The Pemberley Chronicles (26 page)

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.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

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.

"Lizzie, if even half of what Mama tells is true, it is not a good situation at all." She said, proceeding to detail some of Mrs Bennet's reports. "It would seem that neither Wickham nor Lydia take their marriage vows seriously," she said and appeared more than a little shocked when Elizabeth declared, in what Jane took to be a rather cavalier fashion, "Well, that should come as no surprise. I cannot believe that anyone honestly credited either of them with serious intentions. Their marriage was brought about by the intervention of Mr Darcy and Mr Gardiner, who had to patch up the disastrous mess into which they had got themselves." Jane protested; her kind heart would not let her dismiss them so easily.

"How can you say that, Lizzie? Surely all of us hoped for some improvement, some change in their behaviour?" Elizabeth was unmoved.
"My dearest Sister, your goodness, your unfailing charity, will not let you see what is so plain to all of us--Wickham and Lydia are unlikely to want to change. She is still silly and vain and continues to flirt outrageously; he, it must be said, is at least less blatant about his desires; if what you have heard is true, he seems to be rather more discreet, though no less culpable in his behaviour, than our sister."
"Is there nothing we can do?" asked Jane. Elizabeth looked uncertain.
"I suppose, I could stop sending Lydia the small sums of money I have sent her for the children, as some form of censure, but I doubt if that will have any effect upon her behaviour. She will probably apply to you for help, instead." Jane looked surprised and embarrassed.
"Lizzie, has she been appealing to you for money?" she asked. When Elizabeth nodded and said, "For years," Jane shook her head in despair.
"Oh Lizzie, I fear you are quite right. We are never going to change Lydia; she has been receiving regular payments from me and Mama ever since Henry was born!"
The realisation of the irresponsibility and manipulative nature of their sister and her husband devastated Jane and angered Elizabeth. But both agreed that there was very little to be done, except hope and pray that they would not act so brazenly as to bring shame upon their families again. "I'm grateful that Darcy says little or nothing about them. He knows Wickham only too well, and, as for Lydia, there is nothing one can say that will improve our opinion of her. We are all aware that their relationship owes little to love and even less to logic. They were brought together forcibly--for my uncle is sure that Wickham had no intention of ever marrying her, because their desires had got the better of what little virtue and good sense they might have had. To put it plainly, Wickham was bribed into marrying Lydia." Seeing her sister's unhappy expression, Elizabeth took her hand, "I know you think I am being harsh, but, Jane dearest, when I stop to think how close they came to wrecking all our lives, to destroying not just our chances of happiness, but the lives of those we hold most dear, like Papa, I cannot find it in my heart to feel much sympathy for them in their present predicament. They were given the best possible chance that could have been salvaged from the wreckage of their relationship, after that stupid, wicked elopement. Now, if they wish to throw it all away, they can do so without any tears from me." A reminder of how close they had all come to losing everything, including any chance of a good marriage, dragged Jane back to reality.
"You are right, Lizzie; I realise that they are responsible for their own actions. We are not to blame for their troubles," she sighed, sadly.
The return of their husbands interrupted any further discussion of the painful subject. Other members of the family were expected to join them, and both sisters were looking forward to the arrival of the Gardiners and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had been away in London for the past week.
The Gardiners, after some initial concern, had taken Fitzwilliam to their hearts. His devotion to their daughter had won him a special place in their affections, and both Mr and Mrs Gardiner would go to great lengths to help him with arrangements for his new home and forthcoming wedding. On this occasion, they had been shopping for items of Caroline's trousseau, but Mr Gardiner, whose long familiarity with London's commercial district was a great advantage, was able to advise his future son-in-law on a number of matters concerning his new establishment and obtaining the services he would require.
When they arrived at Pemberley, they were full of information about the scandalous goings on in London, more particularly at the Court, since the death of the mad King George III. Fitzwilliam was scathing in his criticism of the Court and the Parliament--for the charade that was in progress over the succession and the vilification of the Queen, by a King who openly and unashamedly paraded his mistresses. "And in the Parliament, those elected to govern us remain consumed by these ridiculous matters, while all over England good, decent people are sinking deeper into the mire of depression," he declared and added, "There are those in London who swear that we will soon have another revolution to sweep all this corruption away." Everyone else expressed the hope that it would not come to that.
"Several members of the Whig Party have declared themselves in favour of reform, and it is surely possible to hope that this could be brought about without violence," said Mrs Gardiner. Mr Gardiner expressed the hope that trade would save the day as it had some years ago, when all seemed lost.
"If only the government would bring its mind to bear on trade--there is so much to be done. The Dutch, the French, and even the Belgians are working hard at developing trade with the colonies, while our government fiddles with the marriage problems of the King!"
Darcy agreed wholeheartedly. He could see no solution to the current troubles, he said, unless the prosperity of the entire nation was uplifted. "There is little to be gained by the rich and the powerful withdrawing into their fortresses, while the poor and dispossessed beg in the streets, watching their children starve," he said, with the kind of firmness and certainty that made it difficult for anyone to disagree with him. Not that anyone seemed to want to do so, Elizabeth noted. "In times past," he went on, "those who owned and enjoyed the rich harvests of this country contributed to the alleviation of suffering of the poor and the sick. My father would have been ashamed to have homeless men and their families begging on street corners for the charity of strangers, or being forced into the poor house because they had no land to farm and no paid work on his land."
Fitzwilliam chimed in on a topic that was as dear to his heart as to Darcy's--the destruction of the rural English community. "What has happened to us, to England? Why do we, who have always helped our people, suddenly turn them away?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, Fitzwilliam, we have not," said Darcy. "At Pemberley, we have turned out nobody who wishes to stay on the estate and work here. Those who have left have gone because they wanted to, and there have been very few of them; some have found work in the towns, but others have returned, unhappy with their new masters."
Elizabeth, who had listened quietly, ventured the information that her maid Jenny's brother had gone to the mills at Manchester, on the promise of good wages and advancement. However, less than a year later, he was back--working as an undergardener happy to be back at Pemberley. Darcy supported her view, adding that there were several instances where the mill owners had provided jobs that demanded long hours of work in appalling conditions for very low wages.
He continued, "Indeed, I have plans, about which I intend to talk to Sir Edmond and others, to involve ourselves more deeply in the life of the community. I think we ought to make a greater contribution towards the welfare of the people who live on our estates, providing help with schools and medical care." On hearing Darcy's words, Kitty's husband, Dr Jenkins, asked if Mr Darcy would help with a school for young children on the estate to be run by the parish church. Kitty was keen to get it started, and there were other parishioners willing to assist her, he said. Not only did Mr Darcy show an interest in the idea, he promised to meet Dr Jenkins to discuss it further. It was, he said, the sort of thing that could help people in these hard times.
"If we could provide a school for young children, it would help their parents cope with some of the problems they face," he said.
"And at least, the children would be safe at school, while their parents worked," added Elizabeth, who was delighted that Darcy had supported the plan. It was an idea that attracted her, and she decided to pursue it herself.
These discussions usually petered out when the meal was served, but on this occasion, Elizabeth noticed that it seemed to continue all through dinner and was picked up again when they withdrew for coffee. It was only very much later she came to understand that the seeds of an exciting plan had been sown on that day. Her husband's vision of fostering a new community spirit, healing the fractured land, was yet to become clear to her.
Later that evening, Mrs Gardiner, Elizabeth, and Jane sat together in Elizabeth's private sitting room, where hot chocolate in front of the fire was an inviting prospect at the end of the day. Jenny set the tray down on the table and bade them goodnight. The gentlemen were still downstairs talking business and politics, while the children had been taken to bed. Young Emily came in to say goodnight, before she went to bed too, and her sister Caroline followed minutes later, lingering to let her cousins admire her exquisite ruby and diamond ring. When she had left them, Elizabeth remarked on how very well she looked, adding that they certainly seemed a very happy couple.
What pleased Jane most was the decorum they showed in their general behaviour in company. "There is no doubt that they are in love, and they obviously enjoy being together, but they cause no embarrassment to others," she said, and Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner both smiled, remembering Jane's own extraordinary behaviour, when she and Bingley first met. Her extraordinarily high standards of decorum, coupled with her natural reserve and Bingley's modesty, which had led Darcy to believe that Jane had no deep attachment to his friend, had almost destroyed their romance. Happily, Jane knew nothing of that unfortunate episode. Bingley had clearly never betrayed his friend's part in it, and, for that, Elizabeth was very grateful. It would surely have hurt her sister very much.
Mrs Gardiner agreed with Jane, "I must say, Lizzie, Colonel Fitzwilliam is the perfect gentleman. I admit I had my concerns, not because of the difference in their ages, because after all I have been happily married to your uncle--a man fifteen years my senior and have appreciated his maturity and knowledge, greatly. Rather, it was because I feared that being so very young, Caroline may not have known her own mind. One rarely does at fourteen."
"And you have no such reservations now, Aunt?" asked Jane with a smile, for she and Lizzie had noted how Fitzwilliam treated Mrs Gardiner with great affection and respect. "No, none," her aunt replied. "Of course, Mr Darcy has always spoken well of him, and your uncle, who has done business with him for many years, will not hear a word against him. There is no question of his honour, and I have to confess that I have had not a moment's concern on that score, since his engagement to Caroline."
Jane interposed, "Of course, he is Mr Darcy's cousin, that must surely be a recommendation," but Elizabeth laughed merrily, reminding them that Lady Catherine de Bourgh was Mr Darcy's aunt, adding mischievously, "And, what of Miss Bingley, whose relationship to our dear Bingley beggars belief? No, Jane, relationship offers no certainty of character likeness between the parties. Why, think only of our own sister Lydia and the whole idea is destroyed."
At the mention of Lydia, Mrs Gardiner closed her eyes, as if she could not bear to contemplate the picture of her errant niece. "My dears, I had hoped not to speak of Lydia and her husband. Such foolish behaviour is rare indeed. It seems beyond anyone's ability to convince those two of the need to maintain any standards at all. It grieves me to say it, my dear Lizzie and Jane, but hardly a month goes by without a hurriedly scribbled note arriving with a request for some form of help with bills, payment of arrears of salary to nurses or tradesmen, and with no promise of any repayment at all."
Her nieces were shocked. They had not imagined that Lydia, who was already applying to her mother and sisters, was also appealing to their aunt for money. It was a most humiliating circumstance. Elizabeth had kept it from her husband all these years, sending small sums of money out of her own income, whenever a request was made. "You should not continue to help her, dear Aunt. She has used all of us, and while there may be some justifiable claim upon her family, there is none upon you and you must not let her use you so," Elizabeth said firmly, her face flushed with embarrassment. Jane was silent; her feelings of shame would not let her speak.
Mrs Gardiner thought rather differently, "Your uncle knows it all, my dears, you must not be upset. He says someone has to help her, or she will run up huge bills and borrow money from strangers, at high rates of interest, and compound the problem. It is better this way, even if it does spoil her further." Jane and Elizabeth rose and embraced their aunt. To her wisdom and kindness as much as to their uncle's generosity, they owed a great deal. Hearing the voices of their husbands who were coming upstairs, they moved out onto the landing to meet them. They had spent such a pleasant evening together, none had noticed the lateness of the hour.