To Elizabeth, this piece of news was a source of even greater amazement. As far as she could recall, young Jonathan Bingley had hitherto shown no interest in public life at all. “Jonathan for Parliament! Is this the Wilsons’ doing?” she asked. Jane shook her head.
“No, Lizzie, it is the result of the persuasive efforts of Mr Anthony Tate,” she said, adding with rising excitement in her voice, “but thereby hangs another tale. Oh Lizzie, there is so much you do not know, so much that has happened while you were away.”
“So it seems, pray do tell me, Jane, what is Mr Tate’s involvement?” Elizabeth asked, her curiosity thoroughly roused.
Jane was almost apologetic as she explained, “Lizzie, I know I should have written something of this to you, but it seemed hardly appropriate to be talking of trifling things like love affairs and engagements, in the midst of the pain that you and Emily had to endure. I tore up so many letters.” “Oh Jane,” said Elizabeth, knowing well her sister’s tender heart, as she went on, “Lizzie, you do recall that Charlotte’s second daughter Becky has been something of a writer?”
“I was aware that Becky Collins was a scribbler, I know that she wrote some poetry—none of it very remarkable, mind,” replied Elizabeth, remembering some material she had seen in Rebecca’s hand.
“Well, throughout last year, she has been writing pieces for the Review, of which Anthony Tate is the editor, using the pen name Marianne Laurence.” Elizabeth’s raised eyebrows indicated some surprise, which increased as Jane continued, “She has since moved from Mansfield to Matlock, where she lives at the home of Mr Tate’s mother, Therese Camden, and now, she is as good as engaged to Anthony.”
Elizabeth exclaimed, “Good heavens, Jane, all these engagements in such a short time! Are they not a little sudden? What does poor Charlotte say?” Jane smiled, a little amused at her sister’s reaction.
“Well, Lizzie, I am sure Charlotte understands that these things can sometimes come upon one, quite unexpectedly” she replied, as if to remind her sister of Charlotte’s own very precipitate engagement to Mr Collins, many years ago, some twenty-four hours after he had been turned down by Elizabeth.
For the first time since William’s death, Jane saw her sister laugh, her eyes bright as she recalled that fateful day at Longbourn and all that had flowed from it. “You are quite right, as usual, dear Jane. I am sure Charlotte would understand perfectly well the importance of seizing the opportunity. Besides, I am being presumptuous in making judgements. If all these young people wish to become engaged, why should they not? Now, tell me, are the wedding dates fixed?”
“No,” said Jane, suddenly serious again. “Except for Anthony and Rebecca, who plan to marry in the Spring, the others must wait at least a year. It will not be proper for anyone in our family, so soon after . . . ,” and as her voice trailed away, Elizabeth, understanding her drift, went to her at once, and they embraced as the tears they had not shed together for a very long time fell freely. Jane wept as she spoke, “Lizzie, if you only knew how deeply I have felt for you. Yet I did not know how to reach you. I was afraid I would hurt you by speaking of it, though I longed to share your sorrow.” She could not contain her grief, “William meant so much to all of us. Bingley has never ceased to rage against the fates that let it happen, and Jonathan has nightmares and blames himself for not stopping the boys from riding out that day.” This time, it was Elizabeth who, seeing how keenly Jane had felt their separation, reached out and held her sister close.
“Dear Jane, how I have missed you. But Jonathan is not to blame. There were others, who should never have intruded upon us on that day. They are culpable, not Jonathan, no more than Darcy or Colonel Fitzwilliam or myself. Jonathan must not blame himself. I cannot believe that Caroline or Aunt Gardiner would say any different.” Her voice shook, though she remained strong, determined to reassure her sister.
Jane assured her that neither the Gardiners nor Caroline had blamed Jonathan, but he still felt responsible. Being the eldest, he felt he should have done more to stop his young cousins’ foolish escapade. “He misses them, Lizzie, especially William, and I am sure that this sudden passion for Amelia-Jane is due, at least in part, to the loneliness he feels,” said Jane, her lovely face saddened by the memory. “I feel that Emma, too, has become engaged sooner than I ever expected, in an attempt to overcome those terrible feelings—losing first William and Edward, then Paul, only a few months later. Oh Lizzie, it has been such a terrible year for us all,” she cried.
Later, as they took tea together, they talked of how it had been when they were both young girls and their lives had hardly been touched by sorrow. A disappointment here, some gossip there, what were they but mere pinpricks, compared to the recent tragedies they had suffered? As they talked, Jane told Elizabeth of Anthony Tate’s wooing of Rebecca Collins and the link that had led to Jonathan’s friendship with her sister, Amelia-Jane. “She would be visiting Rebecca, when Jonathan was calling on Anthony to discuss their political plans,” she explained, adding, “You see, Lizzie, Mr Tate, who now owns the Tribune as well as the Review, intends to throw the weight of his newspapers behind a campaign to elect some younger men to Parliament. They say Mr Peel is building up the Conservative Party and the Whigs need fresh talent to bring against him. Mr Tate sees Jonathan as a likely candidate.”
“And is Jonathan inclined to agree to this scheme?” Elizabeth asked.
“He says he wants to. Bingley thinks it is a good idea, too. He says it is time for the middle classes, who are creating Britain’s prosperity, to be better represented in the Parliament.” Elizabeth could not disagree with this sentiment; she had heard it espoused frequently, by both Darcy and her uncle.
“And what of your dear Emma and her Mr Wilson?” she asked, wanting to know more about her niece’s engagement.
“Emma and Mr David Wilson are to marry in the Autumn, while Jonathan and Amelia-Jane will wait until the following Spring, when she will be seventeen,” Jane explained.
“And, tell me, Jane, are you pleased about Emma’s engagement? Is this Mr David Wilson the right man to make my lovely niece happy?” asked Elizabeth, knowing how rarely her sister spoke ill of anyone but concerned that she had not sung the praises of her future son-in-law to any great extent. Jane smiled and said she thought most young people today decided matters for themselves and if Emma was going to be happy with David Wilson, then she, Jane, was very happy for her. “Do I detect some uncertainty here?” asked Elizabeth, sensitive to every nuance of her sister’s voice. Jane was immediately defensive.
“No, Lizzie, you must not think that. Bingley and indeed Jonathan have nothing but praise for both brothers, but I have always preferred Mr James Wilson, probably because he reminds me of Bingley. He is quite the nicest young man, with the best manners I have seen in many a year. He is sensitive and good humoured, never opinionated or boastful. Not since that summer when Mr Bingley first came to Netherfield, have I met so amiable, modest, and pleasing a young man as Mr James Wilson,” she declared, leaving her sister in no doubt that Emma was marrying the wrong Mr Wilson—at least from her mother’s standpoint. The comparison of Mr James Wilson with her beloved Bingley was the highest possible accolade.
“And Mr David Wilson? Is he not amiable and well-mannered too?” demanded Elizabeth.
“Of course, and he is intelligent and personable as befits his position. But James is my favourite. However, it is Emma’s choice, and she is in love with her Mr David Wilson, so, Lizzie, I shall have to be content.”
When Mr Darcy, who had been conscientiously catching up on his business commitments, returned with his brother-in-law, he was relieved to find Elizabeth and Jane as close as ever again. Their affection for each other was the very heart of their relationship. He knew they both drew strength and love from each other and had feared for Elizabeth, if she had not been able to restore the precious bond between them. For his part, difficult as it had been for him to bear his own burden of grief, while extending his s
ympathy to Caroline and Fitzwilliam, whose agony could not have been less than their own, he had strengthened his resolve to help his wife by his own example. His compassionate and ardent nature enabled him to help her deal with the profound grief they felt at the loss of William—without always feeling bereft and desolate. While it was not easy, he found he could often guide her to a calmer state of mind, where she was more amenable to consolation and comfort.
By the time Elizabeth was ready to return home, Emily, too, had restored her own relationships with her parents and her sister Caroline. She had decided to remain at Pemberley and help Richard manage the hospital at Littleford. There was much to be accomplished, with funds to be raised, furniture and linen to be purchased, as well as staff to be hired. Increasingly, Elizabeth found herself being drawn back into the activities of the community that had once been the centre of her life at Pemberley. Richard was very grateful for her help. The involvement of the Mistress of Pemberley in any charitable project guaranteed success. The hospital at Littleford needed her patronage, and Elizabeth gave it gladly. Caroline and Rebecca meanwhile, were campaigning for a permanent library for the area, using the newspapers and council meetings to do it. The need for young women to have access to good reading material was a cause celébre for the popular writer known as Marianne Laurence, who wrote extensively on the need for education for women. Emily needed no prompting to join their campaign.
Emma Bingley’s wedding in the Autumn of 1835, a month short of the anniversary of her cousin’s death, was the first such celebratory occasion that Darcy and Elizabeth had attended all year. The young couple were surrounded by a host of friends from London, and their distinguished professional connections afforded Mr and Mrs Darcy a chance to remain in the background, for once. Missing William terribly, they longed only to be away from the celebrations. They would never be free of these painful moments. Gradually, they would learn to live with them, but not yet.
That Winter brought another, not entirely unexpected sorrow, when Mr Bennet, who had never quite recovered from the shocking death of his beloved grandson, seemed suddenly to lose interest in holding on to life and, in his sleep, let it slip gently away. It was a hard blow for all of them, especially Jane and Elizabeth, but Darcy, who had grown to respect his father-in-law, whose dry wit was always at the ready to take down the presumptuous and stupid in society, regretted his untimely passing more than anyone knew. Mr Bennet’s appreciation of the library and grounds at Pemberley had led him to spend quite a few Summers there, and a warm, easy relationship had developed between them.
Only Elizabeth, who had found him browsing in the library, idly looking over the piles of familiar books her father used to read, picking up titles and finding short scribbled notes in his hand among their pages, knew how much Darcy would miss her father.
Sir William Lucas, too, was frequently unwell, and Charlotte was afraid he may not live to see her Rebecca married. He did but did not survive long afterwards, succumbing to a respiratory complaint from which he had suffered for many years.
The deaths of these two neighbours—old friends, brought home to everyone a quite remarkable irony, upon which Elizabeth made a wry comment. “Do you realise, Jane, that despite our mother’s dire predictions about Mr Collins and Charlotte’s throwing her out of her home, it will now be their daughter, young Amelia-Jane, who will one day be the Mistress of Longbourn, as a consequence of her marriage to your Jonathan, who is Papa’s heir!” Jane confessed that she had thought of it, and the sisters laughed together, remembering their mother’s outrage at the prospect of Charlotte Collins in her place at Longbourn. Things had certainly come full circle. Both Bingley and Darcy, who had a high regard for Charlotte and her children, whom she had raised with courage and principle, ventured to suggest that it was a fortuitous turn of events.
“I think Mrs Collins deserves some good fortune,” said Bingley. Darcy agreed it was an excellent outcome, “It seems like poetic justice to me,” he said, “especially since it was the foolish Mr Collins who was denied his entailed inheritance.”
Elizabeth, despite her affection for Charlotte, could not resist remarking that, “with two of her daughters very satisfactorily married or about to be, and her eldest enjoying the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Charlotte’s cup must be close to being full, if not quite running over!” Everyone laughed, and Jane had to chide her sister for her sardonic comment, but she enjoyed it all the same. It was good to hear the laughter in Lizzie’s voice again.
In the Spring of 1836, Mr Darcy, sensitive to Elizabeth’s sadness following her father’s death, embarked upon a project to engage her heart, while taking her away from Pemberley for a while. He was offered by chance, and decided upon an impulse, to take out a year’s lease on a property on the Albury Downs, not far from Guildford, where he and Mr Gardiner had important business contacts.
Happily situated, amidst rich farmland and wooded valleys, Woodlands included a house, not much larger than Longbourn but a good deal more comfortable, being a low, sheltered building, set well back in ample gardens. The meadows below the house sloped away towards a winding river, which cut its way through the chalk hills and downs. As far as the eye could see, the prospect was pleasing and peaceful. From the Albury Downs, superb views stretched across the county—a landscape of woodlands boasting ancient yew trees, green fields, apple orchards, and meadows filled with wild flowers and butterflies.
It was, Elizabeth wrote to her sister Jane:
. . . a source of soothing balm for the weary heart; it is just exactly what I needed, at this dreadful time.
She made no attempt to deny the seductive quality of this beautiful place, nor its appeal to her grieving soul. Reasoning that increasing business commitments in the area and his desire to be of greater use to Mr Gardiner rendered it convenient, Darcy took the opportunity to spend what became an idyllic few months with Elizabeth, in the loveliest part of southern England.
At Pemberley, he had once found her weeping over the sketchbook that William had filled with memories of the Lakes, while on another occasion, after dinner, she had sat at the instrument to play one of his favourite compositions but, unable to control her tears, had fled the room. Darcy had hoped a change of scene would help. After they had been at the farm for some weeks, with only a few of their personal staff from Pemberley, Darcy, seeing how happy and relaxed Elizabeth seemed to be at Woodlands, asked whether she would like him to purchase the property for her. When she seemed bewildered by the suggestion, he explained, “If I thought, my dearest, that it would increase your happiness by some small quantum, if it would mean that I could see you heal the wounds you carry a day sooner, I would gladly sell the house in London and invest the money here, to help us get away occasionally, from the memories that crowd around us at Pemberley,” he said earnestly. Elizabeth was deeply touched both by his gesture of concern and the love from which it clearly flowed. During the terrible days and weeks after William’s death, she had been grateful indeed for his strength and support, but much more did she welcome the warmth of his love. But, grateful though she was for his recognition of the pain she had suffered, Elizabeth did not seek to run away from Pemberley.
She acknowledged with tenderness his concern and determination to help her but made her own wishes quite clear. “I have no desire, my love, to flee from the memories that surround us at Pemberley. It is our home, it was William’s home, and he loved it. I see him everywhere—in the park, by the river, where he used to ride, and all over the house. I hear the music he used to play running through my head all the time. One Sunday morning, I came in from the garden and heard the Mozart sonata he was practising on the day of the Pemberley Ball, echoing through the house, the same piece he promised to play for us. I raced up to the music room, but of course, it was only in my head, or perhaps it was in my heart; whichever it was, it will be always with me. I know I shall have to learn to carry my memories of William wherever I go, but I will not turn my back on Pemberley. It is our h
ome, and to it we must return.”
Darcy explained that he had hoped only to provide her with an alternative place to heal the terrible wounds they had both suffered. She smiled and assured him she had already begun to heal with his help and that of Jane, Emily, Jenny, and all their dear friends. “And do not think, dearest, that in the midst of my sorrow, I have been unaware of yours, nor that I have been so insensitive as to imagine that only I suffer the days and nights that wring out one’s heart. I also know how much Pemberley means to you. I know how you have tried to build a community there. I want to share that, too. Much as I have enjoyed these weeks of peaceful idleness in this lovely place, and I thank you with all my heart for bringing me here, it has been a wonderful respite, I do want to go home.” Darcy responded with warmth and gratitude, holding her close.
Elizabeth then showed him the letter she had written to Jane, which concluded:
It is, without question, the prettiest, sweetest part of southern England, and I should love to have us all spend a gentle Summer here, for I am sure you will like it exceedingly well, and so will Bingley. I shall speak to Darcy and if the owners will consent to let it again next year, we shall all be here together. Perhaps, after your Jonathan and Amelia-Jane are married, it may be time for us to get away from the bustle and crowds and spend the rest of the season here, for, dear Jane, it is a veritable heaven on earth.
Pemberley Chronicles Page 41
