The Pemberley Chronicles

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Let me take your mind back, dear Aunt, to the time when we were led to believe by Miss Bingley that her brother was very partial to Miss Darcy. Judging from Mr Darcy’s remarks, which carried not a single hint of ambiguity on the suitability of Dr Grantley, would you not agree that Miss Bingley’s remarks were more in the nature of wishful thinking? She hoped, no doubt, to promote her own cause as much as her brother’s. How totally are the tables turned. Mrs Reynolds is almost speechless with joy. She thoroughly approves of Francis Grantley, and while I am sure she cannot believe that any mortal person is good enough for her dear Miss Georgiana, Dr Grantley must come close. With this high degree of agreement and general satisfaction, you can imagine that we, at Pemberley, are at present enjoying a singularly pleasant and happy atmosphere. It wants only the addition of yourselves to make perfection.

  On the day following, as if there was an insufficiency of good news, a letter arrived from Mr Gardiner confirming that he had closed the deal with the agents for the purchase of the property at Lambton. Having taken Mrs Gardiner and all the children to see it and being assured that everyone loved it, for one reason or the other, he wrote:

  I must be forever in your debt, Mr Darcy, for having drawn my attention to this property. My family, especially Mrs Gardiner, is delighted with the place, and the added pleasure of being but five miles from Pemberley has sent young Caroline into transports of delight. She is, as you know, Elizabeth’s particular favourite and looks forward to seeing more of her in the future. In the New Year, when both our boys will be enrolled at school in Oxford, we hope to move to Oakleigh Manor.

  Meanwhile, we—that is yourself, Mr Bingley, and I—should meet to discuss arrangements for our London offices, since I expect to sell the house on Gracechurch Street. We should have no great difficulty finding suitable offices to rent nearer our warehouses. Many businessmen and stock traders have sold out or gone bankrupt. Commercial property is fast losing value; we should be able to take advantage of the market, since we have not suffered similar devastation.

  Mr Gardiner, whose long experience in trade and commerce had stood them all in good stead with the onset of the recession that was tightening its grip over England, explained the need for planning. His well-honed skills, combined with Darcy’s natural caution and Bingley’s willingness to take sound advice even if it meant quelling his own enthusiasm, had successfully steered them away from speculative ventures and debt—the twin destroyers of men and institutions of the day. Husbanding their joint resources and holding them available for future investment had proved an excellent policy. Now he was advising them to plan ahead, look beyond the present misfortunes to an England that would certainly recover, and be ready to take advantage of the upward swing.

  Make no mistake, Mr Darcy, this recession will surely end, and when the market is at the very bottom of the trough, people and nations will start to buy again, and if we are prepared with sound plans and sensible strategies, we shall do well. There is nothing worse than letting the gloom of the current situation blind us to the potential of tomorrow.

  He sent his regards and looked forward to a meeting at an early date. Darcy, who had had little or no experience in the world of Commerce, was more than grateful to have the benefit of Mr Gardiner’s wise counsel at a time when no one in business or government had predicted the chaos that was developing around them.

  The landed gentry were the least able to understand the new forces that the Industrial Revolution had unleashed. Darcy knew that many of his acquaintances and friends had no notion what was happening to the country. Familiar with the traditional cycles of a rural economy, with its droughts, floods, crop failures, and fluctuating prices, they depended upon a process of natural rotation to restore and sustain them. If one crop failed, another succeeded. Prices swung up and down.

  They were unprepared for the creeping recessions of industrial society, with the devastation of mill closures and starving poor begging on the streets, simply because ordinary people were too poor to buy food and clothing, and nations, deep in debt, could no longer import British goods for their people.

  Aware that his family had been, for the most part, protected from the impact of the recession that was rolling across the nation, Darcy had realised how exceptionally fortuitous had been his introduction to the Gardiners, through his marriage to Elizabeth. Mr Gardiner had proved a mentor and friend as well as a shrewd business partner.

  After dinner that night, he acknowledged to his wife his debt, explaining in greater detail than he had ever done before the worth of her uncle’s contribution to their own well-being and financial security. “Had I been less well advised, had I not been made aware of the need to protect and hedge the value of our own properties, quite apart from the additional value of the investment in Mr Gardiner’s business, which he runs with such remarkable success, there is no certainty that I would not have suffered losses, too.”

  Elizabeth was quick to point out that it was unthinkable Darcy would have been as rash or naïve as several of the prominent gentlemen whose fortunes had disappeared before their eyes. “Certainly, I agree that my natural caution and reserve may have saved me from the excesses that have destroyed them, but it may equally have prevented me from deriving the benefits of sensible enterprise.” Elizabeth agreed and in her heart rejoiced that Darcy had chosen in this way to indicate very clearly that, far from being materially damaging to him and Mr Bingley, their marriages had proved to be beneficial, through their very association with their Uncle Gardiner.

  Writing later to Jane, she related the burden of her discussion with her husband, and added:

  How fortunate we are, my dearest Sister, to have in our close circle such a couple as Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, who in every way are examples of what is worthy and honourable. Add to this my husband’s acknowledgement of the skill and wisdom of our uncle’s management of his business enterprise as well as his gratitude for the advice that he and Mr Bingley have had from Mr Gardiner, and we can be satisfied that Lady Catherine’s fears regarding the damage done by an alliance with us were quite laughable.

  You will recall, dear Jane, how depressed we were, after Lydia’s stupid elopement. How wretched were my predictions for our future prospects of marriage. Will you forgive me for having contributed to your distress at the time? Quite obviously, I was wrong. There was no question of our association’s ever damaging them, quite the contrary. While neither you, dear Sister, nor I, need such assurances from our dear husbands now, it is nevertheless comforting to know that it is true. To have this knowledge, while having also their love and esteem, is surely to have happiness of a very high order.

  For Elizabeth, her uncle’s letter and the conversation with Darcy that followed it, had crowned a week of increasing joy. With Jane and Bingley moving to Leicestershire—a mere twenty miles from Pemberley and now her favourite aunt and uncle coming to live at Lambton, her cup was full.

  As she picked up her pen to finish her letter to Jane, she wondered at the good fortune that had blessed them both and, indeed, most members of their family. For the present, at least, there was nothing more she could ask for, to add to the sum total of her happiness, except the safe delivery of her child, due in the Spring.

  CHAPTER TEN

  By fortune truly blest

  W

  ELL BEFORE CHRISTMAS, THE smooth running household of Mr and Mrs Bingley at Netherfield had been organised, packed, and moved to Ashford Park in the county of Leicestershire. Jane and

  Jonathan had temporarily moved to Longbourn, where Mrs Bennet had her heart’s desire, with an afternoon tea to which every neighbour, friend, and acquaintance was invited to meet her beautiful daughter, Mrs Bingley, and her grandson. No grandmother could have been prouder or more voluble in her praise of him. “The heir to the Bingley fortune,” which in times of increasing trade and commerce, had grown quite remarkably, was how his grandmother saw him.

  Jane’s presence with her son considerably brightened her father’s life.
Ever since his two favourite daughters had married and moved away, Mr Bennet had suffered a deep sense of loss. Knowing both Jane and Elizabeth were happy was certainly a great comfort to him, but he missed them terribly. The birth of Jonathan and Jane’s return to Longbourn for however short a time were special pleasures, and he was determined to enjoy them.

  Jane’s happy contentment was obvious to everyone, and her father had the grace to acknowledge to himself, at least, that God or good fortune or both had intervened to bless her life, despite the unpropitious circumstances of her home and family. Her mother’s foolishness, her youngest sister Lydia’s stupidity, and his own neglect could well have ruined any chance of happiness for Jane as it could for Elizabeth. It had been a salutary lesson for all of them, a lesson learned late, but well. That he had acquired two excellent young men as sons-in-law and, with Kitty’s engagement, was about to have another worthy addition to the family, all accomplished with a minimum of effort on his part, did contribute to some degree of smugness, it has to be said.

  Jane’s own sweet reasonableness, which caused her to dismiss as irrelevant confessions of negligence or inadequacy on her father’s part, only served to enhance his present feelings of self-satisfaction. “Dear Papa, you have no guilt to carry on my behalf. There was nothing done or left undone, by you, that would have changed my life significantly. Mr Bingley has assured me of this, and I believe him. If there was a time when he was uncertain about me, it was due to a misunderstanding of the strength of my own feelings, and for that, I can blame no one but myself. However, once he was reassured of my feelings, through the fortunate intervention of our dear Lizzie and Mr Darcy, he determined to return to Netherfield and ask me himself, and you know the rest,” she said, ensuring by her generosity of heart, that her father would not blame himself for any of her sorrow, however short-lived.

  When everything at Ashford Park was in its place, and Netherfield had been closed, Mr Bingley came to take his wife and son home. There were tears, advice, and blessings to spare, and finally, with the promise of a reunion at Christmas, they were permitted to leave. Jane had so much confidence in the taste and judgement of her sister and brother-in-law that she had not insisted on seeing the property at Ashford before it was purchased. She had, however, accompanied Mr Bingley, their steward, butler, and housekeeper on a tour of the place, before the move was undertaken.

  So completely delighted was she with the house, its furnishings and accessories, the gardens, the park that surrounded it, even the woods, walks, and streams that all seemed to be in exactly the places she had imagined they would be, that she pronounced it a perfect choice. On hearing of this, Elizabeth declared that she wished there were twenty more Janes in the world and they were all as amenable and easy to please. Congratulating her husband on selecting the property and then persuading Bingley that it was the right thing to do to sell his shares in the squalid textile industry in order to purchase Ashford Park, Elizabeth noted that Mr Darcy must now be feeling very satisfied with his success. “Certainly,” he replied, “Especially in view of the recession that is now overtaking the textile industry. It was a wise decision. I am indeed happy to have been able to advise Bingley to do what was both right and financially sensible.”

  “And to have made both his wife and yours happy with the result; surely, a doubly successful enterprise, would you not say?” Darcy looked up at Elizabeth quickly, suspecting she was teasing him again, but in truth, she was not. For her part, Elizabeth continued to be astonished at the lengths to which he would go to assist his friends. She had witnessed it time and again. It was almost as if he accepted that he had a responsibility to help those of his friends and relations whose well-being mattered to him. That this altruism extended to her own family—even its miscreant and undeserving members—she already knew, and Elizabeth loved him dearly for it.

  Lydia and Wickham, now expecting their second child, had not shown much gratitude for Darcy’s efforts on their behalf, but Elizabeth and Jane, learning of the extent of his involvement from Mrs Gardiner, never failed to appreciate his remarkable generosity of spirit. Seeing his quizzical glance, she rose and went to him. “I was being absolutely sincere, my dearest, you must know how happy I am that Jane and Bingley are to move to Ashford Park,” she said, “If the truth were told, I am sure they would have continued at Netherfield for another year, had it not been for your persuasion. Jane is very easygoing and would not have nagged Mr Bingley about it . . .”

  Darcy interrupted her in midsentence, “I cannot see Jane ever nagging anyone, my dear, and as for her amiable husband, he has been talking of buying a property ever since his father died but has been happy to enjoy the ease of renting for all of this time. To be fair, he did ask me, very soon after Jane and he were engaged, to look for a suitable place, which is all I have done. It was simply fortuitous that Ashford Park was available.” Elizabeth laughed and teased him about being so modest about his part in the enterprise but proceeded to assure him that she had learned from her sister that Bingley was immensely grateful for his assistance and advice.

  As for Jane, she could not imagine any place better situated or so wellappointed, and she gave all the credit to Darcy and Elizabeth. “So you see, dearest,” said Elizabeth, “We have been credited with a triumph of taste and good judgement.” Darcy smiled and said it was something he always enjoyed doing— giving good advice and having it so readily accepted. “Have you any particular advice for me?” asked Elizabeth, in a mood to divert him from serious matters. “Indeed I do, my dear,” he replied, taking her arm, “I suggest you accompany me upstairs—to look at a particular suite of rooms.”

  Elizabeth had already approached Mrs Reynolds about preparing a nursery. She had suggested accommodation closer to their apartments, and Mrs Reynolds was sympathetic, though a little surprised. The previous Mistresses of Pemberley had always preferred to sleep undisturbed by their babies. It was the way the “gentry” raised their children. “If you would tell me what you would like, Mrs Darcy, I will have it done in time for Spring,” she had said, helpfully suggesting an early start to the work.

  Elizabeth had wished to consult her husband first, before giving any orders, and she wondered at his already knowing of her request. His words anticipated her question. “Mrs Reynolds mentioned your discussion about a new nursery to Georgiana. She used to have rooms across the landing from our mother’s, but she has long since moved into her own apartments on the other side of the house. Georgiana thought you might like to have the rooms redecorated as a nursery. They are very light and spacious, with a pretty view.”

  Elizabeth’s delight was not in any way diminished by the fact that it was so unexpected. That Georgiana should be as generous as her brother did not surprise, but that Mrs Reynolds should have thought to initiate and Darcy to develop the idea added to the comfortable feeling of being drawn into the warm circle of Pemberley, where everyone seemed concerned about each other. It was a habit of caring that she was beginning to recognise as characteristic of the people here, due in no small measure, she decided, to the nature and practice of the Master. It was this atmosphere—rather than the prospect of fine jewels, splendid carriages, and an army of servants, in which her mother had revelled upon her engagement to Darcy—that Elizabeth appreciated most. The rooms proved to be exactly as Darcy had described them. With plenty of light and air, and an attractive view of the Rose Garden, which would be exquisite in the Spring, they were easily accessible from the main apartments and had accommodation for a nurse as well. Seeing she was happy with them, Darcy urged Elizabeth to proceed to give her instructions, so the work could begin. “As I have said before, dearest, it is your home, and I would like you to feel free to have done any work you wish.”

  “Are you sure you have that much confidence in me?” she asked. “Lizzie, I know you are unlikely to have the woods felled, the stream

  diverted, or the gallery turned into a bowling alley, so I urge you to tell Mrs Reynolds what you want done. She will h
ave the tradesmen do the rest.”

  Elizabeth was supremely happy. There was so much joy in her life that from time to time, she felt undeserving—as if it was too much to accept as her share of happiness. But that did not prevent her enjoying every moment. As she settled into her marriage with Darcy and learned to give and receive the mature love that was the core of it, she grew also in maturity herself and like Jane, found contentment easier to enjoy. The strength and emotional stability that Darcy provided, without the boredom that often accompanied those virtues, the warmth of Georgiana’s friendship, together with the concern and care that Mrs Reynolds and her staff wrapped around her, made for a most pleasing and happy state.

  She wrote to her friend Charlotte, who had just been delivered of another daughter—Rebecca Ann:

  I am indeed happy, dear Charlotte. The added pleasure of having my dearest sister Jane less than two hours’ drive from Pemberley, with the promise that in Spring, my uncle and Aunt Gardiner will move to Lambton a mere five miles away, shortly before my own baby is expected, is almost too much for one fortunate heart. I should have liked to have come to visit, dear Charlotte, but as you were when our dear Jane was delivered of Jonathan, so I am afraid am I quite unable to travel further than a few miles. I hope to go to Ashford Park at Christmas, but only for a day or two as I am warned that overtiring myself will not do. But, my dear friend, I hope and pray for your good health and that of both your little girls and trust we shall see you here soon. Jane tells me you have agreed to come to her in May; God willing, we shall see you at Pemberley, too.