Mr. Darcy's Daughter (52 page)

Richard
had been surprised; even though he knew her strong commitment to his own work,
he had half expected her to express some reservations, particularly with regard
to the boy Julian was leaving in her care; he had confessed that he'd had
doubts himself.

He
knew well that Cassy was already hard pressed with the duties she was committed
to at Pemberley and, after Lizzie's wedding, doubtless Laura Ann, bereft of her
older sister, would depend upon her mother to a far greater degree.

Richard
could not help but wonder at the wisdom of Julian's decision to leave for
Africa, placing all the responsibility for his son upon Cassy.

But
it seemed her belief in the value of her brother's work and his new sense of
vocation had overwhelmed any reservations she may have had. "I can see how
much it means to him, and while it would have been good for Anthony to have his
father here, there will be much greater satisfaction for him, when he is grown
up, to learn that his father is a man with an unselfish concern for
humanity," she said, brushing her hair.

Richard
understood but was a little surprised by her reasoning.

"Do
you not mind, my love, that during all of the difficult years ahead, it will be
you who must care for the boy, teach him, encourage and commend him, be an
example to him and comfort him when he is distressed, whilst his father is half
a world away?"

Cassandra
smiled as she braided and tied her hair with a ribbon.

"Why
should I mind, Richard? It may well be hard work, but we have brought up five
of our own and Anthony is no different. Indeed, he is already proving to be a
salutary influence on James, who might otherwise have been spoilt by too much
attention. If, by my efforts, he can grow up as well as our children have, it
will be reward enough. Besides," she added, with a definite twinkle in her
eye and a note of laughter in her voice, "there will be the added joy of
knowing, when my brother is honoured for his services to mankind, that I helped
him attain that distinction, as in another instance somewhat closer to
home!"

Her
husband, in whose estimation Cassy could rise no higher, was certainly not
about to deny her this satisfaction, even though he had his doubts about the
selflessness of his young brother-in-law. There was no need to spoil what had
been a particularly delightful day with argument.

Remaining
discreetly silent on the matter, he waited for her to come to bed.

When
she did, it was to reaffirm the love that had been the bedrock of all they had
achieved in their deeply happy marriage.

*

On
the morrow, Richard, Cassandra, and their younger children returned home to
Matlock, there to begin the arduous task of moving their household to Camden
Park in the New Year. It was in the midst of organising the vast array of tasks
that this complex enterprise demanded that Cassy, sitting with Laura Ann in the
nursery trying to decide which, of a plethora of items, they would take with
them and which they would leave behind, was interrupted by her son James, who
raced into the room.

"Mama,
Mama," he called excitedly, "it's Margaret, Margaret is here!"

James
was so excited he kept jumping up and down in front of his mother.

She
knew that both boys had been very fond of Margaret Baines, but since the girl
had returned to her mother, following the end of the inquest into the death of Mr.
Jones, they'd had no word from her.

Cassy
had been too busy to make enquiries and, having heard from one of the maids who
had met Margaret in the village that she had seemed very well, it had been
generally assumed that the girl had sought employment elsewhere.

Cassy
went to the window and, looking out, saw Margaret Baines playing with Anthony
on the front lawn.

"Laura
dear, do go down and take Margaret into the kitchen and ask Cook to give her
some tea. She must have walked up from the village and is probably tired. When
she has finished, you can bring her upstairs to me. I must get on with this
work or I shall never have it done in time." Laura went, followed by
James, and no more was heard for a while.

Some
time later, there was a hesitant knock on the door and Margaret Baines came
into the room. She looked fresher and healthier than she had been before and
was neatly and demurely dressed as always. In her hand, she had a pot of
lavender, which she placed on the windowsill.

"It's
from my mother's garden, ma'am," she said and stood a little nervously by
a table beside the window, while Cassy thanked her and continued to fold and
put away items of linen and clothing to be sent to the church for distribution
to the poor.

After
a few minutes, during which time, Cassy asked after her health and that of her
mother, it became quite plain that Margaret wished to speak of something
particular. It was equally obvious that she was either fearful or embarrassed
about it and was finding it very difficult to open the conversation on the
subject.

Seeking,
therefore, to ease the girl's discomfort, Cassandra asked, "I cannot
believe you are here only to bring me that pot of lavender, Margaret, pretty
though it is; so why do you not tell me what it is you have come for? Did you
want your old job back?"

Before
Cassy could begin to explain that since they were moving to Camden Park, they
were not hiring any servants at this time, Margaret spoke, quickly and a little
breathlessly, "Oh no, ma'am, that is not it at all, but I do have
something to tell you, ma'am, and my mother says it is only right I should tell
you myself."

Cassy
looked up from her task and saw that the girl was pink with embarrassment; she
could not think why. "Margaret, what is it? Surely, you cannot have got
yourself into more trouble?"

For
one dreadful moment, she feared the worst, yet Margaret did not appear at all
guilty or concerned, except she had gone quite red in the face. "Oh no,
ma'am," she cried again, "indeed, I have not, but I do have something
to tell you."

"Well,
so you keep saying; now come on, Margaret, do tell me, or I shall begin to
wonder what on earth you have done."

This
time, Margaret swallowed hard, as if steeling herself to come to the point.
When she spoke, her voice was low but firm. "Yes ma'am, I am to marry Mr.
John Archer, ma'am."

"What?
Mr. Archer?" Cassy was astounded. "Margaret have you thought clearly
about what you are doing? I thought you hated the man."

"Oh
no, ma'am," said the girl for the third time, "I never hated him
though I was afraid of him. I did not know how he felt about me, but during the
last month, he has called on my mother and spoken with me and he has asked me
to marry him, ma'am."

"And
does he love you?" Cassy asked, knowing Margaret was young and, like most
girls of her age, inclined to be something of a romantic.

"Oh
yes, ma'am," she said, for a change, her eyes shining and her face
wreathed in smiles, "he says he does, he has always loved me, like he told
the coroner. Oh ma'am, no other man has looked at me as he does, with so much
feeling, and no man has said out loud in front of everyone that he has loved me
for years and years and wants to marry me."

"Do
you trust him?" Cassy asked, determined to discover the source of this
sudden attachment. Margaret was adamant. "I do, ma'am. No other man has
put his life at risk to save me as he did; I must believe he loves me, as he
says."

Cassandra
did not know quite how to respond to this passionate recital.

Quite
clearly, Mr. Archer had converted Margaret's youthful fears into love, for it
now appeared that she was convinced she would be both secure and happy with
him.

As
she listened, increasingly amazed, Margaret revealed that they intended to
marry, soon after Christmas, and leave Derbyshire for Manchester, where Archer
had obtained work. There, he apparently believed, he could avoid the stigma of
his involvement, however unwittingly, in the death of Mr. Jones.

Practical
concerns were uppermost in Cassy's mind, when she asked, "And what will he
do? Where will you live?"

Margaret's
answer was precise. "Mr. Archer has some savings, ma'am, and having worked
for two gentlemen in London, he has good references, which have helped him
secure a position in a gentleman's household, where he has obtained work for
me, too, but only as a kitchen maid, at first," she explained.

It
certainly seemed like sound common sense and Cassy wished the girl well,
advising her to take great care in all her dealings with people.

She
was a simple country girl and there were pitfalls aplenty for an
impres-sionable young person in places like Manchester and the households of
gentlemen, she warned. Having given her a gift of some linen and two pounds
towards her wedding expenses, she urged her to write. "You must keep me
informed of how you get on, Margaret; if you are sensible and work hard, I am
sure you will not remain a kitchen maid for long. When you do return to
Derbyshire, I hope you will come and visit. Of course, you know, we shall have
moved to Camden Park by then."

Margaret's
eyes filled with tears as she clasped the hands of her mistress, to whom she
knew she owed so much, as she took her leave.

"Thank
you for all you have done for me, ma'am, and Dr Gardiner and Miss Lizzie, too.
I shall miss the children, ma'am, Master James and Master Anthony," she
said sobbing and Cassy had to fight back her own tears.

She
had never liked John Archer, there was something rather pretentious about him,
which made it difficult to like him; yet she could not deny that she had been
impressed by his honest admissions to the coroner and no one had doubted his
sincerity, when he had confessed to his affection for Margaret, as demonstrated
by his attempts to protect her from the advances of the appalling Mr. Jones.

They
were actions, which may well have earned him a death sentence or a very long
stay in prison. Instead they had won him his freedom, and Margaret's gratitude
and love.

Cassy
was amused by the irony of it all. The man who had been a gentleman's servant
had proved to be more of a gentleman, than the man who had claimed the title by
birth, wealth, and social status. Perhaps, she thought, as she watched her
leave, Margaret was doing the right thing after all. She needed a steadying
influence, being still young and impulsive, perhaps John Archer would provide
it.

Watching
from the window, Cassy saw her say goodbye to the boys, their governess, and
Laura Ann. The children were loathe to let her go, clinging to her hand and
holding on to her skirt, as she walked with them. Cassy could not help feeling
some regret that there had been no possibility of keeping the girl in her
service. Now, she was to marry Archer, she would go wherever he went, she
thought, sadly.

With
a wry smile, she recalled her husband's words on the night after the coroner's
inquest. Richard had believed Margaret would indeed be flattered by Archer's
open declaration of love. He had been proved right and Cassy looked forward to
telling him so.

There
were however, other matters at hand and presently, she turned her attention to
them. An invitation had arrived from Rebecca Tate, asking her to tea that
afternoon. Mrs. Tate was soon to join her husband in London, where he had spent
most of the last month, prior to leaving for a tour of Europe in the Spring.
She did not expect to return to Derbyshire until the following Autumn.

Rebecca
wrote:

Dearest
Cassy, I have neither seen nor spoken with you for many months and I long to
see you before I leave to join Mr. Tate in London. If you will come to tea with
me, I shall be so very happy."

...and
Cassy knew she had to go.

Becky
Tate had been a friend since childhood and a most valuable ally in a number of
causes, besides being Julian's mother-in-law. As girls, and later young women,
pressing local councils and Members of Parliament on issues such as education
for girls and hospitals for children, they had been as one, working
successfully together to improve their community. They'd been a very happy,
successful team, but since Josie's death and Julian's departure for France,
they had seen little of one another.

The
stresses and strains of the previous months had made casual social intercourse
difficult, if not impossible.

Some
time previously, Cassy had learned from her sister-in-law Emily Courtney, who
was very close to Rebecca, that Mr. Tate, heartsick with the loss of his
favourite child, had immersed himself in his business affairs, leaving his wife
to grieve alone. It was well known, Emily had said, that Becky Tate, once a
gregarious and sociable woman, with a wide circle of friends and many
interests, now hardly went out at all.

Cassy
was understandably apprehensive, but steeled herself. She would go, she
decided; she could not ignore Becky's appeal.

She
need not have feared the encounter; Becky Tate had long wanted to see her
friend again, especially since Lizzie's wedding, which she, being in mourning,
had not attended.