Jonathan had very little knowledge of Sarah’s husband. Martyn, whom he had met twice since their wedding, had seemed a good-natured oaf, with a hearty laugh and a big appetite. The family used to make jokes about how much food he could eat and still put his hand up for more. He had no illusions about Martyn’s pretensions to being a gentleman, despite the broad acres he owned in a very fertile and salubrious part of Hampshire, yet nothing had prepared him for revelations such as these. If it were not Anna who was detailing them, he would have found it difficult to believe, but as she was so sensible and not given to alarmist talk, he did not doubt her word.
When she went on, she told how the children were for the most part undisciplined and the house, as a consequence of their depredations and Sarah’s general malaise, reduced to an untidy mess.
“The cook, who is the only servant who has stayed with them above a year, spends all her waking hours attending to the master’s pernickety demands for food at any hour of the day when he returns from the farm, and the chambermaid is so exhausted fetching and carrying she has no time to change the sheets on the children’s beds. It’s too terrible for words and I am so depressed because I can see no way out for her or for any of them.”
“And Sarah, was this the cause of her illness?” he asked, and she nodded.
“I am sure it was, though her husband believed it was lack of exercise. She is grown fat and he tells her she eats too much and should exercise more. But Sarah is sick not just in her body, but deep in her mind. Poor Sarah, I do not think I could have lived a day longer in that house, which is why I sent you an express and left before I began to lose my own mind. Oh, Jonathan, whatever is to become of them?”
He had no immediate answers for her. Unfortunately, the type of desolate union that Sarah and her farmer had was not uncommon. Anna, whose life had been singularly blessed when she had married Jonathan Bingley, was feeling deep pangs of guilt as she confronted the truth of her sister’s marriage.
“I am very shocked and saddened to hear this, my dear. I understand completely how difficult it must have been for you to leave your sister in such a situation,” he said and, promising to think of some way to help Sarah, he consoled her and persuaded her to stay a while longer in bed. “You will not be expected downstairs early today, my love. Mrs Perrot will be told that you are tired from your journey and do not wish to be disturbed,” he said as he tucked the bedclothes in around her.
It was close to midday when, with a gentle knock on the door, Anne-Marie came in to see her. She looked very anxious and concerned that Anna had not eaten any breakfast. The nurse in her was quite censorious, “You must have some breakfast, Anna. I’ve brought you something, just a bit of porridge and fruit; it will do you good,” she said and began to bustle around the room. “Mrs Perrot will bring you some tea in a minute.”
Anna did not have the heart to refuse her and ate a morsel or two. When the tea arrived, she was more eager, knowing it would help clear her head, which ached from lack of sleep and too much weeping. After the maid had removed the breakfast tray, Anna rose and Anne-Marie asked, “Would you like me to go?”
Anna shook her head. “No, please stay and tell me about your visit to Derbyshire. How are they all? Did you visit Pemberley?”
Anne-Marie told her everything, excitedly retelling her meetings with the Tates, the Darcys, their daughter Cassy, and Dr Gardiner, her husband.
“Mr Elliott was there, with the Tates. He seemed to get on exceedingly well with Mr and Mrs Darcy and Dr Gardiner. Papa thinks he is not really a Tory at all, more a Liberal or at least a Reformist, he says.”
She could not keep the excitement out of her voice and Anna, looking across at her, said, “Anne-Marie, I think we are going to have a talk about Mr Elliott fairly soon, are we not?” at which, she gave a shy smile and remembered that she had some very urgent business with Mrs Perrot and was gone, leaving Anna smiling to herself for the first time in many days.
Anne-Marie and Colin Elliott, she wondered at the possibility. He was at least in his midthirties, possibly ten years older than Anne-Marie. She was intrigued by the fact that there had been no trace of it a month ago and yet suddenly, out of Derbyshire, had come this new shyness…
Anna determined she would talk to Anne-Marie, but before that she would see Jonathan and discover what he knew of this business. Of one thing she was certain, she would not let Anne-Marie make another barren marriage like her last. Her visit to her sister had only served to strengthen her resolve in this regard.
Jonathan returned from Longbourn, where he had found Charlotte Collins unwell with what looked and sounded like a bad bout of quinsy.
Her throat was swollen and she had almost lost her voice. Having ascertained that Dr Faulkner had been called, he had left urging her to call on him if they needed help.
“I shall send Mr Bowles round this afternoon, Mrs Collins; please instruct him if there is anything you need,” he had said, as he left.
Returning to Netherfield, he went upstairs and was delighted to discover that his wife had successfully overcome her depression and was, together with Anne-Marie, looking over the children’s clothes closets for garments that may be donated to charity. Jonathan told them of Charlotte’s illness, revealing his concern that Mrs Collins ought to rest; he thought she was more likely to struggle on, putting her health in greater danger through neglect.
“I believe she needs someone with her to ensure that she takes her medicine and rests when she should. Harriet Greene is good, but she is also very busy with the school and, though she may be a good companion, she is not a nurse,” he said.
“I am,” said Anne-Marie. “I could go over and look after Mrs Collins. Anna is too exhausted after nursing Mrs Martyn.”
She would brook no argument. In less than an hour Anne-Marie was packed and ready, complete with a medicine kit, waiting for Mr Bowles to have the carriage brought round. At Anna’s suggestion, her maid Jenny Dawkins went with her.
Left on their own, Jonathan and his wife went upstairs to spend a few hours together. Their warm and loving relationship had sustained them and brought them great happiness. While they enjoyed the company of their friends and family and dearly loved their children, they were never happier than when they were alone together. Each had brought the other truer, deeper happiness than they had known before.
Later, they talked of the matters that had troubled them yesterday.
Jonathan had had an idea. “Anna, my dear, I have had what I think is a rather useful idea, that may help get your sister out of her prison in Hampshire, albeit only for a short time. But, it would be better than nothing and may help improve her spirits.” Anna rolled over and looked up at him, instantly interested, wondering what he was about to suggest.
Jonathan explained, “We know your Aunt Collins is in need of some care and company. You are in no fit state to go to her and I need you here anyway. Anne-Marie cannot stay forever and your mother has been unwell, so who do we appeal to?”
Anna looked disbelieving. “Surely not Sarah?”
“Why not? She is not ill, physically, and a change of scene would do her a great deal of good. She could take the coach; we might even send Bowles to meet her and, if she wanted to bring one of the children, it could be arranged…do you not think this is a good idea, my love?” Though not entirely convinced, Anna appreciated the possibilities and, turning to her husband, embraced him warmly.
“Oh, Jonathan, I think that would be a great relief to her; I know Sarah would love to come; she hardly ever gets out of the house only because Mr Martyn will not move. I know, also, that there is the little matter of my aunt’s will; Sarah has often wondered if Aunt Collins will leave her anything.”
Jonathan laughed. “Well, this may be a way to ensure she is not overlooked,” he said, “Mrs Collins is unlikely to forget her niece if she comes all the way from Hampshire to attend on her.”
Anna agreed that it was a very good idea and was enthusiastic about having found
some way to free poor Sarah from her self-imposed life sentence of service to Mr Martyn and his farm. She promised to write to her sister straightaway. It made her feel a little less guilty about leaving her miserable sister and returning to Netherfield to enjoy the pleasures of her own marriage.
In the quiet hours that followed, they made love again and talked, inevitably, of Anne-Marie. Their own love rendered them more keenly sensitive to the sorrow of others. It was typical that the closer they drew to one another and the deeper their own happiness, the more likely they were to seek the means of alleviating another’s distress. Furthermore, Anna wanted her husband to pay attention to a matter that had begun to concern her, in recent times.
“Dearest, I have a strong premonition that you will soon be hearing from Mr Elliott,” she said. He looked at her quizzically for a moment, before asking, “Elliott? Why? Does he want me to bother the Council about the hospital again?” Anna shook her head and smiled. “I doubt it is the Council he wishes to talk about,” she said.
“What then? Things appear to be going along well at Bell’s Field; in fact I have already written him to say that Anne-Marie is happy to manage the place when it is completed. It was all his idea and she was agreeable, so I daresay he will be pleased.”
Anna sat up and looked at him. “I am certain he will be very pleased indeed, especially since he seems to be on the verge of proposing to her.”
At her words, Jonathan sat bolt upright and stared, “Whatever gave you that idea?” Anna could not contain her laughter.
“Do you really mean you are the last to know? I have had a letter from Caroline Fitzwilliam and she writes as if all of Derbyshire knows. Apparently, at the same time that Anne-Marie was staying with them at the farm, Colin Elliott had been invited to stay with the Tates at Matlock and, of course, they kept meeting at dinner parties and soirées and then, they were all asked to Pemberley, and on each occasion, Caroline says, it became increasingly obvious to her and a few others in the party that Mr Elliott was in love with Anne-Marie. Caroline claims that she was quite sure he would declare himself at Pemberley, but she admits to being disappointed that he did not appear to have done so.”
Jonathan looked bewildered. His wife, surprised he had not even suspected it, asked, “Did you not think there may have been some partiality on his part?”
“No, not at all. Well, I admit I had noticed that the fellow is extraordinarily gracious and pays her some attention, but I had not thought to take it seriously, because it was clear to me that Anne-Marie was quite averse to even considering marriage after her experience with Bradshaw and, since I know her too well to believe she would trifle with a man’s feelings, I did not think she would give him any encouragement. Do you believe she has?” he asked.
“I cannot tell with any certainty, but did you not notice how easily she colours when he is mentioned?” Anna replied.
“Oh, yes indeed, but that is the way of most young women. Tell me, my love, seriously, what do you think of the possibility?”
Anna was unwilling to speculate, unaware of Anne-Marie’s inclinations. She did say, however, that she prayed their decision would be based only upon their own deepest feelings for each other.
“Anne-Marie has suffered far too much already. If she ever decides to wed again, it must only be because she loves him. It is too great a sacrifice to give one’s life to another without the warmth and comfort of his love.” Her voice was softer as she went on. “Indeed, despite all that marriage may bring in the way of social advantage, wealth, and security, there is nothing in it for a woman, unless she is also loved,” she said, prompting him to ask, “And if she is loved?”
She knew the answer he wanted and gave it to him gladly, knowing how well it would please him.
“Why then,” she said, “she has everything she needs in the world.”
Meanwhile, Anne-Marie, having arrived at Longbourn and attended upon the grateful Mrs Collins, went to her room to deal with her correspondence. Several notes and letters had arrived while she was away in Derbyshire; chief among them was one from her Aunt Emma Wilson. In her reply, Anne-Marie was less guarded than with any one else. Theirs was a close friendship, founded upon trust and love. Anne-Marie wrote of the pleasures of her visit to Derbyshire, the delights of the Fitzwilliams’ farm at Matlock, the elegance of Pemberley, and her meetings with the Tates and Colin Elliott.
She continued,
I was surprised to find Mr Elliott visiting the Tates; but it is indeed difficult to believe how easily I am able to converse with him now. I think, dear Aunt, that when I first knew him, I was reluctant to say very much, unless I was speaking up for the hospital, because I felt somewhat inadequate and concerned that he would think me unlearned and ignorant.
Mr Elliott, as you would know, is a man of education and culture; Papa says he did extremely well at Cambridge and has a remarkable knowledge of literature and music.
I must confess I have only a nodding acquaintance with both, except that I read many of your books, when I stayed at Standish Park last Winter. Were it not for you, I may never have discovered the work of the Brontë sisters, especially Emily, whose Wuthering Heights has fascinated me since. It is a most absorbing story.
As for music, though I love to listen, I never did learn to read and play it. I do most sincerely regret that I did not. When we attended a soirée at the Fitzwilliams’, we heard some exquisite music and Mr Elliott asked if I could play; I was both mortified and sad to admit that I had never found the time to learn seriously.
He has kindly invited us to attend a performance of Mr Handel’s great oratorio The Messiah next month and I am looking forward to it very much. Anna has promised to explain it to me before the performance. Papa says it is never too late to learn to appreciate fine music. I do hope he is right…
Mrs Wilson, needless to say, was quite fascinated with the extraordinary interest her niece was revealing in matters cultural. She had always been too busy before. She kept her counsel, however, and said nothing, not wishing to embarrass Anne-Marie in any way. Her own observations had led her to believe that there was probably a good reason for it and she was prepared to wait, knowing that they were to see Mr Elliott after Easter. There would be an opportunity then, she thought, to observe if there had been any change in him.
Easter came and went without much fuss that year, except in the Parliament at Westminster. Colin Elliott had not realised that politics could become so tribalised and childish, with so little concern for the people that Members were elected to represent.
Disillusioned with his party, which was indulging in another round of bickering, he was ready for a change, when James Wilson, alerted by a letter from Colonel Fitzwilliam, had invited him to spend a few days at Standish Park. There, together with the charming Mrs Wilson and their talented children, he had spent an almost idyllic week, during which James Wilson used every persuasive argument to help him decide that his place was with the other side of politics.
It was during his stay that Mrs Wilson received a letter from her niece Anne-Marie, in which Mr Elliott figured rather prominently again. She gave a most interesting account of their attendance at the performance of Mr Handel’s Messiah. When Emma mentioned this to Mr Elliott, in casual conversation after dinner, his report of her niece’s appreciation of the great oratorio was quite remarkable.
“Indeed, it was a rare pleasure for me to see how totally she was absorbed in the music. Mrs Bingley, who is herself a teacher and a performer of great skill and sensitivity, agreed that she had rarely seen anyone so enchanted by it,” he declared and there was no mistaking the enthusiasm in his voice, even as he added, “One must, of course, allow for the power of Mr Handel’s music to captivate the listener.”
Emma nodded her agreement, reminding him that King George himself had been one such. She was convinced that Mr Elliott was quite clearly captivated, and not just by the music of Mr Handel!
Having almost given Wilson his word that he would, at the very
least, sit on the cross benches and work with the Reform Group, Elliott decided that he needed to see Anne-Marie and discover her mind on the subject before committing to it himself. He had entered a curious period in his life, in which her opinions seemed to carry a great deal of weight in his decisions, requiring him to find an occasion to discuss every significant matter with her. And so, in early May, he returned to Hertfordshire.
On reaching Netherfield House, he learned that the family had gone north to Pemberley for the wedding of Dr Frank Grantley and Amy Fitzwilliam and were expected to remain there for at least a fortnight.
“Are they all gone?” he asked. “Yes, sir, all, except Mrs Bradshaw, who volunteered to stay behind with Mrs Collins, who was poorly and unable to travel to the wedding,” replied Mrs Perrot.
“And is Mrs Bradshaw staying at Longbourn then?” he asked, a little too eagerly to deceive Mrs Perrot, who noted the look of relief upon his face when she answered, “Yes, sir, she has been there above a week now.”
The distance between Longbourn and Netherfield was a mere three miles. Colin Elliott’s horses trotted along at a brisk pace, and he arrived just as the ladies were sitting down to afternoon tea. Anne-Marie and Charlotte were enjoying some excellent fruitcake made by Lucy Sutton, and the maid had just brought in the tea tray, when he walked, unannounced, into the room. They had lately dispensed with some of the old formalities at Longbourn.
Mr Elliott was greeted warmly by both ladies, who simultaneously invited him to join them and asked the maid to bring in another cup.
He thanked them and sat down at the table by the fire, noticing as he did, how very well Mrs Bradshaw looked, her usually pale cheeks glowing in the firelight, her dark eyes bright as she smiled and handed him his tea. Mrs Collins, knowing he was recently in Derbyshire, was eager to ask all about her daughter Rebecca Tate and her dear friends Mrs Darcy and Jane Bingley. Seeing how easy it was to please her with all the information she wished for, Colin Elliott was happy to oblige.
The Ladies of Longbourn Page 20