He smiled and said, “What a good idea, my dear; I shall make some enquiries directly.”
Convinced she was right, they returned to Pemberley, and in the late Autumn, their son was born. They called him Julian Paul, and Emily was his proud godmother. The delight of both parents at the birth of their child was shared by almost everyone in the district. All who knew the family had keenly felt their loss and had hoped to see them regain some of the joy that had departed with William on that dreadful night. Pemberley, as one of the great estates of the county, had always been the centre of the district’s prosperity. When the estate and its family flourished, so did the men, women, and children of the surrounding farms, parishes, and towns. At forty, Elizabeth was grateful for this child; her young cousin Caroline, who had been delivered of a daughter in Summer, still longed for a boy to assuage the pain of losing Edward. Elizabeth knew that nothing, not even this dear little boy, could do that for her. The memory of William burned too brightly. Unlike William, Julian was dark like his father but with his mother’s bright smile and pleasant nature. His birth had brought them joy this Christmas. For the first time since William’s death, there was at least a genuine reason to celebrate.
Mrs Gardiner, who came with Jane to visit Elizabeth and her son, brought the news that James Courtney, the Oxford scholar, who had worked at the Pemberley library some years ago, was back, as the new curate of Kympton. Having completed his theological studies and taken Holy Orders, he had applied to Mr Darcy for the living with the recommendation of Dr Grantley, and it had been granted. Elizabeth knew of his appointment but was unaware that he had arrived already.
“Everyone is delighted to have him back. He was a most active and hard working young man, when he was only a scholar. He worked so hard at the school that Caroline thought he ought to return as a teacher,” said Mrs Gardiner, adding that Emily had liked him very much indeed. Jane offered the information that Mrs Gardiner had already decided that the Reverend James Courtney must be invited to Christmas dinner at Oakleigh Manor, when he could meet the rest of the family. Sensing, rather than hearing a plan developing, Elizabeth added a note of caution, “Dearest Aunt, do have a care. I know how much you long for Emily to be happy, but she felt the loss of Paul very deeply and may not be ready to entertain the thought of any one else, just yet. We all want her happiness but, believe me, there is little to be done when Death puts a nagging ache into every crevice of your heart and mind. There is no room for anything else. That has been my experience; I do not doubt that it will be no different for Emily. That she has such compassion for others, is not an indication of the diminution of her pain, but of the greatness of her heart.” Mrs Gardiner, moved by her niece’s heartfelt advice, agreed that she would do nothing to push her daughter; she was a wise and sensitive woman. “But I do hope, Lizzie, for her sake that something will come of it,” she said, “I cannot bear to see the sadness in her eyes. She deserves some happiness.”
Jane agreed, “Emily, above all others, deserves a share of happiness. She has been there for every one of us, whenever we needed help or comfort. All the children love her, and yet, she has none of her own. It is not fair, Lizzie.” Elizabeth could not hide her feelings. “The world, dear Jane, is not fair,” she said. “How else would our dear Edward and William be lying in the churchyard, while the wretched Lindley boys win prizes in the Derby Horse Show?” Her bitterness surprised even her sister and aunt, who knew and loved her dearly. It did not, however, relieve her grief; both aunt and niece fell silent, as she wept.
Emily, meanwhile, threw herself into everything that needed doing—the choir, the school, the hospital, the campaign for the library, even a promise to help Fitzwilliam resurrect the Chartist petitions! But Fitzwilliam, now thinking of handing over the reins to Jonathan, had begun to lose interest in active Parliamentary politics. The deaths of both his hero,William Cobbett, and the famous “Orator” Hunt, whose speeches had resounded in his ears, had signalled for him the end of a great political era. Many reforms he had campaigned for had been achieved, though not in full measure, he would freely admit.
Since Edward’s death, he had felt impelled to spend more time with Caroline and the children. The birth of their little daughter Rachel simply increased his desire to remain at home, rather than fight political battles at Westminster. He looked to settle down at his farm at Matlock and lead a quieter life, helping Mr Gardiner with the business and enjoying his family. Grateful for the love and unfailing loyalty Caroline had given him, Fitzwilliam hoped he could give her the support and love she deserved. Caroline, still energetic and determined to work with the rest of the women to achieve their goals, involved Emily and Rebecca in her campaigns. Whether it was education for girls or shelter for the destitute, they were active and vocal on every available occasion.
Rebecca, Caroline, and Emily brought so much vigour and conviction to their work, and with the backing of the Tate newspapers, they were so successful at getting things done for the district and its people, that folk were beginning to make jokes about getting the vote for women and putting them into Parliament. Their work had caught the attention of some quite distinguished persons too, who had written to congratulate them on their success. There was no denying that they were an excellent team.
Early in 1837, the death of King William IV brought a very young Queen to the throne of England. It was regarded as a most auspicious moment in the nation’s history. The Victorian Age had begun, and there was a new excitement abroad. Indeed, the entire country seemed to lift itself out of its malaise. Art, music, and literature were thriving, trade and commerce were profitable and growing, and though several social goals were still distant, there was hope of change and improvement, predominantly because the Parliament had been forced to act as an instrument of reform for the community, dealing with social issues as well as economic and political matters. No longer dominated by the landed gentry, it had begun to represent more of the people of Britain, and more importantly, it had begun to listen to them and act for them.
Jonathan and Amelia-Jane were married and settled in the area he hoped to represent. He had been persuaded to stand in Fitzwilliam’s seat in the election of 1838, which was expected to see the rise of Mr Peel’s new Conservatives.
Writing to Jane, who was spending some time in London with her daughter Emma, Elizabeth commented:
Dear Jane,We are all agreed, that Jonathan will make a particularly good candidate; he seems to enjoy making speeches, and his Amelia-Jane is very good at playing the aspiring member’s wife. He is intelligent and handsome; she is charming and dutiful. Colonel Fitzwilliam predicts that they will make a formidable couple at Westminster.
Charlotte has always been a practical woman, able to see an opportunity and use it, without appearing mean or grasping. She has obviously bequeathed the same useful quality to her daughters. All of the Collins girls have made the best of any favourable opportunities that have come their way.
You will be pleased to know, dear Jane, that the Tates—Anthony and Rebecca—have made a firm friend of Emily, whose work for the school and the hospital has gained her an enviable reputation for service in the community. Their newspapers readily promote the many good causes she has espoused; it is clearly a mutually beneficial association. As for the Reverend James Courtney, who has renewed his pleasant association with the parish of Kympton, he seems to find time to assist with many of the projects undertaken by Emily and Caroline in the parish. Our dear aunt is exceedingly pleased and still hopeful. She is right, of course. He is a good man, and Emily deserves someone like him. Richard is particularly appreciative of his pastoral care among the poor and the sick, who are flocking to the hospital at Littleford, in increasing numbers.
Do give my fondest love to Emma and tell her I would like very much to see her beautiful house in London, of which you have sent us such a charming description in your letter. Unfortunately, Julian is too little to travel to London yet, so I must wait patiently until later in the year, to vis
it my dearest niece. Darcy and I hope to see you and Bingley soon; do not stay away too long.
Your loving sister,
Lizzie.
For Elizabeth and Darcy too, life had been returning to normal. Their pride and satisfaction in their daughter were matched now by delight in their son. That Julian would ever replace William was unthinkable. His bright presence had been etched into their lives, and his memory could never be replaced by any other child, however delightful. Nevertheless, they were grateful for the simple joys that Julian brought them. He broke the long silences and filled the empty corners that might otherwise have held only sorrow. Now, Pemberley had another child’s voice echoing down its corridors and flowing out into its sunlit gardens, helping to lift the pall of grief that had descended upon the house.
Later that year they purchased “Woodlands,” having received what both Darcy and Mr Gardiner declared was an excellent offer. Elizabeth agreed that the farm was worth keeping in the family; it was after all the place where her heart had started to heal. Not surprisingly, it came to be known in the family as “Lizzie’s Farm” and was the venue for many happy family gatherings.
But it was in the Autumn of 1837 that the marriage of Cassandra Darcy to Dr Richard Gardiner finally restored some of the magic that had fled from Pemberley, on that fateful evening, some three years ago. It was a very special wedding. There was universal agreement on that score, nowhere more than in the hearts of the two families, thus united.
The Darcys and the Gardiners found their greatest joy in the union of their two beloved children. Richard and Cassandra, having loved each other deeply for many years, had proved themselves by their constancy, their unselfishness, and their shining example of service to their families and community. Now, they were ready to make that best of all possible unions, a marriage of both hearts and minds.
Once again, Shakespeare’s lines were spoken, “Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds,” as they were married by Dr Grantley at Pemberley, on a day very much like the one on which Darcy and Elizabeth had been wed almost twenty-five years before.
As if to compensate for the dread filled memory of the day on which they became engaged, a day forever blighted by the deaths of William and Edward, their wedding day had a special brightness, like a peal of bells across the land, heralding a perfect morning. As the wedded couple left the church and insisted on walking, rather than riding in a carriage, down the drive from the church, through the assembled party of family, friends, and wellwishers, their happiness seemed to spread like ripples on the water, out into the churchyard and across the grounds of Pemberley.
Standing with their parents on the steps of Pemberley House, before they went in for the splendid wedding breakfast, Richard and Cassandra knew they were part of a great tradition, one they respected and served gladly. Mr Darcy’s pride in his beautiful daughter was matched only by the regard and affection he felt for Richard. Had he chosen a son-in-law himself, he would not have found one he could have loved better. Elizabeth, sustained by the love of her husband and family, looked with singular happiness upon her daughter and son-in-law, seeing in them a new generation, to whom Pemberley, with its fine traditions, may be safely entrusted.
Some weeks later, Elizabeth was writing to her Aunt Gardiner, who was holidaying in France with Emily. Legal requirements of Paul’s will had necessitated a visit to the farm she had inherited, and Emily had felt it afforded an ideal opportunity to take her parents with her.
Having given her aunt all the usual domestic news, Elizabeth found herself in a reflective mood. Only with Jane and her aunt could she be as open with her innermost thoughts. She wrote:
You will recall, dear Aunt, how highly we regarded Pemberley, when we first visited here in that summer many years ago? It was the very pinnacle of perfection. I shall never forget my first impressions of a place so special, it stood like Camelot in a romantic park, on the far side of a glistening lake, a haven from reality, where vulgarity and evil would not dare intrude upon those so fortunate as to reside here.
Do you not recall how you and my uncle teased me about Pemberley? I seem to remember that you were absolutely certain that the Mistress of Pemberley would be no one known to any of us. How often have we enjoyed recalling those words; Darcy particularly likes my uncle’s remark about the “Master of Pemberley being a disagreeable fellow.” I do not dare reveal that I was in complete agreement with that sentiment at the time! Seriously, though, to me then and when I first came to Pemberley as Mr Darcy’s wife, it represented an escape from the ugliness, the embarrassment of Meryton society—a refuge from the petty irritations that so beset us at Longbourn.
Well, dear Aunt, will you be very surprised to learn that my impressions of Pemberley have undergone a significant change over the years? I do not mean to suggest that its great beauty or its appeal have in any way altered, or that my appreciation of them has diminished, but that I have found here not a refuge, but a different reality, which I have learned to enjoy.
I have learned from my husband that the reality of Pemberley requires a level of involvement and responsibility. It is the heart of his commitment to this place and all the people who live and work here. I have found too, that I no longer fear the memories of our dear William, which surround us here. They are a part of our lives now. When you return to England, you must come to Pemberley and let me show you how well I have gathered up the pieces of my life. I warrant, you will be proud of your niece.
While it had not been easy, Elizabeth acknowledged that she and Darcy had learnt to live with their memories, just as they had learnt and in many private moments expressed sincerely to each other the folly of the arrogance and pride, which had caused so much hurt and almost cost them a lifetime of shared happiness.
Pemberley, for all its grace and prosperity, could never promise them freedom from sorrow or disappointment. It did, however, promise a place of peace and beauty, a home like few others, where Elizabeth, Darcy, and their family had given and received great love, happiness, loyalty, and friendship, in full measure. Here too, they had found the strength to survive great suffering.
Surely, these were rich blessings, indeed.
END OF PART TWO
An epilogue. . .
My dearest Becky,
As I stand by my window, and look out over the park at Pemberley—dear, beautiful Pemberley, my home for so many years—it is truly difficult to believe that tomorrow, I shall go from this beloved place. Yet that is what I shall do, going first to my parents’ home at Lambton and then, on Saturday morning, to the village church at Kympton to be married to James Courtney. I know you will all be there to see me take my marriage vows and wish me happiness.
Dear Becky, I feel as if a whole life, not just a chapter, is ending for me. My life as part of this wonderful family, with whom I have shared so much, is over, and I am moving on. Though, as the wife of the curate at Kympton, I shall still be a part of this community, I shall no longer be at the heart of it, for Pemberley and its people are really the great, strong heart of our community.
I know I shall weep tonight, when Mr Darcy and my cousin Lizzie drive me over to Lambton and say goodbye. Much as I love my own family, I have shared less of the joy and agony of life with them than I have with Elizabeth, Mr Darcy, and Cassandra, and they have shared my pain and sorrow as no one else has done.
I have been, dearest Becky, a most fortunate creature, for it has been a privilege and a joy to have been in the circle of this family at Pemberley, entrusted with the confidences of these people whom I dearly love. Through my personal and intimate position at Pemberley, I was able to chronicle their lives and mine, as well as their joys and sorrows. The stories of the Pemberley Chronicles are theirs, not mine. I have not attempted to embroider and colour the facts. I have merely observed people and noted incidents as they happened. As you will see from my journals, which I have sent to you, together with the chronicles, I have made my observations, but I do not sit in judgement over tho
se whose lives I have shared. All this and the rest of the material I have gathered together over many years, I am sending you for safe keeping. The reason is that I have decided, as the wife of the curate of Kympton, who may be privy to private material about the lives of many people, it would not be seemly that I continue these chronicles.
The same constraint would not apply to you, since writing is your profession. So, if at some future date, you feel inclined to continue the labour of love I started, you must feel free to use any or all of my material. All I ask is that you remember that these are the stories of real people, whom I loved dearly, and that you tell them with a modicum of affection and understanding. I had hoped to place the manuscript of the completed chronicles in the family’s collection at Pemberley, and to this end I had obtained permission from Mr and Mrs Darcy. Since we spoke last Sunday, I have written to them, acquainting them with my intention of passing all this material on to you.
Dearest Becky, I owe you a debt of gratitude for your help and friendship, especially in those terrible months after Paul’s death. I know we shall see a good deal more of each other once I am married to James Courtney and settled at Kympton, for there is much work to be done in our parish. But, dear Becky, then I shall no longer be “little Emily,” as I have been to many of you, but Mrs Courtney, the curate’s wife. There lies the difference. Thank you again and God bless you.
Your loving friend,
Emily
Pemberley House. October 1840.
Postscript
Emily Courtney, née Gardiner, formerly widow of Monsieur Paul Antoine, married the Reverend James Courtney, curate of Kympton, in 1840. She led a long and happy life, devoted to her husband and children—Elizabeth,William, and Jessica, all of whom grew up to be talented and distinguished members of the community.
Pemberley Chronicles Page 42
