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 somewhatminor 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?”
The girls agreed to this plan and made their way down the hall, Mrs. Gardiner, with Amelia in her arms, in their wake. She went into Mary’s chambers first, settling her shy niece in and offering all the little reassurances she needed to be secure in her welcome, including the confirmation that a new music master, Mr. Taylor, had been engaged for their lessons, which would commence in three days’ time. She introduced her to Abigail, a new upstairs maid who would serve as she and Elizabeth’s lady’s maid for their visit, and the three of them made quick work of unpacking Mary’s trunks. Once this task was accomplished, Mary asked to be excused to visit Mr. Barlow, who had requested she play for him as soon as she was settled.
Mrs. Gardiner’s time with Elizabeth was spent less practically, though she was also introduced to Abigail and her trunks were unpacked. Once that was done and the two wereleft alone, they held one another for several minutes before they discussed that which weighed on them most.
“It is too heavy, Aunt. I wanted so much to be here with you. I was almost desperate to be near you all again, but now that I am here, I don’t know how I bear it. Just the sight of Pemberley’s drive was overwhelming.”
“Oh, Lizzy, I am so sorry. I share your sorrow, and though it might be selfish, I am so glad you are here. When you have settled and some of these feelings are not quite so fresh, I know we will all be able to find consolation and help with one another. I think it is important for us to share not only the burden of sadness but also our memories, to think of all that we loved about Mr. Darcy.”
“You are right,” Elizabeth agreed, sitting up a little and wiping her eyes and nose with the handkerchief her aunt provided. “It is only I did not realise how much it would hurt to be here. When I was at Longbourn, I think a part of me imagined he was still here, doing all the things he loved and those he hated—like the letters of business that kept him from more active pursuits. But now I know we will go to church and his pew will be empty, we will walk through Lambton with no hope of spotting the Darcy carriage, and that is to say nothing of all the things we won’t do this summer because . . .” Here, she choked on her words before taking a deep breath and collapsing once again into her aunt’s arms.
“Because he is gone and they are not here,” Mrs. Gardiner finished for her. “Yes, you are right—all of it will be hard. But I am here for you, and I will not ask you to move any faster through your grief than you are able.”
“Thank you,” was the muffled response—Lizzy’s face stayed buried in her aunt’s embrace until she cried herself to sleep.
That summer visit looked quite different from those that came before which had all been quite different from one another. There were still music lessons—Elizabeth practiced almost as much as Mary, and the girls gave an informal concert for their family and a few neighbours at the end of the summer. Elizabeth continued to lavish love and attention on her cousin, who began to crawl about and get into as much trouble as she could find. The family had dinners with neighbours and hosted Kympton’s new vicar, Mr. Ashley, several times. He was an amiable and educated young man whose conversation and good nature were a welcome addition to their family party at least once a week. Elizabeth visited Barlow Hall’s stables, bringing treats to its residents—both human and equine.
But the distinctions and differences between this summer and all the others were greater than any similarities. The atmosphere not only at Barlow Hall but also Lambton and Kympton, where they attended church each Sunday, was sombre and at times seemed to foist the weight of grief onto Lizzy’s shoulders with memories, acknowledgements and shared reminiscings. Her birthday celebration was a quiet family dinner. And, of course there was no Pemberley. No afternoon teas or outings to the pond or lake to watch Georgiana and Mary sketch or paint. No strolls through the garden. No perusing the library to choose another novel or more erudite text to discuss with either of the Darcy gentlemen. No visits to Pemberley’s stables, no rides across the fields or along the rocky roads, only reachable on horseback.
Until one day in mid-July, these missing pieces stayed missing. That morning, Mrs. Gardiner received a message from Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper at Pemberley.
“Lizzy,” she said after placing the note back on the tray, “it seems your horse has arrived at Pemberley’s stables, and the staff wished you to know and invite you to go and visit him at your convenience.”
At this news, Elizabeth felt a mix of excitement, sorrow, gratitude and uncertainty. Each feeling was powerful, and they did not seem to belong together at all. It was disorienting. After a few moments, she said, “It does not seem right to be there, to do something so . . . without him, without any of them.”
“I understand,” Mrs. Gardiner replied, gently placing her hand over Elizabeth’s. “And I will not press you if you feel you should not go, but will you hear my thoughts on the matter?”
“Of course.”
“The Darcys were so thrilled to give you that horse. They planned it from the moment the Earl wrote of their mare’s being in foal. I am honestly surprised they were able to keep the secret for so long. It brought them all joy to know it would bring you joy. In your grief, I do not want you to avoid those joyful things. He wouldn’t want that.”
“You are right, of course,” Elizabeth said. Her concern and deep confusion did not disappear at her aunt’s words, but in them she found a measure of wisdom and comfort. “Very well, if you have no objection, I will go presently.”
“I did not mean you should go now, or alone.”
“I realise that, Aunt. However, I feel as though if I do not proceed posthaste, I may change my mind—being buffeted back to another place entirely in how I think of the gift, of Pemberley, of all of it.”
“And you do not want Mary or me to accompany you?”
“If you are not offended and will permit me, I would prefer to do this by myself.”
Mrs. Gardiner consented with some degree of reluctance. Elizabeth changed her gown and found her bonnet, setting off within a quarter of an hour. The familiar walkway which wound behind Barlow Hall took her to the west entrance to Pemberley Wood. The narrow dirt path was well-worn. For five summers now, it was the primary way both she and Georgiana, and whichever Bennet sister was with her, used for visits and even the occasional meeting at the centre point between the homes which Elizabeth and Georgiana had determined several years ago. This spot, as well as every other well-known sight and sound, made an impression in the back of Elizabeth’s mind. However, she had little space in either thought or feeling for anything other than what lay before her.
When she crested the hill and Pemberley came into view, Elizabeth steeled herself. But though she felt sorrow, her foremost emotion was joy. She had missed this house and all that it and the Darcys meant to her. It was still here. He was gone, but still it held the possibility of joy and love and affection. Soon she found herself in front of the stable. With a deep breath, she walked through the wide-open doors, which ushered her into the open pen with the stalls visible beyond. Now her curiosity about the horse pushed through all else in her mind and heart.
