Recollections of Rosings (45 page)

    "I can see no reason why you should not teach the girls, too, Becky," she had said. "Your mama always believed that you were her best teacher."

    Becky had coloured at such praise, especially coming from Elizabeth; yet she was clearly pleased to be so complimented. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, Lizzie had decided to regard her with a friendlier eye than before.

    As the wedding celebrations drew to a close, the Darcys and their party prepared to leave for London, where they would stay overnight prior to returning to Derbyshire. Their carriage waited for them, but before they left the house, Mr and Mrs Darcy invited the rest of the family to join them at Pemberley for Christmas.

    "It is quite some time since we have all been together at Christmas," said Elizabeth. "Georgiana and Dr Grantley will be with us, too, and we are looking forward to it very much. You are all welcome to join us at Pemberley on Christmas Eve."

    Catherine noted that Mrs Darcy had turned especially to Becky as she spoke, particular to include her in the general invitation. She was delighted, knowing the hurt that her sister had suffered.

    In happier times, Becky Tate had been a particular friend of Cassy Darcy's; both young women being about the same age, they had also shared many common interests. But this had ended when, contrary to Elizabeth's hopes, young Julian Darcy had married Becky's daughter, Josie. As their marriage had crumbled, the entire family, except perhaps their mother Charlotte, who was Elizabeth's special friend, had felt the coldness that had come between Lizzie and Rebecca. The terrible circumstances of Josie's death had only exacerbated the situation to the point where they had hardly spoken except in formal terms.

    Now, it seemed as if Elizabeth had decided to end their prolonged estrangement. It was especially pleasing to Catherine that she had chosen to do so on Lilian's wedding day.

    Catherine's own happiness at the courtesy shown to Frank Burnett by both Mr and Mrs Darcy was enhanced by the hope of a rapprochement between Becky and Elizabeth. She loved her sister and had the highest regard for Elizabeth; that they could be friends again was a source of great satisfaction to her. Looking across at her sister, she caught her eye and smiled; clearly Becky was pleased, too.

    When the wedded couple had departed on their honeymoon and the last of the guests had left, the two sisters retired upstairs to Catherine's room.

    Weary from the long day, they kicked off their shoes, shed their fine gowns for loose robes, and lay on the bed, as they had done when they were young girls, returning from a formal function at Rosings or a boring afternoon in church, attended dutifully but with reluctance.

    Becky could recall clearly the intimacy they had shared, when more often than not, she would confide and Catherine would counsel caution. Often they would indulge in girlish gossip and laughter until their mother came to urge them to be quiet. This time, there would be no one to reprimand them.

    Becky announced that she had brought her sister a "wedding present purchased in Paris"!

    "A present from Paris?" Catherine exclaimed and was urged to open it. When she did, she found within a pretty confection of silk and lace, embellished with ribbons, and as she held it up and looked at it, she glanced at her sister in some bewilderment and asked, "Becky, are you sure you have not made a mistake? Is this not a gown for Lilian?"

    At which Becky broke into peals of laughter, further confusing her sister, until she said, "Oh no, Cathy, it is not a gown for Lilian, it is a
nightgown fo
r
you!"

    The depth and extent of the blush that suffused Catherine's countenance and flowed down her neck and shoulders was proof enough that no such thought had even entered her head.

    "A nightgown?" she cried and Becky replied, "Indeed, a nightgown for your honeymoon. You cannot go away to Europe on your wedding journey and wear the white cotton homemade things you wore at the rectory at Hunsford, Cathy—it will not do."

    There followed protestations from Catherine and much teasing and laughter about the nightwear she was accustomed to wearing and warnings that she must remember that Mr Burnett is not a clergyman, after which they subsided gradually into a more subdued mood.

    The sounds of the servants downstairs, clearing away the debris from the wedding breakfast, receded as they lay there, cocooned in a comfortable silence, each deep in her own thoughts.

    After some time, Catherine, turning over to regard her sister with serious eyes, asked in a quiet, tentative voice, "Becky, am I right… is it better now between you and Lizzie after all this time?"

    Her sister spoke, lying flat on her back, her eyes closed.

    "Yes, it has been a long time; I felt that she never understood my pain at losing Josie, she could think only of Julian. But I do believe Lizzie means us to be friends again. Perhaps, now that Julian is married again happily, she no longer blames me for his sorrow as she used to do. I am glad and I shall certainly behave as though this is the case. I bear her no grudge."

    "I am glad, too; Mama would like that, too," said Catherine. "Shall you go to Pemberley at Christmas then?" she asked, hoping Becky would say yes.

    She was not disappointed.

    "I probably shall. I cannot imagine that it will serve any useful purpose to refuse. Besides, what would I do alone down here? I might as well enjoy the hospitality of Pemberley and let Lizzie see that as far as I am concerned, the past is over and forgotten," said Becky, opening her eyes and regarding her sister. Then, raising herself on an elbow to look at Catherine, she asked, "And you, Cathy? Tell me, are you going to be very happy with your dear Mr Burnett?"

    Looking directly up into her sister's eyes, Catherine replied, "Oh yes, I am. I intend to be very happy with my dear Mr Burnett, that at least I can promise you, Becky. I have never been more certain of anything in my life."

    This time, there were no tears, only the blessed laughter that comes from deeply felt affection and contentment.

Two weeks later, with Lilian and Mr Adams still away on their wedding journey and young Matthew Harrison having returned to his ship, Catherine and Rebecca travelled to Hertfordshire to join their mother at Longbourn.

    Frank Burnett had already arrived at Netherfield House, at the invitation of Mr and Mrs Bingley. Enjoying there the comfortable elegance of their home, he could not fail to contrast the gracious life at Netherfield Park with the stiff formality that had been imposed upon everyone in the domain of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

    An informal reception had been arranged, hosted by Jonathan and Anna Bingley, to celebrate the wedding of Catherine and Frank in the presence of a small gathering of close family and friends. Catherine's mother, aunt, and cousins, the Faulkners and Elliots, attended, while Frank Burnett's sister travelled down from Newcastle for the occasion and was so delighted with Catherine that she could not cease telling her brother what a fortunate man he was to be marrying such a lovely woman.

    "We had quite given up hope that Frank would ever marry," she declared. "We thought he'd decided to remain a bachelor for the rest of his life," as Frank and Catherine smiled and said nothing.

    The day turned out exactly as the couple had wished it to be.

    Catherine's marriage to Dr Harrison had been celebrated at Rosings, with Lady Catherine generously hosting the impressive function, presiding imperiously over the wedding breakfast attended by guests from around the county and beyond, many of whom were quite unknown to the bride or her immediate family.

    Apart from the scent of hundreds of roses, Catherine's recollections were of a long day with many formalities, meeting and greeting dozens of Lady Catherine's distinguished guests, which had left her quite exhausted. There had been no time for a honeymoon; Dr Harrison had an important report to write for the bishop, who was visiting the diocese. Consequently, they had gone directly to the parsonage at Hunsford and on the following morning, being Sunday, she had accompanied her husband to morning service. The solemn faces of the congregation had matched her own mood of serious sobriety, as she had contemplated her future as the wife of the parson of Hunsford parish. Later they had travelled to Bath for a week's stay with Dr Harrison's family.

This time, it was quite different.

    On awakening, Catherine had felt an unusual degree of elation, for which she could find no logical explanation except it was the day she was to marry Frank Burnett. Looking out across the unfamiliar lawns, the small park at Longbourn, pretty but quite unlike the grand grounds at Rosings, she wondered at her own excitement. She had to remind herself that she was not a young bride going to her groom. She had been married before and had three children, yet she could neither deny nor explain the tumult that assailed her as she thought what the day would bring.

    Catherine had no recollection of any similar feelings experienced before her marriage to Dr Harrison. In fact, she recalled, she had been calm, astonishingly so, as she had prepared for the wedding.

    Catching sight of her reflection in the long mirror, she stopped to look critically at herself. Unlike her sisters Rebecca and Amelia-Jane, Catherine had not been in the habit of paying much attention to her looks, yet she had been fortunate enough to be blessed with a clear complexion and fine features, which together contributed to the impression of a handsome, slender woman, whose appearance belied her years. On that particular morning, the impression was enhanced by a gentle flush upon her cheeks and eyes bright with the anticipation of happiness.

    Catherine was quite content with her appearance, yet could not help wondering how the man who would soon be her husband might see her. For a brief moment, she worried that he might still retain an image of the fresh young girl he had loved many years ago, occasioning inevitable disappointment, but the thought passed quickly as she recalled his recent ardent expressions of affection. He had arranged that they would travel to Europe after the wedding, and Catherine smiled, recalling Becky's gift, which her sister had ensured was packed into her case for the journey.

    The arrival of her maid Sally with breakfast interrupted Catherine's reverie and returned her to the practicalities of the moment.

    "There is a message from Mr Bingley, ma'am," the girl said as she drew back the curtains and prepared to pour out tea for her mistress. "He will be here with the carriage at half past ten to accompany you to the church."

    Catherine thanked her; she had been awake early, there was plenty of time. The girl left the room, promising to return to help Catherine dress and put up her hair. Her pleasure at seeing her mistress in her wedding gown, a simple, elegant garment of cream silk, brought tears to her eyes as she said, "You look lovely, ma'am—I hope you will be very happy."

    When Jonathan Bingley called at Longbourn in his carriage to escort her to church, Catherine came downstairs. She felt a quick rush of blood to her cheeks as she strove to calm her racing heart, hoping to conceal from Jonathan her excitement.

    Arriving at the small parish church at Netherfield, a more intimate, less awesome setting than the grand chapel at Rosings had been, she was more composed, but Jonathan was clearly aware of her agitation. Helping her from the vehicle, he took her hand and pressed it, as if to reassure her. Meeting his eyes, wordlessly she expressed her gratitude as she took his arm and prepared to enter the church.

    Waiting for her at the church, Frank Burnett endeavoured to subdue his feelings. Since realising that he was in love with young Catherine Collins, in vain, as it turned out, he had spent many years with no hope at all of making her his wife.

    More recently, on finding her again, first married to Dr Harrison and then widowed, there had been months of uncertainty and trepidation, during which he had feared he would betray his feelings and lose both her friendship and regard. When she had discovered his secret, forgiven his impertinence in purloining her picture, and later agreed to marry him, delight had been followed by months of longing for this day.

    Now she was here, his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

    He watched as she walked up the aisle towards him, if anything, more desirable a woman than she had been a girl. Her serene countenance and warm smile he had never forgotten in all their years apart.

    He turned to her and she smiled.

    The rector Mr Griffin approached; they had been warned by Anna Bingley that he was a solemn, almost doleful fellow, prone to making long, portentous sermons.

    "Be warned, Cathy, he will not let you off with a few words of wisdom; Mr Griffin takes weddings very seriously. Prepare yourselves for a weighty homily," she'd said as they dined at Netherfield on the previous evening.

    Mr Burnett and Catherine made an effort to maintain appropriate expressions of gravity as Mr Griffin droned on, reminding them of the duties of married couples to one another, warning them that Love, "while it conquers all, must be supported by those trusty lieutenants Faith and Respect." All this they knew yet, as was his wont, Mr Griffin reiterated with much seriousness these and other familiar sentiments for their benefit.