Still another of the men addressed Sir Edmond, “What about your rents, Sir Edmond? Do you intend to raise them next season?” Sir Edmond said curtly, “I do not.”
“What about you, Darcy?” Darcy took a deep breath—he was offended and angry at having to engage in a discussion with them but was determined to make a point.
“I have no intention of increasing the rents of the tenants and farmworkers. In difficult times, when crops have failed or prices have fallen, my family, like Sir Edmond’s, has provided some relief for our tenants and labourers.
“Most of them have lived on the estate for generations; their fathers and grandfathers have worked the land; they are making a reasonable living and working very hard for it. I can see no reason to burden them with an impost they cannot afford. I have no wish to see them deprive themselves or, worse, their children of food or clothing, just so I can collect more rent.”
There was a sullen silence in the room as Darcy, warming to his theme, continued, “As for enclosing the commons, I would not even consider it. There is no land for sale on the Pemberley Estate. We have plenty of arable land lying fallow, should we wish to expand cultivation; we have no good reason to enclose the commons.”
“Does that mean you will not support us?” the first man demanded. William had by now informed Darcy that this man was Barlow, a stockbroker from London, who had bought up several small holdings in the neighbourhood.
“You have no need of my support, sir,” Darcy replied. “You are free to use the law and do as you please on your land. On my own estate, I shall do what I think is in the best interests of my family and the people who work for us.”
“But do you not see that those of you who are working outside the Enclosures Act are making it damned difficult for us who need to use it to make a profit on the lands we have recently purchased?”
Mr Darcy shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry, but that is not my problem. As I see it, we have a system, which allows each landholder to use or not use the processes of the Enclosures Act. In the case of the Pemberley Estate, we have no need to use its provisions, nor do I need to increase the rents of my tenants.”
He turned to William and indicated that he had had enough of this and wanted to leave. William Camden, the only one of Sir Edmond’s sons to show any interest in the family farm and stud, had watched Mr Darcy’s determined stand against the “Johnny-come-lately” Londoners with admiration. But he was also well aware of the anger of these men. They had been to see his father a few days ago, before it was decided to call the meeting. They were confident in the rightness of their cause, certain that only through widespread enclosure and extensive mechanised farming would England feed her increasing population and the landowners prosper. Sir Edmond had tried to calm things down, pointing out that Mr Darcy was acting within his rights and should be free to manage his estate as he thought fit. James Fitzwilliam, who was not wellknown to the newcomers from town, spoke up, too. He reminded the gathering that unlike new landholders with recently purchased acreage, families like his had farmed the land for centuries and they had responsibilities towards their tenants and workmen.
This brought a hoarse laugh from the “town toffs” as William called them, which seriously irritated Darcy, who spoke from the doorway, “You might not acknowledge it, but there is a thread of mutual obligation that runs through the fabric of our society, which we have to thank for the security we enjoy today. While French peasants joined the poor in Paris to forge the revolution, English farmers were not seduced by slogans, because the system we have here assured them of freedom and security of tenure. If you destroy those threads and rend the fabric of English society, you do so at your own peril.”
As Darcy walked out, his Steward and groom, who had waited outside the meeting hall, fell in beside him. There had been some audible voices agreeing with him but many discordant ones, grumbling, disputing his right to speak out. William, feeling somewhat uneasy at their overt hostility, followed Darcy out to the stables. They stopped awhile to talk with Sir Edmond and his steward, who were both apprehensive that Darcy was riding back to Pemberley in the gathering darkness. “Would you not prefer to leave your horses here and take my carriage?” Sir Edmond offered. “My groom can bring them over tomorrow.” Darcy was not very concerned.
“They are hardly likely to attack us, surely. It would be foolish, after they’ve been clearly seen here.”
“You could not count on them being anything other than hotheads, sir,” said Sir Edmond’s steward. “If you insist on riding out to Pemberley tonight, I’d be of a mind to accompany you with a few of my men.”
Sir Edmond quickly endorsed the idea, and Darcy was reluctant to argue. Moreover, he was anxious to get back to Pemberley, since it was already later than he had expected to be. Darcy and his two men mounted their horses and rode on ahead, while William Camden, James Fitzwilliam, Camden’s steward, and some half a dozen men followed at a discreet distance.
There was a half moon rising, still rather low in the sky, but the late Summer night was only half-dark. Instead of riding through Lambton as they had come, Darcy suggested they take a shorter route across the woods, along a familiar bridle path that crossed the boundary of the two estates. They rode on untroubled by anything untoward, until they had almost reached the point where the path descended steeply towards the stream. As arranged, Darcy’s steward whistled to indicate to those following that they were almost home; once across the stream they would be within the park and quite safe from any trespassers. There was a rustling and sounds of horses, which they took to be the party from Rushmore turning back. Then, a shrill, quite different whistle pierced the night, and without warning they were in the midst of a crowd of some six or seven men, some on foot and others on horseback, all with their faces hidden under hats or scarves. The steward’s horse reared up in fright and its cry must have reached the others, who wheeled around and rode back as fast as they could, arriving just in time to find Darcy confronting a stocky man with a heavy stick upraised, while his Steward and the groom were grappling with two others on the ground.
Obviously outnumbered, they were very relieved to have the party from Rushmore arrive in time to subdue and arrest the vicious ruffians, no doubt in the pay of some disgruntled dandy who blamed Darcy and his ilk for the fall in his profits. Darcy’s Steward, Thomas, and the rest of the men from Rushmore Farm decided that they would take the miscreants back and hold them until the morrow, when they would be brought before the magistrate. William Camden and his groom accompanied Darcy the rest of the way to Pemberley House, ignoring his protestations that he was quite safe.
Elizabeth, anxious as darkness began to fall, was at an upstairs window watching out for her husband, when the small group broke out of the grove and crossed the bridge. Recognising Darcy as he rode towards the house, she ran downstairs and was at the front door before he had alighted from his horse. Seeing William Camden with him and noting that Thomas and the groom were missing from the party, Elizabeth sensed something was wrong. However, she knew better than to make a fuss, waiting until he was upstairs and had flung off his coat and boots before she asked the reason for his somewhat ruffled state and the missing men. Not wanting to alarm her unduly, Darcy made light of the matter, not telling her too many details, attributing his own rather dishevelled condition to the rough ride through the woods on a windy night. Elizabeth was not fooled. She was determined to discover what had taken place to cause her husband to return in some disarray, minus two of his servants and accompanied by William Camden and his groom. She knew Darcy would not lie to her if she asked him directly, but seeing he was tired, she did not pursue the matter, intending to find out some facts first. Meanwhile, after holding her very close for a moment, as if he was afraid for her safety rather than his own, he went away to bathe and dress for dinner. Georgiana was at dinner, and not wishing to alarm her, they said no more. That night, Darcy, clearly exhausted, was not averse to retiring early and soon fell fast asleep. Eliz
abeth on the other hand, unable to sleep, wrote to Rosamund Camden, begging her to ask her brother William for more information. She suggested they meet at the church on Sunday.
On receiving Elizabeth’s letter, Rosamund approached her young brother immediately. Since no one had told him otherwise, William had no reservations about telling his sister exactly what had happened that night. The urgency of Elizabeth’s note and the anxiety it expressed told Rosamund that this was a matter that could not be delayed until Sunday. On the pretext of consulting Elizabeth about some detail of her wedding clothes, Rosamund came the following afternoon to Pemberley, while Darcy was out.
Her account of the incident so terrified Elizabeth that she wept and was quite unable to think rationally for a while. Rosamund assured her that Sir Edmond, who was also the magistrate, had come down very hard on the villains, who had been captured and produced before him. He had asked his daughter to set Mrs Darcy’s mind at rest; he would be taking further steps to ensure that those responsible for the abortive attack would be incarcerated and the men behind it would pay dearly, too. Rosamund did not know whether the identity of the men behind the attack was known but assured Elizabeth they would be found.
It was some time before Elizabeth could collect her thoughts, so anxious was she about her husband’s safety. She thanked Rosamund again and again, for her prompt attention to her request and decided to write first to her Aunt Gardiner and seek advice.
When Darcy returned later that evening, Elizabeth tried very hard to conceal the fact that she knew any more than she did when he had left her that morning. She talked with false brightness about the approaching wedding and asked if Darcy was looking forward to being best man for his cousin. Darcy soon began to suspect that all was not as it seemed, and when they retired for the night, he chose the moment to probe the matter, only to find that he had opened the veritable floodgates of emotion, anxiety, fear, and bewilderment.
Never in her relatively sheltered existence had Lizzie experienced anything like the threat of violence against any member of her family or circle of friends. Moving from the peaceful but modest environs of Longbourn to gracious, elegant Pemberley, it was the very last thing she had expected to confront. Though she had heard talk of unruly behaviour of newcomers to the district, they were so far removed from her, so unlikely to cross her path, that it was a matter to which she had given no thought at all.
To discover that, despite the elegance and comfort of their life at Pemberley and the very high regard in which the family of Mr Darcy was held all over the county, there were emerging new and hitherto unexpected forces that impinged upon their lives was unsettling. It had shaken her more than she cared to admit, and she could not conceal it from her husband.
Astonished by the strength of her feelings and the extent of her distress, Darcy, who had hitherto treated her concerns rather lightly, relented. He realised that his best efforts to spare her anxiety had only exacerbated the situation. He apologised for not having taken her fears seriously. Quietly and clearly, he told her what had occurred and explained his subsequent actions.
As she realised that both Mr Darcy and Sir Edmond had the ability to take action against the men involved and to protect themselves in the future, she was better able to accept it as a rash attempt by stupid, foolhardy men to intimidate their neighbours. “There is nothing they can do, dearest, nothing” he said, reassuring her, hoping his firm words would convince her that her fears were groundless. “We know who they are, and we have their measure. Should they make one more mistake, they will face transportation, no less. I cannot believe that any of them will fancy a stretch at His Majesty’s pleasure, upon a wretched prison hulk or worse in New South Wales.”
Despite the gentleness of his tone, a result of his concern for her, the determination in his voice gave her some comfort, and for the first time, she smiled. “Is it not likely that they will try again?” she asked, but he was very certain.
“If they do, they will not succeed, my dearest; they have shown themselves to be hot-headed and stupid. Should they try again, we will be ready for them.” Elizabeth seemed reassured and agreed to set her fears aside, but not before she had extracted from him a solemn promise that he would take no risks and go nowhere alone. Impractical as this seemed, Darcy was happy to give her his word. He had every intention of taking good care and was unlikely to walk into a trap again.
The incident had convinced him of the rightness of his own convictions. That the rural English heritage he loved was, despite its strong foundations, fragile enough to be shattered by the actions of men with no lasting links with the land, whose only motivation was greed.
The mutual dependence and shared responsibility, which was the basis of the community in which he had grown up and in which he hoped to raise his own family, provided the security that was the hallmark of rural England.
Recent developments had started to rip that security away, and the desperation of the dispossessed poor was being mirrored by the desperation of those who had grabbed their land but found it brought them small profit. That it had manifested itself in an attack upon him had come as a shock. But the intrusion of violence, however abortive, into the groves of his beloved Pemberley hurt more than the attack upon himself.
J
Mrs Gardiner was about to go out when Elizabeth’s letter arrived. It was of such a size—being thick and closely written—that she decided to postpone her expedition to the shops. Her niece, always an interesting correspondent, could not be kept waiting. She gave Mrs Gardiner a most colourful account of the attack on Darcy, not hiding her concern or her anger but reassuring her aunt that Darcy and Sir Edmond had the matter in hand:
It is still difficult for me to write of the fear and alarm I felt on realising that Darcy had been attacked, here, within the park at Pemberley. Had it not been for the resourcefulness of Sir Edmond’s men and the courage of Darcy’s groom, who was hurt grappling with two of the villains but hung on to them nevertheless, I dread to think what might have happened. Darcy assures me that the guilty men have been severely dealt with and their masters, whom the ruffians betrayed easily no sooner were they apprehended, have been confronted and warned to stay out of trouble. We are particularly fortunate that Rosamund’s father is the magistrate for this part of the county; Darcy and Rosamund both tell me he is feared up and down the land.
Mrs Gardiner was deeply shocked by the revelations in Lizzie’s letter. Recently, the Gardiners had begun to tire of the constant hustle and bustle of their part of London, which was growing heedlessly into a commercial quarter, where all manner of people gathered to ply their trade. With four children— two of them girls, they had wondered about the wisdom of continuing in their house in Cheapside. Elizabeth’s letter convinced her that it was time to make some decisions about moving out of London.
Elizabeth continued:
My dearest Aunt, how I longed for you or Jane to be here—or at least not quite so distant from me, that I might seek some comfort.
I have been afraid and yet I must not let the staff see my anxiety, nor let it trouble Darcy. He has said and done every possible thing to comfort me and allay my fears, but never having expected such a terrible thing to befall us in such a beautiful spot as this, I am still not able to restore my earlier calmness of mind. As I write, I look out over the park and my eyes track the stream to the point where the bridge lies across it and the path disappears into the woods. Seeing it now in the bright sunlight, it is hard to believe that just out of sight, in the shadow of those same trees, the attackers lurked in darkness. What might have befallen my dear husband had he been alone or had with him only Thomas, who is almost as old as Papa, I shudder to think.
Please do not be unduly alarmed, dearest Aunt, but it does seem to me that suddenly we are confronted with very different circumstances to those in which we grew up. I need very much to see you and talk with you before long, even if it is only to reassure myself that we are not in danger of losing that happy life we onc
e enjoyed . . .
There was no doubt that Elizabeth had been badly shaken by the incident, and Mrs Gardiner had almost decided that she would take her daughters and go to Pemberley for a few days, when another letter, this time by Express Post, was delivered. Tearing it open, fearing it contained bad news, she stood in the hall reading it, with some degree of apprehension.
Moments later, with a joyful cry, Mrs Gardiner ran into her husband’s room with the news that their niece Jane had been safely delivered, almost a month earlier than expected, of a son.
The letter, from Mr Bingley, begged Mrs Gardiner to come as soon as she could. Not only did Jane long to have her and Elizabeth at her side, but he was apprehensive that Mrs Bennet might arrive posthaste from Newcastle and take up residence at Netherfield, unless Jane had another companion already present. While not wanting to appear disrespectful towards his mother-in-law, Bingley’s lack of enthusiasm for such a visitation was quite plain. Jane, he said, had expressed a preference for the company of her aunt. Mrs Gardiner did not waste a moment. Instructions were given and arrangements made, notes despatched, and, finally, packing—that inevitable chore—was done, and less than twentyfour hours later, they were on their way.
Meanwhile, a similar letter, this one carried by a servant from Netherfield Park, had reached Elizabeth and Mr Darcy. In her excitement to be gone to her sister’s side, all thoughts of footpads and ruffians were banished from her mind as she flew around the house, making preparations for the journey.
Seeing her thus—bright eyes shining, a smile constantly playing on her lips, humming a tune as she tripped briskly or ran to complete some task, Darcy was more than happy that, unexpectedly, the son of Bingley and Jane had arrived to restore Lizzie’s happiness and with it his own.
The Pemberley Chronicles Page 12
