Recollections of Rosings (28 page)

    "Have you spoken of the past?" she persisted.

    "If you mean do we recall our past friendship, no, not at all. But we do speak often of what Rosings used to be, before this terrible fire. Mr Burnett is desolated by the loss of so many treasures; he remembers them well and it is his hope that everything that can be saved will be preserved for posterity. But we do not dwell on the past, Becky, there are sufficient matters of today to engage our interest and much work to be done."

    "And has he given you no indication at all of what his feelings might have been all those years ago?" asked Rebecca, still unsatisfied.

    "He has not," replied Catherine, "and why should he? It is so long ago. Besides, who is to know whether he has had other attachments in the intervening years?"

    "Have you no idea at all?"

    "None, nor do I wish to know. We meet now as mature adults, friends with many shared interests. I do not hanker after the past, nor, I think, does he. Becky, I did not tell you this story to gain your sympathy because of an unhappy relinquishment over twenty years ago; rather, it was in order that I might draw your attention to the lessons we might take from the experience that interference in another's life is rarely beneficial and not recommended.

    "We, Mr Burnett and I, were neither of us given the opportunity of ever discovering how much or how little we cared—how well we may have come to love each other and how happy we might have been together—only because of the gratuitous interference of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. That her intentions may have been honourable is of little matter; her intrusion into my life brought me only great sadness at the time. I cannot say how it affected Mr Burnett, but judging from the manner in which he responded at the time, he was, at the very least, disappointed."

    Taking her sister's hand, she added gently, "Dear Becky, it is from this painful experience that I have learned the lesson which I ask you to understand too: that I will never permit anyone, not even you, to do likewise to my daughter and deny her the right to make her own choice in life."

    Rebecca nodded, comprehending at last the depth of feeling that had caused her sister to resist all her attempts to thwart Lilian's engagement to Mr Adams.

    "This may not be the best match Lilian can make, but it is the one she has chosen to make, because they love each other, and having examined all the circumstances, I can see no good reason to oppose it."

    Once more, Rebecca nodded her acceptance and she could not hide the tears that filled her eyes as she rose and embraced her sister.

    Shortly afterwards, the maid came to say that Miss Lilian and Mr Adams had returned and were in the parlour, at which the sisters went downstairs.

    Making a deliberate attempt to remedy the situation after that morning's contretemps, Rebecca greeted the couple and made much of wishing them every happiness. She was, she said, happy to have met them together to convey her congratulations, for she was leaving on the morrow for London and intended thereafter to return home to Derbyshire, where she would spend the rest of the Summer.

Catherine could not explain why she had set out to walk through the woods to Rosings instead of taking the path that led from the main gate to the house.

    It was not that she had made a deliberate decision; indeed she had not given it any thought at all. After Rebecca had left for the station, she had found herself feeling nostalgic and unaccountably dejected. A walk in the woods always did her good and it being a particularly fine day, she had set off alone.

    Reaching the main gateway to Rosings, she had stood for some time gazing at the gutted remains of the West Wing of the great mansion—blackened walls and smoke-stained windows hung perilously above what had been the grandest rose garden in the south of England. Not even at Pemberley, whose grounds were among the finest in the country, had she seen such a variety of blooms, with such hues and scents that delighted the eye and filled the air at Rosings Park with their fragrance. Ironically, many of the roses had survived the fire and, with the Spring rains and the Summer sun, were in bloom again. Catherine found them irresistible.

    Even as she gazed upon the display they made below the stone steps leading from the house, she remembered how often she had come out there to collect the blooms to fill the bowls and vases for Lady Catherine. It had been her special task for many years and it was one she had loved.

    Reaching into the pocket of her gown, she found a small pair of scissors; not very suitable for the job but they would have to do, she thought, and without further ado, she crossed the paved courtyard and entered the rose garden. There, with the scent of the roses all around her, she reached up to pick some. As she pulled down one of the tall canes, there were footsteps behind her and before she could look round, Frank Burnett said, "They were always your favourite, were they not?"

    Startled, Catherine leapt away from the bush, letting go of the branch, which sprang back and he, stepping up, pulled it down again.

    "Here, let me," he said and taking out a pocket knife, neatly sliced through the woody stems. Working quickly, he gathered a dozen or so of the best blooms, shearing away the thorns as he did so, and handed them to her.

    She thanked him as she accepted them, but took them awkwardly for she wore no gloves, nor had she a basket to carry them in. Seeing her difficulty, he said, "Wait here, I shall be back in a moment," and raced swiftly up the steps into the house, returning with an old cane basket that had clearly seen better days.

    "This one escaped the fire—it was stored in a cupboard under the service stairs together with a bag of gardening tools," he said, holding it out to her.

    Catherine, who had hitherto been standing still as if petrified, suddenly smiled, delighted by his find.

    "I cannot believe it, why it is the very same basket I used whenever I came out to pick the roses for Her Ladyship," she cried. "How could it have survived all this time? It must be all of twenty-five years or more."

    He smiled and expressed surprise. "I cannot believe it is so long ago, it seems only yesterday that I found you here, in the rain, searching for a pair of missing secateurs! You had been gathering roses for Her Ladyship, I think?"

    Catherine was so astonished at his recollection, she could not say a word for a few minutes.

    "Have you forgotten?" he asked and then as if to jog her memory, added, "I recall it was the day on which Lady Catherine first invited me to dine at Rosings."

    By this time, Catherine had recovered her composure sufficiently to say, "I have not forgotten, indeed I remember your kindness in returning despite the rain to retrieve the secateurs for me."

    Matching his recollection with hers, she added, "And yes, I do recall that you dined with us that evening—Dr Halliday was visiting from Oxford, to plead the cause of one of his theology students, who was an applicant for a minor living on the Rosings estate. You were invited because Lady Catherine was keen to have someone who could converse confidently with him."

    At that, Frank Burnett laughed. "I do not recall conversing confidently at all—I was very much daunted by the great man's reputation. He was an eminent dean, as I recall. But I do remember that it was a very pleasant evening altogether; the dinner was excellent and afterwards, you played the pianoforte to entertain us."

    Catherine could not believe he had such a detailed recollection of the occasion after so many years had passed. She was still standing in the middle of the rose garden, looking rather confused and wondering what to do next, when he interrupted her thoughts.

    "You look tired, will you not sit down?" he said and, taking the basket from her, led her to a stone seat beside a spreading elm. She was grateful for the respite and relaxed awhile.

    "Were you on your way to Hunsford?" he asked, by way of making conversation.

    She said no, she had been out walking and had come this way almost without knowing it.

    "I did not mean to go into the rose garden at all. It was such a pleasant day, I thought after my sister had left to catch her train that I would enjoy the walk through the grounds. When I passed the entrance and saw the house, I stopped… it had been my home for so many years… it was hard not to stop and recall how it had been and then, I saw the roses all in bloom and could not resist them."

    They laughed together then and he said, "Well, I am glad you came by and that I found you here."

    She looked up at him, surprised as much by his tone as his words.

    "I have been through these gardens many times and they hold memories for me too—though, I am sure, not as many nor as poignant as yours, considering the relatively short period I spent at Rosings," he said and as he looked at her, Catherine could not help thinking there was more feeling in his voice than she might have expected.

    The sun was warmer and she rose and said it was time to return to the house, because Mrs Giles would begin to worry if she were late.

    "I did not tell anyone where I was going, they will be anxious," she explained and he offered her his arm, which, because she was genuinely tired, she accepted gratefully as they walked back to the Dower House.

    They did not speak much, except of trifling matters; Catherine was still a little shaken by the unexpected encounter. When they reached the house, she invited him in to take tea with them, but he thanked her and said he had pressing business to attend to.

    He did, however, ask permission to call on her on the morrow.

    "If I may, there are a few things I have retrieved from the West Wing, which may interest you. I should like to show them to you," he said.

    Catherine agreed and asked him to stay to dinner afterwards.

    "Mr Adams will be joining us too," she added, almost as an afterthought, and he accepted the invitation with pleasure.

    "I shall look forward to it," he said and smiled, she surmised, as though his thoughts were very far away.

    With that he was gone, leaving her thinking of their meeting in the rose garden and turning it over in her mind.

    The fact that he had a clear recollection of their previous encounter there, so many years ago, had surprised her. Yet now, as she thought about it again, she was pleased he had not forgotten.

    "At least it proves that I had made some significant impression and was not forgotten as some tiresome young girl who insisted on retrieving a pair of secateurs in the pouring rain!" she thought, with a little smile of satisfaction.

    Catherine arranged the roses in a bowl and placed them in the centre of a table in the parlour. Their fragrance filled the room.

    Thinking back over the years, she could recall many subsequent occasions on which they'd met, more pleasing and certainly more memorable. He must surely remember them, she assumed, if he had such a clear recollection of this one.

    Yet when he had left Lady Catherine's employ, giving as his reason a desire to travel to Europe, Catherine had had no further news of him. Lady Catherine had never mentioned him, nor had anyone else, until he had returned to Rosings after the fire, employed now by the Trust to advise upon the restoration and preservation of that part of the estate that had survived the catastrophe.

    A happy coincidence, perhaps, she supposed, allowing herself the luxury of speculation, something she very rarely indulged in. Her reputation for sound common sense and practicality was generally well based; her family never guessed that in a small corner of her nature, there remained a vestige of youthful romanticism, kept alive by her taste for the novels of Mr Dickens and Mrs Gaskell.

    That night, Catherine returned to her notebooks and read again her accounts of her friendly association with Frank Burnett, this time with renewed interest, since she knew that he must surely have his own memories of many of these occasions. She could not help wondering how they might differ from hers.

    It was a mind-teasing exercise that absorbed her thoughts until the early hours of the morning, when she finally fell into a deep sleep.

    Lilian was still upstairs enjoying a long bath, but Catherine had been expecting him and was waiting in the parlour when he was admitted. He had brought with him a satchel containing several small items salvaged from the fire, a folder of documents, and a roll of drawing paper, tied up with string.

    Catherine was intrigued when he, having seated himself beside her, drew out the roll of papers and spread them out on the table in front of them. He proceeded, then, to explain.

    "I received last week a letter from Mr Jonathan Bingley, instructing me to seek out any material available in the archives at Rosings, which might be used to assist your application to start a parish school. On going through Dr Harrison's papers, I had found some notes and two letters pertaining to the school, one of which referred to a set of plans, which he had commissioned. I searched everywhere but could find none, until it struck me that they may still be at the church in Hunsford.