Netherfield Park Revisited Read online

  The best news of all was that Dr Grantley had been invited to teach next Summer at a university in Italy, and Georgiana would be going with him.

  While everyone was envying her the wonderful opportunity, Frank groaned at having to spend Summer alone with both his parents away in Europe.

  “Could you not go, too?” asked Jane, but that was apparently not possible.

  His mother had already suggested that he take a vacation at Lyme Regis or visit his brother in London, neither of which seemed to attract Frank at all.

  The delights of the capital had no attraction for him, he declared, and groaned again at the thought of Lyme Regis, pointing out that he had always hated seaside resorts, ever since his elder brother had buried him under a great pile of sand at Scarborough, from which early grave he had to be rescued by his mother.

  Georgiana, laughing even as she attested to the truth of his story, had to agree that he was right. But she urged them not to feel sorry for her son, for he could quite easily occupy himself at Oxford. But Frank protested that nothing he could do at Oxford would rival the excitement his parents would be having in Venice, Florence, and Rome!

  “Come now, think of the Palazzo Vecchio or the Chapel of the Medici and tell me, do any of you honestly believe that I, a humble student of Theology, could inform and entertain myself as well in any of the celebrated colleges at Oxford?” he asked, and seeing he had his listeners’ sympathy, added, “No, I am resigned to my fate. I shall spend the Summer locked in the vaults beneath the library, perusing ancient texts and deciphering archaic versions of the Nicene Creed, until my eyesight is quite destroyed.”

  “It will do your soul good, Frank,” Fitzwilliam called from across the room.

  When they had ceased laughing, Darcy, who had remained silent, said, “If you care for the country, Frank, you could come to us at Pemberley. We cannot match the Palazzo Vecchio or The Bridge of Sighs, but I daresay we could find some things that would entertain you. There’s excellent trout fishing and acres of woodland to explore.”

  Elizabeth added her own voice to assure him that he would be most welcome and she knew he would enjoy the music of their choir and the Matlock Chamber Group, when Fitzwilliam intervened saying, “And if you tire of the pleasures of Pemberley before the Summer is out and would like a taste of the simple life, our farm is but a few miles up the road at Matlock. Caroline, Amy, and I would love to have you, would we not, my dears?” a proposition with which his wife and daughter readily agreed.

  “Now there would be a real change from the dreaming spires,” quipped Bingley, and before another word was spoken, Frank had accepted all their invitations and was thanking Darcy, Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam, and Caroline for their kindness and promising to look forward to a vacation in Derbyshire, which he was sure would make up for the loss of the glories of Venice and Rome.

  Only his mother had some reservations. “Are you sure, Lizzie?” she asked, reluctant to inconvenience them.

  “Of course,” said Elizabeth. “With Julian and Josie settled in Cambridge, it will be very good to have some company and I am quite sure Frank will find plenty to occupy him in Derbyshire. We shall look forward to your visit, Frank, and do remember to bring your music with you.”

  ***

  The following morning, Elizabeth rose late and, when she came down to breakfast, found only Jane at the table.

  “It is such a beautiful morning, Lizzie. They have all gone out,” her sister said. The gentlemen are out riding, except Frank, who, I believe, was accompanying Amy and Caroline on a ramble in the woods.”

  Elizabeth joined her sister and asked for a fresh pot of tea and toast to be brought to the table.

  They had not been more than half an hour, speaking mostly of the happy evening they had all spent, when laughter was heard outside and soon Amy, Frank, and Caroline appeared, their arms full of wild flowers from the woods and meadows around the farm.

  Young Amy, flushed and rosy from the early morning air and the exercise looked a pretty picture, with a sprig of blossoms tucked into her hair.

  “Aunt Lizzie, could we have some vases?” she asked, standing in the doorway like some Grecian wood nymph.

  It was so appealing an image; it made Lizzie wish she could paint.

  When they had finished putting their flowers in water, they returned to the breakfast room hungry from their exertions and sat down as cook sent in more tea, toast, and honey.

  Elizabeth was delighted with her unexpected visitors. They had brought lightness and laughter and a touch of fancy to Woodlands, where before, they had been so disconsolate.

  She was genuinely sorry to see them leave and, as the carriage arrived at the front porch and Georgiana moved to the door, there were tears in their eyes as the sisters embraced.

  Frank Grantley had kissed all his aunts on the cheek in the French manner, and, though he only kissed young Amy’s hand, Elizabeth noticed a somewhat prolonged farewell between them as they parted.

  She had heard just a hint of a promise to meet again soon—perhaps at Christmas?

  Caroline had said nothing, but Elizabeth assumed that Amy had been invited to spend Christmas with the Grantleys again.

  “Now, I wonder,” thought Elizabeth, “could there be something beginning there? Frank and Amy?” She recalled Jane’s remark after Julian’s wedding that Amy Fitzwilliam would probably be the next bride in the family. Elizabeth wondered, but held her peace.

  Many things had happened since then, not least the problems of Jonathan and Amelia-Jane, which had all but overwhelmed their Summer holidays. Amy, she decided, was older and more sensible than Amelia-Jane had been and was unlikely to be carried away by romantic notions of marriage. Even more reassuring was the fact that Amy was Fitzwilliam’s daughter and Frank was Georgiana’s son! They were cousins and no doubt their families would seek to ensure their future happiness.

  It was neither the time nor the place, she decided, to speculate upon another youthful romance.

  ***

  Meanwhile, unbeknownst to most of her family, Amelia-Jane had embarked upon a course of action that would lead her in a totally different direction to that anticipated by her husband.

  Irritated by the lack of sympathy and support offered by her sister Catherine Harrison when she had complained of Jonathan’s decision to return to Westminster, she had written a long letter to her new confidante, Caroline Bingley, detailing the aggravation and inconvenience of moving to London, as well as the imagined hurt and mistreatment suffered at the hands of her husband.

  That Miss Bingley was Jonathan’s aunt had served only to increase the bitterness of her complaint. She was also well aware of the general animosity that existed between the families and, cunningly, used it to advantage.

  While Amelia-Jane had not had much formal schooling since the untimely death of her father, Reverend Collins, she had read many popular novels and was able to use her knowledge to good effect, creating a sympathetic picture of herself as the unhappy wife, while painting a portrait of her husband as rather unfeeling and selfish.

  The romantic writings of women, which filled the circulating libraries, provided her with many dramatic pictures of wives wronged or neglected by heartless men. It was not difficult to adapt the model to suit her present purpose.

  “How little did I dream, when we were married and lived so happily, that one day my dear husband would cause me such pain,” she wrote, inviting a lachrymose response from the receiver.

  It seems to me that he is so consumed with ambition that he no longer cares if he hurts or offends me.

  I am convinced that there is some malign influence upon him, for he has changed. My dear Jonathan would never have treated me with such indifference and coldness …

  … and so on and so on for several pages.

  The letter had so moved Miss Caroline Bingley, or so she claimed, and her friend M
rs Arabella Watkins, to whom she had revealed its contents, that the reply came in the form of a visit.

  “Mrs Watkins, Arabella, was absolutely determined that we had to come at once, dear Amelia-Jane, for your letter was a cry from the heart. Neither of us could read it without shedding a tear and my sister Louisa agreed. ‘You must go to her at once, Sister,’ she said on hearing Arabella read it out a second time, ‘Amelia-Jane needs you.’ So here we are,” said Caroline Bingley, a look of alarm and concern upon her face.

  Amelia-Jane seemed gratified by their response, but the unexpected arrivals had caused some embarrassment to her eldest daughter Anne-Marie, who was visiting her mother. Having deduced from their conversation the general state of play, she contacted her brother in London to complain.

  She wrote, with much feeling, to request his help.

  I cannot believe that Mother has discussed intimate family matters relating to problems between herself and Papa with Miss Caroline Bingley, and what is much worse, opened up our family’s affairs to a total stranger of very dubious repute—a Mrs Arabella Watkins.

  Who on earth is she? I know nothing of her. What is her status in Miss Bingley’s house at Barton Place, Bath? Is she a friend? A lodger? And what allows Miss Bingley to believe that she and Mrs Watkins, whoever she may be, are entitled to advise Mama to leave Father and us in Kent and travel to Bath to stay with them?

  This, I believe, is their advice to her, although one cannot be certain since Mama appears thoroughly confused! She spends most of the day with them, during which time, I have no doubt, they fulminate against Papa, and by nightfall is reduced to such a state of agitation and rage that she is quite pathetic.

  I have great fears for her. Charles, I beg you please come down here immediately and help me put a stop to this insane nonsense, before Mama does something really stupid.

  Your loving sister Anne-Marie

  Anne-Marie Bingley, though a year younger than her brother, often acted as if she were his elder sister. Charles’ natural disposition was very like his grandfather’s, amiable and easy-going, though not lazy or indolent. Indeed, of late, inspired by the example of Dr Richard Gardiner, he had worked assiduously to prepare himself for a career in the medical profession.

  Anne-Marie thoroughly approved of her brother’s conversion to serious study. She had herself effected a change in her life not very long ago.

  After several years of being treated by her mother as a pretty little doll to dress up in fashionable clothes and expensive jewellery at a very early age, Anne-Marie had rebelled and tossed out all her finery.

  In the midst of the worst period of the Crimean War, when she was not much more than sixteen, with daily tales of horror from the front line, Anne-Marie had become mesmerised by the suffering of the soldiers. Later, inspired by the example of Florence Nightingale and her own aunt Louisa Bingley, she had joined a group of women who took extensive training in nursing in preparation for the return of thousands of wounded and dying men at the end of the war.

  Despite the protestations of her mother, who tried to dissuade her with dire predictions of contagion and disease, and the light-hearted jibes of her brother, who was unconvinced that his lovely young sister was seriously interested in nursing the sick, Anne-Marie, energetic and determined, had successfully completed an arduous course of training, surprising her friends and family with her skill and dedication.

  Soon afterwards, she discarded most of her fine clothes and jewellery, donned a plain gown and took work in a large military hospital outside London, where the reforms initiated by Miss Nightingale were already showing results, as better sanitation and hygienic hospital practices had helped reduce the rate of infection and death.

  Her father had been astonished by her determination and capacity for hard work, while her mother bemoaned the fact that dozens of expensive gowns had to be given away because she would not wear them any more.

  As for Anne-Marie, she claimed she had never been happier, and indeed, she looked so well that it was difficult to disbelieve her.

  While she retained a taste for fun and would occasionally attend a ball or enjoy a dinner party, she dressed with a new simplicity that actually enhanced rather than detracted from her general appeal. Though this had upset her mother, who thought she looked “old and dowdy,” it had greatly increased her standing among the rest of her family and friends.

  Chief among those friends was young Eliza Courtney, eldest daughter of Emily Gardiner and the Reverend James Courtney, Rector of Kympton on the Pemberley Estate.

  Eliza had recently married the son of a distinguished family with a reputation for philanthropic work among the poor. She was, now, Mrs John Harwood of Harwood House, which her husband’s family had owned for several generations.

  One part of the Harwood property had been opened up for the use of the army as a military hospital for returning soldiers. On discovering, quite by chance, that Anne-Marie was working at the hospital, Eliza had insisted that she leave her modest lodgings in the village and move into a guest room at Harwood House, not more than a mile from the hospital by road and only a short walk across the grounds.

  It had marked the beginning of a warm friendship between the two young women. Eliza, who had always been sensible and intelligent, even as a girl, found Anne-Marie’s new persona quite compatible with her own.

  For Anne-Marie, Eliza Harwood was a godsend. Educated and cultured, with an interest in Literature and Music, she opened up an entire new world for a young woman who had been given little encouragement by her mother to appreciate the Fine Arts. Despite her youth, Eliza Harwood was also practical and could be relied upon in a crisis. She was, indeed, exactly the sort of friend Anne-Marie needed.

  When Anne-Marie received no response to her urgent letter from her brother Charles, it was in her friend Eliza she confided.

  Her letter to Charles had been written two nights after the arrival at Rosings Park of Miss Bingley and her friend, Mrs Arabella Watkins, whom Anne-Marie had quickly dubbed “The Widow Watkins.”

  She was horrified by their influence over her mother and was determined to foil their plan to entice her to move to Bath, away from her husband and family.

  Eliza Harwood knew very little of the problems presently engrossing the Bingleys. Nevertheless, when she heard Anne-Marie’s story, she supported her friend completely.

  “I can well understand why you would wish to prevent it,” she said. “Why, your mama would know hardly anyone in Bath, and this would make her even more dependent upon Miss Bingley and this other person … Mrs Watkins, whoever she might be!”

  “That is exactly my objection, Eliza, but how shall we convince Mama? How is she to be persuaded that it is not in her interest, nor is it in the interest of her family, for her to race off to Bath with Miss Bingley and her friend?”

  “Can you not get your brother to speak with her? Most mothers are willing to listen to their sons,” suggested Eliza.

  So desperate that she was willing to try anything, Anne-Marie agreed to write a note to her brother which Eliza would have sent round to Charles’ rooms in London.

  As soon as it was done and despatched, Eliza took her friend upstairs and insisted that she take some refreshment and rest before returning to the hospital, where she was due to work the rest of the day. She went with her hopes high that her brother would finally recognise the urgency of her request and come to her aid.

  Young Charles Bingley, still busy making arrangements for his journey to Edinburgh, where he was to continue his studies, was distracted and impatient on receiving his sister’s note. He wanted to help, but had neither the time nor the inclination to become involved in what he saw as a petty squabble. He had already suffered some embarrassment as a result of his mother’s activities and wanted no more. Perhaps even more pressing, he had an appointment with a young lady and took just enough time to write a hurried reply to his sister
, which he handed to the man from Harwood House, before leaving in a hansom cab.

  When Anne-Marie, returning from her work at the hospital, read her brother’s note, she wept. She could not believe that Charles would leave her to struggle on alone, trying to persuade their mother not to destroy her marriage and their family.

  Hearing her come in, Eliza had come downstairs expecting to find Anne-Marie having her dinner, which was always set aside for her when she worked late. Instead, she found her weeping quietly, her meal untouched.

  Trying to comfort her, Eliza offered to accompany her to Rosings, to see her mother, but Anne-Marie was too distraught and tired to think clearly and after much persuasion partook of a small portion of food and a cup of tea before retiring to bed.

  Eliza had promised that they would talk again tomorrow and decide what was best to be done. She hoped that a good night’s sleep would help.

  In truth, it seemed to have hardened Anne-Marie’s resolve.

  At breakfast the following morning, she announced that she had decided she would go immediately to Kent to speak with her mother.

  “Eliza, I must persuade her to stay, I must,” she declared in a determined voice.

  Eliza’s husband had gone North on business, which meant she was free to travel with her friend to Kent.

  “I cannot let you go alone, Anne-Marie. I know John would want me to go with you,” she said and would not be persuaded otherwise.

  On reaching Rosings Park, they went first to Hunsford Parsonage to see Anne-Marie’s aunt, Mrs Harrison.

  Hearing from her that Miss Bingley and Mrs Watkins had spent most of the previous day at the Dower House with her mother, and that the housekeeper had said Mrs Watkins was helping Mrs Bingley pack a trunk, Anne-Marie was desperate to be gone.

  “That insufferable woman! What right has she to interfere?” she cried and, despite the efforts of her aunt and her friend, she would not rest, but determined to go directly to the Dower House and confront them.

  Eliza had a great fear of confrontation and prayed they would be spared any unpleasantness.