The Women of Pemberley

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Meanwhile, Mr Darcy and William Camden had gone to Newcastle under Lyme and returned with an apothecary, who brought with him a variety of medicines, ointments, and potions for those who had only minor injuries, bruises, and sore heads. He set to work at once attending to those who were waiting.

  The women stood around in groups, some holding their children close, drawing comfort from them as they waited for the news they dreaded. No one knew who was dead and who remained alive below. The three men who had seen them had not revealed their names to the crowd, lest they cause panic. It was the way things were done. Fear and ignorance isolated each family. Wives and daughters clung together in hope, some praying audibly.

  Looking at them, seeing, feeling, sharing their anxiety, Isabella wondered how she could have remained ignorant of the agony of these people, living such unimaginably hard lives only a few miles from her comfortable home.

  One woman stood alone, a shawl over her head, almost hiding her face. Unable to bear the suspense alone any more, she approached Isabella and, reaching out to her, grasped her hand and clung to it. Isabella drew her close sharing her fear. They stood together without speaking, waiting.

  Suddenly there were sounds; a rattle of the cage opening, the tramp of boots, and heavy breathing as two men appeared bearing two bodies. A deep sigh and several cries went up as they moved forward; one was the limp body of a boy, who could not have been more than fourteen, and the other a middle-aged man.

  The women surged forward to see whose child it was that had been brought out first. There was a frightening silence until suddenly a cry of pain from one of them identified him as her son. Emily went to her at once, holding her, trying to offer comfort.

  Isabella clung to the woman standing beside her, whose hand felt like ice in hers, so great was her fear. Tears coursed down their cheeks as they watched more bodies brought out—three big, strong men in the prime of life—husbands, fathers, brothers, all part of this small community, struggling to make a living in this most perilous of industries.

  A temporary morgue had been set up in a tent and the mine supervisors were marking names off on a list, as grieving relatives crowded round.

  Almost an hour later, a dull roar was heard underground. Alarmed, Isabella asked those around her, “What was that noise? What is happening?”

  But no one would answer. They were looking at the entrance to the pit, where two men had emerged carrying a litter on which a man lay unconscious. Behind them, a slim boy, his face black with dust and streaked with tears, and then as Isabella watched, her heart racing with apprehension, Henry and Matthew stepped out into the fading evening light.

  The woman, who had stayed with her throughout the ordeal, cried out in relief and ran, stumbling, across to the litter and embraced the boy as he stood beside his father. She had said not a word, but they were her husband and her only son. Later, Isabella learned that she was Mary, the wife of the miner, Jack Higgins, and mother of Johnny. She followed her as a great cheer went up from the crowd. Amidst those who were grieving for their dead, others gave thanks for the lives that had been spared.

  Richard had already taken the man on the litter aside and, using his stethoscope, checked his heart, for he had suffered severe shock lying in the dark for many hours, even before his foot had been amputated to free him. As Richard completed his examination, Matthew was moving to get the man, his wife, and their son into the vehicle that was to take them to Littleford. The patient needed to be treated in hospital, and Richard would go with them.

  There was a sense of relief now it was all over, and some of the people were talking at last, relieved that the casualties were not as many as they had feared. Others sat or stood around, dazed with shock and grief. But Isabella saw only her husband, exhausted with the strain of the ordeal, stained with grime and coal dust, and she went to him at once. Henry, blinking against the light, cleaned his face with a cloth someone had thrust into his hand before he held her close.

  At first he made light of his ordeal and the danger they had been in. There was still work to be done. Arrangements were made to transport those who needed further treatment to Littleford and Matlock, and deliver the dead into the care of their families.

  James Courtney and Dr Jenkins were staying on to conduct a short service for the dead and comfort the living—a melancholy task, indeed, but an essential one.

  When it was all over and they were at home after they had bathed and dined, only then did he tell her how close they had come to catastrophe. The dull roar they had heard above ground was the rest of the roof collapsing minutes after they had pulled Jack Higgins out. “Fortunately, Matthew had persuaded the lad to get out first, or there would have been more tragedy. I did not know then that he was their only son.”

  Isabella told him how Mary Higgins had clung to her hand, saying not a word, not even her name, while they waited. Henry smiled. “She probably knew you were the surgeon’s wife and did not wish to alarm you,” he said lightly.

  Isabella was not deceived by the calmness of his voice. She knew how close she had been to losing him, as close as Mary Higgins had been to losing her husband and only son.

  A week later, they dined at Pemberley with most of their family and friends. Mr Darcy took the opportunity to pay tribute to all the men and women who had helped during the mine disaster. He thanked especially the women whose voluntary work at the mine and in the hospitals had been invaluable. He had heard from the mine wardens that the pit was flooded and would remain closed. “I know it will come as a relief to all of you, as it did to me, that no more lives will be placed in jeopardy to extract coal from that old pit, which should have been abandoned years ago,” he declared to cheers of approval from all those gathered around the table.

  But the loudest cheers erupted when he turned to his son-in-law Richard and said, “Richard, I know that without your wonderful work, and the brave efforts of your excellent colleagues Henry Forrester and Matthew Ward, many more lives would have been lost. All of us, the entire community is deeply grateful to you all. Thank you.”

  Isabella, sitting between her husband and Richard Gardiner, was very proud of them. Across the room, Matthew Ward looked very pleased indeed. A week ago, he had been unknown; today he was being listed among the heroes.

  ***

  Two days later, Isabella was resting in her room when her maid came in to say a woman had come to call on her. “I told her you were upstairs ma’am, but she insisted that she would take up very little of your time. She says her name is Mary Higgins.”

  Isabella rose at once and put on a loose wrap.

  “Sarah, go down at once and ask Mrs Higgins to wait in the sitting room, I will be with her soon. Would you also bring us some tea, please?”

  When she dressed and went downstairs, Isabella found Mary Higgins standing quietly in the corner of the room, looking out at the garden, which was filled with late Summer blooms. She went to her at once and took both her hands in hers. “Mrs Higgins, Mary, I am so happy to see you,” she said, and the sincerity in her voice reassured the woman, who had been somewhat nervous while waiting for her.

  “I was admiring your lovely garden, ma’am. I wish we had room for one.”

  She sat down almost reluctantly and then jumped up again to get a parcel she had left on a side table. “I brought you this, ma’am. We called at the hospital, and Mr Forrester said you were at home, and he said you would not mind if we called on you to say how grateful we are to you and Mr Forrester.”

  Isabella asked whether her son was with her and was told he was out in the pony cart they had borrowed for their journey. Immediately, Isabella sent for Sarah and instructed her to ask young Johnny Higgins in and make sure there was plenty of cake on the table for tea.

  When she opened the brown paper parcel, she found within an exquisite bowl from the Wedgwood potteries, where Mary Higgins worked. Isabella exclaimed with delight but
was tongue-tied at first, unable to express adequately her appreciation. Having put it down carefully on the table, she held Mary’s hands in hers. “Mary, thank you, it is so beautiful; but you did not have to bring me anything,” she began, but the woman stopped her.

  “Mrs Forrester, it is we who must thank you and Mr Forrester, for all you did for us. Were it not for him and his great courage, I would surely have lost both my husband and my boy. No lady has been so kind to me as you were that day, I did not know then you were the surgeon’s wife. You were so patient and so understanding, I shall not forget your goodness as long as I live.”

  Isabella tried to say first one thing and then another to stop her, but she would not be stopped. “And there is another matter, ma’am; when we visited Mr Higgins in the hospital, Mr Forrester asked my Johnny if he would like to work for him as an orderly, helping out, doing jobs around the hospital. So since the pit has closed, Johnny said he would, and he starts at the hospital next week. No more working down the mine. So you see, ma’am, we have a lot to be grateful for, and that little bowl is only a small token to show how we feel.”

  Isabella was delighted. She had wondered how the family would cope and whether they would have to go on letting the boy work in the mines. Henry had obviously given the matter some thought and had done something about it.

  When they had finished their tea, Mary Higgins rose to leave. “Should you need any help around the garden, ma’am, or if you have any odd jobs that need doing, you ask our Johnny. And if there is anything you want me to do, you send me word through him and I’ll be over as soon as I can,” she promised.

  Mary Higgins held Isabella’s hands very tight and there were tears in the eyes of both women. They knew they had shared something very special on that terrible day, something that would make a bond between them forever. Isabella was immensely grateful for the experience.

  She recalled asking her husband, on the night after the cave-in, whether Jack Higgins would live, and he had replied with a sigh, “Yes, if you call life without your right foot living. Remember Bella, he is only forty-two years old and in every other way a healthy, active man.”

  Isabella had wept then and said, “It seems so unfair that they should pay so high a price, just so they can earn a living. Each time I throw a piece of coal on the fire, I shall remember that.

  “I have never known such fear, waiting for you, wondering if you were going to be able to save them and get out alive, I knew exactly how Mary Higgins felt. I shall never forget the look on her face when they were brought up out of that dreadful pit.”

  Isabella was glad she had something more by which to remember that awful day than the memory of the agony of a woman who had spent all day wondering whether she would see her husband and son alive again. Mary Higgins was clearly delighted to have her husband home, even if he would remain a cripple for the rest of his life. She was a strong woman. She could work. Isabella had felt a remarkable strength in her hands as she held them. She had no doubt they would survive this tragedy and was determined to help them as best as she could.

  The Wedgwood china bowl, with its delicate classical design, had pride of place on the sideboard in their dining room. Each morning, when Isabella came downstairs and opened the window, it caught the rays of the morning sun. It was much admired by everyone who sat at their table, and its story would be told and re-told for years to come.

  Josephine Tate was not happy, which was unusual, since she was generally of a sunny disposition. On this fine Autumn morning, however, she was standing before a mirror in her bedroom, holding up a gown, trying to decide what to wear to the ball at Pemberley. The occasion was the twenty-first birthday of Julian Darcy.

  Josie could not decide which of her best gowns would suit. Two had already been tried and discarded as unbecoming or unsuitable, and the third—a pretty silk with a damask rose pattern—was about to join the rest when her mother entered the room.

  “Ah, there you are, Josie darling,” she said. “That is a most attractive gown. Have you decided to wear it tonight?”

  Josie pulled a face and looked uncertain as her mother, glancing down at a letter, which had arrived that morning, announced, “Amelia-Jane is to have another baby.”

  Josie stood as if transfixed. “What? Another baby!” She was incredulous. “Mama, this must be her fourth, or fifth, if you count the little one they lost two years ago.”

  Her mother seemed quite unperturbed by the news. “Well, it is, and why ever not? Amelia-Jane seems to love having children. She has very little to do besides running her household and looking after Jonathan. The nurse looks after the children for her. I know you do not like the idea of having lots of children, Josie, but many women do. Jonathan and Amelia-Jane seem to enjoy their children, you must admit. Now,” she said, briskly changing the conversation, “have you decided on that dress?”

  Josie sighed, “It matters not what I wear, anyway, Mama. Louisa Bingley can wear a simple shift and look like a princess! So why should I bother?”

  “Louisa? Why Josie, you are not jealous of her, are you? She is older than you are and besides, is she not as good as engaged to that Mr Ward who works at the hospital?” asked her mother, more amused than concerned.

  Louisa, the youngest of Jane and Charles Bingley’s famously lovely daughters, was admittedly a very attractive young woman with the added sophistication that a few years in society had given her. Since her sister Sophie’s marriage, Louisa seemed effortlessly to outshine most of the young ladies in the district. Josie sounded rather petulant, “Mama, if you were my age and attending a ball at Pemberley, you would be jealous too. She is so pretty, she makes the rest of us look quite ordinary, and it does not signify at all if she is engaged or she is not. And then, there is always dear Anne-Marie, another famous Bingley beauty. Aunt Amelia always makes sure she shines, wherever she goes.”

  She was wickedly recalling Amelia-Jane Bingley’s inclination to overdress her lovely daughter, a tendency generally agreed to be akin to gilding the lily and quite unnecessary.

  “Oh, Josie, that is nonsense,” chided her mother. “You are quite pretty yourself and have particularly fine eyes. I am sure if you had your hair styled differently, sort of swept up more, you would look very well. Now, come along and let us see what we can do about this gown. The colour is just right for you, and I think that if you wore my garnet earrings and necklace with it, it would be quite perfect.”

  “Thank you, Mama, but aren’t they a teeny bit old fashioned?” said Josie as she followed her mother out of the room.

  ***

  There was indeed a good deal of truth in Mrs Tate’s words. Josie, the daughter of Anthony Tate and Rebecca Collins, was just nineteen years old. She was well educated, intelligent, and witty, and though not classically beautiful like the Bingley girls, she was endowed with fine features and a slender figure, more characteristic of the Tates than the somewhat sturdier build of the Collinses. Her appearance was enhanced by a bright smile and a happy, generous temperament, which endeared her to her many friends.

  Her father, who owned a number of provincial newspapers, appreciated Josie’s intelligence, and had always encouraged her to speak up for herself, which she did often, without giving offence to anyone, despite a degree of pertness usually attributed to her youth.

  Mr Darcy had commented on more than one occasion that Josie Tate reminded him of his wife, Elizabeth, when he had first met her at Netherfield. “She has the same insouciance with which she contests, without reservation, a point of view or declaration with which she cannot or will not agree,” he had said, causing a good deal of mirth among their children.

  “Did Mama argue with you, Papa?” Julian had asked and was told, “She most certainly did, but mark you, not out of some perverse desire to be contrary, but because she genuinely believed I was wrong.”

  Elizabeth thanked him for his generous assessment of her conduct an
d did not bother to tell them that there had been times, especially in the company of Bingley’s boring sisters, whose fawning acquiescence with his every word had irritated and goaded her, when she had been tempted to argue with very little cause.

  That, however, was many years ago, he said, assuring Julian that today, after years of happy marriage, they were as one on so many topics, that he could not recall when they had last disagreed, much less had an argument. Elizabeth smiled and said nothing, but she was clearly pleased with this endorsement of their felicity.

  Faced with this example of contentment, Julian pointed out that he rarely had an argument with Josie Tate; indeed, they agreed on most things. “Unlike many other girls of her age, Josie is not silly. She is well informed on most matters and has some strong opinions,” he said.

  “And if she does argue to defend them, she is entitled to do so,” said his father.

  Elizabeth added that, with parents like Anthony and Rebecca Tate, it was no surprise that Josie had strong opinions. “They are both well read and have independent views.”

  Julian agreed and said he was looking forward to meeting with her at the ball. “And have you asked her to reserve a dance or two for you?” asked his mother with a smile.

  “I have not, but I intend to do so as soon as she arrives,” replied Julian, who, unlike his father, genuinely enjoyed a dance.

  The ball at Pemberley had been organised with all the usual efficiency and style that characterised similar celebrations at the great house. When the guests began to arrive, they were greeted by Mr Darcy, Elizabeth, and Julian—who was just as tall and handsome as his father with an additional measure of natural charm, inherited from his mother.

  Where the young Fitzwilliam Darcy had been shy and reserved to the point where he had often given offence, Julian was amiable and friendly with the easy manners of a young man who enjoyed the acquaintance of many and hoped to find most of them agreeable. While undoubtedly clever and enjoying intelligent company, he had that happy knack of putting people at ease, a quality that ensured he was generally well liked. A keen intelligence and scientific discipline stood him in good stead. Though justifiably proud of Pemberley and his family’s traditions, he never let them intrude into his general discourse, nor did he permit conceit based upon his heritage to cloud his judgement.