Mr. Darcy's Daughter (3 page)

At
first, Darcy was silent. He had heard something of the matter from his
son-in-law, sufficient to concern him, but this was far more serious than he
had thought. He had no wish to panic his wife; he felt deeply for her and their
son.

Elizabeth
believed he was probably shocked by her revelations and, breaking the silence,
she asked gently, "What do you think could be the matter with Josie?"

Darcy
sighed and shook his head.

"I
am not a physician, my dear, and I would not pretend to understand the
afflictions a young woman may suffer, but since you ask, I would hazard a guess
that loneliness and deep disappointment would be the main causes of her
malaise. There is little to involve her at Cambridge. All Julian's friends are
probably scientists like himself, and while their work is unarguably valuable
and important, it is unlikely to interest Josie. They do tend to talk
incessantly of arcane subjects and little else. She has never mentioned any
friends, and Anthony is too little to be much company for her; she is probably
bored as well as lonely."

"But
she has her own interests; she writes..." his wife interposed.

"Indeed
she does, but then, she has failed to interest anyone in her manuscript. Cassy
tells me Josie had hopes of having it accepted by one of the publishing houses
in London but to no avail. She must be very disappointed,"

he
explained, and there was genuine compassion in his voice.

Elizabeth
could hear it; Darcy had once commented favourably on Josie's work and had
collected and preserved in the library at Pemberley some of her pieces
published in the
Matlock Review,
which was part of her father's publishing empire. But Josie
had wanted to be accepted by the metropolitan publishers, sadly without
success.

"But
surely," said Elizabeth, "would such a disappointment be sufficient
to send her into a decline? Cassy says she is weakened in both body and spirit;
is this possible?"

Darcy
was thoughtful. "I gathered from Richard that she has been so for some
time and refuses to see a physician. He feels her condition may well be rooted
in the mind. But to answer your question, Lizzie, is it not possible to
comprehend how one who is passionately committed to a cause or an ambition, no
less than one who is deeply in love, may, if repeatedly thwarted and denied her
dearest wish, find less and less to live for?"

Elizabeth
was outraged by this suggestion. "But Darcy, Josie has Anthony and Julian
to live for!" she protested.

"Indeed
she does, my love," he countered, "but Anthony is a child, and Julian
is so immersed in his work, which takes him from home frequently and keeps him
working late, even when he is there. He has few interests outside his work and
is not very communicative, at the best of times. Can you not understand that,
for Josie, it must be a rather lonely existence, even a depressing one?"

Seeing
her bewilderment, for Elizabeth, since her marriage, had wanted no greater
excitement than that which her life with him and their family at Pemberley
provided, he put his arms around her to comfort her.

Even
though unconvinced by his argument, she appreciated, as always, his kindness
and the reassuring warmth of his love. Darcy, she realised, had come a very
long way since those early days in Hertfordshire, when she had deemed him to be
reserved, insensitive, and a proud man who cared little for the feelings of
others.

How
wrong she had been. Since their marriage, she had come to esteem and value his
sense of honour, depend upon his good judgment, and, indeed, to enjoy and
cherish the depth of his love for her. She knew, too, that he was concerned for
all those for whom he was responsible, be they family, friends, or servants.

That
he loved her and their children dearly, she had never doubted.

While
she still permitted herself the privilege of teasing him occasionally, on the
grounds that a wife may, with her husband, take certain liberties denied to
others, she had to admit that his character had risen so high in her estimation
that any minor shortcomings had been totally eclipsed.

In
their daughter, Elizabeth saw many of the same qualities that distinguished her
father. Cassy Darcy, for that was how many of her friends and childhood playmates
spoke of her, even though she had been married for many years to Dr Gardiner,
was as outgoing and open as her father had been reserved and shy as a young
man. Yet, like him, she cared passionately about the people and places she
loved and placed their welfare above all things. Blessed with Elizabeth's charm
as well as the intelligence of her father, generous and kind with it, Cassy was
indeed her father's daughter.

A
worthy child of Pemberley, she was the firm favourite of all those men and
women who lived and worked on the estate. They had watched her grow up, survive
the tragic death of her brother William, fall in love and marry the
distinguished Dr Gardiner, and raise a fine young family.

To
them, she was the best and, indeed, many would have wished to see her become
the next Mistress of Pemberley.

END
OF PROLOGUE

Part One

THE INCLEMENT WEATHER INTO which the Gardiners drove as they
left the boundaries of Pemberley did nothing to improve Cassandra's
apprehensive mood.

Travelling
South through Leicestershire, they had hoped to reach Northhampton before
nightfall, but the driving rain rendered that prospect more hazardous and less
likely with every mile.

Forced
to break journey at the small town of Market Harborough, they took rooms at the
local hostelry, only to find Rebecca Tate and her maid Nelly ensconced next
door. They had met at the top of the stairs, going down to dinner, and soon
discovered that Julian Darcy had also written to his mother-in-law, though not,
it appeared, in the same desperate terms that he had used in his letter to
Richard Gardiner.

Rebecca
apologised to Cassy for her non-attendance at their meeting on the previous
afternoon, confessing that Julian's note had driven all else from her mind,
leaving her time only to make hurried preparations for their journey to
Cambridge.

"With
Mr. Tate already in London, I decided that Nelly and I would go to Cambridge on
our own," she declared, adding, "I felt I could not wait one more
day, when there may have been something I could do to help. Oh, my poor Josie,
I cannot imagine what has afflicted her. Why Cassy, you must remember what a
Rebecca Ann Collins bright, happy girl she used to be when she lived at home in
Matlock. It must be the house--I am sure of it. It's cold and badly ventilated,
quite unhealthy, especially in Winter. I said when they moved in, it was most
unsuitable," she declared.

Both
Richard and Cassy held their peace, not wishing to alarm her by revealing what
they already knew. It was becoming clear to them that Julian had not been as
candid with his mother-in-law as he had been with them. Cassy knew her husband
would reveal nothing, nor would she.

At
dinner, Richard enquired politely as to how Mrs. Tate and her maid had
travelled to Market Harborough from Matlock. It transpired that they were using
one of the Tates' smaller vehicles. Mr. Tate, they were told, had taken the
carriage to London. Cassy was immensely relieved. It dispensed with the
obligation for Richard to offer them seats in his carriage for the rest of the
journey, which he would surely have done had they been travelling by coach. As
it happened, they were well accommodated and, before retiring to their
respective rooms, they agreed to leave for Cambridge after an early breakfast.

When
they set out on the following morning, Cassy confessed to her husband, "I
doubt if I could have concealed for much longer what we know of Josie's
condition, if Becky Tate had been travelling with us to Cambridge."

He
agreed. "It would certainly have been difficult to pretend that we knew no
more than she does," he said.

The
streets were wet as they drove into Cambridge.

The
air was cold, and a sharp wind whipped the branches of the trees in the park
and penetrated the carriage. Cassandra drew her wrap close around her, and yet
she was cold and uncomfortable. The rain, though not as hard as before, was
falling steadily as they approached the modest house that Julian and Josie
rented in a quiet close not far from his college. It was not an unattractive dwelling,
from an architectural point of view, but the garden appeared neglected, with
sprouting bulbs and weeds competing for attention, and the house, with its
blinds closed, seemed dark and unwelcoming. Once indoors, the aspect improved a
little. Mrs. Tate was at pains to explain how she had, on a previous visit,
attempted to brighten up the parlour with new drapes and a few items of modern
furniture, banishing an old horsehair sofa and two worn armchairs to the attic.

Julian
met them in the hall, into which they were admitted by an anxious-looking young
maidservant. While Mrs. Tate insisted upon going upstairs to her daughter
immediately, Richard and Cassy were ushered into the large but rather untidy
parlour to the right of the hallway, where tea was to be taken.

Despite
the best efforts of Mrs. Tate, there was no disguising the general drabness of
the room. Dark wood frames and striped wallpaper did little to help, while
piles of books and journals lying on tables and strewn on the floor beside the
chairs added clutter to a cheerless environment.

Only
the fire burned brightly, keeping them warm, while the rain continued outside.
How on earth, Cassy wondered, was anyone to recover from depression in
surroundings such as these?

Writing
later to her mother, she said:

Mama,
everything is in such a state of disarray; it would drive me insane to live
here. I cannot believe that Josie has been so ill as not to notice the disorderly
condition of the house and the neglected garden. As for my poor brother, how
anyone who has spent most of his life at Pemberley could possibly endure such
wretched surroundings, not from poverty or privation, but by choice, I cannot
imagine. Yet Julian does not appear to notice. His study, if it could be called
that, so untidy and disorganised does it seem, is his chief retreat, when he is
not with Josie or at work in his beloved laboratory.

By
the time Mrs. Tate came downstairs, tea had been served and the fire stoked up
to a good blaze. Julian had insisted that they partake of tea and toasted
muffins while he went upstairs to his wife. Once he had left the room,
Cassandra turned expectantly to Mrs. Tate, who was clearly eager to talk.
"How is Josie?" she asked and Mrs. Tate, speaking in a kind of stage
whisper, loud enough for anyone to hear who cared to listen, said, "Very
weak and pale, very weak, indeed, poor dear. It seems she has had little or no
nourishment for days."

She
sounded exceedingly anxious and puzzled. Becky Tate was the same age as Cassy,
but despite her many talents, seemed much less able to cope with the situation
that confronted them.

"Has
Josie been refusing to take food as well as medication?" asked Richard,
his brow furrowed by a frown. Mrs. Tate nodded.

"It
certainly seems so, Dr Gardiner; not that Josie would say anything, but I
slipped out and asked her maid, when she removed the tea tray, if her mistress
had not been eating well and she said, 'No, not at all well.' Indeed, it would
appear she eats less than a child would at meals and then only to please her
husband, who begs her to take some nourishment. In between times, she drinks
only weak tea or barley water and, very occasionally, takes a small piece of
fruit," she explained, while wearing a very bewildered expression.

Rebecca
Tate was usually a sensible, practical sort of person, yet it was difficult for
her to understand what had happened to her once bright and lively daughter.

Cassy
noticed that Richard was shaking his head, and she could tell from his solemn
countenance that he was worried, too.

"Refusing
medication is bad enough--declining food is much more serious.

It
means that her body would be enfeebled by sheer lack of nourishment, and
thereby, less able to cope with whatever it is that afflicts her," he
said, unable to conceal his concern.

Shortly
afterwards, Julian returned to say he had spoken with Josie and she was willing
to see Richard now. Cassy thought it sounded as if she was granting him a
privilege, which was strange! They went upstairs, all but Cassy who remained alone
in the parlour, casting an eye upon the clutter that surrounded her.

Presently,
the maid came to clear away the tea things and Cassy recognised her. It was
Susan, one of the maids from the Tates' household, who had been Josie's
personal maid and had moved with her to Pemberley after her marriage to Julian,
and later to Cambridge.

Clearly
delighted to see Cassandra, the girl curtseyed briefly, put the tray back on
the table, wiped her hands on her apron, and became quite talkative.

"Miss
Cassy--beg pardon, ma'am, I mean Mrs. Gardiner--I am so very happy to see you,
ma'am. Looking so well, too, if I may say so. Is your family well, ma'am, Miss
Lizzie and Master Edward?" she asked, eager for information.