Netherfield Park Revisited (15 page)

I do not object to your plan to purchase Netherfield Park. I do not doubt that it is a good investment, but it is not where I choose to live for the rest of my life.

Please Jonathan, do not ask me to reconsider—I have already done so, and it is useless to ask Catherine to press me to agree, for I shall not buckle.

It is all very fine for Catherine, who has a lovely home at the parsonage at Hunsford, with an entrée at all times to Rosings, to advise me to bury myself in Hertfordshire. But I am quite determined that I shall not move to please her or anyone.

Please do not believe that any threats will make me change my mind either. It is quite made up.

Jonathan could not believe his eyes as he read the words.

The language and tone were certainly not his wife's. He wondered whether Miss Bingley may have been responsible; or perhaps it was Mrs Watkins, who was fast becoming his bête noire. Determined to discover the truth, he decided to travel to Kent, arriving late in the afternoon at the parsonage in Hunsford.

There, he found Catherine, who was not entirely surprised to see him. It was a rather blustery afternoon, with short intermittent showers, and he was glad to be indoors, in front of a good fire in the parlour.

Waiting until the maid had left, Catherine poured out his tea and handed it to him, saying simply, “I suppose this is about Amelia-Jane, again.”

Jonathan nodded and, putting down his cup, extracted the letter from his pocket and handed it to her.

“I received this yesterday,” he said.

Catherine read it and returned it, sceptical and angry at its contents.

“That is not written by Amelia-Jane—oh, I know it is in her hand, but the language, all those pompous phrases … the entire tone of the letter, it is not her at all. She is not sufficiently well read to compose such a letter. It is clear to me that my sister has been put up to write this ridiculous piece.”

Jonathan was relieved to have his suspicions confirmed even if it was unthinkable that an outsider, a person wholly unconnected with them, was influencing his wife in her communications with him, dictating the words and phrases she used.

“Is it Miss Bingley?” he asked. “Has she been here recently?”

Catherine shook her head. “No, she has not, but her good friend Mrs Watkins—an astonishingly vulgar woman, who has a man friend they call Alexander—has been here and is staying at the Dower House.”

Jonathan was quite shocked.

“Do you mean they are staying in our home?”

“Indeed, my maid had it from their housekeeper that the visitors had occupied the main bedroom, while Mrs Bingley had moved in with Tess.”

Jonathan was outraged. That rank outsiders should not only be influencing his wife to defy him but abusing his hospitality while they did it was beyond belief. It was the kind of situation he had never faced before.

He turned to his sister-in-law for advice. “Catherine, what can I do? Should I drive over now and confront them?”

She understood his helplessness; he was not a man accustomed to confrontation nor was he the type to seek it, if it could possibly be avoided.

Catherine, who had already discussed Amelia-Jane's recent conduct with her husband, knew well that in such open conflict, Jonathan Bingley would not win. His genteel manner and amiable nature did not fit him for dealing with the kind of contest he faced.

“Mr Bingley, Jonathan, you may not like what I am about to suggest, but it is the best advice I can offer you. I truly do not believe that any action you may take to confront your wife's newfound friends will help you solve the problem that faces you. Indeed, it is more likely to drive her away from you.

“Is it asking too much to suggest that you appeal to my mother to come to Rosings, stay at the Dower House, and help both of you to find a way out of this unhappy situation?” Seeing his dubious expression, she insisted, “You cannot let it go on, Jonathan, it will ruin your marriage and ultimately destroy both of you as well. I would be prepared to write to Mama and ask her, if that was your wish.”

Bereft of any other ideas and unable to find another way, Jonathan was immensely grateful to his sister-in-law and agreed to let her write to Mrs Collins immediately.

Not long afterwards, he left and drove past the turn-off to the Dower House, disconsolate and with very little hope.

Leaving Rosings, he was far too depressed to return to London, and with a storm blowing in, he decided to make for Standish Park, where he knew his sister Emma would make him welcome.

It was Friday, and James would probably be back from Westminster, as well.

He recalled a similar visit, several years ago, when he had been the unhappy bearer of bad news, informing first James Wilson and his mother and then Emma of the disgrace and suicide of her first husband, David Wilson.

He, together with James Wilson, had attended to all the arrangements and coped with the consequences that flowed from that hideous event.

Concerned for his sister and outraged by David Wilson's behaviour, Jonathan had not suffered personal grief at the time. All he had felt was a deep sadness for his unhappy sister, who had concealed much of her suffering for years. At all times, he had been at pains to protect his sister and her two young daughters from the distressing consequences of his irresponsible brother-in-law's actions.

Now, when his own life was in turmoil, it was to Emma he turned for help. Emma, who, with her subsequent marriage to James, had finally found the happiness she deserved.

Emma Wilson was not entirely surprised to see her brother arrive, unannounced, at Standish Park late that evening.

She had heard from her husband of the proposal put to him by the Reform Group and had anticipated a visit, which she had expected would be occasioned by his desire to discuss the possibility of re-entering the House of Commons and the consequences that might flow from it.

They had grown closer over the years and frequently consulted each other on business and family matters. Though he had no real taste for business, Jonathan had a head for figures and sound judgment, which she had often appreciated.

Her parents had hoped that Jonathan would take over his father's role in the family business, but when he had become seriously interested in politics, he had been unable to find the time. Emma knew they were disappointed and had hoped to persuade him to take some share of the responsibility for the business.

It was therefore with a cheerful smile but a rather troubled heart that she greeted him as he alighted from his vehicle and came indoors.

“You are very fortunate to have escaped that storm, Jonathan—as you can see there is some very nasty weather blowing in,” she said as he divested himself of his coat and followed her into the saloon, where the drapes had been closed against the gloomy weather and the candles had been lit for the evening.

Keen to ascertain whether they were likely to be disturbed, Jonathan asked after James and the children.

“James will be here tomorrow morning; he is staying overnight at Rochester; Victoria and Stephanie are gone to a ball for their cousin at Sevenoaks and will not return until Sunday, and both Charles and Colin have dined and gone to bed,” said his sister, “so we are quite safe from interruption.”

He seemed relieved. But when she sat down and waited for him to join her, he remained standing, clearly ill at ease, walked about, put down and picked up his drink, until she said, “Jonathan, while I am truly happy you are here, indeed, I am delighted not to be dining alone this evening, with James and the girls away, I should be even happier were you to tell me why you are here, for I cannot believe that you would have arrived in such haste and without warning unless there was something serious afoot. Now, tell me, am I right?”

Jonathan had stopped walking around the room while she spoke and then, quite suddenly, drew up a chair and sat down beside the sofa on which she was seated.

“Yes, you are, Emma. I need to talk to you,” he said, with such a look of misery on his face that she relented and regretted her words, which she feared might have been too censorious.

“My dear brother, I am sorry, I did not mean to lecture you at all; please forgive me. I can see that you are troubled and unhappy, and I do want to help. Is it to do with this business of standing for Parliament again?” she asked and, when he shook his head, she was confused … what could it be?

“If only it were as simple a problem as deciding whether to return to the Parliament,” he said, in a low, unhappy voice. “No, my dear Emma, I fear I have all but lost Amelia-Jane. She has turned away from me and intends to leave me. She seems to have set her mind upon it and will not hear a word I say … What is worse, she appears to have fallen into the clutches of some people who are intent upon destroying our marriage. Emma, I am completely at a loss as to what I can do.”

Even as he spoke, he saw the expression of surprise and concern on her face change to one of disbelief and shock.

Emma had known from previous conversations with Jonathan and from her mother's letters that all was not well between her brother and his wife.

But nothing had prepared her for this!

She heard him blurt out with some difficulty, often without much clarity, the sorry tale of the problems that presently beset them. It was clearly painful for him to relate. Finally, he thrust into her hand the note he had received from his wife. She could see how deeply he had been hurt.

On reading it, Emma Wilson's outrage was plain. She could not believe that Amelia-Jane could have penned such a cruel message.

Very soon, she had reached the same conclusion as Catherine Harrison—that it was the work of either Miss Bingley or her new friend and confidante, Mrs Watkins, of whom she had heard not one favourable report!

Generally of a mild and easy-going nature, Emma surprised her brother with an outburst of anger. As she stood up and walked up and down the room, he felt the need to urge her to be calm, but Emma was not to be silenced.

“Jonathan, this note is outrageous! You cannot take this as a genuine expression of your wife's wishes. It is clearly not composed by her. Why, I cannot imagine such words from her lips, much less her pen. Obviously, she has been coached and directed to write this and we have to discover by whom. If it is, as Catherine Harrison thinks, the work of this Watkins woman, what right has she to interfere, and why do you have to accept it?”

Jonathan was amazed to see her so indignant. Clearly, she had been provoked by the letter, but he felt responsible for her state of agitation and begged her to be calm.

He told her of Catherine Harrison's suggestion that they invite the intervention of Amelia-Jane's mother, Mrs Collins.

While Emma thought this was probably a good idea, she was still determined that Mrs Watkins, in her role of confidante and conspirator, could not be permitted to influence her young sister-in-law unchallenged. She was already working on a plan.

“When James returns tomorrow, we shall tell him—not all the details perhaps, but sufficient to make him understand the urgency of the problem. He will be able to advise us objectively on the best course of action. My own inclination is to travel to the Dower House at Rosings Park with you and talk to your wife without this woman, Mrs Watkins, present.

“I would not stand on ceremony—it is your house, after all; I would simply ask her, politely, to remove herself, because we have private matters to discuss.”

Jonathan explained that Catherine Harrison had warned against open confrontation. Emma agreed.

“It is not confrontation we seek, Jonathan, only an opportunity to talk to Amelia-Jane and put a point of view. What can be fairer?”

She sounded so reasonable that, by the time dinner was served, Jonathan had been persuaded to his sister's way of thinking and was feeling a good deal better than when he had arrived.

Emma was confident that if she could talk to her sister-in-law, she could persuade her at least to return with them to Standish Park, where they could talk over their problems in private, in a calmer atmosphere removed from the pernicious influence of her decidedly strange new friends.

Perhaps, Emma thought, Amelia-Jane might see things differently.

Jonathan was not confident of success, but at least Emma intended to try, and for that he was grateful.

They talked late into the night about the strange way in which their two lives had run on parallel and similar courses. It was uncanny. Neither had an explanation for it, but both their marriages had foundered; yet both had been undertaken in sincerity and love.

Emma was honest in her appraisal of her own poor judgment. “You must admit we were both of us young, and I had never had my feelings seriously engaged before. I was seventeen and very naïve. David was the toast of the town, the youngest member of Parliament; I must have been insane or very stupid to believe that he loved me to the exclusion of every other woman and that he would accord me some dignity when we were married, which he denied to others of his acquaintance.

“He treated me as if I were a doll he had purchased for his entertainment,” she declared, and the sadness and hurt in her voice roused Jonathan to anger as he recalled her ill-starred first marriage.

Going over to her, he sat down and took her hands in his. “My dear Emma, he treated you abominably. David was a disgraceful blackguard. You need never make excuses for him, nor blame yourself.

“You may well have been innocent and naïve, but these are not criminal offences. David Wilson was a man of the world, a Member of Parliament, yet he deliberately betrayed your trust and that of his friends and family.”

Jonathan's voice was rough with anger. “I shall never forget James Wilson's face when he was told of his brother's behaviour, nor his mother's grief at his suicide. They were all deceived, as you were. You have nothing for which to blame yourself.”

Of his own actions in marrying Amelia-Jane Collins after an exceedingly brief courtship, he was more critical.