Postscript from Pemberley

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Everyone, including young Dan, who was amply rewarded for his services, had been satisfied with the outcome, except Lydia.

  Most importantly, Julian and Jessica had had their tranquil family wedding, free of any unpleasantness and embarrassment, and that, thought Lizzie as she prepared for bed, was exactly as it should have been.

  UNHAPPILY FOR JANE, HER problems with Lydia did not end with her non-attendance at the wedding. After spending many hours grumbling and fuming about the debacle that had cost her a splendid opportunity for self-promotion, Lydia proceeded to exercise the skill she excelled at, retailing rumour and gossip. Neither family nor friends were left unscathed; no one was immune from the poison she purveyed with such relish.

  Jane, who had to listen to her, was often aghast at the tales she told. One or two in particular caused her great concern.

  On the day following Julian and Jessica's wedding, Lydia, having risen too late for breakfast, was consuming a plate of food specially prepared for her in the middle of the morning. She still ate as heartily as she had done when she was a young girl at Longbourn, noted Jane, whose abstemious diet had shocked her younger sister.

  “Jane, I do not know how you stay alive with so little food!” she had exclaimed at dinner, while reaching for a second helping of roast gammon.

  This morning, however, it was not food upon which she concentrated her attention. Making an oblique reference to Caroline Fitzwilliam's son David, she observed, “Ah well, I suppose there will soon be another wedding in the family. I understand David Fitzwilliam is likely to be tying the knot, too.”

  Jane, who did not know the extent of Lydia's knowledge about David's personal life, feigned ignorance. “I am not so sure you have been correctly informed; Lydia, we have heard nothing of an engagement…”

  But her guest was not so easily diverted from her quarry.

  “Have you not? Oh la, that is odd, seeing as you are so friendly with Caroline and the colonel. Come now, Jane, I am sure you would know more than you are willing to tell. You need not worry about keeping secrets—after all we are family and in any case, it's all over town. My boys George and Phillip have heard it all.”

  Jane was so surprised she dropped her guard and asked, “Why, Lydia, what have they heard? I know David spends a lot of his time in Manchester; he works for Mr Gardiner's company now. I suppose he must have some new friends there.”

  “Ah yes, of course he does,” said Lydia archly. “And who else do you suppose is in Manchester?”

  Hardly waiting for an answer, she proceeded to swallow a morsel of food and place some more in her mouth before saying, “I am surprised Lizzie hasn't told you, because she must know. I believe it's all been agreed between them and they were waiting only for Julian and Jessica to be married before announcing it. Mark my words, Jane, David Fitzwilliam will be engaged to Lucy Longhurst within the month.”

  She looked at her sister, expecting a response, and when Jane simply regarded her blankly, she went on, “Lucy Longhurst, do you not remember her? She was the orphan girl whose father disappeared and no one knew who he was. Well, she is now a school teacher and soon to be Mrs David Fitzwilliam—oh la! how people's fortunes change!”

  At this, Jane's usual restraint deserted her, and she exclaimed, “Lydia, you have no right to say such a thing, particularly when you know it to be untrue; I shall not listen to such nonsense.”

  “You may please yourself, Jane,” Lydia replied with a degree of insolence that shocked her sister and ill became her. “Does that mean you do know something of the matter? If you do, perhaps you would care to tell us who her father really was?”

  Furious at having been ambushed into this conversation, Jane left the room, but returned moments later to admonish her sister.

  “Lydia, you shall not speak of anyone in those terms in this house. Mr Bingley will be most unhappy. Besides, in the case of the lady in question, what you claim is not true at all. Lucy Longhurst was Miss Fenton's niece, her sister's daughter. She was raised and cared for by her aunt and her grandmother after the death of her mother when Lucy's brother was born. Their father, a respectable man in the community, was heartbroken at the death of his wife. He joined a merchant vessel that sailed to the Caribbean and was lost at sea when the ship was attacked by pirates in the Indies. I had it all from Miss Fenton herself, when she was governess to Cassy's children.” Jane's outrage rose, giving her both eloquence and nerve.

  “It is both unfair and cruel to spread such wicked lies about a young woman who has done you no harm. You shall not besmirch Lucy's name, and it is no matter whether or not she is engaged to David, she is a respectable young person, and I will not have it said that you spoke ill of her in my house.”

  Shaken by the vehemence of her usually gentle sister's words, Lydia was quiet for a while, finishing her food and rising from the table.

  Then she asked, “And was Lucy Longhurst at the wedding?”

  Jane's irritation showed. “I confess I did not see her, and that was because I was worried about you and Fanny… because you had not arrived. I thought something had happened on the way… some accident.”

  That almost re-ignited the complaint that had filled most of the previous evening, and Jane decided to escape from it all to her private apartments, where Lydia could not follow her.

  Two days later, Jane was in the morning room, writing to her daughter Emma, who had recently returned from Italy with her husband James.

  The Wilsons had consequently missed Julian and Jessica's wedding, and Jane was writing to tell her all about it, when Lydia entered the morning room, plainly idle, bored, and looking for someone to talk to. For a while Jane carried on writing, hoping she would leave, but it was a vain hope.

  Peering over her sister's shoulder, Lydia asked, “Who are you writing to? Is it Charlotte Collins?”

  Jane almost snapped, “It is not!” then added, “I am writing to Emma; why do you ask?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Lydia replied, picking an orange out of a bowl that stood on the table and beginning to peel it, “except I wondered if you had heard from Charlotte since she had a visit from our cousin Robert Gardiner and his wife Rose last month.”

  Jane was confused. “Robert and Rose were visiting Longbourn last month? I thought they were in France at Christmas.”

  “They were indeed, and a jolly old time they'd had, too—but they were in Hertfordshire at the New Year, looking at properties in the area, and they came to tea with Mrs Collins. I happened to be visiting Charlotte at the time and stayed on to chat with the Gardiners. Rose is looking remarkably well, and she had on a splendid chapeau—purchased in Paris, although poor old Robert looks older and more put upon each time I see him. She runs him ragged, I do believe.”

  Jane shook her head. “Oh, Lydia, you are hopeless; you must not say these things about people. So Mr and Mrs Robert Gardiner are looking to buy a property, you say?”

  Lydia warmed to her subject. “They are. I am told they were exceedingly cross with Aunt Gardiner for leaving her house and estate at Oakleigh to cousin Emily. Rose was quite insistent that it had been as good as promised to Robert.”

  Jane looked askance, wondering if this was another of Lydia's rumours.

  “I am sure that is not true, Lydia; besides, why should they want it? Robert and Rose were well provided for by our Uncle Gardiner in his will, while Emily, with Mr Courtney retiring from the living at Kympton, has no home to go to. Should anything happen to James Courtney, God forbid, Emily will be on her own with young Jude. Cannot Robert and Rose understand that his sister, who has given up so much of her life to serve the community, needs a home? Can Robert not persuade his wife to be generous, even when his money is not involved?” she asked.

  Even Lydia, to whom concepts of service to the community were strangely unfamiliar, could not disagree. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “Well, I agree that Emily deserves a home of her own, and I wish her well, but, Jane, it is all very well for you to say it, 'cos you c
an afford to be generous. Rose says that Aunt Gardiner promised Robert the use of Oakleigh. She believes it was Richard and Caroline who changed their mother's mind, because they knew that if Mr Courtney dies and Cousin Emily has no home to go to, they will have to take her in and look after her to the end of her days.”

  Jane's look of contempt said it all. “That is nonsense, Lydia, and you know it. Emily will be cared for by her family, whatever her circumstances. She is the kindest, most warm-hearted person in the world, and no one would mind her having Oakleigh except Rose, who has always made it clear that she wanted Robert to have it. Indeed, she seemed impatient to be rid of Aunt Gardiner herself! But my aunt had decided that Emily should have the place a long time ago. I know, because Mr Bingley had it from Mr Darcy; Aunt Gardiner simply wanted to ensure that Emily would have a home.”

  Lydia was undeterred.

  “But if Robert and Rose had the use of it, I think Rose would have invited Emily to stay at Oakleigh and help run the place.”

  Jane could not believe her ears.

  “Did she tell you so herself?”

  “No, but I think she would have. After all, Rose has never been mistress of such a large place, and she would have needed the help. Besides, she and Robert are away a lot, and I suppose Emily would have been a godsend. Rose as good as said so.”

  “What? To be a housekeeper for Robert and Rose in what was her mother's home? Oh Lydia, how could she even suggest it? Has Rose no sensibility at all?”

  Lydia shrugged her shoulders again, sensibility was not her strong point.

  “Well, what else could she do? With Reverend Courtney's heart disease worsening, she may have an invalid husband to look after and quite often, these people live forever—she may be stuck with him for years…”

  “Lydia!” cried Jane. “I think that will quite do. Reverend Courtney is not dying, so we shall not speak of him as though he is. I cannot imagine how you get these cruel ideas!”

  Lydia's callous talk had so shocked Jane, she picked up her writing things and retired to her room, where she completed her letter to her daughter.

  Dearest Emma, forgive me if I sound despairing and miserable when I ought be cheerful and happy after the wedding, but I have had your aunt Lydia to cope with these past few days, and believe me, my dear child, it has been a dreadful imposition upon us all.

  There is nothing that I can do to avoid her chatter and gossip, of which we are all so weary that your father now will not come downstairs for longer than half an hour at the very most before dinner. Mercifully Lydia is not an early riser, so we are spared her company at breakfast, but every other meal has become a sort of penance, though what manner of sin your dear father and I have committed to deserve such a harsh sentence, I do not know.

  It is however a great joy to know that Julian and Jessica are happy, and your aunt Lizzie could not stop smiling all through the wedding, though I do believe there were some tears at the end before the couple left on their honeymoon.

  They are gone to Wales and Cornwall, I believe, though this is a secret which no one is supposed to know. Jessie admitted to me that she was dying to see Tintagel Castle!

  Now your aunt Lydia has turned her attention to young David, cousin Caroline's eldest son—that is, he is her eldest now, since dear Edward's death, of course—and she will not stop probing, trying to discover by one means or another if he is engaged to Lucy Longhurst. Do you remember Lucy? She was such a pretty little girl, sadly orphaned early in life and brought up by Miss Fenton, who used to be governess to Cassy's children. Well, I do believe she is just as pretty, is now a school teacher, and David Fitzwilliam is in love with her. I understand he has admitted as much to Darcy Gardiner.

  I think it is wonderful, but Lydia does go on about her being an orphan and not knowing who her father was, so I have to pretend I know nothing of the matter.

  If they are engaged, and perhaps they soon will be, then I hope James and you will be able to come to the wedding, which will probably be at Matlock or Pemberley.

  But, despite Jane's hopes, David Fitzwilliam's wedding was neither in Matlock nor at Pemberley. Neither Lydia Wickham nor Emma Wilson was able to attend, the former because she was not invited and the latter because Mr Wilson was engaged in hearing a complex case of fraud in the county courts and could not undertake the long train journey from Kent to Manchester.

  Being both rather shy and unaccustomed to the limelight, David and his bride to be had decided they would be married in the small church in the little parish in which they planned to live, and only those friends and relations who could brave the journey west were there to see them wed.

  The Darcys, Fitzwilliams, and Bingleys attended, and Miss Fenton was there, of course, but perhaps most touching was the sight of Lucy Longhurst arriving at the church, escorted by her young brother, now a naval lieutenant. The boy, whose birth had caused the death of their mother and, consequently, the despair which led to the demise of their father, had returned to play his role at his sister's wedding.

  It was, by all accounts, a most affecting moment and many tears had been shed.

  The bridegroom's sister Isabella and her husband Mr Bentley were host and hostess for the day and did their family proud, wrote Jane to her daughter Emma.

  I think, Emma, no one can doubt Isabella's happiness now. Caroline tells me that Mr Bentley has proved a most devoted and loving husband and takes great care of young Harry too. David cannot speak too highly of his brother-in-law, Caroline says.

  Our cousin Robert Gardiner did attend, but he came alone, as Lizzie predicted he would. Rose and her parents were invited, but felt they could not cope with Lancashire weather at this time of year! A pity, because it was an unusually fine day!

  Emma my dear, I suspect Lizzie and Mr Darcy have quite lost patience with Robert and Rose and her parents. Lizzie believes that Robert is increasingly dictated to by his wife and father-in-law, while his mother-in-law, Rosamund, who used to be an amiable young woman before her husband succeeded to his title, has acquired a host of airs and attitudes, and behaves more and more like a dowager duchess. I cannot believe she is the same pleasant person we used to meet at Pemberley every Christmas.

  No doubt they felt the wedding at the little parish church in Manchester was not sufficiently grand to tempt them to brave Spring in Lancashire county!

  For myself, I would not have missed it for the world. Lucy was lovely in her wedding gown, and David, though he is not as handsome or as tall as Darcy Gardiner, looked very much the proper gentleman. I have never been able to think of him without remembering how he loved to dress up and play at soldiers. I know Caroline is very glad that he has given up all ideas of going into the cavalry and is making a very good fist of his job in Uncle Gardiner's Commercial Trading Company.

  I understand that David and Lucy are to travel to Sussex to spend a few weeks at Lizzie's farm, and will call on you and James at Standish Park. I am sure when you meet, you will agree that they make a fine young couple.

  Concluding her letter, Jane went in search of her husband, whose reluctance to encounter his sister-in-law had almost made him a recluse in his own home over the past fortnight. She found him in the library, which was one of the few places into which Lydia was unlikely to venture, and persuaded him to accompany her into the garden.

  Bingley had taken an interest in the gardens at Ashford Park, and his wife knew it would do him good to get out into the warmth and fresh air.

  She had good news for him, too—her maid had informed her that Lydia and Fanny were planning their departure. Jane knew he would be glad to hear it. “I think, my dear, they may require the carriage to take them and all their luggage to meet the coach at Ashfordby,” she said a little tentatively.

  Bingley's countenance was transformed with the prospect that peace would return to Ashford Park. He responded quickly, “Of course, they can have the carriage, my love, it can carry them all the way to London if need be. Please, do give orders that it be made rea
dy forthwith,” and dropping his voice he added mischievously, “before they change their minds.”

  It was about as far as Mr Bingley, who was generally a polite and amiable host, would go, but his wife understood his meaning exactly and went at once to do as he had suggested.

  THE HAPPINESS OF JULIAN and Jessica was enhanced by the prospect of their imminent departure for France and Africa. Her contentment complete in a marriage that had already exceeded her expectations, Jessica's wishes now centred upon their forthcoming journey. She looked forward to it with an almost spiritual fervour, savouring the knowledge that she would be helping her beloved husband accomplish a long-held ambition, while at the same time fulfilling her own desire for new horizons. Marriage had brought both intentions so close together in her mind, as to be inseparable.

  For Julian, her excitement and interest in his work made for a blending of professional achievement and personal delight such as he had never experienced, nor believed possible. That with Jessica, he could give and receive the deepest love, without compromising anything he valued, was to him uniquely satisfying. Left feeling bruised and guilty by his previous attempt at marriage, he had been apprehensive at first, even disbelieving such an intimate communion was possible.

  To find it so simply seemed, to him, close to miraculous.

  Meanwhile, Darcy Gardiner and Kathryn had the pleasure of announcing their engagement considerably increased when Dr Gardiner handed his son the keys to their home. A modest but elegant Georgian house on a property of moderate size, beside the river Wye, situated halfway between the village of Bakewell and the dales of Matlock, it had been Darcy's parents' first home and the place that held all his most treasured childhood memories.

  A wedding gift from Mr and Mrs Gardiner to Richard and Cassy, it had been an exceptionally happy place, occupying one of the prettiest sites on the river, where a pleasing combination of tumbling water, rocks, and green meadows created a delightfully soothing prospect. Kathryn fell in love with it at first sight, and both she and Darcy were deeply touched by the generosity of his parents.