Netherfield Park Revisited (20 page)

The Armandes, who were completely ignorant of the strains that had beset Jonathan's marriage, attributed the tragic accident to the dreadful weather on that night. They could not know that it had only hastened the end of a marriage that neither partner could sustain much longer.

Miss Faulkner, on the other hand, though unaware of the details, had nevertheless, a more intuitive understanding of the situation. Though not a single word of criticism of his wife had ever passed Jonathan Bingley's lips during their conversations, his reticence about her, his apparent reluctance to speak of her even in response to the most innocuous enquiries, had led Anna to believe that all was not well.

Amelia-Jane was her cousin, and Anna was not entirely ignorant of her immature and frequently self-indulgent behaviour. It had occasioned comment within the family, and she knew it had troubled her aunt.

She did not know if any blame attached to Jonathan, but on this occasion, she could see enough of the pain reflected in his face and the downward drag of the usually upright attitude of his tall figure to understand how he must feel. Everything she said and did revealed her sincere compassion and concern.

“If I can be of any help, if there is anything we can do, please do feel free to call on us,” she said, and the Armandes added their voices, too. Jonathan was touched by their genuine solicitude.

They stayed to take tea, but left soon afterwards, having received a promise that they would be informed of the funeral arrangements as soon as a firm date was known.

***

At Woodlands, the news, received by express letter, had come like a bolt of lightning out of a Summer sky.

The morning had been bright and inviting, cloudless, with a light breeze to soften the warm breath of late Summer. “An absolutely perfect day for a drive into the country,” Bingley had said at breakfast.

“And an easy walk through the woods,” added Elizabeth, while Jane proposed, “Why not a picnic in a shady meadow, beside a stream?”

“I cannot think of anything better; do you not agree, Darcy?” asked Bingley, and Darcy had replied with some degree of enthusiasm, “Certainly, and if you will have all that and a delightful old inn as well, where we might retreat should the weather change, I suggest we make for the country around Horsham. We could take the open carriage.”

“Do you mean The Black Horse Inn in the village below Monks Gate?” asked Bingley.

“Indeed, I do—the very place. There are woods and streams enough to satisfy us all,” his friend replied, and soon they were all agreed that it was the perfect spot.

Preparations were afoot when an express had arrived for Bingley.

He had opened it in the midst of a lot of light chatter about their plans for the day, not for a moment expecting what was found within.

“This is probably Jonathan confirming that he has closed the Netherfield deal,” he had said, and Darcy, commenting that it was a pretty good deal too, had added that Jonathan was a fortunate fellow.

Minutes later, unable to believe his eyes, much less take in what he had read, Bingley handed the letter to Darcy, without explanation, save for a quiet exclamation, “Oh, my God! Darcy, I cannot believe this.”

Jane and Elizabeth, who were packing a picnic basket in the kitchen, had just been laughing over a silly mistake, when Darcy, his face pale with shock, came in and took them aside.

He had Jonathan's letter in his hand, and without too much ado, told them there had been some bad news. Amelia-Jane had been travelling to Bath with friends and her lady's maid; they had been caught in a storm and there had been an accident, just below Maidenhead, he said and he stopped, unable to continue.

He did not need to say another word; Jane knew in her heart and cried out as Elizabeth plucked the letter from her husband's hand and read it aloud.

As the truth dawned upon them, Jane wept; she could not understand it.

“Oh, Lizzie, she must have been going to Bath as Caroline Bingley said she would. How could she do it? How could she leave them?”

Elizabeth tried to talk to her, to console her, to tell her they did not have all the facts, but Jane would not be comforted.

“Lizzie, is it possible that Amelia-Jane thought so little of her husband and her children, even the littlest one, that she was prepared to leave them? What did she hope to achieve?” she asked, thinking only of her son and her grandchildren and the effect of this tragedy upon their lives.

Elizabeth would have liked to comfort her by saying otherwise, but she could not, for all the evidence seemed to confirm her fears.

It did seem as though Jonathan's wife had decided to carry out her threat to move to Bath if he did not abandon his plans for Netherfield.

“I am sorry, dearest Jane, but it does seem, shocking though it is, that you are right. Indeed, I cannot find any other explanation. One cannot explain her behaviour on the grounds of youth, ignorance, or stupidity, as was the case with Lydia. All we know is that she has been very depressed since she lost her two little boys, but that is insufficient reason for such an act as this.”

“Poor Jonathan, how he must suffer, and poor dear Charlotte, what a terrible blow this must be for her,” said Jane, whose concern for others outweighed, as ever, her own feelings.

Mr Bingley, who had gradually recovered his composure, came in to ask what they wished to do. Following a brief discussion, it was decided they would travel first to London and thence to Longbourn for the funeral.

The gentlemen went to make the necessary preparations for the journey and Elizabeth, seeing Jane's distress, took her sister upstairs to rest a while. They gave instructions for their things to be packed, unsure how long they would need to stay in town or indeed at Longbourn. There had been no date fixed for the funeral, as yet.

“We shall have to get our gowns for the funeral made in London,” said Lizzie. “All my sober clothes are back at Pemberley.”

Jane had nothing suitable, either; they had brought only light Summer gowns to Woodlands. They would have little use for them now, as pretty floral gowns would give way to the darker tones of mourning clothes.

The picnic basket was unpacked and the light, open Victoria returned to the stables, where the groom was preparing the carriage and horses for the more arduous journey to London.

The Summer of 1859 was all but gone.

***

Meanwhile, Jonathan Bingley, together with Annie Ashton's uncle John, had accompanied young Annie's body to Hunsford, where her family, despite their desperate sorrow, thanked him sincerely for his kindness and thoughtfulness. They appreciated the genuine goodness of the man who, as manager of the Rosings estate, had been their Master for many years, during which time they had regarded him with affection and esteem.

His fairness and generosity were well known, frequently tempering the brusqueness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

That, in spite of his own terrible loss, he had seen fit to acknowledge their loss by his presence and his genuine grief at Annie's death, had touched their hearts, even more than his benevolence in paying for all of the funeral arrangements.

When Elizabeth and Jane arrived in London, they went directly to the Bingleys' house at Grosvenor Street.

Jonathan had not, as yet, returned from Kent. They found Anne-Marie with her two young sisters, all attired in deep mourning, sitting in the front parlour, with Emma Wilson and Miss Faulkner, who had come to keep the girls company while their father was away.

All day long, there had been a stream of visitors.

The younger girls, especially Cathy, seemed unable to comprehend what had happened, and Anne-Marie, despite her best efforts to be brave, looked tired and tearful. Teresa's eyes were red with lack of sleep, and when Jane put her arms around her, they wept together, and Emma soon followed suit.

It was left to Elizabeth and Anna Faulkner to try to console them. Elizabeth was grateful to have someone who could help with the girls. Anna Faulkner seemed to manage well. She appeared to have a way with children, and her gentle, unfussy manner put them at ease.

At first, Elizabeth and Jane did not know that Charlotte Collins was also in London. It was only when one of the girls mentioned their grandmother that they asked, “Charlotte is in London? Where is she?” asked Elizabeth and, on being informed that she was upstairs, in this very house, but was so distraught she had not left her room all day, Elizabeth went at once to her friend.

She was shocked by her exhausted state, for not only was she grief-stricken, as any mother would be, she was also beset with feelings of shame and guilt. Unaware of all the circumstances surrounding Amelia-Jane's ill-fated journey, Charlotte felt she had to bear the opprobrium for her daughter's conduct, and it seemed as if the burden was too heavy for her. Always a devoted and proper mother, who had raised her daughters with sound instruction and by good example, she was at a loss to understand how her youngest child had gone so far astray.

Charlotte had believed that of her three girls, Amelia-Jane had been the most fortunate in marriage, for not only had Jonathan Bingley been regarded as eminently eligible, handsome, and well educated, with a good income and excellent prospects, he was by far the most amiable young man one could hope to meet. There had not been a mother in town during the season of 1835, who had not congratulated her on the good fortune of her youngest daughter in becoming engaged to Mr Jonathan Bingley.

She could not think of a single reason to change that judgment. Yet, the excellent marriage lay in ruins and her daughter was dead.

Elizabeth went to her, her arms outstretched. “Charlotte, my dear friend.”

They embraced and could not help the tears. Charlotte could barely speak and when Jane followed her sister into the room, her sense of guilt was heightened further.

“Jane, what can I say? How can I apologise for this dreadful thing?”

But Jane, despite her sorrow, was not about to countenance such sentiments.

“Apologise? Charlotte, you have no apology to make to me. You are not to blame, dear Charlotte. Amelia-Jane was surely old enough to know her own mind and make her own decisions, wrong though they may have been. She was responsible and whatever the matter was, it was between Jonathan and herself, not between you and me,” she said, firmly.

Elizabeth looked on, somewhat surprised, as she went on, her voice, though steady, betraying the strain of emotion.

“As for those who may have contributed to this terrible tragedy by their constant urging and encouragement of her discontent, some have already paid a high price for their efforts. And Caroline Bingley, my sister-in-law, can add the memory of all four deaths to her book of remembrance.

“They will not be easily forgotten or forgiven.”

Jane was shaking by the time she had finished and Charlotte went to her at once, grateful for the kindness of heart that had caused her to speak as she had done. Charlotte claimed she'd had no knowledge of the extent of Miss Bingley's influence over her daughter, but Elizabeth did know and was determined that her friend should be made aware of the truth.

She told her of the letter Bingley had received from Caroline, which had contained a threat that Amelia-Jane would leave Jonathan and, presumably, move to Bath if he persisted with his plan to purchase Netherfield Park.

“She has undoubtedly encouraged Amelia-Jane to believe that it would be right and proper for her to refuse to move to Hertfordshire, with her husband, if she did not wish to go,” Elizabeth explained.

Charlotte was astounded and hurt. “Eliza, why should she do such a thing? Jonathan is her nephew! What could she hope to gain?”

Elizabeth was scathing in her criticism of Miss Bingley.

“Ever since her brother first met Jane and fell in love with her in Hertfordshire, all those years ago, Caroline Bingley, who, as you know, imagined herself to be the object of Mr Darcy's matrimonial plans, did everything in her power to thwart their marriage and, when she could not, proceeded to make things difficult for Jane and myself, whenever an occasion presented itself,” she explained and, as Charlotte listened in some astonishment, continued, “My marriage to Mr Darcy clearly drove her to desperation, and though we have attempted to treat her with politeness at all times, she has never forgotten. Having failed to find a man sufficiently rich, fashionable, and of a suitable status to satisfy her ambitions, she has remained unwed and embittered. With very little to occupy her, except gossip and an empty social round, she has time enough for the sort of mischief that she made with Jonathan and Amelia-Jane.”

“But why did she pick on my poor daughter?” cried Charlotte, who had very little understanding of Miss Bingley's machinations.

“She probably saw in her someone young and a little naïve, perhaps, whom she could influence. I do not pretend to know very much about Miss Bingley's mind, but I was convinced her influence on Amelia-Jane would not be benign. I recall clearly the words of Mrs Reynolds, who was our housekeeper at Pemberley, about the influence of Miss Bingley on Georgiana Darcy; she was very unhappy, felt it did her no good at all.”

Charlotte was still unconvinced.

“But surely, Eliza, is it likely that Miss Bingley would try deliberately to harm either Amelia-Jane or Jonathan?”

“I do not mean to suggest, Charlotte, that she set out to harm them physically; I do not believe that even Caroline, arrogant and proud though she may be, would have advised anything as foolhardy and dangerous as travelling to Bath, at night, in an unsuitable vehicle, in the midst of a thunderstorm. For that particular piece of stupidity, we have to thank Caroline's friend Mrs Arabella Watkins and the mysterious Mr Alexander. But, remember it was Caroline Bingley's meddling, her interference that had Amelia-Jane involved with Mrs Watkins and God knows with what silly notions they filled her brain. No, Charlotte, Miss Bingley is going to have to live with this catastrophe on her conscience for quite a while,” she replied.