Netherfield Park Revisited (29 page)

She could give him no information at all, except to reveal that they had received a short note from Anna, hastily penned between attending to her sister and getting the younger children to eat their dinner.

She said Sarah had been very happy to see her and begged her to stay as long as possible. Anna thought her sister was improving, with proper care and better food, but could not say when she would be well enough to be left on her own. Anna feared Mr Martyn was not very good attending upon his sick wife and organising his several children.

“He is a farmer, a very good one by all reports, but a farmer none the less,” said Mrs Faulkner, as if that explained everything.

Jonathan could not comprehend why a man who was a good farmer could not care for his sick wife or organise his young children, but tactfully said nothing. There were only four days to Christmas and Anna had been gone just above a week.

“Do you expect her home for Christmas?” he asked, a little anxiously.

“Oh dear, I do hope so,” replied her mother, but added as an afterthought, “I wonder how the Martyns will cope when she leaves.”

Jonathan was beginning to lose patience with the Martyns, a family he had never met but continually heard of, chiefly on account of their inability to do anything for themselves.

Anna had previously told him how her father was called upon to travel to Hampshire each time one of the children fell ill, to reassure them the child would recover.

Rising to leave, he thanked Mrs Faulkner for the tea and invited them to Netherfield House after church on Christmas morning, so they could meet his daughters. Mrs Faulkner was very appreciative and promised to convey the invitation to Dr Faulkner and Anna, when she had returned from Hampshire, assuring him they were all looking forward to meeting his daughters.

Sadly, that was all the consolation Jonathan had from her that day.

Returning to Netherfield, finding it difficult to conceal his disappointment, Jonathan found his daughters in a state of high excitement and was glad of the distraction. A party of carollers had turned up at the house to ask if they might come around and sing on Christmas Eve.

There was a new, rather strict young rector at the village church, they explained, who had insisted that they must not go round to people's homes uninvited.

Cathy was determined that they must be welcomed at Netherfield.

She had never encountered the traditional carollers before.

“Papa, please can we tell them they may come round and sing for us?” she asked and, having consulted Mrs Perrot, who promised to have some food and drink ready for the party, Jonathan gave his permission. The three sisters then set off to tell the carol singers, who were practising at the church hall, the good news.

Jonathan watched them go, all eager and laughing together; only Anne-Marie continued to wear the traditional dark mourning gowns. Her young sisters had been dressed in shades of blue and lavender since leaving Ashford Park. His mother had pointed out that it was past six months since their mother's death and surely the children could put aside their mourning clothes. Jonathan had agreed and had suggested to Anne-Marie that she should also get herself some lighter gowns while they were in London, but she had replied quietly that she would “wear these out until Christmas.”

While they were out, Jonathan retired to his room, disappointed, unable to concentrate on anything. He had so looked forward to bringing the girls home and asking Anna round to meet them in happier circumstances than when they last saw each other. It was as if Fate had conspired to cheat him, and his plans had come to naught.

He was beginning to understand how closely she had become involved with his hopes of happiness. He was missing her at every moment and on every occasion.

His depression worsened considerably when a short note arrived from his son Charles, to whom he had written, inviting him to spend Christmas with them at Netherfield.

Charles wrote to wish them all a blessed Christmas, but asked to be excused from joining the family this year.

“I have but a few days before I must return to the hospital at Edinburgh, and since it is only half the distance to Ashford Park as it is to Hertfordshire, I intend to join my grandparents at Christmas, this year,” he wrote.

Clearly, thought Jonathan, his son had not stopped blaming him for his mother's death. It was a bleak prospect.

Though his mood was sombre, the weather, at least, remained fine, though some snow was predicted on Christmas Eve. Mrs Perrot and the rest of the household went briskly about their business, making all the usual preparations. Puddings were boiled, hams smoked, and geese plucked, while throughout the house the maids were busy hanging up wreaths of holly and little sprigs of mistletoe.

In deference to the Master's wishes, there was not to be the traditional Netherfield Ball and supper this year; however, a party was to be given on Boxing Day for the children of the tenants and servants, and doubtless Mrs Perrot would ensure that everyone was well fed and there was plenty of hot punch and ale for the grown-ups. Very few of them had known the late Mrs Bingley, who had spent no time at Netherfield, a fact that made it easier for all of them to cope.

As the family waited for the carriage to be brought round on Christmas morning, Jonathan noticed that Anne-Marie was wearing a gown of pale blue silk with a warm cashmere over-garment in deeper blue. It was the first time he had seen her out of her mourning attire, and though she looked rather pale, it suited her well.

In the carriage, Cathy could not stop talking about the carollers, who had come by last night, and Tess commented on how blue the sky was, in spite of the Winter cold. Delicate and pretty, Teresa resembled her mother most of all the girls, though they had not been very close. Indeed, as they chattered on, they seemed not to notice her absence at all.

Anne-Marie did notice, however, that none of this seemed to gladden her father's heart and assumed that he was grieved by Charles' note, which he had shown her the previous night.

Arriving at the church, they noticed the Faulkners' carriage ahead of theirs, and presently, it drew up at the door to let the occupants alight. Jonathan watched as Dr Faulkner climbed out and helped his wife to step down and then turned back to the vehicle and there, alighting from the carriage, was Anna Faulkner herself.

Even before she saw her, Anne-Marie noticed the change in her father's expression and when she turned and looked, following his eyes, she was not surprised to see Miss Faulkner, who was being greeted by the Rector, before accompanying her parents into the church.

She was left in no doubt at all that the pleasure reflected in her father's face was caused, at least in part, by the presence at the church of Miss Anna Faulkner.

In a gesture that demonstrated her maturity and insight, she took her father's arm as they went into the church and, as they took their seats, whispered quietly to him, “I am so happy to see that Anna is back. It means her sister must be quite recovered.”

Jonathan turned and, meeting her eyes, realised that his daughter had seen and comprehended the feelings he thought he had concealed so well. Grateful for her understanding, he smiled and said, “Yes indeed,” as the organ heralded the Rector's little procession moving slowly up the aisle.

After church, Anne-Marie was again her father's best ally; taking her sisters out to greet the Faulkners and engaging Dr and Mrs Faulkner in cheerful chatter about the sweetness of the singing, the colour of their gowns, and the relative warmth of cashmere and wool, while Jonathan found Anna standing just inside the side door and, despite the cold, he succeeded in conveying in the warmest terms his pleasure at seeing her again as well as his hope that her sister was fully recovered.

She had arrived home, she said, barely twelve hours ago, after a long and boring journey from Hampshire, and despite being tired, she was glad she had come to church.

“I had to come, I have never missed church at Christmas; I love the music,” she said as they stepped out into the shelter of the porch, where several families were busy greeting one another and their new Rector.

Reminded by Mrs Perrot, Anne-Marie prompted her father to invite the Rector to Netherfield for sherry and Christmas cake later. The Faulkners were coming too as were Charlotte Collins and Mary Bennet and a few other neighbours. Cathy was very excited. It was the first time she had been in her own home at Christmas in many years. It was a day that promised much.

For Jonathan, there was not only the joy of seeing Anna again, and that was considerable, but it now seemed likely that Anne-Marie was probably aware of his feelings and may well favour their friendship. Her gentle little hint in the church had indicated as much. Her father, who had been apprehensive about her probable reaction to such an association, had been delighted, but contained his pleasure well, not wishing to appear too eager.

Noting that there were many miles to be travelled before the desired destination may be reached, he decided to proceed with some caution. There were, in addition, questions of decorum and etiquette involved, since it was not quite seven months since his wife's death.

He would do nothing that might involve his family in village gossip, of which he was sure there would be plenty. Acutely aware of the need to spare Anna any embarrassment, he determined that at this time, it would be best if their association continued as a friendship, whose warmth would be known only to the participants.

While Anna's greeting had been friendly and cordial, she too had been discreet, unwilling to lay herself open to prattle, conscious, no doubt, that some members of the congregation like Miss Jessie Phillips may have had their eyes upon them.

It was, for Jonathan, sufficient happiness that she was here, within calling distance, and he had plenty of time on his hands.

While he had never had to play the part himself, Jonathan Bingley was familiar with the role of the country squire, having seen his father and uncles carry out their duties at Ashford Park and Pemberley over many years. Since taking over the management of Longbourn, after the death of his grandfather Mr Bennet, he too had been called upon to meet some of the obligations that his Aunt Mary Bennet and her guest and companion, Mrs Collins, were unable to fulfil. These responsibilities he had accepted conscientiously and with a certain amount of pride.

It was therefore without trepidation and with some degree of personal satisfaction that he looked forward to the first such occasion at Netherfield on Boxing Day, when the tenants, servants, and their families would arrive to greet their squire and attend their customary Christmas party. Jonathan, like his parents, had been well liked, and his arrival at Netherfield with his three daughters after his wife's sudden death had resulted in a wave of neighbourly sympathy and thoughtfulness.

The Bingleys had a good reputation in the village, thanks mainly to memories of his father's kind, amiable nature and his mother's sweetness of disposition. Expectations of their son, who had been born at Netherfield, were therefore high. Jonathan knew he had to ensure that they were not disappointed, and his family and staff would be striving to do just that.

Christmas morning was, however, quite another matter.

A small group of guests—mainly family and close friends—placed no strain on anyone, and consequently everyone was able to enjoy the occasion.

Everyone that is, except the new Rector, Mr Griffin.

Obviously unaccustomed to the roads and unfamiliar with the district, having taken up his living just a fortnight ago, he became lost and it was quite some time before he arrived at Netherfield House, suffering from cold and feeling very sorry for himself.

Jonathan's guests had been busy entertaining themselves and each other and hardly noticed that a good hour had passed and the Rector had not arrived. This was not surprising, since the three Misses Bingley were spending their first Christmas at Netherfield, and everyone was determined to help them enjoy it.

There was plenty of excellent festive fare and there were gifts for everyone, including the staff. Jonathan's daughters were delighted. Their father's gifts were opened last and with much ceremony and many exclamations of pleasure and disbelief. Anne-Marie had helped him choose for her two sisters, and they had chosen well, for both Teresa and Cathy loved their gifts of jewellery. Her own, which her father began by pretending he had forgotten to collect, was delivered to her after much teasing.

Judging by her response, it was clearly a gift worth waiting for. An exquisite ivory cameo brooch, edged in gold, featuring the profile of a young girl, it brought cries of delight and enthusiastic approval from everyone. Anne-Marie was ecstatic.

While the family gathered around her, Jonathan brought out another package, one that had waited almost a month to be delivered.

“This is not just a Christmas present, Miss Faulkner,” he said, trying to explain away the size of the item, as he handed it over, “it is a gift from all of us, to thank you for your wonderful work in helping to make this house such an elegant and comfortable home for us all. Without your advice and help, it would have been quite impossible. My daughters have been delighted with their rooms and I shall be eternally grateful that you helped me rid myself of the ‘Royal Brocade' in mine. We hope you will like this just as well.”

Anna was completely surprised, unable to say a word as she accepted it except a quiet thank you. She opened up the package to reveal a perfectly executed Japanese woodblock print of wisteria in bloom, spilling out over running water—the work of a famous Japanese artist, whose influence over some of the avant-garde French painters was considerable.

Her response left him in no doubt that she was absolutely enchanted.

“I wondered where that had gone … I asked Monsieur Armande and he said he had sold it,” she cried. “I am delighted to see it again.”

Indeed, she did not say he was too kind or that he ought not have done it, nor did she protest that she could not possibly accept such a valuable gift. Instead, she let everyone admire it, and when they had all acknowledged its beauty, she thanked him once more, protesting only that Monsieur Armande, from whom it had been purchased, had hidden the truth from her and pretended that it had been bought “by some young man about town with more money than sense.”