The Pemberley Chronicles

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  life had been shattered, while Jane’s remained complete and secure, untouched,

  it seemed to her, by the harrowing sorrow she had suffered. Unreasonably,

  unfairly, she would contemplate the fact that all Jane’s children were safe and

  well, while William, her only son, was dead. Elizabeth made no excuses for her

  feelings; they left her heart sore and miserable as the inexplicable waste of his

  young life seared her with often unbearable pain.

  There were times, when they could all share happy memories, some more

  recent than others, but Elizabeth clung to those precious memories of William

  she shared with her husband. None was more tender than the week in the late

  Summer of 1833, when most of the family, including Cassy, had gone to

  London to bid farewell to Robert. Darcy, Elizabeth, and William had spent a

  near-idyllic week together, fishing, riding, walking in the woods, and picnicking

  at Dovedale and Brush Farm. During so many matchless days, a closeness had

  grown between them, untrammelled by the need to be available to anyone else.

  Darcy had considerately given Mr Clarke the tutor a week off—to visit his

  mother. Nothing had happened to spoil their time together. Elizabeth recalled

  an incident for Emily, “I can still hear his laughter as he helped me ford a stream

  in Dovedale, and then quite accidentally, he claimed, let me slip into the shallows, getting my feet and petticoats wet. Even Darcy joined in, enjoying my

  embarrassment, but then, seeing how uncomfortable I was, William was most

  contrite. He apologised, fussing over me, offering to dry my shoes. By the time

  we had reached the top of the stream, I was quite dry but kept up the pretence

  of discomfort. When he discovered this, he almost threw me in again!” She was

  laughing, at the memory, but suddenly there were tears in her eyes, and she grew

  silent. Emily put her arms around her cousin and held her close. “I know how you feel, dear Lizzie. There are times, after Paul has gone to

  bed, that I go round to Signora Cassini and talk to her about the good times,

  and when I weep as I almost always do, she holds me like this.” Reminded of

  her cousin’s continuing agony, Elizabeth was deeply sorry; she felt ashamed at

  having ignored Emily’s sorrow, while indulging her own. “I am sorry, Emily, I

  have been selfish, making you share my pain, when all the while, you carry the burden of your own. Tell me, how is Paul? Has the doctor given you hope?” Emily smiled and in a very quiet voice replied, “We are determined to have a very good Christmas this year, because the doctor does not expect Paul to see another.” Elizabeth was speechless that Emily, in the full knowledge that her husband was dying and every day away from him was a day lost from their life together, had stayed on at Pemberley to help her cope with the loss of William. She could not believe that such kindness was possible or indeed, that she deserved it. “My dearest Emily, you must return at once. I shall speak to Darcy directly. We cannot keep you here, while such a terrible possibility hangs over you both. Paul needs you,” she cried, ashamed not to have enquired sooner. Emily assured her that she had intended to leave at the end of the week but had delayed to mention it. She took from her pocket a letter she had received from Paul. He wrote that he was being well cared for. He sent his sincere sympathy and love and suggested that Darcy and Elizabeth spend some time in Italy this winter and “stay at the villa which overlooks the river—just a short walk from

  us. It is quiet and comfortable and has been vacant since the end of Summer.” “You could travel to Rome and Florence, there are many splendid places to

  visit, and it will be much warmer than England,” Emily added, encouragingly. Darcy and Elizabeth had discussed going away at Christmas. There

  would be no festive celebrations at Pemberley, this year. Italy was certainly

  worth considering. When she left, Emily pleaded with them to visit, not only

  promising a “quiet and loving Italian Christmas” but adding that it would

  make Paul very happy indeed to see them again. It was this last remark that

  fixed their decision to go.

  Two weeks later, when Richard and Cassy were dining with them, Elizabeth

  broached the subject. “We intend to visit Italy in December; Emily and Paul have

  suggested it. We shall take a villa close to where they live and hope to travel to

  Rome and Florence. Will you join us?” Richard, who had intended to go in

  November but had been unwilling to leave Cassandra at such a time as this, welcomed the suggestion. But Cassy, who had found that the loss of her brother had

  also isolated her from her parents, whose grief had often excluded her, seemed

  unsure. The deaths of William and Edward on the day of her engagement to

  Richard had shattered her happiness. Except for Richard, she had, for the most

  part, suffered alone. Darcy, sensing her reservation, intervened gently, “Cassy, I

  know we have neglected you. We have taken advantage of Richard’s kindness and let him share your sorrow, keeping Emily to ourselves. Perhaps, in that, we have been selfish, but dearest Cassy, William belonged to us all, and we must help each other bear his loss. Your Mama and I need you and Richard. Will you

  not join us?”

  She had been a little withdrawn, hurt at being left out of their grieving.

  Now, her father’s words, spoken so quietly and sincerely, reached right into her

  heart. Looking across at her mother, she saw the pain in her eyes and could do

  no less than embrace them both and promise, “Of course I shall. We shall both

  go with you; Richard knows that Paul is not likely to see another Christmas—

  Emmy told him so,” she said. Richard agreed.

  “We must go, we owe it to Paul and Emily, as well as to ourselves,” he said,

  pointing out that Emily had not spared herself when, on receiving news of the

  deaths of William and Edward, she had set out, with Paul’s blessing, for

  Pemberley, to help her family bear their sorrow. “Now, having bravely borne her

  own burden for nigh on a year, she needs us to help her carry it through

  Christmas, for Paul’s sake.” After he had spoken, no one had any doubt that

  they had to go.

  And so they did, leaving two weeks before Christmas, escaping the cold of

  England for Italy. For the very first time since Elizabeth had first visited

  Pemberley and then returned as a young bride, she left it without a backward

  glance. For years she had not been able to leave it without turning back to look

  at the house she had come to love, before they took the bend in the road, where

  it was lost from view. This time, she wanted only to get away from the place,

  which held so many memories of her lovely, gentle, lost son. Pemberley would

  never, ever be quite the same again.

  Reaching Italy, they were met by Emily and Paul, with great warmth and

  affection. Their Italian neighbours, a large, friendly family, lost no time in coming over and making them feel welcome.

  J

  The villa they had rented boasted a spectacular view, comfortable accommodation, and two live-in servants, who would keep them fed and cared for. Hospitable and caring, they wrapped their visitors in an atmosphere of warmth and comfort. Elizabeth was very glad they had come.

  Despite the attractions of the high art and culture of Rome, most of their first two weeks were spent with Emily and Paul. Finding Paul looking remarkably stronger than he had been in England, they had to force themselves to remember Richard’s warning of the intractability of this disease and Emily’s words to the
m at Pemberley.

  After Christmas, during which each had carried their own private grief, they decided to follow Paul’s advice and do some touring. While Darcy and Richard had both travelled previously in Europe, neither Elizabeth nor Cassandra had ever been outside of England. There was, therefore, a special pleasure in sharing the unique treasures of Italy with them. Winter was not popular with touring parties, and this afforded them easy access to many places which would have been too crowded in Summer. Returning from time to time to their villa, to stay in touch with Paul and Emily, they set out on short journeys and did some sightseeing, wandering at will, and lingering wherever they found something of particular interest.

  However, when she wrote to Jane, Elizabeth’s letter was filled, not so much with accounts of the grand monuments and ancient architecture of Rome, but with the peace and comfort they had enjoyed with Emily and Paul and the kindness of the generous Signora Cassini and her family.

  Believing her sister was owed some explanation, she wrote:

  My dearest Jane, if you wonder why it is I have not written at length about the divinely beautiful paintings of da Vinci and the frescoes of Raphael and Michelangelo, it is because I know these beautiful works of art have a longer lifespan than the human beings around us. I look at Paul, dying inevitably, while Emily uncomplainingly expends her life caring for him, and I think of our William and Caroline’s Edward—gone from us almost before there was time enough to know and love them—and I cannot become too excited about great art, which will surely outlive us all. However, everyone tells me Florence is not to be missed, so it is to Florence we go next week. I shall complete this letter while we are there and tell you all about its treasures.

  When the letter continued, however, it dealt, not with the fine art treasures of Florence, but with the unhappy news of a sudden and unexpected deterioration in Paul’s health.

  Since writing the above, dear Jane, we have spent a few days in Florence, which is so truly spectacular that I must contain my enthusiasm until we meet, for something has occurred that is taking up all of our time and attention.

  We returned from Florence to find Emily very concerned that Paul had developed a fever. His Italian doctor is puzzled, and Richard cannot understand it either. Paul had shown no signs of a patient in whom the disease has staged a resurgence. He seems fit and is in good spirits; Richard wants to call in a physician from Rome to obtain another opinion, but my dear Sister, I confess I am not very hopeful. Paul has a pallor which is very concerning. Emily’s constant hope is that he is cheerful and eats well. She believes these are good signs, that he is successfully fighting the disease. I wish I could agree with her, but it is difficult to do so, even though the patient himself remains uncomplaining and optimistic. Darcy agrees with me and has decided to extend our lease here for another month, so we can be here if Emily needs us. Which means, it will be March, at least, before we return home. I do look forward so much to seeing you again, my dearest Sister. Please forgive this short and unsatisfactory letter. I promise to make up for it when we return to England, when I shall stay awhile with you, before travelling to Pemberley. God bless you,

  Your loving sister,

  Lizzie.

  When it was time for Richard to return to England, to start work at the hospital in Derby, Elizabeth would not leave Emily, and Cassandra decided she would remain with her parents. It was as if they were afraid to leave for fear that they would never see Paul alive again. His unfailing appreciation of their presence and Emily’s loving care was almost too painful to bear. Some weeks later, as the first buds of Spring began to burst, making each dawn a new beginning, Paul Antoine died peacefully in his sleep. Emily had found him very early in the morning and called Signora Cassini, who sent her eldest boy up to the villa to give Darcy and Elizabeth the news.

  When they got down to the house, the Signora and Emily had already laid him out properly and sent for the priest, the doctor, and the undertaker, in that order. With a little help from her neighbours, where she needed help with the language, Emily made all the arrangements for the funeral and the disposition of Paul’s things afterwards.

  When, after the funeral, which only one of his sisters attended, the will was read, it was to Emily, his beloved wife, that he had left everything. A property in France, an orchard with a farmhouse, and a not inconsiderable sum of money were hers, with just one request—that she donate on their behalf sufficient money to Richard’s hospital at Littleford to build a facility for the care of young children, in memory of Edward and William. Now Emily understood why he had wanted so badly to have the lawyer from Anzio return last week for further instructions.

  Elizabeth, who felt she owed Emily her sanity, for her support at the time of William’s death, was immensely grateful to have the opportunity to be at her side. She felt she had much to learn from her cousin, as she noted the quiet calm that enveloped her as she went about her tasks, preparing for their departure, and said as much to Darcy and Cassandra. But, Darcy realised it was not a simple matter of learning. As he explained to Cassy, “The difference is one of acceptance, Cassy. Emily knew of Paul’s illness from the outset. She accepted it. Oh, I know, she may have hoped and prayed for a miracle, but Richard had told her the truth. When, she decided to marry him, she carried that acceptance into her marriage; she loved him and cared for him, but she knew it would not be for long; it was going to end, quite soon.”

  He tried not to sound as if he was preaching to her, but she was clearly interested enough to listen attentively. “With your Mama, it was different. When William was born, he was the son she had longed for. He was fit and healthy, and she had never contemplated his death at such an early age; he was the boy who was going to grow up and become her hero. What is worse, his sudden, violent, meaningless death makes it even harder for her to make sense of it. She cannot understand why it had to be his turn, that night.”

  “Does she still scream with rage at the unfairness of it?” Cassy asked, and her father nodded, “Yes, sometimes, when it gets too hard to bear and I can find no answers for her.” Darcy hoped that returning to England with Emily would help them all and especially Elizabeth to accept, however reluctantly, that William was gone. He recalled how she had raged against the unseen powers that had decreed that William and Edward had to die that night. Her question was always the same, “Why did it have to be William and Edward? Why not Tom Lindley, the reckless show-off, the one who had caused it to happen, by turning up with his wretched, skittish horses and taking them, like some medieval tempter, luring them away from an innocent family picnic to their deaths? What right does he have to be alive, while our gentle, innocent William and dear, little Edward are dead?” It was a question Darcy could not answer. Nor would he try with pointless platitudes to assuage her grief.

  Emily, by her selflessness, had shown them a different type of love, and her grief reflected this difference. Her example of courage and true generosity of spirit had been an inspiration to him. He fervently hoped that it would help Elizabeth, too. He knew there had developed a rare closeness between them and prayed for it to continue, for there was no doubt Emily’s singular strength could help raise Elizabeth from the mire of her grief. Cassandra surprised him by suggesting that the loss of William was all the more catastrophic because it meant Pemberley had lost its male heir. Darcy remonstrated, dismissing her concern, “It is not of any significance, Cassy; since the estate is not entailed, if we had no sons, you would inherit Pemberley, when your Mama and I are gone.” Cassandra was not convinced.

  “That is not how it is meant to be, Papa. In any event, I shall be Richard’s wife, with our own place to run. There has always been a Master of Pemberley. It will not be the same, and Mama knows it.” Darcy sighed and let the discussion lapse. It would be best to let things take their course, since they were returning to England with Emily, who may be staying on at Pemberley. She had spoken of taking up teaching at the school and working with the choir again. Richard would need someone to h
elp him with the hospital at Littleford, she had said, and she would offer her services if they needed any help at the school at Kympton. She pointed out that there were a great many things to do in the community, and she thought Caroline would appreciate some help, too. Emily seemed determined to devote her energies to doing everything she could possibly find.

  Darcy, understanding her desire to keep busy, wished with all his heart that Emily might draw Elizabeth back into the life of the community at Pemberley. His own inclination was to continue the work they had undertaken to improve the estate and build a community for all of the people in the district. In that aim, Elizabeth had been his greatest supporter, but now he feared she might retreat into her private grief, turning her back on Pemberley, rejecting it as the scene of her greatest sorrow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The dower of inward happiness

  O

  N RETURNING TO ENGLAND, Emily hastened to her parents at Lambton, while Elizabeth went, as she had promised, to Jane at Ashford Park. It had been several months since the two sisters had

  met. Their greeting was warm and affectionate, while tears filled their eyes as they embraced. With Bingley and Darcy in London on business, they looked forward to the time they would spend together.

  Before her visit to Italy, Elizabeth’s inability to control the bitter grief that kept welling up inside of her, each time she encountered the security of her sister’s family, had distressed them both. But Jane, far from being insensitive to her sister’s feelings, was careful not to add to her anguish. She strove to shield her from aggravation and pain. Overcoming her impatience to acquaint her sister with everything that had happened while she was away, Jane set aside trifling matters and related only significant news. Even this was done with discretion and care. Once Elizabeth became aware of these matters, however, she was quite determined to know everything. When Jane had hinted in a letter at Christmas that Emma was spending a great deal of time in London at the invitation of the Wilsons, a family with whom the Bingleys were well-acquainted, Elizabeth had assumed that Jane had been missing her daughter. The possibility of an imminent engagement had never occurred to her.