Netherfield Park Revisited (18 page)

Jonathan and Mrs Collins are too miserable on their own to be any comfort to each other, and I do not know how I can do anything to help. It is too horrible to contemplate that Amelia-Jane will remove herself and the two girls, Cathy and Tess, to Bath, where she will continue to be under the influence of this appalling woman!

Who would have expected such conduct from Amelia-Jane? Jonathan, I think, has had some inkling of this, but poor Mrs Collins is utterly distraught.

I wonder, Emily, at the coincidence. Can it be possible that both Jonathan and I were so naïve in our judgment, that we both misread utterly the characters of the persons we married? I know we were young, but we were surely not both so foolish?

I paid for my mistake for many years, as you know, and it is only thanks to my dear James that I retained my sanity. It seems that poor Jonathan is only just starting his purgatory …

The appearance of her brother at the door of her sitting room caused Emma to stop writing.

He had only looked in to advise her that he was expected at the Armandes' that afternoon and was just leaving.

“I have promised to give Monsieur Armande my opinion on a few of the items he hopes to include in the display they will have at the Art School next month. I expect to be back in time for dinner,” he said, and Emma could not help wondering how Jonathan's opinion was likely to assist someone like M. Armande, who was himself a teacher of Art! However, she said nothing, glad that he could find something to occupy himself at this anxious time.

Continuing her letter to Emily, she said as much:

I confess I cannot find it in my heart to begrudge him the obvious and, up to now, innocent pleasure he seems to get from his visits to the Armandes and Miss Faulkner.

While we await whatever developments tomorrow may bring …

She was interrupted here by the doorbell and the sound of voices in the hall. On going downstairs, she found Mrs Giles with one of the servants from the Bingleys' place.

An hour or so later, her brother returned, in the teeth of a gale which was stripping the leaves from the trees in the street and driving every traveller indoors. A sudden squall had whipped up the worst weather they had seen this Summer, and Jonathan, entering quickly to get out of the biting wind, found the house in uproar.

A message had been received only an hour ago, relating that Mrs Bingley, Mrs Watkins, and her “friend” Mr Alexander had left London for Bath, leaving the two girls, Teresa and Cathy, in the care of the maid and housekeeper at Grosvenor Street.

Mrs Giles, who was an old trusted housekeeper, had been very distressed and, having waited until the coast was clear, she had written a note to Mrs Collins.

It had given very little other information, except to express her hope that “Mr Bingley or Mrs Collins or someone would pay attention to the needs of the two children, who have had no governess for over a week and are very lonely with only the maids for company—poor dears! It is not right that they should see neither their mother nor their father, ma'am, and they have not set foot outside the house since arriving in London. It is cruel indeed, for they are not to blame for all the goings on.” She concluded with a request that Mr Bingley should do something at once, for the sake of the children.

Mrs Collins, who had opened and read the note, was shocked.

Standing ashen-faced in the hall, she had cried out that they must go after them at once and bring Amelia-Jane back. It had taken a great deal of patient explaining to persuade her that no one could possibly chase after the travellers bound for Bath in this foul weather.

Emma had to point out that, in any event, they would have to wait until either Jonathan or James returned, since the gentlemen had both carriages.

When her son-in-law arrived and was told the news, Charlotte immediately appealed to him. “Jonathan, you must go after them and bring her back. You cannot let her do this. She must be saved from this dreadful widow Watkins.”

To her astonishment, Emma heard her brother say, “Mrs Collins, I have no intention of following Amelia-Jane to Bath or anywhere else. She has chosen to leave me and the children to join her friends. I shall not attempt to force her to return. It is her choice.”

There was a disbelieving silence in the room as Mrs Collins began to weep, and he continued calmly, “In the last few weeks, I have tried by every means I know to persuade Amelia-Jane not to take such a step. Yet despite my efforts and those of her sister Catherine, she has preferred to follow her newfound friends. They cannot possibly have her interests at heart, but my duty now is quite clear; I have to ensure that Cathy and Tess are safe and that Anne-Marie and Charles are informed of this unhappy situation.

“I shall also secure the house at Grosvenor Street against further intrusion by persons who have absolutely no connection with my family and no right to be there at all.”

Emma had not seen her gentle brother in such a mood ever before.

Begging her to look to Mrs Collins' health, he insisted on leaving, in spite of the driving rain, to visit his children.

When he returned, James Wilson met him in the hall.

“Jonathan, I am shocked and appalled! Emma has told me the unhappy news,” he said as Jonathan divested himself of his sodden coat.

Hearing him come in, Emma had rushed downstairs to enquire after the girls, and they were all relieved to hear they were well and were sleeping soundly.

“They have very little understanding of what has happened,” he said. “Mrs Giles tells me that they spent all afternoon reading in the old nursery; they have not come downstairs since their mother left and have not asked for her at all.”

“Poor darlings,” said Emma, thinking immediately of her own two daughters and how difficult it had been to conceal from them the activities of their father, her first husband.

“Jonathan, I think I shall go with Mrs Collins tomorrow and bring them over here, if this wretched weather has eased,” she said.

He nodded, grateful for her concern, and then asked after his mother-in-law. Emma was glad to be able to say she had eaten and was resting.

“I think you should come up with me now and reassure her. She has been very anxious about the girls,” she suggested, and he was happy to do as she asked.

While Charlotte was relieved to hear that the girls were safe and well, she could not agree with Jonathan about Amelia-Jane. She tried again to persuade him that he ought to go to Bath; indeed, she offered to accompany him herself, but to no avail.

Jonathan had decided that if his wife had made a decision to leave her family and go to Bath, he would not interfere; he would certainly not follow her and either order her or beg her to return.

Coming downstairs, Emma asked, anxiously, “Jonathan, dear, are you sure? I mean, to leave Amelia-Jane to the tender mercies of Mrs Watkins and her friend—do you really believe it is the right thing to do?”

Jonathan did not give her a direct answer. “It may or may not be, Emma; all I know is I cannot see any other honourable course of action for me, in the circumstances. Tomorrow, I shall write to my father and ask him to speak to his sisters; perhaps they may have more influence upon her than I have had. After all, it was through them she was introduced to the Watkins woman; if anyone should attempt to influence her, they should.”

At dinner, of which Jonathan hardly ate anything and Emma very little, James Wilson strongly supported his brother-in-law's stand.

He had recently told Emma of his belief that there were times when interference in the lives of people did no good and could possibly do harm.

This was one such instance, and James was quite convinced that for Jonathan to get in his carriage and chase after his wife, who might very well refuse to pay any attention to him, was the very worst thing he could do.

“Quite apart from the indignity you would suffer, should she refuse to return with you, there is the possibility that she may well claim that she is only taking a temporary holiday in Bath at the invitation of her friends and turn the tables on you, making you seem overbearing and ridiculous.”

Emma had not thought of that and was now inclined to agree with them. “Let us hope and pray she will realise her mistake and return,” she said, and though James said “Amen to that,” Jonathan bit his lip and remained silent.

Emma left them together and went upstairs. Too exhausted to finish her letter, but unable to sleep, she lay awake for the best part of an hour. When her husband came upstairs, he found her still awake, standing at the window, gazing out at the dark street below.

When he tried to take her to bed, she turned to him and said, “James, do you believe Amelia-Jane will ever return to us, of her own free will?”

He was touched by her obvious sadness. “I cannot say, my love, I never did get to know her very well; she was always rather distant with me. I do know that Jonathan believes she will not return.”

“Is that what he told you?” she asked, incredulous.

James nodded and said, “I think he is at the end of his patience, Emma, and I cannot say I blame him. As for trying to recover her and bring her back, I do not believe it should even be attempted.”

Tears filled Emma's eyes. She had known great unhappiness herself and felt deeply for her brother.

“Poor Jonathan, gentle, kind Jonathan. Life is simply not fair,” she said.

They had each gone to bed speculating, hoping, perhaps praying that a way might be found for Jonathan's fractured family to be brought together.

They were never to find out whether their prayers would be answered because, just before dawn, they were awakened by a loud knocking at the front door.

On going downstairs, James found in the hall a manservant from the Bingleys' house at Grosvenor Street, together with an officer of the local police. The news they brought would destroy all their hopes and throw many lives into chaos.

George, the Bingleys' butler, had driven over with the constable, who had initially called at the Bingleys' place.

James took the two men into the sitting room and sat them down so they could tell their story. He called a servant in to light the fire and the candles in the room, which was dark and cold. By the time Emma, who had been awakened by the sound of voices, had come downstairs and, reluctant to go into the sitting room, sat at the foot of the stairs, many of the servants had crept up quietly from their quarters below. They stood around in the dark doorways or lingered in the back hallway, whispering, anxious to discover what had occurred.

The story was told mainly by the police officer.

There had been a serious accident. It had happened not more than twenty miles out of London on the road to Bath, somewhere between Salt Hill and Maidenhead, just before the road crosses the bridge over the Thames and runs downhill towards the dreaded Maidenhead Thicket, a patch of scrub frequented by footpads and villains.

The small, light vehicle had apparently lost a wheel and rolled off the road and down an embankment. The constable put it down to the stormy night, a poor road, and possible exhaustion of the driver.

“He was the only one to escape with his life, albeit with severe injuries. The passengers—a gentleman, two ladies, and a young maid servant—were all dead when they were found by a mail coach doing the night run to Bath,” he said, as gasps and cries went up from all around.

Emma, sitting at the foot of the stairs, began to weep.

She could not believe what she had heard. Her sobs brought James out into the hall and to her side. Her cries and the voices of the servants awakened Jonathan and Mrs Collins, who came downstairs and so the entire story had to be retold for them as they stood in shocked disbelief.

The constable explained that it had been difficult to discover the identity and address of the passengers, since no one carried any papers; only the name and address on the lid of the maid's tin trunk had led them to the Bingleys' house at Grosvenor Street.

Now they wanted Mr Bingley to identify the bodies of his wife and the maid servant, Annie Ashton, a young girl not yet eighteen.

Later, Emma could not clearly remember what had happened in the next few minutes, except that she was holding Mrs Collins, whose body was shaking with violent, heartrending sobs. Charlotte had never dreamed she would face such a disaster.

Jonathan, walking as if in a nightmare, turned to his mother-in-law and embraced her and his sister, but seemed unable to say a word.

For the second time in his life, he was observing the harrowing sorrow of a family following an accident. Somehow, as on the previous occasion, he had the dreadful feeling that he had not done enough to prevent what had happened.

As they helped Charlotte up the stairs and to her room, James came to tell his wife that he would go with Jonathan and the police officer. He did not know how long they would be; he urged her to get some rest and ensure that Charlotte did the same.

Inconsolable, Charlotte could only recall the little girl, her youngest daughter, the one Mr Collins used to spoil. “He always spoilt her … she was his favourite, not just because she was the littlest and prettiest, but because he could never say no to her. She used to know exactly how to wheedle favours out of him,” Charlotte said, as they sat together trying to sip hot tea, even as the sky outside glowed red and the sun rose over the still sleeping city.

Emma's first thought had been of the two girls—Teresa, not yet sixteen, and little Cathy, whose lives had been shattered. As the sky grew lighter, she determined to go and fetch the children, so they would have their aunt and grandmother to comfort them. Mrs Collins did not feel strong enough to travel the short distance, so Emma went with her lady's maid Lucy, who was known to both girls.

She found them shocked and dry-eyed, apparently unable to fully understand what had occurred and how it affected their lives. Emma hugged them both to her, and gradually her own emotion seemed to bring their feelings to the surface; first little Cathy and then Tess began to weep softly.