Caroline continued, from Fitzwilliam’s letter:
I cannot get a sane word out of anyone in the Parliament on the subject of reform either. The Romantics of the last decade—Sir Walter Scott, Coleridge, Southey, and would you believe, my dearest Caroline—your favourite Wordsworth—have all turned into ardent Tories and are demanding more repression and harsher penalties for the poor if they dare to question their masters. Wordsworth has even called for a police force to curb the people and laws to control the press.
There was at this point a yelp as if she had been bitten, and Caroline cried out, “I shall never again read another novel by Scott or a poem by William Wordsworth.” Everyone laughed; surely that was one promise she could not keep, they said, but Caroline was quite determined. “How could they want more repression of the people, and why would a poet like Wordsworth call for control of the press? It would be a betrayal of everything he believed in.” Impressed by her passion, Elizabeth ventured an opinion, “Dear Caroline, many a youthful romantic has turned into a boring conservative with age. Wordsworth is no different to many others.”
“Well I shall not,” said Caroline, in a spirited voice, “And if a poet cannot speak for the people, what chance have the rest of us?” Then turning to Mr Darcy, she asked, “Mr Darcy, do you intend to turn into a boring old conservative, too?” Her mother gasped, but Darcy laughed and proceeded to answer her quite seriously, “Caroline, I am conservative, by nature, I prefer to preserve the best features of our society, and I value our traditions, but that does not mean I support injustice and repression. I am uncomfortable with this government, which supports the demands of the privileged and represses the poor. I do not accept that age or birth has anything to do with it; it is a question of having a sense of responsibility for your fellow men. I have always believed, as my father and grandfather did, that those of us who are fortunate in life must play our part in helping those who are not. I don’t mean just doing charitable deeds and giving to the poor—all of us do that. I mean taking responsibility to contribute materially to the improvement of their lives, because it also improves the community in which we all live.”
“Do you mean by that, Mr Darcy, building schools, libraries, and hospitals?” asked Mrs Gardiner, whose interest in the subject had increased with her own involvement in the Kympton Parish School. Darcy nodded his agreement, “Indeed I do, Mrs Gardiner, but not just building them; helping to keep them going, supporting the people who do the work, because healthy, educated people are going to be happier to live and work with than sick, ignorant folk, and that must benefit all of us as a community.” Caroline gave a little cheer.
“Does Colonel Fitzwilliam know your mind on this?” she asked eagerly. “Yes he does, and he agrees with me,” said Darcy. Elizabeth looked across at her father. He was watching Darcy with interest and delight. He had never suspected this side of his reserved son-in-law’s nature, even as he had come to know him better and found him more amiable, as Elizabeth had promised he would.
Later he would confide in Elizabeth his immense pleasure at finding Darcy expressing such noble sentiments. This was surely the man she had learnt to love. “I know now why you were prepared to defend him so passionately, when I expressed some disquiet. He has certainly shewn he is a man of compassion and principle, Lizzie, one after your own heart, eh?” Her pride and satisfaction at hearing her husband’s words had been boundless. Having her father acknowledge his generous nature was especially pleasing. It was a side of Darcy’s character she had known for many years. It had given her much happiness; it was just very satisfying to know that others in her family acknowledged it, too.
The sound of a carriage drawing up heralded the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam, somewhat earlier than expected. He was made very welcome, by everyone and particularly Caroline. The bliss of the lovers, who had been apart for almost an entire week, was clear to be seen. They were left undisturbed in the sitting room for a while, before Mrs Gardiner went to remind them that dinner was served.
There was much news to hear and a great deal to talk about during and after dinner, but for Caroline and Fitzwilliam—nothing was more urgent or important than the joy of being together again. But equally, they were also deeply committed to the social and political goals they had set themselves, and their energy enthused others around them. Darcy had agreed to assist with the initial funds for their school at Kympton, and the Parish Council, of which Mrs Tate was a member, was making a hall available to them. The parents of the children who were going to be the first pupils at the school worked hard to complete the repair and refurbishment of the school house. Caroline, who had already obtained a promise of books from Georgiana, was delighted when Mr Bennet offered to contribute a number of items from his own library. “We shall soon have an excellent collection,” she boasted, as her infectious enthusiasm drew everyone around her into helping with her project.
Some days later, as she watched her daughter set off on an errand of mercy, to take food and clothing for a family in the village whose father was out of work, Mrs Gardiner wrote to her niece, telling her of Caroline’s work for the school and the children of the area:
Dearest Jane,
I do not have all the words to express what I feel about my dear daughter. Just seeing her so content and so full of plans makes me the happiest mother in the world. Colonel Fitzwilliam has become a member of our family to the greatest extent possible, so that we shall truly feel that when our Caroline is married, we are gaining another son, not losing a daughter. Jane, dearest, what pleases me most is their generosity. At a time when almost everyone is busy pursuing their own selfish pleasures and ambitions or chasing more and more money, Fitzwilliam and Caroline seem determined to help as many people as they can. Nothing is too much trouble, if a poor family or a sick child can be comforted. Your uncle and I help them in every way, happy to encourage this wonderful spirit of charity and kindness. Today, they are off collecting to help buy the slates and chalk and other things they need to start next month—when Elizabeth will open the school at Kympton, the first for infants in this village. It will be such an important day for the people of the village; I cannot tell you how happy we are that our little girl is doing so much to help the children.
Mr Darcy and Elizabeth are her greatest supporters, with several donations in cash and kind from Pemberley towards the fund for the school. I give thanks every day for the happy circumstance that took us to Pemberley that summer and brought Elizabeth and Mr Darcy together; they are so perfect a couple, I cannot believe that either would have been happy with any other partner.
Your uncle and I are well. We hope you and Mr Bingley will be able to come down to participate in our little function, next month. With Colonel Fitzwilliam standing for Parliament, we expect the newspapers will take an interest. The Review has had two items already.
Do give our love to Bingley and the children; I trust they are all well. God bless you all, my dear,
Your loving Aunt, etc.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tides of change
T
HE YEARS BETWEEN THE Coronation of King George IV in the summer of 1821 and his unlamented death in 1830 were filled with opportunities for change, which many European nations grasped and
Britain, through an excess of inertia and a lack of leadership, missed. As nations large and small in Europe moved restlessly under the yoke of old style conservatism, struggling to change first one system and then another, in England the populace watched with increasing revulsion the absurd antics of the Georgian Court and the Parliament, which seemed to leave them stranded, as the tides of change receded.
The government appeared to lurch from one crisis to another, with no sign of a steady hand on the wheel of the ship of state. The high Tory faction that dominated the government had set their faces firmly against reform, reacting to even the mildest demand for change with repressive measures like the infamous “Six Acts.” Meanwhile, the Whigs and other Reformists like Cobbett and H
unt struggled to be heard above the noise emanating from the Court, where the best efforts of all the King’s men were concentrated upon his determination to rid himself of his unwanted Queen.
And all this while, more and more “gentleman farmers” were enclosing and enlarging their manors, with little thought for the families they had displaced. In the big cities of London, Liverpool, Birmingham and Manchester, the working poor were housed in monotonous, grimy tenements, while the unemployed and sick begged or stole to survive on the streets. Across the nation, contradictions brought out the agitators and Reformers. Improvements in trade and transport brought prosperity to a new middle class in the cities, but half a day’s journey away, across the green meadows and hillsides stained black with slag heaps and scour, there was deepening despair.
Amidst this national pall of unease and gloom, like a burst of summer sunshine on a bleak North Country morning, Caroline Gardiner and Colonel Fitzwilliam were married, in one of the happiest occasions the district had seen in many years. Caroline made a beautiful bride in a gown of the best French lace and silk her father could buy, and the Colonel in his uniform cut a very fine figure indeed. Caroline had warned all members of her family that they were not to weep. “This is my wedding day, and you are all to be as happy as I am,” she had declared, “no one is allowed to spoil it with tears.” Which was all very well, until it was time for the happy couple to leave, when Caroline embraced her mother and father and burst into tears. Young Emily, who had been her bridesmaid, followed suit, and soon a number of cousins and aunts were reaching for their handkerchiefs.
Caroline had grown from a rather pert and self-possessed little girl into a graceful and lovely young woman, with the intelligence and poise that a woman in her twenties might well envy. A credit to her parents, whose encouragement had played a big part in her development, she had also been advantaged by the very open, liberal environment of their home, where the children had always been encouraged to participate in family discussions and meet adult visitors, whenever it was appropriate.
She, like her brothers and sisters, had a pleasing sense of decorum quite beyond her years, which had been apparent in her model behaviour during the period of her romance and engagement to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Yet, they were so sincerely and openly devoted to one another, as to cause their friends to remark that neither would have been happy with any one else. Their long engagement, which had caused comment in some quarters, had only served to enhance and deepen their very genuine love. When they drove away, in an open landau, with most of the village wishing them well, no one could have doubted they were witnessing the start of a happy marriage.
Even Mrs Bennett, who had been heard to remark, on an earlier occasion, that she did not approve of big differences in age and long engagements for couples— even she was seen to dab her eyes and blow her nose as she wished the pair a long and happy marriage. She then proceeded to congratulate her brother and his wife on their daughter’s excellent match. “Caroline has done very well, Brother,” she said, as they moved indoors, “the dear Colonel used not to be such a good catch, being only a younger son. I recall at the time of Jane and Lizzie’s weddings, saying to my sister Mrs Philips, that it was a great pity he had no fortune, for he was such a well-mannered and charming young man and could have married anyone he wanted. But, dear Lord, he certainly has done well for himself after his stint in the colonies,” she said, somewhat carried away by her enthusiasm.
Mrs Gardiner, now her son-in-law’s greatest supporter, spoke up. “Colonel Fitzwilliam’s fortune is not merely the result of a stint in the colonies, Sister, he has worked very hard to invest his money wisely, and, as Mr Gardiner will agree I am sure, he is a most valuable and active partner in his business.” Mr Gardiner, realising that his wife’s sensitivities had been upset by his sister’s usual tactlessness, intervened to wholeheartedly defend Fitzwilliam. Mrs Gardiner added pointedly, “Of course it is satisfying to know that he is very comfortably situated now, but, Sister, I am sure you would agree that our greatest comfort must come from knowing that Colonel Fitzwilliam is a perfectly honourable and trustworthy gentleman, whose devotion to Caroline is unquestioned. Indeed, no sooner were they engaged than he proceeded to endow Caroline with considerable assets; despite the protestations of her father, he would not be deterred. We cannot think of anyone else we know to whom we would so gladly entrust our daughter’s happiness.”
Mrs Bennett appeared to open her mouth and then shut it again, quickly. It seemed she had thought better of making any further comment. Elizabeth and Jane, who had come into the room in time to hear the tail end of the conversation, could only shake their heads and sigh with relief that their husbands, who were still outdoors, had been spared their mother’s opinions. “Oh Lizzie, I do wish Mama would not upset Aunt Gardiner,” said Jane, taking her sister aside, “She is going to miss Caroline and can do without further aggravation.” Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, “You know what Mama is like. Nothing will stop her from saying whatever comes into her head.” Jane had resolved to take Mrs Bennet away with her, when they returned home.
“I have already asked Bingley and he has no objection; I shall go and ask Papa. I know Mama had intended to stay with my aunt and uncle, but I do not believe it is fair. I have already stopped her asking Uncle Gardiner whether Lady Catherine had been against the marriage and had stayed away to show her displeasure. I was happy to be able to assure her that Lady Catherine was unable to attend because she was ill.”
“In fact,” said Elizabeth, “Lady Catherine has met Caroline, and I am assured by Fitzwilliam, his aunt is very taken with her and has invited them to Rosings for Christmas together with James and Rosamund.” Jane expressed great surprise.
“Lizzie, you are not serious?”
“Indeed I am. Lady Catherine has probably realised that Fitzwilliam, being the youngest son of her cousin, is extremely fortunate to marry such a beautiful, accomplished, and charming young woman, who is also likely to be very wellendowed. For while, I am told, Fitzwilliam has asked for no marriage settlement, our uncle will insist on arranging for Caroline to have a very reasonable income of her own.” Jane promised she would tell her mother as soon as she had an opportunity to do so.
“If only Mama would stop talking, for just a little while,” she sighed.
Elizabeth agreed, “She will not cease asking questions and making predictions—it will drive Aunt Gardiner insane.” Jane nodded and went in search of her father to make arrangements for their journey. Left alone in the room, Elizabeth experienced a mixture of pleasure and guilt. She was undeniably pleased not to have her mother to stay at Pemberley, even if it was for one night, especially because they were playing host to the Hursts and Miss Bingley, who were returning to Bath on the following day. The prospect of her mother’s meeting the Bingley women and spending an entire evening with them was more mortifying than Elizabeth could bear. Yet, she felt guilty that she had allowed Jane to do what was clearly the right and proper thing, in relieving her aunt and uncle and having Mrs Bennet to stay at Ashford Park, instead. That Jane did not appear to feel any degree of strain herself, was a tribute to the stability and equanimity of her sister’s nature and the exceedingly tolerant attitude of her husband.
Mr Darcy came in search of his wife and found her looking anxious and uncertain, which was very unlike herself. He inquired and was told, with a sigh, that Elizabeth was wishing she had the same steady, unruffled calmness of her sister Jane. To which her husband replied that, while he thought Jane was one of the most beautiful women he had met and he agreed she had the most steady and gentle disposition, it was she, Elizabeth, with all her faults, who had bewitched him from their very first meeting, and since they were married, he did not think it was fair that she should want to change her nature now. Even though she knew he was teasing her, this ingenious argument so enchanted Elizabeth that, without warning, she warmly embraced him, unaware until she heard their laughter that three of the children had run into the ro
om and were looking on with interest. Darcy laughed too, and said, “Let us go and find Mr and Mrs Gardiner, dearest. When I came in search of you, it was to tell you that they are to dine with us at Pemberley tonight.” Seeing her surprised expression, he added, “I thought and I am sure you would agree, my dear, that you would appreciate their company and since they would be missing Caroline, it would be a good idea to invite them to join us.”
“Darcy, it is a wonderful idea! At this moment, I cannot think of anything I should like better.” So delighted was Elizabeth that it was only the arrival of several other guests that saved Darcy from another public demonstration of her affection and gratitude, but her smile said it all. There was nothing she preferred to having her favourite aunt and uncle at her side, while entertaining Miss Bingley and the Hursts at Pemberley that evening. The respect and affection Mr Darcy always showed them would be, she felt, a salutary demonstration to their guests. That Darcy could have thought of her and of the Gardiners and arranged to please them all so well only reinforced her love and admiration for him. It was the kind of thoughtful gesture, he would freely admit, would not have occurred to him before he met and married her. Now he knew how much it meant to her, he was doubly pleased with his efforts. It would transform the entire evening from a dull and dutiful one into a pleasure for both of them.
The evening proceeded in an entirely predictable fashion, with the Hursts paying much more attention to Mr Darcy than to Elizabeth, and Caroline Bingley’s asking so many questions about Pemberley that one would have been forgiven for thinking she had a personal stake in the property. Indeed, so bewildered was Mr Hurst by the extent of Caroline’s interest that he fell asleep and snored rather loudly. Fortuitously, the timely interruption enabled Mrs Gardiner to change the conversation and ask Miss Bingley how she liked living in Bath. “Very well,” she replied, with a rather false brightness, “Oh, I like it very well indeed. One gets to meet so many people of real quality, and there is always something worthwhile one can attend.” Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, who did not appear to be listening, being intent on pouring out some wine. She was, therefore, very surprised when he responded to Miss Bingley’s question, addressed, as it was, to Mrs Gardiner.
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