Women of Pemberley (22 page)

Darcy was smiling as Lizzie finished reading the letter. There was no doubting the pride he felt in his daughter. He was pleased and very grateful. Her excellent judgement and remarkable sense of responsibility had spared them all a great deal of aggravation and embarrassment.

Elizabeth folded the letter and carefully put it away in her pocket book, then took it out a few minutes later and read it through again. Cassandra had proved her intelligence and sound common sense once more. But for her mother, there was a much deeper satisfaction. The warmth of Cassandra's affectionate nature flowed through her letter. They had grown a good deal closer in the last few years, since Cassy had become a mother herself, and Elizabeth, who had never shared similar feelings with her own mother, cherished the relationship with her beloved daughter. She missed her keenly and looked forward to her return.

It had been a mild Autumn, and the families had gathered at Pemberley for a weekend of celebration--there had been the Harvest festival, which had proved a huge success. The well-being of the people of the district depended largely upon the prosperity of the Pemberley estate. In 1834, there was no doubt that this was a thriving, contented community.

Then, there had been the grand ball at Pemberley. Three young women-- Cassandra Darcy, Emma Bingley, and Rebecca Collins--had turned seventeen that year, and Mr Darcy had given a ball in their honour. While Isabella had been too young to dance, she and several other little girls had been able to sit in the gallery above the ballroom and watch the dancers. She could still see the couples in her mind's eye. Emma, who was universally regarded as the most beautiful of them all, had danced mostly with her brother Jonathan, even though she had many potential partners, while Becky Collins and the handsome Mr Anthony Tate seemed to know all the newest European dances. But it was Cassy Darcy and Richard Gardiner who received the most compliments on the night. Isabella would always remember how they had looked, as if they were alone in the world and not another soul mattered.

Isabella recalled her mother's remark to her father as they drove home. "Fitzy, I cannot believe that Richard and Cassy are not as yet engaged; they clearly love each other very much."

Her father had smiled and replied, "Caroline, my dear, have you forgotten that I had to eat my heart out for half a year before I plucked up sufficient courage to approach your father?"

The story of her parents' romance was legendary among the members of the family, but even they acknowledged that Richard and Cassandra were a special couple. No one had been surprised when, on the following day, they were all together again at Pemberley to celebrate their engagement.

On a perfect Autumn day, when the skies were a startling blue and sunlight poured down, they had enjoyed a picnic beside the stream in one of the prettiest spots in the park at Pemberley. The entire family and several of their friends had joined to wish Richard and Cassy happiness, which, considering their present bliss, seemed almost superfluous. It had seemed to Isabella, as no doubt it would have seemed to many others present, that nothing could go wrong on such a day.

And yet, some few hours later, her own brother, Edward--who had been just fourteen years old--and their cousin, William Darcy, had both been killed in a terrible riding accident, and the joy that had filled their hearts on that bright day had turned to dust.

Isabella recalled the harrowing evening that had followed--the tears, the rage, and the bitter recriminations. Her mother, who saw the death of her son as the result of stupidity, had taken years to recover her brightness of spirit, while her Aunt Lizzie had seemed remote and lonely after the death of her beloved William. Even now, many years later, there were moments when the sadness in her eyes was almost too painful to bear.

In that same wretched month, the Houses of Parliament at Westminster had been destroyed by fire. Like the deaths of Edward and William, it had been the result of carelessness and stupidity. She remembered the news being received with disbelief by her parents. The conflagration had shocked the country; Isabella was quite sure it had hastened her father's decision to retire from public life. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been outraged and found that Parliamentary activities no longer gave him satisfaction, though he still retained an interest in politics.

Isabella recalled his comments, on returning from London the following year, when Turner was showing his amazing paintings of the fire at the Royal Academy; he was glad, he said bitterly, that someone had derived pleasure from the blaze, because he had felt as if much of his life's work had gone up in the flames.

Since the death of Edward, he had decided that his wife and children needed him at home, and Isabella had watched as he let go of many of his Parliamentary interests and turned increasingly to the work on the farm.

Edward and Isabella had been very close, and William had been like an older brother to both of them. She had missed them terribly. Unlike Edward, who had never wanted to leave home, her younger brother, David, had actually elected to go to boarding school. He seemed to have matured very quickly and was now, at twenty-one, almost a stranger to her. Isabella had grown up mostly alone, with only her grieving mother for company. The tragedy of losing Edward and William, and the burden of carrying her own sorrow as well as the agony of her parents, had left her exhausted.

For many years she sought only peace and quiet, preferring safety to excitement, not tempted by prospects of romance, fearful that love was short-lived and pain its inevitable companion. Her favourite authors, the melancholy Bronte sisters, served only to reinforce her view of life.

Twice in the last five years she had either fled from a situation that looked as if it might lead to romantic involvement or turned down a perfectly reasonable offer of marriage. Content to remain at home, she had nevertheless obtained great satisfaction from helping her Aunt Emily with charity work in the parish and working at the hospital at Littleford. She found particular pleasure in her work with the children.

"Nothing can compare with the joy of helping the children," she had declared when Elizabeth, hoping to draw her out, had asked whether she would not prefer to be assisting in the library at the community centre.

Richard and Emily had declared on many occasions that they could not run the children's ward without her, and Mr Forrester had been astonished to learn that she had no formal training in nursing. "Miss Fitzwilliam, forgive me, but I have to say I have never met anyone who was so good at nursing the sick as you are. I cannot believe that you have no formal training," he had said a few weeks after he had arrived to work as a locum for Richard. She had thanked him but had not paid much attention to his words, pointing out that she had learnt a great deal about nursing from her Aunt Emily. She had always taken it for granted that she, being fit and healthy, should feel compassion for the sick, especially the little ones. She was gradually to discover in Henry Forrester similar compassion and dedication, which made working with him a special pleasure.

When little Laura Ann's life had hung by a slender thread, he had found her in tears and comforted her, and Isabella, who had never stopped to think that she was in need of comfort, was profoundly grateful for his thoughtfulness. Over many months, she had noted that he could be as kind and thoughtful with all his patients, and especially with anxious or grieving parents of sick children. It was a quality that had endeared him to her.

Today, as she stood before a mirror in a charming room that had once been Georgiana Darcy's bedroom, preparing to step into her wedding gown, many of these vivid memories came to mind.

Sally, the young maid who attended her, could not take her eyes off Isabella in the flowing, silk gown specially made for her by the best seamstress in Derby.

"Oh, Miss Isabella, you look so lovely," she cried when she finished doing up the tiny buttons that went all the way up the back of her dress.
Caroline, arriving to do her daughter's hair, was taken aback by her calm, almost luminous beauty. Not since she had been a bridesmaid at Jane Bennet's wedding had Caroline seen a bride look as serenely happy as Isabella did.
When Isabella was ready to go downstairs, her father came into the room to escort her to the carriage that would take her to church. So overcome was he with the thought of giving this very special daughter in marriage that he struggled to hold back the tears. It was Isabella who comforted him as she kissed both her parents and thanked them.
"Dear Papa and Mama, thank you for all you have given me. Henry Forrester is the only man I have met for whom I felt I was willing to change my comfortable, happy life with you. He is indeed a good man and he loves me," she said simply.
Although the couple had said they had no wish for a big wedding, there was never any chance that they could escape one. Their own popularity with friends and family, the affection that so many felt for the Fitzwilliams, and the Darcys' generosity ensured there would be a large and appreciative gathering at Pemberley to help celebrate the happy event. Henry Forrester, whose parents were away in India, where his father was an administrator of one of the provinces, could only produce an aunt and two sisters, who had travelled from London to represent his family. Having no available male relatives, he asked his friend and colleague, Richard Gardiner, to be his best man, a role that Richard filled with pleasure. The excellent food and fine Spring weather contributed to make a memorable occasion for the large party assembled at Pemberley.
Perhaps the only thing that soured the perfect day was the news from Westminster. Once the wedded couple had been feted, teased, and sent on their happy way to their honeymoon in Wales, the conversation turned to the topic that was dominating conversations around the nation--the possibility of war with Russia. James Wilson's friends in the Foreign Office were absolutely certain that war was imminent. "I cannot help feeling that there is more to this quarrel with Russia than meets the eye," he said.
Though a member of the governing party, James was quite critical of Fitzwillam's favourite Parliamentarian, Palmerston, who was using the press, or that section of it that he could persuade to do his bidding, to whip up anti-Russian sentiment in Britain in preparation for an alliance with France and an attack upon Russia.
It was perhaps because Fitzwilliam was in a benevolent mood on the day of his daughter's wedding that he did not respond more aggressively to James' claims, saying only that Palmerston was a true patriot and would not do anything that was not in the nation's interest.
But James was supported by Jonathan Bingley, himself a member of the Whig party, who declared, "Palmerston is using the popular press to push the British people into a war that is not in their interest. There is no justification for wrecking the forty years of peace and prosperity we have enjoyed to support the military ambitions of Louis Napoleon."
Others agreed but seemed to be even more fatalistic about the inevitability of war.
"I cannot see that we can avoid it. The way Palmerston has taken us down this path, there is a kind war fever in the community; all up and down the country men are joining up, often without any understanding of the reasons for this campaign," said William Camden.
James Wilson pointed out that most Britons were not particularly enthusiastic about a military alliance with France, which within living memory had been the implacable enemy.
Anthony Tate, whose newspapers had already published several editorials on the subject, and his wife Rebecca, who was perhaps the only woman more interested in the war than the wedding, were even more concerned about the state of the armed forces. "It is absolutely unconscionable to be pushing a nation into a war with the military in such an ill-prepared state, with so many poor leaders," said Anthony, echoing the sentiments of his editors, while Rebecca pointed out that the women and children who were going to be left widowed and fatherless were not likely to be as enthusiastic about Britain entering the war as Palmerston and his government.
The talk of war made Mrs Gardiner most unhappy. Having grown up through the nightmare of the Napoleonic wars, when attacks upon England were said to be imminent, she had often told her nieces of the bad memories she had of friends and brothers sent to fight the French, one of whom had been at Trafalgar but had never returned to savour the victory.
Hearing some of the younger lads getting quite excited about it, she spoke up. "You are all too young to go to war, and if you were old enough, you would not enjoy it. There are many courageous men who will tell you that they felt neither brave nor heroic on the battlefield."
Even Jane, who hardly ever became involved in political discussion, ventured the opinion that it was surely unnecessary for Britain to go to war unless Britain feared being attacked by Russia. She agreed with her son Jonathan that it was indeed a poor excuse to suggest that Britain had to go to war to defend Turkey, who had declared war in the first place.
Mr Darcy had said very little during the wedding festivities, conscious of his responsibilities as the host, but after the guests had left and they had retired upstairs, Elizabeth asked her husband the inevitable question. "Do you really think we will go to war?"
Darcy answered quickly, "I do. Unfortunately, I think our stupid, selfserving leaders have dragged us too far in to let us extricate ourselves now. They are heavily committed, and their rhetoric has us involved in Europe already."
Elizabeth could not fail to hear the anger in his voice. She spoke quietly. "Colonel Fitzwilliam does not seem to think so."
Darcy smiled, a funny, crooked, almost sarcastic smile. "Yes, I had no wish to engage Fitzwilliam in an argument, especially not on Isabella's wedding day, but the unhappy truth is quite clear--Palmerston is guilty of panicking the rest of the government and some sections of the press into a state of outrage and suspicion directed against Russia. He is also determined that we shall have an alliance with France, despite the fact we were enemies just thirty years ago and still carry the scars of our battles. Most Britons would be quite astonished at this enthusiasm for cosying up to Bonaparte's nephew, especially when he seems determined to pick a fight with the Tsar," he explained.
"Do you think it will be soon?" his wife asked.
"Yes, I do," he replied, adding, "James Wilson believes we are on the verge of a declaration of war, and his sources in the Foreign Office are usually impeccable."
Elizabeth looked very anxious and her voice trembled a little as she spoke. "I am worried about Julian. Do you think he will want to join up?"
He was quick to reassure her. "No, dearest, I do not. You have no need to fear, I am sure of it. Now he is at Cambridge and seriously interested in his science studies; I cannot imagine why he would want to get involved in a war. He certainly did not seem at all affected by the hysteria sweeping London."
"But what if all his friends join up? Is he strong enough not to be drawn in?" Elizabeth seemed uncertain.
But Darcy was quite confident. "Julian has never expressed any interest in a military career; though I do believe Isabella's brother David is attracted to the idea of holding an officer's commission in the Cavalry. I cannot imagine what Caroline will say to that. But, my dear, if it will set your heart at rest, I shall sound Julian out before he returns to Cambridge and discover his thinking on the matter."
Elizabeth was grateful for his understanding. The thought that their only son could risk his life in a useless war was sufficient to make her fearful. "Would you? Thank you, yes, I would like to know how he feels."
That she was apprehensive did not surprise Darcy, and he was determined to do everything he could to reassure her.
Some time later, Elizabeth wrote to her sister Jane, expressing her relief: