Chapter Seven
“That is the Robertson farm.” Mr. Gardiner pointed out the carriage window at the acres of wheat and barley glistening yellow and brown in the noonday sun.
A large stone house stood on a hill beside a small pond.
Elizabeth had seen the house before, of course, but as it was on the far side of Pemberley, a good distance from her family’s home, it was not often she came near.
And, by this point in the journey, she was usually so eager for a sight of Barlow Hall she had not even noticed it before.
“Lizzy met the Robertsons at Pemberley’s Twelfth Night gathering in January,” her uncle told Mary.
Elizabeth appreciated his effort at drawing her attention away from the sight that was coming next, but it was no use. There was no space in her heart or mind for anything else, and just a moment later, there it was.
The road to the right sloped down until it disappeared into the trees.
If she lifted up in her seat at just the right moment as they passed the turn, Elizabeth could see it once again meandering through the small open field before being consumed by the trees.
Though their carriage kept on, Elizabeth’s mind took her down this oft-travelled road, by the pond and over the small wooden bridge.
After that, she emerged, in her thoughts, into the wide open, where she could see Pemberley, standing tall and proud on the small hill.
As she pictured it, she saw Mr. Darcy descend the front steps to greet her, heard his laugh and smelled his pine and woods scent.
She did not realise she was crying until she couldn’t breathe.
Her cheeks were wet, her throat stung and her head ached.
How would she survive the summer? Without a word, Mary, who had been holding her hand and murmuring words of comfort for some time, moved to the seat opposite while Mr. Gardiner took her place, scooping Elizabeth into his arms. She held fast to him and sobbed for the final ten minutes before they reached Barlow Hall.
Why had she not stayed home? At Longbourn, it had felt unbearable in every way.
To receive such news and have no one who truly knew and loved him as she did.
To be observed in her grief without any real consolation—as much as both Jane and Mary tried—it was too much.
That burden would be alleviated at Barlow Hall, but this, the first sight of a thousand, would likely make it infinitely more painful.
Even now, his last letter was in her reticule.
It was full of his usual teasing and kindness, his curiosity about her reading and his thoughts on his own.
His postscript suggested a name for her horse—Neptune.
As it was the Roman counterpart to Darcy’s Poseidon, Lizzy’s romantic heart decided this was Mr. Darcy’s way of telling her he saw that she and Fitzwilliam were two of a kind, meant for one another.
Romance was in the air in Hertfordshire in the spring.
She attended her first ball in March, hosted by the Gouldings at Haye Park, wearing Mrs. Gardiner’s beautiful green gown.
As they considered her quite their particular friend, Elizabeth was made the guest of honour and as a result of that or her natural beauty and wit she was not without a partner all evening.
In March Jane had a gentleman come as close to declaring himself as anyone had thus far.
The sisters enjoyed talking of his besotted behaviour after every encounter, Jane with a quiet kind of interested pleasure and Lizzy with the enthusiasm of an explorer studying a new species.
But for one truly awful poem slipped to Jane after a neighbourhood dinner, Elizabeth was certain something might have come of it.
All of this seemed quite exciting and important until the eighth of April, when her aunt’s letter had arrived.
My dearest Lizzy,
Please do not read this letter while you are alone. Trust me and pause in your examination of its contents until Jane or Mary or your father can be made to sit with you.
Have you listened, darling? I sincerely hope so.
I wish I could delay forever the relaying of the news I have for you, but I cannot, so I will tell you that Mr. Darcy has passed away.
Oh, Lizzy, I know you must at first be too shocked to even believe my words.
How can this be, you will ask. I wish I was there to wrap you in my arms so we could mourn together.
You will wish to know what happened, of course, and though it is still so fresh, it grieves me to write out these tragic events you, who loved him so well, deserve to know all.
On March the fifteenth, we had dinner with the Darcys and their nephew Major Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Woodhouse of Asby House, as well as Mr. Ashley, the new vicar who was installed just after you left in January.
There was nothing unusual about the affair until just after we came back together after the separation.
Mr. Darcy seemed unwell, shuffling in his seat as if he could not get comfortable.
Master Darcy enquired after his father’s well-being, but the latter insisted all was well.
In truth, by the time we left, which all the guests did quite soon after our host appeared unwell, he was quite pale.
I intended to call at Pemberley the following morning to enquire after Mr. Darcy and offer any assistance that might be needed.
I thought he may have had a lingering injury or the like.
Truly, I did not imagine the seriousness.
However, Amelia was unwell, and I stayed in with her, helping Cora tend her as she was quite a demanding patient.
It was several days before her fever was gone, and by that time, both Mr. Barlow and I were struck with the illness.
It was nothing too dire, but it made any activity beyond the basic necessities impossible.
It was not until a week after the dinner that we learned, from another neighbour, that Mr. Darcy was under the care of a doctor.
Though there was concern, it was not thought to be serious.
I called two days later with some of Mr. Darcy’s favourites—Mrs. Gibbs’ tarts and lemon squares.
Though he still looked pale and the visit took place in his private sitting room, nothing indicated a serious illness or the like.
Master and Miss Darcy were present, and they were optimistic about his recovery.
The doctor, who had travelled to attend Mr. Darcy from London and was the family physician for the Fitzwilliams and the Darcys, determined Mr. Darcy had suffered a minor apoplexy which had caused him to lose consciousness shortly after we had left the week prior.
But as he had no symptoms beyond exhaustion and some shortness of breath since, both Mr. Darcy and the doctor were confident all would be well.
We all prayed he was right. However, it seemed that this first somewhat minor episode was just a warning sign that worse was to come.
The morning after our visit, Mr. Darcy was struck down by another episode which rendered him unable to speak or move. He passed two days later.
Your uncle and Mr. Barlow attended the funeral yesterday.
Young Mr. Darcy was attended by his uncle, the Earl of Matlock, his Fitzwilliam cousins and Mr. Ashley, who presided.
I know you will be concerned for your friends.
I can assure you that they have a great many people tending to them, though of course no one can take their grief away.
Two Darcy aunts, as well as Lady Rebecca, came to be with Georgiana, and of course, she has dear Miss Baxter.
I have seen them each only when we paid our respects last week.
I understand they plan to travel to London in several weeks and will stay for some time.
The memories of their father will likely feel less fresh there.
I must apologise, my dear. This account is likely too detailed and less coherent than we would both like.
However, I confess I am not equal to another relating and will beg your forgiveness.
Knowing how much you loved Mr. Darcy, I wanted to share this terrible news with you at the earliest moment, in fear you might somehow hear it elsewhere, and so that you could reach out to Miss Darcy as soon as you feel able.
But perhaps this was unwise as my grief is still too fresh for me to offer any kind of consolation.
Write as soon as you feel equal to the task. In our letters, we can support one another. I am always eager for your visit by this time of year, but now even more so, I look forward to seeing you in two months’ time.
Yours ever,
Madeline Gardiner
Now it was time for the much-anticipated reunion.
Elizabeth had exchanged letters with all of her family at Barlow Hall several times in the months since she learned of Mr. Darcy’s passing, but it was not the same as being together.
As they turned into the drive, Elizabeth could see her aunt, baby Amelia on her hip, standing at the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Barlow by her side.
Two minutes later Lizzy was enfolded into their embrace, little Amelia fairly squashed in the middle.
After some moments, they disentangled themselves, and Mary was welcomed with fewer tears but equal warmth.
“We are so happy to have you both with us,” Mrs. Gardiner said as the group moved into the house. “Your rooms are prepared if you would like to freshen up. We can take tea in the front parlour in an hour?”