Mr. Darcy's Daughter (4 page)

Equally
pleased to see her and remembering the poor girl must be homesick, so far from
her family in Derbyshire, Cassy responded kindly, assuring the girl that her
family was in excellent health, all but her dear father-in-law Mr. Gardiner.

"Oh
ma'am, I am sorry to hear that. It must be very hard for poor Mrs. Gardiner,
looking after the master alone," she said, and Cassy reassured her that Mr.
Gardiner was very well cared for and her aunt had many helpers.

"Both
his daughters, Mrs. Courtney and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, are there often and Dr
Gardiner and my son Mr. Edward, who is now a physician himself, attend upon him
every day. Indeed, Mr. Edward is with his grandfather at this very moment,
staying at Lambton until our return."

Susan
expressed her relief. "Ah, that surely is a blessing, ma'am," she said
and added in a woebegone sort of voice, "I wish I could say the same of my
Miss Josie. She will see no doctors and take no medicine at all."

Alerted
by her words, Cassy asked quickly, "Susan, do you mean Miss Josie--I mean Mrs.
Darcy--refuses to take any medication for her condition?

Has
not a doctor seen her at all?"

Susan's
eyes widened, reflecting her alarm.

"No,
ma'am, she will not see anyone, nor will she take any proper medicine. It is
only with much coaxing that I can get her to take a spoonful of honey for her
chest or some chamomile tea for her headaches, when they are really bad. She
has had nothing more in weeks, ma'am. It really is a sad thing to see her
wasting away."

Cassy
was appalled. "And what about her food?" she asked. The maid rolled
her eyes skywards and shook her head.

"That,
too, ma'am. She will eat like a bird, and then only when the master pleads with
her to do so. Poor Mr. Julian, he is so worried about her, he forgets his hat
or his scarf and has to rush back for them, else he will leave his tea until it
is cold and gulp it down before rushing out the door. It's a wonder he can
still work, ma'am."

Cassy
agreed, though she said nothing to the girl, as she rose and walked about the
room. It seemed things were a good deal worse than they had suspected. Hearing
footsteps descending the stairs, Susan picked up the tea tray and left the
room, leaving Cassy gazing out of the bay window that looked out on a forlorn
old rosebush, so overgrown it had hardly any blooms. Yet, she recalled, the
last time they had been here, it had been covered in roses and when she had
opened the window, their sweet scent had filled the room.

Her
brother entered the parlour and Cassy, turning to greet him, could see he was
miserable. Several years her junior, Julian looked depressed and vulnerable as
he stood there, his tousled hair and rumpled shirt, as much as his anxious
expression, evidence of his anguish. Cassy went to him and took his hands in
hers, trying to offer some reassurance, looking for the right words to assuage
his pain. She was sure, she said, that Richard would be able to help Josie;
after all, he had been their family doctor since she was a little girl.

"If
only she would take some medicine and a little nourishment, I am sure she will
begin to feel better," he said and then added helplessly, "but Cassy,
she will take neither, no matter what I say!"

Cassy
felt tears sting her eyes; she had always felt responsible for her young
brother, especially because he had been born when everyone was still grieving
for their beloved William. They had all treasured Julian, yet he did not appear
to have grown into the role he was expected to play. There was a great deal to
learn about running an estate, but Julian had shown little interest in it. Even
as a boy, he had no talent for practical matters and relied upon their mother
herself or the servants for advice on everything.

His
sister knew, only too well, that the young man who would one day succeed her
father as Master of Pemberley would need to be stronger and more determined
than Julian was now.

Beset
with domestic problems, he seemed even weaker and less likely than before to
take up with confidence the onerous responsibilities of Pemberley, where he
would influence the lives of many men, women, and children, who would depend
upon his strength and judgment for their livelihoods and security.

Standing
in the middle of that drab room, he looked so forlorn that she was moved to
say, "Please try not to worry too much, Julian dear. Richard will do his
very best. I know Josie trusts him and, when he has persuaded her to take some
medication and good food, I have no doubt we will see her condition
improve."

Julian
did not appear convinced. "Oh Cassy, I do hope you are right. There have been
times, awful frightening moments, when I have felt that she does not wish to
recover at all."

His
voice was so filled with despair that Cassy was shocked.

"Hush,
Julian, you must never say that. Why on earth would your wife, who has
everything to live for, feel so? She has you, her family, and young
Anthony,"

but
he interrupted her.

"Plainly,
my dear sister, we are not enough to make her completely happy.

Her
life, she claims, is empty of purpose; she points out that I have a burning
desire to find scientific ways of preventing diseases that kill people, but
cannot understand her longing to have her work published. Cassy, I have offered
to have it published at my expense, but she will not have it; she says that
would not do: it would be no different to having it printed in her father's
papers, and she must have it accepted by one of the reputable publishing
houses. As you know, this has not occurred and she is bitterly
disappointed."

Even
as she listened, Cassandra could not help wondering whether this was really the
entire story behind Josie's malaise.

"Julian,
are you quite sure that is the only reason for her unhappiness? Is there no
other cause?" she asked.

There
was a long pause during which Cassy studied her brother's countenance as he
struggled to find words to express what he was going to say; at last, with a
huge effort, he spoke.

"Cassy,
I wish I could truthfully say it was, but I cannot. I have tried to pretend
otherwise, but I fear I must face the truth. I think, Cassy, my dear Josie no
longer loves me."

He
sounded so disconsolate, looked so melancholy, she was cut to the heart, just
looking at him.

"Julian!"
she cried, "What nonsense is this? Whatever makes you say such a thing?
Josie has been ill and depressed, but to believe she does not love you, or has
no desire to recover, what evidence have you of this outrageous claim?"

Before
he could respond, if indeed he was going to make any response at all, Mrs. Tate
and Richard were heard coming downstairs and no further discussion of the
subject was possible.

As
they entered the room, talking together, Julian excused himself, claiming there
were some papers he had to read before dinner, and went to his study, where he
remained for the rest of the afternoon.

A
short while later, Cassandra went up to Josie's room. She was very shocked to
find Josie so pale and thin, as if after a long and debilitating illness.

She
was sitting up in bed, a knitted shawl around her thin shoulders, her hair,
which had once been much admired for its colour and lustre, twisted into a
tight plait. Cassandra could hardly recognise the lively young Josie Tate, who
had married her brother a mere five years ago.

"Cassy,"
her voice was small and thin when she spoke, "it is very kind of you to
come all this way to see me, and Richard, too. It is very good of him to come.

Mama
has told me how very ill Mr. Gardiner is; I am so sorry to be so much trouble
to you all."

Cassandra
sat on the bed beside her and stroked her hand. It was frail and small like a
child's. "Josie, my dear, you are not causing us any trouble, especially
not if you promise to do as Richard advises and take some proper medication and
some good, nourishing food. We shall soon have you fit and well again,"
she said, trying hard to sound cheerful.

Yet
Josie, though she nodded and smiled a pale sort of half-smile, said nothing to
show that she intended to be amenable. She let Cassy sit with her and hold her
hand, but made no promises. Indeed, when Cassy left the room, she could not help
feeling even more disturbed than when she had entered it, for she had elicited
no positive response at all.

Cassandra's
distress was particularly poignant, for it was to her that Julian had turned,
having discovered almost by chance that he was in love with Josie Tate. She
recalled his anxiety about meeting her father, the formidable Mr. Anthony Tate,
who had subsequently turned out to be a most reasonable man.

He
had also been concerned that Josie was not as yet nineteen and very much in awe
of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy and the grandeur of Pemberley, of which he would, one
day, be master.

Cassy
recalled the occasion of her brother's twenty-first birthday celebrations and
the ball at Pemberley, where there had been present several young women, some
prettier and possibly more eligible than Josie; but Julian had preferred the
lively and intelligent Miss Tate, with whom he could talk of travel and read
poetry.

Then
it had seemed so simple; two young people in love--they had been so happy
together. It was heartrending to see them now, Julian so dispirited and Josie
so sad and withdrawn, she seemed almost not to be there at all.

Cassy
had felt a good deal of sympathy for the pair. They had both been very young
and, unlike her husband, Richard, who had been a great favourite with both her
parents long before their engagement, Josie Tate had been a relative outsider
at Pemberley. Indeed, in spite of the best endeavours of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy to
draw her into their circle, Cassy had felt that Josie and, occasionally, even
Julian had appeared as though they never felt quite at home there.

How
else, she wondered, could one account for their preference for the rather
dreary environment in which they chose to live, while their gracious apartments
at Pemberley lay vacant for most of the year?

Though
pressed by both Julian and Mrs. Tate to stay to dinner, the Gardiners left and
made their way to a hotel in the town, where Richard had stayed previously and
was warmly welcomed. There, with some degree of privacy, they were able to talk
over dinner.

Cassy
was eager to discover her husband's opinion. At first, Richard was unusually
silent and thoughtful and his wife was concerned lest he refused to discuss it
at all. But by the time they had finished the main course, he began to
relax and she realised that he had been
silent because he was deeply concerned for his young brother-in-law and his
wife. After a glass or two of wine and some excellent cheese, his mood was
further lightened and he confessed that he had never before seen a case like
it.

"Not
in all these years have I had a patient quite like Josie. Young, intelligent,
well educated, with a good husband and a beautiful son, it is the sort of
situation most women would envy, yet she is sunk in a slough of despair, from
which she appears not to want to be released. Each time I question her about
her physical symptoms, she denies that she is unwell, yet she is so pale and
list-less, she seems a shadow of her former self.

"When
I mention food, she pulls a face, as if it were something unpleasant and
abhorrent to her. She will take neither medication nor nourishment. So what, my
dear Cassy, am I to make of it? How shall I ever restore her body to health,
and even more perplexing, by what means shall I free her mind from this
dreadful despair?" He sounded unusually pessimistic.

Listening
to him, Cassy found herself in a quandary. Should she tell him of her brother's
rather irrational musings that Josie might not wish to be restored to health at
all? While she did not wish to betray her brother's state of mind, on
reflection she decided that if Richard was to treat Josie with any chance of
success, he needed to know the truth.

When,
with some degree of trepidation, she did tell him, he did not appear surprised.
Indeed, he said, he had almost reached the same conclusion himself.

"It
is difficult not to conclude that she is deliberately pursuing a grievous and
most painful course, either to punish herself for some perceived guilt or to
punish someone else--presumably her husband or her mother--I cannot, at the
moment, tell which it is," he said, and Cassy was quite confused.

"But
why?" she cried. "What guilt could she possibly have to bear? As for
the other possibility, why should she wish to punish the very people who love
her?" and Richard had to hush her, for her voice had risen with
exasperation as she spoke.

"Hush,
dearest, it is not right that we should discuss this matter here; let us wait
until we are upstairs," he said, and only when they had retired to their
room, did they resume the conversation.

"Is
it possible that poor Josie believes we do not care for her?" Cassy asked,
still uncomprehending.

"It
is possible," said Richard, "that Josie believes that the rest of her
family, all of us, myself included, do not understand her. She may wish for
praise, attention, whatever it is she feels she is not receiving, and this
perverse, self-inflicted illness is her way of telling us all about it."