A Woman of Influence (34 page)

When permission was granted and the position was offered, Alice and her husband were overwhelmed by the opportunity presented to them and the generosity of their benefactors. For them and their son, Thomas, whose speech had continued to improve, it was to be the end of a long nightmare and the beginning of a new, productive life.

And for all of this good fortune, they thanked most particularly Mrs Becky Tate, whose personal kindness to Alice and assiduous pursuit of William's case had brought them the happiness they now enjoyed. Happiness, which, a few months ago, had seemed completely out of their reach.

And after more than two years of concealment and gruelling hardship, Alice Grey was now free to be Annabel Rickman once more. When Catherine suggested that Annabel might enjoy helping the teacher at the parish school, her cup of joy flowed over.

While all these matters were proceeding, Becky, who with characteristic keenness had become deeply involved in the arrangements, almost forgot her promise to write to Mr Contini.

She had undertaken to write when the "unrelated matters" that she had to settle were concluded, so he could visit her at Edgewater and meet her sister Catherine.

But as things had turned out, she had been unable to settle into a mood in which to write him a letter. Although she explained this lapse to herself by reasoning that there had been much work to be done and many arrangements to be made, in truth, the real reason lay elsewhere.

Since returning from London, Becky had begun to be concerned that perhaps she had allowed herself to be too easily beguiled by the charm of Aldo Contini. She could not deny the attraction of his engaging character, yet she was apprehensive that her feelings may be more deeply engaged than his were.

It was this, rather than any excess of work, that had prevented her from writing to him, as she had promised to do. Besides, she had not as yet told her sister of her renewed association with him and the extent to which their meeting had enhanced her enjoyment of her sojourn in London.

However, the arrival of a letter in the post changed all that. It was from Jonathan Bingley, informing her that he hoped to call on her when he attended the final meeting of the Rosings Trust for the year, adding that Mr Contini had unexpectedly returned to Italy two days ago, leaving with Jonathan a note and a keepsake for her. Jonathan promised to deliver these items when he visited the following week.

On reading the letter, Becky's emotions were thrown into a state of such confusion that she felt quite incapable of rational thought. Her feelings could scarcely be contained as she read on, and a sense of bewilderment overwhelmed her.

That Mr Contini had unexpectedly returned to Italy was sufficient surprise, but that he had done so without informing her, leaving a note and keepsake with Jonathan, was beyond comprehension. After all those days of close, almost intimate association, after sharing so many happy hours, how could he leave England so abruptly, without a word to her?

The fact that he had left a note with Jonathan seemed to indicate that it was probably not a very private communication.

Surely, she thought, if the note had contained anything like an expression of his feelings, he would have sent it directly to her.

After a day of mental tumult, followed by a sleepless night, she rose the following morning convinced it was all her fault. She had promised to write and invite him to visit, yet she had done nothing, made no real effort to communicate with him. It was no surprise, she surmised, that he had probably reached the conclusion that she had no further interest in their friendship, and Becky wondered how badly he would think of her, if that were the case.

Only now, with the prospect of meeting him again greatly diminished, if not lost altogether, did Becky realise the depth of her disappointment and understand that her feelings for Aldo Contini were much more intense than she had supposed. She could scarcely credit the discomposure that Jonathan Bingley's letter had caused. Unable to concentrate upon anything more serious than the most trivial of domestic matters, she found her mind returning incessantly to the implications of Mr Contini's departure and speculating upon the contents of the note he had left for her, not to mention the "keepsake" that Jonathan Bingley was to deliver.

What could it be, she wondered?

On re-reading Jonathan's letter for the tenth time, Becky could not help feeling some degree of guilt at the circumstances in which Mr Contini had returned to Italy, possibly following his disappointment at not receiving from her the promised invitation to visit Edgewater. Yet, knowing what she knew of his nature, she could not believe he would act in such a petulant manner, leaving without a word to her.

In an effort to assuage her feelings of guilt, she went over every occasion on which they had been together, endeavouring to discover if there had been one on which he had given some indication of his expectations.

She found none.

What then, she wondered, was she to think?

She knew very little of his life in Italy and whether some matter of family or business had called him away urgently. She supposed Jonathan Bingley may be able to enlighten her. She could not accept that he had departed in a fit of pique! It was not at all in his nature to do so. There had to be another reason.

In her heart, she hoped that there
was
some simple explanation; for in the course of revolving all these recollections and emotions through her mind, Becky had reached the conclusion that whatever Mr Contini's feelings might have been, her own were becoming very clear--she loved him.

A WOMAN OF INFLUENCE

A few days after Becky had received his letter, which had caused her such consternation and anguish, Jonathan Bingley himself arrived at Rosings Park to attend a meeting of the Trust.

He had decided to stay at Rosings, in the East Wing, which had survived the fire, where the accommodation, though not as comfortable as he could have enjoyed at the Dower House, afforded him complete privacy. Apart from the small staff employed to maintain the place, he would meet no one of any consequence, except Mr Adams, the curator, and he was generally a very discreet young man.

Jonathan was concerned because he had two missions to fulfill on this visit; one was the usual business of the Trust, and the other a combination of duty and pleasure. The latter, entailing a visit to Edgewater to deliver a letter from his friend Mr Contini, required some degree of confidentiality. He was unaware if Becky had taken her sister Catherine into her confidence on the matter of her friendship with Mr Contini, which was why Jonathan had determined that he would stay at the old house and avoid any awkward questions. He had, however, accepted an invitation to dine with Catherine and Frank Burnett at the Dower House, as he did whenever he was at Rosings, and looked forward to that occasion, as always.

Becky knew Jonathan was expected; Catherine had told her so and asked her to join them for dinner on the following day. Having accepted the invitation, she had hurried home to await some indication of when Jonathan would call on her, as promised in his letter.

Even as she waited, she was filled with foreboding.

Certain now that Aldo Contini had gone out of her life forever, Becky became increasingly miserable, castigating herself for having carelessly squandered a possible chance for happiness that may never come her way again. If this were true, she would have no one to blame but herself, she concluded, and became even more dejected at the thought.

Then again, she would consider the question and reach another, contrary conclusion. After all, she would argue, Mr Contini had never given her an indication of any serious intention; certainly, he had been attentive, charming, and kind, but there had been no declaration of feelings, and no hint of a proposal of marriage.

Why then was she feeling so dismal? Why did the future suddenly look so bleak? What had happened to the bright optimism that she had experienced when she had spent the best part of ten days in his company?

To these and other vexing questions she could find no answers.

Becky Tate was in a quandary largely of her own making.

Some little while after three o'clock that afternoon, Jonathan Bingley called on Becky at Edgewater. A note delivered earlier had asked if it would suit, and she had replied that it would; indeed, she had said, she was looking forward to seeing him.

Becky dressed with care for Jonathan's visit, keen to present an appearance of self-assurance, which she certainly did not feel.

Aware that he had a partiality for sweets, she had ensured that a variety of delicious refreshments were made ready, and received him not in the parlour, as she might have done at that hour, but in the more private and spacious drawing room, where they would not be overheard.

They greeted one another with affection and, as refreshments were served, exchanged the usual pleasantries, biding their time until the servants, their duties done, withdrew.

Almost as soon as they did, Becky looked across at Jonathan, and he came over to where she was seated, beside the fireplace.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew two items, a sealed letter and a small rectangular package, which he handed to her. As Becky took them from him, her hand shook slightly--not enough for him to notice, but sufficient to warn her that she had not quite got control of her feelings and must be careful not to betray herself.

At first she thought to put them aside and proceed with dispensing more tea, but Jonathan had other ideas. Speaking quite casually, he said, "Of course, you wish to read your letter and open your package in private, Becky. I should very much like to take a look at some of the books in your library; I quite envy your fine collection of the work of Mr Dickens, so if you will permit me, I shall repair to the library now and will return in a little while."

Becky, astonished at his sensitivity, could say very little except, "Yes, of course, please feel free to look at anything you wish. I was fortunate to inherit most of my mother-in-law's excellent collection; Walter had little interest in it..."

Whereupon, he smiled and left the room, crossed the corridor, and entered the library. She heard the door shut behind him.

Left alone, Becky opened her letter.

She had expected it to be no more than a brief note, probably saying farewell, explaining that he had been urgently and unavoidably recalled to Italy and expressing his regrets at not seeing her again.

She had steeled herself for just such a message.

It was nothing of the sort.

Indeed, whatever her expectations may have been, they were overthrown completely as she opened up the sealed envelope and read the two pages of carefully penned writing contained therein.

She scanned them swiftly, reading eagerly and impatiently to the end, before returning to the beginning and reading it over again, more slowly and with greater attention to the sentiments expressed.

It was on perusing it a second time that the full import of the letter became apparent to her, which the rather old-fashioned courtliness of the writer's style had initially obscured.

Having made it clear that he was returning only temporarily to Italy and expected to be back in London quite soon, Mr Contini had proceeded to describe in some detail his current circumstances, his own family responsibilities--he had, he said, an aged mother who expected regular visits, and his business required travel back and forth from Europe some two or three times a year.

At first, all this information had Becky rather puzzled. But as she read on, it became clear that in the manner of some European gentlemen, Mr Contini was setting out his credentials as a suitor, placing before her the pros and cons of his case.

Becky could not suppress a smile, as she recalled the somewhat matter-offact manner in which Mr Tate had proposed to her. There had been no need to tell her of his circumstances or his family; these were well known in the Matlock district; indeed, Anthony Tate would surely have been regarded as the best "catch" in the county, and Becky had been universally considered a very fortunate young woman to have "caught" him.

Mr Contini, on the other hand, had no pretensions to great wealth or a family dynasty, although he did in his description of his family's estate in Italy reveal that he would one day inherit a share in a well-run business as well as a villa outside Florence, where his mother now lived.

His own financial circumstances were comfortable enough though modest, he said, but he considered them adequate to his needs.

Having provided her with all of these mundane details, he then proceeded to the main purpose of his letter.