The Women of Pemberley

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Emily was particularly pleased because, just that morning, she had seen the last of her poor Irish families moved from their temporary shelter in the Kympton parish hall to Lower Litton Common where, with the help of workmen from the Camden and Pemberley estates, a few cottages and a barn had been repaired and made ready for them.

  Furniture, blankets, and clothes had been garnered from around the parish; many families, horrified by the news of the attack upon the Irish women and children, now gave generously. A rousing sermon from their Rector had helped, too. James Courtney did not mince his words. The entire incident had shocked and frightened the people of Kympton, who had never expected their grumbling about the Irish to have such dreadful consequences.

  That evening, when everyone was gathered at Pemberley, Emily took the opportunity to approach Mr Darcy as he stood with Elizabeth, the Bingleys, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner, and, before the entire gathering, she thanked him warmly for his generosity and compassion. “Many people have helped us in lots of little ways, but there are only a few who have the ability to do something really important for these unfortunate people. You have done that, and may God bless you, Mr Darcy, for your greatness of heart,” she said simply, and while he was a little embarrassed and reddened visibly, Darcy was also very touched by her words.

  Julian declared that he was quite sure that “Papa was prodigiously pleased.”

  Elizabeth was immensely proud of him.

  Not all the Irish families stayed on permanently. Several left when their menfolk found work, moving to Liverpool and Birmingham, where larger groups of Irish settlers afforded them some safety in numbers and formed large communities in those cities.

  But some of them remained behind, working the land, helping on the farms and in the stables—they were excellent with horses—while their children attended the parish school at Kympton.

  To this day, a small Irish community remains in this corner of Derbyshire; and among them, the tale of the plucky young wife of the Rector of Kympton, who saved a group of women and children from marauding thugs, is still told—with appropriate embellishment, of course!

  ***

  Robert Gardiner and Rose Fitzwilliam were married in the Autumn.

  If universal good wishes can guarantee marital bliss, their felicity should have been assured. As well as their obvious affection and regard for each other, there was an impression that this union combined good sense with deep affection; a blessed combination indeed.

  Shortly afterwards, the family received the happy news of the birth of a son to Emma and James Wilson.

  They called him Charles after his grandfather, and Bingley was so proud, he went directly to Kent to bestow a small fortune on his beloved daughter’s son, ensuring he would be well provided for when he grew up. With the birth of this little boy, the happiness of his parents, never in doubt, was now complete.

  Jane, who had stayed on with her daughter, wrote to Elizabeth:

  I know you will understand, dearest Lizzie, how much we appreciate what marriage to James has meant to Emma. She is so totally transformed, so fulfilled and content, I can hardly believe that a few years ago I had almost given up hope of her ever being happy again. God has truly blessed her and our family.

  Elizabeth knew how deeply her sister had been hurt by Emma’s unhappy first marriage and shared her relief.

  ***

  That Christmas, the families gathered again at Pemberley. They were celebrating also the end of a very full year.

  Standing together at the entrance to the ballroom, Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley watched as their wives descended the great staircase, which was only used on occasions such as this, when Pemberley was in festive mood. Both men agreed as the sisters—unaware that they were being observed—came slowly downstairs that the years had only enhanced the beauty of their wives.

  Jane, after four children, was still acknowledged as a woman of exceptional beauty, with a tranquillity of disposition that set her apart. Bingley, who had begun by insisting she was “an angel,” still loved her to distraction.

  Lizzie, on the other hand, had started out without finding favour with the man who had claimed to be indifferent to her beauty, but who had then fallen so deeply in love with her that he could not find the right words to propose to her. Thanks to a variety of circumstances and the timely, though unwitting, intervention of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Darcy had been given a second chance to find the words that would secure the happiness they had both desired. Lizzie’s slender figure had softened and filled out somewhat, but she was still elegant and lovely and remained, as her husband had once described her, “one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”

  As they welcomed the Gardiners, who remained their dearest friends, Elizabeth noticed that her aunt seemed more than usually happy about something and determined to find a moment alone with her.

  This proved to be unnecessary, for Mrs Gardiner soon sought out her nieces and broke the news that Emily had received a letter from the Queen’s secretary, recognising and commending her work with the poor and especially with needy children. Mrs Gardiner was convinced that Emily would soon be honoured by the Queen.

  Mr Gardiner was what Julian would have called “prodigiously pleased,” but Emily, arriving shortly afterwards, seemed very calm about it all. She was far more excited by the fact that two of her young Irish protégés were actually singing in the children’s choir that night.

  Emily had learned from their mother that the boys used to sing in the church choir back in Ireland and persuaded Dr Jenkins to try them out for the Christmas Carols. Impressed with their voices, he had put a good deal of time and effort into training them.

  “Their voices are just beautiful, Lizzie, and I cannot think of a better Christmas present than having them sing for us, truly I cannot,” said Emily, her eyes lighting up with pleasure.

  Elizabeth had to agree. “What is more, Emily, they are even smiling for you,” she declared.

  Emily laughed. “Considering what they have been through, Lizzie, that has to be a considerable achievement,” she said as they went in together to hear the children sing.

  Cassandra Gardiner heard the carriage, put away the letter she was reading, and moved to the window. She watched, with a rush of tenderness, as her husband Richard alighted and helped their little daughter Elizabeth out, while young Edward and Darcy, who had already leapt from the vehicle, came running up the drive towards the house.

  The children were back from Lambton, where they had stayed with Richard’s parents while she and her husband had gone to Standish Park to attend the christening of Charles, the son of her cousin Emma and James Wilson.

  By the time Cassy had reached the foot of the stairs, her two boys—now twelve and ten—had burst through the hall and enveloped their mother in an enormous embrace, leaving Richard to follow with little Lizzie, who had to wait in line to kiss her mother. Little Lizzie, as she was known to everyone except Nurse Marsh, who insisted upon calling her Miss Elizabeth, finally reached her mother, protesting that she had missed her most of all.

  All the children wanted to tell her how they had spent their time at Oakleigh, apart from being spoilt by their doting grandparents, but Cassy, being rather tired herself after the long drive from Banbury, where they had spent the previous night, agreed to hear it all, but later.

  Richard, sensitive to her needs, persuaded the boys to let their mother rest awhile before regaling her with their adventures. Being very active children, they needed little persuasion and went directly out of doors again.

  “You are not going to Littleford today, are you dearest?” Cassandra asked anxiously as her husband accompanied her upstairs.

  Richard knew she would be pleased if he said he was not. He worked hard at his practice in Derby and at the hospital in Littleford, which provided the only medical services for the poor for miles around. Cassy supported his work totally, but
he knew that she often missed him around the house and was keen to reassure her.

  “Not today, Henry Forrester is working in my place until Sunday. I met the Fitzwilliams’ visiting mother and Isabella assured me that all is well, so, my darling, I’m afraid you have me all to yourself for the rest of today and tomorrow.”

  His wife’s smile was proof that the news was welcome. “I am quite amazed at my good fortune, to have my husband at home for two whole days!” Cassandra feigned astonishment, “Whatever shall I do with him?” He responded in seconds, declaring that he would have no trouble at all finding ways to spend the time with her—all equally pleasurable.

  She blushed, but made no effort to discourage him. Several years of marriage had done nothing to dull their passion.

  There was no doubting their devotion to each other, but simultaneously, they had always had a strong sense of public duty, and were involved in everything from local charities to political campaigns promoting councils to provide health services for the district.

  Ever since his return from Paris to start work as a physician, first in Birmingham and then in Derby, Richard had campaigned actively for better health services for the poor. He had been affronted by the ability of the wealthy to obtain the best medical care, while the poor, if they were fortunate, depended upon an apothecary or, worse, on backyard practitioners of so-called folk medicine.

  There were so few hospitals that hardly anyone received proper nursing care, unless they were wealthy enough to afford a nurse at home as well as a visiting physician, which was why the hospital at Littleford, established with donations of land and materials from Mr Darcy and his neighbour Sir Thomas Camden, and equipped with the generous bequest from his sister Emily’s late husband, was so important to Richard. From modest beginnings it had grown over the years into a well-run, well-endowed institution dedicated to the provision of health services to the people of the area. For the rural families, especially those too poor to afford a doctor from Derby, it had proved to be, quite literally, a lifesaver.

  After her marriage, Cassandra had joined Emily in managing the hospital, and, more recently, young Isabella Fitzwilliam had begun to take an active interest in the nursing work—helping especially with the children, with whom she seemed to have a special gift.

  Cassy was proud of her husband’s work. Not only did he dedicate himself to healing the sick, but also he campaigned untiringly for special programs to prevent disease—simple measures in sanitation and hygiene—which would surely save lives, especially those of young children. He had fought the municipal bureaucracy for the right to demand that they provide better public services that would improve the health of the community, using, wherever possible, the influence of his father, Mr Gardiner, or the local Member of Parliament to assist his cause.

  In all these worthy campaigns, Cassy supported him unstintingly, and he appreciated the time she gave him. But she was frequently alone when he was working and longed for days like these, when she could have him to herself.

  Theirs was a strong marriage based upon mutual esteem and the very deepest love, for neither would have been content with a marriage of convenience or worse, one that admitted only an exchange of shallow, lukewarm affections. Like her mother, Cassandra had been determined never to marry other than for love, and among the many young men she had met in society, none had inspired more than a passing interest.

  At first, she had been very much in awe of her cousin Richard, who was not only several years older than her, but a distinguished medical scholar as well. Gradually, however, she had allowed herself to fall deeply in love with him; but as she discovered her own feelings, had been afraid to let him see them, lest they be unwelcome. Happily, as it turned out, far from being unrequited, they were passionately engaged and returned. Since then, there had never been any question of their mutual love.

  Proud as she was of his valuable work in the community, she longed for more of his time for herself and their children. Richard was not unaware of her feelings, and though he did not speak of it as often as he might, he felt just as strongly about it, for he loved her deeply and, whenever the opportunity arose, lost no time in reassuring her. Such was their devotion that complete strangers, meeting them for the first time, would become aware of the depth of their feelings.

  Emma Wilson had told them how James, meeting them at Pemberley, had remarked to her that theirs must have been a great love story. It was a story that encompassed their children, who were so dearly loved and well cared for that there existed between them the closest of filial bonds.

  Cassandra, whose own ambitions had neither outgrown her circumstances nor ever been circumscribed by them, was quite content with her position in life. Married to a physician, she craved neither higher rank nor greater wealth, perfectly happy to enjoy the warmth of the love with which her husband and family surrounded her.

  On this warm, soporific afternoon, when the languid atmosphere of late Summer was not conducive to energetic activity, Cassy was agreeably occupied. Lying in Richard’s arms, she was about to tell him the news contained in a letter she had received that morning from Amelia-Jane when there was a loud knocking on the front door. Unwilling to spoil the moment, neither made any effort to rise. No visitors were expected that afternoon; even the sound of voices, grave and serious as they seemed, did not disturb them unduly. Richard merely raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  “It’s probably a tradesman or a neighbour—Mrs Morris will send them away,” Cassy whispered, turning over as she spoke and closing her eyes.

  Moments later, Edward was heard running up the stairs calling out, “Papa, Papa, it’s Toby—George has fallen off his horse,” and as he burst into the room, Richard sprang out of bed in time to hear that young George, the son of their groom, had probably broken a leg.

  Throwing on some clothes, he rushed downstairs, while Cassy rose and put on a wrap before following him to the top of the stairs.

  In the front hall, with Mrs Morris the housekeeper, was Toby.

  No sooner had Richard heard the details of the accident then he prepared to leave, gathering his things and picking up his bag as he gave instructions.

  With Cassy he was gentle, apologising for leaving her so suddenly, “Will you send a message to Henry Forrester at Littleford, my love? Tell him I will be bringing the boy in. He may need surgery and will certainly have to stay overnight at the hospital.”

  As Cassandra nodded and bent over the desk to write a note, he put his arms around her from behind, pulled her gently against him, kissed her cheek, and was gone.

  Cassy spent the rest of the afternoon with her children. The warmth of her husband’s love always left her feeling more loving towards them, as if, fulfilled and content, she had more to share with them. They were full of tales of the fun they had had at Oakleigh; even little Lizzie, who could rarely keep up with the excitement and energy generated by her brothers, was keen to impress her mother with her stories. The boys had fished and explored the woods, riding everyday with their Uncle Robert and his wife Rose, who were staying with the Gardiners. Rose was an excellent horsewoman.

  “She rides superbly, Mama; she is much faster than Uncle Robert,” said Edward, and Darcy agreed that Robert was no match for his wife when it came to taking her horse over the hedgerows. Rose had plainly made a great impression on the lads.

  Cassy, recalling Rose—grief-stricken at the death of the man she was to marry—riding alone for hours across fields, woods, and moorland, was glad to hear that she was happy in her marriage to Robert.

  When they had tired of talking and were ready for baths and dinner, she went upstairs to her room and lay on her bed awhile. She fell asleep and did not wake until Lucy brought her tea and prepared her bath. She was ready to dress for dinner when Richard returned.

  As he went directly to his dressing room and scrupulously performed the ablutions he always followed when he returned from the hosp
ital—so particular was he to protect his family from any contagion—she laid out his clothes. It was a task she performed as a matter of course. Richard disliked the intrusive presence of a manservant in their private apartments, which, on this occasion, was just as well.

  Fresh from his bath, he seemed to remember that they had some unfinished business, which he was in a mood to complete. Cassy seemed to have had a similar notion; she had sent Lucy away, leaving her hair down and lingering over her toilette.

  Much later, she asked him about Toby’s son. “How is George? Was it a bad fall?” Her voice betrayed the apprehension she felt. Falls from horses had killed her beloved brother William and their cousin Edward on one night, some years ago.

  His answer reassured her. “No, not at all. He was exceedingly lucky; the horse stumbled but did not fall. George was thrown, fortuitously, into a great pile of new mown hay. Apart from a sprained ankle and some minor bruising, he seems to have suffered little damage. I have asked Henry Forrester to keep a watch on him overnight, but I expect him to be home in a day or two.”

  Cassandra could not help herself. Her expression betrayed her feelings. Her eyes filled with tears as the questions returned to haunt her. Why had it been different for William and Edward on that night many years ago? It was a night she would never forget—the night of her engagement to Richard—when, after a weekend of pleasure and a day of unalloyed joy, the families had had to face the loss of two of their dearest children. Death had come like the proverbial thief in the night to snatch them away. Why? She had asked herself the question often enough, recalling the suffering of her parents, especially the prolonged anguish of her mother and her sister-in-law Caroline Fitzwilliam, as well as her own misery from which Richard alone had been able to rescue her. Wondering at the cruel and arbitrary nature of Fate, Cassy was unable to hold back the tears.

  Sensible of her feelings and aware of her need for consolation after all these years, her husband put his arms around her, as he had done many times before, and held her until she was done with weeping. He had no answers for her, nobody had, but he loved her deeply and would do everything he could to comfort her.