Netherfield Park Revisited (45 page)

“Anna, it is plain to see. Anyone who knew Jonathan would tell you the same thing, but as his sister, I can assure you, both James and I have spoken of it often. He is more content now than we have ever seen him. My parents feel the same and we are all indebted to you, my dear Anna. My brother was deeply unhappy, you have transformed his life.”

Anna blushed at her words of praise.

She had not spoken of her own happiness, because it had seemed self serving, yet nothing in her life at any previous time had matched its present intensity nor brought such contentment.

1862

Two letters from the collection of family documents in the library at Netherfield Park will suffice to conclude this narrative.

Charlotte Collins writes to Mrs Jonathan Bingley, about the program for the School of Fine Arts for Ladies, at Longbourn.

August 4th, 1862.

My dear Anna,

Since we have settled on the manner in which the classes for the new students will be organised, would you let me suggest that we have a regular woman who will come in and do the cleaning downstairs, so my maid Harriet Greene may be free to help with the school's paperwork?

She reads and writes a fair hand and keeps accounts, in addition to being very honest. We should therefore try to use her gifts to benefit both her and the school. I should wish, also, to pay her at least one additional pound per month for this work, if that meets with your approval.

On another matter, I have had two very encouraging letters. The first from Mrs Georgiana Grantley, who would be happy to endow a scholarship for a Music student and looks forward to visiting the school in the Autumn. I thought we might try for a little presentation and a musical item on that occasion. I am sure Mrs Grantley will appreciate the girls' efforts on her behalf.

The second is from a woman who used to teach Music in London, and has recently moved to Meryton. She is a widow, I think, a Mrs Lucy Sutton, who wishes to enrol her two girls, seven and nine, for Art and Music classes.

As well, she has offered her services as a teacher, if we require one.

The accounts for the past three months are ready. Harriet has checked them and you shall have them at our next meeting, at which we could perhaps also decide on the entertainment for Mrs Grantley. Something short and sweet, I think.

Thank you both for the generous basket of fruit from Netherfield Orchards. The plums are especially fine, so sweet and fresh. We do very well here with our vegetables and herbs, but I am disappointed that, apart from the apples, we do not do so well with fruit.

Thank you again for your kindness.

God bless you both,

Your loving aunt,

Charlotte Collins.

Anne-Marie, who was now permanently settled near her friend Eliza Harwood, having married Mr John Bradshaw, the chaplain at the Harwood military hospital, wrote to her father and Anna in October 1862.

My dear Papa and Anna,

This brings good news. We are not being moved to the country after all, because Mr Harwood, who hopes to enter Parliament, has donated the hospital and its grounds to the church and appointed my husband to the living at Harwood Park.

That means the work of the hospital can go on without interruption, even if the army moves its patients out. Mr Harwood believes that there are hundreds of people in the community who need care and Mr Bradshaw agrees.

He has urged me to complete the next level of my training too.

Last Sunday, we dined with Mr Darcy and Aunt Lizzie at their town house in Portman Square, which has been recently refurbished. It is truly beautiful. The new lighting is splendid. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Cousin Caroline were there too, having come to London to attend a reception for a colleague.

We spent a very interesting evening hearing so many stories of times past, of which one of the best has to be the tale aunt Lizzie told of the week my grandfather, Mr Bingley, first arrived in Hertsfordshire, having taken out a lease on Netherfield Park, and the excitement it aroused at Longbourn.

As Aunt Lizzie tells it, the news was all over the town in a flash; there was so much excitement, with all the young ladies setting their caps at him and all their mothers, including Mrs Bennet, urging them on! You see they had discovered that Grandfather had just inherited a fortune and was looking for a house in the country.

As she put it so amusingly, “and of course, a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

So it seems every mother and daughter in the district had their eyes on Mr Bingley … he was forever being invited to dine or dance with the young ladies of the area … but all to no avail, for he, Mr Darcy tells us, had eyes only for Miss Jane Bennet. Once he had met her and danced with her at Netherfield, he was quite smitten, and no other woman, no matter how rich or famous would do.

Everyone enjoyed the droll tale of Grandfather's arrival at Netherfield. Some of them had heard different versions of the story before, but only Aunt Lizzie could tell it as she always does. It was very funny indeed!

I was quite amazed and said how things have changed, because when Papa moved to Netherfield a few years ago, no one paid any attention to him at all. I wondered why, when he was, after all, quite eligible himself, being a handsome widower with a very good income.

At that, both Mr Darcy and Aunt Lizzie laughed heartily and Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “Ah, Anne-Marie, that was because your papa was already spoken for.”

Aunt Lizzie and Mr Darcy hushed him up and said they must not tell on you, Papa, but then they all laughed and seemed very amused indeed.

Cousin Caroline said she thought everyone in the family knew and yet they all pretended it was a secret, because they wanted to protect both of you from gossip.

Dear Anna, forgive me, I do not mean to be nosey, but had you already decided to accept Papa ? I would love to know …

Yours very affectionately,

Anne-Marie

It is not known if Anne-Marie received an answer to her question, but it would not be difficult to imagine the mirth with which this innocent piece of speculation would have been received by Jonathan Bingley and his wife, whose lives had by now settled into an enviable state of contentment at Netherfield, setting all previous vexations at nought.

Netherfield Park Revisited
– A list of the main characters:

Jonathan Bingley – son of Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley

Amelia-Jane Bingley, neé Collins – wife of Jonathan, daughter of Charlotte Collins and Reverend Collins (deceased)

Charles, Anne-Marie, Teresa, and Cathy Bingley, (Francis and Thomas, deceased) – children of Jonathan and Amelia-Jane Bingley

Emma Wilson – sister of Jonathan Bingley, married James Wilson (previously married David Wilson, deceased, brother of James)

Catherine Harrison – sister of Amelia-Jane, eldest daughter of Charlotte Collins, married Reverend Harrison of Hunsford

Cassandra Gardiner – neé Cassandra Darcy, daughter of Mr and Mrs Darcy of Pemberley, married Dr Richard Gardiner, son of Mr and Mrs Gardiner

Julian Darcy – son of Mr and Mrs Darcy, brother of Cassandra, married Josie Tate, granddaughter of Charlotte Collins

Anna Faulkner – daughter of Maria Lucas and Dr John Faulkner of Hertfordshire, niece of Charlotte Collins, neé Lucas

Eliza Harwood, neé Courtney – daughter of Emily Gardiner and Reverend James Courtney of Kympton, close friend of Anne-Marie Bingley

Monsieur and Madame Armande – of Brussels, friends and confidantes of Anna Faulkner

And from the annals of
Pride and Prejudice
:

Charles and Jane Bingley – parents of Jonathan and Emma

Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy – uncle and aunt to Jonathan Bingley

Colonel Fitzwilliam and his wife Caroline (neé Gardiner) – cousins of the Darcys and close friends of Jonathan Bingley

Mr and Mrs Edward Gardiner – uncle and aunt of Elizabeth and Jane, parents of Richard Gardiner, Emily Courtney, Caroline Fitzwilliam, and Robert Gardiner

The author wishes to acknowledge her debt to Jane Austen, who has been her inspiration, and to the BBC for their magnificent dramatisation of
Pride and Prejudice
, which started it all.

Thanks are also due to Ms Claudia Taylor, Librarian, for the historical research, to Robert and Ben for work on the computer, and to Ms Beverley Farrow for her invaluable work in organising the preparation and printing of the text.

May 1999.

A lifelong fan of Jane Austen, Rebecca Ann Collins first read
Pride and Prejudice
at the tender age of twelve. She fell in love with the characters and since then has devoted years of research and study to the life and works of her favourite author. As a teacher of literature and a librarian, she has gathered a wealth of information about Miss Austen and the period in which she lived and wrote, which has become the basis of her books about the Pemberley families. The popularity of the Pemberley novels with Jane Austen fans has been her reward.

With a love of reading, music, art, and gardening, Ms. Collins claims she is very comfortable in the period about which she writes, and feels great empathy with the characters she portrays. While she enjoys the convenience of modern life, she finds much to admire in the values and world view of Jane Austen.

Ladies of Longbourn

October 1862

When Jane Bingley heard the news, delivered by express post from Harwood House, she was at first so numb with shock that she could not move for several minutes from the chair in which she was seated.

Afterwards, she rose and went to find Mr Bingley and tell him that John Bradshaw, the husband of their granddaughter Anne-Marie, was dead of a sudden seizure, the result of a completely unforeseen heart condition, which had caused him to collapse unconscious in the vestry after Evensong on Sunday.

It appeared from the letter, written hastily and despatched by Anne-Marie's friend Eliza Harwood, that only the verger, Mr Thatcher, had been with him at the time and despite his best efforts to render what assistance he could, poor Mr Bradshaw had passed away before the doctor could even be summoned. Mr Bingley, when he had recovered from the shock, had ordered that the carriage be brought round immediately and they had set off for Pemberley to take the news to Darcy and Elizabeth.

On arriving at Pemberley, they were spared the need to break the bad news, by virtue of the fact that a message sent by Anne-Marie's father, Jonathan Bingley, via the electric telegraph, had reached Pemberley barely half an hour earlier. Elizabeth was at the entrance to greet her sister as she alighted. It was clear from Elizabeth's countenance that she knew already.

Now, there was need only to speak of the terrible sadness of it all. Mr Bradshaw was still a young man, being not yet thirty, and though not a particularly inspiring preacher, he got on well enough with everyone, and of course, here was Anne-Marie, married no more than fifteen months, a young widow.

Then, there was the need to prepare for the funeral. Mr Darcy had said his manager would attend to all the arrangements and they could travel down together. Jane was particularly happy about that. She liked having Lizzie beside her on these difficult occasions.

The letter had said the funeral would be at the parish church in Harwood Park; both the Bingleys and Darcys had houses in town, and preparations were soon in train to leave for London on the morrow.

When the Bingleys were leaving Pemberley, Elizabeth said softly, “It is difficult to believe that Mr Bradshaw is dead; they were dining with us at Portman Square only last month, together with Caroline and Fitzwilliam. We were such a merry party, too, were we not, Darcy?”

Her husband agreed, “Yes, indeed, and Bradshaw looked perfectly well.”

They were all a little uncomfortable in the face of the sudden departure of someone they'd had little time to get to know and so could not mourn with any real conviction, except as the husband of Anne-Marie, for whom they all had great affection and sympathy.

At Harwood Park, where, in a small churchyard amidst many old graves, an assorted collection of relatives, acquaintances, and parishioners had gathered to bid farewell to the Reverend John Bradshaw, many could only sigh and wonder at the suddenness of his death. Jane still seemed stunned by it all. Her granddaughter Anne-Marie, veiled and clothed in deepest mourning, her small, pale face moist with tears, clung to her grandmother, accepting her comforting embrace even though Jane had no words of consolation for her.

Afterwards, there had been a very simple gathering at Harwood House, where Mr and Mrs Harwood mingled with the mourners, but Anne-Marie retired upstairs until it was time to leave. Then she said her farewells and kissed, embraced, and thanked them all before leaving with her father, his wife, and their family in a closed carriage, bound for Netherfield Park in Hertfordshire, some twenty-five miles away.

***

Returning to Derbyshire, other members of the family were staying overnight in Oxford, at a favourite hostelry not far from St John's College.

When the ladies withdrew after dinner, Jane, who had remained silent for most of the meal, approached her sister.

“Lizzie, this has been a time for funerals, has it not? There was our sister Mary, then the Prince Consort, and now poor Mr Bradshaw.”

Elizabeth nodded; she knew Jane was feeling very depressed.

“Yes indeed, Jane, though I am quite confident that if our sister Mary could speak at this moment, she would surely point out that ‘these things are sent to try us' and they usually come in threes.”

Elizabeth was not being flippant or facetious, merely noting their late sister Mary Bennet's propensity to produce an aphorism for every occasion, whether happy or catastrophic, thereby reducing everything to a level of banality above which it was virtually impossible to rise. Jane, however, was not amused.

“Oh, Lizzie, how could you say such a thing! Do be serious; I was thinking of our poor young Anne-Marie and how this wretched business has blighted her life,” she cried.

“So was I,” said Elizabeth. “It must be a dreadful blow, but as for blighting her life, look at it this way, Jane. She is still young, not yet twenty three, still very beautiful, and well provided for by her father. No doubt she will inherit something from her husband as well. With no young children, she will have very little to trouble her, and when she has recovered from this terrible shock, I am quite certain she will not remain a widow for very long.”

Jane was aghast. “Lizzie, how can you say that, with poor Mr Bradshaw barely cold in his grave? Anne-Marie will be very cross with you.”

“I am sure she would, so I shall not be saying any such thing to her,” replied Elizabeth, adding, “of course she must mourn her husband. I mean only to reassure you, dear Jane, that life has certainly not ended for young Anne-Marie. I am confident there will be a better future for her.”

Entering the room at that moment, Elizabeth's daughter, Cassandra Gardiner, heard her mother's words and, on being applied to for an opinion, agreed with alacrity.

“If you really want my opinion, Mama, Anne-Marie was wasted on Mr Bradshaw. Neither Richard nor I could ever understand why she married him and in such haste, too,” and seeing her Aunt Jane's outraged expression, Cassandra added, “Oh I know he was good and kind and all that sort of thing, but dear me, Aunt Jane, he was quite the dullest person I have ever encountered. When they came to visit after their wedding last year, he had nothing at all to say unless it was about church reform. Poor Anne-Marie did all the talking. Mr Bradshaw insisted on walking miles to visit all the village churches in the district and wanted to attend everything from matins to Evensong, and he would drag poor Anne-Marie along, even when you could see she was longing to stay and chat with the rest of us.”

“And he made some boring sermons,” said Elizabeth with a sigh. “When they came to Pemberley after they had become engaged, Darcy and I could not believe they were really going to be married. Darcy still believes that Anne-Marie would never have accepted him if she'd had the opportunity to meet more people, especially more eligible and intelligent young men. He would agree with Cassy that Anne-Marie was much too good for Mr Bradshaw and so, I am sure, would Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was at Pemberley at the time, and I remember his astonishment as Mr Bradshaw got up from the table after breakfast and hurried poor Annie, as he used to call her, off to church. She went quite cheerfully, I will admit, but Fitzwilliam was amazed and said as much.

“‘Upon my word,'” began Lizzie, who was a good mimic and could do Colonel Fitzwilliam very well. “‘Upon my word, Darcy, I cannot imagine he is in love with her if he just keeps dragging her off to church so often.' Whereupon Darcy said, ‘It appears to be his only interest. Church reform is his pet topic; I have heard him speak of little else.'”

“And did Mr Darcy not regard Mr Bradshaw as a fit and proper husband for Anne-Marie?” Jane asked, anxiously.

“Oh he was certainly fit and very proper, too, Jane,” replied her sister, smiling, “but I do not believe he was interesting or energetic enough for her. She is so full of vitality and energy, feels everything so deeply, while he . . . I cannot honestly say I could pick a single subject upon which I have heard him speak with anything approaching passion.”

“What, not even church reform?” asked Cassy, with a wicked smile, to which her mother replied with a doleful look.

“No, not even church reform. It was a subject he addressed at length and with some conviction, but in such measured tones that it was difficult to listen to him for more than a few minutes, which, if he meant to enthuse us, must surely have defeated his purpose altogether.”

Jane, still shocked, did recall on being prompted by Lizzie that Mr Bingley had fallen asleep during one of Mr Bradshaw's sermons, much to her embarrassment. “Poor Bingley,” she said. “He was mortified.”

She was promptly assured that no one would have blamed her dear husband for the completely understandable lapse.

Cassy said she had frequently wondered what had prompted the marriage, and Richard had been of the opinion that after her mother's death, Anne-Marie must have been so deeply hurt and troubled by what she clearly regarded as her mother's betrayal of their family that she had sought the safety of a marriage with a good, dull man, who would never dream of doing anything similar.

Jane agreed that in all her letters as well as in conversations, Anne-Marie would only refer to Mr Bradshaw as “dear Mr Bradshaw” and would always tell them how very good and kind he was.

“I do not doubt, Aunt Jane, that he was a good man, but one cannot live out one's life with a person whose only claim to fame is ‘goodness.' Doubtless he will have saved her soul, but surely one needs some warmth, some rapport, some shared love of music or reading to nourish the soul, which must learn to enjoy and delight in God's gifts, before it comes to be saved.” Cassy, in full flight, had not noticed her father and Bingley as they entered the room until Darcy said, “That was a fair sermon in itself, Cassy.”

She smiled, knowing he was teasing her, but Jane applied to Mr Darcy for a judgment upon his daughter's opinion.

“Let us ask your father if he agrees,” she said, whereupon Darcy smiled a wry, crooked little smile and declared,

“If Cassy was speaking of the late Mr Bradshaw, I have to admit that I am in complete agreement with her. Neither Lizzie nor I could ever get much more than exhortations to virtuous living from the man. I am in no doubt at all of his worthy intentions, but for a young man—he was not yet thirty—he was an amazingly dull fellow.” Turning to his wife, he added with a smile, “Not quite as tedious as your late cousin Mr Collins, Lizzie, but close, very close.”

Jane pressed him further, “And do you believe, Mr Darcy, that Anne-Marie was mistaken when she married him? Was she deceived, do you think?”

“Mistaken? Probably. Deceived? No indeed, Anne-Marie is an intelligent young woman. She may have been mistaken when she decided that Mr Bradshaw was the right man for her, but I would not accept that she was deceived by him. Bradshaw seemed incapable of deception. He was honest—transparently so—and dull; he had few remarkable qualities, but honesty was, I am sure, one of them. No, Jane, my belief coincides to a very great extent with Cassy's. I think, though I cannot know this for certain, that Anne-Marie was so disturbed by her mother's irrational behaviour and by the terrible events that led to her death that she accepted Bradshaw, believing that marriage to him offered a safe, secure life without risk of betrayal or hurt,” he said, and his sombre voice reflected his sadness.

It had been only a year or two ago that Darcy had, in conversation with his wife, expressed the hope that Anne-Marie would widen her horizons beyond her nursing career, hoping her friendship with Anna Faulkner would engage her mind and encourage an appreciation of the arts.

“Do you believe she never loved him then?” asked Jane, sadly.

Darcy found it hard to answer her.

“I am not privy to her thoughts, but I do know that she always spoke of him with respect and affection. But whether her feelings were deeply engaged, I cannot judge,” he replied.

“I saw no sign of it,” said Cassy, firmly.

“No indeed,” Elizabeth agreed, “yet, they always seemed content. I cannot believe she was unhappy.”

As her husband Richard Gardiner came in to join them, Cassy spoke.

“Not unless you believe that the absence of deeply felt love in a marriage constitutes an absence of happiness,” said Cassy, of whose happiness there was never any doubt. “For my part, such a situation would have been intolerable.”

Cassy had once declared she would never marry except for the very deepest love, and no one who knew them doubted that she had kept her word. Recalling her own determination that she would rather remain unwed than marry without an assurance of deep and sincere affection, Elizabeth could only express the hope that Anne-Marie would find that life had more to offer her in the future.

***

The return of Mr and Mrs Bingley to Netherfield with their widowed daughter was certain to cause comment in the village and on the estate, but knowing the esteem in which the family was held, Mrs Perrot, the housekeeper, was quite confident it would be uniformly sympathetic.

Ever since the news had arrived by electric telegraph late on Sunday night, the house had been in turmoil, with the master plainly shocked and Mrs Bingley, who was usually so calm, in floods of tears.

“Poor Anne-Marie, poor dear Anne-Marie,” she had said over and over again. “Oh, Mrs Perrot, it is just not fair!”

Mrs Perrot, who had lost a husband in the war and a son killed in an accident on the railways, agreed that life sometimes just wasn't fair.

Mrs Perrot and the manager, Mr Bowles, had had a little discussion and decided that no special fuss would be made when Mrs Bradshaw arrived at Netherfield House. “It's best we let the young lady rest a while,” Bowles had suggested and she had agreed. He would convey the sympathies of the entire staff and, if Mrs Perrot wished, she could add her own, he had said. So it was resolved and the maids and footman were urged to restrain themselves, lest they cause Mrs Bradshaw even more distress.