by Jane Dawkins
Are you surprised that your Wife did not fall into a faint at this dreadful news? Quite to the contrary, she coolly took command, instructing Nutt to ride to Barford’s house and tell him to form a search party, which should set out towards Lambton by way of Mr. Brownley, whose services might well be required. Nutt should then return and tend to Major. Mrs. Reynolds meanwhile roused the household and set the kitchen to preparing hot drinks for the rescuers and plenty of hot water. A fire was lit in your bedchamber, bandages were brought, salves and ointments fetched, brandy set out, the bed warmed—everything which could be thought of was made ready for your return. In truth, we were all glad of the occupation to fill the long hours waiting for news.
By this time (I know not the exact hour) the storm had thankfully abated, though the rain continued steadily through the night. With nothing left to do, I took myself to the nursery where Annie slept contentedly with Parsley once again beside her. Their storm was over; my own storm clouds were gathering strength. (I hear you saying, “My dear Lizzy, you read too many novels and become fanciful.”) Perhaps, but this is the way I remember the events of that night and shall record them faithfully here.
Towards dawn the party arrived. “Barford, Mr. Brownley, is he alive? Does he live? Is he badly hurt?” I cried, rushing to the door.
“Calm yourself, Mrs. Darcy,” said Mr. Brownley. “He breathes, but has lost consciousness and a good deal of blood, I fear. I have given instructions that Mr. Darcy be taken to his bedchamber immediately. Allow me to make my examination, then we will know more, Meanwhile, I beg you to remain calm and hope for the best.” With that, he ran up the stairs, leaving me to wait once more.
At last Mr. Brownley reappeared with better news than I had expected: a simple break of the right arm (which he has re-set and which he expects to heal without problem); a badly sprained right ankle; various lacerations (which have been cleansed, and will require no further treatment so long as no infection sets in); much bruising (in particular to the ribs) and a severe concussion. It is this last which gives us cause for anxiety. For a day or two we could be thankful that you were thus spared much pain and discomfort, but tomorrow will be a full week …
It is late and your nurse reminds me of my promise to Mr. Brownley this evening to retire early and rest “… else I shall have two patients at Pemberley, Mrs. Darcy. Once your Husband awakens, you will need all your strength and resources for some time to come.”
But first I must write down Mr. Cowper’s lines which I find myself reciting silently several times daily—one verse of which was part of our last conversation and is thus especially dear to me. For over a year they have become entwined in our lives and so belong here in this chronicle. Bless dear Mr. Cowper for his solace!
Light Shining Out of Darkness
God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works His sov’reign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding ev’ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow’r.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.
Good night, my dear Husband!
Sunday, 26th July, 1818
Yesterday, not knowing that I had slipped into the bedchamber behind him, I overheard Mr. Brownley muttering to himself, concerned that bleeding within the head might be causing the delay in your awakening, and wondering if you would be in your right senses if you did finally awaken—might it not be a better thing never to awaken at all?
I quitted the room as silently as I had entered and, feeling the pressure of tight, cold bands of iron around my heart, forced myself to breathe, then breathe again. I shall not believe that you will never return to me, and shall continue to will you to fight with all your strength to that purpose.
Jane and Mr. Bingley arrived at noon yesterday, staying but a few hours and taking Annie with them for Elizabeth Cassandra’s first birthday tomorrow. It will be good for her to see her Cousins, though she was bitterly disappointed that Parsley was required to remain at home. Nurse and I were given lengthy instructions on the care of her spoiled, pampered cat, then, just as she was about to step into the carriage, Annie decided that after all Mrs. Reynolds was the only proper person to be trusted with such an important matter as Parsley’s welfare, and sped off to find her. There is a picture at your side, a self-portrait drawn by your Daughter. “If Papa should awaken while I am gone, please give him this picture that he may remember me.”
The Bingleys are well but, as you would imagine, most concerned on your behalf. Mr. Bingley wishes very much to fetch his own physician here, a person upon whom he places great reliance—he feels a second opinion is in order. It was a kind gesture and I thanked him kindly, but feel it an unnecessary step, at least for now. Mr. Brownley has taken care of the Darcy household for a long time and is yet young enough and curious enough to keep up with the latest in medical matters. Upon leaving, Mr. Bingley and Jane made me promise faithfully to call upon them for anything at any time—something I should never hesitate to do, and was able to give them my word whole-heartedly.
At church this morning, Mr. Kirkland offered up prayers for your quick recovery. Everyone there wanted to know how you go on. While I appreciate their kindness in enquiring, it is very wearing to be obliged to acknowledge it over and over again and I was pleased to make my escape from their good wishes to be home. No, I have not put it rightly: I do not mean to sound as arrogant as my words appear. I am exceedingly grateful for the interest and good wishes conveyed. The livelihoods of many people rest in your capable hands, and they must be as anxious as your own Family for your speedy recovery.
Monday, 27th July, 1818
Mr. Brownley informs me that the bruising and swellings have diminished considerably in the past seven days, and that no signs of infection are evident. “A good sign, Mrs. Darcy, a good sign of a strong constitution.”
More heartening news is that Major appears none the worse for his experience. Once he was cleansed of the mud, dirt, blood and brambles which covered him, just a few cuts and scratches were to be seen. A lingering lameness had been a little worrying, but by yesterday had thankfully improved; he eats well again and is slowly regaining his usual calm and friendly disposition. Loud noises of any kind troubled him greatly at first but he is becoming more settled with each day that passes.
Barford informs me that young Tommy Nutt rarely leaves the horse’s side and deserves much credit for Major’s swift recovery. You will, I am sure, wish to reward such devotion. Meanwhile, if the weather stays fair, I shall walk to the stables this afternoon to express my own gratitude. There has been no further rain since Saturday night, but it is still wet and muddy in parts.
Tuesday, 28th July, 1818
No change.
Wednesday, 29th July, 1818
No change.
Thursday, 30th July, 1818
No change, though I should have mentioned previously that Mr. Brownley has instructed the nurses to move your good arm and legs in certain directions several times daily to prevent a wasting of the muscles and to keep the blood flowing in a proper manner.
Barford asked to see me this morning. Noting that it is the last day of the month today, he wanted to review with me outgoings and estate plans for the coming month. My first thought was to tell him to proceed as he sees fit since he has had the management of the Pemberley estates for longer even than the present Mr. Darcy, but I hesitated. Perhaps it is time that I knew a little of everyday life on the estates upon which our lives depend, life beyond Pemberley’s park wall! (My Mother’s voice echoed in my mind, “Lizzy, what can you be thinking of? A well-brought-up Lady in your position has no business meddling in affairs which are solely the province of Gentlemen. Mark my words, Miss Lizzy, your Husband will not look upon your interference kindly.”)
My own voice replied that my dear Husband has ever treated me as an equal, not a mere accessory, and with that, my Mother was dismissed and Barford was asked to take a seat.
After enquiring after you, he began with an accounting of the storm damage, which made a great deal of mischief among our trees. One of the splendid elms fell into the pond; another has fallen amongst some chestnuts and firs, knocking down one spruce fir, beating off the head of another and stripping two chestnuts of several branches in its fall. Several other trees were also blown down, but I regret the elms more than the rest.
To the house itself, little damage was immediately apparent, but Barford wisely had the roof inspected. Three chimneys were found in such a state as to make it miraculous that they have stood so long, and next to impossible that another such violent storm should not blow them down. These the masons are to repair them speedily in the coming days.
On the Home Farm, it appears that after some fences are mended and a number of roof slates replaced, all will be well. Some sheep escaped through broken fences, but all are now accounted for. The hay was safely got in last month, as you know, and though the hayfields are flattened now, with good weather they may recover in time for a second cut. He is as hopeful for the corn fields, which were likewise flattened. Elsewhere, likewise, there are reports of fallen trees and broken fences, but nothing to cause great concern or expense.
Barford then moved on to monthly receipts and payments, producing two large ledgers each filled with columns of bewildering figures, and explanations of the sort that Harry Dewland had still not yet paid his midsummer quarter rent in full, but had promised the balance owing would be paid on 1st August after he had been paid for some sheep he had sold to Arthur Russell.
“Mr. Darcy knows all about it, Ma’am,” said Barford. “Russell had some bad luck losing some of his sheep to the fever, and Mr. Darcy, aware that Dewland needed to raise money, asked me to arrange the sale, and to inform Dewland that the balance of the quarterly rent owing could be paid thereafter.”
Explanations of even more complicated transactions followed. In truth, I could not follow the half of it, but at the same time could not help but be flattered that Barford should take so much trouble to relate these various matters in such detail to enlighten me, presumably under the misapprehension that I was comprehending every word!
My dear Husband, how do you manage to keep up with it all: the tenants’ names, their Wives’ and Children’s names, the sheep, the crops, the cottages, the churches, the livings, &c., &c.
Lastly, Barford reviewed charitable outgoings, and here I confess myself utterly astonished. On my first visit to Pemberley, I recall Mrs. Reynolds described your Father as “very affable to the poor” and declared (much to my amazement at the time) that “his Son will be just like him … the best landlord, and the best master that ever lived.” Now the full import of those words was revealed as, at my insistence, Barford listed names of parishioners and tenants who have been and continue to be beneficiaries of your generous, kind heart: some receive food, others alms, poorer tenants receive bread twice-weekly, tenants are sent produce or meat on the birth of a Child or for a christening. Why did I not know? My question is answered at once: why did I not enquire? My Dear, I am heartily ashamed that I have contented myself merely with bits of sewing for the poor basket and visits to the sick and ailing without seeing or asking about the larger picture right before me had I only bothered to look beyond the small, comfortable world of Pemberley. How like you to do what is right quietly and modestly, leaving lesser mortals to crow about their occasional achievements, which are nothing to your everday acts of charity! But, belatedly, my eyes have been opened and I am resolved to make up for my woeful inadequacies. How? I know not yet; I am unable to think beyond our present circumstances. Once you are returned to me—oh! please, please let it be soon!
Friday, 7th August, 1818
Your Daughter writes, “der papa, did you woke we piked blakberrys, annie”
Jane adds that Annie asks after her Papa each morning and mentions him in her prayers each evening, but does not dwell on the subject for too long and shows no signs of melancholy.
Wednesday, 12th August, 1818
Unannounced and quite unexpectedly, my Father and Kitty arrived after breakfast! It was a welcome surprise nonetheless and I am pleased they are here. Kitty informs me that since they received word of your accident, life at Longbourn has become intolerable: My Mother is distraught and has persuaded herself that I am about to be left a destitute Widow with a Daughter. Moreover, such vast estates must be entailed away from the female line. Her imaginings know no bounds on that score—her favourite is that Lady Catherine will sweep in immediately following your funeral and unceremoniously evict me and our Daughter. You will likely not be surprised to learn that further, this is my own fault for not having produced a Son and Heir. Of course, her imaginings have been retailed throughout the neighbourhood where they have fast become fact. As a consequence, my Mother now receives frequent calls from her sympathetic acquaintance (daily visits from Lady Lucas) supposedly enquiring after your health and hoping for good news from Pemberley. The reality, needless to say, is quite the opposite: Each wants to be the very first to hear of your demise and my own destitution in order to be able to rush around the neighbourhood self-importantly with the awful tidings!
(My darling Husband, I rely on you to disappoint them all! Hearing this tale made me laugh heartily for the first time in so very long—I have always found absurdity and preposterousness hard to resist, but it was strange to hear myself laugh again.)
As a consequence of her imaginings, which grew daily more vivid (Kitty continued) my Mother’s nerves began to suffer accordingly, until my Father could bear to hear no more, announcing at dinner Saturday last that he would be departing for Pemberley on the morrow. At first quite taken aback, my Mother quickly recovered to say that, despite being quite unwell, she, too, would make the journey regardless of the cost to her own health, whereupon my Father insisted that no, she was far too ill, and with her nerves in shreds under no circumstances would he countenance her health being further compromised by such a long journey. No, she must remain quietly at Longbourn where she would recover more quickly in peace and solitude. Kitty would accompany him since she might be of some material use at Pemberley.
My Mother protested vigorously at being left entirely alone but my Father reminded her that members of her vast acquaintance appear daily at the door to give her comfort, and furthermore, Mary and Mr. Digweed might be prevailed upon to stay at Longbourn during his absence should she wish it. As it happened, she wished for no such thing and left the table in tears complaining bitterly at being so ill-used by her own Family.
Kitty is overjoyed to be here and away from Longbourn, not least because she has hopes of seeing again the curate she met while staying with Jane, I am sure, but when I ventured as much, she blushed prettily and would say no more on the subject. She insists her first intent is to be of help to me in whatever way she can. Her company is most welcome and has lifted my spirits considerably. As you might expect, except at meal times my Father is mostly invisible, but just knowing he is somewhere close by is immens
ely comforting.
Monday, 17th August, 1818
As a diversion for Kitty, the Norland girls paid us a visit. They were so evidently pleased to see Kitty again, and for her part, Kitty was overjoyed to reacquaint herself with them. (As we know, life at Longbourn for Kitty is … well, we know what life is like for Kitty now that Mary is married, and Mary apparently loses no opportunity on her very frequent visits there to remind Kitty of the superior position of her own married state.) The girls thanked me for the invitation to visit Kitty, and apologised for their absence of late. They did not wish to burden me with visits, or with too many letters, which I might then feel obliged to answer. The girls will stay a week. With Annie at Jane’s, it is good to hear conversation and laughter around the house.
Saturday, 29th August, 1818
My love, I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I shall apologise to Mr. Brownley when he comes in the morning—if he comes in the morning, but I shall make amends somehow. My face burns when I recollect my outburst. Now, some hours later, I see that he was attempting to be kind in preparing me for the worst. Poor man, his crime was that, in answer to my usual questions, he said, “Mrs. Darcy, I think we must begin to consider seriously the possibility of your Husband not making the recovery we have long been hoping and praying for.”
His words cut to my very core, from whence erupted a torrent of red-hot words, which have the power to sear me even now as I recall them, but which I shall not record here. I would not wish you to read them. Suffice to say that first, I rounded on the good physician, putting the entire blame for your prolonged ill-health upon him, then railed at you, my good, dear Husband, for having gone out that day, for leaving me and our Child all alone in the world, &c., &c.—I cannot bear to recount more of the sorry episode. I believe Mr. Brownley must have administered laudanum for next I knew, I was in my bed with Kitty at my side, greatly distressed. Fearing that the very worst had happened I made to rush from my chamber, but in my weakened state Kitty was able to restrain me. “Lizzy, Lizzy,” she entreated me, “calm yourself, I beg you. You are not well. You have eaten nothing today—here, take a little broth, then we will visit Mr. Darcy together. You will see for yourself that nothing has changed. My Father has been sitting with Mr. Darcy and would have sent word immediately if we were wanted.”