The Ladies of Longbourn (6 page)

That night, as they retired to their room, Anna saw that her husband seemed free of anxiety for the first time in many weeks.
Jonathan Bingley's strong sense of responsibility, no less than his love of his daughter, had cost him several sleepless nights. Even the enormous confidence he reposed in his sister Emma had not allowed him to relax when Anne-Marie was away at Standish Park, and he worried constantly about her. Since her departure for Kent, each day had been spent in waiting for letters with news of some improvement in her condition, and while Emma was a good correspondent, keeping them well informed, any delay would cause renewed anxiety and concern. Jonathan had blamed himself for some part of Anne-Marie's predicament, and while Anna had spent many hours persuading him that the contrary was true, he had been difficult to convince.
On this day, however, for the first time, he felt there had been a significant change for the better.
Anna sensed the relief in him and as they went to bed, she asked, "Am I right in thinking that you are happier tonight, my love?" and he turned to her, grateful for her sensitivity and held her close, not as he had done often in the weeks past, for reassurance and comfort, but in a long and contented embrace, reminding her of how it had been before. "Indeed I am, dearest," he said. "Even though I know it is but a small step on a very long and painful road, I am delighted to see her take it. She seems to have regained a sense of purpose and energy, as she had when she at seventeen, inspired by Miss Nightingale, decided she wanted to work in the hospitals and train as a nurse. Her mother was against it and warned her of dire consequences, but she would not be swayed.
"Abandoning all the comforts and fine clothes she enjoyed at Rosings, she went to work at the hospital in Harwood Park. We were astonished at her dedication and capacity for hard work. It was terrible work, but she loved it. She never found the time to pursue any other interests, whether in the Arts or some other field," he explained, a little sadly, as Anna listened, understanding more clearly how deeply he had been concerned. "I have often regretted that she had denied herself what most other young women in her situation would have taken for granted. She attended few parties or balls; there was no time to spare for Art or Music lessons, and certainly no grand tours to Europe, not because she did not have the means, because I stood ready to afford her every opportunity, but she had neither the time nor the interest, so single-minded was she about her wounded soldiers."
Seeing the deepening frown on his wife's brow as she listened, he was suddenly apologetic, "I should not burden you with all this, my dear; you have borne enough of my anxiety already, and given me much comfort, but it has been such a relief to me tonight to see Anne-Marie so much improved. I am sorry if I have seemed preoccupied."
Anna interrupted him gently, seeking to reassure her husband. "Hush, Jonathan, you have nothing to regret. Every one of us knows how deeply you have cared for Anne-Marie and as for myself, I would consider it a poor return for my love if you thought you could not speak to me of your anxieties regarding any matter, and particularly if it concerned the children. I share your relief today, as I have shared your anguish these past weeks and months; but dearest, we must not celebrate too early. Emma warns that there is still a long journey ahead." He was grateful for her understanding and her excellent good sense.
"How right you are, my love, I know there is still much to be done," he said, as he snuffed out the candle, "but of one thing, at least, we can be certain, she will not have much time to mope or become depressed again; my fears on that score were, I am happy to say, quite groundless."

The following morning, breakfast had not long been over when Anne-Marie announced that she was ready to walk down to the church in the village to see the Rector and invited anyone who wished for some exercise to accompany her. She was dressed for walking and Anna, exchanging glances with her sister-in-law, realised that she should avail herself of the opportunity for private conversation that the walk would allow. Rising hastily from the table, she said, "If you will wait but a few minutes, Anne-Marie, I should be happy to join you. I need only to fetch my hat and some sheets of music, which I have been copying for the choir."

As they walked towards the village, Anna wondered whether her young companion recalled, that as a new rector at Netherfield, Mr Griffin had been somewhat smitten when Anne-Marie had been home for Christmas some years ago. He had been very persistent in his pursuit of her, hoping to involve her in his choir and other church activities. Then, out of the kindness of her heart, Anne-Marie had been happy to help with some things, especially in the charitable services to the poor and aged, while carefully avoiding any intimacy. But now, Anna wondered how, after her disastrous marriage to one clergyman, Anne-Marie would cope with the obvious devotion of another.

Mr Griffin's ardour may have been dampened by her marriage to Mr Bradshaw, but Anna was sure that it could quite easily be fanned to flame again, with the slightest encouragement. But Anne-Marie seemed untroubled, speaking of the Rector in practical, sensible terms.

"I understand," she said, as they walked towards the village, "that it is very important to have the local council and the church officials on one's side in these matters. My uncle, James Wilson, assures me that such support is even more essential than the pleas of the people themselves, who of course, have no vote and so no power. I know little of the council; I shall need Papa to help me there, but I do not anticipate any problems with the Rector, Mr Griffin. He seems a devout Christian and a charitable man; I am sure he will understand the need for a children's hospital," she declared, with a new confidence that quite surprised her companion.

Anna did try, tactfully, to introduce the topic of Mr Griffin's previous interest in her. "Do you recall how keen he was to have you sing in his choir?" she asked, with a tinge of humour in her voice.

To her astonishment, Anne-Marie laughed and said lightly, "Of course I do, and I said no, because then I had neither the time nor the inclination, Anna, but if he will lend his support to our campaign for the hospital, I shall be quite happy to sing in his choir."

"You will?" Anna was puzzled.
"Certainly. I know I have never had my voice trained, like Aunt Emma has, but, if you will help me, Anna, I am sure I could join in a few of the hymns and psalms. Do you not think so?" she asked, and Anna, even though she was totally amazed, had the presence of mind to agree.
"Oh yes, of course you could. I can certainly teach you; they are quite simple and not difficult to learn," she said reassuringly.
"That will suit me well. I did try at Harwood Park, just to please Mr Bradshaw, but it was of no use at all. He insisted on choosing some very difficult anthems in four parts and I was absolutely hopeless. It was another disaster. Poor Mr Bradshaw, he must have thought I was a failure at absolutely everything," she said sadly.
Anna froze.
It was the first time Anne-Marie had mentioned her late husband since her return to Netherfield Park. Anna did not know what would follow. Tears perhaps? She reached out instinctively and took her hand.
"My dear Anne-Marie, you must never think that. You are not in any sense a failure. No one, least of all Mr Bradshaw, who saw all the good work you did at the Harwood Park hospital, could have thought it. You made an error of judgment and you have had the courage to acknowledge it. You will feel depressed and downhearted from time to time, my dear, but you are not a failure, never."
Anne-Marie said nothing for a few minutes, but she pressed Anna's hand as she held it in hers. Then suddenly, stopping to face her she said, "Thank you, my dear Anna. I shall never forget your kindness to me on so many occasions. I know I must fight the desire to wallow in guilt. Aunt Emma told me it was a form of self-indulgence, just as destructive as self-pity." Then, as if to explain, she added, "I believe her, because I know she has suffered, too, far more than I have. She told me about her first husband, David, and how she had to struggle to retain her sanity for the sake of her children. She must have been so brave."
Then, turning to face Anna again, she said, "But Anna, when I see how you have helped Papa recover from his own unhappiness, I am so grateful. Once, before you were engaged, I asked him about his feelings for you and he told me you were the most enlightened woman he had ever met," and smiling, she teased Anna, "He confessed that he loved you deeply, but was unsure if it was returned. I can see now that it is, in full measure, and you are both blessed with enviable felicity. I know I am doubly fortunate to have both you and Papa as well as my dear Aunt Emma to help me at this time."
Both women were moved to tears as they embraced, standing in the shade of a grove of trees beside the road to the village.
Looking across to the woods that lay to the right of them, forming the outer boundary of Netherfield Park, they had noticed a figure trudging towards them along a path that crossed the fields. It was only when he stood before them, hatless, bowing, and smiling as he mopped his brow, that they realised it was Mr Griffin. In one hand he held his hat, while the other clutched a parcel tied up with string; though its shape was indeterminate, the aroma that emanated from it suggested that it was a cheese of some sort, probably a gift from a generous parishioner. If he was at all embarrassed, Mr Griffin did not show it.
"Ah, my dear Mrs Bingley and Mrs Bradshaw, how fortunate I am to meet you," he said after both ladies had acknowledged his greetings. "Are you, by some chance, on your way to church?" he enquired, hopefully, to which Anna muttered something about music for the choir, but Anne-Marie, smiling amiably, said, "Indeed we are, Mr Griffin, however, it was not to pray for ourselves but to seek your support for a good cause." A big, happy smile lit up his usually doleful face and he seemed ready, Anna thought, to leap in the air for joy, as Anne-Marie went on, "We must not stand idly here, keeping you from your duties; shall we walk on?"
Clearly flattered, Mr Griffin smiled even more broadly. "Ah, my dear Mrs Bradshaw, your consideration does you credit, but you are not keeping me from my work; indeed I was just returning to the Rectory, having visited an errant member of my flock. The sheep who stray are as dear to the shepherd as those who do not," he declared.
"Of course, now I have met you ladies, I must hear your concerns, too. Indeed, I am eager to hear them. If you will do me the honour of accompanying me to the Rectory, we might talk about it over a cup of tea," he suggested brightly. The ladies agreed and they walked on.

Anna, who had remained silent, except for a few words of greeting, later recounted the whole of their encounter to her sister-in-law, whom she sought out after their return to Netherfield House, while Anne-Marie, a little fatigued after their walk, retired to her room to rest.

"Emma, believe me, I was absolutely amazed at the calm, collected manner in which Anne-Marie handled it all. Here was poor Mr Griffin, all smiles and grovelling before her, but she was so poised and self-possessed, I could scarcely believe it. She took all those silly aphorisms of his, about his flock and the good shepherd, without even a flicker of a smile. I have to confess, I giggled when he referred to his errant parishioners as straying sheep, but not Anne-Marie; she went right on listening and talking, and soon she had him eating out of her hand!"

"Indeed, she was and she used the argument so well, that the children were dying of dreadful diseases, which could have been cured. She said it was our Christian duty to save them and help them live; he was drawn right in and agreed with her completely.

"'Of course,' he declared, 'Jesus bade them (the disciples, that is) to suffer the little children to come unto him, and he commanded them to go forth and heal the sick and ease their suffering, so it is our duty to do likewise as good disciples.'

"He was not proposing to work any miracles, you will be relieved to hear, Emma, but he certainly had no difficulty supporting us in a campaign for a children's hospital, and it was all Anne-Marie's doing! It was an astonishing performance; I have never seen anything like it before."

Anna was clearly unfamiliar with the persuasive powers of the lobbyist. As the wife of a Member of Parliament, Emma was well aware of them.
"It must be her background and observation, the value of commitment to a cause, the ability to argue and persuade, it's all there; she has seen her father and uncles practise it and she knows how to use it to advantage, to advance a good cause. She has used it in her work at the hospital, and now she is using it again. Anna, I am so very happy to hear this; it means she is well on the way to recovery. Jonathan will be pleased," said Emma, well satisfied with what she had heard.
Anna had some reservations. "But, what of poor Mr Griffin? Is he not likely, if he becomes too involved with her campaign for the hospital, and I am sure he intends to, he sees it as a crusade, I think; will he not be in danger of falling in love with her?" she asked anxiously. "He is not a very sensible young man, I do not think."
This time, though she was still smiling, Emma's voice was quite serious, "Anna, I doubt if his earlier passion, having once been extinguished by her marriage to Mr Bradshaw, will be stirred into life again." When Anna seemed unconvinced, Emma persisted, "If he does show any such signs, I think we may be confident that Anne-Marie will deal with it. In any event, she is now in very safe hands; with you and her father to turn to for counsel and support, she will not be alone," she said sagely.
Anna smiled and though she said little, she was not as sanguine as her sister-in-law about the prospect. She had no great confidence in the common sense of Mr Griffin, having seen him in action before.
She hoped fervently that Anne-Marie would be spared any further aggravation, especially if it were to involve the Rector, whose good intentions, she feared, however sincere, may well be driven by his susceptible heart, rather than his zeal to emulate the Good Shepherd.