Elizabeth shook her head. “I must confess that my dear aunt was more certain of the outcome of our association than I was for a while; there were some very daunting obstacles to be overcome,” Elizabeth said, and Emily laughed and provided the conclusion to her sentence, “…such as the objections of Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”
“Indeed, and certain unfortunate encounters we had been engaged in previously, in which neither of us had performed very creditably. I am ashamed even now to recall them. Then there was Lydia’s elopement! Yet, in a strange way, it was the very stupidity of Lydia and Wickham that brought us to an understanding of our feelings for each other. Until that fateful day, when I believed I would not see him again, I never knew myself, nor comprehended the depth of my love for him.”
“I am glad indeed that you did discover it, dearest Lizzie. Your husband has brought you great happiness and been as well a source of counsel and kindness to me and my family for so many years, and I do not know how we should have survived without him. Yet, he will say nothing of this and insists that we do not speak of his generosity. He is the finest person I have known, Lizzie, and in saying this I exempt no one save my beloved father, who would have said as much of Mr Darcy himself.”
Elizabeth could hear the sincerity in her voice and, leaning forward to embrace her cousin, was shocked to feel how frail and thin she had become. Unable to help herself, she said, “Dearest Emily, will you not make both of us—Mr Darcy and myself—very happy by returning to Pemberley and letting us look after you?”
Emily looked into her cousin’s eyes and, seeing the anxiety there, replied, “Lizzie dear, I can see you are concerned for me, but please let me reassure you. I know I do not have long to live, but I have no fear of dying. Remember that I have helped both my dear husbands to face the truth: that Death was not far away. The grief of losing them and Papa and Mama and your dear William has all come together for me now, to give me the strength to face what is to come. Have no fear for me, Lizzie. I am not alone here; Jude and Teresa and Nurse Nicholls look after me very well indeed.”
Elizabeth held back her tears with great difficulty. “Will you promise me, Emmy, that if you needed us at any time at all, if there was anything Mr Darcy or I could do for you, you would send word?”
Emily could not ignore the intensity of her appeal. “Of course I would, Lizzie, why would I not? Apart from my family, no two people in all the world have meant so much to me as Mr Darcy and yourself. There, now are you content?” Elizabeth nodded and, holding Emily’s hand, she could feel its warmth and strength.
They talked for an hour or more, and when she left to return home, Elizabeth was surprised to find that predominantly, she was feeling not melancholy but a sense of enlightenment, as though Emily had opened her eyes to something her own anxieties had concealed.
* * *
Back at Pemberley, the Bingleys were expected to dinner. Elizabeth had only time enough to bathe and dress before the maid ran upstairs to announce that Mr and Mrs Bingley had arrived. Going downstairs, Elizabeth was relieved to see that her brother-in-law, whose health had been a source of some concern over the Winter months, was looking and sounding much better than before. While he and Mr Darcy were engaged in conversation, Elizabeth took the opportunity to tell her sister Jane about her visit to Oakleigh.
“Did Emily speak to you of Jude’s engagement?” Jane asked, and Elizabeth was quick to respond, “She did indeed. Emily is convinced that Jude and Teresa Mancini will be very happy together; she insists that they love each other dearly. Jude claims apparently that the girl had refused to accept his offer until she could be assured of Emily’s approval. She feared the censure of his family and, though she loved him, did not wish to be the cause of a rift between him and his mother. Emily says Teresa wept when she gave them her blessing,” said Elizabeth, and Jane, always tenderhearted and easily moved, was close to tears herself.
“Oh Lizzie, if only there were some way to help dear Emily. I think of her every day and cannot help but wonder at the cruelty of Fate… How much she has suffered…”
“And yet, she is so full of courage and spirit, she puts me to shame,” countered Elizabeth. “She will not let you feel sorry for her and will insist that life has brought her many blessings. Indeed, I confess I went to Oakleigh expecting to come away deeply dejected, because there is no doubt that she is dying, and she knows it.”
Jane’s eyes had filled with tears. Leaning forward, Elizabeth took her sister’s hand in hers. “But Jane, Emily is astonishingly honest, and her understanding of her situation is so lucid, it is not possible to be melancholy in her presence. Sad, yes, but never doleful, because she will not let you be so. I did so wish that you were with me…” she said and felt her sister’s fingers tighten around her own. Jane’s concern for her beloved husband’s health had cast a shadow over much of the previous year, and clearly, she was not yet relieved of the anxiety.
“I wish I had Emily’s strength, Lizzie; I do worry inordinately about Mr Bingley’s health, and I know I should be able to deal with it better, but I cannot bear to think of losing him. After all these years, how should I live alone, Lizzie?”
Elizabeth drew her close. “Oh, dearest Jane, I am sorry, I should not have been so thoughtless. But you must not let your anxiety overwhelm you, my dear; Bingley seems a good deal better today than I have seen him look in many months. Tell me, has he taken the advice about not riding out in the cold every morning?” she asked.
Jane nodded, dabbing at her eyes. “He has, but only because Doctor Gardiner insisted and Jonathan, when he was here, supported his advice very firmly.”
“I should never have thought my dear, amiable brother-in-law could be so very stubborn!” said Elizabeth, shaking her head and lightening the mood as the gentlemen returned to the room and the footman entered to announce that dinner was served.
Chapter Three
A mild spring followed by a warm Summer gave Emily Courtney a somewhat longer lease on life than had been expected, but in the end, having fulfilled her wish to see her son married, she faded quickly, leaving many grieving, not just among her family and friends but throughout the district, for Emily had spent much of her life in their service. They came from miles around, from the villages of the parish and the moors that surrounded it, to say their farewells.
Frank Grantley, the new rector of Kympton, asked the gathered congregation not to mourn the death, but rather to give thanks for the life of this most exemplary woman, before she was laid to rest between the two men she had married, each of whom she had deeply and selflessly loved.
Jessica, standing at the graveside, read the identical inscriptions, one old, the other quite recent—dearly loved husband of Emily—on the headstones of Paul Antoine and James Courtney; she wept, remembering what each man had meant to her mother. From everything her cousins Jane and Elizabeth had told her, Paul Antoine had been the great romantic love of Emily’s life, and following his death, she had grieved for a very long while. Yet, from all Jessica had seen in her life at home, there had been such warmth in the relationship between her parents that she had envied them. They had seemed to share so much, their thoughts often coincided, and they would complete each other’s sentences, providing a source of amusement for their children.
* * *
On the morrow, the family gathered for the reading of Emily’s will, and her lawyer, Mr Fitchett, arrived on the hour. Seeing the large number of relatives, he smiled in a curious fashion and went into the library, where he opened up his briefcase and laid out the relevant papers on the table. When he was ready, he invited them in and proceeded to read the preamble to the will in a dull sonorous voice, seemingly calculated to put everyone to sleep. People struggled to stay awake in case they were mentioned and missed it and would then have the embarrassment of having to ask.
William Courtney had arrived that morning, having missed the train and his mother’s funeral. Eliza Harwood and her husband had stayed over after the funeral, eag
er to discover whether their two children were beneficiaries of their grandmother’s largesse. Jessica was seated in a corner of the room, tearful and quiet, with Julian beside her, while Jude and his wife sat to one side of them. Emily’s elder sister, Caroline, and her brothers, Richard and Robert, sat in the front row with their wives. Julian whispered to Jessica that he thought Rose looked as if she anticipated good news. To which his wife replied that she could not think why.
“I cannot believe that she can have any expectations,” she said, “when she has consistently complained about Mama inheriting Oakleigh. It is unlikely that even someone as forgiving as my mother would forget that; besides, your mama believes Rose has plenty of money and has no need of more.”
Mrs Darcy, who had been rather distraught at the funeral, did not attend the reading of the will nor did her sister Jane. Becky Tate and her sister Catherine had also left to return to Kent that morning. Mr Darcy sat alone beside the door, as if ready to leave at a moment’s notice.
Having completed the initial formalities, Mr Fitchett took up the will, which seemed amazingly brief in comparison to the number of people who appeared to have expectations of it.
The will was not the formal sort of document they were accustomed to. Indeed, it was more in the nature of a letter from Emily to her relatives. It began with expressions of appreciation to all those who had helped her over the years, naming them and thanking them individually.
Proceeding to her family, she mentioned her two elder children, Elizabeth and William, to whom their mother left sincere congratulations for, she said, they had been so successful each in their own way, they no longer needed her. She wished them and their families even greater success in the future. This declaration brought a gasp of disbelief from Eliza Harwood and a derisive snort from her husband, but no more.
To her younger daughter, Jessica, Emily gave heartfelt thanks for the care and affection she had received and bequeathed to her all of the jewellery that had been gifts from her father, Mr Gardiner, as well as one thousand pounds from the proceeds of the sale of her first husband’s farm in France, to be used for the education of Jessica’s daughter, Marianne.
Finally, to her youngest son Jude, whom she described as the kindest and best son a mother could hope for, she left the entire estate, including the manor house, the woods and farmlands of Oakleigh, and the tenancies within its boundaries. She did, however, urge him to continue to support the poor and needy as she and his father had done; for the rest, it was his to do with as he pleased.
The only other bequest was to Mr Mancini, the flower farmer, whose five-year lease on a piece of land was extended to a lifetime arrangement on the same terms, in appreciation of his invaluable and unstinting help.
Concluding the reading of the will, Mr Fitchett wished the gathered ladies and gentlemen good day and closed his briefcase with a loud snap. Some of the family members remained seated, apparently still stunned by what they had heard, while others rushed out into the hall and thence into the drawing room, where cook had placed plates of refreshments and drinks on a table.
Jude stayed to talk to Mr Fitchett, while Jessica left the room with her husband. William and Eliza stood starkly alone in opposite corners of the room, and most of the others clustered around the table with the food. Many of them had little to say, but they could all eat and drink and so made for the safest place in the room. Most conspicuous of all, in full, formal mourning, were Robert and Rose Gardiner, whose look of absolute fury was plain for all to see. Obviously bitterly disappointed, they did not seem to care who knew it. When invited by Jessica to take some refreshment, Rose declined with barely concealed contempt and flounced out of the room, swishing the train of her fashionable black taffeta gown as she went. Neither she nor Robert had expected to be beneficiaries of Emily’s will, but they had talked of the possibility that she might leave something to her two nephews.
“I would have thought that simple family loyalty would have sufficed to persuade her to set some small amount aside, perhaps enough to buy them a young colt or a tour of Italy?” she argued, and weakly, Robert agreed that his sister had been remiss to ignore the boys’ entitlements.
“To leave them out altogether, to make no mention of them, as though they did not exist!” Rose complained, irked above all by the implied insult of being ignored. “I do not mind a jot for myself, I had no expectations, but for you, her brother, and for our two boys, I am indeed offended. I should be a most peculiar wife and mother if I was not,” she insisted.
That the boys were amply supplied with everything they needed and more besides seemed not to signify. That Emily’s situation had been infinitely more straitened than their own was of no account. Only one thing mattered: they had been left out of her will, and Rose was angry. Worse still, Jude Courtney and that woman had got most of it.
Complaining to her mother, Rose declared that she firmly believed Mr Darcy was once again the guilty party. “I am convinced he has had a hand in shaping Emily’s will, just as he advised Mrs Gardiner to cut dear Robert out and hand Oakleigh Manor over to Emily. Else, why was he there, observing us no doubt to see how we responded to the news?”
Lady Fitzwilliam was not quite so sure. “He may have been there to see how well Julian and Jessica were treated; it is more likely, I think, that Emily was influenced by that Italian man and his granddaughter that Jude was the right person to inherit the farm.”
Rose was unforgiving. “If that was the case, she was a greater simpleton than I believed her to be, because Mr Mancini and his granddaughter will soon push poor Jude out of the way and run the place as they see fit. It will be such a waste. And what about our two boys? Was it too much to expect that their aunt would remember them in her will? Eliza’s children got nothing. Jessica’s daughter was the only grandchild mentioned; she got a thousand pounds! Hmm. I wonder why the baby girl deserved a thousand pounds and our boys nothing!”
Lady Fitzwilliam had no answer to this puzzling question. She could not fathom why Emily had not seen fit to bequeath something to her nephews, she said. “Surely, it’s only natural?” she argued. But Jessica recalled very clearly an occasion when Rose’s boisterous boys had thundered around the house, playing at being soldiers, ignoring her appeals for quiet because Dr Courtney was recovering from a severe attack of bronchitis. “I do remember Mama saying she had not met two more selfish and uncaring boys than young Joshua and Jeremy Gardiner, adding that she knew also from whom they had inherited their disposition,” she said, to which her husband replied, “Unlikely, then, that she would consider it necessary to leave them anything in her will.”
* * *
At Pemberley that evening, the Darcys and their immediate family gathered for a quiet dinner in a somewhat sober atmosphere. Richard and Cassandra, who had been thanked in Emily’s will for their unfailing care and concern, were sad, but accepting of the fact that she had lived far longer than had been expected.
“I had been afraid to hope that she would live to see Jude married,” said Cassy. “When Richard told me how very ill she was, I feared it would be a matter of some weeks.”
Her husband nodded. “Yes indeed, as a physician I could not explain it. It was as though her determination alone kept her alive,” he said.
“She was certainly determined to make her intentions abundantly clear in her will. I did notice that Robert and Rose looked put out,” Julian remarked and Cassy interrupted, “I cannot think why. Surely they did not expect to benefit?”
Julian went on, “I was going to say, particularly when they heard of the extension for life of Mr Mancini’s lease, which must be galling indeed.”
It was at this point that Mr Darcy intervened quietly. “Galling to Rose and Robert, perhaps, because they have no notion of the value of Mr Mancini’s services to Emily’s family.”
“Indeed,” said Richard, “Emily owed her life to him last year, when he came into the house with logs for the fire and found her collapsed upon the floor. Had he not raised t
he alarm and carried her to her room, we may well have lost her then. I went to his house to convey my thanks and that of the rest of our family. I did tell Robert at the time, but I doubt he took much notice.”
Mr Darcy and others around the table recalled the incident well. It was after that scare that Teresa Mancini had started to visit Oakleigh to help Jude care for his mother, so she would not be entirely alone at any time.
“It should not surprise that Emily saw fit to reward Mr Mancini by extending his lease,” said Elizabeth, and her husband added, “It would not surprise anyone, if it was more generally known that in the course of the last two years, Mr Mancini has kept the family at Oakleigh supplied with most of their provisions of fresh food.”
“Fresh food?” Elizabeth exclaimed, clearly astonished.
“Certainly,” said her husband. “He brought them regular hampers of food, everything from vegetables, fruit, game, poultry, honey, wine, and other good things from his produce, for which he would take no payment at all, because he knew of the straitened circumstances in which the family was placed after Dr Courtney’s illness. Emily told me herself; she was uneasy that he took no money and asked me to see him. I did and offered to pay him, but he would take nothing. He said letting him lease the land for his flower farm had given his business new life, and he had prospered as a result. He was only thanking Emily for her kindness to him, he said; he wanted no money for any of it.”
Elizabeth could not believe her ears, and none of the others at the table seemed to have any knowledge of it. “And this was before Jude’s attachment to Teresa was known?” she asked.
“Oh yes, well before. Emily told me of it while Dr Courtney was still living—although he was very sick at the time,” replied Mr Darcy.
Cassandra asked her husband, “Did you not know of this, Richard?”
Legacy of Pemberley (The Pemberley Chronicles; Pride and Prejudice Sequel Series) Page 4
