Pemberley Chronicles

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  The choir of Pemberley children sang the wedding hymns like angels, filling the church with sweet sounds. Later, the guests returned to Pemberley for a splendid reception. Every eye was turned upon the bride, whose elegant figure was perfectly gowned in satin and French lace. While Dr Grantley had been a visitor to Pemberley for many years as a friend of Mr Darcy, not many people knew him well. Now they were all eager to meet the man who had not just won Miss Darcy’s heart but was widely admired and praised by everyone who knew him. Not even Lady Catherine could find fault with Georgiana’s choice. She had accepted the invitation sent in the names of Mr and Mrs Darcy, without comment. Clearly pleased by the deferential treatment accorded her at the church, as the most highly connected personage present, as well as the aunt of the bride, she was remarkably condescending in her manner towards Elizabeth and Jane, when she met them with their husbands.

  While there was no hint of real appreciation, she seemed to have accepted, with as much grace as she could muster, that the marriage between Darcy and Elizabeth had not polluted the hallowed portals of Pemberley, as she had feared. Her affection for Georgiana was genuine, and the very real bond that existed between her niece and Elizabeth, a bond of which Georgiana had spoken with great warmth during her visit to Rosings with Dr Grantley, had served to soften her aunt’s attitude, just enough to preserve them from her usually sharp tongue.

  Before they left for the Lakes, which Georgiana had always longed to visit, Dr and Mrs Grantley came to thank Darcy and Elizabeth. There were tears as the sisters embraced, and Georgiana whispered, “Oh Lizzie, I can never thank you enough. Were it not for you, this happiness could never have been mine.”

  Elizabeth refused to believe this. “Georgiana, you cannot mean that.”

  “Indeed I do, and thank you for being such a wonderful sister to me,” she insisted, before turning to her brother and enfolding him in a great hug that threatened to ruin her beautiful corsage. Darcy’s face betrayed his deeply felt emotions as his young sister left her family home. Elizabeth understood how he must feel and held his hand in hers as they said farewell to the couple and saw them to their carriage. In a flurry of rose petals and cheers from the guests, they were gone.

  Mr Bennet had observed, in his usual sardonic manner, that Lady Catherine must have wanted very much to see how well or ill the new Mistress of Pemberley conducted herself and the wedding had provided a good occasion to make a judgement. If that was the case, there would have been little if anything to upset Her Ladyship’s sensibilities; it was generally acknowledged that the arrangements were excellent. The army of servants and helpers, who had been trained for days to serve and cater to every whim of the guests, did exactly as they were asked, with not so much as a broken glass or a spilt sorbet to spoil the occasion. Lady Catherine almost acknowledged it herself when, on her declaring she was ready to leave, Darcy and Elizabeth escorted her to her barouche. “You have done well, Fitzwilliam,” she said. “Your dear mother would have approved. The arrangements were well done. My compliments to you too, Mrs Darcy—no doubt you have played a part in all this.”

  Elizabeth accepted this comment with a bow, and a gracious, “Thank you, your Ladyship.”

  When she added, “And I am happy to see that Pemberley still looks as good as ever,” Darcy thanked her, but after she had departed, they had to laugh at his aunt’s words, which appeared to suggest that she had feared Pemberley may have fallen into disrepair in her absence!

  Following an almost idyllic Spring of 1819, the rest of the year turned, suddenly, sour. The short-lived recovery from the agricultural recession gave way to a mood of sullen depression in the country; especially in the textile manufacturing districts of the Midlands. The collapse of the textile industry, with the loss of hundreds of jobs, resulted in a fearful development, with a spate of machine breaking and arson attacks.

  The improvement in foreign trade over the last two years had masked the gradual destruction of the smaller textile mills. Those who had lost their farming rights and migrated to the towns to seek work in the new industries found they were out on the streets, again, this time in alien surroundings far from home and any help, save the grudging charity of the poor house. Many were desperate and turned to petty crime or worse.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was visiting Pemberley, when Mr Gardiner arrived with news of a particularly bad attack, which had led to the arrest and charging of several men for machine breaking. The penalty, if they were found guilty, was death by hanging or slow death by transportation to Van Dieman’s Land. Fitzwilliam was furious, “What do they propose to do?” he demanded, “hang or transport half the population of the Midlands?” Darcy agreed that the options appeared limited. If there were more attacks upon property, it was likely to provoke even more repression.

  “With no leadership at all from the government, the poor and disillusioned can only turn to the Radicals,” he said. Fitzwilliam countered that the so-called Radicals were not revolutionaries demanding the heads of the rich, as in France, but conservative men like Major Cartwright—founder of the Hampden Clubs which demanded reform of Parliament, and respected Whigs like Sir Francis Burdett and Lord Brougham.

  “These are not men who want to turn the nation on its head, Darcy,” he persisted, “they merely ask for a better deal for the poor and representation for the men who create the wealth of this country—the traders, the merchants, the professionals, and the middle class.”

  Darcy was not optimistic, nor was Mr Gardiner.

  “I cannot believe that this government will agree to any reforms; they are committed to maintaining the power of the landlords whose representatives support them in Parliament. They are very impatient with anyone who goes against the tide,” he said, gloomily. Fitzwilliam jumped up, irate and impatient, expressing his determination to join Cobbett’s pamphleteers and petitioners, who were agitating for reform.

  “If that is the only way we can get our voices heard, I fear I shall have no alternative,” he declared, his voice rising with anger and frustration.

  Mr Gardiner’s two daughters had been spending the day at Pemberley. Elizabeth suspected that the arrival of Fitzwilliam, unannounced, may have had more to do with their presence than a desire to ask after his cousin’s health. After the meal, both girls had gone upstairs with Elizabeth, while Darcy and his cousin remained in the sitting room. Hearing their father’s voice, they prepared to go downstairs, but, while standing at the top of the stairs, they heard Mr Gardiner’s words and Fitzwilliam’s angry outburst, whereupon Caroline ran back into Elizabeth’s sitting room.

  Elizabeth followed Caroline, found her sobbing, and immediately went to comfort her, without knowing the cause of her distress. “Caroline, what is it?” she asked. Caroline refused at first to say anything but was gradually persuaded to tell Elizabeth of her fears that Fitzwilliam would join one of the Radical groups and put himself in harm’s way.

  “He could be arrested or killed, Cousin Lizzie; these are dangerous times, Papa says so.” Elizabeth could hardly believe her ears,

  “Caroline, what are you saying? Why would Colonel Fitzwilliam want to do that?”

  “He is determined to do something about the poor people who are being thrown out of work and onto the streets. He says it is unfair that we should enjoy the benefits of their suffering, and, Lizzie, I agree with him, I really do, but I am afraid, because he could be in terrible danger.” Elizabeth was silent for a moment, and suddenly into that silence Caroline blew her little nose and said, “I am very afraid, but I cannot say anything.”

  “Why?” asked Elizabeth, scarcely recovering from the surprise.

  “Because . . . because I love him, Lizzie; he doesn’t know I love him, and it would not be seemly for us to talk about such matters. Oh Lizzie, I don’t know what to do,” she was sobbing again. Elizabeth was reluctant to say too much but decided that the best way would be honesty.

  “Have you never spoken of your feelings, either of you?” she asked.

 
“Of course not!” Caroline seemed shocked at the question.

  “And have you told anyone else, before today?”

  Caroline shook her head, still sobbing, “No, nobody, there was no one to tell.” Elizabeth held her close, trying to reassure her that it was very unlikely Colonel Fitzwilliam would place himself in that kind of danger, but to console her, she promised to ask Mr Darcy to speak to him.

  “You know how well he respects Mr Darcy; he will listen to his advice; I am sure of it.”

  Caroline was ecstatic. She threw her arms around Elizabeth. “Would you? Oh Lizzie, I knew you would help me. Please, please could you also ask Mama if she would permit him to . . .” Elizabeth stopped her in midsentence. “Caroline,my dear, one thing at a time, please. Your Mama and Papa cannot possibly permit anyone, however good or suitable, to call on you, when you are just fifteen,” she remonstrated.

  “Mama was married at sixteen,” Caroline retorted.

  “She certainly was, but I still think it may be a little early for you to make such an important decision. Listen, my dear, once I know some more, after Mr Darcy has spoken with Fitzwilliam, I promise I will talk to your mother, but you must be patient.”

  It was almost half an hour later, having washed her tear-stained face and tidied her hair, that Caroline was ready to go downstairs. Her father waited to take them home. Emily, meanwhile, had retired to her beloved library, and Elizabeth went to fetch her. When they returned, Darcy and Mr Gardiner were in the hall, while Caroline and Fitzwilliam were deep in conversation beside the fireplace in the sitting room. To Elizabeth’s surprise, they were both smiling and obviously happy. It was as if nothing untoward had happened at all.

  Elizabeth determined that she would speak to Darcy that night. When she first told him of the scene with young Caroline, Darcy was surprised. He admitted he had noticed some degree of partiality towards Caroline on the part of Fitzwilliam but had not taken it too seriously. As for Caroline, she was, he said, a talented and lively young person with such an endearing nature, as to cause no one to read more into their friendship than was understandable and acceptable. She was, after all, he pointed out, just a child, and Fitzwilliam was twice her age.

  “Darcy, that is exactly what I said to her, but her response was such that I was left in no doubt that there is, at least in the early stages, a much closer bond between them,” Elizabeth said. “Could you not speak to Fitzwilliam?” and seeing the look of anxiety that crossed his countenance, she added, “He is your cousin and I know he respects and values your advice.”

  Darcy was reluctant to interfere. He reminded her of the exceedingly unhappy consequences of his last intervention in the affairs of another young couple and his absolute determination to avoid a similar disaster. Elizabeth understood his reservations, but for the sake of young Caroline, for the sake of their friendship with the Gardiners, some one had to find out what Fitzwilliam’s intentions were. “We cannot now pretend that we are unaware of the situation, even if we have turned a blind eye before today. I know I shall blame myself if she is hurt and my Aunt Gardiner will never forgive me,” said Elizabeth, and she looked so unhappy that he relented.

  However, he did try to allay her fears, “Elizabeth, I know you are afraid that we may be making the same mistake that resulted in your sister Lydia’s unfortunate entanglement with Wickham, but, dearest, remember there are very great differences. Caroline is nothing like Lydia; she is intelligent and sensible; even if she thinks she is in love, she will not do anything stupid. I am sure of it. On the other hand, I would wager my entire estate on Fitzwilliam’s honour and integrity. He is no Wickham, my dear, and we are all well aware of his sound financial position, so I think we need have no fears on that score.” Elizabeth agreed but was still fearful that a combination of youthful innocence with high emotional sensibility could well undermine even the most virtuous of characters and begged her husband’s help. Understanding her anxiety, he agreed.

  That night, Elizabeth, unable to sleep, rose and wrote to her sister:

  My dearest Jane,

  A circumstance has arisen which I must discuss with you as soon as possible. It is a matter of extreme delicacy and concerns some of those dearest to both our hearts, so I cannot speak openly about it in company—even among the family. This being so, I shall arrange to travel to Ashford Park on Wednesday and hope we shall have some time to ourselves. Meanwhile, I must beg you to remain silent on this matter. Please do not disclose, even to Bingley, the true reason for my visit. I shall say that I wish to consult you about something concerning Cassy. I do not wish to alarm you, so let me assure you that it is not a matter which materially affects either you or Bingley directly; rather it is a delicate “family matter” which, if unresolved, may cause unhappiness to those whom we all love dearly. There now, I have confused you completely, have I not? Dearest Jane, have patience, I shall be with you on Wednesday and all will be revealed.

  Your loving sister,

  Lizzie.

  On the Wednesday, as arranged, Elizabeth went to Ashford Park to spend the day with her sister. Mr Darcy intended to see Fitzwilliam, who was at his house supervising refurbishments. Darcy felt it would afford him an opportunity to raise the subject that had so concerned Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth, meanwhile arrived at Ashford House to find Jane all of a flutter, eager to discover the cause of her sister’s concern. While they partook of morning tea, Elizabeth gave her sister a detailed account of her own observations of the situation between Caroline and Colonel Fitzwilliam and the distressing incident of two days ago. “But Lizzie, she is just a child,” said Jane, disbelief written all over her lovely face. Elizabeth laughed and threw up her hands.

  “How many more times will I hear that! Oh Jane, I do not mean to upset you, but that is what all of us think; in truth, however, Caroline has grown up before our eyes, and we have not noticed it. I believe that Colonel Fitzwilliam, arriving as he did last Autumn, seeing Caroline after three and a half years, saw the blossoming of a young woman, while we had all been seeing only the child.” Jane’s eyes widened, “You are quite right, Lizzie; unlike most other people, he has treated her quite differently; he kissed her hand and paid her compliments, like she was a young lady, which she is. Our Mama was engaged at fifteen.” Elizabeth agreed but did not wish to be distracted from her cause.

  “That may be so, dearest Jane, but our present concerns are rather different. As far as we know, neither our aunt nor our uncle is aware of the situation. They are probably doing as we did, thinking of her as a mere child. Furthermore, we have no notion of Fitzwilliam’s feelings in the matter. Does he realise that Caroline’s emotions are so deeply engaged? I think not. If he did, would he welcome it?”

  “Do you not have any indication of his feelings, Lizzie? I confess I have not paid as much attention to these matters, since having Emma. She takes up most of my time, when she is not asleep. But Lizzie, what about you and Mr Darcy? Have you not observed them more closely? Was there no hint of his feelings?” Jane asked. Elizabeth took some time with her answer, explaining her own inclination to treat some of her observations lightly and adding to that Darcy’s reluctance to interfere in his cousin’s life.

  “We must assume, since our aunt has said nothing to us on the matter, that he has not approached them—and that would explain why he has said nothing directly to Caroline.”

  Jane looked troubled, and when she spoke, her voice was gentle with sympathy born of her own experience only a few years ago.

  “Oh Lizzie, if only Caroline could be spared this sorrow and at such a tender age too.” Her kindness and concern were a reflection of her own gentle nature.

  The sisters spoke no more about Caroline’s unhappy situation, because Mr Bingley returned with young Jonathan, who immediately demanded the attention of both his mother and his aunt, so precluding any further discussion of the subject.

  After luncheon, Jane had to go to Emma, and Bingley insisted on showing his sister-in-law-the beautiful dis
play of Spring flowers in Ashford Park. Since moving from Netherfield, he had become far more interested in the grounds and was proud of his success.

  As evening approached, Elizabeth grew anxious. Darcy was to join them for dinner. She hoped and prayed that his approaches to Fitzwilliam had not been misunderstood or rebuffed. That would be disastrous. When he did arrive, Elizabeth was surprised by his light-hearted manner. Indeed, Jane pointed out that he seemed perfectly cheerful. “Could it be that all is well, Lizzie?” she asked, hopefully. Elizabeth was impatient to discover the results of his efforts, but Darcy was never one to be hurried, and on this occasion, he was helped by the fact that it was not a matter they could speak of while the servants were about serving dinner. It was, therefore, only after they had withdrawn to the drawing room and Jane had sent the servants away, that he was able to enlighten them.

  First, he spoke quietly with Elizabeth, taking the opportunity of Bingley’s absence from the room. He told her his meeting with Fitzwilliam had been a good one and there was some news, which he thought they should all hear. Darcy felt it was not fair to expect Jane to keep it from her husband. He had Fitzwilliam’s permission to tell them. Jane and Elizabeth could hardly wait to hear what he had to say. Bingley, unaware that that there was anything to be concerned about, returned to the room remarking cheerfully that this was very nice indeed, very much like old times at Netherfield Park.

  Darcy waited until his brother-in-law had sat down with his coffee and port, but before he could speak, Bingley asked if anyone was going to sing or play tonight. He wondered if Lizzie could be persuaded. Jane, unable to bear the suspense any longer, touched his arm and said gently but very firmly, “Dearest, Mr Darcy has something important to tell us,” and when her husband looked a little surprised, she added, “it concerns Colonel Fitzwilliam.”