Recollections of Rosings

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  But Catherine had, in general, succeeded in coping with these minor inconveniences, thanks mainly to her equable temper and amenable disposition. If there had been times when it had all become too much to bear, they were few and far between.

  Undaunted by the grandeur of the mansion and the domineering presence of its owner, Catherine had set out to make the most of her time at Rosings. She had not anticipated ever having such an opportunity, and when it had presented itself, she had used it to observe and learn and in general improve considerably her knowledge and understanding of such diverse subjects as literature, history, and art not ordinarily open to a young girl in her situation.

  With Miss de Bourgh never in the best of health, frequently troubled by colds and chills, Catherine had often found herself on her own, when not required to keep Her Ladyship company, looking for ways to occupy her time. The substantial collection of paintings, trophies, and objets d'Art that were liberally scattered around the house was not of very great interest to her. The music room, however, was and she spent much of her time playing upon the very superior instrument there. Lady Catherine had urged her continually to practice and Catherine had been happy to comply.

  She had also visited the library, being an avid reader herself, but had found its collection and aspect rather intimidating. Its valuable and extensive collection was locked away in ornate, dark mahogany cabinets, and there had been no librarian since the death of the man who had been hired by the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh many years ago, which only increased its inaccessibility.

  However, all this had changed when, on a visit to Rosings, Lady Catherine's nephew Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy had recommended that a librarian be employed to catalogue and restore the collection, and in the course of that year a certain gentleman had been appointed to the position.

  Lately returned from Italy, Mr Frank Burnett had arrived at Rosings full of enthusiasm for his task and had proceeded to work very hard, indeed; so much so that he was rarely seen unless one visited the library.

  When Catherine had accompanied Her Ladyship on one of her visits to the library, she had been astonished to discover that Mr Burnett had transformed it from a somewhat forbidding place into a veritable treasure house of books, maps, manuscripts, and other items of interest.

  The dark cabinets had been opened up to reveal their remarkable contents and the striped blinds at the windows removed to let in more light, while reading desks and chairs had been procured from other parts of the house and placed around the spacious reading area for the benefit of anyone who might wish to read there in comfort.

  Catherine had been delighted by the change Mr Burnett had wrought, and even Lady Catherine, who had never been a frequent visitor to the library, had been impressed.

  "You have accomplished a great deal, Mr Burnett—do go on as you have begun, I am sure there is much to be done," she had said, but she did not stay long to sample the pleasures provided.

  Catherine, on the other hand, had returned later to borrow a book and found Mr Burnett helpful, if a little patronising. When asked if he would recommend a good book, he had asked, to her chagrin, how long it was since she had graduated from the schoolroom.

  Too modest to boast of her scholarly achievements, Catherine had hastily borrowed a copy of one of Mr Dickens's early works and left, feeling somewhat slighted.

  She had written to her sister Rebecca at the time, expressing her annoyance. Insufferable man, to think I am unable to read and understand a grown-up book! Perhaps the young ladies who inhabit the circles in which he moves are all silly and ill-educated. I intend to show him that I am not like them at all. On my next visit to the library I shall ask for a novel by Mr Fielding and see how he responds!

  No doubt he will be shocked and may even advise that it is not the sort of material young persons, lately out of the schoolroom, should be reading! Dear Becky, I wish you were here, for you would surely tell him how widely and well read we are. He cannot be much more than twenty-five or six, I do not think, yet he does conduct himself with the greatest degree of decorum and speaks as though his words are so precious they should be measured out in little portions!

  I must give him credit though for the transformation he has wrought in the library, which was once so gloomy it resembled more a museum, yet is now become a most welcoming, pleasing place. If only the librarian were less awesome!…

  Her next meeting with Mr Burnett had taken place not in the library, nor in one of the splendid reception rooms of Rosings, but in the garden in the midst of a downpour that had drenched them both.

  She had been sent by Lady Catherine to pick some roses for the rose bowl in the music room, which Her Ladyship insisted must always be filled with fresh blooms from the rose garden.

  "I absolutely insist upon it," she had said, handing Catherine a pair of secateurs. "I cannot abide wilting blooms in the house," and Catherine had picked up a basket and gone out to the rose garden to do her bidding.

  Having collected a number of excellent blooms in the colours she knew Lady Catherine favoured, she had been on her way back to the house when she had missed the pair of secateurs. Afraid that this would seriously displease Lady Catherine, she had set down her basket in the vestibule and raced back into the rose garden, taking a shortcut through the shrubbery, ignoring the heavy, dark clouds gathering overhead.

  It was then, as the rain began to fall, that she had almost collided with Mr Burnett, who had the protection of a large umbrella. Catherine had said nothing at first, when he had asked what she was doing racing around in the rain and did she want to catch her death of cold? Then, not wishing to appear foolish, she had confessed to losing the pair of secateurs.

  "Oh good God! we certainly cannot have that!" he had said in mock despair as the rain fell. "Poor Lady Catherine, why, that must have cost all of two shillings!"

  "I have no time for frivolity, Mr Burnett, clearly I have dropped it somewhere and I must find it… I really must," she had cried and then, seeing her distress was genuine, he had relented and offered to go back and retrieve it for her, while she stayed out of the rain. Which was exactly what he had done, returning within five minutes with the wretched instrument, which he had found on the steps leading to the rose garden.

  "There you are, now, you need fear Her Ladyship's wrath no more—but a word of advice, Miss Collins: I should go directly to your room and change out of those clothes and shoes, unless you want to be sniffling all evening," he had said in a rather stern voice before disappearing up the back stairs. She heard him striding across the landing and running up the second flight of stairs leading to his apartment, as she gathered up her basket and took it into the music room. She was already beginning to feel the chill of her damp clothes and shoes, and despite her resentment of his tone, she was sensible enough to heed his advice and retired to her room to change and partake of a hot lemon drink provided by her maid.

  To Catherine's surprise, when she came down to dinner later that evening, Mr Burnett had joined them, at the invitation of Lady Catherine.

  Since this had never happened before, Catherine had wondered at the reason, until she discovered that a distinguished friend of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh, a man with a reputation as an eminent Oxford don, was expected to dinner. Mr Burnett had obviously been invited to make intelligent conversation with their guest during the meal. Catherine was well aware that while Her Ladyship knew the monetary value of most of the treasures in her mansion, she was less well informed of their significance as works of art or literature.

  Mr Burnett, on the other hand, proved he knew a good deal about the provenance and age of most of the pieces in the collection and was able to carry on a creditable conversation with their distinguished visitor for most of the evening. After dinner, the two men visited the library and returned still engaged in erudite discourse.

  Later, Catherine was invited to play the pianoforte and when she did, Mr Burnett came over to the instrument and complimented her upon her performance.

 
; "A quite delightful interpretation of a very complex piece, Miss Collins; may one ask if Schubert is a favourite of yours?"

  "Not especially, but I have always enjoyed playing that particular composition, since my days in the schoolroom, when I first mastered it," she had replied with a wry smile.

  He had had the grace to laugh.

  "Oh dear, I fear I have annoyed you; believe me, I did not mean to belittle your knowledge on that occasion, Miss Collins, it was my complete ignorance of your degree of achievement that was to blame. I know better now and I apologise," he'd said and Catherine had smiled and accepted her victory with grace.

  There were calls from Lady Catherine and her guest for more music.

  Mr Burnett had returned to his seat to listen, while Catherine had proceeded to play and sing, choosing this time a completely different piece, a pretty English air, so as to confuse him a little in his estimation of her, she thought. But it seemed he was equally well pleased with it, too.

  Lady Catherine was clearly impressed with Mr Burnett's contribution to the evening; in future, he would be invited to dinner whenever there was a visitor Her Ladyship wished particularly to impress.

  When, on another occasion, Catherine had remarked that he was becoming a regular guest at Her Ladyship's table, he had made light of it.

  "Yes, I do believe Lady Catherine sees some benefit in having me perform a professional role as well as a social function. I conserve and maintain her library by day and divert and entertain her guests at dinner! A sort of court official and court jester in one, so to speak, if you get my meaning, Miss Collins," he'd said.

  Catherine had protested that he was devaluing his function in the household.

  "I am not sure that you do not misconstrue Her Ladyship's intentions, Mr Burnett. I know she values your work in the library very highly; she has said as much. Yet, I am also certain that the invitation to dinner when she has distinguished guests is as much a compliment to your knowledge and ability to converse with them at a level that none of us can achieve."

  At this Frank Burnett had smiled, quite a pleasant, acceptable little smile, not at all arrogant or patronising, and said, "You are always able to put the most benign construction upon a person's actions, Miss Collins; it is indeed a most charming quality."

  "I say only what I believe to be true," she had protested and he had replied, "Of course you do, I would not for one moment suggest otherwise, but if I may offer just one little word of advice, Miss Collins, do remember that not every other person's motives are as pure and as transparent as your own."

  Which remark had puzzled Catherine somewhat, but unwilling to demonstrate her naiveté by asking for an explanation, she had nodded sagely and said nothing.

  There had been many more such meetings, during which Catherine had grown to respect and trust Frank Burnett's character and judgment.

  Gradually, she had come to accept that it was not a lack of modesty that had made him seem arrogant at first, but a confidence in his knowledge of certain specific subjects, of which he had made a study. On other matters, of which he confessed to know little or nothing, he was happy to concede his ignorance.

  He had surprised her by his admission that, despite his love of European music, which he had enjoyed greatly during his time in Italy, he had never mastered a single instrument.

  "I would have given anything to learn to play and be as proficient as you are, but sadly, I had neither the time nor, I must confess, the discipline to apply myself to the task, as you clearly have done with such excellent results," he had confessed.

  Catherine, at first a little embarrassed by his praise, had soon realised that his was quite sincere appreciation, and indeed he seemed to like nothing better than to hear her play whenever he was asked to dine at Rosings.

  Occasionally, when Lady Catherine became more involved in conversation with her guests or on occasions when she retired early, he could be persuaded to join Catherine in a duet, revealing a pleasing though not highly trained voice. For Catherine, it had been a welcome change from performing for Her Ladyship alone, from whom she received some little praise, but mostly advice to practice even more assiduously. Frank Burnett openly expressed his pleasure and encouraged her to attempt more difficult works. In return, she had acknowledged his knowledge of art and literature, which went well beyond her level of understanding, and was content to be guided by him in her appreciation of both, keenly reading the books he recommended, thereby unlocking the door to a whole new range of material of which she had known little and providing them with a number of subjects on which they could agreeably and profitably converse.

  With his encouragement, she had entered a world of knowledge that opened up horizons such as she could never have imagined during her days at the parsonage at Hunsford.

  For years, as children, they had heard their father Reverend Collins extol with obsequious enthusiasm the expensive furniture, fireplaces, staircases, and trophies that graced the rooms at Rosings, but at no time had he or anyone else opened her eyes to the treasures in its library.

  For this, she would always be indebted to Frank Burnett.

  ***

  While all these recollections had crowded into her mind as she lay awake, Dr Harrison had slept, fitfully, but without causing her any anxiety.

  Towards morning, Catherine had dozed off and was suddenly awakened by a most alarming sound. She found her husband struggling to breathe, gasping, and trying to sit up in bed. Rushing to his side, she tried to help him but was uncertain what she should do. Afraid, she called to Lilian and Rebecca in their rooms across the corridor. Lilian was at her side in seconds, and finding her father very distressed, she hurried downstairs to send a servant for the doctor. Rebecca, rushing in, found her sister in tears, unable to help her husband, whose breathing had grown more laboured. Together they struggled to alleviate his distress, but with little success. His breathing eased a little, but he was clearly very unwell and they waited impatiently for the doctor.

  By the time Dr Whitelaw arrived, the first streaks of dawn light were colouring the sky and a small chorus of birds had begun to greet the new day. But Dr Harrison, though somewhat less distressed now and breathing more easily, had lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Dr Whitelaw began to fear that his patient had slipped beyond his help. He tried to reassure the ladies, but his concern was difficult to hide and though Dr Harrison lived through the day, he remained unconscious throughout, while all around him, the household was in turmoil.

  The visiting chaplain from Apsley was sent for, and having prayed with them and administered the sacraments, he left. It seemed there was nothing more they could do for Dr Harrison but pray.

  This, they took in turns to do, reading his favourite passages from the gospels and the psalms and sitting by his bedside, all through that long day and into the following night.

  End of Part One

  RECOLLECTIONS OF ROSINGS

  Part Two

  Chapter Four

  It was not that Catherine was entirely unprepared for the death of Dr Harrison; she had been very concerned, despite the assurances of Dr Whitelaw at the onset of his illness, that he was not making much progress at all.

  Lilian, too, had seemed unwilling to speak of her father's condition, as if afraid to contemplate the inevitable. Other friends and family had consistently and confidently declared that he would soon be well again and about his parish business, and Dr Harrison himself had confidently proclaimed his belief that it would indeed be so.

  But now he was dead.

  Only Rebecca, understanding her sister's anxiety, had not attempted to belittle her concern. She had sat with Catherine at his bedside, throughout the long night and into the morning, until it had become clear he was gone.

  Dry-eyed and tight-lipped, Catherine had been unable to respond to the sympathy expressed by those who called at the house, feeling alone and cold, as she sought to comfort Lilian, while worrying that she had felt no great shock or sorrow herself.


  Mr Benson attended to everything that needed doing in preparation for the funeral, and Mr Adams was always available to lend his support. Members of the family and friends of the Harrisons came from many parts of England: the Darcys, the Bingleys, the Wilsons, and of course her dear mother Charlotte Collins, who was in some pain with her rheumatism and yet had insisted on accompanying Jonathan Bingley and his wife, Anna, who travelled from Hertfordshire.

  It was a melancholy occasion, made considerably worse for Mr Darcy by the sight of Rosings after the fire. His reaction, one of shock, almost of disbelief, was natural; nothing anyone had said could have prepared him for the sickening vision that met his eyes.

  Darcy had been back and forth from Rosings Park since childhood; his mother and Lady Catherine were sisters. In adult life, he had been frequently called upon by his aunt to advise and assist her on matters of managing her estate after the death of Sir Lewis de Bourgh. Though they had often disagreed on many matters, there had ultimately been a grudging respect between them. Rosings had been everything to Lady Catherine; now she was gone and so was most of her heritage. Both Darcy and Elizabeth were quite unable to absorb the shock of it all.