It was ironic indeed that on this day, filled with the bright celebration of the marriage of Amy and Frank Grantley, they had ended with some sobering thoughts. It was not the first time Elizabeth and Darcy, whose love story had proceeded from an aggravating and hurtful beginning to a passionately happy conclusion, had been called upon to provide advice to younger members of the family. It was unlikely to be the last.
Elsewhere in the house, the Bingleys had retired to their rooms. Jane had decided not to trouble her husband with Emma’s story, resolving to wait until they were back at Ashford Park. Anna was too troubled to keep it to herself. No sooner had they reached their bedroom than she had to tell her husband all about it.
Jonathan was at first sceptical about the prospect of reconciliation between Anne-Marie and Eliza Harwood.
“I cannot honestly say it is the right time to broach the subject of reconciliation between them,” he said, “Anne-Marie has only recently recovered her spirits and is at present engrossed with the children’s hospital; I would be most reluctant to distract her with reminders of a less than happy period in her past.”
Anna could see that he was being protective of his daughter. “At least now, at Netherfield,” he continued, “she knows she is needed and loved by us all; she has a place in the community, which she has earned for herself, not dependent upon a husband’s status or position. Indeed, my dear Anna, I feel it would be a reckless thing to do, to rake up the past at this time.”
“You do not agree with Emma then, that reconciliation would be in both their interests?” Anna asked quietly.
Jonathan was very firm in his response, “I certainly do, but only if it could be achieved without recriminations and disruption of her life.”
“Would you object to letting Emma speak with her?”
“Of course not. Emma will have Anne-Marie’s interest at heart as we have. But do you not see, my dearest, if we were to urge this reconciliation upon her, it may undo all the good work that has gone before.”
Anna knew that there was no one better able to persuade him than his sister. “Why not let Emma tell her of Eliza’s wish for reconciliation? Anne-Marie’s own response would then reveal how she felt. You know Emma will be gentle and discreet. She will neither do nor say anything that will upset Anne-Marie. She loves her dearly.”
Jonathan was moved by her appeal. “Your kindness does you credit, my love,” he said. “Let me think on it a while. After all, we do not leave for Netherfield until the end of the week; there will be time enough, and I promise I will think seriously about it.” Seeing her rather disappointed expression, he added, “I understand Emily’s concern. Eliza is her daughter and, of course, she wants to ease her conscience, but I am responsible for Anne-Marie. She has already endured far too much pain and grievous humiliation for one so young. I cannot lightly agree to subject her to more strain, unless I am convinced she will not be further wounded by the exercise.”
Anna knew how deeply he cared for his daughter and refrained from pressing the case any further, content that whatever decision he came to, Jonathan would do the right thing.
Meanwhile, Emma Wilson wrote to her cousin Emily Courtney.
My dearest Emily,
Your letter, which reached me the day before we left for Derbyshire to attend the wedding of Frank Grantley and Amy, has remained in my thoughts ever since. I cannot help feeling for you and Eliza a profound sympathy as I contemplate your unhappy situation. For Eliza, especially at this time, it is the very worst thing to suffer depression, and you must try hard to wean her from this most destructive mood. For yourself, think at least of the joy of awaiting and helping with the arrival of your grandchild and try to comfort her as best you can. However, remember you are not alone, for we have all suffered at one time or another, from Aunt Lizzie and Mr Darcy to you and I and Jonathan, everyone has known some profound sorrow, and we are all aware of your pain.
If Eliza suffers now because she fears she has lost the trust of her friend, she must be patient and wait for the right time, when the pain may be healed.
It is not a simple matter of urging reconciliation upon them, Emily; unless there is a genuine desire in both their hearts, it will be no more than a charade and no real good will come of it.
So do comfort Eliza and tell her I shall try my hardest; when we meet and at a time of her own choosing, Anne-Marie may agree to meet with Eliza and end the unhappy situation that exists between them. I do know this, that Anne-Marie, no matter what she feels, has never blamed Eliza for her unhappiness. She is far harsher upon herself and is filled with remorse that she ever accepted Mr Bradshaw’s proposal.
Meanwhile, dearest Emily, you have our love and our prayers, God bless you,
Emma Wilson.
P.S. The wedding was most impressive, the service conducted by Dr Grantley very moving indeed, and Amy looked lovely, of course. They have gone first to London and later to Paris and Italy.
The letter was to be despatched on the morrow, and Emma hoped with all her heart that a way may be found to accomplish what Emily and she wished to do.
END OF PART TWO
THE LADIES OF LONGBOURN
Part Three
COLIN ELLIOTT ARRIVED TO DINE at Longbourn on the Sunday, looking and feeling as if he had undergone something of a change. Usually a soberly dressed gentleman, he was attired rather less formally and appeared very much at ease. He had brought the ladies a basket of fruit and flowers from Hoxton Park, which was guaranteed to please them all.
While Mrs Collins and Harriet were engaged in admiring the excellent fruit, he contrived to pick out a rose in a soft peach tone, which exactly matched the colour of Anne-Marie’s gown, ensuring, when he presented it to her, that she was seated at a little distance from the others, so as not to embarrass her with his attentions.
Anne-Marie was very touched by the gesture. When she left the room for a moment and returned with the rose pinned to her bodice, he was so obviously gratified and expressed his appreciation so openly, that she felt rather shy and wondered if she had been too bold. She was conscious, too, of his admiring glances throughout the evening and though flattering, they threw her into some confusion, and despite the undeniable pleasure she took from the experience, she almost wished it were not so.
Dinner was usually served at eight, and by half past seven, Anne-Marie was becoming restless. She had seated herself beside a long window looking out across the park and could see the drive as it came off the lane and turned in through the gates. She was alert and waited anxiously to hear the sound of the pony trap, which had been despatched to fetch Mrs Sutton, whom she had persuaded that morning to join them at dinner.
The feelings she had experienced the previous evening, on parting from Colin Elliott, had surprised her, and while she would not deny it had been a most agreeable encounter, in the bright light of the following day, she had felt somewhat apprehensive of becoming too deeply and too quickly involved in an association with him, despite the pleasure it brought.
If only Anna were here, she thought, she might have been able to confide in her, to seek some counsel; but Anna was miles and miles away in Derbyshire.
Seeing Lucy Sutton in church that morning, Anne-Marie had approached her and invited her to dine with them, hoping by increasing the number of guests to draw some attention away from herself. She knew Mr Elliott was a perfectly courteous gentleman and was unlikely to single her out for attention when there were other ladies around. She thought she had the ideal solution to her problem.
At first, Lucy Sutton had been reluctant to accept her invitation, especially at such short notice. She was nervous about leaving her two girls on their own, pointing out that since it was Sunday, her maid would be visiting her parents.
Anne-Marie had a suggestion. She would send one of the maids from Longbourn to sit with the children so Mrs Sutton could come to dinner. “Rosie will come to you, and you can come to us. I shall send the pony trap for you. When you return after dinner, Rosi
e will return to Longbourn. See, it is all quite simple,” she had said, cheerfully, and Mrs Sutton, who rarely went out and was pleased to be invited, had accepted, albeit still with some show of reluctance. She was, however, not ungrateful.
“Thank you very much, Mrs Bradshaw; you are very kind. I do hope you will not think me fussy and stupid; it’s just that I am very particular about leaving the children. They are unaccustomed to being on their own out here, unlike in town, where the neighbours are just a step away. You do understand?” she said, and Anne-Marie was most solicitous.
“Of course I do, Mrs Sutton, and I do appreciate your concern, but I am sure they will be happy with Rosie. She is a good, cheerful girl and will keep them occupied,” she had said, reassuring her.
Sunday, at Pemberley, had been very quiet. A fine Spring morning had given way to a golden afternoon, unusually warm for the time of year, yet lightened by a gentle breeze from the rugged peaks to the North. The visitors who stayed overnight had been mainly family, some of whom left soon after breakfast. Others, like the Bingleys, rose late and breakfasted at leisure, planning to spend the day in the most undemanding of activities, expending a minimum of energy. The ladies had much to talk about after the wedding, while Darcy’s steward had arranged a day’s fishing for the gentlemen.
Caroline and Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned to their farm at Matlock and found waiting for them two letters, which were from different sources, but interestingly linked by reference to the same persons. Opening hers at once, eager to read it since she had recognised the perfectly rounded hand of her cousin Anne-Marie Bradshaw, Caroline saw it had been written only a day or two ago.
It was not particularly long, but was full of information.
Anne-Marie wrote…
My dear cousin Caroline, I had hoped to see you at Amy’s wedding, but unfortunately, my dear grandmother has been unwell for a while now and cannot travel. I decided therefore, to stay with her at Longbourn while the rest of the family travelled to Derbyshire. I expect to stay until she is fully recovered.
The main reason for my letter, apart from wanting to know how you are and beg you to tell me all about the wedding, is to acquaint you with the news that I am to be in charge of the children’s hospital at Bell’s Field, when it is completed. This has come about as a result of a request from our local MP, Mr Colin Elliott, whom you met on his visit to Derbyshire, to Papa for permission to put my name up to the board.
While I do have a good deal of experience in nursing adults and am quite familiar with the workings of a military hospital, such as the one at Harwood Park, I would greatly appreciate your help in making a success of this one.
I am aware that you and Cousin Emily have both been involved with the hospital at Littleford and I wondered if you would have some advice for me. Mr Elliott is very confident that I can do this well and so is Papa, but like most men, they are not always aware of the hundreds of little things that go to make a success of such a venture. If you are able to help in any way, I should consider it a great favour.
I used to have a book written by Miss Nightingale herself shortly after her return from the Crimea, when she reorganised the services in many of our hospitals, but I fear I have left it behind at Harwood Park.
The letter concluded with a few remarks about the weather and a reference to a visit to Longbourn by Mr Elliott, bringing with him a basket of early cherries for Mrs Collins.
My grandmother was most appreciative indeed, of his thoughtful gift,
she wrote.
Caroline, smiling somewhat smugly, read it through a second time before running upstairs to her husband, who had already read his letter, which lay beside him. When she had told him of the detail in Anne-Marie’s letter, expressing great satisfaction at the news it had brought, he picked up James Wilson’s letter to him and handed it to her.
“It would seem that Mr Colin Elliott is creating a great deal of interest in this family, of late. James Wilson’s letter is all about him. He does not even mention the draft Reform Bill, which he assured me was in preparation.
“This letter was written several days ago and yet he never mentioned it at the wedding, wanting no doubt to keep the whole thing confidential until Elliott decides which way he will leap.”
Caroline had recognised James Wilson’s fine copperplate handwriting and, taking the letter in hand, began to read aloud…
My dear Fitzwilliam,
Since receiving your message, I have seen young Colin Elliott, the new Tory MP.
I must thank you for your timely advice in alerting me to his situation. I find him very amenable and quite impatient to break with the old guard in his party. Indeed, I had to restrain his enthusiasm somewhat, else he might have bounded off to advise the party whip or some such official that he was about to cross the floor and ended up in a great deal of bother.
He is full of ideas and eager to demonstrate his concern for our cause, especially in matters of Parliamentary and electoral reform, and he has major concerns about education and health policy. He has hinted that he will support certain pieces of social legislation, even if it means crossing the floor. What is even better, as you know we have a vacancy in one of the new constituencies in South London, since Viscount —— has moved to the Lords; well, Elliott has as good as promised to support our candidate. We expect to have Jonathan Bingley here at the opening of the campaign, which should make for a very good show. Bingley has lost none of his eloquence in the years since he left the Commons.
Speaking of Bingley reminds me, my dear wife has asked that I pass on some very confidential information to your Caroline. She claims it may not be discreet to be heard discussing it, when they meet at the wedding. She has gathered that Mr Elliott has been a frequent visitor to Netherfield Park in recent months. She is quite certain that the attraction is more personal than political, since he seems to show a distinct partiality for the company of our niece, Mrs Bradshaw.
I have no more information on this matter, but I wonder, Fitzwilliam, whether Mr Elliott’s Reformist zeal flows from the heart rather than the head. Perhaps I am being unfair. In his discussion with me on several issues, he seemed totally genuine and a very levelheaded fellow.
However, it is as well to remember that the most levelheaded of men may be overthrown by a woman, and Anne-Marie Bradshaw is a particularly beautiful woman.
Caroline Fitzwilliam gave a little shriek of delight and returning to sit beside her husband, declared, “There you are, Fitzy; I knew I was right about Colin Elliott and Anne-Marie. When they were up here at the Tates and later dined with us, he could not take his eyes off her. He followed her everywhere and, whenever the opportunity arose, would sit beside her and engage her in conversation. I must admit she appeared somewhat less interested than he was at the time, but I am certain she will not resist him for long. He is not only the handsomest parliamentarian in the House, since Jonathan Bingley left the Commons, but is also intelligent and well spoken; if he may be persuaded to leave the Tories and join the Reform Group, she could not ask for more, could she?”
Her enthusiasm for this romantic political scenario could not be dampened by her husband, who tried to point out that the biggest hurdle would probably be the wishes of the lady herself. “I have heard that she is unlikely to want to marry again; Bradshaw was not, I am told, the best of husbands and Anne-Marie has shown no inclination to try again,” he warned, but his wife was not to be so easily discouraged.
“Oh, that is such a lot of nonsense, Fitzy. Everything will depend on Mr Elliott. It is he who must convince her. If Anne-Marie believes he loves her truly, she will marry him, mark my words.”
Fitzwilliam knew her too well to try to argue with her, when she was so determined. Their own marriage had come about despite the quite considerable reservations of her parents, who had been concerned at the disparity in their ages. Yet Caroline, not yet sixteen and deeply in love, had won them over and made him a very happy man. Age had made little difference to her romantic o
utlook.
At Longbourn, well before Mr Elliott and Mrs Collins’s nephew, Simon Lucas, arrived, Anne-Marie had despatched the young chambermaid Rosie in the pony trap, with strict instructions to keep the two Sutton children entertained, but not overly noisy or excited.
“John will call for you when he brings Mrs Sutton back from Longbourn,” she reminded Rosie, as they drove away.
Anne-Marie had been keen to have Mrs Sutton attend. She was a quiet woman, with a good deal of common sense and, because of her own marital problems, one who could be relied upon not to gossip. She was, however, not always punctual and this evening, she was late.
The gentlemen arrived and were seated in the parlour and there was still no sign of her. Anne-Marie was anxious until at last, the crunch of wheels on the drive drew her to the window. Looking out, she saw the vehicle draw up at the front door and, when Lucy Sutton alighted, she sighed with relief.
Thereafter, the dinner party went exactly as planned, although Anne-Marie thought from time to time that Mrs Collins was looking askance at her nephew, Simon Lucas, who was paying a lot of attention to Lucy Sutton.
Mr Elliott seemed happy enough, having seated himself beside Anne-Marie at dinner and afterwards, except when he rose to help the other ladies with their chairs. Courteous to all the women in the room, but especially attentive to her and her grandmother, he was indeed an exemplary guest.
At dinner, Simon Lucas, who knew Mr Elliott only slightly but was in some degree of awe, owing to his being a member of the House of Commons, asked about India and why he had left it. He had his own theories, too. “Was it the terrible heat and flies?” he asked, adding that he once knew a chap who had gone mad with the heat and the insects.
Colin Elliott laughed and declared that there were many such stories about, but for the most part, they ought not be taken too seriously.
The Ladies of Longbourn Page 23