Postscript from Pemberley

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Not so Darcy, who by reason of his amenable and open nature was often the target of Edward's homilies.

  On a previous occasion, he had written to counsel his brother against making an unsuitable alliance, but since he had made no specific reference to the lady concerned, Darcy had chosen to ignore it. This time, however, writing to their mother, he had gone further, much further than before, and whereas the previous letter had sought to advise, this one was clearly meant to admonish.

  When Cassandra Gardiner found her son in his apartments at Pemberley, he was completing his toilette, prior to coming downstairs to breakfast.

  There was no mistaking either his astonishment at seeing her or the seriousness of her countenance as she entered his room.

  “Mama! What has happened?” He was immediately concerned, it had to be bad news… some dreadful accident… he could think only of Lizzie or his father. But before he could say anything, she held up a hand and spoke quickly to allay his fears.

  “Have no fears, Darcy, no one is ill or hurt or anything at all. I am sorry to have intruded upon you at this early hour, but there is a matter of some importance, which you must know of… your brother Edward has written a letter in which…”

  “Another letter from Edward? What does he say?”

  Darcy wiped the residue of shaving soap from his face and came forward as his mother seated herself in the chair that stood to one side of his bed.

  “Here it is, you can see for yourself… and then perhaps you will explain to me what this means and if I have any reason to be concerned…” she said as she handed him the letter.

  He stood in front of her reading it, half aloud, and from the way his voice changed as he read on, Cassandra could see that he was deeply shocked by what he read.

  Edward wrote:

  My dearest mother,

  You will, I know, understand that I write this letter with some degree of reluctance. I am not inclined, as a matter of general principle, to interfere in the personal affairs of my brothers and sisters. However, in this instance, I do not believe it is right that I should remain silent (and in this my dear wife agrees with me) lest it be said in years to come that I did not do my duty as your eldest son and draw your attention to the possible damage that may result from the actions of my brother Darcy.

  Notoriously longwinded, Edward went on for a paragraph or two, extolling the virtues of family loyalty and personal integrity, before getting to the point of his letter. When he did, he left no doubt of his intention.

  Pardon me, dear mother, but I digress. The chief purpose of writing to you was to express my very real unease about my brother Darcy's close association with a certain young woman, a Miss Kathryn O'Hare of Colley Dale, with whom you are no doubt acquainted. I gather it is now common knowledge in the district that they are on terms of very close friendship and are often seen walking together between Pemberley and Colley Dale, engaged in long and intimate conversations.

  Now, while I understand there is as yet no talk of an engagement, it is impossible to believe that one is not in prospect. If this were to eventuate, I should view the matter with great alarm, since it is unlikely, in view of what is presently known of Miss O'Hare, that we (by that I mean my dear Angela and myself) would be able to receive her into our house. Given her lowly antecedents and dubious previous employment, it would be difficult to understand what Darcy sees in her—though I grant you she is handsome and well spoken. It would be difficult enough to see my brother marry the daughter of a former Irish horse trainer, if she were not also the former governess at Lindfield Towers, where it is said she was an intimate friend of Lady Denny and her cousin Mr Hartley-Brown, whose misconduct is widely known and talked about in London society.

  While I am well aware that my brother would probably not admit of any interference from me into his private affairs, I have hopes that you, dear Mother, and perhaps my father also, will be able to make him understand the unsuitability of this connection.

  I do not believe for one moment that Darcy would have entered deliberately into an engagement with the lady without acquainting you and my father with his intentions and obtaining your approval. However, I fear that being of an amiable and compliant nature, he may have been drawn in too far already and formed too deep an attachment to retreat, despite the fact it is a situation of which his entire family must surely disapprove.

  There was more in the same vein, but Darcy had no desire to continue. He folded the letter and handed it back to his mother.

  Cassandra looked at his face and wondered at the depth of anguish reflected upon it. Saddened, she was about to ask a question, when he sat on the bed and faced her squarely,

  “Mama, may I ask what it was in Edward's letter that so perturbed you, that you came in all this haste to see me? Was it the thought that I may be in love with Kathryn O'Hare?”

  Cassy answered with a question of her own, “Are you?” and received the only answer he could give, “I am.”

  “And is your brother right? Are you already too deeply committed to her to retreat?” she asked.

  At this even Darcy's mild nature, riled beyond bearing by his brother's words, rebelled and unable to repress any longer the anger that the letter had provoked, he spoke his mind with candour and an unusual bitterness.

  “My brother is quite wrong about Miss O'Hare—on several matters of fact as well as in his opinion of her.”

  “In what way?” asked his mother gently, not wishing to provoke him any further.

  “In a most shameful way!” he retorted. “To the extent that he has cast aspersions upon her parents, who are eminently respectable people, well liked in the community; he has not only insulted her, but has demeaned us all, including myself, my cousin Jessica, Mr and Mrs Darcy, and yourself, for have we not all been guilty of encouraging Miss O'Hare in her endeavours, appointing her to teach at the school and inviting her to our homes?” He looked at her but did not wait for an answer.

  “But far worse are his insinuations against Kathryn's character,” he raged, “the suggestion that as governess to the children of Lord and Lady Denny, she is somehow tainted, because of Lady Denny's notoriety, beggars belief. It is the kind of guilt by association that gave rise to the terror in France after the revolution—it presupposes that one must be condemned as corrupt because one's employers are so accused. His views are thoroughly abhorrent to me, Mama, and, I would have thought, to yourself and my father.”

  Horrified by the comparison, Cassy protested, “Darcy! Surely you go too far?”

  “Do I?” he would not be contained, so great was his indignation. “Consider this, Mama, both Jessica and I are fully aware that Kathryn accepted the position at Lindfield with the Dennys upon the specific recommendation of persons whose status and standards Edward and his wife would endorse without question. We know also that she left Lady Denny's employ voluntarily, having discovered and disapproved of the situation in the household and the position in which she found herself.

  “Kathryn has never spoken openly of what she knows because she is disinclined to speak ill of a former employer, even when such criticism may be justified. She considers it unseemly to gossip about matters to which she was privy, as a member of their household. But privately, she has left me in no doubt of her opinion of the activities of Lady Denny and her cousin Mr Hartley-Brown.”

  Cassandra nodded, clearly agreeing with the sentiments expressed, but Darcy, who had been walking about the room in a state of great agitation, had not quite finished.

  “But that is not all, Mama,” he said. “I resent deeply my brother's assumption that I am incapable of judgment or discrimination, that I am so easily bewitched by a pretty face or a clever wit, that he chooses to write to you to ask that you counsel me against a match with a lady whom he, upon the most superficial evidence, condemns. It is quite intolerable, that he should be so presumptuous, so overbearing!”

  Cassandra, realising it was useless to defend her elder son, decided to use a different ap
proach.

  “Am I to understand that you wish to marry Kathryn?” she asked, and this time her voice was so gentle, so completely free of any pejorative overtones, even Darcy, incensed as he was, could not resent her question.

  He looked at her and said with great sincerity, “Yes, Mama, I do, and before you ask, I have proposed to Kathryn and she has accepted me. I intended to tell you and Papa, but as you know, we have been exceedingly busy this week with many other matters…”

  She stopped him in mid sentence. “Darcy, what other matter would so absorb my attention as to prevent my listening, had you spoken of your wish to marry Kathryn? Why have you left me in ignorance, to the extent that I was so unprepared, your brother's letter, when it came, threw me into such confusion and distress? I should have liked to have known something of your intentions.”

  Darcy apologised at once; he understood her distress. The delay was not of his making, but because he did not wish to divulge Kathryn's present troubles, he accepted the burden of guilt.

  “I am sorry, Mama, I had hoped to bring Kathryn to see you and tell you our news, but, since she is visiting a friend in Yorkshire, I thought it best to await her return. Forgive me, Mama, it should not have been revealed like this, but that is the consequence of Edward's actions and circumstances quite outside my control. When Kathryn is back, I promise I shall bring her to visit you. As for my brother's insufferable letter, let me write an appropriate reply and tell him what I think of his snobbery and prejudice.”

  But Cassy laughed, “Oh no, I shall not encourage you to start some petty feud with your brother. No, I shall wait until your engagement is announced and write a suitable reply, giving Edward my opinion.”

  Darcy understood why his mother had such a high reputation for integrity and generosity within and outside of their family. Not for nothing was she Mr Darcy's daughter.

  They embraced warmly, and before she left, stopping to look in the mirror and straighten her hat, she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “You need not lose any sleep over her family connections; after all, your sister Lizzie married the grandson of an Irish stable boy; I cannot see that the daughter of an Irish horse trainer is any less acceptable.”

  Darcy beamed with pleasure, confident now that he had his mother's approval and certain there would be no adverse repercussions from Edward's ill-informed letter.

  It was one piece of good news in an otherwise dismal week.

  IT DID NOT TAKE Darcy Gardiner long to decide that he should follow his brother-in-law's advice and travel to Yorkshire immediately.

  His predominant desire now was to find Kathryn.

  To this end, he made his plans and went first to Rushmore Farm to consult Mr Carr. There, he discovered that his brother-in-law had already contrived a simple scheme that would enable him to claim that he had estate business to attend to in Sheffield, from where he would take the train to Yorkshire. “I will send my most trusted man with you, so that you can send me word, if you need my help. Meanwhile, rest assured that I will have a very close watch kept over Bellamy; I shall see Mr Hand at the inn tomorrow— Bellamy will not move without my knowing it. One false step and we will have him.”

  As they parted, Darcy wondered how he would ever repay his brother-in-law for all he was doing. Their friendship had deepened as they matured. The grandson of an Irish stable hand, Carr had made good in America and returned to England some years ago, when the two men had become firm friends. Later, to Darcy's delight, his sister Lizzie and Michael Carr had fallen in love and married. Darcy had great affection for his brother-in-law and would have trusted him with his life.

  The journey to Sheffield and thence to York by train took the better part of the following day. Watson, the man who accompanied him, made all the necessary arrangements and proved an excellent traveling companion.

  As they journeyed north through the vale of Pickering, Darcy recalled similar journeys to Scarborough in Summers past, when, as children, they had looked forward to arriving in the grand old town, with its mineral spa and pump room, which engaged the adults, while the younger members of the party wanted only to race out to the cliffs and watch the boats coming in, their nets laden with fish—sole, plaice, skate, and many other strange sea creatures besides.

  They were simple days, filled with innocent fun, that seemed a lifetime away. Deep in his nostalgic reverie, Darcy dozed off and had to be shaken awake when they reached their destination.

  They alighted and saw that they were almost at the edge of the moors and the familiar, verdant countryside through which they had passed had given way to the rough grey-green folds of the moorland and the hard edge of bare ridges against the sky; not an inviting prospect at all.

  Locating Ryedale did not prove too difficult. The pony trap that transported them from the train station was driven by a man who did not need the rough map Darcy produced. Though his speech was almost unintelligible, he knew the area well.

  Mrs Ellis' detailed directions proved adequate to allow them to find the place, which had all the usual features of a Yorkshire village. Shaded by a giant yew tree was a village green, to one side of which stood a smithy, a cobbler's shop, and a small but clean hostelry as well.

  It seemed the only promising place in which to spend the night, and Darcy, who had taken the precaution of dressing less formally than usual so as not to draw too much attention to himself, paid off the driver and went into the inn to ask for rooms for himself and Watson.

  It was, in truth, a fine old inn, catering mainly for the locals and a few itinerant travellers. With no one around apart from the landlord and a couple of early drinkers, Darcy had the business done quickly, stored his things away upstairs and went out to enjoy the last of the sunshine.

  Looking at Mrs Ellis's map, he could not tell in which direction he should proceed. Should he follow the road across the bridge or take the path by the river? He assumed this was the Rye, which sprang from among the rocky outcrops on the moors above Pickering and ran down into the valley. But he could not be sure.

  Fortunately, Mr Carr's man Watson was in the yard already and had been talking to a couple of the local lads. From them he had gathered that the main road only led north to Pickering, whilst the path beside the river broke intermittently into a maze of footpaths, crossing the fields and moors and linking the stone cottages and farmhouses to the village.

  As to finding the way to Mrs Ellis' cottage, there was nothing for it but to strike out across the paddock behind the inn and ask as one went along, if there was someone out there to ask. Darcy was grateful for the company that Watson, a cheerful man with a beard and a deep booming voice, provided. Alone, he would have been hopelessly lost.

  They set off together, Watson carrying a thick, heavy stick and a lamp, in case they were overtaken by darkness. He kept urging Darcy to mind where he put his feet, for the path was very rough, having been trodden into humps and hollows by thousands of hooves and many feet.

  They passed two boys leading a cow and its calf home from the fields and asked directions, then crossed the shallow stream at the ford and walked as briskly as the condition of the path would allow. They came to a stile, climbed over it, and ignoring the sleepy-looking sheep in the paddock, made for a distant pair of ancient elms standing on rising ground, lonely sentinels in an otherwise bare and unwelcoming landscape.

  It was the landmark on Mrs Ellis' map they were looking out for and they were glad indeed when they loomed into view.

  When they reached the spot, they could see a small cluster of cottages below them—the only sign of human habitation. Beyond lay the darkness of the moors.

  Accustomed to the soft, friendly greens and gold of the woods around Camden Park and Pemberley, Darcy found the scene bleak and forbidding. Making their way towards the cottages in the dale, they noticed two women working in the garden of one of them. One, a young woman with a scarf that hid her hair, was busy tilling the soil in a vegetable patch, while the other, an older woman, worked with a hoe between th
e rows.

  So intent were they upon their tasks, neither woman saw them come up the path, clearly unaware they had visitors, until Watson leaned over the gate and rang an old cowbell that hung beside it.

  Both women turned together in some alarm, and since neither knew Watson, they looked puzzled and not entirely comfortable with the prospect of confronting a large, strange man at their gate.

  However, when Darcy, who had been hidden from their view, stepped up to the gate, the younger woman put a hand to her mouth as if to stifle a cry, and her apprehension changed to joy, as she pushed back her scarf and cried, “Mr Gardiner!” as though he were the last person on earth she had expected to see.

  Darcy was through the gate and into the garden in a trice, and as Watson and Mrs Ellis looked on a little awkwardly, they met and embraced, leaving no one in any doubt of their feelings and their utter relief at seeing one another again. Darcy was clearly the more relieved of the two, since he'd had no inkling of Kathryn's whereabouts for over a week. There had been the added anxiety caused by cryptic messages from Elena, about her sister being in grave danger. Kathryn was glad to see him, too, though she said afterwards that she had always known he would come. She had enclosed the map and Mrs Ellis' instructions hoping he would follow her meaning.

  All these and other explanations were given as they went indoors and Mrs Ellis bustled around getting a pot of tea ready for her visitors. As they talked together, Watson slipped outside to smoke his pipe and Mrs Ellis went upstairs, ostensibly to change her work clothes, leaving Kathryn and Darcy alone.

  Darcy was impatient to ask so many questions.

  “Kathryn, why did you run away without a word to me?” he asked at the first opportunity, “I was at my wit's end with worry. I had no idea where you were,” he complained, but she was to explain it all.

  “I had to go, there was no time to waste; I had heard from Mrs Ellis that Hartley-Brown was to send Mr Bellamy on an errand to persuade me (and, if I refused, to compel me) to return to Lindfield. I had to leave Colley Dale before he arrived, else I'd never have got away. Mrs Ellis was the only person I could trust, which is why I came here to Ryedale. No one knows where I am but you.”