She wrote:
I am almost sorry that Caroline and Fitzwilliam are back and my darling grandchildren are gone to Matlock with them. I really do love having them with me; especially when your uncle is away on business, they are my chief source of happiness. Oh Lizzie, I do miss them.
Some good news followed. They had heard from Robert again—he had met with Mr Bingley’s cousin Frank, who had helped him settle down and find his feet in the colony. He liked the work and had already made some friends. He did not like the hot weather but was looking forward to going up country where it was much cooler. Elizabeth could sense that her aunt was very pleased with Robert’s news. But of Emily, there was hardly any news, save to say she was busy at Pemberley. Elizabeth searched eagerly for information about Paul. There was none. In the final paragraph, there was a line about Richard’s moving from Birmingham to take up work in Derby, and almost as an afterthought, there followed the news that he was going up to London with Paul, at the end of the week. Elizabeth checked the date of the letter—it was almost ten days old. She wondered why Richard was taking Paul to London. She was certain that there was something her aunt had not revealed.
The letter unsettled her. They had less than a week of their tour left, and Elizabeth was now eager to return home. She sensed there was something wrong and wanted to be back home to see, hear, and do whatever she could. She realised that the situation was one over which she had very little control, but she hated being miles away. She longed for news of Emily and was disturbed by the fact that her aunt had written nothing of her state of mind or Paul’s health. Elizabeth felt a pressing need to be back at Pemberley.
Bewildered and uneasy, she was in a very different frame of mind, when Darcy, who had left her reading Jane’s letter, returned. He was surprised by the change in her, and when she showed him Mrs Gardiner’s letter and admitted her feelings of unease and anxiety, he tried at first to reason with her, arguing that if anything serious had occurred, they would have been informed by express. Yet, aware that she was unconvinced and remained unhappy, he suggested that they leave a few days early. “I know we had planned to go on to Penrith, but there is nothing very remarkable to be seen there; if we left tomorrow and travelled via Kendal, we could reach Pemberley at least two days earlier than planned.” Elizabeth thanked him with tears in her eyes, grateful for his understanding and his efforts to alleviate her concern. “It will bring you no pleasure to spend any more time here, when your heart is no longer in it, my love,” her husband explained. “I can see that you are troubled, and nothing will do but to return home.”
Elizabeth was concerned that the children may be disappointed to be going home early, but having spoken with them, Darcy returned to reassure her. “Cassandra has grown a little tired of travelling around and is yearning for the comforts of home.”
“What about William?” she asked, “Is he not upset?” Darcy shook his head.
“William has no preference and on hearing that you were anxious to return early, although I have not divulged the reason for your disquiet, he was immediately in agreement that we should leave at once,” he said, to her great relief.
With adverse weather forecast for the morrow, it seemed by far the most sensible thing to do. Preparations for their journey were speedily put in train, and just a day later, they were on the road to Derbyshire and home.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The grinding agony of woe . . .
TRAVELLING AS EXPEDITIOUSLY AS possible and breaking journey only for rest and meals, they reached Pemberley by midafternoon on the day following. Though Darcy had taken the precaution of despatching an express announcing their change of plan, Mrs Reynolds seemed unusually perturbed, and Elizabeth was immediately aware that all was not well.
While a bustling crowd of servants and stable lads unloaded luggage and led the tired horses away, Elizabeth, ignoring the activity around her, sought out Mrs Reynolds. She hardly needed to speak, for Mrs Reynolds held in her hand a letter, folded over and sealed. Elizabeth could tell from the writing it was from Emily. As she took it, she looked at the housekeeper, “What is it, Mrs Reynolds; what has happened?” Mrs Reynolds ushered her into the sitting room, where to her surprise, she found her sister Kitty, waiting. Kitty’s tense expression did not fill Elizabeth with confidence either. She was convinced that something was very wrong indeed. “Please, why will one of you not tell me what has happened? Kitty, what are you doing here? And where is Emily?” she demanded.
Mrs Reynolds left the room to follow William and Cassandra upstairs. It was plain to her that the sisters needed to talk alone. Kitty urged her sister to read Emily’s letter first, but Elizabeth was adamant, “Not until I know what has happened to her.Where is she, Kitty? You must tell me.” Finally, Kitty realising that it was useless to argue, said, “Emily is in Italy—or at least, she should be there by now.”
“Italy? Good God! What on earth is she doing in Italy?” Elizabeth was astounded.
Kitty begged her to open Emily’s letter and read it.
“I know she has explained it all; please, Lizzie, do not distress yourself unduly. No harm has come to Emily—as you will see when you read her letter, it was a decision she took entirely of her own free will.” By this time, Elizabeth had opened up the letter. As she read it, she was so bewildered and shaken, she was forced to sit down.
Emily’s letter was written in plain, undramatic language. In terms that would have sufficed if she were informing Elizabeth that she intended travelling to Lambton or Matlock to visit her mother or her sister, she explained her actions:
My dearest Cousin Lizzie,
When you read this letter, I shall be in Italy, with Paul. Please do not be angry with me, for it is not as you fear. I shall be travelling quite respectably, with my husband, who must move to a warmer, drier climate immediately. The physician in Harley Street, who saw Paul ten days ago, insisted that he had no hope unless he did so. Richard will tell you more if you wish to have more medical information. When I heard the facts, I decided that I would go with Paul, to ensure he is properly cared for, but I knew it was neither wise nor seemly that I travel alone with him. I decided, therefore, that we should be married, by special licence, and travel as husband and wife. This would not only afford me protection as we travel, but it would protect my family and yourselves from any malicious gossip.
I told Richard and my dear parents of my decision. I cannot help it, dear Lizzie, that Mama is unhappy. I suppose I would be, too, if it had been my daughter. But Richard and Papa have been very helpful. Richard has arranged our travel and lodgings. There is no problem with money, Paul has sufficient for both of us, but Papa insists I must have my own as well. Paul himself was, at first, quite adamant that I must not “sacrifice” myself, as he quaintly put it, but I have persuaded him that it is what I want to do, because, dear Lizzie, I love him dearly and want to look after him for however little time we have left. I could not bear to have him locked away in some dreary hospital, where we would have no way of reaching him.
Kitty will explain how the wedding was arranged, with Dr Jenkins very kindly performing the ceremony and dear, kind Mrs Reynolds helping me prepare for the journey. She has found a good, middle-aged woman, who will travel with us. Mrs Brown is familiar with Paul’s condition, having helped me care for him at the cottage in Littleford. Papa is also to send a manservant to accompany us, to help with Paul, and be our general protector.
I think that is all I have to write, except, my dear Cousin, to beg your forgiveness and understanding, that I have taken this step without waiting to ask your advice. Please understand, there was so little time, and as I said to Richard, I am all of twenty-six, albeit somewhat less experienced in the ways of the world than my brothers and sister.
But of one thing I am absolutely certain, I love Paul very much, too much to let him die alone in some hospital. My love would have been worth little, and I could not have lived with myself or faced my God, had I not done whatever I was able to do
for him, when he needed me most. We are both sensible people and know well what lies in store. I pray we have the strength to help each other through it. Please, Lizzie, all I ask is that you understand and pray for us.
Your loving cousin, Emily.
When Elizabeth finished reading the letter, her face was wet with tears. As she sat unable to speak, Darcy entered the room with Richard, who, like Kitty, had arrived, alerted to their early return by Mrs Reynolds.
Elizabeth’s instinct was to go at once to her aunt and uncle, but Richard would not let her. “No, Cousin Lizzie, you must not go now. You have been travelling for almost two days; you are tired and already upset by the news; you are not in a state to be of any help to Mama. Perhaps tomorrow . . .”
“But Richard, do you not think your mother needs me?” Elizabeth asked.
“I am sure she does, and I know she would welcome a visit from you, but I do not believe you should undertake the journey now.”
Darcy agreed, “Richard is right, Elizabeth. Besides there are things with which you need to acquaint yourself. You will want to talk to Mrs Reynolds, Kitty, and Doctor Jenkins as well as Richard, before you go to your aunt and uncle.” Elizabeth could not deny the commonsense of his argument and reluctantly agreed to postpone her journey to Lambton. After dinner, Kitty and her husband returned home, but Richard stayed on to explain how it had all come about. Elizabeth wanted to know everything, and Richard alone had all the answers, for he had been his sister’s confidant from the outset. Arriving from Birmingham, a week before he was to start work at the clinic in Derby, he had been troubled by Paul’s condition. In spite of the warm Summer, he was still pale and very breathless.
“I insisted that we see my colleague in Harley Street at once, and it was not a moment too soon. He said, quite categorically, that Paul had no chance at all, unless he left England and moved to a warmer, drier climate. He recommended southern Italy—he has sent other patients there and they have benefited quite remarkably. Some have enjoyed prolonged periods of reasonably good health. Paul himself accepts the inevitable. While he was not happy to go, he agreed when I said I would accompany him and see him settled there. He can afford comfortable accommodation and a local servant or two.” Elizabeth was impatient to know how and when Emily became involved. “Almost as soon as we returned from London,” he replied.
“She insisted on knowing every particular. At first, she was distraught and wept a great deal. Then, she went away and came back about two hours later with her mind made up. She had it all planned—the special licence, the travel arrangements, everything. They were to be married, so she could accompany Paul and look after him in Italy.” Darcy, who had said little, intervened to ask, “How did Mr and Mrs Gardiner respond to Emily’s decision?” Richard’s answer was not entirely what they expected.
“Mama was most upset. It was not a question of being unsympathetic, because she has always liked Paul and treated him as one of the family. She was afraid for Emily and did not wish her to go. She even suggested that I should go with him; I was a man and a doctor, she said; it was right and proper that I should go. But Emily’s resolve could not be shaken. I have never seen her so determined about anything before. Nothing any of us said would change her mind,” he explained.
“And Mr Gardiner?” Darcy prompted, knowing how difficult such a situation would have been for him.
“I think I was most surprised by my father. He listened to everything Emily said, and when he realised how determined she was to go, he simply asked about the practical arrangements for their journey and lodgings; he even decided to send one of his servants to accompany them,” Richard sighed and added, “I think Mama was deeply shocked. She had hoped he would support her and try to dissuade Emily, but, as Emily reminded me, she is twenty-six. Caroline had been permitted to become engaged to Fitzwilliam when she was but fifteen—not much more than a child. How could they tell Emily she had no right to do as she chose at twenty-six?”
“But surely, there is no comparison, Richard. Emily must be aware, as we all are, that there is no future in this tragic marriage.” Darcy’s voice was as grave as his countenance. He wondered whether Emily’s natural kindness had perhaps blinded her to the hopelessness of their situation. But Richard was quite sure that Emily understood perfectly the consequences of her decision.
“Emily was well aware of the facts about Paul’s health, from the outset. I ensured that she knew everything, as soon as I discovered it. She knows there is no hope of recovery, not even with the best care in the world. She accepts that. But, she loves him and wants to be with him to bring him some happiness and comfort until the end. Paul was reluctant at first, much as he loves her, but she persuaded him.”
“And the wedding, how was that arranged?” asked Elizabeth.
“Dr Jenkins and Kitty were splendid. They arranged it all. It was a simple ceremony with just the family. Bingley and Jane were here, of course. Caroline and Fitzwilliam came direct from London. But, everybody agreed Emily looked beautiful, and if you had seen them, you would have thought they were a happy couple with a lifetime of married bliss ahead of them; it was quite astonishing,” he said. They had left the following day, by private coach; Richard had accompanied them to ensure that everything was in order.
“Where are they now?” asked Elizabeth.
“They have taken a house outside Rome—it has to be near enough for the doctor to reach them regularly,” Richard explained.
“Will it really help him?” she persisted.
“Oh yes, it will probably extend his life by several months. Better still, the weather will enhance his enjoyment of it. The sunshine and the dry, fresh air will all help. It will certainly be better for him than the Midlands in Winter.” Richard’s voice betrayed his feelings, despite his attempt to remain as detached as possible. Paul was his friend as well as his patient. Now, he was also his brother-in-law.
The following morning, at breakfast, Cassandra and William, who had heard whispers from the chambermaid on the previous night, were told of Emily’s marriage and some of the reasons behind it. They asked a few questions, and after straightforward and truthful answers from their parents, their responses were quite remarkable. Cassandra declared that Emily had done something very brave and noble—an unselfish gesture of true love. William agreed, though he could not quite understand why the weather in Rome was better for Paul than the weather in Derbyshire or Bath. He hoped it would mean that Paul might recover but added that he would miss Emily very much. Elizabeth was more than a little surprised. Their reactions, uncomplicated by adult priorities and social prejudice, were in sharp contrast to her own.
Discussing it later with Darcy, she confessed to being disappointed in herself. “I wonder, my love, am I becoming hard and unfeeling?” she asked, and as he regarded her with astonishment, explained, “I should have been feeling, like Cassy, that Emily’s has been a brave, selfless act—an example of true love. Yet, I see only the recklessness and the possible pain that must surely follow, not just for her, but for all her family and especially her parents, who must feel bereft. I know she is twenty-six and had every right to decide for herself, but I cannot help wishing I had been here to advise her.” Darcy looked very grave indeed. Elizabeth knew that expression—it was almost always a sign that he disagreed with her. His voice, however, was gentle when he spoke.
“I am particularly pleased that we were not here, Elizabeth, and that Emily was able to make her decision untroubled by opinions and advice, however well-meant, from either of us. I should not have liked to feel that we had placed any more strain upon a young woman, who felt that the most important thing in her life was to bring some affection and comfort to a man she loved, when, as she says in her letter, he needed her most.”
“But Darcy, you cannot believe that she has done the right thing by marrying Paul, when he is dying? Surely, there were other ways of helping him? I know she loves him, but must she blight her entire life to give him some temporary comfort?” Ev
en as she spoke, Elizabeth could have bitten off her tongue. She heard the harshness of her words and regretted them immediately. Darcy heard it too, but he knew her too well to assume that she had meant them. He realised it was the consequence of her anxiety and concern for Emily, whom they both loved. Turning to her, he spoke with a degree of gentleness that precluded any hint of censure, “Elizabeth, that question is neither fair nor worthy of your generous and loving nature. I know you too well to accept that you believe what you have just said. Nevertheless, let me try to answer your concerns.”
They were standing beside a window in their private sitting room, overlooking the park. Elizabeth continued to gaze out on the sunlit scene, as he spoke, unable to trust herself to look at him. “Lizzie, when we chose to marry, both you and I defied the judgement of others, including my aunt and your father, each of whom had reservations based upon their perceptions of our characters and conduct. We had no thought except that we loved each other. Nothing else mattered. How then, can we censure Emily for following her heart, as she has done? Consider also this, she has not acted rashly in any practical sense, Richard assures me Paul has a considerable inheritance, which will ultimately be Emily’s. Indeed it had been so willed—before their wedding. If we consider his character and background, they are without stain. Richard speaks highly of him, and I cannot imagine that a single objection would have been raised, had he been fit and well. Surely, Elizabeth, if we marry promising to love in sickness and in health, there can be no criticism of what Emily has done, on the grounds that the condition was known to exist? She has acted as she has done with only the noblest of motives. What would we say of a man who abandoned his partner on discovering she was similarly afflicted? Would we not find him worthy of severe condemnation?” Elizabeth was silent, her mind in turmoil as she heard the strength of his arguments and the compassion in his voice. He spoke quietly, but there was a level of gravity that compelled attention.
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