After what seemed like an eternity, Dr Faulkner came in search of them, and seeing his face with relief written all over it, Elizabeth knew it had to be good news. “It’s a little girl, and . . .” He got no further, for Maria had hurled herself into his arms and Elizabeth, knowing it was useless to try to get anything more coherent out of him, ran indoors, where she found Charlotte, a little pale but otherwise well. Elizabeth went to her at once and took her hand.
Charlotte smiled and thanked Elizabeth for staying with her. Her daughter lay in a crib beside her. “Eliza, meet your namesake—Catherine Elizabeth Collins” she whispered, and in spite of herself, Elizabeth was crying for joy. “I was going to ask you, but she became impatient, rather like you do, and I did not have the opportunity.”
Elizabeth reassured her, “I am delighted you have given her my name, Charlotte.” Charlotte apologised, “I am sorry about the Catherine; I’m afraid it could not have been otherwise—Mr Collins insisted, if it was a girl, it had to be Catherine, but she’ll always be ‘Little Eliza’ to me.”
“And to me,” whispered Lizzie, as she said goodnight and left.
Elizabeth and Darcy were glad to be leaving for Pemberley, since news had arrived that Mr Collins was on his way from Kent, travelling by coach and having sent express messages to practically everybody in the county to announce the birth of his daughter. Having seen the curious letter her father had received earlier in the week, in which Mr Collins had presumed to warn Mr Bennet of the imminent birth of a male heir and its effect upon the entail of Longbourn, Elizabeth had no desire whatsoever to meet him.
“Stupid, odious man!” she said to Jane, as they spent their last evening together at Netherfield, “Fancy writing such a letter to Papa; he has lost none of his pompous self-importance! Poor Charlotte, how does she cope?” They visited Charlotte later and having left congratulatory messages for her husband and a gift for little Eliza, said their farewells.
Jane and Elizabeth parted reluctantly, but Bingley travelled with them, for he had been almost convinced by Darcy to sell his shares in the heinous textile industry and invest the money with the rest of his inheritance in Ashford House. He wished, however, to see the property himself before making the final decision.
Jane was quite content to depend upon the judgement of her husband and brother-in-law, knowing already in her heart that Elizabeth’s recommendation alone had sufficed to convince her of the complete suitability of the property. As her father had said on another occasion, so certain was Jane of her sister’s taste and good opinion, that she needed only the additional attraction of the place’s being a mere twenty miles from Pemberley to declare herself completely satisfied.
As the sisters parted this time, they smiled, promising each other that they would soon meet again. Jane’s child was due in August, and God willing, she would be safely delivered of the baby. “Just think, Lizzie,” Jane whispered as they embraced, “we may be at Ashford House by Christmas.”
“I shall pray that you will. Dearest Jane, take care,” said Elizabeth, knowing that she and Darcy would do everything in their power to make it happen. If Bingley purchased Ashford House, they would certainly be there by Christmas.
CHAPTER SEVEN
New beginnings
R
ETURNING TO PEMBERLEY,ELIZABETH and Mr Darcy found Kitty
and Mr Jenkins engaged. Kitty wore a ring on which it appeared Mr Jenkins must have expended most of his worldly goods. Happily, it turned out that the ring had been his mother’s and Mr Jenkins was in no danger of being pauperised by the purchase. Elizabeth was very relieved. They were so obviously pleased with themselves, that she did not have the heart to say anything to disappoint them. They admired the ring, wished them happiness, and broke out a celebratory bottle of champagne. Later, however, Elizabeth expressed some reservations, that the couple had not waited to visit Longbourn and have Mrs Bennet meet her future son-in-law, before becoming formally engaged. “I am convinced,” she told her husband as they dressed for dinner, “that Mama will blame me; she will feel that I have deliberately neglected to inform her of Kitty’s engagement.”
“That should not concern you, Lizzie,” said Darcy. “No more than it concerns me that Lady Catherine believes I am in some way responsible for subverting her plans for Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley.” Elizabeth laughed at the memory but was uneasy. She had no desire to upset her mother or cause trouble between Mrs Bennet and Kitty.
“I think,” she said tentatively, “I shall write directly to my father and have him send Mama a letter. It may not save me from her censure, but it will spare Kitty and Mr Jenkins an inordinate amount of aggravation.” Darcy agreed.
Elizabeth’s letter to her father relating their safe return to Pemberley and the news of Kitty’s engagement contained just one piece of advice:
Mr Darcy and I both feel it is best that Mama be told of Kitty’s good news as soon as possible. We are also agreed that it would be best coming from you, Papa, perhaps with a promise that Mr Jenkins will be invited to Longbourn to meet Mama, on her return from Newcastle.
That night, Lizzie asked her husband’s opinion of her letter and received praise, “Very diplomatic indeed, my dear. I can see no cause for offence at all.” said Darcy. When, a week later, her father’s reply was received, they were both amused by his response:
As for the matter of Kitty’s engagement, it has all been done, my dear Lizzie, exactly as you and Mr Darcy have suggested. Have no fear, while you are indeed in loco parentis while Kitty is at Pemberley, remember that I gave them permission to become engaged. I have said as much to your mother, adding copious praise of Mr Jenkins. I am certain that when your mother reads it and realises that she is about to be relieved of another of her lovely daughters, she will be so overcome with joy, that no other concerns will signify at all.
However, your suggestion that Mr Jenkins be invited to visit Longbourn when Mrs Bennet returns is an excellent one. I intend to despatch such an invitation forthwith. I trust my dear that Mr Darcy and you can survive without his ministrations for a week or so in the Autumn. Mary and I are bearing up well. Mrs Hill and John do their best for us, but we miss you all, Lizzie, especially you and Jane. God bless you both, and I look forward to your next visit . . .
Lizzie felt deeply for her father; it was clear that his life had changed so totally in the last eighteen months; she was sure he was experiencing great loneliness, which in the midst of her present happiness, saddened her greatly. Darcy sensed her sadness, and though he said little at the time, he had made up his mind to invite Mr Bennet back to Pemberley at the earliest opportunity. Despite their lack of communication earlier in their acquaintance, he had, during the last few weeks when there had been time to get to know him better, come to understand and respect his father-in-law. Mr Bennet’s alert, well-informed mind and his great zest for reading, combined with the quick, sarcastic sense of humour that played upon everything and everyone, made him a most stimulating guest. Darcy, whose own view of the world always had a sardonic edge, now softened somewhat by his wife’s sensibilities, had appreciated Mr Bennet’s observation and wit.
There were, however, other matters of more immediate concern, which demanded Darcy’s attention. Recently, his steward had been asking questions about the new developments in farming. With some of the landholders in the area enclosing commons and fencing out their old tenants and farmhands, many people were anxious and insecure. Georgiana had spoken to her brother of the fears of her maid—whose parents and grand parents had lived and worked on the estate for generations. Even Mrs Reynolds, whose husband had been his father’s manservant, was concerned. Her son, who was a gamekeeper, had hoped to take up the tenancy of a vacant farm, with a cottage and pigpen. His wife, a local girl from the little village of Trantford below Matlock, had already seen her parents ousted from their small holding, when the new absentee landlords sent the bailiffs in to enclose their fields and prepare them for pasture.
Darcy wished to rea
ssure them that they should not have any fears of such developments on the Pemberley Estate. Talking to his chief steward and the men who worked to run the estate, Darcy gave an assurance. “There will be no compulsory enclosures at Pemberley. We have plenty of land here, some of which is lying fallow and not fully used. Should we wish to increase our flocks or extend our cultivation, we can do so without enclosing the commons, woodlands, and meadows. And every family on the estate will have access to the river.” Turning to his Steward, he said, “I want to get that message to all our people; they will not lose their cottages or their farms. Miss Darcy, Mrs Darcy, and I are the only persons concerned. The estate is not encumbered in any way, and no one else can influence the way Pemberley is managed. What we do and who lives on our estate, under what conditions, is our business entirely. I can assure all of you that we have no intention of undertaking any enterprise that will cost any of you your homes or your livelihood. Everyone is free to continue working and living here, unless they wish to leave, voluntarily.”
If the Steward and his men were at all surprised by the vehemence of the Master’s words, they certainly did not show it. The Steward’s confidence and loyalty were demonstrated by the way in which he appeared almost to take Mr Darcy’s words for granted, as if he had never doubted his intentions. Four generations of his forebears had served Darcy’s family, and they had always trusted each other. The other men, mostly tenant farmers, did look relieved and expressed their appreciation to Darcy as they filed out. It was heartening to have good news to take home to their families. On the following day, they would gather their labourers and farmhands together and tell them too.
As Darcy walked back to the house, the sun was setting, casting lovely, long, indigo shadows across the park. Elizabeth and Georgiana came out to meet him. “We thought we might have tea out here,” said Elizabeth, “it’s such a beautiful afternoon.”
“What a good idea,” he said, drawing both of them to his side. “You look tired,” Elizabeth observed, and his sister agreed he looked weary. Darcy explained, “I’ve been speaking to the men. They’ve been worried by all the talk of enclosures in the neighbourhood. There are moves afoot to enforce the law and deprive tenants of their rights to use the woods and commons. I hope I have set their minds at rest.”
As they reached the lawn where the table was laid for tea under a graceful, spreading elm, Mrs Reynolds came towards them. She had just been speaking with her son, who had told her of Mr Darcy’s assurances to the men. There was gratitude in her eyes, as she grasped his hands and thanked him. Unembarrassed, touched, and pleased to have achieved what he had set out to do, at least in her case, Darcy repeated his reassurance that no one would be thrown out of their cottage or farm on the estate.
“You did not need me to tell you, Mrs Reynolds, you should have known I would never countenance such a thing.”
“I did indeed, Mr Darcy, but my son was most anxious,” she explained and thanking him once more, left to fetch the tea tray.
It was an index of her affection that she would often personally carry out a service for the Master, which would usually be the task of a maid or footman. With Georgiana and Darcy and now, increasingly, with Elizabeth, she did not stand on ceremony. Darcy spoke passionately. “It is unforgivable that men and women who have worked the land and served us for generations should be so bewildered and fearful, because of laws made to accommodate the greed of others,” he said, “Laws are meant to make the lives of citizens better, not worse.”
As he explained the gist of his message to the tenants and farm workers of Pemberley, both women listened eagerly, conscious of their perceptions of him in his role as the Master of Pemberley. To Elizabeth, here was more proof of the astonishing generosity of her husband, a character trait she had not expected to find in him when she had first made his acquaintance, but one for which she and her family had every reason to be grateful. To Georgiana, it was her brother being himself; she had never known him to be otherwise.
When they had finished their tea, Georgiana asked to be excused. She was expected at the church for choir practice. Kitty had gone ahead. “It’s a special programme for Rosamund’s wedding,” she explained.
“When can we come and listen?” asked Elizabeth.
“Oh! Not just yet,” she said as she disappeared indoors, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth alone, in the luminous twilight. They sat in silence awhile, enjoying the quiet evening. A flock of starlings flew over the house, wheeled around, and flew out towards the woods, with the rays of the dying sun gilding their wings. Reluctantly, they agreed that it was time to be going indoors.
The following week, Mr Darcy received from Sir Edmond Camden an invitation to attend a meeting of landlords in the neighbourhood. Since it was summer, he had decided to ride over to Rushmore Farm with his Steward and a groom. Aware of the controversy surrounding some of the enclosures that had followed the passage of the Enclosure Laws by the Parliament, Darcy had been prepared for an argument with some of his neighbours but not for the level of anger he encountered. Like Sir Edmond, Darcy was unwilling to enclose common and woodland for agriculture, to the detriment of tenants and farmworkers, who had lived and worked on his family estates for generations.
Since childhood, their families had impressed upon them the sense of responsibility that must accompany the ownership of land. The relationship, though paternalistic, was one of mutual obligation and in many cases engendered respect for each other. It was something that had been conspicuously absent in France. No one who had seen the forces unleashed in the terrible conflict of the French Revolution could ever forget.
For Darcy, who had been at College while the revolution erupted and tore France apart, the bloodstained hands had seemed to belong to men on both sides. Though it was not in his nature to be fired by revolutionary causes, he could not help seeing that the exploitation of peasants and labourers had led directly to the overthrow of the French regime and the Terror that followed. At that time, when life had been cheap in France, it had been easy to feel morally and socially secure as an Englishman. But, the onset of the agrarian revolution in England had brought deprivation to a large number of small holders and peasants and the enrichment of a privileged group of rich landlords who had a stranglehold on the Parliament.
Those like Dr Grantley and William Camden, Rosamund’s young brother, had shared his concern, but neither had been placed as Darcy had been on the death of his father, in a position to do something about it. Many others, sons of English landlords across the country, seemed not to notice the evil consequences of the enforced, arbitrary processes of enclosure upon the people they displaced. They spoke glibly of “improvements” or “the price of progress,” unconcerned that for the farm labourer these “improvements” had taken away their open fields, their commons, woods, pastures, and in many cases their cottages, which had been passed down from one generation to the next.
The “dandies” and “swells,” as they came to be called, spent hardly any time getting their shoes, much less their hands, dirty with English soil. Most of them left the management of their properties to bailiffs and stewards, at whose mercy were the now-landless rural poor, while they spent their time in the assemblies of London and the country mansions of their peers. For two or three years, Darcy had ignored the way landlords around the country had used their political power to strip the peasants of basic rights, while they enriched themselves. His family had never needed to exploit their tenants and instead had encouraged and received a high level of personal loyalty. Now, some ten years after the first Enclosure Bills, there was pressure being applied to those among the landed gentry who did not conform.
At the meeting hosted by the Camdens, there was a new group of landowners—lately rich and prosperous—bemoaning the sudden reversal of their fortunes, after the war. The demobilisation of the armies and the crashing grain prices caused by markets flooded with wheat from the very fields they had enclosed and made more productive were causing a rural depression such
as England had not seen in living memory.
The new rich, who had little knowledge of the ebb and flow of fortunes in farming, were impatient of the slump in corn prices and the declining value of farms, which they had purchased, hoping to make a fortune. They demanded to know why some landlords were not using the new Enclosure Laws, which Parliament had passed to enable them to maximise their profits and minimise their losses.
Several rather trashily dressed young men asked questions of Sir Edmond Camden, implying that he and some other older landlords were dragging their feet and not supporting the efforts of the newcomers to make the best of their land holdings. One of them, a haughty looking, overdressed man carrying a heavy riding crop, called out across the room. “Darcy, I believe your people are preparing for the harvest.” Mr Darcy, to whom he had not been introduced, looked across at him but said nothing. “Well, are they?” he persisted, “And do you intend to let them proceed to feast and get drunk and dance at your expense as well?” Darcy muttered something about that being his own business. William Camden, standing beside him, ventured an answer, “Harvest Home has been a tradition here for centuries. It is about as important as Christmas,” he said.
“Not on my land it isn’t,” said the original speaker, raising his voice so all may hear him, “and if you let ’em carry it on, you’re a damned fool!” Darcy bridled, visibly angry, but said nothing. Another man, standing next to William, added, “Look, it only encourages them to drink, and then the others will be demanding it too. I certainly have no intention of throwing away my good money on feasting and drunken revelry.”
The Pemberley Chronicles Page 11