Even as he spoke, he saw the expression of surprise and concern on her face change to one of disbelief and shock.
Emma had known from previous conversations with Jonathan and from her mother’s letters that all was not well between her brother and his wife.
But nothing had prepared her for this!
She heard him blurt out with some difficulty, often without much clarity, the sorry tale of the problems that presently beset them. It was clearly painful for him to relate. Finally, he thrust into her hand the note he had received from his wife. She could see how deeply he had been hurt.
On reading it, Emma Wilson’s outrage was plain. She could not believe that Amelia-Jane could have penned such a cruel message.
Very soon, she had reached the same conclusion as Catherine Harrison—that it was the work of either Miss Bingley or her new friend and confidante, Mrs Watkins, of whom she had heard not one favourable report!
Generally of a mild and easy-going nature, Emma surprised her brother with an outburst of anger. As she stood up and walked up and down the room, he felt the need to urge her to be calm, but Emma was not to be silenced.
“Jonathan, this note is outrageous! You cannot take this as a genuine expression of your wife’s wishes. It is clearly not composed by her. Why, I cannot imagine such words from her lips, much less her pen. Obviously, she has been coached and directed to write this and we have to discover by whom. If it is, as Catherine Harrison thinks, the work of this Watkins woman, what right has she to interfere, and why do you have to accept it?”
Jonathan was amazed to see her so indignant. Clearly, she had been provoked by the letter, but he felt responsible for her state of agitation and begged her to be calm.
He told her of Catherine Harrison’s suggestion that they invite the intervention of Amelia-Jane’s mother, Mrs Collins.
While Emma thought this was probably a good idea, she was still determined that Mrs Watkins, in her role of confidante and conspirator, could not be permitted to influence her young sister-in-law unchallenged. She was already working on a plan.
“When James returns tomorrow, we shall tell him—not all the details perhaps, but sufficient to make him understand the urgency of the problem. He will be able to advise us objectively on the best course of action. My own inclination is to travel to the Dower House at Rosings Park with you and talk to your wife without this woman, Mrs Watkins, present.
“I would not stand on ceremony—it is your house, after all; I would simply ask her, politely, to remove herself, because we have private matters to discuss.”
Jonathan explained that Catherine Harrison had warned against open confrontation. Emma agreed.
“It is not confrontation we seek, Jonathan, only an opportunity to talk to Amelia-Jane and put a point of view. What can be fairer?”
She sounded so reasonable that, by the time dinner was served, Jonathan had been persuaded to his sister’s way of thinking and was feeling a good deal better than when he had arrived.
Emma was confident that if she could talk to her sister-in-law, she could persuade her at least to return with them to Standish Park, where they could talk over their problems in private, in a calmer atmosphere removed from the pernicious influence of her decidedly strange new friends.
Perhaps, Emma thought, Amelia-Jane might see things differently.
Jonathan was not confident of success, but at least Emma intended to try, and for that he was grateful.
They talked late into the night about the strange way in which their two lives had run on parallel and similar courses. It was uncanny. Neither had an explanation for it, but both their marriages had foundered; yet both had been undertaken in sincerity and love.
Emma was honest in her appraisal of her own poor judgment. “You must admit we were both of us young, and I had never had my feelings seriously engaged before. I was seventeen and very naïve. David was the toast of the town, the youngest member of Parliament; I must have been insane or very stupid to believe that he loved me to the exclusion of every other woman and that he would accord me some dignity when we were married, which he denied to others of his acquaintance.
“He treated me as if I were a doll he had purchased for his entertainment,” she declared, and the sadness and hurt in her voice roused Jonathan to anger as he recalled her ill-starred first marriage.
Going over to her, he sat down and took her hands in his. “My dear Emma, he treated you abominably. David was a disgraceful blackguard. You need never make excuses for him, nor blame yourself.
“You may well have been innocent and naïve, but these are not criminal offences. David Wilson was a man of the world, a Member of Parliament, yet he deliberately betrayed your trust and that of his friends and family.”
Jonathan’s voice was rough with anger. “I shall never forget James Wilson’s face when he was told of his brother’s behaviour, nor his mother’s grief at his suicide. They were all deceived, as you were. You have nothing for which to blame yourself.”
Of his own actions in marrying Amelia-Jane Collins after an exceedingly brief courtship, he was more critical.
“For my part, I have no excuses to offer. We were all still stunned by the deaths of William and Edward in the Autumn of ’34, and in the midst of the wretched, gloomy Winter that followed, with Emily’s husband dying of tuberculosis, Amelia-Jane came to spend Christmas at Ashford Park. She was like a ray of sunshine, some hope for a little brightness in my life. She was very pretty, exceedingly good-humoured, and got on very well with my mother. I knew she was not as well educated as her two older sisters nor as well read as you and Sophie, but that did not seem to matter very much then. I always assumed that she would learn to value reading and music as she matured.
“I confess that, at the time, I was charmed by her bright temperament, which I hoped would rescue me from my dismal state of mind. She also said she loved me,” he said wistfully, pulling a self-deprecating face as if to mock his own naïveté.
Then, as if to remind himself as well as his sister that it had not all been a dreadful mistake, he added quickly, “But Emma, I must be honest. She did change my outlook on life. She was a good, affectionate wife for many years and we were very happy. I cannot believe, after reading her recent letters, that she is the same Amelia-Jane I married.”
Emma interrupted him. “Ah, but that is exactly where you are mistaken, Jonathan. Amelia-Jane is not the same young girl you married all those years ago; she could not be, no more than I am still the ingenuous innocent who married David Wilson.
“She has lived in the world, experienced life, and is no longer the compliant creature who adored you and never questioned why you spent so much time at Westminster. Now she is an attractive woman who is aware—or has been made aware—of her own power as your wife, and she intends to use it to get her own way,” Emma explained.
“But Emma, she could have had her own way in most things, without threatening to wreck my career and destroy our marriage,” he protested.
Emma agreed. “Yes, I do realise that it is not your wife we have to fight, but those who wish to influence and use her.”
Jonathan nodded and said his wife had appeared to lose interest in their marriage, regarding it as a burden which deprived her of her freedom.
“It is as if she no longer cares. Even the children feel it,” he said sadly.
Emma understood. “Yes, it does seem as if she has grown more stubborn and less considerate. But again, I am more inclined to blame those who encourage her whims and fancies. It is they who are culpable. They are happy to use her weaknesses,” she said. Then, in an attempt to give him some hope, she added, “Jonathan, I truly believe that if we could speak with her alone, perhaps persuade her to return with us to Standish Park, we should have some chance of changing her mind, at least regarding this preposterous plan to move to Bath!”
Her brother seemed less h
opeful. “I hope she will listen to us,” he said.
“Indeed, Jonathan, so do I,” she replied.
Whereupon, noting how very late it was, being almost midnight, she suggested they retire and await her husband’s arrival on the morrow. Buoyed by Emma’s optimism, Jonathan retired to bed, a little more hopeful than he had been before.
***
James Wilson, on being told by his wife of Jonathan’s difficulties, was very concerned. Having been totally immersed in the political developments within his party and the Parliament since the election, he had not had the time to discover how his brother-in-law had resolved his personal problems. He was disappointed to hear that far from being resolved, they had escalated to breaking point.
When Emma revealed her plan to accompany her brother to Rosings, he was wary and cautioned her against confrontation.
“Consider this, my love,” he said in that unfailingly logical way he had, “Amelia-Jane may want time away from her family, to think.”
Emma was unconvinced. “Dear James, do you really believe poor Amelia-Jane is going to be allowed to think for herself, with Caroline Bingley and this dreadful Watkins woman filling her head with nonsense?” she asked, and he agreed it was unlikely.
“All I ask is that you do not attempt to compel her; that will only send her into the arms of her new friends.”
Having given him their word that they would in no way attempt to coerce Amelia-Jane, Emma and Jonathan set out for Rosings Park.
Their journey was not long, since both estates were within the same county and the roads between them were in excellent order. On reaching Rosings Park, they proceeded directly to the Dower House.
To their astonishment, they found the house closed and the servants all gone except for a caretaker, who informed them that Mrs Bingley and her children had left for London very early that morning and did not expect to be back.
The servants, except for her personal maid and the children’s companion, had gone home and the keys had been handed over to the housekeeper at Rosings, to be passed on to the new manager. He was expected next week, they were informed.
Shocked, Emma and Jonathan drove to the parsonage at Hunsford, where Catherine Harrison told a similar story, showing them a note from her sister advising of their departure for London.
“There was no mention of Bath, I am happy to say,” said Catherine, who had also been informed by the man who delivered the note that the servants had been asked to report to the new manager.
“Was there any message for me?” asked Jonathan, and Catherine told him, with some difficulty, that there had been none.
His disappointment was plain to see.
After taking some refreshment, they had no alternative but to return to Standish Park, all their plans of the previous night thrown into utter confusion.
James Wilson was surprised to see them return earlier than expected, with no Amelia-Jane. When he was told what had transpired, he became very concerned, even alarmed.
Clearly, Amelia-Jane, upon some irrational impulse or under a malign influence, had taken to acting unpredictably. For the first time, he was genuinely anxious for her safety and that of her children.
He suggested that Emma and Jonathan should travel to London with him, and go to the Bingleys’ house, where, presumably Amelia-Jane would be staying.
“If she has given up the Dower House, she must intend either to live in London or move to Bath. Perhaps, Emma, you may be able to persuade her that the latter is not in her interest.”
This time, neither Emma nor Jonathan was confident of success.
***
On the journey to London, despite James’ efforts to involve him in conversation over Parliamentary matters, Jonathan remained disconsolate and uncommunicative. On reaching London, they went directly to the Bingleys’ house in Grosvenor Street and, once again, disappointment was their lot. While Cathy and Tess were at the house with the servants, Amelia-Jane and her friend Mrs Watkins were not home.
Both girls greeted their father warmly, yet neither knew where their mother had gone, except that she had “gone out in the carriage with Aunt Arabella.”
So enraged was Jonathan, he had to fight back tears as he embraced his children and left, promising to call again. They were to tell their mother he would be back and wished to see her.
Emma and James were at pains to console him, pointing out that the two women could have gone out to the shops or something equally innocent, but it was easy to see he was deeply disturbed.
Before returning to their own apartments, the Wilsons had to turn down Spender Street and pick up some books and stationery for James.
While they were waiting for the packages to be placed in their vehicle, a familiar figure appeared on the other side of the street. Jonathan, recognising Madame Armande, crossed the street to greet her. Even as he did so, Monsieur Armande emerged from a shop which stocked artists’ supplies, followed closely by Miss Faulkner, her arms full of parcels.
Jonathan hastened over to assist her and there was a great flurry of greetings and kissing of hands as they stood on the pavement.
Watching from across the street, Emma could only guess at the identity of the older couple, but realised immediately that the handsome young woman in a very stylish gown must be Miss Faulkner. Her mother’s description had been very accurate, indeed.
Presently, Jonathan escorted the young lady and her two friends over to be introduced to his sister and her husband, who were waiting beside their carriage. The Armandes were delighted. Cards and invitations were duly exchanged and the two parties went their separate ways.
Emma could not help noticing, however, that subsequently, Jonathan appeared much less discomposed than before. He seemed generally more animated, and she wondered whether it might not be a good idea to have a dinner party, at which they could all talk of matters other than the problems of Amelia-Jane, which had monopolised their conversation for days on end, to the exclusion of anything pleasurable or amusing.
When they had reached their apartment and had unpacked, changed, and taken tea, she put it to her husband and Jonathan.
James thought it was an excellent idea.
“It might do all of us some good to turn our minds to other things,” he said and urged Emma to proceed with her plan.
Jonathan was even more enthusiastic. He was certain the Armandes would love to come and would prove very interesting company.
Indeed, he offered, with unusual alacrity, to take an invitation round to their apartment at Belgrave Square, saying he had a couple of books on English painters in his case which he had promised to lend Monsieur Armande. Emma did not fail to notice how very keen he was and had the invitation written out for him to deliver when he came downstairs later in the day. She was even more amused at the obvious pleasure with which he undertook the errand.
When he returned almost two hours later, Jonathan seemed quite cheerful, light-hearted even.
“It is as I said it would be,” he reported. “Monsieur and Madame Armande declared they are honoured, Miss Faulkner is delighted, and they all thank you very much indeed for your invitation,” adding, “They have heard a great deal about you and James.”
Emma, who was sure that his own pleasure was enhancing his account of theirs, teased her brother, “I do hope, Jonathan, they will not have been frightened into silence by your account of us.”
He was quick to deny this. “Certainly not! You will not find either the Armandes or Miss Faulkner wanting in this. They are not intimidated by company, however distinguished, being all well-read and cultured people with an excellent knowledge and understanding of the Arts. Their school in Brussels is highly recommended by Mrs Collins and is patronised by many well-connected families in England and France.
“As for Miss Faulkner, she has the genuine savoir faire of a young woman of good education who has live
d and travelled in Europe. She speaks French and German with great facility, and her understanding of the Fine Arts and the high standard of her accomplishments in Art and Music are quite remarkable. As my father and Mr Darcy have both noted, she has all these qualities and is modest as well,” he said.
His sister was quite astonished at this catalogue of praise.
“And when did Mr Darcy and Papa meet this paragon?” she asked with a smile, meaning to tease him a little.
He did not rise to her bait. Jonathan had had no occasion to tell her of their visit to Netherfield and their meeting with the Faulkners.
Her question, though lightly put, prompted a comprehensive answer, complete with more descriptions of Miss Faulkner’s talents and his plans for Netherfield Park. That started another subject running and accounted very nicely for the rest of the evening.
Emma could not fail to notice how, in the space of a few hours, her brother had lost his dismal outlook.
Unfortunately, mention of his promise to call at the Bingleys’ house again rather dampened his mood, as did the heavy rain that was drenching the city. It was certainly not conducive to going out, and Jonathan was able to persuade himself quite easily that the visit could be postponed.
The arrival of a Parliamentary colleague to see James opened up an entire Pandora’s box of political possibilities, which left Emma free to escape to her room.
By the time James came upstairs, Jonathan had gone to bed.
Emma was still uneasy about him, but was convinced by her husband that there were times when people’s lives were best left to work themselves out.
“Even if it may not seem like the best solution,” he said, “it may be better left alone. I believe, my dearest, your brother is reaching just such a point in his life. Whatever we—that is, you or I or any others of his friends and family—may advise, I fear there is a momentum in the series of events set in train by Amelia-Jane that will be difficult to resist. Whether either of them can salvage something at the end of all this depends upon what they each want from life. I am firmly convinced that intervention will only make matters worse.”
Netherfield Park Revisited Page 13
