A Woman of Influence (20 page)

...he wrote. He concluded with the warmest of wishes for her future and expressed the hope that they may meet one day, perhaps when he was next in London.

It was as gentlemanly and kind in manner and sentiment as one could ask for, with not a hint of presumption.

Becky read it through once and over again, before folding it over and placing it inside her diary. The arrival of the letter had taken her by surprise; its contents had affected her feelings considerably.

That Aldo Contini had appeared in London was surprise enough; that he was apparently a close friend of Jonathan Bingley was a most amazing circumstance. It set up in Becky's mind the likelihood that the two men were perhaps intimate enough to have exchanged confidences, a possibility that caused in her such a tumult that every other concern was for the moment subsumed.

Becky now had a new source of disquiet.
If Jonathan Bingley should learn of
her previous association with Mr Contini, how might he regard it?
she wondered.

She was concerned that there may be some disapproval, yet the fact that there had been no hint of this in his attitude to her when they met and he had handed over Mr Contini's letter gave her some hope that he knew little more than what had been said already.

Perhaps, she thought, Mr Contini had said nothing to Jonathan beyond his acknowledgement of his meetings in Italy with Mr Tate and herself, some years ago. That he had wanted to convey his condolences would add verisimilitude to this account, and Jonathan, himself an unsuspicious sort of person, was unlikely to have given the matter much thought.

Feeling confused and out of spirits, she decided she would remain in her room for the rest of the afternoon, sending a message to the housekeeper that she preferred not to be disturbed before dinner time.

She was tired, she told her maid, and wished not to be involved in any of the routine domestic matters that afternoon.

She did remember, however, to add a warning to all the young women in the household that they should stay well within the boundaries of Edgewater. She used the information given her by Catherine to urge them to avoid at all costs the woods around the Rosings estate.

Having secured her privacy, she looked only to concentrate upon Mr Contini's letter and what her response should be. She set to work to compose an appropriate reply.

However, when Nelly returned some hours later, her mistress had a blank page before her while several crumpled sheets of paper lay in the wastepaper basket. Becky had spent all afternoon on her answer, but every attempt had ended in frustration, if not failure.

Each time she had begun to write to Mr Contini, her mind had raced ahead of her pen, and she had difficulty in expressing even the simplest thoughts, without feeling that she was either being too familiar or offending him with too much formality.

When Nelly appeared to remind her it was almost time to dress for dinner, Becky was taken aback. So deeply had she been immersed in her seemingly fruitless task, she had not realised the lateness of the hour.

"Shall I prepare your bath, ma'am?" Nelly asked a little tentatively.

Becky rose from her couch, saying without much enthusiasm, "Yes please, Nelly. I think I would like that, but I doubt if I shall need much dinner tonight."

"Shall I bring a tray up for you, ma'am?" Nelly suggested. She knew her mistress was troubled, was anxious for her, and wished to help.

Becky turned to her as if to a savior.

"Would you, Nelly? That would be heaven, because I shan't have to dress for dinner and go downstairs and sit alone at table. I do hope Cook won't be upset."

Nelly smiled. "No, ma'am, I am sure she will be very happy to prepare a tray for you," she said and went away to give the necessary instructions.

Becky sighed, lay back on her couch, and gave thanks for Nelly, whose loyalty and kindness had sustained her through many dark days.

When Becky retired to bed, she had hoped that the mood of melancholy she had suffered all evening would lift overnight. However, when she awoke the following morning to the same sense of distraction that had assailed her the previous night, she was disappointed.

Lying in bed would not cure her dejection, nor would it help her deal with her present predicament. She had to compose a suitable response to Mr Contini's letter. Courtesy demanded that she do so, yet she had no knowledge of his present situation and address and, were she to write, would need to ask Jonathan Bingley for this information.

How to do this, without revealing more than she wished to about her earlier association with Mr Contini, posed an almost insoluble problem.

By the time her maid appeared with tea, Becky had made a decision.

There was no other course to follow--she would have to seek her sister Catherine's advice.

She was expected to dine at the Dower House the following evening with Jonathan Bingley, Catherine's daughter Lilian, and her husband, Mr Adams. She had been looking forward to what would surely be a pleasant dinner party in excellent company. But now, she felt that she would enjoy it not at all while her mind was troubled by this new anxiety.

Taking advantage of her temporary indisposition to avoid the distraction of domestic routine, she rose from her bed, dressed, and wrote a short note, which she despatched to her sister, asking if she could spare a few hours to help her deal with a very particular private matter. She sent the carriage, with instructions that it should wait and return either with Mrs Burnett or her response.

Becky was aware that with Mr Frank Burnett in London on business and not expected back until that night, she could have every hope that Catherine would oblige her sister and come to her.

She was right. Shortly after midday, Mrs Burnett arrived at Edgewater, ready to help her sister deal with whatever troubled her. Becky remained in her room, and Catherine, fearing her sister was sicker than she had supposed, came swiftly upstairs.

As she entered the room, she looked uneasy. "Becky my dear, what is it? Have you been taken ill? I did warn you to take care, did I not? It must be all this tramping around the countryside that you delight in; you must have caught a cold or a chill, I think."

Catherine was her usual self, concerned and practical, eager to help.

Becky rose from her seat and the sisters embraced, as she thanked Catherine for coming so promptly and assured her she was not gravely ill, indeed she wasn't ill at all.

Having rung the bell and ordered that tea be brought up, Becky urged Catherine to be seated, indicating a place beside her on the chaise longue.

Catherine looked puzzled and could not understand what had caused her sister to send for her so urgently.

"Becky, your note suggested that you had a private matter that troubled you, which you wished to resolve. What is it that can have been so urgent that it could not wait until we met at dinner tomorrow? Is it something very important?" she asked.

"It is indeed, Cathy, and yes, it is a question I must resolve speedily, and I had hoped you would help me find a way to do so. But you must let me tell you about it in my own way, so you will understand my difficulty and advise me. I have great need of your cool head and perfect manners, Cathy; I am not very good at these matters; you must tell me what I ought to do."

Catherine certainly had a well-deserved reputation for good sense and exemplary manners. Like their mother, Charlotte, she had grown up with a strong sense of decorum and had a natural dignity, which stood her in good stead, but at this point she could not see how these attributes could help her sister.

"But what is the problem you must resolve? Is it to do with Alice Grey?" she asked, and Becky replied, "No, indeed it is not. In fact it has nothing at all to do with that matter."

Catherine was even more confused.

When they had last met, Becky had been eager to tell her all about Mrs Bancroft's revelations about the girl Alice Grey and her husband; she had left promising to return with an account of what she had learnt on her visit to Blessington, yet now, she was dismissing the subject as though it was of no significance. Catherine could not make it out at all.

The arrival of the maid bearing the tea tray interrupted their conversation, and they talked of inconsequential matters until the girl left the room.

But, even as she did so, Becky took from the pocket of her gown Mr Contini's letter and handed it to Catherine.

"There, read it, and when you have finished, I shall explain further," she said, as she proceeded to pour out the tea.

Still confused, Catherine took the note from her hand and began to read.

When she had read it through, she looked up at her sister, still unable to comprehend what problem it had caused.

"Becky, is this Mr Contini of the same Italian family who are friends of the Darcys?" she asked tentatively.

Becky nodded, and Catherine noted the particular smile on her face.

"Yes, he is; he is their nephew and has been a close friend of Jonathan Bingley for many years, although I had no knowledge whatsoever of that until this morning, when Jonathan called to deliver this letter. I understand they were at school together."

"And why has this note caused you a problem?" asked her sister.

Becky struggled to explain, wanting to convey her need to avoid undue awkwardness without further mortification, but succeeding only in confusing her sister even more.

After one or two futile attempts, she gave up and, as tears filled her eyes, turned to Catherine and said, "Cathy, I fear I have been very remiss. I have not been entirely honest with you; there are matters I should have told you of a long time ago. But in my own defence I have to say that I never believed it would be of any consequence. It was all so long ago."

"What do you mean, Becky? My dear, if you wish me to help you, I do need to understand the problem. Why does Mr Contini's note, which I have to say is a most unexceptionable communication, create such a difficulty for you? Was he not previously acquainted with Mr Tate and yourself?"

Becky nodded, looking away for a minute and then facing her sister, and said, "He was, when we first met in London, but you know what my husband was like, he collected acquaintances like a child collects shells at the seaside, but then he soon forgot them, unless they were useful to him."

"And Mr Contini was not?"

"Not particularly; not in the sense that he had useful business or political connections. But he was very helpful to us and exceedingly hospitable when we travelled to Italy, which Mr Tate appreciated, and he was a most attentive and helpful guide, especially in Florence, where his family lives. We spent a great deal of time together."

"There cannot have been any harm in that, surely?" said Catherine.

"There was not, except very often Mr Tate would spend most of the day with business associates, leaving me to wander around the city alone except for Mr Contini, who very kindly accompanied me and, I would think, protected me when I might have been putting myself in some danger, venturing into places that I shouldn't have, if only through ignorance or naivete."

"Well, that was kind of him, and if Mr Tate had no objection to it, I can see nothing wrong in it, surely?"

When Becky was silent, Catherine seemed to realise there was more to this situation than met the eye and suddenly, as if simple understanding had dawned upon her, asked, "Becky, was there something more that you have omitted to tell me? Did Mr Contini flirt with you? And did you, perhaps, enjoy a little flirtation too?

"Was that it?" she teased her sister, and then noting a blush rising upon her cheek, she persisted, "And now, are you concerned that if he returns and sees you again, he may seek to renew the association? Is that what troubles you?"

Becky seized the chance afforded her by this remark.

"Yes, you are right; I fear I may have given him the impression that--"

Catherine interrupted her, "But, my dear Becky, that was years ago. How

can it be that he would try to renew such an association when you have had no communication with him since? I do not believe it possible. Besides, Becky, Mr Contini may well be otherwise engaged himself; perhaps he is married and unlikely to be interested in pursuing the connection," she suggested.

This was a thought that had not as yet occurred to Becky, as she had searched around in her mind for a solution to her dilemma. She was as yet unready to reveal everything to her sister.

Suddenly, she smiled and said, "Yes, of course, you are quite right, Cathy, he may well be married, although Jonathan said nothing of that," adding thoughtfully, "I wonder if Jonathan does have an inkling of our previous association. I should be deeply mortified if that were the case."

Catherine attempted to reassure her sister.

"Oh I do doubt that, Becky," she said. "I think Mr Contini's note to you and the fact that he was so open about sending it through Jonathan Bingley must give you some confidence. As a friend of Mr Bingley, he is clearly a gentleman and an honourable one. Would you not say so?"

Becky agreed.

"Yes indeed, I should have no doubt of that."

Catherine was content.

"Well then, in such circumstances, I think you need have no concerns about his motives, nor need you worry about the possibility of his betraying a confidence. As it was so many years ago, when you were both much younger and Mr Tate was with you for most of the time, it is probably something he, like you, has long forgotten. Do you not agree?"