Clearly flattered, Mr Griffin smiled even more broadly. “Ah, my dear Mrs Bradshaw, your consideration does you credit, but you are not keeping me from my work; indeed I was just returning to the Rectory, having visited an errant member of my flock. The sheep who stray are as dear to the shepherd as those who do not,” he declared.
“Of course, now I have met you ladies, I must hear your concerns, too. Indeed, I am eager to hear them. If you will do me the honour of accompanying me to the Rectory, we might talk about it over a cup of tea,” he suggested brightly. The ladies agreed and they walked on.
Anna, who had remained silent, except for a few words of greeting, later recounted the whole of their encounter to her sister-in-law, whom she sought out after their return to Netherfield House, while Anne-Marie, a little fatigued after their walk, retired to her room to rest.
“Emma, believe me, I was absolutely amazed at the calm, collected manner in which Anne-Marie handled it all. Here was poor Mr Griffin, all smiles and grovelling before her, but she was so poised and self-possessed, I could scarcely believe it. She took all those silly aphorisms of his, about his flock and the good shepherd, without even a flicker of a smile. I have to confess, I giggled when he referred to his errant parishioners as straying sheep, but not Anne-Marie; she went right on listening and talking, and soon she had him eating out of her hand!”
Emma laughed merrily at the vision,
“Like a sheep, how very appropriate! But Anna, tell me, was she able to talk seriously to him about the hospital?”
“Indeed, she was and she used the argument so well, that the children were dying of dreadful diseases, which could have been cured. She said it was our Christian duty to save them and help them live; he was drawn right in and agreed with her completely.
“‘Of course,’ he declared, ‘Jesus bade them (the disciples, that is) to suffer the little children to come unto him, and he commanded them to go forth and heal the sick and ease their suffering, so it is our duty to do likewise as good disciples.’
“He was not proposing to work any miracles, you will be relieved to hear, Emma, but he certainly had no difficulty supporting us in a campaign for a children’s hospital, and it was all Anne-Marie’s doing! It was an astonishing performance; I have never seen anything like it before.”
Emma Wilson smiled at her young sister-in-law’s astonishment.
Anna was clearly unfamiliar with the persuasive powers of the lobbyist. As the wife of a Member of Parliament, Emma was well aware of them.
“It must be her background and observation, the value of commitment to a cause, the ability to argue and persuade, it’s all there; she has seen her father and uncles practise it and she knows how to use it to advantage, to advance a good cause. She has used it in her work at the hospital, and now she is using it again. Anna, I am so very happy to hear this; it means she is well on the way to recovery. Jonathan will be pleased,” said Emma, well satisfied with what she had heard.
Anna had some reservations. “But, what of poor Mr Griffin? Is he not likely, if he becomes too involved with her campaign for the hospital, and I am sure he intends to, he sees it as a crusade, I think; will he not be in danger of falling in love with her?” she asked anxiously. “He is not a very sensible young man, I do not think.”
This time, though she was still smiling, Emma’s voice was quite serious, “Anna, I doubt if his earlier passion, having once been extinguished by her marriage to Mr Bradshaw, will be stirred into life again.” When Anna seemed unconvinced, Emma persisted, “If he does show any such signs, I think we may be confident that Anne-Marie will deal with it. In any event, she is now in very safe hands; with you and her father to turn to for counsel and support, she will not be alone,” she said sagely.
Anna smiled and though she said little, she was not as sanguine as her sister-in-law about the prospect. She had no great confidence in the common sense of Mr Griffin, having seen him in action before.
She hoped fervently that Anne-Marie would be spared any further aggravation, especially if it were to involve the Rector, whose good intentions, she feared, however sincere, may well be driven by his susceptible heart, rather than his zeal to emulate the Good Shepherd.
At the end of a week filled with many pleasant hours of companionship, entertainment, and illuminating discussion, as well as a good deal of fun, the Wilsons left to return to Kent, after affectionate and sometimes tearful farewells. Jonathan, Anna, and especially young Anne-Marie let them go, but only after they promised faithfully to write often and everyone declared they were looking forward to seeing each other again at Victoria Wilson’s wedding in June.
Anna had been wary and watchful, lest talk of her cousin’s forthcoming wedding should cause Anne-Marie some understandable distress. But, to Anna’s immense relief, she showed not the slightest discomposure, asking to be remembered to both her cousins, Victoria and Stephanie, and promising to be on hand to help them on the wedding day.
It was a further welcome sign of her improving spirits and her increasing confidence, of which Anna saw more evidence with each passing day, and to his great joy, so did Jonathan.
The Wilsons, whose present happiness had appeared to rise from the ashes of Emma’s marriage to David Wilson, whose cruelty and dissolute behaviour had ended only with his shame and suicide, exemplified for Jonathan and Anna the kind of marriage that one dreamed of and hoped for but scarcely expected, in reality, to achieve. Only where there was the deepest love, the finest judgment, and the strongest understanding could one hope to encounter such felicity and contentment. Jonathan and Anna, though more recently wed and still deeply in love, craved in their hearts the same estimable qualities they recognised in James and Emma’s marriage.
Both couples had long been intimate friends and shared many fine ideals and hopes. They loved and respected one another more sincerely than most sisters and brothers did and their children followed suit.
Whenever the two families spent time together, they always parted reluctantly, and yet, each seemed to leave with the other some portion of their shared delight to temper the sadness of separation.
On this occasion, the sadness was further assuaged by the arrival, a few days later, of Teresa and Cathy returning from Ashford Park, accompanied by their governess and their brother Charles, who was to spend a week or two at Netherfield, before proceeding to London to take up an appointment as an assistant in a medical practice. To both Anna and Jonathan, Charles’s return was doubly pleasing, since they had not seen him since Christmas. His relationship with his father by now completely restored, he was warmly welcomed. Having had the benefit of being spoilt by their brother for the space of two days, as they journeyed from Leicestershire via Cambridge, where he had proudly shown them around his college, his two younger sisters were prepared to part with him to their parents, while the household staff, with whom he was universally popular, planned to celebrate his return with an appropriately festive dinner.
For Anne-Marie, however, her brother’s arrival was not an undiluted pleasure. Though he greeted her with affection and remarked upon her improved appearance, she was aware that there were between them unresolved matters. She had confessed to Emma that Charles, on hearing of her engagement to Bradshaw, had arrived at Harwood Park and strongly discouraged her from marrying him, declaring at one point, “The man’s a cold fish, Anne-Marie; he speaks only of church matters, and he will never make you happy.”
But Anne-Marie, resentful of her brother’s interference, had turned stubborn and protested that she loved Mr Bradshaw and was determined to marry him. Charles had said no more, but it had been clear that he was unhappy, and when Bradshaw had died suddenly, he had appeared shocked, but had seemed unable to sound genuinely sorry.
Now, Anne-Marie realised that Charles knew little of the harrowing detail of her marriage and would have to be told the truth, by her. She could not let him continue to believe, that she was a grieving widow, mourning the loss of a beloved husband, while both her fat
her and Anna knew otherwise. How this was to be accomplished, she knew not, but that it had to be done, she knew for certain.
Anna learned of her determination almost by chance through Charles, who sought her out one warm afternoon, when Jonathan had taken all three of his daughters to visit their grandmother, Mrs Collins, at Longbourn. Charles had spent several hours with his sister on the previous day, when she had asked if he would drive her to St Alban’s. She had claimed that she wished to see again some feature of the cathedral they had visited on a previous occasion and discuss with her brother the campaign she was planning for the children’s hospital. On their return, Anne-Marie had been tired and spent the rest of the evening in her room, while Charles had disappeared into the library.
On the following day, Charles resisted his younger sisters’ invitation to accompany them on their morning walk and, when the girls left with their father for Longbourn, went upstairs to find Anna.
She saw at once that he was troubled, and it did not take her long to discover the reason for his disquiet.
Writing some time later to Emma Wilson, Anna recounted the manner in which Charles Bingley had revealed to her his full knowledge of the dismal circumstances of his sister’s marriage to Mr Bradshaw.
My dearest Emma, she wrote,
You are still the only person with whom I am able to discuss these matters frankly and openly, especially since I am reluctant to curtail by this means the happiness my dear husband has enjoyed since Anne-Marie’s return to Netherfield. When Charles arrived a few days ago, I sensed a certain reserve between him and his sister, which I found to be extraordinary, since they are usually very fond of one another. I do not mean to suggest that there was any anger or hostility, but it was clear to me they were not at ease with each other.
A day or two later, at Anne-Marie’s request, he drove her to St Alban’s, where they spent most of the day and, on their return, both appeared out of sorts. At dinner, Anne-Marie ate very little, said even less, and then excused herself and retired to bed, while Charles was almost morose. I was afraid they may have quarrelled, but was reluctant to pry. On the day following, Jonathan took all three girls over to Longbourn to visit their grandmother, and I had decided to do some work on some of the sketches I’d made on our last visit to Pemberley, when Charles appeared. Emma, from the very first moment I saw him, I knew he was seriously upset. There was none of his familiar lighthearted banter; he showed no interest in my work, which is unusual in itself, for he is always polite about such things. His face was pale and he seemed agitated, which caused me to ask if he was unwell. My simple question seemed to be sufficient provocation to open the floodgates of his injured feelings. It all poured out. He demanded to know how much Jonathan and I had known of Anne-Marie’s marriage troubles, when we had become aware of her predicament, and why he had not been told the truth. When I explained, as calmly as I could, that we had had no inkling of the real situation, save for some vague uneasiness I had felt on my very first meeting with Mr Bradshaw, he revealed that he had known nothing until the previous day and now, he knew it all!
He had heard it from Anne-Marie herself, on their visit to St Alban’s, which she had, quite clearly, arranged for the purpose of speaking privately to him. You will recall that we discussed the matter of his appeal to her, on hearing of their engagement, not to marry Mr Bradshaw, pointing out several reasons why he considered him unsuitable.
At the time, Anne-Marie had claimed she loved him and ignored her brother’s entreaties. It appears however, that she now feels deep remorse at having deceived her brother and does not wish him to believe she is grieving at the death of a beloved husband.
Emma, she has told him everything, all she had hidden from us and from him for many months.
To say Charles was shocked is an understatement. Having suppressed his anger for her sake, he was near to exploding with outrage at the actions of the Harwoods in promoting the match. He claims he once had a high opinion of them, believing them to be dear friends of his sister, whose concern for her when she had been ill was commendable. However, he regards their recent behaviour as a complete betrayal of trust; indeed his indignation is so great he was threatening to travel to Harwood Park and confront them. He was dissuaded only when I pointed out that such an action would only further add to his sister’s unhappiness and seriously displease his father.
To quote his words, “Had I known at the time or even suspected the truth, I swear to you I would have stood up in church and objected to the marriage. I ask you, Anna, how could she promise to love, honour, and obey him, when she knew and he knew she did not and could not love him? It’s outrageous!”
Emma, he was so agitated, there were tears in his eyes as he spoke, and I had to urge him to calm himself. So consumed is he with resentment, he could not understand why she felt any guilt, believing she was persuaded into the marriage by the Harwoods, seeking preferment for their friend, Mr B, through Anne-Marie’s family connections. He declared quite confidently that they must have known through Eliza’s parents, the Courtneys, that Mr Darcy’s estate included more than one well-endowed living, and as Anne-Marie’s husband, Mr Bradshaw might have hoped to benefit from Darcy’s patronage.
Even as she recounted it, Anna recalled with some trepidation the rage of young Charles Bingley. She had never seen such anger. Having let him give vent to his feelings, she had urged him to abandon attempts to confront the Harwoods. “Surely, Charles, you must know that such action would achieve little or nothing for Anne-Marie? Instead, will you not help us to cherish and sustain your sister as she tries to recover her spirits? I believe she has already taken the first steps, and your love and support will be crucial.”
“Anna, I will do anything, anything at all to help her. Give me any instruction and it shall be done,” he promised. “Poor Anne-Marie, she devotes years of her life to heal others, and this is her reward? A contemptible arrangement by which she is persuaded to marry a man wholly beneath her in every way, a man for whom she says she had no love. Just think, Anna, what it must have been like for a young woman to endure. After all, she had no idea he was going to die fifteen months later; he could quite well have lived to be seventy!” After a while, he had become calmer, promising to talk to his sister and offer his help with her campaign for the children’s hospital.
“It is very dear to her heart; I know she will welcome your support,” Anna had said, quietly.
Interrupted by her son, demanding his mother’s attention, Anna put aside her letter and went downstairs with Nicholas, who was eager to be out in the garden.
Following him down the steps, she saw Anne-Marie and her brother in earnest and seemingly amiable conversation at the far end of the lawn. Seeing Anna, they came towards her. Smiling and walking arm in arm with Charles, Anne-Marie revealed that her brother had promised her his complete support for her campaign to get a children’s hospital for the area.
“You see, Anna, Charles has a wonderful opportunity to help us. Once he is in London, he will put together the kind of evidence that only a practising physician can provide,” she said. “What is even better, when we have gathered all the material we need, he is going to help me prepare a proper case and present it to our new Member of Parliament, Mr Colin Elliott.”
There was no mistaking her delight, and even he seemed calmer and more content. Having declared her unreserved approval and added her own offer of help, Anna took them to see the new Conservatory. As they talked of Winter roses and exotic orchids, she was relieved to note there was no longer any tension between them. Helped by the untiring efforts of young Nicholas, both Anne-Marie and Charles were soon smiling.
On her return to the house, Anna completed her letter to Emma Wilson and despatched it to the post, happy to reassure her sister-in-law.
I am indeed happy to conclude with some good news. I know you will be relieved to hear that Charles is calmer now, having decided to take a more rewarding path, helping his sister with her beloved children’s hospital
scheme.
It has made us very happy.
Your loving sister, Anna.
When her husband returned to Netherfield, Anna gave him the news and, while he shared her sense of relief, he did warn her against building up Anne-Marie’s expectations. “Do remember, dearest, that whatever their hopes, they must obtain the support of the council and our new MP, Mr Colin Elliott, which may prove more difficult than we imagine. He is, after all, a Tory from a notably Conservative background. His father and grandfather have fierce reputations for their harsh treatment of tenants and farm labourers during the enclosures of small holdings and commons in the district. Of course, as a result, Sir Paul Elliott and his family prospered mightily, but many poor families turned out of their farms and cottages were deprived of everything—their livelihood, their homes, and the sources of food for their families. The gamekeepers brutally enforced the game laws and magistrates, usually friends or relations of the Elliotts and other similar landowners, hanged, jailed, and transported men and women for poaching fish or rabbit to feed their children.”
His voice was sombre and even Anna recalled that her father had told them of many children who had died of malnutrition, while their mothers were close to starving, having been thrown off the land.
When she told him, Jonathan nodded, unsurprised. “Indeed, your father is right; it seemed that neither Sir Paul Elliott nor his father believed the welfare of the poor was their responsibility,” he said, adding a cautious warning, “So you see, my dear, for Anne-Marie’s sake and the sake of the children she wishes to help, we must hope that Mr Colin Elliott is less hard-hearted than they were.”
Early in the Summer, a Mr Lockwood, an architect highly recommended by James Wilson for his excellent work at Standish Park, arrived at Netherfield. He was escorted by Jonathan to Longbourn, where he discussed the proposed “improvements” with him and Mrs Collins, before returning to Netherfield House. He spent some hours making notes and sketches, as he talked endlessly to Jonathan, Anna, and Anne-Marie of the various ways in which the work might be accomplished. At the end of the day, he went away and returned with more ideas and sketches. When the scope of the work and its design had been decided to their general satisfaction and costs agreed, Mr Lockwood returned to London, promising to be back within the month with a draughtsman who would persevere with the plans and supervise the building, which was to start no later than July.
The Ladies of Longbourn Page 6
