By the time Mrs Tate came downstairs, tea had been served and the fire stoked up to a good blaze. Julian had insisted that they partake of tea and toasted muffins while he went upstairs to his wife. Once he had left the room, Cassandra turned expectantly to Mrs Tate, who was clearly eager to talk. “How is Josie?” she asked and Mrs Tate, speaking in a kind of stage whisper, loud enough for anyone to hear who cared to listen, said, “Very weak and pale, very weak, indeed, poor dear. It seems she has had little or no nourishment for days.”
She sounded exceedingly anxious and puzzled. Becky Tate was the same age as Cassy, but despite her many talents, seemed much less able to cope with the situation that confronted them.
“Has Josie been refusing to take food as well as medication?” asked Richard, his brow furrowed by a frown. Mrs Tate nodded.
“It certainly seems so, Dr Gardiner; not that Josie would say anything, but I slipped out and asked her maid, when she removed the tea tray, if her mistress had not been eating well and she said, ‘No, not at all well.’ Indeed, it would appear she eats less than a child would at meals and then only to please her husband, who begs her to take some nourishment. In between times, she drinks only weak tea or barley water and, very occasionally, takes a small piece of fruit,” she explained, while wearing a very bewildered expression.
Rebecca Tate was usually a sensible, practical sort of person, yet it was difficult for her to understand what had happened to her once bright and lively daughter.
Cassy noticed that Richard was shaking his head, and she could tell from his solemn countenance that he was worried, too.
“Refusing medication is bad enough—declining food is much more serious. It means that her body would be enfeebled by sheer lack of nourishment, and thereby, less able to cope with whatever it is that afflicts her,” he said, unable to conceal his concern.
Shortly afterwards, Julian returned to say he had spoken with Josie and she was willing to see Richard now. Cassy thought it sounded as if she was granting him a privilege, which was strange! They went upstairs, all but Cassy who remained alone in the parlour, casting an eye upon the clutter that surrounded her.
Presently, the maid came to clear away the tea things and Cassy recognised her. It was Susan, one of the maids from the Tates’ household, who had been Josie’s personal maid and had moved with her to Pemberley after her marriage to Julian, and later to Cambridge.
Clearly delighted to see Cassandra, the girl curtseyed briefly, put the tray back on the table, wiped her hands on her apron, and became quite talkative.
“Miss Cassy—beg pardon, ma’am, I mean Mrs Gardiner—I am so very happy to see you, ma’am. Looking so well, too, if I may say so. Is your family well, ma’am, Miss Lizzie and Master Edward?” she asked, eager for information. Equally pleased to see her and remembering the poor girl must be homesick, so far from her family in Derbyshire, Cassy responded kindly, assuring the girl that her family was in excellent health, all but her dear father-in-law Mr Gardiner.
“Oh ma’am, I am sorry to hear that. It must be very hard for poor Mrs Gardiner, looking after the master alone,” she said, and Cassy reassured her that Mr Gardiner was very well cared for and her aunt had many helpers.
“Both his daughters, Mrs Courtney and Mrs Fitzwilliam, are there often and Dr Gardiner and my son Mr Edward, who is now a physician himself, attend upon him every day. Indeed, Mr Edward is with his grandfather at this very moment, staying at Lambton until our return.”
Susan expressed her relief. “Ah, that surely is a blessing, ma’am,” she said and added in a woebegone sort of voice, “I wish I could say the same of my Miss Josie. She will see no doctors and take no medicine at all.”
Alerted by her words, Cassy asked quickly, “Susan, do you mean Miss Josie—I mean Mrs Darcy—refuses to take any medication for her condition? Has not a doctor seen her at all?”
Susan’s eyes widened, reflecting her alarm.
“No, ma’am, she will not see anyone, nor will she take any proper medicine. It is only with much coaxing that I can get her to take a spoonful of honey for her chest or some chamomile tea for her headaches, when they are really bad. She has had nothing more in weeks, ma’am. It really is a sad thing to see her wasting away.”
Cassy was appalled. “And what about her food?” she asked. The maid rolled her eyes skywards and shook her head.
“That, too, ma’am. She will eat like a bird, and then only when the master pleads with her to do so. Poor Mr Julian, he is so worried about her, he forgets his hat or his scarf and has to rush back for them, else he will leave his tea until it is cold and gulp it down before rushing out the door. It’s a wonder he can still work, ma’am.”
Cassy agreed, though she said nothing to the girl, as she rose and walked about the room. It seemed things were a good deal worse than they had suspected. Hearing footsteps descending the stairs, Susan picked up the tea tray and left the room, leaving Cassy gazing out of the bay window that looked out on a forlorn old rosebush, so overgrown it had hardly any blooms. Yet, she recalled, the last time they had been here, it had been covered in roses and when she had opened the window, their sweet scent had filled the room.
Her brother entered the parlour and Cassy, turning to greet him, could see he was miserable. Several years her junior, Julian looked depressed and vulnerable as he stood there, his tousled hair and rumpled shirt, as much as his anxious expression, evidence of his anguish. Cassy went to him and took his hands in hers, trying to offer some reassurance, looking for the right words to assuage his pain. She was sure, she said, that Richard would be able to help Josie; after all, he had been their family doctor since she was a little girl.
“If only she would take some medicine and a little nourishment, I am sure she will begin to feel better,” he said and then added helplessly, “but Cassy, she will take neither, no matter what I say!”
Cassy felt tears sting her eyes; she had always felt responsible for her young brother, especially because he had been born when everyone was still grieving for their beloved William. They had all treasured Julian, yet he did not appear to have grown into the role he was expected to play. There was a great deal to learn about running an estate, but Julian had shown little interest in it. Even as a boy, he had no talent for practical matters and relied upon their mother herself or the servants for advice on everything.
His sister knew, only too well, that the young man who would one day succeed her father as Master of Pemberley would need to be stronger and more determined than Julian was now.
Beset with domestic problems, he seemed even weaker and less likely than before to take up with confidence the onerous responsibilities of Pemberley, where he would influence the lives of many men, women, and children, who would depend upon his strength and judgment for their livelihoods and security.
Standing in the middle of that drab room, he looked so forlorn that she was moved to say, “Please try not to worry too much, Julian dear. Richard will do his very best. I know Josie trusts him and, when he has persuaded her to take some medication and good food, I have no doubt we will see her condition improve.”
Julian did not appear convinced. “Oh Cassy, I do hope you are right. There have been times, awful frightening moments, when I have felt that she does not wish to recover at all.”
His voice was so filled with despair that Cassy was shocked.
“Hush, Julian, you must never say that. Why on earth would your wife, who has everything to live for, feel so? She has you, her family, and young Anthony,” but he interrupted her.
“Plainly, my dear sister, we are not enough to make her completely happy. Her life, she claims, is empty of purpose; she points out that I have a burning desire to find scientific ways of preventing diseases that kill people, but cannot understand her longing to have her work published. Cassy, I have offered to have it published at my expense, but she will not have it; she says that would not do: it would be no different to having it printed in her father’s papers, and she must
have it accepted by one of the reputable publishing houses. As you know, this has not occurred and she is bitterly disappointed.”
Even as she listened, Cassandra could not help wondering whether this was really the entire story behind Josie’s malaise.
“Julian, are you quite sure that is the only reason for her unhappiness? Is there no other cause?” she asked.
There was a long pause during which Cassy studied her brother’s countenance as he struggled to find words to express what he was going to say; at last, with a huge effort, he spoke.
“Cassy, I wish I could truthfully say it was, but I cannot. I have tried to pretend otherwise, but I fear I must face the truth. I think, Cassy, my dear Josie no longer loves me.”
He sounded so disconsolate, looked so melancholy, she was cut to the heart, just looking at him.
“Julian!” she cried, “what nonsense is this? Whatever makes you say such a thing? Josie has been ill and depressed, but to believe she does not love you, or has no desire to recover, what evidence have you of this outrageous claim?”
Before he could respond, if indeed he was going to make any response at all, Mrs Tate and Richard were heard coming downstairs and no further discussion of the subject was possible.
As they entered the room, talking together, Julian excused himself, claiming there were some papers he had to read before dinner, and went to his study, where he remained for the rest of the afternoon.
A short while later, Cassandra went up to Josie’s room. She was very shocked to find Josie so pale and thin, as if after a long and debilitating illness. She was sitting up in bed, a knitted shawl around her thin shoulders, her hair, which had once been much admired for its colour and lustre, twisted into a tight plait. Cassandra could hardly recognise the lively young Josie Tate, who had married her brother a mere five years ago.
“Cassy,” her voice was small and thin when she spoke, “it is very kind of you to come all this way to see me, and Richard, too. It is very good of him to come. Mama has told me how very ill Mr Gardiner is; I am so sorry to be so much trouble to you all.”
Cassandra sat on the bed beside her and stroked her hand. It was frail and small like a child’s. “Josie, my dear, you are not causing us any trouble, especially not if you promise to do as Richard advises and take some proper medication and some good, nourishing food. We shall soon have you fit and well again,” she said, trying hard to sound cheerful.
Yet Josie, though she nodded and smiled a pale sort of half-smile, said nothing to show that she intended to be amenable. She let Cassy sit with her and hold her hand, but made no promises. Indeed, when Cassy left the room, she could not help feeling even more disturbed than when she had entered it, for she had elicited no positive response at all.
Cassandra’s distress was particularly poignant, for it was to her that Julian had turned, having discovered almost by chance that he was in love with Josie Tate. She recalled his anxiety about meeting her father, the formidable Mr Anthony Tate, who had subsequently turned out to be a most reasonable man. He had also been concerned that Josie was not as yet nineteen and very much in awe of Mr and Mrs Darcy and the grandeur of Pemberley, of which he would, one day, be master.
Cassy recalled the occasion of her brother’s twenty-first birthday celebrations and the ball at Pemberley, where there had been present several young women, some prettier and possibly more eligible than Josie; but Julian had preferred the lively and intelligent Miss Tate, with whom he could talk of travel and read poetry. Then it had seemed so simple; two young people in love—they had been so happy together. It was heartrending to see them now, Julian so dispirited and Josie so sad and withdrawn, she seemed almost not to be there at all.
Cassy had felt a good deal of sympathy for the pair. They had both been very young and, unlike her husband, Richard, who had been a great favourite with both her parents long before their engagement, Josie Tate had been a relative outsider at Pemberley. Indeed, in spite of the best endeavours of Mr and Mrs Darcy to draw her into their circle, Cassy had felt that Josie and, occasionally, even Julian had appeared as though they never felt quite at home there.
How else, she wondered, could one account for their preference for the rather dreary environment in which they chose to live, while their gracious apartments at Pemberley lay vacant for most of the year?
Though pressed by both Julian and Mrs Tate to stay to dinner, the Gardiners left and made their way to a hotel in the town, where Richard had stayed previously and was warmly welcomed. There, with some degree of privacy, they were able to talk over dinner.
Cassy was eager to discover her husband’s opinion. At first, Richard was unusually silent and thoughtful and his wife was concerned lest he refused to discuss it at all. But by the time they had finished the main course, he began to relax and she realised that he had been silent because he was deeply concerned for his young brother-in-law and his wife. After a glass or two of wine and some excellent cheese, his mood was further lightened and he confessed that he had never before seen a case like it.
“Not in all these years have I had a patient quite like Josie. Young, intelligent, well educated, with a good husband and a beautiful son, it is the sort of situation most women would envy, yet she is sunk in a slough of despair, from which she appears not to want to be released. Each time I question her about her physical symptoms, she denies that she is unwell, yet she is so pale and listless, she seems a shadow of her former self.
“When I mention food, she pulls a face, as if it were something unpleasant and abhorrent to her. She will take neither medication nor nourishment. So what, my dear Cassy, am I to make of it? How shall I ever restore her body to health, and even more perplexing, by what means shall I free her mind from this dreadful despair?” He sounded unusually pessimistic.
Listening to him, Cassy found herself in a quandary. Should she tell him of her brother’s rather irrational musings that Josie might not wish to be restored to health at all? While she did not wish to betray her brother’s state of mind, on reflection she decided that if Richard was to treat Josie with any chance of success, he needed to know the truth.
When, with some degree of trepidation, she did tell him, he did not appear surprised. Indeed, he said, he had almost reached the same conclusion himself.
“It is difficult not to conclude that she is deliberately pursuing a grievous and most painful course, either to punish herself for some perceived guilt or to punish someone else—presumably her husband or her mother—I cannot, at the moment, tell which it is,” he said and Cassy was quite confused.
“But why?” she cried. “What guilt could she possibly have to bear? As for the other possibility, why should she wish to punish the very people who love her?” and Richard had to hush her, for her voice had risen with exasperation as she spoke.
“Hush, dearest, it is not right that we should discuss this matter here; let us wait until we are upstairs,” he said, and only when they had retired to their room, did they resume the conversation.
“Is it possible that poor Josie believes we do not care for her?” Cassy asked, still uncomprehending.
“It is possible,” said Richard, “that Josie believes that the rest of her family, all of us, myself included, do not understand her. She may wish for praise, attention, whatever it is she feels she is not receiving, and this perverse, self-inflicted illness is her way of telling us all about it.”
“But, Richard, Julian loves her dearly. He has told me so, only today,” she protested.
He smiled. “Of course he does, but has he told her so? Does he, in all he says and does, demonstrate that love? I think not, my dear, for it is clear he is engrossed, for most of the time, in his work.”
They talked late into the night before retiring to bed. The situation so depressed Cassy, she lay sleepless until the early hours of the morning. Only when Richard revealed that he had decided to seek the counsel of an eminent colleague on the morrow, did she finally fall asleep.
The following
morning, Richard Gardiner set out to call on a distinguished scholar and physician at one of the colleges. Cassy, having finished breakfast, wrote to her mother as she had promised, recounting their journey and her impressions on arrival at her brother’s house.
After some brief comments, she addressed the reason for their visit:
I wish I had better news for you, dear Mama, but I have not.
I cannot believe that Josie has deteriorated to this extent in so short a time. Indeed, to look at her, you would be hard put to recognise the lively young girl who was married to Julian five years ago, or the healthy young woman who used to run up and down the stairs at Pemberley or pursue little Anthony all over the lawns.
She is a mere shadow of the girl we knew and my poor brother is so unhappy, I cannot begin to tell you how sad he is. He talks despairingly of her not wishing to recover and seems to feel he is responsible.
Yet, Richard says he can find no physical sign of disease in her.
He is gone this morning to consult another physician, who is, I believe, an eminent scholar here at Cambridge, and Richard hopes he will have some advice for him. I pray he will and that Richard may succeed in helping both Josie and poor Julian, else I do not know what is to become of them.
I do not mean to alarm you and Papa, but I am so very fearful that things here are going very wrong and I do not know what we can do to help.
There is but one piece of good news—Mrs Tate is here, too, with her maid, Nelly, and no doubt will help relieve the burden upon Julian a little. I shall not delay this further, as I wish to catch the post.
The Ladies of Longbourn Page 37