Netherfield Park Revisited (43 page)

Growing impatient, Jonathan went down to the stables, saddled up his horse, and set off for Haye Park.

It was a sultry afternoon, and by the time he reached his destination, he was tired. To his dismay, a servant informed him that Miss Faulkner had left some hours earlier, intending to visit the May fair before proceeding to Longbourn. He learned also that she had taken the pony trap and was alone. She was expected to return by dinner time, the maid said.

Disappointed, Jonathan rode back to Netherfield, stopping at Longbourn on his way, only to discover that neither Anna nor her aunt had returned from Meryton. None of the household knew where they were.

As he rode home, Jonathan noticed the darkening sky and clouds gathering on the horizon beyond Netherfield. The prospect of a Summer storm looked very real indeed.

He was anxious about both Anna and Charlotte. He had no idea where they might be. Since they were neither at Longbourn nor at Netherfield, he assumed they were still out on the road in a pony cart!

When Mrs Perrot brought him tea in the sitting room, he inquired if any of the servants had returned from Meryton.

“Tom's back,” she said. “He said he didn't want to catch his death getting soaked by the storm that's coming.”

The gardener was sent for and asked if he had seen either Miss Faulkner or Mrs Collins at the fair. He recalled seeing Mrs Collins, he said, but that was quite early in the day, and no, he had seen nothing of Miss Faulkner.

The sound of a carriage in the drive took them to the door, but it turned out to be Tess and Cathy with their governess and Mr Bowles, arriving just minutes before the storm broke, with great claps of thunder and streaks of lightning, around the house. Rain fell in sheets, drenching everything, sending everyone scurrying to close the windows and draw the curtains.

Upstairs, Jonathan found Anne-Marie looking out of her window, complaining that she could see nothing beyond a few yards of the house.

“Papa, where could they be? Tess and Cathy saw neither of them in Meryton. What has become of them?”

She was fearful, and he comforted her.

“At least there is still light in the sky and Summer storms in this part of the country are, mercifully, short lived. When it abates, we can send out a search party. They may just be sheltering somewhere, out of the rain.”

Anne-Marie looked up at her father and seeing the anxious expression on his face, she was not convinced by his words.

Anna had left Longbourn noting the gathering storm in the distance.

The unusual build-up of heat through the day had become quite oppressive. It was the kind of weather in which a short, sharp shower of rain would be welcome, if one were not out in it, she thought, as she set out, taking a route she knew well, avoiding the main road between Meryton and Netherfield, which she judged might be busy with traffic from the fair.

Overhead, the clouds had begun to swirl around and gather in great greyish lumps, and very soon, much of the blue sky had been blotted out. So gloomy were her surroundings, it seemed much later than it was, but Anna had forgotten her watch and could not check the hour.

She was still a mile or so shy of Netherfield Park when the first drops of rain began to fall. At first, she drove on untroubled, pulling her cape around her and tying the ribbons of her bonnet more tightly.

The pony seemed not to be disturbed by the rain, but Anna was afraid the thunder and lightning might scare him into bolting. She kept him on a fairly tight rein and talked soothingly to him; as the storm broke, she became anxious and looked for some shelter, but there was none, for they had left the farm houses and cottages behind as they entered the woods around the Netherfield estate.

There was nothing to do but plod on, wet, cold, and miserable as the wind drove the rain in and swamped the pony carriage. To make matters worse, broken boughs from trees snagged the roof and cluttered the path of the vehicle, and Anna was terrified lest the poor animal should stumble and throw her or overturn the light vehicle. By the time the rain eased, Anna, her pony and the carriage were all soaked through.

As they emerged from the copse below the park and made their way slowly up the lane leading to the gate, Anne-Marie saw them first from her bedroom window, and calling out to her father, she ran downstairs and raced to the front door. Jonathan was beside her immediately and as he flung open the door and went to help her, Anna alighted and almost collapsed into his arms.

Anne-Marie and Mrs Perrot together took her drenched body from him; with the weight of her sodden garments, she almost needed to be carried up the stairs. The maids had already run upstairs to prepare a hot bath and Jonathan worried about her catching a severe cold or a chill.

He remembered that the Faulkners had lost a daughter, Kitty, from pneumonia in similar circumstances, and was very afraid for Anna. He took comfort from the fact that she was older and stronger than her sister had been at the time.

Mrs Perrot and her helpers removed her wet and muddied clothes, bathed and dried her, washed her hair, rubbed her down with warm herbal oils, and finally wrapped her in a thick blue dressing gown, several sizes too large for her, and tucked her into a comfortable chair in the upstairs sitting room, where a lively fire burned in the grate.

After what seemed like an interminable wait, but was in fact not much more than an hour, Anne-Marie came downstairs to tell her father that Anna could see him.

Jonathan Bingley must have reached the top of the stairs in seconds and the sitting room in not much more. Seeing her there, pale, anxious, and quite unlike her usual confident self, Jonathan, appalled by the fearful prospect of what might have been, went directly to her and before she knew it, had gathered her into his arms.

It seemed all his pent-up feelings had rushed to the surface and would be denied no more. Smiling, Anne-Marie left them alone and even Mrs Perrot was persuaded to wait a while before returning with a hot toddy, guaranteed to keep the chills away.

Having been assured that Anna was surprisingly well, though still a little shaken by her experience, Jonathan declared with a passion that surprised her that this charade must end. They must announce their engagement at once, he said, so he could assert his right to look after her properly.

“I cannot have you wandering around the country in a fragile little pony trap. Just think, Anna, what might have happened if the poor creature had stumbled or bolted. I was sick with worry. For two dread-filled hours, my darling, I thought we had lost both you and Mrs Collins.”

Anna was deeply touched and confessed she had been very frightened indeed. It was an experience she would not want to repeat.

“I realised soon enough that I had done something very silly, driving into the storm, but I did so want to reach you. I did not stop to consider the danger. I am very sorry to have caused everyone and especially you, my dear Jonathan, all this worry.”

He held her close, reassuring her and while there were some tears, mostly there were loving, comforting words.

Not surprisingly, they found they agreed completely on what their future should be. It was settled that their engagement would be announced at once.

Indeed, moments later, Mrs Perrot, arrived and was greeted with the news.

“You are the first to be told,” said Anna happily, and she was very honoured and wished them every happiness.

Together with many of the staff at Netherfield, Mrs Perrot had been hoping for just such an announcement. There had been far too much talk about the master and his lady, below stairs and in the neighbourhood, for her comfort. She was glad it was out in the open and very happy for both of them.

Anne-Marie was the next to know. She hugged and kissed them both, and more tears were shed, but this time they were unashamedly tears of joy. Teresa and Cathy joined them, and the news was told and retold until everyone in the household had been informed and had expressed their pleasure. Jonathan and Anna basked happily in their general approval; the knowledge that their love could bring so much satisfaction to others added considerably to their own happiness.

Jonathan's countenance had undergone such a remarkable change since afternoon as to be barely recognisable, so content did he seem in the fulfilment of his dearest wish.

As for Anna, it seemed that no amount of repetition would suffice to confirm her happiness. Now, they were impatient to tell their friends and family of their mutual felicity, all the more for having kept it from them for several months.

When, after an hour or so, Mrs Perrot suggested that perhaps Anna might need some rest, there was outrage.

“Oh no, not yet,” said the girls, who wanted more time, and Anna, insisting she was well enough, remembered that messages had to be sent to her aunt and her parents to reassure them that she was safe and well.

“My aunt Collins will be most anxious,” she said and asked for pen and paper.

These were soon fetched, and two notes were immediately written and despatched. Both stated in the clearest way that she had been stranded at Netherfield by the storm, but was quite safe. To her aunt, she sent many thanks and told her of her engagement, urging her to announce it to anyone who cared to enquire.

“Indeed, dear Aunt, I must be the happiest woman in the world, at least for today. I am totally indifferent to anything anyone might say and give you authority to proclaim my happiness to the county, if need be!” she wrote, to Anne-Marie's great amusement.

Her parents were informed that her engagement to Jonathan Bingley could be announced without delay. Turning to more mundane though equally essential matters, a postscript was added requesting that some suitable clothes and shoes be sent for her, as her own had been so muddied in the storm, they were beyond repair.

The responses of Charlotte Collins and Dr and Mrs Faulkner were quite predictable; they were delighted.

Anne-Marie, meanwhile, had begged for a wedding date to be set.

“I must know before I return to Harwood House,” she pleaded. “Everyone will ask me and I shall feel foolish to admit that I did not know.”

Her father assured her that it would be soon.

“Probably before the end of Summer,” said Jonathan, urging patience and promising she would be the first to know.

The storm blew itself out overnight and the dawn brought a fine day, washed clean by the rain. Everything seemed clearer and brighter, like the joy that had suddenly enveloped the household at Netherfield.

“It's the kind of day a painter dreams of,” said Anna, as she stood in the saloon with Jonathan and Anne-Marie, looking out at the park.

It was, certainly, a day that had materially changed their lives.

For Anna and Jonathan, it had brought freedom to express their love and enjoy each other's company without concealment.

For Anne-Marie and her sisters, it had ended a year or more of enduring their father's sorrow. Now they could share his hopes for happiness.

Anna had not realised how much had depended upon her decision. The night before, after her compliant acceptance of his determination that it was time to declare their intentions to friends and family, she had apologised for what she saw as her selfishness.

“I am sorry, Jonathan,” she had said. “I know now I should not have acted as I did. I insisted on having my way in this matter, never stopping to think of you or my family. I thought only of my own inclinations, it was unforgivable self indulgence on my part. I never realised that you may well have been damaged by gossip and rumour.”

She was deeply contrite. But, as is often the case with newly acknowledged lovers, he sought to absolve her of any blame, declaring that he was culpable, because he had not been more persuasive, nor had he tried to explain more cogently the reasons for announcing their engagement and setting a wedding date.

In any event, he pointed out firmly, it was her privilege to name the date for their wedding and it was no one else's business.

When they had confessed their love once more, recounted with regret their transgressions—imagined or real—and granted each other remission of their sins, they were able to return to the more ordinary task of making plans for their wedding.

Once again, Anne-Marie was consulted, as she would be often in the future. Though not yet twenty-one, she was an intelligent young woman, with a strong affection for her father and the woman he was going to marry. Such a happy circumstance came but rarely and was not to be squandered.

Anna, who had no younger sisters or cousins, asked Anne-Marie if she would be her bridesmaid, an honour she accepted with pleasure.

The day chosen by the couple was the last Saturday of Summer, when the leaves of the oak would be turning to gold, while the birches in the park still shimmered silver and Netherfield would look its best for its new Mistress.

“I think that would be just the most perfect time,” said Anne-Marie, before she went away to write to her friend Eliza and give her the happy news.

Jonathan and Anna drove first to Haye Park to receive the blessing of her parents and then to Longbourn, where they found Charlotte Collins and Mary Bennet so excited, they completely forgot to order tea.

Only when their guests rose to leave did Charlotte remember, to her chagrin, that they had been offered no refreshment! Neither of the ladies had forgotten, however, to tell the pair how pleased they were about their engagement and wish them every happiness.

Anna was deeply touched.

“If I had known that one little decision of mine could bring so much pleasure to so many people, I would not have dreamed of putting it off,” she said as they returned to Netherfield. “I expected to face censure and severe criticism.”

Jonathan assured her that he had known all along that she would not be condemned.

“If any one was to face censure for not waiting long enough, it was I, not you, Anna. I am pleased that you have seen it for yourself. No one has so much as hinted that we were wrong to have sought happiness together. Why would they? We have injured no one and indeed we may claim to have greatly increased the joy of many among our family and friends who wish us well. Anna, my dear, everyone who matters to us is happy for us,” he said.