In her personal notebook, she wrote:
I love this house above any other place I have seen. It has a most welcoming atmosphere and provides ample comfort in every room. Such airy, spacious rooms and graceful French windows, which I adore, surrounded by grounds so remarkable that, except at Pemberley, I have seen none to rival them. As for the weather, it is, as they told us it would be, perfect at this time of year!
Before they had been three or four days at Standish Park, they were all teasing her that Julian and she would have to spend more time in Kent, seeing she was so in love with it.
Sitting on the terrace on a balmy evening, James and Emma Wilson watched Julian and Josie walk away from the house towards the Rose Garden. Deep in conversation they walked, their heads turned toward one another, and though not a word carried to the observers on the terrace, the degree of affection between the pair was unmistakable.
“Miss Tate seems a very engaging young woman,” said James to his wife. “I can claim no great knowledge of the family, but I know her father is a very influential man in the Midlands. I believe his support for the Reform movement, through his newspapers, was crucial.”
Emma agreed. “Certainly, Anthony Tate is a man of both influence and principle, according to my brother. Jonathan is very impressed by his support of many community causes, and I think I am right in saying that Josie’s mother Rebecca has also given a great deal of time to the community. My cousin Emily is a particular friend of Josie’s mother,” she added. “She used to be Becky Collins, of course. It is a quite delicious irony that her daughter Josie seems destined to be the Mistress of Pemberley.”
They recalled with amusement the circumstances of the entail upon Longbourn, the Bennet family home, which had caused Mrs Bennet so much anxiety, as she lived for many years in fear of being dispossessed by Josie’s grandfather, the lugubrious Mr Collins, beneficiary by entail.
“It was the untimely death of Mr Collins and the wisdom of Mr Bennet that resulted in my brother Jonathan inheriting Longbourn, where Josie’s grandmother, Charlotte Collins, now lives as a house guest,” said Emma.
“Mrs Collins must surely contemplate the prospect of Josie’s marriage with some satisfaction,” James observed. “I would say with a good deal of satisfaction, but, quite clearly, it has not weighed heavily upon the minds of Mr and Mrs Darcy, if they have consented to the engagement.”
Emma smiled. “Charlotte,” she said, “is Lizzie’s oldest friend. Furthermore, while he does not have his father’s reserved manner, Julian does share his determination and strong will. He would never want to hurt his parents’ feelings, but I do not think he would let them thwart him if he really loved Josie, and I think it is quite plain that he does.”
James leaned across and took her hand. “One would have to be blind to miss it, Dearest. But it cannot be considered an unsuitable alliance, surely?” he asked.
“Hardly,” replied his wife. “The Tates are a well-respected family in the Midlands. Anthony Tate’s mother was the sister of Sir Edmond Camden, neighbours and friends of the Darcys. Their fortune is quite considerable, even without the newspaper empire Anthony has built.”
By the time the day arrived for them to part, the Wilsons and their guests had grown very fond of each other. Emma told Julian that she thought he was a very fortunate young man to be engaged to such an intelligent and charming young woman. It was a judgement he heartily endorsed.
On their last evening, having spent a pleasant hour after dinner in conversation and musical entertainment provided principally by the two young misses Wilson, Victoria and Stephanie, Josie begged to be excused, since she still had some packing to complete.
Entering her room a short time later, Emma found Josie packing her trunk and offered to help. She had brought her a gift of embroidered linen for her dressing table, which Josie admired for its fine work.
As they folded and packed, Emma casually informed her that Victoria and her governess, Miss Fairfax, would be travelling with them to London.
“Victoria has to present herself for a music examination,” she explained. “They will travel with you as far as Grosvenor Street, and when you break journey for the night at Rochester, would you mind if Vicky shares your room?”
Josie was conscious of her gaze as she spoke, “Of course not. Why should I? I would love to have Victoria’s company.”
Emma smiled very sweetly and said, “I know you are both thoroughly sensible and aware of the need for decorum; however, my dear Josie, it is very important to avoid any opportunity for untoward gossip when you and Julian are travelling together. Believe me, I speak from personal experience. I think the presence of Vicky and Miss Fairfax will ensure that you are well protected from any hint of impropriety on your journey.”
Josie, grateful for Emma’s concern, embraced and thanked her sincerely. Emma, who had had to exercise an exemplary degree of restraint in her own relationship with her brother-in-law after the death of her husband David Wilson, was ever conscious of the need for decorum. Like her mother, Jane, even though she let her feelings engage quite deeply, she had been determined never to permit their devaluation through gossip or malicious prattle. Her present advice to Josie was no different than the high standards she had always set herself.
On returning to London, James Wilson conveyed Josie to her aunt’s house before taking Julian to the Darcys’ town house at Portman Square, where he was staying the night prior to returning to Cambridge.
Josie’s aunt informed her that Miss Marian Thurber had called twice and left her card. Tired from her long journey, Josie was not fit to pay much attention and went directly to her room, seeking only a bath before bed.
Julian had barely retired to his bedroom when he was disturbed by sounds downstairs, which suggested the arrival of some late callers. Minutes later, the butler appeared at his door to inform him that two gentlemen, a Mr Henry Wickham and a Mr Philip Wickham, were downstairs.
Julian, recalling his mother’s advice to stay well away from the Wickhams, was quite bewildered by their sudden arrival. Going downstairs, he took them into the sitting room, where they fell into chairs and proceeded to explain that they were stranded in town, having missed their friends with whom they were to return to their barracks some miles out of London. They were only in need of a bed for the night, they claimed, and promised not to inconvenience anyone.
“We shall be gone at dawn, before you are awake,” said one, and Julian thought it would be very churlish to refuse. How could he throw them out? He sent for the housekeeper and asked that a bedroom be made ready, and that they be served an early breakfast on the morrow. Expressing profound gratitude, the Wickhams were ushered upstairs.
Still rather confused, Julian returned to bed, not expecting to see them again—which was why he was totally surprised to hear, when he came down to breakfast, that the two Wickham brothers were still fast asleep. He assumed they would soon be gone and set about his own business.
Returning to Cambridge, having first called on Josie and her aunt, Julian soon forgot about the Wickhams. A fortnight later, however, he received news of them from Mr Johns, the butler, who turned up at his rooms one evening to say that the two gentlemen had not departed for several days.
“They returned to the house every night, sir, and expected to be served a late breakfast each morning. Cook has been really cross,” he said, adding that they had only left after he informed them that an officer had arrived in their absence and asked questions about their whereabouts. Johns, the soul of discretion, had given as little information as possible, except to say they had left the house that morning and were not expected to return.
“They seemed rather worried and left soon afterwards, sir,” he explained, then revealed that after they had gone, the maids clearing the room had noticed that a silver snuffbox and a set of tortoiseshell combs were missing from the dressing table.
“Sa
rah was very upset, sir, and I thought it best to inform you as soon as possible. I don’t think the master will be very happy about it,” he said gloomily. Julian was grateful for his concern and absolved him of all guilt, taking upon himself the responsibility for permitting the Wickhams to stay the night.
“I should have insisted that they left that morning before I did. None of this is your fault, Johns. I will write to Papa and explain everything. We should try to replace the snuffbox; it must have been quite valuable. I shall look for one when I am next in London,” he said and sent Johns away, assuring him that all would be well.
However, two weeks later, the electric telegraph brought an urgent summons from his father, who expected to be at Portman Square on the following day. The Wickham brothers were back, and this time they had a few friends with them, including a couple of young women. They had virtually taken over the rooms upstairs and were ordering the servants around. Johns, in great distress, had sent an express to Pemberley requesting Mr Darcy’s intervention. Short of calling in the police, he could see no way to be rid of them and hoped his master would be able to solve the problem.
Julian left immediately for London. Arriving at Portman Square, he was flung into the middle of a most undignified contretemps. The Wickhams were out, but the debris of their stay was everywhere. The servants had finally refused to take orders from the Wickhams and their friends. Knowing Mr Darcy was expected, they were bustling around getting the house back to normal, but there was a sullen atmosphere in the place. The parlour maid had complained that she had been importuned by one of the Wickhams and later harassed by his lady friend, which had driven the girl into hysterics. The cook had flatly refused to provide them with food at all hours, and the footman had grown weary of running up and down the stairs to attend to their demands for drinks and was threatening to leave.
Poor Johns—with a possible mutiny on his hands, he was at his wit’s end when Julian arrived, to be followed soon afterwards by Mr Darcy, his manager, and a lawyer.
When the Wickhams returned without their friends, the brisk, businesslike manner in which they were dealt with left Julian quite amazed.
He wrote to Cassandra later that week:
The threat of being handed over to the police as well as being reported to the army for their disreputable, disgusting behaviour must have had the desired effect. They were clearly impressed by Papa’s lawyer, who detailed to them the crimes they had already committed, including trespassing and stealing, the witnesses who would testify against them, and the sentences they were likely to receive from the magistrate. The very least would be several years in prison—more probable, if the case were pressed hard, would be transportation to Australia!
Of course, through all this, Papa stood aloof, looking very stern indeed!
Can you believe, Cassy, that these stupid men would continue to place themselves in jeopardy, without a thought for the consequences of their actions, behaving like highwaymen in the very heart of London?
I know that Mama warned me against the Wickhams, but nothing prepared me for their effrontery and insolence. We are fortunate indeed that we have not lost the services of several of the staff at Portman Square as a result of this debacle. However, it is now settled, and I sincerely hope it will never happen again.
I hope you and Richard are well. Do give the children our love.
Josie and I expect to be back in Derbyshire by the end of Summer, when I am sure we shall all meet together at Pemberley in happier circumstances.
He concluded his letter to his sister with the usual felicitations and added a postscript reminding her of a promise to visit him at Cambridge.
Meanwhile, Josie had been visited by Marian Thurber, who, on discovering her interest in writing, became even keener to assist her progress. She had, in fact, arranged a meeting between herself, Josie, and a man she called “my agent,” who turned out to be the young man in the long black coat who had appeared at the Dickens readings.
Curious though cautious, Josie had gone along and initially, at least, she was willing to take their plans seriously. Miss Thurber claimed that she and her friend in the long black coat, whom she called “Georgie” as if he were a pet dog, were actually involved in publishing. They were, at the moment, she said, collecting material for a new anthology. She claimed that they had already published several such collections in the United States.
“All we need are some exciting new writers, preferably young writers, who will speak from the heart,” she declared grandly. “Georgie” nodded vigorously but said nothing, leaving all of the talking to Marian Thurber.
She then urged Josie to let her read some of her own work. “Not that I am unsure of its quality; mind, I know it will be excellent, but I should like to know the genre in which you write. I cannot think of anything better than helping younger, struggling writers to publish,” she cooed sweetly.
At first, Josie was quite impressed and promised to let Miss Thurber see a recent piece of work. However, she warned that she did not write fiction. “You may not like my work, Miss Thurber,” she said.
“Marian, please,” she begged, and Josie continued, “You see, I have no talent for fiction and no real inclination, either. My work is almost all factual and documentary. I wish to write about the problems ordinary people face, and the consequences for their lives of forces they cannot control.”
Once again, Miss Thurber rolled her eyes and spoke encouragingly, “My dear Josie, that is what readers are crying out for. Any scribbler can pen a romance; but to argue a case, now, that is rare, especially in a woman writer.”
Josie spoke of Charlotte Brontë, one of the three tragic Brontë sisters, who had died but a year ago. “I admire their ability to conjure up fascinating tales out of the mist on the moors, but I could not do it. I can only write about real people.”
Marian Thurber assured her that writing romances was a very commonplace thing and urged her again to let her see some of her work.
Writing to Julian, Josie told him of Miss Thurber’s ideas. Despite the need to concentrate upon his work, Julian was sufficiently concerned to write her a hasty note begging her to be cautious, and make no commitments.
My dearest Josie,
Please beware of those who will promise you fame and fortune. Do not give away any of your work to these people, of whom we know very little.
He had been working diligently through most of the Summer on a dissertation which had to be presented for evaluation soon. There was a great deal at stake, including the opportunity for further research, and a Master’s Degree. Meanwhile, he had not been neglectful of Josie’s interests. He had approached two or three persons involved in the publication of journals. One, a fairly progressive journal with the rather unlikely title of The New Radical, was based on Cobbett’s Reviews, and seemed a likely prospect.
Josie’s article on the mining disaster—which opened with two lines of poetry and closed with what Julian called “a great rant against the greed of mine owners”—seemed appropriate material. He was delighted when the editors expressed an interest in it.
The arrival of another letter from Josie, mentioning an invitation to a dinner party at the house of a Mrs Freeman, caused Julian to decide it was time to go to London forthwith. Arriving unannounced at her aunt’s house on the afternoon of the dinner party, he was enthusiastically received by Josie but not quite so happily by Miss Thurber when she called for her. There was no mistaking her disconcerted expression when Josie asked if Julian could accompany them. Though she made a great show of generous hospitality, it was plain that Miss Thurber was somewhat put out by his presence.
On arriving at the house of her friend and fellow countrywoman, Gertrude Freeman, who was introduced as “a dramatist and free thinker,” Julian had his suspicions confirmed. He did, however, attempt to keep his thoughts to himself for a while.
It transpired that the man in the long bla
ck coat, who appeared at the party more fashionably attired and, amazingly, minus his coat, was in fact a hopeful poet who had adopted the style and enthusiasms of John Keats with little evidence of similar talent. He was encouraged in his presumption by both Miss Thurber and her friend Mrs Freeman with no indication that anyone wanted to read his work, much less publish it.
There were others present who neither wrote nor, it would seem, read poetry, but had become part of the coterie of the two women and hung around on the fringes of the gathering. Miss Thurber spent a lot of her time actively encouraging “my protégés,” as she called them, and reading out scraps of their work at intervals.
After dinner, which was a dull affair, the true purpose of the gathering became clear when Mrs Freeman produced her plan for the new publication, somewhat naively named The Treasure Trove (because, as she claimed, it would contain the hitherto hidden treasures of the contributing writers). The Treasure Trove would be published in America, and would cost each of the contributors a mere thirty pounds, for which, of course, they would receive copies of the publication—presumably in addition to fame and glory. There were, however, no legal documents, no guarantees of anything; everything had to be taken on trust.
Standing beside Josie as the plan unfolded, Julian could clearly see her early enthusiasm waning as the true nature of the enterprise was exposed. Despite the best efforts of both Marian Thurber and her friend, it appeared that not too many of her writers were either willing or able to part with that much money. For some, like the hungry-looking poet with lank blonde hair, whose main interest appeared to be the food on the table, thirty pounds must have seemed like a fortune!
The Women of Pemberley Page 32