“Well, my dear, since you mention it, it may well be a good idea for him to come along. We are convening a branch of the Reform Group in the area, to press the government for a national public education policy. I know it is a subject Elliott is keenly interested in; he may benefit from attending and may even choose to follow our example in his own constituency. I shall ask him later today. I could do with the company on the journey there and back, anyway,” he said and was rewarded by his wife with a warm embrace.
So it happened that when Emily Courtney and her daughter arrived at Standish Park the following day, the gentlemen had already left for Maidstone. Aunt and niece were sitting together upstairs and Emma had only just told Anne-Marie that they were expecting visitors.
“From London?” she asked, surprised.
“No, from Derbyshire; Kympton to be exact,” Emma replied.
“Let me guess, it’s Aunt Emily and Mr Courtney. No?” Seeing her aunt shake her head, “Not Mr Courtney; it must be Aunt Emily and Jessica then?”
Emma smiled and hearing a carriage coming up the drive, she rose and moved to the window. Anne-Marie followed her and the speculation ended, as she saw the two women alight.
Emma noticed that Anne-Marie had become very pale.
She took her hands in hers, “Now, my dearest, you are not going to be upset, are you? Eliza has been very ill after losing her baby and Emily has been looking after her. They are here only for a few days, en route to Ramsgate, and they have come especially to see you.”
“Me? Why me?” Anne-Marie seemed confused.
“Because, my love, Eliza blames herself for having persuaded you to accept Mr Bradshaw. She believes that you blame her, too, and wishes to be reconciled with you before your wedding to Mr Elliott. Surely, you cannot refuse?” Emma pleaded.
Anne-Marie was silent and bit her lip hard, as they went downstairs to meet the visitors, who had been shown into the saloon. They found the ladies looking very tired and drawn, after their long journey by rail and coach. When they rose to greet them, it was quite obvious that Eliza was still far from well. She was thin and pale and her eyes filled with tears, as she came forward with some trepidation, her hand outstretched, to greet them.
Despite her pain, Anne-Marie had never blamed Eliza for her own misfortune; it had been more a question of avoiding the memories of those dreadful two years, which meeting Eliza would surely stir up. Yet her tender heart was so moved, seeing her thus, she ignored her hand and embraced her. As both women wept, Emily and Emma exchanged glances and slipped out of the room, leaving them together.
Nothing in Anne-Marie’s character would have permitted her to turn her face away from Eliza Harwood in her present condition. As for Eliza, she had long blamed herself for ever having encouraged her friend to accept Mr Bradshaw, realising now that no amount of rectitude and Christian morality could make up for the desolation of a marriage devoid of the warmth of love. That she had persuaded her dearest friend into such a bleak relationship had left her feeling guilty and miserable.
Long months of separation had taken their toll and it was a while before the two women could converse easily, as they had done when Eliza had been the young girl’s confidante and best friend. They had grown apart and it would take time to bridge the divide. When Emma and Emily returned, however, they had recovered their composure and were talking more easily together. Later, it became clear they had overcome their inhibitions and though they may never be as close as they’d been before, they could at least be companions again. Emily could tell from her daughter’s demeanour that she had made her peace with Anne-Marie and blessed Emma for affording her the opportunity to do so. “It will go a long way towards healing her spirit, Emma,” she said. “She has been desolated all year, believing Anne-Marie was lost to her as a friend. I cannot tell you how grateful I am. God bless you, Emma.”
Writing later to her father and Anna, Anne-Marie took up most of her letter with poetic descriptions of the park and woodlands in their Autumn splendour and the many delightful activities they were involved in at Standish Park.
Each day, we are able to enjoy the beauty of this place in one way or another, walks in the woods or picnics by the river, followed by evenings filled with exquisite music and excellent company. I have not mentioned the library or the gallery, both of which hold such treasures that I am sure I would not usually see in a lifetime. Both Aunt Emma and Mr Elliott have been taking me in hand and teaching me to appreciate them and I am very grateful indeed.
In the last two paragraphs, she mentioned the visit of Emily Courtney and her daughter Eliza Harwood.
You will be surprised, perhaps, to hear that Mrs Courtney and Eliza were here for a few days, on their way to Ramsgate, where Eliza is to spend the rest of the Summer. She is very poorly and needs to recover her health; Mr Harwood is to join them later.
Dear Papa and Anna, I know you will be happy to learn that Eliza and I have talked over our unhappy memories and are now quite reconciled. Eliza was relieved to discover that I had never held her responsible for my own sorrow, and she was especially pleased to know, that being engaged to Mr Elliott, memories of my earlier mistake no longer troubled me and I looked forward to our marriage, confident of happiness. Aunt Emily was happy, too, and said she had heard very good reports of my Mr Elliott from Aunt Caroline, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and others. She said she was sure we would be happy together. Poor Eliza has been very ill and miserable; I hope I have done something to help her recover. It must be dreadful to lose a little baby and not even have had the joy of holding it in your arms for a little while. I could not imagine such sorrow!
Anne-Marie’s compassion and genuine kindness had clearly triumphed over any lingering bitterness she may have carried in her heart.
Her father was not surprised. “I was sure my sister would not rest until she had brought about some reconciliation between those two young women,” said Jonathan, as he handed the letter back to his wife. Anna smiled but said nothing. She had had no intimation of Emma’s plans, but had always believed that her sister-in-law, being a compassionate and loving woman, would find some way to bring Eliza Harwood and Anne-Marie together, convinced that Anne-Marie would be the better for it.
Returning to Netherfield, Anne-Marie and Mr Elliott were plunged back into preparations for the wedding, now fixed for December. The bridesmaids, Teresa and Cathy, had to be measured for their gowns and trained for their roles, while the choir was rehearsed until they were singing like angels!
Mr Griffin, who was to perform the ceremony, which Teresa said, must have been for him, the next best thing to marrying Anne-Marie himself, wore a perpetual smile. He seemed so pleased and was so excited, that Anna feared he would forget his words in the order of service, when he saw the bride standing before him.
“Poor Mr Griffin, he has long given up hope, but I am sure he still has a corner of his heart filled with love for Anne-Marie,” she said, as she helped Teresa with her gown, warning her to say nothing to Cathy, who would surely giggle and spoil everything. Teresa promised, adding that she had no doubt everything would turn out well, since their grandmother was arriving from Ashford Park to supervise it all.
“Cathy would not dare giggle,” she declared, “not in her presence.”
Meanwhile, plans for Longbourn and the hospital were well advanced. Mrs Collins, who had been rather lonely since the death of her friend and companion Mary Bennet, looked forward to a house that no longer fell silent once the students went home. She had always been fond of Anne-Marie and welcomed her company at Longbourn. As for Mr Elliott, his unfailing courtesy and attention to herself had won him her esteem long before he became engaged to her granddaughter.
Harriet Greene and Mr Bowles were married and, after they returned from a visit to her family, he moved to live at Longbourn, replaced at Netherfield by a man who had served Jonathan when he had been a member of the House of Commons, a Mr Alfred Dobson.
Everything appeared to be moving smoothly, when somet
hing they could have neither foreseen nor prevented occurred. On a fine, calm, Autumn afternoon, news came by telegraph of the death of Mr Edward Gardiner. Jonathan and Anna Bingley left immediately for Derbyshire to attend the funeral. Mr Gardiner, uncle of Jane and Elizabeth, was a much loved and respected member of the family and Jonathan knew his death would cause great grief among their cousins. At Pemberley, the Darcys were desolated.
Mr Darcy’s close friendship with Mr Gardiner over many years had been of immense value to him, broadening his outlook, drawing him out of the close, rather dull circle of the country gentry into which he had been born, into the more enterprising, cosmopolitan world of Commerce. It had compelled him to meet new people and confront ideas, which he had either ignored or knew nothing of in his youth. Mrs Gardiner, one of the finest ladies Darcy had known, was Lizzie’s friend and confidante, while their son Richard Gardiner, who had married Cassy Darcy, was closer to Mr Darcy than his own son Julian.
The two couples had been intimate for many years. Having been instrumental in bringing their favourite niece and Mr Darcy together, the Gardiners held a special place in their hearts.
Though his death had been long expected after several bouts of heart disease, when it came, it had been a shock which left both Darcy and Elizabeth grief stricken. When Jonathan and Anna arrived at Pemberley, it was Cassandra Gardiner who greeted them and made arrangements for their stay.
“My father has gone to Oakleigh with Richard; Mama and Aunt Jane are with Caroline, who is inconsolable,” she explained, as she accompanied them indoors and rang for refreshments. While her parents had gone to offer comfort to the Gardiners, Jonathan and Anna found it was Cassy, not Julian, who was in charge at Pemberley. When her husband Richard returned, he revealed that Julian’s wife Josie was unwell and unable to travel from Cambridge for the funeral. “Julian is expected tomorrow; I believe he has already left Cambridge,” Richard explained, adding that “Cassy knows everything that needed doing, anyway.”
Mr Darcy, at Mrs Gardiner’s request, had arranged for the funeral to take place at the church at Pemberley, so her husband may be laid to rest in the churchyard there, close to his friends and beside the two young boys, William Darcy and Edward Fitzwilliam, whom he had loved so dearly and whose untimely deaths had filled him with great sadness. It had been his dying wish.
Cassandra followed all her father’s instructions minutely, knowing how much Mr Gardiner had meant to him. Cassy knew the people of the estate well, far better than Julian, who spent very little time at Pemberley. Anna, who offered to help, was astonished at Cassy’s strength and capacity for hard work. Later, she took her place beside her husband as he supported his mother and stood with her parents, whose own grief was so heavy that Anna noticed for the first time that Mr Darcy looked weary and strained.
Jane and Elizabeth, both in deep mourning, could conceal their sorrow behind their veils, but Darcy’s countenance showed the ravages of his grief at the loss of a dear friend.
Julian Darcy was late, arriving at the church when the funeral service had almost ended. Indeed, it was his father, who at the very last moment, had stepped in to read the lesson assigned to his son. He was clearly disappointed that Julian had not arrived in time and though he gave no overt indication of his feelings, Cassy knew he had been deeply hurt.
Darcy’s heavy heart was due primarily to his deep personal loss, but he was anxious also about the future of the family business Mr Gardiner had developed and controlled for so long and in which he held a valuable partnership. Neither Richard nor Robert Gardiner appeared to have the inclination to fill their father’s place.
As the funeral ended and the mourners began to leave, it was Cassy who took her father’s arm and moved him away from the graveside, while Jonathan Bingley went swiftly to support his Aunt Lizzie and help her into the carriage that waited to take them back to Pemberley.
Those members of the family who had been close to the Gardiners stayed on after the funeral. To Mrs Gardiner and her two daughters, it was a heavy loss indeed; a loving husband and father who had helped and counselled his family, was gone. Jonathan and Anna stayed at Pemberley at the invitation of the Darcys, while Julian had to return forthwith to Cambridge.
After dinner, Mr Darcy, who had been silent during most of the meal, spoke with great feeling. “I shall miss him; even though I have known for several months that this was coming, the blow is a heavy one indeed.”
He was standing beside the fireplace, as he spoke, looking into the flames, then turning to face them, “He has been my friend, my partner in business and, yes, in some ways, my mentor, for many years. He had so much experience, such sound judgment and was most generous with his time; I cannot imagine how we will get on without him,” he said, his sombre tones reflecting his feelings.
Elizabeth moved to his side and said quietly, “And yet, he was totally without arrogance or false pride and treated everyone with respect and consideration. In spite of his long illness, he hardly ever complained; he was an example to us all.”
She recalled how her father, Mr Bennet, had relied upon their Uncle Gardiner’s sound advice in all matters concerning the welfare of their family. “And he was invariably right,” she concluded.
Anna asked if Mrs Gardiner would stay on at Lambton, and Darcy assured her that she would. “She is devoted to the place; her husband bought it for her, because she had longed to return to the village in which she had been born and raised.”
They spoke of Robert Gardiner and the possibility that he may succeed his father in the business, but Darcy was unsure.
“I know Mrs Gardiner is very fond of him, he is her youngest after all, but I do not believe Robert is seriously interested in the business,” he said.
“He and his wife have many other pursuits, which take them away from Derbyshire for several months of the year. Robert has given no indication that he wishes to change that and I can only conclude that he is disinclined to take on the responsibility.”
“No doubt Mr Gardiner would have made provision for the administration of the business in his will,” said Jonathan, and they all agreed that the situation would be clearer once the will was read.
As the footmen brought in the candles and they rose to say goodnight, Elizabeth, taking her husband’s arm, said, “Dear Jonathan, I think we are both very grateful to you and Anna for staying over with us at Pemberley tonight. Your uncle and I would have been very gloomy companions for one another, without you. Thank you.”
The families were to meet once more that year, for a quiet wedding at Netherfield, at which Jonathan Bingley gave his favourite daughter to be married to Mr Colin Elliott, MP. This time, he had the fullest confidence that Anne-Marie’s happiness was not in any doubt.
On the morning of her wedding, he had gone to her room and found her dressed in her elegant gown and jewellery, looking very beautiful indeed.
In the time they spent together, she had assured him of her heartfelt desire to marry Mr Elliott. “Papa, he is, without doubt the best man I have known, except for you, of course,” she had declared and Jonathan had recalled the previous occasion on which she had said little, as she went to be married to Mr Bradshaw. It had been revealed later that she had cared little for him.
This time he was sure it was different. The glow that lit up her lovely face was evidence of her pleasure, as she contemplated marriage to Colin Elliott. Anna had also reassured him the previous night, when she had gone to Anne-Marie’s room and found her sitting up in bed, bright-eyed and sleepless, quite unashamedly admitting her eagerness for the morrow.
“There she was,” Anna had said, “sitting up in bed, smiling, unable to sleep, like a child waiting for a special treat! When I asked her if she was looking forward to her wedding day, she answered with disarming honesty, ‘Oh Anna, I cannot wait for tomorrow, I love him so much.’”
From the usually restrained young woman she knew, this was a surprisingly passionate admission, which provided Anna with the reassuran
ce she needed. She knew this marriage would bring Anne-Marie the intensity of feeling, that would wipe away all the residual indifference and dullness of the last.
Anna smiled as she told it, recalling her own experience, and her husband, unable to resist the inevitable question, asked if she had suffered similar feelings of impatience before their wedding day. His wife could not and, indeed, did not wish to deny it.
“I confess I did, but I was not as fortunate as Anne-Marie, for I had no one in whom to confide, no one who would understand my longing. Indeed, the waiting was made doubly difficult by my having to conceal my feelings, so as to avoid outraging my mother. She would no doubt have considered any eagerness on my part to be most unseemly,” she said.
Her husband’s voice was gentle. “And yet, it was you, my love, who chose to wait. I would have preferred that we were married sooner.”
“Yes, because I wanted no one to accuse you of unseemly haste after Amelia-Jane’s death. Waiting a while longer was a small price to pay,” she replied, “even though it meant many days of aching loneliness, when you were away in London. I know I would have given anything to be with you.” This frank admission brought such a fond response from him, as to make any further discussion of the issue unnecessary, except to express their hope that Anne-Marie and Mr Elliott would be as deeply happy in their marriage as they were themselves.
Despite the recent death of Mr Gardiner, many members of the family, except Mrs Gardiner and Mr Robert Gardiner and his wife, travelled to Hertfordshire to attend the wedding of Anne-Marie to Colin Elliott.
Jonathan Bingley was so well regarded and Anne-Marie so loved that everyone wanted to congratulate him and wish her happiness. Most of them knew well how much unhappiness she had borne without complaint until Bradshaw’s death and how she had devoted her time before and since to helping the poor and sick, using her skills and influence to ease suffering and save lives.
The Ladies of Longbourn Page 32