Woman of Influence (Pemberley Chronicles)

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  As they moved to sit in an alcove overlooking a small, enclosed courtyard hung with pretty Chinese lanterns, he said, "I am very happy to see you looking so well, Becky. It seems your new life in Kent must suit you; there is contentment there for you I think, yes?"

  When she didn't answer immediately and looked down at her cup, he stopped abruptly and apologised.

  "I am sorry; I should not have said that. I know there have been some very difficult times for you; forgive me, please."

  This time she smiled and reassured him. "There is nothing to forgive. I was miserable when we last met, but that was just a few months after Josie's death, and I was alone in London. I was so very grateful that you were…"

  But he would not let her continue. "Please do not speak of it; it must hurt you deeply; I am sorry to have been so insensitive as to have upset you by mentioning these things…"

  She had to tell him then, that he had not been insensitive at all; indeed she insisted, "Please do not apologise. You were not insensitive, and I am not upset; believe me, it is good to be able to speak again of those times. They were not all sad days—I have very good memories of those days."

  They were alone in the room; most of the others had returned to the drawing room where Anna Bingley had persuaded two other guests to sing a duet. The music could be heard through the closed doors as they slipped out into the cool courtyard.

  He placed a hand on Becky's arm, and as she turned to look at him, he said rather earnestly, "Becky, I should like very much to meet you again and talk as we used to do; please tell me, would you consider it an impertinence on my part if I invited you to join me for a drive into the country?"

  Though his suggestion surprised her, she was not willing to admit it and, having considered it for a moment, said, "Of course not, I should like that. Thank you."

  He was clearly pleased with her reply and was eager to set a time and date for their excursion.

  "When shall it be? Are you very busy this week?" he asked.

  "No, I do not have any fixed engagements except with the Bingleys, and I am not very fond of London," she replied. "A drive into the country would be very pleasant. Perhaps on Monday, if that is convenient."

  She had recalled that on Monday, the Bingleys and Darcys were to attend the ceremony at which Dr Richard Gardiner was to receive his award. It was a day on which she could go out wherever and whenever she wished, and no one would miss her.

  When she explained, he asked, "And you are not attending this ceremony for Dr Gardiner?"

  She shook her head, pointing out that only the immediate family were invited. It was to be a very distinguished gathering, she told him.

  He smiled and said, "Well, that is fortuitous, is it not?"

  Becky agreed that it was, and they laughed together almost like they used to do those years ago, and so it was arranged.

  When they returned to the drawing room, Emma Wilson was at the pianoforte, and they stood quietly at the back of the room until she had finished. Her performance, exquisite as always, brought applause and praise around the room.

  As Emma left the instrument and joined her husband, James, his pride in her and the warmth of their affection was plain to see. Watching from a little distance, Becky could not hold back the deep sigh that escaped her lips.

  Mr Contini looked quickly at her but this time tactfully said nothing.

  It did seem to him, however, that despite appearances to the contrary, Becky Tate was not really as contented as he had thought.

  As the entertainment drew to a close, several of the guests prepared to leave. Mr and Mrs Darcy were among the first to make their departure; Lizzie was tired, and she disliked long journeys.

  Becky made a point of approaching her and asking after the health of her brother-in-law Mr Bingley. "I understand from Emma that he is unwell. Jane must be anxious; please be so kind as to convey my best wishes for his speedy recovery," she said.

  Elizabeth smiled and thanked her.

  "Thank you, Becky, I shall. It is kind of you to ask, and yes, Jane is very concerned, but I am assured by Cassy that Richard saw Mr Bingley shortly before leaving for London, and he is confident that the condition, while it is uncomfortable, is not serious."

  When Becky smiled and looked relieved, she added, "Oh, if only Bingley could be persuaded to follow Mr Darcy's example and give up this insane habit of riding out every morning in all weathers. Jane is convinced it is the exposure to mist and damp that causes this condition; I do hope Richard will speak severely to him and advise against it, at least until the warmer weather returns."

  Listening to her, Becky thought how confident Elizabeth sounded; how very well she had fitted into her role as the Mistress of Pemberley, expressing her opinions and giving advice without hesitation.

  Poor Josie, she remembered, had always been a little intimidated by Mrs Darcy's elegance and self-assurance. As Mr Darcy joined them and the couple said their farewells and went out to their carriage, thoughts of Josie brought her back to reality.

  Aldo Contini was standing a little apart from the family members in the hall.

  He approached her and spoke softly, "Then it is arranged, I shall call for you on Monday? At what time will you be ready to leave?"

  Suddenly, Becky became a little confused and said, "May I send you a note, once I know what arrangements the family have made? I should prefer it to be after they have left for the ceremony, only because I have no wish to answer too many questions."

  He understood immediately.

  "Of course, certainly. Send me a note on Sunday afternoon. I will be at my uncle's apartment in Belgrave Square, at this address," he said, handing her a card. Then, meeting her eyes, he said, "I am looking forward to it."

  She thanked him and, as if to reassure, him said quickly, "I am too, very much."

  She did not wish him to think that she had changed her mind and was trying to back away from the arrangement.

  After he had said good night, Becky moved away and saw him standing in the doorway with Jonathan as she went upstairs to her room.

  There, having completed her toilette, she took out her diary. She would not sleep until she had recorded the events of this evening. She did so, meticulously as always, noting Mr Contini's appearance at the opera.

  It was difficult indeed to conceal my pleasure at seeing him there, for all the world as if he had just arrived, when he had in fact been outside, waiting for me through most of Act Two!

  He looks so like himself two years ago that I, who have changed so much, could scarcely believe it. The face and head are as pleasing as ever, though not conventionally handsome, arresting and very agreeable, with perhaps just a new touch of maturity at the temples. I am always surprised at how well a little grey suits a man.

  I am surprised at myself, too, for not being less forthcoming. But why should I be?

  I suppose it could be argued that when he said he had wanted to meet me and had come round to our box at the opera, I should have been less flattered, more censorious. But I was not, and for good reason, because I did not wish to be. I confess I was pleased he had come especially to see me and delighted he had been prepared to miss most of Act Two to do so, even if he is familiar with Figaro!

  Becky was not unaware of the delicacy of the situation in which she had placed herself. Equally, she had done so with a degree of deliberation from which she did not resile. She had wondered whether the Bingleys, Jonathan and her cousin Anna, would disapprove but had swiftly dismissed the idea as being rather jejeune.

  Perhaps I should have been less accommodating when he suggested the drive into the country. Possibly, but I did not feel the need to do so. I am sure I shall enjoy it, though I did forget to ask where we would drive to! But I am not a callow girl with some unreliable suitor. He is no Willoughby, nor am I Marianne Dashwood.

  I do not feel the need to play hard to get. Surely, I can accept a gentleman's invitation to accompany him on a drive into the country if I choose, without endang
ering my reputation.

  Besides, since he is such a good friend of Jonathan Bingley, there is unlikely to be any cause for concern.

  Quite content with her own arguments in favour of what she had decided to do, Becky, for the first time in three days, went to bed and lost no sleep at all that night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By ten o'clock on Monday morning, the Bingleys had left to join the Darcys and accompany Cassy and Richard Gardiner to the reception, where he would be presented with his award.

  On the previous afternoon, Becky had sent a note to Mr Contini explaining that half past ten would be an appropriate time for their drive into the country. She was dressed and waiting upstairs, and he arrived promptly at half past the hour in the Continis' brougham. Becky went downstairs to meet him. Nelly, loyal and discreet, was the only person who knew of their intended journey.

  It was a cool, pleasant morning redolent of late Summer rather than Autumn. After he had helped her into the vehicle, she asked, "And where exactly are we going today?"

  He turned to look at her and smiled.

  "Will you not trust me to take you somewhere and surprise you with my choice?" he asked.

  Becky had no desire to make a fuss, nor was she inclined to be arch, so she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Very well then, I am perfectly happy to be surprised, just so long as it is a pleasant surprise."

  "That I can certainly promise you," he said, and Becky nodded, aware only that they appeared to be travelling north out of London.

  It transpired later that they were bound for the county of Essex, a distance of some fourteen miles and a part of the country with which Becky was not at all familiar. However, that information came much later, and in the meantime, contrary to her expectations, for she had felt some apprehension that this was the reason for his wishing to see her alone, he made no mention of any matters from the past. It was a subject she was certain must be in the forefront of his mind, as it was in hers.

  Surprising her further, he talked chiefly of his present visit to England and some of the work he had undertaken in Italy during his time there, before asking her about her own plans for the future.

  "I understand from Mr Bingley that you have invested much time and effort in setting up a parish school in Kent," he said.

  "I have," she replied. "My main concern was to help my sister Catherine achieve her dearest ambition of establishing a school for the young women of the parish, who receive no instruction at all. They can neither read nor write. She had been frustrated in her original intention by her first husband's redoubtable patron, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who had opposed any such proposal on the grounds that it would give the girls of the parish ideas above their humble station in life."

  Mr Contini chuckled, "I have heard of this Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Jonathan Bingley has told me she was a most formidable woman, not to be crossed, on pain of death!" he said, and Becky agreed.

  "Indeed, socially speaking at least! My sister's first husband was not the sort of man who would have wished to do so. Her Ladyship's patronage was very useful to him."

  Mention of Catherine's first husband served to remind him of something he had been ignorant of until her letter had reached him in Italy.

  "You did say in your letter that your sister is married again recently; I trust she is happily married?"

  "Oh yes, very much so. She is married now to the man she fell in love with when she was a young girl and should have married twenty years ago. That she did not was yet another consequence of the arrogant meddling of Lady Catherine, who set out to prevent the match, with no respect for the feelings of the two people involved. But they are together now, and I have no doubt whatsoever of their complete happiness," she said with some satisfaction.

  "A propitious conclusion then?" he remarked.

  "Indeed, but sadly they were denied their felicity for too long," she said, and he glanced quickly at her, hearing a somewhat melancholy note in her voice.

  He was silent awhile after that explanation, then asked without warning, "And what about yourself? Have you no similar plans?"

  Becky, determined not to be disconcerted or coy, responded frankly, "If you mean matrimonial plans, I have not. But I do have plans of my own for the future; I mean to write and may venture into the publishing business if I can persuade Jonathan Bingley of the value of my project. There are too few good publishers who will accept a manuscript from a woman, however well written. If I could help more women have their work published, I should consider that I have done something truly worthwhile in my life."

  He looked at her seriously and, as if taking her to task, said, "You cannot mean that? You have done many worthwhile things in your life. You have, for several years, been a woman of great influence."

  "Only in my own small community and only because Mr Tate had the power of his newspapers, which he used to promote the causes we believed in. I very much doubt if he would have been as helpful if he did not agree with my aims, nor would I have been successful without his help. It was his position that enabled me to have my own work published in the Review and other journals. I do not flatter myself that another publisher would have been as willing. I am no Charlotte Bronte, Mr Contini; I do not write romantic tales that sell like hotcakes!

  "But now, I should like to do something on my own, something that would help other women, who have very little chance of success as writers."

  "Do you mean to establish a printery then?" he asked.

  "I most certainly do. I know how hard it is for women to achieve some measure of success; my daughter Josie was destroyed by it. I should like very much to do something about it."

  At the mention of Josie, he looked across at her quickly, recalling the circumstances of her daughter's death, and anxious not to say anything to rekindle her grief, he returned to an earlier question.

  "And why must Mr Bingley be persuaded?" he asked.

  "Ah, that is a long story…"

  "Which you cannot divulge to me?"

  "Oh no, there is nothing secret about it," she said, adding, "but it is a rather complex story, revealing something about my husband's opinion of my capacity to use the money he left me in a sensible way. He appointed Jonathan as a sort of 'guardian' over me. I shall tell you about it later if you wish; it is too dull a tale for such a pretty drive as this. I have never been in this part of England before and was not aware there was so much beauty here."

  They were indeed traversing some very appealing country and fell silent as Becky sought to feast her eyes upon it. To the left of the road lay woodland as far as she could see, where age-old trees stood, still clothed in their Autumn hues of russet and gold, and the air was cold, smokeless, and sweet. They were passing through Epping Forest, the last remnants of the great Waltham Forest, within which stood the ruins of Waltham Abbey, where it was said King Harold had been buried after the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Although neither knew of its historic significance, both admitted to feeling a sense of awe as they regarded the ancient trees and marvelled at their great age.

  Later, they talked again of matters of mutual interest; he asked about the parish school in Kent, and she enquired if he had been to the recent concert at the Albert Hall, where the performance of a young Italian maestro had received high praise from the critics and Anna Bingley.

  He laughed and said, "High praise from the critics would not inspire me to attend—they are always so contrary, I cannot take them seriously. Praise from Mrs Bingley is quite another matter; she is an artist herself and understands the quality of inspiration."

  Becky concurred, "Indeed she does, and because I know very little of the arts, I confess I do value her judgement on such matters."

  "Ah, on that matter we are as one, then," he said, and they laughed together, as she protested that they had agreed on many things, before lapsing into silence again.

  They had reached the crossroads, at which Mr Contini paid particular attention to their route, consulting a piece of paper he had t
aken from the inside pocket of his coat, which appeared to have on it some sort of map.

  As he put it away and concentrated upon the road ahead, Becky said nothing, her thoughts in some confusion, as she realised how easily she could enjoy his company. It was no different now, she thought, from the way it had been before, and yet their lives had changed considerably in the intervening years.

  They made good time, reaching their destination—a country estate on the fringes of Epping Forest—soon after midday.

  The gates were open, giving access to the grounds, with woods, paths, and gardens that were quite beautiful with a wild, natural quality that was very different from anything Becky had seen in Kent.