Perhaps in the New Year, she thought.
There was some talk that young Lizzie Gardiner, Richard and Cassy's lovely daughter, would soon be engaged to Mr Carr, an Irish-American gentleman who had purchased Will Camden's property at Rushmore.
That would be good news, thought Caroline, but since Cassy had said nothing when they last met, she had been reluctant to ask.
During a visit to Pemberley, however, her cousin Elizabeth was certain Mr Carr and young Lizzie Gardiner were in love.
“He is a fine man, very gentlemanlike, and devoted to Lizzie,” Elizabeth had said. “I have observed them together and I am quite sure they would have been engaged already if it were not for this terrible business with Josie and Julian. No doubt he thinks it is the wrong time to approach Richard with a proposal for young Lizzie, but I doubt it will be far off. Young Darcy admires and likes him and Mr Darcy is very impressed with him,” she had added.
“Well, at least that will mean a happy occasion at last,” Caroline said to her husband, “I am so weary of all this misery and gloom.”
Caroline did not know it then, but there was more to come.
News broke of Lord Palmerston's death in October, not six months after he had won an historic election. Fitzwilliam, loyal to the end, went to London for the funeral, but young Darcy Gardiner was heard to say, “Now, perhaps, there will be a chance for change and perhaps some progress on reform,” adding that, “Lord Russell and Mr Gladstone have promised reform of the franchise; Palmerston was the only immovable obstacle.”
Meanwhile, Josie, it was reported, was stronger and there were great hopes of her recovery, even though the prognosis was still pessimistic. Julian's letters to his parents were full of plans for their future together. He spoke always of her increasing strength and good spirits.
But, despite his faith and the prayers of their families, as the New Year dawned, Josie's unhappy spirit fled her enfeebled body, taking with it the last of her husband's hopes. Desolate and unable or unwilling to remain in England amidst all the painful memories, Julian renounced his inheritance in favour of his son and went back to work in France.
Young Anthony Darcy was now the heir to Pemberley, and his aunt Cassandra was the child's legal guardian.
The good news came in small helpings.
First, Lizzie and her Mr Carr became engaged in the Spring, and later in the year, Mr Darcy announced the appointment of young Darcy Gardiner to take over the management of the Pemberley estate.
“Our community needs a young, active man to be working with it, and I can think of no one better than my grandson,” he had said.
Caroline too was hopeful that their run of bad fortune had come to an end. A letter from her daughter Amy in Oxford brought news that she was expecting her first child, and her son David was showing a commendable grasp of the business, making no further mention of joining the cavalry. When, in the Autumn, young Lizzie Gardiner and Mr Carr were married, it was one of the happiest days she could remember in years.
Meanwhile, Henry Forrester returned to Wales to work on the proposed clinic for the children of the pit villages. This time, to her mother's great relief, Isabella remained at home. Little Harry was an active and demanding child and Isabella was loathe to burden her mother with his care for a further period.
Doctor Forrester wrote, though fitfully and not at very great length, to assure his wife that matters were progressing well. Money, he said, had been collected and a temporary clinic had been set up. He wrote:
Bella, my dear, there are many sick children in urgent need of care and I am doing my best. You cannot imagine the appalling lack of hygiene and sanitation for both adults and children. It is a disgraceful state of affairs. Mr Jenkins has managed to get a couple of useful helpers and we hope to make some changes soon.
His dedication was remarkable.
Isabella was pleased he could, in the midst of all this work, find the time to write. Not only was she delighted that he was well, but she noted with great satisfaction that he appeared to feel contented at being able to help the poor. He had an almost missionary zeal about him—it was a quality she had found hard to resist.
One morning, however, the mail brought a letter from Mrs Jenkins, which sent Isabella hurrying to her parents' home.
“Mama, I fear there is bad news; Kitty writes that Henry is ill. She writes that he is too ill to travel and is not aware that she has written to me. What can it be? Is it possible he has caught some contagion?”
Caroline felt very cold and fearful as she read Kitty's brief note.
We are not able to move him from his lodgings because he has a high fever and has much pain in his joints. Mr Jenkins has summoned the apothecary, but I am writing to ask you to come as quickly as you can and, if it is at all possible, to bring Dr Gardiner with you. I believe that he is the only person who may know what treatment Dr Forrester needs.
…she wrote, plainly not overstating the urgency of the situation.
Isabella was anxious. “I must go to him, Mama,” she cried.
In minutes, Caroline had run downstairs and dispatched a servant for Dr Gardiner. Richard came at once; when he read Kitty's letter, he was very afraid of what it might mean.
They left immediately, travelling through the night in the hope of reaching their destination before the patient's fever reached its crisis. None of them, not even Doctor Gardiner, could know the cause of Henry Forrester's illness, and neither Caroline nor her daughter was fully aware of the seriousness of his condition. When, after travelling for what had seemed an interminable period of time, during which their anxiety did not let them eat or sleep, they arrived at the house where Doctor Forrester lay ill; he was in delirium.
The village practitioner, who had been summoned, could not give Dr Gardiner sufficient information to help him understand what had caused the high fever except to suggest it might be “putrid fever.”
Richard was at a loss to explain how Henry might have been infected with what appeared to be typhus when he was a doctor with high standards of hygiene.
Working with little knowledge and no other assistance, Richard tried everything he knew, but nothing they did seemed to bring down the fever and reclaim the patient from his delirium. Occasionally, he seemed a little more lucid, but that did not last and soon, he would relapse again into ramblings and groans which were dreadful to witness. Isabella sat beside him throughout the night, moistening his lips with water or soothing his brow with lavender. She neither ate nor slept, and Caroline feared for her daughter's health.
After three days and nights, Henry Forrester opened his eyes; he was bathed in a terrible sweat and the fever had abated.
Richard was hopeful and they rushed to change his linen and make him comfortable. He seemed to rally a little, but his heart had been so weakened by the struggle, he lasted but a few hours, long enough to see and recognise his wife and hold her hand while he lay upon his pillow, until exhausted, he slipped gently back into a state of unconsciousness from which he never emerged.
Isabella wept.
“Oh Mama, if I had been with him, if only I had come too…” she cried, and nothing Caroline could do or say would comfort her.
EMMA WILSON HAD COMPLETED A list of people who were to be invited to a dinner party at Standish Park to celebrate the elevation of her husband James to judicial office.
His retirement from the House of Commons following the resignation of Lord Russell and the return of the Tories to office had come at a time when England was once again going through a turbulent Summer of discontent. The crash of financial houses combined with poor harvests, the scourges of rinderpest, and cholera all helped create an atmosphere conducive to public disorder and riot. In London, to the consternation of its citizens, it even caused Hyde Park to be closed!
The previous year had been a difficult one.
With her husband no longer embroiled in the machinations of getting legislation through the Parliament, Emma looked forward to a calmer, less u
ncertain life. Spring was already making its presence felt in the farmlands and gardens across the Weald of Kent; Standish Park with its great orchards was at its prettiest, and as she contemplated the prospect, Emma Wilson hoped for happier times ahead.
The maid brought in her letters, and among them was one from Caroline Fitzwilliam. The cousins had grown very close over the years, and Emma opened up her letter quickly. Caroline wrote:
My dearest Emma,
I must apologise for the delay in responding to your kind letter; it has been a comfort to know how many dear friends and relatives have us in their thoughts.
Even after all these months, it is not easy to write of my dear Isabella's misfortune and the deep sorrow it has caused us all.
Unlike my sister Emily, whose uncommon strength was a source of inspiration to everyone, especially Cousin Lizzie and myself, Isabella is not a thinker or a reader. She needs activity and companionship, and at the moment, she has withdrawn from both and often denies herself food and sleep.
Emma, she blames herself, unreasonably, for not accompanying Henry Forrester on his second journey to Wales, claiming that had she been there, he would not have become infected with typhus. (Richard now believes that it was typhus, probably carried by the lice on the children Henry treated and the neglect of the condition that killed him.) It is possible Henry never realised he had been infected until it was too late.
If only he had not returned to Wales; he had so much to do at Littleford, where he has worked these many years, he would still be alive and my poor Isabella would not be in this state today. They enjoyed working together, Emma; they loved working at the hospital, especially caring for the children. He was devoted to them.
Richard speaks very highly of Henry; he was a most dedicated physician and a good husband.
Poor little Harry, he misses his father too… oh Emma, I would give anything to see my Isabella smile again. I fear for her health. She continues to live at the house with Harry and the servants. She is in no trouble financially, since Henry was very prudent and left her well provided for, but she is so very lonely and unhappy…
Emma put the letter down, disturbed by its contents.
“This will not do,” she said to herself as she hastened downstairs to her husband's study to consult him on how young Isabella might best be helped. She was determined that something must be done.
Not long after receiving Caroline's letter, Emma Wilson wrote to Isabella, inviting her and little Harry to Standish Park. She wrote:
You must feel free to bring your maid and Harry's nurse; they will not be in the way and it will help Harry to have someone familiar with him. I have no plans to travel in Spring, and since James will be away from time to time for the sittings of the court, I should very much welcome your company.
Though Isabella was at first reluctant to accept, her parents and her uncle Richard persuaded her that it would be beneficial both to her and Harry. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who welcomed the chance to meet his friend and former Parliamentary colleague James Wilson again, offered to accompany them to Kent on the railway, and she finally agreed.
Caroline was overjoyed. If anyone could comfort Isabella and help rebuild her life, Emma Wilson could. She hoped fervently that Isabella and Harry would remain at Standish Park throughout the Spring. Emma's kindness and the salubrious surroundings of Standish Park could only do them both a great deal of good.
The New Year had brought more good tidings when Richard Gardiner's work in medical research was rewarded with a knighthood. Cassy and he moved to Camden House on the Camden Estate, which Mr Darcy had purchased for them.
From Manchester, Mr Bentley reported of new contracts and increased business activity, resulting from the improvements made at the office.
It was with some optimism that Caroline set about preparing for the regular meeting of partners and shareholders in June of that year. At Fitzwilliam's suggestion, she decided to combine it with a small dinner party to celebrate the success of their efforts.
“It will not be anything grand,” she explained to her sister Emily, who had offered to help, “just a simple function to which I can ask the partners, shareholders, their husbands and wives of course. I do believe we deserve to congratulate ourselves on our achievements in the face of much tribulation and difficult trading conditions. You do not think I am being immodest, do you, Emmy?” she asked, frowning a little.
Emily was absolutely certain she was not.
“No indeed, Caroline. I have often wondered how you carried on in the face of all that has happened. It could not have been easy.”
“It was not, but then I have to confess that I could not have done it alone. I am profoundly grateful to Mr Bentley and Mr Kennedy, who have worked so hard this last year, and to dear Mr Darcy for having the foresight to advise me to appoint Mr Bentley in the first place.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had gone up to London to attend the debates on Disraeli's new Reform Bill, had sent a message by telegraph to say he would be back to attend the meeting and the dinner that was to follow. He had asked that the carriage be sent to meet the train but had made no mention of seeing Isabella.
Caroline had received a letter from her daughter a week ago in which she had seemed particularly pleased with the success of her efforts at sketching the various vistas available to be seen at Standish Park.
Aunt Emma is determined that I should learn to paint; I would dearly love to, but fear I have not the fine talent that she and her daughters are blessed with. But my sketches please her and Harry, which is all I ask. I shall look forward to having your opinion when we return.
There being no mention of a date of return, Caroline did not concern herself about it.
On the day of the meeting, Messrs Kennedy and Bentley arrived early, having travelled from Manchester on the previous day and stayed overnight at the inn at Lambton. They had come bearing plenty of good news with figures and charts showing increasing volumes of trade, larger contracts, more orders, and greater profits forecast for the rest of the year.
“I think we can promise the partners a much better result this Christmas,” said Mr Kennedy, proudly laying out the statement of accounts, which were now in exemplary order.
In all of the excitement, Caroline, who had despatched the carriage to meet the train that morning, forgot the time until the sound of wheels and hooves on the drive brought her to the window. Thinking it must be the party from Pemberley arriving early—Mr Darcy was always insistent upon punctuality— Caroline went down to the hall just as the vehicle came to a standstill and Fitzwilliam alighted. He then picked up young Harry and set him down before turning to help his daughter out of the carriage.
Caroline saw and scarcely recognised her, so remarkably changed was Isabella, as she smiled and came directly into her mother's arms. They embraced, but this time the tears were all Caroline's.
“Bella, my dear, dear girl, how well you look. I knew Aunt Emma and Standish Park would be good for you, did I not tell you so?”
Isabella was more at ease than her mother, who almost burst into tears as she looked at her daughter and turned to reproach her husband.
“Fitzy, why did you not tell me Isabella was coming home?” she asked and as mother and daughter gazed at each other, Colonel Fitzwilliam tried to explain that they had wanted to surprise her.
Meanwhile, Harry, who had run through the hall and into the parlour where the men from Manchester were preparing for the meeting, raced out again, a sheaf of paper in his hand, pursued by a gentleman intent on retrieving his notes.
When Mr Bentley saw Isabella standing in the hall, he stopped and seemed unable to speak. Caroline watched as Isabella took a while to recover from the shock of seeing him there before she stepped forward, her hand outstretched, and said in a quiet voice, “Mr Bentley, what a surprise to see you here. I thought you were in France.”
His confusion even worse confounded, Mr Bentley came forward immediately and took her hand.
“M
rs Forrester, why, I have been in England for some years and in Manchester since last Summer, employed by the Commercial Trading Company to manage the Manchester shipping office. May I say what a pleasure it is to see you again after all these years.”
As they stood there, he lifted her hand to his lips and Caroline looked at Fitzwilliam.
“And this is my son Harry, who appears to have purloined some of your papers,” said Isabella, retrieving the material and handing it to Mr Bentley, who bent down and gravely shook the boy's hand.
No one said another word until suddenly, young Rachel came bounding downstairs to embrace her sister and tell her how lovely she looked.
My Cousin Caroline: The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series The Pemberley Chronicles Book 6 Page 35