Netherfield Park Revisited (13 page)

Jonathan, who was travelling in their carriage, remained silent for most of this conversation. Surprisingly and unaccountably, Lizzie thought, as she wondered what could have caused him to be so thoughtful.

She could not know that he was thinking of both his wife and his daughter and pondering how it had come about that a young woman of modest birth and background like Anna Faulkner had acquired the style and proficiency that she had in both Art and Music, while neither his wife nor their daughter Anne-Marie, to whom far greater opportunities had been available, had ever been interested to do likewise.

It seemed to Jonathan that, each time he met Miss Faulkner, her fascination increased, though neither had done anything to foster it. In her manner there was no archness or flirtatiousness, nor had his conduct towards her been anything but proper. Yet, he could not deny that of all the women he had met in recent years, he had not enjoyed the company of anyone above that of Anna Faulkner.

He was clearly in a quandary and could not explain it. It was no wonder that Jonathan remained mostly silent as they returned to Longbourn.

On the following day there would be more time and opportunity to appreciate her intelligence and charm, as she joined them on their journey to London. The Darcys had left early, since they were returning to Woodlands, while the Bingleys, having collected Anna and her luggage, took a more leisurely route to London.

For most of the journey Anna remained quiet and listened to their conversation, except when she was called upon to participate, and then her enlightened opinions and lively mind impressed, just as her charming manners and musical skill had pleased them on the previous evening.

Always sensitive to these matters, Jane thought Jonathan seemed especially charmed by their companion. But, as usual, she kept her counsel.

On reaching Grosvenor Street, Anna was grateful for the comfort and privacy of a room in which to rest before dressing for dinner. She was urged to stay overnight, but was determined to go to her friends. “If I do not arrive tonight, they will worry, since I had not the time to advise them of the change to my travel plans. They may think I have missed the coach or had some mishap,” she said.

Impressed by her commendable sense of responsibility and concern for her friends, Jonathan offered to drive her round to Belgrave Square.

“Have no fear, Miss Faulkner, it is not at all far from here. You will soon be with your friends,” he said, trying to reassure her.

Before leaving, she thanked them all for their kindness and hospitality, and on reaching Belgrave Square and locating their apartment, she invited Jonathan in to meet her friends.

The Armandes, who proved to be a charming Flemish couple, were most relieved to see her and pressed Jonathan to stay for coffee. But he, though sorely tempted, did not stay.

“Perhaps another day, Monsieur? You will call again? Yes?” Monsieur Armande asked, and Jonathan readily agreed. Yes, he would be happy to call another day, he said.

Anna, he had learned as they drove from Grosvenor Street, was to stay with them until the end of Summer, at least. It was a piece of information that made him inexplicably happy.

When he returned to Grosvenor Street, he found his parents talking together over coffee, in the sitting room. There was nothing unusual in that except the subject of their conversation was still Miss Faulkner.

On joining them and taking a glass of port, he was immediately appealed to for an answer to a conundrum.

Did he have any explanation, his father asked, why Miss Faulkner, charming, handsome, and accomplished, was as yet single?

“We cannot decide if she remains unwed by choice,” said his mother.

If only to quell their speculation, he retold, albeit with some degree of reluctance and without too much detail, the story that his aunt Kitty had narrated at Pemberley those many months ago. His parents, being both kind and warm-hearted, were saddened by the tale, and Jane said she hoped Anna would not remain single forever.

“She is far too handsome and charming for that. I am sure that now she is in London for a few months, she will meet someone suitable.”

“I certainly hope so,” said her husband. “She deserves to be happily married. She is an admirable young woman.”

Jonathan made no immediate reply. Strangely, the thought of Anna Faulkner meeting “someone suitable” in London disturbed and filled him with anxiety.

“London,” he said, suddenly, “is full of totally unsuitable men. Miss Faulkner seems perfectly content with her situation. I believe she is happy as she is, Mama,” he said, trying to sound casual, but his mother was surprised by the firmness of his tone.

“Did she tell you this?” Jane asked.

“Of course not. I would not be so presumptuous as to ask such a question of a young lady. But I did gather that this was the case from something Mrs Collins said,” he replied, and soon afterwards announced that he was very weary and would go to bed. Collecting the picture of Matlock Bridge, which lay on the table in the hall, he retired to his room.

The following day, Jonathan discussed his plans for Netherfield Park with his father and confirmed his intention to proceed with the purchase.

“I think I have decided it is the best thing I can do,” he said.

Significantly, he did not reveal to either of his parents that Amelia-Jane had flatly refused to move to Hertfordshire. His parents gave him their blessing. It was clearly a good investment, and they felt sure he would not regret it.

His father had assured him that the only reason he had not purchased the property all those years ago was that “your aunt Lizzie married Darcy and moved to Derbyshire. I could not then have your dear mother in Hertfordshire, pining for her sister, could I?”

Jane was especially pleased, taking it to mean that her son and daughter-in-law would be able to bring their family together at Netherfield.

“You had better see your attorney and have the matter settled,” advised Bingley, as they left to return to Woodlands, where they were to spend the rest of the Summer.

After his parents had left, Jonathan went out to his club. On his return, he found a letter waiting for him. It was from his sister-in-law, Catherine Harrison, who wrote in rather urgent terms, very different to her usual mea- sured and sober words.

Dear Mr Bingley,
she wrote:

You will, no doubt, be surprised to receive this letter, but it is an indication of the extent of my concern about my sister.

Amelia-Jane has been over to Hunsford twice this week, and on both occasions, spent almost all of her visit—the better part of two hours—complaining bitterly of your decision to move to Netherfield Park in Hertfordshire.

She claims this is a decision which she opposes and she is determined that she will not go. When I explained to her that it may soon be impossible for her to stay on at the Dower House—(I believe the new manager will be in residence before Christmas)—she declared, without any hesitation, her intention to appeal to him to provide her with a small cottage on the Rosings Estate!

I need not tell you how mortifying such a request by her would be to the rest of us, especially Mr Harrison, who has a respected position in this community, not to mention yourself. My sister does not see it that way. She declares that if such a request were refused, she would rather go and live in Bath!

Jonathan was more alarmed by the idea of his wife begging for a “little cottage” than the prospect of her going to live in Bath. The idea seemed impractical and unrealistic, until he read a little further.

On her second visit, she brought along a letter from your aunt, Caroline Bingley, in which it was suggested that Amelia-Jane could do with a holiday in Bath, away from all the aggravation of London. She had come hoping to persuade me to have Cathy and Tess to stay. She pleaded with me to agree but I had to be firm.

I insisted that if the girls are to stay with me, while she goes alone to Bath, she must have your permission. I am unwilling to be a party to any deception or any scheme that may cause conflict between you and my sister and probably upset the children as well.

Mr Harrison, who arrived, fortuitously, in the middle of our discussion, also advised her against any rash plan to travel alone to Bath, where she will have no family and few friends and be totally dependent upon the goodwill of Miss Bingley.

We can only hope that she will not do anything foolhardy … etc etc.

Jonathan was exceedingly grateful to his sister-in-law for her timely intervention and advice. He was also sufficiently perturbed by her news to sit down immediately and write to his wife, begging her to be cautious.

Indeed, he went so far as to warn her to beware of those who may urge her to act in an indiscreet manner, neglecting her own and her family's interest.

He was thinking specifically of Mrs Arabella Watkins as he wrote:

Do not trust these women; they are a tribe of persons who enjoy the discomfiture and embarrassment of others and spend much of their lives in gossip, creating disharmony and unhappiness. Please, dearest Amelia-Jane, believe me, those who will urge you to leave your children do not have your interest or theirs at heart.

He pleaded with her to return to Grosvenor Street. He told her he missed her and their children and longed to have them all with him again.

He hoped she would be moved, but even as he wrote and sealed the letter, he felt in his heart that she was unlikely to pay any attention to his appeal.

Jonathan's letter to Catherine Harrison expressed his heartfelt appreciation.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my dear sister, for your concern and sincere desire to help Amelia-Jane and prevent any action that may place her reputation in jeopardy.

My earnest desire has been to find the means to bring us all back together and to that end, I have tried assiduously to persuade Amelia-Jane to take a look at Netherfield Park, but to no avail. Perhaps your advice may be more acceptable to her than mine. I hope and pray that, with your help and that of Mr Harrison, we may succeed where, clearly, I have failed to convince her where her interest lies.

He concluded with more sincere thanks and, having despatched both letters by express, went out again, this time, to walk around the square for half an hour or so in a very melancholy mood.

On his return, he was informed that a Monsieur Armande had called and left his card. Since their lodgings were not far from Grosvenor Street, Jonathan decided to return the call. The Armandes were genial and friendly; Monsieur Armande had called to invite him to dinner to meet the man who was organising their Art School and exhibition. He was an expatriate Frenchman—a Monsieur Du Pont, who had lived most of his life in London.

“He will be here within the hour,” Madame Armande said. “We thought you might be lonely now that your parents have returned to the country. Would you care to stay and have dinner with us?”

Jonathan was delighted to stay.

It was exactly what he needed after the depressing news contained in Mrs Harrison's letter—he enjoyed the delicious meal and the company very much indeed.

Du Pont turned out to be an exceedingly suave and elegant Frenchman of about forty, who entertained them with his witty and intelligent conversation and his fascinating anecdotes about social life in Europe.

Later, Anna was persuaded to play the pianoforte and Monsieur Du Pont was quite effusive in his praise. He had already waxed lyrical about her drawings and the two small still life paintings, which the Armandes hoped to include in the exhibition.

Jonathan, in his rather more reserved way, had been careful not to embarrass Anna with excessive praise, but it was difficult when she demonstrated such a high degree of skill and excellence of taste.

Her own modesty and reticence only increased his esteem, and he soon came to understand why the Armandes loved her dearly.

While Anna accompanied their two young daughters upstairs after dinner, Madame Armande recounted for Jonathan's benefit examples of her generosity and kindness.

On one occasion, in Brussels, Madame had been taken seriously ill. There had been no one to help with the housework or mind the children. Monsieur Armande had been away in Paris with a group of students.

“Monsieur, I cannot find the words in English to tell you how good she was. She gave up her holiday to stay with me and look after me better than a daughter. I shall never forget her kindness; she is an angel!” she declared.

Jonathan smiled and nodded. He could see now why they were so devoted to her. It was easy to like her. He had himself felt drawn to her, not only because she was amiable and accomplished, but because she seemed to have a genuine goodness as well. No other woman had held his attention as Anna had done and all without making any conscious effort to do so.

Jonathan Bingley was a very proper gentleman and had no intention of indulging in a pointless flirtation, but he could not deny how very highly he regarded her and how much he enjoyed her company.

He told himself firmly that his interest was an innocent and simple friendship, no more. He had no evidence that the lady wished for anything more either. She clearly enjoyed his company and shared with him her enjoyment of the Arts. Indeed, she even listened with some interest to his political anecdotes and laughed when he told tales of the foibles of his colleagues at Westminster, but there was never any flirtatiousness or dalliance in her words or manner.

She was unvaryingly open and frank in her conversation and made no attempt to draw him into any inappropriate familiarity. It had made their association pleasant, easy, and completely guiltless.

It was, Jonathan told himself as he walked home on that mild, Summer night, exactly what a good friendship between two intelligent people should be.

Though Jonathan was unaware of it, the Armandes seemed to find rather more to say about their beloved Anna and their new acquaintance, Monsieur Bingley.

They had noticed the easy relationship that seemed to exist between them and the way he watched her when she was playing the pianoforte or simply talking to someone else on the other side of the room.