Mr Elliott and Bowles watched from the shelter of the shrubbery, so overgrown it could have concealed a regiment, as Sutton, looking somewhat the worse for drink, strode up to the house and banged upon the front door. When the maid opened the door, he forced it back and pushed his way inside. Within seconds, a great commotion had erupted with screams from the two women and a welter of rage and abuse from Sutton!
Mr Bowles and Colin Elliott waited only seconds, before deciding to go in. As they approached the house, they saw to their horror, that Sutton had a thick, knobby stick, which he was threatening to use upon the hapless women, if they did not tell him where his children were. He was shouting at them as they cowered in fright and Elliott hesitated only momentarily before racing in. But Sutton was taller and heavier than he was and brought the stick down sharply. Had it found its mark, Colin Elliott would have had a broken skull or at least a very sore head.
Leaping out of range he strove to put a table between them, as Bowles came around the other way. Sutton, surprised, wheeled around and struck out again, this time catching Bowles across the shoulders and causing him to fall to the floor. With a gleeful shout and his stick raised high, Sutton stood over him and was about to attack the fallen man, as the two women screamed in terror, when through the open door came Thomson, Tillyard, Jones, and the entire local constabulary! They had him overpowered and manacled in minutes and, soon afterwards, he was on his way to the police cells, calling out vile threats and imprecations as he went.
A relieved Mr Elliott and a sore but unbowed Mr Bowles were left to collect Lucy Sutton and her children, reassure Lydia Wickham that she would not be implicated in Sutton’s crime, and return triumphant to Longbourn.
Later, the story would be told of how Tillyard had returned to his office, found the note, and informed the police. Together with Jones, Tillyard had followed only to ensure that his friend had not “come to a sticky end,” as he put it. Only Colin Elliott and Mr Bowles knew how very close they had been to disaster.
Their return to Longbourn, bringing with them Lucy Sutton and her two daughters, saved as it were from the clutches of a desperate father turned abductor, was a cause for some celebration. Even Charlotte Collins had remained downstairs to await the news.
When the two carriages rolled in and the children leapt out and ran into the hall, there was, literally, not a dry eye in the house. There were many questions to be answered and much to tell, but amidst the celebrations, there were two important announcements.
The first was not entirely unexpected; for it came as no surprise to Anna that sometime in the last few hours, before his journey to recover the Sutton children, Colin Elliott had proposed to Anne-Marie and had been accepted. If the pleasure had not shown upon her countenance, the pain of waiting for him to return, of not knowing how he was faring, had certainly taken its toll of Anne-Marie. Her anxiety and constant perambulation between her seat by the fire and the window overlooking the drive had soon indicated to Anna that some very tender feelings were involved.
If confirmation were needed that these emotions were deeply felt and reciprocated, it came when Mr Elliott stepped out of his carriage and walked in the door behind the Sutton children and received what could only be called a “rapturous welcome.”
Anna watched, with some amusement, his own impulsive response, when he reached out for Anne-Marie and gathering her into his arms, held her close for several minutes. It was as if neither cared any longer to whom their true feelings were revealed. A short while later, when Mrs Sutton had taken her children upstairs to bed, the couple approached Anna and told her simply and frankly, that they were in love and had become engaged that afternoon.
Anna was delighted and congratulated them warmly, thinking as she did so of her husband, probably only halfway on his overnight journey to Netherfield. She longed to have him home, to share with her these intimate, happy moments, yet she was not sure how he would accept Anne-Marie’s engagement to Mr Elliott.
Jonathan Bingley’s only concern was his daughter’s happiness and wellbeing. He would certainly want to be quite sure she was making the right decision this time. Anna, on the other hand, seeing the pair together, could have no doubts. Not only was she convinced they were in love, they appeared in every other way to be well suited. In both appearance and disposition, they were perfectly matched, she thought, recalling how different had been her view of Mr Bradshaw, when he had first come to Netherfield.
Not long afterwards there came another announcement. Harriet Greene had been attending to Mr Bowles, who had sustained a huge bruise across his shoulders from the glancing blow dealt him by the enraged Sutton. Cold compresses and herbal fomentations were recommended and applied with care and diligence until the patient appeared more comfortable. Her task completed, Harriet, having put away her medications, came to the parlour where they were all engaged in a discussion of the days’ events.
Anna had just been congratulating one happy couple, when another pair appeared before her and Bowles declared that Miss Harriet Greene had kindly consented to be his wife and they would like to be married in the Autumn, “if that was alright with you and Mr Bingley, ma’am.”
Anna, quite taken aback, for she had had no idea of Mr Bowles’s interest in Harriet Greene, nevertheless congratulated them and so did the other lovers, whose felicity, now seemingly increasing by the hour, was sufficient to share with anyone who needed cheering up. It was in Anne-Marie’s nature that she should feel the need to share her joy with as many of her family as possible. By this same token, Mrs Sutton and her unhappy children were all drawn into and enveloped by the warm glow of the family’s contentment.
Meanwhile, Charlotte Collins, who had scarcely become accustomed to one engagement, for she had known in advance of Mr Bowles’s proposal and Harriet’s decision to accept him, was now called upon to celebrate with another happy couple, as Anne-Marie brought Mr Elliott to sit with her and tell her of their happiness. Seeing, in addition to all this gladness, Mrs Sutton and her daughters reunited had been almost more than her heart could bear and a short while later, Mrs Collins asked to be excused and retired to bed. The faithful Harriet disengaged herself from the group and took her mistress upstairs as Mr Bowles, Anna noted, cast an approving eye upon her. Anna knew him to be a thoroughly reliable person, a man whose life had been changed by the untimely death of his wife, leaving him childless and lonely and yet remarkably unembittered. He was one of her husband’s most trusted stewards. If Harriet and he had found happiness together, Anna was prepared to wish them the very best. It was something more she would have to tell her husband, when he returned home on the morrow.
With some difficulty, the now acknowledged lovers dragged themselves apart. Anna and Anne-Marie returned to Netherfield House with Mr Bowles, while Colin Elliott, having been invited to dine at Netherfield Park on the morrow, finally left Longbourn and returned to his lodgings at Meryton.
It had been an extraordinary day, which had begun and ended in great personal happiness, yet at its dark heart had revealed that no one is immune from the tragic consequences of obsession.
That night Anne-Marie, too excited to sleep, rose and wrote to her favourite aunt.
My dearest Aunt Emma,
I am so happy, I can no longer keep it from you; Mr Elliott has asked me to marry him and I have accepted him. This time, dear Aunt, I know I have made the right decision, because I have never known such terror as when he went in search of Lucy Sutton’s children and we feared he may have to confront the brutal Mr Sutton, nor have I experienced such overwhelming relief and joy, as I did when he walked in the door and gathered me in his arms. As you well know, I am not a romantic female, a la the femmes fragiles of the popular novellas that divert young ladies of today, but I do feel deeply and I know that he excites in me the deepest feelings of love. I have, during the past few months, learned to value him as a friend, but only in the last week have I understood my own heart. I love him, dearest Aunt, and I do believe him when he say
s he loves me and I long to be his wife.
You are already surprised, are you not, that I have not once spoken of his “goodness?” You may conclude from this omission that he is lacking in goodness, perhaps? Let me say then that he is thoughtful and tender, compassionate, kind and loving, like no other man I have known. Do you think all these qualities may equal goodness? If they do, then please believe him to be good; so good that he has helped me draw myself out of dread and depression into the sunlight again. I had not thought I would ever shed the shackles of my previous misery, but even as I write, I feel a lightness of heart and mind as never before, for they are gone. Mr Elliott has cut them away and given me my freedom again.
Dearest Aunt, I long to see you and hope with all my heart that some time may be found for us to visit you at Standish Park together. He has an immense regard for Mr Wilson and speaks highly of you all.
Meanwhile, let me thank you once more for your affection and care as well as your wonderful example of fearless love. What would I have been without them?
I remember, dearest Aunt, your sage counsel when you told me I must marry only for the deepest love. When I asked you how I would know it, you said, “When you realise your life would be unendurable without him, you will know.”
I think, now, I do know.
He loves me and says so with warmth and passion. Could I do other than accept him? I think not, and I am sure you will agree.
When Papa returns tomorrow, Mr Elliott will see him again and tell him of our engagement. For my part, I am quite fixed in my intention, so I pray Papa will approve, else it will break both his heart and mine.
Your loving niece,
Anne-Marie Bingley.
Having sealed the letter, Anne-Marie unlocked her diary, repository of her innermost thoughts. At times, when it had seemed there never would be any purpose to her life and again, when little specks of light had begun to illuminate her horizon, its pages had recorded her feelings. She recounted there, in some detail, the events of the last few days and, as was her habit, drew her conclusions.
Should I live to be a hundred, I doubt I will know a week as strange as this one has been. How is it possible that one might swing through so many emotions as I have in the course of two days? There I was, at one moment quietly content, if a little confused, contemplating my possible future, when suddenly the world around me seemed to explode into tiny fragments, some sharp and hurtful like shattered glass, others shining like stars!
The hurt we have all felt; with poor Lucy Sutton’s two girls being kidnapped and then recovered from their crazed father, whose obsession with his wife leads him to kidnap his own children, in order to punish her. The cruelty and pain inflicted upon all of them and upon us, who have had to support Lucy through her agony, makes one question whether love alone, without good sense and sound judgment, is worth having.
Mr Sutton claims he is motivated by love of his family, but in truth, he seems driven by hate. He cannot see that the obsessive passion he manifests destroys those he claims to love. Poor Lucy on the other hand, though she undoubtedly loves her children, appears too weak and timorous to thwart him. Between them, it has to be said, the unfortunate children have not had a fair deal.
I cannot help recalling Papa’s strength and determination to protect all of us from injury, when my poor mama’s understanding and judgment failed her. How different was his response to that of Mr Sutton. How calm and gentle was his response to our terrible tragedy. Were it not for the untiring efforts of Mr Elliott and his friend Mr Tillyard, as well as our dear Mr Bowles, whose courage must be commended, the Sutton children may have been lost to their mother forever! God knows where he might have taken them.
I was so proud today of my Mr Elliott, whose offer of marriage I had only just accepted. It was a joy to see how swiftly and with what vigour and determination, he organised himself and his friends and proceeded to Meryton, returning some hours later, with Lucy Sutton and her children safe and Mr Sutton handed over to the local constabulary. Yet all accomplished with such modesty; no boastful claims or triumphant pronouncements of success. Indeed, had I not already accepted him, I should have done so without hesitation.
Still, I was so glad that I had said I would marry him. It will surely be a matter of jest between us, even though I know he loves me, and my thoughts have been completely absorbed with him. I had not thought it possible to be so much in love with anyone nor to be so loved.
Here indeed, is one of the few shining fragments of this shattered day.
Papa will be here around midday and I expect he will want a full account of what has transpired. Anna will be the one to tell him; she longs for his return. It is clear she misses him terribly when he is away.
My news will keep until later.
Her writing done, in the small hours of the morning, Anne-Marie fell asleep, with very little to disturb her hopes of future happiness.
Jonathan Bingley arrived the following day around mid-morning. Having travelled for many hours, he went directly upstairs, with only his wife for company. He had missed her sorely; the generosity and warmth of her love always brought him comfort.
Later, Anna told him of the dramatic events of the previous evening. He was exceedingly relieved that the Sutton children were safely back with their mother and quite diverted by the news that it was largely the result of Colin Elliott’s efforts.
“Thank God, they’re safe,” he said and, when Anna revealed that Mr Elliott would be dining with them that evening, added, “Oh, good, I shall congratulate him on his success. He certainly seems a decisive and brave fellow; I’ll give him that.”
“You will probably find that Mr Elliott is to be congratulated upon yet another achievement, my dear,” Anna said archly.
“Indeed? Why, what more has he done?”
“Perhaps, I should have let Anne-Marie tell you herself, but I know you wish to rest before dinner and it is best that you are informed before you meet Mr Elliott,” she explained, then seeing his expression sharpen as he understood her drift, she added, “Yes, they are engaged. He has proposed and she has accepted him. I cannot remember when I have last seen her look so delighted.”
Jonathan rose, and pulling on a robe, went over to the window. He was silent, thoughtful. Anne-Marie was very precious to him; he could not abide the thought of her being hurt again. His concern was to protect her from another disappointment. Looking out, he saw her in the distance, walking in the grounds, a basket on her arm, her step light, her air confident. It was plain that there was nothing troubling her, as she tripped around the rose garden.
“Had she told you she intended to accept him?” he asked.
Anna shook her head. “Not directly, but in so many ways, in her looks and smiles, the brightness of her voice, the way she spoke of him with pride and pleasure; I had no doubt she was in love with him. I think she may well have confided in me, if not for this drama with Mrs Sutton’s children. That had us all terrified for days; we had no thought of anything else.”
“And Elliott, did he come and see you as I suggested he should?”
“Yes, indeed, and I gave him the benefit of my knowledge of the circumstances of Anne-Marie’s marriage to Bradshaw and its unhappy consequences. He was, I think, more grieved than shocked. He is a man of the world, at thirty-four or thirty-five, he must surely be well aware of these types of arrangements, which are more common in smart society than we would like to think,” said Anna.
“Did he say anything significant? How did he respond to the information you provided?” Jonathan asked.
“He was very moved by my story of Anne-Marie’s depression and appeared to have a sympathetic understanding of her feelings,” she replied.
“He listened with interest, but in the end, none of it seemed to deter him from his quest for her hand. Indeed, he set off for Longbourn, almost immediately, to see her and I know now that he was with her, having just been accepted, when your letter, which I sent on to Longbourn, reached them.”
Jonathan appeared calmer; he smiled and shook his head as she continued, “Afterwards, when he returned from Meryton with the Sutton children, there was no attempt at concealment at all; they were most joyfully reunited and informed me directly of their engagement.”
“Well, my love, I shall see what they have to say to me. Perhaps, you could tell Anne-Marie I should like to see her before Elliott arrives for dinner,” he said and was about to ring for a servant to prepare his bath, when she said, “Oh, I almost forgot, our Mr Bowles is engaged as well.” Jonathan swung round, amazed. “Bowles engaged? To whom and since when?”
“To Harriet Greene, since last night; though I do believe they had spoken with Mrs Collins some days ago. Harriet is her trusted companion and Aunt Charlotte would have been very hurt, had they kept her in ignorance. They hope to marry in the Autumn and I think Bowles may wish to move to Longbourn, where he already does a great deal of work, so you may be looking for a new steward for Netherfield.”
Jonathan, still shaking his head in disbelief, said, “Bowles engaged! Who would have thought it? But, he has been a widower for many years and was probably very lonely. It is a good match for Harriet Greene, too; he is a fine man. Ah well, it does look as if romance has been in the air in these parts,” he said as he rang for his servant and Anna left the room, laughing.
She went downstairs and, finding Anne-Marie reading to young Nicholas in the parlour, told her that her father wished to see her before dinner.
Anne-Marie was eager to discover how he had received the news of her engagement to Mr Elliott, but apart from assuring her that she had little to fear, since he had a very good opinion of her Mr Elliott, Anna preferred to let father and daughter speak directly to one another on the subject. “Your Papa loves you dearly, Anne-Marie. His concern is only for your happiness. If you are certain that Mr Elliott will make you happy, I doubt he will raise any objections to your marriage. It is you and Mr Elliott who must convince him that you care deeply for each other,” she said, leaving Anne-Marie, smiling, grateful for her counsel.
The Ladies of Longbourn Page 30