Netherfield Park Revisited (44 page)

It was a statement that she had no reason to doubt.

All that day and for most of the next, plans were made and letters written by both Jonathan and Anna.

For Jonathan, his first thought was to inform his parents and the Darcys, all of whom were by now at Woodlands. A letter was written and promptly despatched, assuring them that all was now settled between himself and Anna, with Dr and Mrs Faulkner giving them their blessing and announcing their engagement in the
Times
.

“Dear Mama,” he wrote, “you can rest assured that my heart, for which you have expressed so much concern recently, is now in very good hands.”

There were other letters to write, including to his dear aunt Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, reminding them that he owed a good deal of his present happiness to them, for it was at Pemberley that he had met Anna Faulkner again—grown up, handsome, and recently returned from Europe. He promised they would soon see them all at Woodlands.

Anna, too, had letters to write before she could turn her mind to anything else.

Her letter to Emma Wilson was as loving and intimate as a sister's could be.

If only I could tell you, my dear Emma, how much happiness this decision has brought, not just to both of us, who have longed for it, but to all our friends and family. Jonathan and I are both deeply indebted to you for the time we spent with you at Standish Park, in Spring, for it was there, in your gracious home and amidst your beautiful grounds, that we first understood, and indeed acknowledged to one another, the depth of our love.

It had been growing slowly over several months, and we might never have recognised it for what it was, except for those lovely days together in Kent. Since then, it seems to have come on so fast that, speaking for myself, it has virtually taken over my life to the extent that it is almost an ache in me, unbearable, yet sublime.

I know you, above all, will understand how I feel.

Thank you, Emma, and to James too, please convey our heartfelt thanks.

We hope to see you when Anne-Marie returns to Harwood House, next week.

Your loving sister

Anna Faulkner.

To her dear friends, the Armandes, she wrote somewhat differently, but with no less affection, of the joy this love had brought her. She thanked them for their kindness to her.

I know in my heart, dearest Marie and Emile, that much of the pleasure Jonathan and I share, the appreciation of Music, the love of Fine Art, I owe to you. What talent and skills I possess, and which he delights in, were nurtured by you.

They would have been poor indeed, without your enlightened guidance.

You have meant as much to me as my dear parents, and it is indeed possible that you have done more to make me who I am than they have.

The years I spent with you so enriched my life that I was able to contemplate the future with calmness, even before I knew I loved Jonathan. Now I look forward to it with excitement and serenity. We have often spoken of the days we spent with you in London and then again, when you were at Netherfield last Winter. They were such happy times, and though we were not even aware of it at the time, I have no doubt that we grew to love each other then. There is no other explanation for the happy way things have turned out.

Jonathan sends his best regards and please let me thank you with all my heart for your kindness. We both owe you so much.

We look forward to seeing you at our wedding, at Netherfield.

Your loving friend,

Anna.

The delight that both letters provoked in their respective recipients was quite remarkable, for though both Emma Wilson and Madame Armande had known in their hearts that Anna and Jonathan should marry, they had both been afraid that what was obvious to all the world, may not necessarily be as clear to the people most intimately concerned. As Mary Bennet, with her great love of aphorisms, was wont to say, “There's many a slip …” But this time, everything had worked out right.

James Wilson had been far more optimistic than his wife.

When she told him the news and read Anna's letter to him, he had smiled and said with the merest trace of smugness, “I did tell you, did I not my love, that Jonathan Bingley was far too sensible a fellow to let such an excellent young woman get away?”

“Indeed you did,” said his wife, “but it seemed to take so long that I had become fearful it might all come to naught, as happens often when these matters are delayed.”

“Your brother made a mistake once, when he was young and impressionable, and it cost him dearly. He is a very different man today, and I was confident he would make the right decision,” said James, adding, “I am happy for them and indeed for you, Emma, for I know how dearly you have wanted this for your brother.”

Emma smiled. She neither could nor wished to hide her satisfaction, both in her dear brother's happiness and in the fact that Anna, whom she loved and admired, would soon be her sister.

There had developed such a warm and affectionate friendship between the two women as is given to very few. For her brother, Emma prayed this marriage would bring the kind of satisfying, passionate contentment that she had found within her own.

They had both made hasty and unsuitable marriages in their youth, which was why Emma was not critical of the time Anna had taken to reach a decision. Clearly, she had wanted to be certain of her feelings and his.

As for Jonathan, Emma, who had never understood how a man of his education and intelligence had become so bewitched by Amelia-Jane, was sure that this time, his judgment was right.

The intelligence and sensitivity of Miss Faulkner had attracted her attention well before she had become aware of her brother's interest in the lady. Since then, every meeting between them had served only to confirm her approval. They were undoubtedly right for each other.

It was a sentiment with which their general acquaintance clearly agreed.

At a grand dinner party given by the Darcys at Pemberley, in honour of the couple, friends and family and several of Jonathan's political colleagues gathered to celebrate. Apart from all the sound reasons that presaged a successful union, he looked so delighted with her and she was so obviously proud of him, that their happiness appeared to be guaranteed.

Indeed, a young wag from Westminster was heard to remark that the couple seemed to be “almost indecently happy,” to which Colonel Fitzwilliam retorted that the only indecent thing about their happiness was that “it was so damned public.”

“They are in love and don't give a damn who knows it,” he declared in mock indignation, recalling, no doubt, the enforced concealment of his own love for Caroline Gardiner, for several months before he could apply to her parents for permission to court her.

With less than three months to the wedding, Anna's parents were keen to make preparations for their daughter's big day. But both Anna and Jonathan pleaded to be allowed to have a quiet, private ceremony, with only their dearest friends and family present. It was a request the Faulkners found hard to refuse, being themselves uneasy with much pomp and circumstance.

***

Seldom had Jane Bingley been happier than on the morning when her son married Anna Faulkner.

For both Jane and her husband, whose union had been unvaryingly happy, the grief of seeing their son's marriage crumble and end in tragedy had despoiled their chief source of joy—the happiness of their children.

While she had not deemed Amelia-Jane to be unsuitable, as Lizzie had, her extreme youth and lack of learning had caused Jane to wonder at her son's choice. Youth and beauty appeared to have won the day.

Many years later, after the early glow was gone and the marriage had turned dull and passionless, Jonathan had suffered terribly for his youthful mistake, and Jane had suffered with him. His wife's recalcitrance and her tragic death had dealt him a terrible blow, and Jane had feared he might never find the happiness she knew he deserved. The apparent injustice of it had left her bewildered.

On this fine, late Summer's day, all that was put to right, and she looked forward to seeing him share his life with a truly remarkable young woman, whose heart and mind were no less worthy of admiration than her looks.

Indeed, Mr Darcy, whose judgment in these matters both Jane and her husband regarded as impeccable, had declared that Anna and Jonathan were ideally suited and would make a very good marriage.

There were certainly no dissenting voices to be heard. Surrounded by friends and family, the couple accepted the good wishes and accolades of their guests, confident that the well-springs of their own felicity were deep and enduring.

Afterwards, when they were alone, Jonathan expressed his love and gratitude to his wife in the sincerest terms. He owed her, he said, his very sanity, for being there to support him at a time when his spirits had been at their lowest ebb.

“For surely, dearest Anna, you showed great charity by favouring me. You, who were so contented and self-contained, who wanted for nothing, filled as your life was with Art and Music, friendship, and the satisfaction of artistic achievement. Yet, you chose to come to Netherfield and share my life, rather than return to Paris.”

Deeply moved, Anna took his hand in hers and said very simply, “You must not exaggerate my contentment, Jonathan. Yes, I was certainly happy with my Art and Music, and perhaps I had become self-contained, but how long can such satisfaction last, if there is no one with whom to share the joy? How long would I have remained happy and fulfilled, alone? I know I had my dear friends, the Armandes, but I know also that without the love we share, I should have been only half alive,” adding with a smile, “I have not only accepted your love, indeed, I have given you all of mine in return.”

The delight which this endearing recital produced was more than Jonathan had ever known, and he assured her of his affection in the most ardent words he could summon.

As he had proposed the toast to the bride and groom, Jonathan's long-time friend and political mentor Colonel Fitzwilliam had wished them every happiness and then, in a typical gesture, with his wife Caroline at his side, he dared them to do as he had done.

“I speak now, only as I know. The advice I give you, my dear friends, is to love each another as truly and as passionately as you know how, much, much more than you could ever love yourself. Then, look within your hearts and find some love to spare for your fellow man, for it is from love and service that lasting pleasure comes. I know you both too well to believe that anything less would bring you genuine happiness. You are neither of you selfish beings.”

While their guests were still celebrating in the elegant surroundings of Netherfield, Jonathan and his wife said their goodbyes and slipped quietly away.

They were off, not to Paris, as some of their friends had speculated, but to a place they loved more than any other: Standish Park, which the Wilsons had obligingly vacated for a fortnight. Anna and Jonathan could think of no more appropriate place to spend the first weeks of their life together.

Later, they travelled to Europe to spend some time with the Armandes, with whom they would always remain on the happiest terms. Their joy was immeasurable, combined as it was with the satisfaction of knowing that they had played a significant part in bringing their friends together.

End of Part Two

1861

Prince Albert is dead. Britain and its Queen are in deep mourning.

For the family at Netherfield Park, it is the second funeral in a month.

The unexpected death of Miss Mary Bennet had shocked the family, for though she had been troubled by a respiratory complaint for many years, she had shown few signs of deterioration and indeed had appeared especially happy during this last year.

Mrs Collins had found her, having passed away as she dozed in her chair after tea, and summoned Dr Faulkner. She had also sent a man to Netherfield, with a note for Jonathan.

He had found Jonathan and Anna engaged in their favourite pastime—playing with Nicholas, their son, who was only a few months old.

Jonathan read the note and was immediately on his feet, explaining to his wife that he had to leave at once for Longbourn. Anna wanted to accompany him, but was dissuaded from doing so; her husband suggested that she had better wait until later.

Saddened, she accompanied him into the house, where she surrendered her son to his nurse.

“I cannot believe it,” she said. “I was with her on Sunday and she seemed cheerful and perfectly well. She was particularly pleased that one of her pupils had been chosen to play for the function at Hatfield House.”

“We shall have to see what your father says. He has been her doctor for many years; he would know if there was some condition of which we were unaware.”

Jonathan comforted her and promised he would be back before nightfall.

Alone, except for the servants, Anna remained upstairs, and asked for Nicholas to be brought to her after his bath. At least with him, she could try to overcome the shock of Miss Bennet's sudden death.

She recalled the many stories that were current amongst members of the family about Mary Bennet. Though she had not been the most popular or the best favoured of the bevy of Bennet girls who had lived at Longbourn, she had probably worked harder than all of them.

While her two elder sisters, Jane and Elizabeth, blessed with both beauty and brains, had married fine, prosperous young men and moved away, and her younger sister, Lydia, continued to flaunt her foolishness, Mary had worked very hard to achieve modest success. Lacking the attributes that her sisters possessed, she had been compensated with a degree of earnest persistence which served her well in her study of both Literature and Music.

While it may not have been possible to say she had excelled at any of her studies, she had reached a level of competence through dedication and practice that enabled her to teach successfully a number of young children in the area who had attended her classes at Longbourn.

More recently, after a bout of illness had forced her to reduce her work, Anna had been helping with some of the older pupils, adding the extra excitement of instruction in drawing and painting, which had attracted quite a few young ladies to Longbourn. Their youthful enthusiasm and bright conversation seemed to cheer the old place up, and Anna recalled that both Miss Bennet and Mrs Collins had enjoyed the musical evening she had organised for their pupils and their proud parents.

So clear were her memories, Anna could not believe Miss Bennet was dead and with so little warning.

Jonathan had returned, rather later than expected, to find his wife tearful and depressed from too much reminiscing and spent some time comforting her. The news he had from her father Dr Faulkner was that Miss Mary Bennet had died peacefully in her sleep, probably as a consequence of heart failure.

While this gave her some comfort, greater consolation flowed from the story told to Jonathan by her Aunt Charlotte. One of Mary's students had stayed on after her lesson to practice a favourite piece of music. Mary, having completed her lesson, had taken a cup of tea and decided to remain downstairs to hear her play.

Sometime later, the girl had finished playing and gone over to the chair in which Mary sat to bid her goodnight. Supposing her to be asleep, she had left quietly, leaving the instrument open, lest the sound of its closing disturb her sleeping teacher.

“I cannot think of a happier way for Miss Bennet to have died than while listening to one of her own pupils playing,” said Jonathan, and Anna had to agree. It seemed fitting, somehow.

The entire family came to Longbourn for Mary Bennet's funeral, which was well attended by her pupils and their families. Even Lydia and her daughter arrived, though neither Wickham nor any of their sons attended. Mary had been quite severe in her condemnation of their behaviour and was, consequently, not popular with them.

Afterwards, the family returned to Netherfield and many of them stayed to dinner. The question of what to do about Longbourn and Charlotte Collins weighed heavily on their minds. According to the terms of his grandfather's will, Jonathan was now the sole owner of the Longbourn estate.

After Mrs Collins had returned to Longbourn, various views were expressed.

Elizabeth and Darcy declared that it was a matter for Jonathan alone. They had no wish to interfere, believing that Jonathan and Anna were best placed to do what was right for Mrs Collins.

Jane agreed. She knew their friend would not want to move to Lucas Lodge, where she had been made to feel unwelcome before.

Lydia Wickham simply wished Mrs Collins would go—anywhere.

“She has no right to be at Longbourn,” she declared, fiercely, no doubt hoping she could persuade Jonathan to let her family move in.

Mr Bingley thought Charlotte may be persuaded to move to Derbyshire to live with her daughter, Rebecca, who was very well established there. Her husband Anthony Tate owned a number of provincial newspapers and their daughter Josie was recently married to Julian Darcy.

Jonathan was not comfortable with this idea, believing it would make Mrs Collins feel awkward. She was an independent woman and would not want to feel as though she were imposing on her relations.

Jonathan knew how much she had valued being invited to stay at Longbourn, of which, if her husband had lived, she would have been Mistress. His untimely death and Mr Bennet's generosity had placed Jonathan in his present position, and he felt responsible for her.

“I told Mrs Collins she was welcome to stay at Longbourn with Miss Bennet. They were good companions, and I had hoped they would help each other for many years to come. Mrs Collins has taken an interest in the place and done a great deal to improve the park and garden,” he said to his wife, as they went upstairs that night after the others had left.

It was then that Anna, who had stayed out of the discussion about her aunt, wondered almost as an afterthought, whether Mrs Collins could not simply continue at Longbourn, in much the same way as she did now?

After all, there were Mary's students to be taught and her own Art classes, she pointed out, asking Jonathan whether he would have any objection if her aunt continued to live there, while she took over the teaching.

Jonathan was surprised; it was an idea they had never discussed before.

“Do you mean to do it all yourself? Would it not be too much of a task?” he asked, not being sceptical, just concerned for her. He wondered if she would be taking on too much.

Anna spoke quietly.

“Well, Miss Bennet asked me some time ago if I would look after her pupils, should she become too ill to teach, and I promised I would. So, if you've told my Aunt Charlotte Collins that she may stay at Longbourn, and I've given my word to your aunt that I would take over her pupils, that fits together rather well, don't you think, my dear?”

Jonathan put his arms around her. Her capacity for warmth and kindness never failed to delight him.

“What a good idea. I do believe, my dearest, you have solved the question of Mrs Collins' stay at Longbourn. I shall continue to manage the property and send a man over regularly to help with the garden. Mrs Collins has her own maid, and if we provide her with a servant who will attend to her household duties, Mrs Collins could then assist you with the school.

“Do you suppose she would like that? We could go over and talk to your aunt about it tomorrow,” he said and then added, “Anna, are you quite sure about taking on all Miss Bennet's pupils?”

Anna nodded.

“The older ones, certainly, but I am sure we could find another teacher from Meryton or even further afield, perhaps a former student, who will help with the younger ones,” she said, and Jonathan, pleased with her enthusiasm, added his own.

“I am happy to let you try it, if that is what you want, so long as you promise me you will not take on too much and overtire yourself.”

Anna smiled. It was the easiest promise to give and she looked forward to the challenge.

A school of her own, teaching Art and Music; it was almost a dream come true!

***

The funeral of Prince Albert was a very solemn, grand affair, attended by several princes and dignitaries from Europe. It was quite spectacular, Jonathan said.

The Queen was said to be distraught.

James and Jonathan both agreed that the death of the Prince Consort was a blow to the cause of public education.

“More has been lost by his untimely death than a consort for the Queen,” Jonathan had remarked when he and James returned to Standish Park.

“It was well known that Prince Albert was interested in the idea of public education and, in time, would probably have convinced his Queen that all her subjects, not just the children of the rich and famous, were entitled to a national system of education.”

Though Jonathan had decided not to stand for re-election to the House of Commons, he had continued, with Anna's encouragement, to maintain his interest in his Party and, in particular, the Reform Group.

There were several areas in which his wife's ideas coincided completely with his own, and she had insisted that he continue his work outside the Parliament.

James Wilson was particularly grateful and had remarked to his wife that Anna was proving to be the perfect wife for Jonathan, just as Caroline was an absolute asset to Fitzwilliam when he was in Parliament.

“It is plain to see how much happier Jonathan is,” he said. “My only regret is that he is no longer in the Commons himself. We miss his eloquent support in all our debates. I am sure Anna would have been quite happy for him to continue; she appears to have an active social conscience and some strong views herself, as do many intelligent women today.”

Emma teased her husband.

“Have a care dearest, or they will soon be counting you among the supporters of Votes for Women.”

James laughed and confessed that it was a cause for which he had much sympathy. However, Parliamentary Reform was his first priority, he said. Now that Italian unity was out of the way, with Lord Palmerston's friend Mr Garibaldi victorious, it was generally hoped that the reform agenda could be taken up again. James Wilson was quite confident that Lord Russell would keep his word.

“I have spoken with him on several occasions, and he has never prevaricated or evaded the issue. He is sincerely committed to reforming the electoral laws,” he said.

Unlike Fitzwilliam, Jonathan did not miss the cut and thrust of Parliament; indeed, after the birth of Nicholas, he had taken to spending more time at Netherfield, conferring with his steward and attending to the concerns of his tenants and his estate.

He enjoyed far more now than he had in his first marriage the domestic joys of home and family, but he did miss the intellectual stimulation of the Reform Group's discussions, and James often invited him to join them. He involved his brother-in-law in much of the preparation for the next Reform Bill that Lord Russell had promised he would bring into the house, just as soon as he could get Palmerston's attention.

There were other matters too which he pursued, in which his wife shared his concerns. She had begun to take an active interest in the work Emma Wilson had been doing for many years, in the poorer districts of London and in the villages around Standish Park. Helping with the schooling and health of children, pressing for better conditions for women, Anna seemed to derive great satisfaction from the hard work involved, and it gave her a chance to spend time with her dearest friend and now her sister Emma Wilson.

Whether working with the children of the slums or in their own gracious homes, two more contented women would have been difficult to find. Whenever they met, their conversations were eager and warm, often extending late into the evening.

Anna was experiencing a new intensity of living, like she had not known since childhood when, as a bright and earnest little girl, she had enjoyed life to the full.

Her marriage had opened her life up to new and deeper experiences. Anna had found herself Mistress of a fine estate and an affectionate family. In her husband, she had a man so close to her ideal that she asked little more than the joy of being his wife.

Yet life seemed always to be offering her more and she grasped it eagerly.

When Nicholas was born, she had thought she would never again know such happiness, but each week seemed to bring keener pleasures.

She confessed to Emma that she had expected to become domesticated like many women she knew, married and with children who gave them no time for anything or anyone else. Instead, she had found that marriage to Jonathan had brought her more, not less freedom, with opportunities for involvement in areas into which she had never ventured before.

“I understand, far better than I did, what it is that drives men like James and Jonathan to strive for the improvement of laws to help the poor and protect women and children. I have learnt so much, Emma, thanks mainly to you and your wonderful work. Thank you for letting me share it.”

Emma was pleased and asked if Jonathan approved of her new interests.

Anna nodded. “Indeed, he does. He shares my concerns and encourages me in the work we do. For himself, he says he has never been happier,” she said, her eyes shining. Emma had to agree.