But Anna Bingley was not deceived. She had, with Jonathan’s help, gathered sufficient information from various sources about her brother, which had frequently left her in tears, despairing of his ever returning safely to England. For her, the reunion was infinitely more poignant, and when they returned later to Netherfield, the tears she had fought back all evening flowed freely as she and Daniel talked together.
“My dear brother, I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are to remain in England. For so long we were fearful of what might have befallen you in a country of which we know so little and so much of what we hear is truly dreadful. The accounts of brutality of the penal colonies, the crime, the terrible tales told by those who return, gave us little hope; it has been a nightmare!” she cried, and her husband attested to the truth of her words.
“Anna is right, Daniel,” said Jonathan gravely, “she has been very concerned, and it has been exceedingly painful for your parents; your mother has been worried recently with your father’s illness, and though Anna has been with them daily, trying to comfort them, it has not been easy.”
Daniel, who had been deeply moved by all the emotions that had been aroused once again, was genuinely contrite. He put his arms around his sister and apologised for having caused her and their parents so much anguish. “I am sorry, truly sorry for all this, Anna, it is part of the unreality of being so far from every familiar person and thing that one cannot comprehend what effect it is having upon those left behind many thousands of miles away. Mired in my own misery and that of the many wretched people I saw around me, my concentration was upon the present. I never realised how much pain my long silences were causing my family back in England. Forgive me, Anna, I can do no more than say how very sorry I am, and now I am back here, I promise never to leave this land again.”
At this extravagant claim even Anna laughed, and Jonathan said, “I don’t think we would wish to make a prisoner of you, Daniel; you must travel if you wish, but we are all relieved I am sure to learn that you do not intend to return to the antipodean colonies.”
“I think I can give you that promise very easily, Jonathan. It is a wonderful land of opportunity; many hardworking men and some desperate ones have made good there, but it is still a hard, cruel place with few of the gentler features that make for a happy and peaceful life. I have seen things done there, outrages that I cannot account for, by men who are considered to be upright human beings. I do believe I have given enough of my life to the Great South Land and have no wish to return. My dear Rachel and I have determined that Riversleigh will be our world for a while. Mr Darcy tells me there is a great deal of work to be done in the parish for the poor and their children; we are both looking forward to it very much.”
So saying, he drew Rachel to his side, and both Anna and Caroline smiled; their relief was obvious. Caroline had but one regret. “If only,” she thought, “if only dear Fitzy were here with us, it would be perfect.” However, unwilling to spoil the happiness of all those around her, she said nothing.
* * *
Meanwhile at Pemberley, at a ceremony attended only by a few relations and even fewer friends, Virginia Grantley was married to Mr Adam Fraser.
Although they hosted the wedding and the breakfast that followed, neither Mr Darcy nor his wife could, with any degree of honesty, express much pleasure at the marriage, but it seemed the bride and groom were sufficiently pleased with themselves and each other to behave as though they expected to live happily ever after.
Mr Fraser had expressed his confidence that his bride would find life in their new home interesting, and Virginia had already declared that she was looking forward to an exciting voyage to New South Wales. It suited them well that there was no one present to contradict them.
They had left for London soon afterwards, in one of the Pemberley carriages, thereafter to embark upon a ship that would sail on the first of November for New South Wales. Apparently, Fraser had not had enough of the colony; he had been heard singing its praises to anyone who would listen, boasting of the money there was to be made and the ease with which he could get things done by men who would risk life and limb to carry out his orders. He claimed to be keen to return to the sheep station, where he expected his wife would discover the delights of life in the Australian “outback.”
Georgiana Grantley tried very hard to smile as she bade them goodbye, but her tears were not long in coming. Her initial relief at the prospect of having her daughter married to a man of respectable family and good prospects, as she believed Adam Fraser to be, had been somewhat diluted by the realisation of the enormous distance there would be between them; twelve thousand miles or more and a voyage of many months, her brother had told her.
There had also been certain rumours about Fraser and his activities that had disturbed her: his habit of borrowing large sums of money against the value of a forthcoming wool clip or the way he boasted of winning at cards. They had caused her some anxiety, but not sufficient to warrant an appeal to Virginia to reconsider her decision. Georgiana was unsure that any such request would have been taken seriously, for Virginia, at thirty, with the security of her own income, was far too pleased with her acquisition of a handsome and personable husband to worry about such trifling matters.
* * *
Back at Netherfield, while Daniel Faulkner and Rachel combined delight with duty, spending time together and with his family, Caroline had the particular pleasure of the company of Jonathan and Anna Bingley. They had always been close friends, with Jonathan having been one of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s most successful political protégés.
They had shared some basic principles of social justice as well as the honours of many a victorious campaign, and though the colonel had retired from the political fray many years before his death, Jonathan had retained an active interest, as had Caroline.
That his daughter Anne-Marie had married Colin Elliott, a Member of Parliament and of Mr Gladstone’s government, had served to enhance rather than impair Jonathan’s philosophical commitment. Although his wife, Anna, was less involved, she nevertheless believed implicitly in her husband’s reasoning and confessed also to a profound admiration for Caroline’s work, which Anna acknowledged whenever they met.
“I wish I had grown up with the kind of knowledge Jonathan and you had; I might then have devoted more of my time to my fellow human beings; sadly my youth was spent in much less inspiring pursuits: learning to draw and paint, embroider linen, and play the harp,” Anna complained, but her husband would not permit her to continue.
“You shall not devalue your accomplishments, my darling; Caroline knows as well as I do that your painting and music are of a very high standard and give great pleasure to all those who see and hear your work, including myself. There are not many young women I know who have mastered the harp as you have done or captured the beauty of a landscape on canvas as you do, while someone may always be found to carry a placard or organise a meeting. I know Caroline will agree with me,” he said, and Caroline did.
“Oh my dear Anna, your husband is quite right. I never did master either of the instruments I studied because I married Fitzy at sixteen and became deeply involved in his work,” said she, adding, “But the struggle to get things done is quite daunting, and often one feels betrayed by leaders who promise to do things, then change their minds after an election. It can break your heart; both Jonathan and Colin Elliott have said so often,” she claimed.
“I certainly have, and Anne-Marie will tell you that Colin Elliott feels the same; he has told me of the anger he felt when Mr Gladstone abandoned significant sections of the Education Bill to placate the churches,” said Jonathan, putting an arm around his wife’s waist. “Believe me, Anna, involvement in political causes does bring satisfaction, if one succeeds in achieving a useful goal, but it can also be a most disagreeable experience, and I doubt that you would have enjoyed it, my dear. Caroline has been one of our most intrepid supporters, and I am sure even she will agree.”
&nbs
p; * * *
In the days that followed, Caroline and Anna spent some time alone together, and for the first time in many months, Caroline found she was able to speak openly of the loss of her husband. Anna was a solicitous and understanding listener to whom she could reveal her feelings.
“I always knew, because he was several years older, that it was possible I would be left a widow, but I never thought it would be this soon. I used to tell myself that he was fit and healthy and showed no sign of disease of any kind; there was no reason to suppose that he would die any earlier than Bingley or Mr Darcy. When he suffered the first attack, with no warning, I was so shocked; I refused to believe that it was happening. When Richard told us, Fitzy did try to make me accept it; he had no fear of death, but worried that I would not be able to deal with it when it came. Oh, it was not the practical matters he was concerned about—I was always good at those things. It was losing him, it was the loneliness after all these years that I could not cope with. Oh Anna, I cannot help it, I do miss him… I am sorry…” she said and wept.
Anna put her arms around Caroline, and as she did so, tears spilled down her cheeks, for though Caroline had probably not been aware of it as she spoke, Anna’s own situation mirrored hers. The thought that Jonathan, several years her senior, could die just like Colonel Fitzwilliam had done, leaving her to endure the same loneliness, was heart wrenching. How could she hope to alleviate Caroline’s grief when she could see in it a reflection of her own future?
But, determined not to surrender to melancholy, Anna dried her eyes and let Caroline think her tears were shed in sympathy. Trying to reinforce Caroline’s resilience, she subdued her own concerns and spoke gently of the children and grandchildren, who she was certain would be a source of comfort, and was astonished by Caroline’s response. “I had thought so too, but they no longer belong to me, except young James, who is still a child. In the end, they each belong to their own wives and husbands, mothers, fathers, and siblings; even Rachel is no longer mine. She was until a few weeks ago, but she is Daniel’s now. Only Fitzy was mine, and now that he is gone, while I can borrow some time from the lives of my children or grandchildren, mine is now truly a solitary life. I am grateful indeed for the company of my friends and the affection of my family, but I cannot let myself depend upon them. I must learn to live my life as best I can,” she said, drying her eyes.
* * *
On their return to Derbyshire, while Daniel had much to do with matters pertaining to his new parish, the ladies had other things on their mind. There were decisions to be made about the wedding breakfast, and although it had been suggested that they be married at Kympton, both Daniel and Rachel had a strong preference for Riversleigh, which meant persuading Frank Grantley to marry them there instead of in his own church.
Then there was Rachel’s request that there should no extravagant celebration, asking instead for the family to gather for a quiet wedding breakfast at her mother’s home. “I should very much like the money that would have been spent to go to the orphans,” she said and was immediately supported by Daniel, who claimed that he had always thought far too much money was spent on feeding people who were already pretty well fed. “I agree with Rachel, the money would be better spent giving the orphans a good, hot meal; let them enjoy our wedding breakfast, too,” he said, and that settled the question to everyone’s satisfaction.
There was also the matter of the refurbishment of the rectory, which involved both Rachel and her mother spending not money but more time than they could afford at Riversleigh. Nevertheless, they did get it all done by the time the families arrived, as invited, to meet Daniel Faulkner and congratulate their sister.
Her older brother and sister, who had almost given up on seeing Rachel married, were truly delighted, especially after meeting Mr Faulkner, whose exemplary character and pleasing manners could not fail to impress them.
Later, when they went upstairs to talk about wedding gowns and flowers for the church, Isabella, who had been close to Rachel before her own marriage to Mr Bentley some years previously, embraced her young sister.
“My dear Rachel, I have no words to tell you how very happy I was to receive Mama’s letter with the news of your engagement. You have always been in my thoughts, and I have hoped that one day you too would be as happy as I am. I know that it was not important to you, but as the years passed, I will confess that I did occasionally complain to Mama. She was never as anxious as I was, and it seems she was right, for I think that your wait was worthwhile. Your Mr Faulkner seems to be a fine man and I am sure you will be very happy together.”
Rachel smiled with the confidence of one who is certain of her situation. “Thank you, Bella, I believe I shall; you were a good example to me. I recall the difficult times when your Mr Bentley returned after many years and we were not sure if he would propose. You were uncertain, but I always knew he would. I was quite sure he loved you.”
Isabella smiled, recalling well those harrowing times. “I know you were, and I was grateful for your optimism then, because I had very little hope myself, having turned him down without giving him a proper reason for doing so. Philip said later that he had always loved me and wondered how I could fail to see it. Tell me, how was it with you and Daniel Faulkner? How soon did you know?”
“Not immediately, I think I knew quite soon after we met that I liked him, certainly more than any other man I had met; however, we believed he was committed to returning to the colonies, so it seemed sensible not to allow myself to fall in love with him. But he was so amiable and kind, so unlike anyone else I had met, it was not easy.”
“And did you?”
“I’m afraid I did,” she admitted, “but as it turned out, he had been contemplating his own future unbeknownst to me. He had made a decision to stay in England and with Mr Darcy being willing to appoint him to the living of Riversleigh, he felt able to make me an offer.”
This time her sister felt able to tease her a little. “And when he did, how much time did you take to give him your answer?” she asked, with an unmistakable twinkle in her eye.
Rachel laughed a little nervously. “Not a great deal I’m afraid; not very much at all really,” she confessed, and Isabella feigned outrage.
“Rachel, you are not going to tell me that you accepted him at once?”
“Oh dear, I am afraid I am, at least almost at once. I was so taken aback when he asked me to marry him that I couldn’t say anything for a few minutes, and then, to my horror, he seemed to think it meant I was refusing him, and he started to apologise, whereupon I had to rush in and say no, he was not to apologise, and yes, I did love him and I would marry him, which pleased him very much, I think.”
At this admission, Isabella laughed and embraced her sister. “Oh Rachel my dear, is that not just like you! I am delighted for you both. My dear Philip liked him almost immediately upon meeting him, and you seem so well suited to each other. I know you are going to be very happy.”
They went downstairs to find the rest of the family gathered in the parlour for tea, listening to Daniel’s tales of the antipodes, of which he had a great collection. There was no doubting his ability to keep his listeners interested, which Isabella said was an exceedingly useful gift for a clergyman, and Rachel giggled, recalling the many occasions on which they had fallen asleep in church during a boring sermon.
* * *
Caroline, meanwhile, had also acted upon a plan she had fashioned, in consultation with Jonathan Bingley, about which she had as yet spoken to no one else. She had particular concerns about the inheritance she would one day leave to her children and wished to use the opportunity of having her entire family together, on such a felicitous occasion as this, to settle the matter, so there would be no possibility of disputes and bitterness poisoning their relationships after her death. To this end, she had invited her husband’s friend and lawyer, the attorney Mr Jennings, to attend the family reunion on Saturday evening.
On his arrival, he had been usher
ed in to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s study, where Caroline thanked him for his attendance and then placed a sheaf of papers including her own will on her husband’s desk, ready for his perusal. She had written down very clear instructions and requested that he read them and advise her on their suitability for incorporation into her will.
When he appeared somewhat confused by her request and asked why she was taking this course of action, she replied quite frankly, “My dear Mr Jennings, I do not intend to die and leave my family to squabble over the estate, which my dear husband and I have put together so carefully and over so many years. Colonel Fitzwilliam would never forgive me. So I have decided that instead of being surprised on the morning after my funeral, they will all be forewarned of my decisions and the reasons for them. I should very much like for you to be present to reassure any of my children of the legitimacy of my actions. I do not wish any one of them to feel hard done by after I am gone,” she explained.
The attorney, himself a widower, whose wife had died some five years ago, expressed some disquiet. “Forgive my asking, Mrs Fitzwilliam, but have you any reason to suppose that… what I mean is… have you experienced any problems regarding your health recently?”
Caroline laughed. “Certainly not, I am in excellent health, Mr Jennings. I am not doing this because I am about to die, far from it; I merely want this whole business settled, so we can all go on enjoying the rest of our lives, however long or short they may be. I want my children to know what they will inherit and there’s an end of it. I need you to assure me that what I wish to do is fair and legal.”
Mr Jennings was unequivocal in his response. “My dear Mrs Fitzwilliam, there could be no doubt of that at all; the property is yours as is the business, and you may dispose of them as you wish. No one, not even one of your own children, can gainsay your right to do it. The colonel was very clear and quite determined when he said to me, ‘Mr Jennings, I want you to ensure that Caroline has complete control over everything; she must decide how she wishes to divide up the estate among our children, according to their circumstances,’” he said.
Legacy of Pemberley (The Pemberley Chronicles; Pride and Prejudice Sequel Series) Page 28