Darcy's Redemption

by M. A. Sandiford

  ‘For how long will you stay at Pemberley?’

  ‘Two months at least.’

  She sighed. Would she have seen Grace and Robert in two months? Or returned to Carter Lane? The prospect of a separation from Darcy left a curious feeling of emptiness. ‘You can meet up with Mr Bingley again,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘I shall miss you.’

  He looked moved. ‘I too will miss our conversations. But it won’t be for long. I’ll be back in the autumn.’

  13

  August 1838, six weeks later

  Weeks passed, and little changed. Even Darcy’s absence left no gap in Elizabeth’s life, for they immediately struck up a correspondence. His first, sent from Bingley’s estate, filled four sides closely written. He told her everything, his thoughts too, as if he were writing in a journal. Elizabeth replied in the same vein, and kept her treasures in a locked drawer, re-reading them often.

  On 30th July the House of Lords debated the Custody of Infants Act, which was defeated by two votes. Elizabeth studied a report in The Times summarising the objections raised by Lord Wynford: the measure would inflict hardship on husbands, encourage adultery, corrupt the morals of the young. Julia, deeply upset, called at Bolton Street to commiserate with Mrs Norton.

  Next day, Elizabeth received an unexpected message:

  Dear Mrs Sibley, Julia has explained your situation to me, and for this and other reasons I want to apologise for my tantrum. If you can bear it would you come round for tea and cakes? I will be in this afternoon from 3pm. I promise to behave rationally and not pull your hair out. With best regards, Caroline Norton.

  Excited, Elizabeth replied by return, and at the appointed hour the Mountjoy’s chaise delivered her to Bolton Street, a pleasant residential area not far from the Regent’s Park. The maid showed her to the drawing room, where Mrs Norton sat at a small table writing a letter. She pointed to a settee.

  ‘A moment! I’ve nearly finished.’

  Elizabeth looked around the room, cosy enough, but modest after Mountjoy House. She was glad to find Mrs Norton looking healthier, with less need of rouge.

  ‘Into the lion’s den!’ Mrs Norton moved to the settee. ‘You’re a brave woman.’

  ‘I was so sorry the Act was thrown out.’

  ‘Yes, it’s an uphill struggle. Which is why your review upset me. If one cannot find support in a magazine for ladies, then where?’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘Mea culpa. I have a habit of striving for humour at all costs.’

  ‘Let’s have tea.’ Mrs Norton called for the maid. ‘As if I hadn’t enough distractions, my husband has refused to pay all debts I have incurred since he ejected me from Wilton Place. My driver has taken him to court, so more legal business will start up. I was writing a fresh appeal to him when you arrived, but it will go nowhere.’ She took a deep breath. ‘What of yourself? Julia said you had not seen your children for weeks.’

  Elizabeth confided her troubles, and before long they were immersed in an intimate comparison of their marriages. She had found Fredo mistrustful, but George Norton was far worse. On one occasion, in a foul temper, he had pressed a hot kettle against Caroline’s hand; on another he had crumpled pages of her poetry and set light to them. Her social success and wide range of friendships aroused him to fits of jealousy. On trying to see her children while he was away from Wilton Place, she had been manhandled out of the house by servants acting under his orders.

  Fresh tea and sandwiches were brought: they had been talking over two hours.

  ‘Do you regret ever getting married?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Not just to your husband. To anyone.’

  ‘I love my children.’ Caroline sighed. ‘But rationally, what can one say?’ She leaned forward. ‘Do you not see, a married woman has no legal existence, except as an appendage of her husband. Any money she earns belongs to him. He may sell her clothes and other possessions, and keep the money. She cannot make a will or sign a contract. She cannot divorce him for adultery. She can leave his house only to escape a level of cruelty that endangers her life. So her situation is actually inferior to that of a maid, who can keep the money she earns, and leave when ill-used.’

  Elizabeth shook her head; it was overwhelming. ‘And yet, to bear children, we must marry.’

  ‘Or forfeit respectability.’ Caroline smiled ironically. ‘Yet how blithely we place ourselves in a man’s power. When I agreed to marry George, I hardly knew him. My sisters were marrying: it would be humiliating to be left behind. I was flattered by his admiration.’

  ‘My case was little better.’ Elizabeth hung her head. ‘I was ambivalent even at the time. If only I had waited.’

  ‘In which case you would not have your children.’

  ‘I know! But perhaps I could have chosen better …’

  Caroline smiled. ‘Julia mentioned that you had been seeing a neighbour, Mr Darcy.’

  ‘We are old acquaintances.’

  The beautiful eyebrows lifted. ‘Only that?’

  Elizabeth waggled a finger. ‘I’m not obliged to answer all your questions, Caroline.’

  ‘So I am to have no hold over you? I’m going to need one, in case you write about me again in the magazine.’

  ‘I will retaliate by asking you about Lord Melbourne.’

  She pouted. ‘That will not get you far. I write regularly and devotedly, but he has eyes only for the queen.’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘I was not serious. It is none of my business. As for the Darcys, they have given help when I desperately needed it. His sister is the kindest person.’

  ‘Oh I see.’ Caroline grinned. ‘It is the family that you like, and the sister in particular. Not the gentleman.’

  ‘You are a wicked woman. Everything they say of you in the gossip columns is true.’

  ‘I am also a busy woman, my dear, and must return to my letters. Will you come and see me again?’

  ‘I might, unless I discover you are gossiping about me.’

  But Elizabeth knew she would return. Caroline Norton’s charm was magnetic: no wonder so many were held in her thrall.

  Back at Mountjoy House a parcel awaited her, addressed to her surprise in Fredo’s hand. Since it felt like a stack of foolscap sheets she feared some kind of legal fusillade. But she found only a handwritten draft entitled Addendum, accompanied by the following note:

  Elizabeth, I remain astonished that you care so little for Grace and Robert that you continue to flout your legal and moral responsibilities. I notice daily the ill-effects of this dereliction on the children, and believe they would be reassured if regular meetings could be arranged, for example at the Regent’s Park. It goes without saying that I take this step for their sake alone; as regards your return to the family home, my conditions are as before.

  As a sign of good will, may I offer you the opportunity to make amends by helping with the enclosed, which is an addendum to my tract on Prayers for the Dead. My colleagues, while approving the content, have advised me to seek continuity with the style of the original, before submitting for publication. Yours, F.

  Having feared the worst, Elizabeth burst out laughing. It was obvious what had happened. Fredo had tried to respond to critics of his tract through an addendum written without her help. Expressed in his own contorted style, it had been dismissed by his academic friends as incomprehensible. In desperation he was begging her to resume her services, offering outings with the children in exchange.

  Elizabeth thumbed through the pages. It was a short piece that would take a few days. Of course she had no guarantee that access to the children would continue once she had performed the task. It would be advisable to arrange at least two outings before sending back the revised text. But she had a hold over Fredo now. His bid to write without her help had failed. To succeed in his ambitions he would need her services in future. And if this was the price for seeing Grace and Robert, it was one she was happy to pay.

  14

  Elizabeth sat on a bench in the Regent’s Park zool
ogical gardens. She had arrived early and spent half an hour reminding herself of the layout. Now she waited anxiously at the agreed spot by the monkey cages. The gardens were busy with families enjoying the sunshine.

  A woman in severe grey dress approached, accompanying a girl that might be Grace. A boy in a familiar straw hat scampered after them.

  Elizabeth sighed with relief. They had come—without Fredo.

  ‘Mama!’ Robert ran forward, ignoring the woman’s cry of warning, and clung to Elizabeth’s dress. She held him a long time before turning to Grace.

  ‘Hallo dear. Are you well?’

  Grace faced her uneasily, while remaining at the woman’s side. ‘I suppose so.’

  Elizabeth spoke to the woman. ‘I’m Mrs Sibley. Elizabeth. I haven’t had the pleasure …’

  ‘Miss Wrigley. The new governess.’

  She was heavily built and impassive, with an air of defiance. Elizabeth noticed the absence of the usual madam, but let it pass. ‘What happened to Miss Staddon?’

  ‘She left.’

  ‘I had inferred that, but why?’

  Miss Wrigley flinched, perhaps recognising Elizabeth as someone who would demand respect. ‘Not my place to say, ma’am.’

  ‘Miss Staddon was dismissed,’ Grace said, her tone disturbingly flat. ‘For speaking out of turn.’

  ‘I see.’ Elizabeth spoke to the governess. ‘Would you like to take an hour to see the gardens? I recommend the tea room. We can meet back here at four o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll stay with you, thank you ma’am.’

  ‘But you deserve a rest, and I prefer to see the children alone.’

  Miss Wrigley stiffened. ‘The master told me not to let them out of my sight.’

  Elizabeth was tempted to press the point, but what if Fredo used this as a pretext to stop further meetings? She forced a smile. ‘In that case, why not follow us at a discreet distance? Then you can keep an eye on the children without having to overhear our conversation.’

  Treating Miss Wrigley’s hesitation as consent, Elizabeth took Robert’s hand and led him towards the monkeys. Grace glanced at the governess, then followed.

  The largest group had formed around a baby elephant that cowered beneath its mother’s enormous head. A man was feeding buns to the mother elephant; Robert ran over to join him.

  Grace said quietly, ‘Why do you not want to live with us any more?’

  Elizabeth moved closer so that she could whisper. ‘Of course I want to live with you.’

  ‘Father says you do not.’

  ‘He is mistaken.’

  ‘He says you refuse to apologise, for shouting at him.’

  ‘We had a quarrel and I insulted him. I merely ask him to admit that he also insulted me.’

  ‘Is that important? I am often accused of rudeness, by father, or by Wiggly.’ She strangled a laugh. ‘I mean, Miss Wrigley. Robert calls her that. Usually I don’t think I was rude at all, but it’s easier to say sorry, even though I don’t mean it, so that things can go back to normal.’

  Elizabeth remained silent, seeing Grace’s point. She watched the man with the buns hand one to Robert so that he could feed the elephant. The excited boy extended a hand tentatively, but withdrew it too fast so that the bun fell to the grass. The elephant scooped it up anyway.

  Robert ran back, disconsolate.

  ‘Butterfingers,’ Grace said.

  Elizabeth put an arm around him. ‘Never mind, dear. Discretion is the better part of valour.’

  He frowned, his interest immediately caught. ‘What is discretion, Mama?’

  ‘Ask Miss Wrigley.’

  ‘She isn’t good at explaining.’ He clung to her. ‘I wish you’d come home.’

  ‘People say you don’t care about us,’ Grace said.

  ‘Which people?’ Elizabeth tried to speak calmly. ‘Does Papa say that?’

  ‘No!’ Robert cried.

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘Aunt Martha.’ Grace frowned. ‘But Father didn’t contradict her.’

  ‘I expect he was trying to avoid an argument,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Where shall we go next?’

  Robert pointed. ‘The camels!’

  ‘Grace? It’s your turn to choose.’

  The girl shrugged. ‘Anything.’

  They moved from one exhibit to another, Mrs Wrigley comically following in their wake. In time Grace relaxed enough to meet Elizabeth’s eye, walk closer to her, even smile. But her awareness of the governess was evident. It was as if she feared criticism if she displayed affection for the estranged mother.

  15

  September 1838

  A month passed tranquilly with the same regime. On two afternoons a week Elizabeth met up with Grace and Robert, always accompanied by Mrs Wrigley. Fredo’s messages were a little more polite, but his terms were the same. He approved of her revision of his addendum, which had been accepted for publication in The Church Magazine. Julia was writing a lengthy poem, working faster with Elizabeth’s secretarial help. Caroline Norton was on the Isle of Wight, hoping to regain her health. Sales of The Lady’s Magazine had recovered, bringing increased demand for the writings of EB.

  On a grey afternoon, Elizabeth returned from the park carrying an envelope passed to her by Mrs Wrigley. She feared that Fredo was about to impose further conditions, or even break the truce altogether. He might have found out that she was working again for the magazine. But no, it was merely another text to edit, this time a letter to The Church Magazine continuing a debate with an Evangelical on prayers for the dead.

  ‘A gentleman called, ma’am.’ The maid, a new recruit, pointed to the silver tray on the hall table. ‘Left his card.’

  Elizabeth went to her office to file away Fredo’s letter. From the next room, Julia came to join her.

  ‘Children happy?’ she asked.

  ‘As usual.’

  ‘I’ve been scribbling all day. I’d better go upstairs and see Samuel.’ She grinned. ‘Did you hear we had a visitor?’

  ‘And why should that be amusing?’

  ‘No reason. Will you be going out?’

  ‘A short stroll to Grosvenor Street would be pleasant. I’ll be back for dinner.’

  Heart fluttering, Elizabeth checked up and down the road as she waited on the porch of Darcy House. Pedestrians passed, but nobody that would recognise her. She recalled the night six months before when she had stood on this very step in the pouring rain, having been banished from the family home.

  The same footman answered, but he knew her now.

  ‘Master is in his study, ma’am.’

  ‘And Mr and Mrs Molyneux?’

  ‘In Surrey, visiting the baronet, ma’am.’

  He led her to the drawing room, where she looked at some new pictures, including a photogenic drawing of the street, until Darcy appeared in the doorway. His face lit up as he approached and took her hands.

  ‘Elizabeth! I have been deprived of your company too long.’

  ‘And I yours.’ She trembled as his long fingers gently enfolded her ungloved hands. It had been a separation in which, through their long letters, intimacy had grown rather than faded. She studied the handsome dignified face and found his complexion improved: days spent walking and fishing in Pemberley had served him better than London grime.

  After what seemed minutes he released her, and they sat on opposite ends of the settee. He poured two glasses of wine as she brought him up-to-date with her improved circumstances.

  ‘Your husband is relenting,’ Darcy said. ‘Before long you should be in a position to return home on your own terms.’

  ‘I suppose that should be my objective, so that I can be with the children every day.’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘Yet in a way I prefer things as they are. It is such a privilege to live with Julia.’ She paused, before continuing, ‘I wish that as a young woman, I had thought more deeply about what I wanted from life.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked away, pensive. ‘I knew well enough what I wanted. Unfortunat
ely I did not get it.’

  Elizabeth grimaced. ‘Hunsford again?’

  ‘Children too.’

  ‘Is that enough, William?’ Elizabeth faced him earnestly. ‘Certainly a man of means aims to marry and produce an heir. But that is hardly sufficient to occupy most of his time. When Fredo married me he wanted children, but he also had a mission. He saw himself as part of a movement to shift the Anglican Church in the direction of traditional Catholicism.’

  She watched as Darcy thought about this. One reason she liked talking with him was that neither of them feared silences. If he saw she was thinking, he waited; now she showed him the same consideration.

  ‘I was never interested in ideologies,’ he said eventually. ‘Either political or religious. As a boy I knew that one sad day my father would pass on, leaving me responsibility for Pemberley. Not only the household, but the tenant farmers, the church, charitable groups, schools, magistrate duty, and so forth. As it turned out, I had guardianship of Georgiana as well. So I was born into a job that would fill much of my time, if I took it seriously. I may not have achieved what I hoped in my personal life, but I tried to maintain this legacy and look after my dependants.’

  ‘You must be proud of how Georgiana has flourished.’

  ‘The credit is mostly hers.’

  ‘You would have made an ideal father …’ Elizabeth reddened. ‘Forgive me. In any case, you may marry again.’

  Darcy smiled, as if to show he was not offended. ‘If I did, I might still remain childless. Infertility can be due to the gentleman rather than the lady, as I tried to explain to Arethusa. But producing an heir is no longer uppermost in my mind. I do not wish to marry again.’

  Elizabeth was intrigued by this comment, but did not enquire further: perhaps he still grieved for Arethusa. She said lightly, ‘Marriage is over-rated in my opinion, especially for a woman. You should hear Caroline Norton on the subject.’