After the initial surprise of Darcy’s approach, Fitzwilliam had conceded that Elizabeth, as Caroline’s cousin and confidante, was entitled to ask what his intentions were towards her. He appreciated that her age and innocence made her vulnerable, though he had immediately asserted that she was in no danger from him. Darcy found it difficult to express Fitzwilliam’s concern, except to say that he had not sought such an assurance from him; he was confident of his cousin’s honourable conduct.
Fitzwilliam had confided that since last Christmas, he had found himself falling in love with Miss Gardiner. Afraid at first to even admit it to himself, he had feared he would offend her parents, for he recognised that they regarded her as a child—as did everyone else. Jane and Elizabeth exchanged knowing glances as Darcy told of Fitzwilliam’s unhappy and largely unsuccessful efforts to suppress his feelings. To make matters considerably worse, he began to suspect that Caroline reciprocated his undeclared feelings; it was apparent on every occasion, every time they met, each time they sang or danced together; all their conversations seemed to make it increasingly obvious, though neither spoke openly of their feelings.
Soon it was clear that it would not be possible to keep it from Mr and Mrs Gardiner. While he feared their disapproval, he had felt a strong sense of duty to be open with them. Fitzwilliam then determined to lay his cards on the table, whatever the consequences. While Caroline was at Pemberley after Georgiana’s wedding, he visited the Gardiners and opened his heart to them. Darcy went on, “He says he promised he would do or say nothing without their permission, assuring them that in all things concerning their daughter he would be guided by them. He asked for no marriage settlement, promising rather to settle a part of his own fortune upon her, as soon as they were engaged. He promised also not to press for a marriage date until after her sixteenth birthday. He told me, as he had told them, that he had never loved any other woman as deeply and with such pure affection and begged to be allowed to speak to her, if only to declare his feelings.”
By this time, Jane had become quite tearful and held tight to her husband’s hand. Elizabeth asked, “What did they say?”
Darcy looked solemn. “They were understandably cautious, because she is so young, and wanted some time to think about it. Meanwhile he has promised not to speak of it to Caroline.”
“Oh poor Caroline,” said Jane, her voice almost breaking, “and poor, poor Colonel Fitzwilliam, how terrible he must feel.” Darcy added that it seemed to him his cousin was relieved that he had been able to confide in him. He had lived with his secret for too long.
Elizabeth broke the silence. “Were my aunt and uncle surprised at his approach?”
Darcy shook his head. “Not entirely. I gather they had had some intimation of the situation. We are not always as successful at hiding our feelings as we may think, Lizzie. I believe, from what Fitzwilliam tells me, that in spite of their reservations, which are entirely on account of their daughter’s very tender age, they have assured him of their regard and affection for him. They appreciate very much the discretion he has shown in his behaviour and the honesty and openness of his approach to them. He is convinced that they would make no objection were it not for her extreme youth. They worry about letting her become engaged so young.” Jane, despite her tender feelings, was reasonableness itself.
“Surely, there can be no other objection. I cannot see how my aunt and uncle would object to the match, especially as they truly love each other.” Darcy replied that he could certainly vouch for Fitzwilliam.
“I have known him all my life; he is undoubtedly very much in love. Every aspect of his behaviour in this matter confirms it.” Bingley intervened to say how much he respected and liked Fitzwilliam.
“An absolutely honourable fellow, a perfect gentleman,” he said. Darcy smiled, modestly acknowledging the praise heaped upon his cousin, pointing out that there had always been a very good relationship between Fitzwilliam and the entire Gardiner family, with whom he had corresponded regularly for three years while he was away in the East. He was now, in addition, a valued partner in Mr Gardiner’s company. Should they be permitted to marry, Darcy said, he felt they would have an excellent foundation for a successful and happy marriage. Elizabeth spoke again. “How soon does Fitzwilliam expect to receive an answer?”
“He is to call on Mr and Mrs Gardiner on Sunday. Lizzie, I have taken the liberty of saying that we will be delighted to invite Misses Caroline and Emily over to Pemberley. We shall have to send a note to Mrs Gardiner tomorrow.”
Elizabeth assured him she could find an excuse for an invitation, quite easily, and then asked, almost in jest, “And what of this nonsense about Fitzwilliam joining the Radicals?”
“He did say he had volunteered to assist with the petitions. As you know, he feels very strongly about the lack of leadership from the Parliament, and the petitions are demanding reform. Fitzwilliam has agreed to help with mustering support. I cannot see any danger in that.” Darcy laughed and added, “As for being involved in anything more perilous, you can set Caroline’s heart at rest on that score; he has no intention of putting his life in any danger. He has much pleasanter plans in mind for the future.”
On the long drive back to Pemberley, through the woods that were now dark and silent, Darcy was quite clearly tired, and Elizabeth decided not to return to the subject. He was, for the most part, thoughtful, saying little. She was surprised, when he took her hand and asked in a low voice, so as not to be overheard by the coachman, “Elizabeth, are you pleased with me?”
“Pleased with you, do you mean generally?” she teased, and then, seeing his disappointed expression, she relented and assured him of her complete approval. “I cannot believe that it would have been easy to ask Fitzwilliam all those questions without offending him, yet you’ve done so well. Of course I am pleased with you, my love. I cannot tell you how glad I am to know that my aunt and uncle are aware of and able to deal with the situation.”
“And to deal with it so well, as Fitzwilliam tells it,” said Darcy. “For my part, I was concerned to know that my cousin was doing the right thing. I have only the greatest respect and affection for your aunt and uncle and their children. Caroline is especially dear to you, and I was unwilling to leave the situation as it was, without satisfying myself that all was well.”
“And do you think all will be well, in the end?” she asked, anxiously. He nodded, “I certainly hope and pray it will,” he said, putting an arm around her and drawing her close. And to that prayer, Elizabeth could only say “Amen.”
J
Emily and Caroline arrived early on Sunday, looking forward to being back at Pemberley. Emily promptly retired to the gallery. When she grew tired of reading, she liked nothing more than to go out into the long gallery and gaze at the paintings, especially the fabulous Italian collection that was housed in a special place where the light would show the paintings to advantage.
For Caroline, the treasures of Pemberley lay, not in the furniture and accessories, but in the people. She loved hearing the stories of the men and women who had lived there from anyone who had time to tell them. Mrs Reynolds enjoyed telling her stories of three generations of the Darcy family she had known. Fitzwilliam had been amused by her interest, but Darcy encouraged it, happy that some member of the younger generation was interested in the past. He told her all about the eccentric Darcy ancestors, those about whom Mrs Reynolds did not know much or was tactfully silent.
After a very pleasant day, during which both girls had enjoyed being spoilt, they had dressed for dinner and were about to go downstairs, when Elizabeth’s maid Jenny hurried upstairs to say that Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived and was waiting in the sitting room. Darcy went down to him, while Elizabeth had to prepare Caroline for the encounter. She had already reassured her about his intention to help with Mr Cobbett’s petition, but now she had to reveal that he had been to see her parents.
Caroline was aghast. She could not have known that there had already been an
approach made and so trembled at the thought that their disapproval may mean the end of her dream. “Oh Lizzie, what do you think he has said? Would Mama have been very angry?” she asked, fearful of what may lie in store.
Elizabeth reassured her, “You need have no fears of your Mama; she is the kindest, wisest person I know. Now, come along with me, we must not seem to be dawdling for no good reason.”
They went downstairs, and as they reached the door of the sitting room, Darcy appeared and said, “Elizabeth, Caroline, there you are. Fitzwilliam is waiting for you.” He said no more, but Elizabeth thought he looked pleased and took that to be a good sign. Caroline almost ran away but, taking her cousin’s hand to give her confidence, composed herself quite creditably, before entering the room.
Fitzwilliam was standing at the window, looking out over the West lawn. He turned and smiled, and Elizabeth knew then there would be no heartbreak for young Caroline. Having greeted both of them, he begged her pardon and asked to have a word to Elizabeth. After they had spoken, he returned to Caroline, who was sitting by the fire, and held out both hands to her. Elizabeth left the room, indicating she would be close at hand, if they needed her. She had no desire to intrude upon the moment of joy she knew would follow.
When she returned with Darcy later, they were still holding hands, sitting together on the couch by the window. They appeared to say very little, but there was no doubting their happiness. Caroline embraced Mr Darcy, kissed Elizabeth, and ran upstairs. When she was finally ready to return, she became rather shy but soon overcame it. Each time she seemed to demonstrate more maturity and common sense. The decorum that they displayed in their behaviour in company spoke volumes for the sensitivity and good sense of both.
Fitzwilliam stayed to dinner and, when he was leaving, said rather grandly, “I have an invitation for Mr and Mrs Darcy from Mr and Mrs Gardiner, to dine at Oakleigh on Wednesday. I shall call tomorrow morning after breakfast, to take Caroline and Emily home to Oakleigh; I know Caroline is longing to see her parents.” Caroline, transformed by happiness, smiled and glowed, but said nothing. Only when she put her arms about Elizabeth and hugged her close, did she speak, “I shall never ever forget your kindness, dearest Lizzie, and Mr Darcy’s,” she whispered, as they parted for the night.
Elizabeth and Darcy could only look on indulgently. Having known the pain and frustration of separation in love themselves, they wished their cousins every happiness. They agreed, however, that they could wish them only as much joy as they had together, refusing to be dislodged from their position as the happiest couple in the world, by anyone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
To build Jerusalem
M
OMENTOUS AND FAR-REACHING changes were sweeping across England throughout 1819 and 1820, spilling inevitably into the lives of the people whose stories are recorded in these chronicles.
Pemberley and its neighbouring estates lay at the very heart of the English counties where most of the changes were taking place. It was impossible for any family living there not to be affected by what was happening around them.
Throughout 1819, the shocking consequences of the depressed state of the nation’s rural economy were seen everywhere, with bankruptcies and evictions on all sides. Proud, hard-working men and women were being turned out from places where they had lived and worked for generations, onto the streets—their livelihoods destroyed, their homes and workshops seized by the bailiffs. Cold charity, offered in small servings, bred such resentment and bitterness as few had experienced before.
When, with their leaders demanding redress and reform, they massed, marched, and paraded, the government brought down repressive legislation, and the magistrates sent in the yeomanry. The worst incident took place in August of 1819—when some sixty thousand unarmed workers, massing in St. Peter’s Field at Manchester, were attacked by sabre-wielding troops on horseback, leaving eleven dead, hundreds wounded, and millions shocked by the savagery of the day’s events. In an ironic comment on the “Heroes of Waterloo,” this dreadful incident came to be called the “Peterloo Massacre.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam and two of his associates had travelled to Manchester but, fortuitously, were not at St. Peter’s Field. Caroline, now happily engaged to him, preparing for a wedding within the year, had begged for a promise that he would not go, and having given it, Fitzwilliam nobly resisted the temptation to attend, despite his overwhelming curiosity. His friends, however, obtained plenty of information from those who had been either participants or observers on the day. When the truth about the attack by the yeomanry began to come out from eyewitnesses returning to their villages, some of the newspapers, controlled as they were by the very men who had been responsible for the policies that had caused the violence, suppressed or ignored it. Not so, the Matlock Review, which was jointly owned by Sir Edmond Camden and his nephew Anthony Tate. The son of Sir Edmond’s sister, Anthony had inherited his share of the paper from his father. Since he was still a student at Cambridge, he left the running of the business to his mother and uncle. Sir Edmond’s sister, Therese, was, by force of her personal circumstances, a much more independent and liberal minded woman than many others of her time. She had married young, had two sons, and was widowed early in the war against Napoleon. Compelled to take on the responsibility for managing the family farm as well as raising her children, Mrs Tate had relied a great deal on the advice of her elder brother. Like him, she deplored the abandonment of the old tenant farmers and their exploitation by the new mill owners. She steadfastly refused to enclose the commons that lay adjacent to her farm, permitting her tenants to graze their sheep and fish or trap game in the woods, as they had done for generations. She used her influence with the editor of the Review to speak up for justice for the dispossessed, a stand that was not popular with several new landlords, though it had the support of men like Mr Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr Gardiner.
Using the information provided by Fitzwilliam and his friends as well as the eyewitness accounts of several farm labourers, mechanics, peasants, and unemployed mill workers, the Review gave the story plenty of publicity. Bloodcurdling tales were told—much to the chagrin of the magistrates who had ordered the attack, of panicking yeomen in their bright, “toy soldier” uniforms, slashing at unarmed people with their newly sharpened sabres. For days afterwards, crowds gathered in market places, homes, paddocks, and common lands—wherever they felt safe from further attack, to talk about the “Peterloo massacre.”
For the government, it was a disaster. The reverberations would go on for years. “No decent English heart could not but be ashamed that Englishmen had spilt the blood of other ordinary, hard-working English men and women, whose only crime was to demand a fair hearing and Parliamentary reform!” wrote the editor of the Review. There were calls from the local magistracy and conservative Tories for even harsher measures, but the majority of English people were horrified at the use of such force against unarmed peasants and workers and said so at meetings up and down the country. Fitzwilliam, attending a meeting of “concerned citizens,” predicted that the “Martyrs of St. Peter’s Field” had not died in vain and their deaths would change the Reform Movement forever.
Indeed, it appeared to have made Radicals out of several hitherto uncommitted middle class groups, who had heard the reasonable words of men like Bamford and Charles Greville. They warned that if England were not to go the bloody way of France, the rich and powerful had to heed the growing resentment of the poor and propertyless, who felt excluded from the heritage of their nation. Reform and change, they said, were not simply necessary; they were essential for England’s survival. Fitzwilliam, whose political ambitions were taking shape, campaigned wholeheartedly for the cause.
Change, albeit of a somewhat milder nature, was happening within the Pemberley families, too. Mr and Mrs Darcy were now the proud and loving parents of a son—William Charles, born a few weeks before Christmas, lightening the mood of a rather depressing year. For Darcy and Elizabeth,
it was the fulfilment of a wish they had not admitted to publicly. While there was not the pressure of an entail on Pemberley to require a male heir, there was the desire for a son to inherit his father’s role in the community. Elizabeth, who had always missed having a brother, had longed for a son. William was rather a small baby, but he was a gentle child and gave little trouble as an infant. Elizabeth, whose daughter Cassandra was a truly beautiful little girl, declared that if William grew up to fulfil his early promise, she would be perfectly content with her children.
Her friend, Charlotte Collins, had been delivered of a third daughter, Amelia Jane, much to the disappointment of her husband, who was seeking to make more secure his inheritance through entail of Longbourn, on the death of his cousin—Mr Bennet. That Mr Bennet appeared to enjoy excellent health at present did not seem to affect in any way the ambitions of Mr Collins.
Mrs Bennet, however, was inclined to gloat and would publicly declare that the Collins’ lack of male children was a form of divine punishment. Anyone in Meryton who would listen was regaled with the news that “poor Mrs Collins” had had another daughter, while all of her married daughters, except Kitty, who had, as yet, no children, had produced sons. The irony of her own state—of having five daughters and no sons, seemed to escape her completely. Moreover, Mrs Bennet, recently returned from Lydia’s third confinement in Newcastle, brought unhappy reports of friction and worry over Wickham’s wandering eye. She had little to do but entertain her friends and spread the gossip, with no thought for the sensibilities of her elder daughters or their husbands.
Jane, visiting Elizabeth for William’s christening, brought the unhappy news to Pemberley. She and Bingley had been godparents to Charlotte’s little daughter, who Jane declared to be “the loveliest little girl I have ever seen.” Visiting Longbourn on the return journey, she had received a full account from her mother of the news from Newcastle, and it had alarmed her. Waiting discreetly for a time when their husbands were out riding and the servants and nurses were out of earshot, Jane expressed her unease about their wayward sister and her unreliable husband.
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