I write with so much joy in my heart that you may be forgiven for thinking that some amazing good fortune has come my way. Indeed, in a manner of speaking, it has.
You will recall, when we were speaking with Aunt Gardiner at Isabella's wedding, with all the talk of war that swirled around us, we wondered whether any of our young men would be tempted to plunge into the madness that seems to be overtaking the nation.
I recall remarking that you were spared the anxiety, since Jonathan was in Parliament and the rest of your family consisted of young women!
Our aunt was concerned that her grandson David had remarked that a commission in the Cavalry might suit him well. It set me worrying about Julian and later that day, I pressed Darcy about it.
He was convinced that Julian would not be interested in the army, but realising how my thoughts were running, he spoke with him before he returned to Cambridge, and, dearest Jane, the news is all good. Not only is Julian completely uninterested in a military career, he has persuaded David to abandon his idea of a commission in the cavalry.
Indeed, so opposed is Julian to this war, he has declared his intention to speak in the University Union against it. I need not tell you how delighted we are. I have spent many anguished hours, and I am certain Caroline and Aunt Gardiner have done likewise, though it must be said that Darcy was very confident from the start that Julian had no interest in a military career.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, on the other hand, seems not to see anything wrong with the war fever generated by Palmerston. Darcy tells me that, having come through the entire campaign against Bonaparte unscathed, Fitzwilliam has not the same horror of war that we have.
Dear Jane, I have some other news, too, and this is not anywhere near as pleasant. Our sister Lydia has written again, this time after many months of silence. While I cannot pretend that I have missed her letters--they are all uniformly boring, being either requests for money or boastful accounts of the activities of her "boys"--I have wondered how they were getting on.
It now appears that they have acquired some money through a bequest that Wickham has received from an aunt. While not being very substantial, it is still enough to let Lydia boast that they are looking to lease a small house in the Meryton area, where she thinks Wickham and she would have friends. After the notoriety they acquired when last they were there, I cannot think they would have many friends, can you?
However, if they do find a suitable place and retire to Meryton, I must say I am most grateful to Jonathan for inviting Charlotte to live with Mary at Longbourn, for I have no doubt that they would have wasted no time at all exploiting her charitable nature.
Now, however, with Charlotte Collins in residence, they will not find it easy. I intend writing Charlotte to warn her, so they may be prepared for any invasion, but I shall not bother to advise Lydia of Charlotte's presence at Longbourn. Let it be a surprise!
Do you think I am being cruel? Indeed, if I am, it is only to be kind to Mary, who surely needs some protection from the Wickhams. Do you not agree?
Having dispatched her letter to Jane, Elizabeth proceeded to write to her friend Charlotte at Longbourn.
Her letter, though welcome for all the usual reasons, was not necessary to warn her of the Wickhams' imminent arrival in the area.
Mary Bennet had herself received a short note from her sister Lydia with similar news, and on passing the information to Charlotte, she, too, had alerted her to the same possibility that had concerned Elizabeth.
Charlotte Collins, being of a practical and thoroughly sensible nature, assured Mary that she need have no concerns at all, since if and when the Wickhams arrived, Charlotte would be quite capable of dealing with them.
What actually transpired--the extent to which Lydia was disconcerted by Charlotte's presence, and the annoyance that both she and Wickham had shown at having to make other arrangements--was described in minute detail in a letter from Charlotte, which so amused Elizabeth, she summoned her carriage and set off for Lambton to share her news with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. Darcy and Robert Gardiner were gone to London to finalise some legal matters for her uncle, who did not travel much now, owing to his advancing years.
They spent a lively afternoon enjoying the prospect of the Wickhams' discomfiture. Elizabeth was exceedingly amused by the thought of them finding Charlotte at Longbourn and discovering that, if they decided to stay there while they looked for a suitable house in Meryton, which had clearly been their intention, they would have to put up with what she called "The Order of Service" that Charlotte would impose upon the household.
The Gardiners remarked also upon the ironic twist of fate that had seen Charlotte finally settled at Longbourn not as mistress of the house but as a welcome guest.
"It would surely have had your poor mother in a fit, Lizzie," declared Mr Gardiner, recalling the days when the family had lived in fear of being turned out of their home by the Collinses.
Mrs Bennet had never ceased to rail against them, regarding Charlotte with abhorrence whenever she came to visit. But now, Elizabeth and her aunt agreed that things had turned out very much for the best.
"Charlotte is an excellent manager, and Mary has been sensible enough to let her manage the household at Longbourn, which will ensure that they will never be short of money or live beyond their income," she said.
Mrs Gardiner was quick to agree. "Apart from the fact that they will be good company for each other, there is an advantage in having more of the house occupied and the servants kept busy."
"Which I am sure Charlotte will do exceptionally well," said her niece, and all three laughed heartily, imagining the effect Charlotte Collins would have had upon the Wickhams.
"She says she has made it quite clear to them that Mary is the Mistress of Longbourn and Jonathan Bingley its manager. They cannot have liked that," said Lizzie, and the Gardiners agreed.
Mrs Gardiner had just ordered tea and they were still quite merry when the carriage bearing Darcy and Robert arrived. Elizabeth rose, went into the hall to greet them and was confounded by the expressions of imponderable gravity on their faces.
Robert greeted her quickly and went directly upstairs to where his wife Rose, who was close to being brought to bed with their first child, was resting. Darcy embraced his wife, followed her into the sitting room and greeted Mr and Mrs Gardiner before saying in a very matter of fact voice, "We are at war with Russia; an alliance is in place with Emperor Louis Napoleon, the Baltic Fleet is to sail for Kronstadt and our armies are to join the Turks in an attack upon the Russian naval base at Sebastopol in the Crimea."
His words fell like stones into water, sinking deeply. Lizzie understood now why Robert had gone directly upstairs to Rose and Darcy looked so grave. Both Mr and Mrs Gardiner looked most unhappy. Having lived through the dreadful era of the Napoleonic campaigns, they had hoped to spend the latter part of their lives in a period of peace, but it seemed this was not to be.
Fitzwilliam alone seemed to continue to place his faith in the skill of Palmerston to bring Britain through this latest wholly unnecessary piece of adventurism.
Thankfully, no member of their families was likely to be directly involved in the coming conflict, but war was war and none of them had any doubt that hundreds, maybe thousands of men would die before this stupid campaign was over.
The newly wedded Mr and Mrs Forrester spent two quite delightful weeks in Wales before the disturbing news of Britain's entry into the war in the Crimea reached them.
Since neither Isabella nor her husband had visited Wales previously, there was much to engage their interest. Travelling through Cheshire to the west coast via the historic city of Chester and the busy market town of Denbigh, they found ample sources of inspiration and enchantment in both the natural beauty of the rugged countryside and the large number of ancient forts and castles that lay in wait for the traveller in its midst.
It was at the little coastal town of Colwyn Bay, while they were trying to decide whether to follow the coast road or turn inland and travel along the valley of the Conway, that a railway engineer from Liverpool, who was staying at the inn, gave them the grim news.
Thereafter, they were both keen to return home. Neither had any experience of Britain at war, having been born during the forty years of peace and prosperity that had blessed the land since Waterloo.
Nor did they have sufficient information to understand the reason behind the declaration of war, and both had immediate fears for the suffering and loss of life that was bound to follow.
Abandoning plans to travel further, they made arrangements to return home as expeditiously as possible.
On reaching Littleford, they stopped at the hospital to discover if there was any more news and heard with alarm that several thousand men had already been shipped off to join the French in the attack that the Turks were planning upon Sebastopol.
Richard, who was at the hospital, introduced them to his new assistant, Matthew Ward, a young Cambridge graduate who was to work on the research projects planned for the new hospital at Matlock. With the generous grant from Mr Darcy, they were ready to begin the work, which, Richard had promised the board, would change hospital practice and save lives. Matthew had the advantage of being the son of a physician in the army, one whose skills and endurance were soon to be sorely tested in the war.
Some weeks later, Henry and Isabella were dining with Richard and Cassandra, and Matthew Ward, being a veritable mine of information, was easily the most sought-after person in the party. He was able to confirm what Anthony Tate's war correspondent had already reported--the illequipped and ill-prepared men Britain had sent to the war were already suffering from typhus and cholera.
Isabella was incredulous. "I cannot believe our government would send our soldiers to war without protection or training," she said, but she was soon listening to even more shocking stories of inept leadership and bad management in the army.
"Not many people would believe that the British army would send men away to war, without proper field hospital arrangements," said Richard, "yet Matthew has learned that there has been very little done to prepare for the inevitable casualties."
"How do you mean?" asked Henry Forrester.
Matthew explained, "Well, I believe there were no preparations for dealing with the typhus and cholera that has broken out among the men, amazingly little provision for transporting the injured from the battlefield to a field hospital, and very few qualified medical personnel to deal with the casualties."
Isabella could hardly believe her ears, and when she met her parents, she related the terrible tales she had heard and was pleased to find that not even her father's loyalty to Palmerston could prevent him from expressing his dissatisfaction at the way Britain had been thrust into this futile war. Fitzwilliam had long been unhappy about the direction in which the government, which he had loyally supported for many years, was moving.
His reservations had increased on hearing accounts of the shameful actions of the British Navy in Finland. Frustrated by their inability to make headway at Kronstadt, they had vented their wrath on a small Finnish shipyard, burning several ships and large quantities of goods on the docks. The newspapers had carried stories comparing their behaviour to that of the plundering Vikings in the ninth century.
"We are not likely to be regarded as a civilising influence in our colonies if we behave like barbarians in Europe, in the middle of this, the most civilised century of the modern era," wrote the editor of
The Review
--a sentiment with which most of his readers, Fitzwilliam included, heartily agreed.
That Palmerston, from whom he had expected more important reform, was spending much time and resources on what Fitzwilliam considered to be an unnecessary overseas adventure, which could bring Britain no credit, was, in his opinion, quite inexcusable and deserved the severest censure.
"It is absolutely abhorrent to me that the British government should be prepared to pander to the military ambitions of the Emperor of France by sacrificing the lives of thousands of our soldiers. They are there not to defend Britain from attack but to impose a solution on Russia and Turkey. I cannot believe that the English people, who have enjoyed the fruits of peace for so long, are now ready to support this foolish adventure," he declared.
Isabella was saddened by the disillusionment her father had suffered, but happy that he had recognised that a wrong course was being followed. Settling into their home, which lay less than two miles from Littleford Hospital, she had less time to worry about the war, but a stream of distressing information was accumulating gradually from reports and anecdotes, and one could not avoid the bad news.
Rebecca and Anthony Tate, whose newspapers now received reports from the front by electric telegraph, kept everyone well informed. Much of the news was bad, exposing lack of resources, poor preparation, and often total ineptitude on the part of the generals. Soon, they began to worry about the conduct of this strange war. But it was not until the first reports of deaths of young men from Derby and Birmingham began to reach them that the dreadful gravity of the situation came home to them. English soldiers were dying on foreign soil not to protect England but upon the whim of the government and its new allies.
Many men had gone, believing they would be home by Christmas; others had been swayed by patriotic fervour in the press; but none had expected the conditions to deteriorate to the point where the campaign would become an embarrassing debacle, costing thousands of lives and destroying the reputation of the British War Office.
War correspondents reported in fearful detail the bloody battles of Inkerman, the disasters of Balaclava, and the infamous blunder of the Charge of the Light Brigade against the Russian guns, the resulting carnage so terrible, not even Tennyson's patriotic verse could disguise the incompetence of those in command.
Both Mr Darcy and Richard Gardiner spoke out openly against the conduct of the war.
"We are losing lives and our country's reputation as a result of this foolish expedition to the Black Sea," said Darcy when the families were dining together at Pemberley.
Both Richard and his friend Matthew Ward agreed. "You are quite right, sir," said Ward, who had only recently received a letter from his mother detailing his father's outrage at the lack of facilities to treat the sick and wounded at the front. "There are no litters or carts to transport the wounded and dying from the field. Dying men must lie there, often in the path of the battle, until their comrades arrive to carry them away. It is a scandalous situation."
"I have to admit I am utterly ashamed of our government and our leaders--both political and military," Richard confessed, expressing the feelings of most of those at the table as well as his own frustration at his inability to do anything about the situation.
Bingley confirmed that Jonathan had told them the government seemed to have no solution to the problems. "It is as if they are faced with a situation they never expected to encounter," said Bingley, deploring the lack of organisation and preparedness. "I cannot imagine that any government would embark on such a campaign with so little planning."
There was not a dissenting voice in the room.
Throughout 1854, and into the following year, while the siege of Sebastopol dragged on, thanks mainly to the remarkable incompetence of the French and British High Command, horror stories of the suffering of the soldiers continued to reach Britain. Not only were there daily reports in the press, but anecdotal evidence in letters from the front written by soldiers, officers, and medical professionals was eagerly read and shared around, so that the news soon spread across the nation.
Henry Forrester and Isabella heard many distressing reports. Conditions were said to be appalling; the hot, unsanitary camps were rife with disease. Matthew Ward and others vouched for the truth of the dreadful tales of disease, starvation, and suffering in the camps. They learned of men who had little chance to serve their country, dying of pneumonia, typhus, and cholera well before they fired a shot in anger.
Anthony Tate used his newspapers to flay both the blundering men in the army and their political masters. Shocked readers discovered the ineptitude of England's leaders and the suffering of her soldiers in the field. The extent of the debacle was truly outrageous, and demands for something to be done were loud and unceasing.
Britain was not alone in this parlous state, but in Russia and France there appeared to have been an early realisation of the need for some action. In both countries, groups of women volunteers--usually aristocratic women of substance--had started to go into the disease-ridden camps and treat the sick and wounded. It was the first time, in any war, that women played an active role in helping the medical teams.
In Britain, however, the machinery moved rather more slowly. Following the public outcry that accompanied the revelations of the horrors of Inkerman and Balaclava, an approach was made on the initiative of the Secretary for War, Sidney Herbert, to Florence Nightingale, organiser of a group of women being trained to minister to "gentlewomen during illness."
She was invited to organise and manage a team of volunteer nurses and apparently accepted readily, going immediately to Scutari, to the army hospital, if such a name could even be attached to the appalling mess that she found there. Shocked beyond belief by the conditions, Florence Nightingale wrote to Sidney Herbert describing in horrifying detail the state of the hospital and the suffering of the men, demanding resources and personnel so she could carry on the task she had undertaken. The government had no alternative but to agree.
As news of Miss Nightingale's work filtered through, groups of women around the country began to offer their services to assist her. Some had taken an entire retinue along, while others, driven by compassion, asked only to be allowed to help in some way.
Emily and Isabella were having tea together on a Sunday afternoon when Louisa arrived, unannounced, at the Rectory. She was on her way home from the new hospital, where Richard had gratefully accepted her offer of regular help.
Her cousins welcomed her warmly, and Emily went immediately to fetch a fresh pot of tea. Louisa was very excited. She had recently received from her elder sister Emma a letter, which she had brought along.
"I had long been wondering how we could help Miss Nightingale's wonderful work at the front," she explained, adding that she had twice written to the war office offering her services and, having heard not a word, she had written to Emma Wilson, hoping her husband James would be more forthcoming.
"And was he?" asked Isabella, just as Emily returned with more tea and shortbread.
"Indeed, he was, as I expected he would be. Papa says James has very good connections within the government and knows a good deal more than most of us," Louisa replied, extracting her sister's letter from her pocket book.
Emily and Isabella were immediately interested. Louisa read quickly, omitting the purely personal paragraphs and proceeding to the heart of her sister's letter: