Postscript from Pemberley

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  He was quite certain that Colin Elliott, who knew how dedicated he had been to the cause of reform, would try to persuade him to accept. He was flattered, of course, but hoped he would be able to resist the lure and the persuasive arguments that would be put to him.

  When dinner was over, he decided to return without delay to Pemberley, where he hoped to have a meeting with his grandfather Mr Darcy after breakfast on the morrow.

  Meanwhile, Kathryn had spent a pleasant evening with her dearest friend, who had called to say good-bye. Julian and Jessica were leaving on the following morning for Derby and thence by train for London and Paris, from where they would depart for Africa. Jessica could not leave without seeing her friend one last time.

  When she had first called at the school, Kathryn's delight at seeing her had been so excessive, Jessica had been genuinely surprised.

  “Why, Kathryn,” she had exclaimed, as they had hugged one another and wept like schoolgirls, “it has only been three weeks! My dear friend, what will you do and say when we have been gone three years?”

  Kathryn was unapologetic and wholehearted in her appreciation. She had felt Jessica's absence keenly.

  “Jessica, my dear, dear friend, how I have missed you! Is it really only a few weeks? It feels as though you have been away for so much longer! But let me look at you—oh my word, how very well you look; marriage certainly agrees with you.”

  Jessica, upon whose complexion there was now a deep blush as well as the lovely bloom that Kathryn had noted and admired smiled and, with her arms still around her friend, whispered confidentially, “It is a state I would happily recommend to you, Kathryn, and if your Darcy were to ask my dear Julian, I have no doubt at all he would concur.”

  As she moved away and regarded her friend, she added, “Oh Kathryn, if you had told me a year ago that I could be so utterly happy and contented, I should have laughed you to scorn. Yet look at me now!”

  Looking at her, Kathryn could not doubt her words.

  There had always been about Jessica an indefinable quality of quiet serenity, as though she coveted nothing in the world beyond what she held in her hands at the moment. Yet now, she appeared to be aglow with delight, and Kathryn could not mistake it for anything other than the happiness she had found in her marriage with Julian. If only, Kathryn had thought, if only such profound pleasure were given to us all.

  This time, Jessica insisted that she had wanted to spend some time with her friend, and Kathryn invited her back to Colley Dale. From Pemberley they proceeded in one of the smaller carriages to Colley Dale, where the rest of the evening was spent as friends who were as close as sisters would spend their last evening together before parting for almost three years. They talked and laughed a great deal, wept a little, and made much of comforting one another, promising to write regularly and tell each other every significant thing that happened in their lives.

  Jessica insisted that she must know all the news. “Now, Kathryn, when you write, I want you to tell me all about the preparations for your wedding. Have you fixed upon a date?” Jessica asked as she put on her bonnet, preparing to leave. When Kathryn admitted that they had not, she feigned shock.

  “Kathryn, why must you delay? Pray do not waste another month of your lives—if you love each other, as I know you do, it is sinful to spend so much time apart being miserable, as I know you must be, when you can be so much happier together! This is most unsatisfactory—I think I shall speak to my cousin Darcy about this.”

  Kathryn, who had not the heart to tell Jessica of her present melancholy state and the reasons for it, had laughed lightly and said, “Well, Mr Gardiner has sent me a note saying he intends to call on me tomorrow. Perhaps something will come of it then.”

  Jessica was confident. “There you see! I knew it. Well, as soon as ever you have fixed a date, you must write to me; will you promise? And when you do, I shall pray as hard as I can that you will both be as happy as we are. Dear Kathryn, I cannot promise you more.”

  She was still smiling as they went to the door and she entered the vehicle that waited for her there.

  Seeing her thus, Kathryn could not help but envy her friend's felicity.

  The following morning, young Darcy, returning from a morning ride around the park, met with Julian and Jessica as they waited in the saloon for their luggage to be loaded into the carriage that would take them to meet the train at Derby.

  Although they had met on their return from London, he had not spent much time with them; they had all been rather busy. Now they were about to leave and would be gone, he realised with a shock, for almost three years. He went to them and, casting formality aside, warmly embraced first Julian and then Jessica, wishing them a safe journey. As he did so, unexpected tears flooded his eyes. They had both been a part of his life since childhood, and he felt their departure keenly.

  Jessica did too and whispered so only he could hear, “Darcy, pray do not delay too long; when you go to Kathryn today, do decide upon your wedding day. She loves you dearly, and every day that you spend apart is wasted time, when you might be so much happier together. Please believe me and do as I say.”

  Startled by her forthright advice, he drew back and looked at her. Seeing only honesty and warm affection in her eyes, he embraced her again.

  “Thank you, Jessica, I shall,” he said.

  Then Julian came to say the carriage was ready to leave. He took his wife's arm and helped her into the vehicle.

  Moments later, with a wave and a last good-bye to the family and servants gathered in the hall, they drove away from Pemberley and into the life they had chosen. It would not be an easy life, but they hoped their dedication to the work and their love for each other would sustain them.

  Watching them depart, Darcy experienced a sudden sense of loss. He knew he would miss them. Their marriage had marked for him, as it had for his grandparents, a renewal of faith. Following the tragedy of Julian's failed marriage and the death of Josie, there had been at Pemberley an atmosphere close to despair, which even the bright presence of young Anthony Darcy could not always dilute. Much as they all loved the child, he remained, to many in the family, a reminder of what had been lost.

  It was as though Pemberley had been emptied of hope.

  But, with the marriage of Jessica and Julian, there had been a perceptible change. Darcy had seen it start with their engagement, as the warmth of their affection and Julian's improved disposition seemed to pervade the household. There could be no doubt of their felicity, and it seemed to enhance the contentment of Mr and Mrs Darcy, too.

  Back briefly from their honeymoon, their love quietly yet so unambiguously expressed, they had made Darcy yearn for a similar degree of certainty.

  Now, Jessica's parting words, “She loves you dearly, and every day you spend apart is wasted time, when you might be so much happier together…” nagged at his mind.

  However, before he could decide upon a course of action, he had to see Mr Darcy. There were matters to be decided, important to them both, relating to Pemberley and his own future.

  Colin Elliott and Mr Howell had made Darcy an attractive offer—to support his candidacy for a seat in the Commons. It was no vain promise, but a tangible proposal with the very real possibility of preferment in a future political career, if he accepted.

  Could he, Darcy wondered, afford to turn it down? What would Kathryn say? She knew of his interest in politics and had encouraged him in it.

  Would it not seem like a wasted opportunity, and might he not regret it in years to come?

  These thoughts crowded in on him, and yet he had to admit to himself that, unlike a year ago, when he would have grasped such an offer with eager hands, today his enthusiasm for politics was on the wane. A political career was, in his eyes, no longer the pinnacle of achievement. A degree of disillusionment, even mild cynicism, had begun to erode the once bright idealism of his support for the cause.

  He recalled the words of Mr Daniel O'Hare: “Tell them, Mr Gardin
er, how very disappointed I am… they have done nothing to help the working men and women…. A pack of liars, all of them…” They were hard, angry words.

  He could not deny that neither Mr Gladstone nor any of his senior ministers had shown any inclination to deal with the policies and imposts that had made the lives of millions of ordinary people harder and more miserable than they needed to be. They had promised change but had taken no immediate steps to effect it. Ireland's aggravating tenancy laws and the disestablishment of the Irish church, esoteric subjects that touched the lives of none but landlords, clergy, and politicians, had taken precedence over the important reforms they had espoused.

  By the time he met with his grandfather, it was midmorning and Mr Darcy was taking coffee in the morning room. Darcy was keen to discuss matters of business, and his grandfather invited him to partake of a cup of the popular beverage. The subject of their discussion turned to proposals for subletting parcels of farmland, which had remained idle for two years or more.

  “We could encourage the tenants to follow the example of Mrs Courtney and Colonel Fitzwilliam; it could bring them additional income and make better use of the land, which is being degraded while lying idle. Would you have any objection to it, sir?” he asked.

  Mr Darcy thought for a moment before answering, “No, not in principle, but only if you can assure me that no tenant of mine will be compelled or pressed into subletting his fields or farm to some greedy neighbour or developer who will override his rights.”

  There was no doubt where Mr Darcy's interest lay.

  Darcy sought to reassure his grandfather.

  “I would certainly not permit it, sir. It would only be arranged by mutual consent and under my supervision, where the tenant farmer could obtain a clear benefit and the land would be worked with due care.”

  He added what he thought would surely please Mr Darcy.

  “With the talk that is around of a rural recession, it could be just what we need to get the men working and the farms profitable, sir,” he said, and Mr Darcy agreed. “Very well, go to it, then. But I should like to be kept informed of every new agreement before it is finally signed. It is not that I do not trust you, Darcy—I would trust you with every penny I have—but I must be certain some sharp businessman does not bamboozle my tenants into surrendering any of their rights. Some of these families have been settled on the estate for several generations. We owe it to them to protect them from exploitation or injustice. But, yes, I do agree, it could be useful at a time when cropping is unprofitable and small holdings are being swallowed up everywhere.”

  Darcy was delighted. “Then may I make a start, sir?”

  “Certainly, but remember, the rights of my tenants and their families must come first. They need certainty and continuity as we do. Our prosperity is dependent upon their well-being and vice-versa.”

  Darcy smiled. “Yes, sir, I shall not forget that.” Then, changing the subject, he added, “There is just one more thing, sir—I would like you to know that last night I was offered a chance to stand for Parliament, at a by-election for a seat in the West Riding of Yorkshire.”

  “Were you? I suppose this was one of Mr Elliott's schemes to lure you back to Westminster? I did wonder what Mr Howell's interest was. Your mother mentioned that he was exceedingly keen to meet with you.”

  “Yes, sir, and he was very flattering, but I have decided to turn it down,” said Darcy.

  His grandfather seemed very surprised. “Is that not rather precipitate? Such a valuable opportunity may not come your way again; safe seats in the House of Commons are not offered around every day of the year, you know.”

  “Indeed, sir, I know it is an honour and a rare opportunity, but I intend to refuse it just the same. I believe my place is here, sir.”

  “Not, I hope, because of your sense of duty to me and Pemberley? Noble as that may be, I should not like to think we had stood in the way of your political career if that was your desire.”

  Mr Darcy's expression betrayed his anxiety. Clearly his grandson was making a very serious decision, one that could change his entire life and shut him out of a once coveted career. He knew well Darcy's dedication to Mr Gladstone and the Reformist cause.

  When he spoke, his voice was grave. “Darcy, if you are doing this because it is what you want to do, I would be the first to applaud and encourage you, but if you are acting purely out of a sense of loyalty towards me, I should ask you to reconsider your decision. Remember, it will affect the rest of your life.”

  Darcy spoke up immediately, “I am aware of that, sir. I am very conscious of my duty to Pemberley, to you, and to my family, but that is not the only reason—indeed, it is not even the chief reason for my decision. There is another, even more significant matter that I must consider.”

  As he stood up and walked over to the window, he seemed, to Mr Darcy, taller and more self-assured in his manner.

  “The by-election is to be in the Autumn, and the elected member will be expected to take his seat at Westminster for the next session of the Parliamentary year; I do not believe I will be available, sir.”

  “Will you not?” Mr Darcy seemed puzzled, but his grandson smiled and said, “Sir, I expect and hope that Miss O'Hare and I will be married and on our honeymoon by then.”

  At this declaration, Mr Darcy's face creased into a smile and he began to laugh, clearly appreciating this new development.

  “Now, that is certainly a good reason, Darcy. I cannot argue with your priorities there. I take it you already have Miss O'Hare's agreement to this plan?”

  Darcy coloured slightly and confessed, “Not yet, sir, but I intend to remedy that when I call on her this evening. I shall ask her to set the date for our wedding, and I intend to suggest that it should be in the Autumn.”

  His grandfather was clearly delighted. “Very well then, let me wish you success and I shall await your return with the young lady and the good news! I look forward to telling your grandmother all about this—she will be delighted, I am sure.”

  They shook hands and parted in excellent spirits.

  WHEN DARCY GARDINER WENT to Colley Dale that evening, he took the curricle. He took also the keys to the house at Matlock. Work had been completed that week, making it ready for refurbishment, his mother had told him, urging him to see it for himself.

  Kathryn greeted him in the hall. She seemed a little nervous and uncertain as to his mood, but not for long. Within moments of his entering the house, it became apparent to her that his mood and manner were entirely changed from what they had been before. Having greeted her with a degree of warmth that she had missed recently, he asked if she would like to fetch a wrap, because they were going to be driving out.

  Surprised, she asked, “Driving out? Are we going far?”

  “No, not far, but I am concerned that the late evening air may be cold.”

  His voice was kind and solicitous, and she did as he suggested.

  Hastening upstairs, she collected her bonnet and wrap and told her mother they were driving out. Mrs O'Hare also urged her daughter to protect her throat, else she may catch cold, but otherwise seemed happy enough to see her go. She had begun to express some concern lately that no date had been agreed for the wedding, and her satisfaction probably reflected her hope that this evening's drive may bring some resolution to it.

  Darcy helped Kathryn in and, having ensured she was comfortable, drove on. At first, she was quiet, anxious that he may yet be troubled by something she had no knowledge of and wishing he would confide in her. So uneasy did she become, that after a while, she could hold out no more and had to ask, “Darcy, will you not tell me the purpose of this journey? Are we only to drive to the top of the hill to look at the prospect, or had you something else in mind?”

  He looked at her briefly and smiled. “We are going to look at the house we are to live in after we are married. The men have completed their work, and now you must decide on drapes and furnishings and such matters. We had best get start
ed, else it will not be ready in time.”

  His voice was so matter of fact, as though he expected her to comprehend his meaning exactly.

  Kathryn, though she thought she knew, said nothing at first, forcing him to ask, “Have I surprised you, Kathryn?”

  She was reluctant to admit it, yet it could not be denied. “Indeed, you have. I must confess I had no notion at all of your intention to drive out to the house,” she said.

  “But you have no objection to going?” he asked quickly and, when she said she had not, added, “I thought it a particularly good opportunity. With the workmen gone, we shall have the place to ourselves. We can see it at our leisure and decide on its refurbishment. However, we shall have to make haste, especially, if it is to be ready for occupation in the Autumn.”

  “For occupation in the Autumn?” she asked, simply repeating his words, turning them into a question.

  They had reached the entrance to the drive. He turned in and took the vehicle up to the house, pulling up at the porch.

  When he was helping her out, he asked, apropos her last question, “Would you consider that too soon, Kathryn?”

  “Too soon?” she asked, as though she were not certain of his meaning.

  “Too soon for us to be married?” he said with a smile.

  He opened the door, and they were in the hall. He had kept hold of her hand, and she had to look up at him directly. She saw that his expression was remarkably like it had been on the night he had proposed to her as the blizzard had raged around Pemberley.

  As the memory returned, she was uncertain where this conversation might lead and decided to lighten the mood. Resorting to the playful tone she would often affect when they were courting, she asked, “And have you brought me here to persuade me?”