Recollections of Rosings (38 page)

    Rebecca, who admitted to having a sweet tooth, did enjoy such excesses but had of late been too preoccupied by other matters to indulge. The Barnabys, however, seemed to enjoy it all and urged their visitors to do likewise, while the servants appeared ready to refill their plates and cups at a moment's notice. Excellent tea, which Mr Barnaby assured them came direct from the tea gardens of India and Ceylon, was available too and much enjoyed by Catherine, who confessed she was always partial to a good cup of tea.

    In between partaking of this feast, she did succeed in telling their host and hostess how very grateful she was for the care and concern they had shown to the two young ladies.

    "My daughter Lilian must surely owe her life to you and your wife, Mr Barnaby. She became quite ill afterwards; she is not very strong and Dr Bannerman assures me she would not have survived had she not been sheltered, cared for, and kept warm immediately following the accident. There was a real fear of pneumonia and we must be grateful that it did not eventuate, thanks mainly to your timely intervention. I cannot tell you how many times I have thanked you in my thoughts and prayers," said Catherine and clearly, the Barnabys appreciated her words, although they did their best to minimise their part in Lilian's rescue, pointing rather to the intrepid quality of the two girls and their insistence in the midst of great discomfort that the unfortunate carter Mr Sparks be found and treated, too.

    Catherine acknowledged their remarks and said, "You will be pleased, I am sure, to hear that Mr Sparks has returned home and his leg is mending well. The doctor was afraid he would not walk again, so severe was the injury, but Mr Burnett has made some enquiries this very day and we are told he is much improved, although it will be a while before he can drive his cart again."

    Mr Barnaby nodded and then asked, "And your niece has recovered well, too? She seemed a much sturdier girl than Miss Lilian."

    This brought a look of astonishment from Rebecca, to whom they had omitted to relate the tale of Sally being Lilian's cousin for a day. It was Mr Burnett who interposed swiftly to answer cheerfully, "Miss Sally was up and about the very next day—she is indeed a very resilient young person and had suffered little from the experience."

    An exchange of looks between Catherine and her sister was all that was required to silence Becky, while Catherine proceeded to regale them with news of Lilian's forthcoming nuptials.

    "I would not be happy if I did not say that we hope very much that you, Mr and Mrs Barnaby, will be able to attend. I know that I speak for both Lilian and Mr Adams and we shall look forward to seeing you there," she said, adding that a formal invitation would be sent in due course.

    The pleasure that this brought the Barbabys was plain to see, for both husband and wife beamed and rose to thank Mrs Harrison for her invitation. They would be honoured to accept and would take note of the day and ensure that they kept it free of any other engagements, they promised, and sent their best wishes and blessings to the young couple. Their own children had been married many years ago, they explained; it would be a very great pleasure to be present at Miss Lilian's wedding.

    As they left the Barnabys' place to return home, it was with a feeling of immense pleasure and satisfaction that Catherine said her farewells, certain that in the kindly couple she had made good friends whose decency and generosity of heart was without question.

    As the carriage drove out of the property and onto the main road, however, Becky turned to her sister, a quizzical look upon her face and asked, "Cathy, who is this sturdy young niece you have been hiding from me all these years?" and the sisters burst out laughing. It took awhile to tell the story and explain Lilian's reason for pretending her maid was her cousin. As Catherine told it, Becky enjoyed the tale immensely and said, "Ah well, I dare say there's no harm done, is there? Sally was a Miss Harrison for one day, that's all."

    It was Frank Burnett who pointed out that it was not quite so simple.

    "Of course, Sally will have to return to being Miss Lilian's cousin when the Barnabys attend the wedding. It will not do to have her in mob cap and apron, serving the guests, will it, Mrs Harrison?"

    His remarks were lightly meant, but Catherine was so taken aback, she put her hand to her mouth, shocked at the prospect. "No indeed, oh dear, what have I done? We shall have to find a way to conceal Sally among the family at the wedding breakfast, so the Barnabys will not notice her. She certainly cannot be seen serving at tables."

    But Catherine had not counted on Lilian, who on hearing of the difficulty, declared without a moment's hesitation, "Well, that's easily settled—Sally can be my bridesmaid. I did wonder whom to ask. Sally will do very nicely. After all, we almost died together, that should be sufficient reason, do you not think?" she asked and John Adams was the only one of the party who said at once, "Certainly my love, I am sure there can be no better reason."

    No one else said a word; it was plain Lilian's mind was quite made up; it would have been futile to argue with her. As to how this was to be explained to the rest of the family, Becky was sure it would not be beyond their capacity to concoct an acceptable explanation.

    That evening, Mr Adams and Mr Burnett dined with them and Lilian came downstairs to dinner, looking very well and feeling so much better, that her aunt Becky declared it was worthy of a special celebration.

    Afterwards, the two gentlemen did not stay long; Lilian retired early and Catherine was free to spend a couple of hours with her sister over tea in the sitting room.

    "And how did you like the Barnabys, Becky?" she asked, to which her sister answered with surprising alacrity that she had liked them very well indeed.

    "They are such kind, hospitable folk and I must say I was pleasantly surprised by the modest style of their home. Too often these new country houses display more of their owners' money than good taste."

    "Oh, come now, Becky," said Catherine a little testily, "you are not going to judge them by the standards of your fine London friends like Lady Ashton and Mr Armstrong, are you? These are very genuine, hardworking farmers with their roots in the soil of Kent, not one of your absentee landlords, with an expensive house in town and several properties all over the country."

    Taken aback by the vehemence of her sister's words, Becky protested.

    "Pray do not misunderstand me, Cathy, I did not intend to denigrate the Barnabys at all; I thought they were very worthy, decent people. I would rather know them than many of those you call my fine London friends, though indeed, they are none of them very genuine friends, which fact I have learned of late. The Barnabys seem to be the very opposite, I think."

    "Indeed they are," said Catherine, "and Becky, please forgive me if I appeared too ready to condemn your friends; I did not mean to do so." She had not meant to hurt her sister's feelings, but she continued, "However, when I think of the shabby way in which my Lilian was treated by those rich young men at Lady Ashton's ball, where she was a guest, and consider how different was the conduct of Mr and Mrs Barnaby, who were complete strangers to her, I cannot help but make such a judgment and I hope you will pardon me. I do not expect you to abandon your friends, Becky dear, but you must surely acknowledge their faults?"

    "I certainly do, Cathy," Rebecca protested, "and indeed I see much less of them now than I did before. Lilian's unhappy experience has opened my eyes, and having seen her with Mr Adams, who seems an exemplary young man, I no longer feel the need to heed the opinions of Lady Ashton and her friends on any of these matters. In truth, I can no longer apologise for them and I doubt they will do as much for me in my present circumstances."

    This extraordinary admission, rather sadly spoken, touched Catherine to the extent that she rose from her chair and went to sit beside her sister on the sofa.

    "You must not feel like that, Becky; you certainly do not need to apologise for them, nor do you need them to speak up for you. You owe them nothing. Among your friends and family, you are known for your generosity and kindness. You need not depend upon their good opinion."

    She noticed that Becky seemed unusually preoccupied and wished to ask the reason for it but was reluctant to pry. Instead, she decided she would lighten her sister's mood with some good news of her own. She said, "Becky dear, there is something I have to tell you—oh don't look so apprehensive, it is a piece of good news, which I am sure will make you very happy. But I am afraid I must ask you to keep it a secret for a while."

    Rebecca was immediately interested. There was nothing she liked better than a little secret; her writer's instincts alerted her to a good story and she sat up facing her sister, eager for her news.

    Catherine, having decided it was best to tell her the facts first, said quickly, "Becky, Mr Frank Burnett and I are engaged."

    She had expected her sister to exclaim and perhaps express shock, even consternation. The news was unlikely to please her, she had thought.

    To her complete amazement, however, Rebecca did none of these things. She did look a little surprised as she asked, "Engaged? Mr Burnett and you are going to be married?"

    Catherine nodded, not able to believe how calmly she was taking the announcement.

    "Not immediately, but yes, it is quite settled between us; we no longer need anyone's permission to marry. But we shall wait until after Lilian's wedding, though; we have not made any firm plans as to a date."

    "Have you told Mama?" Rebecca asked.

    "I have not, no one knows but you. I was going to tell Lilian on the very day I accepted him, but the accident and her subsequent illness intervened. So you, my dear sister, are the very first to know. I shall tell Lilian, of course, and then I will write to Mama. But tonight, I felt so very happy, I had to tell you. Becky, he loves me; he told me he has loved me for many years and I know now how very dearly I love him. Indeed, if it were not for the interference of Lady Catherine, we may well have been happily married these twenty years…" Her voice broke and Becky embraced her sister, saying, "Oh Cathy, I am so very happy for you and Mr Burnett. I wish you the greatest happiness, with all my heart."

    Catherine held her close and felt tears on her face, Becky's tears. She tried then to tease her sister and make light of it.

    "Becky, you must not cry; I absolutely forbid it, not when I am so happy. Why, I have not felt so lighthearted in years and you must share my happiness," she said, smiling, her face alight with pleasure.

    Rebecca smiled too, but it was a different kind of smile. Then she sighed. "I do, I do, but, Cathy dear, I too have a story to tell and it must also remain a secret for a while. Sadly, it is not such a happy tale as yours, so you will have to forgive me if I shed a tear or two," she said.

    Catherine was immediately attentive. "Why, Becky, what is it?" she asked.

    She feared her sister had had some bad news; perhaps it concerned her son, Walter. He was, as he had always been, a rather self-willed, obstinate young man, who, having married the daughter of one of his father's business partners, lived a life somewhat apart from the rest of the family.

    "Is it Walter?" she asked apprehensively.

    Becky shook her head. "No, it is not Walter, it is my husband, Mr Tate. I have had a letter from him from America."

    "What does he say? Is he unwell?"

    Becky smiled a little wistfully. "Oh no, he is never unwell. No, Cathy, he has written to ask me to agree to a separation."

    Catherine was so outraged, she sat silent, unable to say a word. This was appalling news, quite impossible to believe, and she knew not what to say. Finally she asked, "Why, Becky? What reason does he give?"

    Rebecca reached into the pocket of her gown and produced a letter, two pages in a clear, strong hand, recognisably that of Anthony Tate. It explained in the plainest terms that he had decided to make his permanent home in America, where his newspaper and journal business was thriving and, since he had no reason to return to England, he asked for a separation.

    He made no criticism of her, nor was there any suggestion of some other woman in his life; the letter stated simply and clearly that he felt he would prefer to live out his life separate from her, as he had done for almost a year, in the United States. He made no mention of a future divorce, but did promise to make a generous settlement upon her and let her have the house he owned in town and all of the assets associated with it. The business he had built up in the Midlands would be transferred to their son Walter, as would the family property at Matlock, with some conditions attached.

    "He does suggest that I might wish to reach an arrangement with Walter and his wife, to occupy part of the house at Matlock, if I choose to continue in Derbyshire. But Cathy, I do not fancy that at all," said Rebecca, biting her lip.

    Catherine was astounded. She could not comprehend it. Her brotherin-law had always been an upright and honourable man, much respected in the community. Becky and he had shared many interests and worked together on campaigns. How then could he do something so unfeeling?

    There were tears in her eyes. "Oh Becky, I am so sorry, but I do not understand. I always thought you loved each other—you seemed to have such a good marriage. How did it ever come to this?" she asked.