Jane, Charlotte, and Elizabeth had the pleasure of seeing their children meet and mingle as friends, in the same way that their mothers had done. Amelia-Jane, Charlotte’s youngest, who was not quite fourteen, insisted on teaching William the latest dance from Europe—the polka, which he declared was more like a barn dance.
Jonathan and Emma Bingley were without doubt the handsomest young couple dancing, but Richard Gardiner and Cassandra Darcy drew many admiring comments too.
By the end of Boxing Day, when the festive food was cleared away and the big front room glowed with the light of candles and the warmth of a huge log fire, Elizabeth felt everything was right with her world. The voices of the children rose in song as their parents sat together around the room. William and Cassandra played and sang a charming French carol they had been practising all week and received many compliments for their performance. Sitting beside his wife, Darcy put an arm around her, and Elizabeth caught her sister’s eye across the room and smiled. Jane, surrounded as usual by her beautiful family, made a blissful picture.
Elizabeth felt a niggling little doubt creep out of a corner of her mind, a reminder of Jane’s persistent unease—the obsession with “not deserving such happiness.” But, annoyed with herself for letting it in to spoil her pleasure, Elizabeth pushed it away.
Darcy caught the merest flicker of irritation as it crossed her countenance, “Is something wrong, Lizzie?” he asked, sensing that she was uneasy. Elizabeth smiled serenely and shook her head.
“No, dearest,” she said, “nothing is wrong, nothing at all,” she replied, as the voices of the children singing the lovely Coventry carol filled the room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
And why has happiness no second Spring?
W
HEN ELIZABETH AWOKE TO a cold grey morning, she did not stop to consider whether it was some ill-omen for the day to follow. She was sufficiently familiar with the changeable nature of
Derbyshire weather in January to be grateful that it was not pouring with rain. The previous evening had been a particularly pleasant one. Before most of
her guests left, Elizabeth had successfully broached an idea upon which she and
Emily Gardiner had set their hearts. They had planned to hold a Harvest Fair
at Pemberley, to provide an opportunity for the tenant farmers, farm labourers,
and their families to sell their garden produce, display their individual skills and
crafts, and help their community at the same time.
Jane had suggested that it would also be a good opportunity to celebrate the
“coming out” of three young ladies, who would all be seventeen that year—
Emma Bingley, Cassandra Darcy, and their friend Rebecca Collins. Especially
if Mr Darcy could be prevailed upon to give a ball in their honour, it would
surely be an occasion for a great family gathering. Bingley, who was still most
enthusiastic about dancing, keeping up with all the new European dances,
declared it to be a splendid idea.
Plans were immediately afoot for a variety of activities to be organised for
the fair and the ball that would follow, after Mr Darcy agreed to the ball, for how could he refuse in the face of such universal approval? The younger members of the family insisted that there had to be a “magic show” and “fortune tellers” at the fair, while others saw opportunities to benefit their favourite causes. Kitty and her husband decided they would collect donations in cash and kind for their school, while Caroline thought it would be an ideal occasion to get more signatures for the People’s Charter for Universal Suffrage, which was gaining popularity around the country. Colonel Fitzwilliam warned that if Elizabeth did not exercise some control, the Pemberley Harvest Fair may begin
to rival the scale of the celebrations after Waterloo!
Undeterred by such mischievous cynicism, Elizabeth, Emily, and Caroline
were determined the event was going to be a great success. “You may laugh,
Fitzy, but I think it is going to be a wonderful occasion. People will come from
miles around, and we shall remember the day for many years to come,” predicted
Caroline with confidence.
Elizabeth was delighted with their response and thanked Darcy for
having agreed to the idea in the first place. She knew how much he valued
his privacy at Pemberley and was grateful he had agreed, without complaint,
to let it be invaded. “I know that you will feel put out by having all these
people tramping around the grounds, dearest, but I do believe it is in a very
good cause,” she said, apologetically. Darcy insisted that he would not be put
out at all.
“You need not apologise to me, Lizzie. I am perfectly happy to have the
grounds of Pemberley used for the benefit of our community. Pemberley is at the
centre of that community, and I think we should play our part. I think it is an
excellent idea, and I am sure it will be a great success.” Elizabeth was genuinely
surprised by his apparent enthusiasm, but she responded quickly, “I do hope so.
Of course, there is a lot of work to be done, and I shall need to organise a team
of helpers. I am so glad you are in favour of it; I was afraid you might be set
against the whole idea.”
Darcy smiled, “Oh, I may well have been, some years ago, before my selfish, thoughtless ways were so thoroughly exposed and severely dealt with. But
as you know, my dear Lizzie, I am now a reformed man.” She could hear the
ironic humour in his voice, and her own response acknowledged it. “I do know it, and I hope that reformed man knows he is more loved than
anyone in the world, because he is quite the kindest and most generous person I have ever known.” Darcy fairly beamed with pleasure but, pretending to be embarrassed by the extravagance of her declaration, he teased her, “Hush, Lizzie, have a care or I may have such a high notion of my virtue, that I shall become insufferable all over again, and all your good work will have been undone!” Even as she laughed, Elizabeth wondered how she had ever found him insufferable. There remained little similarity between the man who had walked into the Assembly room at Meryton with a hauteur she had deemed to be intolerable and the husband she loved so dearly. His approval meant everything to her, and his encouragement of the undertaking bestowed upon it a
special distinction.
Unfortunately, the following morning—which by breakfast time had lived
up to its promise, turning even colder with sleet falling on the hills behind the
house—brought Elizabeth’s surge of pleasure to an abrupt end. Shortly after
breakfast, Darcy and Mr Gardiner had driven out to Kympton, leaving Mrs
Gardiner and Emily with Elizabeth, when an express was delivered to the door.
When the maid brought it to Elizabeth, she thought it was nothing unusual.
“It’s from Lydia,” she said. Emily and Mrs Gardiner exchanged glances, expecting it to contain the usual request for help with her post-Christmas bills. But, when Elizabeth had read it quickly through, she threw it down with a
cry of pain, tears welling in her eyes. Mrs Gardiner left her seat beside the fire
and flew to her niece’s side. “Why, my dear Lizzie, what is it? What has happened? Is it bad news?” Elizabeth could barely speak.
“No,” she said bitterly, “it is not bad news—it is just bad!”
“Why? What does she say?” asked her aunt. Elizabeth spoke with difficulty,
as if her feelings were choking her.
“Lydia accuses us—Darcy and me, of manipulating Papa’s will, so that her
son, Henry Wickham, is deprived of the chance to inherit Longbourn.” Mrs Gardiner gasped. “This is outrageous,” she said. Emily went further.
“How dare she?
What right has she to suppose such a thing?” She reached for
the letter and as she read it, grew angrier by the minute, until her mother urged
her to read it aloud. Emily complained that Lydia’s handwriting was so poor she
could hardly make it out. Finally, she began to read:
My dear Lizzie, you will probably not welcome this letter, but it will be no worse for you and Mr Darcy than the communication I have received this day, from Mr Grimes, Papa’s attorney. I have never met him, but I imagine him to be a most disagreeable man, judging by his horrid letter. He informs me that in order to spare me and my family any further disappointment of expectations based upon speculation rather than fact regarding the disposition of the Longbourn Estate—fancy all those long, difficult words— he has been asked by his client (by which he means Papa!) to advise me of the following. He then informs me that Papa has named Mr Jonathan Bingley as his manager, when he attains his majority, and heir to the Longbourn Estate on Papa’s death, with life interest to Miss Mary Bennet, as long as she remains single. What a joke! All I am to look forward to is my share of whatever monies are left to be divided between us after Papa’s death, but Mary will have all of Longbourn! Lizzie, you could have knocked me down with a feather! Jonathan to be Papa’s manager! Why he is not yet eighteen. And why, when my Henry is older than Jonathan and is Papa’s eldest grandchild, does he ignore him? As for Mary, what will she do with that large place? Wickham and I believe this is all your doing—you and Mr Darcy. Wickham says it is exactly the kind of thing Mr Darcy would do, just as he edged Wickham out of a most valuable living at Pemberley, after old Mr Darcy’s death. Lizzie, it is not right. As you know well, Jonathan will inherit Mr Bingley’s fortune, which we hear has grown considerably of late. Why then should he have Longbourn, too? It is selfish and greedy. I shall write to Jane and Papa. They must see that my two boys also need help to get on in life. Henry could manage Papa’s estate and live at Longbourn, while he did it. I could run the household for both of them. There would be plenty of room, Mary does not need more than a couple of rooms, and Papa spends most of his time in his library. Lizzie, I hope you and Mr Darcy realise what you have done to my poor children. Perhaps if you were not quite so rich, you would have understood how difficult it is for those of us who have insufficient money and no inherited wealth. I hope Papa and Jane see how unfair they have been to us and our children—especially Henry. I have to say that having felt his coldness towards us when we were at Longbourn for dear Mama’s funeral, I do not expect much sympathy from Papa. Perhaps Jane will be more helpful.
Yours etc.
Lydia Wickham
Mrs Gardiner, who had sat aghast as Emily read the letter aloud, appeared to have been struck dumb. Emily went to Elizabeth and put her arms around her cousin. “Oh dear Lizzie, do not pay any attention to Lydia. She is both stupid and ignorant. This is a cruel, vicious letter, which betrays her complete lack of decent feeling,” she said as she tried to comfort her.
Elizabeth, who had wept as Emily read the letter, sat up and blew her nose. “You are quite right, Emily, Lydia is stupid, but this letter is not her own work. It is Wickham’s doing and shows his vicious nature; he still persists with his attacks upon Darcy and by association, myself, with all those lies about being edged out of his valuable living, and now there is this nonsense about our part in denying Henry his inheritance! Mr Grimes has made it very clear that Longbourn is now Papa’s to leave to whomever he chooses and he has chosen Jonathan—of all his grandsons. Now, we have not objected on William’s behalf, nor has Kitty. So why should Lydia?” She could scarcely hold back her tears of rage.
“Dearest Lizzie,” said Mrs Gardiner, who had recovered some of her composure, “Can you not see that Wickham and Lydia are furious because their wretched little plan has gone awry? They wish to blame you; it is just their dreadful way of being revenged upon Mr Darcy and yourself.”
Elizabeth nodded, appearing a little calmer but still sufficiently angry to wish to sit down immediately and pen letters to her father and sister Jane, warning them of Lydia’s complaints. As soon as they were written and sealed, she had them despatched by express, after which tea combined with sympathetic understanding from her aunt and Emily helped considerably to improve her spirits. When Darcy and Mr Gardiner returned, nothing was said about the letter before and during dinner.
After the Gardiners had left and Elizabeth and Darcy had retired to their apartments, she handed her husband the letter, apologising as she did for its dreadful contents. She was uncertain of his response—expecting anger. But as Darcy read it, he laughed out loud and declared, “Elizabeth, dearest, is it not good to know that Wickham has been so soundly beaten? This letter, filled with rage, betrays him and proves how right your father was to have acted as he did,” he said, smiling broadly, obviously delighted with the prospect of Wickham’s defeat.
Bewildered, Elizabeth asked, “Are you not angry about all those lies?” “Angry? Of course not. Why should we be angry? We sought nothing for ourselves and our children. We were happily present to witness your father declare clearly his wishes for the disposition of his estate. This squalid letter proves what I have always believed; I do not accept that this is all Lydia’s doing; Wickham was behind it, it is his type of devious trick, and it gives me immense pleasure to see him comprehensively routed.” Darcy sounded genuinely pleased, and despite the hurt she had felt at Lydia’s cruel words, Elizabeth’s humour began to improve.
In the days that followed, letters received from her father and Jane reassured her that the Wickhams’ effort to disrupt their peaceful lives had failed. Neither Jane nor Mr Bennet appeared at all perturbed by the threat of incurring the wrath of the Wickhams. Both of them reassured Elizabeth that they would deal with any approach from Lydia very swiftly indeed. Elizabeth was relieved and soon decided that Darcy was right; the Wickhams were best ignored.
J
When Richard Gardiner returned to Oakleigh from Birmingham, he found two invitations waiting for him. The first, which he considered an honour, was to address a group of churchmen, public officials, and landowners, who had heard good reports of his work in Birmingham and wished to try something similar in Derby. Lord Derby was said to be interested in improving the housing and health of his tenants, and the possibility of obtaining his assistance for their scheme had excited the worthy citizens of Derby and the editor of the Pioneer newspaper, which had long campaigned for better health care and schooling for the children of the area, with little success. Having despatched a letter of acceptance, Richard took up the next letter, an invitation to dine at Pemberley, which he expected would be pure pleasure. The note from his cousin Elizabeth suggested that he might wish to stay overnight, since there were some matters to discuss, “about the hospital and other things besides.” She went on:
Cassy and William have also begged me to remind you to bring along the copy of the composition by Mr Mendelsohn you apparently promised to pick up for them. They have talked of little else since attending his concert in London. I cannot believe that either of them will have sufficient skill to play the grand “Capriccio Brillante,” but they are determined to attempt it.
Since his sister Emily had, as was her usual practice, returned to Oakleigh to spend a few days with her parents, Richard found himself dining with Darcy, Elizabeth, and Sir Thomas Camden. There was plenty of interest in the work Richard was doing in Birmingham, where in a very short time, he had transformed a rundown clinic into a children’s hospital. Much of the inspiration and funds had come from his friend and assistant Paul Antoine, who had been determined to spend some of his own money on renovating the old place. When he mentioned the invitation to speak to the influential citizens of Derby, Sir Thomas was most impressed. “It looks as if they mean business,” he said.
“Perhaps we are finally beginning to make people understand the importance of decent housing and health care in a community,” said Richard, pointing out that they had waged a hopele
ss battle for many years with very little success. Darcy was quick to agree.
“I have always believed that we cannot build a strong nation if the people who do the most difficult jobs—the farmers, miners, mill workers, and such are housed in unsanitary conditions, with no schools or hospitals. Fitzwilliam has been campaigning for the recognition of this need for years, and so has Sir Thomas through his newspaper, but unfortunately, neither the old Tories nor the present government seem prepared to spend the money, because it will mean higher taxes on the middle classes, who support them.”
“And form a large part of their new majority in the Commons,” said Richard. Elizabeth, who had been listening in silence, asked, “Would it not be worthwhile making a start ourselves? If the community set the example and began work on a hospital, could we not then persuade the government, through our local members, for support to continue the work?”
“Indeed, Cousin Lizzie, that will be the burden of my message when I go to Derby next week. If we can show that there is a need and make a start locally, I believe we can push the government for support. On the other hand, if we do nothing but complain, we will achieve nothing.” Darcy nodded, smiling as he agreed.
“You are quite right. There is nothing better calculated to capture the attention of a Member of Parliament than a large group of his constituents involved in an undertaking that benefits their community. It fills him with a desire to be associated with such good works. We shall have to ensure that we extract a price for this association with a noble cause.”
“Well, it will cost either money or votes,” laughed Richard. “Indeed,” said Darcy, who then proceeded, to Richard’s great delight, to
announce that Sir Thomas Camden and he had agreed to donate the land and initial costs for the building of a cottage hospital for the area. “There is a fairsized block of land at Littleford, on the boundary of the Pemberley Estate and the Camden property, served by a lane that comes directly off the road that goes through to Bakewell and Lambton. It used to be quite a prosperous farm, tenanted by a farmer, who died last year. He had no family, and the place has been vacant for several months. I think it is well-situated for your purpose—being both private and accessible by public road.”
The Pemberley Chronicles Page 33
