The
Ladies of Longbourn
The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series
The Pemberley Chronicles:
Book 4
DEVISED AND COMPILED BY
Rebecca Ann Collins
By the Same Author
The Pemberley Chronicles
The Women of Pemberley
Netherfield Park Revisited
Mr Darcy’s Daughter
My Cousin Caroline
Postscript from Pemberley
Recollections of Rosings
A Woman of Influence
The Legacy of Pemberley
Copyright © 2008 by Rebecca Ann Collins
Cover and internal design © 2008 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover photo © Fine Art Photographic Library
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Originally printed and bound in Australia by SNAP Printing, Sydney, NSW, 2000.
Reprinted in 2002 and 2003.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Collins, Rebecca Ann.
The ladies of Longbourn : a companion volume to Jane Austen's Pride and prejudice / devised and compiled by Rebecca Ann Collins.
p. cm.
1. England—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction. 2. Domestic fiction. I. Austen, Jane, 1775-1817. Pride and prejudice. II. Title.
PR9619.4.C65L33 2008
823'.92—dc22
2008022771
Printed and bound in the United States of America
DR 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Dedicated with love to my son,
without whose help and encouragement
none of this would have been possible.
An Introduction…
TO THOSE WHO HAVE ALREADY read The Pemberley Chronicles and other Pemberley stories, an introduction is hardly necessary.
The characters “borrowed” from Jane Austen and those that Rebecca Ann Collins has created have all come some way since the days of Pride and Prejudice. In such a period during which England has undergone a dynamic transformation in industrial, political, and social terms, it would have been incredible that these men and women would have remained like petrified statues, untouched by the turbulence that swirled around them.
Nor is it possible to accept that they continue to be engaged only in matters of romance, gossip, and intrigue, while the forces that shaped Victorian England, reflected in the work of the Brontës and Charles Dickens, passed them by. That would be unrealistic and unfair to the intelligent and compassionate characters that Jane Austen created and certainly not believable of the men and women devised by Ms Collins.
In The Ladies of Longbourn, the myth of the conventional Victorian marriage is explored, revealing that women, however well brought up, were not immune from making serious errors of judgment that jeopardized their chances of happiness. That women must and did always accept a bland, passive role in return for material security is neither acceptable nor true.
How young Anne-Marie Bingley confronts and overcomes the trauma of such a situation, and its effect upon her family and friends, is seen against the background of a society where the pressures are increasing upon individuals and their families. It is a difficult and complex period, when old standards are being questioned and individual integrity is tested. It is, nevertheless, an era when certain basic values of decency and decorum may yet be applied to the conduct of men and women, whose worth may not be judged by wealth or beauty alone.
Jane Austen may not have been altogether comfortable in the world that was mid-Victorian England, but her characters would have had the stamina and wit to deal with its challenges. Ms Collins certainly believes this to be true and, while the original Austen characters provide the framework of accepted values in this story, those of the next generation such as Jonathan Bingley and his daughter Anne-Marie make their own choices and must live with them. The importance that Jane Austen placed upon personal responsibility is endorsed and reflected throughout as the characters are observed with both humor and affection.
Many of these characters will be familiar to readers of the earlier Pemberley novels, but inevitably, there are new faces and names. For those who need an aide-mémoire, a list of the main characters is provided in the Appendix.
Sydney 2000
Prologue
October 1862
WHEN JANE BINGLEY HEARD THE news, delivered by express post from Harwood House, she was at first so numb with shock that she could not move for several minutes from the chair in which she was seated.
Afterwards, she rose and went to find Mr Bingley and tell him that John Bradshaw, the husband of their granddaughter Anne-Marie, was dead of a sudden seizure, the result of a completely unforeseen heart condition, which had caused him to collapse unconscious in the vestry after Evensong on Sunday.
It appeared from the letter, written hastily and despatched by Anne-Marie’s friend Eliza Harwood, that only the verger, Mr Thatcher, had been with him at the time and despite his best efforts to render what assistance he could, poor Mr Bradshaw had passed away before the doctor could even be summoned. Mr Bingley, when he had recovered from the shock, had ordered that the carriage be brought round immediately and they had set off for Pemberley to take the news to Darcy and Elizabeth.
On arriving at Pemberley, they were spared the need to break the bad news, by virtue of the fact that a message sent by Anne-Marie’s father, Jonathan Bingley, via the electric telegraph, had reached Pemberley barely half an hour earlier. Elizabeth was at the entrance to greet her sister as she alighted. It was clear from Elizabeth’s countenance that she knew already.
Now, there was need only to speak of the terrible sadness of it all. Mr Bradshaw was still a young man, being not yet thirty, and though not a particularly inspiring preacher, he got on well enough with everyone, and of course, here was Anne-Marie, married no more than fifteen months, a young widow.
Then, there was the need to prepare for the funeral. Mr Darcy had said his manager would attend to all the arrangements and they could travel down together. Jane was particularly happy about that. She liked having Lizzie beside her on these difficult occasions.
The letter had said the funeral would be at the parish church in Harwood Park; both the Bingleys and Darcys had houses in town, and preparations were soon in train to leave for London on the morrow.
When the Bingleys were leaving Pemberley, Elizabeth said softly, “It is difficult to believe that Mr Bradshaw is dead; they were dining with us at Portman Square only last month, together with Caroline and Fitzwilliam. We were such a merry party, too, were we not, Darcy?”
Her husband agreed, “Yes, indeed, and Bradshaw looked perfectly well.”
They were all a little uncomfortable in the face of the sudden departure of someone they’d had little time to get to know and so could not mourn with any real conviction, except as the husband of Anne-Marie, for whom they all had great affection and sym
pathy.
At Harwood Park, where, in a small churchyard amidst many old graves, an assorted collection of relatives, acquaintances, and parishioners had gathered to bid farewell to the Reverend John Bradshaw, many could only sigh and wonder at the suddenness of his death. Jane still seemed stunned by it all. Her granddaughter Anne-Marie, veiled and clothed in deepest mourning, her small, pale face moist with tears, clung to her grandmother, accepting her comforting embrace even though Jane had no words of consolation for her.
Afterwards, there had been a very simple gathering at Harwood House, where Mr and Mrs Harwood mingled with the mourners, but Anne-Marie retired upstairs until it was time to leave. Then she said her farewells and kissed, embraced, and thanked them all before leaving with her father, his wife, and their family in a closed carriage, bound for Netherfield Park in Hertfordshire, some twenty-five miles away.
Returning to Derbyshire, other members of the family were staying overnight in Oxford, at a favourite hostelry not far from St John’s College.
When the ladies withdrew after dinner, Jane, who had remained silent for most of the meal, approached her sister.
“Lizzie, this has been a time for funerals, has it not? There was our sister Mary, then the Prince Consort, and now poor Mr Bradshaw.”
Elizabeth nodded; she knew Jane was feeling very depressed.
“Yes indeed, Jane, though I am quite confident that if our sister Mary could speak at this moment, she would surely point out that ‘these things are sent to try us’ and they usually come in threes.”
Elizabeth was not being flippant or facetious, merely noting their late sister Mary Bennet’s propensity to produce an aphorism for every occasion, whether happy or catastrophic, thereby reducing everything to a level of banality above which it was virtually impossible to rise. Jane, however, was not amused.
“Oh, Lizzie, how could you say such a thing! Do be serious; I was thinking of our poor young Anne-Marie and how this wretched business has blighted her life,” she cried.
“So was I,” said Elizabeth. “It must be a dreadful blow, but as for blighting her life, look at it this way, Jane. She is still young, not yet twenty-three, still very beautiful, and well provided for by her father. No doubt she will inherit something from her husband as well. With no young children, she will have very little to trouble her, and when she has recovered from this terrible shock, I am quite certain she will not remain a widow for very long.”
Jane was aghast. “Lizzie, how can you say that, with poor Mr Bradshaw barely cold in his grave? Anne-Marie will be very cross with you.”
“I am sure she would, so I shall not be saying any such thing to her,” replied Elizabeth, adding, “of course she must mourn her husband. I mean only to reassure you, dear Jane, that life has certainly not ended for young Anne-Marie. I am confident there will be a better future for her.”
Entering the room at that moment, Elizabeth’s daughter, Cassandra Gardiner, heard her mother’s words and, on being applied to for an opinion, agreed with alacrity.
“If you really want my opinion, Mama, Anne-Marie was wasted on Mr Bradshaw. Neither Richard nor I could ever understand why she married him and in such haste, too,” and seeing her Aunt Jane’s outraged expression, Cassandra added, “Oh I know he was good and kind and all that sort of thing, but dear me, Aunt Jane, he was quite the dullest person I have ever encountered. When they came to visit after their wedding last year, he had nothing at all to say unless it was about church reform. Poor Anne-Marie did all the talking. Mr Bradshaw insisted on walking miles to visit all the village churches in the district and wanted to attend everything from matins to Evensong, and he would drag poor Anne-Marie along, even when you could see she was longing to stay and chat with the rest of us.”
“And he made some boring sermons,” said Elizabeth with a sigh. “When they came to Pemberley after they had become engaged, Darcy and I could not believe they were really going to be married. Darcy still believes that Anne-Marie would never have accepted him if she’d had the opportunity to meet more people, especially more eligible and intelligent young men. He would agree with Cassy that Anne-Marie was much too good for Mr Bradshaw and so, I am sure, would Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was at Pemberley at the time, and I remember his astonishment as Mr Bradshaw got up from the table after breakfast and hurried poor Annie, as he used to call her, off to church. She went quite cheerfully, I will admit, but Fitzwilliam was amazed and said as much.
“‘Upon my word,’” began Lizzie, who was a good mimic and could do Colonel Fitzwilliam very well. “‘Upon my word, Darcy, I cannot imagine he is in love with her if he just keeps dragging her off to church so often.’ Whereupon Darcy said, ‘It appears to be his only interest. Church reform is his pet topic; I have heard him speak of little else.’”
“And did Mr Darcy not regard Mr Bradshaw as a fit and proper husband for Anne-Marie?” Jane asked, anxiously.
“Oh he was certainly fit and very proper, too, Jane,” replied her sister, smiling, “but I do not believe he was interesting or energetic enough for her. She is so full of vitality and energy, feels everything so deeply, while he…I cannot honestly say I could pick a single subject upon which I have heard him speak with anything approaching passion.”
“What, not even church reform?” asked Cassy, with a wicked smile, to which her mother replied with a doleful look.
“No, not even church reform. It was a subject he addressed at length and with some conviction, but in such measured tones that it was difficult to listen to him for more than a few minutes, which, if he meant to enthuse us, must surely have defeated his purpose altogether.”
Jane, still shocked, did recall on being prompted by Lizzie that Mr Bingley had fallen asleep during one of Mr Bradshaw’s sermons, much to her embarrassment. “Poor Bingley,” she said. “He was mortified.”
She was promptly assured that no one would have blamed her dear husband for the completely understandable lapse.
Cassy said she had frequently wondered what had prompted the marriage, and Richard had been of the opinion that after her mother’s death, Anne-Marie must have been so deeply hurt and troubled by what she clearly regarded as her mother’s betrayal of their family that she had sought the safety of a marriage with a good, dull man, who would never dream of doing anything similar.
Jane agreed that in all her letters as well as in conversations, Anne-Marie would only refer to Mr Bradshaw as “dear Mr Bradshaw” and would always tell them how very good and kind he was.
“I do not doubt, Aunt Jane, that he was a good man, but one cannot live out one’s life with a person whose only claim to fame is ‘goodness.’ Doubtless he will have saved her soul, but surely one needs some warmth, some rapport, some shared love of music or reading to nourish the soul, which must learn to enjoy and delight in God’s gifts, before it comes to be saved.” Cassy, in full flight, had not noticed her father and Bingley as they entered the room until Darcy said, “That was a fair sermon in itself, Cassy.”
She smiled, knowing he was teasing her, but Jane applied to Mr Darcy for a judgment upon his daughter’s opinion.
“Let us ask your father if he agrees,” she said, whereupon Darcy smiled a wry, crooked little smile and declared,
“If Cassy was speaking of the late Mr Bradshaw, I have to admit that I am in complete agreement with her. Neither Lizzie nor I could ever get much more than exhortations to virtuous living from the man. I am in no doubt at all of his worthy intentions, but for a young man—he was not yet thirty—he was an amazingly dull fellow.” Turning to his wife, he added with a smile, “Not quite as tedious as your late cousin Mr Collins, Lizzie, but close, very close.”
Jane pressed him further, “And do you believe, Mr Darcy, that Anne-Marie was mistaken when she married him? Was she deceived, do you think?”
“Mistaken? Probably. Deceived? No indeed, Anne-Marie is an intelligent young woman. She may have been mistaken when she decided that Mr Bradshaw was the right man for her, but I would no
t accept that she was deceived by him. Bradshaw seemed incapable of deception. He was honest— transparently so—and dull; he had few remarkable qualities, but honesty was, I am sure, one of them. No, Jane, my belief coincides to a very great extent with Cassy’s. I think, though I cannot know this for certain, that Anne-Marie was so disturbed by her mother’s irrational behaviour and by the terrible events that led to her death that she accepted Bradshaw, believing that marriage to him offered a safe, secure life without risk of betrayal or hurt,” he said, and his sombre voice reflected his sadness.
It had been only a year or two ago that Darcy had, in conversation with his wife, expressed the hope that Anne-Marie would widen her horizons beyond her nursing career, hoping her friendship with Anna Faulkner would engage her mind and encourage an appreciation of the arts.
“Do you believe she never loved him then?” asked Jane, sadly.
Darcy found it hard to answer her.
“I am not privy to her thoughts, but I do know that she always spoke of him with respect and affection. But whether her feelings were deeply engaged, I cannot judge,” he replied.
“I saw no sign of it,” said Cassy, firmly.
“No indeed,” Elizabeth agreed, “yet, they always seemed content. I cannot believe she was unhappy.”
As her husband Richard Gardiner came in to join them, Cassy spoke.
“Not unless you believe that the absence of deeply felt love in a marriage constitutes an absence of happiness,” said Cassy, of whose happiness there was never any doubt. “For my part, such a situation would have been intolerable.”
Cassy had once declared she would never marry except for the very deepest love, and no one who knew them doubted that she had kept her word. Recalling her own determination that she would rather remain unwed than marry without an assurance of deep and sincere affection, Elizabeth could only express the hope that Anne-Marie would find that life had more to offer her in the future.
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