Becky held tight to her sister's hand, but she could not hold back her tears.
As they journeyed back to Kent, she recovered some of her composure, and she owed most of that to the kindness and compassion of her sister.
Nevertheless, Becky could not help experiencing a twinge of regret that she had said nothing to Catherine about the true circumstances of her marriage to Anthony Tate. It was neither the time nor the place for revelations, but Becky had decided she would seek out an occasion when, in confidence, she could tell Catherine the truth she had hitherto revealed to no one else.
***
With the onset of Spring and preparations for the new term at the parish school, the opportunity did not arise for quite some time. Catherine was kept busy with her own domestic concerns as well as the many new pupils admitted to the school, necessitating the appointment of a new teacher. With the help of her sister, the guidance of her husband, and the enthusiastic support of the parish priest, Mr Jamison, Catherine had taken the little parish school at Hunsford from an unlikely dream to a happy reality. Now boasting more than twenty-five pupils from the parishes of Hunsford and Lower Apsley, it was her proudest achievement.
Becky's acquisition of Edgewater had made the entire project much simpler by solving the problem of an access road, which had threatened to cause trouble for them. Her generous donations of furniture and time— volunteering to keep the books for the school and assist it with funds—had earned her sister's gratitude.
As they had worked together, both women were inevitably drawn closer, and it was no surprise that they were even more inclined to exchange confidences than before.
Catherine's were mostly about her marriage to Frank Burnett, confirming in her present happiness what she had felt in her heart to be true. Yet, knowing her sister's unhappy situation, with widowhood following upon a quite inexplicable and humiliating separation initiated by her husband, Catherine was inclined to be somewhat restrained in her expressions of marital felicity.
Becky had for many years refrained from making any criticism of her late husband; indeed she had frequently defended him from accusations of selfishness by her mother or any other member of the family. She had always claimed that he had denied her nothing in their marriage and had been exceedingly generous to her in the settlement he had made on separation.
It was therefore a matter of some astonishment to Catherine when, on a quiet Spring afternoon, with the school closed for the day, she had traversed the woods between Rosings and Edgewater, crossed the park, and entered the house by a side entrance to find her sister in tears. Seated in a private parlour looking out over the lake, Becky appeared distressed as she held in her hands a letter, recently delivered.
As Catherine entered the room, she rose, apparently discomposed, and walked about in a rather agitated manner. Inviting her sister to take tea with her, Becky revealed that the letter she had received had come from Jonathan Bingley. With it were enclosed documents from Mr Sharpe, her late husband's solicitor.
Catherine was puzzled; it was several months since they had received the news of Mr Tate's sudden death in New York. She could not understand why, after all this time, Mr Sharpe was writing to Jonathan Bingley and how this would affect Becky.
Surely, she wondered, there cannot have been an error in the will?
That would have been disastrous for Becky, who had been informed that she was the sole beneficiary of her husband's American estate.
When Becky handed her the letter and documents, Catherine seated herself beside the window to peruse them in better light.
Jonathan's letter was brief and clear; stating that he was writing because he had received a significant communication from Mr Sharpe, which he enclosed for her information and wished to consult her on the unusual arrangements proposed therein.
Having first apologised for any pain this might cause in re-opening matters pertaining to the death of her husband, he continued:
While I have always respected the late Mr Tate's business acumen and admired his political influence, I would never consider myself his equal in either of these fields. I was therefore surprised when Mr Sharpe wrote to me detailing Mr Tate's proposal that I be the principal trustee of his American estate. Furthermore, he has expressed a wish that the income accruing be used to provide financial assistance to any project or charity in which you may wish to invest, so long as it is, in my judgment, a reasonable one. You will agree that this places upon me a very grave responsibility, and I am anxious to discover your opinion before I agree to Mr Sharpe's proposition. I have spoken only to my wife, Anna, about this matter and will say nothing to any other person until I have your permission to do so. If you have no objection to my involvement in what must seem to you to be matters of interest primarily to yourself, I should be honoured to assist you in the way proposed by your late husband and shall write to Mr Sharpe accordingly.
However, should you have any objection whatsoever, you must feel free to indicate that this is the case, and I shall withdraw from the scheme immediately.
If you are agreeable, I should like to visit you at Edgewater at an early date, to discuss your wishes regarding the use or investment of the moneys.
Catherine's eyes widened as his letter continued:
I understand there will be a sum close to two thousand pounds a year available for your use. If I am to help administer this money, I should wish to consult you closely, so it is invested to best advantage for your purposes. I trust, my dear Becky, that you will not object to my writing to you in this way and hope we may have an amicable and useful association in the future.
His letter ended with the usual warm and sincere felicitations and good wishes for her health, regards to her sister, etc., concluding:
Yours very sincerely, Jonathan Bingley.
Reading the letter, Catherine was pleasantly surprised both by its tone and contents. Jonathan Bingley had long been a favourite of hers as he had been of her mother's, and if he had been selected by Mr Tate to assist his widow, then in Catherine's eyes, that was unarguably good news.
She could not understand why Becky was so obviously upset.
She glanced at the letter from Mr Sharpe the solicitor, but was disconcerted by the exceedingly legalistic language in which it was couched and appealed to Becky to interpret it for her.
The gist of the letter appeared to be an explanation of the terms of Mr Tate's instructions to him regarding his businesses in the United States. In an addendum to his will, added shortly before his death, Anthony Tate had instructed that the proceeds of his estate in America be held in trust and that Jonathan Bingley be asked to administer the income thereof.
The proceeds were to go to his wife, Rebecca Tate, to be used for any project she chose, so long as Mr Bingley believed it to be reasonable and worthy of support. Clearly Mr Tate had greatly valued Jonathan Bingley's judgment.
Becky laughed as she explained, "So you see, Cathy, he did not trust me to use his money wisely; fearing I might fritter it all away on something silly like gowns or jewels, no doubt, he arranges for Jonathan to be my guardian! Isn't that just like Mr Tate?"
Catherine had found it difficult to account for her sister's discomposure, until Becky made it clear she had been hurt by the proposition contained in the documents.
"You seem so distressed, Becky," she said a little lamely, not knowing quite how to respond.
"I am indeed," replied her sister, "very distressed. To think that my husband, after all these years, did not believe I could be trusted to use his bequest wisely. How would you have felt, Cathy?"
Catherine indicated that it was not a question she could competently answer, since Dr Harrison had had very little to leave to his widow—certainly nothing like the two thousand pounds a year which Jonathan predicted would flow from Mr Tate's estate.
"But, Becky," she said in a characteristically logical way, "can this not be seen as a prudent device, to ensure that the money from Mr Tate's American enterprise is made av
ailable to you, through a trust arrangement, thereby avoiding the possible unpleasantness for you, which might follow the disappointment of Walter's expectations? Just think, this way, there can be no pressure brought to bear upon you. If Walter and his wife wish to contest Mr Tate's wishes, they will have to deal with Jonathan and Mr Sharpe, who are disinterested parties, instead. I think your husband, far from not trusting you with the money, has by this means ensured that you will be able to use it for whatever projects you choose to support, without having to justify it to Walter and his wife."
Becky had listened to her sister with increasing astonishment.
"Cathy, you have an unerring instinct for making the very best of every situation, and no doubt there is some truth in what you say. I would not put it past Walter's wife to urge him to press me to part with some of this money on some pretext, despite the fact that he has inherited all of the printing business, the entire family estate in Derbyshire, and some properties elsewhere as well. They were very cross that I had been permitted to sell the house in London in order that I might purchase Edgewater—I have no doubt they had hopes of retaining it for their own use whenever they wished to come up to town."
"Well, then?" Catherine seemed unable to understand her continuing discomfort. "Surely the fact that you will now have the use of the money, without being burdened with administering the estate, since Jonathan as principal trustee will take on that responsibility, must please you. It seems a most convenient arrangement."
But, surprisingly, Becky shook her head.
"It may appear so to an observer, Cathy, but it is an arrangement that would make me exceedingly uncomfortable," she declared, and Catherine, uncomprehending, asked, "Why, Becky, do you not trust Mr Bingley?"
Becky blushed and looked anxious, but her response was immediate. "Trust Jonathan? Of course I do. I would trust him with my life."
"What is it then?" asked her sister, troubled by the apparent contradictions in Becky's attitude. "What possible objection could you have to him?"
Becky Tate sighed and sat down beside her sister. She had decided that the time had arrived when Catherine would have to learn the truth. And, in the course of a long afternoon, she told her story, prefaced by a poignant appeal.
"You must promise me, my dear sister, that no word of what I now tell you will be repeated by you to anyone. I cannot ask you to keep secrets from your husband, but if you must tell him, then I beg you to extract from him a similar promise. There are too many people who may be hurt should the truth become common knowledge, and others may use it to hurt me or Jonathan and his family for their own perverse ends. Will you promise me, Cathy?" she asked.
Still exceedingly concerned, Catherine gave her word. "Of course, my dear, if it concerns you alone, there may be no reason at all for me to divulge it even to Frank. If it is a matter of no consequence to anyone but yourself, I believe you are entitled to your privacy. There, it shall be our secret," she said, with no notion at all of what she was about to hear.
Becky Tate's story had its beginnings in the days after the death of her father Reverend William Collins, when her mother had decided that, rather than accept a paid position in the household of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, she would use the sum of money she had inherited from her husband and her own small income to make an independent living.
With the assistance and advice of her friends the Darcys and Mrs Darcy's uncle Mr Gardiner, Charlotte had set up a modest enterprise—a school for young ladies—whose parents wished them to learn to draw, paint, and read poetry, as well as acquire the social arts and graces that would enable them to take their place in polite society.
Unlike her elder sister, Catherine, who had accepted an invitation from Her Ladyship to stay on at Rosings Park, Becky and young Amelia-Jane had accompanied their mother to Mansfield, where in a leased house on the estate of Lord Mansfield, Charlotte Collins had set up her school.
It had been something of a struggle at first, with only a few pupils and some of them being of such a poor quality as to defy the efforts of even the most dedicated teacher, but Mrs Collins had persevered, and in time, the school had become a modest success.
Becky had participated actively in her mother's work, enjoying the challenge of teaching young girls, for she was well-read and educated herself and enjoyed the chance to pass on some of her skills and knowledge to other young women.
But her heart had always been elsewhere, for Becky had dreamed all her young life of being a writer, and though she was a good teacher of poetry and enjoyed reading to her students from her favourite books, she yearned to have time for her own work.
Despite the long hours she spent on preparing lessons for the paying pupils who were their livelihood, she had still found time, often after dark, when everyone else had gone to bed, to sit at the kitchen table, scribbling on scraps of paper, filling old notebooks with the words and stories that filled her head.
Unlike her very practical mother, Charlotte, and her eminently sensible sister Catherine, Becky had had romantic tendencies, which had lain dormant for years. It was not that she craved some unattainable lover or longed for some passionate romance, but her desire to achieve that which had always fired her imagination, since childhood—to see her work in print—had burned bright. She was not particularly ambitious; she did not seek fame or fortune, merely the fulfillment of a dream, nourished chiefly by her imagination in the long periods of boredom at Hunsford and Rosings Park.
She had always hoped that one day, someone would be sufficiently interested in her work to read it and want to publish it. She was determined that whatever else she did in life, she would not abandon that particular hope. The notebooks she filled with her "scribbling," as Charlotte called it, she kept well hidden among the clothes in her trunk, afraid that they may draw adverse comment or ridicule from her sisters.
No one had read them or shown any interest in them, until, on a visit to Ashford Park, she had mentioned them to Jonathan Bingley, who was home on vacation from college. They had talked of hobbies, and he had praised his sister Emma's accomplishments in music and painting; on Becky's mentioning her love of writing, he had suggested that she send one or two pieces of her work to the editor of the Matlock Review in Derbyshire.
"It does no good to keep it hidden away, Becky," he had said, and when she had seemed surprised at the suggestion, he had assured her that the journal, with whose owners he was well acquainted, was keen to encourage local talent. He had gone so far as to offer to introduce her to the family that ran the business.
"The Tates are a distinguished family; they are friends of my aunt Lizzie and her husband, Mr Darcy," he had said, "and I have known Anthony Tate and his mother for some years. They are well regarded for their support of important projects in their community; the Review and the Pioneer have both been used by the Tates to champion many worthy causes, and I am confident they will pay your work some attention, should you submit it. If you choose to do so, you may say that I encouraged you in that course, if you wish," he had added.
Grateful for his encouragement, though rather overwhelmed, Becky had asked, "But how can you be so sure, when you have not read any of my work?" only to be told that he did not need to read it, although he would be happy to do so, if she wished him to. He said he could judge from her conversation that her compositions would probably be sensible and well written, and editors were always looking for new talent, because their readers demanded it.
When Becky had rather nervously permitted him to read a recent composition of hers, Jonathan had claimed that while he was no judge of literary standards, he thought it was interesting, and besides, he had argued, it was the editor of the Review who would decide, so it was to him she should submit her work.
"Be assured, Becky, they will not reject it arbitrarily. If it is deemed good enough to print, they will print it," he had said, adding, "Their readers are always looking to read something new."
With such encouragement, Becky had needed no further promptin
g. Picking out two or three compositions, she had, with Jonathan's help, composed a brief letter and dispatched them to the Matlock Review, but with little hope of a favourable response.
She had been unsurprised when two of them were returned almost at once with a polite rejection slip, but then, to her astonishment, the third, a short piece about the tribulations of a farmer's daughter visiting her city relatives, was accepted. Not long afterwards, a letter had arrived, inviting her to submit another piece in a similar vein.
Delighted, she had written to thank Jonathan Bingley for his assistance and had received from him a short congratulatory note, which she had folded and put away in her pocket book, carrying it around with her for years like some miraculous talisman.
Jonathan had written:
I will not say I told you so, Becky, but let me say how happy I am that I was right and that you have been invited to submit more material. I am confident that you will go on to have real success in this enterprise, and I congratulate you most sincerely.
Woman of Influence (Pemberley Chronicles) Page 3