It was, she admitted freely, an irrational, illogical emotion, but she could not rid herself of it. Unable to comprehend the needless destruction of two innocent young lives, she had withdrawn from the circle of their friends and family into her own small world at the farm.
There with her children Isabella and David to care for and with Fitzwilliam to comfort and love her, her life, though lonely, was at least more bearable than when she moved among other, happier families whose contentment seemed to mock her grief.
For the rest, it seemed she did not care anymore. She wanted no part of it. It was, she told her mother, as though she had jumped off the world like it was a merry-go-round at the seaside; she could then, from the relative security of her life at the farm, stand apart from those whose happy lives continued to revolve around her.
Her mother and cousins, Jane and Kitty, tried often, without success, to encourage her out of what she referred to as her “dungeon of despair.”
Her husband, himself bereft and wracked by guilt at not having been there to prevent the boys from undertaking their impetuous escapade that evening, tried too. But, though he was loving, tender, and protective, doing everything possible to share and assuage her pain, Caroline's wounds would not heal easily. The total devotion she had given her children only made her loss harder to bear.
A series of events dragged her back and forth, in and out of gloom, driving her emotions first one way then another.
The predictable, untimely, but relatively peaceful death in Italy of Paul Antoine, her sister's husband, brought Emily back to England and to Derbyshire in the Spring, where the two sisters found some consolation together. Emily's gentle acceptance of her husband's fate stood in stark contrast against Caroline's defiant anger, but it did give both women time and opportunity to help one another.
“I cannot believe that you are so accepting of it, Emmy,” Caroline would say, “why should everyone else we know have their husbands fit and well and the only man you loved be taken from you and in so short a time? Do you not feel outraged? Do you not ask why?”
“I did, Caroline, often, until I tired of asking questions to which I could find no answers,” Emily replied. “It occurred to me that I would do far better with my time to spend as much of it as we had with Paul. Because we always knew there was so little time left, we chose to use every minute of it in making one another feel loved and happy. It was a wise choice; it has left me with sufficient memories of him to last a lifetime.”
Caroline did not always comprehend her sister's attitude.
When their cousin Emma Bingley was married in London to Mr David Wilson, a promising and popular young MP, Caroline could not be persuaded to attend, and Emily went in her place.
“To be at a wedding, amidst all that merry-making and congratulating would make me ill!” she declared when her mother tried to persuade her to join them. “I know they must get on with their lives, Mama, but let them do so without me. I am become so dull a companion these days, I doubt I shall be missed,” she said, and the bitterness in her voice was inescapable.
Not even the birth of another child, a daughter, Rachel, a year and some months later, changed the sombre melancholy of her mood, and when her cousin Elizabeth was delivered of a son, Julian, Caroline could not bear to call on her and see the child.
It was Emily, whose gentle persuasion and unquestioning love had succeeded where others had failed, who accompanied her sister to Pemberley to visit Elizabeth. Emily, who since her return from Italy had lived at Pemberley, cajoled and pleaded until her sister agreed.
Longing for a son, Caroline had felt a sharp stab of envy at the sight of the Darcys' child, and it had taken all of Emily's coaxing to stop her leaving the room in tears. Elizabeth did not know it, but she owed the pleasure of that day, of seeing her cousin Caroline again, to Emily alone.
Indeed, if it were not for Emily, there would have been a compounding of sorrow that Winter. For Caroline, there was now only one reality: the death of Edward, which had opened such an abyss in her life it seemed nothing would ever fill it. Each day, week, or month seemed to bring more occasions to rend her heart anew rather than heal it. Her husband and family began to despair of her ever returning to normal again.
Emily, meanwhile, threw herself into every available activity, whether it was collecting funds for the hospital for children, helping Kitty with the parish school and the children's choir, or working to ease the struggle with poverty that filled each day in the lives of many families in the community.
With the onset of a recession, unemployment was increasing and many men were returning from the factory towns and the coal mines in the Midlands without work. Those who were fortunate enough to get it, irregular and poorly paid as it was, did not make enough money to keep their families in food and pay the rent. Some, venturing further afield in search of work, were away for months on end, their womenfolk and children left to fend for themselves.
A few of the men had become involved in the machine breaking and rick burning incidents; inevitably, they were caught and hanged or transported, leaving their families destitute.
It meant that many women, who had hitherto never worked, except in domestic service when they were young girls, had to go out in search of work to feed their children. Some took their children with them while they worked in the fields and dairy farms all over the county, often toiling many hours for a pittance. They hoed, weeded, dug up and bagged potatoes, cleaned out stables and cattle stalls, and filled dung carts for hours on end.
Many performed laborious work in dairy farms, milking, churning, and loading until their limbs ached and their backs were bent with pain, all for a few shillings. Others, nursing babies or carrying toddlers in their arms, unable to take labouring work, wandered from one household to another, begging to be allowed to perform some menial domestic chore in return for food and, occasionally, a little money. For women alone, poor and with young children to raise, it was the very worst of times, an era of never-ending drudgery and humiliation.
The consequent fatigue and chronic ailments they suffered were many.
Richard and Emily saw it all at the hospitals and in their cottages, and they turned to Mr Darcy for help.
“These women are not lazy, Mr Darcy, they have a desire to work but they have young children and no one at home to care for them, and can only hope to get the very worst of menial jobs, which they must do, often carrying their babes with them. If we can set up a cottage or two, places where they might leave their children while they worked, it would be the greatest help to them. They could then get better paid work, and it would also mean the older children could go to school instead of following their mothers into the fields and farms to look after the babes,” Emily pleaded as she revealed the extent of the problem.
Aware that Mr Darcy was a compassionate landlord, she had hoped for success.
She was not disappointed. Mr Darcy and Sir Thomas Camden had already permitted the establishment of a couple of soup kitchens in vacant cottages, where the hungry might be fed and the homeless given temporary shelter. Emily, with the help of her brother Richard, Cassandra, Kitty, and a few other women in the area, had made up rosters and worked at these community shelters.
Mr Darcy explained, “I have already ordered that we do not enforce rent payments or tithes upon those who are out of work. If we were to extend the assistance we now provide at the cottages and employ a few women from the area to look after the children while their mothers worked, would you and Richard promise me that the place will not become some den of iniquity and I shall not have other landholders in the district, as well as the magistrates and churchmen, complaining that we are encouraging sloth and idleness?”
The sardonic tone of his voice belied the strict implication of his words, and Emily immediately promised that no such accusation would ever be levelled at any one they helped.
“These are honest women, Mr Darcy, they would give anything to keep their families out of the dreadful conditio
ns in the workhouse. I give you my solemn word, there will be no justifiable criticism of anything we do,” she said, and her transparent goodness and sincerity, which had always impressed Mr Darcy, brought success.
“You may see Mr Grantham, Emily, and ask him to make the necessary arrangements for the cottage at Springwood. It's large enough for your purpose and is conveniently situated in relation to the villages it will serve. I shall speak to Sir Thomas; if he is keen to help, we may do more. There is another place, which has been vacant, closer to Littleford, which may be useful.
“But, please remember, Emily, you must get some more people to help you. I cannot have your father blaming me for letting you work too hard and for too long in these places,” he warned. “ It would be a great irony if you were to fall ill while trying to preserve the women from overwork. Why do you not persuade Caroline to join you? I am confident, if she knew how much need there was in the community and how hard you worked, she would not refuse to help.”
Emily thanked him for his generosity and his concern for her before setting out to take the good news to her brother and mother at Lambton.
It was going to mean a great deal more work, but her satisfaction came from knowing that many widows, wives, and countless children would find food and shelter.
The more work she undertook and the more weary she was at the end of a day, the more easily she could sleep, or so she told her mother, Mrs Gardiner, who worried about her working too hard.
“There is nothing I like more than to be so tired at the end of the day that sleep comes quickly. I have no desire to lie awake and spend time on unfulfilled dreams,” she said, explaining to her mother that Mr Darcy had suggested that she persuade her sister to join their group.
“If Caroline will come with us and see at first hand the extent of the suffering that is out there amongst the women and children, if she will agree to help us in our work, I am certain she will find herself relieved of some of her own burden of grief. I am no stranger to pain myself, and I know that helping others can alleviate it, even for a few hours. If you will speak with her, Mama, tell her how much we need her help, that may convince her.”
The strategy proved most effective.
When Mrs Gardiner, while visiting the Fitzwilliams, mentioned her anxiety about Emily's health, adding she was working too hard at the community shelters, Caroline was exceedingly concerned and expressed some irritation that her sister had not asked for her help.
“She should have told me. Tell Emmy I shall be happy to help, Mama. I cannot imagine why she has not asked me before. I have a great deal of time on my hands, I may as well use it to help the poor rather than sew endless bits of useless embroidery, which profits no one. They are not good enough to give as gifts, and I never seem to find any use for them myself. I would much rather be out with Emmy, helping her women and children.”
It was just what Mrs Gardiner wanted to hear.
Within the day, she had taken the message to her younger daughter, and Emily worked swiftly with Mr Darcy's steward to make arrangements for the cottage at Springwood. Bedding, tables, chairs, and rugs had to be found, doors and windows secured, and fences mended.
Caroline, with her daughter Isabella, joined Emily, and together they worked to prepare for the women, who had been told they could bring their children in on the Monday. By the end of the week, she had begun to feel something of the exhaustion that her sister had welcomed, and to her surprise, it was accompanied by a new sense of purpose and shared satisfaction. Caroline had not been unaware of the increasing levels of deprivation and misery in the community as the recession deepened.
What she had not known was that she, personally, could do something to help its victims. It was the first positive emotion she had experienced in a long while.
Meanwhile, Colonel Fitzwilliam, heartsick and disillusioned, had decided he no longer wished to sit in the Commons and set to work to secure a suitable member to represent the people of his constituency. It was not going to be an easy task, but he thought he had found the right man, one he could recommend to succeed him.
The death of Mr Bennet had delivered to Jonathan Bingley a most timely inheritance in the estate at Longbourn, which had for many years been the Bennets' family home.
Mr Bennet's plan to leave it to Jonathan, with life interest to his daughter Miss Mary Bennet, had brought him the status and responsibilities of a country squire, which he carried out conscientiously and with dignity.
Observing him, Fitzwilliam saw a promising candidate to take over his seat in the House of Commons. Enlisting the help of friends and family, as well as the influence of Anthony Tate of the Review, he proceeded to encourage and persuade young Mr Bingley to consider the proposition seriously.
Jonathan, who was by now engaged to marry Amelia-Jane, the youngest and prettiest daughter of Mrs Charlotte Collins, found himself contemplating the prospect of a seat in Parliament with more sanguinity than before. His young bride-to-be expressed herself very pleased at the prospect of having a husband in Parliament.
“I am sure Jonathan will do very well indeed,” she had told her mother-in-law-to-be, “he is so handsome and distinguished looking and he makes such excellent speeches. He is just what a Member of Parliament ought to be.”
Jane Bingley was not entirely certain that young Amelia-Jane had the right understanding of the role of a Member of Parliament, but she said nothing. Jane was fond of Amelia-Jane and had no desire to hurt her feelings by contradicting her. Besides, if Colonel Fitzwilliam thought her son was suitable to stand for Parliament, that was good enough for Jane. No doubt, she thought, Jonathan would enlighten Amelia-Jane, when the time came, of his other responsibilities.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had grown weary of Westminster, especially now his old heroes “Orator” Hunt and the radical William Cobbett had both died; he could no longer summon up the enthusiasm for the fight.
But he urged Jonathan to do so. “There is still much to be done, Jonathan, and we need able young men like you, with strong principles and a social conscience, to carry on the struggle,” he had said.
Jonathan Bingley did indeed have a strong social conscience. It was only the previous week he had been with his sister Emma and heard from her of the woeful state of housing and sanitation in the east London area, where her group of ladies did their charitable work. There was little doubt in his mind that Fitzwilliam was right; there was a great deal more to be done.
Travelling to Pemberley to call on Mr and Mrs Darcy before returning to his parents' home at Ashford Park, he was invited to stay to dinner and was delighted to accept. The Darcys were his dearest aunt and uncle and Jonathan was likewise their favourite nephew.
To his great pleasure, he found they were to be joined by Mr and Mrs Gardiner, whom Jonathan regarded with great affection, as well as their son Richard, who had recently moved from Birmingham to a practise in Derby.
At dinner, during which it soon became clear to him that the engaged pair, Richard and Cassy, were more than keen to be done with the meal and withdraw to the privacy of the music room, Jonathan found himself sitting next to Emily Gardiner. It was the first time he had met her to speak to at any length since the death of her husband, Paul Antoine.
After some initial awkwardness on his part, through which Emily graciously helped him, he succeeded in discovering that she was involved in a scheme to help the poor women in the district, and thereafter, their conversation flowed easily as Jonathan learned a great deal about the work of the ladies of the Pemberley estate and their friends in the surrounding district.
“Do you believe then that the poor are being disadvantaged by the new Poor Law?” he asked, and was amazed by the vehemence of her reply.
“Oh indeed they are, Mr Bingley, of that I have no doubt. None of the women, who work so hard and suffer so much privation to feed their children, will exchange that life, grinding and painful as it might be, for the indignities of the workhouse. To be poor is hard enough, to be a pauper throu
gh no fault of one's own, stigmatised and treated as one is infinitely worse,” she declared with deep feeling.
Jonathan recalled that Fitzwilliam had spoken with similar conviction on the subject and said so. Emily was not surprised.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam has condemned the Poor Laws repeatedly, but the government will not pay any heed to him. Recently Caroline has joined our group, and I think you will find that the colonel's views will be even stronger in future,” she said.
“I wonder if Anthony Tate is prepared to campaign on the issue in his paper. He has a great deal of influence,” Jonathan mused.
Emily's reply surprised him. “He may well do; since his marriage to Becky Collins, he must know more of the matter—she is also a member of our group and has done much to help us place some of the women in less arduous jobs, replacing laborious farm work with domestic chores in the homes and gardens of some of her prosperous friends in the district. It is a wonderful way to help the women, who may then earn a little money to feed themselves and their children and not have their health ruined by inordinately heavy labour,” she explained.
My Cousin Caroline: The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series The Pemberley Chronicles Book 6 Page 17