Woman of Influence (Pemberley Chronicles)

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  menu for her forthcoming dinner party.

  End of Part Two

  A WOMAN OF INFLUENCE

  Part Three

  Chapter Ten

  Walking home through the sunlit park at Rosings, Becky felt no fear, no sense of apprehension or concern for her own safety. It was a route she had taken on so many occasions, she scarcely needed to follow the footpath when she entered the woods, so familiar had she become with the trees, which were at their prettiest in Autumn.

  She was almost within sight of Hunsford church, where the sturdy old oaks of Rosings Park gave way to darker yew trees, making cool pools of shade upon the grass, when a brisk breeze caused her to pull her cloak more closely around her. Winter, she thought, was definitely on its way.

  At that moment, Becky heard, not far behind her, wary footsteps, then the sound of a cracking twig, which instantly told her she was being followed. That no one had passed her on her journey she was certain, which must mean that someone who did not wish to be seen was close behind her.

  Suddenly, Becky felt inordinately cold and afraid.

  Too terrified to turn around and confront whoever it was, she quickened her steps and, as she reached the lane between the properties, picked up her skirts and broke into a run, which carried her breathless and frightened into the arms of a gentleman who was just leaving Edgewater.

  Jonathan Bingley took a step back to regain his balance and put out a hand to steady her as she ran into him. Still holding her, he exclaimed, "Good God, Becky, what has happened? Have you been attacked? You look very upset indeed, and your hands are as cold as ice!" and Becky, unable to help herself, burst into tears with relief.

  So terrified had she been, she had run as fast as she could to get away from she knew not what or whom. She had not waited to discover who it was had been following her.

  She blurted out her story to Jonathan, who stopped to let her finish; then when she was calmer, gave her his arm to support her as they walked up the drive to the house.

  He explained that he had been walking in the woods himself and, on finding he was in the vicinity of Edgewater, had remembered that he still had on him the two messages he had intended to deliver to her last evening, before they were interrupted by the arrival of Mr Jamison.

  "I thought you would not mind if I called on you and handed them over," he said, "but your servant informed me that you had set out after breakfast to visit Mrs Burnett. I decided that rather than leave them with the servant, I would take them over to the Dower House myself, confidently expecting to see you there. You can well imagine my astonishment then, when I was almost bowled over by you, so obviously distressed."

  Becky was by now beginning to feel a little embarrassed about her headlong flight. After all, she had seen no one and could give no description of the person who had supposedly followed her in the woods.

  She had heard footsteps and the sound of a twig snapping underfoot and leapt immediately to the conclusion that Mr Jamison's convict had returned and was following her in the hope she would lead him to Alice Grey.

  She said nothing for a while, still shaken by her experience and mortified at having cannoned into Jonathan Bingley at the gate.

  Before they reached the house, she apologised and requested that he say nothing about it in front of the servants.

  "I am sorry, Jonathan, I'm afraid I feel rather foolish. I have no proof that it was the convict, and I do not wish to alarm them. There have been many sightings of a stranger in the woods, and the staff have been instructed that they must be alert at all times for intruders. I should not like them to think that I had been thrown into a blind panic by a footfall and run through the woods like a scared schoolgirl."

  Jonathan laughed but assured her that she need not be ashamed of being fearful in the circumstances; however, understanding her concerns, he said, "Of course I shall do as you ask. You can be sure I will say nothing to cause you any embarrassment. Please do not apologise; I am happy to have been here to be of some assistance to you. I quite understand your alarm, and I shall certainly look out for any signs of this man when I return through the woods to Rosings. I have to say, Becky, that while I am reluctant, in the circumstances, to advise that you call in the police, if this man, whoever he is, continues to trouble you or your staff in this way, you may have no alternative but to do so."

  Becky was not in favour of bringing in the constabulary, remembering Mrs Bancroft's words on the subject of Alice Grey's fear of the police.

  She suggested to Jonathan that she might have been mistaken: "Perhaps it wasn't the convict after all—it may well have been a poacher, which would account for his stealthy movements."

  Jonathan agreed and when she invited him to stay and take tea with her before returning to Rosings, accepted gladly.

  They went within and while they waited for tea to be brought in, he took from the inner pocket of his coat two letters.

  "Well, here they are at last," he said, handing them to her.

  Becky took them from him. One was on pale blue notepaper and the direction was in Anna Bingley's hand. Becky smiled and said, "Thank you for this; I have been expecting a letter from my cousin for a little while now."

  Jonathan nodded.

  "I do believe Anna feels she owes you an apology; she admits she has been tardy in responding to your last," he explained. "She has been kept busy with her mother being unwell and Dr Faulkner needing some help with caring for her, as I am sure she will relate in her letter," he said, as the servants brought in the tea and plates of cake.

  As Jonathan helped himself to cake, Becky picked up the second letter. It was on unfamiliar notepaper and apart from her name, carried no other direction. Turning it over, she found no indication of the sender's identity and looked across at Jonathan as if for some explanation.

  Seeing her look of bewilderment, he asked, "Do you not recognise the hand? I had thought you would know it."

  Becky, looking even more puzzled, shook her head. "Should I? Is it someone I know well?" she asked.

  Jonathan smiled and put down his cup and plate.

  "Indeed, I believe you knew one another very well some years ago, although it is likely that you may not have been familiar with the handwriting," he said and returned to concentrate upon the cake.

  Becky sat down opposite him and opened the sealed letter.

  She looked quickly at the signature at the bottom of the page—Aldo Contini.

  For one moment, her entire face flushed and her hand shook as she folded up the letter without even attempting to read it.

  Then, looking up at Jonathan who was standing in front of her, she asked, "Mr Contini… is he… have you… I mean… are you two well acquainted?"

  Jonathan appeared not to notice her confusion.

  "Aldo Contini is the nephew of Mr and Mrs Roberto Contini, who have been close friends of my family as well as the Darcys and the Grantleys for many years. I have known him since our schooldays; we were at the same boarding school in London—he had come to live in London with his uncle and aunt to escape the troubles besetting Italy at the time," he answered.

  "And this letter?"

  "Mr Contini was briefly in London to attend a funeral last week, and we met for dinner at my club. He enquired after you and Mr Tate; he had not heard of your late husband's death last year, and when I told him, he was quite distressed and asked if I would deliver a note to you conveying his condolences. Of course, I said I would be glad to do so, and he went into the lounge, wrote it, and handed it to me before we parted that evening. I gathered that Mr Tate and you had met Mr Contini in Italy some years ago and become quite good friends?"

  Becky nodded, acknowledging but adding nothing to his statement.

  Jonathan continued in a quiet voice, "He seemed exceedingly concerned that he had not heard, saying more than once that he wished he had more time in England; he would have liked to have travelled with me to Kent to call on you and offer his condolences personally. He had to leave for Italy
the following morning; I was very happy to be able to assist by conveying his letter to you," he said.

  By the time Jonathan had finished, Becky was not as discomposed as she had been. Smiling, she nodded agreement at his explanation.

  Yes, they had been acquainted with Mr Contini, she said, explaining that they had met in London and again in Florence, where he had been kind enough to act as their guide on several occasions, showing them some of the great treasures of that city.

  She wished earnestly to convince Jonathan that there was nothing more than friendly courtesy in Mr Contini's interest, yet in truth, she could scarcely wait for him to be gone, so keen was she to retire to her room and read her letter.

  Jonathan Bingley, unaware of the reaction that the note he had delivered had caused in the recipient, was enjoying the delicious tea-cake and appeared in no hurry to leave. He attributed Becky's unusually distracted demeanour and flushed countenance to her distressing experience in the woods that morning and stayed as long as he thought was necessary to let her recover from the shock.

  When finally, he rose to leave, Becky held out her hand to him and once again thanked him for his kindness and concern.

  He urged her gently to rest awhile and to avoid going out alone.

  "At least until this matter is settled, it would be best if you avoided the woods and travelled by road in your carriage. While I doubt very much if the fellow, whoever he may be, would approach you or try to harm you in any way, it could be an unpleasant encounter for you and best avoided."

  Touched by his concern, Becky thanked him again and when he expressed the hope that they might meet again before he left Rosings, she smiled and told him she would be dining at the Dower House on the Friday.

  "Ah," said Jonathan, "then we shall meet again, and I hope you will have quite recovered from your little adventure by then."

  "I am sure I shall have, and may I please ask that you do not speak of it before my sister; she is likely to be very concerned, and I do not wish to alarm her or my brother-in-law," she explained, and Jonathan agreed at once.

  "Of course, you may be sure of that," he said as he bade her goodbye.

  Waiting only until he had left the house and was striding swiftly down the drive, she went quickly to her room and shut the door before opening up Mr Contini's letter. As she read it, her mind slipped out of the present into a past she had thought was long forgotten. Everything, the problems of Alice Grey and William Rickman, Mrs Bancroft and Mr Danby, the stranger in the woods, indeed all those contentious matters that had so absorbed her for the past two weeks simply fled her mind.

  Her thoughts became concentrated upon the letter in her hand and one other question—how much did Jonathan Bingley know of her past association with Aldo Contini?

  The letter itself was innocuous enough, a simple, friendly note expressing in the sincerest terms his condolences on the death of her husband and his apologies for not having communicated with her earlier.

  Please believe that I did not learn of your bereavement until Mr Bingley informed me just an hour ago, when we were dining at his club. If I had known, I would most certainly have written or called on you earlier, although it must be said, I had no knowledge of your moving to live in Kent. I suppose it must have been good to be near your sister Mrs Harrison. If it were not that I have to return to Italy tomorrow, I should have called on you personally. Please accept my sincerest sympathy and if I may be of any assistance, do not hesitate to call on me.

  …he wrote. He concluded with the warmest of wishes for her future and expressed the hope that they may meet one day, perhaps when he was next in London.

  It was as gentlemanly and kind in manner and sentiment as one could ask for, with not a hint of presumption.

  Becky read it through once and over again, before folding it over and placing it inside her diary. The arrival of the letter had taken her by surprise; its contents had affected her feelings considerably.

  That Aldo Contini had appeared in London was surprise enough; that he was apparently a close friend of Jonathan Bingley was a most amazing circumstance. It set up in Becky's mind the likelihood that the two men were perhaps intimate enough to have exchanged confidences, a possibility that caused in her such a tumult that every other concern was for the moment subsumed.

  Becky now had a new source of disquiet. If Jonathan Bingley should learn of her previous association with Mr Contini, how might he regard it? she wondered.

  She was concerned that there may be some disapproval, yet the fact that there had been no hint of this in his attitude to her when they met and he had handed over Mr Contini's letter gave her some hope that he knew little more than what had been said already.

  Perhaps, she thought, Mr Contini had said nothing to Jonathan beyond his acknowledgement of his meetings in Italy with Mr Tate and herself, some years ago. That he had wanted to convey his condolences would add verisimilitude to this account, and Jonathan, himself an unsuspicious sort of person, was unlikely to have given the matter much thought.

  Feeling confused and out of spirits, she decided she would remain in her room for the rest of the afternoon, sending a message to the housekeeper that she preferred not to be disturbed before dinner time.

  She was tired, she told her maid, and wished not to be involved in any of the routine domestic matters that afternoon.

  She did remember, however, to add a warning to all the young women in the household that they should stay well within the boundaries of Edgewater. She used the information given her by Catherine to urge them to avoid at all costs the woods around the Rosings estate.

  Having secured her privacy, she looked only to concentrate upon Mr Contini's letter and what her response should be. She set to work to compose an appropriate reply.

  However, when Nelly returned some hours later, her mistress had a blank page before her while several crumpled sheets of paper lay in the wastepaper basket. Becky had spent all afternoon on her answer, but every attempt had ended in frustration, if not failure.

  Each time she had begun to write to Mr Contini, her mind had raced ahead of her pen, and she had difficulty in expressing even the simplest thoughts, without feeling that she was either being too familiar or offending him with too much formality.

  When Nelly appeared to remind her it was almost time to dress for dinner, Becky was taken aback. So deeply had she been immersed in her seemingly fruitless task, she had not realised the lateness of the hour.

  "Shall I prepare your bath, ma'am?" Nelly asked a little tentatively.

  Becky rose from her couch, saying without much enthusiasm, "Yes please, Nelly. I think I would like that, but I doubt if I shall need much dinner tonight."

  "Shall I bring a tray up for you, ma'am?" Nelly suggested. She knew her mistress was troubled, was anxious for her, and wished to help.

  Becky turned to her as if to a savior.

  "Would you, Nelly? That would be heaven, because I shan't have to dress for dinner and go downstairs and sit alone at table. I do hope Cook won't be upset."

  Nelly smiled. "No, ma'am, I am sure she will be very happy to prepare a tray for you," she said and went away to give the necessary instructions.

  Becky sighed, lay back on her couch, and gave thanks for Nelly, whose loyalty and kindness had sustained her through many dark days.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Becky retired to bed, she had hoped that the mood of melancholy she had suffered all evening would lift overnight. However, when she awoke the following morning to the same sense of distraction that had assailed her the previous night, she was disappointed.

  Lying in bed would not cure her dejection, nor would it help her deal with her present predicament. She had to compose a suitable response to Mr Contini's letter. Courtesy demanded that she do so, yet she had no knowledge of his present situation and address and, were she to write, would need to ask Jonathan Bingley for this information.

  How to do this, without revealing more than she wished to about her ear
lier association with Mr Contini, posed an almost insoluble problem.

  By the time her maid appeared with tea, Becky had made a decision.

  There was no other course to follow—she would have to seek her sister Catherine's advice.

  She was expected to dine at the Dower House the following evening with Jonathan Bingley, Catherine's daughter Lilian, and her husband, Mr Adams. She had been looking forward to what would surely be a pleasant dinner party in excellent company. But now, she felt that she would enjoy it not at all while her mind was troubled by this new anxiety.

  Taking advantage of her temporary indisposition to avoid the distraction of domestic routine, she rose from her bed, dressed, and wrote a short note, which she despatched to her sister, asking if she could spare a few hours to help her deal with a very particular private matter. She sent the carriage, with instructions that it should wait and return either with Mrs Burnett or her response.