Mr. Darcy's Daughter (53 page)

She
greeted Cassandra with genuine warmth. "I am so happy you could come,
Cassy," she said, as if she had feared her invitation would not be
accepted.

So
heartfelt was her welcome and so obvious her pleasure, Cassy was immediately
glad she had come.

Their
conversation was at first slow and confined to those subjects that were always
easy to speak of, as they asked after each other's health or their plans for
Christmas. Before long, however, it was clear to Cassy that Becky was eager to
speak of other, more burdensome matters.

She
had spent many agonizing months in contemplation since Josie's death and been
riven with guilt and misery. The anguish of losing her only daughter in
humiliating circumstances had isolated her from the rest of her family and
friends. That she could find no excuse for Josie, nor anyone but her daughter
and Mr. Barrett to blame, only increased her distress.

Most
of these tribulations, she had borne alone.

Her
husband, whose indulgence of his beloved child had possibly contributed to
Josie's stubborn determination to pursue her literary ambitions against all
common sense, had turned almost totally to his work, spending less and less
time at home, unwilling to share his own or his wife's grief. Only Emily
Courtney, of all her friends, had continued to visit her and understood the
extent of her anguish.

As
poor Becky Tate poured out her unhappy tale, Cassy, having listened a while,
moved to sit beside her on the sofa and put her arms around her friend to
comfort her. It was as if she had opened the floodgates; the emotions raw and
unchecked, rushed forth, swamping both women in a welter of sobs and words,
which neither could stop nor comprehend.

Cassy
held her, until she had done with weeping, helped dry her tears, and got her a
cup of tea.

"There,
you must feel a lot better now," she said. Mrs. Tate nodded, gulping down
her tea, and then, pressing Cassy's hand, she said, "Bless you, Cassy, it
was kind of you to come."

Cassy
stayed a while longer, during which time they talked of days past, recalling
that they had all come out at the Pemberley Ball, in the Autumn of 1834. Emma
Bingley, Cassy Darcy, and Becky Collins had all turned seventeen that year.
They had been three vivacious young women and the Pemberley Ball had been given
in their honour, by Mr. Darcy.

"What
a grand ball it was," said Becky."I remember it as though it were
yesterday.

Mr.
Tate and I were not as yet engaged and I, hoping to please him, must have tried
on half a dozen gowns before I settled on the one I wore. Your cousin Emma
Bingley was by far the most beautiful girl present, but we all knew that young
Dr Gardiner had eyes only for you, Cassy," she said, her voice softening
with nostalgia, as she added,

"What
happy days they were, where have they all gone, Cassy?"

Cassy
did not need reminding. Her memories of that Autumn were rather different to
Becky's, but nonetheless clear.

Perhaps,
Becky had forgotten, but it had been on the night of the Pemberley Ball that
Richard had proposed; their engagement was announced on the following day, and
later on that same fateful day, her young brother William had been killed,
changing all their lives forever.

It
was a day Cassy would never forget. However, there was no purpose to be served
by reminding Becky of it now, she thought; it would only compound her sorrow.

Since
that dreadful day, their lives had moved apart for some years, converged for a
while when Julian married Josie, and now seemed about to diverge again.

Some
time later, Cassy rose to leave, promising before she went that Anthony would
come over to spend the day with his grandmother on the morrow. Mrs. Tate's
pleasure was obvious. Her young grandson was all that remained of Josie.

"Miss
Longhurst will bring him to you and he may be excused from lessons, so you can
give him his Christmas presents and he may do as he pleases all day long. I
think he will enjoy that enormously and I know you will, too," Cassy said
as they embraced.

Once
again Becky Tate thanked her and expressed the hope that they would meet again
soon.

"Emily
and you are my only link with the family; I rely on you to write and give me
all the news, Cassy, please," she pleaded, and Cassy had to say, "Of
course I shall, Becky. You know that."

As
Cassy drove away leaving her friend, a lonely figure at the entrance to an
empty house, she wondered at the coldness with which fate dealt out a random
hand, comprised of blessings and tribulations, with no thought for their
consequences, leaving those who held the cards to play them as they saw fit and
make what they could of their lives.

Becky
Tate had been dealt a dreadful hand so far, thought Cassy, and it seemed so
unfair.

Later
that week, in a letter to her cousin Emma Wilson, Cassy wrote:
My dear Emma,

You
will, I know, be delighted to learn that we have had letters from both Julian
and Lizzie this week. They are both well.

Julian
seems content to be working hard in Paris and is making preparations to travel
to Africa, while Lizzie claims to be "blissfully happy," and her Mr.
Carr is likewise blessed, we are to understand.

I
am very pleased about Julian, about whom we have all been concerned, but since
his return for Lizzie's wedding, he seems a changed man. I know he still misses
Josie, who would not? She was so full of spirit.

As
for my Lizzie, I never would have thought she was the romantic type, yet,
improbable as it might seem, here she is declaring that nothing any of us had
said had prepared her for the delightful state of matrimony!

Neither
she nor her beloved Mr. Carr can see anything but good in one another! Can one
ask for more? I think not!

But
my dear Emma, not everything is light and happiness. Having seen poor Becky
Tate, whom I visited some days ago, I am filled with feelings of outrage at the
unfairness of life. If Becky could have had one wish, it must have been to have
her daughter Josie advantageously and happily married. With Julian as a
son-in-law, it seemed she had all her wishes come true.

Yet
now, Josie is dead and Becky is so alone, it is pitiful. Mr. Tate appears to
spend very little time with her. Her only consolation is that Anthony is with
us and can visit her, or she him, whenever she is in Derbyshire. Dear Emily
remains a close friend, of course.

Seeing
her unhappy fate, I am so grateful for the happiness we have and yet afraid of
what terrors the future may hold. But, as Papa has always said, "It is not
the fear of the morrow, but the needs of today that must drive us..." and
today, dear Emma, it is absolutely imperative that I complete my packing for
our move to Camden Park.

I
do look forward very much to your visit in the Spring, before which, of course,
we hope also to see you in London at Richard's investiture.

Papa
plans a small reception at Portman Place, afterwards. He is so very proud of
his son-in-law. I know you and James will be there.

Your
loving and devoted cousin,

Cassy
Gardiner.

*

With
the return of Mr. and Mrs. Carr from their extended wedding journey in Ireland,
their farm and its famous stud began to hum with activity in the Spring. It
attracted the attention of those persons whose interest in horses often far
outweighed their common sense, a state confirmed by their willingness to part
with vast sums of money for an unproven animal that caught the eye.

It
was at one of these yearling sales, on a warm Spring day, that Mr. Darcy,
seeking to purchase a colt for his grandson and heir, chanced upon a man who
had been wandering around the paddock, pad and pencil in hand, sketching the
horses. Anthony, who was hanging on his grandfather's arm, was interested and
asked if he might have one of the drawings. The ladies, Elizabeth, Cassandra, and
Lizzie, watching from the shade of a marquee where tea was being served, held
their breath as Mr. Darcy approached the itinerant artist. They could hear very
little of what was said between the two men, chiefly on account of Anthony
chipping in all through their conversation, but it all appeared perfectly
amicable.

Some
money changed hands and Anthony had his drawing, which the artist signed with a
flourish, before handing it to the boy. He then appeared to bow and thank Mr.
Darcy, as they parted.

Later,
when they were all at lunch, Mr. Darcy commented favourably on the man's work.
"He's very deft and gets the spirit of the horse with a few bold
strokes," he said, then turning to Mr. Carr, asked, "Who is he? Does
he live around here? I wonder, is he any good at landscapes? Would he do some
sketches of the park and terrace at Pemberley for me, do you think?"

Once
again, Elizabeth looked apprehensively across at Cassy, as they waited for Mr.
Carr to answer. What followed was a quite remarkable exchange.

"The
artist," said Mr. Carr, "is a Mr. Frank Wickham," and despite Mr.
Darcy's initial look of surprise, he continued, without interruption. "You
may recall, sir, he gave some vital evidence in the inquest into the death of
the man Jones last year; evidence that helped exonerate an innocent young
fellow, Josh Higgins, who looks after my horses."

As
Mr. Darcy nodded, remembering the incident well, Mr. Carr continued, with an
innocence based largely upon his ignorance of family history. "Wickham
comes from Hertfordshire, but prefers to work in the Midlands and the Lake
District. He has taken a cottage on my property for the Summer."

"I
see," said Mr. Darcy, quietly, and turning to Cassy, asked, "Cassy,
is Mr. Carr aware that Mr. Wickham is your Aunt Lydia's son?"

Cassandra
never hesitated, not even for a second. "Yes, Papa, and I believe he is
also aware that we have had some problems with Mr. Wickham's late father and
two of his brothers in the past; but Frank is not like his brothers, Papa. He
seems a decent sort of man and leads a very quiet life. Indeed, he has
confessed to Darcy that he would like to get away from the rest of his family,
which is why he chooses to work in this part of the country," she said, to
which information, Lizzie adeptly added her own contribution.

"He
has also begun teaching the children at the parish school to draw and paint, in
return for the use of the cottage. Mr. Carr made an agreement with him and the
children at the school are delighted; they have never had such an opportunity
before."

Whether
it was the fact that Mr. Carr had never been privy to the bitter feud between Mr.
Darcy and his
bete noire
the late George Wickham and therefore
spoke without fear or favour, or whether Mr. Darcy
had decided that forty years was long enough to dull even his righteous wrath,
they would never know.

Having
listened to their explanations, he nodded and shrugged his shoulders,
reflecting no doubt upon those other Wickhams, before saying to Mr. Carr,

"Well,
he certainly has a talent and is entitled to make a living. Perhaps, Mr. Carr,
you would be so good as to ask him to call on me one day next week. He should
bring along some of his work; if I am satisfied, I should like to commission a
series of sketches of some parts of the grounds and aspects of Pemberley House.
We could discuss terms and he could start work as soon as possible."

The
relief around the table was palpable.

As
young Darcy Gardiner told it afterwards, "It was as though we had all been
expecting Grandfather to explode in a fit of rage at the thought of a Wickham
in the neighbourhood. But to everyone's amazement, once Mama and Lizzie had
explained it all, my grandfather just nodded and looked as if he had never
heard of the dreadful George Wickham in his life. He is even ready to
commission Frank to do some sketches of the park at Pemberley!"

His
brother Edward, who was rarely troubled by such matters, especially now he was
a contented, married man, said in a laconic voice, "Perhaps Grandfather
has grown weary of the whole thing and would rather forget it. It
was
a long time ago."

Cassy
responded immediately. "Your grandfather has certainly not forgotten
George Wickham's monstrous conduct, but I think he knows in his heart that it
is uncharitable to visit the sins of the guilty upon the innocent.

"Frank
Wickham is not responsible for his parents and is entitled to be treated as an
individual, not just as the son of Mr. Wickham and Aunt Lydia. I believe Papa
has decided to do just that. He has no feud with Frank Wickham, who has done
none of us any harm; it would be unjust to punish him for his father's misdeeds
and we all know that Papa is never unjust to anyone."

Cassy's
loyal defence of her father silenced both her sons. Her husband, who had
listened without comment, finished his tea, rose, and kissed his wife, before
preparing to leave the room.

"I
think your mother has had the last word on this matter. I could not agree with
her more," he said, and walked with Cassy to the entrance, where the
carriage waited to convey him to Derby.