I shall write again as soon as there is any news to hand.
Your loving daughter,
Cassy.
On his return some hours later, Richard sought out his wife, who, having despatched her letters to the post, had returned upstairs to their room. He found her disconsolate and sad, unable, she said, to erase from her mind the melancholy picture of Josie, wan and thin, and Julian, unhappy, despairing, convinced his wife no longer loved him. She had not revealed this piece of information to her husband earlier, reluctant to add to his burden of concern.
But now, unable to hold back, she told him, and when she did, he was most disturbed. This was something he had not expected of Julian, who was generally a logical and reasonable man, not given to irrational declarations.
“Are you quite sure, my love? Did Julian say in so many words?”
“‘I fear, Cassy, that my dear Josie no longer loves me,’” she completed the sentence for him, quoting her brother’s words.
Richard Gardiner, whose life had been filled with the affection of his parents, the love of his wife and children, and the esteem of friends and colleagues, could barely conceive of the wretched situation in which his unhappy brother-in-law apparently found himself.
“Poor Julian, struggling to cope with his work, which is both important and demanding, a wife sick with melancholy, and the belief that she no longer loves him. It is surely unendurable,” he said softly, his voice betraying his distress. “Can you imagine, Cassy, how bereft he must feel?”
Cassy went to him at once and put her arms around him; neither could imagine such a situation in their own lives.
“I can, indeed, but what can we do to help him?” she asked, weeping.
Feeling a growing sense of helplessness, they clung together, saddened, aching, seeking solace from each other, as they faced the daunting prospect of trying to resolve problems whose causes lay hidden from them, finding their only comfort in the love they shared. Yet their own deep passion only compounded their concern about the state of Julian and Josie’s lives.
Cassy, no less than her husband, was confounded by the situation that confronted her brother and his wife. Growing up at Pemberley, where the strength of her parents’ love had sustained their family in the midst of tragedy, she had married Richard Gardiner, whose own parents had enjoyed a long and contented marriage. Consequently, she had scarcely any personal knowledge of the bitterness and grief that she had encountered with Julian and Josie.
Her own experience of marriage had taken her from eager young love to a deeply satisfying, mature, and passionate relationship with her husband and children. It permeated every aspect of her life and sharpened all her sensibilities; so much so, that strangers meeting them for the first time would become aware of the warmth and strength of their affection for one another.
To both Richard and Cassy, their marriage was a deep well of contentment. To put such a source of happiness in jeopardy, for any reason whatsoever, would have been utterly unthinkable. Sensing her anguish and understanding her need for reassurance, Richard was loving and consoling.
Later, he revealed that he had had a long and enlightening discussion with a colleague, a man for whom he had immense professional respect. This physician had healed many men after the terror and shock of war and was an acknowledged authority on the causes and treatment of acute trauma.
Where once priests and exorcists had held sway, scientific ideas were being applied to ease the curse of melancholia. Richard claimed he had learned much from their discussion and planned to talk to both Julian and his wife.
“Perhaps, if they can be convinced of the need to speak of their fears and anxieties to each other or to my colleague, who understands their situation, there may be a chance for some healing. At the moment, they are each locked in a prison of their own making, into which one will not permit the other entry,” he explained.
Back at Pemberley, meanwhile, Elizabeth and Darcy had waited impatiently for news from Cambridge. When it came, in the form of Cassandra’s letter, it brought little relief. Elizabeth, having read it twice over, could not make it out at all.
“What can be the matter?” she asked her husband, who, having reread their daughter’s words, was at a loss to explain the circumstances, not having been privy to their problems.
His wife persisted, “Darcy, what has happened to poor Julian and Josie? They were so happy here last year—I had hoped they would return for the Summer.”
Darcy tried to find a comforting explanation but could not. He too was baffled. His earlier simple prognosis, that Josie was probably bored, was being rapidly eroded by the realisation that she was possibly more seriously ill than any of them had imagined.
“My dear, I think we shall all have to wait until Richard and Cassy return to discover the real cause of the problem. Cassy would not have enough of the detail to give us any real understanding, but Richard would know, and I am sure he will explain it to us,” he said.
Even as he spoke, he could see that Elizabeth was unconvinced; trying to reassure her, he was gentle and persuasive, understanding her grief. Losing her beloved William had been a dreadful blow and, though Julian could never replace him, he had brought some light and pleasure back into her life. Now, Julian was miserable and Lizzie suffered with him.
“There has to be some reason, Lizzie; if Richard can find no physical cause for Josie’s affliction, there is bound to be another explanation. When he discovers it, he will also find the solution. Meanwhile, dearest, please do not upset yourself unduly or you will also become unwell,” he said, anxious for her, using whatever means he could to alleviate her distress. Her happiness had been his concern throughout their long marriage.
Elizabeth smiled and took his hand; it was only a small gesture, but it meant she had accepted the comfort he offered and was glad of the relief. As on many previous occasions, his strength and devotion helped her cope with what might otherwise have been an unbearable burden of pain.
When Richard and Cassandra Gardiner returned to Julian’s house the following afternoon, they found, to their astonishment, Mrs Tate and Josie sitting in the parlour in front of the fire. Their maid, Susan, beaming all over her face, had just brought in tea and scones, and while Josie was not exactly eating with relish, she was at least attempting to consume some part of what was on her plate.
A cheerful Mrs Tate informed them that Julian was expected at any moment, and they were to be joined at dinner by a visitor from London.
“A Mr Barrett, who is in Cambridge on business, called this morning and though Julian was unable to see him, being about to leave for his college, he has been asked to dine with us tonight,” she explained, adding the information that she had not met him herself, but Julian and Josie knew Mr Barrett well.
“I myself would like very much to meet Mr Barrett, being in the business of writing, too, as you know,” Mrs Tate said, prompting Cassy to ask if Mr Barrett was a writer.
At this, Josie, who had put down her plate, responded, surprising Cassy.
“No, but he does know a great many writers, being himself involved in the book trade. He stocks all the best volumes,” she said.
It was the first time she had spoken, and both Richard and Cassy were astonished at the firmness and clarity of her voice, which only a day or two ago had sounded so weak and thin.
After the initial surprise, however, Cassy declared that she was delighted to see that Josie was feeling sufficiently well to venture downstairs again. Richard went further, pointing out that she was already looking much better, with more colour in her cheeks, and expressing his confidence that Josie would soon be on her way to recovery. Both of them congratulated Mrs Tate, giving her credit for having effected such a transformation in her daughter in so short a time.
Later, when Cassy left the room to go upstairs, she met Susan on the landing, carrying a gown, which she had pressed. The girl was so excited she could hardly contain herself, eager to tell Cassy of her mistress’s recovery. �
��It’s Miss Josie’s gown for tonight, ma’am; it’s ever so long since she got dressed up, I am to do her hair up, too, ma’am.”
Cassy took the opportunity to ask if Josie had begun to take her medication again, and if Mrs Tate had persuaded her to do so. She was taken aback quite when Susan said emphatically, “Oh no, ma’am, it’s not Mrs Tate; it’s all on account of Mr Barrett.” Then seeing the look of consternation on Cassy’s face as she said “Mr Barrett,” Susan added quickly, “The gentleman that’s coming to dinner, ma’am. It’s all his doing.”
“Whatever do you mean, Susan?” asked Cassy, thinking the girl was babbling, as some silly young women are wont to do, but Susan insisted, “Indeed ma’am, when he was here last year, he was very taken with Miss Josie’s writings, you know, ma’am, her poetry and such.”
Cassy was unaware that her young sister-in-law wrote poetry, but let that pass, as she persevered, keen to learn more about the involvement of Mr Barrett.
“Was he?” Cassy was interested.
“Yes, ma’am, he sat with her and read some out loud, in the parlour; oh, it was lovely, ma’am. He has such a fine voice. Miss Josie was ever so pleased, because he said it was so good, it should be put in a book. Miss Josie could not stop talking about it for days and days, ma’am.”
“And what happened after that?” Cassy asked, for it was plain the maid had more to tell and Cassy was keen to hear it.
“Nothing, ma’am,” said Susan pulling a face. “Mr Barrett had to return to London and we heard no more of it. Miss Josie wrote him a letter to his office in London, I know she did, because I took it to the post, but I never heard if he replied, ma’am. But this morning, when he called on the master and was invited to return to dine tonight, the mistress was so pleased, she was up out of bed within an hour and wanted her clothes pressed and her hair washed and curled; she is coming down to dinner for the first time in weeks, ma’am.” Susan was plainly excited by the prospect.
Cassy shook her head, still puzzled by the apparent speed with which Josie’s recovery had been effected. Mrs Tate’s maid, Nelly, appeared on the stairs and Susan’s conversation seemed to dry up suddenly.
When Cassy returned to the parlour, Rebecca invited them to dinner.
“I am sure Julian will want you to stay,” she said, smiling, and to her husband’s surprise, Cassy accepted with some alacrity. She was very keen to meet Mr Barrett, whose appearance had caused so much activity and interest in the household.
Julian Darcy arrived home earlier than usual. So happy was he to find his wife downstairs taking tea, he rushed out again immediately, returning with a bunch of Spring flowers, which he presented to her. Mrs Tate, beaming with pleasure, summoned Susan to fetch a vase and arrange the flowers, which were then given pride of place on the centre table, which had been cleared of all its clutter.
Julian looked ecstatic, but Cassy could not help noticing that her brother’s joy was not exactly matched by the response of his wife. Josie, she noted, had smiled and thanked her husband softly, but with no more enthusiasm or warmth than she would any stranger who may have brought her flowers.
Cassandra was beginning to wonder whether the malaise afflicting Josie and Julian was rather more deep-seated than any of them had believed. She said nothing to her husband though, not even when they went away to dress for dinner, and he expressed some surprise that she had so eagerly accepted the invitation to dine.
“I would not have thought you would want to return there tonight,” he said, but she smiled and replied that she had been so very glad to see Josie downstairs and Julian was obviously so happy, it had seemed appropriate to join them and celebrate the occasion.
Richard nodded and said no more.
“You do not mind, do you, dearest?” she asked, and he said no, he did not. “For my part,” he claimed, “it should afford me an opportunity to observe my patient without intruding upon her. It is possible that she has realised that it is in her power to change her situation. I sincerely hope that it is the beginning of her recovery.”
LOOK FOR Mr Darcy’s Daughter IN NOVEMBER 2008
The Ladies of Longbourn Page 38