More Letters From Pemberley (9 page)

Dearest Sister,

We visited her grave this morning, Mr. Darcy and I. The excursion was neither planned nor spoken of previously, yet when my Husband offered to accompany me on a walk, our steps led us to the cemetery of their own will. The day’s warm sunshine seemed to mock us as we stood there quietly together staring at the wilting flowers atop that pile of earth beneath which lies our Daughter. We lingered just a few moments. Not a word was said; the press of our hands together more than sufficed.

Returning to the house, Nurse informed us that Annie was distraught, insisting on a funeral for her favourite doll, Rosebud, who had just died. With our permission, she suggested, might not a “funeral” help Annie with her own grief at the loss of an adored Sister. After consoling Annie, Mr. Darcy and I agreed and this afternoon, with a great deal of formality and garlands of flowers kindly gathered by Hopwith, in a box provided by Mrs. Reynolds, Annie laid her beloved Rosebud to rest in a grave dug by Johnson, an under-gardener, in a spot carefully chosen by Annie herself which she can see from the nursery. It was a short, very affecting ceremony conducted by Annie herself: the first lines of the Lord’s Prayer, which she is presently learning, followed by an approximation of the first verse of Nurse’s favourite hymn, which she hears daily in the nursery. The chief mourners were the two of us, Mrs. Reynolds, Nurse, Hopwith and several maids who were not immediately required elsewhere.

Afterwards, I accompanied Nurse and Annie to the nursery where Annie almost immediately fell into a deep sleep. Thus reassured, I withdrew to my bedchamber. Only moments later, that thick ice wall which has surrounded my heart finally shattered, releasing torrents of grief and the tears I had hitherto been unable to shed. I thought I was weeping quietly and unheard, but the next thing I recall is my Beloved taking me into his arms and holding me closely until the tears were spent.

Next, I find I am lying on my bed, and observe Mr. Darcy in conversation with Mr. Brownley, who is holding a small bottle and appearing to console my Husband. I recall wondering, What could they possibly have to discuss in my bedchamber? The bottle must have contained a strong sleeping draft, for when I next awoke it was morning and I saw Mrs. Reynolds herself drawing the curtains.

“Where is Flora? Is she unwell?” I asked, puzzled at my maid’s absence.

“She is in perfect health, Ma’am,“ replied Mrs. R. “I was concerned, indeed the entire household was concerned to know—that is to say—I—we, were worried—after yesterday—that I thought it best …”

We were both spared prolonged embarrassment by my darling Annie bounding into the room and jumping on my bed, followed by Nurse.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Darcy, I told Miss Annie, Mamma was not to be disturbed, but she scampered away when I had my back turned …”

Reassuring Nurse that no harm was done, I took my naughty Annie into my arms, thanked Mrs. Reynolds for her concern and begged her to assure the household of my good health and my profound gratitude for their kindness and consideration during the past difficult days.

And so, dear Jane, let me reassure you, too, that I am at peace. I am determined not to dwell upon the past with melancholy and tears, but to think of my sweet Cassie with smiles, remembering the joy she brought us for such a short time. To avoid thinking of the past, I shall immerse myself in the present, mindful of the abundance of gifts with which I have been blessed. She will never be far from my thoughts, but I have in mind to write to Mr. Repton about planting a laburnum walk in her memory. Those pendulous blossoms dancing on a summer day will remind others of the happiness she gave us all.

Tomorrow, I shall pay a visit to Mrs. Barford, who has been much on my mind of late, and to whom I must make amends for my callous words upon the death of her Infant Son. I blush to recall what I said as I urged her to set her grief aside—that she was at least fortunate in not having to bear the burden of
years
of happy memories of her Child; that she had three other healthy Children. How those words haunt me now! Were I to have
ten
more, my grief at losing Cassie will not be lessened, ever. There will always be a special place in my heart that is hers alone.

Pray tell Mr. Bingley that Mr. Darcy’s refusal of his invitations is no reflection upon Mr. Darcy’s regard for him, I assure you. My Husband is withdrawn into himself and not even I seem able to offer any comfort. He is so accustomed to being in command of every situation, great and small, that it falls hard when life takes the reins from him.

Let me now hasten to the library in the hope of finding Mr. Darcy. Perhaps, at last, we can put into words what we have been unable to say to each other, words of consolation, and words of hope that brighter days will dawn. In saying them and repeating them often, we may actually come to believe them.

As always,
E.D.

My dear Charlotte,

I will endeavour to make this letter more worthy your acceptance than my last, though my abilities decrease and I have no more notion of penning a smart letter than of making a smart cap. I endeavour, as I must, to submit graciously to the will of providence and begin each new day with good intentions, yet by breakfast time usually find my anger rising and my spirits lowered. My poor, dear Family little know of what passes in my mind, and I am truly glad of it. Mr. Darcy at last makes a tolerable recovery, having given me grave cause for concern with his long, dreadful, deafening silences. I had feared I would never reach him again, but he is returned to me, thank goodness. Yes, we are both bruised and damaged, but more than ever united.

Annie is enchanted with her kitten, Parsley, and by day appears to be her normal little self once more, yet she has grown afraid of the dark. We agreed (Nurse and I—she is a remarkable woman of good sense and I have been so grateful for her reassuring presence, for my own as well as Annie’s sake) to deal most tenderly with her. All of us (her Father, too) have taken to walking about the house with her without a candle, and talking and telling stories and enjoying the quiet dark. Parsley, previously dispatched to Mrs. Reynolds’ room at bedtime, is now allowed to stay in the nursery at night. When I look in before retiring, it is such a precious picture to behold, these two small creatures curled up side by side contentedly.

My Mother and Father and Kitty spent a full six weeks in the neighbourhood, mostly at The Great House, where they had been expected for Elizabeth Cassandra’s christening, and where, I dare say, Kitty had expectations of renewing her acquaintance with one Mr. Perrot, a curate whom she met on her earlier visit this year. I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting him.

My Mother had in mind to remain at Pemberley for several weeks, but my Father sensibly persuaded her that a visit of several days only would be far more appropriate at this time. How grateful I was for my dear, wise Father! I could not have borne it, I know. My Mother’s notion of comfort would have offered me no solace at all, quite the reverse. It was finally agreed that they would arrive in time for the opening of partridge season, which would be a very welcome diversion for Mr. Darcy also, who might otherwise not have bothered at all. Thus, my Father and Mr. Darcy were happily occupied in the fields and not inconvenienced by the melancholy company of we women. All in all, it was a tolerable visit of just five days.

Yet, how strange it was, Charlotte—I had been in expectation of my Mother smothering me with condolences and platitudes and empty words of comfort. The reality, however, was that it was I who was expected to comfort
her!
She spent a good part of every day in tears bemoaning the loss of a beloved Grand-daughter and taking most meals in her room. Her nerves would not allow her to visit the grave, nor even to enter the nursery where she feared she would be overcome with grief. Poor Annie, how she longed to show her kitten to her Grandmamma, but not even a little girl’s entreaties would persuade her! (Another source of profound grief for my Mother was that Mrs. Hill had had the wrong gown dyed black, but I shall not bore you with the particulars of that lengthy, daily subject.)

In a perverse manner, however, my Mother’s behaviour did me a power of good. Rather than make me angry, the absurdity of her misplaced grief served to calm me. Mr. Darcy, too, benefited as much from my Father’s companionship, as from the exercise and fresh air, and was in far better spirits afterwards. Together, the three of us visited Cassie’s grave one morning. My Father was clearly much affected, demonstrating more real sorrow than my Mother’s rivers of tears ever could.

Dear Charlotte, how pleased I am that your growing Family stays healthy and happy. Even more, your letters have an air of contentment with life that gives me very great pleasure.

Pray, tell Mr. Collins how very much obliged I am for his prayers on my Family’s behalf. I must confess (
between ourselves only, Charlotte!
) that since Cassie was taken from me my relationship with God has suffered exceedingly; my anger and hurt render me quite incapable of forgiveness. I am therefore particularly grateful to Mr. Collins for his intercession on my behalf.

As ever,
E. Darcy

Dearest Jane,

How thankful I was to bid farewell to 1817! How glad I am that the Christmas season is over at last! Enduring the festive season of good will when one feels good will towards nobody is an exhausting business. For Annie’s sake we wore brave faces, of course. On Christmas Eve, as a special treat, I took her with me to deliver poor baskets. She considered the morning a great adventure; for myself, it would have been better to have had the servants do it—the recipients of our largesse were so awkward in their thanks, not knowing what to say, whether to mention our loss or to ask how we fared. By the end of it all, I felt I should almost apologise for appearing at their doors, though I must own that Annie herself proved a happy diversion, especially if the families had Children of her own age. She is certainly not shy! Now Jane, be assured I do not sit here soaking in a warm tub of self-pity. I cannot think why I even mentioned the business with the poor baskets, but really cannot persuade myself to start this letter afresh.

Believe me, we are all making good recoveries. After a long discussion with Mr. Darcy, we both agreed that half-mourning (which should begin this month on the 17th) will be cancelled. This house has seen enough mourning; it must now be restored to the living. Poor Mrs. Reynolds is in shock! It was she who prompted our conversation by enquiring about the servants’ clothes and uniforms for the half-mourning period. When I gave directions to remove the coverings from mirrors and pictures and all other signs of mourning, and to order the servants to revert to their normal liveries, she was so distressed that I insisted she take a seat and a little wine. It took me a full half hour to persuade her that this decision had nothing to do with a lack of respect or affection for the dead, but everything to do with life and living, that without the everyday gloom of Pemberley in mourning, our hearts will mend very much sooner. A few tears followed: Mrs. Reynolds was as fond of Cassie as she is of Annie and feels her loss as deeply as any of us.

Now the poor woman has to explain our uncommon decision to the household (as well as to her counterparts in the houses hereabouts, I dare say), but I care not what they or anyone else thinks—our spirits are already vastly improved, which another six months of mourning could not accomplish. Even on this cold morning, to see the rooms bathed in sunlight again is a balm. My Husband walks with a more determined and sprightlier step, and set out hunting this morning with something like his old enthusiasm. He also talks of setting up a shooting party with your Husband and Mr. Daley. Jane, you have no idea what joy it gives me to hear him talk so! As for me, my heart is easier. I have instructed Mrs. Reynolds to do what she will with the mourning clothes and livery—I have no wish to see them ever again.

Mr. Darcy and I agree that this is the very best way to begin another year: letting the
light
into our lives again, spending more time in the present than in the unalterable past, and looking to the future with hope and optimism. All this was accomplished on the eve of the New Year, just the two of us before a good fire and perfectly at ease, at times in conversation talking of our resolution, at times in pleasurable silence.

And you were never far from my thoughts that evening, dear Jane—my present and future happiness will always depend in large part upon your own. May this New Year bless us all.

Affec.
E. D.

Sir,

Miss Anne Elizabeth Darcy, aged four years, three weeks and a day, presents her compliments and regrets to inform you that, as a consequence of undue and unsanctioned horseplay in her Mamma’s sitting room (whence she is not allowed unless bidden) an inkwell overturned, its contents spilling upon her Mamma’s favourite chair. Miss Darcy also wishes you to know that she was confined to the nursery for the remainder of the day to practise her letters.

Miss Darcy’s Mamma would greatly appreciate if as soon as convenient you could arrange for a sufficient quantity of fabric in the very same shade of pale yellow silk to be sent to the upholsterer in Derby who carried out the original work on your behalf. She would be further obliged if you could advise the date when the material is expected to be delivered so that she may arrange for the chair to be taken to Derby.

Miss Anne Elizabeth Darcy deeply regrets the inconvenience this will doubtless entail, and by way of apology and compensation offers you the enclosed pansy, which she picked and pressed herself last spring, and which she trusts will be to your liking.

Yours &c.

Humphry Repton, Esq.
Sloane Street
London