Caroline was forced to admit, if only to herself, the beauty of the house despite the fact that it held no connection with an ancient family and was, unfortunately, newly built. No sprawling additions or wings of different architectural styles cluttered the building’s façade. Newton House was of unified theme with little adornment. Large windows lined the exterior in perfect symmetry, and the double door placed precisely at its center was now opened in invitation. And though it was not of the imposing scale of Pemberley, it was one of the largest homes of the neighborhood and was well situated on a comfortable acreage.
In all, Newton House would make as a serviceable a prison as any home in the countryside.
Still, Caroline could not help but wonder how long she would be confined within its walls. When would her banishment come to an end? How would she rectify matters with her brother and return to his society? She must conceive of a method for doing so soon, for though this home was pleasing to the eye, it was yet her jail.
Mrs. Newton was the first to speak. “Well, as you see, it is still standing, and you have at long last arrived. I am ever so pleased at the prospect of a house full of guests.” She took Caroline’s arm. “Now, do come in.”
“Yes, indeed, you are most welcome,” Mr. Newton said as he offered Rosemary his arm and escorted her up the stairs.
Caroline shook her head at Mr. Newton’s undue attention to a servant and listened with displeasure as he made a great pretense of pointing out every feature of the house as they entered the foyer.
“You see, my dear Mrs. Pickersgill, I built Newton House myself.”
“Did you, Mr. Newton?” Rosemary asked as she untied her cloak and bonnet and handed them to the maid who was awaiting them in the entryway. She looked about her with apparent interest, her eyes finally alighting on the towering ceiling, which had been painted to represent the sky. “It is lovely, and I must say how much I admire your high ceilings. Their ornamentation is quite pleasing.”
“The painting was Mrs. Newton’s idea,” Mr. Newton said with a smile, obviously pleased that someone had noticed his wife’s addition to the design. “I am far too practically minded to have thought of something as artistic as that. You see, high ceilings can make a room difficult to heat, but with proper hearth placement and design, it can be done quite effectively. Only come along and allow me to show you….”
They disappeared down the hallway, leaving Mr. Newton’s voice in a trail behind him as he no doubt gave Rosemary an account and view of every room on the first floor, including the servant’s quarters. The woman would likely be required to hear minute details of each chamber from the dining room to the music room.
“Come, Caro,” Mrs. Newton said upon shedding her outerwear, “I have ordered some refreshments to be laid out in the sitting room, and your belongings will be placed in your chambers momentarily. Then you may spend the rest of the day in recovery from your journey.”
Caroline felt true joy at the prospect of a proper buffet after often having to endure food of poor quality in the posting inns over the past six days, and she followed her mother eagerly in the direction Mr. Newton and Rosemary had walked.
“Mr. Newton,” Mrs. Newton called toward the back of the house, “do stop explaining the nuances of engineering to our friend and allow her to join us in the sitting room for a cup of tea.”
Mr. Newton’s face emerged from around the corner. “I do become quite carried away, do I not, my dear? We shall join you at this moment.”
He disappeared briefly and then reemerged with Rosemary in tow.
Mrs. Newton shook her head. “You must excuse my dear Mr. Newton,” she said to Rosemary. “He forgets that not all people are as interested in brick and mortar as he is.”
Caroline, for once, agreed with her mother’s assessment, but she did not say so.
“Not at all, Mrs. Newton,” Rosemary said. “His descriptions have been most instructive.”
“Well, then you will certainly have your fill of instruction here,” Mrs. Newton said. “Now, come along, for I have had the servants lay a tray of cold meats.”
“That is very kind, Mrs. Newton,” Rosemary said as she lagged a bit behind the others. “But shall I not oversee the trunks while you enjoy your time with your daughter?”
“Indeed, I shall not hear of it, Mrs. Pickersgill, though it is kind of you to offer.” Mrs. Newton led the women along the hallway, turning to share her joyous smile with them. “I am in a mood to celebrate my daughter’s arrival, and you must take part. Were it up to me, we would have killed the fatted calf and celebrated all night now that Caro is home, but I did try to be sensible. Though there is a bit of ham on the tray.”
Mrs. Newton pushed open the sitting room door to discover a blond-haired gentleman standing over the selection of meats and bread. “I see that we are not the first to discover the refreshments,” she said with a laugh.
The gentleman turned and smiled broadly. His blue eyes rested on Caroline before they returned to her mother. “Guilty. This elegant display was too tempting to resist.”
Intrigued, Caroline studied the man. He was average in height or a little taller, but he had a breadth of shoulder and a depth of musculature that gave him the appearance of being larger. He seemed familiar, but she could not quite place him.
“Ah, Rushton,” Mr. Newton said from the doorway. “Once you have filled your plate, join me in the study so that the ladies may not be bothered by business. I have some design ideas for the Fairmont Bridge.”
Rushton.
Caroline narrowed her eyes as the gentleman acknowledged Mr. Newton’s request with a nod and a wave of his plate. Yes, she remembered him now.
Patrick Rushton. He was the son of the unfortunate Mr. James Rushton of Keswick. While the Bingleys had been ascending in wealth and status, the Rushton family was in decline. Through several generations, they owned a large tract of land that included a graphite quarry, but the mine was yielding less graphite, and with each passing year the Rushton clan had fallen a little lower.
When Caroline was a young girl, she could remember her parents discussing the elder Mr. Rushton’s decision to support his family by selling as much land as was permitted in the entail. By the time Mr. Rushton had died, he had already divested himself of much of his property in order to pay his debts, and still they were not satisfied. By now, their circumstances must be dire indeed, and their family home had likely fallen into hopeless disrepair.
How very pitiable to lose one’s wealth and standing in such a way.
Based on her memories of Mr. Patrick Rushton, Caroline thought it was unlikely that he would be the one to rescue the family from their plight. She remembered him as an insolent sort of youth, and based on the fact that he was currently engaged in stealing food from her mother’s sitting room, he was, in her estimation, unchanged in adulthood.
“Caroline, my dear,” Mrs. Newton said, “you remember Mr. Rushton, do you not? Our families have been acquainted for generations, you know, though I do not believe you ever played together as children, for he was a bit older than you. He was at university, I think, when you went to the seminary in town.”
“Yes, Mama, I do remember Mr. Rushton.” Caroline strode forward and curtseyed with extreme decorum. “Mr. Rushton, how very…”—she chose the word carefully—“surprising it is to see you in my mother’s home.”
Mr. Rushton studied her for a moment before setting his plate aside and bowing in return. “Miss Bingley,” said he in an ironical tone, his eyes mischievous, “the years have not altered you, I find.”
Caroline blinked at his tone but was not distracted enough to neglect her duty. “You and your family are well, I hope,” she said.
“Yes, my family is in good health, Miss Bingley. Thank you for inquiring. I shall not make the same inquiry of you, for I can see that your nearest relations are all well, and your mother has assured me that your siblings do well too.” He looked at Rosemary. “And will you do me the honor of introducing you
r friend?”
Caroline gaped at him as he crossed to stand before Rosemary. Why did everyone persist in describing this horrid servant as her friend? Could they not tell that Rosemary Pickersgill was an old widow who was not of her social class and thus not suitable for an association—much less a friendship—with Caroline?
Mrs. Newton spoke for her, saying, “Mr. Rushton, allow me to present Mrs. Pickersgill, Caroline’s companion from London. We are ever so pleased to have her in our home this winter.”
He gave her a polite bow, they exchanged a few civil words, and then he turned to Mr. Newton, who had been lingering with some impatience at the chamber door. “Well, Newton, shall we see to those bridges?”
With a nod at the assembled ladies, Mr. Rushton picked up his plate and departed.
Four
Once the door was closed and the men’s voices receded, Caroline turned to the buffet, wondering idly if Mr. Rushton had left any victuals for their intended recipients. Finding that there was a sufficient supply, she began to fill a plate.
“Mrs. Pickersgill, do join Caro in taking some nourishment, if Mr. Rushton has left anything. That young man certainly has an appetite.”
Caroline restrained a laugh at Mr. Rushton’s being called young, for he was quite a few years older than she was. “What does Mr. Rushton do here at Newton House, Mama?”
“Why, he is Mr. Newton’s business partner.”
“Business partner?” Caroline forgot the piece of ham she had been transporting to her plate, holding it aloft, and frowned at the question. “Why should Mr. Newton require a partner in throwing a few logs across a river?”
“Indeed, Caroline, I believe the construction of bridges is more complicated than that,” Mrs. Newton said as she crossed to the buffet. “Poor Mr. Rushton is always welcome in our home, and you must not taunt him, for he has had quite a difficult time of late.”
“Has he?” Caroline asked, not truly caring whether or not he had suffered. She suddenly had no taste for ham and dropped it back to the tray, taking a large piece of bread instead.
“Oh yes! If you apply to anyone in town, you will find that he has developed the unjust reputation of a confirmed fortune hunter.” Mrs. Newton turned to Rosemary to explain. “His poor father lost a great deal of money, my dear, and their estate is only now recovering. He was to be married to a wealthy young heiress, but there was a dreadful split just before the union was to take place.”
“Oh dear,” Rosemary said, her eyes wide. “That must have been quite a scandal. A broken engagement always brings disgrace to one party or other.”
“And so it did to Mr. Rushton. No one knows the full story—for Mr. Rushton has never volunteered his perspective—but everyone says that the lady jilted him when she discovered his true circumstances.”
“I could well believe him a fortune hunter, Mama, and I do not like to see him in your household,” Caroline said, truly concerned.
Mrs. Newton only laughed and said, “Oh, do not believe a word of it, my dear. I have always been an excellent judge of a person’s true character, and so you must believe me when I say that he is no fortune hunter.”
“How can you be certain?” Caroline asked, for though she had only become acquainted with the story a few moments ago, she was now greatly afraid that her mother had been duped by a cad. “You have just confessed that Mr. Rushton has not denied his part in the dissolution of his engagement.”
“What reason can he have to deny anything? No one would believe him now. Besides, it is simply not in Mr. Rushton’s nature to worry over such matters or to take the easy course. Why, after university, he came home, showed an interest in engineering, and that was all that was required for Mr. Newton to take him under his wing. He learned quickly, and the two have been partners for some years now.”
How unfortunate, Caroline thought, though she could not decide whom she pitied more: Mr. Newton for having to put up with Mr. Rushton’s wit or Mr. Rushton for having to contend with Mr. Newton’s ramblings on inane subjects.
“Now, let us forget this business with dear Mr. Rushton. Settle yourselves by the fire, and I shall bring the tea,” her mother said as she arranged the cups on their saucers and lifted the silver teapot. As she turned to deliver the full cups to her guests, she said, “Caro, you will also be pleased to find another old friend in the neighborhood.”
“Shall I?” If this neighbor were anything like Mr. Rushton, she was certain she would take no pleasure in the hearing.
“The Honorable Miss Lavinia Charlton—Mrs. Ralph Winton now that she has married—has been at Oak Park for several months.” Mrs. Newton turned to Rosemary and explained, “Lavinia and Caroline have been friends since their days at the seminary.”
“Oh?” Caroline asked, ignoring Rosemary’s part in the conversation as she scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned forward a bit. This was news of great consequence, for Lavinia was the only daughter of Lord Charlton, who held a large barony and retained great wealth and status in the county. “Lavinia is in Kendal?”
“Indeed, and the whole county is well pleased to see her again. She has not returned since she was sent to London all those years ago.” Mrs. Newton again turned to Rosemary. “After Lord Charlton’s wife died, Lavinia was packed away to London to be educated, for her father was in no position to educate a female when he had two sons—Harold and William—for whom to account.”
Rosemary, whom to Caroline’s eye was trying to impress her new mistress’s mother by behaving so politely, set aside her teacup and saucer. “Yes, Mrs. Newton, that often seems to occur among those of rank. Young ladies become rather disposable objects.”
Caroline recalled how upset Lavinia had been over her removal from Oak Park, having been educated her whole life at home. “Come,” Caroline said, “you must admit that if she had to be removed, it was at least to pleasing circumstances. She went to ‘ladies’ Eton’ in Queen’s Square, one of the most prestigious female seminaries in Town. I found it to be a first-rate seminary, and Lavinia soon came to share my opinion.”
To Rosemary, Mrs. Newton said, “Caroline’s father always intended to send his daughters to London for an education, so he elected to send them to Queen’s Square also, and that is how their friendship grew.”
Yes, Caroline’s time in Queen’s Square had been a great benefit to her, for she had finally been able to associate with Lavinia on the comparatively level footing the school provided.
They had indeed become fast friends, but distance had separated them when, upon leaving the seminary, Caroline had begun traveling with Charles and Mr. Darcy, and Lavinia had eventually married Mr. Ralph Winton, an excessively wealthy London gentleman.
They had exchanged a few polite letters over the intervening three years, and Caroline had been satisfied that their friendship was safe. She had not realized until just this moment how superficial the correspondence must have been, for she had not known her friend had returned to Kendal. Obviously, Lavinia had withheld some facts from her.
Almost to herself, she said, “Lavinia said nothing of a return to Kendal in her letters.”
“Oh no?” Mrs. Newton asked as she joined the women by the fire with her cup and saucer balanced in her dimpled hand. “Mrs. Halstead—you recall her, do you not?—tells me that the Charlton household has been in quite an uproar. I imagine Lavinia has not had time to write of her current circumstances.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “What are her current circumstances?”
“Oh my! You must not have heard.” Mrs. Newton set her cup and saucer on the side table and reached for Caroline’s arm and gave it a soft pat. “Her brother Harold has died.”
At first, Caroline could only look at her mother to seek further confirmation, and then her mind began to process the information. “This is shocking news indeed,” she said. A death in the family must certainly warrant a word or two from her friend on the subject. “Lavinia said nothing of this tragedy either.”
“I am grieved
to hear of the loss,” Rosemary offered politely with a glance at Caroline, seemingly to gauge her reaction. “Was he a close acquaintance of your family?”
“How kind of you to offer condolences, my dear,” Mrs. Newton said, “but our families were only a little acquainted, mostly due to Caroline’s friendship with Lavinia. Mr. Harold Charlton was the eldest son and heir to the barony, so we associated little with him, but occasionally we were invited to Oak Park. Customs of rank are not so strictly adhered to in the country, you know.”
“How did he die?” Caroline asked.
“Consumption,” Mrs. Newton said with a shake of her head. “It happened last summer.”
Caroline could not stifle her curiosity and asked, “Was he married? Did he leave an heir?”
“No, unfortunately, Mr. Charlton never married, and that leaves William to inherit the title.”
“Oh, that is an interesting development.” Caroline’s eyebrows raised at the thought of William Charlton, the younger son, holding the barony. She recalled him as a pleasant but indulged young man. Beyond that, as a younger son, he was often forgotten, even by his own relations. “I admit I cannot imagine William Charlton sitting in Parliament. How has he taken to being trained for the title and its resulting duties?”
“Not well, I fear. I expect he planned to retain his carefree ways.” Mrs. Newton leaned forward and whispered, “Mrs. Halstead told me in the strictest confidence of a conversation she had lately with Lord Charlton on this very subject. Young Mr. Charlton, it seems, has shown the greatest reluctance to rise to the peerage and run the estate.”
“I cannot imagine any rational gentleman being so disinclined to ascend in society.” Caroline shook her head. “I confess that I do not comprehend it.”
Rosemary surprised Caroline by responding, “I have found, Miss Bingley, that not all people are so inclined to grasp for rank, though some will do anything to attain it.”
“How very…”—Caroline considered her words again—“obvious a statement to make.”
Caroline Bingley: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 4
