Richard Gardiner was a young man for whom they had the greatest esteem and affection, besides the fact that he was the son of their beloved Uncle and Aunt Gardiner. Since his return last year from Paris, having qualified as a physician, he had been busy organising his practise in Birmingham; but when he was home, he was a frequent visitor to Pemberley, ostensibly to see his cousins and his youngest sister, Emily, who spent much of the week there.
More recently however, Elizabeth had noticed that, whenever he visited, he seemed to find Cassandra either wandering in the grounds or playing the piano in the music room, and the two would appear to have a great deal to say to one another, which, considering that Cassy was an intelligent, vivacious young lady, not yet seventeen, did not entirely surprise. Nor did it escape her attention that Cassy had spent an entire afternoon trying out a number of gowns before deciding upon which she would wear on Boxing Day, when the family was to gather at Pemberley. When she finally appeared downstairs to greet their guests, in a becoming gown of damask rose silk, even Elizabeth was startled by her beauty. Richard Gardiner, arriving shortly afterwards with his parents and Monsieur Antoine, could not take his eyes off his charming young cousin. After dinner, when the musicians appeared and the dancing began, she was clearly his preferred partner.
It was a happier occasion than they had expected, for though the weather had been cold and blustery all week, it cleared for long enough to enable everyone to arrive in time and at least they were not snowed in, as they had been some years ago. Jane Bingley, Charlotte Collins, and Elizabeth had the pleasure of seeing their children mingle as friends, just as they had done many years ago in Hertfordshire.
As the great house filled with the sounds of music and the laughter of young voices, as they sang and danced all evening in the large room which glowed with the light of candles and a large comforting fire, it seemed to Elizabeth that everything was right with her world.
She had found great happiness here, and watching her children enjoy themselves gave her special satisfaction. Both Cassy and William brought her so much pleasure and so little anxiety, she counted herself one of the most fortunate of women. She was determined that nothing, not even the persistent unease she felt about her cousin Emily, should spoil her happiness.
Meanwhile, Caroline remained watchful of her younger sister, still unable to rid herself of her concerns. Her naturally romantic disposition, which rejoiced at the prospect of Emily and Paul Antoine being in love, had to struggle with her protective instincts towards her sister.
She was puzzled by the fact that Emily still seemed unaware of the feelings she inspired in the gentleman, feelings he betrayed often enough by his very particular attentions to her.
More than once, Caroline had tried to reassure herself that Emily was twenty-five and well able to know her own mind in such matters, but she could not shake off her feelings of apprehension.
Inexplicably, in spite of her husband's assurances to the contrary, she was too anxious to be complacent. She vowed that after Christmas, she would ask her mother's opinion at the very first opportunity. Surely, she thought, Emily must have confided in her mother—if there was anything to confide.
The New Year did not get off to a very good start.
A wet, blustery Spring kept most people at home, unless it was imperative that they undertook a journey.
The disappointment did not end with the weather. Politically, Colonel Fitzwilliam was disheartened that the great reforms of 1832 and '33 seemed to have stalled. Instead of moving quickly to bring about more changes, the government, despite its majority in the Commons, seemed to be overwhelmed with confusion and internal bickering as Lord Grey resigned and Lord Melbourne, who had no real heart for reform, became the new leader of the party. None of this was advancing the causes dear to Fitzwilliam's heart. Disillusioned, he was on the verge of resignation, only persuaded to stay on by Anthony Tate and James Wilson, who argued that the cause of reform would soon be dead if every disappointed reformist threw in the towel.
Caroline, saddened by her husband's disappointment and sharing his impatience with politicians who abandoned their principles for expediency, threw herself more passionately into her charitable work. Helping the poor and campaigning for money to get the children—who, thanks to Viscount Althorp's law, were gradually being brought out of the mines—into schools was far more satisfying.
In the time she had to spare, she persevered with her pet project of gathering together and training a chamber music group, in which task she had considerable assistance from young William Darcy, whose musical talent was already acknowledged to be quite remarkable.
He had confided in her his hopes of being a concert pianist, but wondered if his father would countenance such a thing.
“I cannot see Papa agreeing to it,” he had said ruefully, as they selected the music for their first concert, and Caroline would always recall the smile that lit up his face, when she said, “Oh, I would not give up so easily, William. Your papa is a man of great intelligence and culture; if you and your mama do your best, you may well persuade him to let you try. Besides he loves you dearly and wants what's best for you. I am confident of that.”
As she told her mother later, “William looked so moved, I thought he was going to weep, but he put his arms around me and said, 'Thank you, Cousin Caroline. I shall always remember that.'”
Her brother Richard, meanwhile, was hard at work in Birmingham, ably assisted by his friend Paul Antoine, who had recovered from his earlier indisposition. He remained rather pale, however, and both Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner had expressed some concern about his health.
When he was away in Birmingham, it seemed as though Emily lost no sleep over him, confident he was well looked after by her brother.
But each time he returned, it was obvious even to the most disinterested observer that his attachment to Miss Gardiner had increased. Yet, while Emily may have been pleased by his regard, she showed no sign of reciprocating his affection.
Despite her earlier determination, Caroline's resolve failed her and she did not question her mother on the subject of her sister and Monsieur Antoine, fearing that she might unduly alarm her. Had she done so, she might have learned enough to enable her to understand the situation, for Mrs Gardiner had been in her younger daughter's confidence for several months, and her knowledge had only increased her own anxiety.
While Spring had been a great disappointment, being mostly dull and wet, Summer arrived with a glorious burst of sunshine, luring everyone out of doors and all those with the inclination and the means to travel onto the roads. Fitzwilliam and Caroline accepted an invitation to visit Standish Park in Kent—the elegant family home of Mr James Wilson, a colleague of Fitzwilliam's in the Parliament whose reforming zeal was in every way as genuine and determined as his own.
Furthermore, the colonel had agreed to call on his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose great estate Rosings was in the same county. Her Ladyship's fondness for her nephew's wife and a softening of her generally brusque manner with the passage of the years meant that the visit was, amazingly, more a pleasure than a tour of duty.
The Darcys and their two children, Cassandra and William, left for a tour of the Lakes of Cumbria, whither Elizabeth had often longed to go without success. On a previous occasion, her initial disappointment had resulted in a quite remarkably advantageous turn of events, but this time, Mr Darcy was determined she should have her wish.
They set off, therefore, hoping to enjoy all those natural wonders, which had so inspired Wordsworth and his fellow romantics that no anthology of poems was complete without lyrical verses in praise of the Lake District.
As they said farewell, neither Caroline nor Elizabeth were to know that, by the time they returned to Derbyshire, Emily Gardiner's life would have changed forever.
WHILE THE DARCYS WERE TOURING the lakes and Colonel Fitzwilliam and his family enjoyed the hospitality of their friends in Kent, back in Derbyshire, a series of events began to unfo
ld that neither Caroline nor Elizabeth could ever have imagined.
Worse still, they happened with such speed as to allow no time for any of the participants to communicate with any persons, save those who were directly involved. All other members of the families and their closest friends were to learn of the matter only after the fact.
Elizabeth and Darcy had been gone but a few weeks when Richard Gardiner came alone to see his mother at Lambton, on a day when he knew his father was in Manchester on business. Mrs Gardiner, at first delighted to see her son arrive unexpectedly, was made rather uneasy by his unusually solemn countenance and his long silence while she ordered tea and his favourite cake. At first, she assumed he was tired from his journey and later supposed it might have been caused by another altercation with the hospital board in Birmingham, with whom he was forever in dispute; but when they had taken tea, he rose and, going over to stand beside the window, said, “Mama, I am afraid I have some unhappy news.”
Even though she had anticipated something of the sort, Mrs Gardiner was startled by the seriousness of his tone and expression. She could not recall seeing him appear quite so solemn before.
“Why, Richard, what has happened?” she asked “Is someone ill?”
She was hoping it might be a simple matter, but he turned and, coming to where she was seated, said, “Yes, it's Paul; he is very ill. I fear I shall have to take him to London to see a colleague of mine in Harley Street. I need another opinion, but even without it, I can see his health is deteriorating faster than either of us expected. I cannot explain it.”
Mrs Gardiner, who had some previous knowledge of the situation, asked, “How do you mean?”
Richard explained briefly, “Well, you know all I have told you; you are aware of his illness, as is Emily. He has inherited from his unfortunate mother a poor respiratory condition, which has troubled him since childhood, and his lungs are weak. When we discovered it was tuberculosis, we tried to treat it with medication and nourishment, and for a time, we appeared to have some success; but recently, he has grown pale and has lost weight…”
Mrs Gardiner looked apprehensive, her thoughts were of Emily.
“But Richard, Emily has been often in his company; is she not in danger of infection?”
He sat down beside her and took her hand in his. “As I explained to Cousin Lizzie when she asked me that very question, if Emily is careful and sensible, there is no danger. I have given her certain instructions for her own protection; if she follows them, she is unlikely to be infected and it was her choice to continue their association.”
He tried to reassure his mother, “I explained it in every detail and Paul offered never to visit her again, for her sake, as he has done with the Fitzwilliams, where there are young children, and to continue their friendship only by letter. He is devoted to her and would not do anything that might hurt her, but Emily has insisted on seeing him.”
Hearing his words, Mrs Gardiner could not restrain her tears and Richard had to spend some time comforting her.
“If his condition is worse than we believed, then I fear Paul may have to leave England for the south of France or Italy. Our Winters are too damp and cold for anyone suffering from tuberculosis—if he stays, he will not survive long,” he explained.
Mrs Gardiner shuddered at the dreadful word; she knew of families where two or three had been lost to the relentless disease.
“Mama, I need you to help Emmy; if that is what she has to face, she will need all the support we can give her. As I think you are already aware, she and Paul are exceedingly fond of one another; it will be a painful parting for both if he has to leave England for good.”
Richard's voice was grave; his countenance betrayed his sorrow.
Mrs Gardiner could think only of the pain her daughter would have to bear. “Must he go?” she asked.
Richard nodded, “I believe he must, especially if my colleague in Harley Street confirms my fears. If he does, I shall take Paul to Italy myself and arrange for him to stay there and be looked after by a reputable physician. There is no problem with money; he inherited most of his mother's estate. He can be well cared for, but if he does not go, he will die within a few months.”
“Are you going to tell Emily?”
“I am,” he replied, “she will not forgive me if I do not. I am going to call on her at Pemberley this evening.”
“And Paul?” his mother asked anxiously,
“He is at the house in Littleford that Mr Darcy made available to us. He was exhausted after the journey; I gave him some medication and left him to rest. I think it is preferable that he remains there tonight. My man will stay with him.”
“What about Lizzie and Caroline?” Mrs Gardiner asked.
Richard thought for a moment. “I shall inform Caroline and Fitzwilliam, when I meet them in London, but, Mama, I must leave it to you to tell Cousin Lizzie. Perhaps you should wait awhile; there is nothing to be gained by spoiling their tour of the lakes.”
Mrs Gardiner knew Elizabeth would be most perturbed and said so.
“I shall write to her, after you have returned from London,” she said and Richard agreed, “Yes, she will be shocked, I know. It has surprised me, even though I have observed him carefully all year. Cousin Lizzie was very concerned for Emily and questioned me closely. I had to explain that Paul and Emily have both known all the facts for as long as they have known one another. They are neither of them silly young people, but I do know that he cares deeply for her.”
“And she for him, Richard,” his mother interposed, “Emily told me everything some weeks ago and begged me to keep her secret. I have told no one but your father; I know she will take this news very badly. She did not expect his condition to worsen so rapidly. She has spoken of some years…”
“I thought so too, but this wretched disease is unpredictable and pitiless. It appears to withdraw for a while and then returns with redoubled vigour to claim its victims. It's a scourge for which we have no cure,” he said sadly and Mrs Gardiner could sense the despair and frustration in his voice.
“My poor dear Emily,” said Mrs Gardiner and Richard spoke gently, understanding her grief, “She will need our help, Mama. It will not be easy.”
“When do you go to London?”
“Tomorrow,” he replied, “soon after breakfast. Mercifully, we have some fine weather. I pray it will hold over the next few days. I would rather not travel with my patient in drenching rain.”
When he was gone, taking the familiar road to Pemberley, Mrs Gardiner went to her room and wept, for her daughter and for the gentle young man for whom they had so much affection and respect.
His curricle was less than a mile from Pemberley House, at a point where the footpath from the village of Littleford met the road from Lambton that descended into the park, when Richard Gardiner caught sight of two figures walking up the path. They were two women, and though their hats hid their faces from him, he had no difficulty in recognising his sister Emily and their cousin Kitty, the rector's wife.
Pulling up beside them, he offered to drive them home, assuming they were returning to Pemberley, but Kitty declined, saying she had to be back at the rectory in time for tea and would take the route across the park, while Emily, having first embraced her cousin and thanked her, climbed in and sat beside him.
Her face, despite the protection of her hat, was flushed and Richard spoke gently, asking if they had been out visiting the poor. He was aware that Kitty did a great deal of charity work in the parish and Emily often went with her. But this time he was wrong.
Emily's voice was quiet, “I know all about Paul; I have been to see him,” and before he could say a word, she added, “Kitty and Dr Jenkins saw you arrive at the house at Littleford this morning. When she told me, I had to go to him. You were not expected today and I was afraid it may have been bad news. I was right. Paul has told me he is to go with you to London tomorrow.”
Her brother tried to explain, “Emily, I was on my way to te
ll you. I have just told Mama and left her but half an hour ago. I did not intend to leave you in ignorance.”
She nodded and said, “I know that, Richard, but I needed to see him and tell him how I felt. He has told me often of his feelings, but I have held back, fearing it would only cause more pain, but today, I had to tell him. When I knew you were going to London, I could not let him go to hear whatever dreadful news they might have in store for him; I had to say that I loved him.
“Oh Richard, what a wretched creature I am, that after all these years, during which time, I have met no man for whom I felt any deep regard or affection, I should meet the only man I could dearly love and he is the one man I may not marry.”
Her voice broke and her sobbing forced him to stop the vehicle and wait, while she became calmer and wiped the tears from her face. It was, for her brother, a heart-rending sight, to see her weep and know that he could do nothing to comfort her or help his friend.
When they reached the house, he sat with her for some time in a private sitting room while she asked several pertinent questions, which he answered as best he could. She wanted to know every detail and begged him to keep nothing, however painful, from her.
My Cousin Caroline: The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series The Pemberley Chronicles Book 6 Page 13
