As they prepared to go down to dinner, she told him Amelia-Jane’s news. “They are expecting another child, and she hopes it will be a girl because Amelia wants to call her Catherine,” she said.
Richard was puzzled. “Why Catherine, particularly?” he asked.
She laughed, teasing him, “You will never guess.”
He tried, “She wants her sister to be godmother?”
“Oh, Richard, you are so innocent. It is not that simple. They have been spending some time at Hunsford with Catherine and Mr Harrison, and, of course, they have been invited to Rosings on many occasions.”
“Of course, and no doubt Amelia-Jane is very respectful towards Lady Catherine de Bourgh!” said Richard with a mischievous smile.
His wife agreed, and he continued, “Let me guess; she wants Lady Catherine to be godmother, in the fond hope that she will make the child a beneficiary in her will!” He looked to her for confirmation.
Cassy was laughing, but had to acknowledge he was right. “Mama always said the Collins girls knew how to make the best of every opportunity,” she said with a smile, “but even she will be surprised at Amelia-Jane’s plans for her unborn daughter.”
Richard wondered whether there was an even more devious plan.
“Remember Lady Catherine is quite old now, and her only child, Anne, is, I am told, an invalid. Perhaps Amelia-Jane hopes to gain more than a bequest. Could it be that she hopes for some position of influence for her husband with Lady Catherine?”
Cassy shrugged her shoulders, “It is certainly possible. She is very ambitious for Jonathan, and I do believe Lady Catherine approves of him. You must agree he is a very proper gentleman.”
Richard did agree. “Indeed, he is, but, whatever their plans, they will have very little to do with our lives, my darling. I am very glad that you have no intentions of laying claim to any part of your father’s estate, apart from whatever may naturally accrue to you as his daughter, for, while I regard Pemberley as the most handsome house I have seen, I think we are far happier making our own way in the world, rather than inheriting the problems of grand houses and great estates. Do you not agree with me, Cassy?”
“With all my heart,” said Cassandra, who had never wanted to be the mistress of a great estate. “Stately homes do not attract me either; much as I love Pemberley, I am glad it will be Julian’s to care for. I am so happy here that I cannot imagine what I would do in a place the size of Rosings—quite apart from Lady Catherine’s stuffy formality, which would not suit me at all.”
For a young woman who had spent her life at Pemberley, she had been surprisingly unimpressed with the prospect of becoming its mistress—a prospect that had loomed large after the death of her brother William. She had made it clear to her father at the time that she had her own life to lead, with Richard, and she had felt enormous relief when Julian was born some two years later.
Her own home was a modest but elegant Georgian house on a property of moderate size beside the River Wye, situated halfway between the historic village of Bakewell and the dales of Matlock. A wedding present from Richard’s parents, it had been for them an exceptionally happy home. Ever since she had first walked through the front door, Cassy had loved the house.
The property, which included a small home farm, dairy, and orchard, occupied one of the prettiest sites on the river, where a happy combination of trees, rocks, and tumbling water created a prospect that both captivated the eye and soothed the spirit. They had been very happy here.
Now, several years later, she could not imagine living anywhere else.
***
The engagement of Sophie Bingley to a Mr Daniel Lambert—youngest son of Sir Tristram Lambert of Derby, lawyer, aspiring Member of Parliament, and close friend of her brother Jonathan—was the occasion for a lavish dinner and ball at Ashford House.
Unlike Mr Darcy, who took little enjoyment from dancing and gave a ball more as a duty to provide for the diversion and entertainment of others, Mr Bingley always entered into the proceedings with great enthusiasm. Friends and relations from miles around were invited and preparations had been in train for weeks before the day arrived, when an army of servants would provide for the tastes of their master’s guests. Perfect in every particular, the Bingleys’ hospitality was legendary. The evening proceeded without a single slip, and as the guests left, they marvelled at the generosity of Mr Bingley and the good fortune of his lovely daughter. The Bingleys were universally liked, attracting much praise and little envy from acquaintances and neighbours alike.
Talking together afterwards, Richard found in Daniel Lambert a sympathetic listener when he complained of the procrastination he had endured from local government in matters of education and public health. It was certainly an appropriate issue for the attention of an aspiring young politician. He was keenly interested in Richard’s professional comments.
Speaking of the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park, Mr Lambert asked Richard’s opinion of the pavilion designed by Paxton, whose work for the Duke of Devonshire at Chatsworth had attracted the attention of Prince Albert himself. “Is it not a remarkable building, Dr Gardiner?” he asked. “I believe the French and German visitors have been mightily impressed.”
Richard agreed that Mr Paxton had indeed designed a breathtakingly light structure of metal and glass, a “crystal palace” which was much admired by the general populace, but he railed against the hypocrisy of those who had commissioned it.
“I cannot believe that we are content to display to the world our wealth and trumpet our progress whilst we deny the majority of our people the basic necessities of a healthy life—decent housing, clean water, and sanitation. It is absolutely disgraceful that the men and women whose toil produces the wealth we boast of, as well as their innocent children, have neither basic education nor a public health service,” he complained.
Mr Lambert was taken aback by the strength of his grievance. He listened attentively as Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had joined their circle, expressed his own disappointment. Fitzwilliam and Caroline had worked tirelessly to promote the ideas of the Reform Group. “The abolition of the rotten boroughs, as part of the Parliamentary Reforms of the 1830s, for which we fought, was followed by a similar liberation of municipalities from corruption,” he explained. “The Reform Act of 1835 opened the way for local government to improve the lives of all people in English towns and villages. We worked very hard for it and regarded it as a triumph. We believed that the needs of working people could now be provided for, but things have not changed as we had expected.” There was no mistaking the disillusionment in his voice.
“Richard has been trying for years to make them see the need for another hospital, or even a clinic for children of the poor in the area, with no success,” said Cassandra.
Caroline Fitzwilliam added her voice. “And the Tates—Rebecca and Anthony—have campaigned through their newspapers for a village school for the children of working people who cannot afford the big public schools and seminaries, all to no avail.”
“Why are they unwilling to attend to these matters?” asked Lambert, who was clearly surprised at the level of dissatisfaction. “Since they are no longer the puppets of the landlords, one might have expected better from them.”
Fitzwilliam and Richard spoke as one. “Indeed.”
“One might; but the ‘ordinary men’ who run the local councils now are most often land developers, mill owners, and shop keepers, with no interest in improving the lot of the poor,” said Richard.
“And they are not anxious to spend the rates they collect on drains or sewers,” added Fitzwilliam. “They would rather build monuments.”
Daniel Lambert listened, bewildered and shocked as Richard explained that the cholera epidemic that had killed thousands in 1848 had led directly to the passage of the Public Health Act, but even this did not compel local government to provide sanitation and housing.
Outraged, Lambert wanted to help. “Doctor Gardiner, I would very much like you to meet my father. He has several friends on the council and in the government. I am sure he would help, if he could.”
Richard was pleased to have his complaints fall on other than deaf ears and agreed to meet Sir Tristram whenever an appointment could be arranged.
“Do you believe Mr Lambert is genuine in his interest in your hospital project?” asked Cassandra when they were on their way home, “or is he more interested in his Parliamentary ambitions?”
Richard, who had suffered many disappointments, was not unduly optimistic, but he was prepared to credit Daniel Lambert with some sincerity of purpose.
“If he can persuade his father to use whatever influence he has on the council to help us get our hospital, I shall be forever in his debt. But, my love, I am no more hopeful this time around, so let us wait and see what follows.”
“And meanwhile, people will continue to live in squalor, and children will die without proper care,” said Cassy, her voice rising with frustration.
***
Some weeks later, having met with Daniel and Sir Tristram Lambert for several hours, Richard returned, a good deal more hopeful.
Cassandra was pleasantly surprised to hear that Sir Tristram, having listened to him, had requested a tour of the hospital at Littleford and the parish schools at Kympton and Pemberley. “It does mean he is seriously interested, Richard,” she said.
“Perhaps it does. I have agreed to seek permission for him to visit next week, and I am sure your parents would like to invite him to Pemberley,” said her husband sagely, well aware of the value and prestige of his connection with the Darcy family in the eyes of businessmen like Sir Tristram.
The following week, Sir Tristram and Daniel Lambert were invited to visit the schools and hospital and dine afterwards at Pemberley together with Richard and Cassandra, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Caroline, and James and Emily Courtney.
Whether it was the hospitality of Mr and Mrs Darcy or the excellent impression created by the schools and hospital as well as the busy community hall with its popular library, they would never know; but Sir Tristram left very much impressed and, shortly afterwards, the council invited Dr Richard Gardiner in to discuss his proposal for a hospital.
Richard, accustomed to the snail-like pace of council deliberations, was astonished at their conversion. With Daniel Lambert at his elbow to reinforce his father’s influence and a sheaf of plans and papers, he had expected to spend days persuading them to his way of thinking. The alacrity with which they accepted not just the need for a new hospital, but agreed to bear much of the cost of establishing it, was quite amazing. It left Richard in no doubt of the influence that a powerful industrialist and landowner like Sir Tristram could wield over a council.
Returning home he told Cassandra of their success. “Truthfully, I have to say, I was astonished. I could scarcely believe that their attitude had been completely reversed. Sir Tristram and his family have huge investments in the Staffordshire potteries and the railways in the Midlands. They must have enormous influence over council officials. Clearly, his interest in a project is the best way to ensure its acceptance.”
Cassy was incredulous. “Does that mean our problems are at an end, then?” she asked.
Her husband was cautious in his reply. “One set of problems may be over, but another, related to managing the project and establishing the hospital, for which I have accepted responsibility, may be just beginning.” Richard confessed that he could have left the new hospital project entirely to the council, but he had been reluctant to do so. “I shall talk to Emily and your mother before approaching Henry Forrester, but I am hopeful he will accept a position at Littleford.”
“Where is the new hospital to be?” Cassandra asked.
“There are two possible sites—one in the north near Maclesfield and another closer to home, not much more than a mile or two southeast of Matlock,” he replied, adding that he had expressed a preference for the latter site, which had a further advantage in that it lay within the area young Daniel Lambert hoped to represent in the next parliament.
Cassy smiled. “Ah, well, that should certainly improve its chances of selection,” she said, “and perhaps, if I am fortunate, I might get to see my husband occasionally, then?”
Richard, aware that his involvement would surely mean his family would see less of him for a while, promised solemnly he would not get totally absorbed into the project. “But think, my darling, what a fine thing it will be for the entire district; you know how many years I have spent trying to get the council to agree to my plan. Once this is done, I shall feel I have achieved something worthwhile.”
Cassandra understood completely; she would not dream of standing in the way of the goals he had set for himself.
***
The untimely death in 1849 of the composer Frederic Chopin had caused a frisson of sorrow across Europe. Nowhere was this greater or felt with more poignancy than in Paris, his adopted home. Two years later, amidst a festival celebrating the work of Chopin, a competition was held in Paris to which performers young and old were invited.
William Courtney’s music master, maestro Louis Lecomte, an émigré who had fled the revolution as a boy and built an enviable reputation in England, urged his parents to let the boy participate.
Emily required little persuasion, especially when she discovered that Richard and Cassandra would be travelling to Paris at the same time. Richard was to attend an important medical conference, and Cassy assured Emily that William would be quite safe with them. “Besides,” she said, “Maestro Lecomte will be there, too; so you need have no concerns at all.”
Cassandra was proved right. Not only did William acquit himself very creditably, winning a prize—to the delight of his family and the satisfaction of his teacher—but his rendition of a short Chopin composition had been rated the most sensitive interpretation by any competitor of his age group, receiving special praise from the distinguished judges.
Cassy, who accompanied William and Monsieur Lecomte to the soiree at which the prizes were awarded, told Emily of their joy. “No one was surprised when William was awarded a prize after we had all sat spellbound during the beautiful Berceuse,” she said.
“Of course, one is always afraid to be too hopeful, but Monsieur Lecomte was brimming with confidence. No sooner was the result announced then he turned to me with a triumphant look upon his face, as if to say, ‘There you are, did I not tell you so?’
“He was, however the very soul of gallantry when we spoke. He is full of praise for William’s success. Oh, Emily, I cannot tell you how very proud I was of William.” She confessed it had reminded her of her own brother, William, who would have surely excelled had he lived to pursue a career in music.
“Would you permit William to make music his career?” she asked.
“Of course,” replied Emily, “if that was what he wanted. But William is still very young, and it will be a few more years before he can decide.”
James Courtney agreed. “If it happens that he is really talented, then it is God’s gift and we would be wrong to stand in his way. But, as Emily has said, we shall have to wait awhile and be guided by Maestro Lecomte.”
The simplicity of their faith and the gentleness with which they dealt with William touched Cassandra deeply. She wished more parents would be like them.
Later that week, Cassy, who was spending the day at Pemberley, told Elizabeth about William’s success. She listened and expressed her heartfelt joy at William’s award, but Cassy could not help noticing the tears in her eyes. She rose from her chair, went over to her mother and silently put her arms around her, knowing she had never recovered from the death of her son.
Later, as she was preparing to leave, “When do you expect Richard home?” her father asked.
“Very soon, Papa; he ha
s been invited to look at the work of Louis Pasteur. He is so determined to drag English medical practice into the modern world,” she said, laughing as she got into her carriage.
Darcy smiled but said seriously, “He is a dedicated physician, Cassy, and a brave one. We need more such men.”
When Cassandra reached home, she had the usual warm welcome from her three elder children, but, on going upstairs, found Nurse Marsh putting her youngest, little Laura Ann, to bed, although it was still early evening.
The nurse explained she had been fretting all day, refused her food and by afternoon seemed to have developed a fever.
Thanks to the presence of a doctor in the house, Cassandra had never taken her children’s illnesses very seriously. They had mostly remained fit and well, but even when they suffered the usual childhood complaints, Richard had been there to reassure her and look after them. On this occasion, however, without his comforting presence, she was anxious.
Laura Ann seemed listless and fractious. She had a headache as well as a fever.
“I think I shall send for Mr Forrester, Nurse,” Cassandra said, preparing to go downstairs. “Oh, I do wish Dr Gardiner was here.” Cassy hurried downstairs and dispatched a servant to the hospital at Littleford with a note for Henry Forrester.
In the hour it took him to arrive, Cassy, unused to being alone in a crisis, wondered if she should send for Caroline or Emily. Realising that Kympton was closer, she sent the carriage to fetch her sister-in-law.
Henry Forrester, when he arrived, examined little Laura Ann and, unable to diagnose her condition immediately, prescribed a mild medicine, which seemed to calm her somewhat.
When Emily arrived, the child was quieter and seemed more comfortable, but Emily, who had, by her experience at the hospital, acquired some knowledge of these matters, warned Cassandra not to be too much at ease—rather, to watch over the child constantly, lest the fever return with redoubled vigour. Emily had come prepared to stay the night. Her gentle strength was a great source of comfort to her troubled sister-in-law. She understood her fears, and Cassy was grateful for her company.
The Women of Pemberley Page 18