Mr. Darcy's Daughter (18 page)

*

On
New Year's Eve, when they heard that the road had been finally cleared of snow
and other debris and made safe for vehicles, Mr. Darcy sent his manager to the
Tates' place in Matlock with a note requesting that Josie and Anthony return to
Pemberley, and inviting the Tates to dinner with the family.

Julian
was already packed and ready to leave on the morrow, but was persuaded by his
mother to stay and travel to Cambridge a day later.

"You
can all travel down with Richard. Cassy tells me he is leaving for London on
the day after tomorrow; please stay, Julian, it will make your Papa and me very
happy," she had pleaded, and Julian had stayed.

Perhaps
the prospect of enjoying the company of his brother-in-law on the journey had
influenced his decision, for Julian had admired and loved Richard since
childhood. If there was one man he would have liked to emulate in all his ways,
it was Dr Gardiner. He had never doubted that his sister had made the best
marriage possible.

The
party from Matlock arrived and, from the outset, it was clear to both Cassy and
her mother that relations between Julian and Josie were badly strained. Indeed,
apart from a cursory greeting, they barely spoke to one another. In an
obviously calculated gesture at dinner, Josie placed herself between Mr. Darcy
and her mother.

Mrs.
Tate made up for any lack of conversation on the part of her daughter, though,
telling everyone that she was delighted that Josie was now writing some poetry.

"She
is far more likely to have it published than if she had persisted with those
solemn pieces about the ills of society. Everybody knows about the poor and the
suffering and all the evil things that go on in the world, but no one wants to
read about them. It is too depressing. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?"

she
asked, with the disingenuous aplomb of one who has had her work published in
her husband's journals for many years, with no requirement to justify their
relevance to anyone.

Cassy
almost winced and noticed that her brother was gazing into his wine glass with
a level of concentration he usually reserved for the microscopic bacteria in
his laboratory. She looked quickly at Josie, who seemed pleased with her
mother's approbation, and then at Mr. Darcy, who in his customary way, took
some time to respond.

"You
are quite right, Mrs. Tate; poetry is certainly more popular than serious
prose, but if everyone wrote only poetry, who would draw attention to the grave
problems that afflict our world and where might we seek answers to them? I have
nothing against good poetry and take much pleasure in it, but I also recall
that Josie wrote a number of excellent pieces for the
Review
and wrote exceedingly well. I have some
of her work in a folio in the library, and it would be a great pity if she were
to give up serious writing altogether."

Josie's
father nodded his agreement. He had hoped to persuade his daughter to write
regularly for the
Review
, with little success.

"But
if no one will publish it, what good will it do?" asked Josie, and her
father-in-law's voice was gentle when he replied, "Many writers have faced
rejection at first, my dear; you are young enough to persevere and have
patience. If your work is good and well written, as I am sure it is, you will
not remain unpublished for long."

Josie
bit her lip and looked down at her plate; patience had never been her strong
suit. Julian said nothing, but his eyes met Cassy's across the table and the
sadness in them was unmistakable.

When
they parted later, there was time only to whisper some encouragement and hope
he would take heart. But Cassy was now quite certain that her brother's
marriage was in deep trouble.

When
Richard Gardiner called for them a day later, the family and staff at Pemberley
had gathered to bid them farewell and Godspeed. As the time came for them to
leave, few could hold back the tears, especially not Elizabeth, for all her
uncertainties had returned.

*

That
afternoon, the weather worsened as the snow returned and fell steadily for two
days and nights, stranding travellers and isolating families in their homes all
over the county. The news from Hertfordshire, when it came in a letter from
Anna, delayed in the mail, was even worse.

There
had been a catastrophic accident on the railway bridge at Sidley's Creek, not
two miles from Longbourn. Anne-Marie and her husband Colin Elliott, just back
from Europe, together with Dr Charles Bingley and groups of volunteers from the
surrounding farms and villages, had spent days and nights working first at the
crash site and later at the new Children's Hospital, which had been hastily
opened to take in the wounded. Many had died, mostly women and children, day
trippers from the Midlands on an excursion to London, but the efforts of
Charles Bingley and Anne-Marie and their helpers were being hailed in the local
press, as the travellers realised that they owed their lives to the work of a
few dedicated men and women.

Anna
had sent vivid accounts of the carnage at Sidley's Creek and of the heroic
efforts of Dr Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Elliott in what were appalling
conditions.

She
concluded:

We
are all so proud of them, especially Anne-Marie and Charles, but indeed credit
is due to all the ordinary folk, who came from miles around to help save the
lives of these unfortunate travellers. Without their efforts, many more lives
would have been lost.

Elizabeth
passed the letter to her husband. Darcy, depressed as he was by the tales of
death and destruction, set about collecting the reports together and sent them
to Josie, with a note which drew her attention to the work of Anne-Marie and
her brother Dr Charles Bingley.

"Sometimes,"
he wrote, "dedication to a cause, like virtue, is its own reward and yet,
at other times, it can be worth so much more."

It
was not unkindly meant; simply an endorsement of the words of his friend
Bingley and his wife Jane, whose praise for their granddaughter's unselfish dedication
to a cause, had brought a dissenting comment from Josie.

He
let Elizabeth see his note before sending it away to the post.

"Is
it likely that Josie will pay any attention?" she asked, without much
enthusiasm. Her husband smiled, and said, "Perhaps not now, because she is
too absorbed in her own discontent; but she is an intelligent young woman and
will realise one day that there is more to happiness than self-indulgence. It
is not an easy lesson to master, but we must all learn it."

This
was no sanctimonious sermon; Elizabeth knew that her husband spoke from
experience. It was a lesson they had both learned well.

*

With
Richard away, Cassy was miserable and annoyed at herself for being so. Her
distress was, she felt, self-inflicted, caused chiefly by the need to keep the
confidence placed in her hands by her brother. It denied her the benefit of
confiding in her husband and of giving some comfort to her mother, who she knew
was wracked with anxiety for her son and his family. Her promise to respect
Julian's confidence was causing her a great deal of anguish.

Never
in all her years of marriage to Richard had she kept any of her fears or
misgivings from him, not for any significant time at any rate. Apart from her
dependence upon his good sense and judgment, to deceive him, however
innocently, was anathema to her. Yet, this time, she had argued, there was no
alternative. Julian had insisted, begged even, that no one must know.

Cassy
wished with all her heart that Richard would return and give her some
indication whether her brother had confided in him, too. She suffered, not
knowing that her husband was himself charged with a mission by his
father-in-law, who was keen to discover how deeply troubled Julian's marriage
was.

When
he did return, however, he gave no sign of having learnt any more than he had
known of the matter before he had left. He talked of the journey, which had
been reasonable, since they had just escaped the hazardous weather, and of
London, where he had met and conferred very satisfactorily with his father's
lawyer on matters regarding his mother's property. Cassy could not discover
what, if anything, had transpired between him and Julian. It was exceedingly
frustrating and made her own situation considerably more difficult.

*

With
the warmer weather, the buds on the trees began to swell and burst, as Spring
returned, albeit tentatively, to the dales. Mr. Carr, who had been away in
London on business for some weeks, returned to Rushmore Farm and, on a fine
Spring morning, as Lizzie was preparing for her journey to Cambridge, he called
on the Gardiners to invite them to spend a day and dine with him at Rushmore
Farm.

He
had expended much money and even more time repairing and refurbishing the house
and restoring the gardens that had long been neglected. It had been not only a
labour of love, for he had become very attached to the farm, but a chance to
demonstrate to his friends how hard he had worked and to return their very
generous hospitality.

The
Gardiners, all but Edward, who had joined a busy practice in Derby in the New
Year, were delighted to accept, especially Cassy and her daughters, who had not
been to the farm in several years. The Camdens, since their decision to
emigrate, had spent little time on entertaining their neighbours.

Laura
Ann recalled that she had visited the farm, when she was very little.

"I
remember that it looked like an enormous barn," she said, and Lizzie, not
wishing to offend Mr. Carr, turned to him and said quickly, "I am sure my
sister's memory must be faulty, Mr. Carr, for I cannot believe you would have
purchased a place that looked like a barn!"

Mr.
Carr laughed heartily and assured them that if it was a barn, then he had made
sure it was a pretty comfortable one, and he hoped some of the work he had done
through the Winter had rendered the old place a little more handsome and a good
deal more presentable than just any old barn.

Then
turning to little Laura Ann, he added, "And I can promise you, Miss Laura,
there are no mice in my barn, though there is a very large owl, who lives in
the old oak tree, returning every night to exactly the same branch."

While
this piece of information provoked a question from Laura to her mother about
owls and mice, young Darcy, meanwhile, having visited his friend through the
Winter, while he had worked on his property, was moved to protest.

"You
are much too modest my friend; Rushmore Farm is a fine, solid old place, albeit
one that had been neglected a while, but you have done wonders with it. Mama,
you will not believe what a transformation he has effected; he has polished the
woodwork and burnished the brass, why he has even had new plumbing and gas
lamps installed."

"Oh,
have you?" said Lizzie, sounding a little disappointed, as Cassy congratulated
him upon his wisdom in improving the property. "Modern plumbing I
do
agree with, but I think candlelight is
much prettier than gaslight.

It
seems too yellow and changes the colours of things, does it not, Mama?"

Lizzie
asked.

Cassy
agreed that she had a preference for the softer glow of candlelight in the
living rooms, and Mr. Carr promised immediately that they would have only
candles and no gas lamps in the parlour and dining room at the farm, if that
was what the ladies desired.

"I
do agree that the glow of candles creates a more romantic ambience," he
said and added, "The French are partial to it also, probably for the same
reason."

"It
hides the flaws on ladies' faces," said Lizzie, quite artlessly, bringing
a most gallant response from Mr. Carr about the total lack of such a
requirement in her case, that made her blush and sink into silence. When he
left, having extracted a firm promise that they would all meet at Rushmore Farm
on Saturday, it was quite clear that Lizzie had been rather more impressed with
their visitor, whom she was seeing again after several months, than she had
been before. Perhaps he had improved upon closer acquaintance.

*

That
night, having agonised all week, Cassy could no longer bear her isolation from
her husband. She told him all she knew of her brother's predicament, pleading
with him not to betray her to Julian when they met. "I think he finally
confided in me because he could no longer hold within his own heart the pain
and shame he feels," she said. "I have wanted to speak of it to you,
Richard, to ask your opinion, but I could not, because he made me promise I
would tell no one," she explained, and Richard promised no one would know.

Then,
to her surprise, he told her of the mission he had been given by Mr. Darcy.
"He wishes me to try, as their physician, to discover how grave the
situation is between them. Your Mama, having heard Lizzie's account of the
visits of Mr. Barrett and others for poetry readings while Julian was away at
work, has been troubled and your Papa wishes to discover the truth," he
explained.

"And
do you believe they will?" she asked.