Copyright © 2008 by Rebecca Ann Collins
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Cover photo © Bridgeman Art Library
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Originally printed and bound in Australia by SNAP Printing, Sydney, NSW, 1998. Reprinted in 2000, 2002, 2003, and 2007.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Collins, Rebecca Ann.
The Women of Pemberley : The Pemberley Chronicles : Book 2 / Rebecca Ann Collins.
p. cm.
1. Female friendship—Fiction. 2. England—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction. 3. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PR9619.4.C65W66 2008
823’.92--dc22
2008004321
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One: Emma
Chapter Two: Emily
Chapter Three: Cassandra
Chapter Four: Isabella
Capter Five: Josie
An epilogue
Postscript
Appendix
About the Author
Back Cover
By the Same Author
The Pemberley Chronicles
Netherfield Park Revisited
The Ladies of Longbourn
Mr Darcy’s Daughter
My Cousin Caroline
Postscript from Pemberley
Recollections of Rosings
A Woman of Influence
The Legacy of Pemberley
To the friends of my childhood,
with whom I shared the joys of discovering
Jane Austen
The author wishes to acknowledge her debt to Jane Austen—the creator of the original Pemberley characters—and dedicates this work to her memory.
Thanks also to Ms Claudia Taylor, librarian, for assistance with research, Ms Marissa O’Donnell for advice with the cover design, Ben and Robert for help with editing the material on her computer, and Ms Beverley Farrow for her patience with preparing and printing the text.
Elizabeth was happy to be going home to Pemberley. The Summer of 1847 was almost over. It had been a particularly pleasant Summer, spent only in the company of those she loved most.
A month or more had been taken up with travelling in the Cotswolds with Jane and Charles Bingley and their two younger daughters, Louisa and Sophie, followed by several weeks at Woodlands—the farm in Sussex—where they had been joined by her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner.
The farm, which Darcy had purchased for her, had become an absorbing hobby. She had come to cherish it as her own little corner of England—“a veritable paradise,” as she had once described it to her sister Jane. Happily situated on the Albury Downs, its proximity to the town of Guildford, where Darcy and Mr Gardiner had established business contacts, was an added advantage.
With the help of a small, handpicked group of staff from Pemberley and the tenant farmers, who worked a part of the land, Elizabeth had transformed the grounds and refurbished the interior of the house. Informal elegance and comfort were now its most striking features.
The family and their closest friends, who were the only visitors she would ask to Woodlands, enjoyed the delightful intimacy that it afforded them and many happy weeks were spent there. Both Darcy and Elizabeth had already acknowledged that it had made a significant difference to their lives, left desolate after the death of their son William.
“I am very glad I let you persuade me that we needed Woodlands,” Elizabeth said, as they took a last look before leaving, recalling her first reaction to his suggestion that he should purchase the farm.
“Indeed,” her husband replied, “so am I. Judging only by the pleasure it has brought us, it must be one of the best investments I have ever made. Do you not agree, my love?”
“I certainly do and thank you very much for it,” she replied.
They both understood how much the place meant to them.
Julian, still reluctant to leave the horses in the meadow, was finally persuaded to join them in the carriage, and they were soon on their way. It was to be a leisurely journey, breaking for the night at Banbury in Oxfordshire, but Elizabeth was keen to be back at home.
Returning to Pemberley after some time away was always a pleasure.
This time there was a special occasion, too, for they were soon to celebrate the christening of their first granddaughter, Elizabeth Jane, along with Julian’s eleventh birthday.
Arrangements for the celebration had been meticulously planned in advance and left in the capable hands of Jenny Grantham—their housekeeper—and her husband, who was Darcy’s manager.
Pemberley had not hosted such a gathering for quite a while and Elizabeth was anxious, but Darcy had complete confidence in their staff. “I have no doubt at all that John Grantham and Jenny will manage very well indeed. You have no need to worry, my dear,” he said, and Elizabeth had to agree.
“Indeed, I do not. I realise it is foolish of me to be so anxious when everything has been so carefully planned. Jenny wrote last week that Mrs Reynolds is quite determined to emerge from retirement for the occasion, so I know nothing could possibly go wrong.”
The following morning, they left Banbury after breakfast and Julian, plainly keen to be home, was rather restless and kept hanging out of the window. As they turned into the park, however, he sat down and was as good as gold.
Familiarity had not dulled Elizabeth’s appreciation of Pemberley. The old stonework burnished by the afternoon sun, the wooded hills clothed in rust and gold, and the inviting soft green lawns aroused in her the same response of heightened excitement she had always felt as they approached the house.
Darcy helped her out—he understood and shared her feelings. Julian had already raced away in search of his dog.
Jenny Grantham came forward to welcome them. She had matured from the days when she had been Elizabeth’s maid and was regarded by her mistress with both affection and respect. Her loyalty was without question.
“Welcome home, ma’am,” she said, her face lighting up with genuine pleasure.
It was with a great deal of regret that she had agreed to relinquish her role as Elizabeth’s personal maid and accept the honour of succeeding her aunt, Mrs Reynolds, as housekeeper of Pemberley. Young Susan, whom she had then trained with great care, held her in awe.
Still, Jenny jealously guarded her own privileged position—being always the first to greet her mistress, accompany her upstairs, and acquaint her with the latest news while she took a welcome cup of tea.
As Darcy had predicted, there were no problems—all arrangements were proceeding smoothly for the celebrations at
the week’s end. Jenny assured Elizabeth that it was all in hand. She had worried in vain.
Later, after the weary travellers had bathed and rested, she would return to discuss the details of the occasion with her mistress.
Much as she loved her little farm, Elizabeth was very happy to be home. Pemberley was very much the centre of her life.
Two letters lay on her writing desk, having arrived too late to be sent on to Woodlands. The first, from Charlotte Collins, brought news from Rosings, where Charlotte had been visiting her eldest daughter Catherine, who continued as companion to Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter, Anne. What had appeared at first to be a matter of convenience for the de Bourghs had actually turned out to be quite advantageous for Miss Catherine Collins. Despite a seemingly impenetrable carapace of snobbery, Lady Catherine, it seemed, had taken a liking to young Miss Collins—her goddaughter—who was treated more as a member of her family than a paid employee and benefited considerably from being within the social circle at Rosings.
Charlotte’s letter served to confirm this.
My dear Eliza, she wrote:
You may be surprised to receive a letter from me, since we are to see you very soon at Pemberley.
I had thought to leave the news I have to give you until we met, but Catherine, ever conscious of the niceties of etiquette, was adamant that I should write advising you that she is engaged to Mr Harrison, the parson at Hunsford.
Elizabeth had only met Mr Harrison once at Rosings and, while he had seemed pleasant and tolerably well spoken, he had not impressed her with his rather prosaic sermon in church. She agreed with Darcy that he was an improvement on Mr Collins. At the very least, Mr Harrison seemed able to conduct himself in society without appearing ridiculous, and that was a singular advantage. And, as Elizabeth said later to her sister Jane, Catherine was almost thirty years old and seemed unlikely to receive a better offer.
Charlotte was clearly pleased; her letter continued:
Lady Catherine de Bourgh has expressed her approval of the match, much to my relief, and has generously offered to host the wedding breakfast when they marry next Spring.
I am not sure that I should accept. I feel quite strongly that my daughter should be married from my home. But there is the matter of Lady Catherine’s continuing kindness and generosity to her.
It may seem ungracious to refuse, and I am anxious not to upset her ladyship. She has been excessively solicitous and good to Catherine, since the death of Mr Collins.
Dear Eliza, I am very keen to discuss this question with you and have the benefit of your opinion.
Catherine and I look forward to seeing you and Mr Darcy on Saturday.
Yours etc.
Charlotte Collins.
Mr Darcy came into the room just as she had finished the letter, and Elizabeth was so excited telling him Charlotte’s news and discussing his Aunt Catherine’s amazing generosity that she quite forgot about her second letter.
Darcy was of the opinion that Charlotte should have no compunction in accepting Lady Catherine’s offer to host her daughter’s wedding at Rosings. “Lady Catherine is very attached to Miss Collins—and since her own daughter is, sadly, an invalid with little or no chance of being married, this is probably an opportunity for her to play a role she has always coveted,” he declared. Elizabeth was inclined to agree.
“It is not as if Lucas Lodge is available to Charlotte,” she said. “With the deterioration of her relationship with her sister-in-law since Sir William’s death, I cannot imagine she would want to approach her.”
“Indeed not,” said Darcy, “and since they are to continue to live at Hunsford, they may as well be married there.” The logic of this argument was so clear that Elizabeth resolved to use it to set Charlotte’s mind at rest when she arrived at Pemberley.
On returning to her sitting room, Elizabeth found her second letter, unopened and lying on the floor where it had fallen.
She could not recognise the unfamiliar handwriting, which was quite strange, though not ill-educated. It was also well sealed, in the manner of a confidential communication. When she had it open, the contents—two closely written pages—puzzled her even more. Turning quickly to the last page, she checked the signature, which made no sense at all, since she knew no one by that name.
However, on reading the letter, Elizabeth was so astonished at the news it contained that she had to read it over again.
The writer, a Mrs Brewerton from Norwich, was writing, she claimed, on behalf of Mrs Lydia Wickham, who was too distraught to put pen to paper.
The writer, identifying herself as “a neighbour and family friend of the Wickhams,” wrote that Mr Wickham had been seriously injured in an attack upon him by a former officer of his regiment. Though she seemed reluctant to give any details, it appeared that the assailant had borne a grudge, which he had carried with him for some years, and on meeting Wickham unexpectedly at a club, he had attacked him most violently, putting him in bed with a number of bruises and a broken arm.
While Mrs Brewerton appeared to be quite sympathetic towards Lydia and her children, she did not seem to waste any of her concern on Wickham himself, leaving the impression that the punishment meted out to him may have been well deserved.
We are all very shocked and sorry for poor Mrs Wickham, who is quite bereft. I have taken the liberty of writing to you, Mrs Darcy, because I am aware she has no parents to help her and only fair weather friends, who may buzz around her socially, but are unlikely to be of much help at such a time as this.
She appears not to have much in the way of savings, either.
Wrote Mrs Brewerton, who seemed particularly well informed about the state of the Wickhams’ domestic and financial affairs.
Elizabeth sighed. No doubt, she thought, Lydia, with her usual lack of discretion, must have regaled her neighbour with all the details.
Shocked and embarrassed, for she had a fair notion of the reason for the attack on Wickham, she hurried out to find Darcy. When she found him in the gallery, she also found herself somewhat tongue-tied and had to be satisfied with handing him Mrs Brewerton’s letter with very little explanation—so mortified was she by the situation.
Darcy had to read the letter through twice before the full import of the words sank in.
Watching him, Elizabeth saw expressions of bewilderment, anger, and exasperation chase each other across his countenance. The look of resignation that finally settled upon it suggested that nothing he heard about the Wickhams surprised him any more.
When he finally handed it back to her, Elizabeth asked, reluctantly, if there was anything that could be done.
Darcy shrugged his shoulders, and replied, “Probably not, and even if there were, intervention by us may not be welcome. Wickham has always had a degree of arrogance quite out of proportion to his capacity. He may well resent an offer of assistance. In any event, we do not know who his assailant was and how the attack came about.”
Elizabeth was silent, not knowing how to respond, as he went on, “However, it seems to me your sister Lydia and her children may need some help while he spends the next few weeks in bed!”
Elizabeth, who over the years had never failed to marvel at Darcy’s generosity to the undeserving and frequently ungrateful Wickhams, wondered aloud how she could help Lydia—especially in view of the celebrations at Pemberley, which would occupy most of her time.
Darcy was quick to reassure her, “You need not worry about it, Lizzie. I shall send young Hobbs over to Norwich with some money. Perhaps you could write a note in reply to this Mrs Brewerton and one to Lydia, which he could take with him.
“I shall ask Hobbs to make some discreet enquiries about the circumstances of this assault. Wickham may well have brought it upon himself—he has always had a reckless streak. I cannot believe it was entirely unprovoked.”
Elizabeth hastened to ag
ree and thanked him for what he proposed to do. “I’m sure you are right. Wickham has probably failed to pay a debt or outraged this man in some way,” she said.
“Whatever the cause, Lydia and the children cannot be left to the charity of neighbours,” he said and went away to find Hobbs, having both agreed that they would not speak of this matter to anyone but Jane and the Gardiners.
Later that night, as they prepared for bed, Elizabeth thanked her husband again. “It is truly kind of you to help them, dearest; I am sure they do not deserve it.”
Darcy sighed, “I know they do not, my dear, but the children are hardly to blame for the stupidity of their parents. Moreover, whatever I do is for you, Lizzie, for your peace of mind; you know that to be true, do you not?”
“I certainly do, but I know also that your generous heart discounts the hurt that you have suffered at the hands of this wilful, incorrigible couple, and you continue to help them. I am grateful and I, too, worry about her children, I do not deny it; but Darcy, I am so ashamed…” Her voice broke, and she wept.
He would not let her continue, putting his arms around her. He was very gentle but firm. “My dear Lizzie, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Wickham and Lydia are as far removed from you as they could possibly be. You are not responsible for them and need never apologise on their behalf. I cannot forget that it was my reluctance to speak out and expose his true character that permitted Wickham to present himself to you and all of your acquaintances in Hertfordshire as he did. Had I done what I should have and the truth were known, your sister’s disastrous elopement may never have happened.”
With her knowledge of Lydia, Elizabeth was not quite so sure, but said nothing as he continued.
“While I have no desire whatsoever to meet Wickham, and will avoid any dealings with him, I shall do whatever I can to help your sister and her children. I realise that they would be in a parlous state indeed without some help from her family. He appears to remain as wasteful and feckless as he always was, and her lack of understanding compounds their problems.
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