Since the death of his father earlier that year, he had inherited not just his father’s legal firm and the house in which his mother and his brother’s family continued to live at his invitation, but he had also acquired the status of the head of a professional family, with an enviable reputation for probity and public service.
Recent reports of some of his brother’s social activities had given him cause for concern, and he had intended to talk to David about it. The realisation that Emma was unhappy made it obligatory that he should do something about it.
Stephanie and Victoria were so tired from travelling that they had to be taken upstairs, bathed, fed, and put to bed at once.
Emma took some time to refresh herself and change before returning to join the others. As she had expected, James had been persuaded by his mother to stay to dinner. There was still no sign of her husband, and Mrs Wilson, becoming rather impatient, ordered that the meal be served.
When they went in to dinner, James, having taken his mother in and helped her into her seat, returned to escort Emma and then sat between her and Colonel Barclay’s wife. The colonel applied himself to entertaining Mrs Wilson with tales of mutual friends in Bath.
When Mrs Barclay was also drawn into conversation with his mother, James Wilson took the opportunity to remind Emma of her promise to talk to him about her present problems. When she fell silent, he pressed her for an acknowledgement, “My dear Emma, I cannot help you unless I know what makes you unhappy. It is not just for your sake, but for Victoria and Stephanie, too; they should not grow up in an atmosphere of mistrust.”
She was immediately defensive. “I have said nothing of mistrust! You must not assume things.”
Chastened by the swiftness of her rebuke, he apologised. “I am sorry, but there you see it. Unless I know the cause of the problem, I am more likely to make inaccurate assumptions.”
The servants were clearing away the dishes before placing platters of fruit and cheese on the table. Taking advantage of the movement around them, he appealed to her, “Will you at least agree to talk to me about it? You can decide how much you want to tell me.”
Emma could not avoid his eyes, and his sincerity was so compelling that she gave in. “Yes, yes of course, but I shall need a little time.”
“Good, you can have all the time you want, Emma. I shall make some arrangements next week,” he said, clearly pleased.
After dinner, Emma asked to be excused, pleading tiredness, and Mrs Wilson was sympathetic. “Of course you may Emma, my dear. Indeed, it is most inconsiderate of David to be so late. I cannot imagine what he is about.”
She was about to go upstairs when a light carriage was heard in the street. It stopped at their door, and presently David walked in. He appeared slightly unsteady, but cheerful enough.
He greeted them all, kissed his mother and went to help himself to the port. Unhappy with the bottle on the tray, he sent the footman off to fetch one of his favourites from the cellar.
Meanwhile, addressing both James and Emma, he demanded to know if they had enjoyed their journey to Pemberley. “Is Mr Darcy still as proud and arrogant as ever?” he asked. “And did you meet Colonel Fitzwilliam? He has an uncommonly beautiful wife. God only knows what she sees in him.”
Seeing Emma’s look of panic, for she knew this was his way of starting an argument—one that only he could win—James Wilson intervened to say that Darcy had seemed not in the least arrogant. “He was the perfect host, and indeed the evening turned out to be most interesting and pleasant. Pemberley is one of those great houses that implies pride and arrogance in its owners, but I did not find it so. Both Mr and Mrs Darcy were most hospitable, and I have been invited back to dine with them soon.”
David’s raised eyebrows expressed his opinion. “Have you indeed? They must prefer you to myself.”
Emma could not remain silent at this suggestion, “That is not fair David, we have been asked many times, but recently, you have been too busy to accept.”
Mrs Wilson, tired of the bickering, interrupted, “David, you work too hard. You should get away from the city more often. Colonel Barclay has a splendid place in Bath; I am sure he would love to have you both, wouldn’t you, Colonel?”
This led to a further discussion on the attractions of Bath, which held no interest for Emma, who slipped out of the room and went quietly upstairs while her husband continued to argue. Soon afterwards, she heard the front door close and James’s carriage proceeding down the road. He had an apartment in Brunswick Square conveniently situated close to the Inns of Court, where he worked when Parliament was not sitting.
Emma had been there once or twice with her mother-in-law, who was always giving her son items of household linen and other equipment to ensure the comfort of his bachelor existence.
She recalled a linen press and a chest of drawers, which Mrs Wilson had insisted he needed to have installed in his dressing room, despite his protestations that it would only clutter up the place.
“My mother insists that I need all these things when, in fact, all I need is a good butler, a cook, and a manservant. I am fortunate that I have all three. In fact, I inherited my man, Watson, from my father; he is so good, I scarcely need give any instructions at all—he anticipates everything!” James had claimed when they had met a few days later and she had teased him, asking if he was finding the linen press useful.
Even in those early days, she had wondered at her ability to engage in light-hearted banter with her husband’s elder brother in a manner that she could never contemplate with David. His capacity to turn every conversation into an argument, one he had to win, whatever the cost, had soon crushed her enthusiasm for trivial chat or playful teasing.
The week after their journey to Pemberley, Mrs Wilson surprised her daughter-in-law at breakfast one morning with the news that they were to make a visit to the family property in Kent. “There are some things of Mr Wilson’s which James thinks I should have moved to London before we close the place for the Winter. I agree with him, and I should be very glad of your company, Emma,” she said and added, “David is busy, as usual, but James will accompany us. He has promised to let me know this evening if we can travel on Friday.”
Emma knew at once that James had “arranged,” as he had promised, an “appropriate time and place.” Knowing the old house in Kent well, he could not have chosen better. She agreed immediately to accompany Mrs Wilson, adding that she hoped the weather would remain fine.
Later that day, when his mother was resting upstairs and Emma was reading to her daughters, James Wilson arrived unexpectedly, only staying long enough to take a cup of tea with them before rushing away. He did, however, leave a message for his mother. “Please tell my mother that everything has been arranged for Friday’s journey to Kent—it is best that we return on Sunday afternoon. We shall have to take her carriage—mine is not big enough.”
Emma asked, “How many shall we be?”
“Just the three of us and mother’s maid, of course. She goes nowhere without her,” he said as he apologised and flew out the door on his way to a meeting in the city, leaving her smiling at his enthusiasm.
After he had gone, Emma contemplated her situation. Once again, she felt as if her isolation was being opened up and her unhappiness was relieved, just a little.
She had deliberately held back from her parents the true state of her ten-year marriage. It was not only because she had not wanted to break their hearts—she knew what the truth would do to her father. There was some of her pride involved, as well.
The decision to marry David Wilson had been hers alone. She had consulted no one, not even her brother Jonathan.
David was the good-looking, ambitious one of the two Wilson brothers. She had known him first as a boy, when their families became acquainted; he had been at Winchester and only came home for holidays. Then he had gone away to Cambridge and had spent some
time in Europe before returning to London. It was not long after the deaths of William and Edward had devastated their family.
David had just entered Parliament and when Emma and he met again in London; he was the most sought after young man in town.
Emma Bingley’s beauty had been universally admired. Like her mother, she was a rather reserved young woman, with a reputation for graciousness and gentility. David Wilson had courted her assiduously throughout the season with extravagant compliments, saying on one memorable occasion, when they had met at a ball, at which he had monopolised her, “My God, Emma, you were always pretty, but now, you are beautiful!”
They had met often during the months they had spent in London and had a good deal of fun together. His parents seemed to like her and had invited her to stay at their country house in Kent. When he proposed, she had had no reservations about accepting him.
James Wilson, who was some seven years older than David, had occasionally been present, but had seemed more interested in the company of her parents, she recalled. David used to think him dull and given to good works. “He takes his position as the eldest in the family very seriously indeed,” he had said.
That there was some truth in his description, Emma could not deny. James did take his position in the family seriously, especially after his father’s death. As for being dull, there was no more truth in that accusation than in several others her husband was wont to throw around, as she was to learn later.
More recently, she had realised how utterly unfair David had been to his brother.
***
At Pemberley, in the days after Julian’s party, much discussion centred around Mr James Wilson, their unexpected guest.
Not many people had paid much attention to David Wilson’s quiet, serious-minded brother, whose legal and Parliamentary work kept him occupied for most of the year. When he could get away from London, he was known to prefer Standish Park—his family property in Kent—which accounted for his unfamiliarity with the Pemberley families, who had seen him rarely since Emma’s wedding.
His sudden appearance at Pemberley with Emma had ignited their interest. Apart from his generosity in conveying Emma and her daughters to the party, for which he was universally praised, Elizabeth was inclined to agree with Jane’s original judgement, which was now supported by several of the gentlemen.
Fitzwilliam recalled meeting him as a much younger, new member of Parliament, during the heady days of the passage of the Reform Bills. “I remember him as intelligent and thoughtful even in those days; he made a quite remarkable speech on the need for wider representation in Parliament as part of Britain’s claim to be a democracy. Many of the older Tories were horrified.”
“And so were a few old Whigs, I bet,” quipped Anthony Tate. “I was most impressed by his arguments against excessive protection. I hope he will not object if I borrow some of his ideas for my next editorial on the subject.”
Darcy, who gave approbation rarely, and then not in a fulsome way, was generous with his praise. “In the short time he spent at Pemberley, I found him to be a man of sound principles and good judgement. Even better, he was not opinionated and arrogant—and having once suffered from that condition myself, I am quick to diagnose the contagion in others. Mr James Wilson is, happily, free of such folly. He is certainly the kind of man with whom I would be happy to be better acquainted.”
“Darcy, this is high praise indeed,” said Fitzwilliam.
“Indeed, it is,” said Mr Gardiner, “and I am inclined to agree with Mr Darcy. I shall certainly look forward to our next meeting.”
Listening to the gentlemen, Elizabeth was amazed at the general approval that James had received, but her sister was not surprised. “I have said all along, Lizzie, that while he could not boast of the good looks and popularity of his brother, James Wilson is by far the better man. I have not changed my mind.”
It was something she had said to Bingley on one occasion, but it gave her no joy to know that she was right.
A week later, a letter from Emma reached her mother just as she was setting out to visit her Aunt Gardiner. Elizabeth was also expected to join them, and Jane decided she would take the letter along and read it with her sister.
She was reluctant to open it in the presence of her aunt, who was not as yet privy to Emma’s troubles. However, she need have had no fears on that score, for the letter contained not a single word of complaint. It was filled with Emma’s delightful memories of her visit to Pemberley.
Reading it together, Elizabeth and Jane marvelled at the lightness of its tone. There was never a hint of her present unhappiness or a twinge of self-pity. Instead, she revelled in the pleasure, unexpected as it had been until the day before, of being able to visit Pemberley and see them all.
Dearest Mama, she wrote:
There is nothing I wanted more than to see all of you, especially you and papa, but also Aunt Lizzie and Cassy and Richard, and all the others. I have missed them all so much.
If there is one thing that I dislike about living in London, it is that it is so distant from the places where so much of my heart is held hostage by my dear, dear family.
I should have been truly miserable at missing Julian’s party and little Elizabeth Jane’s christening, and I would have done, were it not for the kindness of Mr James Wilson and my dear mother-in-law.
It was she who had whispered to him that we were very disappointed about not going to Pemberley, on account of David’s work, and so brought about his offer to convey us himself.
Dear Mama, you will, I am sure, be very pleased to hear that Mr Wilson was very happy that he had been treated with such friendliness and shown so much hospitality at Pemberley.
On our return journey, which was accomplished in remarkable time, he quizzed me about everyone he had met at Pemberley—not, I hasten to add, in a prying or inquisitive way, but simply because, as he said, “They were all such interesting people.”
He says he is looking forward to visiting Derbyshire again—he has had so many invitations, I am sure it will not be long before you see him.”
As for myself, I cannot say often enough how happy I was to be back with you and be a part of the Pemberley clan again. I do miss you all so.
We are to go to Kent next week with Mrs Wilson. I shall write again when we return.
Your loving daughter,
Emma.
Elizabeth and Jane were quite astonished at the letter. “Emma is clearly so happy at having been able to come to Pemberley,” said Jane, “she is able, at least for a while, to put her troubles aside.”
“She is certainly fortunate in her in-laws,” said Elizabeth, pointing out that Mrs Wilson’s kindness to Emma matched that of her eldest son. “I wonder, Jane, do they know of the pain Emma has suffered and continues to suffer in her marriage?” she asked.
Jane was unsure; Emma had not mentioned speaking of it to anyone. “I do not think she has told them. She might be afraid that they would take David’s part against her, as in-laws often do,” she said.
“His mother might—mothers are forgiven if they are partial to their sons,” said Elizabeth, “but I cannot believe that a man as fair and sensible as James Wilson seems to be would let his judgement be similarly distorted.”
Elizabeth was sure that if James Wilson discovered how his brother was treating Emma, he would not stand idly by. Jane agreed, but her own qualms for her child overwhelmed her. As she tried to put her letter away, tears spilled down her cheeks, and she had to be comforted by her sister.
Jane was taking her daughter’s unhappiness very hard. Her own almost idyllic marriage, in which, after some thirty years, husband and wife still considered themselves particularly blessed to be wedded to one another, had not prepared her for coping with the type of continuing misery that Emma’s situation implied.
***
The weather on Friday was
cold, but fortunately, it was also fine. The journey to Kent was, therefore, not as trying as it could have been had it been wet. They travelled the road from London to Canterbury, stopping for a meal at Dartford. As they travelled on, Mrs Wilson tended to fall asleep, leaving James and Emma to maintain a conversation.
He was surprised to learn that, having spent only a small part of her life before marriage in London, Emma had done very little travelling in these parts. She had, for instance, only once visited the historic town of Canterbury, and then just for a few hours, during which she’d had only time enough to see the exterior of the great Cathedral.
“That will not do at all, Emma,” said James, who confessed that Kent was his “most favourite county.” He had travelled all over it since he was a boy, but never had he grown tired of its beauty and variety. Their family had lived in Kent for two centuries.
“Next Summer, we shall make sure that you visit Canterbury and Chilham, perhaps Ramsgate as well,” he promised. “I cannot believe that you have not been to Ramsgate—David and I spent many Summers there when we were boys. We have been most remiss.”
It was late afternoon when they reached Standish Park. The house, standing amidst woods and parkland not far from Maidstone, was older and larger than her home in Leicestershire. It had been in the family for well over a hundred years, having been built in the middle of the last century of a russet red brick that seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun, making the house stand out from the green meadows and dark woods behind it.
Emma liked the house very much—more than the one they occupied in Mayfair, in spite of its fashionable style. It was a comfortable and welcoming place, with large airy rooms and beautiful landscaped grounds. She had spent most of the early years of her marriage here, and it brought back many memories of her daughters’ early childhood.
The Women of Pemberley Page 4
