Woman of Influence (Pemberley Chronicles)

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Intrigued, she asked, "Whose estate is this?" and was informed that it belonged to a friend of Mr Contini and Jonathan Bingley, a gentleman and a Member of Parliament, by the name of Adrian Hart, who had invited them to drive there and take lunch with him at the house.

  The mention of Jonathan Bingley caused Becky to wonder if he had known of their journey here today, but she was reluctant to ask and prepared instead to enjoy the pleasures this extraordinary place afforded them.

  The drive to the house was long, twisting, and winding through stands of graceful beeches, silvery grey in the clear light of noon, their roots deep in dense clumps of fern and bracken that pushed out into the road, invading the path of their vehicle.

  Becky was entranced, envisaging a scene from some Gothic tale of romance and intrigue being enacted here, when the house came into view quite suddenly, shattering completely the image in her mind. It was certainly not the edifice she had imagined at all, being neither old nor Victorian in character. Instead, it was quite deliberately modern, probably designed by one of the tribe of rising young architects everyone in London was talking about. It was said they were determined to drag British design into a new era.

  They reached the wide front porch and alighted, to be met by a manservant, who apologised for his master, Mr Hart, who, he said, had been unavoidably delayed in London by some urgent business at Whitehall. However, he said, they were very welcome, and the master had asked that they stay to lunch.

  Becky was surprised, even more so that Mr Contini seemed quite untroubled by this turn of events. She had expected him to be somewhat disconcerted at least, by the absence of their host, but clearly he was not.

  Presently, they were shown into a spacious room full of light, with huge French windows opening out onto a terrace on one side and on the other, leading into an enclosed courtyard around which the house had been built. They partook of aperitifs and light refreshments before being invited to remove to a delightful outdoor space, where luncheon was served in a setting that could only enhance their enjoyment of an excellent meal.

  Mr Contini, who had visited the house on previous occasions, explained the design, which he described as modern and one of the best examples he had seen in England.

  "It is such a clean, light style, so different to the false Gothic structures one sees everywhere. I adore it," he said, and Becky could only agree.

  Afterwards, they walked about the garden, which was, despite the lateness of the season, exceptionally verdant, being planted with a variety of trees and shrubs from the Mediterranean, which being evergreen helped alleviate the bleak appearance that heralded the onset of Winter in most English gardens. As they admired the beauty of the grounds, with their appearance of natural wilderness, Becky wished she could do likewise at Edgewater but, thinking aloud, supposed that it was probably too late to change things there, since the garden had been established many years ago.

  "Becky, it is not like you to say that," Mr Contini said in a reproving tone that amused her somewhat. "Surely it is never too late to change things, if the change will make you happy, as your sister has shown by her remarkable example?"

  She smiled and nodded, but said nothing, not trusting herself to speak. She was becoming increasingly aware that his previous knowledge of her had given him a singular advantage over her. While she was not uncomfortable, it did make her more wary.

  When they returned to the house, tea was served in the sitting room, where a fire danced in a huge fireplace, banishing any invading chill. An attentive maid and footman were present to wait upon them. It was luxury like Becky had never known, and she could not but wonder at the generosity of their absent host, Mr Hart, whose hospitality they were enjoying.

  The sun was sinking behind the great stands of trees that sheltered the house from both heat of Summer and the Winter winds, when Becky suggested that it was time to leave and Mr Contini rose immediately, ready to take her home.

  Having ensured that she was warmly and comfortably ensconced in the vehicle, he thanked the butler and asked that their appreciation be conveyed to Mr Hart for his generous hospitality, before setting off for London.

  Becky said nothing for a while, and her companion likewise kept his eyes on the road as he took the vehicle along the twisting drive and out onto the thoroughfare. Then he relaxed and asked, "You have enjoyed the day, Becky, yes?"

  She had no other response to offer than, "I most certainly have, very much, thank you; but I now have a problem."

  "A problem?" he seemed puzzled.

  "Yes. However shall I thank Mr Hart for his kind hospitality when I do not even know him? It was such a splendid house and a delicious meal. The setting was superb; I have not enjoyed a visit anywhere so much in years. I feel I should write to thank him."

  He smiled, clearly pleased the problem was not an insoluble one.

  "I am glad you enjoyed it. I too have enjoyed being with you here. Do not concern yourself about Mr Hart; he is a good friend and I shall convey your thanks to him myself. He will be very pleased that you admired his house and grounds—it is an obsession with him."

  "A most magnificent obsession indeed," said Becky and lapsed again into silence, contemplating the events of the day. She could not recall enjoying such a day as this in many a year.

  Her companion's voice broke in gently upon her thoughts.

  "Perhaps we could drive out again another day? We could go somewhere else; you could choose."

  This time, she smiled and said, "Yes, that would be nice, but I do not have many more days in London. I return to Kent next Monday."

  "That is six days away! Plenty of time for another excursion…" he said, but she was cautious.

  "Let me think about it. Anna and Jonathan may have some plans of their own and may wish me to join them," she said, and he nodded and said, "Of course,"

  Becky wondered at his reticence.

  Why had he not once made mention of their past association? It bewildered her, even though she was grateful that he had not, for it could have caused her some embarrassment.

  But the fact that he had said nothing at all was curious and concerning. Could it be that he did not wish to rake up memories from the past, when they had met in London at a time that she had been vulnerable and alone? Perhaps he was himself embarrassed by the recollection and was hoping she also wished to bury the memory. Yet he had sought her out and followed up their association, quite deliberately. It cannot have been simple kindness, she mused. These and other puzzling thoughts engrossed her mind as they drove into London, but she said nothing at all.

  On reaching Grosvenor Street, Mr Contini escorted her indoors, and having thanked her and kissed her hand, he left, saying he had to get the vehicle back to his uncle and aunt, who were dining out that evening.

  Becky felt no special sense of elation but could not deny the quiet pleasure that filled her as she retired to her room. Nelly waited for her, attentive as ever, anxious to see she was not too tired, bringing her tea and helping her change out of her clothes.

  The Bingleys had not returned as yet, she reported. They were dining with the Darcys at Portman Square.

  Becky was glad and asked that Nelly inform the kitchen staff that she would not require any dinner tonight.

  Nelly was concerned; it had been a long day.

  "Are you feeling poorly, ma'am?"

  Becky, lying back against the cushions, smiled.

  "Oh no, Nelly, on the contrary, I am very well. But I have had such an agreeable day and such a delicious luncheon, I really do not need any dinner. I think I shall take a bath, some more tea, and have an early night."

  Relieved, Nelly said, "Yes, ma'am," and went away to prepare the bath for her mistress. She was content that Becky was indeed well and happy.

  "If only," she thought, "if only she could be this way always."

  But Becky had few such days and when they came she grasped them and enjoyed them, knowing how rare they were.

  This particular day had been
a curious one, she wrote in her diary:

  It was a day full of anticipation and despite some disappointment, leaving me contented tonight. It is a strange sensation indeed, but an undeniably happy one.

  It might well have been a perfect day had my companion been a little

  more forthcoming, but it did not signify, because he has been so charming

  and kind. I could not have asked for better company.

  And there is a promise of more to come, if I choose!

  Shall I? I confess it is an attractive prospect, but I have not decided if I should.

  ***

  In the week that followed, Mr Contini arrived at Grosvenor Street almost daily, sometimes at the invitation of the Bingleys and at others, by appointment with Becky, who in the space of twenty-four hours, had overcome her reservations about further meetings with him.

  Consequently, they visited, enjoyed, and talked of many more places and things than had first seemed possible in so short a time: the Tate Gallery in inclement weather, Kew Gardens when it was fine, and on one particularly happy day, a drive down to Richmond to watch a boat race on the Thames. Mr Contini was very excited about the contest on the river, while Becky drew her enjoyment chiefly from the pleasure of his company, which she had to admit had been enhanced on each occasion.

  Yet one thing continued to perplex her.

  In all of this time, while they had found so much to enjoy together, he had said nothing that gave her any hint of his feelings towards her, other than a general impression of warm friendliness and concern. It was as though, if he had any feelings of affection or attachment, he had determined not to permit her to see how he felt, concealing within a mantle of agreeable courtliness his real intentions.

  This continued all week, until the Sunday before she was to return home.

  They had dined with the Bingleys, and afterwards, while Anna played the pianoforte and Jonathan sat reading by the fire, Mr Contini had seated himself beside Becky on a sofa placed at some distance from the instrument. She had, in her own mind, concluded that they were to pass their last evening as they had all the others, when he said softly, "Becky, I have been meaning to ask you if I may call on you at your home in Kent, before I return to Italy."

  The approach was so direct and so unexpected, she was taken aback and for a minute or two did not know quite how to respond.

  This was not because she had any reservations about permitting him to visit her at Edgewater, more that she had prepared herself in advance to say farewell without any expectation of meeting him again in the near future, that she was thrown into some confusion by his request.

  Her hesitation seemed to unsettle him, and he asked rather apprehensively, "I am sorry, have I offended you by asking?"

  This she immediately denied. "Of course not. No, you must not think that; you are very welcome to visit Edgewater. There are, however, one or two unconnected matters, which I have to settle when I return home, that will keep me busy for some days. I have some obligations to attend to; thereafter, you may certainly come and visit, and I should like you to meet my sister Catherine and her husband, Mr Burnett, who live nearby," she said.

  He looked delighted and agreed at once, pointing out that he was going to be in London awhile yet; his uncle and aunt wished him to assist them in settling some matters of business.

  "I expect I shall spend the rest of this month with them before returning to Italy. So there will be plenty of time to pay you a visit, yes?"

  "Oh yes indeed," said Becky, "I shall send you word as soon as it is convenient."

  "Please do; I shall look forward to it, very much," he said, and after a few more minutes of casual conversation, he stood up and bowed, kissed her hand, thanked his host and hostess, and was gone, leaving Becky pondering what new direction her life was taking, and yet unsure what part Mr Contini would play.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Becky and her maid Nelly were packed and ready to leave on the train the following day.

  That night, she wrote in a rather melancholy mood of Mr Contini:

  If only I knew what he was thinking. Why does he not wish to let me see if he feels anything for me at all, apart from an agreeable friendliness, which I welcome, but am increasingly unsatisfied with? I would very much like to know if he cares more deeply for me. He wishes to call on me at Edgewater, but why would he, if he has no keener interest than sociable companionship? It is a question I must resolve, even if only for my own peace of mind.

  There were many other questions she would have wished to ask him, but he had given her no opportunity. Why had he never married? Was there no lady friend in Italy who awaited his return?

  Other, less intimate questions had engaged her mind constantly since their visit to the house of Mr Adrian Hart in Essex. Had Mr. Hart deliberately stayed away to enable them to be alone together, she wondered. Had Jonathan Bingley known of their visit, or did he have a part in arranging it? If he did, neither he nor Anna had spoken of it to Becky, very properly respecting her privacy.

  Apart from his role in bringing her Mr Contini's note, Jonathan had neither said nor done anything to encourage her interest in his friend except to agree enthusiastically each time Mr Contini had suggested some place of interest that Becky and he could visit. And she had noted an amused look in Jonathan's eyes on occasions when Mr Contini was with her.

  Notwithstanding this, they had invited him to visit and to dine with them not once or twice, but three times during the week that followed, on each occasion ensuring that Becky and he were seated together at the dinner table and frequently left alone together in the drawing room.

  All these machinations served to increase her suspicions that Jonathan must, at the very least, be aware of his friend's interest in her and may well wish to encourage it. That she could get no satisfactory answers to all these questions was vexing indeed.

  I should have liked to be certain in my own mind whether he does or does not care for me. Many times during this week I have felt his interest not only in the warmth and courtesy of his manner but also in the questions he has asked.

  They are certainly not the idle enquiries of an indifferent acquaintance; but why then does he not let me see behind the words and manners to the feelings he must surely entertain? Only then will I be able to understand my own.

  She had hoped that her last evening in London would afford him the opportunity, but apart from an earnest request to visit her at Edgewater, which he had seemed genuinely keen to do, there was nothing more.

  As for his desire to call on me at Edgewater, this is not a request a

  gentleman would make lightly, yet he has given me no indication whatso

  ever of anything more serious than a sightseeing visit.

  Ah well, we shall have to wait and see how it turns out.

  On the morrow, just as they had finished breakfast and Becky was about to ask that her trunk and bags be carried down to the hall in preparation for their journey to the railway station, the doorbell rang.

  Becky was certain it had to be Mr Contini come to say farewell, and judging by Anna's anticipatory expression, it seemed she thought so too. But, disappointingly, it was only Mr Elliott who, knowing of Becky's imminent departure, had called to give her some very welcome news.

  No sooner was he in the room with them, than he declared, "Mrs Tate, I am here to tell you that William Rickman's pardon has been signed and will be sent to the county magistrate next week."

  Becky was delighted.

  He continued, rather gravely, "Rickman must report, with a lawyer in attendance, to the magistrate, who will read him the conditions of his pardon, to which he must agree."

  When Becky looked apprehensive at this, he reassured her that they were not very onerous conditions and involved mainly giving an undertaking that he would not seek out any of those involved in accusing, arraigning, and convicting him.

  "This is excellent news," said Jonathan, and Becky was very grateful.

  "Mr Elliott, I t
hank you from the bottom of my heart, on behalf of these young people, who have suffered so much through no fault of theirs."

  Despite her initial disappointment on seeing him, Becky was particularly pleased with Colin Elliott's news. At least, she thought, one thing would now be settled. She thanked him again and asked that her appreciation be conveyed to Mr Harding for his part in obtaining the pardon for Rickman.

  To her astonishment, Mr Elliott looked a little embarrassed and replied that he would do so, when he wrote to his colleague, but it may be a while before he received it, since Mr Harding had resigned from the practice in London and was preparing to move to Canada.