At which, Darcy took her arm and guided her towards their sitting room, where he revealed that, far from being “difficult,” it had turned out to be an excellent day.
Elizabeth was even more confused than ever. “Dearest, whatever are you talking about? Were you not seeing Sir Tristram today to tell him about Wickham?”
“Indeed, I was, and that is exactly what I did. But, my dear Lizzie, I had no need even to mention the name of Wickham,” he declared.
“Why ever not?” Elizabeth asked, quite nonplussed.
“Because, my dear, Cassy and Jonathan Bingley had got there before me.” Seeing the look of astonishment upon her face, he proceeded to explain, “Indeed, I understand Cassy spoke last week to Daniel Lambert and Sophie, who in turn had warned Miss Fanny Lambert, while Jonathan and Daniel confronted young Wickham and warned him off. I believe he is just as feckless and wasteful as his father and spends a lot of time at the gaming tables in the clubs, and he is not very discreet about the company he keeps.”
“How did you discover all this?” Elizabeth asked, still unable to understand how it had come about.
“I met Bingley in Derby this morning. Jonathan was at Ashford Park yesterday and Jane has a letter from Sophie.”
“So you did not need to see Sir Tristram after all?”
Darcy had a mischievous smile when he replied, “No, but I did at the cricket to which Bingley insisted on taking me. We had a most satisfying day. Sir Tristram is very impressed with Richard and Cassy. He said to me, ‘Mr Darcy, you must be very proud of that fine young couple.’”
“And of course, you agreed completely,” said his wife.
“Of course,” he replied, smiling as she rang to order tea.
As Elizabeth contemplated the quiet evening, watching the sky darken and a quarter moon emerge from the clouds, Darcy remembered that he had something for her. “Oh, I do apologise, my love. I had forgotten about this. Jonathan brought it. It’s for you, from Cassy.”
Elizabeth could hardly wait to take the wrappings off the little package he had handed her. When it was open, she gave a cry of delight. “Oh, look, is it not beautiful?” she cried as she showed him a small, carved elephant in shining ebony with little ivory tusks. Surprised and delighted, she admired the superb craftsmanship. “It is perfect in every detail,” she said, marvelling at its tiny proportions.
Darcy agreed and suggested that the enclosed letter might explain where it came from.
Elizabeth wasted no time at all opening Cassandra’s note, obviously penned in haste, which she proceeded to read aloud:
Dearest Mama,
We found this dear little elephant at an exhibition of crafts from the colonies and thought you would like to have it. I am sure he would look very nice on your dressing table.
We are well settled at Portman Square now, and Richard works very hard at the hospital every day. He says there is a lot to learn. I think he wants the new hospital at Matlock to be the best in England, so keen is he to get it all right.
Meanwhile, the children and I have already been to Hyde Park, the Museum, and the Tower of London, where the boys insisted on calling out “Off with his head”—much to my embarrassment!!
Now, Mama, regarding this distressing matter of Fanny Lambert and Mr Henry Wickham—you will be happy to hear it is all settled.
As I wrote you in my last letter, she was to have tea with me and I had hoped to pass on a few discreet words of advice, but suddenly, with no warning at all, things became very serious.
Fanny arrived looking nervous, which I could not understand, for she had been very much at ease when we last met. In less than an hour, she became restless and exceedingly keen to depart. She claimed her aunt was expecting her home before six o’clock.
I offered to convey her there if she could wait until Richard returned, but she seemed to become very desperate indeed and declared that she had arranged to be conveyed from Portman Square to Knightsbridge in a hansom cab.
At this, even my unsuspicious mind was alerted.
When the cab arrived sharp on five I escorted her to the door, and lo and behold if it was not Mr Wickham—Henry, that is—in the cab! Mama, I was absolutely determined she was not to leave my house with him and was about to chaperone them myself when Richard arrived home. We sent the cab away and went indoors again, this time including Mr Wickham. Richard, who had read your letter, was determined that Fanny was not leaving with Henry Wickham in a hansom cab!
Later, we drove them over to Knightsbridge and there, as luck would have it, we found Sophie and Daniel Lambert just arrived and waiting for Fanny.
Well, that was the last time we saw Henry Wickham because, as soon as he had left, I made sure that Sophie knew enough to convince Daniel and Fanny that the Wickhams were personae non gratae.
Sophie tells me that Fanny claimed she had liked him at first because he is awfully handsome, but she was rather bored with him because he talked only of horses and gaming! He had asked her aunt’s permission to escort Fanny to a ball next week, and a picnic to Henley was being planned! I do believe Jonathan was called in to help Daniel tell Mr W he was not welcome.
So, Mama, you need have no fears; we have probably saved Fanny from a fate worse than death!!!
It is to be hoped the poor girl has not been put off beaux altogether. If she has, no doubt she will get over it in time. She is certainly young and pretty enough, and, fortunately, unlike our Aunt Lydia, she is not stupid.
To change the subject to something far pleasanter, we are invited to Standish Park on Saturday to spend a few days with Emma and James. Emma has been exceedingly helpful, for I know so little of London and would have been lost without her help.
She and James are so happy; it is a joy to be with them. Charles is a most adorable infant, and Victoria and Stephanie are quite grown up and look just beautiful. Emma is very protective of them, and as for James, you cannot believe what an excellent father he is to the girls.
Dearest Mama and Papa, London is crowded and exciting, but it is also cold and wet, and some of the streets are far from clean. The children do not much like it, either, except when they can ride in a hansom cab, which we all love. I am assured that the weather is a good deal nicer in Kent.
There is a lot of talk around about a war, which everyone seems to think is inevitable. James, who has many friends in the Foreign Office, says that France is eager to go to war with Russia to recover some lost prestige. Can you think of a more stupid reason to go to war?
Richard believes there may be war because everyone is very suspicious of the Tsar and they are spoiling for a fight with Russia.
This I do not like at all and do hope and pray it will not happen, or at least not until we are all safely back at home in Derbyshire.
We do miss you all very much. I trust you and Papa are well—and now that the problem of Mr W is settled, you need have no anxieties at all.
Your loving daughter,
Cassy.
P.S. Richard and the children all send their love. We think of you and miss you every day.
Darcy was smiling as Lizzie finished reading the letter. There was no doubting the pride he felt in his daughter. He was pleased and very grateful. Her excellent judgement and remarkable sense of responsibility had spared them all a great deal of aggravation and embarrassment.
Elizabeth folded the letter and carefully put it away in her pocket book, then took it out a few minutes later and read it through again. Cassandra had proved her intelligence and sound common sense once more. But for her mother, there was a much deeper satisfaction. The warmth of Cassandra’s affectionate nature flowed through her letter. They had grown a good deal closer in the last few years, since Cassy had become a mother herself, and Elizabeth, who had never shared similar feelings with her own mother, cherished the relationship with her beloved daughter. She missed her keenly and looked forw
ard to her return.
Isabella Fitzwilliam would never forget the Autumn of 1834, the month of October in particular. It had been a mild Autumn, and the families had gathered at Pemberley for a weekend of celebration—there had been the Harvest festival, which had proved a huge success. The well-being of the people of the district depended largely upon the prosperity of the Pemberley estate. In 1834, there was no doubt that this was a thriving, contented community.
Then, there had been the grand ball at Pemberley. Three young women—Cassandra Darcy, Emma Bingley, and Rebecca Collins—had turned seventeen that year, and Mr Darcy had given a ball in their honour. While Isabella had been too young to dance, she and several other little girls had been able to sit in the gallery above the ballroom and watch the dancers. She could still see the couples in her mind’s eye. Emma, who was universally regarded as the most beautiful of them all, had danced mostly with her brother Jonathan, even though she had many potential partners, while Becky Collins and the handsome Mr Anthony Tate seemed to know all the newest European dances. But it was Cassy Darcy and Richard Gardiner who received the most compliments on the night. Isabella would always remember how they had looked, as if they were alone in the world and not another soul mattered.
Isabella recalled her mother’s remark to her father as they drove home. “Fitzy, I cannot believe that Richard and Cassy are not as yet engaged; they clearly love each other very much.”
Her father had smiled and replied, “Caroline, my dear, have you forgotten that I had to eat my heart out for half a year before I plucked up sufficient courage to approach your father?”
The story of her parents’ romance was legendary among the members of the family, but even they acknowledged that Richard and Cassandra were a special couple. No one had been surprised when, on the following day, they were all together again at Pemberley to celebrate their engagement.
On a perfect Autumn day, when the skies were a startling blue and sunlight poured down, they had enjoyed a picnic beside the stream in one of the prettiest spots in the park at Pemberley. The entire family and several of their friends had joined to wish Richard and Cassy happiness, which, considering their present bliss, seemed almost superfluous. It had seemed to Isabella, as no doubt it would have seemed to many others present, that nothing could go wrong on such a day.
And yet, some few hours later, her own brother, Edward—who had been just fourteen years old—and their cousin, William Darcy, had both been killed in a terrible riding accident, and the joy that had filled their hearts on that bright day had turned to dust.
Isabella recalled the harrowing evening that had followed—the tears, the rage, and the bitter recriminations. Her mother, who saw the death of her son as the result of stupidity, had taken years to recover her brightness of spirit, while her Aunt Lizzie had seemed remote and lonely after the death of her beloved William. Even now, many years later, there were moments when the sadness in her eyes was almost too painful to bear.
In that same wretched month, the Houses of Parliament at Westminster had been destroyed by fire. Like the deaths of Edward and William, it had been the result of carelessness and stupidity. She remembered the news being received with disbelief by her parents. The conflagration had shocked the country; Isabella was quite sure it had hastened her father’s decision to retire from public life. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been outraged and found that Parliamentary activities no longer gave him satisfaction, though he still retained an interest in politics.
Isabella recalled his comments, on returning from London the following year, when Turner was showing his amazing paintings of the fire at the Royal Academy; he was glad, he said bitterly, that someone had derived pleasure from the blaze, because he had felt as if much of his life’s work had gone up in the flames.
Since the death of Edward, he had decided that his wife and children needed him at home, and Isabella had watched as he let go of many of his Parliamentary interests and turned increasingly to the work on the farm.
Edward and Isabella had been very close, and William had been like an older brother to both of them. She had missed them terribly. Unlike Edward, who had never wanted to leave home, her younger brother, David, had actually elected to go to boarding school. He seemed to have matured very quickly and was now, at twenty-one, almost a stranger to her. Isabella had grown up mostly alone, with only her grieving mother for company. The tragedy of losing Edward and William, and the burden of carrying her own sorrow as well as the agony of her parents, had left her exhausted.
For many years she sought only peace and quiet, preferring safety to excitement, not tempted by prospects of romance, fearful that love was short-lived and pain its inevitable companion. Her favourite authors, the melancholy Brontë sisters, served only to reinforce her view of life.
Twice in the last five years she had either fled from a situation that looked as if it might lead to romantic involvement or turned down a perfectly reasonable offer of marriage. Content to remain at home, she had nevertheless obtained great satisfaction from helping her Aunt Emily with charity work in the parish and working at the hospital at Littleford. She found particular pleasure in her work with the children.
“Nothing can compare with the joy of helping the children,” she had declared when Elizabeth, hoping to draw her out, had asked whether she would not prefer to be assisting in the library at the community centre.
Richard and Emily had declared on many occasions that they could not run the children’s ward without her, and Mr Forrester had been astonished to learn that she had no formal training in nursing. “Miss Fitzwilliam, forgive me, but I have to say I have never met anyone who was so good at nursing the sick as you are. I cannot believe that you have no formal training,” he had said a few weeks after he had arrived to work as a locum for Richard. She had thanked him but had not paid much attention to his words, pointing out that she had learnt a great deal about nursing from her Aunt Emily. She had always taken it for granted that she, being fit and healthy, should feel compassion for the sick, especially the little ones. She was gradually to discover in Henry Forrester similar compassion and dedication, which made working with him a special pleasure.
When little Laura Ann’s life had hung by a slender thread, he had found her in tears and comforted her, and Isabella, who had never stopped to think that she was in need of comfort, was profoundly grateful for his thoughtfulness. Over many months, she had noted that he could be as kind and thoughtful with all his patients, and especially with anxious or grieving parents of sick children. It was a quality that had endeared him to her.
Today, as she stood before a mirror in a charming room that had once been Georgiana Darcy’s bedroom, preparing to step into her wedding gown, many of these vivid memories came to mind.
Sally, the young maid who attended her, could not take her eyes off Isabella in the flowing, silk gown specially made for her by the best seamstress in Derby.
“Oh, Miss Isabella, you look so lovely,” she cried when she finished doing up the tiny buttons that went all the way up the back of her dress.
Caroline, arriving to do her daughter’s hair, was taken aback by her calm, almost luminous beauty. Not since she had been a bridesmaid at Jane Bennet’s wedding had Caroline seen a bride look as serenely happy as Isabella did.
When Isabella was ready to go downstairs, her father came into the room to escort her to the carriage that would take her to church. So overcome was he with the thought of giving this very special daughter in marriage that he struggled to hold back the tears. It was Isabella who comforted him as she kissed both her parents and thanked them.
“Dear Papa and Mama, thank you for all you have given me. Henry Forrester is the only man I have met for whom I felt I was willing to change my comfortable, happy life with you. He is indeed a good man and he loves me,” she said simply.
Although the couple had said they had no wish for a big wedding, there was never any chan
ce that they could escape one. Their own popularity with friends and family, the affection that so many felt for the Fitzwilliams, and the Darcys’ generosity ensured there would be a large and appreciative gathering at Pemberley to help celebrate the happy event. Henry Forrester, whose parents were away in India, where his father was an administrator of one of the provinces, could only produce an aunt and two sisters, who had travelled from London to represent his family. Having no available male relatives, he asked his friend and colleague, Richard Gardiner, to be his best man, a role that Richard filled with pleasure. The excellent food and fine Spring weather contributed to make a memorable occasion for the large party assembled at Pemberley.
Perhaps the only thing that soured the perfect day was the news from Westminster. Once the wedded couple had been fêted, teased, and sent on their happy way to their honeymoon in Wales, the conversation turned to the topic that was dominating conversations around the nation—the possibility of war with Russia. James Wilson’s friends in the Foreign Office were absolutely certain that war was imminent. “I cannot help feeling that there is more to this quarrel with Russia than meets the eye,” he said.
Though a member of the governing party, James was quite critical of Fitzwillam’s favourite Parliamentarian, Palmerston, who was using the press, or that section of it that he could persuade to do his bidding, to whip up anti-Russian sentiment in Britain in preparation for an alliance with France and an attack upon Russia.
It was perhaps because Fitzwilliam was in a benevolent mood on the day of his daughter’s wedding that he did not respond more aggressively to James’ claims, saying only that Palmerston was a true patriot and would not do anything that was not in the nation’s interest.
But James was supported by Jonathan Bingley, himself a member of the Whig party, who declared, “Palmerston is using the popular press to push the British people into a war that is not in their interest. There is no justification for wrecking the forty years of peace and prosperity we have enjoyed to support the military ambitions of Louis Napoleon.”
The Women of Pemberley Page 22