Netherfield Park Revisited (26 page)

At first, he put it down to tiredness and hoped she would recover her spirits after they had broken journey for the night at Cambridge.

But the following morning, at breakfast, she was still very quiet and appeared out of sorts. Determined that she should not travel all the way to Ashford Park in such a state, Jonathan decided to bring the matter out into the open by asking her directly, “I can see you are not happy, Anne-Marie, and it grieves me. Will you not tell me what is the matter? Is there not something I can do or say to help?”

She was startled by his question and appeared, at first, unwilling to let him see what it was that troubled her.

But when he persisted, she turned to him with tears in her eyes and told him of the letter she had received from her mother, just two days before her imprudent journey to Bath. It started slowly, but as she talked, it all poured out, the grief and strain of keeping it all to herself for so many months exacerbating her distress.

Jonathan was shocked and remorseful about her solitary suffering.

“Why did you not tell me, my dear?” he asked. “Why did you choose to keep it to yourself, all these months? It cannot have been easy. You have suffered unnecessarily and for too long.”

Taking the letter out of her pocketbook, where it had lain hidden, she gave it to him and watched, tearfully, as he read it through.

His face drained of colour, Jonathan looked devastated.

Gradually, painfully, she explained.

“What good would it have done to expose it, to give you even more pain? Why would I wish to add to your suffering, Papa?”

He held her hands in his, trying to comfort her, but realised that it was not the kind of emotion that could be easily explained away.

For himself, Jonathan had never fully understood the extent to which his wife had blamed him for the failure of their marriage. Always a loving father and husband, he had not regarded his absence from home in pursuit of his Parliamentary career a matter for disapproval. This was especially so since Amelia-Jane had admired and encouraged his dedication to his constituency when they were engaged.

After they were married, she had enjoyed the early excitement of being the wife of a promising and popular Member of Parliament. That it had caused so much aggravation between them later had surprised and disappointed him; he had always hoped that she would in time come to understand the value of his work for the community.

He had the examples of women like his sister Emma Wilson and his cousin Caroline Fitzwilliam—both married to dedicated Parliamentarians, both Reformists with a strong commitment to improving the lot of the working people and extending the franchise to all.

He tried to explain to Anne-Marie. “It is not as if I was indulging myself, as David Wilson did for many years, keeping poor Emma in ignorance, while he enjoyed the high life in London. I was just a hard-working MP, pressing for reform, trying to help the people who elected me to Parliament,” he said.

It had been increasingly difficult for him to comprehend his wife's antagonism to his work.

“I could not imagine why your mama thought it was such a waste of time; I thought I was doing well,” he said sadly, and Anne-Marie was sympathetic.

“Of course you were, Papa. I knew that and so did many other people. But poor Mama—after she tired of the London scene, she lost all interest in the work of Parliament. She was not like Aunt Emma or Cousin Caroline, she felt no personal loyalty to the Party as they did, nor did she understand very much about the reforms you were struggling to introduce. She was bored and annoyed that you were always away doing things in which she had no part and no real interest.”

Then, seeing the stricken look upon his face, she took his hand. “Poor Papa, you did not know and no one told you, but, after our two little brothers died, she even lost interest in the rest of us. She had very little time for Teresa and me, and even Cathy spent a lot of her time with Aunt Harrison. I think Mama was lonely and sad, but whenever she tried to speak of Thomas or Francis, someone would try to cheer her up, tell her to dry her tears, and I think that made things much worse. She thought that you and the rest of us did not feel their loss as deeply as she did.”

Jonathan shook his head in bewilderment.

“What did you think?” he asked, wondering how his wife could have been so mistaken, and astonished also at Anne-Marie's understanding of her mother's sad and confused state of mind.

She held fast to his hand as she spoke.

“It matters little what I thought. For the most part, I agreed with Mama that you worked too hard, but I do not censure you, for I know what dedication means. In my own work, I have learnt the value of single-minded commitment to a cause, and I know the satisfaction it can bring.”

“You do not blame me then, as your brother does?” he asked, anxious to discover her opinion.

“Not at all, except that I would have wished you were home for us more often; we missed you, Charles and I. We had no real grown-ups to talk to. But I cannot blame you for your desire to work hard at your chosen profession, nor can I agree with Mama's demand that you give it all away and stay home, like the landed gentry do.”

Jonathan had to smile as she continued.

“As for Miss Caroline Bingley, nothing will make me forgive her for introducing Mama to Mrs Watkins and Mr Alexander. The two of them filled her head with such foolish ideas, ideas that bore no relation to reality and led ultimately to her death. My only consolation is that justice was served when they died with her in the accident.”

Jonathan was surprised by the harshness of her judgment, yet he understood how, having borne the frustration and sorrow, she was not ready to forgive and forget. She held those who had misled and deluded her mother into a calamitous course of action duly culpable.

Presently, they approached the village of Ashfordby, a few miles before the turn-off to the Bingleys' estate.

She spoke more gently, urging him to remember that Cathy and Tess would be waiting, seeing him after a long separation. They would notice his mood if he was upset, she warned.

“We must try to be a little more cheerful, Papa, for their sakes; they are too young to understand our continuing sorrow, and we have no right to add to theirs.”

Jonathan was proud of her selflessness and maturity. Clearly, she had acquired, at an early age, the qualities her poor confused mother had never learned. He suffered again those feelings of remorse that had assailed him directly after his wife's death, when he assumed that he might have been able to prevent it in some way.

They were approaching Ashford Park and the journey would soon be over. He turned to her and asked anxiously, “Anne-Marie, tell me truthfully and do not try to spare my feelings, do you not believe that I, had I been more vigilant, paid greater attention to the character of her friends and perhaps exposed their true nature, that I might have averted this disaster?”

She was absolute in her denial.

“No, Papa, I do not accept that for one moment. While I was sympathetic to Mama's complaints that you were frequently from home and she was often lonely, I do not believe that anything you could have said or done would have separated her from her new-found friends,” she declared.

“They set out to ingratiate themselves with her in every possible way. Had you tried to warn her against them, she would have concluded immediately that you were trying to detach her from them for some sinister, selfish reason. It is likely to have made matters worse rather than better.”

Seeing his troubled expression, she added, “I tried too, Papa, I did everything I could think of and so did Aunt Emma and Aunt Catherine, and every one of us who tried must have suffered as you did, feeling we had failed or could have done more to prevent Mama acting as she did, so do not judge yourself too harshly. You must not take on all the blame.”

The gratitude he felt was too deep to be expressed in a few words, and, in any event, the carriage had already turned into the park. As they drove up to the house, their eagerness to see the children and the Bingleys again lifted their spirits.

Despite the cold November day, everyone came out to welcome them as they drove to the door, and Jonathan was left in no doubt of their feelings as his mother and two daughters greeted him warmly, with smiles and tears combining as he enfolded them in his arms.

Standing to one side, it was a while before Anne-Marie was similarly received, first by her grandparents, and then by the two young sisters who owed much to her courage and compassion.

For Jonathan Bingley and his daughters, happiness came not only from being together again at last, but from the warmth and comfort of what was, in the words of his eldest daughter, “without any doubt, the happiest home in all England.”

The Bingleys—Jane and Charles—enjoyed a degree of conjugal felicity that was the envy of many others and, while they had not been spared the sorrow of life's vicissitudes, they seemed better able than most to rise above them.

They were both blessed with an evenness of temper and a capacity for compassion that enabled them to cope with their own afflictions while understanding the concerns of others. Jane's affectionate heart and her husband's amiable nature endeared them to many, and where it was needed, they gave of their time and shared their good fortune gladly.

The year just past had brought them more than a fair share of tribulation, as they had watched Jonathan's family disintegrate and then endured the disastrous consequences of Amelia-Jane's needless death. With courage and generosity they had taken on the task of comforting the two youngest children. Uncomprehending and desolate as the two girls had been at the time, it had not been easy. But they had persevered, and here they were, welcoming their father and elder sister and planning a happy reunion.

Jonathan planned to spend a week or ten days at most in the area, during which time he hoped to see as many members of his family as he could, visiting his sisters, Sophia and Louisa, who were married and settled in the district, as well as his former political mentor and friend, Colonel Fitzwilliam.

No sooner had the Fitzwilliams become aware of his arrival in the area, than an invitation to dinner was despatched and happily accepted.

Anne-Marie wanted to stay home with her sisters, but was persuaded by Jane to accompany her father. Though not as interested in matters political as her father, she nevertheless enjoyed the stimulating conversation that always flowed at any occasion hosted by the Fitzwilliams. She had enormous admiration for Caroline Gardiner, who at a very tender age had married both the handsome Colonel and his political causes, working assiduously and with great conviction to help him promote them.

Both the Colonel and Caroline still retained an interest in Parliamentary matters, though he had given up active politics many years ago. They looked now to Jonathan—a protégé of whom they were very proud—for information about developments at Westminster.

Congratulating him on the role he had played in the important negotiations leading up to the defeat of the government of Lord Derby and the return of the Whigs to the Treasury benches, Fitzwilliam was eager to discover when the next Reform Bill would be brought into the House of Commons.

Fitzwilliam had always been a great admirer of Lord Palmerston, and though occasionally disappointed in the pace of change under his administration, he still hoped for great things from the man.

“With Russell and Gladstone in Cabinet, surely Palmerston will take the initiative on reform. What is your opinion, Jonathan?” he asked, and to his great disappointment, Jonathan replied, “I wish I could confidently predict that he would, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but I fear that the very fact that Mr Gladstone is encumbered with the Treasury and Lord Russell has been drafted into Foreign Affairs suggests that Palmerston has put the Reform agenda aside for at least a year. Sadly, there will be no Reform Bill this session, nor in the next, I fear.”

Fitzwilliam and Caroline were astounded. Caroline spoke for both of them, “I cannot believe that, Jonathan. Surely if there was one thing the people expected to see, it was the extension of the franchise. As it stands, the middle class and the working people, if they have no property, have no vote,” she protested.

“Indeed, ma'am, you are quite right, and I imagine that many of the Liberals who joined the Whigs to defeat Derby would have expected it, too. I believe Lord Russell is eager to see the matter dealt with, but Palmerston has never been very enthusiastic about it and he is too obsessed with the question of Italy to pay any heed to the matter of extending the franchise,” he explained.

Fitzwilliam looked bitterly disappointed.

“Jonathan, are you quite sure? Does that mean we can expect no change at all?” he asked, half hoping to be proved wrong. But Jonathan had little joy for him and went further by suggesting that, unless and until the question of Italian Unity was settled, there was probably no hope of Parliamentary Reform.

“What about the conditions of workers?” Caroline asked. “Is that to be set aside as well?”

Jonathan, who had a very particular interest in the subject, on account of complaints received from his sister Emma regarding workshops in the east end, had slightly better news for her.

“I believe we are somewhat better placed here, ma'am, with the influence of Mr Gladstone on the rise within the government. He has been building bridges with John Bright, the best hope for the working class yet, and I do believe we shall see some results. However, Lord Palmerston will not let anything get in the way of his European campaign; he believes this is Britain's best chance to secure her influence in Italy. It is possible that Mr Gladstone, with the support of the Liberals, will push for reform, but one cannot be certain of his success.”

“And, when you return to the Commons, Jonathan, will you join with the liberal Whigs and take up the cause of reform?” asked Fitzwilliam, pouring out more wine and passing a bowl of fruit across to Jonathan.