Netherfield Park Revisited

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Seeing his grave countenance, she apologised.

  “I am sorry, dearest, you do not deserve to be subjected to this complaint. I have never needed so much as a second thought before accepting your word, and for that alone I am more grateful than I can say.”

  He was pleased and honoured by her words, understanding in every particular what they implied. That there had never been any mistrust or suspicion between them was, for both of them, the crowning achievement of their marriage.

  He knew her earlier remarks referred to the iniquity of Wickham, whose elopement with her sister Lydia had caused them so much distress. Yet, gratified though he was by her confidence in him, Darcy was quite determined that this fine Spring day deserved to be remembered for something more.

  “Well, my dear, Jane’s letter has confirmed the best news we have had in many months—Jonathan’s engagement to Anna Faulkner will, I confidently predict, be the start of a truly felicitous marriage. I have rarely met two people, apart from our own Cassy and Richard, who seemed so well suited in every way. We must celebrate it.”

  Happy to lift herself out of a mood of gloomy introspection, Elizabeth readily agreed.

  “Indeed, we must. I shall write to Jonathan and suggest we have a dinner party for them at Pemberley, as soon as their engagement is announced. How would you like that?”

  Darcy said he would like it very well, and preparations were set in train for one of those great occasions at which Pemberley and its staff excelled.

  Within a day or two, Jane received, as well as a happy reply from her sister, a note from her cousin Caroline, which brought good news.

  Caroline wrote that her father Mr Gardiner had survived his illness in much better condition than had been expected.

  Though weakened, he had been declared out of danger, she wrote:

  Indeed, dear Jane, my brother Richard’s friend from Harley Street has seen Papa and has declared that he may well live for years if he is very careful and does not overwork or become agitated. He must vary his activities and be mindful of his condition in everything he does.

  Dear Jane, I cannot tell you what a difference it has made to us all, especially to Mama, who had almost accepted that we were going to lose him, this time.

  Changing the subject and simultaneously her mood to one of light-hearted banter, Caroline concluded her letter with a message of congratulation.

  I know it’s a secret, but I am sure Jonathan will not mind my saying how very happy we are about his engagement to Anna Faulkner. Do tell him, dearest Jane, that Fitzy and I wish them every happiness and look forward to seeing them soon.

  Your loving cousin,

  Caroline Fitzwilliam.

  A few days after Easter Sunday, the party at Netherfield, taking advantage of some fine Spring weather, were considering if they should drive to St Albans or simply enjoy the pleasure of a picnic in the woods, where a profusion of blossoms made a carpet under the trees. As they talked of the relative merits of each prospect, a letter arrived for Anne-Marie. It came from Harwood House, and Mr Harwood wrote to inform her that Eliza had been safely delivered of a son, to whom they hoped she would consent to be a godparent.

  Anne-Marie was delighted; her only sorrow stemmed from her inability to be at her friend’s side. Dr Faulkner had ruled it out already.

  “Quite out of the question, my dear Miss Bingley,” he had said. “You will need to become a good deal stronger, and the weather will need to get much warmer, before I would even consider letting you travel to London.”

  She was deeply disappointed, but Anna added her voice to persuade her.

  “You can see how happy it has made your papa to have you here. Stay a few more weeks, especially since the baptism is not for some time yet; it will do you good,” she had said.

  Young Anne-Marie, however, turned the tables on her, saying archly, “It is very kind of you to say so, Anna, but Papa’s happiness is more dependent on your presence than mine, I think! Now, I understand that you could make him a good deal happier, ecstatic in fact, if you would only name the day!”

  She was only teasing, but Anna was completely taken aback and struggled to maintain her composure.

  Anne-Marie apologised, not wishing to embarrass her.

  “I am sorry, Anna, I did not intend to discompose you so, but I did ask Papa when it was to be and he said it was your privilege to name the wedding day. Well? You do love him?”

  Anna reddened, unused to being quizzed with such frankness but, recovering her composure said, “Yes, Anne-Marie, I do. I should never have accepted him if I did not. But, as your papa knows, I have been reluctant to name an early date or even to announce our engagement, because I have felt it would not be seemly to do so. I thought it best to wait at least a year… .” Her voice trailed off, and Anne-Marie felt deep sympathy for her. Clearly, she was uncomfortable talking about it.

  “Yes, I know and I love and respect you for your delicate sensibility, but Papa has suffered badly and he needs you, Anna. He loves you, I know he loves you desperately, but will do nothing to compel you. He believes it is a matter on which you must feel at ease, else you will not be happy. For my part, I know how much he suffered during the weeks and months before my mother’s death and how deeply grieved he was by her conduct. It is my dearest wish that he should find some happiness again. It is in your power, Anna, to grant that wish.”

  They were interrupted by the maid, who brought Anne-Marie her medication. Anna was grateful for the opportunity to change the subject. Much as she loved Anne-Marie, she was ill at ease with her questions.

  Convinced that it was wrong to announce their engagement with what might be seen as unseemly haste, she had chosen to defer the fulfilment of her own happiness for a few more months. Anne-Marie’s words had stirred the first doubts in her mind, regarding the correctitude of her decision. She needed more time to think.

  ***

  Jane and Charles Bingley returned to Ashford Park after their stay at Netherfield, and Jane’s only disappointment was that no date had been fixed for Jonathan’s wedding. Indeed, she was not supposed to speak of it openly, she complained to Elizabeth when the sisters met at Pemberley.

  While she respected Anna’s scrupulous sense of propriety, Jane abhorred deception or guile, believing it was more important that Anna and Jonathan be open about the nature of their friendship. She was uncomfortable with being a party to concealment, however well intentioned.

  Jane had met their cousin Jessie Phillips while visiting her sister Mary and Charlotte Collins at Longbourn, and Miss Phillips, a noted gossip and busybody, had been very curious about Jonathan and Anna Faulkner.

  “Jessie as good as told me the story was all over Meryton,” she said. “Everyone knows they are lovers and it is generally expected that they will soon be naming the day.”

  Jane reported Jessie’s words and added, “Lizzie, if I were Anna, I would rather have it known that I was engaged to be married to Jonathan, than have women like Jessie Phillips gossip about me. I may be wrong, but I do not think she means well.”

  It was obvious that Jane had been disconcerted by the remarks, however little regard she had for their author.

  Elizabeth agreed, “No, Jane, you are not wrong. Neither Jessie Phillips nor our Lydia has a brain or a scruple between them. They will, by their loose talk and insinuation, besmirch Anna’s reputation and ruin her chances of happiness. Anna is probably unaware of the harm they can do to her good name. I think, my dear sister, the time has come to write a note to my friend Charlotte. If I suggest tactfully that she speak to her sister Maria, and they advise Anna on the dangers of becoming the subject of gossip in the village, it may work.”

  Jane agreed that it was indeed an excellent idea and urged her sister to write at once to Charlotte Collins who, as Anna Faulkner’s aunt, might well have some influence upon her.

  Later that d
ay, Elizabeth did just that.

  In a carefully composed letter, she detailed Jane’s concerns and her own, suggesting that Charlotte may wish to speak with her niece and draw her attention to them.

  I know you will not mind me writing to you on this matter, my dear Charlotte, because I am sure you are as concerned about your niece Anna as Jane is about Jonathan.

  It seems clear enough that they are both very much in love and should under normal circumstances be already engaged. However, Jane believes that Anna’s reluctance to announce their engagement is due chiefly to her sense of propriety, which dictates that Jonathan should wait at least a year before remarrying.

  My dear Charlotte, while neither Jane nor I have any quarrel with Anna for the delicacy of her feelings in this matter, we are both agreed that were she and Jonathan to become engaged openly, it would not only promote their own happiness, but it would certainly put a firm stop to the kind of idle gossip of women like Jessie Phillips and our own sister Lydia Wickham.

  We feel, and Mr Darcy agrees with me on this, that you are best placed, being Jonathan’s mother-in-law and Anna’s aunt, to advise her.

  I hope you will agree with me, Charlotte, and forgive what may seem like interference on my part. Please believe me, it is with reluctance and only because of our great affection for both our nephew Jonathan and Anna that I have taken the liberty of writing to you on this subject.

  Elizabeth concluded her letter to Charlotte with an invitation to her to join them at Pemberley, at a dinner party to celebrate the engagement of their niece and nephew, “whenever that happy event is finally announced,” and expressing a hope that it would be soon.

  Having despatched her letter, she went in search of her husband, who was indulging his love of Art, supervising the hanging of two new paintings in the long gallery.

  When Elizabeth joined him, Darcy was in an excellent mood, having received a letter from London which authenticated the antiquity of a favourite piece in his collection. She let him tell her all about it before detailing for him the purpose of her letter to Charlotte Collins.

  He listened attentively and, to her delight, agreed absolutely with her.

  “There is no question that more damage may be done to both Jonathan’s good name and Anna’s reputation, should their secret engagement become a topic for malicious gossip and innuendo, than would occur if they were married before the twelve month anniversary of his wife’s death.

  “The latter may cause some uncharitable comment, perhaps, but that would soon be overwhelmed by the congratulations and good wishes that must surely follow. The former, on the other hand, would introduce the taint of corruption which may well defile a perfectly good marriage,” he said.

  “Then you think I was correct to write as I did to Charlotte?” she asked, and he agreed without question.

  “I certainly do, my dear. I have too much affection for our nephew and far too much respect for Miss Faulkner to wish to see their reputations sullied by malicious gossip. I hope Charlotte follows your advice, Lizzie. Better still, I sincerely wish that Jonathan and Anna will do so, too.”

  The arrival of their daughter Cassandra with two of her children, bearing the good news that Richard had pronounced Mr Gardiner to be much recovered, cheered them all up. But, as things turned out, the feeling did not last long.

  Elizabeth, sworn to secrecy by Jane, had said not a word to her daughter about Jonathan and Anna. Which is why she was astonished when Cassy revealed that her mother-in-law, Mrs Gardiner, had received a letter from an acquaintance in Meryton, detailing the prevailing rumours about Mr Bingley, the handsome widower, who had recently purchased Netherfield Park.

  Probably unaware of the close link between their families, she wrote of him having a secret liaison with a young woman in the neighbourhood, whom she had described as “an artist, who has spent some years in Paris and was probably freer in her ways than the other young ladies of the area.”

  Cassandra confessed to being diverted by the description of the young woman. “Can you imagine anyone describing Anna Faulkner in those terms?” she cried, and Elizabeth almost leapt upon her to demand how she had come to fix upon Miss Faulkner as the lady in question.

  Cassy looked bemused. “Mama, because everyone knows they are secretly engaged! Caroline told me a week or more ago. I thought you knew, already,” she said. “Surely Aunt Jane must know and I assumed she would have told you.”

  Elizabeth explained the complex and confusing circumstances that obtained in the case of Jonathan and Anna.

  A thoroughly practical young woman, Cassandra could not believe that two people who loved each other would waste any time at all pandering to the small minds of local gossips.

  “Oh Mama, it’s absurd! If I were Anna, I would surely have married him already, or at least become engaged. I cannot imagine why they would put their happiness in jeopardy, simply because they fear the censure of people who are in no way connected to them and have no right to lay down rules for their behaviour.”

  Elizabeth agreed, pointing out that while it was customary to observe a year’s mourning, Jonathan’s situation with three young daughters would surely serve to soften any possible criticism. She was glad she had written to Charlotte. She hoped very much that her letter would have the desired effect.

  ***

  It was almost the end of April.

  In Hertfordshire, the afternoons were becoming warmer and more soporific. In the village, with the promise of fine weather, preparations were afoot for the May festival.

  Charlotte Collins and Mary Bennet had spent a very pleasant hour with Jonathan Bingley and Anne-Marie, who had come to tea. Anne-Marie had recovered from her illness and was making plans to return to London and her work at the hospital. She was looking forward also to seeing her friend Eliza and her new baby and insisted upon giving her grandmother all the news from Harwood House.

  After tea, Mary Bennet invited Anne-Marie to play for them, but unfortunately, she claimed she was very out of practice, having been ill.

  “I know you are accustomed to have Anna play for you, she plays so beautifully, I should be ashamed to let you hear me play, until I have practiced some more,” she said.

  Mary was most censorious.

  “You must never let yourself get so out of practice that you cannot play at all, Anne-Marie. I hope, when you next come to visit, you will have improved your performance sufficiently to let us hear you play. Anna Faulkner is a perfectionist; we cannot all be as good; but she is an example to us, and we can be inspired by her to try harder,” she declared, laying down her own philosophy in a single sentence.

  Chastened, Anne-Marie promised faithfully to do better next time.

  They left soon afterwards, undertaking to call again before Anne-Marie returned to London.

  They had hardly been gone ten minutes when a pony trap drew up in front of the house, and without any warning, Lydia Wickham and Jessie Phillips burst into the room.

  While Jessie, who was several years younger than her cousin, was as fast a talker as Lydia, she had at least a trimmer figure and a quieter manner.

  Lydia Wickham, on the other hand, had started out as a plump young girl with a boisterous manner and remained a buxom, loud-mouthed woman right into middle age.

  Her predominantly silly and empty-headed comments, spiced occasionally with an unpleasant coarseness of phrase, were rarely appreciated by either her sister Mary or Mrs Collins, but this did not seem to deter her in any way. She had very little to do, now her large family had grown up, and could be counted upon to arrive, usually without warning, and impose herself upon her relations and friends and proceed to regale them with the latest gossip in the county.

  Unencumbered by any sense of fairness, she was totally unconcerned about those of whom she spoke, casting aspersions with abandon, her only aim the pursuit of a vindictive form of entertainment.
>
  On this pleasant afternoon, it appeared that that was exactly what she had in mind. Even before they had been invited to sit down, Lydia had collapsed into a large armchair, one that used to accommodate her mother many years ago, and reached for the food.

  “Oooh! Fresh scones with cream and fruit cake! Jessie, we have certainly arrived at the right time for tea. Are you expecting anyone?” she asked, and when Mary informed them that Jonathan and his daughter had just left, having had tea with them, Lydia and Jessie exchanged conspiratorial glances and giggled like schoolgirls.

  “Lord! I am so hungry, I could eat up all that cake! We walked all over Meryton trying on hats. Jessie needs one to attend a wedding, and I must have a new hat for the May Parade. But, you will not believe, there was not a single one that would suit. I cannot think what has got to the milliners in these parts, Charlotte, they make boring, old-fashioned bonnets, yet the ladies of fashion are wearing very chic chapeaux,” she complained, as she ate more cake and urged Jessie to do likewise.

  When a fresh pot of tea was brought in, she barely waited to ask if Charlotte or Mary wanted any, before helping herself and, talking all the time, she proceeded to attack the cake.

  Watching her, Charlotte was reminded of Mrs Bennet, whom she resembled so closely in looks and manner that it was quite uncanny seeing her sitting where her mother had often sat in years gone by.

  The irony of the situation had not escaped Charlotte, who had known how deeply Mrs Bennet had resented her since her marriage to Mr Collins, who, had he lived, would have inherited Longbourn, under the entail.

  As Lydia groaned and complained again of being exhausted, Mary, growing ever more irritated, said, “I wonder at your bothering to come at all, Lydia, if you were so tired,” to which Lydia replied, “Ah, but we had to come, because we had to bring you the latest news.”