Death Comes to Pemberley

Epilogue

On a morning in early June, Elizabeth and Darcy took their breakfast together on the terrace. The day was bright with the prospect of friendship and shared enjoyment. Henry Alveston had been able to take a short break from his London responsibilities and had arrived the previous evening, and the Bingleys were expected for luncheon and dinner.

Darcy said, “I would be grateful, Elizabeth, if you would take a walk with me by the river. There are things I need to say, matters which have long been on my mind and which should have been spoken of earlier between us.”

Elizabeth acquiesced and, five minutes later, they walked together over the greensward to the riverside path. Both were silent, until they crossed the bridge where the stream narrowed leading to the bench put up when Lady Anne was expecting her first child to afford her a convenient resting place. It gave a view across the water to Pemberley House, an aspect which Darcy and Elizabeth both loved and to which their feet always instinctively turned. The day had begun with an early mist which the head gardener invariably prophesied presaged a hot day, and the trees, which had lost the first tender sprouts of the lime-green leaves of spring, were now in full luxurious leaf, while the banks of summer flowers and the sparkling river combined in a living celebration of beauty and fulfilment.

It was a relief that the longed-for letter from America had arrived at Longbourn and a copy sent by Kitty to Elizabeth had been delivered that morning. Wickham had written only a brief account, to which Lydia had added a few scribbled lines. Their response to the New World had been ecstatic. Wickham wrote chiefly about the magnificent horses and the plans of Mr Cornbinder and himself to breed chasers, while Lydia wrote that Williamsburg was in every way an improvement on boring Meryton, and that she had already made friends with some of the officers and their wives stationed in an army garrison near the city. It seemed probable that Wickham had at last found an occupation which he was likely to keep; whether he was able to keep his wife was a question from which the Darcys were grateful to be separated by three thousand miles of ocean.

Darcy said, “I have been thinking of Wickham and of the journey he and our sister have faced, and for the first time, and with sincerity, I can wish him well. I trust that the great ordeal he has survived may indeed lead to the reformation of which the Reverend Cornbinder is so confident, and that the New World will continue to fulfil all his hopes, but the past is too much part of what I am and my only wish now is that I never see him again. His attempt to seduce Georgiana was so abominable that I can never think of him without repugnance. I have attempted to thrust the whole experience out of my mind as if it had never happened, an expedient which I thought would be the easier if it were never spoken of between Georgiana and myself.”

For a moment Elizabeth was silent. Wickham was not a shadow on their happiness, nor could he damage the perfect confidence, spoken or unspoken, that existed between them. If this was not a happy marriage the words were meaningless. Wickham’s previous friendship with Elizabeth was never mentioned out of a delicacy which they both felt, but they were united in their opinion of his character and mode of life, and Elizabeth had shared her husband’s determination that he could never be received at Pemberley. Respecting the same delicacy she had never spoken to Darcy about Georgiana’s proposed elopement, which he saw as Wickham’s plan to get his hands on Georgiana’s fortune and avenge himself for past imagined slights. Her heart was so full of love for her husband and trust in his judgement that there could be no room for criticism; she could not believe that he had acted towards Georgiana without thought or care, but perhaps the time had come when the past, however painful, had to be confronted and spoken of between brother and sister.

She said gently, “Is that silence between you and Georgiana not perhaps a mistake, my love? We have to remember that nothing disastrous happened. You came to Ramsgate in time and Georgiana confessed all, and was relieved to do so. We cannot even be sure that she would, in fact, have gone away with him. You should be able to see her without always recalling what is so painful to you both. I know that she longs to feel that she is forgiven.”

Darcy said, “It is I who am in need of forgiveness. Denny’s death has made me face my own responsibility, perhaps for the first time, and it is not only Georgiana who has been injured by my negligence. Wickham would never have eloped with Lydia, never have married her and been brought into your family if I had subdued my pride and told the truth about him when he first appeared in Meryton.”

Elizabeth said, “You could hardly have done that without betraying Georgiana’s secret.”

“A word of warning in the right quarters would have done it. But the evil goes back much further, to my decision to remove Georgiana from school and place her in the care of Mrs Younge. How could I have been so blind, so uncaring, so neglectful of the most elementary precautions, I who am her brother, who was her guardian, who was the one my mother and father trusted to care for her and keep her safe? She was only just fifteen at the time and had not been happy at school. It was a fashionable and expensive academy but there was no loving care, and it inculcated pride and the values of the fashionable world, not sound learning and good sense. It was right that Georgiana should leave but she was not ready to have an establishment set up for her. She, like me, was shy and unconfident in society; you saw that yourself when, with Mr and Mrs Gardiner, you first took refreshments at Pemberley.”

Elizabeth said, “I saw, too, what I have always seen, the trust and the love which existed between you.”

He went on as if she had not spoken. “And to set her up in an establishment, first in London, and then to sanction a move to Ramsgate! She needed to be at Pemberley; Pemberley was her home. And I could have brought her here, found a suitable lady as her companion, and perhaps a governess to further an education which in essentials had been neglected, and to be here with her to provide the love and support of a brother. Instead I placed her in the care of a woman whom, even now that she is dead and beyond any earthly reconciliation, I shall always think of as the personification of evil. You have never spoken about it, but you must have wondered why Georgiana had not remained with me at Pemberley, the only house which she knew as home.”

“I own that I did wonder from time to time, but after I met Georgiana and I saw you together I could not believe you had acted with any other motive than her happiness and well-being. As for Ramsgate, it could have been that medical men had recommended she should have the benefit of sea air. Perhaps Pemberley, where both her parents died, had become too imbued with sadness and your own care of the estate might have made it difficult for you to devote such time to Georgiana as you would wish. I saw that she was happy to be with you and could be confident that you had always acted as a loving brother.” She paused, then said, “What of Colonel Fitzwilliam? He was joined with you as guardian. Presumably you interviewed Mrs Younge together?”

“Yes, indeed. I sent a coach to convey her to Pemberley for the interview and she was invited afterwards to stay for dinner. Looking back on it, I can see how easily two susceptible young men were manipulated by her. She presented herself as a perfect choice to have responsibility for a young girl. She looked the part, spoke the right words, professed to be a gentlewoman, well educated, sympathetic to the young, with impeccable manners and morally beyond reproach.”

“Did she not come with references?”

“Impressive references. They were, of course, forged. We accepted them mainly because we were both seduced by her appearance and apparent suitability for the task, and although we should have written to the so-called previous employers, we neglected to do so. Only one reference was taken up and the testimonial received later proved to have been from an associate of Mrs Younge and was as false as was her own original application. I believed that Fitzwilliam had written and he thought that the matter had been left to me and I accept that it was my responsibility; he had been recalled to his regiment and was much occupied with more immediate concerns. It is I who must bear the heavier weight of guilt. I cannot make excuses for either of us, but at the time I did.”

Elizabeth said, “It was an onerous obligation for two young men, neither of you married, even if one were a brother. Was there no female relative or close friend of the family whom Lady Anne could have joined as guardian?”

“There lay the problem. The obvious choice was Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my mother’s elder sister. To choose elsewhere would have provoked a lasting breach between them. But they were never close, their dispositions were so different. My mother was generally regarded as strict in her opinions and imbued with the pride of her class, but she was the kindest of women to those in trouble or need and her judgement never erred. You know what Lady Catherine is, or rather was. It is your great goodness to her after her bereavement that has begun to soften her heart.”

Elizabeth said, “I can never think of Lady Catherine’s defects without remembering that it was her visit to Longbourn, her determination to discover whether there was an engagement between us and, if so, to prevent it, that brought us together.”

Darcy said, “When she reported how you had responded to her interference, I knew that there was hope. But you were an adult woman, one with too much pride to tolerate Lady Catherine’s insolence. She would have been a disastrous guardian for a fifteen-year-old girl. Georgiana was always a little afraid of her. Invitations were frequently received at Pemberley that my sister should visit Rosings. Lady Catherine’s proposal was that she should share a governess with her cousin and that they should be brought up as sisters.”

“Perhaps with the intention that they would become sisters. Lady Catherine made it plain to me that you were destined for her daughter.”

“Destined by herself, not by my mother; it was an additional reason why Lady Catherine was not chosen as one of Georgiana’s guardians. But much as I deplore my aunt’s interference with the lives of others, she would have proved more responsible than did I. Mrs Younge would not have imposed on her. I risked Georgiana’s happiness, indeed possibly her life, when I placed her in the power of that woman. Mrs Younge knew from the start what she was about and Wickham was part of that plot from the first. He made it his business to keep himself informed about what was happening at Pemberley; he told her that I was seeking a companion for Georgiana and she lost no time in applying for the post. Mrs Younge knew that, with his strong ability to captivate women, his best chance of achieving the lifestyle to which he felt entitled was to marry money, and Georgiana was selected to be the victim.”

“So you think it was a scheme of infamy on both their parts from the moment you and she first met?”

“Undoubtedly. She and Wickham had planned the elopement from the first. He admitted as much when we saw him at Gracechurch Street.”

They sat for a time without speaking, gazing where the stream eddied and swirled over the flat stones of the river. Then Darcy roused himself.

“But there is more and it has to be said. How could I have been so unfeeling, so presumptuous as to seek to separate Bingley from Jane? If I had taken the trouble to converse with her, to get to know her goodness and gentleness, I should have realised that Bingley would be a fortunate man if he could win her love. I suppose I was afraid that, if Bingley and your sister married, I should find it more difficult to overcome my love for you, a passion which had become an overwhelming need, but one which I had convinced myself I must conquer. Because of the shadow which my great-grandfather’s life had cast over the family I was taught from childhood that great possessions come with great responsibilities, and that one day the care of Pemberley, and of the many people whose livelihoods and happiness depended on it, would rest on my shoulders. Personal desires and private happiness must always come second to this almost sacred responsibility.

“It was this certainty that what I was doing was wrong that led to that first disgraceful proposal and the even worse letter which followed it and which sought to justify at least a part of my behaviour. I deliberately proposed in words which no woman who had any affection for, or loyalty to, her family, or any pride or respect, could possibly accept, and with your contemptuous refusal and my self-justifying letter I was convinced that all thoughts of you had been killed for ever. But it was not to be. After we parted you were still in my mind and heart, and it was when you and your aunt and uncle were visiting Derbyshire and we met unexpectedly at Pemberley that I knew with absolute certainty that I still loved you and would never cease loving you. It was then that I began, but without much hope, to show you that I had changed, to be the kind of man you might think worthy to take as a husband. I was like a little boy showing off my toys, desperate to win approval.”

After a pause he went on: “The suddenness of the change from that disgraceful letter I put into your hands at Rosings, the insolence, the unjustified resentment, the arrogance and the insult to your family, all this to be followed so shortly by my welcome to you and Mr and Mrs Gardiner at Pemberley – my need to make amends and somehow to gain your respect, even to hope for something warmer, was so urgent that it overcame discretion. But how could you believe me altered? How could any rational creature? Even Mr and Mrs Gardiner must have known of my reputation for pride and arrogance and been amazed at the transformation. And my behaviour to Miss Bingley, you must have found that reprehensible. You saw it when you came to Netherfield to visit Jane when she was ill. As I had no intentions towards Caroline Bingley, why did I give her hope by seeing so much of the family? At times my rudeness to her must have been humiliating. And Bingley, honest fellow, must have had hopes of an alliance. For my part, it was not the behaviour of a friend or a gentleman to either of them. The truth is that I was so filled with self-disgust that I was no longer fit for human society.”

Elizabeth said, “I don’t think Caroline Bingley is easily humiliated when in pursuit of an objective, but if you are determined to believe that Bingley’s disappointment at the loss of a closer alliance outweighs the inconvenience of being married to his sister, I shall certainly not attempt to disabuse you. You cannot be accused of deceiving either of them, there was never any doubt about your feelings. And as for the change in your manner towards me, you must remember that I was learning to know you and was falling in love. Perhaps I believed you had changed because I needed to believe with all my heart. And if I was guided by instinct rather than by rational thought, haven’t I been proved right?”

“Oh my dear love, so very right.”

Elizabeth continued, “I have as much to regret as have you, and your letter had one advantage, it made me think for the first time that I could have been wrong about George Wickham; how unlikely it was that the gentleman whom Mr Bingley chose as his best friend would have behaved in the way Mr Wickham described, would have been so false to his father’s wishes and so activated by malice. The letter which you so deplore did at least some good.”

Darcy said, “Those passages about Wickham were the only honest words in the whole letter. It is strange, is it not, that I should write so much deliberately designed to hurt and humiliate you and yet could not bear the thought that, parted as we would be, you would always see me as the man Wickham described to you.”

She moved closer to him and for a moment they sat in silence. She said, “We are neither of us the people we were then. Let us look on the past only as it gives us pleasure, and to the future with confidence and hope.”

Darcy said, “I have been pondering about the future. I know that it is difficult to prise me from Pemberley but would it not be a delight to return to Italy and revisit places where we spent our wedding journey. We could travel in November and avoid the English winter. We need not spend long abroad if you dislike leaving the boys.”

Elizabeth smiled. “The boys would be safe in the care of Jane, you know how she loves looking after them. To return to Italy would be a joy but it is one which we must postpone. I was about to tell you my plan for November. Early that month, my love, I hope to be holding our daughter in my arms.”

He could not speak but the joy which brought a tear to his eyes suffused his face and the strong grip of his hand was enough. When he could find a voice he said, “But are you well? Surely you should have a shawl. Would it be better to go back to the house and then you can rest. Ought you to be sitting here?”

Elizabeth laughed. “I am perfectly well; am I not always? And this is the best of places in which to break the news. Remember, this is the bench where Lady Anne rested when she was expecting you. I cannot, of course, promise a daughter. I have a feeling that I am intended to be the mother of sons, but if it is a boy we shall make a place for him.”

“We shall, my love, in the nursery and in our hearts.”

It was in the silence that followed that they saw Georgiana and Alveston coming down the steps from Pemberley to the greensward beside the river. Darcy said with mock severity, “What is this I see, Mrs Darcy? Our sister and Mr Alveston walking hand in hand and in full view of Pemberley windows? Is this not shocking? What can it mean?”

“I leave that to you to determine, Mr Darcy.”

“I can only conclude that Mr Alveston has something of importance to communicate, something he wants to ask of me, perhaps.”

“Not to ask, my love. We must remember that Georgiana is no longer subject to guardianship. All will have been settled between them and they come together not to ask but to tell. But there is one thing they need and hope for, your blessing.”

“They shall have it with all my heart. I can think of no other man whom I would be better pleased to call my brother. And I shall talk with Georgiana this evening. There shall be no more silence between us.”

Together they got up from the bench and stood watching while Georgiana and Alveston, their happy laughter rising above the constant music of the stream, their hands still linked, came running to them across the shining grass.