While they were out, Jonathan retired to his room, disappointed, unable to concentrate on anything. He had so looked forward to bringing the girls home and asking Anna round to meet them in happier circumstances than when they last saw each other. It was as if Fate had conspired to cheat him, and his plans had come to naught.
He was beginning to understand how closely she had become involved with his hopes of happiness. He was missing her at every moment and on every occasion.
His depression worsened considerably when a short note arrived from his son Charles, to whom he had written, inviting him to spend Christmas with them at Netherfield.
Charles wrote to wish them all a blessed Christmas, but asked to be excused from joining the family this year.
“I have but a few days before I must return to the hospital at Edinburgh, and since it is only half the distance to Ashford Park as it is to Hertfordshire, I intend to join my grandparents at Christmas, this year,” he wrote.
Clearly, thought Jonathan, his son had not stopped blaming him for his mother’s death. It was a bleak prospect.
Though his mood was sombre, the weather, at least, remained fine, though some snow was predicted on Christmas Eve. Mrs Perrot and the rest of the household went briskly about their business, making all the usual preparations. Puddings were boiled, hams smoked, and geese plucked, while throughout the house the maids were busy hanging up wreaths of holly and little sprigs of mistletoe.
In deference to the Master’s wishes, there was not to be the traditional Netherfield Ball and supper this year; however, a party was to be given on Boxing Day for the children of the tenants and servants, and doubtless Mrs Perrot would ensure that everyone was well fed and there was plenty of hot punch and ale for the grown-ups. Very few of them had known the late Mrs Bingley, who had spent no time at Netherfield, a fact that made it easier for all of them to cope.
As the family waited for the carriage to be brought round on Christmas morning, Jonathan noticed that Anne-Marie was wearing a gown of pale blue silk with a warm cashmere over-garment in deeper blue. It was the first time he had seen her out of her mourning attire, and though she looked rather pale, it suited her well.
In the carriage, Cathy could not stop talking about the carollers, who had come by last night, and Tess commented on how blue the sky was, in spite of the Winter cold. Delicate and pretty, Teresa resembled her mother most of all the girls, though they had not been very close. Indeed, as they chattered on, they seemed not to notice her absence at all.
Anne-Marie did notice, however, that none of this seemed to gladden her father’s heart and assumed that he was grieved by Charles’ note, which he had shown her the previous night.
Arriving at the church, they noticed the Faulkners’ carriage ahead of theirs, and presently, it drew up at the door to let the occupants alight. Jonathan watched as Dr Faulkner climbed out and helped his wife to step down and then turned back to the vehicle and there, alighting from the carriage, was Anna Faulkner herself.
Even before she saw her, Anne-Marie noticed the change in her father’s expression and when she turned and looked, following his eyes, she was not surprised to see Miss Faulkner, who was being greeted by the Rector, before accompanying her parents into the church.
She was left in no doubt at all that the pleasure reflected in her father’s face was caused, at least in part, by the presence at the church of Miss Anna Faulkner.
In a gesture that demonstrated her maturity and insight, she took her father’s arm as they went into the church and, as they took their seats, whispered quietly to him, “I am so happy to see that Anna is back. It means her sister must be quite recovered.”
Jonathan turned and, meeting her eyes, realised that his daughter had seen and comprehended the feelings he thought he had concealed so well. Grateful for her understanding, he smiled and said, “Yes indeed,” as the organ heralded the Rector’s little procession moving slowly up the aisle.
After church, Anne-Marie was again her father’s best ally; taking her sisters out to greet the Faulkners and engaging Dr and Mrs Faulkner in cheerful chatter about the sweetness of the singing, the colour of their gowns, and the relative warmth of cashmere and wool, while Jonathan found Anna standing just inside the side door and, despite the cold, he succeeded in conveying in the warmest terms his pleasure at seeing her again as well as his hope that her sister was fully recovered.
She had arrived home, she said, barely twelve hours ago, after a long and boring journey from Hampshire, and despite being tired, she was glad she had come to church.
“I had to come, I have never missed church at Christmas; I love the music,” she said as they stepped out into the shelter of the porch, where several families were busy greeting one another and their new Rector.
Reminded by Mrs Perrot, Anne-Marie prompted her father to invite the Rector to Netherfield for sherry and Christmas cake later. The Faulkners were coming too as were Charlotte Collins and Mary Bennet and a few other neighbours. Cathy was very excited. It was the first time she had been in her own home at Christmas in many years. It was a day that promised much.
For Jonathan, there was not only the joy of seeing Anna again, and that was considerable, but it now seemed likely that Anne-Marie was probably aware of his feelings and may well favour their friendship. Her gentle little hint in the church had indicated as much. Her father, who had been apprehensive about her probable reaction to such an association, had been delighted, but contained his pleasure well, not wishing to appear too eager.
Noting that there were many miles to be travelled before the desired destination may be reached, he decided to proceed with some caution. There were, in addition, questions of decorum and etiquette involved, since it was not quite seven months since his wife’s death.
He would do nothing that might involve his family in village gossip, of which he was sure there would be plenty. Acutely aware of the need to spare Anna any embarrassment, he determined that at this time, it would be best if their association continued as a friendship, whose warmth would be known only to the participants.
While Anna’s greeting had been friendly and cordial, she too had been discreet, unwilling to lay herself open to prattle, conscious, no doubt, that some members of the congregation like Miss Jessie Phillips may have had their eyes upon them.
It was, for Jonathan, sufficient happiness that she was here, within calling distance, and he had plenty of time on his hands.
While he had never had to play the part himself, Jonathan Bingley was familiar with the role of the country squire, having seen his father and uncles carry out their duties at Ashford Park and Pemberley over many years. Since taking over the management of Longbourn, after the death of his grandfather Mr Bennet, he too had been called upon to meet some of the obligations that his Aunt Mary Bennet and her guest and companion, Mrs Collins, were unable to fulfil. These responsibilities he had accepted conscientiously and with a certain amount of pride.
It was therefore without trepidation and with some degree of personal satisfaction that he looked forward to the first such occasion at Netherfield on Boxing Day, when the tenants, servants, and their families would arrive to greet their squire and attend their customary Christmas party. Jonathan, like his parents, had been well liked, and his arrival at Netherfield with his three daughters after his wife’s sudden death had resulted in a wave of neighbourly sympathy and thoughtfulness.
The Bingleys had a good reputation in the village, thanks mainly to memories of his father’s kind, amiable nature and his mother’s sweetness of disposition. Expectations of their son, who had been born at Netherfield, were therefore high. Jonathan knew he had to ensure that they were not disappointed, and his family and staff would be striving to do just that.
Christmas morning was, however, quite another matter.
A small group of guests—mainly family and close friends—placed no strain on anyone, and
consequently everyone was able to enjoy the occasion.
Everyone that is, except the new Rector, Mr Griffin.
Obviously unaccustomed to the roads and unfamiliar with the district, having taken up his living just a fortnight ago, he became lost and it was quite some time before he arrived at Netherfield House, suffering from cold and feeling very sorry for himself.
Jonathan’s guests had been busy entertaining themselves and each other and hardly noticed that a good hour had passed and the Rector had not arrived. This was not surprising, since the three Misses Bingley were spending their first Christmas at Netherfield, and everyone was determined to help them enjoy it.
There was plenty of excellent festive fare and there were gifts for everyone, including the staff. Jonathan’s daughters were delighted. Their father’s gifts were opened last and with much ceremony and many exclamations of pleasure and disbelief. Anne-Marie had helped him choose for her two sisters, and they had chosen well, for both Teresa and Cathy loved their gifts of jewellery. Her own, which her father began by pretending he had forgotten to collect, was delivered to her after much teasing.
Judging by her response, it was clearly a gift worth waiting for. An exquisite ivory cameo brooch, edged in gold, featuring the profile of a young girl, it brought cries of delight and enthusiastic approval from everyone. Anne-Marie was ecstatic.
While the family gathered around her, Jonathan brought out another package, one that had waited almost a month to be delivered.
“This is not just a Christmas present, Miss Faulkner,” he said, trying to explain away the size of the item, as he handed it over, “it is a gift from all of us, to thank you for your wonderful work in helping to make this house such an elegant and comfortable home for us all. Without your advice and help, it would have been quite impossible. My daughters have been delighted with their rooms and I shall be eternally grateful that you helped me rid myself of the ‘Royal Brocade’ in mine. We hope you will like this just as well.”
Anna was completely surprised, unable to say a word as she accepted it except a quiet thank you. She opened up the package to reveal a perfectly executed Japanese woodblock print of wisteria in bloom, spilling out over running water—the work of a famous Japanese artist, whose influence over some of the avant-garde French painters was considerable.
Her response left him in no doubt that she was absolutely enchanted.
“I wondered where that had gone … I asked Monsieur Armande and he said he had sold it,” she cried. “I am delighted to see it again.”
Indeed, she did not say he was too kind or that he ought not have done it, nor did she protest that she could not possibly accept such a valuable gift. Instead, she let everyone admire it, and when they had all acknowledged its beauty, she thanked him once more, protesting only that Monsieur Armande, from whom it had been purchased, had hidden the truth from her and pretended that it had been bought “by some young man about town with more money than sense.”
“‘He’s probably a collector’ he told me,” she said to their general amusement, then turning to Jonathan, expressed her heartfelt thanks, “Mr Bingley, this is one of the loveliest gifts I have ever received. I thank you and your daughters from the bottom of my heart. I adored it when it was in Monsieur Armande’s collection. Now, it shall hang in my room, where I can see it at any time of the day or night. Thank you.”
Both Dr Faulkner and his wife were very impressed with the beautiful gift and Mr Bingley’s excellent taste.
While admiring their various gifts, no one heard the knock at the door until Anne-Marie, alerted by the sound of a neighing horse outside, ran to the window and, seeing the Rector’s pony cart in the driveway, rushed to open the door and let the man in.
“Oh my goodness, Mr Griffin, there you are,” she cried, “please do come in, you must be freezing, come in and sit by the fire. Papa, I think Mr Griffin would like a sherry,” she said, as she took his coat and handed it to the servant, but her father and Dr Faulkner were both quite sure that a large brandy was what the frozen Rector needed “to thaw him out.”
It transpired that he had been an hour or more in his pony cart, traversing the country in the cold, until a passing farmer set him on the right road to Netherfield Park.
Anne-Marie’s kind heart was touched by the unfortunate man’s plight and she rushed around to make sure he was warm and then was plied with food and drink, until gradually, the frozen Rector began to look normal again.
Mr Griffin was not by any means a man one would call personable or good looking, being rather gaunt with unfortunate features that in repose took on a somewhat lugubrious expression.
Cathy had already decided that he resembled a character from her favourite tale by Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol.
“Which one?” teased Tess. “Ebenezer Scrooge—or was it Marley’s ghost?”
“He has such a doleful face,” said Anna, and Jonathan, who had joined them at the piano, agreed.
“Not the kind of face you expect to see spreading the good news at Christmas! But I did note that he does have a strong voice, of a somewhat disembodied kind. It does not seem to proceed from that slight frame!” he said, and Anna could not contain her laughter.
Finally Anne-Marie came over and begged them not to make fun of the poor man.
“He’s frozen half to death and he is our guest,” she reminded them in a tone of mock severity, which both her father and Anna Faulkner took to heart. But even Anne-Marie could not resist a smile when he was heard to declare to Mrs Faulkner, who had suggested that he ought to return to his home and go directly to bed to avoid catching a bad cold, “Your concern is appreciated, ma’am, but I believe I must set aside my own comfort and attend to my flock; the shepherd cannot take account of the weather.”
The vision of Mr Griffin as an intrepid shepherd was too much even for Anne-Marie’s kind heart.
Meanwhile, a man servant had taken the unfortunate horse and its cart into the shelter of the stables, and Mrs Perrot had the Rector served with plenty of hot food. Clearly pleased with all the attention he was getting, Mr Griffin stayed much longer than expected.
Anne-Marie, feeling that her duty as hostess required her to be attentive to him while the rest sang, played, or simply listened, seated herself beside him and listened while he talked endlessly of his parish concerns.
Mr Griffin, having told Anne-Marie how much he enjoyed church music, proceeded to urge her to join the choir, and it was with the greatest difficulty that she succeeded in convincing him that it would be of very little use, since she would soon be returning to London.
At this piece of news, he looked dismayed and sank back into his rather mournful mood until it was time to leave.
Anna, who had been observing Anne-Marie, found herself standing beside Jonathan as they took tea. She said, softly, “Is it not remarkable how Anne-Marie has helped comfort her sisters? Both Tess and Cathy seem a good deal calmer.”
Jonathan agreed. “Indeed they do,” he said. “Anne-Marie has been wonderful. I cannot tell you how strong she has been, nor how much I have depended upon her. I was very apprehensive about bringing all three of them down to Netherfield, and in truth, my mother did offer to have Tess at Ashford Park over Christmas. But I decided that if the children were going to live at Netherfield, it was best that they come down together, at Christmas.”
Anna’s face had been grave, but she smiled, reassuring him, as she said, “I think you have done the right thing; you have given them a beautiful home here and, most of all, a sense of belonging to a family, which they must have longed for. There is no better way to heal their hearts.”
He turned to her as though she had said exactly the right words.
“Do you really think so? I am very glad to hear it, Anna, I am grateful to you for your kindness to them. As for your advice and help with redecorating this place, it has made a world of difference,”
he said with great sincerity. With equal candour she assured him that it had brought her much pleasure, too.
“And you do not think they will find life in Hertfordshire dull?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she replied, her eyes sparkling. “I have lived most of my life here and I would not like it to be thought that it had been a dull life.”
Jonathan assured her that he had not meant that at all, and she laughed as she said, “I know you did not, but I must affirm that dullness is more a state of one’s mind than a condition of the county,” a proposition with which he agreed completely.
Shortly afterwards, the Faulkners, who had another call to make at Lucas Lodge, left, having invited Mr Bingley and his daughters to dine at Haye Park the following evening.
Mr Griffin, who was then the very last to leave, rose to make his farewells and took so long over them, especially with Miss Bingley, trying again to persuade her to join his choir, that Cathy asked Mrs Perrot if he was staying to dinner, a prospect that appeared to horrify young Teresa!
Grateful when he had finally gone, the family came together for their own little celebration in the cosy upstairs sitting room, which was fast becoming their favourite room in the house.
It had been a very special day, and later that night, when the girls had gone to bed, Jonathan found time to write to his sister.
Would you be astonished, my dear Emma, if I were to say that this has been the best Christmas I have had in many years? I realise it may sound unfeeling to say so, but there was nothing contrary to spoil a simple family occasion.
The girls have taken over their home with great enthusiasm, and Anne-Marie has surprised us all with her poise and sensibility as she played hostess today. You would have been proud of her, Emma; I certainly was.
Miss Faulkner, who was here with Dr and Mrs Faulkner, remarked on her amazing ability to help her younger sisters recover, and yet it was Anne-Marie who seemed most distraught when it all happened last Summer.
I can scarcely believe it is less than seven months ago since that dreadful day, and yet, so much has happened since then, it seems as if years have passed. While my memory is clear enough, the painful consequences of that day have been diluted by many small pleasures, especially since moving to Netherfield.
Netherfield Park Revisited Page 24