not before she had extracted from him a solemn promise that he would take no risks and go nowhere alone. Impractical as this seemed, Darcy was happy to give her his word. He had every intention of taking good care and was unlikely to walk into a trap again.
The incident had convinced him of the rightness of his own convictions. That the rural English heritage he loved was, despite its strong foundations, fragile enough to be shattered by the actions of men with no lasting links with the land, whose only motivation was greed.
The mutual dependence and shared responsibility, which was the basis of the community in which he had grown up and in which he hoped to raise his own family, provided the security that was the hallmark of rural England.
Recent developments had started to rip that security away, and the desperation of the dispossessed poor was being mirrored by the desperation of those who had grabbed their land but found it brought them small profit. That it had manifested itself in an attack upon him had come as a shock. But the intrusion of violence, however abortive, into the groves of his beloved Pemberley hurt more than the attack upon himself.

J

Mrs Gardiner was about to go out when Elizabeth’s letter arrived. It was of such a size—being thick and closely written—that she decided to postpone her expedition to the shops. Her niece, always an interesting correspondent, could not be kept waiting. She gave Mrs Gardiner a most colourful account of the attack on Darcy, not hiding her concern or her anger but reassuring her aunt that Darcy and Sir Edmond had the matter in hand:

It is still difficult for me to write of the fear and alarm I felt on realising that Darcy had been attacked, here, within the park at Pemberley. Had it not been for the resourcefulness of Sir Edmond’s men and the courage of Darcy’s groom, who was hurt grappling with two of the villains but hung on to them nevertheless, I dread to think what might have happened. Darcy assures me that the guilty men have been severely dealt with and their masters, whom the ruffians betrayed easily no sooner were they apprehended, have been confronted and warned to stay out of trouble. We are particularly fortunate that Rosamund’s father is the magistrate for this part of the county; Darcy and Rosamund both tell me he is feared up and down the land.

Mrs Gardiner was deeply shocked by the revelations in Lizzie’s letter. Recently, the Gardiners had begun to tire of the constant hustle and bustle of their part of London, which was growing heedlessly into a commercial quarter, where all manner of people gathered to ply their trade. With four children— two of them girls, they had wondered about the wisdom of continuing in their house in Cheapside. Elizabeth’s letter convinced her that it was time to make some decisions about moving out of London.

Elizabeth continued:
My dearest Aunt, how I longed for you or Jane to be here—or at least not quite so distant from me, that I might seek some comfort.

I have been afraid and yet I must not let the staff see my anxiety, nor let it trouble Darcy. He has said and done every possible thing to comfort me and allay my fears, but never having expected such a terrible thing to befall us in such a beautiful spot as this, I am still not able to restore my earlier calmness of mind. As I write, I look out over the park and my eyes track the stream to the point where the bridge lies across it and the path disappears into the woods. Seeing it now in the bright sunlight, it is hard to believe that just out of sight, in the shadow of those same trees, the attackers lurked in darkness. What might have befallen my dear husband had he been alone or had with him only Thomas, who is almost as old as Papa, I shudder to think.

Please do not be unduly alarmed, dearest Aunt, but it does seem to me that suddenly we are confronted with very different circumstances to those in which we grew up. I need very much to see you and talk with you before long, even if it is only to reassure myself that we are not in danger of losing that happy life we once enjoyed . . .

There was no doubt that Elizabeth had been badly shaken by the incident, and Mrs Gardiner had almost decided that she would take her daughters and go to Pemberley for a few days, when another letter, this time by Express Post, was delivered. Tearing it open, fearing it contained bad news, she stood in the hall reading it, with some degree of apprehension.

Moments later, with a joyful cry, Mrs Gardiner ran into her husband’s room with the news that their niece Jane had been safely delivered, almost a month earlier than expected, of a son.

The letter, from Mr Bingley, begged Mrs Gardiner to come as soon as she could. Not only did Jane long to have her and Elizabeth at her side, but he was apprehensive that Mrs Bennet might arrive posthaste from Newcastle and take up residence at Netherfield, unless Jane had another companion already present. While not wanting to appear disrespectful towards his mother-in-law, Bingley’s lack of enthusiasm for such a visitation was quite plain. Jane, he said, had expressed a preference for the company of her aunt. Mrs Gardiner did not waste a moment. Instructions were given and arrangements made, notes despatched, and, finally, packing—that inevitable chore—was done, and less than twentyfour hours later, they were on their way.

Meanwhile, a similar letter, this one carried by a servant from Netherfield Park, had reached Elizabeth and Mr Darcy. In her excitement to be gone to her sister’s side, all thoughts of footpads and ruffians were banished from her mind as she flew around the house, making preparations for the journey.

Seeing her thus—bright eyes shining, a smile constantly playing on her lips, humming a tune as she tripped briskly or ran to complete some task, Darcy was more than happy that, unexpectedly, the son of Bingley and Jane had arrived to restore Lizzie’s happiness and with it his own.

A further reason for their joy lay in the invitation the letter contained to be godparents to young Jonathan Charles. For Darcy and Elizabeth, whose affection for Jane and Bingley was a very special part of their lives; it was an honour requested and promised many months ago. Elizabeth knew how much this child meant to her sister; she knew he would bring fulfilment to an already felicitous marriage. She longed to be there to share Jane’s happiness.

It was with real joy in their hearts that they set off for Netherfield. CHAPTER EIGHT

Of heirs and graces

N

O CHILD , BORN BEFORE or since young Jonathan Charles Bingley, had or was ever likely to have such a clamour of congratulations and goodwill surround its birth. That was the considered opinion of his grandfather, Mr Bennet, whose joy at the birth of Jane’s son had left him with a look of perpetual felicity that was not at all in keeping with his usual sardonic view of life. Unlike his wife who had been in a state of high excitement about the birth of Lydia’s son some months ago, Mr Bennet had succeeded in avoiding the event by virtue of its having taken place in Newcastle.

When news arrived that Jane had been prematurely brought to bed, however, he had felt it was his bounden duty to proceed to Netherfield House and keep his son-in-law company through the anxious hours until Jonathan was born. Thereafter, he was available to dispense refreshment and good news to any and everyone who called to inquire after the well-being of mother and child.

Whether it was the universally acknowledged beauty and sweet nature of his mother, the unfailingly amiable disposition of his father, or the recognition that there must be an heir to inherit the growing fortune of the Bingleys was not clear. Whatever the reason, there was no doubt that Netherfield Park was the nearest thing to a place of pilgrimage for the next week.
The birth of Master Bingley was an event of some circumstance in the neighbourhood. As the news became more widely known, friends, acquaintances, tenants, and nosey neighbours arrived, many bearing flowers, fruit, and other small tokens, some hoping for a little peep at Mrs Bingley and the baby and feeling very disappointed that Jane and her son were not as yet ready to receive visitors. The servants were run off their feet, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner were kept busy receiving the callers, since Charles Bingley hardly left his wife’s side for long.

Mr Bingley had been profoundly grateful for the arrival of Mrs Gardiner, who immediately proceeded to take charge of the household, while her husband, in his thoroughly practical way, assisted with matters such as placing the usual notices in the appropriate journals and meeting the coach at Meryton— the coach on which Mrs Bennet was arriving from Newcastle. Only her brother would be able to convince Mrs Bennet that she was not required to rush immediately to Jane’s side but should go home to Longbourn, where she could rest and change before visiting her daughter and grandson in the evening. Despite her loud protestations that she must surely go forthwith to “poor Jane,” Mr Gardiner would have none of it. “Do not distress yourself, Sister, Jane is quite recovered, and little Jonathan seems very well indeed; his lungs are certainly in excellent order,” said Mr Gardiner, persuading her that there was no immediate need to rush to Netherfield. “After your long journey from Newcastle, it would be best that you take some refreshment and rest awhile, before you call on them. Mrs Gardiner has been at Netherfield these last two days and is doing all that needs be done. You can rest assured Jane is well looked after.”

“And where is Lizzie? Has she arrived?” Mrs Bennet asked. “Mr and Mrs Darcy are expected at any time,” her brother replied. “Mr and Mrs Darcy! Oooh! Doesn’t it sound grand?” Mrs Bennet swelled

almost visibly with pride as she said it. “Do you know, Brother, when I mentioned their names in Newcastle among the regimental ladies—especially those who were Lydia’s friends, they were just green with envy at the immense good fortune of our two girls. Lizzie and Jane have done so well.” Her brother agreed and added that the news about Kitty was good also.

“Indeed it is, you could have knocked me down with a feather when Mr Bennet’s letter arrived telling me Kitty was engaged! ‘Kitty engaged,’ I said, ‘now isn’t she the sly one!’ Who would have thought? And brother, what an excellent match—the young man is Rector at Pemberley!”

Glad to have got her off the subject of going directly to Jane’s bedside, Mr Gardiner instructed the driver to take the road to Longbourn, knowing how grateful the members of the family at Netherfield would be. Even better, he was to escort her there and return to Netherfield in the carriage, thereby ensuring that she had no independent means of transport, until Mr Bennet sent his carriage over to fetch her in the afternoon.

Mrs Gardiner was at the window of Jane’s bedroom, looking out over the park and into the lane beyond, when she saw her husband’s carriage turning into the drive. Close behind was another vehicle, which turned out to be carrying Darcy and Elizabeth, who had broken journey overnight, in London. Mrs Gardiner went quickly downstairs and out to greet them. Mr Gardiner had alighted and met them at the entrance. As the servants moved to unload their trunks, Elizabeth embraced her aunt and uncle and wanted to go to Jane at once. “Is she well?” she asked and on being reassured immediately added, “And Jonathan?”

“He is very tiny, but he’s healthy, and he is a beautiful boy, Lizzie,” replied her aunt, trying hard to keep up with Elizabeth as she ran up the stairs. As they reached the landing, Mr Bingley appeared at the top of the stairs, his face wreathed in smiles.

“My dear Lizzie, Jane has been longing to see you,” he cried as he greeted her warmly and led her to Jane’s room.
Jane’s delight at seeing her sister at last was matched only by Elizabeth’s own. She was paler and looked a little tired, but there was a glow, almost a luminous quality, about her face and a sweetness of expression that made Lizzie catch her breath. Her beauty, which had always been exceptional, had acquired a new fragility, like very fine china, which made her seem even more precious to a loving sister.
Leaving the sisters to embrace and exchange news, Bingley went to fetch Mr Darcy, while Mrs Gardiner fetched Jonathan from the nursery. Elizabeth was captivated by him, small, rosy, and fine-featured like his mother, with a little tuft of honey gold hair. Jonathan was still asleep, when Jane took him in her arms; Bingley stood beside her, ever the proud father.
Looking up at her husband, Lizzie saw the softening of his features as he smiled when little Jonathan opened his eyes. She bent and took the child from her sister’s arms; as she did so, Jane, Bingley, and Mrs Gardiner exchanged glances at the very pretty grouping they made. There was no doubt in any of their minds that both Darcy and Elizabeth must long for their own child.
Later that day, when they were alone, Jane asked her sister the inevitable question. “Lizzie, you will not be angry at me for asking, will you?” she said, a little uncertainly.
“Of course not, dearest Jane, you know you can ask me anything. What’s more, in this case, if you promise to keep a secret, I might just have a happy answer for you,” Elizabeth replied. Jane was immediately excited and demanded to be told.
Elizabeth’s face was suffused with colour as she explained that she was hopeful but unsure and needed to see the doctor before she could tell her husband the news. “I shall have to talk to my aunt first,” she said, and Mrs Gardiner coming in with some tea for Elizabeth, overheard her remark and demanded to know what it was she was to be told, and why could it not be told now.
On hearing Elizabeth’s news, she gave such a girlish whoop of delight that Lizzie had to hush her and beg that the knowledge be limited to the three of them until they had been to Meryton and seen the doctor. Jane was not at all sure she could keep it a secret from Bingley but promised solemnly to try her very best.
She did, however, make a very helpful suggestion that might obviate the need for Lizzie and her aunt to travel to Meryton, in what looked like worsening weather, to consult Dr Faulkner.
Jane explained that her own doctor was due to visit in a day or two and suggested that Elizabeth should consult him instead, thereby avoiding any possibility of the news that she had been to see a doctor in Meryton, getting out and about in the neighbourhood, with all the attendant rumour and gossip.
It was an idea that appealed to Elizabeth very much indeed. “How long can you stay with us, Lizzie?” Jane asked, to which her sister replied that while Darcy had business in London next week, she had no need to hurry back to Derbyshire for at least a couple of weeks.
“We must be back at Pemberley in October, for Rosamund’s wedding, of course,” she said. Jane explained that Jonathan’s christening would be in three weeks’ time, and Lizzie was sure they could both stay until then. “Should Darcy need to go back, he will certainly return for the christening,” she said. Mrs Gardiner interposed that Mr Gardiner had told her he and Mr Darcy had business in London, which meant they would have the house to themselves for a few days. The words were hardly out of her mouth when there was a commotion and an eruption of noisy laughter downstairs, followed by the unmistakable voices of Mrs Bennet and her sister Mrs Phillips on the stairs. Soon afterwards, a maid appeared with the two ladies, who sailed into the room. Elizabeth tried to withdraw but not before her mother and her aunt had both remarked on how well she was looking and when was there going to be a new addition to the Darcy family? Elizabeth did not deign to answer, and since her sister was the real centre of attention, she succeeded in escaping further scrutiny.
Meanwhile, Mrs Bennet turned to Jane, “Jane, oh my dearest daughter, how fortunate you are that I was able to get away. Lydia could not have spared me two weeks ago; she has only just engaged a very suitable nurse, a Scottish woman, who comes highly recommended, to look after Henry. I must say, he is such a big boy already and so like his father.” Elizabeth winced and was relieved when the nurse brought in little Jonathan for his grandmother’s inspection. “Oh my dear, he is very small!” she cried, and Mrs Phillips agreed. Elizabeth, unable to bear it any longer, went quietly out of the room, feeling guilty at leaving her sister but knowing that Jane had always been able to cope better with their mother’s ramblings.
At dinner, it was much the same. Mrs Bennet’s tales of life “up North” with the “regimental ladies” as she insisted on calling them, took up most of the time, when she and Mrs Phillips were not giving Mr Bingley advice on bringing up Jonathan, advice Elizabeth was sure flowed over him, leaving no recollection whatsoever. Mercifully, her father, realising that neither his daughter nor his sons-in-law could be expected to put up with both Mrs Bennet and Mrs Phillips for an entire evening, declared that everyone must be very tired after all the travelling they had done, called for his carriage, and left for Longbourn, taking with him his wife and her sister. He could see the gratitude in Elizabeth’s eyes as they said goodbye, even as Mrs Bennet was heard promising to return as soon as possible.
While her husband and brother-in-law were far too polite to show it, a huge sense of relief swept over Elizabeth. She hoped, nay she knew, her father would ensure that her mother would not be back for a day or two, at least. There would be dozens of household matters that would require her attention, and no doubt she would be wanting to call on Lady Lucas, Mrs Long, and all her other friends in the neighbourhood with her news and gossip from Newcastle. Feeling guilty at what she felt was her disloyalty but yet unable to do anything to change how she responded to her mother, Elizabeth decided to make the best of her time with Jane. She wanted to spend time with her sister. Jane and Lizzie had always been close, but the last two years had drawn them even closer, as their lives had been so totally changed, yet linked together through their husbands. With Mrs Gardiner taking charge of the household, the two sisters had their hearts’ greatest wish, being left to their own devices—free to talk for hours together, except when Jane was called away to Jonathan. They had never been happier either: Jane, with every dream fulfilled, Elizabeth wanting only to fulfil her hope of a child to match her sister’s happiness. Lizzie longed to tell her husband but determined to wait to be certain, not wanting the heartbreak of disappointment to touch him, too.
As they prepared to retire for the night, Lizzie asked Darcy when he was going to London with Mr Gardiner and how long they would be away. Darcy revealed their intention of leaving on the Monday and said they would probably be away all week, because they planned to visit a property in Derbyshire as well. When she expressed surprise, he explained that it concerned the Gardiners’ desire to move out of London. A property had recently come to Darcy’s attention, and he had recommended that Mr Gardiner take a look at it. Elizabeth’s surprise turned to astonishment as he continued, “You see, dearest, following our little confrontation with the gentlemen from London, Sir Edmond was approached by an agent for two of them—absentee landlords both. They are losing money, and their land is losing its value. They want to sell out before the prices fall even further. Sir Edmond cannot make an offer, he’s the magistrate who cautioned them—it would not be right, but he mentioned it to me, and since your uncle had often spoken of buying in Derbyshire, I thought immediately of him.”
“My aunt will be delighted. She has always wanted to return to Derbyshire. You know how well she loves it,” said Elizabeth.
“Indeed, I do,” said her husband, “and that is the real value of this property. It is a manor house and farm, not five miles from Lambton, with its own trout stream, orchard, and dairy. Parts of the property have been recently enclosed and hedged for cultivation of corn, but the meadows and woodlands are still free and should probably be allowed to remain so. Now, if your uncle likes it, he may well be able to negotiate a very good price.” Elizabeth was unable to control her delight.
“That means we shall be neighbours!” she cried.
“That thought had also crossed my mind, Lizzie,” he said, clearly pleased as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, responding tenderly to the warmth of her affection.
Even sweeter news came on the following day, when Bingley announced that Ashford House in Leicestershire was ready and as soon as Jane was fit to travel, they would be moving in. Since the lease at Netherfield ran for two more months, “They would have ample time,” he said, and added, “This time, it will be our pleasure to have you all over at Christmas.” For Elizabeth, there was very little more she could ask for, except confirmation of her own special news. This came the following day, when Jane’s doctor visited Netherfield Park and having pronounced Jane and Jonathan to be in excellent health, proceeded to see Elizabeth. He confirmed her hopes of a child, probably due next spring. Elizabeth, Mrs Gardiner, and Jane embraced each other and wept as the joy swept over them.
Mr Darcy and Mr Gardiner had been over to Meryton. On his return, Darcy looked for Elizabeth and not finding her downstairs, went in search of her. Finding her alone in their room, he was anxious and puzzled. She had obviously wept, but she was smiling. “What is it dearest?” he asked, with some trepidation. When she told him, she had the pleasure of seeing his usually serious face light up, as he picked her up in his arms.
“Elizabeth, my darling, are you sure?” She nodded and told him that she had seen Jane’s doctor that very day, “He says it will be in Spring—probably in May.” They kissed, embraced, and laughed, sharing a moment of very private joy, admitting to each other how much they had longed for this news.
Then, becoming serious again, they decided that apart from the Gardiners, Jane, and Bingley, they would tell no one else. “Dearest, I should like us to keep the pleasure of this blessed news to ourselves for a little while,” he said, and Lizzie agreed. She also wished to savour the joy of knowing and keeping her secret, before the whole family and the neighbourhood demanded their share.
“We shall tell them after Jonathan’s christening, when we are about to leave for Pemberley,” he suggested. “That way, we shall not have you set about with everyone in the neighbourhood giving you advice.”
“How well you know me already,” she said, softly, “that was my wish exactly.” It was for both of them the greatest moment of happiness they had known so far. Darcy confessed he had not expected such joy, but Elizabeth, not letting him grow too sombre, reminded him that they had decided, a year or more ago, that they were to be the happiest couple in the world. Catching her mood, Darcy responded warmly. “Of course,” he said, smiling, “and you must never let me forget it.”

J

If one had wished to paint a sky of a brilliant blue and tinge the autumn leaves of the oaks in shades of russet and gold, one might have done worse than paint the day when young Jonathan Charles Bingley was baptised. Proud grandparents, parents, and godparents vied with friends and neighbours to get a glimpse of the little boy who seemed to bring a smile to the face of everyone who set eyes upon him. Jane and Bingley were overwhelmed with good wishes. No one in the neighbourhood could remember so much interest in the birth of a child before, but then, as Elizabeth said to her husband, “Jane is a very special person.”

It was indeed a memorable event and a beautiful early Autumn day for it. Not even the presence of Bingley’s sisters, Mrs Hurst and Caroline, who had travelled from Bath for the christening, could spoil Elizabeth’s joy. Looking particularly well herself, with her own secret shared only with those dearest to her heart, Elizabeth graced the baptism of her nephew with a confidence that no amount of insincerity and artifice on the part of the Bingley sisters could shake.

Of artifice there was certainly a good deal, for both women seemed determined to make themselves, rather than Jane or Jonathan, the centre of attention. Dressing in the very latest of modish clothes and wearing hats trimmed with spectacular plumes, they might have been attending the Coronation at the Abbey, rather than a simple family christening at a country church. Jane, wearing her favourite shade of blue and a completely natural Madonna-like smile, put them all to shame. Bingley, together with most of the congregation, had eyes for none other.

So wrote Elizabeth to her friend Charlotte Collins. Charlotte was unable to travel to Hertfordshire; she was close to being delivered of her second child. She had written, however, begging to be excused and promising to call on Jane when she came to Lucas Lodge at Christmas. Elizabeth had to inform her that her sister and brother-in-law would be gone before Christmas to their new place in Leicestershire.

Jane has asked me, dear Charlotte, to say how much she appreciates your pretty gift and kind wishes. She hopes sincerely that you and Mr Collins will find time to visit them and stay a few days at Ashford House, preferably in April or May, when it will be very pretty with the Spring. Dear Charlotte, if I may add my own good wishes and ask you to consider coming to Pemberley as well, since we are but twenty miles from Ashford Park, it will be a pleasure to have you.

Elizabeth’s affection for her friend remained undiminished, despite the stupidity of Mr Collins and her initial anger at Charlotte for accepting him. She was even more pleased to discover that Darcy had a very good opinion of the character and good sense of Mrs Collins, though he could not abide the pompous verbosity of her husband.

There was also the extra affection she merited for having invited Elizabeth to stay at Hunsford two years ago, thereby providing for her an opportunity to visit Rosings and meet Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam in a social setting far removed from the tribulations of Longbourn or Meryton, which had so afflicted Mr Darcy.

She had, on occasion, teased her husband and obtained from him a confession that he had been trying hard to put her out of his mind, when he met her again, quite unexpectedly, at Rosings. “And do tell me, were you on the verge of success?” she would ask, determined to obtain full value for her question. Darcy looked shamefaced as he admitted that he had not been succeeding at all.

“It was not for lack of trying, my dearest Lizzie, but as you know, I was totally out of my depth. Finding you staying with Mrs Collins, so close at hand, made it a hopeless proposition.”

“So, it is to Charlotte we owe at least some part of our present happiness?” she asked, and Darcy gladly admitted that this was indeed the case. Elizabeth also took her friend into her confidence about the child she was expecting in May, hoping Charlotte would find it an added reason for visiting Pemberley next Spring.

Elizabeth’s parents were told after dinner, on the last evening of their stay at Netherfield Park. The uproar at Longbourn, with her father’s quiet pleasure being totally eclipsed by the jubilation of her mother, who would no doubt feel compelled to advise the entire neighbourhood of her daughter’s condition, convinced Elizabeth that she had done the right thing by concealing the news until the last possible moment.

J

The wedding of Rosamund Camden and James Fitzwilliam should have been a big social event. Preparations were afoot for a celebration of some considerable significance.

As it happened, the sudden death of the bride’s mother, a month from the appointed wedding day, caused a complete change of plan. The family decided that despite their grief at the loss of their mother, it would be better to proceed with Rosamund’s wedding. Sir Edmond, devoted as he was to his wife of some twenty-five years, could not countenance the disappointment his daughter would suffer, if she were compelled to postpone her wedding.

A few days after the funeral, Rosamund and her father came to Pemberley to explain that there would not be the lavish wedding they had planned but only a family breakfast after the ceremony at the church, to which close friends and relations would be asked.

Elizabeth had not known Lady Camden at all well, but her friendship with Rosamund was warm and sincere. Her grief affected Elizabeth deeply, and feeling rather helpless, she offered to assist in any way she could.

Writing later to Jane, she explained:

Poor Rosamund, it is the worst possible thing, to be so bereft just before her wedding. Dear Jane, it is difficult for me to know how deeply she feels the loss of her mother, since I have never been as close to Mama as Rosamund was to Lady Camden. Being the only daughter must also have made the bond stronger, and apart from myself and Georgiana, she has really no one to whom she might turn for consolation.

Elizabeth gave Jane an account of all that had taken place. She could not resist including more praise for the generosity of her husband and his concern for the Camdens:

It is not only his family and mine that benefit from his generous nature; it is anyone in his circle who needs his help. I had not known how often he has extended his hand to help those who live on his estate, until Mrs. Reynolds enlightened me, when I made casual mention of it while we were visiting Rushmore Farm. Dear Jane, because he speaks rarely of it, his work in helping people in need is not widely known. It is not just our sister Lydia and Wickham, however undeserving, who have recently been beneficiaries of his goodness.

In a similar letter to her Aunt Gardiner, Elizabeth noted that she was sure she was not telling her anything she did not already know, recalling that only a year or two ago, Mr and Mrs Gardiner had recognised the nobility of Darcy’s character, long before she did.

She wrote:

Of course, I may plead that in my case, I had not been privy to the words and deeds that you and my uncle were able to hear and see. I cannot, however, excuse my own prejudice, which had for so long blinded me to the qualities that you were able to recognise in him, because you were sufficiently clear sighted and had not permitted your judgement to be clouded by rumour and malice.

After the wedding, Elizabeth wrote again to her sister, expressing some degree of surprise:

We had all had some fears for Rosamund, knowing she was sure to recall her mother at almost every moment. But truly, Jane, we need not have worried. Rosamund was calm and very composed that morning. Mr Darcy believes that James and Rosamund are well-matched and will be happily married. I am inclined to agree, though I do not have his advantage of knowing both parties since childhood.

Jane, I know you will be very glad to hear that our dear Kitty did very well with the little Children’s Choir, which performed so beautifully, everyone remarked upon the sweetness of their singing. There was, especially, a little Welsh hymn taught to the children by Mr Jenkins, that was quite perfect. We are all very proud of Kitty, Georgiana, and the children, of course.

Now that the wedding is over, Kitty and Mr Jenkins are to visit Longbourn, so he can be introduced to Mama. They leave tomorrow with Georgiana for London, where they will stay with Uncle and Aunt Gardiner (Kitty means to purchase some of her trousseau in London, and our aunt has kindly consented to advise her, for Kitty knows nothing of London) and then proceed with my aunt as companion to Longbourn. No doubt, Mama will make a great deal of the matter of meeting Mr Jenkins. I look forward to receiving from you, my dear sister, a complete account of the visit. While they are all away, Darcy plans that we should visit a family property in Wales. I saw one of them when we were travelling last year after our wedding, but I had not the time nor, I confess, the calmness of mind, to fully appreciate the beauty of the countryside. This time I shall do better, though I wish I could sketch and paint as Georgiana does. You will have to be satisfied with my descriptions.

Do give our love to your husband and darling Jonathan. We look forward to seeing you all at Christmas.
Your loving sister,
Lizzie.

CHAPTER NINE

New vistas

A

DAY OR TWO BEFORE Darcy and Elizabeth set off on their journey to South Wales, a letter arrived for Darcy from Bingley’s brother-in-law Mr Hurst. Writing from London, he advised that they—that is, Mr

and Mrs Hurst and Miss Caroline Bingley—were joining a large party from Bath, where they now lived for most of the year, to travel to Paris. “Paris?” cried Elizabeth as Darcy read the letter aloud, “Why Paris?”

“Patience, my dear Lizzie, the answer to your question follows,” said her husband and proceeded to read the letter. It said that Paris, after the defeat of Napoleon Bonaparte, was fast becoming a fashionable, cosmopolitan city, worthy of a visit by a party from England. Mr Hurst assured Mr Darcy that he had been told by many gentlemen of quality, who had recently crossed the Channel, that there were already a number of prominent members of the English and Irish aristocracy who had set up fine establishments in Paris and entertained French and visiting English persons at soirées and coffee parties. He named a couple of ladies of very high renown indeed and suggested that his wife had obtained assurances that they would be invited to their famous cultural gatherings. As Darcy read on, Elizabeth became more puzzled by the writer’s motive in penning the letter until at the penultimate paragraph, Darcy suddenly stopped and exclaimed, “Good God! He invites us to join them! Lizzie, Mr and Mrs Hurst would be delighted if you and I would join their party. It seems they had hoped Bingley and Jane would go, but the arrival of Jonathan has rather dashed their hopes.” Elizabeth could not believe her ears, and when he added, “What do you say, Lizzie, shall it be the salons of Paris or the valleys of Wales?” she laughed out loud.

“I cannot imagine why they would choose to invite us; what motive could they possibly have?”
“I dare not speculate upon that, Lizzie, but Hurst has obviously decided to ensure he has some company; he cannot know too many of the party from Bath. He has realised that he would be on his own, while his wife and Caroline attended all those soirées and parties, and has decided to persuade us to join them.” Elizabeth could not believe that it was a prospect her husband would appreciate.
“How fortunate that we are already engaged to go to Wales,” she said, quietly. Darcy smiled rather mischievously and said, “My feelings exactly, my dear, I shall write at once and decline on the grounds that we are about to leave for Wales, which has, I might add, a remarkable number of County families, some excellent houses, and some of the most beautiful landscapes in the country. I cannot vouch for salons and soirées, but I can wager we shall not miss them. Do you not agree, my dear?”
Elizabeth laughed and agreed that indeed they would not.
When she wrote of this quite amazing occurrence to her Aunt Gardiner, Elizabeth did not fail to mention the obvious scorn that Darcy had shown for the Parisian expedition of the Hursts and Caroline Bingley, nor the delight she herself had taken in it:

Imagine if you would, dear Aunt, Mrs Hurst and Caroline, dressed in the height of fashion, complete with plumed chapeaux, attending the salons and soirees of Lady X or Dame Y. Maybe I am unduly suspicious, but I cannot help feeling that the invitation came at the behest of the Bingley women, who must have hoped to show me up as a country girl with none of the sophistication and panache one expects of the aspiring Parisienne! I need not tell you how delighted I was when Darcy wrote to decline (not that there was any danger of our ever accepting) on account of a previous arrangement to visit Wales. I quote from his letter, “I have long wanted to show Elizabeth the very particular beauty of South Wales, including the magnificent Brecon Beacons area, which lies to the East of the property my family acquired some fifty years ago. We are both looking forward to it very much indeed.”

By the time Mrs Gardiner received her letter, Darcy and Elizabeth had already left Pemberley, travelling through Birmingham, Worcester, and Cheltenham, where they broke journey, before crossing into Wales.

This was now a journey of many shared pleasures, since Elizabeth was inclined to hold Darcy to his promise in his letter to Mr Hurst, to show her all the particular beauties of South Wales. They stayed at little towns and villages until they finally reached the manor house a few miles uphill from Llandovery, an old Celtic market town, which traced its history back to a Roman fort and its reputation as a commercial centre to a licence to trade granted by Richard the Third. The property that Mr Darcy’s family had acquired lay in the fertile upper Towy valley, reaching from the softly undulating pasturelands to the rocky foothills of the Cambrian mountains. An abundance of trout in the rivers and streams as well as plenty of game catered for the tastes of the gentlemen, but for Elizabeth there was no greater pleasure than walking. Although under serious orders not to overtire herself, she would spend many happy hours with her maid, an avid walker herself, exploring the woods and meadows, while Darcy attended to matters of business with his Steward.

In Wales, too, the pressure to enclose land was growing, but on Darcy’s property, which ran cattle, produced food, and provided many men and women with good farm jobs, there was none. There was, however, another problem that was spreading rapidly through the countryside of the English Midlands and South Wales. The presence of coal in huge quantities had always meant that some areas of the country were destined to be industrialised. The demand for coal, essential to the iron and steel industry, meant increasing numbers of men, women, and children moving to the squalid little towns that clustered around the mines. Smoke, grime, and the ubiquitous slag heaps dominated the oncepretty landscapes of many parts of England and Wales, as well as the lives of the hapless people who laboured and lived there.

Elizabeth had remarked upon the freshness of the air in the Towy valley, but her husband had looked rather sombre and responded that there was no knowing how long it would last. Finding him somewhat melancholy one evening, Elizabeth asked if she may share his thoughts. Immediately contrite at having shut her out, he was keen to explain, “I’m sorry, dearest, it is not that I do not wish to share my concerns with you; it is more a matter of my inability to understand them myself. We have spent several days here, enjoying the magnificence of the Welsh landscape, and yet all the time the threat of an expanding coal industry hangs over it. There seems to be an irresistible power in the hands of those who own these mines. They control the government and are able to roll over the objections of any local landholders.” Elizabeth was shocked at his sense of helplessness.

“But surely, there are no plans for mines here?”
“Not just now, but I am told the Lord—— has been making inquiries; should he succeed in securing mining rights on the slopes above the river, there would be very little we could do. The slag heaps would cover the hillsides, and the streams would be choked with run-off from the mines.” He sounded so unhappy that Elizabeth said nothing for a few minutes; then, wanting to console him, she sighed and said,
“At least, they cannot touch Pemberley.” He smiled and took her hand, “Yes, they can never get their hands on Pemberley, but Lizzie, this is more than just a question of Pemberley and my family; it is a matter of England’s heritage; this landscape is all we have. To despoil it is to destroy our children’s inheritance. I am determined to see that this valley is not destroyed, if I can possibly help it.”
Elizabeth wrote to Jane and again to her aunt—quiet, serious letters from the heart:

There is so much beauty here and yet, so much ugliness, lying in wait to tear it all apart for profit. Every day, we see places of spectacular beauty, but because they are within reach of coal miners, they seem doomed to become part of the great black mass that is spreading across the land. Darcy is very depressed at the way the countryside is being despoiled and vows he will do something about it.

On the last night they spent at Llandeilo, they dined with the family of Sir Tristram Williams, who had been a friend of Darcy’s father and whose mother was related to his aunt, Lady Catherine. They talked of the unhappy state of England’s rural people. Darcy had heard a number of alarming reports of action by desperate labourers and miners who were being thrown out of work by greedy mine and factory owners, cutting their losses in the face of a deepening recession. Sir Tristram’s son, a lad not yet eighteen home on vacation from College, railed against the “do-nothing government” and determined that he would join the Reform Party and enter Parliament, since that was the only way to stop their mendacity.

He surprised them even more with his support for his older sister, Jessica, who declared that women should have the vote, because, “We would then elect some of the right people to the Parliament at Westminster, not just landlords and mill-owners, whose only interest is in increasing their own wealth. England needs some Reformers,” she said.

“I shall be one of them, and I shall teach the slavers and spoilers a lesson,” declared her brother, fiercely.
David’s parents indulged him and smiled at his fiery sentiments, but Darcy said later that he wished he had been as keenly aware as David, with as much determination to right the wrongs that he could see around him. “Unfortunately, when I was young David’s age, I was too satisfied with my own life to even think about the problems of others. I see now that the selfish lives we led, ill prepared us to recognise our real enemies.” Elizabeth protested, “Darcy, I will not have you say that. You are not selfish; indeed you are quite the least selfish man I know.”
“That, my dearest, is because I have, thanks in no small measure to you, learned my lesson. A little late, perhaps, but it is well-learned,” he replied. “I promise you, Lizzie, I will do everything I can to teach our children their duty, not just to their family and friends but to all those who share this land with us.” Elizabeth was able by now to recognise determination in his voice. She knew he meant every word.
Leaving Wales, they stopped at an inn, where, to their horror, they learned of a dreadful accident which had cost several travellers their lives, when a coach had overturned, throwing its passengers into a gorge. Despite the best efforts of engineers and road builders all over England, many roads were still quite hazardous. Elizabeth was depressed by the bad news and longed to be back at Pemberley—her safe haven of stability in an increasingly changeable world.
It was late evening when they reached the surrounding woodlands, and Elizabeth looked out as if she was making the approach for the first time, realising now how much she had come to regard it as her home. She loved the glow of the setting sun on the reddening Autumn foliage and never failed to be impressed by the first glimpse of the stone work of the house, as it came into view on the far side of the valley. She felt a deep sense of peace and well-being, which seemed to seep in from her surroundings and fill her heart and mind. As if he had read her thoughts, Darcy took her hand to help her out, smiled, and said simply, “Here we are, Lizzie; is it not good to be home?”
“Oh, indeed, it is,” she replied, with a heartfelt sigh of relief.
There were several letters waiting for them at Pemberley. Elizabeth, having greeted Mrs Reynolds and instructed her maid Jenny on the disposition of her luggage, hurried to her room to read hers. By the time Darcy came upstairs, she had scanned them once very quickly and was about to settle down to read them over again.
The first letter she opened brought good news from her Aunt Gardiner. She wrote of Kitty and Mr Jenkins, whom they both had come to like very well, for his gentle humour and perfect manners:

Were he not a clergyman, dearest Lizzie, one would have felt constrained to suggest that he had missed his calling. He is all that Kitty needs to counter balance her immaturity, and yet he seems to enjoy and value her youthful enthusiasm greatly. He could not be stopped from describing in minutest detail all the effort Kitty and Georgiana had put into the training of the Children’s Choir; their performance at the wedding of Miss Camden was no less than perfection, we are told. It certainly augurs well for their union that he is so pleased with her and she is so eager to please him.

There was more about their shopping expeditions and Kitty’s choice of a particular shade of green for a winter gown that Mr Jenkins liked and much more. This brought a smile to Elizabeth’s lips.

Jane’s letter, which had been written over several days, was more in the nature of jottings in a diary than a letter. She had had very little time to write about anything in detail, except for a visit from her in-laws, the Hursts and Miss Bingley, recording in somewhat incredulous words the fact that they were going to Paris!

Just think, Lizzie, they are with a large party from Bath—retired generals and admirals mostly, who wish to see Paris after the end of Bonaparte! Can you imagine Caroline Bingley and her sister among them? They spoke of invitations to salons and soirées, but with only Mr Hurst to escort them, I cannot believe they will enjoy it very much. Indeed, Mr Bingley tells me Caroline has some French, mainly to read and sing, but not to parlais and Mrs Hurst has none at all. Lizzie, without a sound understanding of French, I confess I am confused as to how they will get on.

Jane was clearly puzzled. Elizabeth laughed and read it all out to Darcy, who responded with a comment that it was to be hoped that there would always be a couch available at the soirées, large enough to accommodate Mr Hurst, when he fell asleep during the recitals.

Jane also had news of Kitty:

Kitty is expected with Aunt Gardiner tomorrow and we are to dine at Longbourn on Thursday. I shall write again to give you an account of the occasion, but from what our father has said, I imagine it will be one of Mama’s favourite days. The Lucases and the Longs are invited, and no doubt Aunt Phillips will attend. I am very glad Aunt Gardiner is to be with us.

Jane apologised for the shortness of her letter and the scrappiness of its execution; little Jonathan had been unwell with a cold and needed her all the time, she explained. She concluded with love to both of them and wishes they were with her also. Jane’s eternally generous and kind nature would not let her say it, but her sister could sense the frustration she felt at having to shield Kitty and Mr Jenkins from the excesses of her mother, without Elizabeth beside her for support.

Most interesting of all Elizabeth’s letters was one from Georgiana Darcy. She had spent a week with the Continis—an Italian family with whom they had become friends some years ago, in London. A talented and artistic couple, they had immediately liked Georgiana, and with her brother’s permission, she had accompanied them to the Opera and recitals of Chamber Music by an Italian maestro.

Georgiana wrote enthusiastically of galleries visited and a particularly beautiful performance of “The Magic Flute” which she had attended with the Continis, only to find Dr Grantley in the audience:

Signora Contini invited him to join us in their box, and afterwards he came to supper at Portman Square, and it was quite remarkable how much he knew of Mozart and the Opera. Dr Grantley is in London to attend a Synod of the Church, which he has explained to me is the Parliament of the Church of England. They have long discussions and make important decisions about the Church, he says. He is therefore very busy all day, but Signor and Signora Contini have invited him to dine with us again at the end of the week on the day before we are due to return to Pemberley. For that evening, Signora Contini has engaged a String Quartet, and she suggests that I might join them in a performance of a Piano quintet, the music only recently received from Paris. It is very beautiful, and while I do not know if I shall succeed, I intend to practice every day to master it. Dr Grantley is very sure that I shall, but then he is always very kind.

There was no mistaking the affectionate tone of her letter, and Elizabeth wondered if it was not time to talk to her young sister-in-law about Dr Grantley.
Meanwhile, Darcy’s silence on the subject puzzled her. She passed the letter to him and watched as he read it. A slight smile was all he permitted himself as he handed it back to her. “Georgiana seems to be enjoying herself in London,” she remarked, hoping to draw him out.
“She always does,” he said. “The Continis are very fond of her; they lost a young daughter some years ago and treat Georgiana as if she were their own. Signora Contini is a singer of some renown, and her husband is a very keen patron of the arts. It means my sister is well-placed to see and hear some remarkable performances when she is with them.”
This did not satisfy Lizzie at all. She was not looking for a dissertation on the Continis and the Arts rather for some insight into Darcy’s thinking on the subject of Dr Grantley and Georgiana. She tried again, using a different opening, “What a coincidence that they should meet Dr Grantley at the Opera.” This time Darcy put down his own letter, smiled, and shook his head.
“You must do better than that, my dear; I know you wish to talk about them, but until there is something to speak of, I have nothing to say.” He was smiling, but his expression gave nothing away.
“Oh you are vexing,” she cried and then, deciding that she was going to play the same game, “Ah well, I suppose I shall have to wait to hear it from Georgiana, when she returns.” Elizabeth was certain that Darcy had noticed the growing friendship between his sister and his dearest friend. She was impatient to discover his thoughts, but she had too much respect for him to pry—knowing he would tell her when he was ready. But her patience was wearing thin.
Elizabeth awoke the next morning before the sun had climbed above the wooded hills behind the house. Darcy had risen and was out riding, as he did most mornings before breakfast. Looking out over the park, she was sure she could see him with his groom in the distance, but so deep were the shadows in that part of the park, that she could not be certain. Her husband’s dressing room afforded a clearer view of the path leading from the woods. Elizabeth went through the unlocked door to the window, beside which stood his desk. His manservant had obviously been and laid out his clothes; beside them, fallen to the floor, was a letter, two pages of fine white paper, closely written in perfect copperplate. Before she realised what she was doing, Elizabeth had picked it up and unfolded it to reveal the writer’s name. When she saw who it was, she stood still as if rooted to the spot. The letter was from Dr Grantley; it was dated from London—just three days ago. Elizabeth recalled immediately that it had been written some twenty-four hours after Georgiana’s letter to her. Why had Darcy not revealed its contents to her? Elizabeth was very confused, and against every one of her normal instincts except that of curiosity alone, against her better judgement, she read quickly, her cheeks burning, fearful lest a servant should come in and find her.
What she read only confirmed her own observations. Dr Grantley was deeply in love with Georgiana but had not approached her until he was sure of his own feelings and her brother’s judgment. Having met her again in London, he was convinced of his own inability to go on seeing her without revealing his feelings and attempting to discover if they were welcome and perhaps returned. Yet, he wanted Darcy’s permission to do so. “Oh why do you all need his permission?” Lizzie almost cried out loud—recalling Bingley and Jane, “Why do you not follow your heart?” Reading on, she found the reason. Dr Grantley was aware of the cruel episode involving Wickham, which had so nearly wrecked Georgiana’s life. Darcy had confided in him at the time, and he did not wish to do anything that would cause either Georgiana or Darcy any pain or hurt. Elizabeth soon understood why Darcy had said nothing to her. Dr Grantley begged him to treat the entire matter in confidence, until it was resolved.

I ask it only because, whatever happens, I cannot break with you and your family. Darcy, you are such precious friends, that I should be desolated to lose you—should your sister not accept me. If that should happen, or you should feel that I am too old for her or have some other objection to my suit, it would be a terrible loss, but so much worse if it meant that I could not continue our friendship, because my affections and my disappointment were too widely known and spoken of. I have no right to ask this of you, Darcy, but because we have been as brothers for many years, I hope it will not be too difficult for you to agree.

Elizabeth hurriedly folded up the letter and left it as she had found it. The rest, what she could recall of it, simply spoke of his love for Georgiana and asked Darcy’s permission to propose marriage to her. There was a further paragraph containing a proposal for a trust to be set up, so the considerable income from her inheritance should be saved for her future use, but Elizabeth wanted to know nothing more. She ran back to her room and washed her burning cheeks with cool water. Jenny came in with her tea and informed her that Mr Darcy had sent a servant to Lambton, with an urgent packet for the mail, to go immediately to London.

Elizabeth tried to appear unconcerned, “It was probably a business matter for Mr Gardiner,” she said, knowing full well it was Darcy’s response to Dr Grantley.

She did not know how she would get through the day; Georgiana was due home the following evening. Poor Elizabeth, she had never meant to deceive him, yet there was no reasonable way to tell her husband what she had done and avoid his censure. How could she compromise the trust they shared? What possible excuse could she offer and be forgiven? Feeling wretched and unhappy, she feigned a headache and retired to her room, drawing the blinds and urging her maid to make her excuses. She had no appetite for breakfast. She was sure Mrs Reynolds and Darcy would put the appropriate construction upon it, recalling she was weary from the long journey home. Before she went to bed, she bathed her face again and prayed that Darcy would be late returning from his ride around the grounds.

Some hours later, she awoke to find him sitting beside her, worried that she had been taken ill and anxious to know if he should send for the doctor. Elizabeth immediately sat up and feeling a little unsteady, was glad of his arm to help her out of bed. Having reassured himself that she was not in need of a doctor, he sent for Jenny. On coming downstairs later, Elizabeth found her husband waiting for her in the morning room. She suggested in a bright but not very convincing voice that she should ask for some tea, and though Darcy did not demur, it was quite clear that he was preoccupied.

After tea, he took her arm and led her out into the gentle Autumn sunlight on the terrace and closed the doors leading from the house. There, to her amazement, he apologised to her. He told her he was sorry he had been rather short with her the day before; he had not intended to hurt her feelings or refuse to answer her questions; he had been protecting the confidences of another. Today, he had taken action that enabled him to be more forthcoming.

Elizabeth was by now even more confused. With the dubious advantage of having read Dr Grantley’s letter, she had no idea how it was now possible for him to talk about it to her, without breaking a confidence. Worse still, she could not reveal her own knowledge without totally losing his trust. While all these wretched thoughts whirled through her mind, Darcy took out two heavily folded letters—one she recognised as Dr Grantley’s, and the other was in his own hand and on his personal notepaper. He passed them to her in the order in which they were to be read. Sitting down, Elizabeth read again, slowly and carefully this time, the letter she had raced through that morning. Then, without saying a word, she reached out for the other and read it through. It was obviously a copy of the letter he had sent to London; in it, Darcy not merely gave his friend his blessing but came as close as he possibly could to giving him hope of success. Darcy reassured Dr Grantley of his good opinion, his love, and his best wishes for the fulfilment of his friend’s dearest wish.
He added:

Based upon every indication I have had and keeping in mind that young ladies cannot always be expected to tell their older brothers everything, I feel I am able, Francis, to assure you that Georgiana has the very highest regard for you. Her most recent letter to Elizabeth, after your meeting in London, contains a degree of affection and esteem she has never before expressed for anyone. I am convinced she loves you, though whether she knows how well or how deeply, I cannot speculate. That, I am sure, you will discover soon enough. Elizabeth and I will look forward to seeing both of you on Sunday at Pemberley, with, I hope and trust, some good tidings. Since writing this, I will have shown Elizabeth your letter and my reply. I have not spoken of it to her or any one else until now, but I know you above all others will understand the need for me to tell my wife, for there are no secrets between us. I know she shares my good opinion of you and will wish you success. God bless you both until we meet,

Yours etc,
Fitzwilliam Darcy.

When Elizabeth had finished reading, she handed Darcy both letters. He had expected her to be full of questions, but she turned very quietly and embraced him, letting him hold her as tears filled her eyes. Conveniently, Darcy attributed her emotional response to the state of her health as well as her affection and love for Georgiana. “You do approve then?” he asked, a little uncertainty in his voice.

“Of course I do,” she cried, smiling for the very first time that morning. “I have been so anxious for her, seeing her falling in love with him, not knowing how he felt nor how you would respond, unable to say a word to protect her from disappointment if things had not turned out right. Yet I knew that he would surely speak to you first, and when you said nothing to me, I was afraid it would all come to nothing. My anxiety was for dear Georgiana, I was not prying or wanting to gossip.” Darcy hushed her at once, “Of course not; I never thought for a moment that you were. Yet, as you could see from his letter, Francis had begged me not to speak of his love to anyone, lest it all came to nothing in the end. He had the same concerns. But as you can also see, as soon as I was able, I wrote to him and told him that you had to know—I could not keep it from you, my dearest Elizabeth. You do understand, do you not?” She smiled, accepting everything; glad that her small sum of guilt could now be repaid tenfold with love and trust.

On the following day, preparations were afoot for the return of Georgiana. Her favourite rooms were opened up and aired, and all was in readiness. When the carriage turned into the drive, Elizabeth, watching from an upstairs window, smiled and turned to her husband, “It is settled for certain, they are both here.” Darcy agreed that it was unlikely that they would have undertaken the journey from London together, had Dr Grantley been refused. When they alighted and he helped her out, the expression of sweet contentment on her face told the story. Mrs Annesley was no sooner out of the carriage than she whispered in Mrs Reynold’s ear, “They are engaged,” which caused such a joyous reaction as to bring tears to her eyes. She was seeing her little girl grown up, and it was too much for the usually dignified Mrs Reynolds.

Georgiana embraced her brother and thanked him before turning to Elizabeth and hugging her close. “I shall tell you everything, Lizzie,” she promised. For the moment, there was enough happiness around to warm all their hearts.

After dinner, while Georgiana and Dr Grantley repaired to the music room, Darcy explained to Elizabeth what arrangements were proposed to be put in place for Georgiana. Dr Grantley had been ignorant of the extent of her private fortune until very recently. This had given him pause, not wishing to be thought some kind of fortune hunter—but having consulted his lawyers, he had suggested to Darcy that a trust be set up to protect her inheritance and preserve its income, for the sole use of herself and any children they may have. Having a good income of his own, he believed Georgiana’s interests would be best served by retaining her current guardians—Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam—as trustees.

Darcy, though not for a moment would he have questioned the motives of his dearest friend, was delighted, because it would clearly mark him as a man apart from the fortune hunters, against whom he had always been vigilant on his sister’s behalf. “Have you no reservations about the difference in their ages?” asked his wife. It was a matter she had been anxious to discuss, but Darcy showed no such concern, saying only that he felt Georgiana needed the strength and security of a man she could trust and depend upon, knowing his declared love was a mature and genuine emotion.

“It is in her interest, and knowing Francis Grantley as well as I do, I can safely say that there is no man to whom I would entrust her with greater certainty of her happiness,” he said with such conviction that Elizabeth knew there was no room for doubt.

Writing to her aunt, Elizabeth broke the news with great pleasure:

After the unhappy experience with Wickham, it is not surprising that the family would be wary of suitors, especially young and impecunious ones! Dr Grantley, a scholar of repute with a good income in his own right, was apparently quite unaware of the size of Georgiana’s fortune. He was drawn to her because of their shared interests, her elegance, good taste, and gentle nature. I might add, and I am sure you would agree, dear Aunt, that she has also freshness and a youthful loveliness, assets one would find difficult to ignore. When he did become aware of her inheritance, he was determined to find a way to divest himself of it. It is typical of Dr Grantley that he should want to avoid any taint of the fortune hunter. I believe they have also decided upon a longer engagement than usual, wishing to wait until after Georgiana’s eighteenth birthday—next Spring. Meanwhile, we look forward to entertaining Dr Grantley very often at Pemberley. Darcy is absolutely delighted, of course, to entrust his beloved sister to one of his best and most trusted friends. He has only tonight written a letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam in Ceylon, giving him the good news.

Let me take your mind back, dear Aunt, to the time when we were led to believe by Miss Bingley that her brother was very partial to Miss Darcy. Judging from Mr Darcy’s remarks, which carried not a single hint of ambiguity on the suitability of Dr Grantley, would you not agree that Miss Bingley’s remarks were more in the nature of wishful thinking? She hoped, no doubt, to promote her own cause as much as her brother’s. How totally are the tables turned. Mrs Reynolds is almost speechless with joy. She thoroughly approves of Francis Grantley, and while I am sure she cannot believe that any mortal person is good enough for her dear Miss Georgiana, Dr Grantley must come close. With this high degree of agreement and general satisfaction, you can imagine that we, at Pemberley, are at present enjoying a singularly pleasant and happy atmosphere. It wants only the addition of yourselves to make perfection.

On the day following, as if there was an insufficiency of good news, a letter arrived from Mr Gardiner confirming that he had closed the deal with the agents for the purchase of the property at Lambton. Having taken Mrs Gardiner and all the children to see it and being assured that everyone loved it, for one reason or the other, he wrote:

I must be forever in your debt, Mr Darcy, for having drawn my attention to this property. My family, especially Mrs Gardiner, is delighted with the place, and the added pleasure of being but five miles from Pemberley has sent young Caroline into transports of delight. She is, as you know, Elizabeth’s particular favourite and looks forward to seeing more of her in the future. In the New Year, when both our boys will be enrolled at school in Oxford, we hope to move to Oakleigh Manor.

Meanwhile, we—that is yourself, Mr Bingley, and I—should meet to discuss arrangements for our London offices, since I expect to sell the house on Gracechurch Street. We should have no great difficulty finding suitable offices to rent nearer our warehouses. Many businessmen and stock traders have sold out or gone bankrupt. Commercial property is fast losing value; we should be able to take advantage of the market, since we have not suffered similar devastation.

Mr Gardiner, whose long experience in trade and commerce had stood them all in good stead with the onset of the recession that was tightening its grip over England, explained the need for planning. His well-honed skills, combined with Darcy’s natural caution and Bingley’s willingness to take sound advice even if it meant quelling his own enthusiasm, had successfully steered them away from speculative ventures and debt—the twin destroyers of men and institutions of the day. Husbanding their joint resources and holding them available for future investment had proved an excellent policy. Now he was advising them to plan ahead, look beyond the present misfortunes to an England that would certainly recover, and be ready to take advantage of the upward swing.

Make no mistake, Mr Darcy, this recession will surely end, and when the market is at the very bottom of the trough, people and nations will start to buy again, and if we are prepared with sound plans and sensible strategies, we shall do well. There is nothing worse than letting the gloom of the current situation blind us to the potential of tomorrow.

He sent his regards and looked forward to a meeting at an early date. Darcy, who had had little or no experience in the world of Commerce, was more than grateful to have the benefit of Mr Gardiner’s wise counsel at a time when no one in business or government had predicted the chaos that was developing around them.

The landed gentry were the least able to understand the new forces that the Industrial Revolution had unleashed. Darcy knew that many of his acquaintances and friends had no notion what was happening to the country. Familiar with the traditional cycles of a rural economy, with its droughts, floods, crop failures, and fluctuating prices, they depended upon a process of natural rotation to restore and sustain them. If one crop failed, another succeeded. Prices swung up and down.

They were unprepared for the creeping recessions of industrial society, with the devastation of mill closures and starving poor begging on the streets, simply because ordinary people were too poor to buy food and clothing, and nations, deep in debt, could no longer import British goods for their people.

Aware that his family had been, for the most part, protected from the impact of the recession that was rolling across the nation, Darcy had realised how exceptionally fortuitous had been his introduction to the Gardiners, through his marriage to Elizabeth. Mr Gardiner had proved a mentor and friend as well as a shrewd business partner.

After dinner that night, he acknowledged to his wife his debt, explaining in greater detail than he had ever done before the worth of her uncle’s contribution to their own well-being and financial security. “Had I been less well advised, had I not been made aware of the need to protect and hedge the value of our own properties, quite apart from the additional value of the investment in Mr Gardiner’s business, which he runs with such remarkable success, there is no certainty that I would not have suffered losses, too.”

Elizabeth was quick to point out that it was unthinkable Darcy would have been as rash or naïve as several of the prominent gentlemen whose fortunes had disappeared before their eyes. “Certainly, I agree that my natural caution and reserve may have saved me from the excesses that have destroyed them, but it may equally have prevented me from deriving the benefits of sensible enterprise.” Elizabeth agreed and in her heart rejoiced that Darcy had chosen in this way to indicate very clearly that, far from being materially damaging to him and Mr Bingley, their marriages had proved to be beneficial, through their very association with their Uncle Gardiner.

Writing later to Jane, she related the burden of her discussion with her husband, and added:

How fortunate we are, my dearest Sister, to have in our close circle such a couple as Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, who in every way are examples of what is worthy and honourable. Add to this my husband’s acknowledgement of the skill and wisdom of our uncle’s management of his business enterprise as well as his gratitude for the advice that he and Mr Bingley have had from Mr Gardiner, and we can be satisfied that Lady Catherine’s fears regarding the damage done by an alliance with us were quite laughable.

You will recall, dear Jane, how depressed we were, after Lydia’s stupid elopement. How wretched were my predictions for our future prospects of marriage. Will you forgive me for having contributed to your distress at the time? Quite obviously, I was wrong. There was no question of our association’s ever damaging them, quite the contrary. While neither you, dear Sister, nor I, need such assurances from our dear husbands now, it is nevertheless comforting to know that it is true. To have this knowledge, while having also their love and esteem, is surely to have happiness of a very high order.

For Elizabeth, her uncle’s letter and the conversation with Darcy that followed it, had crowned a week of increasing joy. With Jane and Bingley moving to Leicestershire—a mere twenty miles from Pemberley and now her favourite aunt and uncle coming to live at Lambton, her cup was full.

As she picked up her pen to finish her letter to Jane, she wondered at the good fortune that had blessed them both and, indeed, most members of their family. For the present, at least, there was nothing more she could ask for, to add to the sum total of her happiness, except the safe delivery of her child, due in the Spring.

CHAPTER TEN

By fortune truly blest

W

ELL BEFORE CHRISTMAS, THE smooth running household of Mr and Mrs Bingley at Netherfield had been organised, packed, and moved to Ashford Park in the county of Leicestershire. Jane and

Jonathan had temporarily moved to Longbourn, where Mrs Bennet had her heart’s desire, with an afternoon tea to which every neighbour, friend, and acquaintance was invited to meet her beautiful daughter, Mrs Bingley, and her grandson. No grandmother could have been prouder or more voluble in her praise of him. “The heir to the Bingley fortune,” which in times of increasing trade and commerce, had grown quite remarkably, was how his grandmother saw him.

Jane’s presence with her son considerably brightened her father’s life. Ever since his two favourite daughters had married and moved away, Mr Bennet had suffered a deep sense of loss. Knowing both Jane and Elizabeth were happy was certainly a great comfort to him, but he missed them terribly. The birth of Jonathan and Jane’s return to Longbourn for however short a time were special pleasures, and he was determined to enjoy them.

Jane’s happy contentment was obvious to everyone, and her father had the grace to acknowledge to himself, at least, that God or good fortune or both had intervened to bless her life, despite the unpropitious circumstances of her home and family. Her mother’s foolishness, her youngest sister Lydia’s stupidity, and his own neglect could well have ruined any chance of happiness for Jane as it could for Elizabeth. It had been a salutary lesson for all of them, a lesson learned late, but well. That he had acquired two excellent young men as sons-in-law and, with Kitty’s engagement, was about to have another worthy addition to the family, all accomplished with a minimum of effort on his part, did contribute to some degree of smugness, it has to be said.

Jane’s own sweet reasonableness, which caused her to dismiss as irrelevant confessions of negligence or inadequacy on her father’s part, only served to enhance his present feelings of self-satisfaction. “Dear Papa, you have no guilt to carry on my behalf. There was nothing done or left undone, by you, that would have changed my life significantly. Mr Bingley has assured me of this, and I believe him. If there was a time when he was uncertain about me, it was due to a misunderstanding of the strength of my own feelings, and for that, I can blame no one but myself. However, once he was reassured of my feelings, through the fortunate intervention of our dear Lizzie and Mr Darcy, he determined to return to Netherfield and ask me himself, and you know the rest,” she said, ensuring by her generosity of heart, that her father would not blame himself for any of her sorrow, however short-lived.

When everything at Ashford Park was in its place, and Netherfield had been closed, Mr Bingley came to take his wife and son home. There were tears, advice, and blessings to spare, and finally, with the promise of a reunion at Christmas, they were permitted to leave. Jane had so much confidence in the taste and judgement of her sister and brother-in-law that she had not insisted on seeing the property at Ashford before it was purchased. She had, however, accompanied Mr Bingley, their steward, butler, and housekeeper on a tour of the place, before the move was undertaken.

So completely delighted was she with the house, its furnishings and accessories, the gardens, the park that surrounded it, even the woods, walks, and streams that all seemed to be in exactly the places she had imagined they would be, that she pronounced it a perfect choice. On hearing of this, Elizabeth declared that she wished there were twenty more Janes in the world and they were all as amenable and easy to please. Congratulating her husband on selecting the property and then persuading Bingley that it was the right thing to do to sell his shares in the squalid textile industry in order to purchase Ashford Park, Elizabeth noted that Mr Darcy must now be feeling very satisfied with his success. “Certainly,” he replied, “Especially in view of the recession that is now overtaking the textile industry. It was a wise decision. I am indeed happy to have been able to advise Bingley to do what was both right and financially sensible.”

“And to have made both his wife and yours happy with the result; surely, a doubly successful enterprise, would you not say?” Darcy looked up at Elizabeth quickly, suspecting she was teasing him again, but in truth, she was not. For her part, Elizabeth continued to be astonished at the lengths to which he would go to assist his friends. She had witnessed it time and again. It was almost as if he accepted that he had a responsibility to help those of his friends and relations whose well-being mattered to him. That this altruism extended to her own family—even its miscreant and undeserving members—she already knew, and Elizabeth loved him dearly for it.

Lydia and Wickham, now expecting their second child, had not shown much gratitude for Darcy’s efforts on their behalf, but Elizabeth and Jane, learning of the extent of his involvement from Mrs Gardiner, never failed to appreciate his remarkable generosity of spirit. Seeing his quizzical glance, she rose and went to him. “I was being absolutely sincere, my dearest, you must know how happy I am that Jane and Bingley are to move to Ashford Park,” she said, “If the truth were told, I am sure they would have continued at Netherfield for another year, had it not been for your persuasion. Jane is very easygoing and would not have nagged Mr Bingley about it . . .”

Darcy interrupted her in midsentence, “I cannot see Jane ever nagging anyone, my dear, and as for her amiable husband, he has been talking of buying a property ever since his father died but has been happy to enjoy the ease of renting for all of this time. To be fair, he did ask me, very soon after Jane and he were engaged, to look for a suitable place, which is all I have done. It was simply fortuitous that Ashford Park was available.” Elizabeth laughed and teased him about being so modest about his part in the enterprise but proceeded to assure him that she had learned from her sister that Bingley was immensely grateful for his assistance and advice.

As for Jane, she could not imagine any place better situated or so wellappointed, and she gave all the credit to Darcy and Elizabeth. “So you see, dearest,” said Elizabeth, “We have been credited with a triumph of taste and good judgement.” Darcy smiled and said it was something he always enjoyed doing— giving good advice and having it so readily accepted. “Have you any particular advice for me?” asked Elizabeth, in a mood to divert him from serious matters. “Indeed I do, my dear,” he replied, taking her arm, “I suggest you accompany me upstairs—to look at a particular suite of rooms.”

Elizabeth had already approached Mrs Reynolds about preparing a nursery. She had suggested accommodation closer to their apartments, and Mrs Reynolds was sympathetic, though a little surprised. The previous Mistresses of Pemberley had always preferred to sleep undisturbed by their babies. It was the way the “gentry” raised their children. “If you would tell me what you would like, Mrs Darcy, I will have it done in time for Spring,” she had said, helpfully suggesting an early start to the work.

Elizabeth had wished to consult her husband first, before giving any orders, and she wondered at his already knowing of her request. His words anticipated her question. “Mrs Reynolds mentioned your discussion about a new nursery to Georgiana. She used to have rooms across the landing from our mother’s, but she has long since moved into her own apartments on the other side of the house. Georgiana thought you might like to have the rooms redecorated as a nursery. They are very light and spacious, with a pretty view.”

Elizabeth’s delight was not in any way diminished by the fact that it was so unexpected. That Georgiana should be as generous as her brother did not surprise, but that Mrs Reynolds should have thought to initiate and Darcy to develop the idea added to the comfortable feeling of being drawn into the warm circle of Pemberley, where everyone seemed concerned about each other. It was a habit of caring that she was beginning to recognise as characteristic of the people here, due in no small measure, she decided, to the nature and practice of the Master. It was this atmosphere—rather than the prospect of fine jewels, splendid carriages, and an army of servants, in which her mother had revelled upon her engagement to Darcy—that Elizabeth appreciated most. The rooms proved to be exactly as Darcy had described them. With plenty of light and air, and an attractive view of the Rose Garden, which would be exquisite in the Spring, they were easily accessible from the main apartments and had accommodation for a nurse as well. Seeing she was happy with them, Darcy urged Elizabeth to proceed to give her instructions, so the work could begin. “As I have said before, dearest, it is your home, and I would like you to feel free to have done any work you wish.”
“Are you sure you have that much confidence in me?” she asked. “Lizzie, I know you are unlikely to have the woods felled, the stream

diverted, or the gallery turned into a bowling alley, so I urge you to tell Mrs Reynolds what you want done. She will have the tradesmen do the rest.”

Elizabeth was supremely happy. There was so much joy in her life that from time to time, she felt undeserving—as if it was too much to accept as her share of happiness. But that did not prevent her enjoying every moment. As she settled into her marriage with Darcy and learned to give and receive the mature love that was the core of it, she grew also in maturity herself and like Jane, found contentment easier to enjoy. The strength and emotional stability that Darcy provided, without the boredom that often accompanied those virtues, the warmth of Georgiana’s friendship, together with the concern and care that Mrs Reynolds and her staff wrapped around her, made for a most pleasing and happy state.

She wrote to her friend Charlotte, who had just been delivered of another daughter—Rebecca Ann:

I am indeed happy, dear Charlotte. The added pleasure of having my dearest sister Jane less than two hours’ drive from Pemberley, with the promise that in Spring, my uncle and Aunt Gardiner will move to Lambton a mere five miles away, shortly before my own baby is expected, is almost too much for one fortunate heart. I should have liked to have come to visit, dear Charlotte, but as you were when our dear Jane was delivered of Jonathan, so I am afraid am I quite unable to travel further than a few miles. I hope to go to Ashford Park at Christmas, but only for a day or two as I am warned that overtiring myself will not do. But, my dear friend, I hope and pray for your good health and that of both your little girls and trust we shall see you here soon. Jane tells me you have agreed to come to her in May; God willing, we shall see you at Pemberley, too.

God bless you,
Eliza.

The good fortune that followed Elizabeth touched others in her family circle, too, that year. At Christmas, which was celebrated at Ashford Park in the kind of lavish style that Mr Bingley was accustomed to, Dr Grantley and Georgiana announced their engagement. The beautiful ring on her finger was admired for its design and envied for its value, by every other young woman present. For Elizabeth and Darcy, however, it was the near-certainty of Georgiana’s happiness with Dr Grantley that mattered most. Her gentleness was so perfectly complemented by his strength, and the pride he clearly felt in gaining her affection matched well her youthful devotion to him.

Jane, who was seeing them together for the first time since their engagement, declared it to be “truly a match made in heaven.” “There is so much of genuine goodness in both of them, Lizzie, so open and honest in disposition are they, that there can be no other conclusion,” she declared, and for once, Elizabeth agreed completely. Even Jane could not exaggerate their virtues.

Two days later, letters from Longbourn confirmed that Maria Lucas was to wed Dr. Faulkner at Easter and Kitty was to be her bridesmaid. Dr Faulkner had a thriving practice at Meryton but no house in the district, so the couple would live at Lucas Lodge—for the foreseeable future. Kitty and Mr Jenkins would be married in June and planned to travel to Bristol to visit his family home, before returning to the Rectory at Pemberley. Kitty had wanted to wait until after Elizabeth’s child was born, so her sister could attend her wedding. Meanwhile, tradesmen worked to improve the Rectory, as Darcy had promised, and to redecorate and furnish the new nursery at Pemberley.

In spite of the unhappy state of the nation, the families on the Pemberley Estate and its neighbouring properties had survived the worst of the recession, thanks largely to responsible management by their owners and the hard work of their tenants. A determined effort had been made to assist the poor and dispossessed. No one starved in the environs of Pemberley or Ashford Park that Christmas; no unfortunate being was left homeless in the cold through the greed of landlords. This was no mean feat considering the widespread poverty and suffering that afflicted vast areas of rural England throughout the year.

The churches and parish councils at Lambton, Pemberley, and Kympton had all played their part, seeking out people in trouble and helping families cope. Darcy and Elizabeth together with Dr Grantley and Georgiana used Boxing Day to distribute much food and clothing to the families in and around the Pemberley Estate. The choir of children sang as lustily and sweetly as ever at their party on Christmas Eve, where food was so plentiful that many of their families took away as much again as they had eaten. At Pemberley, the festivities were quiet and unostentatious, with the gladness and good cheer deriving mainly from the warmth of friendship and Christian kindness.

In the New Year, the Gardiners moved to Lambton, sooner than anticipated. Winter had brought home to all Londoners, save those who lived in ivory towers and palaces, the extent of suffering and anger in the community. Mr and Mrs Gardiner had been feeling increasingly uneasy, living comfortably though by no means luxuriously, in the midst of such deprivation. The large itinerant population that wandered the streets made life less safe and hastened their decision to move.

Once settled at Oakleigh Manor, where they acquired a whole new set of social responsibilities, they were, especially Mrs Gardiner and her daughters, regular visitors at Pemberley. Caroline, at fourteen, an accomplished, charming, and intelligent young lady, was devoted to Elizabeth and adored following her around Pemberley, while Emily, who was just nine, was a great reader and scribbler, and could only be persuaded to leave the library at meal times. The two families, already bound by ties of respect and affection, would grow even closer together. Elizabeth and Jane depended upon their aunt as they might upon a beloved elder sister for companionship and advice. Darcy, Bingley, and Mr Gardiner not only had a thriving business partnership; their friendship had developed from a coalescence of interests as well as a strong foundation of mutual affection and regard.

At Easter, Jane attended Maria Lucas’ wedding and returned with the only piece of sad news they had heard in a year or more. Lady Lucas was sinking slowly from a long, unremitting illness and Maria’s wedding had in fact been brought forward for her mother’s sake. A nurse now lived permanently at Lucas Lodge, and Maria and her doctor husband would reside there for as long as her mother needed his care. As Kitty wrote:

She is not expected to survive the Summer, Lizzie. Maria and Nurse Williams are her constant companions. Dr Faulkner is very kind and attends Lady Lucas on every occasion—to ease her pain. Truly, Lizzie, he is such a good doctor, we cannot imagine what they would do without him.

Jane confirmed Kitty’s news. She also said that Charlotte had promised to come to Ashford Park and Pemberley, but unfortunately, Mr Collins could not be long away from her Ladyship at Rosings and would have to return to Kent after a week with the Bingleys—no doubt to report to his patron on the state and style of the Bingleys’ establishment. Charlotte, however, would stay on and bring her two little girls as well to Pemberley. This singular piece of good news was almost sufficient to help Elizabeth overcome the sadness of Kitty’s letter, but, unwilling to outrage her sister’s sensibilities, she said nothing, except that she was looking forward to seeing Charlotte and her daughters, prompting Jane to draw a comparison with themselves in childhood, when Charlotte, Jane, and Lizzie had been the happiest threesome in Meryton.

Later, Elizabeth wrote to Charlotte extending an invitation to her to stay at Pemberley for as long as she could tear herself away from Hunsford and Rosings Park. Elizabeth smiled as she sealed her letter. What pleasure to look forward to Spring, her friend Charlotte, her baby, and no Mr Collins! Dear God, she thought, it will be almost heaven.

J

In the midst of the first Summer storm of 1817, when Doctor Stephens was away in Derby on a Saturday afternoon, umpiring a game of cricket, with only her Aunt Gardiner and Mrs Reynolds to assist with her arrival, Elizabeth’s daughter was born.

Darcy, who had to be called from a meeting with Mr Gardiner in Lambton, was for the first time anyone could remember, quite incapable of doing anything more than pace the floor and demand news of his wife every five minutes. Fortunately, Dr Grantley, who was visiting Georgiana and Mr Gardiner, kept him company. They urged him in vain to be patient and kept him from riding out in the rain to fetch the errant doctor.

Darcy was quite furious with the doctor. “How could he have gone to Derby for a cricket match on such a day as this?” he asked, “And what sort of cricket would they play in this weather?” It was of no use to point out that no one had expected to see Elizabeth brought to bed till at least the end of May and it had been a fine morning for the cricket.

Mrs Gardiner, who had had four children of her own, Mrs Reynolds, similarly qualified, and young Jenny managed very well indeed. Little Cassandra Jane was born late that afternoon and was declared by all to be the loveliest baby they had ever seen. She was presented to her delighted parents by Mrs Gardiner, just as Dr Stephens arrived, breathless and apologetic, too late to do more than declare that the ladies had done very well indeed and both mother and daughter were in excellent health.

Darcy, who had been threatening dire consequences for the doctor’s neglect of his duty, was so delighted with his wife and daughter, he was all smiles and thanked Dr Stephens, as though he had been present all the time. With the luxury of an estate free of entail, Darcy was untroubled by questions of a male heir. While he was confident that some years later they would have a son, who would carry on the family traditions at Pemberley, it was, he said, not a matter of great consequence.

The cause of his happiness was the safe delivery of a beautiful little girl— and his only concern, her health and the comfort of his wife. Elizabeth, who had secretly hoped for a son, had no time for disappointment. Her time was taken up with the demands of a lively daughter, whose resemblance to her handsome father and lovely mother was being discovered by every visitor who called to see her.

It was a long time since there had been a child born at Pemberley, and every tenant and neighbour wanted a glimpse. In the time-honoured tradition, they all felt they had to see some family resemblance in Cassandra that no other visitor had detected. One saw her father’s noble brow; another, the lovely dark eyes and the glowing complexion of her mother. Mrs Reynolds even thought there was a hint of Mr Darcy’s late mother in her eyes.

Elizabeth, who had been forewarned by her husband to expect all this attention, took it in her stride. She was sensible enough to know that Cassandra Jane belonged to Pemberley as much as to her proud parents. To her happy godparents Jane and Charles Bingley, Cassandra Jane was going to be “a beautiful little friend for Jonathan.” To her mother and father, she was the centre of their universe.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Angry voices and honourable gentlemen

A

BRIEF NOTE FROM MR Darcy had informed Lady Catherine de Bourgh of his sister’s engagement to Dr Francis Grantley of St John’s College, Oxford. Soon afterwards, Georgiana Darcy had written to her

aunt—advising of her own engagement and promising to visit Rosings, in the near future. She had consulted both her brother and sister-in-law before writing and had been forewarned to expect a volley of probing and personal questions. When there was no response to either communication, Georgiana was anxious that she had, unwittingly, offended her aunt but was equally uncertain of what she should do next.

The birth of Cassandra Jane had brought with it the particular pleasure of being an aunt herself, which thrust all thoughts of Lady Catherine into the background, until one day in June, when she was sitting with Elizabeth and Cassandra in the nursery. It was a time both young women enjoyed since it gave them an opportunity to talk, as sisters do, of many matters, significant or sentimental as the case may be. They were discussing the possibility of Cassy’s growing up with an interest in music and painting. Elizabeth felt sure that being surrounded by so much beautiful art and music at Pemberley, there was no question Cassandra would acquire a taste for it but added, if she did not, then her Aunt Georgiana would have to take her in hand.

They were interrupted when Jenny came in with a letter for Georgiana, from Lady Catherine. It acknowledged hers and the information it had contained concerning her engagement. With no further comment, the writer peremptorily summoned Georgiana and Dr Grantley to Rosings in July, suggesting that the third week of the month would be the most convenient. Almost as an afterthought, she sent her compliments to Mr and Mrs Darcy and hoped they and their daughter were well.

The tone and timing of the letter amused Elizabeth, who declared, “There you are, Georgiana, you need not have worried about displeasing Lady Catherine at all. She has probably investigated Dr Grantley’s family background and prospects and finding them quite satisfactory, she now wants to meet him; so you are commanded to present yourselves at Rosings!”

Georgiana laughed and asked, “How can you be certain that she approves?” On this point at least, Elizabeth could reassure her, “Of course she approves, if she did not, she would probably have driven over in her chaise and four to tell you so and demand that you end it at once!” Elizabeth’s eyes were sparkling as she spoke, and Georgiana refused to take her seriously. But her brother, who had come in as Elizabeth was speaking and had heard her words, laughed as he assured his sister that it was indeed true.

“Lizzie is absolutely right; believe me, Georgiana, if Lady Catherine had disapproved of Francis Grantley, we would have heard about it.”
“Then you think Dr Grantley and I should arrange to go to Rosings?”
“Certainly, and you had better make certain that he has all the information at his command, for Lady Catherine will want to know everything about him,” said Darcy, then seeing the alarm this was causing his sister, he relented and confessed he was only teasing.
Elizabeth intervened to point out that the dates suggested by Lady Catherine would probably suit Georgiana and Francis Grantley well, since they would all have travelled to Hertfordshire for Kitty’s wedding the previous week.
Darcy did, however, have another, pleasanter surprise for both of them. He had only just received in the mail a letter from Colonel Fitzwilliam. He wrote that he was returning to England in the Autumn, “in time for Christmas at Pemberley and Georgiana’s wedding in the New Year.” Both Elizabeth and Georgiana were delighted with the news but also a little puzzled. While she could understand his eagerness to attend Georgiana’s wedding, Elizabeth could not help feeling that there was more to his decision to return earlier than planned.
As Darcy read out more of the letter, it became clearer; Fitzwilliam had received much news of the present unrest in the country and the Parliament. He had always been more interested in politics than his cousin, and having met with some members of the Reform Group, he was anxious to be involved. He wrote:

There seems to be a great deal of talking about reform and very little action. I cannot help thinking that the time is right to demand more representative government in Britain than we now enjoy. So many nations of Europe are achieving a level of democracy greater than ours, and the American Colonies have declared themselves for Independence and Democracy; it shames me to have to admit that our Parliament is filled with members of the landowning aristocracy elected from rotten boroughs to govern us.

Elizabeth and Georgiana sat in stunned silence. “So you see,” said Darcy, “Fitzwilliam is returning to join the Reform Movement.”
“I would never have guessed he was so keen,” said Elizabeth, still incredulous.
“He has always had strong views on the subject,” said Darcy, “He could not abide the old high Tories who dominate Parliament. I have known that. What I did not know was that he had become sufficiently passionate to involve himself directly in the movement. Well, we shall see what he says and does, when he arrives,” he said, putting away the letter. Darcy then informed Elizabeth that he intended to invite Fitzwilliam to stay at Pemberley on his return, if she had no objection. Elizabeth made no objection at all; she had always enjoyed his company.
“Does he say what he intends to do, apart from joining the Reform Movement?” she asked. Darcy nodded, “He writes that he wants to settle in this neighbourhood, he hopes to purchase a property, as he says ‘Within riding distance of Pemberley’—which must mean he is seriously interested.”
“Could he be planning to marry?” Elizabeth asked. Darcy shook his head, “If he is, he is keeping it a secret. He makes no mention of it, nor do I see any other indication of such an intention in his letter. No, my love, I believe the answer lies in the head rather than the heart; he wants to settle in this part of the country, so he can ultimately stand for Parliament here.”
“Do you really believe that?” asked his wife, astonished at this information.
“Certainly, he has always been interested in politics, since his days at Cambridge; but being an officer in the army precluded him from taking an active role.” Elizabeth could hardly believe that the gentle, well-mannered Colonel was an ambitious politician, but quite clearly Darcy knew more about his cousin than she could have gathered from her pleasant but short acquaintance with him. She still believed there was a lady in the picture, somewhere, but Darcy laughed and warned her against matchmaking, before he left them to go away and write to Fitzwilliam—inviting him to stay at Pemberley until he found a suitable property of his own.

J

Charlotte Collins and her two little daughters—Catherine and Rebecca, having spent two weeks with Jane at Ashford Park—came to Pemberley. Darcy who had always acknowledged Mrs Collins with respect, as a sensible and intelligent woman, made them very welcome, and Elizabeth was truly delighted to spend some time with her friend again, especially as it was to be free of the encumbrance of Mr Collins. Charlotte brought good news from Jane for her sister: she was expecting her second child. Elizabeth wanted to tell her husband at once, but they found he had already walked down to the stables with the groom and the news would have to wait till later.

Meanwhile, with their three little girls in the care of their nurses, Charlotte and Elizabeth prepared to spend a few days of leisure together. Their friendship went back many years and had been a source of fun as well as comfort, when she and Jane had longed to escape the shallow prattling of their mother. Charlotte’s mother, Lady Lucas, was a kind, well-meaning woman and had always welcomed the two elder Bennet girls as her daughter’s particular friends. Apart from the temporary coolness that had existed between them following Charlotte’s engagement to Mr Collins, an event that had bewildered and angered Elizabeth to the point where she had been rather insensitive to Charlotte’s feelings, they had continued to remain affectionate friends.

Charlotte’s complete freedom from envy regarding the excellent marriages of Jane and Elizabeth, her sensitivity to the feelings of the Bennet family—in the matter of the entail on Longbourn—and her genuine concern for their happiness and well-being, set her apart as a true and valued friend. They spent most of that day talking of their families, especially their younger sisters—Maria and Kitty, who had also been firm friends since childhood.

While Elizabeth knew little of Dr Faulkner, she had heard nothing but good about him from every source and was sure Maria would be very happy. Charlotte agreed, adding that his devoted care of her mother, who was very sick, went far beyond the call of mere duty. On the subject of Kitty, they were both agreed that her removal from the influence of her giddy younger sister, Lydia, had wrought a total transformation of her character and outlook upon life.

“I had not met Kitty in almost a year, when I called in at Longbourn with Maria before the wedding, and I do not mind telling you, dear Eliza, I was not prepared for the remarkable change in her. She is still young and somewhat excitable, to be sure, but there is no harm in that. What is so pleasing is the change in her temper and values.”

Elizabeth agreed, “Mr Jenkins has certainly made a change in Kitty,” she began, but Charlotte interrupted gently, “While I accept that Mr Jenkins’ influence must be taken into account, I think it is you and Jane who must take most credit. Both of you have shown her, by example, how a young woman conducts herself in the best circles of society and may enjoy the good things of life in genteel moderation, without falling into excess and impropriety.” Elizabeth coloured at these compliments from her friend but was happy to accept them all the same.

The following day, the Gardiners came to dinner, and later in the week Rosamund Fitzwilliam called and insisted that they all come over to Rushmore Farm, which was most interesting for Charlotte, who had never before visited a horse stud. The Gardiners would not take no for an answer either, wanting Charlotte to see for herself how well they had settled into life in Derbyshire, after some twenty years in London. It was on returning from Oakleigh, on a balmy afternoon, that they found sad news waiting for them.

An express had come from Sir William Lucas. Lady Lucas had passed away early that morning, and Charlotte was summoned to Lucas Lodge. As the tears welled up in Charlotte’s eyes and Elizabeth embraced her dear friend, Darcy went immediately to find Mrs Reynolds and organise their journey to Hertfordshire. He determined that Charlotte and her children could not travel post, unaccompanied. They would have one of his carriages, with a trusted man from Pemberley to escort them. He assumed a message had already gone to Mr Collins in Kent and no doubt he would arrive for the funeral. Everything was done to enable them to leave in time to reach Coventry before dark.

Charlotte was overwhelmed by Darcy’s concern and generosity. As she prepared to leave, barely an hour later, he assured her they were in good hands. He said the driver had instructions to do exactly as she asked but suggested they break journey at a hostelry he recommended for its safety and comfort. Charlotte, he said, need not worry at all about arrangements, his servant would attend to all of that. Having again expressed his condolences and asked for them to be conveyed to Sir William and Maria, he reassured her, “Have no fear, Mrs Collins, you will be delivered safe and sound to Lucas Lodge,” and added, “Bingley and I will call on you and your father in a day or two.” Charlotte thanked him from the bottom of her heart, whispering in Lizzie’s ear as they said farewell, “My dear Eliza, you have a most thoughtful and generous husband. Look after him.”

Elizabeth had already asked her to forgive her own inability to travel to the funeral, but Charlotte, in her usual calm way, waved away her apologies, “I know you cannot travel at this time, Eliza, but at least, I know that your thoughts will be with us. My mother always thought very highly of you and Jane; she hoped you would marry good men. Having seen both Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy as I have these last few weeks, I know her wishes for you have been more than fulfilled.”

Suddenly, Elizabeth felt sad, wondering at the way their lives had changed, since they had been girls together. Charlotte was her oldest friend. Not even the tragicomic circumstances of her marriage to Mr Collins could destroy their bonds of friendship.

When they had gone, she turned to her husband and was surprised by the expression of deep concern upon his countenance. It was at these moments, she understood fully how fortunate she was. That she could ever have thought him cruel, callous, and indifferent to the feelings of others was incomprehensible to her now. She was ashamed to acknowledge that he had been as harshly misjudged by herself, as by others whose ignorance might be their excuse. She’d had none to blame but her prejudice. The gentleness in his treatment of Charlotte in her sorrow, his compassion combined with the swift practical assistance he sought to provide, had filled Elizabeth with pride and love. She was no longer surprised, just very proud of him. Putting an arm around her, he took her upstairs. “You must rest, dearest; there is nothing more to be done. I shall send a message to Ashford suggesting to Bingley that he and I attend the funeral. We may have to leave tomorrow.” Elizabeth agreed; she was suddenly very tired and longed for a bath and bed. Her mind kept returning to Charlotte, her nurse, and two little girls, on the road to Hertfordshire and her mother’s funeral.

The following day, Elizabeth decided that she would take Cassandra and Jenny and travel to Ashford Park with Darcy, where she would stay with Jane until their husbands returned from the funeral of Lady Lucas. Jane and Elizabeth had much to talk about. They were rarely apart for a week, but one sister would feel she could not possibly spend another day without seeing the other. Sometimes they visited one another; at others, they met at Oakleigh, where their beloved aunt and uncle were always overjoyed to see them.

On this occasion, the sadness of Charlotte’s loss was softened by Jane’s news of another child. “It does mean we shall not be having our usual party at Christmas, Lizzie, but Aunt Gardiner has claimed the right to have us all at Oakleigh, because it will be Caroline’s birthday on Boxing Day!” said Jane.

“So it will. She has grown up these last two years—why Emily still seems a baby, but young Caroline is quite the young lady,” said Elizabeth. “Can you not remember the days when she would climb into your lap and refuse to leave until you had read her a story?” Jane did remember, very well.

“She is certainly grown up and so beautiful too, Lizzie. I do believe it was one of the reasons for our aunt and uncle deciding to leave London for the country.”
Elizabeth was puzzled. “How do you mean?”
“Aunt Gardiner was over here with the girls while Charlotte was with us last week. We were talking of the tall tales coming out of London these days. Lizzie, there are all sorts of stories of wild parties and loose living men and women—all encouraged by the lack of discipline at the Court. Well, it seems there was a lot of truth in some of the tales, and Lizzie, Aunt Gardiner was especially concerned about the girls.”
Elizabeth was speechless for a while then, recovering her composure, asked, “You cannot mean that they were in any danger?”
“Not in any physical danger, but by example. You know how it was with Kitty and Lydia and all those Officers and silly women in Meryton?” Elizabeth nodded; she certainly remembered them! “Well, it is, according to my aunt, twice as bad in London. The Prince Regent and his swell friends are forever being accused of indulging in gambling, feasting, and drunken brawls and other equally wild practices, which set a very poor example for the ordinary folk. And, Lizzie, my aunt says there is now in fashion a new continental dance they call the waltz, in which the ladies are clasped close to their partners and whirled around the room. She believes all this is more than too much for her young Caroline and Emily to endure.”
Elizabeth smiled; she had heard of the Viennese waltz and was not entirely convinced that it would bring about the end of British civilisation. Jane was much less sanguine, “I cannot help thinking, Lizzie, that ever since the old King was declared mad and locked away, things at the Court have got much worse. On our last visit to London, we were quite embarrassed by the large numbers of rather raffish young men who attend the assemblies and parties. They have neither taste nor distinction and seem only to drink, jest, and brawl around town.” Jane warmed to her subject as her sister listened, “Mr Bingley’s friends are equally concerned. The Middletons have retired to Hampshire, the Hursts have moved to Bath permanently, and Caroline Bingley has gone with them. Now, I cannot believe they would have left London unless they felt compelled by some unpleasant circumstance, Lizzie.”
“What does Bingley think?” asked Elizabeth, beginning to be concerned by her sister’s narration.
“Bingley thinks the problems are caused by the lack of any leadership from the Prince Regent or the Tory government,” said Jane, “He says it is time they did more than arrest people and send the poor to prison.” Elizabeth was surprised at the extent of her sister’s information. It was the first time Jane, who usually listened and said very little during similar discussions, had appeared involved and genuinely concerned. She wondered briefly what had happened to bring this about and then recalled that while she had been busy having Cassandra, Jane had been spending a great deal of time with the Gardiners, whose contacts in London were numerous and varied. It was no wonder, then, that she had all the town gossip down pat. Her anxiety was very real; she seemed like one who had floated down a pleasant stream in a frail little boat thinking herself safe in a familiar environment, until quite without warning, she becomes aware of dangerous rapids ahead. It was so unlike Jane that Elizabeth determined to talk to her Aunt Gardiner about it, to satisfy herself that she was not being unduly alarmed by rumours.
Later, however, when she had spoken with her aunt and uncle, who came over from Oakleigh Manor to dinner, Elizabeth herself began to be convinced of the reasons for their uneasiness and Jane’s fears. She learned that young women and girls—some not twelve years old—were being attracted into the city by promises of everything from humble jobs in domestic service to excitement, romance, and ultimate fame and fortune among the ranks of the Regency bucks in the Prince Regent’s entourage. “Believe me, Lizzie, foolish young women are coming to London, hoping to be picked up to become some toff ’s mistress!” said her aunt.
“I cannot believe it, Aunt. How has this come about?” she was somewhat sceptical. Her aunt was severe in her condemnation.
“You need only look at the dissolute and self-indulgent life of the Prince Regent and his courtiers to understand what is happening. Where there is no example for young people to follow, you will get chaos, and that is what we are seeing in London today.” Mr Gardiner was no less indignant, “Is it not a shocking thing, my dear Lizzie, that the nation that fought and twice defeated Bonaparte, seems to have lost direction and principle? The Regent and his courtiers are only interested in their own pleasure; they waste more money in a day than would feed a family for a month. Our government seems bewildered, unable to provide any solutions to our problems, and the men in business seek only greater and greater profit. Greed, dear Lizzie, is a terrible God!” A thought occurred to Elizabeth, and she asked her uncle if he had been in touch with Colonel Fitzwilliam and made him aware of what was happening.
“Certainly, why Colonel Fitzwilliam, when he returns, will be a full partner in our business enterprise. I’ve kept him well-informed” said Mr Gardiner.
“And do you know when he expects to be back in England?”
“Indeed I do. He wrote last week to say he would be here for Christmas, for Caroline’s birthday, and of course, for Miss Darcy’s wedding in the New Year. The colonel agrees with me as does Mr Bingley, Britain needs some new leaders and new laws to reform our system.”
Elizabeth nodded sagely and smiled. A vital piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place. Her uncle must have been the Colonel’s chief source of information. Mr Bennet had often said that his brother-in-law was a “good Whig” because being in trade, he could not possibly be a Tory! But not even her father had suggested that Mr Gardiner might be a Reformist, yet it now transpired that he was probably encouraging Fitzwilliam to join the Reform Group and stand for Parliament.
For a young woman who had spent most of her life totally disinclined to pay any attention to matters political, Elizabeth found herself getting very interested indeed. She felt she would be looking forward to the return of Colonel Fitzwilliam with much greater interest than she was a week or two ago. She couldn’t wait to tell her husband about it.
Mr Darcy and Bingley returned from Lady Lucas’ funeral with letters of thanks from Sir William, Charlotte, and the rest of the family and a special invitation to Jane and Elizabeth to stay at Lucas Lodge, when they came to Hertfordshire for Kitty’s wedding in July. Jane wondered whether her parents would be offended if they did not stay at Longbourn but changed her mind immediately on hearing that the Wickhams were expected to stay there.
Returning the following day to Pemberley, Elizabeth could barely wait to get upstairs, before she began to relate the events of the previous day and the information she had gained from Mr Gardiner, especially his news about Fitzwilliam’s political leanings. She had expected Darcy to be very surprised, but to her great disappointment, he appeared to be very well-informed himself. “You forget, my darling Lizzie, Mr Gardiner is as much a partner of mine as he is of Bingley’s and yes, Fitzwilliam’s too. He has kept us all informed. He has extensive contacts in the city and in business circles; he also lived in the heart of London’s commercial district for twenty years—he knows it better than any of us. Do you recall the week Mr Gardiner and I spent on business in London and at Oakleigh, while you remained at Netherfield with Jane?” Elizabeth nodded, recalling that Darcy had returned almost certain that her uncle would purchase Oakleigh Manor. “Well, it was then he first told me why he was so keen to leave London. It was not just your aunt’s desire to return to the county she grew up in. They were both growing increasingly uncomfortable with the environment in the city—the poverty, the large numbers of people who were coming into the city aimlessly, the lack of discipline at Court and among the hordes of camp followers of the Prince Regent. Believe me, Elizabeth, he was seriously concerned for the safety of his family and the poor example it set for the children.”
“And have you spoken of it since?” she asked.
“Yes, we have spoken of it often. He knows that I have never enjoyed spending much time in London. All that frantic merrymaking and drinking is not to my taste. It hasn’t affected me because I don’t live there, but I agree with him, it’s destroying the heart of London society. I must admit, I had no idea that he was so committed to the Reformists. That is new, but I suppose it is the next step. Fitzwilliam is obviously keen, and if your uncle supports him, they may succeed in getting him elected. We have not discussed Fitzwilliam’s intentions, but I do know that Mr Gardiner knows of several others—especially men in trade and commerce, who appear to be interested in working for reform. So, my dearest Lizzie, we may well have an ‘Honourable Gentleman’ in the family soon.”
He had lightened the mood with his remark, but it was quite obvious that Darcy was taking Mr Gardiner’s views quite seriously. He had a good deal of respect for both of them and valued their judgement. Elizabeth knew that Darcy’s own tastes had never run to the foppishness and snobbery that seemed to obsess the fashionable classes in the city. He had abjured the competitive class conflict that was now a national pastime among the rich and, as he said, “buried himself in Derbyshire” for most of the year, travelling up to London for business or special occasions and then staying only for short periods at Portman Square. After their marriage, it had been much the same. While she enjoyed the occasional excursion to the capital, there was little to attract and keep her there, especially now that the Gardiners had moved to the country. Of one thing Elizabeth was certain: Fitzwilliam’s return was going to be the start of a very interesting period for all of them.
Kitty Bennet was married at Longbourn to the Reverend Huw Jenkins on a fine day in July, with a gentle breeze rendering the warm sun more temperate and dappled shadows softening the harsh mid-Summer’s light. While she had neither Jane’s elegance and classical beauty nor Elizabeth’s striking dark colouring and lively charm, Kitty made a very pretty bride. She had a youthful, delicate air and made a charming picture, with her two bridesmaids—Caroline and Emily Gardiner, who were well-practised at following their cousins up the aisle. There were many in church that day who remembered them from the wedding of Jane and Elizabeth, a few years ago, and some of them remarked on how grown up and beautiful young Miss Caroline Gardiner looked on this occasion. Sitting next to her sister, Jane whispered, “Oh Lizzie, isn’t Caroline beautiful?” While Emily still had a childlike quality, her sister at fourteen was very much a young lady. Tall for her age, slim, and very graceful, Caroline was more remarked upon than the bride. Her parents were very proud indeed, not just of their daughter’s beauty, but of the poise and decorum that marked her behaviour at all times.
Particularly striking was the contrast with the still silly and immature Lydia Wickham, who in spite of being a mother of two little boys, was unable to resist the temptation to flaunt herself and flirt with every man in sight, while her husband wandered around seemingly indifferent to the behaviour of his wife. It seemed that Wickham was quite bored with his wife and did not care who knew it. He appeared a good deal more at ease with other men’s wives, those who put up with his ingratiating smiles and compliments, at least.
By the end of the wedding breakfast, Elizabeth was getting very tired of hearing her mother proclaim the virtues of “Lydia’s boys.” Lydia loved it, and Wickham merely basked in the attention as if he was the object of it all. It seemed three years of marriage had added nothing worthwhile to either of their characters. Jane and Elizabeth, who had the protection of their husbands, were relieved that he did not try to join them at the table or afterwards, when they were seeing the wedded pair off on their journey to Bristol.
Mrs Gardiner, however, had noticed that he appeared to pay special attention to young Caroline and was quick to approach them and, in her daughter’s presence, pointedly asked after his wife and sons. Unabashed, Wickham immediately turned on his charm for Mrs Gardiner’s benefit—launching into a paean of praise for Lydia and the boys, who he assured her were the delight of their lives. Having seen their behaviour at Longbourn over the last twenty-four hours, where they were alternately indifferent or indulgent towards their children, Mrs Gardiner found his hypocrisy breathtaking but said nothing.
Later, when they were back at Lucas Lodge, she confided in her nieces. “I cannot believe that neither of them have any shame at all,” she said.
“My dear Aunt, you should not be surprised; they are both quite brazen and appear to imagine that everyone in the family and in this neighbourhood has totally forgotten his appalling behaviour when the regiment was at Meryton and the circumstances of their marriage,” remarked Elizabeth, annoyed that Darcy had had to put up with the vexation of watching Wickham simper and court approval, all the while knowing the true nature of the man. Jane, on the other hand, was more dismissive.
“I agree. I should have been ashamed to have attended the wedding after all that has gone before. But I think Mr Wickham is no longer a danger to anyone we know; I have made it my business to inform any of our acquaintances, who may ask about them, of the unpardonable way in which they deceived everyone and the irresponsibility of both Lydia and Wickham. I cannot believe that anyone, who has behaved as they have, will not have forfeited the regard of all respectable people.”
Elizabeth was astonished at the strength of her usually gentle sister’s remarks but was equally delighted that Jane felt as she did. Jane and she had been saved from the damage that Wickham and Lydia had wrought only by the generosity of her future husband and his determination to spare her the pain of sharing in her stupid sister’s shame. His love, which she had at that stage rejected—in a moment of blind prejudice and ignorance—had stood between all of them and the opprobrium that society stood ready to heap upon them. Recalling it alone sent a cold shiver down her spine. She was delighted to see Darcy approaching with Mr Gardiner; her welcoming smile brought a warm response from him as he took her outstretched hand. “Are we ready to leave?” Mr Gardiner asked, and the ladies scattered to say their farewells and gather their belongings.
“Very soon,” said Elizabeth, “But not before we find Charlotte and thank her. Maria, there you are, have you seen Charlotte?” They found her and taking her aside thanked her warmly and sincerely for her kind hospitality and invited her to visit them again.
Mr Bennet, too, had to be consoled, now there was only Mary left to keep him company. Darcy made sure he was invited to visit Pemberley whenever he wanted a change of scene.
Mercifully, Mrs Bennet had gone ahead with Lydia and Wickham, and Elizabeth felt no real need to follow them to Longbourn, choosing to send her farewells through her father and Mary. With the Wickhams’ staying on a few more days, she was sure her mother would scarcely notice. When Lydia was at home, Mrs Bennet appeared to crave nothing more than opportunities to indulge and cosset her daughter and her children. The Wickhams clearly pleased her mother more than they did poor Mr Bennet, who had nothing in common with either of them. Elizabeth did not leave without extracting from him a promise to visit Pemberley again after Christmas. It was a promise he found easy to give. “Your husband has already asked me, my dear,” he said cheerfully, “and as I told you on a previous occasion, I cannot refuse him anything. So yes, Lizzie, you shall have me back at Pemberley in the Spring.”
Now her sister’s wedding was over, Jane, who was tiring a little, wanted to get away too, and Bingley obliged at once. They were all breaking journey overnight in London at the Bingleys’ house in Grosvenor Street.
The Gardiners, most of them, were already in their carriage, and the younger ones were bidding everyone a lively farewell. Caroline stood waiting for her mother, who was finding it hard to leave an old friend. Elizabeth noticed again how elegant and grown up her young cousin looked. Weddings were good occasions to see people in a new light, she thought. She noticed, however, that her father looked a little weary and said so. Darcy, waiting a little impatiently for the carriages in front to move on, agreed, adding that while it had been a good day for Kitty, and she was surely a fortunate and happy young woman, for some members of her family, it must also have been a rather trying day.
His understated comment exactly matched her own feelings. Quite clearly, her father had found little pleasure in the occasion. Elizabeth smiled and reached for Darcy’s hand. There was no need for words. They had said their goodbyes; setting off for London and then Pemberley, Elizabeth and Darcy felt only the pleasure of going home.

CHAPTER TWELVE

England’s green and pleasant land

A

UTUMN WAS LATE THAT year in Derbyshire. The mild evening tempted Elizabeth to ask that tea be served on the West lawn, where they could sit in the golden light of the setting sun, look up at the great, wooded

hills behind Pemberley, and enjoy their glorious colours. She had not yet become accustomed to the scale and magnificence of the grounds and woods around this great estate, much less to being Mistress of it all.

On this evening, Elizabeth had company. Darcy and Mr Gardiner had gone to Liverpool on business, arranging the changeover of their trading interests from London to the West coast ports. The gentlemen were expected home in time for dinner. With her two boys away at College, Mrs Gardiner and her daughters were spending a few days at Pemberley. They had spent the morning tramping around the park with Caroline, who never tired of walking in the woods and the early afternoon in the library with Emily, who could not tear herself away from the books.

Having changed for dinner, they had agreed that the evening was too mild and beautiful to warrant staying indoors. Caroline and Emily, sitting on a rug between their mother and Elizabeth, were taking it in turns to read aloud from a new book of poems. Elizabeth had bought it in London on her last visit and made a gift of it to the girls. Emily already knew some of the poems by heart and had just finished one of her favourites—a slight piece by Wordsworth about daffodils “fluttering and dancing in the breeze” in his beloved Lake District. She spoke it well and, when she had finished, asked if they could visit the Lakes. Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner exchanged glances and smiled as they remembered the last time they had planned to travel to the Lakes, the initial disappointment they had felt, and of course, the consequences that had flowed from their choosing to visit Derbyshire instead. When the girls detected that there was a secret their mother and cousin shared, they demanded to be told and would not be satisfied until some abbreviated version had been provided. The rest of the tale would have to wait until later, their mother said, adding that they may need to get Mr Darcy’s permission to fill in the details. This puzzled the girls greatly, but it was quite clear they were not going to get any more information out of either Elizabeth or their mother, whereupon they gave up and returned to the poetry.

It was then Caroline’s turn to read, and she chose Wordsworth too, but quite a different piece. Caroline had spent most of her life in London, and she had loved the city, especially the river, along whose banks the family had often walked on a Sunday morning after church, sometimes to Richmond Hill, where the view of the river was so pretty that many smart Londoners had built houses there, overlooking the Thames. The sonnet composed on Westminster Bridge appealed to her, and her gentle, modulated voice lifted as she read the lines,

“Never did sun more beautifully steep. In his first splendour, valley, rock or hill Dear God, the very houses seem asleep. And all that mighty heart is lying still.”

As she finished, her little audience applauded. She looked up at Elizabeth, “It is so beautiful, Cousin Lizzie. This is such a good collection of poems. Do you not agree, Mama?” Before her mother could reply, footsteps were heard approaching on the path from the house, and an unfamiliar voice said, “I certainly agree and that was very well-read, Miss Caroline.” Everyone turned around, and Elizabeth jumped up to find Fitzwilliam standing in front of her.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam! What are you doing here?”
He was smiling, quite unabashed, greeted her with much affection, and apologised for surprising them. “Mrs Darcy, Elizabeth, forgive me, I know I am not expected until the end of the month, but I had a rare chance of a berth on a boat that was leaving early. Ever since I received Darcy’s letter, I’ve been anxious to return to England, as soon as possible.”

Turning to Mrs Gardiner, he spoke warmly, “And this is indeed an unexpected pleasure meeting you here, Mrs Gardiner, Miss Caroline, and little Emily, too. I have to confess, Miss Caroline, I heard your reading of Wordsworth’s sonnet and waited till you had finished before I spoke. It was excellent, rendered with so much feeling.” Caroline was obviously pleased. He asked after Mr Darcy and Mr Gardiner and on being told that they were expected to dinner, declared that he could not have chosen a better moment to arrive at Pemberley. No sooner had he sat down and accepted a cup of tea, than he turned once more to the book of poems. “I have purchased a copy myself,” he said, “It is all the rage in London.”

“And do you have a favourite poem?” asked Emily. He smiled as he answered, “Indeed I do, you will find it at page nine,” and as the girls turned the pages eagerly, “It’s called Jerusalem.”

“Jerusalem?” Elizabeth was not familiar with the poem. “What is its subject?” “England, the English countryside, and the despoiling of it,” said Fitzwilliam. “The poet, William Blake, is troubled by what he sees happening around us.” He had committed the poem to memory and spoke the lines quietly, but with feeling,

“And did those feet in Ancient time Walk upon England’s mountains green And was the Holy Lamb of God In England’s pleasant pastures seen And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark Satanic mills?”

Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner listened in silence as Caroline, having found the poem in the book, read the second stanza with him,

“Bring me my bow of burning Gold Bring me my arrows of desire
Bring me my spear, O clouds unfold Bring me my Chariot of Fire
I shall not cease from mental fight Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green and pleasant land.”

As they finished and looked at one another, Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth applauded, while Emily, her eyes wide, sat completely entranced.
Caroline coloured and suddenly broke the spell by asking if Mr Blake had written many other poems. But she never got an answer, because Mr Darcy had arrived at that very moment and, hearing their voices, came around the house at great speed, almost running into his cousin, who had stood up on hearing him approach. “Fitzwilliam! When did you arrive? Have you been long in England?” Darcy asked, simultaneously astonished and delighted to see him. As they greeted each other warmly, Fitzwilliam explained and apologised all over again, assuring Darcy that he had taken rooms at the inn at Lambton—in case there were other guests at Pemberley.
“What nonsense!” said Darcy, “there is plenty of room here; you know that, Fitzwilliam. We can send a man to fetch your things, if you will write a note to the landlord.” Elizabeth agreed with her husband.
“There is no question; you must stay at Pemberley. It will be a waste of time for you to return to Lambton tonight. Mr Gardiner will be joining us for dinner; surely, you will want to stay and meet him.” Fitzwilliam was easily persuaded and went immediately with Darcy to arrange for his things to be brought over from the inn, while Elizabeth sent for Mrs Reynolds to make arrangements about his rooms.
Mr Gardiner arrived in time for dinner, having stopped to settle some bills and attend to domestic matters at the farm. His pleasure at finding Fitzwilliam at Pemberley, a full month earlier than he had expected to see him in England, was overwhelming. The Colonel, with whom he had corresponded over the past three years on matters of business and pleasure, regarded Mr Gardiner with great respect as an astute and honourable businessman, as well as a trusted friend. He had been very impressed by the entire family when he had met them during the preparations for the wedding of Darcy and Elizabeth. Mrs Gardiner he found, as Darcy had predicted he would, to be a woman of great decorum and excellent taste, while all her children and especially the girls were exemplary in their behaviour and exceedingly well-taught.
Their being resident in London had meant that before and after the wedding, Fitzwilliam had met them often, finding their company more congenial than that of his fellow officers in the London clubs. Not having sufficient money with which to play the gaming tables and not being inclined to follow the Casanovas in their quest of compliant ladies, he was frequently on his own and was often asked to dine at the Gardiners. As a bachelor, with no home of his own to go to, he had enjoyed immensely and was grateful for their generous hospitality. He had become a regular visitor, especially on Sundays; he had looked forward to it and had begun to believe that they did, too. Leaving for India had been a considerable wrench, for which letters did not entirely compensate. He had missed them all very much.
Meeting them again, without warning, at Pemberley, brought back all those memories. Both men had a great deal to discuss, and Darcy, knowing that he would have plenty of time to talk with his cousin, while he was staying at Pemberley, left them together, pointing out in a slightly sardonic remark to Elizabeth that it certainly wasn’t only ladies who could be accused of talking endlessly when they met. Elizabeth laughed and said she had always found Fitzwilliam had a good deal to say for himself, so she was not at all surprised. This brought an immediate riposte, about her preference for strong, silent men, of course!
Unaware that he had caused any comment, Fitzwilliam was deep in conversation about several matters dear to his heart. While in India, he had become aware of the unease that Mr Gardiner and some of his fellow businessmen were feeling over the direction in which the nation appeared to be heading. Most frustrating of all had been the inability of the middle class to get an effective voice in Parliament and have the government take their concerns seriously. Now, he knew more about the disillusionment that had set in across all of English society. “It seems that those who support the Tories are unhappy because they are not repressive enough, while the Reformists and the Whigs are critical of the lack of freedom and the inadequacy of our Parliamentary system to represent all of society—not just the rich landlords,” he observed, and no one disagreed with him.
Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth took the girls upstairs to bed. They were tired after a long day and the excitement of Fitzwilliam’s unexpected arrival. Both aunt and niece were clearly pleased by his return; he had been a favourite of theirs, with his gentlemanly manners and friendly disposition. As they tucked Emily into bed, Mrs Gardiner remarked, “Colonel Fitzwilliam has certainly brought some excitement back with him, Lizzie,” and Elizabeth agreed, adding, “But I must confess I had never believed him to be particularly political.”
“What’s political?” asked Emily, and before either of them could speak, the answer came from her sister, in the bed across the room,
“You are very ignorant, Emmy, it means to be interested in the way the Parliament runs the country. Is that not right, Cousin Lizzie?”
“It certainly is,” said Elizabeth, eyebrows raised and very impressed. As they left the room, her aunt said, “It’s Edward and his friends, of course. They’re forever talking about the Parliament and demanding reforms. Caroline seems to absorb it all. I know it seems precocious, but your uncle believes that the girls need to know as much as the lads.”
“And he is quite right, Aunt. Ignorance is the surest way to disaster. Our family knows that only too well,” Elizabeth declared as they joined the gentlemen downstairs.
They had already moved to the drawing room, but the conversation continued unabated, over coffee. During the short time he had spent in London, Fitzwilliam had heard of the chaotic situation in the city and at Court. He had met up with two friends who were involved with the Hampden Clubs and the Union Societies, promoted by aging Radical Major Cartwright and sympathetic Whigs like Burdett and Brougham. Fitzwilliam declared that he was of a mind to join the movement, “However, I must talk it over with you, Darcy and Mr Gardiner,” he said.
Mr Gardiner counselled caution, pointing out that the government was being very vindictive towards its opponents and it might be sensible to study the political landscape well, before lending his support to one of the movements. Fitzwilliam was grateful for the advice but assured them that he was absolutely committed to working for reform. “I will not continue to hang my head in shame each time I hear of an American Declaration of Independence or a Bill of Rights in some European nation, while we still struggle under a system that denies the majority of us the vote.” There was no doubting his sincerity, and Elizabeth was truly happy to hear Darcy agree with his principles, while he advised his cousin to consider his decision carefully. “But Darcy, if we do not demand reform, no one will; I am determined.” Mr Gardiner asked carefully, “Would you stand for Parliament, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“If need be, yes, I will. If that is the only way to get reform, I will stand for Parliament,” he said with so much conviction and firmness that it left no one in any doubt of his determination. Darcy looked across at Elizabeth, and as their eyes met, they smiled. They recalled a conversation a few weeks ago, when Darcy, having received Fitzwilliam’s letter, was sure he intended on his return to join the Reformists and stand for Parliament. Elizabeth had not been so certain.
Later that night, as she brushed her hair and prepared for bed, Elizabeth acknowledged to her husband that he had been right, after all. He was gracious in victory, allowing that he had some prior knowledge from conversations with her uncle. However, he did admit that he had not anticipated the energy and eagerness for action that his cousin had shown. And there were many more things that he wanted to accomplish. Darcy revealed to Elizabeth that they had talked of half a dozen matters at least. “To begin with, he is no longer the disadvantaged younger son, dependent upon his father for an allowance. His position with the East India Company brought him into contact with a whole new group of businessmen—planters, traders, merchants, and he was able, with some good advice from your uncle and others, to make several excellent investments in both India and Ceylon—in commodities like tea, cotton, and spices, which are in great demand here and all over Europe. I believe he even has a half share in a gem mine in the hill country of Ceylon—producing sapphires and rubies,” said Darcy, and seeing his wife’s eyes light up, he added, “all worth a king’s ransom, no doubt.”
“And is my uncle going into this business too?” she asked.
“No, he is interested in the established trade; that is what he knows best,” Darcy replied. “Fitzwilliam is to become a partner in the trading company along with Bingley and myself. The rest of his investments are his own.” Elizabeth sighed; she could hardly believe the transformation in Fitzwilliam, from a very unassuming, if pleasing young man to the enthusiastic, energetic, no less pleasing, but very different person who had appeared at Pemberley that evening. She confessed to being rather confused. Darcy understood the reason for her bewilderment. In three years, the comfortable, easygoing Fitzwilliam had changed, and Elizabeth, who had liked his former persona, was anxious lest she should lose touch with the new one, by failing to keep up with him.
“Do not be anxious, Lizzie; he is by far a stronger, better character now, more self-reliant and confident of his views, but his essential nature and disposition remain unchanged. There has always been a basic goodness of heart, a sense of justice in Fitzwilliam. Unfortunately, without the means to follow his inclinations, he was unable to do anything about it. I have heard him complain about the injustices of one system or the other, but he had to be discreet as long as he depended upon the munificence of his relatives, or was employed by the Crown. Remember, my dear, that his father and our mutual aunt—Lady Catherine, who are his principal benefactors—are such arch conservatives that the slightest hint of radicalism on his part could have meant a severe reprimand or even a reduction of his allowance,” he explained. Elizabeth recalled a conversation with Fitzwilliam during a walk in the woods at Rosings, some years ago, in which, among other matters, he had confessed to her the privations suffered by younger sons of titled families. He had especially bemoaned the loss of independence. “And do you mean that he is now better able to follow his heart in matters of marriage as well as politics?” she asked. Darcy answered without any hesitation, “Undoubtedly. I cannot believe there would be any constraint upon him on that score, except in matters of character and disposition.”
“And Lady Catherine would not pursue him as vigorously as she might have, had he been dependent upon her good opinion and generosity?”
Darcy knew she was teasing and followed suit, “There is no knowing how assiduously Lady Catherine may prosecute her cause in the case of Fitzwilliam; he is a particular favourite of hers.”
“As you were,” she interposed, smiling.
“Indeed, so there is no means by which one can predict her actions; but one thing can be said with absolute certainty: Fitzwilliam’s fortune is now considerably more than anything they can take away from him. And, unlike theirs,” he went on, “his assets have an ever-increasing value, based as they are upon trade and commerce, the fastest growing enterprise on earth. That being so, he is free to make whatever choices and decisions he wishes. One can only hope and pray that they will be the right ones, for him.”
“And surely, my dear, you intend to see that they are?” she asked, a teasing little note creeping into her voice. Darcy put his arms around her and, as if to signal the end of the conversation, snuffed out the candle on her dressing table before saying, “Dearest Elizabeth, have I not learned my lesson? Never again will I interfere in the personal affairs of a friend. I still suffer when I recall how much pain I caused two people we both love dearly, by my intolerable arrogance.” Elizabeth hushed him; she would hear no more. She well knew how much he regretted causing the hurt and sorrow that had flowed from his well-meaning but insensitive intervention in the lives of Bingley and Jane. But that was a long time ago, and as things had turned out, he had been completely forgiven.

J

A day or two later, after Fitzwilliam had moved his things and settled in at Pemberley, he was consulting Darcy about the purchase of a property. He had put aside a reasonable sum of money, including the proceeds of the sale of some assets left to him by his mother, to buy himself a home. “Darcy, I am not looking to purchase some grand mansion or manor. A good, solid house with a decent sized farm and some acres of woodland is all I crave,” he said, as they sat in front of the fire.

Elizabeth was reading but could hear the conversation. “I have no interest in being a landlord, I have neither the time nor the inclination to manage a large estate, nor do I intend to maintain a large establishment with dozens of servants. If there are tenant farmers, we shall have to work out an arrangement whereby they will, for the most part, manage their own businesses. I would, of course, require some labour on the farm, for which I shall pay a fair price, but apart from that, it’s going to be the simple life for me.” Darcy, though he was a little surprised, did not discourage him. His advice was practical and carefully considered, “Well, with the collapsing prices of farm land, you should have little difficulty. Where are you intending to settle? Are you still determined to be a neighbour of ours?” he asked. Fitzwilliam laughed, “I would very much like it, if I could remain within riding distance of yourselves and Mr and Mrs Gardiner, not just because I love Pemberley, but because we intend to do business together.”

Elizabeth put her book away. “And do you intend to be an active partner in the Company?” she asked.

Fitzwilliam laughed. “As active as my partners want me to be,” he said. “I have interests in the Colonies, and Mr Gardiner is anxious to establish some contacts with enterprises there. These are matters for discussion.” Darcy nodded and agreed but did not pursue the matter. He was still amazed at his cousin’s enthusiasm.

When Elizabeth revealed that they were considering giving a dinner party to welcome him home, Fitzwilliam was equally keen. “Will you have dancing afterwards?” he asked, his eyes sparkling, to which Darcy, who was not the keenest of dancers, replied, “If you wish to dance, Fitzwilliam, and you can persuade the ladies to join you, we shall certainly have dancing.”

Everyone in the neighbourhood who knew Colonel Fitzwilliam and some who did not came to dinner at Pemberley the following Saturday: Charles and Jane Bingley, all the Gardiners, the entire Camden clan, Rosamund and her husband, Kitty and Mr Jenkins, who had recently returned from Wales, as well as some young people from the village. Georgiana and Mrs Annesley were returning from London, and Dr Grantley was expected from Oxford. It was a large party, and both Elizabeth and Mrs Reynolds were keen to ensure it was a success.

The dinner was a triumph, with a carefully selected menu and delectable dishes to suit every taste. Afterwards, there was the usual clamour for entertainment and particularly—music. Fitzwilliam had always been keen on music. Elizabeth recalled his enthusiastic support of her efforts at Rosings, all those years ago. She obliged with a song or two, and so did Kitty, accompanying her husband, whose fine Welsh voice was much admired. Georgiana, now a far more confident performer than she had been when Elizabeth first saw her play, made light work of a difficult composition, and Caroline, whose voice had been enhanced with training, sang a beautiful English lyric and had everyone applauding.

While she was being vastly praised for the sweetness of her voice and the excellence of her phrasing, Caroline was collecting the sheets of music into her folio, when Colonel Fitzwilliam joined them and invited her to sing with him the duet they had sung some three years ago, before his departure for the colonies. The music was found, and though Elizabeth could not recall it very well, she was persuaded to accompany them. The song was so delightfully rendered it held everyone in the room spellbound, with even the footmen reluctant to bring in the coffee, lest they break the spell. When it was over, there was such a burst of applause that young Caroline blushed as Fitzwilliam most gallantly kissed her hand.

Caroline, now a very ladylike young person, curtseyed to return the compliment and bowed deeply, before retreating to the back of the room, where she clung a little uncertainly to her cousin Jane’s hand. Only then did she realise that she was trembling. Jane squeezed her hand and held it, “That was beautiful, Caroline, simply beautiful,” she whispered, and Mr Bingley leaned across his wife to endorse her words of praise.

Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth exchanged glances, but neither said a word. Elizabeth wanted to know how Fitzwilliam had recalled the words after three and a half years. “However did you recall it so well?” she asked, after congratulating him on the performance. To her surprise, he told how he had not been able to forget the melody for months after he had left England and in a moment of great nostalgia had written to Mr Gardiner requesting that he purchase a copy and send it to him in Ceylon, where he was stationed at the time. There being none available, Caroline had made him a copy in her own hand, which was despatched by the next mail.

“It brought me so much pleasure, just seeing the words and being able to sing them so far from England. Since then, it has become my favourite party piece,” he declared.

“And could you always find a willing partner to sing it with you?” Elizabeth asked, a little wickedly.
“Oh yes,” he said, “but never one who matched the original for perfect harmony and sweetness of tone. As you can see by her performance tonight, Miss Gardiner has a most enchanting voice.”
Elizabeth agreed. “Indeed, she has,” she said, as they joined the other guests. And enchanted you certainly seem to be, she thought to herself. She was rather glad young Caroline had not heard this last, extravagant compliment, for Elizabeth had heard more than his words, in the gentle inflections of his voice, and a tiny grain of anxiety began to insinuate itself into a corner of her mind. However, it was such a happy occasion that she determined to push it out of her thoughts.
The following morning, Darcy and Elizabeth had come down to a late breakfast, to find that Fitzwilliam had risen early and ridden over to Lambton with Bingley. Jane, who was enjoying a solitary cup of tea, since most of the other guests had left either the previous night or very early in the morning, knew only that Fitzwilliam, on hearing that Bingley was taking his usual morning ride, had persuaded him to ride to Lambton. “I cannot be certain, Lizzie, but I did hear some mention of a farm near Matlock,” she said. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and said nothing more. Darcy seemed to know something but was disinclined to discuss it.
When it was close to midday and they had not returned, Jane, whose anxiety was probably because her baby was due in a month, seemed to become concerned about her husband. Darcy left the room and was about to go out, when they heard the horses. Soon afterwards, Fitzwilliam burst into the morning room, with an obviously exhausted Bingley bringing up the rear. “Where have you been? Jane has been most anxious,” said Elizabeth, betraying her irritation a little. Fitzwilliam, immediately contrite, went over and apologised profusely to Jane. He had never intended to keep her husband away so long, he said, but there was this farm, in the dales below Matlock, beside the Derwent. Mr Gardiner had told him about it last night, and he absolutely had to see it. Since it was such a fine morning, he had decided to go at once.
“Bingley, I am sorry, it was thoughtless of me, but it was just the most perfect place. Darcy, you must see it and tell me what you think.”
“Would it make any difference if I disagreed with you?” Darcy asked, not hiding his amusement.
“Darcy, of course it would.” Fitzwilliam was indignant. “You know I value your opinion above all things. I may not always change my mind on account of it, but I certainly take it seriously.”
“Bingley, what is this farm like?” asked Darcy, more inclined to trust his brother-in-law’s opinion in the face of his cousin’s enthusiasm.
Bingley shrugged. “It is certainly a very pretty farm, exceedingly pretty with an excellent view of the heights and meadows sweeping all the way to the river. The house is small but seems comfortable, and the garden’s pretty,” and that was about all he was going to say, since Mrs Reynolds had sent in fresh food and tea and Bingley was very hungry.
When they had finished, Jane and Bingley decided they would leave almost at once, in order to be home before dark. Their carriage was sent for, and after fond farewells, they drove away. Darcy, still uneasy about the speed with which Fitzwilliam was throwing himself into everything, tried to caution him. He chose reassurance rather than a warning. “You know you can stay here for as long as you need to, Fitzwilliam. You do not have to rush into anything.”
His cousin was grateful but insisted that he had no time to waste.
“Of course, I know that, Darcy, and it’s very good of you and Elizabeth, but I must settle somewhere, the sooner the better. I feel I want a place of my own before I can start my work, and this place is very promising, you’ll see.”
“What does Mr Gardiner think?”
“He says it is very good value; there are no real disadvantages. It is half a mile from Matlock—you could walk to the village and close enough to Chatsworth to make it interesting. I like it well enough already, but Mr Gardiner says I should think carefully and make up my own mind.”
“He’s right, of course,” said Darcy and then, on a sudden impulse, “Fitzwilliam, you can tell me to mind my own business if you wish, but I have to ask you. Is there any particular reason for making such haste? You are not secretly engaged to someone . . . ?” He was not even permitted to complete his sentence.
“Engaged? Of course not! Darcy, whatever made you think that? No, there is no other reason except I am thirty-three years old and feel I’ve spent half my life doing very little. I did not have the means, even if I had the inclination. Now, I have both, and there is so much to be done, Darcy, I want to start forthwith.” There was no mistaking his sincerity, as he went on, “I see how happy you are with Elizabeth and Bingley with Jane; even little Georgiana seems to have more purpose to her life than I have. I just want to get mine in order, and to do that, I must have a place of my own. I’ve never had one.”
Darcy apologised for having pried into his cousin’s personal life, but Fitzwilliam was most magnanimous. “I know you meant well, and believe me, if there had been a lady, Elizabeth and you would have been the first to know.” Having settled the matter of a lady, he returned to the question of the farm, and Darcy decided that they would go on the morrow, if only to set his own mind at rest. He felt responsible even though Fitzwilliam was older than himself. He had always come to him for advice, and Darcy could not refuse him now.
And so to Matlock they went, this time, in the carriage because Elizabeth expressed a desire to go, too. They drove first to the Gardiners’ and discovered that Mrs Gardiner and the girls were coming as well. They went in two carriages since the Gardiners had decided to drive into Matlock, afterwards. Elizabeth joked that they were a party large enough for a picnic and had she known in advance, she would have packed a picnic basket, seeing it was such a fine day.
Although the village of Matlock lay not far from the northern boundaries of Pemberley, Elizabeth had not been there since her marriage to Darcy. She had happy memories of the Peak district, so beloved of her Aunt Gardiner, from their holiday in Derbyshire three summers past, and recalled with vivid pleasure all of her feelings—of confusion, happiness, and delight, which she had experienced at her unexpected meeting with Mr Darcy at Pemberley. She had confessed, much later, to her aunt that the journey back to the inn had been a mere blur, during which the strange behaviour of her own heart had dominated her thoughts and prevented any appreciation of the dramatic untamed landscape of the Peaks. Mrs Gardiner had teased her then with the assurance that once she was settled at Pemberley, why the Peaks would be no further to visit than the environs of the Pemberley Estate.
Elizabeth smiled to herself at the coincidence in their lives that at this moment had brought them all together in this place. Unlike the rather severe beauty of the Peak, whose stony summit seemed to glower down upon the deep valleys and wooded gorges below, the dales were sunny, welcoming, and friendly places. They had visited Dove Dale, too, and Elizabeth recalled the delight of standing on the path that ran beside the river Dove and looking up at the heights, thickly wooded, green, gold, and ashen, on the lower slopes rising to the sheer, hard edges of steep hills, shimmering in the sunlight.
The road curled its way through the dales, and then a mile shy of Matlock, it branched out towards the ridge of hills that rises to the summit of High Tor. Gently dipping into a wide curving valley, suddenly, the road petered out in a patchwork of green meadows and brown stubble falling away towards the river in the distance. At the high end of the valley, where the woods trailed down from the hills towards the most appealing natural hollow, filled with wild daisies and rampant mint, was the house. It stood four square, its welcoming, well-proportioned frontage facing the neat front lawn.
They climbed out of the carriages and stood there looking at the scene, until the excited voice of Emily broke in, “Oh look Mama, there’s a dog,” as a retriever came racing out of the bushes at the far end of the valley. A man followed the dog out and, seeing the visitors, came towards them. Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy, and Mr Gardiner went to meet him. He appeared to be the caretaker; they wanted to ask some questions and apply to see inside the house. Meanwhile, Elizabeth, Mrs Gardiner, Emily, and Caroline walked up the gravelled path and up a shallow flight of steps to the porch, which protected the entrance to the house.
The gentlemen had disappeared behind the house to look at the important features—stables, outhouses, and barns—while the ladies, obviously pleased with what they saw, were eager to see inside. Mr Gardiner walked with the man towards the outer edge of the meadow which sloped rather steeply towards the river, whose gentle curve seemed to cradle the small valley, before it flowed more swiftly down to the gorge beyond. Across a low stone bridge lay the home farm’s fields, worked at present by two families, who had served the previous owner until his death in the war. It turned out that the property had been sold once during the war; the owner’s widow had left the area and returned to her native Scotland, when the rush was on to purchase every farm in sight. With the collapse of prices in the rural recession, it was for sale again. Mr Gardiner discovered that the two tenant families had no desire to leave; they had nowhere to go to and, if the new owner let them stay on, would provide labour for the home farm. By the time he joined the others, Mr Gardiner had decided that this was a property well worth considering.
When he had walked through the house, with its solid construction, wellproportioned rooms downstairs, and five pleasant bedrooms and a sitting room upstairs, as well as a large, typical farmhouse kitchen and scullery, he was convinced that Fitzwilliam should make the owner an offer.
The ladies were similarly delighted. Mrs Gardiner thought the best part of the house was the dining room with its view of the lower slopes of the hills. Elizabeth liked the well-proportioned drawing room, but for Caroline there was no place better than the large room upstairs that ran the width of the house and afforded, from all its windows, splendid views across the river, to the woods and the ridge of hills beyond. “I think this would make a wonderful music room,” she said, and Fitzwilliam, hearing her, declared without hesitation that it was exactly as he thought it should be.
“A music room, indeed, it will be perfect for just such a purpose,” he said. Elizabeth managed to avoid Darcy’s eyes, but Mrs Gardiner caught her looking very thoughtful and said, “I’ll give you a penny for them, Lizzie.” Elizabeth doubted if her aunt had any idea what Elizabeth was thinking. She simply smiled and said nothing, for the moment.
On the journey home, Fitzwilliam was eager to have Darcy’s opinion of the property. He had said little, except to agree that its location was quite spectacular. Pressed for an opinion, he was candid. “You are exceedingly fortunate, Fitzwilliam. If you are quite satisfied and can negotiate a fair price, I suggest you close the sale as quickly as possible.” His cousin was delighted.
“Darcy, do you mean that?”
“I certainly do. It’s an excellent little property, since that is the size and type of place you are looking for, I think it would suit you exceedingly well,” he said. Fitzwilliam beamed. He already knew Mr Gardiner’s opinion; to have Darcy’s approval as well was all he needed.
“I shall contact the owner’s agent tomorrow,” he declared, and there was no mistaking his delight. He turned to Elizabeth, smiling, “You liked it, too, Elizabeth?” he asked.
“Oh yes, I think it is a charming place,” she replied, “You will need some new rugs and drapes, I think, and the scullery could do with a good scrub down.” Fitzwilliam assured her that he would have everything inside renewed in time, and new curtains would present no problem at all. Could he count on her advice, he asked, hopefully, to which Elizabeth replied that, of course, they would do everything to help.
When they arrived at the Gardiners’ place, it was past midday, and Mrs Gardiner insisted that they have some light refreshment before proceeding to Pemberley. The invitation was gratefully accepted. They had only just sat down to luncheon when a rider arrived with a letter for Mrs Gardiner. It was from Mr Bingley, announcing the safe arrival of their daughter—Emma Jane, born in the early hours of that morning. She had not been expected for at least two weeks! “Early again, a typical Bingley,” said Elizabeth. It was a gentle joke in the family that Mr Bingley was always early for everything. It dated from the days when he used call to see Jane at Longbourn, often arriving before breakfast. Arrangements were soon made for a visit to Jane on the following day.
The year ended on a celebratory note, despite the background of unrest in the cities, where bank foreclosures ruined businessmen and farmers alike. There had been attacks of arson and skirmishes in the streets, and an increasing wave of petty crime had resulted in much alarming talk, with frightened householders fearing attacks in their homes and travellers wary of being on the road after dark. It was not the familiar friendly face of England. The cruel boom followed by bust characteristic of the industrial era had unnerved the populace.
In spite of this, at the election that year, the Tory government was returned, with some losses in London alone. The Reformists and Radicals decided that the lily-livered Whigs had failed and they intended to go all out to press, not just for the defeat of the Tories, but for Parliamentary reform as well.
Buoyed by his success at negotiating, with the help of Mr Gardiner, an excellent deal on his property, Fitzwilliam decided to try to further his political career by applying to stand for Parliament at the next election. Unfortunately, his youth and enthusiasm were not enough to counter the influence of more longstanding members of the Reform Group. Turned down, he returned disappointed but determined to try again. Calling on the Gardiners to break the bad news, he found them deep in their preparations for Christmas and stayed to help. Both boys were home for Christmas, and together with Caroline and Emily, they helped cheer him up.
When it came to Christmas, the Gardiners were traditionalists. It was their turn to host the festive family gathering, and they took it very seriously. Mrs Gardiner and her cook prepared large quantities of traditional fare, and the children spent many hours hanging decorations and choosing gifts for each other and their parents.
Fitzwilliam, who had never experienced this type of Christmas at home, found the warmth and friendliness of their household irresistible. As his own place was unlikely to be ready before the New Year, he was still staying at Pemberley but, in fact, was spending more and more time at Oakleigh, on matters of business as well as pleasure. Elizabeth, who came over on occasion to lend a helping hand, was not surprised to find Fitzwilliam there, as he had often spent the day with them. It was of no use to offer him a seat in her carriage; he always preferred to stay on and ride home later.
On Christmas Eve, Caroline and Emily were expected at Pemberley to help with the children’s Christmas party. Fitzwilliam set off shortly after noon to fetch them. When they arrived at Pemberley, closer to five than four o’clock, there was only Caroline. Emily had become ill, having eaten too many nuts and sweets, they said. Georgiana, who had been waiting very patiently, was so grateful to have her help with the children, she rushed Caroline indoors and waved Fitzwilliam into the drawing room.
Elizabeth, however, had been watching from her favourite window and could not fail to notice the glow of pleasure that seemed to wrap them and the easy familiarity with which young Caroline gave her companion her hand, so he could help her out and then appeared to be in no great hurry to withdraw it, after she had alighted from the carriage.
Fitzwilliam had the look of a young man who had somehow lost control of his feelings. He smiled unnecessarily and for too long, he appeared to feel no need of food or drink, he was unfailingly polite to everyone while appearing not to hear a word anyone said, and he kept looking around the room until he found the one face he wanted to see. To Lizzie, the symptoms were unmistakeable.
Halfway through the evening, Elizabeth happened to be standing beside Dr Grantley and Georgiana, when Caroline appeared with one of the little children, who had become unwell. The speed with which Fitzwilliam rushed to her side to help and the concern he showed for her, because she had carried the child, who was not at all heavy, brought a smile to their lips, and Dr Grantley whispered something to Georgiana, which Elizabeth could not hear, but which she was quite sure was a reference to the couple they were observing.
Later that evening, Mr Gardiner arrived to take his daughter home, and Elizabeth was relieved, not because they had been guilty of unseemly or censurable behaviour, but because she feared for them. She loved Caroline as if she was her own sister, and while she was confident of her virtue and Fitzwilliam’s integrity, she could not help worrying about the consequences of their romantic involvement. She recalled Jane’s sorrow, her own unhappiness, both of which were short-lived and had ended happily, but if Caroline were hurt at such a tender age, how would she cope? She resolved to talk to Darcy about it, but the occasion did not immediately arise.

J

Christmas Day was busy and crowded with dozens of things to do, which thrust the matter of Fitzwilliam and Caroline into the background. Not so on Boxing day, which was also Caroline’s birthday. The Gardiners were having a grand dinner and dance in her honour. Fitzwilliam had asked at least three times at exactly what time they would be leaving for Oakleigh. When they arrived, Caroline was still upstairs. Family members were already gathered in the hall, and other guests were still arriving. The large drawing room had been prepared for dancing, with a small chamber group providing the music, with two other rooms arranged for the dinner. At seven, precisely, the music makers played a modest fanfare, and young Caroline came downstairs on the arm of her very proud father. To say she looked beautiful seemed inadequate to describe her on that night. In a dress of cornflower blue, with soft lavender ribbons and a corsage of violets, her hair in a modish Grecian style, she carried herself with so much grace that she brought tears to her mother’s eyes. There was applause which she acknowledged with a curtsey and a smile, and then, the music started.

It was at this point that Elizabeth held her breath. Was Caroline going to let everyone into her secret, by dancing the first dance with Fitzwilliam? If she did, it would be an indiscretion, however minor, that they may both later regret, Elizabeth thought. To her enormous relief, it was her cousin James—a young man of impeccable credentials, the son of Mrs Gardiner’s brother John—who took Caroline’s hand and led her in to the dance. Later, she danced with her brother Richard, with Bingley and Darcy and her Uncle John, while the Colonel waited patiently for his turn. It had been an agonising wait for him, during which they both did everything right. He danced with Elizabeth and Jane, with Georgiana and Emily, but it seemed there was only one person in the room he was waiting for. Whenever he was not engaged in the dancing, his eyes would follow Caroline, as she moved down the line, turned, and returned to the figures of the dance. Occasionally, their eyes would meet, and sometimes, they smiled.

Finally, Fitzwilliam claimed his reward for an hour or more of patience and discretion, and thereafter, she danced only with him for the rest of the evening or at least until dinner was served and the musicians took their rest. Elizabeth and Jane were together, waiting for their husbands to join them for dinner. Jane spoke first, “Lizzie, Caroline and Colonel Fitzwilliam make a very handsome couple, do they not?” Elizabeth laughed.

“They certainly do, Jane, and only a blind man could fail to see that they are in love.” Jane smiled. Neither were prepared to say anything more, at the time. END OF PART ONE THE PEMBERLEY CHRONICLES

Part Two

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A marriage of true minds

T

HE MORNING OF GEORGIANA Darcy’s wedding day dawned crisp and fresh, as though Nature herself knew this was a very special day at Pemberley. And indeed, it was. There had not been a young woman

married from this great house in two generations, and this was a very special young woman. Nowhere was there a single voice that wished her anything but the greatest happiness.

Elizabeth awoke early, unable to sleep with excitement and anticipation. During the five years that she had known her young sister-in-law, she had grown to love her dearly. There was, truly, no one, apart from her own beloved sister Jane, for whom she had felt such warmth and affection. Her husband was well aware of and greatly appreciated Elizabeth’s efforts to cultivate the relationship, which he felt had been wholly beneficial to his sister, transforming her from a shy, rather diffident young girl with very little self-confidence, into a charming and talented young woman.

Elizabeth was disinclined to take all the credit her husband wished to accord her for Georgiana’s development, sharing it gladly with Dr Grantley, whose maturity, intelligence, and excellent judgement she greatly admired. But, no one who had known the awkward fifteen-year-old Miss Darcy and watched her emerge slowly into the sunlight like a butterfly from a chrysalis, could doubt the value of Elizabeth’s influence upon her.

Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper, was one whose doting eye could see no fault in either her Master or his sister. Yet, she had acknowledged Elizabeth’s part. As they made the final preparations for the wedding, Elizabeth had said, “It is going to be an important day for all of us, Mrs Reynolds, not just for Miss Georgiana.” Mrs Reynolds agreed that they had all waited many years for such an occasion at Pemberley, adding in her quiet way, “It is indeed a very special day, Ma’am, and if I may say so, we all know how much is owed to you and your sister—Mrs Bingley.”

Elizabeth had been pleasantly surprised by her lavish praise of both herself and Jane, for their kindness to Miss Darcy. “You see, Ma’am,” she explained, “With her dear mother gone, there was no one to set her an example. The Master was very loving and did all he could for her, but it is not the same, is it, Ma’am?” Elizabeth agreed that it was not, saying, however, that she was sure Miss Georgiana must have had governesses, companions, and friends. “Oh yes, Ma’am, but not those who could be as you have been, like a sister to her. I have watched how she has grown, in herself as a young person, since you and the Master were wed. She is a real lady now. Oh I know she used to sing and play and amuse us all, but she was ever so shy and quiet in company. And if you don’t mind my saying so, Ma’am, and some might say it is not my place to say it, but I did not think that Miss Caroline Bingley was a good influence upon our Miss Georgiana at all.”

Elizabeth had bitten back her enthusiastic agreement with this judgement, but her smile had betrayed her. She felt she was in good company. Darcy himself had remarked upon the shallowness and lack of substance in the conversation of the two Bingley women, happily contrasting it with the interesting contributions made to any company by Miss Caroline Gardiner, who was so much younger, yet much better informed and well-read. Both Jane and Elizabeth had formed the impression that he had, for the most part, put up with the Bingley sisters because of his friendship and regard for their brother, for whom he clearly had great affection.

Darcy had no doubt at all that his sister had benefited immensely from the new acquaintances she had made since his marriage to Elizabeth but most particularly from the affectionate relationship that had grown up between Georgiana and her sister-in-law.
On returning from his customary morning ride, Darcy came in to the bedroom and found Elizabeth looking out at the park and the woods in their soft Spring colours. As he joined her at the window, she turned to him and said, “Isn’t it a perfect day? I am so happy for them. They deserve the best possible start to their marriage.” Darcy agreed.

“They certainly do, but even if the heavens had opened up and the rain had poured down, I doubt if it would have spoilt their day. I have never seen Georgiana so happy, and Elizabeth, my dearest, she, we, all of us owe much of that to you.” She was about to hush him and put her hand up to do so, but he would not be silenced. He took her hand in his and held it as he spoke, “No, my love, it cannot be denied, no one who has known Georgiana can fail to see how she has been transformed over these last four years. She has told me herself how much she values the close and affectionate relationship you share. Her trust in you and your judgement, her admiration for your honesty, even the lighthearted fun you have together, these are all important to her. They have changed her life, quite remarkably.” Elizabeth protested, “You make me very proud indeed, when you credit me with all this, but do you not agree, my love, that Dr Grantley has been the greatest influence upon Georgiana—his maturity and width of vision must have materially changed so much of her thinking.”

“Of course it has; I do not deny that. Francis is my dearest friend, I know him to be the best of men; I do not doubt that he has broadened her horizons and developed her mind, but Georgiana needed, indeed craved, the company and affection of a sister, and you, my dear Elizabeth, gave her that in full measure.”

Elizabeth recalled the day almost five years ago at the inn at Lambton, when Darcy had brought his shy, young sister to meet her for the first time. Even as she sang the praises of her perfect brother, Georgiana had confessed that she would have loved to have had a sister. At that time, Elizabeth had had very little hope of becoming that sister by marriage. Her relationship with Mr Darcy had just begun to thaw, after their chance meeting at Pemberley. Shortly afterwards, the disastrous events of Lydia’s elopement had almost shattered any hope she may have had. As she contemplated the changes in her own life, changes that had affected others—including Jane, Kitty, Mr and Mrs Gardiner, and now her cousin Caroline, Lizzie smiled and, suddenly, shrugged away her concerns, recognising how much the love they shared meant to both of them and the people they held most dear. Turning into his arms, she embraced him with a degree of warmth that made him smile and suggest that perhaps it was a perfect day for all of them, not just for the bridal couple.

The wedding guests filled the church, and included for the first time in years the bride’s aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter Anne, while all around overflowing into the Rectory gardens were people from the estate—tenants, labourers with their wives and children, who cheered as the bridal carriage approached and the bride alighted, supported by her brother. Waiting for her was her tall, distinguished groom. They were married by Kitty’s husband, with a homily preached by a close friend and colleague of Dr Grantley, quoting Shakespeare’s sonnet—“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments—.”

The choir of Pemberley children sang the wedding hymns like angels, filling the church with sweet sounds. Later, the guests returned to Pemberley for a splendid reception. Every eye was turned upon the bride, whose elegant figure was perfectly gowned in satin and French lace. While Dr Grantley had been a visitor to Pemberley for many years as a friend of Mr Darcy, not many people knew him well. Now they were all eager to meet the man who had not just won Miss Darcy’s heart but was widely admired and praised by everyone who knew him. Not even Lady Catherine could find fault with Georgiana’s choice. She had accepted the invitation sent in the names of Mr and Mrs Darcy, without comment. Clearly pleased by the deferential treatment accorded her at the church, as the most highly connected personage present, as well as the aunt of the bride, she was remarkably condescending in her manner towards Elizabeth and Jane, when she met them with their husbands.

While there was no hint of real appreciation, she seemed to have accepted, with as much grace as she could muster, that the marriage between Darcy and Elizabeth had not polluted the hallowed portals of Pemberley, as she had feared. Her affection for Georgiana was genuine, and the very real bond that existed between her niece and Elizabeth, a bond of which Georgiana had spoken with great warmth during her visit to Rosings with Dr Grantley, had served to soften her aunt’s attitude, just enough to preserve them from her usually sharp tongue.

Before they left for the Lakes, which Georgiana had always longed to visit, Dr and Mrs Grantley came to thank Darcy and Elizabeth. There were tears as the sisters embraced, and Georgiana whispered, “Oh Lizzie, I can never thank you enough. Were it not for you, this happiness could never have been mine.”

Elizabeth refused to believe this. “Georgiana, you cannot mean that.” “Indeed I do, and thank you for being such a wonderful sister to me,” she insisted, before turning to her brother and enfolding him in a great hug that threatened to ruin her beautiful corsage. Darcy’s face betrayed his deeply felt emotions as his young sister left her family home. Elizabeth understood how he must feel and held his hand in hers as they said farewell to the couple and saw them to their carriage. In a flurry of rose petals and cheers from the guests, they were gone.

Mr Bennet had observed, in his usual sardonic manner, that Lady Catherine must have wanted very much to see how well or ill the new Mistress of Pemberley conducted herself and the wedding had provided a good occasion to make a judgement. If that was the case, there would have been little if anything to upset Her Ladyship’s sensibilities; it was generally acknowledged that the arrangements were excellent. The army of servants and helpers, who had been trained for days to serve and cater to every whim of the guests, did exactly as they were asked, with not so much as a broken glass or a spilt sorbet to spoil the occasion. Lady Catherine almost acknowledged it herself when, on her declaring she was ready to leave, Darcy and Elizabeth escorted her to her barouche. “You have done well, Fitzwilliam,” she said. “Your dear mother would have approved. The arrangements were well done. My compliments to you too, Mrs Darcy—no doubt you have played a part in all this.”

Elizabeth accepted this comment with a bow, and a gracious, “Thank you, your Ladyship.”
When she added, “And I am happy to see that Pemberley still looks as good as ever,” Darcy thanked her, but after she had departed, they had to laugh at his aunt’s words, which appeared to suggest that she had feared Pemberley may have fallen into disrepair in her absence!

J

Following an almost idyllic Spring of 1819, the rest of the year turned, suddenly, sour. The short-lived recovery from the agricultural recession gave way to a mood of sullen depression in the country; especially in the textile manufacturing districts of the Midlands. The collapse of the textile industry, with the loss of hundreds of jobs, resulted in a fearful development, with a spate of machine breaking and arson attacks.

The improvement in foreign trade over the last two years had masked the gradual destruction of the smaller textile mills. Those who had lost their farming rights and migrated to the towns to seek work in the new industries found they were out on the streets, again, this time in alien surroundings far from home and any help, save the grudging charity of the poor house. Many were desperate and turned to petty crime or worse.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was visiting Pemberley, when Mr Gardiner arrived with news of a particularly bad attack, which had led to the arrest and charging of several men for machine breaking. The penalty, if they were found guilty, was death by hanging or slow death by transportation to Van Dieman’s Land. Fitzwilliam was furious, “What do they propose to do?” he demanded, “hang or transport half the population of the Midlands?” Darcy agreed that the options appeared limited. If there were more attacks upon property, it was likely to provoke even more repression.

“With no leadership at all from the government, the poor and disillusioned can only turn to the Radicals,” he said. Fitzwilliam countered that the so-called Radicals were not revolutionaries demanding the heads of the rich, as in France, but conservative men like Major Cartwright—founder of the Hampden Clubs which demanded reform of Parliament, and respected Whigs like Sir Francis Burdett and Lord Brougham.

“These are not men who want to turn the nation on its head, Darcy,” he persisted, “they merely ask for a better deal for the poor and representation for the men who create the wealth of this country—the traders, the merchants, the professionals, and the middle class.”

Darcy was not optimistic, nor was Mr Gardiner.
“I cannot believe that this government will agree to any reforms; they are committed to maintaining the power of the landlords whose representatives support them in Parliament. They are very impatient with anyone who goes against the tide,” he said, gloomily. Fitzwilliam jumped up, irate and impatient, expressing his determination to join Cobbett’s pamphleteers and petitioners, who were agitating for reform.
“If that is the only way we can get our voices heard, I fear I shall have no alternative,” he declared, his voice rising with anger and frustration.
Mr Gardiner’s two daughters had been spending the day at Pemberley. Elizabeth suspected that the arrival of Fitzwilliam, unannounced, may have had more to do with their presence than a desire to ask after his cousin’s health. After the meal, both girls had gone upstairs with Elizabeth, while Darcy and his cousin remained in the sitting room. Hearing their father’s voice, they prepared to go downstairs, but, while standing at the top of the stairs, they heard Mr Gardiner’s words and Fitzwilliam’s angry outburst, whereupon Caroline ran back into Elizabeth’s sitting room.
Elizabeth followed Caroline, found her sobbing, and immediately went to comfort her, without knowing the cause of her distress. “Caroline, what is it?” she asked. Caroline refused at first to say anything but was gradually persuaded to tell Elizabeth of her fears that Fitzwilliam would join one of the Radical groups and put himself in harm’s way.
“He could be arrested or killed, Cousin Lizzie; these are dangerous times, Papa says so.” Elizabeth could hardly believe her ears,
“Caroline, what are you saying? Why would Colonel Fitzwilliam want to do that?”
“He is determined to do something about the poor people who are being thrown out of work and onto the streets. He says it is unfair that we should enjoy the benefits of their suffering, and, Lizzie, I agree with him, I really do, but I am afraid, because he could be in terrible danger.” Elizabeth was silent for a moment, and suddenly into that silence Caroline blew her little nose and said, “I am very afraid, but I cannot say anything.”
“Why?” asked Elizabeth, scarcely recovering from the surprise.
“Because . . . because I love him, Lizzie; he doesn’t know I love him, and it would not be seemly for us to talk about such matters. Oh Lizzie, I don’t know what to do,” she was sobbing again. Elizabeth was reluctant to say too much but decided that the best way would be honesty.
“Have you never spoken of your feelings, either of you?” she asked.
“Of course not!” Caroline seemed shocked at the question.
“And have you told anyone else, before today?”
Caroline shook her head, still sobbing, “No, nobody, there was no one to tell.” Elizabeth held her close, trying to reassure her that it was very unlikely Colonel Fitzwilliam would place himself in that kind of danger, but to console her, she promised to ask Mr Darcy to speak to him.
“You know how well he respects Mr Darcy; he will listen to his advice; I am sure of it.”
Caroline was ecstatic. She threw her arms around Elizabeth. “Would you? Oh Lizzie, I knew you would help me. Please, please could you also ask Mama if she would permit him to . . .” Elizabeth stopped her in midsentence. “Caroline, my dear, one thing at a time, please. Your Mama and Papa cannot possibly permit anyone, however good or suitable, to call on you, when you are just fifteen,” she remonstrated.
“Mama was married at sixteen,” Caroline retorted.
“She certainly was, but I still think it may be a little early for you to make such an important decision. Listen, my dear, once I know some more, after Mr Darcy has spoken with Fitzwilliam, I promise I will talk to your mother, but you must be patient.”
It was almost half an hour later, having washed her tear-stained face and tidied her hair, that Caroline was ready to go downstairs. Her father waited to take them home. Emily, meanwhile, had retired to her beloved library, and Elizabeth went to fetch her. When they returned, Darcy and Mr Gardiner were in the hall, while Caroline and Fitzwilliam were deep in conversation beside the fireplace in the sitting room. To Elizabeth’s surprise, they were both smiling and obviously happy. It was as if nothing untoward had happened at all.
Elizabeth determined that she would speak to Darcy that night. When she first told him of the scene with young Caroline, Darcy was surprised. He admitted he had noticed some degree of partiality towards Caroline on the part of Fitzwilliam but had not taken it too seriously. As for Caroline, she was, he said, a talented and lively young person with such an endearing nature, as to cause no one to read more into their friendship than was understandable and acceptable. She was, after all, he pointed out, just a child, and Fitzwilliam was twice her age.
“Darcy, that is exactly what I said to her, but her response was such that I was left in no doubt that there is, at least in the early stages, a much closer bond between them,” Elizabeth said. “Could you not speak to Fitzwilliam?” and seeing the look of anxiety that crossed his countenance, she added, “He is your cousin and I know he respects and values your advice.”
Darcy was reluctant to interfere. He reminded her of the exceedingly unhappy consequences of his last intervention in the affairs of another young couple and his absolute determination to avoid a similar disaster. Elizabeth understood his reservations, but for the sake of young Caroline, for the sake of their friendship with the Gardiners, some one had to find out what Fitzwilliam’s intentions were. “We cannot now pretend that we are unaware of the situation, even if we have turned a blind eye before today. I know I shall blame myself if she is hurt and my Aunt Gardiner will never forgive me,” said Elizabeth, and she looked so unhappy that he relented.
However, he did try to allay her fears, “Elizabeth, I know you are afraid that we may be making the same mistake that resulted in your sister Lydia’s unfortunate entanglement with Wickham, but, dearest, remember there are very great differences. Caroline is nothing like Lydia; she is intelligent and sensible; even if she thinks she is in love, she will not do anything stupid. I am sure of it. On the other hand, I would wager my entire estate on Fitzwilliam’s honour and integrity. He is no Wickham, my dear, and we are all well aware of his sound financial position, so I think we need have no fears on that score.” Elizabeth agreed but was still fearful that a combination of youthful innocence with high emotional sensibility could well undermine even the most virtuous of characters and begged her husband’s help. Understanding her anxiety, he agreed.
That night, Elizabeth, unable to sleep, rose and wrote to her sister:

My dearest Jane,

A circumstance has arisen which I must discuss with you as soon as possible. It is a matter of extreme delicacy and concerns some of those dearest to both our hearts, so I cannot speak openly about it in company— even among the family. This being so, I shall arrange to travel to Ashford Park on Wednesday and hope we shall have some time to ourselves. Meanwhile, I must beg you to remain silent on this matter. Please do not disclose, even to Bingley, the true reason for my visit. I shall say that I wish to consult you about something concerning Cassy. I do not wish to alarm you, so let me assure you that it is not a matter which materially affects either you or Bingley directly; rather it is a delicate “family matter” which, if unresolved, may cause unhappiness to those whom we all love dearly. There now, I have confused you completely, have I not? Dearest Jane, have patience, I shall be with you on Wednesday and all will be revealed.

Your loving sister,
Lizzie.

On the Wednesday, as arranged, Elizabeth went to Ashford Park to spend the day with her sister. Mr Darcy intended to see Fitzwilliam, who was at his house supervising refurbishments. Darcy felt it would afford him an opportunity to raise the subject that had so concerned Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, meanwhile arrived at Ashford House to find Jane all of a flutter, eager to discover the cause of her sister’s concern. While they partook of morning tea, Elizabeth gave her sister a detailed account of her own observations of the situation between Caroline and Colonel Fitzwilliam and the distressing incident of two days ago. “But Lizzie, she is just a child,” said Jane, disbelief written all over her lovely face. Elizabeth laughed and threw up her hands.

“How many more times will I hear that! Oh Jane, I do not mean to upset you, but that is what all of us think; in truth, however, Caroline has grown up before our eyes, and we have not noticed it. I believe that Colonel Fitzwilliam, arriving as he did last Autumn, seeing Caroline after three and a half years, saw the blossoming of a young woman, while we had all been seeing only the child.” Jane’s eyes widened, “You are quite right, Lizzie; unlike most other people, he has treated her quite differently; he kissed her hand and paid her compliments, like she was a young lady, which she is. Our Mama was engaged at fifteen.” Elizabeth agreed but did not wish to be distracted from her cause.

“That may be so, dearest Jane, but our present concerns are rather different. As far as we know, neither our aunt nor our uncle is aware of the situation. They are probably doing as we did, thinking of her as a mere child. Furthermore, we have no notion of Fitzwilliam’s feelings in the matter. Does he realise that Caroline’s emotions are so deeply engaged? I think not. If he did, would he welcome it?”

“Do you not have any indication of his feelings, Lizzie? I confess I have not paid as much attention to these matters, since having Emma. She takes up most of my time, when she is not asleep. But Lizzie, what about you and Mr Darcy? Have you not observed them more closely? Was there no hint of his feelings?” Jane asked. Elizabeth took some time with her answer, explaining her own inclination to treat some of her observations lightly and adding to that Darcy’s reluctance to interfere in his cousin’s life.

“We must assume, since our aunt has said nothing to us on the matter, that he has not approached them—and that would explain why he has said nothing directly to Caroline.”
Jane looked troubled, and when she spoke, her voice was gentle with sympathy born of her own experience only a few years ago.

“Oh Lizzie, if only Caroline could be spared this sorrow and at such a tender age too.” Her kindness and concern were a reflection of her own gentle nature.
The sisters spoke no more about Caroline’s unhappy situation, because Mr Bingley returned with young Jonathan, who immediately demanded the attention of both his mother and his aunt, so precluding any further discussion of the subject.
After luncheon, Jane had to go to Emma, and Bingley insisted on showing his sister-in-law-the beautiful display of Spring flowers in Ashford Park. Since moving from Netherfield, he had become far more interested in the grounds and was proud of his success.
As evening approached, Elizabeth grew anxious. Darcy was to join them for dinner. She hoped and prayed that his approaches to Fitzwilliam had not been misunderstood or rebuffed. That would be disastrous. When he did arrive, Elizabeth was surprised by his light-hearted manner. Indeed, Jane pointed out that he seemed perfectly cheerful. “Could it be that all is well, Lizzie?” she asked, hopefully. Elizabeth was impatient to discover the results of his efforts, but Darcy was never one to be hurried, and on this occasion, he was helped by the fact that it was not a matter they could speak of while the servants were about serving dinner. It was, therefore, only after they had withdrawn to the drawing room and Jane had sent the servants away, that he was able to enlighten them.
First, he spoke quietly with Elizabeth, taking the opportunity of Bingley’s absence from the room. He told her his meeting with Fitzwilliam had been a good one and there was some news, which he thought they should all hear. Darcy felt it was not fair to expect Jane to keep it from her husband. He had Fitzwilliam’s permission to tell them. Jane and Elizabeth could hardly wait to hear what he had to say. Bingley, unaware that that there was anything to be concerned about, returned to the room remarking cheerfully that this was very nice indeed, very much like old times at Netherfield Park.
Darcy waited until his brother-in-law had sat down with his coffee and port, but before he could speak, Bingley asked if anyone was going to sing or play tonight. He wondered if Lizzie could be persuaded. Jane, unable to bear the suspense any longer, touched his arm and said gently but very firmly, “Dearest, Mr Darcy has something important to tell us,” and when her husband looked a little surprised, she added, “it concerns Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“Fitzwilliam? Why, what is the matter? Is he unwell, Darcy?” Bingley asked, genuinely concerned.
Darcy confirmed that Fitzwilliam was very well. “He is at this moment at his farm, having his house refurbished. That is where I have spent most of today, and what I have to tell you concerns a matter dear to his heart.” Now, even Bingley was interested. Darcy went on, “It also concerns someone for whom we all have great affection—Miss Caroline Gardiner.” Bingley was quite taken aback. Darcy revealed that he had visited his cousin and, having apologised for interfering in his personal affairs, had questioned him about his feelings and intentions towards Miss Gardiner. Even as he spoke, Darcy could see the astonishment on the faces of Jane and Bingley. Elizabeth, at least, had been prepared for some of what followed.
After the initial surprise of Darcy’s approach, Fitzwilliam had conceded that Elizabeth, as Caroline’s cousin and confidante, was entitled to ask what his intentions were towards her. He appreciated that her age and innocence made her vulnerable, though he had immediately asserted that she was in no danger from him. Darcy found it difficult to express Fitzwilliam’s concern, except to say that he had not sought such an assurance from him; he was confident of his cousin’s honourable conduct.
Fitzwilliam had confided that since last Christmas, he had found himself falling in love with Miss Gardiner. Afraid at first to even admit it to himself, he had feared he would offend her parents, for he recognised that they regarded her as a child—as did everyone else. Jane and Elizabeth exchanged knowing glances as Darcy told of Fitzwilliam’s unhappy and largely unsuccessful efforts to suppress his feelings. To make matters considerably worse, he began to suspect that Caroline reciprocated his undeclared feelings; it was apparent on every occasion, every time they met, each time they sang or danced together; all their conversations seemed to make it increasingly obvious, though neither spoke openly of their feelings.
Soon it was clear that it would not be possible to keep it from Mr and Mrs Gardiner. While he feared their disapproval, he had felt a strong sense of duty to be open with them. Fitzwilliam then determined to lay his cards on the table, whatever the consequences. While Caroline was at Pemberley after Georgiana’s wedding, he visited the Gardiners and opened his heart to them. Darcy went on, “He says he promised he would do or say nothing without their permission, assuring them that in all things concerning their daughter he would be guided by them. He asked for no marriage settlement, promising rather to settle a part of his own fortune upon her, as soon as they were engaged. He promised also not to press for a marriage date until after her sixteenth birthday. He told me, as he had told them, that he had never loved any other woman as deeply and with such pure affection and begged to be allowed to speak to her, if only to declare his feelings.”
By this time, Jane had become quite tearful and held tight to her husband’s hand. Elizabeth asked, “What did they say?”
Darcy looked solemn. “They were understandably cautious, because she is so young, and wanted some time to think about it. Meanwhile he has promised not to speak of it to Caroline.”
“Oh poor Caroline,” said Jane, her voice almost breaking, “and poor, poor Colonel Fitzwilliam, how terrible he must feel.” Darcy added that it seemed to him his cousin was relieved that he had been able to confide in him. He had lived with his secret for too long.
Elizabeth broke the silence. “Were my aunt and uncle surprised at his approach?”
Darcy shook his head. “Not entirely. I gather they had had some intimation of the situation. We are not always as successful at hiding our feelings as we may think, Lizzie. I believe, from what Fitzwilliam tells me, that in spite of their reservations, which are entirely on account of their daughter’s very tender age, they have assured him of their regard and affection for him. They appreciate very much the discretion he has shown in his behaviour and the honesty and openness of his approach to them. He is convinced that they would make no objection were it not for her extreme youth. They worry about letting her become engaged so young.” Jane, despite her tender feelings, was reasonableness itself.
“Surely, there can be no other objection. I cannot see how my aunt and uncle would object to the match, especially as they truly love each other.” Darcy replied that he could certainly vouch for Fitzwilliam.
“I have known him all my life; he is undoubtedly very much in love. Every aspect of his behaviour in this matter confirms it.” Bingley intervened to say how much he respected and liked Fitzwilliam.
“An absolutely honourable fellow, a perfect gentleman,” he said. Darcy smiled, modestly acknowledging the praise heaped upon his cousin, pointing out that there had always been a very good relationship between Fitzwilliam and the entire Gardiner family, with whom he had corresponded regularly for three years while he was away in the East. He was now, in addition, a valued partner in Mr Gardiner’s company. Should they be permitted to marry, Darcy said, he felt they would have an excellent foundation for a successful and happy marriage. Elizabeth spoke again. “How soon does Fitzwilliam expect to receive an answer?”
“He is to call on Mr and Mrs Gardiner on Sunday. Lizzie, I have taken the liberty of saying that we will be delighted to invite Misses Caroline and Emily over to Pemberley. We shall have to send a note to Mrs Gardiner tomorrow.”
Elizabeth assured him she could find an excuse for an invitation, quite easily, and then asked, almost in jest, “And what of this nonsense about Fitzwilliam joining the Radicals?”
“He did say he had volunteered to assist with the petitions. As you know, he feels very strongly about the lack of leadership from the Parliament, and the petitions are demanding reform. Fitzwilliam has agreed to help with mustering support. I cannot see any danger in that.” Darcy laughed and added, “As for being involved in anything more perilous, you can set Caroline’s heart at rest on that score; he has no intention of putting his life in any danger. He has much pleasanter plans in mind for the future.”
On the long drive back to Pemberley, through the woods that were now dark and silent, Darcy was quite clearly tired, and Elizabeth decided not to return to the subject. He was, for the most part, thoughtful, saying little. She was surprised, when he took her hand and asked in a low voice, so as not to be overheard by the coachman, “Elizabeth, are you pleased with me?”
“Pleased with you, do you mean generally?” she teased, and then, seeing his disappointed expression, she relented and assured him of her complete approval. “I cannot believe that it would have been easy to ask Fitzwilliam all those questions without offending him, yet you’ve done so well. Of course I am pleased with you, my love. I cannot tell you how glad I am to know that my aunt and uncle are aware of and able to deal with the situation.”
“And to deal with it so well, as Fitzwilliam tells it,” said Darcy. “For my part, I was concerned to know that my cousin was doing the right thing. I have only the greatest respect and affection for your aunt and uncle and their children. Caroline is especially dear to you, and I was unwilling to leave the situation as it was, without satisfying myself that all was well.”
“And do you think all will be well, in the end?” she asked, anxiously. He nodded, “I certainly hope and pray it will,” he said, putting an arm around her and drawing her close. And to that prayer, Elizabeth could only say “Amen.”

J

Emily and Caroline arrived early on Sunday, looking forward to being back at Pemberley. Emily promptly retired to the gallery. When she grew tired of reading, she liked nothing more than to go out into the long gallery and gaze at the paintings, especially the fabulous Italian collection that was housed in a special place where the light would show the paintings to advantage.

For Caroline, the treasures of Pemberley lay, not in the furniture and accessories, but in the people. She loved hearing the stories of the men and women who had lived there from anyone who had time to tell them. Mrs Reynolds enjoyed telling her stories of three generations of the Darcy family she had known. Fitzwilliam had been amused by her interest, but Darcy encouraged it, happy that some member of the younger generation was interested in the past. He told her all about the eccentric Darcy ancestors, those about whom Mrs Reynolds did not know much or was tactfully silent.

After a very pleasant day, during which both girls had enjoyed being spoilt, they had dressed for dinner and were about to go downstairs, when Elizabeth’s maid Jenny hurried upstairs to say that Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived and was waiting in the sitting room. Darcy went down to him, while Elizabeth had to prepare Caroline for the encounter. She had already reassured her about his intention to help with Mr Cobbett’s petition, but now she had to reveal that he had been to see her parents.

Caroline was aghast. She could not have known that there had already been an approach made and so trembled at the thought that their disapproval may mean the end of her dream. “Oh Lizzie, what do you think he has said? Would Mama have been very angry?” she asked, fearful of what may lie in store.

Elizabeth reassured her, “You need have no fears of your Mama; she is the kindest, wisest person I know. Now, come along with me, we must not seem to be dawdling for no good reason.”

They went downstairs, and as they reached the door of the sitting room, Darcy appeared and said, “Elizabeth, Caroline, there you are. Fitzwilliam is waiting for you.” He said no more, but Elizabeth thought he looked pleased and took that to be a good sign. Caroline almost ran away but, taking her cousin’s hand to give her confidence, composed herself quite creditably, before entering the room.

Fitzwilliam was standing at the window, looking out over the West lawn. He turned and smiled, and Elizabeth knew then there would be no heartbreak for young Caroline. Having greeted both of them, he begged her pardon and asked to have a word to Elizabeth. After they had spoken, he returned to Caroline, who was sitting by the fire, and held out both hands to her. Elizabeth left the room, indicating she would be close at hand, if they needed her. She had no desire to intrude upon the moment of joy she knew would follow.

When she returned with Darcy later, they were still holding hands, sitting together on the couch by the window. They appeared to say very little, but there was no doubting their happiness. Caroline embraced Mr Darcy, kissed Elizabeth, and ran upstairs. When she was finally ready to return, she became rather shy but soon overcame it. Each time she seemed to demonstrate more maturity and common sense. The decorum that they displayed in their behaviour in company spoke volumes for the sensitivity and good sense of both.

Fitzwilliam stayed to dinner and, when he was leaving, said rather grandly, “I have an invitation for Mr and Mrs Darcy from Mr and Mrs Gardiner, to dine at Oakleigh on Wednesday. I shall call tomorrow morning after breakfast, to take Caroline and Emily home to Oakleigh; I know Caroline is longing to see her parents.” Caroline, transformed by happiness, smiled and glowed, but said nothing. Only when she put her arms about Elizabeth and hugged her close, did she speak, “I shall never ever forget your kindness, dearest Lizzie, and Mr Darcy’s,” she whispered, as they parted for the night.

Elizabeth and Darcy could only look on indulgently. Having known the pain and frustration of separation in love themselves, they wished their cousins every happiness. They agreed, however, that they could wish them only as much joy as they had together, refusing to be dislodged from their position as the happiest couple in the world, by anyone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

To build Jerusalem

M

OMENTOUS AND FAR-REACHING changes were sweeping across England throughout 1819 and 1820, spilling inevitably into the lives of the people whose stories are recorded in these chronicles.

Pemberley and its neighbouring estates lay at the very heart of the English counties where most of the changes were taking place. It was impossible for any family living there not to be affected by what was happening around them.

Throughout 1819, the shocking consequences of the depressed state of the nation’s rural economy were seen everywhere, with bankruptcies and evictions on all sides. Proud, hard-working men and women were being turned out from places where they had lived and worked for generations, onto the streets—their livelihoods destroyed, their homes and workshops seized by the bailiffs. Cold charity, offered in small servings, bred such resentment and bitterness as few had experienced before.

When, with their leaders demanding redress and reform, they massed, marched, and paraded, the government brought down repressive legislation, and the magistrates sent in the yeomanry. The worst incident took place in August of 1819—when some sixty thousand unarmed workers, massing in St. Peter’s Field at Manchester, were attacked by sabre-wielding troops on horseback, leaving eleven dead, hundreds wounded, and millions shocked by the savagery of the day’s events. In an ironic comment on the “Heroes of Waterloo,” this dreadful incident came to be called the “Peterloo Massacre.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam and two of his associates had travelled to Manchester but, fortuitously, were not at St. Peter’s Field. Caroline, now happily engaged to him, preparing for a wedding within the year, had begged for a promise that he would not go, and having given it, Fitzwilliam nobly resisted the temptation to attend, despite his overwhelming curiosity. His friends, however, obtained plenty of information from those who had been either participants or observers on the day. When the truth about the attack by the yeomanry began to come out from eyewitnesses returning to their villages, some of the newspapers, controlled as they were by the very men who had been responsible for the policies that had caused the violence, suppressed or ignored it. Not so, the Matlock Review, which was jointly owned by Sir Edmond Camden and his nephew Anthony Tate. The son of Sir Edmond’s sister, Anthony had inherited his share of the paper from his father. Since he was still a student at Cambridge, he left the running of the business to his mother and uncle. Sir Edmond’s sister, Therese, was, by force of her personal circumstances, a much more independent and liberal minded woman than many others of her time. She had married young, had two sons, and was widowed early in the war against Napoleon. Compelled to take on the responsibility for managing the family farm as well as raising her children, Mrs Tate had relied a great deal on the advice of her elder brother. Like him, she deplored the abandonment of the old tenant farmers and their exploitation by the new mill owners. She steadfastly refused to enclose the commons that lay adjacent to her farm, permitting her tenants to graze their sheep and fish or trap game in the woods, as they had done for generations. She used her influence with the editor of the Review to speak up for justice for the dispossessed, a stand that was not popular with several new landlords, though it had the support of men like Mr Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr Gardiner.

Using the information provided by Fitzwilliam and his friends as well as the eyewitness accounts of several farm labourers, mechanics, peasants, and unemployed mill workers, the Review gave the story plenty of publicity. Bloodcurdling tales were told—much to the chagrin of the magistrates who had ordered the attack, of panicking yeomen in their bright, “toy soldier” uniforms, slashing at unarmed people with their newly sharpened sabres. For days afterwards, crowds gathered in market places, homes, paddocks, and common lands—wherever they felt safe from further attack, to talk about the “Peterloo massacre.”

For the government, it was a disaster. The reverberations would go on for years. “No decent English heart could not but be ashamed that Englishmen had spilt the blood of other ordinary, hard-working English men and women, whose only crime was to demand a fair hearing and Parliamentary reform!” wrote the editor of the Review. There were calls from the local magistracy and conservative Tories for even harsher measures, but the majority of English people were horrified at the use of such force against unarmed peasants and workers and said so at meetings up and down the country. Fitzwilliam, attending a meeting of “concerned citizens,” predicted that the “Martyrs of St. Peter’s Field” had not died in vain and their deaths would change the Reform Movement forever.

Indeed, it appeared to have made Radicals out of several hitherto uncommitted middle class groups, who had heard the reasonable words of men like Bamford and Charles Greville. They warned that if England were not to go the bloody way of France, the rich and powerful had to heed the growing resentment of the poor and propertyless, who felt excluded from the heritage of their nation. Reform and change, they said, were not simply necessary; they were essential for England’s survival. Fitzwilliam, whose political ambitions were taking shape, campaigned wholeheartedly for the cause.

Change, albeit of a somewhat milder nature, was happening within the Pemberley families, too. Mr and Mrs Darcy were now the proud and loving parents of a son—William Charles, born a few weeks before Christmas, lightening the mood of a rather depressing year. For Darcy and Elizabeth, it was the fulfilment of a wish they had not admitted to publicly. While there was not the pressure of an entail on Pemberley to require a male heir, there was the desire for a son to inherit his father’s role in the community. Elizabeth, who had always missed having a brother, had longed for a son. William was rather a small baby, but he was a gentle child and gave little trouble as an infant. Elizabeth, whose daughter Cassandra was a truly beautiful little girl, declared that if William grew up to fulfil his early promise, she would be perfectly content with her children.

Her friend, Charlotte Collins, had been delivered of a third daughter, Amelia Jane, much to the disappointment of her husband, who was seeking to make more secure his inheritance through entail of Longbourn, on the death of his cousin—Mr Bennet. That Mr Bennet appeared to enjoy excellent health at present did not seem to affect in any way the ambitions of Mr Collins.

Mrs Bennet, however, was inclined to gloat and would publicly declare that the Collins’ lack of male children was a form of divine punishment. Anyone in Meryton who would listen was regaled with the news that “poor Mrs Collins” had had another daughter, while all of her married daughters, except Kitty, who had, as yet, no children, had produced sons. The irony of her own state—of having five daughters and no sons, seemed to escape her completely. Moreover, Mrs Bennet, recently returned from Lydia’s third confinement in Newcastle, brought unhappy reports of friction and worry over Wickham’s wandering eye. She had little to do but entertain her friends and spread the gossip, with no thought for the sensibilities of her elder daughters or their husbands.

Jane, visiting Elizabeth for William’s christening, brought the unhappy news to Pemberley. She and Bingley had been godparents to Charlotte’s little daughter, who Jane declared to be “the loveliest little girl I have ever seen.” Visiting Longbourn on the return journey, she had received a full account from her mother of the news from Newcastle, and it had alarmed her. Waiting discreetly for a time when their husbands were out riding and the servants and nurses were out of earshot, Jane expressed her unease about their wayward sister and her unreliable husband.

“Lizzie, if even half of what Mama tells is true, it is not a good situation at all.” She said, proceeding to detail some of Mrs Bennet’s reports. “It would seem that neither Wickham nor Lydia take their marriage vows seriously,” she said and appeared more than a little shocked when Elizabeth declared, in what Jane took to be a rather cavalier fashion, “Well, that should come as no surprise. I cannot believe that anyone honestly credited either of them with serious intentions. Their marriage was brought about by the intervention of Mr Darcy and Mr Gardiner, who had to patch up the disastrous mess into which they had got themselves.” Jane protested; her kind heart would not let her dismiss them so easily.

“How can you say that, Lizzie? Surely all of us hoped for some improvement, some change in their behaviour?” Elizabeth was unmoved.
“My dearest Sister, your goodness, your unfailing charity, will not let you see what is so plain to all of us—Wickham and Lydia are unlikely to want to change. She is still silly and vain and continues to flirt outrageously; he, it must be said, is at least less blatant about his desires; if what you have heard is true, he seems to be rather more discreet, though no less culpable in his behaviour, than our sister.”
“Is there nothing we can do?” asked Jane. Elizabeth looked uncertain.
“I suppose, I could stop sending Lydia the small sums of money I have sent her for the children, as some form of censure, but I doubt if that will have any effect upon her behaviour. She will probably apply to you for help, instead.” Jane looked surprised and embarrassed.
“Lizzie, has she been appealing to you for money?” she asked. When Elizabeth nodded and said, “For years,” Jane shook her head in despair.
“Oh Lizzie, I fear you are quite right. We are never going to change Lydia; she has been receiving regular payments from me and Mama ever since Henry was born!”
The realisation of the irresponsibility and manipulative nature of their sister and her husband devastated Jane and angered Elizabeth. But both agreed that there was very little to be done, except hope and pray that they would not act so brazenly as to bring shame upon their families again. “I’m grateful that Darcy says little or nothing about them. He knows Wickham only too well, and, as for Lydia, there is nothing one can say that will improve our opinion of her. We are all aware that their relationship owes little to love and even less to logic. They were brought together forcibly—for my uncle is sure that Wickham had no intention of ever marrying her, because their desires had got the better of what little virtue and good sense they might have had. To put it plainly, Wickham was bribed into marrying Lydia.” Seeing her sister’s unhappy expression, Elizabeth took her hand, “I know you think I am being harsh, but, Jane dearest, when I stop to think how close they came to wrecking all our lives, to destroying not just our chances of happiness, but the lives of those we hold most dear, like Papa, I cannot find it in my heart to feel much sympathy for them in their present predicament. They were given the best possible chance that could have been salvaged from the wreckage of their relationship, after that stupid, wicked elopement. Now, if they wish to throw it all away, they can do so without any tears from me.” A reminder of how close they had all come to losing everything, including any chance of a good marriage, dragged Jane back to reality.
“You are right, Lizzie; I realise that they are responsible for their own actions. We are not to blame for their troubles,” she sighed, sadly.
The return of their husbands interrupted any further discussion of the painful subject. Other members of the family were expected to join them, and both sisters were looking forward to the arrival of the Gardiners and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had been away in London for the past week.
The Gardiners, after some initial concern, had taken Fitzwilliam to their hearts. His devotion to their daughter had won him a special place in their affections, and both Mr and Mrs Gardiner would go to great lengths to help him with arrangements for his new home and forthcoming wedding. On this occasion, they had been shopping for items of Caroline’s trousseau, but Mr Gardiner, whose long familiarity with London’s commercial district was a great advantage, was able to advise his future son-in-law on a number of matters concerning his new establishment and obtaining the services he would require.
When they arrived at Pemberley, they were full of information about the scandalous goings on in London, more particularly at the Court, since the death of the mad King George III. Fitzwilliam was scathing in his criticism of the Court and the Parliament—for the charade that was in progress over the succession and the vilification of the Queen, by a King who openly and unashamedly paraded his mistresses. “And in the Parliament, those elected to govern us remain consumed by these ridiculous matters, while all over England good, decent people are sinking deeper into the mire of depression,” he declared and added, “There are those in London who swear that we will soon have another revolution to sweep all this corruption away.” Everyone else expressed the hope that it would not come to that.
“Several members of the Whig Party have declared themselves in favour of reform, and it is surely possible to hope that this could be brought about without violence,” said Mrs Gardiner. Mr Gardiner expressed the hope that trade would save the day as it had some years ago, when all seemed lost.
“If only the government would bring its mind to bear on trade—there is so much to be done. The Dutch, the French, and even the Belgians are working hard at developing trade with the colonies, while our government fiddles with the marriage problems of the King!”
Darcy agreed wholeheartedly. He could see no solution to the current troubles, he said, unless the prosperity of the entire nation was uplifted. “There is little to be gained by the rich and the powerful withdrawing into their fortresses, while the poor and dispossessed beg in the streets, watching their children starve,” he said, with the kind of firmness and certainty that made it difficult for anyone to disagree with him. Not that anyone seemed to want to do so, Elizabeth noted. “In times past,” he went on, “those who owned and enjoyed the rich harvests of this country contributed to the alleviation of suffering of the poor and the sick. My father would have been ashamed to have homeless men and their families begging on street corners for the charity of strangers, or being forced into the poor house because they had no land to farm and no paid work on his land.”
Fitzwilliam chimed in on a topic that was as dear to his heart as to Darcy’s—the destruction of the rural English community. “What has happened to us, to England? Why do we, who have always helped our people, suddenly turn them away?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, Fitzwilliam, we have not,” said Darcy. “At Pemberley, we have turned out nobody who wishes to stay on the estate and work here. Those who have left have gone because they wanted to, and there have been very few of them; some have found work in the towns, but others have returned, unhappy with their new masters.”
Elizabeth, who had listened quietly, ventured the information that her maid Jenny’s brother had gone to the mills at Manchester, on the promise of good wages and advancement. However, less than a year later, he was back—working as an undergardener happy to be back at Pemberley. Darcy supported her view, adding that there were several instances where the mill owners had provided jobs that demanded long hours of work in appalling conditions for very low wages.
He continued, “Indeed, I have plans, about which I intend to talk to Sir Edmond and others, to involve ourselves more deeply in the life of the community. I think we ought to make a greater contribution towards the welfare of the people who live on our estates, providing help with schools and medical care.” On hearing Darcy’s words, Kitty’s husband, Dr Jenkins, asked if Mr Darcy would help with a school for young children on the estate to be run by the parish church. Kitty was keen to get it started, and there were other parishioners willing to assist her, he said. Not only did Mr Darcy show an interest in the idea, he promised to meet Dr Jenkins to discuss it further. It was, he said, the sort of thing that could help people in these hard times.
“If we could provide a school for young children, it would help their parents cope with some of the problems they face,” he said.
“And at least, the children would be safe at school, while their parents worked,” added Elizabeth, who was delighted that Darcy had supported the plan. It was an idea that attracted her, and she decided to pursue it herself.
These discussions usually petered out when the meal was served, but on this occasion, Elizabeth noticed that it seemed to continue all through dinner and was picked up again when they withdrew for coffee. It was only very much later she came to understand that the seeds of an exciting plan had been sown on that day. Her husband’s vision of fostering a new community spirit, healing the fractured land, was yet to become clear to her.
Later that evening, Mrs Gardiner, Elizabeth, and Jane sat together in Elizabeth’s private sitting room, where hot chocolate in front of the fire was an inviting prospect at the end of the day. Jenny set the tray down on the table and bade them goodnight. The gentlemen were still downstairs talking business and politics, while the children had been taken to bed. Young Emily came in to say goodnight, before she went to bed too, and her sister Caroline followed minutes later, lingering to let her cousins admire her exquisite ruby and diamond ring. When she had left them, Elizabeth remarked on how very well she looked, adding that they certainly seemed a very happy couple.
What pleased Jane most was the decorum they showed in their general behaviour in company. “There is no doubt that they are in love, and they obviously enjoy being together, but they cause no embarrassment to others,” she said, and Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner both smiled, remembering Jane’s own extraordinary behaviour, when she and Bingley first met. Her extraordinarily high standards of decorum, coupled with her natural reserve and Bingley’s modesty, which had led Darcy to believe that Jane had no deep attachment to his friend, had almost destroyed their romance. Happily, Jane knew nothing of that unfortunate episode. Bingley had clearly never betrayed his friend’s part in it, and, for that, Elizabeth was very grateful. It would surely have hurt her sister very much.
Mrs Gardiner agreed with Jane, “I must say, Lizzie, Colonel Fitzwilliam is the perfect gentleman. I admit I had my concerns, not because of the difference in their ages, because after all I have been happily married to your uncle—a man fifteen years my senior and have appreciated his maturity and knowledge, greatly. Rather, it was because I feared that being so very young, Caroline may not have known her own mind. One rarely does at fourteen.”
“And you have no such reservations now, Aunt?” asked Jane with a smile, for she and Lizzie had noted how Fitzwilliam treated Mrs Gardiner with great affection and respect. “No, none,” her aunt replied. “Of course, Mr Darcy has always spoken well of him, and your uncle, who has done business with him for many years, will not hear a word against him. There is no question of his honour, and I have to confess that I have had not a moment’s concern on that score, since his engagement to Caroline.”
Jane interposed, “Of course, he is Mr Darcy’s cousin, that must surely be a recommendation,” but Elizabeth laughed merrily, reminding them that Lady Catherine de Bourgh was Mr Darcy’s aunt, adding mischievously, “And, what of Miss Bingley, whose relationship to our dear Bingley beggars belief? No, Jane, relationship offers no certainty of character likeness between the parties. Why, think only of our own sister Lydia and the whole idea is destroyed.”
At the mention of Lydia, Mrs Gardiner closed her eyes, as if she could not bear to contemplate the picture of her errant niece. “My dears, I had hoped not to speak of Lydia and her husband. Such foolish behaviour is rare indeed. It seems beyond anyone’s ability to convince those two of the need to maintain any standards at all. It grieves me to say it, my dear Lizzie and Jane, but hardly a month goes by without a hurriedly scribbled note arriving with a request for some form of help with bills, payment of arrears of salary to nurses or tradesmen, and with no promise of any repayment at all.”
Her nieces were shocked. They had not imagined that Lydia, who was already applying to her mother and sisters, was also appealing to their aunt for money. It was a most humiliating circumstance. Elizabeth had kept it from her husband all these years, sending small sums of money out of her own income, whenever a request was made. “You should not continue to help her, dear Aunt. She has used all of us, and while there may be some justifiable claim upon her family, there is none upon you and you must not let her use you so,” Elizabeth said firmly, her face flushed with embarrassment. Jane was silent; her feelings of shame would not let her speak.
Mrs Gardiner thought rather differently, “Your uncle knows it all, my dears, you must not be upset. He says someone has to help her, or she will run up huge bills and borrow money from strangers, at high rates of interest, and compound the problem. It is better this way, even if it does spoil her further.” Jane and Elizabeth rose and embraced their aunt. To her wisdom and kindness as much as to their uncle’s generosity, they owed a great deal. Hearing the voices of their husbands who were coming upstairs, they moved out onto the landing to meet them. They had spent such a pleasant evening together, none had noticed the lateness of the hour.

J

Elizabeth wrote to her father, inviting him to Pemberley in the Summer of 1820. She had heard from Jane that their mother was going with her sister Mrs Philips to Ramsgate, both sisters having decided that they deserved a holiday from their respective families!

On mentioning this to Mr Darcy, I have been urged by him to write immediately to invite you, Papa, “to take the opportunity to escape the domestic scene and visit Pemberley, where the pleasures of fishing, shooting, and plenty of reading” await you. I should add to this the company of at least two of your daughters—for Kitty is but ten minutes’ walk across the park or fifteen by road, two sons-in-law, and your grandchildren, of course! Pemberley is at its prettiest from late Summer to early Autumn. Could you ask for more? We are engaged in planning for a new school that Kitty and Dr Jenkins want to set up for the younger children on the estate. Mr Darcy is providing the building and the furniture, converting and restoring a hall which stands in the grounds of the Rectory, and the teachers will at first be volunteers from the community. You will not be surprised to hear that I shall not be teaching drawing or painting—how wretched were my early efforts at home—but have agreed to assist with singing and reading. Mr Darcy believes that it will help in building a community spirit to counter the destructive effects of the enclosures that have created so much misery for the poor people in these parts. On the other side of the district, Colonel Fitzwilliam and the Gardiners are attempting something similar—at Kympton, with the assistance of the parish council. More when you arrive, dear Papa, we do so look forward to your visits. Mr Darcy asks that you send a message giving the time of arrival of your coach at Lambton, and the carriage will be there to meet you.

Cassandra sends her love. She looks forward to more of the stories you read to her when you were here last year. I think we can be confident that she will make some calls on your precious time.

Mr Bennet’s response was short and to the point:
My dear Lizzie,

Your letter has convinced me that it is quite useless to spend even another day at Longbourn. Mary has already gone to Jane. I shall be on the coach on Wednesday. Do tell your husband that his offer of a carriage to meet me at Lambton is, as usual, happily and gratefully accepted. I look forward with great satisfaction to reading with Cassy; indeed I have acquired a new book with just such a purpose in mind.

Throughout that Summer and into Autumn, the families remained in the country, unless there was an absolute necessity to travel to London. The pleasant Autumn weather and the relative peace of the countryside provided ample reason to stay at home, while recent reports from the city offered every argument to avoid it.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had gone to London to lobby members of his Reform Group, wrote to the Gardiners:

. . . You are right to avoid London, for it has become a veritable madhouse—with the populace and the Parliament involved in an unseemly battle, as to who was the more disreputable, the King—as yet uncrowned or his unwanted and unloved Queen.

Darcy, Elizabeth, and Mr Bennet were dining with the Gardiners that evening. Fitzwilliam was to join them later. Caroline read, with appropriate dramatic emphasis, parts of his letter, which had arrived a day or two ago:

The streets are filled daily with a rabble, who support one side or the other—marching, shouting, waving banners, molesting innocent passersby, and generally causing mayhem. Many feel we are close to revolution— but I cannot believe that we are to become involved in such an exercise on the back of such a dreary cause as this . . .

Mr Gardiner pointed out that Fitzwilliam was in London to lobby the Reformists for support with the plans they had for providing schooling and health care for the poor. “There is hope that the Whigs will support a new bill to let municipalities play a part in running some of these services. It will depend on the support they can get from the Reform Group, of course.”

Mr Bennet, who had been very impressed with the work that Kitty and her husband were doing at the Rectory at Pemberley, was interested to hear how the plans at Kympton were proceeding. “Caroline is very much involved,” said her father, very proud indeed of the role his daughter was playing, “She and Emily are to start a singing class for the young children and Mrs Tate, who manages the Review, will help Mrs Gardiner with the reading and writing classes.” Mr Bennet, who had often expressed outrage that English children were left to grow up illiterate, unless their parents had sufficient money to have them privately taught their own language and literature, indicated that he was suitably impressed, though he remained outraged at the government’s lack of interest.

Caroline continued, from Fitzwilliam’s letter:

I cannot get a sane word out of anyone in the Parliament on the subject of reform either. The Romantics of the last decade—Sir Walter Scott, Coleridge, Southey, and would you believe, my dearest Caroline—your favourite Wordsworth—have all turned into ardent Tories and are demanding more repression and harsher penalties for the poor if they dare to question their masters. Wordsworth has even called for a police force to curb the people and laws to control the press.

There was at this point a yelp as if she had been bitten, and Caroline cried out, “I shall never again read another novel by Scott or a poem by William Wordsworth.” Everyone laughed; surely that was one promise she could not keep, they said, but Caroline was quite determined. “How could they want more repression of the people, and why would a poet like Wordsworth call for control of the press? It would be a betrayal of everything he believed in.” Impressed by her passion, Elizabeth ventured an opinion, “Dear Caroline, many a youthful romantic has turned into a boring conservative with age. Wordsworth is no different to many others.”

“Well I shall not,” said Caroline, in a spirited voice, “And if a poet cannot speak for the people, what chance have the rest of us?” Then turning to Mr Darcy, she asked, “Mr Darcy, do you intend to turn into a boring old conservative, too?” Her mother gasped, but Darcy laughed and proceeded to answer her quite seriously, “Caroline, I am conservative, by nature, I prefer to preserve the best features of our society, and I value our traditions, but that does not mean I support injustice and repression. I am uncomfortable with this government, which supports the demands of the privileged and represses the poor. I do not accept that age or birth has anything to do with it; it is a question of having a sense of responsibility for your fellow men. I have always believed, as my father and grandfather did, that those of us who are fortunate in life must play our part in helping those who are not. I don’t mean just doing charitable deeds and giving to the poor—all of us do that. I mean taking responsibility to contribute materially to the improvement of their lives, because it also improves the community in which we all live.”

“Do you mean by that, Mr Darcy, building schools, libraries, and hospitals?” asked Mrs Gardiner, whose interest in the subject had increased with her own involvement in the Kympton Parish School. Darcy nodded his agreement, “Indeed I do, Mrs Gardiner, but not just building them; helping to keep them going, supporting the people who do the work, because healthy, educated people are going to be happier to live and work with than sick, ignorant folk, and that must benefit all of us as a community.” Caroline gave a little cheer.

“Does Colonel Fitzwilliam know your mind on this?” she asked eagerly. “Yes he does, and he agrees with me,” said Darcy. Elizabeth looked across at her father. He was watching Darcy with interest and delight. He had never suspected this side of his reserved son-in-law’s nature, even as he had come to know him better and found him more amiable, as Elizabeth had promised he would.
Later he would confide in Elizabeth his immense pleasure at finding Darcy expressing such noble sentiments. This was surely the man she had learnt to love. “I know now why you were prepared to defend him so passionately, when I expressed some disquiet. He has certainly shewn he is a man of compassion and principle, Lizzie, one after your own heart, eh?” Her pride and satisfaction at hearing her husband’s words had been boundless. Having her father acknowledge his generous nature was especially pleasing. It was a side of Darcy’s character she had known for many years. It had given her much happiness; it was just very satisfying to know that others in her family acknowledged it, too.
The sound of a carriage drawing up heralded the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam, somewhat earlier than expected. He was made very welcome, by everyone and particularly Caroline. The bliss of the lovers, who had been apart for almost an entire week, was clear to be seen. They were left undisturbed in the sitting room for a while, before Mrs Gardiner went to remind them that dinner was served.
There was much news to hear and a great deal to talk about during and after dinner, but for Caroline and Fitzwilliam—nothing was more urgent or important than the joy of being together again. But equally, they were also deeply committed to the social and political goals they had set themselves, and their energy enthused others around them. Darcy had agreed to assist with the initial funds for their school at Kympton, and the Parish Council, of which Mrs Tate was a member, was making a hall available to them. The parents of the children who were going to be the first pupils at the school worked hard to complete the repair and refurbishment of the school house. Caroline, who had already obtained a promise of books from Georgiana, was delighted when Mr Bennet offered to contribute a number of items from his own library. “We shall soon have an excellent collection,” she boasted, as her infectious enthusiasm drew everyone around her into helping with her project.
Some days later, as she watched her daughter set off on an errand of mercy, to take food and clothing for a family in the village whose father was out of work, Mrs Gardiner wrote to her niece, telling her of Caroline’s work for the school and the children of the area:

Dearest Jane,

I do not have all the words to express what I feel about my dear daughter. Just seeing her so content and so full of plans makes me the happiest mother in the world. Colonel Fitzwilliam has become a member of our family to the greatest extent possible, so that we shall truly feel that when our Caroline is married, we are gaining another son, not losing a daughter. Jane, dearest, what pleases me most is their generosity. At a time when almost everyone is busy pursuing their own selfish pleasures and ambitions or chasing more and more money, Fitzwilliam and Caroline seem determined to help as many people as they can. Nothing is too much trouble, if a poor family or a sick child can be comforted. Your uncle and I help them in every way, happy to encourage this wonderful spirit of charity and kindness. Today, they are off collecting to help buy the slates and chalk and other things they need to start next month—when Elizabeth will open the school at Kympton, the first for infants in this village. It will be such an important day for the people of the village; I cannot tell you how happy we are that our little girl is doing so much to help the children.

Mr Darcy and Elizabeth are her greatest supporters, with several donations in cash and kind from Pemberley towards the fund for the school. I give thanks every day for the happy circumstance that took us to Pemberley that summer and brought Elizabeth and Mr Darcy together; they are so perfect a couple, I cannot believe that either would have been happy with any other partner.

Your uncle and I are well. We hope you and Mr Bingley will be able to come down to participate in our little function, next month. With Colonel Fitzwilliam standing for Parliament, we expect the newspapers will take an interest. The Review has had two items already.

Do give our love to Bingley and the children; I trust they are all well. God bless you all, my dear,
Your loving Aunt, etc.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tides of change

T

HE YEARS BETWEEN THE Coronation of King George IV in the summer of 1821 and his unlamented death in 1830 were filled with opportunities for change, which many European nations grasped and

Britain, through an excess of inertia and a lack of leadership, missed. As nations large and small in Europe moved restlessly under the yoke of old style conservatism, struggling to change first one system and then another, in England the populace watched with increasing revulsion the absurd antics of the Georgian Court and the Parliament, which seemed to leave them stranded, as the tides of change receded.

The government appeared to lurch from one crisis to another, with no sign of a steady hand on the wheel of the ship of state. The high Tory faction that dominated the government had set their faces firmly against reform, reacting to even the mildest demand for change with repressive measures like the infamous “Six Acts.” Meanwhile, the Whigs and other Reformists like Cobbett and Hunt struggled to be heard above the noise emanating from the Court, where the best efforts of all the King’s men were concentrated upon his determination to rid himself of his unwanted Queen.

And all this while, more and more “gentleman farmers” were enclosing and enlarging their manors, with little thought for the families they had displaced. In the big cities of London, Liverpool, Birmingham and Manchester, the working poor were housed in monotonous, grimy tenements, while the unemployed and sick begged or stole to survive on the streets. Across the nation, contradictions brought out the agitators and Reformers. Improvements in trade and transport brought prosperity to a new middle class in the cities, but half a day’s journey away, across the green meadows and hillsides stained black with slag heaps and scour, there was deepening despair.

Amidst this national pall of unease and gloom, like a burst of summer sunshine on a bleak North Country morning, Caroline Gardiner and Colonel Fitzwilliam were married, in one of the happiest occasions the district had seen in many years. Caroline made a beautiful bride in a gown of the best French lace and silk her father could buy, and the Colonel in his uniform cut a very fine figure indeed. Caroline had warned all members of her family that they were not to weep. “This is my wedding day, and you are all to be as happy as I am,” she had declared, “no one is allowed to spoil it with tears.” Which was all very well, until it was time for the happy couple to leave, when Caroline embraced her mother and father and burst into tears. Young Emily, who had been her bridesmaid, followed suit, and soon a number of cousins and aunts were reaching for their handkerchiefs.

Caroline had grown from a rather pert and self-possessed little girl into a graceful and lovely young woman, with the intelligence and poise that a woman in her twenties might well envy. A credit to her parents, whose encouragement had played a big part in her development, she had also been advantaged by the very open, liberal environment of their home, where the children had always been encouraged to participate in family discussions and meet adult visitors, whenever it was appropriate.

She, like her brothers and sisters, had a pleasing sense of decorum quite beyond her years, which had been apparent in her model behaviour during the period of her romance and engagement to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Yet, they were so sincerely and openly devoted to one another, as to cause their friends to remark that neither would have been happy with any one else. Their long engagement, which had caused comment in some quarters, had only served to enhance and deepen their very genuine love. When they drove away, in an open landau, with most of the village wishing them well, no one could have doubted they were witnessing the start of a happy marriage.

Even Mrs Bennett, who had been heard to remark, on an earlier occasion, that she did not approve of big differences in age and long engagements for couples— even she was seen to dab her eyes and blow her nose as she wished the pair a long and happy marriage. She then proceeded to congratulate her brother and his wife on their daughter’s excellent match. “Caroline has done very well, Brother,” she said, as they moved indoors, “the dear Colonel used not to be such a good catch, being only a younger son. I recall at the time of Jane and Lizzie’s weddings, saying to my sister Mrs Philips, that it was a great pity he had no fortune, for he was such a well-mannered and charming young man and could have married anyone he wanted. But, dear Lord, he certainly has done well for himself after his stint in the colonies,” she said, somewhat carried away by her enthusiasm.

Mrs Gardiner, now her son-in-law’s greatest supporter, spoke up. “Colonel Fitzwilliam’s fortune is not merely the result of a stint in the colonies, Sister, he has worked very hard to invest his money wisely, and, as Mr Gardiner will agree I am sure, he is a most valuable and active partner in his business.” Mr Gardiner, realising that his wife’s sensitivities had been upset by his sister’s usual tactlessness, intervened to wholeheartedly defend Fitzwilliam. Mrs Gardiner added pointedly, “Of course it is satisfying to know that he is very comfortably situated now, but, Sister, I am sure you would agree that our greatest comfort must come from knowing that Colonel Fitzwilliam is a perfectly honourable and trustworthy gentleman, whose devotion to Caroline is unquestioned. Indeed, no sooner were they engaged than he proceeded to endow Caroline with considerable assets; despite the protestations of her father, he would not be deterred. We cannot think of anyone else we know to whom we would so gladly entrust our daughter’s happiness.”

Mrs Bennett appeared to open her mouth and then shut it again, quickly. It seemed she had thought better of making any further comment. Elizabeth and Jane, who had come into the room in time to hear the tail end of the conversation, could only shake their heads and sigh with relief that their husbands, who were still outdoors, had been spared their mother’s opinions. “Oh Lizzie, I do wish Mama would not upset Aunt Gardiner,” said Jane, taking her sister aside, “She is going to miss Caroline and can do without further aggravation.” Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, “You know what Mama is like. Nothing will stop her from saying whatever comes into her head.” Jane had resolved to take Mrs Bennet away with her, when they returned home.

“I have already asked Bingley and he has no objection; I shall go and ask Papa. I know Mama had intended to stay with my aunt and uncle, but I do not believe it is fair. I have already stopped her asking Uncle Gardiner whether Lady Catherine had been against the marriage and had stayed away to show her displeasure. I was happy to be able to assure her that Lady Catherine was unable to attend because she was ill.”

“In fact,” said Elizabeth, “Lady Catherine has met Caroline, and I am assured by Fitzwilliam, his aunt is very taken with her and has invited them to Rosings for Christmas together with James and Rosamund.” Jane expressed great surprise.

“Lizzie, you are not serious?”
“Indeed I am. Lady Catherine has probably realised that Fitzwilliam, being the youngest son of her cousin, is extremely fortunate to marry such a beautiful, accomplished, and charming young woman, who is also likely to be very wellendowed. For while, I am told, Fitzwilliam has asked for no marriage settlement, our uncle will insist on arranging for Caroline to have a very reasonable income of her own.” Jane promised she would tell her mother as soon as she had an opportunity to do so.
“If only Mama would stop talking, for just a little while,” she sighed.
Elizabeth agreed, “She will not cease asking questions and making predictions—it will drive Aunt Gardiner insane.” Jane nodded and went in search of her father to make arrangements for their journey. Left alone in the room, Elizabeth experienced a mixture of pleasure and guilt. She was undeniably pleased not to have her mother to stay at Pemberley, even if it was for one night, especially because they were playing host to the Hursts and Miss Bingley, who were returning to Bath on the following day. The prospect of her mother’s meeting the Bingley women and spending an entire evening with them was more mortifying than Elizabeth could bear. Yet, she felt guilty that she had allowed Jane to do what was clearly the right and proper thing, in relieving her aunt and uncle and having Mrs Bennet to stay at Ashford Park, instead. That Jane did not appear to feel any degree of strain herself, was a tribute to the stability and equanimity of her sister’s nature and the exceedingly tolerant attitude of her husband.
Mr Darcy came in search of his wife and found her looking anxious and uncertain, which was very unlike herself. He inquired and was told, with a sigh, that Elizabeth was wishing she had the same steady, unruffled calmness of her sister Jane. To which her husband replied that, while he thought Jane was one of the most beautiful women he had met and he agreed she had the most steady and gentle disposition, it was she, Elizabeth, with all her faults, who had bewitched him from their very first meeting, and since they were married, he did not think it was fair that she should want to change her nature now. Even though she knew he was teasing her, this ingenious argument so enchanted Elizabeth that, without warning, she warmly embraced him, unaware until she heard their laughter that three of the children had run into the room and were looking on with interest. Darcy laughed too, and said, “Let us go and find Mr and Mrs Gardiner, dearest. When I came in search of you, it was to tell you that they are to dine with us at Pemberley tonight.” Seeing her surprised expression, he added, “I thought and I am sure you would agree, my dear, that you would appreciate their company and since they would be missing Caroline, it would be a good idea to invite them to join us.”
“Darcy, it is a wonderful idea! At this moment, I cannot think of anything I should like better.” So delighted was Elizabeth that it was only the arrival of several other guests that saved Darcy from another public demonstration of her affection and gratitude, but her smile said it all. There was nothing she preferred to having her favourite aunt and uncle at her side, while entertaining Miss Bingley and the Hursts at Pemberley that evening. The respect and affection Mr Darcy always showed them would be, she felt, a salutary demonstration to their guests. That Darcy could have thought of her and of the Gardiners and arranged to please them all so well only reinforced her love and admiration for him. It was the kind of thoughtful gesture, he would freely admit, would not have occurred to him before he met and married her. Now he knew how much it meant to her, he was doubly pleased with his efforts. It would transform the entire evening from a dull and dutiful one into a pleasure for both of them.
The evening proceeded in an entirely predictable fashion, with the Hursts paying much more attention to Mr Darcy than to Elizabeth, and Caroline Bingley’s asking so many questions about Pemberley that one would have been forgiven for thinking she had a personal stake in the property. Indeed, so bewildered was Mr Hurst by the extent of Caroline’s interest that he fell asleep and snored rather loudly. Fortuitously, the timely interruption enabled Mrs Gardiner to change the conversation and ask Miss Bingley how she liked living in Bath. “Very well,” she replied, with a rather false brightness, “Oh, I like it very well indeed. One gets to meet so many people of real quality, and there is always something worthwhile one can attend.” Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, who did not appear to be listening, being intent on pouring out some wine. She was, therefore, very surprised when he responded to Miss Bingley’s question, addressed, as it was, to Mrs Gardiner.
Recalling that the Gardiners had left London to move to Derbyshire, Miss Bingley had remarked pointedly that they must surely miss the convenience of living close to their business premises in Cheapside. Before either of the Gardiners could reply, Darcy, who had returned with a glass of wine for Mrs Gardiner, intervened in a polite but cold voice, “That is hardly likely, Miss Bingley, since most of the business has moved West to the Midlands, and the port of Liverpool rather than London is fast becoming our chief trading centre.” Miss Bingley raised her eyebrows in mock astonishment.
“Why, Mr Darcy, you seem to be exceedingly well-informed on matters of trade,” the inflection in her voice suggesting that trade was surely a subject far beneath Mr Darcy’s attention. Her attempt to insult his guests infuriated Darcy. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “And why should that surprise you, Miss Bingley? I do not deny it. Considering that your brother and I have been partners in Mr Gardiner’s Commercial Trading Company for several years and have been recently joined by Colonel Fitzwilliam, it would surely be far more surprising if I was not,” adding, “I confess I had a great deal to learn—Bingley had the advantage over me there.” Darcy was too much of a gentleman to remind her that their father had been in trade himself, but the implication was clear. “But Mr Gardiner has been a most patient teacher, and I have found it a most engrossing subject. It is, without any doubt, the key to the future prosperity of our nation,” he concluded.
Caroline Bingley was the kind of woman who never seemed to know when to leave well alone. Her attempt to insult the Gardiners with references to their background in trade had obviously backfired and angered Darcy into what could only be seen as a rebuke. Elizabeth met her aunt’s eyes and knew she was fighting to keep from smiling at Miss Bingley’s embarrassment. She remembered well a similar incident in this same room, when on a visit to Pemberley before her engagement to Darcy. Miss Bingley, who was also a dinner guest, had tried to humiliate her with a reference to Wickham and had hit the wrong target, upsetting Georgiana instead. On that occasion, too, she had stupidly angered the very person with whom she was trying to ingratiate herself.
Miss Bingley tried again, “But what made you choose Derbyshire?” she asked, this time, turning to Mr Gardiner, who began to explain that his wife was born and raised in the county. Once again, Mr Darcy intervened quite deliberately, “Mrs Gardiner and I had the good fortune to grow up not five miles from each other in what we both agree is the best of all counties in England,” he said casually, and as Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle listened, hardly believing what they were hearing, he went on, “I was aware of Mrs Gardiner’s great attachment to this district; we had spoken of it often and of the family’s hopes of returning to the area, which was why I suggested that Mr Gardiner take a look at Oakleigh Manor, when it came up for sale. As for the rest, I am quite sure Mr and Mrs Gardiner will gladly tell you how happy they’ve been since moving there.” As the Gardiners nodded and smiled agreement and Elizabeth could barely conceal her delight, Miss Bingley’s confusion was complete. Despite the best efforts of the kindly Mr Gardiner, who tried to keep the conversation going, there was little more for Caroline to say. Mercifully, Mr Hurst snored again, and as if on cue, the footman brought in the candles. The Hursts and Miss Bingley decided it was time to retire; they had to make an early start, but not before they witnessed an affectionate leave taking between Elizabeth and Darcy and Mr and Mrs Gardiner, with promises to meet again soon.
Once their guests had retired, Elizabeth said not a word to her husband on the subject of Miss Bingley’s humiliation, intending to let the matter drop, believing that would be his wish too. She was therefore more than a little surprised when Darcy said quietly, “You can stop pretending now, Lizzie; you may laugh if you wish.”
Elizabeth did laugh but not at Miss Bingley’s discomfiture alone; she was also laughing at herself, “And to think that, when I first met you, I thought you had no sense of humour,” she said. Darcy smiled, permitting himself a small degree of satisfaction. He knew that despite her reticence, Elizabeth was delighted with what had transpired that evening. Recalling the many occasions on which Miss Bingley and her sister had either insulted or patronised Elizabeth, before she became his wife, Darcy was happy to have been able to even the score. Standing at the window beside him, Elizabeth thought of Caroline and Fitzwilliam. From the bottom of her heart, she wished them happiness. That they loved each other dearly was not in doubt. If they could find within themselves deeper sources of that joy, they would be happy indeed.
As if reading her thoughts, Darcy remarked, “If Fitzwilliam and Caroline are as happy in five years’ time, as we are tonight, they can count themselves truly fortunate. Do you not agree, my dearest?” And of course, she did.

J

The birth of a son to Georgiana and Francis Grantley, in the spring of 1822, took Darcy and Elizabeth to Oxford, for his baptism. At the University, the movement for reform was gaining support, despite the draconian laws enacted to muzzle dissent. A new generation of writers and artists had joined the political agitators in calling for reform. These were more liberal minds with dreams of democracy and equality. The poets Shelley, Keats, and Byron were replacing Wordsworth, whose conservatism was regarded by the young as a betrayal. They, like Pushkin, Balzac, and Victor Hugo, who dominated the European scene, used their artistic reputations in the political struggle. The Greek war of independence fired their imaginations with romantic, often unrealistic aims, for which some Englishmen were ready to die. It was an exciting, if uncertain, time to be alive.

Dr Grantley and his charming young wife had around them a circle of artistic and academic friends, whose company, far from overwhelming young Georgiana, had served to stimulate her interest in a range of new ideas and activities. In addition to singing and playing the harp and pianoforte, Georgiana began to take an interest in teaching music. She expressed a hope that she might, one day, find time to study how to teach young children to perform and appreciate music. Elizabeth and Darcy continued to be amazed at the blossoming of her once shy and diffident character. “If anyone had told me two or three years ago that my young sister would host a soirée with such aplomb, I would not have believed them,” he declared. Elizabeth agreed and added, “What is most pleasing is the way she seems to enjoy it all so much.” Darcy believed that Georgiana was responding to the environment in which marriage to Francis Grantley had placed her. “The richness of experiences offered by such a centre of artistic and intellectual activity is a very exciting prospect, even if one is not directly involved. Georgiana is clearly enjoying it.”

The Grantleys frequently attended chamber music concerts and operatic recitals with the Continis, with whom they had developed a particular intimacy. On this occasion, they invited Elizabeth and Darcy to accompany them and spent a most enjoyable evening with the Italian family, who had a sumptuous villa at Richmond, as well as their town house in Portman Square. Their sincere affection for Georgiana was quite obvious. Rich gifts of plate and crystal had arrived for her wedding, and now her son was showered with presents.

The Continis travelled frequently to Europe, and from them, Darcy and Elizabeth learned a great deal about events taking place there. The French appeared to be teetering on the edge of chaos, with revolution followed by monarchy, followed by further revolution, while in their native Italy, liberal, nationalistic movements had been crushed, and young patriots were looking for new leaders.

The Continis had a serious interest in music and were keen to endow a scholarship for the study of English music. They pointed out to Darcy and Elizabeth that much of the music being performed and composed in England was German in character. The Court had extended its patronage to composers like Bach, Handel, and Mendelsohn. “All very wonderful musicians but not very English,” said Signora Contini.

“Who is composing or playing English music?” asked her husband. It was a question that did not admit of an easy answer, because if the truth were told, apart from the country people, who held to their old traditions, those who would be a part of the “elegant society” sought to cultivate the style of European art and manners.

Dr Grantley and Georgiana invited Darcy and Elizabeth to consider the proposition of allowing such a scholar to spend a part of the year at Pemberley using the resources of the library, with its collection of art, literature, and music, to study and compose. “Have you a particular person in mind?” asked Elizabeth, interested enough to want to know more.

“Yes, indeed, “ replied Dr Grantley, “there are two likely candidates at least; one is a very talented young theology scholar, who also composes and helps with the choir, and the other is an older man—already in Holy Orders, but keen to study and compose sacred music.”

Georgiana pleaded, and Elizabeth knew it would not be long before Darcy acceded to her request. There was hardly any occasion on which he had refused his young sister anything.

Elizabeth made her own contribution with a comment that such a person might be a good influence upon Cassandra and William, who were approaching an age when more formal teaching in music than their mother could give them was needed.

It was clear that Darcy was going to allow himself to be persuaded. He raised no objection and listened most attentively to all they had to say. Finally, he said, “Well, Francis, we will leave the selection in your hands, but I shall insist that Elizabeth have the final say on who it will be, after she has met them. Since the person you choose will live in our neighbourhood and be a frequent visitor to Pemberley, which is our home, I must insist on it.” It was generally felt that this was a most reasonable condition, and so it was agreed that a selected scholar would start work in the Autumn. Lodgings would be arranged for him at Kympton, where the curate’s house lay vacant.

This was the manner by which a young theology student, Mr James Courtney, came to live in the village of Kympton, worship at the church, and ride over to Pemberley each day. He was the first endowed scholar of English music to work at Pemberley.

The people of the parish of Kympton were delighted. The arrival of a young, active man, even if he were only a student of theology and not a proper curate, as they said, would add interest to their church activities, which, since the departure of the last curate at Kympton, had depended upon the generosity of the incumbents of neighbouring parishes. They hoped that young Mr Courtney would use the opportunity to do something for their parish, which had felt rather neglected since the living fell vacant. Mrs Gardiner, who together with her daughters had put a great deal of work into the little school at Kympton, was doubly pleased to discover the special interest that James Courtney had in music, since the school could do with some help.

As for his work at Pemberley, both Darcy and Elizabeth welcomed him and urged him to apply to the housekeeper for any assistance he may need, but so overwhelmed was he by the wealth of material he found and the quality of the collection, that he would scarcely leave the library all day. Mrs Reynolds complained that he hardly ate the food that was set out for him in a little ante-room, so engrossed was he in his work. Quiet and studious James Courtney was a very keen scholar indeed.

J

The Summer of 1822 saw many children born to the families, whose stories are recorded in the Pemberley chronicles: to Kitty and Huw Jenkins, twin daughters named Elizabeth Anne and Maria Jane; to Kitty’s friend Maria Lucas, now Faulkner, who already had a daughter, Katherine, a much longedfor son, Daniel. News also came of the fourth child born to Lydia and Wickham, another son to bear his father’s not particularly distinguished name. By now, even Mrs Bennet had grown bored with Lydia’s confinements and could not be persuaded to travel to Newcastle for the event. She claimed to Jane that she was tired of the rattling coach and the dusty roads, but Elizabeth and Jane agreed that their mother was more probably tired of prattling and wailing grandchildren, who had long lost their novelty for her.

The happiest news of all came in the Summer, when it was confirmed that Mr and Mrs Gardiner would soon be grandparents. Caroline, who had spent a good deal of time helping Fitzwilliam with his campaign to collect the petitions for reform, had not admitted, even to herself, that she longed for a child. Yet, when after almost two years of marriage, she was still childless, her cousins could not fail to see the longing in her eyes as she played with their children.

The news that she would be a mother in the Autumn brought a great rush of joy to all her family and friends. For her husband, whose ambitions she had supported while she hid her own disappointment, it was a special time of happiness. The love and loyalty she had so selflessly given him, he repaid tenfold, and they appeared to have that special talent for sharing their happiness around, with a bright, infectious optimism, born of conviction and hard work. They looked forward to their child as to a blessed gift.

But, even in the midst of life, we are in Death.
Two unrelated events happened almost at once, changing the hopeful mood of the Summer of 1822 to one of sadness and, in some quarters, despair. The suicide of Castlereagh, now the Marquis of Londonderry—an aristocratic statesman and a patriot, a man more loathed than he deserved to be—was probably the lowest point in the nation’s descent into political chaos. Fitzwilliam brought the news. He had been in London, lobbying for the repeal of the AntiCombination Laws enacted at the height of the Napoleonic wars, when repression was accepted as a necessary evil. Calling at Oakleigh to see his in-laws and collect his wife, who had spent a few days with her parents, he appeared gravefaced and not at all himself.
Caroline, who had helped with preparing some of his material, asked quickly if anything was amiss. She feared he had been unable to see anyone in the Parliament. Was it disappointment, or, worse, had he been refused a hearing? Passionately involved in the struggle to repeal the laws that prevented working men from forming associations or unions by declaring them to be illegal, Fitzwilliam had gone to London to meet with men like Francis Place and the Radical Joseph Hume, but to his great consternation found the place in chaos, as the news of Castlereagh’s death spread like wildfire through Westminster and the city. It seemed inconceivable that such a distinguished man, apparently at the pinnacle of his career, should take his own life. The news, when Fitzwilliam succeeded in breaking it gently to Caroline and her parents, shocked and horrified them. That a man who had devoted so much of his life to the practice of government and diplomacy should die in such a manner was impossible to comprehend. Widely hated, especially by the younger Radicals, the Foreign Secretary had yet been, in the last few years, a peacemaker, working hard to prevent another conflagration in Europe—as the Greeks fought for their independence from Turkish tyranny.
Fitzwilliam told of the confusion that reigned in Westminster. “No one could understand his motives, unless it was the agony of frustration and a kind of personal rage against the world,” he said, still rather shaken and welcoming the respite afforded by the Gardiners, whose wholesome goodness and consistency contrasted with the anarchic atmosphere of the city he had left behind.
Later that year came worse news, with the drowning of the poet Shelley in the Aegean Sea. He had gone with fellow Romantic Byron and others to help the Greeks in their struggle and was lost at sea. Caroline wept, when the news came. She, having transferred her loyalty from Wordsworth to Shelley and Keats, was distressed to find that they were so short-lived, dying tragically, within a year of each other. It seemed as if the young lives of those who could be called upon to fight for reform and enlightenment were being wasted.
“Can you not see that we are losing the best?” she cried, when Elizabeth, who loved her young cousin dearly, sought to console her.
“I can, and I share your sorrow for their passing, dearest Caroline, but remember there will be others. Fitzwilliam is sure that the mood is changing; people are demanding change. It must come.” While her cousin’s words and presence served to comfort Caroline, they did not convince her that circumstances were about to improve. From her experience of helping Fitzwilliam over the last two years, she knew how difficult the political struggle could be. For a while, it seemed she would be inconsolable, and her parents worried about her health. But Nature reasserted her own power.
Later that year, when in the final month of Autumn her son was born, the change in Caroline was so remarkable that it was difficult to believe she had been so despondent but a few months ago. Her mother’s support and excellent common sense, combined with the unswerving love and care of her husband, brought her through a difficult birth, and soon she settled into a comfortable domesticity, from which she had apparently no desire to be emancipated—for some years at least. A daughter, born a year later, brought even greater delight, and it was hardly possible to recall that this thoroughly contented young woman with her delightful children was the same girl who had wept inconsolably for Keats and Shelley.
Darcy permitted himself a little smugness, “I did urge you not to worry too much, Lizzie. I was certain that Caroline’s innate good sense would reassert itself,” he said, and Elizabeth had to admit he had been right. Fitzwilliam, meanwhile, continued his campaign, working with the Reformists and the Whigs to defeat the Tories, whose disreputable and discredited government hung on for as long as they could.
It was only after the death of George IV, unlamented and despised, and the accession to the throne of William IV, the Sailor King, in 1830, that matters of reform came to the fore again. The old Iron Duke’s government was tottering. Many businessmen, who had joined up with the Reformist Whigs, Lords Russell, and Durham in an unlikely alliance, begged the Tories to throw him out. Despite their distrust of the Whigs, the working class Reformists Cobbett and Place, as well as the middle class leaders like Brougham, had no alternative but to accept the assurance of Lord Grey, who vowed to fight the next election on the issue of Parliamentary reform.
Fitzwilliam and his supporters, who were out daily collecting signatures for their petitions and money for their campaign, sought “Power for the People” in Westminster and in their local districts. But it was a fair bet that they would have to wait rather longer for it than the forthcoming election.
None of this appeared to worry Caroline, whose devotion to her husband’s cause was total. “Collecting signatures for Fitzy,” was as much a part of her domestic life as looking after her children or helping her charities.
With both her children and frequently her younger sister Emily, she would set out from home in her pony trap to carry the message to the denizens of Matlock, Lambton, Kympton, and Ripley, clambering up rocky paths to reach farmhouses and fording streams to get the information to isolated cottages and often stopping at markets and fair grounds to distribute pamphlets or collect signatures. Her enthusiasm surprised her mother and her cousins, but her father, though he said little in public, was obviously proud of the tenacity and courage of his daughter.
The Gardiners regarded themselves as a family blessed with many gifts, especially with regard to their children. If there was a smidgen of disappointment, it related to Robert, whose somewhat lacklustre personality contrasted with the charm of his sisters and older brother. When Mr Gardiner regarded Caroline, however, he felt he was completely compensated for any minor dissatisfaction he might experience with any of his other children, by the sense of purpose, the energy and sheer delight she seemed to bring to the whole business of living. It infected and enthused everyone around her and gave her a lustre that set her apart.
Marriage to Fitzwilliam had broadened Caroline’s horizons and afforded her access to a new, exciting world of social and political causes, which she gladly embraced. What astonished her family and friends was her ability to throw herself into all of these activities, while remaining a warm and loving woman, whose husband and children had the best of her care and love at all times.
Elizabeth and Jane, whose happy marriages were the product of much less hard work and a good deal more comfort and leisure, never quite understood what motivated their young cousin. But they had no doubt at all of her happiness.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

And time, perchance, to start anew

M

R DARCY AND ELIZABETH had not expected to be in Kent again in the summer of 1830. They were to have joined the Bingleys, whose children were firm friends of Cassandra and William, in a tour of

the Cotswolds, when two events, unrelated and quite unpredictable, had intervened to force a change of plan.

In late July, King George IV died. While his demise was hardly a matter for lamentation, it did necessitate the presence at Westminster of Fitzwilliam, who was standing for Parliament in the General Election that would surely follow. Since it was hardly fair that all three of Mr Gardiner’s partners in business should be away at once, plans had to be rearranged. Jane and Elizabeth, who had been looking forward very much to the holiday together, were disappointed but had hoped a postponement would suffice until, not ten days later, there came the news of the untimely death of Mr Collins. While he had never been a man for whom she could feel anything above mild contempt, Elizabeth was deeply shocked because of the effect his death would have upon her dear friend Charlotte. Darcy had broken the news to her in the very early hours of the morning. A message had been received from Rosings, the express rider having ridden overnight, and Darcy’s concern was written all over his countenance, when he gently woke his wife. “Dearest, we have some grave news,” and as Elizabeth sat up, afraid that it concerned her father, whose health had caused some anxiety last Winter, Darcy held her and told her that Charlotte’s husband had died, suddenly, the previous evening. Elizabeth’s reaction was instantaneous, “Oh my God! poor Charlotte, I must go to her at once.”

Darcy, who had anticipated her wishes, had already sent a message to Lambton informing the Gardiners and requesting their help with the children. Elizabeth rose and set about making preparations for the journey.

For most of the long drive, broken only to change horses and take refreshment, apart from the detour to Oakleigh with the children, Elizabeth was silent. Her face betrayed the feelings of guilt and sorrow that afflicted her. Her unhappiness stemmed, not from any feeling of great loss at the death of Mr Collins, but more from the realisation that, while she had frequently remarked quite cruelly upon the odd behaviour of the man her friend had married and shared her critical observations with others, now he was dead and Charlotte would be left to fend for herself, without the security that marriage to Mr Collins had brought her. On one occasion, her unhappiness was so plainly written upon her face that Darcy reached out and took her hand, hoping to offer comfort but succeeded only in releasing a flood of tears. “Poor Charlotte, whatever will she do now? What will become of her three girls?” she cried, “How will they live and where?”

Darcy understood her concern and tried to reassure her. “I cannot believe that they will be left unprovided for. There is no doubt that Lady Catherine has a very high regard for Mrs Collins, and I believe she is especially attached to young Catherine. She is not an entirely uncaring person and will certainly not turn them out of the parsonage at Hunsford before appropriate accommodation is found for them. It is a valuable living, and my aunt will take time to find a suitable replacement for Mr Collins, who was also her personal chaplain; that will surely afford Mrs Collins time to make what arrangements may be necessary for herself and her daughters,” he explained.

Elizabeth was not so sanguine. Her more intimate knowledge of the Lucases gave her much cause for concern about her friend’s future. “But where will they live? I cannot believe that Sir William can afford to have them all at Lucas Lodge. He has been much less active in business since his illness last year, and I do believe he has intimated to Papa that his eldest son, who is now away in India, expects to return to the house. Should he marry soon after, there will be no question of Charlotte and her children continuing at Lucas Lodge.” Elizabeth sounded so distressed that Darcy was genuinely concerned that she might make herself ill with worry. Speaking even more gently than before, he sought to assuage her anxiety with argument.

“Dearest Lizzie, I understand completely and share your concern, but I cannot believe that Charlotte and her daughters will be left destitute. While Mr Collins may have been somewhat ridiculous in his manners and pompous in his speech, there is plenty of evidence that he was well able to obtain advantage for himself and his family. Please, my love, let us wait until all of the facts are known, and then, I promise that if there is need to help Mrs Collins and her daughters, in whatever way is appropriate, it will be done. I shall speak to my aunt, if necessary; I give you my word, Elizabeth, your friend will not be left helpless.”

So determined and sincere were his words that Elizabeth, who knew she could believe him implicitly, was sufficiently reassured to allow her to regain her composure, as they turned into the lane that ran along the boundary of Rosings Park, leading directly to the parsonage at Hunsford. Her Ladyship’s regard for Mrs Collins was apparent even as they alighted. A manservant had been sent to meet visitors and assist them as they arrived. Elizabeth hurried indoors to find a parlour maid, also from Rosings, serving tea.

Charlotte and her three daughters, in deep mourning, rose to meet them, and as the two women embraced, tears stained their faces. All three girls were redeyed with crying. While Catherine, the eldest, who was now fifteen, tried valiantly to keep control of her feelings, as she stood with her mother, young Rebecca’s lip trembled as Elizabeth put her arms around her, and little AmeliaJane, who was only nine, hid her face in her mother’s skirts and sobbed. So affected was Darcy, that he seemed quite unable to resort to the usual formalities that obtained on such occasions, and bending down, he gathered the little girl into his arms to comfort her. Even Charlotte, in her grief, could manage a smile, and Elizabeth’s love for him almost caused her to weep again, for she alone knew how deeply he was affected and how sincerely he cared.

Later, she knew he would assist in any way possible, when there had been time to talk to Charlotte of practical matters. For the moment, she had no doubt of his concern for her friend and her three children, left without the husband and father they had hoped would provide for their future. As others arrived to commiserate and console, Elizabeth moved to help without fuss, wherever she could. Lady Catherine’s generosity, a form of “noblesse oblige” no doubt, extended to providing one of her smaller carriages with a driver for Charlotte’s use and baskets of food and drink, which had been delivered to the kitchen. It was left to Elizabeth to organise the servants and look after the needs of the children, so as to spare Charlotte.

Meanwhile, Darcy drove on to the inn, a short distance up the road, where they would stay the night, having arranged to meet with the Bingleys before the funeral, for which preparations were afoot at the church. Later, he called on Lady Catherine and spoke with her manager at Rosings, where he learned that Mr Collins would receive the ultimate accolade of being laid to rest in a part of the family estate reserved for good and faithful retainers. Darcy did not doubt that Mr Collins would have been gratified indeed, to be so honoured by his patron.

Returning to the parsonage in the late afternoon, through the familiar woods, he found Elizabeth wandering somewhat aimlessly amidst the trees in almost the exact spot where many years ago, he had waited for her, intending to hand her a letter which he had hoped would exonerate him of charges laid at his door by George Wickham.

The Darcys had been invited to Rosings following Georgiana’s wedding, which Her Ladyship had approved of sufficiently to let her rehabilitate her once-favourite nephew and his wife to a level of acceptability. However, they had never had the occasion to walk in this part of the grounds. Meeting there now brought a rush of nostalgia.

Silently, they held hands, each remembering but reluctant, in the face of the solemn reason for their present visit, to speak of their memories. Still, so attuned had they become to each other’s thoughts and feelings over the years of marriage, that words were scarcely necessary, as they walked slowly back to the parsonage. As the footpath widened to meet the lane, Darcy spoke, “I have seen Lady Catherine. You need have no fears, Lizzie, it is just as I thought; Mrs Collins will receive a small annuity as well as any accumulated savings her husband had set aside. Perhaps best of all, Lady Catherine has endowed young Miss Collins, who is her goddaughter, with a sum sufficient to provide her with a good education and a small income. In fact, she appears to have been quite generous. My aunt is genuinely distressed at the death of Mr Collins, especially as it happened when he was inspecting with her a newly restored window in the chapel. He suffered a sudden seizure and collapsed, and though her own doctor was called immediately, Mr Collins was found to have died almost instantly. I am told Lady Catherine came to the parsonage herself, to break the news to Mrs Collins.”

Elizabeth, astonished by his account of events, was silent as Darcy continued, “As for their accommodation, they can stay at the parsonage for as long as they need to make alternative arrangements; my aunt is in no hurry to replace Mr Collins. The rector from a living in the South of the estate will visit Rosings and provide services at the chapel. However, if after the funeral, you would like to invite Charlotte and the girls to spend some time at Pemberley, it may help them to come to terms with their loss in less painful surroundings.”

Though Elizabeth had remained silent during this elucidation of Charlotte’s circumstances, she was certainly not unmoved by it. It was a clear demonstration of her husband’s thoughtfulness and consideration even for those outside his own circle of family and friends. She had been pondering, as she wandered the groves around Rosings, the injustice of Charlotte’s fate—bereft as she was of the man she had married for some small security from poverty—the man Elizabeth had scorned but who had given Charlotte a comfortable home and loving daughters; it was a turn of fate Elizabeth could not begin to comprehend. Darcy had set her heart at rest, at least for the immediate future.

As they reached the stile over which he helped her into the lane, she embraced him with warmth and expressed her gratitude, “Thank you, thank you, my dear, dear husband. Whatever would I do without you?” she said and was rewarded with a smile that reminded her of his response, the first time she had admitted to him, on the road between Longbourn and Meryton, that her feelings for him had undergone a complete change since his first, disastrous proposal at Hunsford. They had, by now, reached the house and found waiting outside the carriage that had brought Sir William Lucas, Maria, and her family. Not wishing to intrude upon them, they walked on towards the inn, where Charles and Jane were expected to join them by nightfall. There had been no time to call on them; a rider was sent from Pemberley, with a hurried note bearing the distressing news and advising of the arrangements for the funeral.

When they arrived, Jane was almost sick with the strain of the journey and anxiety for Charlotte and her children. Bingley, who helped her to the room upstairs, looked tired and worn himself. Unused to personal grief since the death of his parents many years ago, he could barely cope with the shock of mortality. Jane was so tender-hearted that she could almost suffer with Charlotte the grief she was sure their friend must feel.

Elizabeth, aware of her sister’s sensibility, proceeded quickly to reassure her with Darcy’s account of his meeting with Lady Catherine. Jane was still deeply sad for Charlotte, but at least it seemed there would be no question of financial privation to follow.

“It does seem, dear Jane, that Mr Collins possessed rather more good sense than we credited him with, I should say I credited him with, for I recall you were never as ready as I was to condemn him,” said Elizabeth. Jane dabbed her tearstreaked face again.

“Dear Lizzie, all through the journey from Ashford, I have suffered such remorse for all the unkind things we have said of poor Mr Collins. I could not believe he was dead and dear Charlotte and her three girls left to fend for themselves.” Elizabeth hastened to reassure her, “Hush, Jane, there is no need to worry. Mr Darcy assures me that Charlotte and the girls will be looked after.”

Unlike Elizabeth, Jane had never censured Charlotte for her decision to accept Mr Collins. She appreciated that Charlotte, who was almost twentyseven at the time, had few options open to her if she did not marry, and while Mr Collins was surely one of the silliest men she had ever had the misfortune to meet, Jane could find little wrong with the manner in which he lavished care and attention upon his wife and family. That he was obsequious and excessively deferential to his patron, Lady Catherine, and exceedingly pompous in his expression of his own brand of morality seemed to Jane to be extraneous matters, which may have caused some amusement to observers but did not materially damage his family. Indeed, she pointed out, it now transpired that his attentions to Lady Catherine may have resulted in greatly alleviating the tragic consequences for his family of his own demise.

Elizabeth, despite her reservations, had to admit that this was probably true. It was neither the time nor the occasion to say it, but she knew that however straitened her own circumstances had been, she could never have countenanced marriage to Mr Collins.

As she prepared for the funeral, Elizabeth wondered whether she may not, one day, come to look upon present events as merely another turning point in Charlotte’s life, rather than the dreadful tragedy they seemed to be at this moment. Charlotte had always been able to ride calmly over the rough as well as the smooth waters of life. Elizabeth was certain she would do so again. She was, however, sufficiently sensitive to Jane’s feelings to keep her thoughts to herself.

After the funeral, which was suitably solemn and full of high sentence, and a mournful little gathering at Rosings, where a tribute was paid to the faithful service given to Lady Catherine and her household by the late Mr Collins, the families repaired to the parsonage at Hunsford.

There, among her friends and family, Charlotte put aside her black bonnet and veil and served tea and biscuits in the parlour. Her face was grave and pale, but she was calm and collected as she slipped into her household routine and her daughters likewise, all but little Amelia-Jane, whose eyes were still red with weeping. “She was her father’s favourite,” Charlotte remarked, as Jane tried to coax the child to eat a biscuit. Elizabeth was touched. She had not believed Mr Collins would have had a favourite child, so full of correctness and pompous moral rectitude had he seemed whenever they met. Could he have had hidden depths of feeling, as a parent? “He spoilt her,” Charlotte continued, “I think he was trying to make amends for the disappointment he expressed so openly, when she was born. He had wanted a son, you see, Lizzie,” said Charlotte, as usual, putting it all into perspective. Jane and Elizabeth nodded, both unable to make any response. It was not the picture of Mr Collins they had had.

Later, as they prepared to leave, Elizabeth and Darcy extracted from Charlotte a promise to visit them at Pemberley. It was a promise Charlotte would find no difficulty in keeping, so grateful was she for the support and kindness of her two childhood friends and their husbands, for whom she had a good deal of respect.

She agreed to come to them just as soon as she had completed the formalities and attended to all her obligations at Hunsford. “Lady Catherine has been very kind. She has said I can take all the time I need and has offered me the help of her manager for the paperwork. But, I am anxious to get it done as soon as possible, Lizzie; I shall not outstay my welcome,” she said firmly.

“Then you must come to us, dear Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, “And bring the children. Cassy longs for the company of a little girl; it will do all of us good.” “We can promise you a peaceful Derbyshire Autumn,” added Darcy, and

Charlotte, despite her dark widow’s weeds, smiled.
“It is always so peaceful at Pemberley; I love it above all other places. Thank
you both for your kindness. Yes, I shall be with you, soon.”
Returning to Derbyshire, they found the Fitzwilliams in a state of high
excitement, engaged most assiduously in the campaign for the election they
knew was coming. There was much activity at Oakleigh also, because Richard,
the Gardiners’ eldest son, was expected home from Paris, where he had completed his studies to become a physician. Caroline and Fitzwilliam, well aware
of his strong social conscience, were eager to involve him in their campaign for
reform, while his parents simply longed to have him home again, after almost
two years in France.
Following the death of King George and the defeat of the Tory government
led by the Duke of Wellington, the Whigs, pledging reform, had won the support of the powerful merchant and middle classes. Reformists, who had found
new inspiration in the exciting developments in Europe, particularly in France,
supported the Whig proposal as a good start, though it did not give them even
half of what they wanted. Compared to the achievements of the bloodless Paris
Revolution, of the “three glorious days,” which brought the downfall of Charles
X, the Whig’s proposals for change had seemed to provide little, but Fitzwilliam
explained, “They were the best they could get and would whet the appetite of
the middle classes for electoral reform.”
Lord Grey was promising a Reform Bill which would change the electoral
system and give a share of power to the men who, through industry and trade,
were building the wealth of their nation. Hitherto, Parliament had been dominated by the aristocracy and the landed gentry: it was time for the rest of the
people to assert their rights, too. This became the catchcry of Fitzwilliam’s supporters, as they organised meetings and street parades. They knew only an election and a new Parliament could deliver a genuine Reform Bill. While no
women could vote and most ordinary people, who did not own land, were shut
out of the Parliament, Caroline and her husband believed that getting information into the homes and hands of the working people would pay dividends
in the future.
To their amazement, Darcy and Elizabeth returning from a visit to the
Gardiners, found Caroline in a tiny pony trap, with her two children and her sister Emily beside her, handing out pamphlets outside the inn at Lambton. There appeared to be a great deal of interest, as people stopped to ask questions, and Caroline, obviously well-schooled by Fitzwilliam, had all the answers down
pat. “I cannot believe it,” said Elizabeth, “she used to be so shy.” Darcy laughed, “She’ll have Fitzwilliam run for the Ministry, mark my
words. She may be little, but she has one of the brightest minds of any young
woman I know. Mr Gardiner confessed to me that he was sorry Caroline had
not chosen to go into the business. He believes she is far smarter than Robert.
He’s very proud of her.” Elizabeth had to agree that her young cousin was surely
the bright light in her family. Emily was studious and quiet, with a nice sense
of humour, but without the distinctive charm of her elder sister, and Robert,
though a polite and good-looking young man, seemed not to be filled with
enthusiasm for anything at all. There was an unfortunate flatness about his personality that discouraged all but the most superficial engagement. Caroline, on
the other hand, was always enthusiastic about any task she undertook, her fine
eyes sparkling as she threw herself into her work, whether she was collecting
donations for the poor or signatures for petitions. There was no doubt that her
husband benefited to a great degree from the charm and grace that came so naturally to her. It was an advantage that many ambitious young Parliamentarians
would have given a great deal to acquire.
Her brother, Richard, who, while he was not the eldest, had the advantage of
height and weight over both his sisters, had remained something of a mystery to
all but his immediate family. By the time the family moved to Derbyshire, he was
at boarding school, and while his younger brother ventured no further than
Cambridge before moving into his father’s business, Richard had decided he
wanted to be a physician. So single-minded was his pursuit of this ambition that
he excelled at his studies in Edinburgh and was recommended by his masters to
study further in Paris, where he soon lived up to his earlier promise. Now, he was coming home with plans to practice, not in fashionable
London or Bath, but in Birmimgham.
“Why Birmingham?” asked Elizabeth, for she knew her aunt had hoped he
would return to live at home and work in the district.
“That was exactly my question, Lizzie,” said Mrs Gardiner, confessing she
was disappointed, but her son had made up his mind, as his reply, which she
removed from her pocket book and gave Elizabeth to read, made quite clear. In answer to his mother’s query, Richard wrote:

Because, my dearest Mama, they need doctors in Birmingham, where no one wants to treat the working people. In Derbyshire, you have at least some good surgeons and a hospital. The ordinary people of Birmingham have nothing. If they are too poor to get a doctor, they simply die at home. I have been greatly privileged by my education, and I feel I must give something back to the people who need help. But have no fear, Mama, you will have me at home as often as you wish, when I am not working, Oakleigh is where I shall lay my head. You may soon tire of having me around. Dear Mama, a friend, who has worked with me these last two years, is also coming to England. He is Paul Antoine, the youngest son of a family I have come to know well. He will join me in my practice and work as my assistant. I am sure you will like him very much. His mother was English, but sadly, she has died, and this will be his first visit to England in ten years. He is rather shy; I hope we can make him welcome. I know you will. I long to be at home with all of you.

Your loving son,
Richard.

It appeared to Elizabeth, as she handed back the letter, that her aunt had already accepted that her son would work where he wanted. She was clearly happy he was returning and grateful that he had no plans as yet to leave the family home. Mrs Gardiner loved all her children, but there was never any doubt that Richard was the very apple of her eye. She was exceedingly proud of his achievements and, fiercely loyal, would not criticise his decision, even though she was disappointed with it.

Elizabeth was convinced that once Richard was back among them, his mother, having been converted by her son to his point of view, would become his greatest advocate. Already she spoke warmly of the unselfishness that must surely have influenced his decision, a sentiment that Darcy and Elizabeth could only endorse, even though they had some reservations about its wisdom.

Some days later, Fitzwilliam and Caroline were dining at Pemberley. When Elizabeth revealed Richard’s plans to work in Birmingham, Fitzwilliam’s response to the news was very different to hers. He pointed out that Birmingham, with its famous Political Union for Reform, led by Thomas Attwood, was fast becoming a centre for the Reform Movement. “It is an excellent place for a clever young man like Richard to work. He will not only come into contact with many of the working people and their families, he will understand their problems and be able to press for reforms that would help alleviate their misery. Believe me, Lizzie, they need him far more than do the middle class matrons of Derby.” Elizabeth was unwilling to let that barb pass, and a riposte was on the tip of her tongue, when Caroline intervened to soothe her irritation. “Dear Cousin Lizzie, do not let him tease you. For shame, Fitzy,” she chided and continued, “What he really means is Richard is not just a good physician; he will be a doctor with a conscience and an understanding of the need for changes in places like Birmingham. He will be able to use his influence with the local councillors and Members of Parliament to help those who will otherwise have no one to speak up for them. Am I not right, Fitzy?”

The endearing sobriquet, which no one else was permitted to use, softened Fitzwilliam’s countenance and brought a smile to the faces of both Darcy and Elizabeth. Fitzwilliam nodded, admitting his wife was right and what was more, she had expressed his ideas far more succinctly than he had done, but Darcy did add a cautionary note. “I am quite sure Richard will work hard at helping the sick people of Birmingham, and I have no doubt at all of his sincerity of purpose, but he will need more than his physician’s skills to convince the councillors to spend any money on a hospital. I believe they have resisted all efforts to improve the conditions at the cottage hospital that provides such inadequate care for the poor, and they cannot be persuaded to pay for an extension to the schoolhouse. I wish him well, but I fear he faces an uphill struggle.”

After dinner, the conversation turned inevitably to the election and the promised Reform Bill. Fitzwilliam was certain that Lord Grey would keep his word. Darcy was not so sure. He pointed out that the Whigs were every bit as “aristocratic” in their attitudes as the Tories. “There are no great democrats among them,” he warned, adding that the Whigs were used to having their own way too.

But Fitzwilliam was reassured by the increasing dependence of the Whigs upon a new constituency—the middle class. They, together with the educated professional and academic representatives, were bound to press harder for reform, and he was convinced that Lord Grey would not betray them. Amidst mounting political tension, into which Fitzwilliam and his supporters were inevitably drawn, the year drew to a close. In London, a storm was brewing over the intransigence of the Tory Lords on the first Reform Bill presented by Lord Grey, and there was every appearance of fresh elections being called, which would be fought on the issue of reform.

Charlotte Collins, delayed by the need to visit her late husband’s relations prior to leaving Kent, arrived at Pemberley in Autumn. Tired of the controversy, Elizabeth welcomed the arrival of her friend, knowing her to be quite uninterested in matters political. It would be refreshing to discuss domestic and family matters again, as she was sure they would need to, if they were to help Charlotte.

Charlotte brought only her two younger daughters, Rebecca and AmeliaJane. Catherine, now a young lady of sixteen, had been invited to stay on at Rosings for Christmas. It was a privilege that Charlotte, who had refused the same invitation for herself and the rest of her family, was happy to let Catherine enjoy. “I appreciate the value of Lady Catherine’s patronage,” she explained to Elizabeth, “And while I could not accept it for myself, I felt Catherine could only benefit from the experience; she is a sensible girl and will not let it go to her head. She knows that we cannot hope to match the kind of style that Lady Catherine can afford, so she will enjoy it while she can but not hanker after it later, I think.” Elizabeth was sympathetic.

“I am certain of it, Charlotte,” she said, “Your girls are a credit to you. I cannot believe any one of them can be misled into foolishness by lavish displays of wealth, however enticing they might seem.” Charlotte turned to her friend and smiled.

“No indeed. Eliza, you know my circumstances better than anyone. When I tell you that I have turned down a generous offer from her Ladyship because I thought it was not appropriate for me to accept a paid position in her household, you will understand that I have not forsaken my principles for money and circumstance.” Elizabeth was surprised, and this increased to amazement when Charlotte revealed that Lady Catherine had offered her a position as her paid companion on an income that would supplement her annuity, while in addition, a cottage would be provided for her and her daughters on the estate. “It was a kind and generous offer, but I knew I could not accept. I was embarrassed to refuse; there was no other course open to me,” she said, smiling apologetically, “I said I felt I had to be close to my father, whose health is poor, at least until my elder brother Frank returns from India. Her Ladyship was not happy. She has asked me to reconsider, and I feared I had annoyed her, but then she invited my Cathy to spend Christmas at Rosings. I believe the Fitzwilliams are expected, too. I had no desire to vex her Ladyship; I agreed at once.”

“Was Cathy happy to stay?” asked Elizabeth.
“Yes, she is very grown up for her age and enjoys using the music room and library where she is permitted to read and practice the piano. Lady Catherine is quite partial to her and has always taken an interest in her.”
Elizabeth realised what a struggle it must have been for Charlotte to turn down Lady Catherine’s offer, lucrative and tempting as it must have been. Tea was served, and they were joined by Darcy and Mrs Gardiner, who greeted Charlotte with affection and kindness. Charlotte, having thanked them and passed on Lady Catherine’s compliments to her nephew, sat down to talk of her plans for the future. She was frank and honest, as well as practical in her outlook, as she had always been even in the days when she, together with Elizabeth and Jane, had been growing up in Meryton. Charlotte spoke quietly of her plans. There were not many alternatives available to her and her young family. She could go to her father at Lucas Lodge, but it would be only a temporary arrangement. Her brother, Frank, was returning from India in the Spring, and he was engaged to be married. There could be no question of her staying on afterwards. “There will be no room for two women at Lucas Lodge,” she said, firmly if a little sadly.
Elizabeth felt for her. Lucas Lodge had been her home for almost thirty years; soon she would be a stranger there. But Charlotte was as ever practical and wanted advice about investing her husband’s savings for the benefit of her two younger daughters. For herself, she could live thriftily on her annuity, but she wanted to do something with her life. She was forty-three and in excellent health. She could not be idle, she said. “I would like to start a little school,” she said brightly, “for young ladies, who would like to learn how to acquire some basic social graces, who need guidance in etiquette, manners, decorum, that sort of thing.” Elizabeth, who had not imagined such a possibility for Charlotte, was at a loss for a reply, but Mrs Gardiner spoke up with alacrity.
“I think it is an excellent idea, Mrs Collins. Unfortunately, young women today receive very little guidance on these matters, unless they have good governesses or friends in the right social circles. Many families with sufficient means have no one they can trust to tutor their daughters. Your little school, if I am right in thinking you mean to provide a live-in place rather like Mrs Barton’s establishment at Oxford, would serve a very useful purpose.”
“Do you think there would be many such families in Meryton, Aunt?” asked Elizabeth.
“Not in Meryton, no, but in Derby or even in Kympton, I am sure there would be many middle class families from the surrounding areas who would welcome it. Your connections with Rosings, and indeed with Pemberley, would be considered a great advantage, Mrs Collins,” she said, and Charlotte was pleased to have her plan taken seriously. Darcy, impressed by Charlotte’s determination and Mrs Gardiner’s encouraging remarks, suggested that they might meet with Mr Gardiner the following day to discuss it further.
“Mr Gardiner is, without doubt, the best businessman I know; I am confident he will give you excellent advice, Mrs Collins. I would recommend that you consult him before you make any decisions.” Mrs Gardiner invited them to join her family at dinner on the following day, when Charlotte could consult her husband. Mr Gardiner was almost as enthusiastic as his wife, with a little added caution on the question of investment and leases. He agreed that there certainly were several hundred families in the neighbouring districts all over the Midlands, recently rich, merchant and professional families, who wanted desperately to secure an entré into society for their children, if not for themselves.
“Their rough diamonds could do with some polishing,” he said, “so they could move more easily in society. Your little establishment, Mrs Collins, and others like it, could help them gain a degree of acceptance.”
“Do you believe people would pay to have their daughters schooled in social arts and graces?” Charlotte asked, with some trepidation.
“My dear Mrs Collins, people will pay for anything if they are convinced they are getting value for their money. It will be your task to convince them, and I’m sure you will,” he replied, with his usual air of amiable confidence.
Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged glances, and Elizabeth saw, in her husband’s expression, the reason why the two men had become such firm friends. Her uncle’s total openness and honesty, together with his complete lack of pomposity or self-importance, had attracted Darcy’s attention right at the start of their acquaintance many years ago, and ever since, the relationship between them had grown stronger. Darcy retained enormous respect and affection for both Mr and Mrs Gardiner, and on this occasion, it was easy to see why.
The concern and interest they showed in Charlotte’s plans for her future and that of her daughters were matched only by the generosity with which they gave of their time to assist and advise her. Charlotte herself was delighted, requesting assistance with finding a suitable property to lease in Kympton or across the county border in Nottinghamshire. Mr Gardiner, a modern, practical man, was full of admiration for the courage and determination of Mrs Collins and said he would be delighted to assist, in any way. Charlotte was grateful indeed and thanked all of them for their help and advice, especially Mr Darcy and the Gardiners. Without their help, she knew she could not have achieved much at all.
When she left a week later to join her father for Christmas, she left Rebecca behind at Pemberley. She was the same age as Cassandra and a little younger than Emily. The three of them had struck up a friendship that over the years would become as close as their mothers.
Watching the carriage drive away with her mother and Amelia-Jane inside, Rebecca remarked in a self-consciously grown up voice, “Amelia-Jane still needs looking after. I think Mama knows I am grown up enough to be on my own.” Elizabeth smiled and put her arms around her.
“Of course she does, but Becky, you know you are not on your own; we are all here for you,” but she knew in her heart exactly what the child had meant. Acutely aware of the position in which they were all placed since their father’s death, the two older girls had understood that they had to play their part. Their mother’s example had set a high standard, and it was clear that Rebecca was determined to live up to it.

J

Richard Gardiner arrived home in time for Christmas. With him was his friend, Paul Antoine, a young man with exemplary manners and a gentle European charm, not often seen in Derbyshire. The Gardiners, who had met many émigré families in London, during and after the war years, welcomed him and lost no time introducing him to their family and friends.

While everyone was making a huge fuss of Richard, now a fully qualified and accredited physician, the ladies young and old were more intrigued by his friend. He was good-looking, though he had none of the rugged handsomeness of Richard. His fine-featured face was sensitive, and his expressive eyes and dark hair were quite distinctive. His voice and manners were pleasing without appearing to be artificial or contrived, and when he joined a group, at dinner or cards, his conversation was so natural that no one was ill at ease in his company. By the time Monsieur Antoine had met most of the Gardiners’ circle of friends, it was universally agreed that he was one of the most agreeable young men they had met in many a year. Part of his charm stemmed from his apparent ignorance of the reasons for his own popularity. Never being boastful or demanding attention, he seemed always to be most appreciative of any recognition.

Emily Gardiner, to whom it fell, whenever her brother was busy, to entertain Paul Antoine and accompany him to social occasions, found him very easy to converse with and had no difficulty finding interesting things to do and places to visit with him. His natural interest and her own obliging nature combined to make for a very easy association. When she brought him over to Pemberley, where he was shown over the house and its grounds, he was completely captivated and pleaded to be allowed to return and see more of the library, which was of course, Emily’s favourite part of the estate.

Since James Courtney, the theology student, had returned to Oxford for the vacation, Emily obtained permission for Paul Antoine to spend some time there, for which privilege he was very grateful indeed. For Emily, this was a special pleasure, since her love of the library and art collection at Pemberley increased each time she visited there. When Monsieur Antoine proved to be a keen art lover, with a talent for sketching, Emily was delighted and promised that in the Spring she would show him the best views on the Pemberley Estate, so he could sketch to his heart’s content.

J

At Christmas, when the families gathered at Pemberley, Jane, who was always sensitive to romance in the air, remarked that Monsieur Antoine, whose looks and manners she deemed to be impeccable, and Miss Emily Gardiner had spent almost all evening together; they had certainly danced more frequently than any other couple.

Warning her sister against jumping to conclusions, Elizabeth agreed that they had and indeed they did dance very well together. European dances like the waltz had long since invaded English ball rooms, but, while they were popular in London, it was different in the country. Richard, having spent two years in Paris, was quite an accomplished dancer while amazingly, Paul Antoine seemed less confident and needed persuasion to take the floor. When he did, however, there was no doubting his ability, so light was he on his feet, so easy to follow that every young lady wished he would ask her next. Alas, he insisted on being an exemplary guest, dancing with Elizabeth, Mrs Gardiner, Caroline, and Emily, before he approached any one else.

By the end of the evening, Jane was excited at the prospect of a real romance developing, but Elizabeth was unsure. She had also been observing the pair and Emily, while she was obviously enjoying herself, appeared not to be at all conscious of anything more extraordinary than a very pleasant friendship. Elizabeth said as much to her sister, “I cannot work it out yet, Jane. Either Emily is being very cautious, or she isn’t interested in him, as a romantic prospect,” she said, puzzled. Jane smiled, “I cannot believe it to be the latter, Lizzie. He is such an appealing young man. As for being cautious, if she isn’t careful, she may find she is in danger of breaking his heart. Honestly, Lizzie, the young man looks deeply in love with her, already.”

Emily Gardiner did not know quite how to describe her feelings about Monsieur Antoine. It was the very first time that she had taken an interest in any of her brothers’ friends, though she had met many of them throughout their schooldays. Paul Antoine was different in many ways. He was French, or at least half French, which meant he had a tradition of natural courtliness in his approach to all women, young and old. She had noted with approval the unaffected pleasure he seemed to take in conversing with her mother or her cousins when he was seated next to one of them at dinner. Even when there were several younger women in the party, he showed no particular preference for them.

Emily had noticed that he often returned to her side on these occasions and would fall quite naturally into step with her when they were out walking but put that down to the easy friendship that had grown between them rather than any partiality on his part. When he complimented her on her mastery of a particularly difficult piece of music, which he had begged her to play for him on a visit to the music room at Pemberley, she was pleased but convinced herself that similar praise from any one would have been as welcome.

She did not deny that he possessed qualities which she admired. For the first time, she had felt herself able to talk to a man who regarded her as a companion, not just a partner for dancing or a game of cards or a presentable woman to escort to the theatre. He appeared genuinely interested in her opinions on various matters and had several of his own, which he shared with her in exactly the same way that he discussed them with her brother or her father.

It was, for Emily, who had been accustomed to the segregation of women in much of social intercourse, a delightfully new experience, and she was enjoying it. She was also totally unaware that their friendship had been the subject of speculation for several weeks, among their mutual friends and her family. Had she guessed it, it is likely she would have been very surprised, for in her own mind, there was no more than the genuine enjoyment of a novel friendship, such as she had never before found with any of the young men of her acquaintance.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

To make the nations free

T

HE TUMULT OF FIFTEEN months of political agitation brought a wave of social upheaval that washed over England and flowed into the lives of many of her people. Following an historic election, which gave the

Whigs an unassailable majority in the Commons, Lord Grey was as good as his word, pushing through his Reform Bill in the teeth of entrenched opposition from the Lords. They delayed its passage, conniving with each other and occasionally, even with the King’s men, to the point where they almost destroyed the elected government.

King William appeared to vacillate at first but soon realised after a bitter Winter of discontent during which public rage and uproar brought Britain to the edge of chaos, that Parliamentary reform was essential, if the nation was to hold together. After some weeks of teetering on the brink and much machination, the Lords caved in, and it was as if an almighty sigh of relief went up all over the land.

Fitzwilliam and Caroline had been in London during the last crisis ridden days. When it was over, they returned as if from a battle, bearing their trophy— a copy of “The Bill,” declaring it to be a modern Magna Carta. The abolition of the system of rotten boroughs, which had corrupted the Parliament, was a victory for the people, whose protests had forced the King and his peers to listen, they claimed.

Mrs Gardiner who had had charge of her two beloved grandchildren, Isabella and Edward, while their parents were in London, asked if Caroline and Fitzwilliam would take a holiday, now it was all over.

“It isn’t over,” said Fitzwilliam, to her surprise, “Indeed, it is only the beginning. Now we have a reformed Parliament, we must proceed to press for an extension of voting rights and the abolition of slavery.”

Caroline added her voice. “It will never be over as long as young children work long hours in factories and down the mines, Mama. I am pledged to support their struggle.” Mrs Gardiner agreed that the exploitation of children was a vile practice, but sadly, neither she nor her husband could see any possibility of a change; now that the men of industry had more, not less power in the Commons, they were hardly likely to pass laws that cut into their profits by outlawing child labour. But Caroline, as always, remained hopeful, determined that she would start a campaign to “get the babes out of the mines and into school.”

Fitzwilliam revealed that Caroline had already taken the opportunity of a chance meeting at a social function to take up the matter with the influential Lord Althorp who, though he was initially surprised by her question, had assured her the interests of the children were foremost in his mind. It was a matter, he promised, he would address very soon, through a law to regulate hours and conditions in the mills.

Fitzwilliam had been taken aback when Caroline had told him of her conversation with Lord Althorp, but he was soon reassured, when the man himself congratulated him on the intelligence and charm of his wife. Quite obviously, her venture into social issues had done her husband no harm at all. Darcy and Elizabeth heard the story from Mr and Mrs Gardiner, when they, together with Bingley and Jane, dined at Pemberley the following Saturday. “You could have knocked me down with a feather,” said Mrs Gardiner, “but Caroline was not at all overawed by the great man. She felt that he, as one of the most influential and able members of the new government, would surely be the best person to lobby on such an important matter.” There were incredulous gasps from Jane and Elizabeth, but Darcy laughed and said, “She is right, of course. Not much good haranguing some obscure backbencher with little or no influence in the cabinet.” He reminded Elizabeth of his prediction that with Caroline beside him, Fitzwilliam would go far. Bingley agreed, adding, “Her charming manner will protect her from giving offence, where others might, should they attempt such advocacy, with less than Caroline’s sincerity.” Mr Gardiner, who could barely conceal the pride he felt in his young daughter, intervened briefly to assert that no one who knew Caroline could ever doubt her complete sincerity of purpose.

“Do you believe she is sufficiently ambitious for Fitzwilliam, to put up with the vagaries of political life?” Elizabeth asked. Darcy replied, “It is not a question of ambition. I do not believe she is unduly ambitious for her husband; well, not any more than he is himself. But, each time I speak with her, I cannot help feeling that Caroline wants to change the world. She sees injustice and wants to do something about it—whether it’s the children of the poor, who must work in the mills and get no education, or the widowed women who have nowhere to go in their old age but the poorhouse—after a lifetime of service. I believe she sees opportunities to draw attention to these examples of suffering in our community. That cannot possibly do Fitzwilliam any harm with his constituency.” Mr Gardiner agreed, but his wife expressed the hope that their daughter would not wear herself out with political work.

“I can see her, a child in her arms and another at her side, talking passionately to anyone who will listen about the evils of child labour. I know she appears to have boundless energy, but I fear she works too hard,” she said, voicing a mother’s concern. What none of them knew was that the only thing that could slow Caroline down was about to be announced to the family. She had been keeping it a secret these last few weeks.

In the Summer of 1833, Caroline was to have her third child, and with characteristic dedication, she would turn all her efforts to being a devoted mother, just as she had with her two older children. When Mrs Gardiner was told the news on the following Sunday, she was so delighted she ordered the carriage and set off with Emily for Pemberley, where she could break the news to both Elizabeth and Jane. With their husbands out riding, the sisters were indulging in their favourite pastime—reminiscing and planning for the future. Mrs Gardiner’s unexpected arrival added the only missing ingredient to their discussion, the humour and wise counsel of their favourite aunt. Her news gave everyone much pleasure.

Over tea in Elizabeth’s private sitting room, they recalled the numerous occasions on which they had been similarly engaged and wondered at the way they seemed always to find harmony and agreement, rather than discord. “I do believe there has not been a cross word exchanged between us, ever,” said Jane, rising to go to her little Louisa, who could be heard complaining loudly in the nursery. Elizabeth smiled and exchanged glances with her aunt, who protested, “Dear Jane, I cannot believe that you would ever exchange cross words with anyone, much less with your sister and me.” Marriage had not changed Jane. She remained sweet-natured and patient, almost to a fault, so that all her children, whom she loved dearly, got their way with her. Mrs Bennet frequently warned her against spoiling them, but there was no need. All three of them so closely resembled their parents in disposition, there was never any fear of their being spoilt. Furthermore, they had the incalculable advantage of being the beloved children of a happy union.

Elizabeth claimed she was less fortunate than her sister, since her children were not as amenable as Jane’s. With both parents being of an independent disposition, it was hardly surprising that their children were similarly endowed. In matters relating to their education, she had had no success at all in organising their lives. Sixteen-year-old Cassandra had refused absolutely to go away to school at Oxford, content to be taught by Georgiana’s governess, while all efforts to persuade William, who was almost fifteen, to attend the boarding school in London chosen by the Bingleys for his cousin Jonathan had come to naught. Darcy had tried to speak firmly to young William and insist that he, at least, try a year at College before he decided against it but was disadvantaged by the fact that he had permitted Cassandra to have her own way. “If Cassy doesn’t have to go away to school, Papa, why should I?” asked William, reasonably, arguing that he was doing very well with his tutor and didn’t think Jonathan’s school could do him any good at all. “I do not wish to be forced to drill and play stupid games. I would rather study music and literature with Mr Clarke and ride or play cricket in Derbyshire, than go away to boarding school in London.” The boy was so determined that short of ordering him to go, his father, who detested domineering, bullying men himself, had no arguments to change his mind. Elizabeth was disturbed by the refusal of both her children to do what she had expected they would do, but like Darcy, she was unwilling to provoke a confrontation that would do more harm than good.

It was true that Cassandra had succeeded in persuading her father that her education was not going to be enhanced by a year at Mrs Baxter’s establishment. She was already, at sixteen, an extremely intelligent and well-read young woman, with opinions of her own and a tendency to emulate her mother’s witty style of comment. “Truly, Mama, I cannot believe that I would add anything to my understanding by spending a year or two with Mrs Baxter. If you wish me to spend some time at Oxford in the future, I should prefer to accept Aunt Georgiana’s invitation to stay with her. She and Dr Grantley would be far better companions for me at Oxford, than Mrs Baxter would. I should learn so much more from them. Do you not agree?” Elizabeth could hardly disagree. Her attempts to persuade her daughter that there was something to be gained from a resident school fell on deaf ears, and Cassandra replied with a cunning suggestion that took even her mother by surprise. “I know what I should like above anything,” she declared, and before anyone could draw breath, she continued, “I should love to learn to cook and shop and run a house just like Aunt Gardiner does. She is the best, Richard says, and so does Emily. Now, that would be something really useful for a modern young lady to learn; do you not agree, Mama?” The sweet reasonableness of her argument combined with the complete innocence of her expression as she appealed to her mother and aunt was breathtaking. Elizabeth hesitated, and Mrs Gardiner, whose love of her nieces’ children was absolute, was so flattered she could scarcely believe her ears. Sensing success, Cassandra persisted, turning to Mrs Gardiner, with her wide dark eyes and an angelic smile, “Would you teach me, Aunt?”

“Of course I would, but your mother and father ...,” she got no further. Cassandra hugged first Mrs Gardiner and then her mother, before declaring with a degree of finality, “That’s settled then. It is near enough for me to ride over, and if it rained, you could send the carriage for me, or I could stay overnight. Oh, I can’t wait to tell William. I’m glad he isn’t going to boarding school, Mama, he would have been miserable, and I should have felt very guilty indeed,” she declared and danced out of the room and down the long corridor in search of her brother.

Elizabeth shook her head, not knowing quite what to say. Jane remained silent lest anything she said might offend her sister. Only their aunt was prepared to speak, but so partial was she to Cassandra, that she could do no more than offer some small comfort to Elizabeth. “Dear Lizzie, you must not worry, I know my Caroline and Emily were greatly advantaged by their time with Mrs Baxter, but remember, they did not have the benefit of the background that you and Mr Darcy have given Cassy here at Pemberley. We lived in Cheapside, and your uncle and I felt the girls needed to get out into a more cultured environment for a year or two. Cassy is quite right to point out that she would do better to visit Georgiana at Oxford, than spend time with Mrs Baxter. I do not mean to criticise Mrs Baxter, she is an educated woman and a most conscientious teacher, but knowing Cassy, I can see that she would be very bored within a week.” Jane agreed wholeheartedly, and Elizabeth had to accept that her daughter was probably going to get her own way, again.

“Do you really mean to teach her to cook and manage a household?” she asked, and her aunt smiled.
“I most certainly do, and I think she will enjoy it, too,” she said, not knowing exactly how she was going to organise her home to accommodate young Cassy, until Emily came to the rescue.
“Since I am here at Pemberley most of the week, Cassy can have my room, whenever she stays over,” said Emily, who had been rather quiet throughout the discussion.
“Are you sure you will not be inconvenienced?” asked Elizabeth, anxious that Cassandra’s plans should not disrupt the Gardiners’ lives. Emily assured her she was happy to let Cassandra use her room. She herself had a pretty suite of rooms at Pemberley, opposite the schoolroom, where she used to teach William and Cassandra when they were little. She enjoyed the privacy it afforded her. She worked in the library and the music room and taught the children at Kitty’s infant school; it was a busy life. She always went home to Lambton on Saturdays and returned to Pemberley on Mondays. It was an arrangement that suited everyone rather well.
Meanwhile, the lives of other members of the family had moved on. Robert Gardiner lived almost permanently in London, where he looked after the legal side of his father’s business. Robert had wanted to study the Law. Unsure that his son had the will to spend enough time on the business, Mr Gardiner had recently employed a very able business manager. This meant that Robert had more time to study, but reports from London did not suggest that he was doing very much study at all.
Richard, on the other hand, having completed very successfully a gruelling course of medical study in Edinburgh and later Paris, had purchased a practice in a part of Birmingham, which badly needed his services. Assisted by his friend Paul Antoine, he had furnished the modest consulting rooms and hung up his shingle. There was no shortage of patients from aging men and women suffering from ague or pleurisy to babes in arms with croup or quinsy; they all came hoping to be healed by the new doctor. The doctor from whom he purchased the practice used to work two days a week at the district’s cottage hospital, and Richard had been happy to take over the work. He soon realised that there were twice as many patients to be seen at the hospital as at his rooms. Often he worked late and didn’t get any dinner before returning to the lodgings they rented in town.
When Mrs Gardiner found out, she decided that it would not do at all. “If you do not eat proper meals, you will soon be as sick as your patients,” she said and proceeded to make arrangements to go to Birmingham with Emily and Mr Gardiner to set things right. The first thing to do was to get them better accommodation as well as board, in a house, rather than rented rooms. A business acquaintance of Mr Gardiner’s had a couple of rooms and a sitting room to let in his house. These were inspected and pronounced suitable, and arrangements were made for the provision of meals. When they returned that evening, Richard and Paul were astonished at the appearance of the place, with new curtains and a fire in the grate.
“It is,” said Richard, “almost like home, except it is Birmingham!” Having extracted several promises including a pledge that they would return home every fortnight, the Gardiners left.
Emily noted that Paul was thinner and paler and hoped he was not being overworked. Her parents glanced quickly at each other, and Mrs Gardiner said she had also noticed his pallor, though she had put it down to the fact that the weather was still cold in Birmingham. “I am quite sure he will get some colour back in his cheeks in Summer,” she said, and because Emily was silent, they assumed she had agreed. In fact, she did not agree but kept her counsel, intending to speak to her brother when he next came home.
Charlotte Collins, with the continuing help of the Gardiners and some advice from Elizabeth and Emily, had taken a lease on a modest house in the district of Mansfield in Nottinghamshire. Set in pleasant grounds, with access to a large park, part of the estate of Lord Mansfield, who was her landlord, the house was ideal for her purpose. Charlotte was grateful for the help of Mrs Gardiner and her husband, who provided her with introductions to several families in the area, leading to many enquiries and ultimately five young ladies, who wished to enrol at her establishment.
Whether she would make a success of it was left to be seen, but she certainly did not shirk any of the hard work that was necessary. Her own daughter Rebecca, who had literary ambitions, and young Emily Gardiner were available to help and when Elizabeth suggested a conducted tour of Pemberley and afternoon tea on the terrace for her young ladies, Charlotte was delighted. “It will be an added attraction, Lizzie; there are not too many people, outside your circle of family and friends, who will have such a wonderful opportunity to see Pemberley and have tea on the terrace,” she said with great satisfaction.
Meanwhile, the two infant schools at Pemberley and Kympton had been established with the help of Mr and Mrs Darcy, Mr and Mrs Gardiner, and the respective parish councils. In each case, the lack of assistance from any level of government was criticised as a national shame by Fitzwilliam, who, as the Member of Parliament for the area, vowed to press the matter at Westminster. The editor of the Matlock Review wrote another strong editorial on the need for a national school system, but it fell on deaf ears again, as it had on two previous occasions. There was, as yet, no political will to take up the cause of education for the children of the poor.
When Caroline’s child, a boy they named David, was born, there was a family celebration, and the entire village turned out for the christening at the little church. They were proud of their new member and his family. Fitzwilliam had by his sincerity and passion for reform convinced many who were as yet without the franchise, being neither landed gentry nor middle class merchants, that he would genuinely represent their cause. That his wife was as natural and easy with ordinary working people as she was with the rich and famous merely added to their satisfaction.
As the nation settled into a new era with a new government, their lives seemed as if they were settling into a familiar pattern, too. If there were storm clouds over the horizon, hardly anyone was aware of them yet. Mr and Mrs Gardiner were so proud of their children and grandchildren they were loathe to admit of any disappointments, lest it may seem a reflection upon one of them. Yet, the absence of their youngest son Robert from most family gatherings was causing some comment and consequently much heartache for his mother. While she had no notion of the extent of Robert’s problems, Mrs Gardiner had hoped that whatever it was that troubled her son would be easily cleared up by Mr Gardiner when, on receiving a letter from his business manager, he decided to go up to London for a few days. But, on his return, the news he brought was far from good, and even the usually cheerful and optimistic Mr Gardiner appeared grimfaced.
After dinner, when they were free of the servants, he revealed that young Robert was in trouble. “He is in debt and cannot pay his creditors,” he said, looking and sounding truly miserable, as he detailed the problems besetting their son. “He seems to have fallen into rather dissolute and irresponsible company. I gathered from a couple of his friends that he had lent a friend a large sum of money to pay a gambling debt.” Seeing his wife’s look of alarm, he added quickly, “No my dear, it is not what you think; Robert himself does not gamble, but he appears to keep the company of some singularly unattractive characters who do, and they have taken advantage of him.” Despite her husband’s reassuring words, Mrs Gardiner was so distressed, she could barely speak. When she did, she was confused. “What is to be done? How will he be found, and what will happen to him?” she cried. Mr Gardiner held up a hand, “Well, first we shall have to find him. I have made some enquiries, and I hope to enlist Fitzwilliam’s help. He knows London well,” he said. “Then, I shall need to discover how much is owed and to whom. It could be a considerable sum, or he would surely have come to us. Finally, I shall have to make good the money and release him from this dreadful obligation.”
“But, Edward, if it is a very large sum, how shall we find the money?” Mrs Gardiner asked anxiously. Her husband was unwilling to go into the matter in too much detail.
“Bear with me, my love, once we know what we are dealing with, I shall explain everything. Meanwhile, I must see Fitzwilliam, after which I shall go to Pemberley and talk to Mr Darcy.”
“Mr Darcy! Must he know all our troubles, too?” his wife asked, unhappy at the thought and apprehensive about Darcy’s reaction.
“He must, we are partners in business, and if I am to undertake a course of action that may cause me to leave my business for a while, my partner is entitled to know the reason. Besides, my dear,” he added, “I value his advice.” Mrs Gardiner toyed with the idea of accompanying her husband but decided against it. It was very late when Mr Gardiner returned, accompanied by two of the stable hands from Pemberley. Darcy had insisted; times, he had said, were difficult, and it was sensible not to take risks. Mrs Gardiner went eagerly to meet him, and seeing how exhausted he looked, she almost wept. However, when he had explained their plans, she was content to trust his judgement.
The following morning, Mr Darcy rode over to Lambton. Fitzwilliam had already arrived. Without delay, they set off in Mr Gardiner’s carriage. Mrs Gardiner, who had not come downstairs, but watched from an upstairs window, felt tears sting her eyes. That one of her children, even poor, shy Robert, should have caused so much trouble was sufficient to break her heart. Yet, Mr Gardiner had insisted that Robert had not done anything dishonourable. There was no hint of embezzlement or false pretences involved, simply an unwise transaction from which he could not extricate himself. The uncertainty was hardest to bear. If only there was someone with whom she could share her fears. She wondered whether she could take the pony trap and drive to Pemberley.
Even as she pondered, shortly after breakfast, of which she ate very little, her wish was granted. The sound of a carriage coming up the drive sent her to the window, and to her great joy, there was Elizabeth, alighting from one of the smaller Pemberley carriages. Mrs Gardiner flew to the front door, and as her niece entered, she was enveloped in an embrace. “Oh Lizzie, if you knew how much I’ve been longing to see you.” Aunt and niece embraced again and sat down to tea before withdrawing to Mrs Gardiner’s room to talk in private. Elizabeth knew very little except that Robert was having “money troubles” and Darcy and her uncle were going up to London to help him. When her aunt told her all she knew, Elizabeth was quite shaken. “Do we know who it is Robert borrowed the money from and for whom?” she asked. Her aunt did not know. She knew only that it was to help a friend pay his gambling debts. Elizabeth, her mind going back to the dark days of Lydia’s elopement, wondered at the coincidence of events. “There is no question of Robert raiding the business, Lizzie, that at least is certain. Your uncle has told me that he has seen Mr Bartholomew and been assured that there have been no monies drawn out at all by Robert, save his monthly wage.” Her aunt was still very distressed, and Elizabeth tried to calm her.
“You must not distress yourself like this, dear Aunt, I am sure Darcy and my uncle will find Robert and settle this unfortunate business. I cannot believe that Robert could knowingly enmesh himself in such a scheme. Surely he must have been deceived.” Each mention of Robert or the predicament in which he now found himself seemed to turn the knife in her aunt’s heart. Elizabeth decided to take her out for a drive. It was, for her, the panacea for all ills, and she persuaded Mrs Gardiner that she would feel better for it, too.
They drove many miles before realising they were both tired and thirsty. The inn at Lambton, which held so many happy memories for them, offered both shade and refreshment. Taking advantage of its hospitality, they spent a quiet afternoon, during which Elizabeth succeeded in bringing her aunt to a state of acceptance, in which she grew calmer and more confident that Robert could be found and his creditors satisfied. It was a question of knowing where to look, and with Darcy and Fitzwilliam to help, Mr Gardiner’s task would surely be easier. As the afternoon grew cooler, they returned to Oakleigh, to find a carriage from Pemberley in the drive. Emily had come for Elizabeth. William had been taken ill, and Mrs Reynolds had sent for the doctor. Elizabeth was immediately eager to return to Pemberley, and Mrs Gardiner went with her, planning to stay overnight. Fortunately, William’s illness turned out to be severe indigestion rather than a life threatening disease, but with a summer storm brewing in the Northwest and clouds swirling in from the Peak District, Elizabeth was glad indeed to be home.
Mr Gardiner and Darcy returned late on the following day, having left Fitzwilliam in London with Robert. While the news they brought was not all bad, it was still unlikely to bring much joy to poor Mrs Gardiner, who had spent a wretched night, watched over alternately by Emily and Elizabeth, who were themselves exhausted with worry and lack of sleep. Later, after they had eaten, Mr Gardiner, his voice heavy with unhappiness, detailed the action they had taken. Robert had been contacted by Mr Bartholomew, and on being assured that his father was not enraged at his behaviour, but rather was seeking to help him extricate himself from his unhappy predicament, he had come forward. Advised by both Mr Bartholomew and Mr Gardiner’s lawyer that he had best lay all his problems on the table, he had finally made a clean breast of it.
A year or more ago, Robert had been grateful for the friendship of Viscount Lyndsey, one of three sons of a famous family around town, whose attractive sister had seemed to favour him. Through them, Robert had obtained entry into social circles that he had never moved in before and had soon found himself somewhat out of his depth. In an effort to please his friend and retain the favour of his charming sister, Robert had advanced him money to pay several small debts. At first, the monies had been repaid as Viscount Lyndsey appeared to win at Baccarat and Roulette, but a few months ago, he had demanded a sum well beyond Robert’s modest means. Urged on by his friend and his sister’s tearful appeals, Robert had used his father’s credentials to borrow the money, which he handed over at a club, in the presence of two friends. That was the last he had seen or heard of either the Viscount or his charming sister. Under pressure to return the money and with nowhere to turn, Robert had pawned most of his possessions to pay a part of his debt and fled his rooms. Conscious of the disgrace he could bring upon his family and the consequent damage that might inflict upon his father’s business, the young man, whose culpability was a consequence more of weakness than criminality, had gone into hiding.
Alerted by Mr Bartholomew, Mr Gardiner had initially gone to London to make enquiries, and so the entire matter had been exposed. “But what is to happen to Robert, now?” asked his mother, unable to hold back her tears. Mr Gardiner proceeded to explain that the debt had been cleared and the depredations of the Viscount and his tribe left in the hands of lawyers. “As for Robert, he is heartily sorry for the trouble he has caused. He was too ashamed to return home with us; he will stay in town, with Fitzwilliam, until all the arrangements are made for his departure for Ceylon.”
“Ceylon!” this was too much of a shock for Mrs Gardiner, and even Elizabeth rose to remonstrate that surely this was an extreme step.
Her aunt looked as if she would faint, but Darcy intervened to explain gently and carefully, “Indeed, Mrs Gardiner, it is an excellent opportunity for Robert. You are aware, I am sure, that Fitzwilliam acquired property in Ceylon, when he was out there some ten years ago. I believe he has some Coffee and Cocoa plantations and spice gardens, as well as shares in a gem mine. These enterprises are managed by an excellent trading house, a British firm with very good credentials. An opportunity exists in this same firm for a young man to go out to Ceylon and be trained in the management of such enterprises.”
Mrs Gardiner, despite her complete faith in Darcy’s judgement, could not cope with the suddenness of the decision and the immense distance between England and this tiny island in the Indian Ocean to which, she felt, her son was being banished. Understanding her anxiety, Darcy explained further, “Fitzwilliam has never regretted going out there and the colony is more peaceful and far further advanced today. It will soon be an important British naval base and a vital trading centre for us in the East.” Mr Gardiner intervened to say how important it was for Robert to get away from London and the circle of dissolute and irresponsible young men and women he had fallen in with.
“A few years away, working for a living with some industrious young men would surely bring out the best in him,” he said, “I know he has both goodness and talent, which he has had no opportunity to develop. London today provides little incentive for a young man like Robert—it’s run by the toffs and their ilk.”
Despite the logic and plain good sense of their arguments, Mrs Gardiner remained inconsolable at the prospect of her youngest child’s being sent many thousands of miles across the seas, to a life among strangers. Later, on his return, Fitzwilliam himself would spend time with his mother-in-law trying with examples of his own experience to calm her fears. For now, it was heartwrenching to see the pain she suffered.
That night, after the Gardiners had left and Darcy, tired out himself, had retired to bed, Elizabeth wrote to Jane, detailing the events of the past week:

When you have read this, dearest Jane, you will understand the shock and sorrow we have all felt at this most unhappy turn of events. Our dear aunt is quite distraught, and it is only the intervention of Darcy and Fitzwilliam that has allowed for some solution to be found to the problem of Robert’s future. Fitzwilliam’s contacts with one of the largest trading houses in the East have afforded Robert an opportunity for a new career. I can understand how wretched our dear aunt must feel, she still regards Robert as her “little boy,” but Uncle Gardiner is convinced that it is the right course and will benefit Robert. Darcy is also certain that no good can come of Robert’s continued stay in London, where he may well fall into the clutches of his “friends” again . . .

Since he appears to have no taste for public life and has little to show for his legal studies, there are few alternatives open to him. We can only hope that for his sake and that of our dear Uncle and Aunt, it will all come right in the end.

Jane’s answer came sooner than expected. She wrote:

Dearest Lizzie,
This is but a short scrap of a note, but it comes with good news that I am sure will cheer you all. On receiving your letter about poor Robert, I read it out immediately to Bingley. Lizzie, would you believe that Mr Bingley’s cousin, Frank, is himself employed with the same trading firm to which Robert is now engaged? He has been out in Ceylon these last twelve months and is expected home on holiday next Christmas, when he expects to marry Miss Evelyn Forster, to whom he has been engaged, since before he went to the colonies.

Bingley is writing to him directly to advise of Robert’s planned arrival, and he has informed our Aunt and Uncle of this most fortunate circumstance. Robert will be assured of support and friendship, and I am sure this will go a long way to set our poor aunt’s heart at rest. I am, as you are, saddened by what has occurred, especially because of the consequences it has had for Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. It is difficult to think of young Robert’s causing so much heartache; he was such a shy little boy. Dearest Lizzie, do you not pray that our boys will be spared such misfortunes as they grow up? I do, each night and day, whenever I see Jonathan and William, for I cannot think how I would bear it, should such a thing befall one of them. But I must not run on so, or you will be angry with me. Dear Lizzie, it is only because I love them so, and I am sometimes afraid to be as happy as we are. I feel undeserving, and when such dreadful things happen as have befallen Robert, I fear that it may be my turn next, for why should I be spared? Forgive me, Lizzie, I know it is foolish, and you will surely scold me in your next letter. I am sure that I deserve it, too.

Your loving sister,
Jane.

Elizabeth shook her head and mused as she put away her letter. “Oh Jane, how little you know your own goodness, to think yourself undeserving of happiness. There is surely no one in the world I know, who deserves happiness more than you do, and I thank God that you are so richly blessed.” Elizabeth went upstairs promising herself that when next she saw her sister, she would spend some time convincing her that her joy was not undeserved. Jane above all others deserved every blessing. When Darcy found her in their bedroom, she showed him Jane’s letter and had the satisfaction of seeing a smile light up his face. Clearly, they were both agreed that it brought good news. Darcy was delighted with Jane’s news about Bingley’s Cousin Frank. “This will make it much easier for Mrs Gardiner to accept Robert’s departure for Ceylon. Your uncle intends to take the family to London to spend a few days with Robert, before he sails. Fitzwilliam and Caroline will be there for the Parliamentary sittings, so there should be quite a reunion. I’ve invited them to use the house at Portman Square.”

Elizabeth’s smile declared her gratitude. The suffering of her dear aunt over the last week had seemed to age her. Mrs Gardiner was a loving and conscientious mother, and she could not believe that one of her children could have fallen into such an error. She blamed herself. Elizabeth had suffered with her.

Darcy, sensing her feelings tried to comfort her. “I know you feel badly for your aunt and uncle, my dearest, I appreciate how deeply they have been hurt, but they are not to blame in this unfortunate matter.” Darcy’s voice was serious as he explained, “Young Robert, unlike Richard and Caroline, seems less equipped to deal with the deceptions of the world in which we live. He has erred, not because he is innately bad, but because he has been too ready to believe well of his friends. It is they who are culpable. Robert’s sins are errors of judgement. He is very young and will learn from this; I am sure of it.” Elizabeth knew how well her husband loved the Gardiners and hoped with all her heart that he was right, for their sake.

As for Jane’s comments regarding Jonathan and William, Darcy was much less serious as he dismissed her fears about them. “I know of no reason to doubt my belief in the good sense and integrity of Jonathan Bingley. His character is more formed than his father’s was at the same age, and believe me, my love, the reports I have of him are uniformly excellent. He is only seventeen but has the maturity of one many years his senior. Jane has no cause for concern.”

“And what of William? Have you a similar confidence in him?” Elizabeth asked, her voice betraying some anxiety about his response. She need not have been concerned. Darcy’s response had all the warmth and sincerity she could have wished for.

“My dearest Elizabeth, William is our son. Why would I not have confidence in him? He is fifteen, still a child, a sensitive and intelligent boy with much talent yet to be developed. His tutor, Mr Clarke, is well pleased with his work and Georgiana speaks very highly of his progress in music. He does not have Cassandra’s independence of mind yet; she is so like you, Lizzie; but I have no doubt he will learn from her example.” He knew her love for William was the very centre of her life. Darcy drew her close as if to confirm his part in that relationship. Their love had grown, ever since they had learned to share it without false pride or reservation, and flowed through to their children. Cassandra found them thus, when she came in to ask permission to accept an invitation to join the Gardiners on their expedition to London to farewell Robert. Permission was granted without question, and as she hugged them both, Cassy added, with a little grimace, “William was invited, too, but he would not miss his music lesson.”

“Well, at least your father and I will not lack company,” said Elizabeth. She looked forward to a quiet week at Pemberley with only her husband and her son for company. It was a week she would recall many times over, during the following years.

Later, Robert Gardiner, having spent a delightful week with his family, sailed for Ceylon and a new life.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“As steady ships strongly part the waters . . .”

T

WO EVENTS BROUGHT THE families together in the late autumn of 1833. The first occasioned much happiness, when they gathered for the christening at Ashford Park of Sophia Bingley. Not long afterwards, they were called together again on a more sombre occasion, when news came of the death, from severe pneumonia, of Mrs Bennet. Her daughters, Mrs Bingley, Mrs Darcy, and Mrs Jenkins, accompanied by their husbands, their elder children, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner, travelled to Longbourn, where the Bennets had lived with their only unmarried daughter, Mary, and a modest household staff. No sooner had they arrived and seen their father, whose sobriety of attire and countenance was more evidence of his respect for convention than an indication of his emotional state, than they became involved in arrangements for the funeral.

Their sister Mary was understandably less able to cope, having nursed their mother through a short but exceedingly trying illness. Mr and Mrs Gardiner, invaluable as ever, took upon themselves most of the formal responsibilities, leaving Jane and Elizabeth to attend to their father’s needs, while Kitty assisted Mary. Later that day, arriving posthaste from Newcastle accompanied by her husband and all of her children was Mrs Wickham. On arrival, she appeared scarcely able to support herself and was far too distressed to be of any assistance to her sisters. Repairing immediately to her former bedroom, where she sent for Kitty to minister to her needs and those of her younger children, Lydia seemed to take it for granted that she could now take her mother’s place in the household. Elizabeth and Jane found very little to sympathise with in their sister’s excessive show of grief. Like their Aunt Gardiner, they had some reservations about her protestations of filial affection, and if their father’s reaction was any indication of his feelings, he must surely have had his doubts, too. Thanks to the hospitality of Sir William Lucas, they were all comfortably lodged overnight and did not suffer the embarrassment of having to put up with either or both of the Wickhams at dinner.

The funeral at the village church was attended by a large number of people, testimony to the many friendships the family had made in the district over the years. Following the funeral, Jane and Bingley were anxious to return home to their family, but both Elizabeth and Kitty stayed on to support their father and Mary for a few days. To their surprise, they discovered that Lydia had made similar plans. Ensconced in her mother’s boudoir, in deep mourning, Lydia made much of the extremely long and tiring journey she had made and a similar one that lay ahead. It was plain from her hints of how much it had all cost, that she hoped to be reimbursed by her father. “Surely, Lizzie, you realise what it has cost to come all this way and buy mourning clothes for all the children,” she said pointedly. It would have been to no avail to argue that there had been no call to bring all the children, much less have them attired in formal mourning clothes. Elizabeth and Jane had decided that it was sufficient to have their eldest children pay their respects to their grandmother; yet Lydia’s entire brood had trailed behind her and Wickham to the church, attired in formal black. It had been quite a theatrical performance. Lydia, now in her thirties, looked increasingly like her mother and had adopted a remarkably similar manner of self-dramatisation. Elizabeth was loathe to leave her father in such a situation and was extremely relieved when Kitty decided to extend her stay by a week and help Mary and her father get the household settled. It was very good of Kitty to volunteer her time and was an indication of how much she had changed from the rather feckless self-indulgence of her youth under Lydia’s influence.

Elizabeth’s relief was somewhat short-lived, however, when two days later they stopped off at Lambton and were astonished to hear from Mrs Gardiner that the Bennets’ housekeeper, Mrs Hill, had confided in her that Lydia intended to return to Longbourn permanently! Sarah, Mrs Bennet’s chamber maid, had confirmed that Mrs Wickham had hinted at a similar possibility, urging Sarah to stay on at Longbourn against her return. Elizabeth was aghast at the prospect, chiefly out of concern for her father. He had found it sufficiently difficult to cope with Lydia’s excesses as a silly young girl fifteen years ago; how, she wondered, would he put up with her now, together with all her rather boisterous children? “And what of Wickham? Does he propose to move to Longbourn too?” Elizabeth asked. Mrs Gardiner had no answer, except to suggest that perhaps Mr and Mrs Wickham were happier apart than together! Returning to Pemberley, Elizabeth, still disturbed by her aunt’s news, wrote immediately to Jane, detailing the gist of the story and asking for her sister’s advice:

Can it be true, dear Jane, that Lydia proposes to impose upon poor Papa, while Wickham remains at Newcastle? It seems to me to be an impossible situation. I am at a loss to understand how it can even be contemplated. Aunt Gardiner believes that Lydia is making use of the opportunity afforded by Mama’s death to get herself a more comfortable situation at Longbourn, pretending to want to move there to “look after” Papa. She will, in truth, be feathering her own nest and simultaneously driving our poor father out of his mind. Oh Jane, this is such an undesirable development, and yet I am unable to think how it may be stopped . . .

In desperation she begged her sister to suggest a course of action that may be undertaken, but if the truth were known, she had not a great deal of confidence that one could be found.

The letter was never sent. Hardly had Elizabeth completed it and taken it down to be despatched, when an express arrived at the door. It was from Jane. Standing in the hall, where it had been handed to her, Elizabeth opened it and was astonished to read her sister’s hastily penned note:

Dearest Lizzie,
Since we parted after Mama’s funeral, something very disturbing has happened. I have this morning received an express from Kitty detailing a most unpleasant encounter between herself and Mary on the one hand and our sister Lydia on the other. Kitty writes that Lydia, while packing in preparation for their departure last Sunday, declared her intention to return in Spring “to look after Papa and keep an eye on Longbourn for Henry.” It appears that Wickham and Lydia have decided that since the death of Mr Collins has resulted in Papa’s retaining Longbourn, their son Henry, being a few weeks older than our Jonathan, is his natural heir. Upon this basis, Lydia intends to place herself in a position to make doubly sure of his inheritance by moving to Longbourn, while Papa still lives. Kitty and Mary are exceedingly unhappy, and Kitty writes that they would like to acquaint Papa with Lydia’s intentions but have not been able to do so, as he still keeps very much to his room.

Elizabeth’s fury was palpable as she threw the letter down on the table and cried out, “It’s outrageous! How dare they impose themselves on poor Papa, the insufferable creatures?” Hearing her voice, Emily, who was descending the stairs from the library, came swiftly to her side. Elizabeth handed her Jane’s letter. With Darcy away for the day at the Camden Estate, Elizabeth felt she had no alternative but to go directly to Lambton to consult her uncle and aunt.

There was no time to lose. The prospect of the Wickhams’ moving into Longbourn, the awful thought of what this would mean for her father and her sister Mary, who had no where else to go and would therefore be forced to remain as some kind of drudge for Lydia and her family, was too horrible to contemplate.

Leaving a note for Darcy, Elizabeth with Emily for company drove to Oakleigh Manor. The Gardiners were delighted at her unexpected visit, but their delight soon dissipated as she showed them Jane’s letter. Mrs Gardiner, in spite of having some hint of Lydia’s intentions, was still shocked by the impudence of her approach. “How could they be so totally selfish and so uncouth with it?” she lamented, “I can hardly believe what I am reading here.” Elizabeth was steely eyed and very angry.

“My dear Aunt, I do not put anything beyond Lydia and Wickham. I am unwilling to believe that this is something for which Lydia alone is responsible. I am certain that Wickham has urged her on. They are both thoroughly selfish, thoughtless of others, and ruthless in advancing their own material advantage. They will stop at nothing to get what they think is their due.”

“But is their interpretation of the process of the entail correct?” asked Emily, who had some doubts about the basis of Lydia’s claim. Her father shook his head.

“I am not convinced it is. My own understanding is that once the estate remains with Mr Bennet, which it has with the death of his cousin, it is his to dispose of in his will. However, we shall need to have that confirmed by an attorney. But Lizzie, I cannot believe that your father is unaware of this possibility. Perhaps, I could contact him myself and discover how he sees it,” he suggested.

Usually, Elizabeth would have been content to agree. She trusted her uncle’s judgement implicitly. But on this occasion, her concern for her father and younger sisters was overwhelming. She declared her intention to travel with him on the Wednesday, having first informed her father of their impending visit. She returned with Emily to Pemberley, to prepare for the journey. It was not something she undertook with any pleasure so soon after travelling to Longbourn for the funeral, but her sense of outrage at the unseemly behaviour of the Wickhams overcame her reluctance.

When Darcy returned that evening, Elizabeth had to acquaint him with the details of the wretched conspiracy being hatched by the Wickhams. The severity of Darcy’s expression, as his face darkened on hearing the news and reading Jane’s letter, left her in no doubt of his response. Like her, he believed that Wickham was the instigator of Lydia’s plan, and he certainly agreed that the couple were capable of any stratagem, adding his weight to her opinion that they had to be forestalled at any cost. “There is surely no truth at all in the notion that the entail would extend outside the family. Unless it was specified in a codicil to the original document, your father, with whom the property now remains, is entitled to bequeath it to any member of his family he chooses.” Gratified by his support and genuine concern, Elizabeth begged him to accompany them. At first, Darcy was reluctant, unwilling to interfere in what was strictly a Bennet family affair, until his wife pointed out that since they did not seek to benefit themselves or their children, they, rather than Jane and Bingley, whose son Jonathan might be a potential beneficiary, should feel free to act. Darcy, albeit reluctantly, agreed.

Their arrival at Longbourn on the following Thursday, a grey late November day, had been preceded by an express from Elizabeth. Kitty and Mary came out to greet them with the news that Mr Bennet was in the library, with his attorney, Mr Grimes. Kitty added that they had succeeded in informing their father of Lydia’s intention of returning in the Spring, to which he had merely retorted, “Oh no, she is not.”

“Since then, he has had Mr Grimes over twice, and today, we are all to go in to the library, when Jonathan arrives,” said Mary, with her usual air of gravity.
“Jonathan?” Elizabeth was surprised at this new turn of events.
“Yes,” said Kitty, “Papa sent an express to London, asking him to be here today. He is expected at any time now.” Darcy and Mr Gardiner both appeared pleased, confident that it meant Mr Bennet was not only aware of the Wickhams’ plans, but had probably acted to forestall them already. Darcy was particularly relieved. He had not wished to appear as if he was giving his fatherin-law advice on the proper disposal of his property. Presently, Mr Bennet came out to greet them and invited them into the library, where they were introduced to Mr Grimes. Refreshments were served as they waited for Jonathan Bingley. He arrived a little later than expected, a tall young man of seventeen, with the good looks of his mother and the amiable manners of his father, Jonathan greeted everyone with affection and apologised for being late.
What followed surprised them all. Mr Grimes, authorised by his client Mr Bennet, confirmed that Mr Bennet was changing his will in relation to the disposal of the Longbourn Estate, which had reverted to him with the death of Mr Collins, who would have been the inheritor under the entail. Hitherto, this property had been willed to his daughter Mary, with life interest to his wife. But the untimely death of Mrs Bennet had necessitated a change, Mr Grimes explained. While there would be no change in the disposition of any monies which were to be divided among his daughters, Longbourn would be left to his grandson, Jonathan Bingley, with life interest to his daughter, Miss Mary Bennet, for as long as she remained single. Should she choose to use a part of the property to conduct her music teaching, she was welcome to do so. Jonathan on his eighteenth birthday would take over the management of the Longbourn Estate, and later, it would be his to do with as he saw fit—rent, lease, or occupy.
When Mr Grimes had finished speaking, Mr Bennet had something to say, too. He had wanted to be fair, he said, because all his daughters were married except Mary. They had husbands and homes, where she had none save Longbourn, which had very nearly not been theirs at all. But, since Fate had decreed that it was to remain in his hands, he had disposed of it in the fairest way possible. He had chosen his grandson Jonathan to manage and ultimately inherit the property, because Jonathan was the son of his eldest daughter, he added mischievously.
Elizabeth and Darcy could barely conceal their delight, but young Jonathan was truly amazed. He appeared to be unsure whether he was ready for the responsibility the inheritance would place upon him. He admitted he had a great deal to learn. But his grandfather reminded him gently that he did not need to worry just yet. Putting an arm around Jonathan’s shoulders, he reassured him, “You can take your time learning, young man; I intend to be around for a while yet. But I am sure when the time comes, you will do us all proud.”
Mary, not usually given to emotional displays, wept with happiness as Jonathan assured her that she would always be looked after and if she needed any help with establishing her music school, he would do whatever he could. Elizabeth saw in his gentle words the same generosity and kindness that had always set his mother apart.
For Mary, the dreadful prospect of being a housekeeper for her sister Lydia’s family had held only terror. Now, as the unpleasant vision receded and she could see her future more clearly, she was truly grateful. She embraced her sisters and thanked her father, promising that as long as he needed her, she would be at Longbourn to look after him. It was the kind of family occasion for which Elizabeth was singularly unprepared. Her family had engendered few strong relationships or deep loyalties, except that which had always existed between her sister Jane and herself.
Frequently, she had suffered mortification at similar family gatherings, as the vulgarity and ignorance of her mother, her Aunt Phillips, or Lydia had been exposed to scrutiny. But, this time, she felt real pleasure at being there to witness the restoration of a sense of responsibility and fairness among them. She was happy that her father had demonstrated good judgement and common sense and pleased with her younger sisters’ concern for each other. She was especially proud of her nephew Jonathan and wished his parents had been present on this occasion.
That Darcy was with her was a matter of particular satisfaction to Elizabeth. Although it was a subject they had promised never to mention, since his ill-advised proposal at Hunsford and the letter that had followed her rejection of it, Elizabeth had in the past been embarrassed by members of her family in his presence. This time, she was immensely proud of them.
Since Mr Gardiner had business in London and Jonathan was also returning to the city, Darcy and Elizabeth decided that they would spend a few days there before returning to Pemberley. It had been a long while since Elizabeth had spent time in London. She had grown so contented with her surroundings in Derbyshire and the convenience of having all her favourite family members within an easy distance from her, that she saw no reason to travel to London, unless there was something very particular to attract her there. Her increased interest in the running of the house and the estate gave her much to do, and she never missed the bustle and glitter of the city. She did, however, enjoy the great wealth of music and theatre available there and indulged her passion for them whenever they were in London.
The Continis, who continued to be firm friends, sometimes made up a party with Georgiana and Francis Grantley, and on these occasions, Darcy and Elizabeth would join them for dinner and an evening at the theatre or at one of the popular concerts by famous musicians from Europe. If Parliament was sitting and Fitzwilliam was speaking on a matter of significance, he would invite them to come in and hear him. Caroline faithfully attended and would urge her mother and Elizabeth to accompany her. Despite her lack of enthusiasm for politics, Elizabeth could not resist the pleadings of her young cousin.
This time, the Fitzwilliams were in London celebrating the passage of two momentous bills that the colonel predicted would change the face of Britain and Europe. The first abolished slavery in all British territories, ending the vile trade in human beings that had enriched many and brought misery to millions more. The second, the measure promised by Lord Althorp, when the Whigs won their great victory in 1830, was the Factory Act, which placed limits on the hours that could be worked by women and children and began for the very first time a process of factory inspections, by which the government could enforce the law on behalf of the workers it sought to protect.
Fitzwilliam and Caroline, who had campaigned for both reforms, were ecstatic, particularly because it set Britain apart in Europe. When they dined together at the Darcys’ house in Portman Square, Elizabeth took the opportunity to acquaint them with recent developments in the family, including the latest news from Longbourn. As they gathered in the drawing room after dinner, young Jonathan received congratulations and some teasing about becoming the squire of Longbourn, a title he was loathe to acknowledge. “I have no intention of thinking about it,” he declared, “since my grandfather is in extremely good health and the Longbourn Estate is unlikely to require a new squire for many years yet. But, I shall be spending a great deal of time learning to manage the place well.”
Darcy and Fitzwilliam expressed their confidence in his ability to do just that, pointing out that he had already learned much from his father, who was doing an excellent job at Ashford Park.
Elizabeth, writing to her sister, could not fail to mention her favourite nephew:

Dear Jane,

If I had one regret, it was that you and Bingley were not present to witness the graciousness and kindness of your son. Papa was so very proud and spoke with great affection of his grandson. All present were agreed that Jonathan acquitted himself with distinction, showing a degree of maturity quite unexpected in one so young. Dear Jane, you would have been very pleased with your boy. I know I do not need to say this to you, dear Jane, but both Darcy and I are delighted that Jonathan is to become Papa’s manager and will ultimately inherit Longbourn. Kitty and I are agreed that no better person can be trusted to look after it than Jonathan. His assurances to Papa and Mary were so sincere, they brought tears to their eyes, and even I, unsentimental as I am, could not deny that I was moved. There are not many young men in society today, who feel so deeply for those older and less fortunate than themselves . . .

Apart from this genuinely happy circumstance, I am able to report also, that the Wickhams have been thoroughly routed and their impertinent plans lie in tatters. Papa, on hearing the merest whisper of it from Mary and Kitty, had immediately set Mr Grimes to work to prevent such a catastrophe from occurring. Darcy and Uncle Gardiner are of the opinion that Papa had been considering the disposition of the Longbourn Estate ever since the death of poor Mr Collins but had not wanted to upset Mama by changing his will while she was still alive. Her sudden death and the Wickhams’ unseemly haste in declaring their intentions had obviously brought about a swifter response. I confess I may be prejudiced in my judgement, but when we met at Mama’s funeral, I did not find young Henry Wickham an attractive or likeable young man, and I am thoroughly pleased that he is not to play any role in the future of Longbourn. He has too much of his father’s swagger and very little of his ability to please, which if you recall was the quality that originally promoted him in our own estimation, when he appeared in Meryton all those years ago. Perhaps this is a good thing, in that Henry will have less ability to dissemble, lacking the smooth manner which had so many people, and I include myself, sorely deceived by his father.

To pleasanter subjects now, dear Jane, Papa and Mary will join us at Christmas as will Georgiana and Dr Grantley. We are eager to see you and Bingley and the children. Charlotte and the girls will be with us too, so we shall have many opportunities for really good long talks together, and there is so much to talk about. I am looking forward to it.

Your loving sister,
Lizzie.

Returning to Pemberley was always, for Elizabeth, a moment to look forward to. As the carriage reached the point where the road, emerging from the surrounding woods, provided a most compelling view of the handsome stone building that was now her home, she unfailingly caught her breath at the beauty of the prospect. Adding to its natural attractions, was the felicity of her life within it—the peace that it brought her in an era of national ferment, the gentle care and loyalty she received from the staff, her own family—the happiness she had found with Darcy and their two beloved children. Pemberley had become a symbol of all this. Even now, in the midst of Winter, it was her warm and secure home.

Alighting from the carriage, Elizabeth looked around and was surprised not to find Emily or Cassandra anywhere in sight. Untroubled, but mildly curious, she asked after them. Mrs Reynolds’ face had not betrayed her anxiety, but when she spoke, her voice trembled. “I would have told you when you had come indoors, Ma’am. There has been a nasty accident in the valley; a coach has gone off the road into a gully near Kympton, and many people are said to be injured. Miss Gardiner and Miss Cassandra have gone to help. They’ve taken Jenny and a couple of the men with them,” she said, and despite her best efforts, could not hold back her tears.

Elizabeth went indoors immediately and asked for more information. Darcy had already spoken with the stable hands who had first heard the news. One of them had witnessed the accident and had ridden over to Lambton to get help. “Could you see who they were?” Darcy asked, and the lad replied that they were obviously travellers from outside the district, unfamiliar with the hazards on the roads around here.

“There was ice and slush on the road, Sir. The wheels must have skidded as they came around the big bend above the gully.” Within half an hour, Elizabeth and Darcy had set off with a couple more men and emergency supplies, to see if anything more could be done to help. They arrived at the church hall at Kympton to find it buzzing with activity. Clearly, most of the passengers who had been rescued had been brought into the church, out of the cold, where they were being plied with hot drinks, while their less fortunate fellow travellers, who had suffered injuries, had been carried into the vestry, where to her surprise Elizabeth found Richard Gardiner and Paul Antoine tending the wounded, with Emily, Cassandra, and Jenny in attendance. The Gardiners were there with blankets, bandages, and tea, or something a little stronger for those who had need of it. Mercifully, no one had been killed, but several of the children had suffered bruising and were now very cold indeed. The rest of the afternoon was spent transporting the wounded to the district hospital, several miles away.

As it grew dark and the threat of sleet or worse became imminent, Darcy decided that the seven remaining travellers could not be allowed to spend the night in the draughty church hall. Some of them would probably need further treatment. Having consulted Richard and Elizabeth, he sent a message to Pemberley to have beds prepared in the old nursery wing, for those who would be brought in, as well as food for the travellers and others who had helped, working in the cold all afternoon.

Richard, who had been working without rest for several hours, was delighted that his patients would soon have hot food and warm beds. He was, however, rather more concerned about his loyal assistant, Paul Antoine. Emily had noticed that Paul had been running back and forth from the church hall to fetch and carry and help Richard as he struggled to treat the wounded and calm those who were panicstricken. In spite of his warm clothes, he looked cold but seemed not to notice. When she stopped him with a bowl of hot soup, he had thanked her profusely, but having only taken a couple of mouthfuls, he had rushed away to attend to a frightened child. Richard sought out Elizabeth and confided that he was worried about Paul and asked if she could take him back to Pemberley with her. Elizabeth agreed at once.

It was late and very cold when the last of the travellers had been transported to Pemberley, where rooms, beds, blankets, hot water, and food had all been made ready for them. The men and women and a couple of young children had no idea who their benefactors were, but they were grateful indeed for this timely succour. Had they not been promptly rescued and sheltered, they may well have caught their deaths of exposure. As it happened, Richard, who quite by chance had been at his mother’s house in Lambton, had been called by Darcy’s man, and his prompt attention had probably saved their lives.

That night, exhausted, but well-pleased with his work, he used the opportunity to broach the subject of a cottage hospital for the area with Darcy. “It is of no use to expect either the government or the council to do anything. The only hospital is many miles away, and as you can see, in a real emergency, the victim could die before he gets there. It was just by chance that I was here to help them,” he said. Darcy was interested. He had always believed that a community needed hospitals, schools, libraries, and similar facilities situated locally. They were the heart of any society. The success of the infant schools at Pemberley and Kympton had proved him right. He promised to talk to the other landowners in the area, especially Sir Thomas Camden, and give Richard an answer by Christmas.

“There is one problem,” said Darcy, “we would need a doctor resident in the area, would we not?” He was pleasantly surprised when Richard said, “Build us a hospital; you shall have a resident physician, I promise.”

“Do you mean you would move from Birmingham?”
“Indeed, I would, sir,” said Richard, surprising and delighting his mother, “I went to Birmingham because they needed a doctor. There was work for me there. They have a district hospital at which I work, on two days a week, as well as running a very busy practice. If I had as much work here, I would gladly move.”
“That,” said Darcy, “sounds very much like an offer I cannot possibly refuse. If I can get Camden to agree, I might hold you to that promise.”
Emily came in to say that Paul had a high fever and should be sent to bed. Richard rose immediately and followed her upstairs, while Elizabeth, who longed to ask her aunt many questions, remained silent. When Richard returned, his face was very grave. “Paul is very ill. He must not be moved. Cousin Lizzie, may I stay overnight? I am very reluctant to leave him like this.”
“Richard, of course you must stay. In any event, some of the travellers may need your help too; think nothing of it. Darcy can lend you some clothes. Meanwhile, is there anything we can do for Paul?” Elizabeth asked, eager to help. Richard shook his head.
“No, it is mostly exhaustion from working all afternoon in the cold. He is not very strong.” Emily appeared very troubled too, but Elizabeth noticed that her brother spoke softly to her for a while, and she seemed to be calmer thereafter.
Fortunately, the following week brought clearer if not exactly warmer weather, and all of the travellers who had suffered mainly bruising and exposure recovered and were able to return to Matlock and resume their interrupted journey.
Paul Antoine, however, remained at Pemberley on the orders of his friend and physician. Emily seemed to take great pleasure in his company and in carrying out all the strict instructions her brother left for the care of his patient. Paul himself was the most undemanding of patients, always being grateful for the care that was lavished on him and appearing to improve with each passing day. Emily was sure that the warmth, comfort, and good food at Pemberley were hastening his recovery. Elizabeth was even more certain that the identity of the carer had as much to do with Paul’s progress as the care he received.
During the time he spent at Pemberley, Elizabeth discovered the particular charm of this unassuming, gentle, young Frenchman. She could, by observing Emily and Paul together, see how much they enjoyed each other’s company, but she could not say with any certainty that there was a deeper level of affection between them. Emily’s commitment to ensuring that Paul recovered from his illness and was assisted to become stronger and healthier was paramount. Try as she might, Elizabeth could find no evidence of a romantic attachment at all. It left her even more bewildered, and she was determined to seek some explanation.
It would soon be Christmas, and for all the good fortune they had enjoyed, it did not look as if the family would have as enjoyable a celebration this year as before. Though no one had been killed in the coach accident on the Matlock road, it had frightened a great many folk, and there was a general lack of merriment around.
When the families gathered on Christmas Eve, three of the children in the choir failed to arrive, being suddenly taken ill with croup. It was a bitter blow to Cassandra, who had taken over organising the children’s party from Georgiana. Elizabeth was disappointed but, despite this, determined that they would enjoy their Christmas together. At least, they were not snowed in, as they had been a few years ago. Pemberley was a large house, but it had been well-designed for comfort in all types of weather. It was not difficult to engender a warm and cheerful atmosphere for the festivities on Christmas Eve and the days that followed, and the families as they gathered filled the house with laughter.
Jane, Charlotte, and Elizabeth had the pleasure of seeing their children meet and mingle as friends, in the same way that their mothers had done. Amelia-Jane, Charlotte’s youngest, who was not quite fourteen, insisted on teaching William the latest dance from Europe—the polka, which he declared was more like a barn dance.
Jonathan and Emma Bingley were without doubt the handsomest young couple dancing, but Richard Gardiner and Cassandra Darcy drew many admiring comments too.
By the end of Boxing Day, when the festive food was cleared away and the big front room glowed with the light of candles and the warmth of a huge log fire, Elizabeth felt everything was right with her world. The voices of the children rose in song as their parents sat together around the room. William and Cassandra played and sang a charming French carol they had been practising all week and received many compliments for their performance. Sitting beside his wife, Darcy put an arm around her, and Elizabeth caught her sister’s eye across the room and smiled. Jane, surrounded as usual by her beautiful family, made a blissful picture.
Elizabeth felt a niggling little doubt creep out of a corner of her mind, a reminder of Jane’s persistent unease—the obsession with “not deserving such happiness.” But, annoyed with herself for letting it in to spoil her pleasure, Elizabeth pushed it away.
Darcy caught the merest flicker of irritation as it crossed her countenance, “Is something wrong, Lizzie?” he asked, sensing that she was uneasy. Elizabeth smiled serenely and shook her head.
“No, dearest,” she said, “nothing is wrong, nothing at all,” she replied, as the voices of the children singing the lovely Coventry carol filled the room.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

And why has happiness no second Spring?

W

HEN ELIZABETH AWOKE TO a cold grey morning, she did not stop to consider whether it was some ill-omen for the day to follow. She was sufficiently familiar with the changeable nature of

Derbyshire weather in January to be grateful that it was not pouring with rain. The previous evening had been a particularly pleasant one. Before most of
her guests left, Elizabeth had successfully broached an idea upon which she and
Emily Gardiner had set their hearts. They had planned to hold a Harvest Fair
at Pemberley, to provide an opportunity for the tenant farmers, farm labourers,
and their families to sell their garden produce, display their individual skills and
crafts, and help their community at the same time.
Jane had suggested that it would also be a good opportunity to celebrate the
“coming out” of three young ladies, who would all be seventeen that year—
Emma Bingley, Cassandra Darcy, and their friend Rebecca Collins. Especially
if Mr Darcy could be prevailed upon to give a ball in their honour, it would
surely be an occasion for a great family gathering. Bingley, who was still most
enthusiastic about dancing, keeping up with all the new European dances,
declared it to be a splendid idea.
Plans were immediately afoot for a variety of activities to be organised for
the fair and the ball that would follow, after Mr Darcy agreed to the ball, for how could he refuse in the face of such universal approval? The younger members of the family insisted that there had to be a “magic show” and “fortune tellers” at the fair, while others saw opportunities to benefit their favourite causes. Kitty and her husband decided they would collect donations in cash and kind for their school, while Caroline thought it would be an ideal occasion to get more signatures for the People’s Charter for Universal Suffrage, which was gaining popularity around the country. Colonel Fitzwilliam warned that if Elizabeth did not exercise some control, the Pemberley Harvest Fair may begin
to rival the scale of the celebrations after Waterloo!
Undeterred by such mischievous cynicism, Elizabeth, Emily, and Caroline
were determined the event was going to be a great success. “You may laugh,
Fitzy, but I think it is going to be a wonderful occasion. People will come from
miles around, and we shall remember the day for many years to come,” predicted
Caroline with confidence.
Elizabeth was delighted with their response and thanked Darcy for
having agreed to the idea in the first place. She knew how much he valued
his privacy at Pemberley and was grateful he had agreed, without complaint,
to let it be invaded. “I know that you will feel put out by having all these
people tramping around the grounds, dearest, but I do believe it is in a very
good cause,” she said, apologetically. Darcy insisted that he would not be put
out at all.
“You need not apologise to me, Lizzie. I am perfectly happy to have the
grounds of Pemberley used for the benefit of our community. Pemberley is at the
centre of that community, and I think we should play our part. I think it is an
excellent idea, and I am sure it will be a great success.” Elizabeth was genuinely
surprised by his apparent enthusiasm, but she responded quickly, “I do hope so.
Of course, there is a lot of work to be done, and I shall need to organise a team
of helpers. I am so glad you are in favour of it; I was afraid you might be set
against the whole idea.”
Darcy smiled, “Oh, I may well have been, some years ago, before my selfish, thoughtless ways were so thoroughly exposed and severely dealt with. But
as you know, my dear Lizzie, I am now a reformed man.” She could hear the
ironic humour in his voice, and her own response acknowledged it. “I do know it, and I hope that reformed man knows he is more loved than
anyone in the world, because he is quite the kindest and most generous person I have ever known.” Darcy fairly beamed with pleasure but, pretending to be embarrassed by the extravagance of her declaration, he teased her, “Hush, Lizzie, have a care or I may have such a high notion of my virtue, that I shall become insufferable all over again, and all your good work will have been undone!” Even as she laughed, Elizabeth wondered how she had ever found him insufferable. There remained little similarity between the man who had walked into the Assembly room at Meryton with a hauteur she had deemed to be intolerable and the husband she loved so dearly. His approval meant everything to her, and his encouragement of the undertaking bestowed upon it a
special distinction.
Unfortunately, the following morning—which by breakfast time had lived
up to its promise, turning even colder with sleet falling on the hills behind the
house—brought Elizabeth’s surge of pleasure to an abrupt end. Shortly after
breakfast, Darcy and Mr Gardiner had driven out to Kympton, leaving Mrs
Gardiner and Emily with Elizabeth, when an express was delivered to the door.
When the maid brought it to Elizabeth, she thought it was nothing unusual.
“It’s from Lydia,” she said. Emily and Mrs Gardiner exchanged glances, expecting it to contain the usual request for help with her post-Christmas bills. But, when Elizabeth had read it quickly through, she threw it down with a
cry of pain, tears welling in her eyes. Mrs Gardiner left her seat beside the fire
and flew to her niece’s side. “Why, my dear Lizzie, what is it? What has happened? Is it bad news?” Elizabeth could barely speak.
“No,” she said bitterly, “it is not bad news—it is just bad!”
“Why? What does she say?” asked her aunt. Elizabeth spoke with difficulty,
as if her feelings were choking her.
“Lydia accuses us—Darcy and me, of manipulating Papa’s will, so that her
son, Henry Wickham, is deprived of the chance to inherit Longbourn.” Mrs Gardiner gasped. “This is outrageous,” she said. Emily went further.
“How dare she? What right has she to suppose such a thing?” She reached for
the letter and as she read it, grew angrier by the minute, until her mother urged
her to read it aloud. Emily complained that Lydia’s handwriting was so poor she
could hardly make it out. Finally, she began to read:

My dear Lizzie, you will probably not welcome this letter, but it will be no worse for you and Mr Darcy than the communication I have received this day, from Mr Grimes, Papa’s attorney. I have never met him, but I imagine him to be a most disagreeable man, judging by his horrid letter. He informs me that in order to spare me and my family any further disappointment of expectations based upon speculation rather than fact regarding the disposition of the Longbourn Estate—fancy all those long, difficult words— he has been asked by his client (by which he means Papa!) to advise me of the following. He then informs me that Papa has named Mr Jonathan Bingley as his manager, when he attains his majority, and heir to the Longbourn Estate on Papa’s death, with life interest to Miss Mary Bennet, as long as she remains single. What a joke! All I am to look forward to is my share of whatever monies are left to be divided between us after Papa’s death, but Mary will have all of Longbourn! Lizzie, you could have knocked me down with a feather! Jonathan to be Papa’s manager! Why he is not yet eighteen. And why, when my Henry is older than Jonathan and is Papa’s eldest grandchild, does he ignore him? As for Mary, what will she do with that large place? Wickham and I believe this is all your doing—you and Mr Darcy. Wickham says it is exactly the kind of thing Mr Darcy would do, just as he edged Wickham out of a most valuable living at Pemberley, after old Mr Darcy’s death. Lizzie, it is not right. As you know well, Jonathan will inherit Mr Bingley’s fortune, which we hear has grown considerably of late. Why then should he have Longbourn, too? It is selfish and greedy. I shall write to Jane and Papa. They must see that my two boys also need help to get on in life. Henry could manage Papa’s estate and live at Longbourn, while he did it. I could run the household for both of them. There would be plenty of room, Mary does not need more than a couple of rooms, and Papa spends most of his time in his library. Lizzie, I hope you and Mr Darcy realise what you have done to my poor children. Perhaps if you were not quite so rich, you would have understood how difficult it is for those of us who have insufficient money and no inherited wealth. I hope Papa and Jane see how unfair they have been to us and our children—especially Henry. I have to say that having felt his coldness towards us when we were at Longbourn for dear Mama’s funeral, I do not expect much sympathy from Papa. Perhaps Jane will be more helpful.

Yours etc.
Lydia Wickham

Mrs Gardiner, who had sat aghast as Emily read the letter aloud, appeared to have been struck dumb. Emily went to Elizabeth and put her arms around her cousin. “Oh dear Lizzie, do not pay any attention to Lydia. She is both stupid and ignorant. This is a cruel, vicious letter, which betrays her complete lack of decent feeling,” she said as she tried to comfort her.

Elizabeth, who had wept as Emily read the letter, sat up and blew her nose. “You are quite right, Emily, Lydia is stupid, but this letter is not her own work. It is Wickham’s doing and shows his vicious nature; he still persists with his attacks upon Darcy and by association, myself, with all those lies about being edged out of his valuable living, and now there is this nonsense about our part in denying Henry his inheritance! Mr Grimes has made it very clear that Longbourn is now Papa’s to leave to whomever he chooses and he has chosen Jonathan—of all his grandsons. Now, we have not objected on William’s behalf, nor has Kitty. So why should Lydia?” She could scarcely hold back her tears of rage.

“Dearest Lizzie,” said Mrs Gardiner, who had recovered some of her composure, “Can you not see that Wickham and Lydia are furious because their wretched little plan has gone awry? They wish to blame you; it is just their dreadful way of being revenged upon Mr Darcy and yourself.”

Elizabeth nodded, appearing a little calmer but still sufficiently angry to wish to sit down immediately and pen letters to her father and sister Jane, warning them of Lydia’s complaints. As soon as they were written and sealed, she had them despatched by express, after which tea combined with sympathetic understanding from her aunt and Emily helped considerably to improve her spirits. When Darcy and Mr Gardiner returned, nothing was said about the letter before and during dinner.

After the Gardiners had left and Elizabeth and Darcy had retired to their apartments, she handed her husband the letter, apologising as she did for its dreadful contents. She was uncertain of his response—expecting anger. But as Darcy read it, he laughed out loud and declared, “Elizabeth, dearest, is it not good to know that Wickham has been so soundly beaten? This letter, filled with rage, betrays him and proves how right your father was to have acted as he did,” he said, smiling broadly, obviously delighted with the prospect of Wickham’s defeat.

Bewildered, Elizabeth asked, “Are you not angry about all those lies?” “Angry? Of course not. Why should we be angry? We sought nothing for ourselves and our children. We were happily present to witness your father declare clearly his wishes for the disposition of his estate. This squalid letter proves what I have always believed; I do not accept that this is all Lydia’s doing; Wickham was behind it, it is his type of devious trick, and it gives me immense pleasure to see him comprehensively routed.” Darcy sounded genuinely pleased, and despite the hurt she had felt at Lydia’s cruel words, Elizabeth’s humour began to improve.

In the days that followed, letters received from her father and Jane reassured her that the Wickhams’ effort to disrupt their peaceful lives had failed. Neither Jane nor Mr Bennet appeared at all perturbed by the threat of incurring the wrath of the Wickhams. Both of them reassured Elizabeth that they would deal with any approach from Lydia very swiftly indeed. Elizabeth was relieved and soon decided that Darcy was right; the Wickhams were best ignored.

J

When Richard Gardiner returned to Oakleigh from Birmingham, he found two invitations waiting for him. The first, which he considered an honour, was to address a group of churchmen, public officials, and landowners, who had heard good reports of his work in Birmingham and wished to try something similar in Derby. Lord Derby was said to be interested in improving the housing and health of his tenants, and the possibility of obtaining his assistance for their scheme had excited the worthy citizens of Derby and the editor of the Pioneer newspaper, which had long campaigned for better health care and schooling for the children of the area, with little success. Having despatched a letter of acceptance, Richard took up the next letter, an invitation to dine at Pemberley, which he expected would be pure pleasure. The note from his cousin Elizabeth suggested that he might wish to stay overnight, since there were some matters to discuss, “about the hospital and other things besides.” She went on:

Cassy and William have also begged me to remind you to bring along the copy of the composition by Mr Mendelsohn you apparently promised to pick up for them. They have talked of little else since attending his concert in London. I cannot believe that either of them will have sufficient skill to play the grand “Capriccio Brillante,” but they are determined to attempt it.

Since his sister Emily had, as was her usual practice, returned to Oakleigh to spend a few days with her parents, Richard found himself dining with Darcy, Elizabeth, and Sir Thomas Camden. There was plenty of interest in the work Richard was doing in Birmingham, where in a very short time, he had transformed a rundown clinic into a children’s hospital. Much of the inspiration and funds had come from his friend and assistant Paul Antoine, who had been determined to spend some of his own money on renovating the old place. When he mentioned the invitation to speak to the influential citizens of Derby, Sir Thomas was most impressed. “It looks as if they mean business,” he said.

“Perhaps we are finally beginning to make people understand the importance of decent housing and health care in a community,” said Richard, pointing out that they had waged a hopeless battle for many years with very little success. Darcy was quick to agree.

“I have always believed that we cannot build a strong nation if the people who do the most difficult jobs—the farmers, miners, mill workers, and such are housed in unsanitary conditions, with no schools or hospitals. Fitzwilliam has been campaigning for the recognition of this need for years, and so has Sir Thomas through his newspaper, but unfortunately, neither the old Tories nor the present government seem prepared to spend the money, because it will mean higher taxes on the middle classes, who support them.”

“And form a large part of their new majority in the Commons,” said Richard. Elizabeth, who had been listening in silence, asked, “Would it not be worthwhile making a start ourselves? If the community set the example and began work on a hospital, could we not then persuade the government, through our local members, for support to continue the work?”

“Indeed, Cousin Lizzie, that will be the burden of my message when I go to Derby next week. If we can show that there is a need and make a start locally, I believe we can push the government for support. On the other hand, if we do nothing but complain, we will achieve nothing.” Darcy nodded, smiling as he agreed.

“You are quite right. There is nothing better calculated to capture the attention of a Member of Parliament than a large group of his constituents involved in an undertaking that benefits their community. It fills him with a desire to be associated with such good works. We shall have to ensure that we extract a price for this association with a noble cause.”
“Well, it will cost either money or votes,” laughed Richard. “Indeed,” said Darcy, who then proceeded, to Richard’s great delight, to

announce that Sir Thomas Camden and he had agreed to donate the land and initial costs for the building of a cottage hospital for the area. “There is a fairsized block of land at Littleford, on the boundary of the Pemberley Estate and the Camden property, served by a lane that comes directly off the road that goes through to Bakewell and Lambton. It used to be quite a prosperous farm, tenanted by a farmer, who died last year. He had no family, and the place has been vacant for several months. I think it is well-situated for your purpose—being both private and accessible by public road.”

Sir Thomas intervened to add that if there was a need to use some of the adjacent land on his side of the boundary, it would present no problem, and furthermore, his steward would be able to organise a group of builders, labourers, and artisans who could work on the building, once the plans were ready. “There are several men in the area who are not fully occupied—there is not very much work around, and they would welcome the money,” he said. Richard was almost speechless with delight and could not thank them enough. As they rose to move into the drawing room, he said to Elizabeth, “I can hardly believe what I have heard. This is excellent news. I cannot wait to tell Paul; he will be delighted.”

Elizabeth had been waiting for just such an opportunity. Having first asked after his friend’s health and been assured it was improving, though slowly, she continued, “Richard, there is a matter I must discuss with you.” Her voice indicated the seriousness of her concern, and Richard was immediately attentive, thinking it involved the health of some member of the family or household.

“What is it, Cousin Lizzie? I shall be happy to help in any way.” “It is not help I need, Richard; rather it is information, for I am quite bewildered by a certain situation which I am unable to understand. I need to ask you to be completely honest with me. Will you?” Richard, still unaware of the core of her concern, looked more puzzled than ever but, convinced of its seriousness agreed immediately.
“Of course.”
“Well then, when Cassy and William go off to the music room, I shall follow them, leaving Darcy and Sir Thomas in here. Please come with me; we can talk undisturbed there.” After coffee was served and the gentlemen settled into comfortable chairs by the fire, as Elizabeth had predicted, William and Cassandra went to the music room, carrying the music Richard had brought them. Richard could tell from his cousin’s expression that she was worried, but he had no idea what was causing her anxiety.
Elizabeth’s first question took him completely by surprise. “Richard, are you aware that your friend Paul Antoine is falling in love with Emily?” Before he could respond, she continued, “For many months now, I have observed him in her company, both here and elsewhere; so frequently are they together whether by coincidence or design, I cannot say, but it is quite clear that they are very partial to one another. Neither of your parents has said anything to me, but I shall be astonished if they are unaware of it.” Richard’s face betrayed both his surprise and some obvious distress. Elizabeth expected him to respond, and when he did not, she persisted, “Richard, I have asked you for the truth, because I must know, if only because I dearly love your sister and feel responsible for her since she lives here at Pemberley. Please tell me, what is the true situation? I am convinced they are in love or soon will be. Has Paul confided in you? What are his intentions and his prospects? If they marry, how will they live?” Richard hesitated for a moment before he spoke.
“They cannot marry,” he said, in so firm a voice that Elizabeth was shocked into asking, “What do you mean? Is there some impediment?”
“Yes, and they are both aware of it. They may well care for each other; I am sure they do, but they both know there is no question of marriage.” Richard’s face and voice were so grave that Elizabeth feared to ask her next question.
“Why? What has he done?” she had dreadful visions of the young Frenchman as a fugitive from justice perhaps.
“Nothing,” replied Richard, “Paul has done nothing wrong. But he cannot marry Emily or anyone else, because he is ill; he is dying of Tuberculosis and unlikely to survive the next Winter.” This time, Elizabeth was quite unable to speak. She sat down on a couch at the far end of the room, her mind racing wildly, glad of the distraction of William and Cassandra’s trying to make music at the piano. She had known that Paul was not very strong. He was pale and had seemed to cough so much recently, but Tuberculosis had never entered her mind. When she spoke, her first thought was for Emily.
“Does Emily know all of this?”
Richard nodded gravely. “Yes, she has always known, and so have my parents,” he explained and went on, “I lived with Paul’s family when I was in Paris, completing my medical studies. They treated me as if I was their own son. Paul was studying too—to be an apothecary. Even then, he had signs of a weak constitution, and it was deemed that he was not strong enough to study medicine, though he was certainly intelligent enough to do so.” Richard’s voice was low, and Lizzie strained to hear him, “When his father died, he left most of his fortune to Paul; his sisters were all well-married and settled in the country. His mother, who herself had a very delicate constitution, begged me to look after him. She knew that Paul was not only in poor health, he has a kind and unsuspecting nature which may easily fall prey to crooks and charlatans. I promised her that I would do everything I could, not just because we were as close as brothers, but also out of appreciation for their kindness and generosity to me. Not very long afterwards, I had completed my studies and was preparing to return home, when Paul’s mother died. Being quite alone in Paris, he asked if he could accompany me to England and work as my assistant. He asked for no salary; he has plenty of money of his own and offered to pay for a share in the practice.”
Elizabeth asked, “And at this stage did you know he had Tuberculosis?”
“Certainly not. At that stage, he appeared to have a recurring respiratory problem, but that is not uncommon in Europe. Some months after our arrival in England, however, when his condition did not improve, I took him to see a colleague in Harley Street, and my suspicions were confirmed. He has a form of Tuberculosis—not the galloping consumption that afflicted Keats, but a slow death sentence nevertheless.”
“Is there really no cure?” asked Elizabeth, shaken and incredulous. Richard shook his head, his voice sad, “If there were, many more lives would have been saved.”
He proceeded to list a number of illustrious persons who had succumbed to the disease, from the young daughter of King George III to the great German composer Karl Maria von Weber, who had thrilled English audiences during a triumphant tour only to die shortly after he returned to Germany. “And of course, there are thousands of ordinary men, women, and children dying of this same affliction in England,” said Richard.
“And is there nothing to be done to help them?” asked Elizabeth.
“Very little when they live as most poor people do in unsanitary and crowded conditions, undernourished, and overworked.”
“What about Paul?”
“There is no cure for him, but we can do several things to prolong his life and make him comfortable. Fresh air, exercise, nourishing food, friendship and good company will all help. He did improve considerably last Summer, but since that accident on the Matlock Road, when he worked with me to help the travellers, he has not been able to shake off the severe cough he got as a result of the exposure.”
“And your mother, father, and Emily all know about this?” asked Elizabeth, still incredulous.
“Indeed, they do. Surely you do not believe that I would have allowed my family, my sister in particular, to remain in ignorance of the truth? How could I? It was quite plain that they liked him; he is a most attractive and likeable young man. Indeed, my mother loves him like a son. She will do anything to help him, but she knows there is nothing we can do for him except to give him all the affection and care we can, for as long as he needs it.” Elizabeth was concerned for Emily, who spent so much time with Paul.
“Can she be in any danger of infection?” she asked.
“Not unless she is careless, and I have instructed her well on the precautions she must take. She is healthy, strong, and sensible, which is her best protection,” Richard explained, adding that Paul himself was very careful not to place others at risk, particularly children. “You must understand that he will not visit Pemberley again, because he does not wish to place William and Cassy in any danger, nor will he visit the Fitzwilliams because of their young children. That is his decision. When he can no longer live on his own, I shall get a professional nurse to care for him; I would never place him in an institution.”
Elizabeth was so shocked by Richard’s revelations as to make a swift response impossible. Her anguish heightened by the belief that Richard must have judged her to be hard and insensitive, she apologised for having broached the subject as she had done. “I am most sincerely sorry, Richard; I knew nothing of this. Had I known, I would never have questioned you as I did.” Richard tried to put her at ease.
“Please do not distress yourself, Cousin Lizzie, how could you have known? You were quite properly concerned for Emily.”
“Yes, and I did not spare a thought for Paul. I am truly sorry.”
Her contrition touched Richard, and he reassured her, “I see now that I should have told you and Mr Darcy, but for Paul’s sake we did not wish to tell too many people. Once the news got around, there was bound to be a change in the way people regarded him, and that would have caused him even more pain. Emily made me promise to keep it secret until she was ready to tell you herself.”
Elizabeth realised that Emily would probably have done so soon. She asked Richard’s permission to tell her husband.
“Of course. He must know why Paul will not be visiting Pemberley.”
“And can you say how long it might be?” Elizabeth could not bring herself to utter the dreadful words, yet he read her thoughts. “No one can tell with any certainty,” he said, “A great deal depends on his ability to fight the disease. The weather is important, too. If we have a bright, warm Summer, it will help him. A cold, wet one, and he certainly will not see out the year.”
Later that night, Elizabeth told her husband of her conversation with Richard. After the initial shock and expressions of sorrow, Darcy was silent and thoughtful. When he spoke, it was with a suggestion. “I shall tell Richard tomorrow that should he need a place for Paul to stay, where he could be cared for conveniently, he is welcome to use the house at Littleford, on the property we have donated for the hospital. It is a clean and comfortable place and would probably suit them well. A couple of our men could help with the daily chores. It’s the very least we can do.” Elizabeth was struck by his compassion and concern. Noticing her distress, he put his arms around her to comfort her. “I know how you must feel, Lizzie. I am truly shocked and saddened, but we cannot begin to understand their sorrow. There can be no situation more tragic than theirs. I can only wonder at their selflessness. I doubt I should have been able to bear similar misfortune with such courage.” Elizabeth agreed, adding quietly, “How little we know even those closest to us. I have known Emily since her childhood, yet never did I dream that she was capable of such deep feelings and so much fortitude.”
The following morning, after breakfast, Mr Darcy walked with Richard to the carriage that was waiting to take him to Lambton. Before they parted, he advised Richard that he could use the house at Littleford for Paul, whenever he wished to move him from Birmingham. “I am truly grieved by this news, Richard, both for your friend Paul and for Emily, who has become so much a part of our family here at Pemberley. It grieves me that she has suffered alone and we, in our ignorance of this unhappy situation, have been unable to help in any way. I want you to know that if there is anything I can do, if we can assist you in any way at all, you must feel free to ask. As soon as you wish to use the house at Littleford, my manager will see that it is made ready, and any help you require will be provided, for as long as it is needed.” Expressing his profound gratitude for the generosity of his host, Richard declared that he would like to move Paul out of Birmingham as soon as possible.
“Birmingham does him no good at all; it’s too polluted and crowded. The air here is fresh and sweet; exactly what he needs. Moreover, Paul will be most enthusiastic about the hospital, and if I can persuade him that I need him here, to keep a watch on the project, it will give him something to do.” Having expressed his gratitude once again, Richard departed, eager to acquaint his mother and sister with the excellent news about the hospital as well as Darcy’s generous offer of the house for Paul. In spite of his sadness about his friend’s condition, Richard felt his spirits lift as he contemplated Darcy’s kindness. Having spent much of his adult life studying in Edinburgh, London, and Paris, Richard had not had the opportunity to become closely acquainted with Mr Darcy, depending largely upon the judgement of his parents, whose affection and praise for him were unqualified. His own observation of Darcy’s actions on the day of the accident to the coach and his present compassionate behaviour confirmed this. For his part, Darcy, who had felt deeply unhappy on hearing the news about Paul Antoine, was glad to be able to help.
Later that week, Elizabeth went to Lambton to visit her aunt. It was apparent that Richard had told his mother about his conversation with Elizabeth, because the two women hardly needed words to express their feelings. Both had been through much soul searching and agony, and it was not easy to speak of the concerns they shared. But they had too much affection for each other to let anything come between them. Elizabeth’s own love for Emily and her aunt’s unhappy sense of helplessness in the face of her present sorrow brought them together. Mrs Gardiner was contrite, “I am sorry that you were left in ignorance for so long, my dear Lizzie; it was only that Emily would have it so, and since it was not my secret to divulge, I could not speak of it to you, even though I have longed to do so, many times.” Elizabeth, whose affection for her aunt far outweighed any unhappiness she may have felt at being excluded from her confidence on this matter, assured Mrs Gardiner that she understood perfectly well Emily’s wish to have as few people as possible made aware of Paul’s illness and her own feelings for him. As Darcy had pointed out, in such circumstances, the knowledge that a wide circle of family and acquaintances, not all of whom were equally sympathetic, were privy to a situation of which they had not the fullest understanding could be unbearably harrowing. Elizabeth told her aunt that she above anyone knew how a person’s misfortunes could be magnified and used by others to denigrate an entire family. She recalled Mr Collins’ unpleasant little letter gloating over Lydia’s elopement and its consequences for the rest of her family. Clearly, Emily would have been anxious to avoid anything similar.
Having spent sufficient time to reassure her aunt of her love and willingness to help at any time, if help was needed, Elizabeth left to return to Pemberley, where she sought out her cousin Emily, finding her in her favourite spot, an alcove at the far end of the library. She had a book of poems in her hand and a notebook on the desk in front of her, but it was quite plain that she had not been reading or writing at all, for her eyes were red with weeping, and her note paper was covered with meaningless scribbles. When Elizabeth approached her, she tried vainly to smile but failed as her feelings spilled out with her tears. Elizabeth put her arms around her and held her awhile, “Emily dearest, I have just come from seeing your mother. I know from her, and from Richard, how things are. Please do not blame your brother; it was I, in my ignorance of your situation, who questioned him on Saturday night and demanded to be told the truth. It was concern for you, my dear Emily, that led me to ask him. I was afraid you would be hurt,” and as Emily shook with the violence of her sobs, Elizabeth went on, “I did not know how much pain you were suffering already. I am sorry, Emily; I did not mean to pry or intrude upon you.”
When she was able to speak coherently, Emily reassured her cousin that she had not resented her concern. Richard had made it clear that Elizabeth’s motives in asking had been completely estimable and free from censure. Emily felt she owed Elizabeth an explanation for not having confided in her earlier, but it was for Paul’s sake, she said. They had not wanted him to be conscious of the curiosity and, even worse, the pity of everyone he met. Elizabeth took her cousin’s hands in hers and asked very gently, “Do you love each other, Emily?” Emily’s voice was quiet but very firm.
“Yes, we do. But we also know the consequences of our present situation. Oh Lizzie, I know I could help him, but there is so little time,” she said, and again, she could not hold back her tears. Elizabeth struggled with her own feelings as she held her cousin close. It was plain to her that while the young couple may have spoken of their feelings to each other, Emily was in no state to speak of it to anyone else. Embracing her once more and assuring her that she was always available, should Emily need to talk or sit with her, and praying for some comfort for both of them, Elizabeth left, still feeling helpless and unhappy.
Some days later, Emily came to Elizabeth to ask if she could borrow some linen for the house at Littleford, since Richard had written to say he was bringing Paul home on Saturday. Not only was Elizabeth happy to oblige, she insisted on taking Emily to the house in her carriage, where they accomplished a great deal, working together as they prepared it for its new occupant. The loving care with which Emily performed all the little tasks was not lost on Elizabeth; she also had a more fatalistic composure, which made Elizabeth’s heart heavy with sadness.
A month or so after Paul Antoine moved into the farm cottage at Littleford, Richard, with the help of an architect from Derby, produced a plan for a simple cottage hospital. The necessary approval and paperwork having been obtained by Mr Darcy’s manager, Mr Grantham, building was planned to begin in the Summer. Paul had been overjoyed at the news of the generosity of Mr Darcy and Sir Thomas Camden, whose donations of land, materials, and labour had made Richard’s dream a reality. He was excited to be present when the first sod was turned, even if there was no certainty that he would still be there when the hospital welcomed its first patient. Unwilling to admit defeat, he made Emily promise that she would cut the ribbon on the day. It was a promise she gave without question.

J

While Spring had promised much and delivered little, being alternately wet and windy or windy and dry, Summer arrived in a blaze of glorious sunshine, which summoned everybody out of doors. Darcy, Elizabeth, Cassandra, and William left for an extended holiday in the Lake District. It was a journey undertaken mainly because Elizabeth had declared that she could not believe it was possible for anyone to live so close to such an area of renowned natural beauty and not visit it. “I can no longer make excuses when every stranger I meet tells me of the magnificent beauty of the Lakes, but I am dumb for never having seen them. I feel such a barbarian!” she had complained.

“We cannot have that, can we, Papa?” said William, appealing to his father, who had agreed at once. “Certainly not, William, if your Mama must see the Lakes to complete her happiness, we must and shall go there, this Summer.”

And so in May, they set off for the Lakes, making a virtue of necessity and taking the opportunity to have new plumbing and other vital conveniences installed at Pemberley while they were away. Bidding goodbye to Mr and Mrs Gardiner and Richard, with whom they dined the day before their departure, Elizabeth left the addresses of the inns at which they proposed to stay and begged her aunt to write with all the news from home. She was particularly keen to hear of Emily and Paul.

Elizabeth had written also to Jane, who had been prevented from joining them at dinner because of the indisposition of her two youngest children:
Dearest Jane,

We missed you at dinner yesterday and were exceedingly sorry to hear that little Sophia and Louisa are unwell. I pray it is nothing serious and they will soon be themselves again. We leave tomorrow for the Lakes. Only a small party with Darcy, myself, the children, and my faithful Jenny, who refuses to entrust me to unknown ladies’ maids in Cumbria, of which she speaks as if it were a veritable wilderness. Save when she has travelled with me, Jenny has never left Derbyshire, and though a pleasant and intelligent young woman, she still believes that, everywhere outside her home county, men are vile and not to be trusted!

Would it not have been wonderful if we could have taken this holiday together? I do miss our long lazy afternoons and have promised myself that next Summer, we shall all travel to Surrey or Hampshire or some such pleasant spot, where the children will safely entertain themselves, Darcy and Bingley will fish, ride, shoot, or play cricket, while you and I allow ourselves some really long talks together. I shall think of you at the Lakes and look forward to a letter or two while I am away. Dearest Jane, I do miss your letters, now you are so busy with your little ones.

My love to Bingley, my favourite nephew, and all my lovely nieces. Yours etc.

Elizabeth looked forward to their tour of the Lakes with a greater degree of anticipation than she had felt about any other recent activity. She had confessed to Jane that, on her last visit to London, she had been bored except for the excellent recital by Mr Mendelsohn they had attended with Signora Contini and had longed only to return home.

Wondering at her own sense of excitement, which easily exceeded that of her daughter Cassandra, she reasoned that it was probably due to the disappointment she had felt, when many years ago, their plans for just such a tour had been curtailed due to Mr Gardiner’s business commitments. And yet, it had been that very disappointment that had resulted in their being in Derbyshire and more particularly at Pemberley, when its owner happened to return a day earlier than expected. The rest, of course, was history.

Elizabeth and her aunt had often speculated about the possibilities. But Mrs Gardiner, like Jane, had insisted that some things in life were inevitable, and she was confident that Darcy and Elizabeth were so clearly right for each other that they would have met and married anyway. Elizabeth was not so sure and never ceased to thank her aunt and uncle for their part in bringing them together.

On that last occasion, the excursion was to have helped her overcome some degree of disappointment in her estimation of a certain officer of the militia, whose engagement to Miss Mary King had astonished her. Then she had hoped that mountains, rocks, and lakes would bring her fresh life and vigour. Almost twenty years later, with the confidence that a happy marriage and loving children gave her, she was setting off full of life and vigour, looking to enjoy the glories of a place whose beauty had become a lure for many travellers.

Travelling North from Matlock, their journey took them through Yorkshire, which had been a route preferred above the ancient and hazardous one from Lancaster across the treacherous sands of Morecambe Bay at low tide. Their driver regaled them with hair-raising tales of coaches disappearing in the quicksands and careless travellers lost in the fog or engulfed by the rising tide.

William, who was of an age when a touch of a danger seemed to add zest to any activity, wondered aloud why they had not chosen the “cross-sands route.” “Would it not have been so much more exciting, Mama?” he said wistfully. Neither his parents nor the driver of the carriage were prepared to agree with him. Cassandra pointed out, with some sarcasm, that she had thought the purpose of this excursion was to get to the Lakes and enjoy their beauty, not to be drowned or sucked into the quicksands before reaching them.

Elizabeth felt a little sympathy for her son; his elder sister had a quick wit and a sharp turn of phrase, which she occasionally used to put her young brother in his place, yet William, being of a gentle disposition, never ever retaliated. “William is so much like Jane,” her Aunt Gardiner had commented, “such a steady, sweet nature,” and Elizabeth could not but agree. On this occasion, she felt compelled to enter the conversation on his side, “There will be plenty of exciting things to do when we get to the Lakes, William. I promise we shall not spend all our days looking for Mr Wordsworth’s favourite places.” Darcy caught her eye and, understanding her purpose, added that he was looking forward to some fishing and boating on the Lakes and unless he was very much mistaken, there were some exciting hills to climb as well. William, who was easily pleased, agreed that he was looking forward to all of that, but it might have been fun to be able to regale Mr Clarke and Mrs Reynolds with a terrifying tale of being lost in a fog amidst the quicksands of the estuary, at which prospect everyone laughed, including Jenny, who was Mrs Reynold’s niece. William was a great favourite with Mrs Reynolds, a fact not lost on the rest.

Stopping whenever they needed rest or refreshment, while the horses were fed and watered, or staying overnight at an inn which took their fancy, they travelled at a leisurely pace from the dales of Yorkshire into Cumbria. The children were especially intrigued by the dry stone walls that seemed to wind in and out of valleys and over steep craggy mountains, in the teeth of the wind, quite different to the friendly green hedgerows that formed the boundaries of farms in the Midlands and the South of England. Passing through Lonsdale and Kirkby on the border of Cumbria, they proceeded to Kendal, which had grown into an important market town with its cobbled yards and busy inns, filled with coaches and people travelling either for business or pleasure.

A good turnpike road which made travel safer and cheaper brought hundreds of tourists into the district. Many of those who came were attracted by the idyllic word pictures of this part of England drawn by the poets—Coleridge, Southey, Keats, and the father of them all—William Wordsworth. Unlike her cousin Caroline, whose passion for Wordsworth had undergone a radical change upon discovering he had joined the Conservatives, Elizabeth still found great pleasure in his poetry. A wellworn copy of his Lyrical Ballads accompanied her on this journey, during which, she promised herself, she would read from it whenever she felt in a mood to do so. Unfortunately, like all the best laid plans, such promises could not always be kept, as Elizabeth found when they reached the inn beside Lake Windermere, where they were to stay a few days.

That night, she wrote to Jane, in an unusually poetic frame of mind:

It was twilight, and the setting sun lit up the sky as it sank behind the hills, while the quiet lake lay like a dark silken sheet before us. Only the swallows wheeling around over the water seemed awake, as all around the darkness gathered everything into its arms. Now, I thought, if ever there was a time to read some lines of Wordsworth, now was the time. But alas, dear Jane, it was too dark to read, and my book of poetry lay in a bag at the bottom of a pile of luggage on the footpath. The children, especially William, were tired from travelling, and Jenny was anxious to get their luggage into their rooms, before it was completely dark. Darcy had gone to see the landlord, and there was no one to share with me this magical moment, my first glimpse of that special quality that the Lakes have above every other part of England. How I wished for you or Caroline to share my mood. My Cassandra is very keen on her music and would rather sing than read poetry. I have some hope for William, though. I have been reading Keats and Wordsworth to him recently, and he is much more receptive. Better still, he can draw and has promised to do some sketches of our most favourite places, so I shall have some souvenirs of our tour.

Later that night, when they had dined and retired to bed, Elizabeth told her husband of her missed “poetic” opportunity. Sympathetic, but not without a hint of mischief in his voice, he promised that, on the morrow, he would seek out the exact spot where Wordsworth composed the lines about Lake Grasmere, and she could take her book of poems and read to her heart’s content.

And when the day dawned bright and clear, with the sun making the water glint like cut crystal, Darcy was as good as his word. Fortunate for having been in the area before with a touring party from Cambridge, he recalled that the places of pilgrimage for lovers of Wordsworth were Grasmere and Rydal Water, rather than Windermere, which was the most popular of the Lakes and therefore, frequently, the most crowded.

So it was to the Vale of Grasmere and tranquil Rydal Water, which lay at the northernmost end of Lake Windermere, that they went, and there, indeed, it was both appropriate and possible to lie in the shade and read poetry that had been inspired by this quite magical place, hidden for centuries amidst the mountains and valleys of ancient Cumbria. The two lovely Lakes, linked by the river Rothay, were the centre of an exquisite scene, and in whichever direction one looked, a prospect of great beauty opened up before one’s eyes.

They had brought a picnic and spent all day in such happy pursuits that when the sun slipped behind the hills and Jenny reminded them it would be best to get back to the inn, nobody wanted to leave. There was still light in the sky, and William and Cassandra begged to be allowed to stay a little longer. William was completing a sketch, and Cassy just could not bear to leave the sound of water slipping over the stones. “It was so much like music,” she said. Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth had the heart to refuse.

Returning later to the inn, they found it filled with a party of travellers, rather noisily celebrating a successful fishing expedition. Windermere, for all its beauty, was too popular to be attractive to them. The following morning, they moved on, to Grasmere, where they found very acceptable lodgings, within walking distance from the Lakes. It is not necessary to relate in detail the pleasures of the next six weeks that so engrossed their little party; none of them felt the time pass other than too swiftly.

The Summer days slipped by, whether fine or occasionally wet, with visits to a myriad of places. There were the curious, tiny “Dove Cottage,” where William and Dorothy Wordsworth used to live when they first settled in the area and the sad little graves of two of Wordsworth’s children, Catherine and Thomas, in the churchyard, reminding one that life here was not all beautiful vistas and rustic romance. On many lovely days, all their daylight hours were spent on or beside the water, at Grasmere, Coniston, Derwentwater, or over the far side beside Lake Buttermere, and each found something of the magic that had enchanted thousands of travellers and held in thrall artists and poets alike. They clambered up craggy hills, walked miles in the woodlands and meadows, and read poetry as they picnicked beside the waters of tumbling streams and placid lakes. Mysterious, ancient stone circles like the one at Castlerigg left them as much amazed as the natural phenomena—monuments to men and women who had inhabited these mist covered mountains and hidden valleys many centuries ago.

Everywhere they went, around each deep bend in the road, a new vista opened, enticing them to stay longer. William had become absorbed in sketching places they visited, and his sketchbook was filling up with pictures of lakes, bridges, boats, dark fells, and sunlit valleys—all souvenirs of this splendid summer. Elizabeth and Darcy enjoyed the close companionship with their children, even more than the sights and sounds of the Lakes. It was a rare and precious thing, and they treasured it.

In the penultimate week of their holiday, Elizabeth and Cassy declared that they needed new boots, since theirs were completely worn with walking, and Darcy suggested a day in Kendal, well-known for its rustic entertainment. The offer was accepted immediately, for they had all heard from their hosts of the excellent country fair at Kendal and were keen to visit it.

Returning from Kendal to Ambleside, they found several letters which had been sent on from their lodgings at Grasmere. Seeing hers were from Jane and Mrs Gardiner, Elizabeth begged to be excused from a walk after dinner to the Lake, where the end of a boat race was to be followed by country dancing and fireworks. Darcy, noting how eagerly she had opened up Jane’s letter, smiled to himself. Fireworks offered no competition to a letter from Jane.

As William and Cassandra set off with their father for the ferry wharf, Elizabeth curled up in a large, comfortable chair and settled down to read her letters. Jane’s letter was, happily, full of news. She wrote:

My dearest Lizzie,

I have had yours, written at Windermere at the start of your tour of the Lakes, for almost two weeks, and I am sincerely sorry for this delay in replying. I have no excuse to offer except that we have been very busy, and instead of sending off a scrap of a note, I decided to wait for a day when there would be sufficient time to write you all the news. Today, everyone is away at a cricket match. Bingley and Jonathan are both playing, and Emma has gone along with some friends in the neighbourhood to cheer their team. It means I have the day to myself, and my first thoughts were of you, out there enjoying the beauty of the Lakes. I hope this finds you still at Grasmere, which I am told is very peaceful indeed. My informant is Caroline Bingley, who together with Mrs Hurst has just left for Bath after spending a few days with us, on their return from London, where they had attended a wedding. It was not as trying having them because we did not have to be concerned with our brother-in-law, Mr Hurst, whose gout has rendered it impossible for him to travel to London. While I am sorry he suffers with the gout, I have to confess I was relieved he was not with them.

Back to Caroline and the Lakes—she declared that she had spent two weeks there some years ago. While she found it “peaceful,” she admitted to being bored with the “endless panorama of mountains and water and no one of any quality about.” I do long to hear your response, dear Lizzie. I gather from your letter that you are unlikely to be similarly bored.

Charlotte Collins has just this week returned to Mansfield, having spent a fortnight with us together with her two girls. Catherine, her eldest, is still at Rosings. Charlotte says her godmother and namesake, Lady Catherine, has invited her to stay on as a companion to Miss de Bourgh. While Charlotte will miss her, I think she sees it as an opportunity not to be missed and has prudently consented. Her own endeavours are bearing much fruit. She has seven young ladies at Mansfield, who will finish in November, with seven others starting next Spring. She has neither the room nor the capacity to take in more. Rebecca, she says, is very helpful. She wants to be a writer for the newspapers—and has been sending work away to several publishers— including the Matlock Review but is happy to teach Charlotte’s young ladies in the meantime. Rebecca says they are eager to learn and especially love to read poetry, write pretty letters and verses and such things. It amazes me Lizzie that we got on without such tutoring at all.

But, Lizzie, my favourite young person has to be our goddaughter, Amelia-Jane, who is almost fifteen and already the loveliest young girl you could hope to meet and with such a sweetness of disposition, too. Bingley gave a party for the two Misses Collins last Saturday and Amelia-Jane was remarked upon by everyone present. Unfortunately for all the gentlemen who wanted to dance with her, since she is not yet “out,” her mother did not permit her to accept invitations except from Jonathan and Richard, who she said “were almost like her brothers.” There were many disappointed partners, to be sure, but Charlotte is very protective of her girls, understandably, seeing she has to bring them up on her own. She has, however, promised that Amelia-Jane may spend Christmas with us, while Charlotte and Rebecca go to Lucas Lodge.

Dear Lizzie, we have had so many visitors this Summer—Caroline and Fitzwilliam have been here on their way back from London—all very excited with their achievements. Caroline could hardly stop telling us about all the hard work Fitzwilliam had been doing with this Reform Group, who are trying to improve conditions for working people and get everyone the vote.

Bingley swears that if women could vote and stand for Parliament, Caroline would be at Westminster herself! Oh Lizzie, how this couple have given the lie to those who thought they were unsuited, because she was too young for him. I have rarely seen a marriage in which two people loved, encouraged, and appreciated each other more . . .

There was more, with details of several domestic and personal matters, all of which Elizabeth greatly enjoyed, glad that Jane had waited to write at length. She was still smiling when she opened up her aunt’s letter, and on glancing at it very quickly, as she was wont to do, she was struck by the difference between the two.

As much as Jane’s letter had been filled with the sweets of Summer, leaving her sister thankful for the happiness Jane and her family enjoyed, Mrs Gardiner’s brought an immediate feeling of unease. The letter, not obviously seeming gloomy or despondent and certainly not conveying any specific bad news, appeared strained and difficult to read, quite unlike her aunt’s usual style. She also wrote of her daughter and son-in-law and their pleasure at the success of Fitzwilliam’s campaign to give more power to local councils, but Elizabeth was unconvinced; the letter lacked enthusiasm. To the extent that she could read between the lines, Elizabeth felt her aunt, whom she knew well and loved dearly, was trying to conceal some anxiety or unhappiness, but her letter betrayed her.

She wrote:

I am almost sorry that Caroline and Fitzwilliam are back and my darling grandchildren are gone to Matlock with them. I really do love having them with me; especially when your uncle is away on business, they are my chief source of happiness. Oh Lizzie, I do miss them.

Some good news followed. They had heard from Robert again—he had met with Mr Bingley’s cousin Frank, who had helped him settle down and find his feet in the colony. He liked the work and had already made some friends. He did not like the hot weather but was looking forward to going up country where it was much cooler. Elizabeth could sense that her aunt was very pleased with Robert’s news. But of Emily, there was hardly any news, save to say she was busy at Pemberley. Elizabeth searched eagerly for information about Paul. There was none. In the final paragraph, there was a line about Richard’s moving from Birmingham to take up work in Derby, and almost as an afterthought, there followed the news that he was going up to London with Paul, at the end of the week. Elizabeth checked the date of the letter—it was almost ten days old. She wondered why Richard was taking Paul to London. She was certain that there was something her aunt had not revealed.

The letter unsettled her. They had less than a week of their tour left, and Elizabeth was now eager to return home. She sensed there was something wrong and wanted to be back home to see, hear, and do whatever she could. She realised that the situation was one over which she had very little control, but she hated being miles away. She longed for news of Emily and was disturbed by the fact that her aunt had written nothing of her state of mind or Paul’s health. Elizabeth felt a pressing need to be back at Pemberley.

Bewildered and uneasy, she was in a very different frame of mind, when Darcy, who had left her reading Jane’s letter, returned. He was surprised by the change in her, and when she showed him Mrs Gardiner’s letter and admitted her feelings of unease and anxiety, he tried at first to reason with her, arguing that if anything serious had occurred, they would have been informed by express. Yet, aware that she was unconvinced and remained unhappy, he suggested that they leave a few days early. “I know we had planned to go on to Penrith, but there is nothing very remarkable to be seen there; if we left tomorrow and travelled via Kendal, we could reach Pemberley at least two days earlier than planned.” Elizabeth thanked him with tears in her eyes, grateful for his understanding and his efforts to alleviate her concern. “It will bring you no pleasure to spend any more time here, when your heart is no longer in it, my love,” her husband explained. “I can see that you are troubled, and nothing will do but to return home.”

Elizabeth was concerned that the children may be disappointed to be going home early, but having spoken with them, Darcy returned to reassure her. “Cassandra has grown a little tired of travelling around and is yearning for the comforts of home.”
“What about William?” she asked, “Is he not upset?” Darcy shook his head. “William has no preference and on hearing that you were anxious to return

early, although I have not divulged the reason for your disquiet, he was immediately in agreement that we should leave at once,” he said, to her great relief. With adverse weather forecast for the morrow, it seemed by far the most sensible thing to do. Preparations for their journey were speedily put in train, and just a day later, they were on the road to Derbyshire and home.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The grinding agony of woe . . .

T

RAVELLING AS EXPEDITIOUSLY AS possible and breaking journey only for rest and meals, they reached Pemberley by midafternoon on the day following. Though Darcy had taken the precaution of despatching an

express announcing their change of plan, Mrs Reynolds seemed unusually perturbed, and Elizabeth was immediately aware that all was not well.

While a bustling crowd of servants and stable lads unloaded luggage and led the tired horses away, Elizabeth, ignoring the activity around her, sought out Mrs Reynolds. She hardly needed to speak, for Mrs Reynolds held in her hand a letter, folded over and sealed. Elizabeth could tell from the writing it was from Emily. As she took it, she looked at the housekeeper, “What is it, Mrs Reynolds; what has happened?” Mrs Reynolds ushered her into the sitting room, where to her surprise, she found her sister Kitty, waiting. Kitty’s tense expression did not fill Elizabeth with confidence either. She was convinced that something was very wrong indeed. “Please, why will one of you not tell me what has happened? Kitty, what are you doing here? And where is Emily?” she demanded.

Mrs Reynolds left the room to follow William and Cassandra upstairs. It was plain to her that the sisters needed to talk alone. Kitty urged her sister to read Emily’s letter first, but Elizabeth was adamant, “Not until I know what has happened to her. Where is she, Kitty? You must tell me.” Finally, Kitty realising that it was useless to argue, said, “Emily is in Italy—or at least, she should be there by now.”

“Italy? Good God! What on earth is she doing in Italy?” Elizabeth was astounded.
Kitty begged her to open Emily’s letter and read it.
“I know she has explained it all; please, Lizzie, do not distress yourself unduly. No harm has come to Emily—as you will see when you read her letter, it was a decision she took entirely of her own free will.” By this time, Elizabeth had opened up the letter. As she read it, she was so bewildered and shaken, she was forced to sit down.
Emily’s letter was written in plain, undramatic language. In terms that would have sufficed if she were informing Elizabeth that she intended travelling to Lambton or Matlock to visit her mother or her sister, she explained her actions:

My dearest Cousin Lizzie,

When you read this letter, I shall be in Italy, with Paul. Please do not be angry with me, for it is not as you fear. I shall be travelling quite respectably, with my husband, who must move to a warmer, drier climate immediately. The physician in Harley Street, who saw Paul ten days ago, insisted that he had no hope unless he did so. Richard will tell you more if you wish to have more medical information. When I heard the facts, I decided that I would go with Paul, to ensure he is properly cared for, but I knew it was neither wise nor seemly that I travel alone with him. I decided, therefore, that we should be married, by special licence, and travel as husband and wife. This would not only afford me protection as we travel, but it would protect my family and yourselves from any malicious gossip.

I told Richard and my dear parents of my decision. I cannot help it, dear Lizzie, that Mama is unhappy. I suppose I would be, too, if it had been my daughter. But Richard and Papa have been very helpful. Richard has arranged our travel and lodgings. There is no problem with money, Paul has sufficient for both of us, but Papa insists I must have my own as well. Paul himself was, at first, quite adamant that I must not “sacrifice” myself, as he quaintly put it, but I have persuaded him that it is what I want to do, because, dear Lizzie, I love him dearly and want to look after him for however little time we have left. I could not bear to have him locked away in some dreary hospital, where we would have no way of reaching him.

Kitty will explain how the wedding was arranged, with Dr Jenkins very kindly performing the ceremony and dear, kind Mrs Reynolds helping me prepare for the journey. She has found a good, middle-aged woman, who will travel with us. Mrs Brown is familiar with Paul’s condition, having helped me care for him at the cottage in Littleford. Papa is also to send a manservant to accompany us, to help with Paul, and be our general protector.

I think that is all I have to write, except, my dear Cousin, to beg your forgiveness and understanding, that I have taken this step without waiting to ask your advice. Please understand, there was so little time, and as I said to Richard, I am all of twenty-six, albeit somewhat less experienced in the ways of the world than my brothers and sister.

But of one thing I am absolutely certain, I love Paul very much, too much to let him die alone in some hospital. My love would have been worth little, and I could not have lived with myself or faced my God, had I not done whatever I was able to do for him, when he needed me most. We are both sensible people and know well what lies in store. I pray we have the strength to help each other through it. Please, Lizzie, all I ask is that you understand and pray for us.

Your loving cousin, Emily.

When Elizabeth finished reading the letter, her face was wet with tears. As she sat unable to speak, Darcy entered the room with Richard, who, like Kitty, had arrived, alerted to their early return by Mrs Reynolds.

Elizabeth’s instinct was to go at once to her aunt and uncle, but Richard would not let her. “No, Cousin Lizzie, you must not go now. You have been travelling for almost two days; you are tired and already upset by the news; you are not in a state to be of any help to Mama. Perhaps tomorrow . . .”

“But Richard, do you not think your mother needs me?” Elizabeth asked.

“I am sure she does, and I know she would welcome a visit from you, but I do not believe you should undertake the journey now.”
Darcy agreed, “Richard is right, Elizabeth. Besides there are things with which you need to acquaint yourself. You will want to talk to Mrs Reynolds, Kitty, and Doctor Jenkins as well as Richard, before you go to your aunt and uncle.” Elizabeth could not deny the commonsense of his argument and reluctantly agreed to postpone her journey to Lambton. After dinner, Kitty and her husband returned home, but Richard stayed on to explain how it had all come about. Elizabeth wanted to know everything, and Richard alone had all the answers, for he had been his sister’s confidant from the outset. Arriving from Birmingham, a week before he was to start work at the clinic in Derby, he had been troubled by Paul’s condition. In spite of the warm Summer, he was still pale and very breathless.
“I insisted that we see my colleague in Harley Street at once, and it was not a moment too soon. He said, quite categorically, that Paul had no chance at all, unless he left England and moved to a warmer, drier climate. He recommended southern Italy—he has sent other patients there and they have benefited quite remarkably. Some have enjoyed prolonged periods of reasonably good health. Paul himself accepts the inevitable. While he was not happy to go, he agreed when I said I would accompany him and see him settled there. He can afford comfortable accommodation and a local servant or two.” Elizabeth was impatient to know how and when Emily became involved. “Almost as soon as we returned from London,” he replied.
“She insisted on knowing every particular. At first, she was distraught and wept a great deal. Then, she went away and came back about two hours later with her mind made up. She had it all planned—the special licence, the travel arrangements, everything. They were to be married, so she could accompany Paul and look after him in Italy.” Darcy, who had said little, intervened to ask, “How did Mr and Mrs Gardiner respond to Emily’s decision?” Richard’s answer was not entirely what they expected.
“Mama was most upset. It was not a question of being unsympathetic, because she has always liked Paul and treated him as one of the family. She was afraid for Emily and did not wish her to go. She even suggested that I should go with him; I was a man and a doctor, she said; it was right and proper that I should go. But Emily’s resolve could not be shaken. I have never seen her so determined about anything before. Nothing any of us said would change her mind,” he explained.
“And Mr Gardiner?” Darcy prompted, knowing how difficult such a situation would have been for him.
“I think I was most surprised by my father. He listened to everything Emily said, and when he realised how determined she was to go, he simply asked about the practical arrangements for their journey and lodgings; he even decided to send one of his servants to accompany them,” Richard sighed and added, “I think Mama was deeply shocked. She had hoped he would support her and try to dissuade Emily, but, as Emily reminded me, she is twenty-six. Caroline had been permitted to become engaged to Fitzwilliam when she was but fifteen— not much more than a child. How could they tell Emily she had no right to do as she chose at twenty-six?”
“But surely, there is no comparison, Richard. Emily must be aware, as we all are, that there is no future in this tragic marriage.” Darcy’s voice was as grave as his countenance. He wondered whether Emily’s natural kindness had perhaps blinded her to the hopelessness of their situation. But Richard was quite sure that Emily understood perfectly the consequences of her decision.
“Emily was well aware of the facts about Paul’s health, from the outset. I ensured that she knew everything, as soon as I discovered it. She knows there is no hope of recovery, not even with the best care in the world. She accepts that. But, she loves him and wants to be with him to bring him some happiness and comfort until the end. Paul was reluctant at first, much as he loves her, but she persuaded him.”
“And the wedding, how was that arranged?” asked Elizabeth.
“Dr Jenkins and Kitty were splendid. They arranged it all. It was a simple ceremony with just the family. Bingley and Jane were here, of course. Caroline and Fitzwilliam came direct from London. But, everybody agreed Emily looked beautiful, and if you had seen them, you would have thought they were a happy couple with a lifetime of married bliss ahead of them; it was quite astonishing,” he said. They had left the following day, by private coach; Richard had accompanied them to ensure that everything was in order.
“Where are they now?” asked Elizabeth.
“They have taken a house outside Rome—it has to be near enough for the doctor to reach them regularly,” Richard explained.
“Will it really help him?” she persisted.
“Oh yes, it will probably extend his life by several months. Better still, the weather will enhance his enjoyment of it. The sunshine and the dry, fresh air will all help. It will certainly be better for him than the Midlands in Winter.” Richard’s voice betrayed his feelings, despite his attempt to remain as detached as possible. Paul was his friend as well as his patient. Now, he was also his brother-in-law.
The following morning, at breakfast, Cassandra and William, who had heard whispers from the chambermaid on the previous night, were told of Emily’s marriage and some of the reasons behind it. They asked a few questions, and after straightforward and truthful answers from their parents, their responses were quite remarkable. Cassandra declared that Emily had done something very brave and noble—an unselfish gesture of true love. William agreed, though he could not quite understand why the weather in Rome was better for Paul than the weather in Derbyshire or Bath. He hoped it would mean that Paul might recover but added that he would miss Emily very much. Elizabeth was more than a little surprised. Their reactions, uncomplicated by adult priorities and social prejudice, were in sharp contrast to her own.
Discussing it later with Darcy, she confessed to being disappointed in herself. “I wonder, my love, am I becoming hard and unfeeling?” she asked, and as he regarded her with astonishment, explained, “I should have been feeling, like Cassy, that Emily’s has been a brave, selfless act—an example of true love. Yet, I see only the recklessness and the possible pain that must surely follow, not just for her, but for all her family and especially her parents, who must feel bereft. I know she is twenty-six and had every right to decide for herself, but I cannot help wishing I had been here to advise her.” Darcy looked very grave indeed. Elizabeth knew that expression—it was almost always a sign that he disagreed with her. His voice, however, was gentle when he spoke.
“I am particularly pleased that we were not here, Elizabeth, and that Emily was able to make her decision untroubled by opinions and advice, however wellmeant, from either of us. I should not have liked to feel that we had placed any more strain upon a young woman, who felt that the most important thing in her life was to bring some affection and comfort to a man she loved, when, as she says in her letter, he needed her most.”
“But Darcy, you cannot believe that she has done the right thing by marrying Paul, when he is dying? Surely, there were other ways of helping him? I know she loves him, but must she blight her entire life to give him some temporary comfort?” Even as she spoke, Elizabeth could have bitten off her tongue. She heard the harshness of her words and regretted them immediately. Darcy heard it too, but he knew her too well to assume that she had meant them. He realised it was the consequence of her anxiety and concern for Emily, whom they both loved. Turning to her, he spoke with a degree of gentleness that precluded any hint of censure, “Elizabeth, that question is neither fair nor worthy of your generous and loving nature. I know you too well to accept that you believe what you have just said. Nevertheless, let me try to answer your concerns.”
They were standing beside a window in their private sitting room, overlooking the park. Elizabeth continued to gaze out on the sunlit scene, as he spoke, unable to trust herself to look at him. “Lizzie, when we chose to marry, both you and I defied the judgement of others, including my aunt and your father, each of whom had reservations based upon their perceptions of our characters and conduct. We had no thought except that we loved each other. Nothing else mattered. How then, can we censure Emily for following her heart, as she has done? Consider also this, she has not acted rashly in any practical sense, Richard assures me Paul has a considerable inheritance, which will ultimately be Emily’s. Indeed it had been so willed—before their wedding. If we consider his character and background, they are without stain. Richard speaks highly of him, and I cannot imagine that a single objection would have been raised, had he been fit and well. Surely, Elizabeth, if we marry promising to love in sickness and in health, there can be no criticism of what Emily has done, on the grounds that the condition was known to exist? She has acted as she has done with only the noblest of motives. What would we say of a man who abandoned his partner on discovering she was similarly afflicted? Would we not find him worthy of severe condemnation?” Elizabeth was silent, her mind in turmoil as she heard the strength of his arguments and the compassion in his voice. He spoke quietly, but there was a level of gravity that compelled attention.
“My only reservation flows from the sorrow she will bear when he dies, but that is a choice Emily has made. She has accepted that the sorrow she must endure, when he is gone, is part of the love they both share now, while he lives. It is not for us to sit in judgement over her, my dearest; rather we should endeavour to support and help them in every way possible.” Elizabeth knew he was right. She, above all, had fought prejudice and small mindedness and, through her own marriage and that of her sister Jane, seen her proud belief in the primacy of character and principle vindicated. Darcy, whose greatest strength lay in the consistent integrity and decency of his character, was reinforcing her own deeply felt beliefs and drawing her back to them.
Grateful for his intervention, she turned from the window and looked up at him, noticing how age had changed his countenance. The hard, determined chin and fine features still dominated his face, but the dark eyes were gentler, and the lines of many years’ experience had mellowed his expression. While strength and determination still prevailed, the hauteur had long gone, and in its place were respect and compassion for others, as well as a generosity of spirit that never failed to delight her. Reaching for his hand, Elizabeth spoke from the heart. “You are quite right, my love, I should never have believed that I had any right to be censorious of Emily’s actions, based as they were on totally unselfish love and devotion—which are surely blessed virtues. If Emily never loves another man in all her life, she will still have the memory of the love she shares with Paul, for however short a time. None of us, least of all myself, with my reputation for independence, has the right to criticise her. I have you to thank for showing me, albeit in the kindest possible way, how very wrong I was. I am sorry.”
Darcy drew her to him and held her close. He was deeply touched but not surprised by her contrition. Knowing her well, he understood her reasons and loved her honesty and sincerity in acknowledging it. It was her affection and concern for Emily and her parents, for whom both of them cared so deeply, that had brought her first, seemingly insensitive, response. Yet, Elizabeth, herself capable of deep love and loyalty, could not deny the pre-eminence of such unselfish love as Emily had shown, over any material consideration. So completely did she accept her husband’s account of the situation that she worried about her ability to comfort her aunt, whom she expected to find still griefstricken over Emily’s marriage and in dire need of consolation, when they travelled to Lambton on the following day.
To her surprise, they found the Gardiners far more composed than they had anticipated. Seeking a reason for their equanimity, Elizabeth did not have to look very far or wait very long. While the maid was getting tea and cakes, and Mr Gardiner invited Darcy to walk down to look at a new vehicle he had acquired, Mrs Gardiner took Elizabeth upstairs, where she produced a letter, closely written in Emily’s own hand. Posted in Rome, it was addressed to Richard but plainly intended for all of the family.
Having first thanked her brother from the bottom of her heart for all he had done to help them and asked his forgiveness for having caused him and her “dear parents” so much grief, she proceeded to write in great detail of the arrangements that had been made for their accommodation, the generosity and kindness of their Italian neighbours, and not least, the difference the warmth and constant sunshine had made, within only a week of their coming, to Paul’s spirits.
She wrote joyously of her happiness at being able to be with him:

How I wish you could see us in summer clothes, enjoying the fresh air and this wonderful Italian sun. I am determined that we shall be as tanned as our neighbours, Signora Cassini and her children, by the end of summer. They look so beautiful, brown as berries and ever so healthy. Tomorrow, being Sunday, after they return from Mass, we are to go with them to Anzio, which is on the coast. The Signora has promised to bring along a picnic, and we are to have a day by the sea! What bliss! Their grandmother, who lives with them, makes the most delectable ice confection—a type of sorbet with fruit—and she has begun to spoil us by bringing some over each time she prepares it for her family. Paul has won her by declaring, quite truthfully, that it is the best thing he has tasted in years. Oh Richard, I must not forget, the doctor from the hospital called yesterday. He is quite pleased with Paul’s condition and has recommended that he takes a short walk each morning, after breakfast. I am to go with him in case he becomes overtired, in which case, I must hurry home and send Jack with the little curricle to fetch him. I do not believe, however, that this will be necessary. He is looking and feeling so much better already.

Dearest Richard, Papa, and Mama, I cannot finish without saying again how I wish I did not have to cause you so much sadness. I am so happy here, but for the fact that I know I have caused you pain. That is my only regret. Please try to think of me as Paul’s wife, and you will understand that I had no other choice but to be with him at this time. I hope and pray that we might see each other again soon, but that is really in the lap of the Gods. Paul sends his love and asks you to remember to feed the birds at Littleford. He worries that they may go hungry in Winter.

Your loving and very grateful sister, etc.

Whilst Elizabeth read the letter, her aunt had sat beside her, and when she had finished, they were both tearful, but this time they were tears of relief, even happiness. As they embraced, she held her aunt tight and said, “Oh my dear Aunt, how much you must have gone through!” Her aunt smiled and took her hand.

“And I did not have my dear Lizzie’s shoulder to cry on.” Elizabeth remembered well how much comforting she had once sought and received from her aunt. Downstairs, the gentlemen had returned to the sitting room, and tea was served, as the ladies joined them. Elizabeth, with her aunt’s permission, let Darcy read Emily’s letter. She had no doubt at all that he had been absolutely right. In his own conversations with Mr Gardiner, Darcy had reached the same conclusion, although he forbore to say so.

Returning to Pemberley, Elizabeth found waiting for her another piece of evidence, if more were needed, to convince her. A letter from Jane, which had been addressed to her at Grasmere, had arrived a week later, having gone on a circuitous journey through the Lake District, before being redirected to Pemberley. It had been written the day after Jane and Bingley had attended the wedding of Emily and Paul. Even allowing for the eternal optimism of the Bingleys and her sister’s complete inability to speak other than well of anyone, until there was flagrant evidence of malice or worse, the letter was confirmation of everything that Kitty, Richard, Darcy, and Dr Jenkins had said.

Jane, after an initial admission to feelings of disquiet, based upon her fear that Emily had so little hope of a long and happy marriage—which was Jane’s preferred state of life—could not say too much about the selflessness of their cousin.

She wrote:

Emily looked beautiful in a simple white gown with a posy of roses from the Rectory garden. Her compassion and love shone through, as they made their vows. No one could doubt how deeply they cared for each other. Oh, Lizzie, I wish you could have been here to see them—it was such a beautiful experience, even for us who have been married many years, it brought tears to my eyes . . .

Bingley and I had been very surprised when we first received a letter from our Uncle Gardiner, inviting us to attend, but then Richard arrived to explain why it was happening in this way. We have been so busy with the children and Bingley’s work on the farm, that we did not know the seriousness of Paul’s illness. Of course, I had always believed them to be in love and was more convinced of it, each time I saw them together.

Dear Lizzie, I know Aunt Gardiner is very upset; with Robert gone to the Colonies and now Emily in Italy. But, as I said to Bingley, just to see the joy on their faces and know how much they care for each other is sufficient to make one happy for them. I cannot help getting rather tearful each time I recall what Richard has told us about Paul’s health and the likelihood that he may not live long. Bingley knew a young man in London, who went to Rome because he had Tuberculosis. He lived for several years and only passed away because he could not give up drinking, which hastened his death. I am hopeful that Paul may also be helped by the salubrious climate in Italy, to live a good deal longer than is presently expected.

Ever the optimist and always the one to look at the brightest of all available possibilities, Jane helped to improve Elizabeth’s spirits quite considerably. She also spoke at length with Kitty who, together with her husband, had been convinced of the sincerity and, more importantly, the justification of Emily’s wish to marry and care for the man she loved. When Elizabeth asked if they had thought about the possible danger to Emily of infection, Dr Jenkins had replied that they had, and in talking to her, he had asked Emily if she had considered it. Her reply, that hundreds of doctors and everybody else who tended the sick, at home or in a hospital, took the same risk and it was a chance she would gladly take for Paul, had only served to demonstrate her devotion to him.

“It was,” said Dr Jenkins, “the kind of selfless love one hopes to see once or twice in a lifetime, in my calling. It is what priests preach with little hope of seeing it practised. I felt privileged to be able to help; I did not feel I had the right to question her further.”

Kitty, whose understanding had matured tenfold since her marriage to Dr Jenkins, had told her sister of a talk she had had with Emily, as they made preparations for the wedding. “She was so happy, Lizzie. That was what made it so wonderful. It was as if she was looking forward to years and years of happy married life. Never a word of complaint about the unfairness of it all, that is how I would have felt, but not Emily. Before leaving, she thanked everyone, even the servants, and of course, we did get the Children’s Choir together to sing two of her favourite hymns. Everyone was in tears, but Emily was smiling. Poor Aunt Gardiner, I was afraid she would faint, she looked so pale, but Richard was wonderful. He got everyone together, and after the wedding breakfast, he and Colonel Fitzwilliam packed us all into two big carriages, and we drove out to Dovedale. It was such a lovely day. Emily had tears in her eyes, but she was still smiling,” said Kitty, obviously overwhelmed by the experience.

For Elizabeth, it was difficult, if not impossible, to retain any of her original objections after all these accounts. It remained for her to do just one thing more, and later that evening, sitting at a table in the music room, while William and Cassandra practised at the piano, she wrote to her cousin:

My dearest Emily,

Since our return from the Lakes, I have had your letter, spoken with Richard and your parents and with Kitty and Dr Jenkins, as well. If I were to say that I was not surprised, even shocked, by the news of your marriage, I would be untruthful, and I know you would not wish that. I was both shocked at the news and distressed at being away, so I had no means of sharing what I am sure were difficult days for you. However, despite that obvious handicap, I have, I believe, gained sufficient knowledge from several sources, to feel able to write as I do. Mr Darcy and I have also talked at length about you and Paul, and your wish to marry and care for him is surely an act of great devotion. I pray that your devoted care and the warm Italian sun will help him greatly.

Dear Emily, I cannot say if I would have had the courage to do as you have done. But let me say how much we love you and want you to be happy. We wish both of you much joy together and pray for Paul’s improving health. Your mother has let me read your last letter to Richard, which seems to prove that sunshine, fresh air, and love combined in equal parts are an excellent medication for the body as well as the spirit. Do write when you can. We all love you and pray for you. God bless you both,

Your loving cousin,
Lizzie.

Throughout the Summer and into Autumn, letters were received from Emily, which recounted warm happy days and slow but steady improvement in Paul’s health. They gave Elizabeth and Darcy as well as Mr and Mrs Gardiner, with whom every scrap of new information was eagerly exchanged, a good deal of comfort. However, Richard warned Elizabeth against being carried away with Emily’s good news. “It often happens with this wretched disease,” he explained, “It appears to withdraw for a while, and the patient rallies strongly, but it always returns, often with redoubled vigour.” Seeing disappointment written all over her face as he spoke, he was immediately contrite, “Oh my dear Cousin Lizzie, I am sorry. I ought to have been more sensible of your feelings. I was just speaking as a physician.” Elizabeth, though saddened, was glad of the truth. But she was also concerned about her aunt.

“Do not tell your mother what you have just said to me, Richard. She places great store by the good news she hears from Emily.” Elizabeth pleaded, and Richard agreed.

“I know Mama is very pleased with Emily’s reports of Paul’s improving health, and I must confess I have not had the heart to tell her the truth. But, I have hinted to my father that they should not be too optimistic. I hope to travel to Italy in November, and I shall bring you an accurate report when I return.”

Listening to him, Elizabeth wondered at the fine young man he had become. She recalled the cheeky lad, who used to play Hide and Seek at Longbourn, often leaving his quieter little brother behind and defying all attempts to find him. Now, at twenty-five, an esteemed member of the community, he was a very personable and popular young man, a physician with a social conscience and an eligible bachelor!

On this occasion, he had arrived early, to collect Cassandra, who had promised to help at a Charity Concert organised by his sister Caroline. With a lively sense of humour and a naturally engaging manner, he was very much in demand by his sister, whose chief concern was organising her husband’s reform campaigns. Her goodlooking, well-spoken brother was an asset and a useful ally at these gatherings.

They were all due to dine with the Fitzwilliams that evening, and Cassy, who looked very fetching in her new bonnet, wondered aloud whether there might be music fit for dancing. To which Richard replied, “If you wish to dance, Cassy, I can absolutely guarantee there will be music.” As they were getting into Richard’s curricle, Elizabeth reminded him that she was counting on his help for the Harvest Fair in October, especially now they were without Emily. After assuring her that he would not miss it for the world, Richard took the vehicle down the drive and across the park, watched by Elizabeth and William.

Turning to her son who was standing in the sunlight, his honey coloured hair tousled, his blue eyes squinting at the bright light, Elizabeth asked if he had not wanted to go, too. William was not interested, “No, Mama, I owe Mr Clarke an essay on the Lake Poets, which I must finish today, and I do want to get in some practice on the new Mozart sonata, before Mr Goldman arrives for my lesson tomorrow.” His mother teased him, “Oh you poor dear, how hard you must have to work at all the things you love, mind you do not wear yourself out,” she warned. William laughed and embraced her, before running upstairs, leaving her smiling as she saw a maid taking up a tray of food, which would surely sustain him for most of the morning.

Elizabeth’s easy relationships with her children brought her deep contentment and happiness. William, whose sensitive, quiet nature had initially made it difficult for his father to reach him, had been drawn out by his mother, and in the last few years, the three of them had become good companions. Cassandra’s bright nature and ready sense of fun and William’s sensitivity were treasured equally and enjoyed by their parents, who never left them in any doubt of their affection. It was something that Darcy had missed as a child and Elizabeth had been determined to give her children in full measure.

J

The week before the Harvest Fair and the Pemberley Ball was one of the busiest in all her life. Elizabeth could not recall having so much to do and being so much in demand ever before. With only Caroline and Cassandra to help her with organising both functions, she had reason to be extremely grateful for the superb training and efficiency of the staff at Pemberley.

Jenny, her personal maid for many years, had recently been married and was beginning to take over responsibilities as housekeeper from her aunt, Mrs Reynolds. She had worked with Elizabeth throughout the past fortnight on a host of details for the dinner and the ball, while her husband, who was Darcy’s chief Steward, was in charge of all matters relating to the fair. Elizabeth had not fully realised the level of interest the first fair at Pemberley was likely to raise in the community. Tenants, craftsmen and women, and farm labourers from Pemberley and the Camden Estates, as well as those from further afield—Lambton, Matlock, and Bakewell—had all wanted to participate, and there were thus numerous stalls and tents set up in the lower meadows, with trestle tables upon which were laid a myriad of articles proudly displayed. Everyone who had something or some skill to show and sell was there with woodwork, toys, tools, basketware, farm produce in plenty, honey, jams, pickles, preserves, as well as baskets of fruit, flowers, and vegetables from their home gardens. There were even a few paintings of the Peak or Dovedale, together with colourful knitted rugs and fine embroidered linen.

When Caroline, as the popular wife of the local member, opened the fair, the buying was brisk, and the visitors most enthusiastic. Everyone seemed pleased especially as the weather, which had been pleasant enough for most of the week, improved on the day to produce a final burst of Summer in the middle of Autumn, adding a somewhat unreal quality to the occasion. Elizabeth, feeling a little tired by midafternoon, returned to the house and found Darcy upstairs, looking out on the scene from a window in the library that afforded a most picturesque view of the meadows. She joined him, pointing out that the distance lent a storybook quality to the hive of activity down there. As they watched the figures scurrying around, they played a game—picking out individuals by their gait or dress. Caroline was easy to spot as she and her children flitted from stall to stall, and it wasn’t difficult to recognise Richard and Cassandra, the latter in a much-loved hat, smothered in yellow roses, as they emerged from a tent carrying two rather unwieldy baskets of apples across to a trestle table. Halfway across, Cassandra tripped and dropped her basket, spilling its contents all over the grass. Richard hastened to help her, solicitously examining her foot and ankle, to assure himself that she had suffered no injury. Though they could hear not a word of their conversation, both Elizabeth and Darcy could not help smiling as they watched and noted his concern and her smiles of gratitude. As they collected their apples and went, this time, with Cassy keeping a firm hold of Richard’s arm, Darcy asked, apropos nothing at all, “How old is Richard?”

“He will be twenty-six, soon after Christmas,” Elizabeth replied. Nothing more was said on the subject, and after resting awhile, they went downstairs again and out into the late afternoon sunshine, where the fairground was slowly emptying as most people loaded up their carts and made their way home.

Later, Elizabeth watched as her daughter persuaded first her friends and then her cousin Richard to join in the country dancing, which was in progress on the lawn. “Now there is a man with a big heart,” said Fitzwilliam, to Elizabeth. Mrs Gardiner, sitting beside them commented, “Cassy has been very busy all day, and yet she does not seem at all tired. Indeed, she looks livelier and more vivacious than ever in that pretty new gown.” Elizabeth touched her aunt’s hand and asked, “Do you think, dear Aunt, that there could be some special reason for this liveliness and vivacity?” Hearing something of the old archness in her niece’s voice, Mrs Gardiner looked quickly across at her, but she was prevented from answering by the arrival of William, who had stoutly refused to dance. Like his father, who had on a famous occasion in Meryton surprised Sir William Lucas with the laconic comment that, “Every savage can dance,” William found it a boring activity and rarely participated unless he had a particularly pretty or amiable partner.

As the sun sank behind the hills, a cool breeze sprang up and reminded everyone that it was indeed Autumn. Many people came to thank Mr and Mrs Darcy for their hospitality and the opportunity to sell their wares. Mr Gardiner, seeing that his wife was looking rather tired, suggested that it was time to leave, but not before he had heaped lavish praise upon Elizabeth and Darcy and everyone involved in the day’s success. “I have to say, it has been a splendid day, Elizabeth. I am sure you will have requests for a repeat next year,” he predicted. Darcy agreed, adding that Sir Thomas Camden had offered to host the fair next year.

“What an excellent idea,” said Mr Gardiner, expressing what appeared to be the general view.
The family returned to the house, and Elizabeth suggested an early night. Charlotte and her two younger daughters were expected the following morning.
That Pemberley was meant to be a venue for a grand ball was not in any doubt. Its gracious proportions and beautiful grounds, its exquisite furnishings and accessories, all combined to provide an ideal setting. Sadly, its present Master had no taste for dancing and did not give many balls.
This occasion, however, was quite another matter, being in honour of three young ladies, who had all recently turned seventeen. No expense was spared to make it perfect for them. Jenny Grantham and a team of Pemberley staff together with hired help had spent many days getting all the arrangements right. Menus had been meticulously planned, and the best of everything—linen, chinaware, and crystal—brought out of storage to grace the tables. Vases and baskets of flowers filled the corners of every room, and hundreds of candles waited for twilight to be lit. Not one, but two, groups of musicians were to provide music—chamber music before and during dinner with music for dancing afterwards.
Earlier that morning, hearing the sound of music floating through the house, Elizabeth had entered the music room, and seeing William’s golden head bowed over the instrument, she had felt, suddenly, unaccountably, sad. He looked lonely and vulnerable. He was determined to master a difficult passage in the composition and repeated it until he had it right. Elizabeth knew he would love to be a concert pianist; he had told her so when he was twelve. But would it ever do for the future Master of Pemberley? Would not everyone say it was frivolous self-indulgence for a young man in his position not to undertake a serious education?
As he concluded playing, Elizabeth applauded. William turned and, delighted by her appreciation, came over to her. “William, that was good. Mr Goldman will be pleased,” she said.
“But I suppose there is no hope of Papa’s permitting me to take it up seriously—as a career, I mean?” he asked, tentatively.
“Have you ever tried asking him?”
He shook his head and ran his fingers through his already unruly hair. “I am too afraid—not of Papa, afraid of being refused, I suppose. I just want to keep hoping.”
“Is it what you really want to do?”
“More than anything in the world, Mama,” he said, sounding so totally sincere and serious that Elizabeth felt a tug on her heart that made her promise to speak to Darcy, after all the festivities were over.
“Perhaps we could suggest that you study music seriously, maybe with a more advanced teacher for two years, and then, if you did not wish to pursue it further, you would still be young enough to take on something else,” she said.
“Such as managing Pemberley?” William quipped, with a sardonic smile. As he returned to the piano, she asked, “Will you play the new Mozart sonata for Papa and me, sometime?”
He smiled, and his face lit up with pleasure, “Of course, I’d love to. Do you think it will help to persuade him?”
“It may well do. In any case, it is a beautiful composition, and I am sure he will enjoy hearing you play it. Your Papa has an excellent appreciation of music.”
He came back to her and suddenly, impulsively, hugged her as he used to do when he was a little boy. “You are the best mother in the world,” he declared. “Thank you.”
Touched, Elizabeth embraced the boy, then begged him not to be too long. “I do need your help with Charlotte’s girls, and they will be here soon,” she said and gently shut the door behind her.
That evening, Elizabeth took great care with her clothes and hair, selecting her gown and jewellery. It was a very special occasion. As she was completing her toilet, Cassandra came in to ask if she could borrow some of her mother’s jewels to set off her new gown. Her hair had been styled in the fashionable Grecian mode, and she had an extra glow of excitement that presaged something; her mother was not yet certain what it was.
As she helped her select earrings and a necklace, Elizabeth asked, casually, “And has any gentleman asked you to reserve the first dance tonight?” She had expected an evasive answer, so it surprised her when her daughter laughed and said, “Oh yes, Richard has, for the first and the second and quite a few more.” Seeing her mother’s face, she added, “Mama, I fear I have fallen in love with him. I did not mean to, but there it is.” Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.
“Indeed? And what is the cause of your fear?”
“That Papa would not approve, which would really break my heart.”
“And why should he not approve?” asked Elizabeth, quite unable to comprehend the logic of this argument.
“I do not know, Mama. Richard is the most intelligent, handsome, kindest man for hundreds of miles around. Why on earth would Papa object? But Richard seems to be anxious too.”
“I cannot imagine why,” said her mother, “And since Papa has not had the opportunity to do one thing or another, it hardly seems fair to assume he would disapprove.” Then deciding to defer the discussion, she added, “in any event, that is a matter that will arise only when Richard decides to ask your Papa’s permission, and we are not there yet. For tonight, my love, I suggest you enjoy yourself, but do be discreet.”
“Oh I will, Mama, I do not wish to spoil anything, and neither does Richard.”
That night, as they watched the dancers, Jane and Elizabeth let their imaginations wander at will. There were several handsome couples; Jonathan was dancing with Rose Fitzwilliam, Becky Collins danced often with young Anthony Tate, who was now editor of the Review, and Emma Bingley, without any doubt the most beautiful girl at the ball, was never short of partners.
It was, however, Richard and Cassandra who caught their eye and caused Jane to comment that she hoped Darcy had prepared his speech, because he was surely going to need it very soon. Elizabeth had never been able to conceal anything from her dearest sister and found herself repeating her conversation with her daughter.
Jane, remembering many unhappy, anxious days and nights spent wondering about the intentions of the men who became their husbands, smiled as she acknowledged that the younger generation was so much more open with their affections. “It is plain to see that Richard and Cassy are in love, and while there is no lack of decorum in their behaviour, they do not appear to wish to conceal their feelings. When I think of the unhappiness we suffered, I rejoice that our children will be spared such wholly unnecessary grief. Bingley and I have often regretted the long months we spent apart, being miserable, each ignorant of the other’s feelings.” Elizabeth agreed wholeheartedly and was only prevented from replying at length by her husband’s arriving to claim her for the next dance. She always enjoyed dancing with him yet could not resist taking the opportunity to tease him a little by trying to draw him into a conversation as they danced.
“Have you noticed how well Cassandra looks tonight?” she asked.
“I have indeed, she’s looking very elegant,” he replied, and then added, “But if my observation of young Doctor Gardiner is worth anything, I may have to begin preparing an answer to that question that all fathers of beautiful young women have to ponder.”
“And have you thought what your answer will be?” his wife asked.
“What would you like it to be, Lizzie?” he teased. She was determined that he should give her an answer, first.
“It is you who will have to give him an answer. What is it to be?”
Darcy smiled. “If you are content to leave it to me, I shall have no difficulty at all.
Richard is perhaps the most eligible young man in the district, and I cannot think of anyone more suitable for Cassandra. He is mature and responsible, with a sound career, and she seems to have a good deal of affection for him. Has she told you she means to accept him?” he asked.
“Not in so many words, but she isn’t likely to refuse him. They’ve been inseparable these last three days; they obviously enjoy each other’s company and do not seem to mind who knows it,” she replied.
Darcy smiled and, like Jane, commented upon the open acknowledgement of affection that characterised the younger set. “If she accepts him, I can see no reason to refuse permission, provided they are willing to become engaged and wait until she is eighteen.” Delighted with his answer, Elizabeth longed to tell her sister and would have gone to her immediately, had there not been a sudden burst of applause from the dancers on the floor. William, for the first time, was leading a partner into the dance, and it was Charlotte’s youngest girl, Amelia-Jane, who was acknowledged by everyone to be the prettiest of the three Collins girls. William’s fair good looks, a striking contrast to his partner’s dark beauty, complemented Amelia-Jane’s graceful figure, as they went down the line of the dance. Elizabeth’s cup was full to the brim. Much as she loved her daughter and took pride in her achievements, it was her young son, now almost seventeen, who always made her heart race with joy. Because she had never had a brother, the birth of William had brought a new dimension to her life. He had, with his gentle affectionate nature, added considerably to the sum total of her happiness.
When Darcy left her to join Bingley and Fitzwilliam, she found Jane on the stairs and immediately proceeded to share her secret. The sisters, after twenty years of marriage, had lost nothing of their sense of fun, and it was in conspiratorial whispers that they shared their information. Jane declared that there was no doubt in her mind, having observed the couple, that Richard intended to propose tonight. “Lizzie, they have never left each other’s side, except to dance with a cousin or a sister, and though they have been very discreet, I could swear I saw them slip away during the polka.”
Just then, the musicians struck up a waltz, and apart from a few intrepid couples, the floor was left to the younger dancers, whose mastery of the light swirling steps was watched with envy and admiration by many. Jonathan, having claimed young Amelia-Jane, joined Richard and Cassandra and a few other couples on the floor, as the dance that had taken Europe by storm, and was the rage in the assembly rooms of London, invaded Derbyshire. When all the dancers finally left the floor and the weary musicians put away their instruments, it was late.
As they went upstairs, Elizabeth looked in vain for Cassandra. She had half expected her to bring her some news, but she had disappeared. Only after the last carriage had left and the remaining guests had retired, was there a gentle knock on her door. Pulling her mother out into the cold corridor, Cassandra whispered the news that Richard was expected early on the morrow. “He is going to ask Papa,” she said, “but he wants to tell his parents first.” Elizabeth embraced her daughter and assured her they had no need to fear her father’s objections; there would be none. “Mama, do you think we shall be as happy as you are?” Cassy asked wistfully, to which her mother had only one reply, and that was given with all the assurance that she could muster.
“If you are as sure of your feelings as we were when we married, I have no doubt of your happiness. Are you?” she asked. Cassandra’s voice was quite firm, “Oh yes, Mama, I have always adored him. He says he has loved me for years but was reluctant to declare it until he was settled in his profession. Tonight just seemed to be the perfect time.” Elizabeth smiled a wry smile, recalling how much difficulty Darcy had had with getting the words and timing of his proposal right. Richard had obviously had no such problem.
The sun rose on a day as pretty, if a little cooler, than the one just past. The debris of the ball had been cleared away by a small army of servants, and the early risers had already ridden out to enjoy the fresh Autumn air in the park. Elizabeth, having told Darcy to expect Richard, had decided to spend a little longer in bed than usual and was still not fully awake, when Cassy bounded in, all dressed up and eager, urging her mother to rise and dress for breakfast. Elizabeth sent her away, but she returned half an hour later, to declare that Richard had already arrived and was in the morning room with her father. “Papa was just returning from his ride in the park with Mr Bingley, when Richard arrived,” she said, “so you must go down.” Elizabeth recalled the day, some twenty years ago, when Bingley, impatient to propose to Jane, had ridden over from Netherfield, almost before anyone at Longbourn was awake. He’d had to sit alone in the parlour, and poor Mrs Bennet had been thrown into complete confusion, while her daughters raced around upstairs, getting suitably dressed for their very welcome, though untimely, guest. Elizabeth sought, however, to calm her daughter’s anxiety, “Cassy, my darling, it is your father that Richard is here to see. Afterwards, they will want to see you, and when they do, you must be ready. I shall come downstairs to hear the good news before breakfast.” Cassy seemed unconvinced, but later, Elizabeth was proved right, when her father called her in to give them his blessing, by which time Elizabeth and William had come downstairs in time to wish the happy pair even greater joy.
At breakfast, where they were joined by the Bingleys and Charlotte’s family, it was agreed that this was too good a day to spend indoors. The engagement and pleasant weather were justification for a picnic, and soon preparations were afoot, while Richard and Cassandra decided to drive to Lambton, to tell the Gardiners their good news, before returning together for the picnic in the park.
As the family gathered that afternoon, on one of those magical Autumn days, when golden light filtered through the leaves creates a dream-like atmosphere, happiness reigned.
For Elizabeth and Darcy, the engagement of their daughter to Richard, the son of the Gardiners, who were their dearest and most trusted friends, was a match made in heaven. Elizabeth could not imagine anything that could possibly spoil this perfect day.
A repast fit for the occasion had been prepared and carried down to the picnic spot in baskets. Elizabeth had picked the prettiest spot in the park, shaded by ancient oak and elm trees, within sight of the stream, where they’d had many picnics but none as special as this, nor in such congenial company. The afternoon slipped by very slowly, in a kind of post-harvest haze, quite unlike the hectic days of Summer. Most of the guests declared they had too much to eat; some fell asleep, while the newly engaged couple strolled away for a quiet walk in the woods. Elizabeth and Darcy were too comfortable to want to move just yet, but after a while Jonathan and William stood up and announced they would walk to the house, following the stream, and Edward, Caroline’s son, joined them.
Some time later, Jane made to rise, and this prompted a more general movement, as Bingley rose to accompany her. A sudden gust of wind caught Elizabeth’s scarf and made her shiver as the oak leaves, russet and brown, showered down around her. Helping her up, Darcy said, “That was the first really cold gust of wind we’ve had all day,” and Caroline, putting on a wrap, agreed.
“I’m afraid it looks as though our glorious Autumn weather is finally ending.” It was a remark she would recall again and again. Another cold gust, more leaves rustled down onto the grass, and everyone was ready to go indoors.
As they approached the house, walking in groups or as in the case of Mrs Gardiner and Jane, driven in a little phaeton, Jonathan was standing in the drive, with a young man not much older than William. Elizabeth did not recognise him, nor did Darcy. But young Isabella Fitzwilliam did. “It’s that horrid Lindley fellow, Mama, his father has a farm at Bakewell, and they breed horses. They enjoy showing off.”
“I wonder what he wants,” said Elizabeth.
Isabella obliged again, “They ride down by the river; I have seen them there together. He has probably come to show off a horse. Tom the elder brother is a real wild one, always racing the horses along the roads and jumping the hedgerows.” Still, puzzled, Elizabeth looked around for William.
She called out to Jonathan, “Jonathan, is William with you?” but before he could reply, the Lindley boy moved right out into the drive and answered for him, “William and Edward have ridden up into the woods with Tom, my brother.”
“What?” Elizabeth could not believe her ears.
“What horses are they riding?” Darcy asked, and the boy replied with a degree of boastful pride, “Why ours, of course. We were taking them out for a gallop. They wanted a ride.” On hearing his words, Elizabeth flew to her husband’s side.
“William doesn’t ride unfamiliar horses; he is not at ease with them and makes them nervous and skittish!” she cried.
By this time, Richard and Cassandra had come up and joined Jonathan, who was looking very anxious indeed. Darcy, meanwhile, had asked for a couple of horses to be saddled up. He was going after them, with one of his men. Caroline and Fitzwilliam, who had lingered by the lake, arrived in time to hear Darcy call out to one of his stable hands, “We had better take along an extra horse.” Caroline was bewildered and worried; she had not heard where Edward had gone and with whom. She appealed first to Elizabeth and then Jane for information; neither could satisfy her. Jonathan confessed to being unhappy about William’s and Edward’s riding Tom’s horses, but he had not been able to dissuade them in the face of so much encouragement from the Lindley brothers.
“They were in the saddle and gone in no time at all,” he said, worrying that they had not yet returned, in spite of repeated assurances from Lindley that they would be all right, because “Tom is the best rider in the county.” Bingley, an excellent rider himself, was less worried, “I expect they’ll be back soon,” he said, but all the women were troubled, none more than Elizabeth, who shivered as the wind rose. Cassandra ran upstairs to get her mother a warm wrap, as Richard followed Darcy to the stables, asking to be allowed to accompany them. “In case there has been some trouble, you could do with a doctor,” he said, and Darcy, clearly relieved, agreed.
Minutes later, with the North wind gusting more strongly, they were saddled up and gone, leaving behind an anxious group to straggle into the house. The sun was setting on a scene that had changed utterly in the space of an hour; a day filled with happy optimism had ended in a mood of apprehension—even dread.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

No coward soul is mine

A

S THE TIME CRAWLED by with no news, and darkness fell, shrouding the house, the small group of mainly women and children had either fallen silent or spoken in whispers, standing about or crowding

together by the fireplace in the saloon, as if to draw comfort from each other. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam paced restlessly in the hall, while Mr
Gardiner, his face heavy with concern for the two boys, sat with his wife, trying
desperately to give her hope. Not knowing made matters worse; the uncertainty
adding another fearsome element to their waiting. The two women most
afraid—Elizabeth and Caroline said little. Gripped by cold fear, they sat
together holding hands and occasionally failing to suppress an impatient cry as
more time passed without result. Jane, ever the loving and caring one, tried to
urge them to take some refreshment and was rebuffed. “How could one think
of food?” scoffed Caroline, turning abruptly away, and even Elizabeth, always
sensitive to her sister’s gentle, good nature, covered her face with her hands,
unable even to contemplate it at such a time.
Jenny, whose anguish matching that of her mistress showed in her harrowed
face, busied herself getting the younger children upstairs, fed, bathed, and bedded down. When there had been no news from the search party for over an
hour, Mrs Gardiner wondered aloud whether someone else should not go out after them. Fitzwilliam and Bingley had been discussing just such a proposition and were about to walk down to the stables for their horses, when Will Camden, who had been silent all evening, spoke up, “It will be of no use for any one unfamiliar with the woods, to go out there at night. It would be too dangerous. But if one of you will follow me, I am willing to go. I know these woods well.” Fitzwilliam immediately agreed, and the two of them set off for the sta
bles, leaving Bingley back at the house.
They had only been gone a few minutes, when Jenny was heard calling from
upstairs, where, with Mrs Reynolds, she had been keeping watch at a window
that offered a clear view of the drive. “There’s someone coming up from the
bridge,” she called, and in a trice, Elizabeth and Caroline were at the front door,
with the others close behind. As the horse approached, it was clear there were
two men—Jack, the groom, was riding, with the stable hand walking beside the
horse. The women at the door rushed out into the cold and surrounded them.
Their desperate questions came all at once, creating a babel of sound; neither of
the men was able to answer. It was Jenny’s husband, John, who intervened and
got the men inside first, and as the others followed them in, he asked the groom,
“What is it, Jack, tell me, where is the Master, and what has happened to the
lads?” The young stable hand was sobbing, and even the groom’s face was contorted with shock. They were cold. A hot drink helped as they sat before the
fire, and then, slowly, painfully, the tale was told.
There had been a dreadful accident. On one of the bridle paths in the
woods, a horse had stumbled and fallen, breaking a leg and tripping up the animal following, which then appeared to have lost its footing and rolled into a
gully with its rider, young Master Edward. As a scream came from Caroline, the
boy broke down, and the groom had to take up the tale. Both horse and rider
had been killed instantly. It had taken over an hour to rescue the boy, but to no
avail. He must have been dead at least an hour before they had found him.
Elizabeth stood by, panic-stricken, unable to ask about her son, as Caroline’s
heart-rending pain filled the room, and her mother rushed to her side. Then
Jenny, feeling Elizabeth’s anguish, asked, “And Master William?” The groom
shook his head as his tears fell.
“It seems his horse must have bolted, because Master William had been
thrown on to the path, striking his head as he fell. Dr Gardiner was with him
the instant we found him, and so was my Master; the doctor tried everything he knew, but he passed away within a few minutes of our finding him. Oh Ma’am, I am so sorry. I feel it as if he were my own. It would never have happened with one of our horses!” he cried. Elizabeth turned away and wept, her body shaking with the violence of her grief. As they asked more questions, and the terrible tale unfolded, it became clear that only Tom Lindley had survived, with a broken leg to show for it. Reaction ranged from anger and rage to despair, as the entire family contemplated the loss of two of their dearest and best. Caroline and Elizabeth embraced and wept together. They were comforted by Jane and Mrs Gardiner but remained inconsolable. Mr Gardiner, despite his
pain, persisted with the questions.
“Where are Dr Gardiner and Mr Darcy?” he asked. He was told that they
had contacted the authorities at Matlock and were waiting for a vehicle to
transport the children’s bodies, which had been carried up to the roadway. Jack
could not contain his grief and sobbed all through his story. The stable hand sat
on the floor, his head in his hands, unable to believe what he had seen. He was
the son of one of the farmers, born on the estate; in all his life, he had not experienced anything like the tragedy that was unfolding at this moment. The sound
of approaching horses and a cry from Elizabeth alerted them to the arrival of
Richard and Darcy. As they came indoors, Mr Darcy, his face dark and drawn,
went directly to his wife, embraced her as she sobbed, and took her upstairs,
where she could vent her grief in private. Jane helped Fitzwilliam and Mrs
Gardiner take Caroline to a room that had been prepared for them, where she
continued to weep for hours, despite the efforts of her family to comfort her. In spite of her pain, Elizabeth was determined to discover exactly what had
occurred. Though her husband tried to persuade her to rest awhile, she would
have none of it, asking about every particular of the accident that had taken her
child’s life, wanting most of all to know if William had suffered much pain and
had he recognised his father, when they found him.
In answer to the first, Darcy said that to the best of Richard’s knowledge,
it was unlikely William had suffered much; the fall and consequent blow to the
head would surely have caused him to become unconscious, a state from which
he had appeared to emerge only fitfully, when they had found him. To her second, more difficult question, Darcy answered truthfully, but with great sorrow,
that William had not spoken at all, but, when Richard was tending him,
appeared to recognise him. When his father had held him as he lay on the grass, Darcy had kept hold of his hand until he had closed his eyes for the last time. Darcy honestly believed that his son had known him then and was comforted by his presence. For Elizabeth, every detail brought more tears, and one burst of grieving was so passionate that Darcy feared she would injure herself. Going out of the room, he sought out Jenny and Jane and begged them to sit
with her awhile.
Meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Gardiner, feeling for both their daughter and their
niece, were torn between the two of them but not wanting to intrude upon
Darcy and Elizabeth, contented themselves with waiting in the long gallery
until Darcy emerged. He saw them and went to them at once. He had spoken
with no one since his return an hour or more ago. The Gardiners warmly
embraced him and expressed their sorrow, and Darcy acknowledged their
shared agony, for had they not all suffered terribly tonight.
They asked after Elizabeth, and on being told that Jane was with her, Mrs
Gardiner asked if she may go in to her, too. “Please do, I am sure Lizzie is longing to see you,” urged Darcy, who then walked to the end of the gallery with Mr
Gardiner and stopped as they reached the point where the portraits of the two
Darcy children hung alongside the splendid painting of his sister—Georgiana
and his favourite portrait of Elizabeth—in a striking emerald green gown.
While Cassandra’s portrait had captured her vivacity, William’s was characterised by a pensive expression, with a half smile on his lips. Even at fourteen,
there had been a special quality about him, which his mother had recognised as
she encouraged his interest in music and art.
Unlike Edward Fitzwilliam, who was occasionally wilful and difficult,
William’s was a gentle, sensitive nature. That he should have been destroyed in
the pursuit of crude excitement, urged on by a stranger to ride a horse he could
not possibly have known well enough to control, was the supreme irony.
Standing before the portrait, Darcy was silent, heartsick with sorrow. Mr
Gardiner stood a few paces behind him, unwilling to intrude but keenly feeling
his pain.
Charlotte Collins approached; she seemed deeply shocked. Her family had
survived the death of Mr Collins, a husband and father, but the death of a child,
one as dearly loved as William, was inconceivable to her, and she felt their loss
deeply. Her obvious distress moved Darcy, who had always held her in high
esteem. “If there is anything I can do, Mr Darcy, please let me be of some use. Eliza and you have been so good to us, I cannot bear to stand by and see your
pain. Rebecca and I are here and ready to help in any way.”
“My dear Mrs Collins—Charlotte—I thank you from the bottom of my
heart and on behalf of Lizzie. Your kindness is truly appreciated. Perhaps if you
would speak with Mrs Reynolds and Jenny, they will know exactly what needs
doing, and I am sure they would welcome your help, as would Lizzie. Please go
to her,” he said, quietly. She held his hand in hers for a moment and saw the
tears in his eyes, as she turned and walked away. Charlotte, whose goodness of
spirit had permitted no hint of envy, had rejoiced when her best friend had married Mr Darcy, even before she learnt how remarkably happy their marriage
was. Since then, she had herself personally seen the generosity and kindness that
Elizabeth had spoken of, and on the death of Mr Collins, she and her children
had been recipients of it. That such a tragic blow should have befallen them
seemed to her to be deeply unfair. All night long, the women kept vigil with
their bereaved sisters and friends. Hardly anyone slept, except fitfully, from
sheer exhaustion.
Early the next morning, the dark carriage bearing the undertakers arrived,
beginning the funeral procedures that must move inevitably to their awful conclusion. Caroline and Elizabeth wanted only to see their sons, but that had to
wait until the formalities were completed and their bodies could be prepared
and laid out at last. Ironically, all the exciting promise of their young lives being
snuffed out, their mothers could look forward only to this last dreaded
encounter with their beloved children. Stunned and incredulous, Elizabeth contemplated how swiftly the days of bright, unalloyed joy had ended, bringing
home a bitter harvest of tears.
Some days passed before arrangements for the funerals were complete.
Friends and relations around the country had to be informed and allowed a reasonable time to attend. Mr Bennet and Sir William Lucas came, despite their
advancing years, making the long and uncomfortable journey. Mary and, surprisingly, Lydia, but not Wickham, came with them, the latter having travelled
overnight from Norwich, where they now lived. Lady Catherine sent words of
sympathy; William had found favour with her at an early age, but she was prevented from attending by her daughter’s illness. Her emissary, Charlotte’s daughter Catherine travelled in style, arriving in one of the best carriages from Rosings,
attended by a personal maid and escorted by Lady Catherine’s librarian. Many of the Gardiners’ friends and Fitzwilliam’s political colleagues
attended, and the church was filled to overflowing, well before Dr Grantley,
who had travelled from Oxford with Georgiana, arrived to conduct the service.
Georgiana’s distress was almost as great as that of her brother and sister.
William had been a special favourite of hers. Men and women from the villages
and estates in the neighbourhood had come to stand along the roads and fill the
churchyard at Pemberley, where several generations of the Darcy family had
been buried. Here, in illustrious company, the two young cousins would be laid
to rest, before a vast number of mourners.
Arriving at the church, unexpected, having travelled all the previous day
and through the night was Emily Gardiner. Elizabeth and Darcy caught sight
of her as they were leaving the church. She ran over to them, and her face crumpled as she and Lizzie clung together. “Emily, dearest Emily, when did you
arrive?” asked Elizabeth, when she could speak.
“Richard sent me an express as soon as it happened. I had to come.” “And Paul?”
“He insisted that I leave at once. The servants and Signora Cassini will look
after him for me. But Lizzie, my dearest Cousin, what can I say?” her eyes filled
with tears, which spilled down her cheeks. “William and Edward, both our beautiful boys, gone! Why? I have not ceased to question, but I can find no answer.” Darcy and Elizabeth were touched by her heroic journey, by coach from
Italy and packet boat across to Dover and post again to Lambton, where
Richard had met her and conveyed her to the church. She had slept little and
eaten hardly at all, until she reached the inn, waiting impatiently to get to
Pemberley, desperate to reach her sister and cousin and discover how this terrible thing had happened. She wanted, too, to comfort them, knowing how much
it would be needed. Her own sorrow, suffered for the most part alone, except for
the constant support of her brother Richard, had prepared her for sharing their
grief. That she continued to carry in her heart the grinding agony of caring for
a dying husband gave her a sensibility which Jane, whose life had been, mercifully, free of such pain, could not know, even though her tender heart was filled
with compassion for her sister. Shared sorrow created a bond deeper than shared
happiness, it seemed, and Elizabeth found herself looking for Emily again and
again, to sit with, to talk to and weep with, when she could no longer hold back
her tears, as thoughts and feelings welled up inside and overwhelmed her. There grew quickly between the two women a relationship born of their
understanding of each other’s sorrow, seeming to eclipse even Elizabeth’s most
tender bond with her sister. In spite of their deep affection and Jane’s efforts to
console her bereaved sister, Elizabeth found it difficult to accept that her own
life had been shattered, while Jane’s remained complete and secure, untouched,
it seemed to her, by the harrowing sorrow she had suffered. Unreasonably,
unfairly, she would contemplate the fact that all Jane’s children were safe and
well, while William, her only son, was dead. Elizabeth made no excuses for her
feelings; they left her heart sore and miserable as the inexplicable waste of his
young life seared her with often unbearable pain.
There were times, when they could all share happy memories, some more
recent than others, but Elizabeth clung to those precious memories of William
she shared with her husband. None was more tender than the week in the late
Summer of 1833, when most of the family, including Cassy, had gone to
London to bid farewell to Robert. Darcy, Elizabeth, and William had spent a
near-idyllic week together, fishing, riding, walking in the woods, and picnicking
at Dovedale and Brush Farm. During so many matchless days, a closeness had
grown between them, untrammelled by the need to be available to anyone else.
Darcy had considerately given Mr Clarke the tutor a week off—to visit his
mother. Nothing had happened to spoil their time together. Elizabeth recalled
an incident for Emily, “I can still hear his laughter as he helped me ford a stream
in Dovedale, and then quite accidentally, he claimed, let me slip into the shallows, getting my feet and petticoats wet. Even Darcy joined in, enjoying my
embarrassment, but then, seeing how uncomfortable I was, William was most
contrite. He apologised, fussing over me, offering to dry my shoes. By the time
we had reached the top of the stream, I was quite dry but kept up the pretence
of discomfort. When he discovered this, he almost threw me in again!” She was
laughing, at the memory, but suddenly there were tears in her eyes, and she grew
silent. Emily put her arms around her cousin and held her close. “I know how you feel, dear Lizzie. There are times, after Paul has gone to
bed, that I go round to Signora Cassini and talk to her about the good times,
and when I weep as I almost always do, she holds me like this.” Reminded of
her cousin’s continuing agony, Elizabeth was deeply sorry; she felt ashamed at
having ignored Emily’s sorrow, while indulging her own. “I am sorry, Emily, I
have been selfish, making you share my pain, when all the while, you carry the burden of your own. Tell me, how is Paul? Has the doctor given you hope?” Emily smiled and in a very quiet voice replied, “We are determined to have a very good Christmas this year, because the doctor does not expect Paul to see another.” Elizabeth was speechless that Emily, in the full knowledge that her husband was dying and every day away from him was a day lost from their life together, had stayed on at Pemberley to help her cope with the loss of William. She could not believe that such kindness was possible or indeed, that she deserved it. “My dearest Emily, you must return at once. I shall speak to Darcy directly. We cannot keep you here, while such a terrible possibility hangs over you both. Paul needs you,” she cried, ashamed not to have enquired sooner. Emily assured her that she had intended to leave at the end of the week but had delayed to mention it. She took from her pocket a letter she had received from Paul. He wrote that he was being well cared for. He sent his sincere sympathy and love and suggested that Darcy and Elizabeth spend some time in Italy this winter and “stay at the villa which overlooks the river—just a short walk from
us. It is quiet and comfortable and has been vacant since the end of Summer.” “You could travel to Rome and Florence, there are many splendid places to
visit, and it will be much warmer than England,” Emily added, encouragingly. Darcy and Elizabeth had discussed going away at Christmas. There
would be no festive celebrations at Pemberley, this year. Italy was certainly
worth considering. When she left, Emily pleaded with them to visit, not only
promising a “quiet and loving Italian Christmas” but adding that it would
make Paul very happy indeed to see them again. It was this last remark that
fixed their decision to go.
Two weeks later, when Richard and Cassy were dining with them, Elizabeth
broached the subject. “We intend to visit Italy in December; Emily and Paul have
suggested it. We shall take a villa close to where they live and hope to travel to
Rome and Florence. Will you join us?” Richard, who had intended to go in
November but had been unwilling to leave Cassandra at such a time as this, welcomed the suggestion. But Cassy, who had found that the loss of her brother had
also isolated her from her parents, whose grief had often excluded her, seemed
unsure. The deaths of William and Edward on the day of her engagement to
Richard had shattered her happiness. Except for Richard, she had, for the most
part, suffered alone. Darcy, sensing her reservation, intervened gently, “Cassy, I
know we have neglected you. We have taken advantage of Richard’s kindness and let him share your sorrow, keeping Emily to ourselves. Perhaps, in that, we have been selfish, but dearest Cassy, William belonged to us all, and we must help each other bear his loss. Your Mama and I need you and Richard. Will you
not join us?”
She had been a little withdrawn, hurt at being left out of their grieving.
Now, her father’s words, spoken so quietly and sincerely, reached right into her
heart. Looking across at her mother, she saw the pain in her eyes and could do
no less than embrace them both and promise, “Of course I shall. We shall both
go with you; Richard knows that Paul is not likely to see another Christmas—
Emmy told him so,” she said. Richard agreed.
“We must go, we owe it to Paul and Emily, as well as to ourselves,” he said,
pointing out that Emily had not spared herself when, on receiving news of the
deaths of William and Edward, she had set out, with Paul’s blessing, for
Pemberley, to help her family bear their sorrow. “Now, having bravely borne her
own burden for nigh on a year, she needs us to help her carry it through
Christmas, for Paul’s sake.” After he had spoken, no one had any doubt that
they had to go.
And so they did, leaving two weeks before Christmas, escaping the cold of
England for Italy. For the very first time since Elizabeth had first visited
Pemberley and then returned as a young bride, she left it without a backward
glance. For years she had not been able to leave it without turning back to look
at the house she had come to love, before they took the bend in the road, where
it was lost from view. This time, she wanted only to get away from the place,
which held so many memories of her lovely, gentle, lost son. Pemberley would
never, ever be quite the same again.
Reaching Italy, they were met by Emily and Paul, with great warmth and
affection. Their Italian neighbours, a large, friendly family, lost no time in coming over and making them feel welcome.

J

The villa they had rented boasted a spectacular view, comfortable accommodation, and two live-in servants, who would keep them fed and cared for. Hospitable and caring, they wrapped their visitors in an atmosphere of warmth and comfort. Elizabeth was very glad they had come.

Despite the attractions of the high art and culture of Rome, most of their first two weeks were spent with Emily and Paul. Finding Paul looking remarkably stronger than he had been in England, they had to force themselves to remember Richard’s warning of the intractability of this disease and Emily’s words to them at Pemberley.

After Christmas, during which each had carried their own private grief, they decided to follow Paul’s advice and do some touring. While Darcy and Richard had both travelled previously in Europe, neither Elizabeth nor Cassandra had ever been outside of England. There was, therefore, a special pleasure in sharing the unique treasures of Italy with them. Winter was not popular with touring parties, and this afforded them easy access to many places which would have been too crowded in Summer. Returning from time to time to their villa, to stay in touch with Paul and Emily, they set out on short journeys and did some sightseeing, wandering at will, and lingering wherever they found something of particular interest.

However, when she wrote to Jane, Elizabeth’s letter was filled, not so much with accounts of the grand monuments and ancient architecture of Rome, but with the peace and comfort they had enjoyed with Emily and Paul and the kindness of the generous Signora Cassini and her family.

Believing her sister was owed some explanation, she wrote:

My dearest Jane, if you wonder why it is I have not written at length about the divinely beautiful paintings of da Vinci and the frescoes of Raphael and Michelangelo, it is because I know these beautiful works of art have a longer lifespan than the human beings around us. I look at Paul, dying inevitably, while Emily uncomplainingly expends her life caring for him, and I think of our William and Caroline’s Edward—gone from us almost before there was time enough to know and love them—and I cannot become too excited about great art, which will surely outlive us all. However, everyone tells me Florence is not to be missed, so it is to Florence we go next week. I shall complete this letter while we are there and tell you all about its treasures.

When the letter continued, however, it dealt, not with the fine art treasures of Florence, but with the unhappy news of a sudden and unexpected deterioration in Paul’s health.

Since writing the above, dear Jane, we have spent a few days in Florence, which is so truly spectacular that I must contain my enthusiasm until we meet, for something has occurred that is taking up all of our time and attention.

We returned from Florence to find Emily very concerned that Paul had developed a fever. His Italian doctor is puzzled, and Richard cannot understand it either. Paul had shown no signs of a patient in whom the disease has staged a resurgence. He seems fit and is in good spirits; Richard wants to call in a physician from Rome to obtain another opinion, but my dear Sister, I confess I am not very hopeful. Paul has a pallor which is very concerning. Emily’s constant hope is that he is cheerful and eats well. She believes these are good signs, that he is successfully fighting the disease. I wish I could agree with her, but it is difficult to do so, even though the patient himself remains uncomplaining and optimistic. Darcy agrees with me and has decided to extend our lease here for another month, so we can be here if Emily needs us. Which means, it will be March, at least, before we return home. I do look forward so much to seeing you again, my dearest Sister. Please forgive this short and unsatisfactory letter. I promise to make up for it when we return to England, when I shall stay awhile with you, before travelling to Pemberley. God bless you,

Your loving sister,
Lizzie.

When it was time for Richard to return to England, to start work at the hospital in Derby, Elizabeth would not leave Emily, and Cassandra decided she would remain with her parents. It was as if they were afraid to leave for fear that they would never see Paul alive again. His unfailing appreciation of their presence and Emily’s loving care was almost too painful to bear. Some weeks later, as the first buds of Spring began to burst, making each dawn a new beginning, Paul Antoine died peacefully in his sleep. Emily had found him very early in the morning and called Signora Cassini, who sent her eldest boy up to the villa to give Darcy and Elizabeth the news.

When they got down to the house, the Signora and Emily had already laid him out properly and sent for the priest, the doctor, and the undertaker, in that order. With a little help from her neighbours, where she needed help with the language, Emily made all the arrangements for the funeral and the disposition of Paul’s things afterwards.

When, after the funeral, which only one of his sisters attended, the will was read, it was to Emily, his beloved wife, that he had left everything. A property in France, an orchard with a farmhouse, and a not inconsiderable sum of money were hers, with just one request—that she donate on their behalf sufficient money to Richard’s hospital at Littleford to build a facility for the care of young children, in memory of Edward and William. Now Emily understood why he had wanted so badly to have the lawyer from Anzio return last week for further instructions.

Elizabeth, who felt she owed Emily her sanity, for her support at the time of William’s death, was immensely grateful to have the opportunity to be at her side. She felt she had much to learn from her cousin, as she noted the quiet calm that enveloped her as she went about her tasks, preparing for their departure, and said as much to Darcy and Cassandra. But, Darcy realised it was not a simple matter of learning. As he explained to Cassy, “The difference is one of acceptance, Cassy. Emily knew of Paul’s illness from the outset. She accepted it. Oh, I know, she may have hoped and prayed for a miracle, but Richard had told her the truth. When, she decided to marry him, she carried that acceptance into her marriage; she loved him and cared for him, but she knew it would not be for long; it was going to end, quite soon.”

He tried not to sound as if he was preaching to her, but she was clearly interested enough to listen attentively. “With your Mama, it was different. When William was born, he was the son she had longed for. He was fit and healthy, and she had never contemplated his death at such an early age; he was the boy who was going to grow up and become her hero. What is worse, his sudden, violent, meaningless death makes it even harder for her to make sense of it. She cannot understand why it had to be his turn, that night.”

“Does she still scream with rage at the unfairness of it?” Cassy asked, and her father nodded, “Yes, sometimes, when it gets too hard to bear and I can find no answers for her.” Darcy hoped that returning to England with Emily would help them all and especially Elizabeth to accept, however reluctantly, that William was gone. He recalled how she had raged against the unseen powers that had decreed that William and Edward had to die that night. Her question was always the same, “Why did it have to be William and Edward? Why not Tom Lindley, the reckless show-off, the one who had caused it to happen, by turning up with his wretched, skittish horses and taking them, like some medieval tempter, luring them away from an innocent family picnic to their deaths? What right does he have to be alive, while our gentle, innocent William and dear, little Edward are dead?” It was a question Darcy could not answer. Nor would he try with pointless platitudes to assuage her grief.

Emily, by her selflessness, had shown them a different type of love, and her grief reflected this difference. Her example of courage and true generosity of spirit had been an inspiration to him. He fervently hoped that it would help Elizabeth, too. He knew there had developed a rare closeness between them and prayed for it to continue, for there was no doubt Emily’s singular strength could help raise Elizabeth from the mire of her grief. Cassandra surprised him by suggesting that the loss of William was all the more catastrophic because it meant Pemberley had lost its male heir. Darcy remonstrated, dismissing her concern, “It is not of any significance, Cassy; since the estate is not entailed, if we had no sons, you would inherit Pemberley, when your Mama and I are gone.” Cassandra was not convinced.

“That is not how it is meant to be, Papa. In any event, I shall be Richard’s wife, with our own place to run. There has always been a Master of Pemberley. It will not be the same, and Mama knows it.” Darcy sighed and let the discussion lapse. It would be best to let things take their course, since they were returning to England with Emily, who may be staying on at Pemberley. She had spoken of taking up teaching at the school and working with the choir again. Richard would need someone to help him with the hospital at Littleford, she had said, and she would offer her services if they needed any help at the school at Kympton. She pointed out that there were a great many things to do in the community, and she thought Caroline would appreciate some help, too. Emily seemed determined to devote her energies to doing everything she could possibly find.

Darcy, understanding her desire to keep busy, wished with all his heart that Emily might draw Elizabeth back into the life of the community at Pemberley. His own inclination was to continue the work they had undertaken to improve the estate and build a community for all of the people in the district. In that aim, Elizabeth had been his greatest supporter, but now he feared she might retreat into her private grief, turning her back on Pemberley, rejecting it as the scene of her greatest sorrow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The dower of inward happiness

O

N RETURNING TO ENGLAND, Emily hastened to her parents at Lambton, while Elizabeth went, as she had promised, to Jane at Ashford Park. It had been several months since the two sisters had

met. Their greeting was warm and affectionate, while tears filled their eyes as they embraced. With Bingley and Darcy in London on business, they looked forward to the time they would spend together.

Before her visit to Italy, Elizabeth’s inability to control the bitter grief that kept welling up inside of her, each time she encountered the security of her sister’s family, had distressed them both. But Jane, far from being insensitive to her sister’s feelings, was careful not to add to her anguish. She strove to shield her from aggravation and pain. Overcoming her impatience to acquaint her sister with everything that had happened while she was away, Jane set aside trifling matters and related only significant news. Even this was done with discretion and care. Once Elizabeth became aware of these matters, however, she was quite determined to know everything. When Jane had hinted in a letter at Christmas that Emma was spending a great deal of time in London at the invitation of the Wilsons, a family with whom the Bingleys were well-acquainted, Elizabeth had assumed that Jane had been missing her daughter. The possibility of an imminent engagement had never occurred to her.

Now, it was revealed that David, the younger of the two sons of the Wilsons, both of whom were in Parliament, had proposed to Emma and been accepted! The speed with which it had come about had surprised everyone, Jane said, though it did appear that the two had been inseparable for most of the previous month. The engagement was soon to be announced at a gathering of both families, in London.

While this news came as a complete surprise to Elizabeth, it was less astonishing than that which followed shortly after. No sooner had it been revealed than she demanded to be told every detail. Jane explained that soon after Darcy and Elizabeth had left for Italy, Charlotte Collins and her two daughters had been invited to spend Christmas at Ashford Park. “It was really Jonathan’s idea, Lizzie,” she said. “He thought they would be lonely at Mansfield, where except for their immediate neighbours, they knew few families. They were hardly likely to be invited to Lord Mansfield’s Christmas dinner! Mr Bingley and I agreed, hoping it would save Charlotte from the embarrassment of waiting upon an invitation to Lucas Lodge.”

Elizabeth understood. “I do believe her new sister-in-law keeps the household on a very tight rein,” she remarked.
“Indeed she does; Charlotte was there last October, and by her account, she was not eager to repeat the experience,” said Jane.
“And what was Jonathan’s interest?” prompted Elizabeth. Jane held up a hand, as if to ask for time to explain. It was quite an astonishing tale.
“Well, they came to us, and over Christmas the young people spent a good deal of time together. Lizzie, I could swear that I did not notice any special attention paid to one or the other of the girls, but by the time we were preparing to go to London in the New Year, Jonathan was exceedingly keen to take Amelia-Jane to the Review and the Richmond Ball. Bingley claims he noticed nothing at all, but Caroline Bingley alerted me to their being a great deal together, while we were in town. I must confess that I was not inclined to pay much attention to her, but Lizzie, you would not believe it, they were engaged within the month!” Elizabeth agreed that she could hardly believe it.
“But my dear sister, Amelia-Jane is not yet sixteen!”
“Indeed she is not. I have asked Jonathan if he is sure of his feelings as well as hers. He assures me he loves her and it is what they both want.” Seeing Elizabeth’s sceptical expression, Jane hastened to add, “But Lizzie, let me say that, since then, I have been most impressed with young Amelia-Jane. She is sensible beyond her years, when I think how trying Kitty and Lydia used to be. Charlotte has been an exemplary mother to all her girls. They are uniformly accomplished and perfectly well-behaved. Amelia is helpful and obliging, with not a trace of frippery or flirtatiousness about her. She sings, paints, and plays the piano, as well as sews her own clothes. Jonathan assures me that she reads a good deal, too, so as to improve her mind, in which she is encouraged by her sister Rebecca, who as you know, is very well-educated,” said Jane, adding, “But Lizzie, as she is still very young, we have asked that they wait awhile, which neither seems to mind; Bingley says it would be best they are quite certain of their feelings, since Jonathan means to stand for Parliament in the future,” Jane explained.
To Elizabeth, this piece of news was a source of even greater amazement. As far as she could recall, young Jonathan Bingley had hitherto shown no interest in public life at all. “Jonathan for Parliament! Is this the Wilsons’ doing?” she asked. Jane shook her head.
“No, Lizzie, it is the result of the persuasive efforts of Mr Anthony Tate,” she said, adding with rising excitement in her voice, “but thereby hangs another tale. Oh Lizzie, there is so much you do not know, so much that has happened while you were away.”
“So it seems, pray do tell me, Jane, what is Mr Tate’s involvement?” Elizabeth asked, her curiosity thoroughly roused.
Jane was almost apologetic as she explained, “Lizzie, I know I should have written something of this to you, but it seemed hardly appropriate to be talking of trifling things like love affairs and engagements, in the midst of the pain that you and Emily had to endure. I tore up so many letters.” “Oh Jane,” said Elizabeth, knowing well her sister’s tender heart, as she went on, “Lizzie, you do recall that Charlotte’s second daughter Becky has been something of a writer?”
“I was aware that Becky Collins was a scribbler, I know that she wrote some poetry—none of it very remarkable, mind,” replied Elizabeth, remembering some material she had seen in Rebecca’s hand.
“Well, throughout last year, she has been writing pieces for the Review, of which Anthony Tate is the editor, using the pen name Marianne Laurence.” Elizabeth’s raised eyebrows indicated some surprise, which increased as Jane continued, “She has since moved from Mansfield to Matlock, where she lives at the home of Mr Tate’s mother, Therese Camden, and now, she is as good as engaged to Anthony.”
Elizabeth exclaimed, “Good heavens, Jane, all these engagements in such a short time! Are they not a little sudden? What does poor Charlotte say?” Jane smiled, a little amused at her sister’s reaction.
“Well, Lizzie, I am sure Charlotte understands that these things can sometimes come upon one, quite unexpectedly” she replied, as if to remind her sister of Charlotte’s own very precipitate engagement to Mr Collins, many years ago, some twenty-four hours after he had been turned down by Elizabeth.
For the first time since William’s death, Jane saw her sister laugh, her eyes bright as she recalled that fateful day at Longbourn and all that had flowed from it. “You are quite right, as usual, dear Jane. I am sure Charlotte would understand perfectly well the importance of seizing the opportunity. Besides, I am being presumptuous in making judgements. If all these young people wish to become engaged, why should they not? Now, tell me, are the wedding dates fixed?”
“No,” said Jane, suddenly serious again. “Except for Anthony and Rebecca, who plan to marry in the Spring, the others must wait at least a year. It will not be proper for anyone in our family, so soon after . . . ,” and as her voice trailed away, Elizabeth, understanding her drift, went to her at once, and they embraced as the tears they had not shed together for a very long time fell freely. Jane wept as she spoke, “Lizzie, if you only knew how deeply I have felt for you. Yet I did not know how to reach you. I was afraid I would hurt you by speaking of it, though I longed to share your sorrow.” She could not contain her grief, “William meant so much to all of us. Bingley has never ceased to rage against the fates that let it happen, and Jonathan has nightmares and blames himself for not stopping the boys from riding out that day.” This time, it was Elizabeth who, seeing how keenly Jane had felt their separation, reached out and held her sister close.
“Dear Jane, how I have missed you. But Jonathan is not to blame. There were others, who should never have intruded upon us on that day. They are culpable, not Jonathan, no more than Darcy or Colonel Fitzwilliam or myself. Jonathan must not blame himself. I cannot believe that Caroline or Aunt Gardiner would say any different.” Her voice shook, though she remained strong, determined to reassure her sister.
Jane assured her that neither the Gardiners nor Caroline had blamed Jonathan, but he still felt responsible. Being the eldest, he felt he should have done more to stop his young cousins’ foolish escapade. “He misses them, Lizzie, especially William, and I am sure that this sudden passion for Amelia-Jane is due, at least in part, to the loneliness he feels,” said Jane, her lovely face saddened by the memory. “I feel that Emma, too, has become engaged sooner than I ever expected, in an attempt to overcome those terrible feelings—losing first William and Edward, then Paul, only a few months later. Oh Lizzie, it has been such a terrible year for us all,” she cried.
Later, as they took tea together, they talked of how it had been when they were both young girls and their lives had hardly been touched by sorrow. A disappointment here, some gossip there, what were they but mere pinpricks, compared to the recent tragedies they had suffered? As they talked, Jane told Elizabeth of Anthony Tate’s wooing of Rebecca Collins and the link that had led to Jonathan’s friendship with her sister, Amelia-Jane. “She would be visiting Rebecca, when Jonathan was calling on Anthony to discuss their political plans,” she explained, adding, “You see, Lizzie, Mr Tate, who now owns the Tribune as well as the Review, intends to throw the weight of his newspapers behind a campaign to elect some younger men to Parliament. They say Mr Peel is building up the Conservative Party and the Whigs need fresh talent to bring against him. Mr Tate sees Jonathan as a likely candidate.”
“And is Jonathan inclined to agree to this scheme?” Elizabeth asked.
“He says he wants to. Bingley thinks it is a good idea, too. He says it is time for the middle classes, who are creating Britain’s prosperity, to be better represented in the Parliament.” Elizabeth could not disagree with this sentiment; she had heard it espoused frequently, by both Darcy and her uncle.
“And what of your dear Emma and her Mr Wilson?” she asked, wanting to know more about her niece’s engagement.
“Emma and Mr David Wilson are to marry in the Autumn, while Jonathan and Amelia-Jane will wait until the following Spring, when she will be seventeen,” Jane explained.
“And, tell me, Jane, are you pleased about Emma’s engagement? Is this Mr David Wilson the right man to make my lovely niece happy?” asked Elizabeth, knowing how rarely her sister spoke ill of anyone but concerned that she had not sung the praises of her future son-in-law to any great extent. Jane smiled and said she thought most young people today decided matters for themselves and if Emma was going to be happy with David Wilson, then she, Jane, was very happy for her. “Do I detect some uncertainty here?” asked Elizabeth, sensitive to every nuance of her sister’s voice. Jane was immediately defensive.
“No, Lizzie, you must not think that. Bingley and indeed Jonathan have nothing but praise for both brothers, but I have always preferred Mr James Wilson, probably because he reminds me of Bingley. He is quite the nicest young man, with the best manners I have seen in many a year. He is sensitive and good humoured, never opinionated or boastful. Not since that summer when Mr Bingley first came to Netherfield, have I met so amiable, modest, and pleasing a young man as Mr James Wilson,” she declared, leaving her sister in no doubt that Emma was marrying the wrong Mr Wilson—at least from her mother’s standpoint. The comparison of Mr James Wilson with her beloved Bingley was the highest possible accolade.
“And Mr David Wilson? Is he not amiable and well-mannered too?” demanded Elizabeth.
“Of course, and he is intelligent and personable as befits his position. But James is my favourite. However, it is Emma’s choice, and she is in love with her Mr David Wilson, so, Lizzie, I shall have to be content.”
When Mr Darcy, who had been conscientiously catching up on his business commitments, returned with his brother-in-law, he was relieved to find Elizabeth and Jane as close as ever again. Their affection for each other was the very heart of their relationship. He knew they both drew strength and love from each other and had feared for Elizabeth, if she had not been able to restore the precious bond between them. For his part, difficult as it had been for him to bear his own burden of grief, while extending his sympathy to Caroline and Fitzwilliam, whose agony could not have been less than their own, he had strengthened his resolve to help his wife by his own example. His compassionate and ardent nature enabled him to help her deal with the profound grief they felt at the loss of William—without always feeling bereft and desolate. While it was not easy, he found he could often guide her to a calmer state of mind, where she was more amenable to consolation and comfort.
By the time Elizabeth was ready to return home, Emily, too, had restored her own relationships with her parents and her sister Caroline. She had decided to remain at Pemberley and help Richard manage the hospital at Littleford. There was much to be accomplished, with funds to be raised, furniture and linen to be purchased, as well as staff to be hired. Increasingly, Elizabeth found herself being drawn back into the activities of the community that had once been the centre of her life at Pemberley. Richard was very grateful for her help. The involvement of the Mistress of Pemberley in any charitable project guaranteed success. The hospital at Littleford needed her patronage, and Elizabeth gave it gladly. Caroline and Rebecca meanwhile, were campaigning for a permanent library for the area, using the newspapers and council meetings to do it. The need for young women to have access to good reading material was a cause celébre for the popular writer known as Marianne Laurence, who wrote extensively on the need for education for women. Emily needed no prompting to join their campaign.
Emma Bingley’s wedding in the Autumn of 1835, a month short of the anniversary of her cousin’s death, was the first such celebratory occasion that Darcy and Elizabeth had attended all year. The young couple were surrounded by a host of friends from London, and their distinguished professional connections afforded Mr and Mrs Darcy a chance to remain in the background, for once. Missing William terribly, they longed only to be away from the celebrations. They would never be free of these painful moments. Gradually, they would learn to live with them, but not yet.

J

That Winter brought another, not entirely unexpected sorrow, when Mr Bennet, who had never quite recovered from the shocking death of his beloved grandson, seemed suddenly to lose interest in holding on to life and, in his sleep, let it slip gently away. It was a hard blow for all of them, especially Jane and Elizabeth, but Darcy, who had grown to respect his father-in-law, whose dry wit was always at the ready to take down the presumptuous and stupid in society, regretted his untimely passing more than anyone knew. Mr Bennet’s appreciation of the library and grounds at Pemberley had led him to spend quite a few Summers there, and a warm, easy relationship had developed between them.

Only Elizabeth, who had found him browsing in the library, idly looking over the piles of familiar books her father used to read, picking up titles and finding short scribbled notes in his hand among their pages, knew how much Darcy would miss her father.

Sir William Lucas, too, was frequently unwell, and Charlotte was afraid he may not live to see her Rebecca married. He did but did not survive long afterwards, succumbing to a respiratory complaint from which he had suffered for many years.

The deaths of these two neighbours—old friends, brought home to everyone a quite remarkable irony, upon which Elizabeth made a wry comment. “Do you realise, Jane, that despite our mother’s dire predictions about Mr Collins and Charlotte’s throwing her out of her home, it will now be their daughter, young Amelia-Jane, who will one day be the Mistress of Longbourn, as a consequence of her marriage to your Jonathan, who is Papa’s heir!” Jane confessed that she had thought of it, and the sisters laughed together, remembering their mother’s outrage at the prospect of Charlotte Collins in her place at Longbourn. Things had certainly come full circle. Both Bingley and Darcy, who had a high regard for Charlotte and her children, whom she had raised with courage and principle, ventured to suggest that it was a fortuitous turn of events.

“I think Mrs Collins deserves some good fortune,” said Bingley. Darcy agreed it was an excellent outcome, “It seems like poetic justice to me,” he said, “especially since it was the foolish Mr Collins who was denied his entailed inheritance.”

Elizabeth, despite her affection for Charlotte, could not resist remarking that, “with two of her daughters very satisfactorily married or about to be, and her eldest enjoying the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Charlotte’s cup must be close to being full, if not quite running over!” Everyone laughed, and Jane had to chide her sister for her sardonic comment, but she enjoyed it all the same. It was good to hear the laughter in Lizzie’s voice again.

J

In the Spring of 1836, Mr Darcy, sensitive to Elizabeth’s sadness following her father’s death, embarked upon a project to engage her heart, while taking her away from Pemberley for a while. He was offered by chance, and decided upon an impulse, to take out a year’s lease on a property on the Albury Downs, not far from Guildford, where he and Mr Gardiner had important business contacts.

Happily situated, amidst rich farmland and wooded valleys, Woodlands included a house, not much larger than Longbourn but a good deal more comfortable, being a low, sheltered building, set well back in ample gardens. The meadows below the house sloped away towards a winding river, which cut its way through the chalk hills and downs. As far as the eye could see, the prospect was pleasing and peaceful. From the Albury Downs, superb views stretched across the county—a landscape of woodlands boasting ancient yew trees, green fields, apple orchards, and meadows filled with wild flowers and butterflies.

It was, Elizabeth wrote to her sister Jane:
...a source of soothing balm for the weary heart; it is just exactly what I needed, at this dreadful time.

She made no attempt to deny the seductive quality of this beautiful place, nor its appeal to her grieving soul. Reasoning that increasing business commitments in the area and his desire to be of greater use to Mr Gardiner rendered it convenient, Darcy took the opportunity to spend what became an idyllic few months with Elizabeth, in the loveliest part of southern England.

At Pemberley, he had once found her weeping over the sketchbook that William had filled with memories of the Lakes, while on another occasion, after dinner, she had sat at the instrument to play one of his favourite compositions but, unable to control her tears, had fled the room. Darcy had hoped a change of scene would help. After they had been at the farm for some weeks, with only a few of their personal staff from Pemberley, Darcy, seeing how happy and relaxed Elizabeth seemed to be at Woodlands, asked whether she would like him to purchase the property for her. When she seemed bewildered by the suggestion, he explained, “If I thought, my dearest, that it would increase your happiness by some small quantum, if it would mean that I could see you heal the wounds you carry a day sooner, I would gladly sell the house in London and invest the money here, to help us get away occasionally, from the memories that crowd around us at Pemberley,” he said earnestly. Elizabeth was deeply touched both by his gesture of concern and the love from which it clearly flowed. During the terrible days and weeks after William’s death, she had been grateful indeed for his strength and support, but much more did she welcome the warmth of his love. But, grateful though she was for his recognition of the pain she had suffered, Elizabeth did not seek to run away from Pemberley.

She acknowledged with tenderness his concern and determination to help her but made her own wishes quite clear. “I have no desire, my love, to flee from the memories that surround us at Pemberley. It is our home, it was William’s home, and he loved it. I see him everywhere—in the park, by the river, where he used to ride, and all over the house. I hear the music he used to play running through my head all the time. One Sunday morning, I came in from the garden and heard the Mozart sonata he was practising on the day of the Pemberley Ball, echoing through the house, the same piece he promised to play for us. I raced up to the music room, but of course, it was only in my head, or perhaps it was in my heart; whichever it was, it will be always with me. I know I shall have to learn to carry my memories of William wherever I go, but I will not turn my back on Pemberley. It is our home, and to it we must return.”

Darcy explained that he had hoped only to provide her with an alternative place to heal the terrible wounds they had both suffered. She smiled and assured him she had already begun to heal with his help and that of Jane, Emily, Jenny, and all their dear friends. “And do not think, dearest, that in the midst of my sorrow, I have been unaware of yours, nor that I have been so insensitive as to imagine that only I suffer the days and nights that wring out one’s heart. I also know how much Pemberley means to you. I know how you have tried to build a community there. I want to share that, too. Much as I have enjoyed these weeks of peaceful idleness in this lovely place, and I thank you with all my heart for bringing me here, it has been a wonderful respite, I do want to go home.” Darcy responded with warmth and gratitude, holding her close.

Elizabeth then showed him the letter she had written to Jane, which concluded:

It is, without question, the prettiest, sweetest part of southern England, and I should love to have us all spend a gentle Summer here, for I am sure you will like it exceedingly well, and so will Bingley. I shall speak to Darcy and if the owners will consent to let it again next year, we shall all be here together. Perhaps, after your Jonathan and Amelia-Jane are married, it may be time for us to get away from the bustle and crowds and spend the rest of the season here, for, dear Jane, it is a veritable heaven on earth.

He smiled and said, “What a good idea, my dear; I shall make some enquiries directly.”

Convinced she was right, they returned to Pemberley, and in the late Autumn, their son was born. They called him Julian Paul, and Emily was his proud godmother. The delight of both parents at the birth of their child was shared by almost everyone in the district. All who knew the family had keenly felt their loss and had hoped to see them regain some of the joy that had departed with William on that dreadful night. Pemberley, as one of the great estates of the county, had always been the centre of the district’s prosperity. When the estate and its family flourished, so did the men, women, and children of the surrounding farms, parishes, and towns. At forty, Elizabeth was grateful for this child; her young cousin Caroline, who had been delivered of a daughter in Summer, still longed for a boy to assuage the pain of losing Edward. Elizabeth knew that nothing, not even this dear little boy, could do that for her. The memory of William burned too brightly. Unlike William, Julian was dark like his father but with his mother’s bright smile and pleasant nature. His birth had brought them joy this Christmas. For the first time since William’s death, there was at least a genuine reason to celebrate.

Mrs Gardiner, who came with Jane to visit Elizabeth and her son, brought the news that James Courtney, the Oxford scholar, who had worked at the Pemberley library some years ago, was back, as the new curate of Kympton. Having completed his theological studies and taken Holy Orders, he had applied to Mr Darcy for the living with the recommendation of Dr Grantley, and it had been granted. Elizabeth knew of his appointment but was unaware that he had arrived already.

“Everyone is delighted to have him back. He was a most active and hard working young man, when he was only a scholar. He worked so hard at the school that Caroline thought he ought to return as a teacher,” said Mrs Gardiner, adding that Emily had liked him very much indeed. Jane offered the information that Mrs Gardiner had already decided that the Reverend James Courtney must be invited to Christmas dinner at Oakleigh Manor, when he could meet the rest of the family. Sensing, rather than hearing a plan developing, Elizabeth added a note of caution, “Dearest Aunt, do have a care. I know how much you long for Emily to be happy, but she felt the loss of Paul very deeply and may not be ready to entertain the thought of any one else, just yet. We all want her happiness but, believe me, there is little to be done when Death puts a nagging ache into every crevice of your heart and mind. There is no room for anything else. That has been my experience; I do not doubt that it will be no different for Emily. That she has such compassion for others, is not an indication of the diminution of her pain, but of the greatness of her heart.” Mrs Gardiner, moved by her niece’s heartfelt advice, agreed that she would do nothing to push her daughter; she was a wise and sensitive woman. “But I do hope, Lizzie, for her sake that something will come of it,” she said, “I cannot bear to see the sadness in her eyes. She deserves some happiness.”

Jane agreed, “Emily, above all others, deserves a share of happiness. She has been there for every one of us, whenever we needed help or comfort. All the children love her, and yet, she has none of her own. It is not fair, Lizzie.” Elizabeth could not hide her feelings. “The world, dear Jane, is not fair,” she said. “How else would our dear Edward and William be lying in the churchyard, while the wretched Lindley boys win prizes in the Derby Horse Show?” Her bitterness surprised even her sister and aunt, who knew and loved her dearly. It did not, however, relieve her grief; both aunt and niece fell silent, as she wept.

Emily, meanwhile, threw herself into everything that needed doing—the choir, the school, the hospital, the campaign for the library, even a promise to help Fitzwilliam resurrect the Chartist petitions! But Fitzwilliam, now thinking of handing over the reins to Jonathan, had begun to lose interest in active Parliamentary politics. The deaths of both his hero, William Cobbett, and the famous “Orator” Hunt, whose speeches had resounded in his ears, had signalled for him the end of a great political era. Many reforms he had campaigned for had been achieved, though not in full measure, he would freely admit.

Since Edward’s death, he had felt impelled to spend more time with Caroline and the children. The birth of their little daughter Rachel simply increased his desire to remain at home, rather than fight political battles at Westminster. He looked to settle down at his farm at Matlock and lead a quieter life, helping Mr Gardiner with the business and enjoying his family. Grateful for the love and unfailing loyalty Caroline had given him, Fitzwilliam hoped he could give her the support and love she deserved. Caroline, still energetic and determined to work with the rest of the women to achieve their goals, involved Emily and Rebecca in her campaigns. Whether it was education for girls or shelter for the destitute, they were active and vocal on every available occasion.

Rebecca, Caroline, and Emily brought so much vigour and conviction to their work, and with the backing of the Tate newspapers, they were so successful at getting things done for the district and its people, that folk were beginning to make jokes about getting the vote for women and putting them into Parliament. Their work had caught the attention of some quite distinguished persons too, who had written to congratulate them on their success. There was no denying that they were an excellent team.

J

Early in 1837, the death of King William IV brought a very young Queen to the throne of England. It was regarded as a most auspicious moment in the nation’s history. The Victorian Age had begun, and there was a new excitement abroad. Indeed, the entire country seemed to lift itself out of its malaise. Art, music, and literature were thriving, trade and commerce were profitable and growing, and though several social goals were still distant, there was hope of change and improvement, predominantly because the Parliament had been forced to act as an instrument of reform for the community, dealing with social issues as well as economic and political matters. No longer dominated by the landed gentry, it had begun to represent more of the people of Britain, and more importantly, it had begun to listen to them and act for them.

Jonathan and Amelia-Jane were married and settled in the area he hoped to represent. He had been persuaded to stand in Fitzwilliam’s seat in the election of 1838, which was expected to see the rise of Mr Peel’s new Conservatives.

Writing to Jane, who was spending some time in London with her daughter Emma, Elizabeth commented:

Dear Jane, We are all agreed, that Jonathan will make a particularly good candidate; he seems to enjoy making speeches, and his Amelia-Jane is very good at playing the aspiring member’s wife. He is intelligent and handsome; she is charming and dutiful. Colonel Fitzwilliam predicts that they will make a formidable couple at Westminster.

Charlotte has always been a practical woman, able to see an opportunity and use it, without appearing mean or grasping. She has obviously bequeathed the same useful quality to her daughters. All of the Collins girls have made the best of any favourable opportunities that have come their way.

You will be pleased to know, dear Jane, that the Tates—Anthony and Rebecca—have made a firm friend of Emily, whose work for the school and the hospital has gained her an enviable reputation for service in the community. Their newspapers readily promote the many good causes she has espoused; it is clearly a mutually beneficial association. As for the Reverend James Courtney, who has renewed his pleasant association with the parish of Kympton, he seems to find time to assist with many of the projects undertaken by Emily and Caroline in the parish. Our dear aunt is exceedingly pleased and still hopeful. She is right, of course. He is a good man, and Emily deserves someone like him. Richard is particularly appreciative of his pastoral care among the poor and the sick, who are flocking to the hospital at Littleford, in increasing numbers.

Do give my fondest love to Emma and tell her I would like very much to see her beautiful house in London, of which you have sent us such a charming description in your letter. Unfortunately, Julian is too little to travel to London yet, so I must wait patiently until later in the year, to visit my dearest niece. Darcy and I hope to see you and Bingley soon; do not stay away too long.

Your loving sister,
Lizzie.

For Elizabeth and Darcy too, life had been returning to normal. Their pride and satisfaction in their daughter were matched now by delight in their son. That Julian would ever replace William was unthinkable. His bright presence had been etched into their lives, and his memory could never be replaced by any other child, however delightful. Nevertheless, they were grateful for the simple joys that Julian brought them. He broke the long silences and filled the empty corners that might otherwise have held only sorrow. Now, Pemberley had another child’s voice echoing down its corridors and flowing out into its sunlit gardens, helping to lift the pall of grief that had descended upon the house.

Later that year they purchased “Woodlands,” having received what both Darcy and Mr Gardiner declared was an excellent offer. Elizabeth agreed that the farm was worth keeping in the family; it was after all the place where her heart had started to heal. Not surprisingly, it came to be known in the family as “Lizzie’s Farm” and was the venue for many happy family gatherings.

J

But it was in the Autumn of 1837 that the marriage of Cassandra Darcy to Dr Richard Gardiner finally restored some of the magic that had fled from Pemberley, on that fateful evening, some three years ago. It was a very special wedding. There was universal agreement on that score, nowhere more than in the hearts of the two families, thus united.

The Darcys and the Gardiners found their greatest joy in the union of their two beloved children. Richard and Cassandra, having loved each other deeply for many years, had proved themselves by their constancy, their unselfishness, and their shining example of service to their families and community. Now, they were ready to make that best of all possible unions, a marriage of both hearts and minds.

Once again, Shakespeare’s lines were spoken, “Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds,” as they were married by Dr Grantley at Pemberley, on a day very much like the one on which Darcy and Elizabeth had been wed almost twenty-five years before.

As if to compensate for the dread filled memory of the day on which they became engaged, a day forever blighted by the deaths of William and Edward, their wedding day had a special brightness, like a peal of bells across the land, heralding a perfect morning. As the wedded couple left the church and insisted on walking, rather than riding in a carriage, down the drive from the church, through the assembled party of family, friends, and wellwishers, their happiness seemed to spread like ripples on the water, out into the churchyard and across the grounds of Pemberley.

Standing with their parents on the steps of Pemberley House, before they went in for the splendid wedding breakfast, Richard and Cassandra knew they were part of a great tradition, one they respected and served gladly. Mr Darcy’s pride in his beautiful daughter was matched only by the regard and affection he felt for Richard. Had he chosen a son-in-law himself, he would not have found one he could have loved better. Elizabeth, sustained by the love of her husband and family, looked with singular happiness upon her daughter and son-in-law, seeing in them a new generation, to whom Pemberley, with its fine traditions, may be safely entrusted.

J

Some weeks later, Elizabeth was writing to her Aunt Gardiner, who was holidaying in France with Emily. Legal requirements of Paul’s will had necessitated a visit to the farm she had inherited, and Emily had felt it afforded an ideal opportunity to take her parents with her.

Having given her aunt all the usual domestic news, Elizabeth found herself in a reflective mood. Only with Jane and her aunt could she be as open with her innermost thoughts. She wrote:

You will recall, dear Aunt, how highly we regarded Pemberley, when we first visited here in that summer many years ago? It was the very pinnacle of perfection. I shall never forget my first impressions of a place so special, it stood like Camelot in a romantic park, on the far side of a glistening lake, a haven from reality, where vulgarity and evil would not dare intrude upon those so fortunate as to reside here.

Do you not recall how you and my uncle teased me about Pemberley? I seem to remember that you were absolutely certain that the Mistress of Pemberley would be no one known to any of us. How often have we enjoyed recalling those words; Darcy particularly likes my uncle’s remark about the “Master of Pemberley being a disagreeable fellow.” I do not dare reveal that I was in complete agreement with that sentiment at the time! Seriously, though, to me then and when I first came to Pemberley as Mr Darcy’s wife, it represented an escape from the ugliness, the embarrassment of Meryton society—a refuge from the petty irritations that so beset us at Longbourn.

Well, dear Aunt, will you be very surprised to learn that my impressions of Pemberley have undergone a significant change over the years? I do not mean to suggest that its great beauty or its appeal have in any way altered, or that my appreciation of them has diminished, but that I have found here not a refuge, but a different reality, which I have learned to enjoy.

I have learned from my husband that the reality of Pemberley requires a level of involvement and responsibility. It is the heart of his commitment to this place and all the people who live and work here. I have found too, that I no longer fear the memories of our dear William, which surround us here. They are a part of our lives now. When you return to England, you must come to Pemberley and let me show you how well I have gathered up the pieces of my life. I warrant, you will be proud of your niece.

While it had not been easy, Elizabeth acknowledged that she and Darcy had learnt to live with their memories, just as they had learnt and in many private moments expressed sincerely to each other the folly of the arrogance and pride, which had caused so much hurt and almost cost them a lifetime of shared happiness.

Pemberley, for all its grace and prosperity, could never promise them freedom from sorrow or disappointment. It did, however, promise a place of peace and beauty, a home like few others, where Elizabeth, Darcy, and their family had given and received great love, happiness, loyalty, and friendship, in full measure. Here too, they had found the strength to survive great suffering.

Surely, these were rich blessings, indeed.
END OF PART TWO

An epilogue…

My dearest Becky,

As I stand by my window, and look out over the park at Pemberley— dear, beautiful Pemberley, my home for so many years—it is truly difficult to believe that tomorrow, I shall go from this beloved place. Yet that is what I shall do, going first to my parents’ home at Lambton and then, on Saturday morning, to the village church at Kympton to be married to James Courtney. I know you will all be there to see me take my marriage vows and wish me happiness.

Dear Becky, I feel as if a whole life, not just a chapter, is ending for me. My life as part of this wonderful family, with whom I have shared so much, is over, and I am moving on. Though, as the wife of the curate at Kympton, I shall still be a part of this community, I shall no longer be at the heart of it, for Pemberley and its people are really the great, strong heart of our community.

I know I shall weep tonight, when Mr Darcy and my cousin Lizzie drive me over to Lambton and say goodbye. Much as I love my own family, I have shared less of the joy and agony of life with them than I have with Elizabeth, Mr Darcy, and Cassandra, and they have shared my pain and sorrow as no one else has done.

I have been, dearest Becky, a most fortunate creature, for it has been a privilege and a joy to have been in the circle of this family at Pemberley, entrusted with the confidences of these people whom I dearly love. Through my personal and intimate position at Pemberley, I was able to chronicle their lives and mine, as well as their joys and sorrows. The stories of the Pemberley Chronicles are theirs, not mine. I have not attempted to embroider and colour the facts. I have merely observed people and noted incidents as they happened. As you will see from my journals, which I have sent to you, together with the chronicles, I have made my observations, but I do not sit in judgement over those whose lives I have shared. All this and the rest of the material I have gathered together over many years, I am sending you for safe keeping. The reason is that I have decided, as the wife of the curate of Kympton, who may be privy to private material about the lives of many people, it would not be seemly that I continue these chronicles.

The same constraint would not apply to you, since writing is your profession. So, if at some future date, you feel inclined to continue the labour of love I started, you must feel free to use any or all of my material. All I ask is that you remember that these are the stories of real people, whom I loved dearly, and that you tell them with a modicum of affection and understanding. I had hoped to place the manuscript of the completed chronicles in the family’s collection at Pemberley, and to this end I had obtained permission from Mr and Mrs Darcy. Since we spoke last Sunday, I have written to them, acquainting them with my intention of passing all this material on to you.

Dearest Becky, I owe you a debt of gratitude for your help and friendship, especially in those terrible months after Paul’s death. I know we shall see a good deal more of each other once I am married to James Courtney and settled at Kympton, for there is much work to be done in our parish. But, dear Becky, then I shall no longer be “little Emily,” as I have been to many of you, but Mrs Courtney, the curate’s wife. There lies the difference. Thank you again and God bless you.

Your loving friend,
Emily
Pemberley House. October 1840.

348

Postscript

Emily Courtney, née Gardiner, formerly widow of Monsieur Paul Antoine, married the Reverend James Courtney, curate of Kympton, in 1840. She led a long and happy life, devoted to her husband and children—Elizabeth, William, and Jessica, all of whom grew up to be talented and distinguished members of the community.

Her son William, a handsome gentleman if ever there was one, having shown an early love of music, became a celebrated organist and conductor. Elizabeth, her eldest daughter, married into a distinguished family, while young Jessica emulated her mother’s example in serving the poor and teaching at the school.

Mrs Courtney was much loved throughout the parish for her charity work and community service and was honoured by the Queen for her work with the children of the poor.

But, she never put pen to paper again. All the documents, letters, notes, diaries, and memoranda, as well as the opening Prologue to The Pemberley Chronicles and several half-finished drafts of chapters, were sent to Rebecca Collins, who remained her close friend and confidante. The material was subsequently bequeathed to her daughter, Josie, who in turn passed them on to me. They comprised a rich and fascinating memoir—too good to be locked away in an old chest forever. The generosity of the Pemberley families of Julian Darcy, Cassandra Gardiner, and their children has given me the opportunity to complete the work begun by Emily a generation or so ago, with their blessing.

For the sake of continuity, I have used Rebecca’s maiden name as my nomde-plume, mainly because I feel that is how Emily and her beloved Pemberley family would have preferred it.

For while they may have been somewhat uneasy with the thought of a stranger looking around their family home (now a national treasure), reading their letters, and trying to chronicle their lives, there would be fewer reservations with Becky Collins, the daughter of Charlotte, Lizzie’s closest friend.

To Lizzie, Jane, Charlotte, Darcy, and all those other wonderful people whose stories inspired The Pemberley Chronicles, and to “dearest Jane,” their creator, my heartfelt thanks.

RAC 350

Appendix

Readers will need no introduction to the cast of characters from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, some of whom I have borrowed for these Chronicles. There are, however, some newcomers, many from the next generation, who have been introduced into the Chronicles. Below is a list of those characters for the benefit of readers who may need an aide memoire:

Cassandra Darcy and William Darcy – children of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley.
Jonathan and Emma Bingley – eldest son and daughter of Charles and Jane Bingley.
Caroline, Emily, Richard, and Robert Gardiner – children of Mr and Mrs Gardiner and cousins of Jane and Elizabeth.
Catherine, Rebecca (Becky), and Amelia-Jane Collins – daughters of Charlotte and Mr Collins.
Dr Francis Grantley – of Oxford, friend of Mr Darcy, later husband of Georgiana Darcy.
Dr Huw Jenkins – rector of Pemberley, later husband of Kitty Bennet.
Anthony Tate – publisher of the Matlock Review, later husband of Becky Collins.
Paul Antoine – a friend of Richard Gardiner, later husband of Emily Gardiner.
The Camdens – a neighbouring county family, close friends of the Darcys.

352

Acknowledgements

Quotations have been used from William Shakespeare; William Blake; Emily, Charlotte, and Anne Brontë; Charlotte Smith; and the Song of Solomon. The author acknowledges a debt of gratitude to all these sources, which are in the public domain, and, of course, chief of all to Miss Jane Austen herself, whose characters have been “borrowed” with love.

Thanks to Ms Claudia Taylor, librarian, for help with much of the research. A very special thank you to Beverly Farrow of The Pink Panther, who on a fine Sydney afternoon in 1997 had the initiative and courage to take on the first publication of this book and whose encouragement was vitally important to the success of the enterprise.

About the Author

A lifelong fan of Jane Austen, Rebecca Ann Collins first read Pride and Prejudice at the tender age of twelve. She fell in love with the characters and since then has devoted years of research and study to the life and works of her favourite author. As a teacher of literature and a librarian, she has gathered a wealth of information about Miss Austen and the period in which she lived and wrote, which became the basis of her books about the Pemberley families. The popularity of the Pemberley novels with Jane Austen fans has been her reward.

With a love of reading, music, art, and gardening, Ms Collins claims she is very comfortable in the period about which she writes, and feels great empathy with the characters she portrays. While she enjoys the convenience of modern life, she finds much to admire in the values and worldview of Jane Austen.

A SNEAK PEAK AT

The Women of Pemberley

THE PEMBERLEY CHRONICLES:
BOOK TWO
PROLOGUE TO

The Women of Pemberley

E
lizabeth was happy to be going home to Pemberley.

The Summer of 1847 was almost over. It had been a particularly pleasant Summer, spent only in the company of those she loved most. A month or more had been taken up with travelling in the Cotswolds with

Jane and Charles Bingley and their two younger daughters, Louisa and Sophie, followed by several weeks at Woodlands—the farm in Sussex—where they had been joined by Elizabeth’s Aunt and Uncle Gardiner.

The farm, which Darcy had purchased for her, had become an absorbing hobby. She had come to cherish it as her own little corner of England—“a veritable paradise,” as she had once described it to her sister Jane. Happily situated on the Albury Downs, its proximity to the town of Guildford, where Darcy and Mr Gardiner had established business contacts, was an added advantage.

With the help of a small, handpicked group of staff from Pemberley and the tenant farmers, who worked a part of the land, Elizabeth had transformed the grounds and refurbished the interior of the house. Informal elegance and comfort were now its most striking features.

The family and their closest friends, who were the only visitors she would ask to Woodlands, enjoyed the delightful intimacy that it afforded them and many happy weeks were spent there. Both Darcy and Elizabeth had already acknowledged that it had made a significant difference to their lives, left desolate after the death of their son William.

“I am very glad I let you persuade me that we needed Woodlands,” Elizabeth said, as they took a last look before leaving, recalling her first reaction to his suggestion that he should purchase the farm.

“Indeed,” her husband replied, “so am I. Judging only by the pleasure it has brought us, it must be one of the best investments I have ever made. Do you not agree, my love?”

“I certainly do and thank you very much for it,” she replied. They both understood how much the place meant to them. Julian, still reluctant to leave the horses in the meadow, was finally persuaded to join them in the carriage, and they were soon on their way. It was to be a leisurely journey, breaking for the night at Banbury in Oxfordshire, but Elizabeth was keen to be back at home.

Returning to Pemberley after some time away was always a pleasure. This time there was a special occasion, too, for they were soon to celebrate the christening of their first granddaughter, Elizabeth Jane, along with Julian’s eleventh birthday.
Arrangements for the celebration had been meticulously planned in advance and left in the capable hands of Jenny Grantham—their housekeeper— and her husband, who was Darcy’s manager.
Pemberley had not hosted such a gathering for quite a while and Elizabeth was anxious, but Darcy had complete confidence in their staff. “I have no doubt at all that John Grantham and Jenny will manage very well indeed. You have no need to worry, my dear,” he said, and Elizabeth had to agree.
“Indeed, I do not. I realise it is foolish of me to be so anxious when everything has been so carefully planned. Jenny wrote last week that Mrs Reynolds is quite determined to emerge from retirement for the occasion, so I know nothing could possibly go wrong.”
The following morning, they left Banbury after breakfast and Julian, plainly keen to be home, was rather restless and kept hanging out of the window. As they turned into the park, however, he sat down and was as good as gold.
Familiarity had not dulled Elizabeth’s appreciation of Pemberley. The old stonework burnished by the afternoon sun, the wooded hills clothed in rust and gold, and the inviting soft green lawns aroused in her the same response of heightened excitement she had always felt as they approached the house.
Darcy helped her out—he understood and shared her feelings. Julian had already raced away in search of his dog.
Jenny Grantham came forward to welcome them. She had matured from the days when she had been Elizabeth’s maid and was regarded by her mistress with both affection and respect. Her loyalty was without question.
“Welcome home, ma’am,” she said, her face lighting up with genuine pleasure.
It was with a great deal of regret that she had agreed to relinquish her role as Elizabeth’s personal maid and accept the honour of succeeding her aunt, Mrs Reynolds, as housekeeper of Pemberley. Young Susan, whom she had then trained with great care, held her in awe.
Still, Jenny jealously guarded her own privileged position—being always the first to greet her mistress, accompany her upstairs, and acquaint her with the latest news while she took a welcome cup of tea.
As Darcy had predicted, there were no problems—all arrangements were proceeding smoothly for the celebrations at the week’s end. Jenny assured Elizabeth that it was all in hand. She had worried in vain.
Later, after the weary travellers had bathed and rested, she would return to discuss the details of the occasion with her mistress.
Much as she loved her little farm, Elizabeth was very happy to be home. Pemberley was very much the centre of her life.
Two letters lay on her writing desk, having arrived too late to be sent on to Woodlands. The first, from Charlotte Collins, brought news from Rosings, where Charlotte had been visiting her eldest daughter Catherine, who continued as companion to Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter, Anne. What had appeared at first to be a matter of convenience for the de Bourghs had actually turned out to be quite advantageous for Miss Catherine Collins. Despite a seemingly impenetrable carapace of snobbery, Lady Catherine, it seemed, had taken a liking to young Miss Collins—her goddaughter—who was treated more as a member of her family than a paid employee and benefited considerably from being within the social circle at Rosings.

Charlotte’s letter, served to confirm this: She wrote:

My dear Eliza,
You may be surprised to receive a letter from me, since we are to see you very soon at Pemberley.

I had thought to leave the news I have to give you until we met, but Catherine, ever conscious of the niceties of etiquette, was adamant that I should write advising you that she is engaged to Mr Harrison, the parson at Hunsford.

Elizabeth had only met Mr Harrison once at Rosings and, while he had seemed pleasant and tolerably well spoken, he had not impressed her with his rather prosaic sermon in church. She agreed with Darcy that he was an improvement on Mr Collins. At the very least, Mr Harrison seemed able to conduct himself in society without appearing ridiculous, and that was a singular advantage. And, as Elizabeth said later to her sister Jane, Catherine was almost thirty years old and seemed unlikely to receive a better offer.

Charlotte was clearly pleased; her letter continued:

Lady Catherine de Bourgh has expressed her approval of the match, much to my relief, and has generously offered to host the wedding breakfast when they marry next Spring.

I am not sure that I should accept. I feel quite strongly that my daughter should be married from my home. But there is the matter of Lady Catherine’s continuing kindness and generosity to her.

It may seem ungracious to refuse, and I am anxious not to upset her ladyship. She has been excessively solicitous and good to Catherine, since the death of Mr Collins.

Dear Eliza, I am very keen to discuss this question with you and have the benefit of your opinion.
Catherine and I look forward to seeing you and Mr Darcy on Saturday.
Yours etc.
Charlotte Collins.

Mr Darcy came into the room just as she had finished the letter, and Elizabeth was so excited telling him Charlotte’s news and discussing his Aunt Catherine’s amazing generosity that she quite forgot about her second letter.

Darcy was of the opinion that Charlotte should have no compunction in accepting Lady Catherine’s offer to host her daughter’s wedding at Rosings. “Lady Catherine is very attached to Miss Collins—and since her own daughter is, sadly, an invalid with little or no chance of being married, this is probably an opportunity for her to play a role she has always coveted,” he declared. Elizabeth was inclined to agree.

“It is not as if Lucas Lodge is available to Charlotte,” she said. “With the deterioration of her relationship with her sister-in-law since Sir William’s death, I cannot imagine she would want to approach her.”

“Indeed not,” said Darcy, “and since they are to continue to live at Hunsford, they may as well be married there.” The logic of this argument was so clear that Elizabeth resolved to use it to set Charlotte’s mind at rest when she arrived at Pemberley.

On returning to her sitting room, Elizabeth found her second letter, unopened and lying on the floor where it had fallen.
She could not recognise the unfamiliar handwriting, which was quite strange, though not ill-educated. It was also well sealed, in the manner of a confidential communication. When she had it open, the contents—two closely written pages—puzzled her even more. Turning quickly to the last page, she checked the signature, which made no sense at all, since she knew no one by that name.
However, on reading the letter, Elizabeth was so astonished at the news it contained that she had to read it over again.
The writer, a Mrs Brewerton from Norwich, was writing, she claimed, on behalf of Mrs Lydia Wickham, who was too distraught to put pen to paper.
The writer, identifying herself as “a neighbour and family friend of the Wickhams,” wrote that Mr Wickham had been seriously injured in an attack upon him by a former officer of his regiment. Though she seemed reluctant to give any details, it appeared that the assailant had borne a grudge, which he had carried with him for some years, and on meeting Wickham unexpectedly at a club, he had attacked him most violently, putting him in bed with a number of bruises and a broken arm.
While Mrs Brewerton appeared to be quite sympathetic towards Lydia and her children, she did not seem to waste any of her concern on Wickham himself, leaving the impression that the punishment meted out to him may have been well deserved.

We are all very shocked and sorry for poor Mrs Wickham, who is quite bereft. I have taken the liberty of writing to you, Mrs Darcy, because I am aware she has no parents to help her and only fair weather friends, who may buzz around her socially, but are unlikely to be of much help at such a time as this.

She appears not to have much in the way of savings, either.

Mrs Brewerton, who seemed particularly well informed about the state of the Wickhams’ domestic and financial affairs, wrote.
Elizabeth sighed. No doubt, she thought, Lydia, with her usual lack of discretion, must have regaled her neighbour with all the details.
Shocked and embarrassed, for she had a fair notion of the reason for the attack on Wickham, she hurried out to find Darcy. When she found him in the gallery, she also found herself somewhat tongue-tied and had to be satisfied with handing him Mrs Brewerton’s letter with very little explanation—so mortified was she by the situation.
Darcy had to read the letter through twice before the full import of the words sank in.
Watching him, Elizabeth saw expressions of bewilderment, anger, and exasperation chase each other across his countenance. The look of resignation that finally settled upon it suggested that nothing he heard about the Wickhams surprised him any more.
When he finally handed it back to her, Elizabeth asked, reluctantly, if there was anything that could be done.
Darcy shrugged his shoulders, and replied, “Probably not, and even if there were, intervention by us may not be welcome. Wickham has always had a degree of arrogance quite out of proportion to his capacity. He may well resent an offer of assistance. In any event, we do not know who his assailant was and how the attack came about.”
Elizabeth was silent, not knowing how to respond, as he went on, “However, it seems to me your sister Lydia and her children may need some help while he spends the next few weeks in bed!”
Elizabeth, who over the years had never failed to marvel at Darcy’s generosity to the undeserving and frequently ungrateful Wickhams, wondered aloud how she could help Lydia—especially in view of the celebrations at Pemberley, which would occupy most of her time.
Darcy was quick to reassure her, “You need not worry about it, Lizzie. I shall send young Hobbs over to Norwich with some money. Perhaps you could write a note in reply to this Mrs Brewerton and one to Lydia, which he could take with him.
“I shall ask Hobbs to make some discreet enquiries about the circumstances of this assault. Wickham may well have brought it upon himself—he has always had a reckless streak. I cannot believe it was entirely unprovoked.”
Elizabeth hastened to agree and thanked him for what he proposed to do. “I’m sure you are right. Wickham has probably failed to pay a debt or outraged this man in some way,” she said.
“Whatever the cause, Lydia and the children cannot be left to the charity of neighbours,” he said and went away to find Hobbs, having both agreed that they would not speak of this matter to anyone but Jane and the Gardiners.
Later that night, as they prepared for bed, Elizabeth thanked her husband again. “It is truly kind of you to help them, dearest; I am sure they do not deserve it.”
Darcy sighed, “I know they do not, my dear, but the children are hardly to blame for the stupidity of their parents. Moreover, whatever I do is for you, Lizzie, for your peace of mind; you know that to be true, do you not?”
“I certainly do, but I know also that your generous heart discounts the hurt that you have suffered at the hands of this wilful, incorrigible couple, and you continue to help them. I am grateful and I, too, worry about her children, I do not deny it; but Darcy, I am so ashamed…” Her voice broke, and she wept.
He would not let her continue, putting his arms around her. He was very gentle but firm. “My dear Lizzie, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Wickham and Lydia are as far removed from you as they could possibly be. You are not responsible for them and need never apologise on their behalf. I cannot forget that it was my reluctance to speak out and expose his true character that permitted Wickham to present himself to you and all of your acquaintances in Hertfordshire as he did. Had I done what I should have and the truth were known, your sister’s disastrous elopement may never have happened.”
With her knowledge of Lydia, Elizabeth was not quite so sure, but said nothing as he continued.
“While I have no desire whatsoever to meet Wickham, and will avoid any dealings with him, I shall do whatever I can to help your sister and her children. I realise that they would be in a parlous state indeed without some help from her family. He appears to remain as wasteful and feckless as he always was, and her lack of understanding compounds their problems.
“Lizzie, I have spoken of this to your uncle, Mr Gardiner, and he agrees with me. Indeed, he helps Lydia quite regularly,” he said, hoping to comfort and reassure her. As she had often done in the past, she accepted his judgement and was content.
The following day, on a mild Autumn morning, the Bingleys arrived, early as usual. While the gentlemen were out talking to Darcy’s manager, Mr Grantham, Elizabeth took Jane upstairs and showed her Mrs Brewerton’s letter.
Jane was even more shocked than her sister had been.
“Oh! Lizzie, how could he be so reckless, so lacking in self-control?” she cried, even as she agreed that some help had to be sent to Lydia and the children. Jane would, as she had done many times before, send Lydia some money out of her own income.
When Elizabeth explained what Darcy had done, she praised his generosity. “Lizzie, to think that for a while we actually believed all the vicious lies that Mr Wickham told about Darcy—and yet he is such a good man. We must surely have been blind!”
Elizabeth had the grace to blush even after all these years.
“We were—at least I was, Jane, blinded by prejudice and my desire to believe what Wickham, who was flattering me at every turn, was saying about Mr Darcy, who had hurt my vanity. I well recall that you were never so quick to condemn him.”

LOOK FOR THE WOMEN OF PEMBERLEY IN APRIL 2008

The weddings are over,
the saga begins

“A lovely complementary novel to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Austen would surely give her smile of approval.” —Beverly Wong, author of PPride & Prejudice Prudence

T

he guests (including millions of readers and viewers) wish the two happy couples health and happiness. As the music swells and the credits roll, two things are certain: Jane and Bingley will

want for nothing, while Elizabeth and Darcy are to be the happiest couple in the world!

Elizabeth and Darcy’s personal stories of love, marriage, money, and children are woven together with the threads of social and political history of England in the nineteenth century. As changes in industry and agriculture affect the people of Pemberley and the surrounding countryside, the Darcys strive to be progressive and forward-looking while upholding beloved traditions.

P

“Those with a taste for the balance and humour of Austen will find a worthy companion volume.”
—Book News

Table of Contents

Part One

Part Two