Oh, how disadvantaged are women—a man may openly acknowledge his pleasure in a woman's company, admire her beauty, or pay her a compliment, without raising any criticism, but were a woman, especially one of my age, to betray such feelings, she would be immediately accused of lacking good manners and being deficient in decorum. We are pitiable creatures indeed.
On the afternoon before he was due to depart, Julian had been to see his sister Cassy and her family and say his farewells to young Anthony.
Returning to Pemberley, he had found Jessica in the sitting room, curled up on the couch in front of the fire, a rug over her feet. The weather had changed from mild to blustery, and Julian appreciated the welcoming warmth of the room. It was the place where they had been most companionable together over the last three weeks.
That afternoon, however, they seemed unable to steer the conversation away from the weather, almost as though it provided a safe haven from more personal waters, which could prove difficult to navigate.
Following several attempts, which had led nowhere, Jessica had fallen silent and sat gazing into the flames, when Julian had said, in a voice whose gravity was unmistakable, “Jessica, I owe you an apology. I cannot leave without saying how very sorry I am for having lectured you two days ago. It was quite arrogant of me—you must have thought me overbearing and patronising, and if I have offended or hurt you, please believe that it was unintentionally done and I am deeply sorry.”
Completely astonished and unable to make an immediate response, Jessica remained silent and he, assuming her silence meant that he had been correct to suppose he had offended her, continued, “Perhaps if I were to explain, you may understand and find it easier to forgive my unpardonable presumption, in trying to instruct you on how you should conduct your life. I, who have made such a mess of my own, have no right to lecture you on such matters.
“But, if there is one excuse I might offer, in mitigation, it is that I have endured the most painful experience of watching one young woman, for whom I had the greatest affection, destroy her chance of happiness and finally her life itself in a wasteful expense of spirit. I have suffered for many agonising months, wondering if my inaction, my silence, my reluctance to interfere in her life, made me complicit in the tragedy that befell her and all our family. I have not acquitted myself as yet of that guilt and may never do so.
“She too was talented and lively, impatient to discover and grasp all that life had promised her, all she thought she was entitled to enjoy, but in her haste to do so, she fell into the trap that awaits the innocent and unwary and lost her way. Jessica, you know of whom I speak; pray try to understand my reasons for speaking to you as I did.”
Jessica, who had listened with increasing astonishment, had risen from the couch and, throwing aside the rug, approached him, her hand outstretched. At first, too choked with emotion to speak, she had gradually found the words to reassure him, to say she had taken no offence, felt no anger or hurt; indeed she had been deeply touched by his concern and felt only gratitude.
“Julian, you must not believe that. It is not true. I was neither grieved nor angry and you certainly owe me no apology. I was touched by your concern and shall value your advice, always. As for your reason for speaking as you did, it speaks to me only of kindness, not arrogance or presumption. Pray do not waste another moment in disquiet or anxiety on that score, for there is no need.”
When she had finished speaking, there were tears in her eyes and his relief was palpable. Taking both her hands in his, he had drawn her to him and held her in an embrace, as though she were a favourite child from whom he could receive the kind of instinctive comfort that words could not adequately impart. It had seemed the most natural thing to do.
When they moved apart, they did so without haste or awkwardness and nothing more was said between them. There was no further need for words. It seemed there was sufficient understanding and affection to fill the void.
At dinner, they had been joined by Caroline and Colonel Fitzwilliam and their son David. The latter had kept Julian busy answering questions about his proposed journey to Africa. Later, Julian had retired to his room, citing his need to be awake early on the morrow, while the Fitzwilliams, always welcome guests at Pemberley, had stayed on awhile.
Despite her own preoccupations, Jessica had noticed that her cousin David had seemed unusually distracted that evening. Aware that he had recently decided against a military career, Jessica wondered if he was perhaps somewhat restless and discontented with his present role in the family's business at Manchester.
Jessica had often felt some sympathy for David, a pleasant and easygoing young man whose parents, bereft of their eldest son Edward when David was but a little boy, had been for many years inconsolable, leaving David and his sister Isabella to struggle on alone with their grief. While Isabella had found the inner strength to sublimate her own sorrow in work at the children's hospital, David, who had been sent off to boarding school, had grown more isolated from his family.
Jessica had often regarded her cousin with sisterly compassion, but the opportunity had never presented itself to do more than sympathise with his plight. David, like Jessica herself, was reserved and solitary by nature.
When the Fitzwilliams were leaving that night, however, he seemed to make a special effort to single her out, promising to call again before returning to Manchester later that week. Jessica had responded with sincerity.
“I shall look forward to that, David, I am always here in the afternoons— why don't you come to tea?”
“Thank you, I shall,” he said, with a degree of alacrity that surprised her somewhat and then he was gone to join his parents in their carriage.
On the following day, Julian Darcy had risen early and left Pemberley to get the train to London.
Jessica ensured that she was not alone with him for long. She wanted to hold on to the memory of the previous afternoon and was determined that nothing should spoil it, which is why she had waited together with Mr and Mrs Darcy and Cassy, who had come to say her farewells to her brother and wish him Godspeed.
There was time only to say a quick good-bye and raise her hand to his lips, before he entered the carriage and was driven away.
That afternoon, as she sat rapt in quiet contemplation of the possible direction her life might be taking, there was a knock on the door of her sitting room and David Fitzwilliam was admitted. Jessica could not conceal her surprise—she had not expected he would take up her casual invitation to tea with such speed, and it was possible she had appeared taken aback at his appearance, which was a little informal, to say the least. He had plainly ridden over from Matlock, and it being a windy afternoon, he appeared somewhat dishevelled.
Sensing her discomposure, David apologised. “I am sorry, Jessie, clearly I have surprised you. I should have sent word; perhaps you would prefer me to go away and return tomorrow?” he asked awkwardly and quickly, as though trying to undo some faux pas, but Jessica, having already recovered her composure, came forward to welcome him and reassure him she was not at all put out by his arrival. Asking for tea to be sent up, she urged him to be seated and waited to learn the reason for this sudden visit, for she was sure there had to be one.
Sure enough, after some initial stumbling efforts at small talk, David came to what was plainly the purpose of his visit, although it took Jessica some little while to deduce the exact nature of his concern.
On the previous evening, they had, while at dinner, spoken of the work she did at the school at Pemberley, during which mention had been made briefly of a Miss Fenton, who had been governess to the younger children of Dr Richard and Cassandra Gardiner some years ago.
“I wish we had been able to persuade Miss Fenton to return to Derbyshire, she would have made an excellent teacher for the older girls,” Jessica had said, “but Aunt Cassy tells me she is now settled in Manchester, with a family that likes her so well, they will not easily agree to let her go. Besides, I believe her niece Lucy Longhurst h
as found a position there as well, which must be very satisfactory for them.”
Jessica had noticed then, that David had seemed well aware of the facts and had nodded agreeably and said, “I believe you are right. I am told that Miss Longhurst is preparing to be a teacher herself.”
Jessica expressed much pleasure at this.
“Indeed? Well, if she follows her aunt's excellent example, she should do very well I'm sure. Miss Fenton has a remarkable reputation.”
It was at this point in the conversation that Colonel Fitzwilliam, sitting across the table from them, had chimed in with the news that David was taking a closer interest in the business and would be moving to live in Manchester, where he planned to share accommodation with the new manager of the company, Mr Philip Bentley.
“They are getting to be good friends, David tells me, which is quite fortuitous, since David is keen to learn more of the work at the Manchester office. Caroline believes Mr Bentley will be an able teacher.”
“He most certainly will. He has a wealth of experience in matters of commerce and trade, of which David has a lot to learn, now he has abandoned the cavalry!” said his mother.
“I certainly do,” David agreed, adding, “It is exceedingly decent of Bentley to spend time on training me, but he has extracted a promise from me that in return, I will assist him with the housekeeping!”
At this revelation, everybody laughed and thereafter, the conversation had become fixed upon Mr Bentley, who, it was generally agreed, was proving to be an excellent manager.
Jessica recalled that she had not exchanged another word with David on the subject of Miss Fenton. Indeed, she had never discovered how it was that David Fitzwilliam knew so much about the affairs of Miss Fenton and her niece, Lucy Longhurst.
That was until he had walked into her sitting room on the following day.
Returning to the subject of Miss Fenton, and more specifically to her niece Miss Lucinda Longhurst, who was engaged as a companion to two young ladies, the daughters of a Mr Winter, David confessed he wished to ask for his cousin's advice on a private matter of some delicacy.
“It is a matter on which I am sadly deficient in information and would very much appreciate your opinion,” he said.
Jessica admitted to being surprised, but added she was proud to think he would believe that her advice might be more appropriate than that of his sister, Isabella.
“I would not trouble you, Jessie, but I think I am right in assuming that you, being closer to the age of the lady concerned than my sister, would have a far better notion of how she would respond,” he explained and proceeded to ask, “In your opinion, how would a young lady in pleasant and gainful employment, preparing for a career in teaching, respond to an offer from an educated gentleman of good family, but with no visible means of support other than his income from shares in the family company?”
Jessica was astonished, not only by the directness of his approach, but also because it was a matter about which she'd had no previous warning whatsoever! Nothing he or anyone else had said or done before had allowed her to contemplate that David Fitzwilliam was about to propose marriage to Lucy Longhurst. Yet, there he was sitting in front of her, sipping tea and calmly discussing the proposition.
Jessica recalled Lucy Longhurst clearly. She had been quite young, maybe a year younger than herself, rather shy, studious, and very pretty. When her aunt Miss Fenton had brought her to stay with the Gardiners at Christmas and Easter, Lucy had joined the children in the Pemberley choir, and Jessica remembered her clear, lovely voice, which had lifted the quality of their singing to an entirely new plane. After a few moments silence, she asked, with a smile, “Lucy Longhurst, tell me, does she still sing as sweetly?”
“Like an angel,” David replied without a moment's hesitation and added that she was the chief reason he attended church on Sundays.
“Jessie, she is an angel. I have met dozens of other young ladies but none to compare with her in gentleness of disposition, accomplishment, and education; what's more, she must be the loveliest girl I have ever seen.”
Even allowing for his obvious partiality, this was high praise. David was either deeply stricken or very much in love, thought Jessica, regarding her cousin with some amazement.
If it was the first, it would probably pass in time, even if he were to be disappointed; if the second, well, that was much more serious and Jessica had little experience in handing out advice on such matters.
“How long have you had this determination to propose to the lady?” she asked, and David, predictably, bridled, thinking she was not taking him seriously, which in truth she was not inclined to do.
“Jessie, I met her almost a year ago at a ball in Derby, and though I was struck by how elegant and ladylike she had grown from the little girl we used to tease in church, I did not seriously believe she would be interested in me. Anyway, I was still trying to get into the cavalry and had little time for young ladies. However, this year, since I have been in Manchester, we have met on several occasions—usually by chance but occasionally by some judicious planning on my part—and each time, I felt she paid me great courtesy and attention. The Winters are friends of Mr Bentley, and we are often asked to dine with them.
“Just last week, we were invited to dinner at the home of a mutual friend, who had also asked Misses Deborah and Sarah Winter. Miss Longhurst was there with them, and I was privileged to spend an hour or more in her company, while the others played a game of whist. I am now convinced she is the one girl I wish to marry, if she will accept me. Will she, Jessie?” he asked, and there was such a plea for hope in his voice, Jessica relented and decided to be kind.
“David, I cannot speak for Lucy Longhurst, I would not be able to predict what her response may be to your proposal, because I have no means to discover what her aspirations are in life. You say she is happily employed with the Winters, I believe her aunt Miss Fenton is there too as governess to the two younger children, and I understand Lucy is preparing to be a teacher. Putting all those facts together, I would say that in normal circumstances, such a young lady may think twice about accepting an offer from a gentleman who has no fixed occupation or estate.”
Then seeing the look of sheer devastation upon his countenance, she added, “But, if she loved you and if you could persuade her that your interest in the business at Manchester is likely to lead to a more permanent position in the company, with the hope of advancement in the future, then even a happily situated young lady like Miss Longhurst may be persuaded that your suit was worth considering.”
And as a smile suddenly lit up his face, she said, “Besides, David, you are educated and handsome and your parents are the best regarded family, outside of Pemberley, in the county. If I were Miss Lucy Longhurst, I would certainly not be refusing you.”
It was a piece of friendly impertinence, which surprised him.
“Would you not?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
Jessica smiled; he must know she was teasing.
“No, but, David, I am not Lucy Longhurst…” she began and he interrupted, “Of course not, and I am not Julian Darcy!”
Jessica held her breath and in that second, he smiled and looked rather nervous, letting her see that he knew something of her secret. Then, as they both dissolved into laughter, it became clear that they had unwittingly exchanged confidences, which neither wished to reveal to the rest of their family at this time.
“I hope I can depend upon you to say no more on that subject, David?” said Jessica, and the quiet, serious tone of her voice convinced him he had been right.
“Of course you can—my lips are sealed.”
“And mine—except to wish you every success.”
He rose then and kissed her cheek and said very quietly in her ear, “If I am, you shall be the first to know, Jessie. Thank you and may I wish you every happiness too.”
Jessica bowed, acknowledging his words, but said nothing.
It had been a week of surprises, and mos
tly they had been pleasant ones.
But, sadly, the same could not be said of events that followed later that year. Amidst the chill Winter darkness of the coal pits of South Wales, Dr Henry Forrester, the husband of David's sister Isabella, succumbed to a putrid fever, believed to be typhus.
A relentless campaigner for the improvement of health care and sanitation for the poor, he had gone to Wales to work with the Reverend Jenkins, helping the children of the pit villages survive the appalling insanitary conditions in which many were condemned to live out their often short and joyless lives.
He had been engaged in a very worthwhile project, yet, after only a short period of hard work, Henry Forrester himself had become infected with typhus—probably carried by the lice on the children he treated.
The suddenness of the blow had left Isabella a stunned and grieving widow and her family dismayed by the injustice of it all.
Jessica could hardly believe that in so short a time their family had suffered two such tragic losses; first young Josie then Dr Forrester, closing the year as it had begun—with woeful, untimely death.
Unwilling to speak of her fears to anyone, she wrote in her diary:
If those who try to help them die also, who will be left to tend the poor and the sick? What unknown dangers will Julian face in his quest for new cures for dreaded diseases? I dare not think. All I know is I am very afraid.
IT MAY HAVE BEEN surprising to some that Mr Darcy Gardiner was almost as well known and equally as well regarded in Derbyshire, particularly in the districts around the estate of Pemberley, as was the owner of that great estate, his grandfather Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, after whom young Mr Gardiner was named.
They may have been even more surprised to learn that young Darcy Gardiner was no less respected at Westminster, where he had several friends among the parties of the Whigs and Liberals, who would have had no trouble recommending him, despite his relative youth, for a seat in the House of Commons.
Postscript from Pemberley Page 4
