“My only reservation flows from the sorrow she will bear when he dies, but that is a choice Emily has made. She has accepted that the sorrow she must endure, when he is gone, is part of the love they both share now, while he lives. It is not for us to sit in judgement over her, my dearest; rather we should endeavour to support and help them in every way possible.” Elizabeth knew he was right. She, above all, had fought prejudice and small mindedness and, through her own marriage and that of her sister Jane, seen her proud belief in the primacy of character and principle vindicated. Darcy, whose greatest strength lay in the consistent integrity and decency of his character, was reinforcing her own deeply felt beliefs and drawing her back to them.
Grateful for his intervention, she turned from the window and looked up at him, noticing how age had changed his countenance. The hard, determined chin and fine features still dominated his face, but the dark eyes were gentler, and the lines of many years’ experience had mellowed his expression. While strength and determination still prevailed, the hauteur had long gone, and in its place were respect and compassion for others, as well as a generosity of spirit that never failed to delight her. Reaching for his hand, Elizabeth spoke from the heart. “You are quite right, my love, I should never have believed that I had any right to be censorious of Emily’s actions, based as they were on totally unselfish love and devotion—which are surely blessed virtues. If Emily never loves another man in all her life, she will still have the memory of the love she shares with Paul, for however short a time. None of us, least of all myself, with my reputation for independence, has the right to criticise her. I have you to thank for showing me, albeit in the kindest possible way, how very wrong I was. I am sorry.”
Darcy drew her to him and held her close. He was deeply touched but not surprised by her contrition. Knowing her well, he understood her reasons and loved her honesty and sincerity in acknowledging it. It was her affection and concern for Emily and her parents, for whom both of them cared so deeply, that had brought her first, seemingly insensitive, response. Yet, Elizabeth, herself capable of deep love and loyalty, could not deny the pre-eminence of such unselfish love as Emily had shown, over any material consideration. So completely did she accept her husband’s account of the situation that she worried about her ability to comfort her aunt, whom she expected to find still griefstricken over Emily’s marriage and in dire need of consolation, when they travelled to Lambton on the following day.
To her surprise, they found the Gardiners far more composed than they had anticipated. Seeking a reason for their equanimity, Elizabeth did not have to look very far or wait very long. While the maid was getting tea and cakes, and Mr Gardiner invited Darcy to walk down to look at a new vehicle he had acquired, Mrs Gardiner took Elizabeth upstairs, where she produced a letter, closely written in Emily’s own hand. Posted in Rome, it was addressed to Richard but plainly intended for all of the family.
Having first thanked her brother from the bottom of her heart for all he had done to help them and asked his forgiveness for having caused him and her “dear parents” so much grief, she proceeded to write in great detail of the arrangements that had been made for their accommodation, the generosity and kindness of their Italian neighbours, and not least, the difference the warmth and constant sunshine had made, within only a week of their coming, to Paul’s spirits.
She wrote joyously of her happiness at being able to be with him:
How I wish you could see us in summer clothes, enjoying the fresh air and this wonderful Italian sun. I am determined that we shall be as tanned as our neighbours, Signora Cassini and her children, by the end of summer. They look so beautiful, brown as berries and ever so healthy. Tomorrow, being Sunday, after they return from Mass, we are to go with them to Anzio, which is on the coast. The Signora has promised to bring along a picnic, and we are to have a day by the sea! What bliss! Their grandmother, who lives with them, makes the most delectable ice confection—a type of sorbet with fruit—and she has begun to spoil us by bringing some over each time she prepares it for her family. Paul has won her by declaring, quite truthfully, that it is the best thing he has tasted in years. Oh Richard, I must not forget, the doctor from the hospital called yesterday. He is quite pleased with Paul’s condition and has recommended that he takes a short walk each morning, after breakfast. I am to go with him in case he becomes overtired, in which case, I must hurry home and send Jack with the little curricle to fetch him. I do not believe, however, that this will be necessary. He is looking and feeling so much better already.
Dearest Richard, Papa, and Mama, I cannot finish without saying again how I wish I did not have to cause you so much sadness. I am so happy here, but for the fact that I know I have caused you pain. That is my only regret. Please try to think of me as Paul’s wife, and you will understand that I had no other choice but to be with him at this time. I hope and pray that we might see each other again soon, but that is really in the lap of the Gods. Paul sends his love and asks you to remember to feed the birds at Littleford. He worries that they may go hungry in Winter.
Your loving and very grateful sister, etc.
Whilst Elizabeth read the letter, her aunt had sat beside her, and when she had finished, they were both tearful, but this time they were tears of relief, even happiness. As they embraced, she held her aunt tight and said, “Oh my dear Aunt, how much you must have gone through!” Her aunt smiled and took her hand.
“And I did not have my dear Lizzie’s shoulder to cry on.” Elizabeth remembered well how much comforting she had once sought and received from her aunt. Downstairs, the gentlemen had returned to the sitting room, and tea was served, as the ladies joined them. Elizabeth, with her aunt’s permission, let Darcy read Emily’s letter. She had no doubt at all that he had been absolutely right. In his own conversations with Mr Gardiner, Darcy had reached the same conclusion, although he forbore to say so.
Returning to Pemberley, Elizabeth found waiting for her another piece of evidence, if more were needed, to convince her. A letter from Jane, which had been addressed to her at Grasmere, had arrived a week later, having gone on a circuitous journey through the Lake District, before being redirected to Pemberley. It had been written the day after Jane and Bingley had attended the wedding of Emily and Paul. Even allowing for the eternal optimism of the Bingleys and her sister’s complete inability to speak other than well of anyone, until there was flagrant evidence of malice or worse, the letter was confirmation of everything that Kitty, Richard, Darcy, and Dr Jenkins had said.
Jane, after an initial admission to feelings of disquiet, based upon her fear that Emily had so little hope of a long and happy marriage—which was Jane’s preferred state of life—could not say too much about the selflessness of their cousin.
She wrote:
Emily looked beautiful in a simple white gown with a posy of roses from the Rectory garden. Her compassion and love shone through, as they made their vows. No one could doubt how deeply they cared for each other. Oh, Lizzie, I wish you could have been here to see them—it was such a beautiful experience, even for us who have been married many years, it brought tears to my eyes . . .
Bingley and I had been very surprised when we first received a letter from our Uncle Gardiner, inviting us to attend, but then Richard arrived to explain why it was happening in this way. We have been so busy with the children and Bingley’s work on the farm, that we did not know the seriousness of Paul’s illness. Of course, I had always believed them to be in love and was more convinced of it, each time I saw them together.
Dear Lizzie, I know Aunt Gardiner is very upset; with Robert gone to the Colonies and now Emily in Italy. But, as I said to Bingley, just to see the joy on their faces and know how much they care for each other is sufficient to make one happy for them. I cannot help getting rather tearful each time I recall what Richard has told us about Paul’s health and the likelihood that he may not live long. Bingley knew a young man in London, who went to Rome because he had Tuberculosis. He
lived for several years and only passed away because he could not give up drinking, which hastened his death. I am hopeful that Paul may also be helped by the salubrious climate in Italy, to live a good deal longer than is presently expected.
Ever the optimist and always the one to look at the brightest of all available possibilities, Jane helped to improve Elizabeth’s spirits quite considerably. She also spoke at length with Kitty who, together with her husband, had been convinced of the sincerity and, more importantly, the justification of Emily’s wish to marry and care for the man she loved. When Elizabeth asked if they had thought about the possible danger to Emily of infection, Dr Jenkins had replied that they had, and in talking to her, he had asked Emily if she had considered it. Her reply, that hundreds of doctors and everybody else who tended the sick, at home or in a hospital, took the same risk and it was a chance she would gladly take for Paul, had only served to demonstrate her devotion to him.
“It was,” said Dr Jenkins, “the kind of selfless love one hopes to see once or twice in a lifetime, in my calling. It is what priests preach with little hope of seeing it practised. I felt privileged to be able to help; I did not feel I had the right to question her further.”
Kitty, whose understanding had matured tenfold since her marriage to Dr Jenkins, had told her sister of a talk she had had with Emily, as they made preparations for the wedding. “She was so happy, Lizzie. That was what made it so wonderful. It was as if she was looking forward to years and years of happy married life. Never a word of complaint about the unfairness of it all, that is how I would have felt, but not Emily. Before leaving, she thanked everyone, even the servants, and of course, we did get the Children’s Choir together to sing two of her favourite hymns. Everyone was in tears, but Emily was smiling. Poor Aunt Gardiner, I was afraid she would faint, she looked so pale, but Richard was wonderful. He got everyone together, and after the wedding breakfast, he and Colonel Fitzwilliam packed us all into two big carriages, and we drove out to Dovedale. It was such a lovely day. Emily had tears in her eyes, but she was still smiling,” said Kitty, obviously overwhelmed by the experience.
For Elizabeth, it was difficult, if not impossible, to retain any of her original objections after all these accounts. It remained for her to do just one thing more, and later that evening, sitting at a table in the music room, while William and Cassandra practised at the piano, she wrote to her cousin:
My dearest Emily,
Since our return from the Lakes, I have had your letter, spoken with Richard and your parents and with Kitty and Dr Jenkins, as well. If I were to say that I was not surprised, even shocked, by the news of your marriage, I would be untruthful, and I know you would not wish that. I was both shocked at the news and distressed at being away, so I had no means of sharing what I am sure were difficult days for you. However, despite that obvious handicap, I have, I believe, gained sufficient knowledge from several sources, to feel able to write as I do. Mr Darcy and I have also talked at length about you and Paul, and your wish to marry and care for him is surely an act of great devotion. I pray that your devoted care and the warm Italian sun will help him greatly.
Dear Emily, I cannot say if I would have had the courage to do as you have done. But let me say how much we love you and want you to be happy. We wish both of you much joy together and pray for Paul’s improving health. Your mother has let me read your last letter to Richard, which seems to prove that sunshine, fresh air, and love combined in equal parts are an excellent medication for the body as well as the spirit. Do write when you can. We all love you and pray for you. God bless you both,
Your loving cousin,
Lizzie.
Throughout the Summer and into Autumn, letters were received from Emily, which recounted warm happy days and slow but steady improvement in Paul’s health. They gave Elizabeth and Darcy as well as Mr and Mrs Gardiner, with whom every scrap of new information was eagerly exchanged, a good deal of comfort. However, Richard warned Elizabeth against being carried away with Emily’s good news. “It often happens with this wretched disease,” he explained, “It appears to withdraw for a while, and the patient rallies strongly, but it always returns, often with redoubled vigour.” Seeing disappointment written all over her face as he spoke, he was immediately contrite, “Oh my dear Cousin Lizzie, I am sorry. I ought to have been more sensible of your feelings. I was just speaking as a physician.” Elizabeth, though saddened, was glad of the truth. But she was also concerned about her aunt.
“Do not tell your mother what you have just said to me, Richard. She places great store by the good news she hears from Emily.” Elizabeth pleaded, and Richard agreed.
“I know Mama is very pleased with Emily’s reports of Paul’s improving health, and I must confess I have not had the heart to tell her the truth. But, I have hinted to my father that they should not be too optimistic. I hope to travel to Italy in November, and I shall bring you an accurate report when I return.”
Listening to him, Elizabeth wondered at the fine young man he had become. She recalled the cheeky lad, who used to play Hide and Seek at Longbourn, often leaving his quieter little brother behind and defying all attempts to find him. Now, at twenty-five, an esteemed member of the community, he was a very personable and popular young man, a physician with a social conscience and an eligible bachelor!
On this occasion, he had arrived early, to collect Cassandra, who had promised to help at a Charity Concert organised by his sister Caroline. With a lively sense of humour and a naturally engaging manner, he was very much in demand by his sister, whose chief concern was organising her husband’s reform campaigns. Her goodlooking, well-spoken brother was an asset and a useful ally at these gatherings.
They were all due to dine with the Fitzwilliams that evening, and Cassy, who looked very fetching in her new bonnet, wondered aloud whether there might be music fit for dancing. To which Richard replied, “If you wish to dance, Cassy, I can absolutely guarantee there will be music.” As they were getting into Richard’s curricle, Elizabeth reminded him that she was counting on his help for the Harvest Fair in October, especially now they were without Emily. After assuring her that he would not miss it for the world, Richard took the vehicle down the drive and across the park, watched by Elizabeth and William.
Turning to her son who was standing in the sunlight, his honey coloured hair tousled, his blue eyes squinting at the bright light, Elizabeth asked if he had not wanted to go, too. William was not interested, “No, Mama, I owe Mr Clarke an essay on the Lake Poets, which I must finish today, and I do want to get in some practice on the new Mozart sonata, before Mr Goldman arrives for my lesson tomorrow.” His mother teased him, “Oh you poor dear, how hard you must have to work at all the things you love, mind you do not wear yourself out,” she warned. William laughed and embraced her, before running upstairs, leaving her smiling as she saw a maid taking up a tray of food, which would surely sustain him for most of the morning.
Elizabeth’s easy relationships with her children brought her deep contentment and happiness. William, whose sensitive, quiet nature had initially made it difficult for his father to reach him, had been drawn out by his mother, and in the last few years, the three of them had become good companions. Cassandra’s bright nature and ready sense of fun and William’s sensitivity were treasured equally and enjoyed by their parents, who never left them in any doubt of their affection. It was something that Darcy had missed as a child and Elizabeth had been determined to give her children in full measure.
J
The week before the Harvest Fair and the Pemberley Ball was one of the busiest in all her life. Elizabeth could not recall having so much to do and being so much in demand ever before. With only Caroline and Cassandra to help her with organising both functions, she had reason to be extremely grateful for the superb training and efficiency of the staff at Pemberley.
Jenny, her personal maid for many years, had recently been married and was beginning to take over responsibilities as housekeeper fr
om her aunt, Mrs Reynolds. She had worked with Elizabeth throughout the past fortnight on a host of details for the dinner and the ball, while her husband, who was Darcy’s chief Steward, was in charge of all matters relating to the fair. Elizabeth had not fully realised the level of interest the first fair at Pemberley was likely to raise in the community. Tenants, craftsmen and women, and farm labourers from Pemberley and the Camden Estates, as well as those from further afield—Lambton, Matlock, and Bakewell—had all wanted to participate, and there were thus numerous stalls and tents set up in the lower meadows, with trestle tables upon which were laid a myriad of articles proudly displayed. Everyone who had something or some skill to show and sell was there with woodwork, toys, tools, basketware, farm produce in plenty, honey, jams, pickles, preserves, as well as baskets of fruit, flowers, and vegetables from their home gardens. There were even a few paintings of the Peak or Dovedale, together with colourful knitted rugs and fine embroidered linen.
When Caroline, as the popular wife of the local member, opened the fair, the buying was brisk, and the visitors most enthusiastic. Everyone seemed pleased especially as the weather, which had been pleasant enough for most of the week, improved on the day to produce a final burst of Summer in the middle of Autumn, adding a somewhat unreal quality to the occasion. Elizabeth, feeling a little tired by midafternoon, returned to the house and found Darcy upstairs, looking out on the scene from a window in the library that afforded a most picturesque view of the meadows. She joined him, pointing out that the distance lent a storybook quality to the hive of activity down there. As they watched the figures scurrying around, they played a game—picking out individuals by their gait or dress. Caroline was easy to spot as she and her children flitted from stall to stall, and it wasn’t difficult to recognise Richard and Cassandra, the latter in a much-loved hat, smothered in yellow roses, as they emerged from a tent carrying two rather unwieldy baskets of apples across to a trestle table. Halfway across, Cassandra tripped and dropped her basket, spilling its contents all over the grass. Richard hastened to help her, solicitously examining her foot and ankle, to assure himself that she had suffered no injury. Though they could hear not a word of their conversation, both Elizabeth and Darcy could not help smiling as they watched and noted his concern and her smiles of gratitude. As they collected their apples and went, this time, with Cassy keeping a firm hold of Richard’s arm, Darcy asked, apropos nothing at all, “How old is Richard?”
The Pemberley Chronicles Page 37
