In June, the family journeyed to Standish Park for the wedding of Victoria Wilson, the Wilson’s eldest daughter. Young Teresa Bingley, who had been invited to be one of the bridesmaids, was very nervous and while Anna kept watch over her, for it was Teresa’s first big social occasion, she was far more concerned about Anne-Marie. She was reassured, however, when Charles, who had arrived from London, undertook to escort his sister; Anna knew she was in good hands.
“I knew thereafter that I could stop worrying about her and enjoy the wedding,” she said to Jonathan, noting that even young Teresa seemed to be quite at ease as she carried out her bridesmaid’s duties. Later, she was seen in animated conversation with one of the groom’s party. The accomplished and handsome Miss Victoria Wilson was marrying a Mr Edward Fairfax, son of a distinguished family from Hampshire.
Not reliant for their reputation upon their estates alone, the Fairfaxes were all well educated and some were professional men, involved in the law, politics, and the church. The groom, Mr Edward Fairfax, was a lawyer and a Member of Parliament, having entered the Commons in 1859. His younger brothers, Henry, a diplomat with a secret desire to be a writer, and Frederick, who confessed to Teresa that he was a mere draughtsman with ambitions to be an artist, were both pleasant and personable gentlemen. Frederick’s apologetic admission that he “drew for a living,” because, he said, “a fellow has to earn a crust” fascinated Teresa, who confessed that she had been “unable to draw at all” until Anna taught her.
She was clearly interested in his work and asked several intelligent questions, which the gentleman found quite astonishing. There were, he declared, very few young ladies of his acquaintance, who had shown any interest at all in the sort of drawing he did.
“Indeed, Miss Bingley, the only drawings they wish to see are of themselves,” he declared. “And do you never oblige them?” asked Teresa, in a somewhat playful tone, to which he responded lightly, “Only when I can credibly reproduce their features; else I might find myself under attack for taking liberties with their looks!”
Teresa laughed. “Then you would be safest if you restricted yourself to architraves and flying buttresses, Mr Fairfax,” she advised and he agreed at once, smiling and promising to heed her wise counsel in the future.
As the wedding celebrations drew to a close, they went their separate ways and Teresa, returning on the morrow with her family to Netherfield, did not recount her conversation with Mr Frederick Fairfax to anyone, although in a record she made in her diary, she did allow that he was an “amiable and amusing young man who drew for a living!”
In fact, what with Cathy and Teresa being pressed into service to help their sister with her campaign for the children’s hospital and the excitement of their father’s purchase of a Victoria—an open carriage, mainly for the use of the ladies of Netherfield and Longbourn, young Mr Frederick Fairfax was almost completely forgotten.
That was until a fine morning in late June, when a carriage drove up to the entrance of Netherfield House and Mr Lockwood alighted. As he came up the steps, Teresa, carrying a basket of flowers, which she was about to arrange in the parlour, met him in the hall. Greeting her, Mr Lockwood announced that he was here with his draughtsman to see Mr Bingley about the improvements to the buildings at Longbourn.
Having sent a servant to fetch her father, Teresa looked out and saw a young man struggling to extract some unwieldy equipment from the carriage. As he put his burden down, straightened up, and dusted down his coat, she recognised him.
“Oh look, it’s Frederick Fairfax!” she cried and went out and down the steps towards him.
“Mr Fairfax, what are you doing here?”
On hearing her voice, he spun around, a look of complete amazement upon his face, and exclaimed, “Miss Bingley! I do beg your pardon; I had no idea this was your home. Is this Longbourn, where we are to undertake some improvements?”
Teresa smiled, “Certainly not, this is Netherfield Park and yes, it is my home. My father, Mr Jonathan Bingley, is also the owner of Longbourn, which is about three miles from here. Do you work for Mr Lockwood?” she asked.
He did not appear at all abashed. “I do; I am a draughtsman. You will recall I told you when we met at my brother’s wedding that I drew for a living. Well, here I am, at your service, or rather, at your father’s service,” he said with a mock bow.
Teresa was very amused. “This is such a coincidence. My sisters will be astonished. Well, you had better come in and we can ask Jack to help you with that heavy equipment.”
Anne-Marie, coming downstairs, saw them in the hall, and was so surprised, she forgot her usually exemplary manners and stared at Mr Fairfax and her sister, uncomprehending, until Teresa reminded her who he was.
“Anne-Marie, this is Mr Frederick Fairfax. You remember him at the wedding; he is Vicky’s brother-in-law,” and as recognition dawned, “Well, he is a draughtsman and he’s here with the architect, Mr Lockwood, who’s with Papa in the library.”
Now joined by Anna Bingley who had come out of the library, hearing voices in the hall, Anne-Marie apologised, and greetings were properly exchanged. Young Mr Fairfax then excused himself and went into the library, leaving the ladies shaking their heads at the extraordinary correspondence of circumstances that had brought him to Netherfield.
While Frederick Fairfax was not to any extent a particularly remarkable or handsome young man, not being blessed with the very fine features and figure that distinguished his elder brother Edward, he had a naturally amiable disposition, excellent manners, and a pleasing sense of humour that stood him in good stead. Over the next few months, there developed between him and all the ladies at Netherfield and Longbourn a pleasant and happy association, for he was obliging, cheerful, and polite to them all. Teresa, who had always been by nature a somewhat solitary young woman, found him both interesting and amiable. So began a firm friendship between them, which flourished through the Summer, while plans were drawn, builders hired, and work began at Longbourn.
Anna, often with Anne-Marie or Teresa, went to Longbourn almost daily to ensure that their planned improvements were being carried out as required. Charlotte Collins, whose suggestion for a minor alteration to the back parlour had started all this activity, could only marvel at the speed and efficiency with which the work proceeded.
Teresa, whose friendship with the draughtsman survived the stresses of the Summer, enjoyed most of all watching the way in which the skeletal drawings on sheets of paper were translated into bricks and mortar. Frederick Fairfax was a patient teacher and she was a keen student, showing a remarkable understanding and appreciation of the work.
As the Summer drew to a close, Anna’s early disquiet about the wisdom of their seemingly innocent friendship soon gave way to sanguine acceptance, for neither Mr Fairfax nor Teresa had behaved in any way other than with perfect decorum.
Only once did Anna notice anything deeper than simple friendship between them and, even then, it was a matter of such lightness and innocence that she hardly gave it a second thought.
The work at Longbourn being completed, Mr Lockwood and his popular young draughtsman were preparing to leave. They had originally taken rooms at the inn in Meryton, but when work began in earnest, Jonathan at Mrs Collins’s suggestion had invited them to use a vacant suite of rooms in the house at Longbourn, a generous gesture that was appreciated, since it saved them time and money.
On the day before their departure, they were asked to dine at Netherfield and, on his arrival, Mr Fairfax was seen to hand over a small, flat, neatly wrapped package to Teresa, which she opened quite innocently, making no attempt at concealment. Inside were two pencil drawings, portraits, one of Teresa and Cathy seated together on the terrace and another of Teresa alone, so skilfully rendered as to capture perfectly and with great delicacy, the features and general air of both subjects.
Plainly delighted, Teresa thanked him warmly and promised they would soon be framed and hung for all to admire. While everyone prai
sed his work, Frederick Fairfax modestly claimed that all he had wanted to do was to show that he could draw something more than building plans.
“I was a little tired of architraves and flying buttresses,” he quipped, with a glance at Teresa, and it was generally agreed that his aim had been amply and charmingly achieved.
After dinner, Anna and the girls had slipped upstairs and, at her instigation, returned with one of her drawings of St Alban’s Cathedral, inscribed from all of them, with thanks, “to a modest gentleman.” When Mr Fairfax expressed his gratitude and delight at the fine work, but admitted that he had never visited the great cathedral, it was Anna who invited him to return and rectify the gap in his experience.
“My father would tell you what a wonderful experience it is to stand in one of our oldest cathedrals, even though it is sadly fallen into disrepair,” she said and noted with approval that he seemed genuinely interested. “Should you come back to Hertfordshire in the Autumn or even in Spring, you should make the journey to St Alban’s and see it for yourself,” she suggested, and was surprised when her husband pointed out that Mr Fairfax had already been commissioned to look at some of the farmhouses and labourers’ cottages that needed renovation.
Mr Lockwood, Frederick’s employer, spoke up. “Indeed, ma’am, Mr Bingley has done us the great honour of asking my firm to look at some of the old cottages on his estates, with a view to improving them, and as I am engaged to work on another estate in the Midlands for some months, I have instructed Mr Fairfax to do the preliminary work. He will certainly be back before the year is out.”
Pleased by the general approbation that greeted the news, Frederick Fairfax was still smiling when he left for London, promising to take up Jonathan’s invitation to call on them when he was next in the area.
For Anne-Marie Bradshaw, the Summer had not brought much satisfaction. Her plans for a children’s hospital had begun well, with a good deal of enthusiasm from many of the ordinary people she had spoken with, but with the men she had to convince, she was having no success at all. For a start, she had not persuaded any of the councillors she had approached to support her, except one who was a friend of the family.
Her brother Charles, busy establishing himself in his new partnership in East London, had written.
My dear Anne-Marie,
Ever since I have been in London, we have been run off our feet, simply trying to keep up with all our pitiful patients, men, women, and children, many of whom are terribly undernourished as well as sick and all of whom are in the direst of circumstances.
My Aunt Emma has brought us several of her “special cases,” mainly young children with a plethora of complaints, almost all of which are eminently preventable with a modicum of regulation. Sanitation, clean water, and better nourishment would make an enormous difference to their lives. It is a disgrace that neither the government nor the local councils appear to want to enforce laws ensuring basic health standards in the very heart of London.
Unhappily, for his sister’s cause, he had not as yet fulfilled his promise to provide the evidence she could use to convince her recalcitrant councillors of the need for a hospital. She had recently written, begging him to hasten in his efforts, and when she received no immediate reply, she was most unhappy.
Driving back from Longbourn one afternoon, Anna had noticed that her companion was unusually silent. An attempt to discover the reason for her depressed state of mind provoked a complaint.
“I am at a loss to know what I should do next, Anna. I feel so discouraged. What must one do to persuade these men, with their families so comfortable in their safe, clean homes, that the children of the poor deserve a hospital where they may be treated when they are ill? I wish Charles would write. I know he is not a regular correspondent and he is very busy, but I do need him to send me the information I can use to persuade people that we must have a hospital,” said Anne-Marie, sounding quite despondent.
They were approaching Netherfield House. Anna urged her not to despair, pleading that a little patience would be appropriate in the case of her brother, who had only recently started work in London, when they noticed a curricle with a very handsome pair of horses, drawn up at the side of the house.
“Someone quite grand is visiting Papa,” said Anne-Marie.
Neither of them had seen the vehicle before.
“I wonder who it can be. We know nobody who drives around in one of those. What a fine pair of horses…” Anna mused aloud, as they turned into the drive and pulled up at the entrance.
As they walked up the steps and into the hall, Jonathan Bingley came out of the saloon and greeting them, said, “Ah, there you are, my dears; you’ve arrived just in time to meet a very important visitor,” then, seeing a small frown on Anne-Marie’s face, and thinking she was about to plead that she was too tired to meet the visitor, he spoke more quietly, “Our new Member of Parliament, Mr Colin Elliott is here, and I was about to order some tea.”
Anne-Marie’s frown disappeared in a trice and as Anna and Jonathan exchanged glances, she smiled brightly and declared, “Mr Elliott? How very opportune; Papa, I must meet him.”
Anna, happy to see such a swift reversal of mood, turned to Mrs Perrot and asked for tea and cakes to be served, while she and Anne-Marie accompanied Jonathan as he returned to the saloon and their guest.
The gentleman, who was standing at the windows looking out upon the park, turned as they entered and came to meet them, as his host presented his wife and eldest daughter.
Colin Elliott was slim and tall, though not as tall as Jonathan Bingley, good-looking, with dark hair and a pleasing smile that creased up his face and reached his eyes as he greeted them graciously, professing himself to be singularly honoured. He had intended to call on Mr Bingley, he said, acknowledging his standing in the county and his reputation as a distinguished parliamentarian, but he was aware also of the excellent work done by the ladies of Netherfield and Longbourn in the community and was delighted to meet them.
When they were seated and taking tea, he addressed Anna, “I understand, Mrs Bingley, that you are mainly responsible for starting the School of Fine Arts for Ladies at Longbourn; my aunt Mrs Boucher with whom I am staying, has spoken of you. Her daughters Margaret and Alison are your students, I think. As I have already told Mr Bingley, they have nothing but praise for you.”
Anna was both surprised and pleased at this information. It gave her a convenient opening for conversation, and she assured him that she was ably assisted at the school by her aunt Mrs Collins, “who does most of the difficult work, leaving all the pleasant and interesting things to me.”
Turning to Anne-Marie, Mr Elliott, who had been made aware by Mr Bingley that his daughter was recently widowed, was discretion itself, saying, “And Mrs Bradshaw, I am astonished to hear that you are not only a trained nurse, but have spent a great deal of time attending upon our sick and wounded soldiers. Let me say how very proud and honoured I am to meet you.”
Anne-Marie, unable to resist the opportunity afforded her by his words, thanked him and responded that she was truly honoured and pleased to be meeting him as their new Member of Parliament, and she hoped he would be able to help her. When he seemed delighted, if a little puzzled at her words, she declared her interest.
As Anna and Jonathan looked on in some surprise, Anne-Marie set about explaining the very important matter of the proposed hospital for children. Mr Elliott, seeing as she spoke, her face alight with enthusiasm for her cause, her eyes bright, her words purposeful and keen, could not fail to be impressed.
Anne-Marie was by anyone’s standards a lovely woman. Her recent bereavement and consequent distress had caused her to lose some of her youthful vivacity, but Mr Elliott saw only a remarkably handsome young woman, her complexion gilded by a long Summer in the country, making an eloquent plea for a cause dear to her heart.
He was clearly quite moved and assured her that it was indeed a most worthy cause and her interest in it did her credit.
“Your interest and support would be immensely significant, Mr Elliott. It would make the difference between success and failure,” she pleaded.
When Jonathan and Anna, anxious that their guest should not feel besieged, intervened to suggest that perhaps Mr Elliott had only just entered Parliament and might want to wait a while before becoming too involved in this matter, he assured them this was not the case at all.
“Please do not be concerned on that score, Mr Bingley; I certainly wish to know more about it. I had no idea of the extent of the problem we have with childhood diseases. I am sorry, but I have been away in India for some time and I am not as familiar as I should be with conditions in England. It is essential that I learn all I can so I may press for the right policies and, if Mrs Bradshaw wishes to acquaint me with the facts, I shall be most grateful,” he said and turning to Anne-Marie, added, “Pray, do go on, Mrs Bradshaw. This is clearly a matter on which I am very ill-informed.”
Anne-Marie did not require any further persuasion. Later, when he was leaving, having accepted an invitation to dine with them on Saturday, it was clear to Anna that, while their new MP was interested in the children’s hospital, he was even more fascinated by its charming advocate.
The Ladies of Longbourn Page 7
