CAROLINE WOULD REMEMBER THE SPRING of 1865 as one recalls a moment of quiet before a storm. She wrote later, to Emma Wilson:
I have heard that sailors on the ocean speak of nights when there is a strange calm that feels as if it will last forever; then, on the morrow, unexpected swells rise up without warning and break upon the deck with such ferocity as would confound the mind.
Likewise, I had no inkling of what was to follow our peaceful Spring…
In the middle of a week of fine, warm weather, Isabella and Doctor Forrester had left for Wales, promising to write often, leaving Harry, their young son, to bring unalloyed joy to his devoted grandparents.
A week later, Mr Bentley called by appointment.
Their meeting, on a resplendent May morning, was both cordial and enlightening. Caroline had wondered whether they should ask him to dinner, but he had written to say he was staying with friends in Derby and would call at four o'clock if that was convenient, which meant it had to be afternoon tea. Memories from years past were bound to crowd around such an occasion, and Caroline prayed she would cope well with the situation. She need not have suffered any apprehension at all.
When he arrived in a hired vehicle, Caroline, who had been watching from one of the upstairs windows, hurried down to the parlour. He was punctual and tea was ready to be served.
Entering the room, he came directly to her and, taking her outstretched hand, kissed it without fuss as he used to do. His manners were pleasing and elegant, as they had always been.
“Mr Bentley, how very nice to see you again, and may I say how glad I am that you have accepted the position in Manchester,” Caroline said. He bowed as he acknowledged her greeting and replied that he had the greatest pleasure on both counts.
“I never knew when I applied for the position in Manchester that it was Mr Gardiner's company; not until I met with Mr Darcy, who enlightened me, did I become aware of it. I would not be exaggerating were I to say I was overjoyed to receive his letter confirming my appointment.”
He smiled and seemed to gather his thoughts as he looked around the room, where they had last met some years ago, before continuing, “As for returning to Derbyshire, it is I who have been remiss and it must be my loss, for I remember enjoying such happy times during the year we spent in this part of the country.”
Caroline, pleased to find him so little altered in manner at least, invited him to be seated and made to pour out the tea.
“It is still tea?” she asked, adding lightly, “You have not been converted to coffee or chocolate after all those years in France?”
“Certainly not; though I am partial to a good cup of coffee after dinner, I could not do without my tea at breakfast and through the day,” he said. “My French friends think me mad! The tea in France is such a weak brew, it is not worthy of the name. I used to have mine sent over from England.”
She watched him as he partook of tea and cake, not quite as eagerly as before but with genuine pleasure. He looked fit and well but a good deal older; greying hair and a deeply tanned complexion spoke of many years working in a climate which afforded greater warmth and sunshine than England. He was still a very handsome man.
“Your mother and sisters are well?” Caroline asked and he replied that they were, except his mother was rather frail and did not go out a great deal. One of his stepsisters, Maria, lived with her, he explained, while the younger girl, the one who would not allow herself to be called Fanny, was married and living in France.
“She married a Frenchman?” asked Caroline, not entirely surprised.
“Yes, Mrs Fitzwilliam, he is the only son of a famous French family that manufactures fine porcelain. Frances met him on a visit to France; he became so besotted with her, he followed her to England and would not take no for an answer,” he explained, adding, “My mother misses her, for we see her rarely, but there are consolations, for when she visits, she brings my mother so many gifts, she now has a cabinet filled with exquisite pieces of fine china, which she adores.”
Caroline laughed, noting that he had not lost his sense of humour either.
She did, however, make a point of advising him, before he could ask, in as casual a voice as she could manage, that Isabella and Doctor Forrester were visiting Wales over the next few months. She noticed an initial spark of interest as Mr Bentley nodded to acknowledge her information, but he smiled and asked no further questions, and apart from indicating that it was a matter of medical practise, she said no more on the subject.
After the initial pleasantries, their conversation progressed logically to the business at hand, and Caroline found him an interested and perspicacious listener. He was keen to learn as much as possible about the work of the office and discover any of its problems before he took up his position there.
Later, when they were joined by Colonel Fitzwilliam and David, who had been out fishing all day, the conversation became much more animated. Having expressed pleasure at seeing what a fine gentleman young David had become, Mr Bentley entered easily into conversation with him and, watching them together, Caroline could scarcely believe that so much time had passed since they had last spoken.
“David will be travelling with us to Manchester,” she explained during a break in the conversation while more tea was taken. “He has decided to take an interest in the business, since his grandfather left him a substantial parcel of shares.”
“I'm afraid I've dumped my ambition to join the cavalry,” David confessed, a little sheepishly.
Mr Bentley seemed completely unsurprised. “A very sound decision, if I may say so, Mr Fitzwilliam. The career of a cavalry officer is a highly overrated one, to my mind; I cannot believe there is much satisfaction to be had in charging across a battlefield in the face of cannon fire on a horse that is likely to be shot from under one, leaving its rider floundering in the mud to be trampled upon by others. The French are fanatical about cavalry charges, as Colonel Fitzwilliam will verify, and it has not done them much good.”
Everyone laughed at this and Fitzwilliam felt much more at ease. Soon they were discussing fishing and politics and, for two men who had not met in many years, appeared to get on very well indeed. At the risk of incurring his father's wrath, David declared he was tired of Lord Palmerston and was delighted when Mr Bentley readily agreed.
“It is a sentiment widely held within his own party as well as among the general populace, I think,” he said.
When the time came for him to leave, he thanked them for their hospitality and it was arranged that they would meet and travel together to Manchester in a fortnight.
Mr Peter Kennedy was informed of their plans, and when they arrived in the city, he was there to meet them and convey them to their lodgings. Later, he invited the entire party to his home, where they met his wife, took tea, and rested awhile before proceeding to the office.
To her very great satisfaction, Caroline saw that the two men, within a very short time of being introduced, were engaged in amicable and thoughtful conversation.
Other arrangements were agreed upon as Mr Kennedy and his wife invited Mr Bentley to stay at their home until suitable lodgings could be found for him. It was a generous and kindly gesture that augured well for their professional association in the future, Caroline thought.
When afterwards they attended the office, where Mr Bentley met the staff, she had more reason to hope that here at last was a reasonable resolution to the difficult problem she had inherited through her father's will and Robert's unfortunate inertia.
Leaving the two men and David together to continue their discussion, Caroline and her husband stepped out of the building and walked the short distance into the town. Colonel Fitzwilliam had seen, displayed upon a hoarding, notice of a meeting of the Reform Union set up in Manchester to campaign for the extension of the franchise. He was eager to discover more about it. Caroline did not object; it was almost like the old days when they had campaigned together for the passage of the Reform Bill.
“
Do you believe the time is right for it?” she asked as they crossed the street, and he answered with conviction, “Yes indeed, with Gladstone's weight behind it, the time is far more propitious than before. If only Palmerston could be persuaded…” he said almost wistfully, and Caroline took his arm and drew him towards her. She knew better than to say what everyone knew to be true—that the success of any campaign for reform would depend upon the death of Lord Palmerston.
Instead, she reverted to the resolution of their present difficulties.
“I cannot tell you how relieved I am today, Fitzy; with Mr Bentley in charge and Mr Kennedy to work with him, we can at least be certain that all Papa's hard work will not be in vain. I have feared very much these last few months that it would all go awry and I would fail you and Mr Darcy and dear Mama. It has been my greatest concern. I could not bear to let Papa down.”
Fitzwilliam hastened to reassure her that he had never shared her fears, confident that she would succeed. But Caroline knew in her heart that despite his touching faith, she still had much to prove.
Complacency was out of the question.
Returning to Derbyshire, Caroline looked forward to reporting to Mr Darcy on the successful introduction of Mr Philip Bentley to the staff of the Manchester office and, by this information, to reinforce her appreciation of his part in the resolution of a most intractable problem.
Mr Darcy, she believed, should take most of the credit, for having in the first place suggested such an appointment and then selecting the best man for the job. Of the suitability of Mr Bentley for the position, Caroline had no doubts at all.
On arriving home, however, they were overtaken by events in London and elsewhere.
Caroline's nephew, Darcy Gardiner, called in a state of high excitement, declaring that “the old fox Palmerston, having won a vote of confidence by the skin of his teeth, intends, at the venerable age of eighty, to fight yet another election!” This time even Fitzwilliam, for all his past loyalty, could see the problem inherent in such a strategy. After young Darcy left, promising to send them reports from Westminster, whither he was going post haste, Fitzwilliam decided to visit his friend Anthony Tate, confident he would have all the news on recent political events.
Caroline went upstairs to bathe and dress in preparation for a visit to Pemberley, but her husband was barely gone twenty minutes when she heard the curricle returning and, looking out, saw Fitzwilliam getting out in what seemed like inordinate haste. He could not have reached the Tates' place, nor even the office of the Matlock Review in so short a time, she thought. He must have had some extraordinary news; perhaps Palmerston had resigned.
Throwing on a wrap, Caroline hurried downstairs to find her husband standing in the hall with an expression upon his face that left no room for any doubt. A catastrophe had occurred! She was sure of it.
Perhaps, thought Caroline, Lord Palmerston was dead. But when he saw her, he placed a finger on his lips to warn her against exclaiming too loudly and, putting an arm around her, took her upstairs to their room. Clearly the news was not for the ears of the servants.
Caroline was wild to know what all this secrecy was about.
“Fitzy, what has happened. Is it Lord Palmerston? Is he dead?”
“If it were only the case—Caroline, my dear, this is nothing to do with Palmerston or any other politician,” he said, having seated her upon the bed, in a voice so hoarse she could hardly hear his words. “I have just met your brother Richard. He was on his way here to inform us that Julian Darcy has arrived from Cambridge. His wife, Josie, has left him and their son, and gone away with some man in the book trade who has promised to publish her book!”
“What?” Caroline was incredulous. “Fitzy, are you sure?” she cried, her face ashen as she realised that, if the source of his information was her brother Richard, the story had to be true, however incredible it might sound. Richard would never retail gossip.
When her husband nodded, she asked, “When did this happen? And what is to become of their little boy?”
“I believe Julian has brought young Anthony with him and proposes to leave him in the care of Richard and Cassy. Young Lizzie Gardiner was spending some time with them in Cambridge, and Richard says she saw it happening but could do nothing to stop it,” said Fitzwilliam.
“And have they told Mr Darcy and Cousin Lizzie yet?” she asked, her mind racing as she thought of the effect this news would have on them.
“No, not yet. Julian is very exhausted, Richard says, but I gather he will go over to Pemberley with Cassandra tomorrow. My God, Caroline, what on earth will Darcy do? This will be a dreadful blow!”
“It will indeed,” said Caroline. “Poor Cousin Lizzie, how will she bear this? After the loss of William, she had placed all her hopes in Julian. I know she never approved of Josie, but she would not have expected anything like this!”
All week long, Caroline's one desire was to go to her cousin, but she was dissuaded by Fitzwilliam, who explained the need to give Darcy and Elizabeth time with their son.
“Julian's grief must surely take its toll upon them. They must want to help him and each other, Caroline. Then there's Cassandra too; no doubt she will feel the shock of this terrible thing. There will be time enough for us to see them.”
She knew he was right and yet longed to go to Elizabeth, who had always been like an elder sister to her. As the days passed, they received scraps of news from Richard and Cassy, but there was little that could explain how this disaster had come about. Caroline was impatient to know more.
Following the return of Julian Darcy to Cambridge, Caroline went to visit her sister-in-law and found Cassandra with Anthony and her own son James in the sunlit garden they had created for the children. Cassy rose to greet her, and as they embraced, both women wept.
As the boys played amidst the swings, the rocking horse, and other colourful toys, oblivious of the circumstances that had brought them together, it was difficult to believe that Josie had left her child and her husband for some stranger who would publish her book. To Caroline, it seemed like an incredible tale, taken from the pages of a “penny dreadful.”
There was little they could say in the hearing of the boys; Cassy sent for a maid to sit with the children while she took Caroline indoors.
“Cassy, did Julian know why? I cannot believe it was just so she could have a book published!” Caroline asked, but Cassandra could tell her little more than she knew already.
“I know only what Julian and Lizzie have told me,” she said. “Josie, in her note to Julian, claimed that she did not love Mr Barrett, and Lizzie, who has spent most of Spring with them, says she saw no sign of any special affection between them. It is such a waste of a life, Caroline, I cannot believe she has done this.”
She sobbed and Caroline went to comfort her. “My poor mama and papa—it is so unfair. Have they not suffered enough?” asked Cassy. There was no sympathy here for Josie, and not much more would be forthcoming at Pemberley either, thought Caroline, still unable to wholly comprehend the wretched situation they faced.
The rest of Summer seemed to pass like a succession of scenes in a melodrama upon the stage, as the saga of Julian and Josie's disintegrating marriage engulfed them. Each day, they waited eagerly for news, and every household, save that of the Darcys at Pemberley, hurried to exchange what little information was to be had, gleaned generally from visitors and occasionally from letters that came from London or Cambridge. For many weeks there was no news at all of Josie, and Julian Darcy, dejected and sad, left Cambridge and went to work in Paris.
Then, early in Autumn, word came that Josie had been found and recovered by Richard and Cassandra. She had left Mr Barrett but was so ill and undernourished, they feared she may never regain her health. Julian had rushed to her side as she was seen by the best doctors in London, summoned by Richard to treat her. “Lizzie says Julian has forgiven her completely and wishes only for her to be well again,” Caroline reported, returning from a visit to Pemb
erley, and later, they heard that Josie had rallied and there was hope.
In all of this time, there had been a singular dearth of good news.
Even the return of Dr Forrester and Isabella in Autumn brought Caroline little joy, for Isabella revealed that Henry had been so moved by the poverty and suffering of the children of the pit villages, he intended to resign his position at Littleford in the new year and return to help Mr Jenkins establish a clinic in the valley.
“Mama, the children are all afflicted with chest and stomach infections as a result of the insanitary conditions in which they are forced to live. Their cottages are dank and dirty with no provision for sewerage or clean water; Henry and I agree that some thing has to be done. Reverend Jenkins has started to collect donations; if we can help, we must. Henry says it is only a matter of time before there is an epidemic of typhus or cholera and many children will die,” she declared.
Knowing it was useless to argue when Isabella and Dr Forrester were determined upon a plan, Caroline wondered when their lives would return to normal again.
My Cousin Caroline: The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series The Pemberley Chronicles Book 6 Page 34
