The Pemberley Chronicles

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  I have been, dearest Becky, a most fortunate creature, for it has been a privilege and a joy to have been in the circle of this family at Pemberley, entrusted with the confidences of these people whom I dearly love. Through my personal and intimate position at Pemberley, I was able to chronicle their lives and mine, as well as their joys and sorrows. The stories of the Pemberley Chronicles are theirs, not mine. I have not attempted to embroider and colour the facts. I have merely observed people and noted incidents as they happened. As you will see from my journals, which I have sent to you, together with the chronicles, I have made my observations, but I do not sit in judgement over those whose lives I have shared. All this and the rest of the material I have gathered together over many years, I am sending you for safe keeping. The reason is that I have decided, as the wife of the curate of Kympton, who may be privy to private material about the lives of many people, it would not be seemly that I continue these chronicles.

  The same constraint would not apply to you, since writing is your profession. So, if at some future date, you feel inclined to continue the labour of love I started, you must feel free to use any or all of my material. All I ask is that you remember that these are the stories of real people, whom I loved dearly, and that you tell them with a modicum of affection and understanding. I had hoped to place the manuscript of the completed chronicles in the family’s collection at Pemberley, and to this end I had obtained permission from Mr and Mrs Darcy. Since we spoke last Sunday, I have written to them, acquainting them with my intention of passing all this material on to you.

  Dearest Becky, I owe you a debt of gratitude for your help and friendship, especially in those terrible months after Paul’s death. I know we shall see a good deal more of each other once I am married to James Courtney and settled at Kympton, for there is much work to be done in our parish. But, dear Becky, then I shall no longer be “little Emily,” as I have been to many of you, but Mrs Courtney, the curate’s wife. There lies the difference. Thank you again and God bless you.

  Your loving friend,

  Emily

  Pemberley House. October 1840.

  348

  Postscript

  Emily Courtney, née Gardiner, formerly widow of Monsieur Paul Antoine, married the Reverend James Courtney, curate of Kympton, in 1840. She led a long and happy life, devoted to her husband and children—Elizabeth, William, and Jessica, all of whom grew up to be talented and distinguished members of the community.

  Her son William, a handsome gentleman if ever there was one, having shown an early love of music, became a celebrated organist and conductor. Elizabeth, her eldest daughter, married into a distinguished family, while young Jessica emulated her mother’s example in serving the poor and teaching at the school.

  Mrs Courtney was much loved throughout the parish for her charity work and community service and was honoured by the Queen for her work with the children of the poor.

  But, she never put pen to paper again. All the documents, letters, notes, diaries, and memoranda, as well as the opening Prologue to The Pemberley Chronicles and several half-finished drafts of chapters, were sent to Rebecca Collins, who remained her close friend and confidante. The material was subsequently bequeathed to her daughter, Josie, who in turn passed them on to me. They comprised a rich and fascinating memoir—too good to be locked away in an old chest forever. The generosity of the Pemberley families of Julian Darcy, Cassandra Gardiner, and their children has given me the opportunity to complete the work begun by Emily a generation or so ago, with their blessing.

  For the sake of continuity, I have used Rebecca’s maiden name as my nomde-plume, mainly because I feel that is how Emily and her beloved Pemberley family would have preferred it.

  For while they may have been somewhat uneasy with the thought of a stranger looking around their family home (now a national treasure), reading their letters, and trying to chronicle their lives, there would be fewer reservations with Becky Collins, the daughter of Charlotte, Lizzie’s closest friend.

  To Lizzie, Jane, Charlotte, Darcy, and all those other wonderful people whose stories inspired The Pemberley Chronicles, and to “dearest Jane,” their creator, my heartfelt thanks.

  RAC 350

  Appendix

  Readers will need no introduction to the cast of characters from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, some of whom I have borrowed for these Chronicles. There are, however, some newcomers, many from the next generation, who have been introduced into the Chronicles. Below is a list of those characters for the benefit of readers who may need an aide memoire:

  Cassandra Darcy and William Darcy – children of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley.

  Jonathan and Emma Bingley – eldest son and daughter of Charles and Jane Bingley.

  Caroline, Emily, Richard, and Robert Gardiner – children of Mr and Mrs Gardiner and cousins of Jane and Elizabeth.

  Catherine, Rebecca (Becky), and Amelia-Jane Collins – daughters of Charlotte and Mr Collins.

  Dr Francis Grantley – of Oxford, friend of Mr Darcy, later husband of Georgiana Darcy.

  Dr Huw Jenkins – rector of Pemberley, later husband of Kitty Bennet.

  Anthony Tate – publisher of the Matlock Review, later husband of Becky Collins.

  Paul Antoine – a friend of Richard Gardiner, later husband of Emily Gardiner.

  The Camdens – a neighbouring county family, close friends of the Darcys.

  352

  Acknowledgements

  Quotations have been used from William Shakespeare; William Blake; Emily, Charlotte, and Anne Brontë; Charlotte Smith; and the Song of Solomon. The author acknowledges a debt of gratitude to all these sources, which are in the public domain, and, of course, chief of all to Miss Jane Austen herself, whose characters have been “borrowed” with love.

  Thanks to Ms Claudia Taylor, librarian, for help with much of the research. A very special thank you to Beverly Farrow of The Pink Panther, who on a fine Sydney afternoon in 1997 had the initiative and courage to take on the first publication of this book and whose encouragement was vitally important to the success of the enterprise.

  About the Author

  A lifelong fan of Jane Austen, Rebecca Ann Collins first read Pride and Prejudice at the tender age of twelve. She fell in love with the characters and since then has devoted years of research and study to the life and works of her favourite author. As a teacher of literature and a librarian, she has gathered a wealth of information about Miss Austen and the period in which she lived and wrote, which became the basis of her books about the Pemberley families. The popularity of the Pemberley novels with Jane Austen fans has been her reward.

  With a love of reading, music, art, and gardening, Ms Collins claims she is very comfortable in the period about which she writes, and feels great empathy with the characters she portrays. While she enjoys the convenience of modern life, she finds much to admire in the values and worldview of Jane Austen.

  A SNEAK PEAK AT

  The Women of Pemberley

  THE PEMBERLEY CHRONICLES:

  BOOK TWO

  PROLOGUE TO

  The Women of Pemberley

  E

  lizabeth was happy to be going home to Pemberley.

  The Summer of 1847 was almost over. It had been a particularly pleasant Summer, spent only in the company of those she loved most. A month or more had been taken up with travelling in the Cotswolds with

  Jane and Charles Bingley and their two younger daughters, Louisa and Sophie, followed by several weeks at Woodlands—the farm in Sussex—where they had been joined by Elizabeth’s Aunt and Uncle Gardiner.

  The farm, which Darcy had purchased for her, had become an absorbing hobby. She had come to cherish it as her own little corner of England—“a veritable paradise,” as she had once described it to her sister Jane. Happily situated on the Albury Downs, its proximity to the town of Guildford, where Darcy and Mr Gardiner had established business contacts, was an added advantage.


  With the help of a small, handpicked group of staff from Pemberley and the tenant farmers, who worked a part of the land, Elizabeth had transformed the grounds and refurbished the interior of the house. Informal elegance and comfort were now its most striking features.

  The family and their closest friends, who were the only visitors she would ask to Woodlands, enjoyed the delightful intimacy that it afforded them and many happy weeks were spent there. Both Darcy and Elizabeth had already acknowledged that it had made a significant difference to their lives, left desolate after the death of their son William.

  “I am very glad I let you persuade me that we needed Woodlands,” Elizabeth said, as they took a last look before leaving, recalling her first reaction to his suggestion that he should purchase the farm.

  “Indeed,” her husband replied, “so am I. Judging only by the pleasure it has brought us, it must be one of the best investments I have ever made. Do you not agree, my love?”

  “I certainly do and thank you very much for it,” she replied. They both understood how much the place meant to them. Julian, still reluctant to leave the horses in the meadow, was finally persuaded to join them in the carriage, and they were soon on their way. It was to be a leisurely journey, breaking for the night at Banbury in Oxfordshire, but Elizabeth was keen to be back at home.

  Returning to Pemberley after some time away was always a pleasure. This time there was a special occasion, too, for they were soon to celebrate the christening of their first granddaughter, Elizabeth Jane, along with Julian’s eleventh birthday.

  Arrangements for the celebration had been meticulously planned in advance and left in the capable hands of Jenny Grantham—their housekeeper— and her husband, who was Darcy’s manager.

  Pemberley had not hosted such a gathering for quite a while and Elizabeth was anxious, but Darcy had complete confidence in their staff. “I have no doubt at all that John Grantham and Jenny will manage very well indeed. You have no need to worry, my dear,” he said, and Elizabeth had to agree.

  “Indeed, I do not. I realise it is foolish of me to be so anxious when everything has been so carefully planned. Jenny wrote last week that Mrs Reynolds is quite determined to emerge from retirement for the occasion, so I know nothing could possibly go wrong.”

  The following morning, they left Banbury after breakfast and Julian, plainly keen to be home, was rather restless and kept hanging out of the window. As they turned into the park, however, he sat down and was as good as gold.

  Familiarity had not dulled Elizabeth’s appreciation of Pemberley. The old stonework burnished by the afternoon sun, the wooded hills clothed in rust and gold, and the inviting soft green lawns aroused in her the same response of heightened excitement she had always felt as they approached the house.

  Darcy helped her out—he understood and shared her feelings. Julian had already raced away in search of his dog.

  Jenny Grantham came forward to welcome them. She had matured from the days when she had been Elizabeth’s maid and was regarded by her mistress with both affection and respect. Her loyalty was without question.

  “Welcome home, ma’am,” she said, her face lighting up with genuine pleasure.

  It was with a great deal of regret that she had agreed to relinquish her role as Elizabeth’s personal maid and accept the honour of succeeding her aunt, Mrs Reynolds, as housekeeper of Pemberley. Young Susan, whom she had then trained with great care, held her in awe.

  Still, Jenny jealously guarded her own privileged position—being always the first to greet her mistress, accompany her upstairs, and acquaint her with the latest news while she took a welcome cup of tea.

  As Darcy had predicted, there were no problems—all arrangements were proceeding smoothly for the celebrations at the week’s end. Jenny assured Elizabeth that it was all in hand. She had worried in vain.

  Later, after the weary travellers had bathed and rested, she would return to discuss the details of the occasion with her mistress.

  Much as she loved her little farm, Elizabeth was very happy to be home. Pemberley was very much the centre of her life.

  Two letters lay on her writing desk, having arrived too late to be sent on to Woodlands. The first, from Charlotte Collins, brought news from Rosings, where Charlotte had been visiting her eldest daughter Catherine, who continued as companion to Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter, Anne. What had appeared at first to be a matter of convenience for the de Bourghs had actually turned out to be quite advantageous for Miss Catherine Collins. Despite a seemingly impenetrable carapace of snobbery, Lady Catherine, it seemed, had taken a liking to young Miss Collins—her goddaughter—who was treated more as a member of her family than a paid employee and benefited considerably from being within the social circle at Rosings.

  Charlotte’s letter, served to confirm this: She wrote:

  My dear Eliza,

  You may be surprised to receive a letter from me, since we are to see you very soon at Pemberley.

  I had thought to leave the news I have to give you until we met, but Catherine, ever conscious of the niceties of etiquette, was adamant that I should write advising you that she is engaged to Mr Harrison, the parson at Hunsford.

  Elizabeth had only met Mr Harrison once at Rosings and, while he had seemed pleasant and tolerably well spoken, he had not impressed her with his rather prosaic sermon in church. She agreed with Darcy that he was an improvement on Mr Collins. At the very least, Mr Harrison seemed able to conduct himself in society without appearing ridiculous, and that was a singular advantage. And, as Elizabeth said later to her sister Jane, Catherine was almost thirty years old and seemed unlikely to receive a better offer.

  Charlotte was clearly pleased; her letter continued:

  Lady Catherine de Bourgh has expressed her approval of the match, much to my relief, and has generously offered to host the wedding breakfast when they marry next Spring.

  I am not sure that I should accept. I feel quite strongly that my daughter should be married from my home. But there is the matter of Lady Catherine’s continuing kindness and generosity to her.

  It may seem ungracious to refuse, and I am anxious not to upset her ladyship. She has been excessively solicitous and good to Catherine, since the death of Mr Collins.

  Dear Eliza, I am very keen to discuss this question with you and have the benefit of your opinion.

  Catherine and I look forward to seeing you and Mr Darcy on Saturday.

  Yours etc.

  Charlotte Collins.

  Mr Darcy came into the room just as she had finished the letter, and Elizabeth was so excited telling him Charlotte’s news and discussing his Aunt Catherine’s amazing generosity that she quite forgot about her second letter.

  Darcy was of the opinion that Charlotte should have no compunction in accepting Lady Catherine’s offer to host her daughter’s wedding at Rosings. “Lady Catherine is very attached to Miss Collins—and since her own daughter is, sadly, an invalid with little or no chance of being married, this is probably an opportunity for her to play a role she has always coveted,” he declared. Elizabeth was inclined to agree.

  “It is not as if Lucas Lodge is available to Charlotte,” she said. “With the deterioration of her relationship with her sister-in-law since Sir William’s death, I cannot imagine she would want to approach her.”

  “Indeed not,” said Darcy, “and since they are to continue to live at Hunsford, they may as well be married there.” The logic of this argument was so clear that Elizabeth resolved to use it to set Charlotte’s mind at rest when she arrived at Pemberley.

  On returning to her sitting room, Elizabeth found her second letter, unopened and lying on the floor where it had fallen.

  She could not recognise the unfamiliar handwriting, which was quite strange, though not ill-educated. It was also well sealed, in the manner of a confidential communication. When she had it open, the contents—two closely written pages—puzzled her even more. Turning quickly to the last page, she checked
the signature, which made no sense at all, since she knew no one by that name.

  However, on reading the letter, Elizabeth was so astonished at the news it contained that she had to read it over again.

  The writer, a Mrs Brewerton from Norwich, was writing, she claimed, on behalf of Mrs Lydia Wickham, who was too distraught to put pen to paper.

  The writer, identifying herself as “a neighbour and family friend of the Wickhams,” wrote that Mr Wickham had been seriously injured in an attack upon him by a former officer of his regiment. Though she seemed reluctant to give any details, it appeared that the assailant had borne a grudge, which he had carried with him for some years, and on meeting Wickham unexpectedly at a club, he had attacked him most violently, putting him in bed with a number of bruises and a broken arm.

  While Mrs Brewerton appeared to be quite sympathetic towards Lydia and her children, she did not seem to waste any of her concern on Wickham himself, leaving the impression that the punishment meted out to him may have been well deserved.

  We are all very shocked and sorry for poor Mrs Wickham, who is quite bereft. I have taken the liberty of writing to you, Mrs Darcy, because I am aware she has no parents to help her and only fair weather friends, who may buzz around her socially, but are unlikely to be of much help at such a time as this.

  She appears not to have much in the way of savings, either.

  Mrs Brewerton, who seemed particularly well informed about the state of the Wickhams’ domestic and financial affairs, wrote.

  Elizabeth sighed. No doubt, she thought, Lydia, with her usual lack of discretion, must have regaled her neighbour with all the details.

  Shocked and embarrassed, for she had a fair notion of the reason for the attack on Wickham, she hurried out to find Darcy. When she found him in the gallery, she also found herself somewhat tongue-tied and had to be satisfied with handing him Mrs Brewerton’s letter with very little explanation—so mortified was she by the situation.