“As I remarked to my Aunt Gardiner only a moment ago, Lydia and Wickham are both quite brazen in their disregard of people's opinions. They appear oblivious to the fact that most people in this room are well aware of their elopement and the circumstances of their subsequent marriage.”
“Oh, do regard Wickham now,” said Jane in a despairing voice, “look how he simpers and smiles and courts the approval of everyone he talks to; he will flatter and flirt with every woman in the room who will tolerate his antics. Oh Lizzie, just look at him!”
Elizabeth's eyes followed her sister's and alighting upon Wickham, who had just bowed low and kissed the hand of Caroline Gardiner, whom he appeared to be engaging in conversation, she said, “Good Heavens! He is trying out his charms on Caroline. Our poor young cousin does not know the detail of his background, does she, Aunt?” and she turned to Mrs Gardiner, only to find that her aunt, having witnessed exactly the same scene and being even more wary of Mr Wickham than her nieces, had evacuated her chair with speed and was making her way across the room to where some of the young people were gathering for a dance.
As she approached, Wickham, who had been standing inordinately close to young Caroline, allowing her no means of escape, stepped back and Mrs Gardiner pointedly interposed herself between them and asked after the health of his wife and children.
“And how does the air of Newcastle suit your wife and family, Mr Wickham? I trust they are all well?” she asked and Wickham, unabashed, switched his charm from the daughter to her mother, launching into a description of domestic felicity which he claimed to enjoy with his dear Lydia and their two little boys. Having successfully distracted him from her daughter, Mrs Gardiner turned to Caroline.
“My love, I believe your cousin Lizzie wishes to see your gown—she had not seen it until today and longs to see the embroidery close up.”
Caroline obliged, and as she moved away, Mr Wickham, his eye attracted by the charms of yet another young woman, excused himself and went to join in the dancing.
Mrs Gardiner soon returned to her place at the table.
“His hypocrisy is quite breathtaking,” Mrs Gardiner told her nieces, “it was as if he and Lydia had the happiest of marriages, yet we all know the truth of it. The man's a disgrace!”
Caroline, who had been too young at the time to know the detail of Wickham's infamy and Lydia's notorious affair with him, was nevertheless well aware that the man was persona non grata at Pemberley. On rejoining her cousins, she declared quite firmly that if Mr Wickham had been the very last man left on earth and he had proposed to her, she could not have accepted him.
Elizabeth was curious to discover the reason for this revulsion.
“Why do you say that, Caroline?” she asked. “After all he is both handsome, after a fashion, and his manners are certainly calculated to please.”
Caroline looked at her with some astonishment at first, before she realised that her cousin Lizzie was being sarcastic.
“That may well be, Cousin Lizzie, but there is about him something, I cannot say what, for I do not know him at all well, but I do know I could never trust him, however charming he may try to be or however well he may try to present himself. He is the kind of person who could never win my confidence. Poor cousin Lydia, it must be dreadful to be married to such a man.”
Even as she spoke, Jane and Elizabeth exchanged glances, recalling how easily they had been taken in by Wickham's charm and apparent openness, when they had been older than Caroline. Elizabeth in particular recalled how she had been deceived by him into upbraiding Mr Darcy, and her cheeks burned with shame at the memory. How had young Caroline come so directly to the right judgment when they had all been so wrong?
A cold shiver ran down her spine as she remembered how near she had come to disaster herself, defending Wickham, defaming Mr Darcy, and almost, but for the merest chance, letting her feelings run away with her good sense. She had her aunt and Mr Darcy to thank for her escape.
It was with some relief that they saw Mr Darcy and Mr Gardiner approaching, and as Elizabeth rose with a welcoming smile, her uncle asked, “Are we ready to leave, ladies?”
Returning to Derbyshire, Mrs Gardiner and her daughters became involved in helping Elizabeth organise the parish church fair at Pemberley. In the absence of the rector Mr Jenkins and his wife, who were on their honeymoon in Wales, it had fallen to Elizabeth to do the honours. While Mr Darcy and her Uncle Gardiner were busy establishing offices in Manchester, Elizabeth had borrowed Caroline for the day to assist her with setting up the stalls in the garden of the rectory.
“I do miss Kitty at times such as these. It is very good of your mama to let me have you to help” she said and Caroline, who was devoted to her cousin Elizabeth, made light of her tasks.
“I am perfectly happy to help, Cousin Lizzie, and Mama did not mind at all. She had to take Emily to Derby to get her some material for a new coat; she is growing so fast, she is taller every day and has outgrown all her Winter clothes,” Caroline explained as they got busy with the tasks at hand.
Elizabeth was constantly surprised at her cousins' accomplishments in artistic pursuits and matters of a more practical nature. Both Misses Gardiner were deft and quick at sewing and cooking, while Caroline was especially favoured in her mastery of the pianoforte and in her singing. As she proceeded with sorting and arranging things with a minimum of fuss, Elizabeth, who did such tasks as a matter of duty, wondered at the way Caroline seemed to find genuine enjoyment in it.
Unlike her own mother, Mrs Bennet, who'd had little inclination to have her daughters learn any domestic skills, which she considered to be beneath them, being the daughters of an impoverished gentleman, Mrs Gardiner, despite her husband's relative affluence, had insisted that Emily and Caroline were well schooled in housekeeping while also acquiring a good education and artistic skills.
It was while they were thus engaged that Caroline asked Elizabeth a question, which, while it was certainly not impertinent, succeeded in surprising her cousin.
“Cousin Lizzie, I know you and Mr Darcy and indeed my own mama and papa have a very poor opinion of Mr Wickham and Cousin Lydia. I do not doubt for a moment that it is with good reason, but I wonder, would you mind telling me why this is so? What was it brought about this general lack of regard for them, for it is very plain to see?”
So taken aback was Elizabeth by this unexpected query, as much by the substance of the question as by the casual manner in which it had been asked, that she was silent for quite a few minutes.
Confused as to how she should answer her cousin, how much or how little to reveal, what construction to place on Wickham's deception of herself and how much of Mr Darcy's story concerning his sister Georgiana she need tell, Elizabeth's discomfiture was obvious and, conscious she may have embarrassed her cousin, Caroline apologised.
“I am sorry if I have discomposed you, Cousin Lizzie, I had no intention of doing any such thing. If it is a subject that causes you pain or unhappiness, pray do not feel you must answer… I am sorry… I probably should not have asked…”
Elizabeth, roused to protest, said quickly, “No, Caroline, you were not wrong, you have asked a perfectly understandable question and you are entitled to an answer. I hesitated only because I had thought your mama may have already revealed something of the matter to you, but as she has not, it falls to me to enlighten you. I have some reservations because there were several persons other than myself and Lydia involved at the time, and I was sensible of the fact that they have not authorised me to speak of it.
“Still, you are my cousin and you do, unhappily, see the Wickhams from time to time, and there cannot be any harm in your knowing the facts of the matter. Indeed in the circumstances, it may even be argued that it is my duty to acquaint you with them.”
And so the tale was told over an hour or more of a late Summer's afternoon in the garden of the rectory at Pemberley.
As Elizabeth told it, she spared neither herself nor her sister Lyd
ia, admitting her prejudice and imprudence as well as Lydia's stupidity but, most of all, making it clear how deeply her husband Mr Darcy had been wounded by Wickham's despicable conduct and subsequent defaming of him to all and sundry in Hertfordshire and elsewhere.
Caroline, while being old enough at the time to understand that her cousin Lydia had, through her elopement with Wickham, done something very foolish that had caused a great furore in the family, had little knowledge of Wickham's previous history and even less of the role played by Mr Darcy in bringing the entire distasteful episode to a relatively satisfactory conclusion.
Elizabeth's narration, revealing as it did the benevolence and magnanimity of Mr Darcy as well as the iniquity of Wickham, while it shocked young Caroline to the core, also served to explain why Mr Darcy was held in very great esteem by her parents. It also made even clearer the reason for Elizabeth's deep regard and love for her husband.
When Elizabeth had finished the tale, it was time to return home for tea. As they walked through the grounds of Pemberley, Caroline spoke with real feeling.
“Thank you very much for telling me, Cousin Lizzie. I am very grateful, not only because it has opened my eyes to the misbehaviour of Mr Wickham and Cousin Lydia, but because it has helped me to see why you love Mr Darcy so very dearly. He must surely be a very good, kind man and you are fortunate to be his wife.”
Elizabeth inclined her head gently, acknowledging her cousin's simple words, and her voice was soft when she spoke. “I am indeed, Caroline; he is without exception the best man I have ever known. I cannot imagine being married to anyone else.”
Approaching Pemberley House, they noticed the Gardiners' carriage in the drive; Mr Gardiner and Mr Darcy had clearly returned from their journey to Manchester.
Caroline said, “Papa is back, I see; he is of exactly the same opinion about Mr Darcy. He and Mama believe him to be one of the finest gentlemen they have had the honour to meet,” and as her cousin coloured at this compliment to her husband, added, “They are very good friends now, I think.”
Lizzie could not but agree. “They certainly are, Caroline, and Mr Darcy has great respect and affection for your parents,” she said.
As they arrived at the steps of the house, the two gentlemen came out to greet them, followed by Mrs Reynolds, who invited them into the saloon to partake of an excellent afternoon tea.
As Caroline Gardiner returned to Oakleigh with her father later that evening, she was unusually quiet, causing Mr Gardiner to become concerned that she had worked too hard and was overtired.
“Have you had a very tiring day, my dear?” he asked, but she smiled and shook her head.
“Oh no, Papa, but it has been a most revealing day. I learnt a great deal from Cousin Lizzie today.”
“Indeed?” said her father, but thinking she meant personal matters, ladies' talk, he asked no more and she made no further mention of it.
Her mother and sister, back from Derby several hours, greeted them with lots of questions and promises of a good dinner.
That night, Caroline, when she retired to her bedroom, took out her diary and wrote:
I was for a little while afraid that I had offended my dear cousin Lizzie by asking such a question. It had never been my intention to pry, but I had long wondered what Mr Wickham had done wrong, apart from elope with Cousin Lydia and flirt outrageously with every woman he meets, to warrant such grave censure.
Yet, even if I had known all of Mr Wickham's behaviour, I might never have discovered Mr Darcy's goodness of heart had I not asked the question.
Furthermore, it has shown me quite plainly how very easy it is for a young woman to be gulled and deceived if she, in ignorance of the whole truth, believes the word of a man of whose character she knows little.
Why, even my cousins Jane and Lizzie were both taken in by Wickham's friendly and seemingly open nature, and their judgment would never be questioned in such matters.
Oh that it were possible to tell the true nature of a man's heart from his countenance or understand his character from his words alone!
I have resolved that I shall marry no man whose heart and character are not open and known to me, no man whose words I cannot wholly trust.
A fine thought indeed, Caroline, but where is such a man to be found?
There cannot be more than one Mr Darcy, surely?
UNBEKNOWNST TO THE DARCYS AT Pemberley, Colonel Fitzwilliam had left Southampton after his friend Jarrett's wedding and journeyed to London. Having arranged to stay a few days at his club, he proceeded to Westminster, where he was shocked by the chaotic situation obtaining in the country. The Parliament appeared merely to reflect the confusion and disillusionment that was abroad in the land.
Even before leaving for the colonies some three years ago, Colonel Fitzwilliam had become aware of the general contempt in which the Royal family and in particular the king's eldest son, George, was held. His Regency had started most inauspiciously, with public dissatisfaction moving quickly from the pathetic old King George III, now completely out of his mind, to the extravagance and arrogance of the Prince of Wales and his courtiers.
Their wasteful ways, their unrestrained lifestyle, and their complete disregard for the sensitivities of the people whom they seemed determined to outrage on every occasion had made them the butt of satire and the focus of public loathing. Like many others of the time, Fitzwilliam had regarded them with a mixture of ridicule and anger.
However, nothing he had seen then had prepared him for the degeneration that had taken place over the past three years. No longer were the Regent and his brothers the mere butt of jokes; they were thoroughly hated.
Ordinary people who had great sympathy for the poor demented King resented the antics of the princes, who wasted a fortune in gambling and other nefarious pursuits while unemployed men and women watched their children starve or die of malnutrition or disease. Even the middle class, solidly conservative for many years, had lost faith in the monarchy and were demanding reform.
Meeting two of his former colleagues, who were now members of the Commons, Fitzwilliam dined with them and learned that the Reformists were active everywhere. Mostly men of the Whig Party, they were out of favour with the Regent and did not spare their words in denigration of him and his courtiers.
“He will thwart every attempt to bring in even the simplest reforms, and as for extending the franchise, you can but dream,” said one, while the other, a man who had been with Fitzwilliam in the army until the defeat of Napoleon, declared, “Unless the reform movement wins this battle and delivers significant change, England will not only become the laughingstock of Europe, we will likely see revolution in our streets.”
When Fitzwilliam protested, “What? Never, not in England, surely?” they both assured him he was wrong; the people were very restive indeed.
“Mark my words, Fitzwilliam, unless there is a genuine movement towards reform of the Parliament, we are in for a great deal of trouble. The Midlands are seething with Radicals,” said his friend.
Fitzwilliam was very shocked.
“What is to be done?” he asked. “Clearly the Regent is no supporter of such policies as the abolition of slavery and the reform of the Parliament.”
“He is not, and unless sufficient numbers of members in the Commons can influence the government, we will have achieved nothing.”
Gradually, Fitzwilliam, who had begun the week with a somewhat lukewarm desire to support the reformists, was now determined to be involved. There was, he declared, no more important goal than the furtherance of reform in England.
Leaving London, hoping to leave some of the chaos and depression behind, he set out for the Midlands. Travelling north and west through the heartland of England, he was appalled by what he saw. The swift spread of mining, manufacturing, and mechanised farming was in evidence everywhere, changing utterly much of the countryside.
On reaching Birmingham, he broke journey and called on a friend of his youth, one Tom Attwood, w
ho he discovered was actively involved in the agitation for reform. With him were several others, young and old, rich men and workers, who had committed to the cause. The conclusion was inescapable. All thinking men with an interest in their nation were moving in the one direction. It was a direction that appealed strongly to Fitzwilliam's sense of justice and rectitude.
Taking the coach to Derby, he hired there a private vehicle to convey him and his luggage to Lambton. He was happy to see, as they journeyed towards Pemberley, that here at least the countryside remained unspoilt. It was early Autumn and a cool breeze was rustling the leaves of trees that had only just begun to turn to gold, bringing back for Fitzwilliam, who had endured three years in the tropics, a most nostalgic memory.
Having made some preliminary enquiries, he took rooms at the inn, bathed, changed out of his travelling clothes, and continued his journey to Pemberley. As they drove the five short miles through the approaches to the great estate, where he had spent many happy months with his cousins Darcy and Georgiana, Colonel Fitzwilliam recalled his last visit.
My Cousin Caroline: The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series The Pemberley Chronicles Book 6 Page 3