1857
Gloucester Crescent, London
‘Married? To Mr Collins? No, Katie, you cannot be in earnest? He is such a strange little man, with the most immoderate habits.’
‘No Mama, you have misunderstood, it is Mr Charles Collins that I mean to wed, Mr Wilkie’s brother.’
‘But that is just as bad, my dear. Mary won’t you tell her she will be making a terrible mistake? The man is as dull as ditchwater.’
‘Nonsense, Mama,’ Katie snapped. ‘He is a little reserved I grant you, but he is such a wonderful artist.’
‘And what has your father to say about this?’
Katie did not reply, but her eyes blazed with resentment, angry that I had touched upon a weakness in her argument.
‘There! Just as I thought, your papa has doubts too, doesn’t he? Tell me if I’m wrong.’ I placed my hand beneath her resolute chin and gently lifted it. ‘Katie, you have too much of your father in you to live with such a man as Charles Collins. He will bore you; he will exasperate you. Katie, one failed marriage in the Dickens family is enough, don’t you think?’
Katie pushed my hand away and paced the room with irritation. ‘Mama, are you saying that just because you and Papa are opposites that Mr Collins and I cannot hope to be happy because we are different?’
‘I am saying that I think that you would be better suited to someone younger, someone who can match your own enthusiasm for life. Why are you in such a hurry, anyway?’
She had her back to me, her arms folded in defiance and then I understood.
‘Have you and your father been arguing again? You have, haven’t you? Oh, Katie, this is not the answer at all. You will be running away from unhappiness in one place only to find it in another. Please, Katie, if you will not change your mind, then at least reflect on the idea of this marriage for a little longer, you are only eighteen after all.’
Her arms remained folded in a gesture of wilfulness, and I appealed to her sister.
‘Mary?’
Mary’s voice was soft and full of conciliation. ‘Mama, you should know by now that when Katie has decided, no one will alter her opinion.’
An invitation to the wedding never arrived, and I was unsure who had most wished me absent, my prejudiced husband or my obstinate daughter.
When Charley returned home from the celebrations and found me sitting alone, he could not contain his indignation and anger.
‘How can they treat you this way, Mama? I could hardly bear to be there, knowing that you were here on your own and that Papa had invited that awful young woman, along with her sister and mother in your place.’
‘There, there, my love. It is done now and no amount of bitterness will undo it. I am more concerned for Katie than for myself. I only hope that she does not regret her hasty decision, but I fear that she will.’
Charley, who appeared to have already had a little too much too drink, poured himself a glass of whisky, and took a large gulp.
‘Well, Papa put on his usual façade, entertaining the guests with his tricks, dancing and sketches, but when they had all gone, I found him at the bottom of the garden, crying over Katie’s departure and burning his entire collection of letters in the fire basket.’
‘His letters! But there is a lifetime of memories recorded amongst many of them. Why would he do such a thing?’
‘I have no idea, Mama.’ He gulped at the whisky again. ‘And, to be honest, I no longer care. I am ashamed to call him my father.’
‘No, my love, you must never say that. Your father has his faults, but he is still a fine man. Look at the wonderful, charitable acts that he has performed throughout his life. I never give up hope, Charley, that your father will repent of his mistakes and that we will be reunited again. You must be patient with him.’
11th June 1870
Gad’s Hill Place, Kent
The days, months and years passed, and my life continued to be inextricably linked to all that my husband said and did. I began the recounting of our life together in this journal, feeling that by retracing my steps I might live it all again. I read all of his works, attended many of his readings and performances, and his photograph stood in a frame, placed at my bedside. From time to time he would write to me in a polite manner and enquire after my health, and whether my way of life was all that it had been.
Charley was now married and employed in the offices of his father’s magazine, Francis and Walter were in India, Sydney a midshipman in the navy, Alfred was in Australia, Henry at Cambridge and young Edward finally coming to the end of his schooling.
When old Mrs Dickens passed away, (and sadly Fred the following year), I received formal notification from Charles that the funerals had taken place. He sent word when Georgie was taking the sea air in France to ease her heart trouble, and when the newspapers reported upon the most terrible train crash at Staplehurst, and that a famous author was shaken but unhurt, he assured me via a telegraph that Mr Charles Dickens was quite well and that I had no need to enquire of him further.
My dear friend, William Thackeray finally passed away and twelve years after Charles and I separated, the day that I prayed would never come, arrived.
The click of the sitting room door being opened roused me from an afternoon nap in my chair.
‘Hello, my love, I was not expecting your visit today.’ I smiled, lifting my head from the wing of the chair.
Charley’s face was pinched into an expression far too serious for one of such handsome features and immediately I knew that something was not right.
‘What is it, my love?’
Charley knelt down at the side of my chair, and took my hand. ‘It is Father, Mama, he is very ill. Aunt Georgie has sent a telegram; she thinks that you should come straight away.’
‘Have you seen him?’ I asked, twisting at my necklace.
‘He is very confused, Mama. I think that you will have to be very strong.’
We travelled in silence to Gad’s Hill and I looked out of the window, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, only thinking of him. Perhaps I knew that it would be too late, that Charles would no longer be there when I arrived, but still nothing prepared me for the sight that was to greet me at Gad’s Hill. Katie, Mary and Georgie were sitting on the steps leading up to the front door, clutching one another and weeping. Mary and Kate sprang to their feet immediately and ran to embrace me.
‘Oh Mama, Mama, he has gone!’
I felt as if my legs would give way from under me, but Katie took my arm and led me into the house and to the room where he lay.
‘I will leave you alone with him for a while, Mama.’
He slept on a narrow velvet couch in the drawing room. In all our years together I had never seen him so quiet and still, with such a look of rest and ease about him, with such patient serenity. I wondered how this worn out body could have contained the restless and vital force that had been his. The June sunshine streamed through the windows and filled the room with reflected brilliance, and I thought how Heaven must be just as matchless in its beauty. If only I could be reunited with him now, with my youth and beauty restored, that I could be all to him in eternity that I had not been in this life. I knelt down at his side and lifted his hand to my face.
‘Charles, I am so sorry that I … disappointed you.’ Even now I could hardly bring myself to utter the word ‘failed’.
‘I tried my best, truly I did.’
I realized with despair that we no longer shared the same world, and any hope of reconciliation was now extinguished. I could not imagine that I would never see him again, that he had gone forever.
The door opened quietly and Katie’s voice asked softly, ‘Are you all right, Mama?’
Brushing aside my tears, I nodded and replaced her father’s hand at his side. Seeing me struggle, she crossed the room, slipped her arm through mine and helped me to my feet.
‘He looks so peaceful, Mama, don’t you think? He had such a fear of being idle and yet, I think that if he had lived much longer, he would have worked until he’d driven himself out of his mind.’
I put a finger to my lips, ever mindful of her father’s great pride, and led her out into the conservatory. The heavy scent of the garden permeated the air and we sat down, glad of the sun’s warmth on our grief-weary bodies.
‘Papa was reminiscing a few days ago about old times, when we were all together, and he sounded so full of guilt and regret. He said that he wished he had been a better father, a better human being.’
I placed my hand reassuringly upon my daughter’s.
‘Your father was a wonderful human being, Katie; it’s just that sometimes I think he forgot the distinction between truth and fiction. He treated us as though we were all characters in his books, as if he could control our thoughts, and words and actions.’
‘But you have forgiven him, Mama, haven’t you?’
‘Now that he has gone, my love, all our differences seem so unimportant. During those years without him there were times when I both loved and resented him, and yet I never stopped hoping that he would alter his opinion of me and call me back to his side.’
‘You know that you will be welcome at the funeral, don’t you Mama?’
I smiled sadly. ‘No, my love, I will not be there. It is him they will come to see. I have determined to remember him in my own quiet manner.’
I stood up and walked out into the garden. Looking back toward the house, I could see him now in my mind’s eye working away on some new idea, and I thought back to the first time that I met him and to the day when my father introduced us.
To the day when my life changed from the ordinary to the remarkable.