The Ladies of Longbourn

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Noting the smiles of approval on the faces of the ladies, he continued, “I wonder if I may ask just one favour. Should you not agree, it will make no difference; the money is not conditional upon your agreement. It is that I would wish, I would very much like to have the hospital carry a small plaque, which states that it is dedicated to the memory of my mother, Lady Dorothy Elliott. That is, if your family has no objection.”

  There was almost an explosion of disbelief.

  “Objection? Mr Elliott, why on earth would we object?” asked Jonathan, and Anna said, “Why, that would be a very appropriate memorial to your late mother. My father says she did a great deal of work for charity.”

  “Indeed she did, Mrs Bingley, and was often berated for it by my father. She would use her own money to help the maids buy wedding clothes and linen. He would scold her for giving them ideas above their station,” he said and Anne-Marie, unaccountably, felt tears sting her eyes.

  Glancing at him, she found him looking intently at her and she looked away quickly, a little confused by her own feelings.

  Later, when they were all gathered in the drawing room after tea, Anna was called away to young Nicholas, and Jonathan sat down with a book. Colin Elliot took the opportunity to tell Anne-Marie how happy he was that they had finally succeeded in starting work on the hospital. He was especially pleased, he said, to help her achieve her dream. He may well have said more, but Anne-Marie stopped him, gently.

  “Please, Mr Elliott, I appreciate very much what you have done, but do not spoil it by saying you did it to please me or for any purpose, other than to save the lives of the children in our community. They have died, year after year, of curable conditions such as croup and influenza, only because they had no one to look after them and no place to attend for treatment. Two of them, God bless their souls, died only a few weeks ago. I would not have you think I am unappreciative of your wish to please me, but it would mean more to me than almost anything else, were you to say that you thought solely of the children.”

  Colin Elliott was momentarily silenced by the quiet passion in her voice. He knew that while it was important to him to have her good opinion, it was far more important that she should believe in his sincerity. When he spoke, his voice was low and earnest. “I would gladly say it, Mrs Bradshaw, but if I did, I would not be speaking the whole truth, for while I share your beliefs and hopes for the hospital, I had hoped also to earn your approval, especially in the context of a discussion we had some weeks ago, as we returned to Netherfield from the church hall. Perhaps you have forgotten it?” he said, tentatively.

  Anne-Marie smiled, “Mr Elliott, let me assure you, I have not forgotten our talk and, indeed, let me say how very greatly I admire what you have done. The value of your gift to the trust is enhanced by the nobility of your motives and if in doing it, you also sought my approval, then let me say, you have it in full measure. I know no other person, apart from my dear father, who has been as generous as you have.”

  Colin Elliott was smiling, as he said later to his friend Tillyard, “like some callow schoolboy with an unexpected prize!”

  He longed, above all, to tell her then that he had fallen in love with her, but unfortunately, a glance around the room made it clear that this was neither the time nor the place.

  Her father was ensconced in his chair with his book; her sisters were playing “Beggar my neighbour,” punctuated with screams of delight or outrage; and when Anna returned, she was greeted by her husband with a request for music, which she was happy to provide.

  It was no time for a declaration of love.

  It was a quiet Christmas at Netherfield that year. The annual Netherfield Ball had been cancelled and at the usual Boxing Day celebrations for the tenants, farmhands, and their families, the atmosphere was somewhat less than festive. Not only was the weather uniformly bleak, but the families grieving for their children could not participate and the memory of their deaths cast a pall over the village.

  Anna was not able to do very much to encourage them, being very close to the birth of their second child. It was left to Anne-Marie and her sisters to liven them up.

  The Bingleys were on their own.

  Anna’s parents had gone to their elder daughter in Hampshire, while Charles had elected to stay in London with friends. Anne-Marie had received his letter a few days before Christmas.

  He wrote,

  The weather is too terrible to even contemplate travelling; if this weather improves, I hope to see you all at the New Year, with all your Christmas presents intact! Colin Elliott has been here; he has taken up residence in his smart town house in Knightsbridge. I met him in Bond Street buying an expensive gift, for whom he would not reveal, the sly fox, and he said he may go down to Hertfordshire in the New Year. I took the liberty of asking him to dine with us at Netherfield, since I hoped to be there myself, and he accepted, with some alacrity. So, you may wish to prepare for an extra guest.

  Speaking of Elliott, in the opinion of our general acquaintance here, he is become a very wealthy man since the death of his father. I believe he has inherited all Sir Paul’s business interests including a very substantial shipping line, conveying merchandise between Europe and the Eastern colonies, a very profitable enterprise I am assured.

  But to see him, you would not know it; he is still the same modest fellow and lives a rather simple life. I called on him at home the other day and, while the house is furnished in excellent style, it is far from being gaudy or opulent and he keeps only a manservant, a parlour maid, a butler, and a cook, who are, amusingly, all of the one family! I suppose, they get on well together.

  This is very unlike the usual Tory toffs, of course. I said as much, just to tease him, and he said he had never liked that type of thing.

  He talked a great deal about this hospital of yours. I have never seen him so enthusiastic. He thinks the world of Father and Anna, of course, and I would wager London to a brick, he will leave the Tories one of these days. It just wants the right issue. The extension of the franchise may well do it!

  My dear sister, do have a care; because he thinks you are the next most wonderful thing to an angel!

  Anne-Marie smiled as she read on…

  When he talked of the hospital and the sick children, he spoke mainly of you! It was as if your poor brother did nothing at all, you were the angel of mercy! I think I shall watch him closely in the future!

  Anne-Marie had read her brother’s letter through when it arrived and since then, for fear of leaving it where it may be picked up and read by her sisters, she had carried it around in the pocket of her gown, moving it from one to another each day and rereading it from time to time.

  As the New Year approached, Anne-Marie wondered whether the weather would improve enough to persuade Charles to make the journey to Netherfield. She looked forward to his arrival; she wanted very much to ask him some questions pertaining to his letter. She had grown away from her younger sisters, who had themselves grown closer together over the past year. She missed her brother and wished with all her heart that he would come.

  Early on New Year’s Eve, having had no further communication from Charles, Anne-Marie had almost given up hope of her brother arriving. Sitting by the window in her room, she was reading. She had completed Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, which had absorbed her totally and had proceeded to the work of the other sister—Charlotte, whose novel Jane Eyre was very popular, too. Anne-Marie had got some way through the book and was beginning to tire of Jane’s docile role in Mr Rochester’s household, when a vehicle was heard coming up the drive. On looking out of the window, she glimpsed a gentleman’s coat, as the visitor alighted from the carriage and was admitted to the house.

  She was sure it was not her brother.

  Minutes later, her youngest sister Cathy came running up the stairs. “Anne-Marie, Mr Elliott is here and you will not believe the size of the basket of fruit and flowers he has brought from the hothouses at Hoxton Park,” she said, excitedly ho
pping from one foot to the other.

  Anne-Marie glanced at herself in the mirror and patted her hair, but, reluctant to rush, now she knew who their visitor was, she dawdled a while, much to the chagrin of her sister, who was impatient to be gone.

  “And there are gifts for everyone; Jack has gone out to the carriage to fetch them in,” Cathy added.

  Anne-Marie reddened a little at this news, recalling the line in her brother’s letter about meeting Mr Elliott buying gifts in Bond Street.

  Finally, when she could no longer bear Cathy’s pleading, they went downstairs.

  Colin Elliott was in the saloon with Mr and Mrs Bingley and, as Anne-Marie entered the room, he rose and came to greet her.

  There was something different about him, she thought at once; he looked more at ease, more confident than before. Yet in his manner, he was as courteous and amiable as ever. After the first seasonal greetings were duly exchanged, they sat down and partook of refreshments that were brought in and placed upon a low table in front of them.

  On another table stood the magnificent basket of fruit and flowers and beside it a small pile of prettily wrapped gifts. As the servants brought more refreshments, Colin Elliott rose and rather tentatively asked if he may present them with what he called “a few small tokens of my esteem, in the spirit of the festive season.”

  “Mr Elliott, you are very kind,” said Anna as she accepted her gift and Jonathan was pleasantly surprised to discover that he had not been forgotten, for there was a box of fine cigars for him.

  Anne-Marie took time opening hers, while her sisters exclaimed at seeing theirs. Each had received a finely wrought silver pin in the shape of their name letter and while they admired their gifts, Anne-Marie’s was to arouse cries of envy, for hers was a delicately carved brooch set with a tiny pearl, where the two letters of her name intertwined.

  Her face warm with the memory of Charles’s words… “He was buying an expensive present for someone, he would not say who, the sly fox…” she thanked him and tried to cover her confusion by showing it around to the others.

  Outside, the weather had worsened. It had started to snow and the arrival of her brother in the midst of this caused a great fuss, as the servants rushed to get his trunks in out of the wet. This gave her some time to recover her composure, as the rest of the family had gone into the hall to welcome Charles, who was making much of the perils of his journey in this atrocious weather.

  Taking advantage of the bustle around them, Colin Elliott said, in a voice kept deliberately low, “I hope, Mrs Bradshaw, that you have not been offended by my gift.”

  Seeing his anxious expression, she answered quickly, “Indeed no, Mr Elliott, why would I be offended? It is a beautiful piece and a most generous gift, as are those you have given my sisters. I appreciate it and thank you very much for it.”

  “I am glad,” he said, clearly relieved. “I purchased them in a rush of enthusiasm and the Christmas spirit, I suppose, but having done so, I became fearful that you may think it impertinent and presumptuous of me.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps it was not impertinent but a little presumptuous, but it is no matter; you are forgiven, because I am quite sure that was not your intention.”

  “It most certainly was not, I can assure you—” he began and at this point exactly, Charles, having divested himself of his greatcoat, hat, and scarf and greeted the rest of his family, entered the room and enveloped his beloved sister in an enormous embrace, before proceeding to greet Colin Elliott and welcome him to Netherfield.

  Thereafter, there was never much time for private conversation; all the talk was of Charles’s adventures and the dreadful doings in London.

  “The place is quite mad; there are thousands of people milling around the streets, no matter how bad the weather,” he declared, “and the government is in dire straits with Palmerston no match for Bismarck.” Jonathan and Mr Elliott were inclined to agree.

  The rest of the day was spent with the ladies discussing preparations for the dinner party, while the gentlemen were involved in deep discussions on everything from the state of the nation to the nature of the Universe!

  “There are very real rumblings among the middle classes in the city, who supported the Whigs upon the promise of electoral reform,” said Charles. “They are tired of waiting for Palmerston to keep his word.”

  Colin Elliott agreed, adding, “Palmerston is far more interested in European diplomacy than in Parliamentary reform in England. He appears to want Britain involved in every little scrap on the continent, all this fuss about Denmark. Do you honestly believe he will go to war with Germany over it?” he asked.

  “Of course not, it’s just bravado, nothing more,” said Jonathan, who had reached the unhappy position of wishing that the government he had worked hard to get into office would do more to justify his belief than wave the flag abroad, with increasing degrees of belligerence.

  The dinner party, to which the Faulkners and a few of their other neighbours had been invited, was a great success, for everyone except Mr Elliott. He had hoped to get some time in private with Anne-Marie; for the more he saw of her, the more he was convinced he was in love with her. He had missed her terribly when he had been in London and wanted to discover if, perhaps, she had missed him, just a little. But, alas, no such thing had been even remotely possible, for she was so beset with duties, looking after their guests, since Mrs Bingley, feeling poorly, had to retire early. He promised himself that he would find time on the morrow to speak with her. He had another matter on his mind as well, which needed settling.

  After a late breakfast, on the following day, Mr Elliott sought out Mr and Mrs Bingley and Anne-Marie in the sitting room. He revealed that he had disposed of his father’s shares in the African gold mines and the American cotton and fruit plantations and had invested the money, so a steady stream of income would accrue to the hospital trust. In addition, he had also received the proceeds of the sale of a textile mill in Leeds, another of his father’s ventures in which he wanted no part. He presented Mr Bingley with a cheque for the hospital fund, saying, “That will pay for the work we must complete to get the place ready for the first patients later in the year. The proceeds of the overseas shares will provide us with funds to equip the hospital and clinic; Charles has promised to help us plan our needs and appoint our staff. We shall require the services of a good doctor and trained nurses.”

  Anne-Marie was amazed.

  “Are you sure about this, Mr Elliott? It is an extremely generous gift. You are giving away a good deal of your inheritance,” she said.

  “Mrs Bradshaw, believe me, I have never been more certain of anything in my life. I hope you will accept it in the spirit in which it is given.”

  “Have you considered the consequences to your own financial situation?” asked Jonathan.

  Colin Elliott assured him that he had.

  “Mr Bingley, I have quite sufficient for me to live very comfortably. I do not have a country estate, but I have my apartment in Knightsbridge and the place I lease here is reasonable. These investments are neither essential to me, nor do they give me any satisfaction,” he said.

  Feeling the need to explain further, he added, “My father believed that investments were for making money alone; they had no moral dimension. I’m afraid I cannot accept that argument. I get no pleasure from money earned through the exploitation and suffering of other human beings, in this case, the native people of Africa and the black slaves of the United States. I cannot change or influence these overseas enterprises, whose rapacious practices I abhor, but at least, by selling my shares and giving the proceeds to charity, I am dissociating myself from them,” he said and none of those listening could doubt the sincerity of his words.

  Jonathan spoke for them all, “Mr Elliott, I thank you for your generosity especially on behalf of all those children and their parents who will benefit from your gift to this community.”

  At this, Colin Elliott looked exceedingly happy and sh
ook Jonathan’s hand warmly and, turning to Anna, took hers and kissed it and then having started, he had to go on, so he kissed Anne-Marie’s as well, and thanked them all most sincerely for permitting him to become involved in what was largely their charitable project.

  Jonathan Bingley suggested a glass of sherry to celebrate.

  That night, when Anne-Marie went to say goodnight to her sisters, Teresa said, “Mr Elliott is a very generous man, is he not, Anne-Marie?”

  She had absolutely no hesitation in saying, “Indeed he is, very generous.”

  “And he is very gentlemanly and kind, too?” Teresa added.

  Anne-Marie, wondering where this was leading, had to agree.

  “He certainly is,” she said.

  “And handsome?” Teresa’s voice had a degree of archness that aroused her sister’s suspicions and this time she was not so accommodating.

  “Do you think so?”

  “I do,” said Teresa, “do you not?”

  Confused, Anne-Marie stumbled. “Well, I had not thought about it.”

  Teresa smiled, a subtle little smile. “Perhaps you should give it a little thought, my dear sister, because he is in love with you, I think.”

  At this, Anne-Marie appeared more outraged than Teresa’s words appeared to warrant.

  “Sssh, Tessie, you are not to say that. You will start people gossiping; if the servants hear you, what will they…?

  Teresa laughed, “The servants? Why they have been having wagers about how soon you two will become engaged,” she declared and Anne-Marie was visibly shaken. “In that case, Teresa, you must refrain from adding your voice to theirs; you must not encourage the rumours.”

  This time it was Teresa’s turn to feel hurt and misunderstood. “I am sorry, but it seems so obvious to all of us; we think he really loves you. Do you not like him at all?”

  Taken aback by this approach, her sister replied, “I do like him because he is, as you have said, a good and generous man, but that has nothing to do with being in love with him.”