Recollections of Rosings (24 page)

    "Later, my father gave up his artistic studies altogether and took work as a clerk in the warehouse of a trading firm, while my mother took in sewing and mending and other domestic chores for fine ladies. It was, she has told me, a very hard life and, if not for their deep devotion to one another, could have ended tragically."

    Already shocked by his tale, Catherine asked, "How do you mean?"

    "Because, ma'am, many young women in similar circumstances have been deserted by gentlemen who, when the truth was revealed, could not face the opprobrium of their families and friends and abandoned the women; but my father did not. He loved my mother and after I was born, arranged to marry her and wrote to his mother to tell her so. It was the only time he communicated with any member of his family."

    The matter-of-fact way in which he had revealed the circumstances of his birth, with no attempt at concealment whatsoever, surprised Catherine; yet, she knew the manner of his telling it concealed the grief he must feel at having to speak of such intimate family matters.

    Adams was silent for a few moments, then continued, "Thereafter, fortuitously, circumstances in France had changed, allowing them to return, and my mother was able to reclaim a small portion of her family's properties, chiefly a farm and a vineyard. There they lived for the rest of their lives, and my father built a thriving wine merchandising business, which brings in good money to this day.

    "My two sisters were born later—they did not share my unhappy fate of being born out of wedlock, but it made little difference. My father and mother loved us all and indeed, if anything, I must confess, I was spoilt and petted and made much of, being the eldest and their only son. They also gave me the best education they could afford, insisting that I, being born in England, should pursue my studies in this country.

    "At the age of ten, I was sent to school in London and encouraged to acquire a good knowledge of the English language, culture, and manners. No doubt they hoped it would stand me in good stead in the future."

    Catherine intervened, "Which of course it has done, for here you are, for all the world an English gentleman. You have done well, Mr Adams, I am sure your parents were proud of you."

    He bowed briefly to acknowledge her remarks and said, "When my father died, I returned to France, intending to stay there and assist my mother and sisters on the family farm, but my mother persuaded me to return to England once more and continue my studies for a further year. She was most insistent and I did so, for I was loathe to disappoint her."

    After a moment's silence, he asked, "May I ask, ma'am, if I have answered your enquiries to your satisfaction?"

    Catherine had said little during his narration. Now, she found it difficult to respond immediately, not because she had not been satisfied but because she had begun to experience feelings of guilt at having subjected him to such an ordeal.

    When she spoke, her voice was very gentle. "Mr Adams, indeed you have. I should have spoken earlier—I did not need to hear all of your story—yet I thank you for your frankness and honesty. You have been more open with me than anyone could have asked of you. I am sorry to have caused you such pain as might have resulted from recounting these matters to a stranger. I hope you will forgive me."

    Mr Adams's countenance revealed that he felt no such forgiveness was needed, as Catherine continued, "As for my concerns, such as they were, I can see now that they are of no account at all. They no longer signify, because nothing that your father and mother did in their early youth can be held against you, especially considering that they, in raising you, appear to have done everything possible to instil in you the best standards of conduct and decorum and provide you with a good education. Whatever their youthful mistakes, quite clearly, in their subsequent marriage they made amends for them and it has left no scars upon you."

    He bowed, acknowledging the generosity of her words. Then, keen to be reassured, asked, "Then, you do not see these circumstances as an impediment to a marriage between Miss Lilian and myself?"

    "I do not; if anything, I imagine it has made you more circumspect, more sensible of your responsibilities and the demands of decorum in your general behaviour. Am I right?"

    "Indeed you are, ma'am; seeing the extent of suffering caused to so many persons by a single misdemeanour, I vowed never to place myself in such a situation, however innocently. I have been very particular in my general conduct towards all ladies," he said.

    Catherine smiled and nodded. She had noticed his exceedingly correct behaviour towards Lilian whenever they were together.

    "And you say you love my daughter?"

    "Devotedly and passionately, ma'am, and I give you my word that I shall not spare myself to secure her happiness. I cannot find words to express my joy, I have often dreamed of this happy day."

    "Well then, I can do no more than wish you success when you search for words to address Lilian herself. Should you walk through the woods towards Hunsford, it is very likely you will meet her returning from the village. When you do, you may tell her that you have my blessing."

    He rose and thanked her from the bottom of his heart, kissed her hand, and was gone in a trice, leaving his horse tethered at the gate, striding away towards the woods to find the lady of his dreams.

That night, after Mr Adams had finally departed and Lilian had told her mother for the tenth time how very happy they were and thanked her effusively for "being such a wonderful mother," Catherine retired to her room.

    It had been a rather emotional and exhausting day, for when she had set out to test Mr Adams's frankness regarding his family, she had not dreamed that such a tale as he had told her would be revealed.

    It was not that she was shocked by the circumstances of his birth; she knew that such things happened, especially when young men lived away from home, and most often they were hushed up by their families. The prevailing attitude in society was that a man should extricate himself from the situation with as little inconvenience as possible, whilst the girl was, more often than not, left to fend for herself. She would suffer the consequences of their indiscretion, with, if she was lucky, some small sum of money provided chiefly to purchase her silence, and the child, if it survived, would be taken into an orphanage.

    That John Adams's father had voluntarily turned his back on his artistic ambitions and his family, to care for and marry the young woman he had loved and raise their child, had touched Catherine deeply. Clearly, she thought, his young son had drawn strength from the example, and though she had promised never to divulge their conversation to anyone, what she had learned would invest Mr Adams with a particular integrity in her mind. Consequently, it coloured her account of him when she wrote to her family of Lilian's engagement.

    Two letters had priority.

    The first to Jonathan Bingley and his wife, to whom she felt she owed a debt of gratitude for their kindness in helping her cope with her new responsibilities. The letter was written speedily and easily, since she knew that the news would cause no unhappiness at Netherfield; quite the contrary.

    She wrote:

The second letter, addressed to her sister, presented some difficulty.

    Catherine knew that Rebecca had not seemed to approve of Mr Adams; she was anxious, therefore, not to exacerbate her prejudice by saying anything that she might seize upon and use against him.

    Mr Adams had called early that morning, and Lilian and he had gone out to take a turn about the grounds. Seeing them together, Catherine was quite convinced she had been right; they were clearly and unashamedly in love and having been apart for several weeks, were eager to talk about anything and everything, in the way that lovers often do.

    Catherine decided to tell her sister how things stood between the pair, emphasising their love for one another, his greatly improved prospects, and Lilian's unalloyed joy, as well as her own pleasure in having made the right decision for her daughter by giving her consent to the engagement.

    Having broken the news, she continued:

    The following day, the post brought two letters—one from her mother, Mrs Charlotte Collins, and another from her sister. Becky Tate's letter clearly pre-dated her own, which had been dispatched the day before, and Catherine opened it up first.

    A curious communication, hastily composed, it was immediately apparent that Rebecca was, as yet, ignorant of Lilian's engagement to Mr Adams. She made no mention of any other matter, either, leaping without any of the customary courtesies into an extraordinary tale about Mr John Adams and a rumour she claimed to have heard about his parents.

    She wrote:

    By this time, Catherine's bewilderment was complete. Who was this friend of Lady Ashton and what information could she have that would cause such consternation, she wondered, as she read on:

This last cryptic sentence left Catherine quite bemused.

    Who did Becky mean? It was a complete mystery to her. Presumably, Rebecca expected Lilian to know the identity of the person or persons involved, but Catherine had already decided that she would certainly not show her sister's letter to Lilian. It would serve no purpose at all, except perhaps to inflame Lilian's hostility towards her aunt.