by Don Jacobson
Sarah Small and Michael Tomkins married shortly after the Wilsons. With Lord Tom and Lady Mary’s blessing, they left the Cecil family household and entered the employ of Anne and Henry Wilson as Housekeeper and Butler. The Wilsons made it abundantly clear that the Tomkins were “at will employees;” paid weekly wages and free to come and go as they wished. The Tomkins owned a brightly painted wood frame house in Lambton and commuted daily to Hedgebrook. Their two sons wanted to leave the hills of Derbyshire behind them and were sponsored in their distinguished naval careers by both the Fitzwilliam and Wilson families.
Upon his retirement as Larchmont’s butler, Mr. Reynolds moved in with Annie and Henry, happy to spoil their children, as is a grandfather’s prerogative. His pleasure was increased because he was able to regularly visit his sister, Adelaide Reynolds, at Pemberley, just eight miles from Thornhill and Hedgebrook, where the Darcys accorded him the honors due an emeritus butler of one of the nation’s great families. Mr. and Mrs. Hastings were elevated to Larchmont’s butler and housekeeper, where they served Lord Tom and Lady Mary for decades.
Lord Thomas Cecil and his wife, Lady Mary Cecil, likewise lived long and fruitful lives. Tom Cecil was frequently found in the thick of the nation’s politics throughout the middle part of the century. His shepherding through the House of Lords of the Great Reform Act of 1832 has been widely seen as his crowning achievement. Lady Mary was at the forefront of the movement for universal elementary education and prison reform.
They relished watching their two children Marcus and Margaret grow into fine young persons. With Royal Assent (and with his father’s willing consent), Marcus was elevated to the peerage shortly after his graduation from Oxford due to a tragic carriage accident that took the lives of the Earl of Burghley’s entire family. Although he now held the second most important title in the Cecil family next to his cousin, the young Marquess, Marcus eschewed living on the estate and preferred to reside in Town with his wife Madelyn Anne (nee Darcy). They and their three children summered at Pemberley much to the delight of Madelyn’s parents, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy.
Much remains to be written of Lady Margaret Cecil life, one of Her Majesty the Queen Victoria’s closest friends. Her debut Season in 1826 was seen as the most spectacular since the death of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. She was the belle of the Season, but refused any offer of marriage, determined to marry only for the deepest love like her great friend, the Baroness St. Jean and her four beautiful sisters.
She found that love with George Crawley, the second son of the Third Earl of Grantham.[lv] After their marriage, she and George took over Cecil House from her parents. Her salons and dinners were legendary: always bringing together the cream of British society, culture and intellect for stimulating entertainment. An early advocate of women’s rights, she championed the cause of those women barred from the 1840 London Anti-slavery Convention. George Crawley became a noted QC and Member of Parliament. He was the founding partner of the revered Lincoln Inn firm, Crawley and Trant. They had two children—a son, William, and a daughter, Catherine, named for Lady Kitty Fitzwilliam.
January 30, 1816, Cecil House, London
Mrs. Hastings escorted a trembling Anne Reynolds into Lord Tom’s study. Annie was surprised to see both Henry and her father standing there by Lord Tom’s desk. General Fitzwilliam leaned against the mantle, and Lady Mary was seated next to Miss Bennet on a sofa.
Once everyone had settled in, Lord Tom began, “As you know, in the past several months since the incident on Guy Fawkes Day, we have carried on here at Cecil House without any changes. However, we have decided that the situation cannot remain unaddressed.
“I am afraid, Mr. Wilson, I must release you from our employ effective immediately. And as she is affianced to you, we have decided to terminate Miss Reynolds’ time here as well…”
A stunned Henry interrupted and began to plead, “Please My Lord. I realize that you have been most tolerant with me all these months since I allowed Miss Bennet to be injured…but the fault is mine alone. Please do not punish Miss Reynolds. She is innocent in all this. If she is to be left without position and character because she has accepted my hand, I release her from that promise now.”
Hearing that act of desperation on his part, Annie’s knees buckled and her father had to catch her lest she crumple to the floor.
Lady Mary and Kitty jumped to their feet both crying out in dismay. Lady Mary was the first to regain her composure enough to remonstrate with her husband.
“Thomas Michael Cecil! What have you done?”
Her husband had, by this time, leaped from behind his desk to take Annie’s other arm and guide her to the new-empty couch. As he assisted her to sit, he began to apologize.
“Oh, Miss Reynolds, please forgive me. I phrased that so badly. Please Mr. Wilson, come sit here next to her. You must, please.”
Wilson had sufficiently recovered his senses to see that Annie needed him. In spite of the impropriety of sitting in front of one’s employers, much less a member of the aristocracy, he strode over and dropped onto the sofa.
Cecil stepped back so he did not tower over the couple. Richard now stood next to him.
Lord Tom began again, “As I was saying before all of the excitement,”
Then in a rush, the young aristocrat continued, “Lady-Mary-and-I-have-decided-to-free-the-two-of-you-from-your-obligations-here. Not because we are unhappy or wish to punish you. On the contrary, you have demonstrated your loyalty beyond all measure.
“We are ending your employment in this household not because you are unworthy of being part of the Cecil family, but rather because another family has a higher claim on your time. The Baron St. Jean and his Lady have asked that my wife and I release you so they may enjoy your company.”
Fitzwilliam now spoke, “Wilson, Miss Reynolds. Once Miss Bennet and I marry, it would be our honor to ask you to accompany us to Thornhill where you would make your home until your new house is constructed.”
At this Henry tightened his grip on Annie to steady her as she had gasped and seemed to wobble a bit.
He looked at Richard, “General? I am confused. Whatever can you mean ‘new house?’ Are we not to live in quarters at Thornhill?”
The General made an exasperated noise, “Lord, man, was I not clear? Miss Bennet and I mean for you to live with us while your house is being constructed. Oh, it is all right here in black and white.”
He pulled documents from his pocket.
“I, Richard Henry George Fitzwilliam, First Baron St. Jean, do hereby deed in perpetuity to Henry Mark Wilson and his descendants, a freehold of land on the estate known as Thornhill in the shire of Derby as described on the attached map and etcetera and etcetera.”
He snapped his fingers against the paper that he extended toward the couple.
“But, General…a house…to be built…how would that be accomplished? I am only a footman. Even if I became your butler, a position for which I sorely doubt I am qualified, I would earn at most one hundred pounds a year. I have a bit of fortune, but a house?” Wilson asked.
“
“Do you recall the affair concluded just before we left London? All of the persons in this room are fully aware of the services you rendered the nation. Ah…the light dawns…
“It seems that Carlton House was quite impressed with the manner in which both you and Miss Reynolds comported yourselves. It has been determined that each of you will receive an annuity of 1,500 pounds for the rest of your lives,” Fitzwilliam advised.
He came closer and stood in front of the young pair.
“You will have a gentleman’s income…3,000 pounds per annum.
“You will have your own estate.
“You will always have a place at our table and in our hearts, for though you may not have been born into the gentry, you are living proof that an Englishman always rises when given a fair opportunity.
“Wilson, I tell you this. You have behaved more like a gentleman than many in my circle. You think of the welfare of others before your own prejudices. You do not hold yourself above any person. And you are unfailingly polite.”
Kitty came to her betrothed’s left side adding, “And Anne, for I hope you will permit me to call you by your Christian name, you have a streak of kindness unmatched by any but my sister Jane. When you saved my hair, you were showing that you were convinced I would recover and would find comfort in improving my looks with a wig of my own locks.”
She gazed up at Richard and continued, “We cannot imagine our lives without you two being there by our sides. You are not servants any longer. Rather, the four of us will enter into the best kind of service…friendship.”
Later that same day, Darcy House, London
Wilson stood, arms crossed, in front of the closed doors leading to the study. Every few minutes, the butler or a stray footman would casually walk past. They were casting surreptitious looks his way.
Probably want to be sure I have not stuffed one of those ridiculous Chinese vases under my greatcoat.
What had begun with a friendly, if cool, greeting, by the General’s cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy, seemed to have quickly collapsed into an argument that was getting increasingly hot. Although Wilson could not understand the words being spoken on the other side of the oaken portal, he could comprehend that the two men were releasing torrents of emotion with each minute they were closeted together.
Suddenly the door was wrenched open behind him. The General’s angry voice bellowed in Wilson’s ear.
“You can go to Hell, you insufferable prig. Just who do you think you are? My mother, your aunt, has accepted her. The Earl is a good friend of her uncle…you know, the one you scornfully refer to as being “in trade.” She is sponsored by the Marchioness of Salisbury and the Duchess of Wilton!”
Another rich baritone roared back, “She is a governess, Richard. She is from a country family. He sisters are employed! Her mother is the daughter of a solicitor. She has no connections and what fortune she has was gifted to her by the Marquess. She is so far beneath you as to be invisible.”
Fitzwilliam lowered his voice, “Darcy, that is where you are wrong…and why you will never be happy. You hold yourself so high above the rest of us mortals that I am surprised you can even condescend to see us. I never imagined you to be more like Aunt Catherine than your mother, but you are. What you do not realize is that I am so far below Kitty that I cannot believe she would have me.
“Why she picked me when she could have her pick of the men of the ton, as she is nearly an adopted daughter of Salisbury, still escapes me. All I know is that I will spend my life…and I am happy to do it…proving myself worthy of her notice.
“I am glad you will not be standing up with me. Go to Ireland. It will quell scandalous questions about your lack of attendance at the ceremony. Georgie can come with my parents. Take your pet project Bingley with you, though God help his soul if he listens to you in matters of the heart.
“And quoting the family member you seem to be favoring, I take no leave of you! I am sorely displeased!”
He slammed the door behind him and allowed the butler to help him on with his greatcoat. Then he stormed out of the house and down the steps leading to the street. Wilson trailed in his wake.
Fitzwilliam was flushed and breathing rapidly. Henry realized that there was only one remedy. He reached inside his coat and removed the silver flask with the Napoleonic Eagle. Unscrewing the cap, he offered it without a word to his commander and friend. Richard put it to his lips and tipped it back for a lengthy swallow. He paused to breathe and then took another deep swig.
He regarded the Sergeant and said, with a degree of sadness, “You know, Wilson, we always pledged we would stand up at each others’ weddings. Promised it. Swore it. We were like brothers. Now his insufferable pride…”
Wilson calmly assessed Richard’s anguished face, “General, you are like brothers. Only men who truly love one another like brothers will fight as you two do. If you did not care so much, you would not be bothered to argue.
“This will blow over. Give him time…and give him a chance to know Miss Bennet. He will get past his prejudice, accept her…and wish you joy.”
Fitzwilliam laughed, “Wilson, you do have the right of it. I am grieved that Darcy will not be by my side. Maybe you should stand with me.”
Now it was Wilson’s turn to laugh, “I think that would try even the patience of your mother who has had to put up with your antics all these years. No, you need someone who would not cause any conversation. How about your brother? Or even young Mr. Poldark—you do seem to get on with him quite well—unless you have another officer friend?”
Richard shook his head, “You know as well as I that I have few friends left alive from the Army. We all learned soon enough not to form any close attachments, especially as young leftenants and captains. Uxbridge is still learning to walk on his peg leg. Nosey is a bit above me.
“My brother and I barely speak, so he is out. Maybe Jeremy is the best option.
“Let us be off to Cheapside and see if we can get at least one thing accomplished today!”
October 26, 1865, Cecil Harvest Masque, London
Lady Margaret Crawley sat on the richly brocaded counterpane in the Gold Suite watching two silver-haired women fussing over her granddaughter’s dress and hair. Tonight was Abigail’s first venture out into the broader social swirl—her first private family ball!
Her mind flew back fifty years to that night when she made a child’s wish.
Tonight that dream was fulfilled as the two women dearest to her next to her own Mama helped Abby take one step further away from the nursery.
At a certain point, all motion ceased, and the two ladies stepped back.
The girl turned and faced the bed. Her brown hair was intricately styled and filled with small white flowers harvested from the hothouse.
“Oh, Grandmama, isn’t this dress glorious? I feel just like a princess. Aunt Kitty and Aunt Anne have made me so beautiful!”
The two women, one with a faded, but lovingly bedazzled, green eye patch and wearing a lavender gown trimmed with black in honor of her half mourning status, smiled at the youngster’s enthusiasm.
“Now, Abby, you must remember that you may only stand with family…”
“…members, I know, Aunt Kitty, because I am not out as of yet. Grandmama has been reminding me all day. Do you think, though, I could dance once with Harry Poldark? He is family, in a way, isn’t he?”
Annie, also wearing the dove grey of half mourning for the General, laughed and commented, “Well, Margaret, even your governess, Miss Bennet, cannot find her way out of that one, I imagine.”
Margaret smiled, “You two…well, Harry is acceptable if he is to your Papa, Abby. You had better apply to him for relief.”
The teenager rolled her eyes, “Oh, Papa, after consulting with Grandpapa Crawley, would probably insist that I bring suit in High Court so that Uncle John could decide the case.”
Annie felt a surge of pride at the reference to her youngest son, “If that were to be, I imagine I might be able to influence the court.”
A gentle rap on the door cut off any further conversation. Annie opened it to find her husband standing there, clad entirely in black, more stooped than he was last year. The loss of the General had affected him so deeply. He still refused, though, to use a cane even though walking had become progressively more difficult.
Please, my darling, do not be in too much of a hurry to join him. I have need of you yet.
“My lady, ladies…oh, Miss Abigail, you are a vision of loveliness,” Henry said, “T’is time for the ball. The receiving line is forming. I imagine you will wish to join in to greet your guests.”
Abigail ran to him and planted a gentle kiss on his wrinkled cheek, “Oh thank you, Uncle Henry. T
onight will be so much fun. I will see you downstairs.”
With a quick look back over her shoulder, the vision of youthful gaiety tripped out through the door and down the hall. Her grandmother followed, mouthing silently “Thank you” to her oldest friends.
As they had for decades, Annie Wilson and Lady Kitty Fitzwilliam used each other for a mirror, adjusting stray curls and making sure gowns were organized in true Bristol fashion.
Then Lady Fitzwilliam led the way down the hall toward the landing.
Anne and Henry followed, positioned as they always had been; she behind and to Kitty’s right and Henry, behind and to her left, always guarding her blind side.
One afternoon in October 1867, Henry Wilson climbed the hill above Thornhill where the new obelisk had been raised to mark the General’s tomb. When he did not appear for dinner, a worried Annie sent two of her grandsons to search for him. They found him seated on the ground with his back against the milled granite of the monument, his eyes closed. A flask of what the men knew to hold the last of the great 1815 vintage lay on the ground next to him, the Napoleonic double eagle glinting in the setting sun.
When the wagon bearing the Sergeant’s remains pulled up to Hedgebrook’s portico, Lady Fitzwilliam clutched her dearest friend’s shoulders as Annie crumbled under the weight of life without her Henry. Her heart, which had beat in time with his since that remarkable night in 1816, could not long survive without the counterpoint of that great organ. Although Annie carried on as best she could, her family, and most importantly Kitty, could see that she was sliding away from them. The third name was engraved on the great marker before Christmas. The Baroness completed the famous quartet before lambing season in 1868. And the book on an era closed for the last time, its pages spent.
Epilogue Two
November 18, 1816 Wildschwein Haus (Wild Boar House), Bavaria
Late afternoon sleet hissed from the darkened sky and threw itself against the windows set deeply into the ageless walls of the great lodge. The building hid its mass amongst the thick trunks of the conifers lining the slopes of this ancient part of Europe. Just to the north was where Augustus’ Three Legions were annihilated in the Teutoburg leading Caesar to cry in despair “Quintili Vare, legiones redde! ('Quintilius Varus, give me back my legions!').”[lvi] The denizens of the Jura, Swabia and Saxony had been unforgiving for as long as Man had chosen to assault their forests.
