Mr. Darcy's Daughter

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  At that very moment, they heard the sounds of the carriage, even before it came into view around the deep bend in the road from Lambton.

  "They're here!" cried Lizzie cheerfully, as the vehicle turned into the drive and Edward leaned out to greet them.

  Cassy smiled and dried her tears, as Lizzie quickened her steps to reach the door as they alighted. She went directly to her brother, who kissed his mother and went indoors. Lizzie followed him, eager for news, as he entered the parlour, where tea awaited them.

  Richard, meanwhile, his face grave, his voice serious, put an arm around his wife and took her upstairs, stopping only to accept a welcoming hug from his youngest son. The boy, hearing his voice, had raced out of the nursery, defying his nurse's pleas, to greet his father. Having disengaged himself from the child's embrace, with a promise that he would visit the nursery later, Dr Gardiner returned to his wife.

  After her first flush of relief at seeing them safely home, reassured there had been no sudden deterioration in Mr Gardiner's condition, Cassy was beginning to worry again. She was bewildered by the gravity of her husband's countenance. What, she wondered, could have caused such disquiet, if it was not his father's health?

  Richard did not keep her long in suspense. Once in their private apartments, he shut the door and, having sat her down, took from his pocket a letter. It was short, not quite filling a page, and it was from her brother Julian.

  "Cassy, my love," said Richard, by way of explanation,"this letter was delivered to me by express at the hospital this afternoon. As you see, it is from your brother."

  He held it out to her. Cassy, already apprehensive of the news it may contain, took the letter. It was written in the untidy scrawl that Julian used, claiming he had never found the time to practice formal copperplate, but it was even less legible than usual, clearly penned in great haste. He wrote:

  My dear Richard,

  Please accept my apologies for the inconvenience I know this letter will cause you and my dear sister, but my situation is truly desperate.

  I believe that you alone can convince my dear wife Josie of the need to seek some form of treatment for the ailment that has afflicted her for several months.

  I have tried, without success, on many occasions, to persuade, plead, and cajole her into seeing one of the physicians here in Cambridge (and there are one or two who come highly recommended), but she has refused to do so. She says she is not unwell and has no need of their services.

  Richard, I could wish with all my heart that this were true, but the evidence is clear enough, though she will not acknowledge it. Josie is clearly not herself and anyone who knows her will say so, without the aid of any medical experience or qualification.

  She is out of sorts, dispirited, and has become very weak and thin, due mainly to a complete lack of interest in food. She, who always had a healthy appetite, has now to be persuaded to eat as much as a child's portion at meals. Between times, she will take nothing more nourishing than weak tea or a glass of barley water.

  I know she has a great deal of respect for you, Richard, and will take your advice more seriously than she does mine. I truly fear for her life, if nothing can be done, and swiftly, to arrest the decline in her health and, even more urgently, her spirits.

  Which is the reason I write, even though I know how busy you are and how anxious for your father's health you must be, to beg you to come to Cambridge, as soon as you are able.

  It is no exaggeration to say that you may be able to save my dear Josie's life.

  Yours etc,

  Julian Darcy.

  There was no mistaking the urgency, almost the panic, in Julian's words. A man of sound scientific discipline, he was not given to gross overstatement. Plainly, he was grieved by his inability to do anything useful to help his ailing wife. Her own recalcitrance, her refusal to take any treatment, indeed to even see a physician, was obviously causing him much distress and his letter to his brother-in-law was a last resort, a desperate plea for help.

  Cassandra was pale when she finished reading the letter and handed it back to her husband.

  "Poor Julian, what a dreadful letter! What must he have suffered, and no doubt continues to suffer, to have been driven to write such a letter? We must go, of course, but how shall it be done? With your father's grave condition…"

  Her husband, who had been standing in front of the fire, sat down beside her and took her hand in his,"My father's condition, though grave, is, at the moment, stable. I have suggested that Edward stay with him at Lambton, until we return from Cambridge. He is competent and able to administer such medication as is required and deal with any emergency," he said.

  "Edward? Are you sure?" Cassy was uncertain; their son was well qualified to be sure, but he had had little clinical experience.

  Richard was more confident."My darling, I am quite certain, else I would not have suggested it. Besides, I have asked Edward and he has agreed. He will follow my instructions exactly and, in an emergency, send immediately for Dr Forrester. I have also explained the situation to my mother, and she knows we must go to Josie and Julian. They need our help."

  He stood up, keeping hold of her hands, which were cold with anxiety, and drew her into his arms to comfort her.

  "I have already despatched a message to Julian by telegraph, so all there is left to do is to make the necessary arrangements for our journey," he said, holding her close, understanding her concern, and trying to reassure her.

  Her anxiety somewhat eased, Cassandra asked quietly,"Should Lizzie go with us? She has always got on very well with Josie. It may help."

  Her husband was cautious."I would rather she did not, until I have ascertained what it is that afflicts Josie. If, as I believe, it is a non-contagious condition, a temporary malaise brought on more by her forlorn spirit than an infectious bacterium, it would be safe for Lizzie to visit her, perhaps later in the month," he explained patiently.

  "It may help cheer her up. However, until we are certain there is no danger of infection, I do not think Lizzie should go."

  Cassy agreed at once. It had not occurred to her that her daughter may be exposed to infection by visiting Josie. Reminded of the possibility, she was content to be ruled by her husband on the matter. Lizzie would remain at home. Cassy was glad her younger daughter Laura Ann was away for a few weeks, visiting her cousin Sophie in Leicestershire.

  Preparations were hurriedly and methodically made and, on the morrow, which turned out to be a cold, blustery sort of day, of the kind one had learned to expect in Spring, they set out for Cambridge. But first, they were to go to Pemberley to acquaint Mr and Mrs Darcy with the reason for their journey.

  * * *

  Arriving at Pemberley, they found the Darcys and Bingleys discussing the calamitous affair of the Sutton children, who had been abducted by their own father. Mrs Sutton, though unknown personally to the Gardiners, was a friend of Anne-Marie Bingley. They knew that she had recently moved to Hertfordshire and taught music at the School for Young Ladies at Longbourn, which was run by Charlotte Collins and Anna Bingley, wife of their cousin Jonathan.

  They now learned that Mrs Sutton's estranged husband had followed his wife to Hertfordshire and kidnapped her daughters. Neither Cassy nor Richard knew very much of the detail, but it was clearly a serious matter, and Mr Darcy had just despatched a letter to Jonathan Bingley containing vital information received about the whereabouts of the children.

  When, in the midst of all this excitement, Cassandra broke the news of Julian's letter, Elizabeth could barely contain her distress. She had already confided in her sister Jane her immense disappointment over Julian's apparent lack of interest in the activities and traditions of Pemberley. The latest news about Josie made matters much worse!

  She made Cassy promise to write and inform her of Josie's condition."If there is anything your father or I can do to help, you know we will not hesitate…" she pleaded.

  It was clear to Elizabeth that it would be of no use to off
er to accompany them. Despite her best efforts, and it was generally acknowledged that she had tried very hard, Elizabeth and her daughter-in-law had never been intimate. Indeed, they never exchanged confidences at all. It was a matter of great regret to her that, unlike Richard Gardiner, whose regard and affection for her and Mr Darcy had always been a source of great happiness to them, their son's wife had never appeared to be entirely comfortable at Pemberley.

  "Josie always seems as though she is only visiting and about to leave at any moment," she had once said to Cassy.

  Trying to reassure her mother, Cassy had responded by saying that Josie was still young and somewhat in awe of the grandeur of Pemberley.

  "I doubt she has considered seriously the fact that one day, and we pray it will be in the very distant future, she will be the Mistress of Pemberley," Cassy had explained.

  Once again, Elizabeth had said,"If only they would settle here and make Pemberley their home, there would be so much to occupy her, so much to learn," but her daughter had wisely advised that this was probably not the appropriate moment to suggest such a move, sensible though it may seem.

  Cassy knew also the extent of her father's disappointment that Julian did not appear committed to the estate, content to leave much of the work and all of the decisions to Mr Darcy and his manager. It was, she knew, a source of great sadness to him for he loved Pemberley and had hoped his son would feel the same. For a few years it had looked as if he would, but since moving to Cambridge and becoming absorbed in his research, Julian seemed to have lost interest in Pemberley. Besides, he was rapidly gaining a reputation in Europe and winning praise from his colleagues at Cambridge for his work—and clearly that came first.

  Cassy was not unaware also that Josie, whose dearest wish was to have her work published in London or Cambridge, had been bitterly disappointed when her manuscript was rejected by several publishers. Her frustration at being so unappreciated was clearly taking its toll upon her young mind.

  Cassandra felt deeply for her mother and father and shared their regret, but she was equally understanding of her unhappy sister-in-law and brother. It was easy, she knew, to be censorious but far more difficult to comprehend, and her husband, wise and compassionate, agreed.

  "We cannot know the root of their problems, Cassy. Frequently, medical conditions are a reflection of mental and emotional debilitation, and one is hard put to diagnose the ailment without all the facts, especially if the patient is unlikely to be candid about his or her situation," he had said, as they had set out that morning.

  Cassy knew he was right and when her aunt Jane Bingley, whose blissful marriage seemed to be based entirely upon domestic felicity and good fortune, suggested that perhaps Julian and Josie should have another child, Cassy was quite firm in her assertion that it would not resolve their problems.

  "Josie is finding it difficult to cope with young Anthony; he is a lively child, bright and eager to learn, and she has her hands full keeping up with him. I doubt that another child will help in the circumstances."

  Begging her mother and aunt not to speak too openly of these matters, lest the servants' gossip be relayed to the Tates at Matlock and cause offence, and urging them to remember that Richard, as a medical practitioner, treated all such information in strict confidence, Cassy rose, embraced her mother and aunt, and said her good-byes.

  Her father and husband had come into the room and, from Mr Darcy's countenance, it was plain that Richard had told him something of Julian's predicament. Darcy looked grave and concerned as he bade them farewell and watched them drive away. In the warmth of his parting from her, Cassy felt the depth of his concern, yet he said little—unwilling, no doubt, to heighten her mother's already considerable fears.

  Standing beside her husband, Elizabeth could scarcely hold back her tears. Conscious of her distress, he tried to console her, without success. Elizabeth, having suffered the loss of one son in a dreadful riding accident, was wondering what new tribulation awaited her with Julian.

  * * *

  Dinner at Pemberley was a solemn meal and no one, not even Bingley, asked for music, cards, or any other light diversion afterwards. The continuing rain added to the general lack of enthusiasm. Darcy decided to read by the fire and, while Jane and Elizabeth talked in whispers about the troubling news Cassy had brought, Bingley, who knew nothing of it, fell fast asleep. Everyone had been anxious for news of the kidnapped Sutton children and talked of the plight of their hapless mother. Jane could not imagine the anguish of the poor woman and prayed her children may soon be restored to her, but no one spoke openly of Julian and Josie.

  When they retired, earlier than usual, to their rooms, Elizabeth's disquiet was obvious to her husband. As they had been speaking at dinner of the Sutton children, he, believing she was still concerned about them, revealed that he had taken some action on that score.

  "I have despatched a letter to Jonathan with sufficient information received from my man Hobbs to enable them, with the help of the police, to discover the children and restore them to their mother. There is no need to worry any more," he said, but when Elizabeth, who had been gazing out of the window at the rain, turned to face him, he was astonished to see tears in her eyes.

  "Why, Lizzie, my dear," he began, but she interrupted him,"Darcy, it is not for Mrs Sutton's children that I fear, though God knows they need our prayers; it is for Julian. Have you not understood that Josie is seriously ill? Poor Julian must have been desperate to have written as he has done to Richard, begging him to come at once."

  Darcy indicated that he had heard that Josie was unwell and had assumed that since Richard was the best physician they knew, Julian had requested his attendance.

  Believing that her husband knew very little of the substance of the problem, for no doubt Richard Gardiner had been discreet, Elizabeth sat beside him on the bed and told him everything Cassy had revealed.

  "Neither Richard nor Cassy has any knowledge of her ailment. Richard has decided to go at once, despite the fact that our Uncle Gardiner is gravely ill, because Julian has declared in his letter that Josie will see no other physician. He says she has been ill for several weeks," she explained.

  At first, Darcy was silent. He had heard something of the matter from his son-in-law, sufficient to concern him, but this was far more serious than he had thought. He had no wish to panic his wife; he felt deeply for her and their son.

  Elizabeth believed he was probably shocked by her revelations and, breaking the silence, she asked gently,"What do you think could be the matter with Josie?"

  Darcy sighed and shook his head.

  "I am not a physician, my dear, and I would not pretend to understand the afflictions a young woman may suffer, but since you ask, I would hazard a guess that loneliness and deep disappointment would be the main causes of her malaise. There is little to involve her at Cambridge. All Julian's friends are probably scientists like himself, and while their work is unarguably valuable and important, it is unlikely to interest Josie. They do tend to talk incessantly of arcane subjects and little else. She has never mentioned any friends, and Anthony is too little to be much company for her; she is probably bored as well as lonely."

  "But she has her own interests; she writes…" his wife interposed.

  "Indeed she does, but then, she has failed to interest anyone in her manuscript. Cassy tells me Josie had hopes of having it accepted by one of the publishing houses in London but to no avail. She must be very disappointed," he explained, and there was genuine compassion in his voice.

  Elizabeth could hear it; Darcy had once commented favourably on Josie's work and had collected and preserved in the library at Pemberley some of her pieces published in the Matlock Review, which was part of her father's publishing empire. But Josie had wanted to be accepted by the metropolitan publishers, sadly without success.

  "But surely," said Elizabeth,"would such a disappointment be sufficient to send her into a decline? Cassy says she is weakened in both body and spirit; is t
his possible?"

  Darcy was thoughtful."I gathered from Richard that she has been so for some time and refuses to see a physician. He feels her condition may well be rooted in the mind. But to answer your question, Lizzie, is it not possible to comprehend how one who is passionately committed to a cause or an ambition, no less than one who is deeply in love, may, if repeatedly thwarted and denied her dearest wish, find less and less to live for?"

  Elizabeth was outraged by this suggestion."But Darcy, Josie has Anthony and Julian to live for!" she protested.

  "Indeed she does, my love," he countered,"but Anthony is a child, and Julian is so immersed in his work, which takes him from home frequently and keeps him working late, even when he is there. He has few interests outside his work and is not very communicative, at the best of times. Can you not understand that, for Josie, it must be a rather lonely existence, even a depressing one?"

  Seeing her bewilderment, for Elizabeth, since her marriage, had wanted no greater excitement than that which her life with him and their family at Pemberley provided, he put his arms around her to comfort her.

  Even though unconvinced by his argument, she appreciated, as always, his kindness and the reassuring warmth of his love. Darcy, she realised, had come a very long way since those early days in Hertfordshire, when she had deemed him to be reserved, insensitive, and a proud man who cared little for the feelings of others.

  How wrong she had been. Since their marriage, she had come to esteem and value his sense of honour, depend upon his good judgment, and, indeed, to enjoy and cherish the depth of his love for her. She knew, too, that he was concerned for all those for whom he was responsible, be they family, friends, or servants.

  That he loved her and their children dearly, she had never doubted.

  While she still permitted herself the privilege of teasing him occasionally, on the grounds that a wife may, with her husband, take certain liberties denied to others, she had to admit that his character had risen so high in her estimation that any minor shortcomings had been totally eclipsed.