Postscript from Pemberley

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Elizabeth laughed. “My poor Jessie, and now, he loves you dearly,” she said.

  “He does indeed, and it has transformed my life! I never knew, until he told me he loved me, that one could be completely absorbed in one's feelings for another human being and need little else for happiness. I had thought that it was good to love someone, even if they did not love you. But to be loved in return…” She could go no further, her voice failed, and she hid her face, her cheeks burning.

  Jessica, overcome with emotion, had not the words to express her feelings.

  Elizabeth, whose memories of love remained bright, had put her arms around her young cousin, sharing a moment of honest emotion that both women felt intensely.

  Elizabeth spoke softly. “Julian loves you; I know he does, and yet, he needs your help, because he is often shy and sometimes fearful of deep feelings. Even as a child, he was diffident and could not always respond to affection, unlike my dear William…” This time it was Elizabeth who could not proceed.

  Jessica looked up at her face.

  She had never known William Darcy; he had been killed in an accident many years before she was born, but Jessica had learned from her mother Emily how deep the wounds were that Elizabeth and Mr Darcy bore as a result of his untimely death. Only to those she loved very dearly would Elizabeth speak of him, while Mr Darcy could scarcely bear to mention the boy at all, so utterly devastating had been their loss.

  Tightening her arms around her, Jessica held her close and thanked her.

  There was no more to be said.

  Mr Darcy, returning with his grandson, found his wife in a pensive mood.

  She told him Julian had left to meet with Jessica and the rector at the church, where they were to discuss plans for their wedding.

  Mr Darcy poured himself a drink while young Anthony played at being a highwayman, holding up the footman on the stairs and demanding he surrender the silver.

  “Have they fixed upon a date yet?” Mr Darcy asked.

  “I think they have, because Julian must be in Paris next month to complete preparations for their departure to Africa,” said Elizabeth, and as he nodded, understanding her drift, she added, “I believe they are quite determined it will be a quiet wedding. They insist they will ask only family and their closest friends, and want no celebratory banquets and fireworks.”

  Mr Darcy put down his glass and declared that it seemed a very sensible decision.

  “I am very glad to hear it, Lizzie; it shows both personal modesty and good sense. I cannot see the point of extravagant wedding parties in these straightened times, not unless one is determined to demonstrate that not only has one more money than one's neighbours, one is also more inclined to fritter it away!”

  Elizabeth, who could recall the lavish celebrations of Georgiana Darcy's wedding and their own daughter Cassandra's marriage to Richard Gardiner, wondered at the way Mr Darcy's perception of such matters had altered over the years. Time was when Pemberley set the standard of magnificence on such occasions; it would have been considered a betrayal of the family tradition and its standing in the community to have done less. Clearly, her husband no longer saw it in the same light.

  He no longer regarded Pemberley as a symbol of his family's status in the county, and though devoted as ever to the maintenance and preservation of the great estate, it had become more a matter of his responsibility to the entire community, than of pride in himself and his inheritance. It was a change that had come about gradually, over the many years of their marriage and the influence of his partnership with Mr Gardiner.

  Almost imperceptibly, the Master of Pemberley had become the custodian of a great heritage, whose worth he counted not only in the value of its splendid properties and commercial assets, but in the prosperity and contentment of its people. It was a change of which Elizabeth thoroughly approved; one her father Mr Bennet would have applauded.

  Though he personally deplored ostentation, Mr Darcy had always accepted the place of “pomp and circumstance” in a family such as his own.

  In the past, there had always been an appropriate place for it.

  However, with Julian having relinquished his inheritance in favour of his son Anthony, much of the management of the estate had fallen at first upon their daughter Cassy, who was Anthony's legal guardian, and passed to her son, Darcy Gardiner, since his appointment as manager of the estate. Both were dedicated and hardworking; neither had any taste for ceremony or display.

  Despite his other interests, in fields far removed from Pemberley, Darcy Gardiner's commitment to Pemberley was no less than his grandfathers and many had been surprised at his success in the role. The people of the estate, tenants and labourers alike, acknowledged that they had rarely known such a conscientious manager. Their well-being and prosperity had increased with his application of new ideas and techniques that had vastly improved the productive value of the estate.

  Julian, on the other hand, had shown no interest in the place, except as his childhood home. Now he was going away to Africa, taking Jessica with him; it was obvious he felt no strong attachment to Pemberley.

  To his mother, it was almost a relief, removing the incipient tension that was inevitable had Julian remained at Pemberley while taking no part in its management.

  As she remarked to her sister Mrs Bingley, who with her husband had come over to dine with them, “Mr Darcy seems completely comfortable with the prospect that it will be Darcy Gardiner who will manage Pemberley and make most of the decisions about its future, until Anthony is required to take up his inheritance and is of an age and competence to do so.”

  “And God willing, Lizzie, that will be many years away,” said Jane, noting that her brother-in-law was a good deal fitter than her own husband Mr Bingley, who was some four years his junior.

  “Indeed,” said Elizabeth, “and it is an indication of the trust and confidence he places in young Darcy, that my dear husband has no reservations about it at all.”

  So saying, Elizabeth took her sister's arm, and the two went out to the terrace in time to see Mr Darcy and his grandson, the very young man they had been speaking of, walking together towards the house.

  As they entered the saloon, it was plain from his countenance that Darcy Gardiner had brought good news. Indeed, he had come to ask Mr and Mrs Darcy to join the family at Camden Park on Saturday, when his parents were giving a dinner party to celebrate the engagement of their son to Miss Kathryn O'Hare.

  Finding the Bingleys there, the invitation was immediately extended to them, and it was a case of congratulations and felicitations, as Darcy was complimented upon his engagement to the handsome and accomplished Miss O'Hare.

  Both Jane and Elizabeth were determined to tease him for having kept it such a close secret so successfully for so long!

  “Why, Darcy, you did not need to be so secretive about it,” said Jane, but his good nature soon foiled their efforts, as he confessed that he had waited until Julian and Jessica had named the day for their wedding, and for this piece of considerate behaviour, he was further commended.

  “It is fortunate that you have such a plausible reason Darcy,” said his grandfather, “else you would have had a difficult time convincing the ladies that there was not some great conspiracy afoot.”

  At this Darcy coloured and tried to conceal his confusion with laughter. “Indeed, sir, I can see that,” he said as Mr Bingley joined in with a joke about a Mr O'Hare, who was an Irishman, banished to Australia and there became a “bush ranger.”

  “Which, I am told, is, in common parlance, none other than a highwayman!” he explained to the great delight of the ladies. “Will Camden's son, George, recently arrived on board a ship from Australia, tells the story very well. Apparently, O'Hare is a great big fellow, with a red beard and red hair, and very popular with the ladies, to whom he is unfailingly courteous and charming, even as he robs them of their jewels! All very droll indeed,” said Mr Bingley.

  Elizabeth found her brother-in-law's
colourful tale most diverting. “Are you quite certain, Darcy, that your Miss Kathryn is not connected to this famous highwayman?” she asked, and Darcy had no difficulty at all in assuring them of the truth.

  “As certain as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow, ma'am, Miss O'Hare has no relatives who were transported to Australia. Of that I am absolutely positive.”

  By this time everyone was at pains to assure Darcy that they were only teasing him and no one would ever believe his lovely Kathryn was associated with any such villains, whether in Australia or anywhere else.

  The invitations being happily accepted, Darcy politely declined another glass of wine and made ready to depart. Despite his affection for all those in the party and his general good humour, it was one occasion upon which Darcy Gardiner was relieved to be leaving Pemberley.

  All that talk of criminals and conspiracies had been a little too close for comfort. He was glad indeed to get away.

  THE BINGLEYS, AS WAS their wont, stayed over at Pemberley after dinner. It was too late to make the twenty-mile drive to Ashford Park; besides, there was still so much the sisters wished to talk about, it was generally accepted that they would stay.

  With Mr Bingley asleep quietly in his favourite armchair by the fire and Mr Darcy having settled down to read while finishing the last of the port, Jane and Elizabeth went upstairs to Lizzie's private sitting room, where they were ensconced for an hour or more.

  Elizabeth always looked forward to these talks, but on this occasion, Jane had some very particular matters to discuss, which were unlikely to bring her sister much pleasure. She had a letter, which she had received a day or two ago, and as they sat sipping their tea, she produced it apologetically for Elizabeth to read.

  “I am sorry, Lizzie, but I have waited all evening to show you this letter. I did not wish to upset my dear brother-in-law with its contents…” she said, and Elizabeth could see at once that Jane, always unwilling to hurt anybody's feelings, was very anxious indeed.

  The offending letter was from their sister Lydia, now a widow, living with her unmarried daughter, Fanny, in a cottage on the outskirts of Meryton, not far from Longbourn, their childhood home. Always short of money, yet unfailingly extravagant, Lydia often wrote to her sisters to ask for help to pay her bills, and Elizabeth supposed this to be just another such letter. However, on reading it, she frowned as the meaning sank in, and she looked at Jane in some alarm.

  “She wishes to attend Julian's wedding?” she said, as if unable to believe her eyes.

  Jane nodded, apprehensive and uncomfortable. “She does, and, Lizzie, do read on, she wishes to bring her daughter Fanny with her to stay with us at Ashford Park! What ever shall I say?”

  Elizabeth's eyes expressed her horror at the prospect.

  Lydia Wickham was not only unwelcome, she would wreak havoc upon Julian and Jessica's hopes of a quiet wedding, for no occasion that Lydia attended could ever be described as “quiet"—of that both sisters were certain.

  Lydia's capacity, nay her active desire to make a spectacle of herself, to speak in a penetrating voice as her mother used to do, expressing her opinions, however uninformed, on a myriad of subjects and persons, to laugh loud and long at anything and everything, and above all, to appear dressed in execrable taste, would ensure that she was the centre of attention, the cynosure of all eyes, causing pain and embarrassment to all of her family, a consequence of which Lydia would be blissfully unaware.

  Elizabeth knew she would cringe with shame, and Mr Darcy, while he had mellowed and overcome his earlier habit of leaving a room whenever one or other of the Wickhams entered it, would not enjoy the prospect of seeing Lydia at the wedding.

  As for Julian and Jessica, their wedding day would be ruined by Lydia's presence, and for Elizabeth that was the material point.

  “Jane, you must write at once and discourage her—I cannot imagine why she wishes to invite herself. I do not believe either Julian or Jessica would wish to ask her. Neither of them knows her except by hearsay.”

  Jane looked thoroughly disconcerted. “But, Lizzie, how shall I prevent her if she insists upon coming and means to attend the wedding? What can I say to dissuade her?”

  Jane was at a loss to know how to act. Naturally obliging and gentle, she could not be rude, try as she might, and however well her errant sister deserved to be censured for her past conduct and her continuing stupidity, Jane would not find it easy to castigate her and refuse her hospitality at Ashford Park.

  Through the years, both before and after the death of Lydia's husband, George Wickham, whose feud with Mr Darcy had precluded Elizabeth from ever receiving them at Pemberley, Jane and Mr Bingley had extended the occasional invitation to Lydia. At least once a year, she would arrive, with or without the rest of her family, announcing her intention to stay but a few days and frequently staying a fortnight or more, enjoying the salubrious surroundings, good food, and ample hospitality of the Bingleys. When she finally left, they would heave a sigh of relief and give thanks for the return of peace and serenity to their home.

  This time, however, the matter was further complicated by Lydia's clear determination to attend her nephew's wedding.

  She had written:

  Dear Jane,

  I have always had a soft spot for Julian and indeed once hoped he might favour my daughter Fanny. I always knew he would not be happy with Josie Tate—she was such a stuck-up little thing and no great beauty either. I suspect he was inveigled into it by Josie's mama, Becky Tate, who must have had visions of her daughter becoming the next mistress of Pemberley!

  Poor Julian, I am delighted he is to marry again, even if it is to Jessica Courtney, who is a bit of a mouse herself; but if she is as good natured and capable as Emily, she will probably make him a good wife.

  Dear Jane, I am very eager to see them wed and wish them happy. I have bought them a little wedding gift, of course, and… and I must get new clothes for the occasion. I am going into town again to see if I can pick up a nice hat; mine is too old and out of fashion to be seen at Pemberley. I shall not give Lizzie a chance to say I disgraced her by wearing some old thing…

  …and so she went on and on.

  Elizabeth sighed, irritated by it all.

  “It's so like Lydia, is it not? Empty headed and trivial, so full of herself—oh Jane, what shall we do? There seems to be nothing that can keep Lydia away, short of a timely epidemic of chicken pox or floods in the southern counties!”

  The sisters retired for the night, without having resolved their dilemma.

  Unwilling to trouble her husband with their problem, Elizabeth waited until Mr Darcy had left for his early ride around the park before confiding in Jenny Grantham, her housekeeper, who had that morning brought in her tea tray, intending to consult her mistress on some domestic matter.

  Mrs Grantham could understand and sympathise with her mistress' unease. Having been with Elizabeth since her arrival at Pemberley as a young bride, there was little Jenny Grantham did not know of the family's problems, and the conduct of Mrs Wickham was not easily forgotten.

  Besides, Jenny loved Elizabeth dearly and was keen to help.

  “If only we had some means by which she could be persuaded to stay away—oh Jenny, I would gladly pay a large sum of money to ensure that she did not turn up and ruin Julian and Jessica's wedding day!”

  Mrs Grantham having listened a while, had an idea. “Could we not send one of the lads to fetch Mrs Wickham in a carriage, which might lose a wheel or lose its way somewhere between Ashford Park and Oakleigh, ma'am? If they did succeed in getting it repaired or finding their way back, it would probably be too late to get to the wedding, would it not, ma'am?” she asked, and Elizabeth, bereft of ideas herself, clutched at it as though it were the proverbial straw and she a drowning man!

  “Jenny, that sounds like a really good idea,” she said, “but how shall we convince Mrs Bingley? I cannot see my dear sister readily agreeing to such a naughty scheme, can you?”

 
; Jenny Grantham seemed fairly sanguine. “That is true, ma'am, but leave it to me, I am sure we can think of a way. Let me talk to my nephew Dan first—he would be the best one to send over to Ashford Park with the carriage. Once I have explained matters to him, we can advise Mrs Bingley that a vehicle will be sent over to convey her guests to the wedding. She need be told no more than that.”

  As it happened, there was little need to convince Jane, since she had already begun to worry that there would be no room in their landau for Lydia and her daughter, since two of her own daughters, Sophie and Louisa, would be traveling with them too. She had told Elizabeth that the girls had begun to be concerned that their gowns might all be creased in the crush!

  Elizabeth, seeing a sign of providential intervention here, asked her sister not to trouble herself, for she would send a vehicle from Pemberley for Lydia and her daughter.

  “Then are you resigned to the fact that they will attend the wedding?” Jane asked, surprised at this change in her sister's attitude.

  Elizabeth sighed dramatically, “Sadly it does look as though, if Lydia insists, she cannot be stopped. Mr Darcy can hardly call out the local constabulary to keep my sister away from Julian's wedding! Well, Jane, as our dear sister Mary would have said, what cannot be cured must be endured, and we must endure Lydia and Fanny as best we can. At least she will not inconvenience you and Mr Bingley—we will send the brougham to Ashford Park to convey her to the wedding, and your family can have the landau all to yourselves.”

  Jane smiled, glad to be rid of the problem of transporting Lydia to the wedding at last. It had weighed heavily upon her mind for days.