Woman of Influence (Pemberley Chronicles)

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Becky was aware that with Mr Frank Burnett in London on business and not expected back until that night, she could have every hope that Catherine would oblige her sister and come to her.

  She was right. Shortly after midday, Mrs Burnett arrived at Edgewater, ready to help her sister deal with whatever troubled her. Becky remained in her room, and Catherine, fearing her sister was sicker than she had supposed, came swiftly upstairs.

  As she entered the room, she looked uneasy. "Becky my dear, what is it? Have you been taken ill? I did warn you to take care, did I not? It must be all this tramping around the countryside that you delight in; you must have caught a cold or a chill, I think."

  Catherine was her usual self, concerned and practical, eager to help.

  Becky rose from her seat and the sisters embraced, as she thanked Catherine for coming so promptly and assured her she was not gravely ill, indeed she wasn't ill at all.

  Having rung the bell and ordered that tea be brought up, Becky urged Catherine to be seated, indicating a place beside her on the chaise longue.

  Catherine looked puzzled and could not understand what had caused her sister to send for her so urgently.

  "Becky, your note suggested that you had a private matter that troubled you, which you wished to resolve. What is it that can have been so urgent that it could not wait until we met at dinner tomorrow? Is it something very important?" she asked.

  "It is indeed, Cathy, and yes, it is a question I must resolve speedily, and I had hoped you would help me find a way to do so. But you must let me tell you about it in my own way, so you will understand my difficulty and advise me. I have great need of your cool head and perfect manners, Cathy; I am not very good at these matters; you must tell me what I ought to do."

  Catherine certainly had a well-deserved reputation for good sense and exemplary manners. Like their mother, Charlotte, she had grown up with a strong sense of decorum and had a natural dignity, which stood her in good stead, but at this point she could not see how these attributes could help her sister.

  "But what is the problem you must resolve? Is it to do with Alice Grey?" she asked, and Becky replied, "No, indeed it is not. In fact it has nothing at all to do with that matter."

  Catherine was even more confused.

  When they had last met, Becky had been eager to tell her all about Mrs Bancroft's revelations about the girl Alice Grey and her husband; she had left promising to return with an account of what she had learnt on her visit to Blessington, yet now, she was dismissing the subject as though it was of no significance. Catherine could not make it out at all.

  The arrival of the maid bearing the tea tray interrupted their conversation, and they talked of inconsequential matters until the girl left the room.

  But, even as she did so, Becky took from the pocket of her gown Mr Contini's letter and handed it to Catherine.

  "There, read it, and when you have finished, I shall explain further," she said, as she proceeded to pour out the tea.

  Still confused, Catherine took the note from her hand and began to read.

  When she had read it through, she looked up at her sister, still unable to comprehend what problem it had caused.

  "Becky, is this Mr Contini of the same Italian family who are friends of the Darcys?" she asked tentatively.

  Becky nodded, and Catherine noted the particular smile on her face.

  "Yes, he is; he is their nephew and has been a close friend of Jonathan Bingley for many years, although I had no knowledge whatsoever of that until this morning, when Jonathan called to deliver this letter. I understand they were at school together."

  "And why has this note caused you a problem?" asked her sister.

  Becky struggled to explain, wanting to convey her need to avoid undue awkwardness without further mortification, but succeeding only in confusing her sister even more.

  After one or two futile attempts, she gave up and, as tears filled her eyes, turned to Catherine and said, "Cathy, I fear I have been very remiss. I have not been entirely honest with you; there are matters I should have told you of a long time ago. But in my own defence I have to say that I never believed it would be of any consequence. It was all so long ago."

  "What do you mean, Becky? My dear, if you wish me to help you, I do need to understand the problem. Why does Mr Contini's note, which I have to say is a most unexceptionable communication, create such a difficulty for you? Was he not previously acquainted with Mr Tate and yourself?"

  Becky nodded, looking away for a minute and then facing her sister, and said, "He was, when we first met in London, but you know what my husband was like, he collected acquaintances like a child collects shells at the seaside, but then he soon forgot them, unless they were useful to him."

  "And Mr Contini was not?"

  "Not particularly; not in the sense that he had useful business or political connections. But he was very helpful to us and exceedingly hospitable when we travelled to Italy, which Mr Tate appreciated, and he was a most attentive and helpful guide, especially in Florence, where his family lives. We spent a great deal of time together."

  "There cannot have been any harm in that, surely?" said Catherine.

  "There was not, except very often Mr Tate would spend most of the day with business associates, leaving me to wander around the city alone except for Mr Contini, who very kindly accompanied me and, I would think, protected me when I might have been putting myself in some danger, venturing into places that I shouldn't have, if only through ignorance or naiveté."

  "Well, that was kind of him, and if Mr Tate had no objection to it, I can see nothing wrong in it, surely?"

  When Becky was silent, Catherine seemed to realise there was more to this situation than met the eye and suddenly, as if simple understanding had dawned upon her, asked, "Becky, was there something more that you have omitted to tell me? Did Mr Contini flirt with you? And did you, perhaps, enjoy a little flirtation too?

  "Was that it?" she teased her sister, and then noting a blush rising upon her cheek, she persisted, "And now, are you concerned that if he returns and sees you again, he may seek to renew the association? Is that what troubles you?"

  Becky seized the chance afforded her by this remark.

  "Yes, you are right; I fear I may have given him the impression that—"

  Catherine interrupted her, "But, my dear Becky, that was years ago. How

  can it be that he would try to renew such an association when you have had no communication with him since? I do not believe it possible. Besides, Becky, Mr Contini may well be otherwise engaged himself; perhaps he is married and unlikely to be interested in pursuing the connection," she suggested.

  This was a thought that had not as yet occurred to Becky, as she had searched around in her mind for a solution to her dilemma. She was as yet unready to reveal everything to her sister.

  Suddenly, she smiled and said, "Yes, of course, you are quite right, Cathy, he may well be married, although Jonathan said nothing of that," adding thoughtfully, "I wonder if Jonathan does have an inkling of our previous association. I should be deeply mortified if that were the case."

  Catherine attempted to reassure her sister.

  "Oh I do doubt that, Becky," she said. "I think Mr Contini's note to you and the fact that he was so open about sending it through Jonathan Bingley must give you some confidence. As a friend of Mr Bingley, he is clearly a gentleman and an honourable one. Would you not say so?"

  Becky agreed.

  "Yes indeed, I should have no doubt of that."

  Catherine was content.

  "Well then, in such circumstances, I think you need have no concerns about his motives, nor need you worry about the possibility of his betraying a confidence. As it was so many years ago, when you were both much younger and Mr Tate was with you for most of the time, it is probably something he, like you, has long forgotten. Do you not agree?"

  Becky nodded; she did not trust herself to speak.

  "Well then, what is there to
be concerned about?" asked her sister.

  "I shall need to send a response—a letter acknowledging his kind sentiments. Would I not?" Becky asked tentatively.

  "Of course, it would be the right thing to do after such a courteous message of condolence. But there need be no awkwardness about that," Catherine argued quite reasonably.

  "Will you help me compose it, Cathy?" Becky's voice was low and Catherine appeared amazed at her request.

  That Becky, whose chief talent was her ability to write lucidly and with conviction, should ask for her assistance was astonishing. Catherine stared at her in disbelief. Yet she said, "Of course, if you wish, but I cannot think it would be a difficult task. His note to you is couched in such genteel terms, it should be easy for you to respond in like manner."

  "And if I were to compose such a response, and ask Jonathan Bingley for Mr Contini's address in Italy, do you think he would deem it to be an unusual request?"

  "And why should he? Surely, Becky, having delivered Mr Contini's letter himself, Mr Bingley is hardly likely to be surprised that you should wish to respond. I cannot see it, honestly I cannot."

  Reassured, Becky, with a little help from her sister, composed a brief, polite, and very acceptable response to be sent to Mr Contini.

  In it, she thanked him for his kind sentiments and sent her regards and best wishes, while deftly ignoring his suggestion that they might meet when he was next in England. Catherine had been of the opinion that it was a formal suggestion best left unanswered at this stage.

  When it was done, Becky thanked her sister for her kindness and her sensible counsel, apologising at the same time for bringing her out to Edgewater for what must have seemed to her a trivial reason.

  Catherine dismissed her concerns. "Do not apologise, Becky dear, I am glad I could help. You must feel able to call on me, if you need me, at any time. We are sisters after all, and now, with Mama gone, you and I have only each other to confide in."

  As Catherine prepared to leave and return home, Becky could not help wondering what her sister would have said had she been made aware of all the circumstances of her association with Mr Contini.

  ***

  After Catherine had left, Becky returned to her room and read again both Mr Contini's note to her and her own response.

  She was far from content, feeling there was something missing. His note had expressed genuine concern and a warm friendliness; hers seemed formal and cold.

  On impulse, she tore it up and began again.

  This time, she adopted a more informal, cordial tone, thanking him for his kind sentiments and saying she took great comfort from them and others she

  had received from family and friends since her husband's death.

  She mentioned, in passing, that Mr Tate had died in America, where he had lived for the last two years of his life, but quite deliberately omitted to mention their separation. It was possible that Jonathan Bingley may have told him, she thought, seeing no reason to enlighten him herself.

  However, she did, in agreeing that she had enjoyed moving to Kent and living very close to her sister Catherine, advise him that her sister was no longer Mrs Harrison as he had supposed. She explained that Dr Harrison had died some time ago from recurring heart disease, and Catherine had since married a Mr Frank Burnett, with whom she had been acquainted for many years when she lived at Rosings.

  Noting that her letter was getting somewhat longer than she had intended, she decided to conclude it, which she did with a much friendlier salutation than before, wishing him health and happiness and then adding a significant postscript.

  Regarding your suggestion, I think I should like very much to see you when you are next in London. It seems quite a while since we last met.

  And she signed it—Becky Tate.

  When it was complete, Becky read it through and proceeded to seal it, lest she should change her mind again.

  No one, certainly not Catherine, would ever know that she had torn up the polite little note and sent a warm, convivial letter instead, she thought with a little pang of guilt at having misled her sister.

  But at least, she was now content, especially as she contemplated how he would respond on receiving it. It was the certainty of his disappointment on opening her formal acknowledgment that had led her to tear it up and try again.

  There was no need at all for Catherine to know, Becky decided.

  ***

  The dinner at the Dower House on the following evening was wholly delightful. The food, the company, and the music provided afterwards by the hosts and guests alike were all of a standard of excellence as to gratify and

  enchant them all.

  Becky was charmed as first Lilian and Mr Adams and then later Catherine and Frank Burnett played and sang for them. Only Jonathan stood apart, and when she took the opportunity to speak with him during a break in the entertainment, he confessed to her that he had often wished he too could sing or play as well as the rest of the family.

  "My wife and daughters and all my sisters and their children are such proficient performers, I feel quite bereft of talent or skill when I see how wonderfully well they all do," he said, and Becky agreed that she too suffered the same sense of inadequacy in the face of such remarkable natural ability as they had enjoyed that evening.

  Echoing his sentiments, she said, "Both Anna and your sister Emma are exceptional performers, but I do wish I had at least learnt how to entertain myself with music, if not others. I fear my time was spent mostly scribbling, as Mama used to say."

  Surprised by her remarks, Jonathan urged her not to undervalue her own talents. "Well, Becky, your scribbling, as you call it, has opened up a quite remarkable world for you, has it not? I should not belittle your achievements; the literary world seems to be taking a lot of notice of women writers. They are at least assured of fame if not fortune."

  He was clearly referring to Marianne Lawrence, the pen name she had used for her contributions to the Matlock Review. Surprised that he had noticed her work, Becky made light of his comments, assuring him that she would gladly exchange her small quantum of fame for the happiness her sister had found in life.

  "Catherine is so happy and content, I envy her," she said, and the comment caused Mr Bingley to raise his eyebrows and look quickly at her face as if to check if she was being serious.

  But, by then, Becky, taking advantage of a lull in the proceedings while everyone took more tea or coffee, had asked if he could provide her with an address for Mr Aldo Contini, in order that she might thank him for his kind note of condolence.

  Jonathan provided it gladly, taking from his pocket book a card, which he gave to Becky.

  "You may keep it; I have all his details in my diary at Netherfield," he said,

  and Becky was pleased that her request had raised no fuss at all. On the morrow, she decided, she would take her letter to the post herself.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Becky returned home, having despatched her letter and stopped to purchase some buttons from the haberdasher in the village, she was feeling especially elated. In her response to Mr Contini, she had accomplished something that she had not thought possible: she had, quite deliberately, set aside her sister's reasonable and proper advice and acted according to the dictates of her heart.

  She arrived at the entrance with a lightness of step reflecting perhaps the lightness of spirit she felt, but sadly, it was not to last very long, for she was met by the housekeeper, Mrs Bates, who was in such a state of disquiet that Becky could scarcely comprehend a word she was saying.

  The poor woman was simultaneously bewailing some misfortune and apologising for her own failure to prevent it, leaving Becky completely confused and quite alarmed. She had never seen Mrs Bates so agitated before.

  Fearing that something serious had occurred, perhaps some dreadful accident had befallen one of the staff, Becky took Mrs Bates into the study and asked her directly for an explanation.

  "Mrs Bates, would you please tell
me what exactly has happened?" she asked, and Mrs Bates, by now a little calmer, began to speak more coherently, but what she said brought Becky no comfort at all.

  It appeared that in the two hours that Becky had been away from the house, Alice Grey and her son, Tom, had disappeared.

  Mrs Bates was determined to shoulder all the blame, even though Becky tried to console her by arguing that she could not have known what Alice planned to do.

  "But, ma'am, it is my fault; I should have kept a closer watch on the girl, I am to blame, ma'am, I know I am." She wailed again, and nothing Becky could say would shake her resolve to be miserable.