Netherfield Park Revisited

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Turning to Anna, he offered her his arm.

  As they walked, he asked after the health of Monsieur and Madame Armande and, being assured they were well, there followed other questions about preparations for the Art School including her own classes.

  Was everything in readiness for the opening? She said it was and he was happy to hear it.

  Then it was her turn to ask if he had left Mrs Collins and Miss Mary Bennet in good health. He mentioned his aunt’s indisposition and she was concerned at her continuing ill health, pointing out that the onset of Winter was not far away. On hearing he had visited Standish Park, she wanted to be told about Emma Wilson. Was she well, and how were the children?

  These queries filled up the time as they walked, each seeming reluctant to stop, lest the silence between them became awkward.

  They had reached the lake and, as they made to walk around it, a flock of migrating birds flew in and wheeled across the water; they stopped to watch them.

  In the silence that followed, Jonathan spoke, “Anna,”—he broke off. Self-conscious and a little awkward, he asked, “May I call you Anna?”

  She smiled at the question.

  “Of course you may, you have known me since I was a child. We are almost cousins!”

  “We are indeed, thank you,” he said and added, “Then you must call me Jonathan, I should like you to; besides, there are at least three Mr Bingleys in the family and what is the use of a name if no one ever uses it?”

  Anna laughed and indicated that she would be happy to oblige him.

  Returning to his original opening, now they were walking around the lake, he said, “Anna, please let me thank you from the bottom of my heart, no, not just for the pleasure of this evening, though that has been rare and lovely, but for all your kindness to me and my family, especially my young daughters.

  “You gave of your time and attention so generously, and your willingness to comfort and help them … I fear I have no words to express my thanks. Please accept my heartfelt gratitude on their behalf and for myself.”

  His words took her by surprise. There was no doubting his sincerity.

  Anna was silent at first, unable to respond; then recovering her composure, she urged him to accept everything she had done, even as she insisted it was very little, as part of the friendship and regard that she and her family had for him, his children, and all their family.

  “Mr Bingley, Jonathan, you must believe me when I say it was a pleasure marred only by the sad circumstances in which it occurred. If the situation had been different, it would have been wholly enjoyable. Quite apart from the sense of duty I must feel towards them as my cousin Amelia’s children, both Teresa and Cathy have such gentle, affectionate natures and are so well taught, I had no trouble keeping them occupied,” she declared.

  Jonathan, proud of his two young ones, said, “They are good girls, certainly. They were raised mostly by my mother and, as you know, she is the gentlest of women. Forgive me, I do not mean to speak ill of my late wife, but it is Mama I have to thank for Teresa and Cathy turning out as they have, and might I say, Anna, that they speak very warmly of you. My mother writes that Teresa has not ceased speaking of you since they returned to Ashford Park. She cannot wait to meet you again—something about a promise you made to her… .” He was smiling, and Anna laughed.

  “A promise? Ah, I see Teresa has a good memory as well. Yes, I did promise to teach her to draw. She told me she did not like drawing, only colouring in outlines drawn for her by her teacher; so I promised to teach her how to draw, because that way, she will really be making her own pictures.”

  “That is indeed true and I am indebted to you for convincing her. She has been a little headstrong about learning to draw, not wanting to try.”

  “I am sure she will learn to enjoy it, if I have the opportunity to show her how,” said Anna and then asked, “Do you expect to have them with you at Netherfield by Christmas?”

  They were almost at Belgrave Square, and as he helped her across the road, he said, “It has not been decided yet, but I should like to. Anna, there is a related matter on which I need your advice, but there is not sufficient time today to discuss it. We shall talk about it very soon.”

  They were almost at the door, and his carriage was waiting. Although the Armandes both pressed him to stay and take tea with them, he had an appointment to dine with a colleague, he said, and promising to see them again soon, he climbed in and was driven away.

  Anna Faulkner said nothing to her friends, but held close to her heart the delight she had felt in sharing with him the music at St Margaret’s and their conversation during the walk through the park. She wondered what was the “related matter” upon which he would seek her advice. Could it possibly involve the girls, Cathy and Tess? She was impatient to know.

  But, circumstances did not favour her; with the Armandes so busy with their preparations for the Art School, there was no opportunity for them to meet in the next few days and, with Parliament in recess, Jonathan Bingley did not remain long in London. He had work to do in Hertfordshire.

  The school and exhibition of modern French Art conducted by the Armandes opened the following week, and while Jonathan avoided the formal opening by Monsieur Du Pont and a celebrated French woman, Madame Roussard, he did go round on the third day.

  To his delight, he found Miss Faulkner taking a class of seven young ladies, who were trying to draw and presumably learn to paint in the French mode—a bowl of fruit, artistically tipped on its side, with its contents spilling out onto a crisp white napkin. On the wall above the subject was a similar painting—one of Anna’s, which he had seen before in her folio. Framed and hung, it looked quite beautiful to his untutored eye.

  Permitted to stand at the back of her class, Jonathan watched as Anna described and explained the difference in painting styles between the old classical artists and the avant-garde painters working on the tree-lined boulevardes and in the cafes of Paris.

  He was fascinated by her knowledge of the work of Manet, Degas, and Latour, whose names he had not heard mentioned among the traditional Art circles in London.

  She spoke and drew with unself-conscious ease as she showed her students how they could capture form and texture, and he could not help being drawn in and sharing their enthusiasm.

  Later, while her students worked at their task, she joined him at the back of the class.

  “They are so keen and work so hard, it is a joy to teach them,” she said, smiling. “I think I could teach Art for the rest of my life.”

  He smiled and teased her, “And give up your music?”

  “Oh no, never that, but much as I love my music, I am finding so much pleasure here … these young girls, they get such enjoyment out of doing this. I do not pretend that they will all develop into brilliant artists, but at least some of them will have improved their understanding and appreciation of Art, and perhaps one may produce a work worth hanging,” she said, and he could see how eagerly she would help them as they worked to get the right effects of line, colour, and texture in their pictures.

  “And through you, they will have all learned to take delight in the beauty of form and colour,” he said, paying a tribute to the teacher.

  She blushed, but acknowledged the compliment politely, expressing the hope that such appreciation was the aim of every artist.

  Having further admired the work of pupils and teacher, he thanked her and left the room. An idea had occurred to him, one he was sure would work well, but judging that this was not the right time or place to advance it, he said nothing for the moment.

  On his way out, he met Monsieur Armande, who had just completed a drawing class using a live model. Several keen-looking young men dressed in the kind of dishevelled style that art students seemed to affect, were admiring each other’s work.

  “Ah, it is so exhausting,” declared Monsieur, as he
stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and a cigar, “but so rewarding, Mr Bingley!”

  Jonathan took the opportunity to congratulate him on the excellence of the display and invite them all to dinner on Friday night, an invitation that was happily accepted.

  ***

  He was at pains to ensure that they had a good though not unduly extravagant meal ready when the Armandes and Anna Faulkner came to Grosvenor Street. Mrs Giles, having been advised that the Armandes were Catholic and ate no meat on Fridays, had instructed the cook, who had procured some excellent trout and salmon and plenty of fresh vegetables. These were turned into delectable dishes, which drew much praise from the guests.

  Since there were no classes on Saturday, they could all relax after dinner in the drawing room, where coffee was served. They talked of the week’s work and Anna’s love of teaching Art. Monsieur Armande’s generous praise of her work gave Jonathan the opportunity he had been waiting for.

  “Miss Faulkner, when your work here is done, when you return home to Haye Park, would you consider doing some teaching of Art, Music, that sort of thing?” he asked.

  When Anna looked puzzled and raised her eyebrows in surprise, he explained.

  “My aunt, Miss Mary Bennet, has, as you know, a number of pupils, who attend for classes in Music at Longbourn. Recently, she has been ill and is, I fear, still rather weak. She may appreciate some help; if you were free to take on some of her pupils, you could perhaps let it be known that you would teach Art as well—or would you find that a dreadful chore?” he asked, a little uncertainty creeping into his voice.

  “A dreadful chore to teach Art and Music?” she exclaimed. “Certainly not. Do you mean I could teach them at Longbourn?”

  “Yes, if you agree, I would suggest it to my aunt. I know she is distressed at having to miss lessons; Mrs Collins has said so. I do realise that teaching young people can be exhausting—not everyone is equally talented; however, they will all pay a fee, of course,” he said.

  “And I could have my own Art students at Longbourn, as well?” she asked eagerly.

  “Certainly, there is plenty of room; indeed, there is a back parlour which the ladies once used as a sewing room; it is spacious and well lit, but little used these days. It may suit you well as a studio.”

  “And my Aunt Charlotte would continue to live there?”

  “Of course, that was part of my plan. I have been concerned of late, should anything happen to my aunt in the future, I would hope that Mrs Collins would not feel obliged to leave Longbourn. I know she would rather stay on in Hertfordshire than move to live in Derbyshire or Kent. Now, if the music school were to continue, and you were teaching there, I am sure she could be persuaded to stay on in some capacity,” he explained.

  Even as she listened, Anna was amazed at his generosity.

  It was well known in the district that Longbourn had prospered under his management. Yet, instead of looking forward to a day when, as its owner, he could lease the valuable estate for profit, he was proposing a scheme that would accommodate her Aunt Charlotte.

  “And would you continue to manage the estate?” she asked.

  “Oh yes, that would remain unchanged, and it would be a good deal simpler once I moved permanently to Netherfield Park,” he replied.

  “And will that be soon?” asked Madame Armande, who had been listening with interest.

  “I certainly hope so, Madame,” said Jonathan. “I wish to have Teresa and Cathy over at Christmas. They are with my mother at present, and I miss them very much. Anne-Marie will come too, I think.”

  The Armandes, who were returning home to Brussels for Christmas, were sympathetic, and Anna’s eyes lit up.

  “That would be wonderful for them,” she said, and Jonathan saw that this was his best opportunity to speak up.

  “Yes, it will, but it does depend on whether I am able to get some things done in time.”

  This injected a note of uncertainty, and everyone was disappointed and demanded to know what could possibly delay the return of his daughters to their home.

  Jonathan explained. “I need some advice on a few changes that are needed at the house,” he said, and went on, as they listened, to detail his objection to the plum-coloured velvet drapes and some ornate accessories in the rooms. He thought the girls’ rooms were rather gloomy, he said.

  “I should like them to have a lighter, more welcoming appearance.”

  Monsieur Armande smiled and declared, “If that is all, Mr Bingley, you have not a problem. Anna here has a superb sense of design and colour, as well as excellent taste, so you have an artistic adviser on the spot, as it were.”

  Jonathan had not expected this windfall in the way of an introduction but, determined not to let the opportunity slip, turned to Anna Faulkner, “Will you be willing to advise me, Miss Faulkner?” he asked.

  Anna’s smile revealed she was very pleased to be asked, but she held back a little, not wanting to appear too eager or presumptuous.

  Jonathan wanted to reassure her.

  “I am not trying to make great changes,” he said. “I should just like the house to look a little more … somewhat more like …”

  As he struggled for the right words, she suggested, “A little more like a home, perhaps?”

  “Exactly,” he said, “it is rather more of a showplace at present. I think the interior designer took his commission very seriously and set out to create a perfect Georgian environment. The girls and I could do with a little less ornamentation and a little more homely comfort.”

  They all thought it was a splendid scheme.

  Then Jonathan had an even better idea.

  “How would you all like to come down to Netherfield Park with me? Next Saturday, after your Art School is over, we could travel down together, and you could all give me the benefit of your advice,” he suggested.

  Anna appeared more comfortable with this plan and agreed that it was a good idea to go and look at the house and its environs before discussing the changes he wished to make.

  Jonathan guessed that her reluctance was the result of modesty, for he knew, having seen the interiors at Haye Park, which she had designed, that she would be well qualified to advise on such matters.

  Without more ado, dates and times were arranged for their “grand expedition to Netherfield Park,” as Monsieur Armande put it, and by the time the visitors left, there was an air of anticipation surrounding the project.

  Jonathan did not wish to acquaint anyone in his family with the reason for his journey to Netherfield with the Armandes, but seeing that Anna Faulkner was to be of the party, it was bound to get about that they were arriving. While the Armandes were to stay at Netherfield as his guests, Miss Faulkner had written to inform her mother that with the Art School ending, she was returning to Haye Park.

  Almost two days prior to their arrival in Hertfordshire, Lydia Wickham and Jessie Phillips arrived at Longbourn with the news.

  “Charlotte! Mary! You’ll never guess what we have just discovered. Mr Bingley is arriving from London with a large party to stay at Netherfield and Miss Anna Faulkner is with them,” Lydia announced and, having waited a moment or two for the desired effect, added with a degree of archness that quite belied her age, “Now, can you think why Miss Faulkner would be coming to Netherfield with Mr Bingley?”

  Charlotte Collins, who’d had very little patience with Lydia in her youth, had even less tolerance of her silliness now, when her vacuous mind held little more than local gossip, which she happily retailed to all and sundry.

  “Lydia,” she said rather sharply, “are you sure? I cannot believe that Mr Bingley would come to Netherfield without informing us. He is a most meticulously polite gentleman and his inspection of the property is not due for a fortnight.”

  Lydia was completely unmoved by Charlotte’s doubts.

  “Well, that’s a
s may be, Charlotte, but I can assure you it is a fact, because the servant from Netherfield was at the butcher’s giving orders for meat and poultry to be taken up to the house on Thursday, and Jessie’s maid is the half-sister of the gardener’s boy at Netherfield, and she had it from him that the Master was arriving, so you can depend upon it,” she boasted, proud of the authenticity of her information.

  “What of it?” said Mary, who regarded servants’ gossip as unreliable anyway. “Surely if Jonathan Bingley wishes to bring a party to stay at Netherfield, he may do so without half the village being informed of it. He has bought the place, has he not?”

  “Indeed he has, Aunt,” Jessie Phillips declared, not to be outdone by Lydia, “but the question is, what does Miss Anna Faulkner have to do with it?”

  This pointless argument could well have gone around forever, had a note not been delivered for Charlotte from her sister, Maria Faulkner.

  Charlotte excused herself and retreated to her room to read it, unwilling to let their visitors discover who it was from or what it contained.

  Once in her room, she opened up her letter.

  Maria, who was a good deal younger than her sister, still treated Charlotte with great respect and in her note asked if Charlotte and Mary would dine with them on the following Sunday, when Anna would be returning home from London, where she had spent most of the Summer.

  She is coming down with her Belgian friends, the Armandes, who are very charming and I know you will enjoy meeting them again after all these years.

  Mr Jonathan Bingley is coming also, since he has invited the Armandes to see Netherfield House, before they leave England.

  Dr Faulkner and I thought it would be nice to have a little dinner party for our Anna and ask them. If you and Miss Bennet would like to join us, we would be just the right number for a very nice party …

  Charlotte was delighted.

  She had met the Armandes some years ago and been very impressed with them. It would be pleasant indeed to meet them again, she thought.

  But she was quite determined that Lydia and Jessie Phillips would not have this news from her, to spread around the village.