Recollections of Rosings (16 page)

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Authors: Rebecca Ann Collins

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    Afterwards, she had begun to notice certain changes in tone and exchanges of looks between them, of unexpected laughter and inexplicable silences, when there had been no need for words. Gradually, these impressions and the deeper feelings that flowed from them had begun to engross her thoughts and occupy most of her waking hours.
    Still, she had not allowed herself to slide into fantasy, refusing to believe and even less to put into words what most other young women of her age would have rushed to embrace—that a personable gentleman some years her senior was falling in love with her.
    Early in the Spring of 1836, her words were clear:
I seem to be thinking of Mr Burnett a lot of the time I am alone. I cannot
explain it. When I ought to be reading the books he has brought me or prac
tising my music with greater perseverance, my mind returns to him.
I have no sensible explanation for this phenomenon unless, I wonder—is
it possible that I am falling in love with him?
Oh dear, this is difficult—whatever would Lady C say? And Mama?
Should I write to her and tell her of it? But what is there to say? How shall
I describe what I feel? He has said nothing to me that I can relate—there has
been no offer of marriage… no profession of love… so what will I tell Mama?
A look… a smile… a kindness? Are all these part of falling in love, or are
they mere manifestations of friendship?
Never having been in love before, I cannot rightly say what this means. But
I do know that I have not thought so often or so well of any other gentleman of
my acquaintance, as I do of him. His gentle goodness as well as his remarkable
learning set him apart from every other man I know.
    Many years later, Catherine's cheeks burned as she read her words and recalled with startling clarity how she had felt at the time.
    She remembered also what had followed thereafter.
    She put away the notebooks and dowsing the light, retired to bed. This time sleep came swiftly.
***
    The following day was wet and cold and not conducive to walking out or any other occupation which required leaving the warmth and comfort of one's home. Sitting by the fire in the parlour, Catherine determined to complete her reading of Charlotte Brontë's
The Professor.
    She had begun to read it several nights ago and found the inclusion of so many French words and phrases into the dialogues vexing. (Catherine's French had never been as good as Becky's—at her father's urging, she had studied Latin more earnestly instead.) Yet, she was determined to press on, knowing Mr Burnett would surely ask for her opinion of the novel.
    As the tale progressed, however, she was drawn into the story of the Englishman in Belgium and his young Swiss wife, Frances Henri, and she was glad she had persevered, for the passionate young heroine was a teacher, whose love for her beloved professor was matched equally by her burning desire to teach and educate the young. With his help, she sets up a school, at which point Catherine cheered up considerably.
    If Miss Brontë's heroine could start a school and run it successfully, so could she. She decided then and there that she would write to Mr Darcy and Jonathan Bingley and ask for their support.
    She wondered what Mr Burnett would say to that!
    So taken was she with the idea, she set aside her book and brought out her writing desk; inspired by the enthusiasm of Miss Brontë's heroine, she began to draft her appeal, looking for the most persuasive words she could think of to put her plan to Mr Darcy.
    The arrival of the post interrupted her thoughts.
    Two letters were delivered, one from Lilian and the other from Mr Adams, who, it appeared from the postmark, was still in France. Curiosity on this occasion overcame even maternal affection and she opened the latter first. What could Mr Adams have to say to her?
    His letter consisted of two finely written pages. Catherine was struck by the elegance of his composition and language, as well as the modesty of his manner. It contained a simple offer of marriage for her daughter Lilian.
    He was requesting Catherine's permission to propose to Lilian, for whom he professed a deep and sincere love. He claimed that he had not felt able to speak earlier, although his affection for the young lady had been increasing over the past year, because his prospects, despite his title of curator, were not much above those of a clerk in terms of income.
    Now, however, following the disposition of his late mother's estate, he was to inherit one third of her property and the whole of his father's wine business, which was a very successful enterprise, bringing him a regular income.
    He therefore felt able, he said, to ask for Miss Lilian's hand in marriage, knowing he could provide for her a life of reasonable comfort, while yet continuing his work at Rosings, which he greatly enjoyed. It would mean also that Lilian would live in close proximity to her mother, which he assumed would be a matter of satisfaction to both ladies.
    Catherine was still sitting in the parlour, with Lilian's letter lying unopened in her lap, when the door bell rang, and soon afterwards, the maid admitted Mr Burnett. Catherine was a little flustered at his arrival and wondered if she should confide in him and let him see Mr Adams's letter. After all, she thought, he must know the gentleman quite well, having worked together for several months.
    But she decided against it and proceeded instead to tell him she had almost finished reading
The Professor
and related with some degree of excitement her decision to write to Mr Darcy and Jonathan Bingley, asking for their support for the school she wished to establish at Hunsford.
    Seeing a degree of bewilderment upon his countenance, she explained.
    "There is a great need here for education, Mr Burnett, especially for young girls, who on this estate and the adjacent villages have no encouragement to do other than enter domestic service or work on the hop fields and orchards as casual labourers. Both Mr Darcy and Jonathan Bingley have, on their own estates, promoted the extension of parish schools to provide some education for the children of the district. I propose to ask for their assistance to start a similar school here at Rosings. My late husband Dr Harrison was keen for us to open such a school, but Lady Catherine would not allow it. I feel the time is right to try again. You seem astonished, Mr Burnett, what do you think of my plan?" she asked.
    Frank Burnett admitted to being surprised.
    "I confess I did not think, when I brought you Miss Brontë's book to read, that it would lead you so firmly in this direction, but I am not unsympathetic to your plan. I value learning more than anything; my life would have been very different had I not received a sound and comprehensive education, and I am well aware that any man or woman who wishes to improve his or her station in life must seek to learn."
    Catherine smiled. "Then you do not think it is some silly scheme of mine, which will not stand up to scrutiny?" She looked at him, willing him to say no, and when he said, "Indeed I do not, Mrs Harrison. There is nothing silly about the idea of a school," she was delighted.
    "Thank you, I am so very pleased to hear you say that. May I convey your opinion to Mr Darcy? I was just composing a letter to him when you arrived."
    He smiled and said he did not know if his opinion would count for much with Mr Darcy, but did not discourage her from submitting it.
    "I would have no objection at all, if you wished to do so," he said.
    "I do, I am sure it would carry much weight with him," she replied, adding, "Indeed, I would be grateful if you would help me complete my letter. I intend to lose no time—it shall be in the post tomorrow."
    Though a little surprised to be asked, he agreed and together they composed the letter to Mr Darcy, which she hoped would help fulfil her dearest wish.
    Frank Burnett could see that Catherine would benefit considerably from her involvement in such a project. It would take her right out of her domestic environment and give her solid responsibilities and specific duties, which would absorb and extend her mind as well as occupy her time. He had sensed her frustration at having no particular role to play in the community, now she was no longer the parson's wife.
    While he had little knowledge of the details of running a school, he was confident Catherine's project was worth supporting and not only because it would surely bring her great satisfaction. His own life experience had instilled in him an unshakable belief in the value of learning, which where he grew up had not been easy to acquire. Mrs Harrison's plan for a school, he had no doubt, would make a material difference to the lives of young women in the community around Rosings Park.
    Later, after he had left, taking with him the letters, which he promised to take to the post on the morrow, Catherine went upstairs. Once in the privacy of her room, she read again the carefully worded proposition of Mr Adams. Then setting it aside, she opened up Lilian's note.
    It was brief and written on highly perfumed notepaper, which quite took her breath away. No doubt, she thought, this is another of Becky's little extravagances, hoping Lilian would not become too attached to her aunt's style of living.
    Lilian wrote:
Dearest Mama,

This must be only a short note, because Aunt Becky says we must hurry out
to the dressmaker's. I am to have a fitting for a new gown, which I am to wear
on Saturday night to a supper party at the home of Lady Ashton. (Apparently
none of my gowns will do!)

Lady Ashton is a friend of my aunt and since we have been in London,
this is the third occasion upon which we have been invited to her residence—
that is if you do not count the first time, when we called on her in the middle
of the day. (Lady Ashton does not rise and come downstairs until half past ten
or thereabouts, Aunt Becky says).

Catherine, an early riser, raised her eyebrows at this piece of information
and read on.
I am not so sure that I shall enjoy this supper party on Saturday; the last
time we were invited, there was something of a fuss, because I really did not
wish to go at all. I had been with Aunt Becky the previous night to a soirée at
which they were quite determined to make me sing and I refused, because I had
not brought any music with me and did not like to make some silly mistake
that would make me look stupid.
Aunt Becky was displeased; she said I had been disobliging and should
have done it anyway because Lady Ashton had been kind enough to introduce
us, which made me feel guilty, but I still did not think I wanted to sing before
all those strange people.
Oh Mama dear, it is such a bore. I am sorry to sound ungrateful, but
many of the people I have met are very dull indeed. They have little to say
that is of any interest to me, and if I were never to see them again in my life,
I should not miss them at all! I do wish I could be back at Rosings!
I must rush or we shall be late for the dressmaker and Aunt Becky will be
cross. This is a very special gown for a special occasion, and Aunt Becky says
it must be just right!
I shall write again soon,
Your loving daughter,
Lilian.

Catherine smiled as she folded the note and put it away.
    At least, she thought, she need have no anxiety at all that her daughter was becoming too attached to Becky's London friends and their expensive style of life. Lilian didn't sound as if she was enjoying it very much at all.
    Catherine wondered how much her young daughter knew of Mr Adams's intentions. She was sure Lilian must have some knowledge of it—a woman always knows, she thought, and as her mind played over it, she could not help recalling her own feelings as she had come gradually to an awareness of Mr Burnett's interest in her, all those years ago.

End of Part Two

RECOLLECTIONS OF ROSINGS
Part Three
Chapter Eight
Lilian's introduction to Lady Isabel Ashton's social circle had not been entirely propitious.
    Not long after her arrival in London, her aunt Mrs Tate had arranged that they would call on her friend Lady Ashton, but had omitted to mention that Lady Ashton rarely rose before ten and never admitted callers until eleven or thereabouts.
    Which meant that Lilian had been dressed and ready since breakfast and, becoming somewhat impatient, had wandered back upstairs. There, in a little box room below the attic, she had discovered a veritable treasure trove of newspapers and journals from all over the globe, part of a hoard gathered by her aunt's husband, Mr Anthony Tate, on his travels. So numerous and varied were they, she had become completely immersed in them and had lost all sense of time.
    Mrs Tate, having searched everywhere for her niece, had finally sent a maid to look for her, and when she was located in the box room, Rebecca had made her displeasure quite clear.
    "Oh look, Lilian, not only are we going to be late for Lady Ashton, your morning gown is creased as well," she had complained and her mood was not improved by Lilian's offer to change her clothes.
    "I could wear the one I travelled in—it has been washed and pressed."

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