Jonathan agreed that Richard was probably right, and told him of his own decision to return to work at Westminster.
To his surprise, he received his son’s immediate support. “That has to be the best news I have heard in many months,” Charles declared. “I have often wondered how long it would be before the business of managing Rosings would bore you back to politics.”
“Then you approve?” asked his father, a little unsure he had heard right.
“Indeed, I do, and I encourage you most assuredly to take up Mr Wilson’s offer. He cannot have made it lightly; he takes his involvement in Reform politics very seriously.”
Jonathan was so pleased that his countenance reflected his satisfaction. Charles, seeing the relief on his father’s face, was moved to add, “And I am sure your work will prove most valuable. There is no more important cause than Parliamentary Reform at this point in England’s history. One more term of stagnant government and we would be the laughing stock of Europe. We have a great opportunity and must not throw it away.”
With his son’s encouragement and his own commitment, he left for Standish Park the following week.
He had not brought the matter up with his wife again, having resolved to accept James Wilson’s proposal. He seemed resigned to the fact that Amelia-Jane’s opposition was inevitable and unshakable and would have to be borne with as much patience as he could muster.
He set out looking forward to seeing his sister and his charming nieces and nephews in an environment in which he always felt life was lived just as it should be.
***
Emma Wilson greeted her brother warmly on his arrival at Standish Park, and if she was disappointed that his wife had not felt fit enough to travel the relatively short distance between their homes, in the same county, she concealed it well.
Emma’s good taste and sensibility, combined with her excellent education, had seemed to present an insurmountable obstacle to her young sister-in-law, whose lack of serious learning often left her outside of their conversations. Despite Emma’s best efforts to nurture a friendship between them, Amelia-Jane had always held back. Recently, she had taken to avoiding their functions.
“I never quite know what to say to James and Emma,” she would complain to Jonathan. When they were first married, her exquisite youth and charm had sufficed to dismiss any qualms he may have had. Later, though, her reluctance to make any attempt to cultivate and enjoy the fine taste and genuine values of his sister had begun to embarrass and even occasionally distress him. Neither elegant surroundings nor cultural pursuits involved her mind for very long.
He recalled an occasion when Emma’s very talented young daughters, Victoria and Stephanie, had been invited to perform after a family dinner party and as they did so, Amelia had begun to chat to a woman sitting beside her, very softly at first, but gradually reaching a point when her whispering so distracted and irritated those sitting around her that they had finally requested her to stop. Whereupon she had been so mortified that she had left the room in tears and refused to return.
It was but a small incident, and Emma had dismissed it as nothing to be concerned about, but Jonathan had never forgotten it. Neither had Amelia-Jane, who afterwards complained, quite unfairly, that she felt awkward and unwelcome at Standish Park.
On this occasion, however, there was no awkwardness at all as Emma embraced her brother, welcoming him after a long absence.
“Jonathan, it is so good to have you here. It has been too long since you have been with us,” she said as they went indoors.
They had always been close, and this time, Jonathan looked forward to the visit especially because he felt impelled to speak to his sister of the increasingly concerning situation in his marriage and, particularly, his ailing, unhappy wife.
On their first evening together, they were only the family at dinner, and it was a happy occasion, with Jonathan producing gifts for everyone. His two nieces, being well-read young ladies, appreciated the volumes of romantic poetry, while his two young nephews, Charles and Colin, were easily captivated by the latest mechanical toy train. Good-humoured and fond of children, Jonathan was a favourite uncle.
James and Emma were overjoyed when he disclosed that he had decided to accept the position at Westminster.
“I cannot tell you how delighted I am, Jonathan,” James declared, adding, “I promise, you will not regret this decision. You will be performing a very important service to your party and the nation.”
Later, as they repaired to the drawing room to be entertained by Emma and her daughters, Jonathan, sensing the warmth and happiness this family enjoyed together, felt increasingly isolated and alone as he contemplated his own wretched situation.
It was not long before Emma, noticing his subdued mood and solemn countenance, came to sit with him and asked if there was anything wrong.
Jonathan, although aching to pour out his heart, realised that this happy evening was not the time. He promised Emma that they would talk; indeed, he wanted very much to discuss some important matters with her.
Concluding from the seriousness of her brother’s demeanour that he meant exactly what he said, Emma assured him she would find the time and the occasion for them to talk privately, very soon.
Later that night, after most of the family had retired to bed, Emma sat with her husband discussing Jonathan’s situation.
James Wilson was absolutely certain that he had made the right decision. “It is high time that he returned to doing something more significant than Her Ladyship’s books,” he quipped, revealing that Jonathan had confessed to being somewhat bored with his current occupation. “It is no job for someone of his calibre. There is much more important work for him to do. Jonathan Bingley is exactly the kind of man we need to produce the ideas, the policies we must introduce if we are to carry this nation forward. He has a truly civilised mind—a sense of idealistic purpose and patriotic duty, combined with tolerance, humanity, and practical common sense,” James declared, and Emma wondered why, with such remarkable qualifications for public office, he had ever been permitted to leave Westminster.
“He should have remained in Parliament. Why did the party let him go?”
James could not recall the circumstances, but Colonel Fitzwilliam had suspected that it was due, for the most part, to his wife’s unhappiness with the time he spent at Westminster.
“If that was the case, how do you suppose she has agreed to let him return? Is she not far more likely to oppose it now?” Emma asked.
James smiled. “That, my dear Emma, presupposes that Jonathan is still as strongly influenced by his wife’s opinions. I may be mistaken, but I think you will find that your brother has discovered the value of emancipation.”
Emma laughed, but not with any great degree of mirth; remembering her brother’s sombre expression, she could not help feeling that if he had emancipated himself, as James had suggested, it had been achieved at a considerable personal cost. It was something about which she would discover more on the morrow.
As James put his arms around her and suggested that it was probably late enough to go to bed, she smiled and thought only of the great good fortune that had brought them together.
Never had she felt the need to use her position of privilege as his wife to oppose or thwart her husband’s chosen path, even when it had meant sacrificing some of their precious time together. While she loved him with a depth of passion she had not believed possible before, she would never use it to manipulate him.
Like her cousins Caroline and Cassy, Emma had found her deepest satisfaction not in passively accepting her role, but in actively working with her husband to advance the ideas and achieve the goals in which they both believed.
Having known both the barren despair of a loveless marriage and the fulfilment of her present life with James, Emma felt deeply sorry for her brother and wished with all her heart that she
could help him.
When she told her husband of her fears, he surprised her by admitting that he’d had his concerns too, and he urged her to speak with her brother and, if necessary, stiffen his resolve.
“Emma, if Jonathan is unhappy, you will help him most if you support him so he can fulfil his wish to perform some service of consequence. It may need a great deal of strength and determination, but I know that neither you nor your brother are lacking in either of these qualities. Jonathan probably needs a sympathetic and supportive listener.”
Emma smiled. If that were all he needed, her brother would have no further problems, for she could give him all the sympathy and support he could ever ask for. But she had a frightening presentiment that his problems were of a far more complex nature.
***
On the following Monday, when James had left for London and Mrs Elliot had departed for the library with the girls, Emma sought out her brother.
He had left the house soon after breakfast to take a walk through the grounds, which were particularly beautiful at this time of year.
Standish Park was certainly looking its best, but it was not the fine stands of trees nor the display of late Spring blooms that attracted him there. He was seeking to clear his mind and put his thoughts in order before speaking with his sister.
When she caught up with him, Emma found him in a quiet part of the park overlooking the river, looking rather lost.
Though a little surprised to see her, he welcomed her and smiled as she approached.
“I did not expect you to find me quite so easily. You must know the park very well,” he said, and she replied lightly, “I’ve had years of practice with the children. The boys like me to pretend that it is harder to find them than it really is.”
Even as they laughed, she detected a mirthless quality in his voice and, turning to him, came directly to the point.
“Now, Jonathan, would you tell me what on earth has happened to make you so unhappy? No, my dear brother, do not deny it; it is quite plain to anyone who knows you that there is something very wrong. I knew it the instant I saw you, and then last night after dinner, James mentioned it, too. He is very concerned about you. We both love you and want what is right for you, but we need to know why you are so downcast. Why Jonathan, even the children have noticed. Stephanie thought you looked tired, but Vicky, she is more discerning, she said you looked more anxious and sad than tired. What is it, my dear? Will you not let me help?” she asked.
Jonathan, who had stood before her shaking his head with astonishment, was, for a moment, speechless. He had not expected his secret would be so easily discovered.
Emma, sensing his sorrow, had no wish to subject him to any further ordeal by questioning him about his life. Speaking gently and taking his arm as they returned to the path, she said, “Jonathan, let us return to the house, where we will not be disturbed and you can tell me whatever you wish me to know. I promise I shall listen and not give you any unwelcome advice.”
“Unwelcome advice? Indeed, Emma, advice is just what I need, for I am truly at a loss to understand what has gone wrong with my life and how on earth I am to put it right again. If you or James have any advice for me, I shall welcome it.”
There was such a tone of urgency and hopelessness in his voice that she was moved almost to tears. She had not ever seen him in such a state before. He must be truly miserable, she thought.
“Then, will you tell me what has brought you to this state and let us, together, consider what might be done. If there is any way in which James or I may help, we will do all we can.” Her sincerity was never in doubt. Jonathan was silent again, recalling his sister’s wretched, unhappy marriage and the death of her first husband, which had ended the pain she had borne for many years before finally finding happiness with James. He knew she was no stranger to suffering.
When they reached the house, they went directly upstairs to her sitting room, where, having ordered tea, Emma asked that they should not be disturbed unless some urgent matter required her attention.
In the hours that followed, Jonathan described to his sister the curious and difficult situation that existed between him and his wife Amelia-Jane.
Though it was clearly painful for him to talk about it, he did so honestly, and as Emma listened, interrupting rarely to ask a question or two, she was struck by the great sadness in his voice and the fact that he attributed no blame to his wife at all.
While Emma could understand that the loss of her two boys could have caused Amelia-Jane’s problems at the outset, her rejection of her husband’s efforts to comfort her puzzled Emma greatly. She could not understand it. They had seemed such a close and affectionate couple.
The confusion led her to ask honestly and frankly if he had ever given his wife cause to distrust him or doubt his faithfulness, and she had to beg his pardon when he swore he had done neither, because he loved his wife and had never paid undue attention to any other woman.
“Good God, Emma, you cannot imagine I would do such a thing. Nothing I have said or done could be construed as disloyalty or unfaithfulness. Do you not believe me?”
His tone, expression, and attitude reflected his outrage. His sister was immediately anxious to reassure him.
“Of course I believe you, Jonathan. I am concerned, however, that from your account of her behaviour towards you, your wife may not.”
“If she does not, it is an irrational caprice, with no basis in fact,” he retorted, “for I swear, I have given her no cause.”
Emma decided to try another tack and inquired after his work. Was it engrossing him to the extent that she might feel neglected? she asked, only to be told that, in fact, since he had left the House of Commons, he had spent far more time with his family. Indeed, he declared, it was Amelia-Jane who was out more often, visiting her sister at Hunsford or driving to Rosings, where she had made friends with the librarian who was charged with cataloguing Lady Catherine’s art treasures.
Confounded, because she could see no likely reason, nor any possible solution for her brother’s problems, Emma rose and moved to the window where she stood looking out, when an express was delivered to the door and brought up immediately by the maid.
It was for Jonathan, from his wife’s eldest sister Catherine Harrison at the Hunsford parsonage. It brought grave news.
Word had been received at Rosings Park of the death, in Bath, of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The family, including Amelia-Jane and her youngest daughter Cathy who was Lady Catherine’s goddaughter, were leaving immediately for Bath to attend the funeral. Jonathan, it was expected, would follow and meet up with them at the Camden apartments, not far from Lady Catherine’s own residence.
Mrs Harrison said messages had been despatched to Mr Darcy at Pemberley, the Bingleys at Ashford Park, and her mother, Mrs Charlotte Collins at Longbourn.
Jonathan stood in the middle of the room, astonished not by the news, for it had been known that Lady Catherine had been seriously ill for many months, but at the calmness with which Catherine Harrison had attended to all the arrangements at Rosings. She was a practical and sensible woman, whom Jonathan had come to admire and respect. He was well aware of the high regard in which she had been held by Lady Catherine herself.
Emma realised that Jonathan would have to leave almost at once to meet the coach to London and there was no real purpose to be served by returning to their earlier discussion. He was, however, eager to assure her that he had every intention of returning after the funeral.
“Emma, I promise to return as soon as I possibly can and I must thank you very much for listening. I cannot tell you how much it has helped to talk with you. I do need and value your advice. Please tell James I shall keep my appointment with him at Westminster next week. Indeed, now that Lady Catherine is no more, it will be easier for me to ask to be released from my duties as her manager—once I have completed all the forma
lities, of course. The Trust could appoint a new man in the Autumn.”
Emma helped him pack and prepare for his solemn journey.
***
Neither the Bingleys nor the Darcys had spent much time in Bath over the past ten or more years, making only short, occasional visits there.
Elizabeth and Darcy, though they admired its fine city architecture, disliked the “hot house” atmosphere of Bath society, while Bingley had hardly any close friends among its collection of retired, gouty, military men and pretentious but often impoverished county families. Though his two elder sisters, Mrs Louisa Hurst and Miss Caroline Bingley, had settled in Bath, Bingley and Jane were not frequent visitors.
Twice a year, Mr Darcy dutifully called on his aunt and her invalid daughter, who had moved here for, it was claimed, medical reasons, but he rarely stayed more than a few days.
Jonathan Bingley, on the other hand, was a frequent visitor to the city; as Her Ladyship’s manager he reported regularly on her estate and business affairs and, being a modest, intelligent, and amiable man, had found considerable favour with Lady Catherine. Furthermore, she had always appreciated his wife’s deferential manner towards her and her daughter.
When the families gathered for Her Ladyship’s funeral, it fell to Jonathan as her manager to make the necessary arrangements and ensure that all the appropriate formalities were carried out.
He was kept so busy by his various solemn duties, which he took very seriously indeed, that he did not at first realise that Amelia-Jane had arranged to stay not at the Camden apartments with the rest of the family, but with the Bingley sisters.
They had a very fine house in Barton Place, not as close to the Royal Crescent as they would have liked, but close enough to Lady Catherine’s prestigious neighbourhood to suffice. On their invitation, Amelia-Jane and her daughter Cathy had joined them, together with a Mrs Arabella Watkins, a widow recently arrived in Bath, who seemed to have become, very quickly, a particular friend of Miss Caroline Bingley.
Netherfield Park Revisited Page 3