Richard Gardiner shook his head, “Absolutely not. I knew Mr Mancini did many jobs around the farm, chopping logs for the fire, mending fences, and such, but that he was supplying my sister’s family with groceries, no, I did not.”
“Jessica, did you not know?” Elizabeth asked. “Did not your mama say anything to you?”
There was no need for Jessica to answer; the tears that coursed down her cheeks were answer enough, as she shook her head and reached for her handkerchief. Pushing her plate away, she said through her tears, “No, I cannot believe that while I was here with Julian, enjoying the best of everything, my parents and my brother were living on the charity of Mr Mancini. I knew he was a kind man, but I had no knowledge of this. I knew they had little money, but I did not know it was as bad as this.” She sobbed and as her distress increased, Julian rose and helped her from the table, his grave countenance revealing his response to what they had heard. The others were shocked into silence.
Then Richard Gardiner turned to his father-in-law and asked, “Do you mind, sir, if I ask when you learnt of this situation?”
Mr Darcy answered, apparently without any reluctance, “Not long after Dr Courtney’s death, your sister sent for me to ask for some advice about her own will. She wished to make some minor changes; she told me then that she was concerned that Mr Mancini’s lease would soon run out and she wished to make it a more permanent arrangement, which could not be changed no matter who owned or managed the estate after her death. She knew even then that she was not likely to live very much longer, and she was quite open about it.”
“And did she give you any reason for wishing to extend his lease in this way?” asked Richard.
Mr Darcy was quite emphatic. “Not at first, but when I insisted that I had to know why she was doing it, or I could not advise her, she decided to tell me. Mr Mancini had learned that there was little money for groceries, probably from the servants, and had begun to bring them small amounts of produce and then more and more until it seemed he had become their main source of supplies. Though she had tried to pay him, he had always refused to accept money, she said. I was shocked, of course, and asked her why she had not applied to me or to you or Caroline, but you know her answer—she declared that she had taken enough help from all of us for many years, and at least with Mr Mancini she could recompense him in a way in which she could not repay her family. The lifetime lease was her way of thanking him for all he had done for them over the years,” he explained.
Richard’s solemn expression and the tears in Cassandra’s eyes obviated the need for words. Elizabeth too was so moved she had risen from the table and made to leave the room, when Mr Darcy said softly, “So you will understand now, Lizzie, why I was quite unable to say anything at the time Jude announced his engagement to Miss Mancini. I was taken completely by surprise, and knowing what I did, anything I said could have been misunderstood and given deep offence.”
Elizabeth nodded, understanding exactly. “But you are pleased with the way things have worked out?” she asked.
Mr Darcy was unequivocal. “I am. I do believe it is in the best interests of young Jude, and I think Emily knew this, too. His future security and happiness were all she wished to ensure, and as far as we can tell, she has achieved her aim. Mr Mancini has much regard for young Jude, and Jude in turn respects his skills and knowledge as a farmer. With his wife’s affection and sound common sense, I believe, like Emily, that they will not only be happy, but will do well together at Oakleigh. We none of us can hope for much more,” he said.
Chapter Four
Eliza Harwood had not made any arrangements to travel to London that afternoon. It was awkward because she had hoped to be asked to stay on at Oakleigh or perhaps even Pemberley, but disappointingly, no invitation had been forthcoming. Indeed, it had seemed to her as though the Darcys were pointedly ignoring her. Mrs Darcy had barely spoken with her at the funeral, and except to ask if she knew why her brother William had been delayed, Mr Darcy had said not a word to either of them.
Soon after the reading of the will, Mr Harwood had declared his intention to take advantage of the offer of a seat in the carriage of a new acquaintance, a businessman he had met at the Royal Inn, leaving Elizabeth and her maid to take the train on the following day. Temporarily embarrassed, Elizabeth was spared the indignity of looking for a room at the local hostelry by Robert and Rose, who invited her to stay with them overnight—an offer she was delighted to accept.
She could not have known that Rose would use the occasion almost exclusively to bemoan the injustice of Emily Courtney’s will and how very hard-done-by her family was.
“I have no complaint on my own behalf. I know only too well that Mrs Courtney had no particular affection for me,” she had said in a self-righteous little voice. “It is for my dear husband and sons that I am concerned. They surely deserved better. I cannot comprehend how they could have been dealt with so harshly.”
Writing later to Anne-Marie Elliott, Jonathan Bingley’s daughter, who had written to condole with her on the death of her mother, Eliza complained of the acute discomfort she had suffered as she had been forced to listen throughout dinner and afterwards to a recital of Rose’s woes. Eliza wrote:
Rose is of the opinion that Mama decided quite perversely to insult her family by ignoring her sons in the will. “It was as though she had made up her mind to say to us, ‘There, your sons do not exist, they are of no consequence to me whatsoever…’” she said, and I could see that she was deeply distressed and nothing I could say would make any difference.
That it was my own mother she was slandering did not appear to signify at all, nor was she at all concerned that neither I nor any of my children had gained any benefit from Mama’s will. Mine, being her grandchildren, would surely have a far greater claim upon Mama than her nephews. But it seemed to me that Rose’s only concern was to impress upon me the wholly unbelievable notion that Mama had been deliberately manipulated by Mr Darcy, against whom she has a deep prejudice, and while her husband, my uncle Robert, did not always agree, he has become so weak a man, he did nothing at all to defend Mama against his wife’s accusations.
For my part, I have no proof of any malign intent on the part of Mama or Mr Darcy, though I must admit, it does seem to me that the Italian flower farmer, who plays such an important role at Oakleigh these days, and his granddaughter may well have exerted some undue influence upon her. They have had more time with her than any member of her family except my youngest brother, Jude. Doubtless, Mama’s serious illness and my brother’s fascination with the young woman must have made their task easier. It is not too difficult to see that, in these circumstances, a young man may be persuaded to agree to anything.
Anne-Marie could not mistake the bitterness in Eliza’s words. She took the letter along when she went to Netherfield Park on the morrow. Parliament was sitting and her husband, Colin Elliott, was at Westminster, affording Anne-Marie an opportunity to spend some time with her father, his wife, Anna, and their children. Their two sons, Nicholas and Simon, liked nothing better than playing with Anne-Marie while her own daughter, Joanna, was adored by her grandfather. The warmth of their personal relationships and the easy conviviality of the atmosphere at Netherfield had a special attraction for Anne-Marie, whose childhood had been constrained by her mother’s inexplicable allegiance to Rosings and Lady Catherine de Bourgh!
“How I hated those formal afternoons at Rosings Park with Lady Catherine holding court, telling Mama what she should and should not do, while we struggled to balance plates of cake and cups of tea on our laps, under her disapproving gaze. Ooh!” she would say and shudder at the memory.
Arriving at the house with little Joanna and her nurse, she was greeted by Anna and Jonathan with the news that Anna’s cousin Becky and her new husband Mr Contini were soon to arrive for a short visit.
“We had been expecting them at Easter, but the sudden death of Mr Contini’s mother took them to Italy and then, of course, ther
e was Emily’s funeral in Derbyshire, all of which has delayed their visit,” Anna explained.
“So, they are arriving today?” Anne-Marie was delighted. “Oh, but it has been well timed from my point of view; I have heard so much about Becky from Colin, and Papa speaks so highly of his friend Mr Contini, I have been eager to meet them,” she said as they took tea on the lawn, watching the children at play. “I have met Becky, of course, most often at family weddings and funerals, when one has so little time for any conversation. She is very elegant, and I know she used to write, as Marianne Lawrence, and I understand from Papa that she intends to buy a printery and publish the work of other women writers.”
Anna nodded. “Indeed she does. Jonathan has recently approved the purchase, and I believe there is only the matter of a suitable manager to be settled, which is another reason for this visit—Becky is keen to get the business started as soon as possible,” she said.
When they had finished taking tea, Anne-Marie produced Eliza Harwood’s letter for Anna to read. Perusing it quickly, Anna was left aghast at its contents and tone.
“My dear Anne-Marie, I can scarcely believe this. Not only does it expose the complete hypocrisy of Robert and Rose Gardiner, whose blatant selfishness is quite shocking, it reveals also Eliza’s own prejudice and small-mindedness in her criticism of Jude’s wife and Mr Mancini, accusing them of exerting undue influence on Emily.”
Anne-Marie laughed. “I find it passing strange that Eliza Harwood should censure anyone on that score; she has never been above using all her powers of persuasion to influence persons. Yet, no doubt she has a very short memory on those matters, and now that her own fortunes or those of her children are affected, she disparages others who may seek to do the same. Not that I believe for one moment that Emily Courtney was open to such influence; she was far too principled a woman to allow that.”
Jonathan, who had joined them, having despatched the children indoors, heard the last few words of her sentence and asked lightly, “And who do you speak of in such glowing terms, my dear? Do I know this paragon of virtue?”
When he learned the truth, however, his expression became a good deal more serious. As he read the letter Anne-Marie handed him, he looked visibly shaken. Returning the offending document to his daughter, he remarked, “I have rarely seen such uncharitable sentiments set down in writing. I am very sorry for young Jude Courtney; unless his wife is a strong woman and supports him in resisting the efforts of these people, I have grave fears for his future. His mother may have hoped to leave him a reasonable inheritance, but Robert and Rose will not rest until they have tried every possible means to prise Oakleigh away from him, and to that we must now add the considerable weight of the Harwoods’ grievances as well. I am not surprised at the former, their greed is well known; we are all well aware of Rose’s ambition, but Eliza? Her husband has a thriving business and makes plenty of money, not always in the most legitimate ways, it must be admitted, but they cannot want for anything. Why then does Eliza complain that her children have gained no benefit from Mrs Courtney’s will? What advantage can she possibly gain by depriving her young brother of part of his legacy? It is not as if Oakleigh is some great or profitable estate like Pemberley or Ashford Park; it is a modest property that survives upon the hard work of those who farm and manage it. I am truly unable to comprehend the motives of those who would…”
His sentence was cut short by the arrival of a hired carriage bringing their visitors and the voices of Simon and Nicholas calling out to them from an upstairs window. Everyone rose and went out to welcome Mr and Mrs Contini to Netherfield.
After dinner that night, as Anne-Marie obliged with some music to entertain their guests and Mr Contini spent time in conversation with his friend Jonathan Bingley, Becky and Anna sat together and inevitably, the question of Emily’s will and the consequent recriminations arose.
As one of Emily’s closest and most loyal friends, Becky was unable yet to speak without emotion of the funeral, and to Anna’s surprise, she claimed to have no knowledge at all of the will or the furore it had caused among some members of Emily’s family.
“Because Catherine had to return to Kent almost at once, we left Pemberley very early, before the will was read and anything was known,” Becky explained, “but Emily had made it plain that Oakleigh was to be Jude’s home. It was what she indicated to me when we last met. Once that had been decided, I did not believe there was much more left to bequeath to anyone else. I had understood from Jessica that there was very little left of Emily’s own inheritance.”
Anna agreed, “I do believe you are right, Becky; she gave much of it away, but there were some other arrangements that aggravated her brother Robert and his wife. I understand from Jonathan that Robert had put before Emily a proposition for him to manage the estate, while allowing Jude and his wife to make their home and continue to work there.”
“What as? Farmhand and cook?” asked Becky scornfully. “I cannot believe that Rose, were she to get her foot in the door at Oakleigh, would let them sit at the same dinner table as her family. Ever since her father succeeded to the family title, the Fitzwilliams have given themselves such airs, no one is good enough for them. Mrs Darcy, who was once a friend of Rose’s mother, Rosamund, admits she finds them quite impossible.”
Anna laughed; she too had heard tales from her mother-in-law Jane Bingley of the sudden elevation of the Fitzwilliams and its strange effect upon them. Becky continued, “Emily knew what would happen, she was much wiser than many people thought, and she was determined not to let them cheat Jude out of his inheritance. Which is why she asked Mr Darcy to find her a good lawyer, who would advise her how she could ensure that no one would be able to subvert her wishes, as expressed in her will.”
Anna’s eyes widened. “So Mr Darcy was involved, then?” she said, and by way of explanation, related the gist of Eliza Harwood’s letter.
Becky was astounded. “Of course Mr Darcy was involved, but not as they would have you believe. Emily asked for his help, and I understand he recommended a very thorough lawyer, well known to his family, to advise her. Mrs Darcy says that it was imperative this was done, because Emily was very afraid that her brother Robert and his wife would not rest until they had got their hands on Oakleigh. And as you can see from that letter, Emily was right to be cautious,” she declared.
Anna was too astonished to comment, but Becky added that Eliza Harwood’s interest was probably different to that of the Gardiners.
“She has no need of any part of the property,” Becky said, “but if the talk among their circle in London is true, her husband is neither the kindest nor the most faithful of men. Eliza, who is unhappily dependent upon his generosity, may have hoped to gain some degree of independence by inheriting something from her mother.”
Anna was surprised to hear this, but recalling that Becky did once have friends in very high places and assuming she had heard some gossip about the Harwoods during her sojourn in London, she had to allow that there may have been some truth in the story. But, unwilling to pursue the matter, she decided to let it drop.
It was late and their guests were tired. Anne-Marie begged to be excused and left them to go upstairs to bed, and the rest of the party soon followed suit. But Anna could not sleep without acquainting her husband with Becky’s extraordinary tale. She expected Jonathan to be as taken aback as she had been and wondered how Becky could have heard of the supposed misdemeanours of Eliza Harwood’s husband.
“Who could have told her, even supposing that they were true?” she asked and was amazed when Jonathan said casually, “Oh, they are certainly true; it has been well known for some years that Harwood is no model of fidelity. He is a businessman of wealth and influence and keeps the company of those who use their money and position to secure not only their commercial interests but their private pleasures as well. I have been told Mr Harwood has an apartment in London, which is frequently the venue for some quite riotous parties and with such evidence, I
daresay, one is entitled to draw the obvious conclusions.”
Seeing the astonishment upon his wife’s face, he added, “And if you are about to ask how I know all this dearest, well, it was Anthony Tate who told me. He knew Harwood well; he didn’t like him and once threatened to expose him, but desisted out of sympathy for his wife and children, who would have shared in the disgrace, had he done so. And that, my love, should also answer your question as to how Becky knows. No doubt it was common knowledge in their circles; Tate would certainly have told her.”
Anna could scarcely speak, so appalled was she by his revelations. “I am shocked, horrified—Mr Harwood presents himself as a pillar of the community, Anne-Marie has told me how he once had political ambitions.”
Jonathan smiled as he lay back on the pillows, regarding his wife’s face. “Indeed he did, and that was when Tate threatened to expose him. He told me he would never permit a man like Harwood to hold public office, as long as he lived. It was not only his private peccadilloes, Tate believed he was a fraud and a cheat in business as well,” he said, and Anna asked, “But, Jonathan, how do we know that it is all true and not something fabricated by his enemies, who would wish to damage him?”
Jonathan drew her into his arms. “Dearest, I know how reluctant you are to think ill of anyone, but in this case, I do believe the evidence is clear. Anthony Tate was not my only informant. There is another quite impeccable source. About two years ago, my mother and father spent some time in Bath, when Papa was ordered to take the waters and recuperate after a bout of influenza. They stayed with my aunts Louisa and Caroline, remember?”
Anna remembered it well. “Indeed I do, and Caroline Bingley was, at the time, hopeful that she had attracted the attention of a certain retired admiral? Am I right?”
Her husband laughed. “You are; sadly for Miss Bingley, his attentions did not outlast the season. Also, he did suffer badly with the gout, which may or may not have been regarded as a serious disadvantage. However, Mama did spend quite a lot of time with my aunts and the admiral in all the best places in Bath, and on several occasions, she saw Mr Harwood there and not, I fear, with his wife. In truth, he was seen with two quite different women, each of whom he appeared to favour with his undivided attention and money. My mother was shocked beyond belief, but Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst assured her that this was quite a common occurrence. Harwood apparently was a regular visitor to Bath, but never with Mrs Harwood.”
Legacy of Pemberley (The Pemberley Chronicles; Pride and Prejudice Sequel Series) Page 5
