I should not break the law, but it would certainly break my heart to hand him over to the police. Besides, Alice would never forgive me. It does not bear thinking about!
On the morrow, the post brought Becky some letters, one from Emily Courtney, thanking her for her concern and kind offers of help, and another from Jonathan Bingley's wife, Anna. The latter contained a surprise invitation to join them in London for an evening at the theatre. Anna wrote:
We are planning an evening at Covent Garden and a supper party afterwards at Grosvenor Street. Mr and Mrs Darcy are coming to London on one of their rare visits to the city, and so, I believe, are Colonel Fitzwilliam and Caroline, which should make for a very interesting party. We are expecting Anne-Marie and Mr Elliott, too. Becky, Jonathan and I were hoping you would join us.
Of course, you would be very welcome to stay at Grosvenor Street, where we will be spending two weeks at least, before returning to Netherfield. We should be delighted if you chose to stay on with us for some days; it could be a lot of fun to spend some time in London at this time of year, do you not think?
It certainly could, thought Becky, recalling previous visits to the opera in London; she had always been partial to the theatre. Besides, this visit would have the added benefit of affording her an opportunity to meet with Mr Elliott and enquire if he had any news of the progress of Rickman's pardon.
"Perhaps if I am very diplomatic," she said to Catherine, when she showed her Anna's letter, "he may not mind my asking."
Catherine encouraged her to accept the invitation. "Of course, you must go, Becky; write to Anna and say you will come. Just think, you could combine business with pleasure. I know you will enjoy yourself, you love the theatre, and will it not be fun to have both Lizzie and Caroline there?"
Becky agreed and, allowing herself to be persuaded, she wrote that night to Anna Bingley, thanking her for the kind invitation, which she was happy to accept. She had been in two minds, but Catherine's encouragement had made her decision easier.
She took the letter to the post herself, together with another, which she had written and kept awhile, re-reading and re-writing it many times before deciding to seal and send it.
It was a response to a letter that had arrived a fortnight ago from Mr Harding, which Becky had opened with much hope, expecting it to contain good news for the Rickmans. But disappointingly, it had contained no information at all about William Rickman's case; instead she had found within a formal proposal of marriage.
Becky had been completely taken aback.
Despite the fact that she had openly admired Mr Harding for his forensic skill and genuine dedication to the cause of justice for the poor and powerless, she had not supposed he had formed an attachment to her.
Certainly, she had become aware on their second and subsequent meetings, when he had greeted her with utmost cordiality, that he took pleasure in her company. Their conversations, when they had ranged beyond the unhappy fate of the Rickmans, had been interesting and agreeable. When he called on her at her hotel and invited her to a dinner party at his house, an invitation which, for very sound reasons, she had politely declined, she had no doubt of his being exceedingly disappointed.
Yet he had been very gentlemanly in his response, expressing the hope that perhaps he might be more fortunate on another occasion. Becky had been sensitive to his attentions and perceived some degree of partiality in his attitude towards her, but had assumed, too readily perhaps, that it was a mere transient attraction, a harmless fascination that would soon dissipate and most likely disappear when she returned home to Kent.
She had known similar circumstances before while working with her husband on political campaigns, but they had always amounted to little more than fleeting verbal dalliance.
That it might lead to a proposal of marriage, one couched in such serious terms, had never even entered her mind.
She could not deny that after the initial sense of shock, the realisation that a personable and prosperous young man some five years her junior had seriously contemplated the prospect of marrying her did bring some pleasure. It was certainly very flattering, but no more. Her own initial interest in him had lasted only a very little while, subsiding quickly into indifference, as other matters had demanded her attention, making it easier for her to reject his proposal.
The time taken to compose her letter of refusal was mainly on account of her wish to give as little offence as possible. She had no desire to hurt John Harding's feelings, not only because she was by nature kind and unwilling to upset someone she liked but also because she was conscious of his continuing role in obtaining a pardon for William Rickman. It would not do to jeopardise the success of something so important to Alice and her son, Becky decided.
How to reject an unwelcome proposal, from a man she admired but did not love, without appearing to affront the gentleman himself, had been the cause of several sleepless nights and many torn-up sheets of note paper. But finally it was done and in the post.
Returning from the village, she asked the driver to take the road through Rosings Park, intending to stop at the Dower House. When she got there, however, she found Catherine had gone out to the parish school.
Directing the driver to take the vehicle back by the main road to Edgewater, Becky decided to walk through the grounds to the school. It was not a long walk, and she had always enjoyed the crunch of Autumn leaves underfoot.
She was almost halfway there when she saw in the distance the figure of the local constable, Mr Hodges, unmistakable in his uniform, coming towards her through the trees.
Becky froze. What was he doing in Rosings woods?
Her thoughts flew instantly to William Rickman, who was working that day at Rosings, where the demolition of the burnt-out wing was proceeding apace. She was sure Constable Hodges was on his way there.
Turning around before he could see her, Becky walked swiftly back part of the way and then struck out through the old rose garden, taking a little used path and entering that part of the estate where work was in progress. There, she sought out Frank Burnett and warned him of the approach of the local constabulary and her fear that Rickman may be in danger of apprehension.
"If they were to find him here, Frank, they would take him away and lock him up, and who knows when his wife and son would see him again," she said, and Frank Burnett, practical as ever, asked no further questions but, going directly to where Rickman was working, had a word in his ear and despatched the young man on an errand into the east wing of the house.
As Mr Burnett returned to Becky's side, Constable Hodges was seen approaching them, but to her immense relief, he appeared to be just passing through. He greeted them, made a remark about the unseasonably mild weather, and went on his way, leaving her a little breathless.
As the constable passed out of sight, Frank Burnett asked, "You do realise you cannot hide him forever, do you not, Becky? If he does not get that pardon, he will be a wanted man, and if you conceal him, you will be breaking the law, too."
"But what can I do, Frank? I cannot refuse to help them. If they take him away, what will become of Alice and young Tom?" she said.
Frank Burnett looked very grave.
"Well, I should write to your friend Mr Harding and urge him to expedite the matter of Rickman's pardon. It is the only way to save him."
Becky groaned, realising that the letter she had posted an hour ago may well have destroyed William Rickman's chance of a pardon. After all, she knew very little of John Harding's character; although he had been amiable and friendly towards her, now she had rejected his offer of marriage, how would he respond?
What if he lost interest in the case altogether? What if he was a vindictive man and informed the police of Rickman's presence in the area?
Frank Burnett, seeing her obvious distress, urged her to step inside the building and rest awhile, but Becky was reluctant to do so and insisted on returning home, whereupon he insisted upon accompanying her, stopping en route at the scho
olhouse to advise Catherine of the situation.
"My dear, I think your sister is unwell. It's nothing serious, probably just the exertion of a long walk and the shock of seeing Constable Hodges in Rosings woods," he explained and, not wishing to alarm her, added, "She was afraid he had come for young Rickman, but in fact he was just walking through the woods."
Catherine came out and, seeing Becky's pale, anxious countenance, decided to take her sister home to Edgewater, while her husband returned to Rosings.
There, sending for Nelly to help her mistress undress, Catherine urged her to rest awhile, promising not to leave her. She was in no doubt that Becky was feeling depressed. She sat with her while she rested and later took a cup of tea.
Then, without any prompting, Becky revealed what was troubling her, showing Catherine Mr Harding's letter and a copy of her response.
"I had no idea he had formed any attachment to me, Cathy; I certainly gave him no encouragement," she said, having explained the circumstances of his proposal and her rejection of it.
Catherine was not entirely convinced.
"Are you quite sure, Becky dear? I do recall you were very generous in your praise of Mr Harding after your first meeting. Is it possible he could have assumed that your quite understandable esteem could mean that you might welcome his proposal? It is, after all, a perfectly proper offer, and nothing in your circumstances or his own would stand in the way, if you were inclined to accept him."
Catherine had quite deliberately put a point of view, one contrary to her own inclinations, hoping that Becky's response would reveal her true feelings. And it certainly did, for Becky was adamant that there was no question of her ever accepting Mr Harding's offer of marriage.
"Why, Cathy, while he may be handsome and eligible as well as being a clever lawyer, I hardly know anything about him, his character, or family; above all I feel no deep emotional attachment to him at all. Oh I know I said he was personable and attentive, which I do not deny; he was very good company as well. But I do not love him, Cathy, and surely you, of all people, must know that another marriage without genuine love would be the very last thing I would contemplate."
Her outburst, sincere and passionate, did convince Catherine, and she put her arms around Becky as she continued.
"You do not believe I would make the same mistake again, do you, Cathy?" and Catherine did not have the heart to tell her that it was exactly what she had feared.
Instead, she did her best to comfort her.
"Of course not, Becky my dear, and in any event, I know how you love your life down here at Edgewater; I shouldn't think you would want to leave it all and go off to live in London, would you?"
Becky shook her head quite vigorously.
"Certainly not. It took me too long to acquire a place of my own; I am not inclined to leave it or share it, at least not unless it was with someone I could love very deeply indeed."
"And Mr Harding is not such a person?"
"Indeed he is not. You must believe me, Catherine; he is a clever and amiable gentleman, but I do not love him and could never marry him."
Catherine smiled and assured her sister she did believe her, but now a new anxiety assailed Becky.
"But, Cathy, what I fear is the nature of Mr Harding's response to my letter. What will he do about Rickman's pardon? Is it likely he would lose interest in the matter, or worse still, would he betray him to the police?"
Catherine could see she was genuinely troubled and was quick to reassure her, "Oh no, Becky, I do not believe that for one moment. Remember, he is also a friend and colleague of Mr Colin Elliott, as well as being a reputable lawyer. It would be unthinkable that he would, on some personal whim or because of his disappointment with your refusal, betray an innocent client, for that is what Mr Rickman is. If he did, how would he face his friends? No, Becky, I do not believe you need fear such a response at all."
She was very confident, and Becky appeared somewhat less distressed.
"Perhaps you are right, Cathy; I shall pray that you are," Becky said, and though she did not sound completely convinced, Catherine believed there was no further need for concern on that score.
Some days later, a letter arrived from Mr Harding, confirming Catherine's opinion. It was brief but served to set Becky's mind at rest. He wrote:
Dear Mrs Tate,
Thank you indeed for your letter. I am grateful for your generous remarks about me, although I am deeply disappointed that you feel unable to accept my offer. Had you done so, I should have been honoured indeed. However, I do understand your reasons and do not question your right to respond as you have done. I cannot deny my regret, but your kind words of appreciation must be my consolation.
He followed with a paragraph explaining that the papers pertaining to William Rickman's appeal for a pardon had been sent to the office of the Lord Chamberlain. Two other Members of Parliament, one being Mr Colin Elliott, had allowed their names to go forward supporting the application. If approved, he explained, the pardon would be granted within a month or two, and he promised to advise her as soon as the outcome was known.
Concluding with his best regards and good wishes for her future happiness, he remained, he said,
Yours very sincerely, John Harding.
Becky read the letter through twice, folded it and put it away, then unfolded it and read it again.
So great was her relief, she wept.
She could not have hoped for a better result. Mr Harding was, as her sister had predicted, a genuinely upright gentleman, and despite his disappointment, which he expressed without reservation, there was no hint of umbrage or spite in his words.
His attention to the matter of Rickman's pardon had been professional and effective, and his concluding salutation was generosity itself.
Becky was now ashamed at having suspected him of being capable of vindictiveness and even betrayal!
Contrite and chastened, she confided in her diary:
I am glad indeed to have been proved wrong in my fears. Thankfully, my first impressions of Mr H. as a decent and honourable man were right. I almost regret that I cannot bring myself to accept him; he will surely make some gentle, deserving young woman a most exemplary husband. For my part, I am very happy to have made his acquaintance, for he is not only a clever lawyer but has both wit and understanding enough to be an excellent companion.
Yet, having learnt from my own unhappy experience that a marriage, to be truly happy, requires more than friendship and good conversation, I could not have agreed to his proposition.
Truly, I am so content as I am, that I doubt I shall ever wish to marry again; but if I do, it will only be for the deepest affection, and to a man with whom I could share the profound pleasures of my present existence and for whom I would be happy to surrender some of the independence I now enjoy. Else, I shall stay happily single for the rest of my days.
Not long afterwards, she retired to bed in a more contented frame of mind than she had enjoyed for many a day.
End of Part Three
A WOMAN OF INFLUENCE
Part Four
Chapter Sixteen
Arriving in London on a cold, wet afternoon, Becky and her maid Nelly were met by Dickson, the young manservant sent by the Bingleys, to transport them from the railway station to the Bingleys' town house at Grosvenor Street.
Thanking him for attending to their luggage and protecting them as best he could from the rain, Becky asked if they were the only guests arriving that afternoon. She was wholly unprepared for his answer.
"Oh no, ma'am, we have been back and forth all day, Jack and I; there's many ladies and gentlemen arriving today and more tomorrow, but not all of them will be staying at Grosvenor Street, ma'am."
Though surprised, for Anna Bingley had not hinted that it was to be a very big party, Becky felt it would be unwise to pry, especially not to question Dickson about the Bingleys' guest list. She wondered if it could be a celebration of something—she knew it wasn't Jonathan's bir
thday; perhaps someone was receiving an Imperial honour of some sort. It was certainly possible and Becky was curious.
It was only after they had alighted at the house and Becky had been welcomed by Anna Bingley, who ushered her into a warm parlour, where tea and refreshments had been laid out before a comforting fire, that she discovered the reason for the festivities.
Anna confessed that she had been wheedled into hosting a combined celebration of two anniversaries in the family. Jonathan's daughter Anne-Marie and Colin Elliott had been married five years, while Anna's own marriage to Jonathan, which had taken place a few years earlier, was close enough in time to be conveniently linked to the family function.
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