Legacy of Pemberley (The Pemberley Chronicles; Pride and Prejudice Sequel Series)

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  My dear brother,

  I am sorry to write you such distressing news. I cannot believe it myself, but I have had a letter from Virginia in New South Wales, in which she claims to be totally miserable. She complains about the conditions, the house, the weather, the flies, and much more. Everything she had been led to expect is turned upon its head.

  I enclose hers herewith, so you may see how it is with her. Indeed, she threatens to abandon her home and husband and return to England on the next ship leaving New South Wales, unless I agree to travel to Australia myself to help her cope with her problems. I am unsure how my presence will affect their situation, if it is likely to help or hinder them, nor do I know if Mr Fraser will welcome my arrival. He may well regard it as an intrusion into their lives, since there is no hint in Virginia’s letter that he is a party to the invitation to me.

  Besides, I know nothing of how such a journey is to be arranged. My dear brother, I am so bewildered, please tell me what I should do. I shall await your advice before writing to Virginia.

  Although she had been fairly sanguine about the troubles of her cousin Robert’s daughter Miranda, Elizabeth did not receive this news with the same composure. For not only was Georgiana her sister-in-law, for whom both she and Mr Darcy felt a warm and protective affection, there was also the question of what to do with Virginia if she abandoned her marriage and returned to England. Would Virginia assume that she could rejoin her mother, who was a guest at Pemberley, and continue to live there herself, Lizzie wondered. It was not a prospect that Elizabeth regarded with any degree of serenity.

  Putting down Georgiana’s letter, she picked up Virginia’s note enclosed within. Obviously written in haste and probably sent away secretly, so as not to alert her husband, it was a litany of complaint from start to finish.

  Plainly Virginia had believed Adam Fraser’s exaggerated accounts of the status of his position on the property in New South Wales and had been rudely surprised to discover that he was not the owner nor even the manager of the sheep farm, but merely the overseer or under-manager, whose rank, income, and accommodation were all well below his wife’s expectations.

  She wrote bitterly of the conditions:

  They are uniformly unpleasant and almost impossible to imagine for one who has lived chiefly in England. The weather is hot and the sky mostly cloudless as the sun burns down upon the land, which is baked hard and quite unlike any place I have ever seen. The animals seem depressed as they wait to be shorn of their heavy wool coats, and it seems nothing will do, but they must all be gathered in the one paddock, bleating all the time, and pushed through a narrow race by men on horseback with the help of dogs, to be washed and made ready for the shearers.

  As for the domestic arrangements, I think a farm labourer on my Uncle Darcy’s estate would have a more comfortable cottage than we have here. The wind whistles through the walls, and sand comes in under the doors and horrid creatures crawl in with it. The servants, who are mostly ex-felons, are untrained and unwilling to serve, and mostly do so sullenly; if I did not have my maid with me, I think I should have died. The food is plentiful, but that is all one can say, because its preparation is the most primitive, being all done upon a blazing hearth or in a blazing oven. The result is usually inedible, being either burnt or undercooked. Yet, no one else seems to complain, which convinces me that they must all have been so long away from home, they have quite forgotten how life was back in England…

  So it continued over two pages, in which Virginia catalogued her grievances, lamented the lack of “civilised accoutrements,” claimed she could not continue in such a situation unsupported, and begged her mother to join her.

  Elizabeth shook her head in exasperation. “Oh Virginia, stupid girl, what did you expect?” she said almost to herself, and then turning to Jane declared, “It is clear, is it not, that Adam Fraser has completely taken her in? All that talk of his exciting life in Australia had her believing she was going to live the life of a wealthy landowner’s wife with servants at her beck and call.”

  “What advice do you suppose Mr Darcy has sent Georgiana?” Jane asked, and her sister looked dubious.

  “I cannot believe his attitude would be very sympathetic, Jane,” she replied. “When Virginia announced that she was going to marry Fraser, she was warned about the uncertainty of conditions in the colonies, but she chose to ignore it. Now that she has had a rude awakening, it is unlikely that Darcy would be inclined to support her contention that she is an innocent victim of deception and the harsh climate of the southern colonies.”

  Jane thought her sister was being a little unsympathetic, but the return of Mr Darcy not long afterwards proved Elizabeth right. On being asked how he had responded to Georgiana’s appeal for advice, he explained briefly that he had sent his sister an express communication, advising her not to consider travelling to Australia as her daughter urged her to do, since it was unlikely to do any good at all and may well do much harm.

  “I believe that it would not only be of no help to Virginia, being far more likely to exacerbate her situation and any problems she may have with her husband, but it would also be quite inimical to Georgiana’s own well-being. I cannot see that transporting herself thousands of miles across the sea, to live in an inhospitable climate without any of the comforts she has been accustomed to all her life, will be of any benefit to her.”

  “How then have you advised her to respond to Virginia?” asked Elizabeth.

  “With sympathy and firmness, my dear,” Darcy replied, and Jane and Lizzie both noticed a distinct twinkle in his eye, as he added, “Virginia is too far away to throw a tantrum. When she threatens to abandon her husband and return to England, she has no notion of how or where she will live and by what means. Having married Fraser, she has no longer an independent income, apart from a modest personal allowance, and probably hopes to extract both money and sympathy from her mother. However, I have advised Georgiana to counsel her daughter that she will have no access to any further sums of money, since the rest of her father’s fortune is in trust to be shared with her siblings into the future.”

  Seeing the looks of dismay and alarm upon the faces of his wife and sister-in-law, Darcy smiled and said, “Have no fear, ladies, Virginia will not starve; she is still a very wealthy young woman, and so long as she does nothing stupid, like leaving her husband and returning to England, upon a whim, she will have adequate means to live in reasonable comfort.” Noting that they did not appear convinced, he added, “I have assured Georgiana that the very best thing she can do for her daughter is to ignore her grumbling and urge her to make the best of her life. She is young enough and sturdy enough to adapt to conditions in a new country, unlike Georgiana, who would probably become ill and miserable there.”

  Since Lizzie and Jane had no alternative solution to offer, it seemed that Mr Darcy had had the last word on the matter.

  * * *

  Other letters, from Caroline and Amy, brought more news from Derbyshire, in particular the establishment by Caroline of a home for destitute women and children at Arrowfield House and the imminent arrival in England of Daniel Faulkner’s young son, Martin. Two new families had also recently settled in the district, the O’Connors and the Barwicks.

  Caroline spoke highly of the O’Connors, and Elizabeth recalled that Kate had mentioned them too, especially two charming and talented young girls in the family. They were pretty and accomplished, and their widowed mother was an actress from Ireland, Lizzie recalled.

  Of the Barwicks, there was little said except they were rich and hailed from Birmingham, where they had made their money in hardware.

  “Another of those families who arrive out of nowhere and leave as suddenly, no doubt,” said Lizzie, recalling the Hendersons, but Mr Darcy, who had also received a letter from their grandson, pointed out that the Barwicks appeared to be keen to buy up land in the district, in order to build mansions for the wealthy. “Mr Barwick is not just rich, Lizzie; he is a developer. This is c
ertainly not welcome news,” said Mr Darcy, a deep frown furrowing his brow. “There is no knowing what these men will do, especially if they are able to get the ear of the council. I should hate to think of them buying up parcels of land all over the county and building a string of hideous mansions, as they have done in the south,” he said, and Lizzie, understanding his unease, felt rather apprehensive herself.

  “Caroline does not seem to like them much either,” she said. “She writes that the women are ostentatious and the men brash and boorish; she intends to campaign against their plans to build villas for the rich in the Peak District.”

  A week or two later, a letter from Jessica brought more news of the Barwicks and related briefly Mr Barwick’s attempts to buy up a number of properties in the area, including the recently acquired home of the O’Connor family, Willowdale Farm. Jessica described in detail the steps that had been taken to foil their plans, concluding with some satisfaction:

  Not only have we succeeded in saving Willowdale Farm for the O’Connors, who are indeed a charming family; we believe we have staved off an attempt to buy up and subdivide Trantford Manor. The family were keen to sell, but Julian and I have persuaded them not to sell to the Barwicks and have offered to buy the place ourselves. Julian believes that it is a fine property, with which opinion Darcy and Aunt Cassy both agree, and since we shall have to make our own home somewhere, it may as well be at Trantford, not twenty minutes’ distance from Pemberley. We would very much like our children to grow up within reach of Pemberley, for all that it means to us and the community we live in. It is a decision we have taken for our future, and we hope that you and Mr Darcy will both agree it is a good one.

  So wrote Jessica to her mother-in-law, and Lizzie, on taking the letter to her husband, had the satisfaction of seeing him smile and say, “That is perhaps the most sensible decision Julian has made since he and Jessica were married, and I have no doubt her influence has been significant,” and as his wife nodded, he said, “I think, Lizzie my dear, we may safely entrust the future of Pemberley to our children. Do you not agree?”

  “I certainly do,” said his wife. “I think they have surely proved themselves well able to understand and discharge their responsibilities to Pemberley and our community.”

  It had been only the previous night that they had discussed their concerns at being away from Pemberley for an extended period of time, longer than ever before. Mr Darcy had been restless; he worried that things may not always be done as they should, and Lizzie had tried to reassure him, pointing out that with Cassy and Richard there, as well as Darcy and Julian, he need not be anxious.

  “If there were to be a crisis, there are many wise heads that would help resolve it, surely?” Lizzie had said, and after a while, he had agreed that she was right.

  “Besides,” he had said, regarding her with some amusement, “being away from the responsibilities of Pemberley has given us time together, and I am very grateful for that.”

  Elizabeth agreed; it had been an opportunity to enjoy the particular pleasures of their marriage, the rich companionship, their shared interests, the closeness and intimacy they had treasured for many years.

  It was while pondering these singular advantages of their present situation that Darcy had, without warning, confided in her something he claimed had haunted him all his adult life. He had, he said, a most melancholy recollection of the unhappiness of his mother, Lady Anne Darcy, whose loneliness had been so obvious to him, yet had escaped the notice of his father, who carried out all his responsibilities to the estate in an exemplary fashion but never seemed to notice the despair of his young wife.

  “I made myself a promise, long before I had any notion of marriage myself or met anyone who might be my wife, that I would not make the same mistake; I resolved that I would not marry a woman with whom I could not fully share all aspects of my life, because I had no wish to see her suffer as I saw my dear mother suffer—disconsolate and alone. Not all the pleasures that Pemberley could offer made up for her desolation of spirit,” he said, and Elizabeth confessed then that she had read some of the verses composed and copied out in the notebooks his mother had left in the library at Pemberley. Darcy expressed both surprise and pleasure. “Did you like reading them?” he asked, and she, after pausing to consider her response, said, “Yes, they are beautifully composed and express well her feelings, but I will say that I found them sad, deeply sad, and though I knew nothing of what you have just told me, I could not fail to sense her unhappiness. I knew there must have been a reason, but was reluctant to pry.” They had never spoken of this before, not in all the years of their long and happy marriage.

  When he asked, “Lizzie, why did you not speak to me of it? When you read what my mother had written, did you not want to ask me about her melancholy when it was so clear to you?”

  Elizabeth felt tears sting her eyes, and she could not answer him immediately, but slowly she explained, “I did want to ask, but I was afraid that it may have looked like criticism of your father, and I knew how very highly you regarded him. I had no wish to hurt your feelings… I thought you may resent my asking…”

  To which Darcy’s response was to put his arms around her, to reassure her. “I certainly did esteem and admire him, Lizzie, but I loved my mother dearly, and when I discovered how little attention he paid her, how little he seemed to care that she suffered, even as she carried out all her duties to him and presided over the household at Pemberley without complaint, I confess I did resent it very much. It was what made me more cautious and reserved; I was determined not to repeat my father’s mistakes when I chose a wife. When we married, I resolved never to let anything come between us and taint our marriage…”

  “And indeed you have not, my love,” she responded with warmth and conviction. “I have always known that I could come to you with any of my problems and be assured of your understanding; you were ready to help even before we were married, when it was my most undeserving sister and her feckless lover. Never have you turned away from me or left me feeling abandoned or lonely—especially not in our darkest moments—never have I felt alone, nor have our children.”

  He smiled then, clearly moved by her words, and said, “And you, my dearest Elizabeth, you have been more to me than I ever dared to hope, much more. We have shared so much.”

  He held her very close then, knowing that their love had exceeded all their expectations and brought them deep contentment. This mostly carefree interlude in Italy had afforded them an opportunity to reaffirm the depth of those precious shared emotions.

  * * *

  On the following morning, a letter from Cassy brought even greater felicity.

  Dearest Mama and Papa, she wrote:

  Having received yours, with so much good news about Mr Bingley’s recovery and your own enjoyment of the excellent weather, we are all quite envious because we are moving into a spell of cold weather. But I hasten to say that I have some good news, which has helped warm our hearts after a quiet Christmas without you.

  Our dear Laura Ann is engaged. There, is that not a delightful surprise? The young man is a Mr Thomas O’Connor, who with his mother and sisters has recently come to live at Willowdale Farm. The O’Connors are a charming family and, Mama, Tom is indeed a very talented but modest young man, with an ambition to be a writer. He has a position with the Matlock Review, and Richard tells me Walter Tate is well pleased with his work.

  Laura Ann and he share a love of music and poetry; they have been friends for a while and it became increasingly clear to us that they were falling in love. Mr O’Connor has proposed to and been accepted by Laura Ann, who declares that Tom is the best and most interesting man she has ever met. She is quite transformed since their engagement, and they seem very happy together. Richard and I have given them our blessing.

  Dear Mama, you and Papa know well the truth about Laura Ann’s heart condition, which has been concealed from her for many years. For this same reason, Richard and I decided, once we wer
e sure that Tom O’Connor was a man worthy of our daughter, a man we could love and trust, that we would not stand in the way of their marriage. Richard has spoken with Tom in confidence, explaining exactly what Laura Ann’s condition could mean. Richard says Tom wept when he told him, but declared that it made him all the more determined to ensure her happiness. While he may not be wealthy or have an estate to offer, he loves her dearly, and Laura is happier than we have ever seen her.

  They have not the means to make a separate home, but Richard and I feel that for Laura’s sake, they should live at Camden House after they are married, and they have both agreed. We think it will suit us all well.

  Dearest Mama, we hope you and Papa will be back at Pemberley by Easter, when they will be married. We look forward very much to your return home.

  Richard and Laura Ann send their love.

  Your loving daughter,

  Cassy

  When Elizabeth and Darcy had read the letter, they looked at one another, and there was no doubt in their minds what this news meant. Young Laura Ann was a special favourite.

  They had enjoyed the time spent in southern Italy, away from the damp northern Winter, significantly improving their health and restoring their spirits. But Spring was here, and though it may not be as temperate in Derbyshire as it was by the blue Mediterranean, if young Laura Ann was in love and preparing to be married, it was definitely time to return to Pemberley.

  Postscript

  It is hard indeed for a writer to say farewell to her characters, and mine have been with me for the better part of ten years. As they developed, I have told their stories for the entertainment of many readers who came to love them almost as much as I do. Of that, their letters and messages have left me in no doubt.