Darcy permitted himself a little smugness, “I did urge you not to worry too much, Lizzie. I was certain that Caroline’s innate good sense would reassert itself,” he said, and Elizabeth had to admit he had been right. Fitzwilliam, meanwhile, continued his campaign, working with the Reformists and the Whigs to defeat the Tories, whose disreputable and discredited government hung on for as long as they could.
It was only after the death of George IV, unlamented and despised, and the accession to the throne of William IV, the Sailor King, in 1830, that matters of reform came to the fore again. The old Iron Duke’s government was tottering. Many businessmen, who had joined up with the Reformist Whigs, Lords Russell, and Durham in an unlikely alliance, begged the Tories to throw him out. Despite their distrust of the Whigs, the working class Reformists Cobbett and Place, as well as the middle class leaders like Brougham, had no alternative but to accept the assurance of Lord Grey, who vowed to fight the next election on the issue of Parliamentary reform.
Fitzwilliam and his supporters, who were out daily collecting signatures for their petitions and money for their campaign, sought “Power for the People” in Westminster and in their local districts. But it was a fair bet that they would have to wait rather longer for it than the forthcoming election.
None of this appeared to worry Caroline, whose devotion to her husband’s cause was total. “Collecting signatures for Fitzy,” was as much a part of her domestic life as looking after her children or helping her charities.
With both her children and frequently her younger sister Emily, she would set out from home in her pony trap to carry the message to the denizens of Matlock, Lambton, Kympton, and Ripley, clambering up rocky paths to reach farmhouses and fording streams to get the information to isolated cottages and often stopping at markets and fair grounds to distribute pamphlets or collect signatures. Her enthusiasm surprised her mother and her cousins, but her father, though he said little in public, was obviously proud of the tenacity and courage of his daughter.
The Gardiners regarded themselves as a family blessed with many gifts, especially with regard to their children. If there was a smidgen of disappointment, it related to Robert, whose somewhat lacklustre personality contrasted with the charm of his sisters and older brother. When Mr Gardiner regarded Caroline, however, he felt he was completely compensated for any minor dissatisfaction he might experience with any of his other children, by the sense of purpose, the energy and sheer delight she seemed to bring to the whole business of living. It infected and enthused everyone around her and gave her a lustre that set her apart.
Marriage to Fitzwilliam had broadened Caroline’s horizons and afforded her access to a new, exciting world of social and political causes, which she gladly embraced. What astonished her family and friends was her ability to throw herself into all of these activities, while remaining a warm and loving woman, whose husband and children had the best of her care and love at all times.
Elizabeth and Jane, whose happy marriages were the product of much less hard work and a good deal more comfort and leisure, never quite understood what motivated their young cousin. But they had no doubt at all of her happiness.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
And time, perchance,
to start anew
MR DARCY AND ELIZABETH had not expected to be in Kent again in the summer of 1830. They were to have joined the Bingleys, whose children were firm friends of Cassandra and William, in a tour of the Cotswolds, when two events, unrelated and quite unpredictable, had intervened to force a change of plan.
In late July, King George IV died. While his demise was hardly a matter for lamentation, it did necessitate the presence at Westminster of Fitzwilliam, who was standing for Parliament in the General Election that would surely follow. Since it was hardly fair that all three of Mr Gardiner’s partners in business should be away at once, plans had to be rearranged. Jane and Elizabeth, who had been looking forward very much to the holiday together, were disappointed but had hoped a postponement would suffice until, not ten days later, there came the news of the untimely death of Mr Collins. While he had never been a man for whom she could feel anything above mild contempt, Elizabeth was deeply shocked because of the effect his death would have upon her dear friend Charlotte. Darcy had broken the news to her in the very early hours of the morning. A message had been received from Rosings, the express rider having ridden overnight, and Darcy’s concern was written all over his countenance, when he gently woke his wife. “Dearest, we have some grave news,” and as Elizabeth sat up, afraid that it concerned her father, whose health had caused some anxiety last Winter, Darcy held her and told her that Charlotte’s husband had died, suddenly, the previous evening. Elizabeth’s reaction was instantaneous, “Oh my God! poor Charlotte, I must go to her at once.”
Darcy, who had anticipated her wishes, had already sent a message to Lambton informing the Gardiners and requesting their help with the children. Elizabeth rose and set about making preparations for the journey.
For most of the long drive, broken only to change horses and take refreshment, apart from the detour to Oakleigh with the children, Elizabeth was silent. Her face betrayed the feelings of guilt and sorrow that afflicted her. Her unhappiness stemmed, not from any feeling of great loss at the death of Mr Collins, but more from the realisation that, while she had frequently remarked quite cruelly upon the odd behaviour of the man her friend had married and shared her critical observations with others, now he was dead and Charlotte would be left to fend for herself, without the security that marriage to Mr Collins had brought her. On one occasion, her unhappiness was so plainly written upon her face that Darcy reached out and took her hand, hoping to offer comfort but succeeded only in releasing a flood of tears. “Poor Charlotte, whatever will she do now? What will become of her three girls?” she cried, “How will they live and where?”
Darcy understood her concern and tried to reassure her. “I cannot believe that they will be left unprovided for. There is no doubt that Lady Catherine has a very high regard for Mrs Collins, and I believe she is especially attached to young Catherine. She is not an entirely uncaring person and will certainly not turn them out of the parsonage at Hunsford before appropriate accommodation is found for them. It is a valuable living, and my aunt will take time to find a suitable replacement for Mr Collins, who was also her personal chaplain; that will surely afford Mrs Collins time to make what arrangements may be necessary for herself and her daughters,” he explained.
Elizabeth was not so sanguine. Her more intimate knowledge of the Lucases gave her much cause for concern about her friend’s future. “But where will they live? I cannot believe that Sir William can afford to have them all at Lucas Lodge. He has been much less active in business since his illness last year, and I do believe he has intimated to Papa that his eldest son, who is now away in India, expects to return to the house. Should he marry soon after, there will be no question of Charlotte and her children continuing at Lucas Lodge.” Elizabeth sounded so distressed that Darcy was genuinely concerned that she might make herself ill with worry. Speaking even more gently than before, he sought to assuage her anxiety with argument.
“Dearest Lizzie, I understand completely and share your concern, but I cannot believe that Charlotte and her daughters will be left destitute. While Mr Collins may have been somewhat ridiculous in his manners and pompous in his speech, there is plenty of evidence that he was well able to obtain advantage for himself and his family. Please, my love, let us wait until all of the facts are known, and then, I promise that if there is need to help Mrs Collins and her daughters, in whatever way is appropriate, it will be done. I shall speak to my aunt, if necessary; I give you my word, Elizabeth, your friend will not be left helpless.”
So determined and sincere were his words that Elizabeth, who knew she could believe him implicitly, was sufficiently reassured to allow her to regain her composure, as they turned into the lane that ran along the boundary of Rosings Park, leading directly to th
e parsonage at Hunsford. Her Ladyship’s regard for Mrs Collins was apparent even as they alighted. A manservant had been sent to meet visitors and assist them as they arrived. Elizabeth hurried indoors to find a parlour maid, also from Rosings, serving tea.
Charlotte and her three daughters, in deep mourning, rose to meet them, and as the two women embraced, tears stained their faces. All three girls were redeyed with crying. While Catherine, the eldest, who was now fifteen, tried valiantly to keep control of her feelings, as she stood with her mother, young Rebecca’s lip trembled as Elizabeth put her arms around her, and little AmeliaJane, who was only nine, hid her face in her mother’s skirts and sobbed. So affected was Darcy, that he seemed quite unable to resort to the usual formalities that obtained on such occasions, and bending down, he gathered the little girl into his arms to comfort her. Even Charlotte, in her grief, could manage a smile, and Elizabeth’s love for him almost caused her to weep again, for she alone knew how deeply he was affected and how sincerely he cared.
Later, she knew he would assist in any way possible, when there had been time to talk to Charlotte of practical matters. For the moment, she had no doubt of his concern for her friend and her three children, left without the husband and father they had hoped would provide for their future. As others arrived to commiserate and console, Elizabeth moved to help without fuss, wherever she could. Lady Catherine’s generosity, a form of “noblesse oblige” no doubt, extended to providing one of her smaller carriages with a driver for Charlotte’s use and baskets of food and drink, which had been delivered to the kitchen. It was left to Elizabeth to organise the servants and look after the needs of the children, so as to spare Charlotte.
Meanwhile, Darcy drove on to the inn, a short distance up the road, where they would stay the night, having arranged to meet with the Bingleys before the funeral, for which preparations were afoot at the church. Later, he called on Lady Catherine and spoke with her manager at Rosings, where he learned that Mr Collins would receive the ultimate accolade of being laid to rest in a part of the family estate reserved for good and faithful retainers. Darcy did not doubt that Mr Collins would have been gratified indeed, to be so honoured by his patron.
Returning to the parsonage in the late afternoon, through the familiar woods, he found Elizabeth wandering somewhat aimlessly amidst the trees in almost the exact spot where many years ago, he had waited for her, intending to hand her a letter which he had hoped would exonerate him of charges laid at his door by George Wickham.
The Darcys had been invited to Rosings following Georgiana’s wedding, which Her Ladyship had approved of sufficiently to let her rehabilitate her once-favourite nephew and his wife to a level of acceptability. However, they had never had the occasion to walk in this part of the grounds. Meeting there now brought a rush of nostalgia.
Silently, they held hands, each remembering but reluctant, in the face of the solemn reason for their present visit, to speak of their memories. Still, so attuned had they become to each other’s thoughts and feelings over the years of marriage, that words were scarcely necessary, as they walked slowly back to the parsonage. As the footpath widened to meet the lane, Darcy spoke, “I have seen Lady Catherine. You need have no fears, Lizzie, it is just as I thought; Mrs Collins will receive a small annuity as well as any accumulated savings her husband had set aside. Perhaps best of all, Lady Catherine has endowed young Miss Collins, who is her goddaughter, with a sum sufficient to provide her with a good education and a small income. In fact, she appears to have been quite generous. My aunt is genuinely distressed at the death of Mr Collins, especially as it happened when he was inspecting with her a newly restored window in the chapel. He suffered a sudden seizure and collapsed, and though her own doctor was called immediately, Mr Collins was found to have died almost instantly. I am told Lady Catherine came to the parsonage herself, to break the news to Mrs Collins.”
Elizabeth, astonished by his account of events, was silent as Darcy continued, “As for their accommodation, they can stay at the parsonage for as long as they need to make alternative arrangements; my aunt is in no hurry to replace Mr Collins. The rector from a living in the South of the estate will visit Rosings and provide services at the chapel. However, if after the funeral, you would like to invite Charlotte and the girls to spend some time at Pemberley, it may help them to come to terms with their loss in less painful surroundings.”
Though Elizabeth had remained silent during this elucidation of Charlotte’s circumstances, she was certainly not unmoved by it. It was a clear demonstration of her husband’s thoughtfulness and consideration even for those outside his own circle of family and friends. She had been pondering, as she wandered the groves around Rosings, the injustice of Charlotte’s fate—bereft as she was of the man she had married for some small security from poverty—the man Elizabeth had scorned but who had given Charlotte a comfortable home and loving daughters; it was a turn of fate Elizabeth could not begin to comprehend. Darcy had set her heart at rest, at least for the immediate future.
As they reached the stile over which he helped her into the lane, she embraced him with warmth and expressed her gratitude, “Thank you, thank you, my dear, dear husband. Whatever would I do without you?” she said and was rewarded with a smile that reminded her of his response, the first time she had admitted to him, on the road between Longbourn and Meryton, that her feelings for him had undergone a complete change since his first, disastrous proposal at Hunsford. They had, by now, reached the house and found waiting outside the carriage that had brought Sir William Lucas, Maria, and her family. Not wishing to intrude upon them, they walked on towards the inn, where Charles and Jane were expected to join them by nightfall. There had been no time to call on them; a rider was sent from Pemberley, with a hurried note bearing the distressing news and advising of the arrangements for the funeral.
When they arrived, Jane was almost sick with the strain of the journey and anxiety for Charlotte and her children. Bingley, who helped her to the room upstairs, looked tired and worn himself. Unused to personal grief since the death of his parents many years ago, he could barely cope with the shock of mortality. Jane was so tender-hearted that she could almost suffer with Charlotte the grief she was sure their friend must feel.
Elizabeth, aware of her sister’s sensibility, proceeded quickly to reassure her with Darcy’s account of his meeting with Lady Catherine. Jane was still deeply sad for Charlotte, but at least it seemed there would be no question of financial privation to follow.
“It does seem, dear Jane, that Mr Collins possessed rather more good sense than we credited him with, I should say I credited him with, for I recall you were never as ready as I was to condemn him,” said Elizabeth. Jane dabbed her tear-streaked face again.
“Dear Lizzie, all through the journey from Ashford, I have suffered such remorse for all the unkind things we have said of poor Mr Collins. I could not believe he was dead and dear Charlotte and her three girls left to fend for themselves.” Elizabeth hastened to reassure her, “Hush, Jane, there is no need to worry. Mr Darcy assures me that Charlotte and the girls will be looked after.”
Unlike Elizabeth, Jane had never censured Charlotte for her decision to accept Mr Collins. She appreciated that Charlotte, who was almost twenty-seven at the time, had few options open to her if she did not marry, and while Mr Collins was surely one of the silliest men she had ever had the misfortune to meet, Jane could find little wrong with the manner in which he lavished care and attention upon his wife and family. That he was obsequious and excessively deferential to his patron, Lady Catherine, and exceedingly pompous in his expression of his own brand of morality seemed to Jane to be extraneous matters, which may have caused some amusement to observers but did not materially damage his family. Indeed, she pointed out, it now transpired that his attentions to Lady Catherine may have resulted in greatly alleviating the tragic consequences for his family of his own demise.
Elizabeth, despite her reservations, had to admit that this
was probably true. It was neither the time nor the occasion to say it, but she knew that however straitened her own circumstances had been, she could never have countenanced marriage to Mr Collins.
As she prepared for the funeral, Elizabeth wondered whether she may not, one day, come to look upon present events as merely another turning point in Charlotte’s life, rather than the dreadful tragedy they seemed to be at this moment. Charlotte had always been able to ride calmly over the rough as well as the smooth waters of life. Elizabeth was certain she would do so again. She was, however, sufficiently sensitive to Jane’s feelings to keep her thoughts to herself.
After the funeral, which was suitably solemn and full of high sentence, and a mournful little gathering at Rosings, where a tribute was paid to the faithful service given to Lady Catherine and her household by the late Mr Collins, the families repaired to the parsonage at Hunsford.
There, among her friends and family, Charlotte put aside her black bonnet and veil and served tea and biscuits in the parlour. Her face was grave and pale, but she was calm and collected as she slipped into her household routine and her daughters likewise, all but little Amelia-Jane, whose eyes were still red with weeping. “She was her father’s favourite,” Charlotte remarked, as Jane tried to coax the child to eat a biscuit. Elizabeth was touched. She had not believed Mr Collins would have had a favourite child, so full of correctness and pompous moral rectitude had he seemed whenever they met. Could he have had hidden depths of feeling, as a parent? “He spoilt her,” Charlotte continued, “I think he was trying to make amends for the disappointment he expressed so openly, when she was born. He had wanted a son, you see, Lizzie,” said Charlotte, as usual, putting it all into perspective. Jane and Elizabeth nodded, both unable to make any response. It was not the picture of Mr Collins they had had.
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