My Cousin Caroline: The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series The Pemberley Chronicles Book 6

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  “Nor, I am sure, was young Bentley aware of the extent of their iniquity, else he is unlikely to have been so open and carefree in his dealings with everyone.”

  Caroline agreed, “Indeed, he could never be accused of concealment or dissembling.”

  Fitzwilliam continued, “Once the truth was revealed to us, however, I had to act. I was relieved that Isabella, having heard the truth, made her own decision and there was no need for me to forbid her to marry him. Yet, she was so particular that he should not be allowed to believe that we held him responsible for the guilt of others. Nothing was to be said in my letter that could belittle or offend him. Caroline, I think we can be very proud of our daughter,” he said and she concurred warmly, “Indeed, we can; Isabella's conduct in this situation has been exemplary. I cannot help thinking that she at eighteen showed greater maturity in this matter than I did. Fitzy, I have been a silly romantic woman, wanting to believe that this charming, handsome young man was going to marry our daughter and all would be well, as in some fairy tale.”

  He would not let her continue.

  “Caroline, dearest, there is nothing to be gained by indulging in self-reproach; you are in no way to blame for not knowing the hidden guilt of Henderson when half the community was proclaiming his success as a businessman and welcoming him and his family to the district.”

  “But you were not taken in, Fitzy? You said you had your suspicions.”

  “I did, but then I have lived and worked among men of his type here in England and even more so in the colonies, where honour and decency, even if they are learned early at home, appear to decrease with the distance they travel abroad. I have encountered others like him and so has your father, which is why we had the advantage over you.

  “As for Bentley's father, he is long dead, and were it not for Mr Gardiner's contacts in the shipping lines, we would never have discovered his guilt.

  “We must be grateful Isabella has emerged almost unscathed from this sad episode.”

  Caroline was not so certain. “Do you think so? I cannot help wondering if she did not care more deeply for him than she would have us believe.”

  “I do not think so, my dear. She made it clear to me that she regarded him as a friend but did not love him enough to marry him.”

  Fitzwilliam was most persuasive, but it would be quite awhile before Caroline could shake off a sense of inadequacy. Never before had she doubted her own judgment nor her understanding of her daughter. It was a humbling, disconcerting experience.

  In the weeks that followed, they were all busy again.

  Autumn and harvest time meant there was much to be doing. Fitzwilliam was busy on the farm, and Isabella had gone to spend a fortnight at Pemberley, where they were preparing for the annual festivities.

  On a cold, windswept day, with the leaves cascading down onto the lawn, Caroline was indoors, tucked up in front of the fire, reading, when the maid announced a visitor.

  It was Philip Bentley.

  Caught completely unawares, Caroline was unable to compose herself in time and he could see she was uneasy, although she smiled as he came towards her and rose to greet him warmly. She had always liked him and found it difficult to associate him with the evil reputation of Henderson. He looked thinner, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and less confident than it had been. He saw she was embarrassed and was at pains to put her at ease, reassuring her that he had come only to say good-bye; he had received Colonel Fitzwilliam's letter, he said, and though deeply disappointed, he had accepted his answer.

  “I do love Isabella very much, Mrs Fitzwilliam, but if she cannot love me enough to marry me, I must be satisfied that it is the right answer. Nothing would be worse than a marriage without the assurance of mutual love.”

  Caroline agreed but added softly that they hoped—all of them, including her daughter—that he would remain a friend and would visit them whenever he was in Derbyshire. He would always be welcome, she said.

  At which, he smiled a wry, sardonic little smile, and said, “Mrs Fitzwilliam, I am here because I have lately discovered some quite shocking facts pertaining to my stepfather's business affairs, whilst he was in the Caribbean colonies. I realise now that even if Miss Isabella had been of a mind to accept my offer, it would not have been possible for her to do so, once the truth of these matters was known, as they will be known, very soon. It is unlikely that my stepfather's disgraceful conduct can be concealed for much longer.

  “Had I any prior knowledge of the seriousness of his crimes, I would never have approached Colonel Fitzwilliam, for I am aware of the revulsion this information will arouse in Isabella and all of you.”

  As he related, without giving her much detail, the matters concerning his stepfather's involvement with the slave trade, Caroline said little, hoping he would believe her to be ignorant of the shameful situation. Showing some surprise and sufficient unhappiness to be credible, as his story unfolded, she was careful not to add to his distress by appearing to connect these matters with the refusal of his proposal.

  He spoke with great sadness, but without bitterness, “Apart from saying good-bye, my reason for coming here today was to inform you that, following this shocking revelation, I have entirely broken my ties with Mr Henderson and his money. I shall no longer accept the allowance he has paid me, I have given up my town house for which he paid the rent, and I have accepted a position as a shipping clerk—for I am little qualified to do much else—in a French trading company operating out of the port of Marseilles.”

  “Marseilles?” Caroline could not hide her astonishment.

  “Yes. I leave for London tomorrow morning and for France at the end of the week. I hope that, having emancipated myself from the tainted association with my stepfather, I may soon do the same for my mother. I owe her that, at least.”

  Caroline felt tears sting her eyes as he continued, “Mrs Fitzwilliam, my mother is a genuine, good woman, who has been his slave for years, for my sake alone, and he has treated her abominably!” His voice shook with emotion and Caroline's countenance must have conveyed the shock she felt on hearing his words.

  She was perplexed. How, she wondered, had he found out the truth, which had been well concealed for so long?

  Almost in answer to her unspoken question, Bentley said, “I had no knowledge of my stepfather's business, having spent most of my life in Surrey and at school or college. It was my mother who enlightened me. When I told her I had written to Colonel Fitzwilliam to ask for Isabella's hand in marriage, she revealed to me what she had learned some years ago because she said I ought to know the truth.

  “She had discovered it herself, when some of his papers were mistakenly sent to England from the West Indies, but had hidden it from me and my stepsisters. There were few others in England who knew; it was not a subject that was ever spoken of in our family.

  “My mother thought she should warn me in case Colonel Fitzwilliam had also discovered the truth. Clearly she felt it would ruin my chances with Isabella and hoped I could do something to avert disaster.”

  He sighed and walked away to look out of the window, and Caroline took the opportunity to pour out a cup of tea, which he accepted gratefully as he returned to sit opposite her.

  He continued, his tone reflecting his forlorn mood, “I knew then that my suit was almost hopeless; I am aware of Colonel Fitzwilliam's work on social reform, and I knew the very thought of such a connection would be abhorrent to him and no doubt to you and Isabella. I decided I could no longer accept my stepfather's money and went to London to make enquiries about obtaining employment. I have contacts in France, where I spent some years studying art; I hoped they would help me. I wanted, above all, to be able to tell you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Isabella that I was no longer beholden to Mr Henderson; that I had no further need of his tainted money, and would work to earn a living in my own right.

  “When I returned to London, however, I found Colonel Fitzwilliam's letter waiting for me. I knew then it was hope
less to attempt to persuade you.

  “But, I came here today to tell you what I had done and, through you, Isabella. Even though what I do with my life is no longer relevant or important to her, I could not bear to feel she did not know the truth.”

  Caroline rose and went to sit beside him; she was filled with sadness and compassion for his undeserved suffering. “Mr Bentley, please let me say that it is important to us, all of us, to know that you have taken steps to establish yourself independently of Mr Henderson.

  “I shall certainly tell Isabella and I know she will be very pleased to hear of it, for she truly regards you as a friend, and we will pray for the success of your venture in France. I hope too that you will be able to assist your dear mother as you intend to do.”

  He seemed a little more cheerful and, taking her hand, kissed it as he made his farewells, asking only that she convey his regards to Colonel Fitzwilliam and Isabella. As Caroline watched him leave, the tears she had fought hard to hold back finally spilled down her cheeks. Caroline's romantic heart felt deeply for Mr Bentley and Isabella; nothing would convince her that their separation had been entirely justified.

  On the following Sunday, Isabella returned from Pemberley with Emily, who broke the news she had been keeping to herself for some weeks now, not wishing to intrude her own plans into the whirlpool of emotions that had swirled around the family.

  Until that morning, only Mr Darcy and Elizabeth had known that Emily had accepted a proposal of marriage from the Reverend James Courtney, Rector of Kympton. On arriving, Isabella had run upstairs to her room, leaving her mother and aunt alone.

  When she heard the news, Caroline was speechless.

  Never had she imagined that Emily would consider marriage again after the agony of her passionate and tragically short experience with Monsieur Paul Antoine. Caroline would never forget those terrible days when her sister had left her home to marry and care for the man she loved, a man she knew to be dying of tuberculosis.

  But here she was, smiling as she said, “Caroline, are you not going to wish me happiness?”

  Her thoughts wrenched back to the present, Caroline said, “Of course, I wish you every happiness, but dear Emily, are you sure? Do you love him? Can you love him as you loved Paul?”

  Emily smiled. “Caroline, I could not love anyone with the same devotion I had for my dear husband. It was the first and most absorbing passion I had ever known. Not a day passes without my recalling him, nor can I ever reclaim the loss I suffered when he died. It would be deceitful to pretend that I would ever feel the same again for any other man.

  “But James is a good, kind man and we share many interests, not the least of which is a common desire to do whatever we can to help the poor people and especially the children of this parish. I respect and value his goodness and the affection he has shown me. We understand and esteem one another and I know it will be easy to love him.”

  Caroline had bitten her lip, not wishing in any way to hurt her sister's feelings, but a marriage without the deepest love, to however good and kind a man, seemed to her unthinkable.

  Emily, seeing her struggle, said gently, “Do not be disappointed for me, Caroline; I have known the best, most enduring love in marriage, nothing will ever dilute that joy; perhaps it is now my turn to give some happiness in return.”

  Caroline embraced her sister, hoping desperately that she was right.

  The wedding was to be in October with Isabella as bridesmaid. There was little time to worry about anything else in the next few weeks, which, to Caroline's way of thinking, was indeed a blessing.

  But, in spite of the bustle around her, Caroline found time to visit Rebecca Tate and suggest that they call on Mrs Henderson at Newland Hall. It was something she had intended to do ever since Mr Bentley's visit. She confessed to Rebecca that she had felt guilty at having for so long ignored the woman who most needed and deserved their support.

  Now the news was out about her husband's activities, the unfortunate Mrs Henderson and her daughters had to suffer all of the opprobrium and soon found they were ignored by most of their neighbours and acquaintances. Those who had milled around them, enjoying their wealth and hospitality, were reluctant to be seen in their company now.

  “I should like very much to show her that while I find her husband's activities deplorable, I do not regard her as being corrupted by his deeds. She is a sad, unassuming woman and deserves our compassion rather than censure,” said Caroline and Becky agreed.

  Having ascertained that Mr Henderson was away in London seeing his lawyers, they made an appointment to visit Newland Hall and were immediately asked to afternoon tea.

  The family was to leave Derbyshire at the end of Autumn, but Henderson had other matters on his mind. A summons to appear before a magistrate had interfered with his plans. Exposure and dishonour seemed imminent. Quite clearly, these were the very reasons for their departure from Newland Hall.

  But none of this seemed to concern a delighted Mrs Henderson, as she greeted the two ladies with such obvious pleasure that Caroline was glad indeed that they had come.

  A simple woman of very modest means, who had for the sake of her son and her stepdaughters concealed the ugly truth about her husband's guilt for so many years, it seemed as though she had now been liberated from her own.

  Though nothing was said directly about the matter, the openness with which Mrs Henderson conversed for an hour or more, whereas before she had been circumspect and cautious in everything she said, was astonishing.

  When they rose to leave, so touched was Caroline by her sincerity as she thanked the ladies for coming, she could not help feeling some measure of shame that she had left it so long.

  Some days later, when they were alone in the music room, which they both loved, Caroline told her daughter of Mr Bentley's visit and of the actions he had undertaken to free himself from his dependence upon Mr Henderson.

  Isabella listened, saying not a word.

  “He was very keen that you should know what he had done and why he had done it. I gave him my word I would tell you,” said Caroline.

  The room was very quiet.

  Isabella did not respond immediately; she was looking out at the setting sun, which had just dipped behind the hills, leaving the scene below them bathed in the strange half light that softened the sharp edges of the peaks and concealed the dark clefts and gorges she knew were there. Turning to her mother, she smiled, a rather melancholy little smile, and said, “I am glad that he has done it, Mama, and happy indeed that he cared enough for our good opinion and sensibilities to have come here to tell you of it. It is as I always thought: Mr Bentley knew nothing of their crimes and is entirely without guilt in this matter.”

  Caroline nodded, agreeing, but said nothing.

  Isabella did not ask if he had said anything more, and Caroline did not tell her that Mr Bentley had declared that he had loved her dearly and was desolated by her refusal to marry him.

  “I did not think it would help to tell her,” she said, and Fitzwilliam agreed. They hoped very much that Isabella would soon begin to recover from the unhappy episode, now it was unlikely they would see Mr Bentley again. They would have been surprised indeed had they seen the words Isabella wrote in her diary that night.

  Having recounted the story of Mr Bentley's visit, as her mother had told it, she wrote:

  I know now that I was not mistaken in Mr Bentley when I judged him to be a good man; indeed he is even better than I had supposed him to be, for all his actions were undertaken without hope or expectation of any benefit to himself.

  His persistence in liberating himself from the taint of his stepfather, after he had received Papa's letter in which I had indicated that I would not marry him, speaks to me of a nobility of spirit, which I had not envisaged.

  Perhaps, if he had told me himself and declared his feelings when we stood together beside the river in Dovedale, on that glorious afternoon, I may well have said yes, and then, once pledged, nothing
would have made me retract, for he is without doubt one of the best men I have met and has nothing at all to be ashamed of.

  How different would our lives have been then!

  END OF PART THREE

  CAROLINE'S LIFE CHANGED QUITE SUBSTANTIALLY in the years following her sister's marriage to James Courtney, though not in any way because of it. Several matters combined to effect the transformation.

  Those who knew Caroline knew also that the birth of her two youngest children, Amy and then James, had helped heal her bruised heart. While neither would replace her beloved Edward, they kept her busy, and their affection brought the warmth of a child's unquestioning love into her life again.

  There was also the realisation of the depth of suffering endured by her cousin Emma, whose marriage had been destroyed from within, by the actions of a selfish and cruel husband. While marveling at the extent of Emma's courage and magnanimity, Caroline took some satisfaction from the fact that she had played a part in the unmasking of David Wilson.