Recollections of Rosings

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Josh looked quite put out and tried once more to reassure her, but had to admit he had failed, when she declared that she had already told her aunt she wished to return to Kent and had written to advise her mother that very day.

  "My letter is already sent to the post, I shall not change my mind," she said.

  Lilian was genuinely touched by Josh Armstrong's words; the sincerity with which he had apologised for and berated his cousin's behaviour was unarguable. She had accepted his apology and indicated that she did not blame him for what had occurred, but there was little more to be said between them. When he left, having assured her of his own high regard for her and expressed again his regret at her departure, he was plainly downcast at having failed.

  Lilian went upstairs to pack her trunk. She knew not how she would spend the rest of her time in London until her departure, but her spirits lifted at the very thought of going home.

  Chapter Nine

  Catherine had spent the morning debating with herself whether she should tell Frank Burnett about the letter she had received from John Adams and the proposal it contained.

  Some days had elapsed since the arrival of the letter, and she had begun to feel the need to respond, yet was reluctant to do so. It was the first time she had faced an important decision with neither her husband nor her daughter at hand; it was not a comfortable situation. How should she decide without consulting anyone at all, she wondered.

  Yet the question remained—who was she to consult? Not her sister Rebecca, whose mind seemed to be set against young John Adams. It would have been easier had Lilian confided in her mother, but she had not. Nor had Mr Adams mentioned in his own letter to her if he had already secured Lilian's affections and consent.

  If that were the case, thought Catherine, what was there to say? And what would be the purpose of consulting other members of her family, who knew little or nothing of Mr Adams? Catherine's mind returned to Frank Burnett. He, at least, knew both Mr Adams and Lilian, albeit only for a comparatively short period of time. Her own mind was in confusion.

  On the previous night, she had returned to the entries in her notebooks recounting her own experiences. She had read with renewed interest the record she had made of her conversations with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, after Her Ladyship had been made aware, probably by Mrs Jenkinson, that a friendship appeared to be developing between young Miss Collins and the librarian. It had brought everything that had been quite forgotten over the years very vividly to mind.

  Lady Catherine had been nothing if not forthright.

  Having first subjected her to an interrogation in order to ascertain the truth of what she had heard, she had made her disapproval perfectly plain. Catherine recalled the innumerable questions, probing and personal, demanding answers, laying bare her youthful feelings.

  "And tell me, do you suppose yourself to be in love with Mr Burnett?" she had asked in a voice that suggested that such a supposition would be folly indeed.

  Unsure if an answer in the negative would suffice to placate Her Ladyship and fearing that a positive reply would bring down more than her fair share of opprobrium upon her, Catherine had chosen to say, rather lamely, "I am sure I do not know, your Ladyship. I have not given the matter much thought."

  But this admission had only brought more scorn and censure, with Lady Catherine expressing complete consternation.

  "Not sure? My dear girl, do you mean to say that you have been trifling with the feelings of Mr Burnett? For I have been reliably informed that he appears to believe that your feelings are engaged. Have you not given him reason to assume this is the case?"

  When Catherine, not knowing how to answer, had remained silent, she had said sternly, "Catherine, do not try to deceive me, for I surely will discover the truth. I wish you to understand that for as long as you are resident at Rosings, you are in my care. Indeed, I have said to your mother that I believe I am in loco parentis as far as your well-being is concerned, and she has agreed to that arrangement."

  Catherine had said nothing, but had looked meek and submissive, knowing that to do otherwise would unleash upon her another sermon on gratitude and loyalty.

  "Well, in the circumstances, and especially in view of your very young age, I believe it is my duty to advise you against the sorts of hazards that young ladies may often find in their path. Do you accept that, child?"

  Catherine had said yes, she did accept. It would have been of no use to say otherwise.

  As her notebook recorded, there had followed a conversation—or rather a long, uninterrupted monologue from Lady Catherine—in which she had been advised against letting her heart run away with her head and allowing her feelings to get the better of her good sense.

  "Your mother was a woman of great good sense, who always heeded my advice, and I would expect that you, of all her daughters, would likewise place the interest of family and duty above some silly romantic notion of love. I do not mean to suggest that one must abjure the notion of love, but it is a flimsy foundation upon which to build a marriage. Besides, you are far too young to be thinking of marrying, and a wise young woman should not let it be thought that she is too keen; it diminishes her in the eyes of potential suitors."

  Following this dissertation on love and marriage, Lady Catherine had said, "Now, I do not wish to hear any more of this nonsense. I am exceedingly particular that any young lady who remains under my protection keeps most meticulously to the rules I lay down for her own well-being, and I hope I will not have to speak to you of this matter again."

  Thereafter she had abruptly changed the subject, as was her wont, and proceeded to ask Catherine about her drawing lessons.

  "Are they coming on well? I should like to see you learn to draw and paint; it is an excellent accomplishment for a young lady and well worth the effort. I know you are working hard at your embroidery, but I should be very happy to hear that you have mastered the art of painting as well. I wish I had had time to study it myself; had I done so, I should have been truly proficient," she declared, with conviction.

  And that, it had seemed, was to be the end of it.

  But, like most things in life, it had not been that simple.

  Catherine recalled that what she had said to Lady Catherine de Bourgh had been substantially true at the time. She had never acknowledged, even to herself, that she was in love with Mr Burnett, nor had she given him any encouragement to believe this was the case.

  Their friendship had been both enjoyable and important to her. Through him, she had been introduced to a world of serious knowledge as well as a variety of entertaining literary materials, such as she would never have discovered for herself. She had learned to use the collection in the library at Rosings, to read and follow her interests, discovering more information, and she credited him with teaching her how to do so.

  While in their discussions she had often found agreement with Mr Burnett, there had been times when she had contested him and, to her delight, found him quite untroubled by it. Indeed, he had encouraged her to develop and expound her point of view, so long as she produced the evidence to support it. When, for instance, she had declared a preference for the novels of Mr Dickens above those of Miss Austen, because she enjoyed the great variety of characters in them, Mr Burnett had smiled and said, "Indeed, that is as good a reason as any, but I trust in time you will learn to love Miss Austen, too, for hers is a rare and subtle talent."

  This liberality had been refreshing indeed, after the general subservience of her opinions to those of Her Ladyship to which she had long become accustomed.

  Undoubtedly, it had seemed to her that he enjoyed their association as much as she did and yet, despite the many occasions on which they had been together, often without another person in the room with them, he had not made any approach that she could have interpreted as romantic.

  Catherine had been too young and far too inexperienced in such matters to even consider the reason for this behaviour, believing that Mr Burnett, who was some years he
r senior, regarded her merely as a young person whose company he enjoyed and nothing more. She was certainly neither vain nor devious enough to imagine that he could have fallen in love with her and was concealing his feelings in order to avoid displeasing his employer.

  However, Lady Catherine had by her probing unsettled young Catherine's mind and excited ideas and feelings of which she had not been completely cognisant before. Lying in bed that night, Catherine had run through all of her recent meetings and dealings with Mr Burnett and there had begun to form in her mind a small kernel of awareness that lent itself to interpretation.

  Perhaps, she had written in her notebook on the morrow, perhaps, I do love him a little and maybe if I continue along this path, I may well love him some more and then, if he were to discover that he felt some affection for me, it may even be possible to conclude that we were in love with one another.

  But, very soon afterwards, common sense had prevailed.

  It is quite possible, though not very probable, since Mr Burnett is a man of the world and I am sure does not regard me any more seriously than he would a schoolgirl. But, I must confess, since my conversation with Lady Catherine, I have, upon contemplating my own feelings, come to the conclusion that I greatly admire and esteem Mr Burnett, which Mama used to say is a very good foundation for a marriage.

  Reading this again, after all those years, Catherine had blushed at her naiveté. She could not help wondering whether Mr Burnett had become aware of her feelings at the time or of Lady Catherine's involvement in their suppression. She wondered if Her Ladyship had similarly counselled her librarian. She thought not.

  Despite Lady Catherine's expressed wish that their friendship should end, it had not been easy to do her bidding, for Mr Burnett had made no change whatsoever in his dealings with her. There had been no alteration in his manner, nor any diminution in his enthusiastic encouragement of her desire to read and learn.

  On one or two occasions, Catherine had tried to make an excuse for not completing a book she had borrowed or failing to collect one he had found for her in the library, only to be scolded gently for her recalcitrance.

  "Miss Collins," he had said reprovingly, in what she used to call his "schoolmaster's voice," "Miss Collins, I am surprised indeed. This is not like you. I had expected you would have quite finished that volume by now."

  And when she had tried to explain that she had not been able to find the time to take up Mr Dickens's latest novel because of having to read a ladies' journal to Lady Catherine, he had been most censorious.

  "Really, Miss Collins, so much exciting work awaits you on the road ahead, you will never come to it at all if you loiter in the alleys and lane ways of such paltry works. You must learn to read good literature with discernment and understanding."

  Mrs Jenkinson, coming out of the schoolroom, had seen them talking earnestly together and Catherine had no doubt that Her Ladyship would hear of it before sundown. Her next encounter with Lady Catherine had been more solemn. It had begun with Her Ladyship appearing to rebuke her more in sorrow than in anger and concluded with a thinly veiled threat.

  I knew Lady C was angry with me the moment I entered her private sitting room, Catherine had written subsequently, in a somewhat shaky hand.

  Coming directly to the point, she said, "I am sorry, Catherine, that you have chosen not to heed my advice. If you will insist upon disobeying me, I shall have to send Mr Burnett away. It will not be possible for me to have in my employ a man who may put at risk your future at Rosings Park." She looked very annoyed and clearly meant it and added, "He will have to go, unless you promise me that you will not become involved in some silly flirtation with him, which is bound to end in tears."

  So horrified was I at the prospect of Mr Burnett losing his employment because of me, I gave my word instantly. I assured Her Ladyship that as far as I was concerned, there had never been any thought of "flirtation" with the gentleman and was astonished when she interrupted me to say, "There, you see, you do not know of what you speak, Catherine. Mr Burnett is not a gentleman."

  And seeing the expression of disbelief upon my face, she added, "I do not deny he is an efficient and hardworking man, a good librarian whom I pay well for the work he does for Rosings. He is also a respectable and educated man, but his father is a tradesman and his family have no estate. Now, were he a barrister or a clergyman, even a junior one, it would be quite different, because there would be prospects of preferment and status in the community. But in his present position, with no inheritance and no estate, his income dependent upon employment alone, he can have no claims to being a gentleman. Which, my dear Catherine, is why he cannot be considered a suitable match for you."

  As she read the words, Catherine's face burned with embarrassment.

  How could she have accepted such a judgment, distorted as it was by the prejudice and conceit of Lady Catherine de Bourgh? Deeply distressed, even after so many years, it was plain to her that it had been both unfair and untrue. Frank Burnett, regardless of his antecedents and the humble occupations of his forebears, had become by education and his own efforts a man of skill and integrity, with the ability to practice an erudite and respected occupation, whose worth was never in question, even by Lady Catherine.

  Quite clearly, he had not been impeded in his career by the disabilities attributed to him by Her Ladyship. Indeed, it could almost be said that the wheel had come full circle and the salvation of Her Ladyship's legacy at Rosings now lay in his capable hands.

  Smiling as she pondered the quirk of Fate that had brought this about, Catherine turned once more to the present question of Mr Adams's letter.

  Recalling her sister Rebecca's reservations, which seemed in a strange way to reflect the views of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, she read again Mr Adams's ardent declaration of love for Lilian and his simply stated wish to have her mother's consent to his proposal. Catherine could see nothing in his letter which gave her any cause for concern. It would be ironic indeed, she thought, if her own daughter were to be denied the chance to marry the man of her choice, for reasons similar to those that had been used by Lady Catherine to separate her from Frank Burnett many years ago.

  The arrival of the post brought another, more urgent letter from London that claimed her immediate attention. It was brief, and in it, Lilian pleaded to be allowed to return home to Kent.

  Dearest Mama, she wrote, Forgive me for troubling you in this way, but I can remain in London no longer.

  Despite Aunt Becky's best efforts, I have no wish to spend the rest of the season here and am determined to return home. I cannot say more, but when we meet, I promise to tell you all about it. For now, all I wish is to return home.

  It is unlikely that my aunt will agree to this, but if no one will come to fetch me home, I intend to leave and find my own way back to Kent. I have most of the money I brought with me to London and am sure it will suffice to purchase a seat on the train.

  Shocked by the intensity of Lilian's single-minded determination, Catherine realised she would have to confide in Mr Burnett. There was no one else to whom she could turn. She was surprised by the ease with which she had decided to trust him.

  When he arrived as arranged, later in the day, she showed him both letters. Having waited until he had read them, she said, "I intend to go to London myself to fetch Lilian home. I fear I shall have to take the train and my maid will come, too. I wonder, Mr Burnett, if you would be so kind as to accompany us on the journey?"

  He said, without any hesitation, "Of course," and inquired when she intended to leave.

  Having detailed the plan she proposed, Catherine asked Mr Burnett, "Do you think I am doing the right thing?"

  His answer was unequivocal. "I most certainly do. Who could ignore such an appeal? Clearly, Miss Lilian is unhappy in London, and while I am sure your sister Mrs Tate may not be entirely aware of the reason for her distress, it is nevertheless unfair to expect Miss Lilian to remain in a place that she finds so uncongenial, when she cl
early wishes to return home."

  "I am relieved that you are in agreement with me on this; I do not wish to upset my sister, and I should have found it difficult to proceed without some support. But what of Mr Adams's letter? Have you no advice for me there?"

  Mr Burnett was silent for a few moments, then said quietly, "That is a more difficult question for me to answer. As Miss Lilian's mother and in the absence of her father, it is right that Mr Adams should seek your permission to approach her with an offer of marriage. The answer you give must be yours alone."