Recollections of Rosings (8 page)

    "Oh good God! we certainly cannot have that!" he had said in mock despair as the rain fell. "Poor Lady Catherine, why, that must have cost all of two shillings!"

    "I have no time for frivolity, Mr Burnett, clearly I have dropped it somewhere and I must find it… I really must," she had cried and then, seeing her distress was genuine, he had relented and offered to go back and retrieve it for her, while she stayed out of the rain. Which was exactly what he had done, returning within five minutes with the wretched instrument, which he had found on the steps leading to the rose garden.

    "There you are, now, you need fear Her Ladyship's wrath no more—but a word of advice, Miss Collins: I should go directly to your room and change out of those clothes and shoes, unless you want to be sniffling all evening," he had said in a rather stern voice before disappearing up the back stairs. She heard him striding across the landing and running up the second flight of stairs leading to his apartment, as she gathered up her basket and took it into the music room. She was already beginning to feel the chill of her damp clothes and shoes, and despite her resentment of his tone, she was sensible enough to heed his advice and retired to her room to change and partake of a hot lemon drink provided by her maid.

    To Catherine's surprise, when she came down to dinner later that evening, Mr Burnett had joined them, at the invitation of Lady Catherine.

    Since this had never happened before, Catherine had wondered at the reason, until she discovered that a distinguished friend of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh, a man with a reputation as an eminent Oxford don, was expected to dinner. Mr Burnett had obviously been invited to make intelligent conversation with their guest during the meal. Catherine was well aware that while Her Ladyship knew the monetary value of most of the treasures in her mansion, she was less well informed of their significance as works of art or literature.

    Mr Burnett, on the other hand, proved he knew a good deal about the provenance and age of most of the pieces in the collection and was able to carry on a creditable conversation with their distinguished visitor for most of the evening. After dinner, the two men visited the library and returned still engaged in erudite discourse.

    Later, Catherine was invited to play the pianoforte and when she did, Mr Burnett came over to the instrument and complimented her upon her performance.

    "A quite delightful interpretation of a very complex piece, Miss Collins; may one ask if Schubert is a favourite of yours?"

    "Not especially, but I have always enjoyed playing that particular composition, since my days in the schoolroom, when I first mastered it," she had replied with a wry smile.

    He had had the grace to laugh.

    "Oh dear, I fear I have annoyed you; believe me, I did not mean to belittle your knowledge on that occasion, Miss Collins, it was my complete ignorance of your degree of achievement that was to blame. I know better now and I apologise," he'd said and Catherine had smiled and accepted her victory with grace.

    There were calls from Lady Catherine and her guest for more music.

    Mr Burnett had returned to his seat to listen, while Catherine had proceeded to play and sing, choosing this time a completely different piece, a pretty English air, so as to confuse him a little in his estimation of her, she thought. But it seemed he was equally well pleased with it, too.

    Lady Catherine was clearly impressed with Mr Burnett's contribution to the evening; in future, he would be invited to dinner whenever there was a visitor Her Ladyship wished particularly to impress.

    When, on another occasion, Catherine had remarked that he was becoming a regular guest at Her Ladyship's table, he had made light of it.

    "Yes, I do believe Lady Catherine sees some benefit in having me perform a professional role as well as a social function. I conserve and maintain her library by day and divert and entertain her guests at dinner! A sort of court official and court jester in one, so to speak, if you get my meaning, Miss Collins," he'd said.

    Catherine had protested that he was devaluing his function in the household.

    "I am not sure that you do not misconstrue Her Ladyship's intentions, Mr Burnett. I know she values your work in the library very highly; she has said as much. Yet, I am also certain that the invitation to dinner when she has distinguished guests is as much a compliment to your knowledge and ability to converse with them at a level that none of us can achieve."

    At this Frank Burnett had smiled, quite a pleasant, acceptable little smile, not at all arrogant or patronising, and said, "You are always able to put the most benign construction upon a person's actions, Miss Collins; it is indeed a most charming quality."

    "I say only what I believe to be true," she had protested and he had replied, "Of course you do, I would not for one moment suggest otherwise, but if I may offer just one little word of advice, Miss Collins, do remember that not every other person's motives are as pure and as transparent as your own."

    Which remark had puzzled Catherine somewhat, but unwilling to demonstrate her naiveté by asking for an explanation, she had nodded sagely and said nothing.

    There had been many more such meetings, during which Catherine had grown to respect and trust Frank Burnett's character and judgment.

    Gradually, she had come to accept that it was not a lack of modesty that had made him seem arrogant at first, but a confidence in his knowledge of certain specific subjects, of which he had made a study. On other matters, of which he confessed to know little or nothing, he was happy to concede his ignorance.

    He had surprised her by his admission that, despite his love of European music, which he had enjoyed greatly during his time in Italy, he had never mastered a single instrument.

    "I would have given anything to learn to play and be as proficient as you are, but sadly, I had neither the time nor, I must confess, the discipline to apply myself to the task, as you clearly have done with such excellent results," he had confessed.

    Catherine, at first a little embarrassed by his praise, had soon realised that his was quite sincere appreciation, and indeed he seemed to like nothing better than to hear her play whenever he was asked to dine at Rosings.

    Occasionally, when Lady Catherine became more involved in conversation with her guests or on occasions when she retired early, he could be persuaded to join Catherine in a duet, revealing a pleasing though not highly trained voice. For Catherine, it had been a welcome change from performing for Her Ladyship alone, from whom she received some little praise, but mostly advice to practice even more assiduously. Frank Burnett openly expressed his pleasure and encouraged her to attempt more difficult works. In return, she had acknowledged his knowledge of art and literature, which went well beyond her level of understanding, and was content to be guided by him in her appreciation of both, keenly reading the books he recommended, thereby unlocking the door to a whole new range of material of which she had known little and providing them with a number of subjects on which they could agreeably and profitably converse.

    With his encouragement, she had entered a world of knowledge that opened up horizons such as she could never have imagined during her days at the parsonage at Hunsford.

    For years, as children, they had heard their father Reverend Collins extol with obsequious enthusiasm the expensive furniture, fireplaces, staircases, and trophies that graced the rooms at Rosings, but at no time had he or anyone else opened her eyes to the treasures in its library.

    For this, she would always be indebted to Frank Burnett.

    While all these recollections had crowded into her mind as she lay awake, Dr Harrison had slept, fitfully, but without causing her any anxiety.

    Towards morning, Catherine had dozed off and was suddenly awakened by a most alarming sound. She found her husband struggling to breathe, gasping, and trying to sit up in bed. Rushing to his side, she tried to help him but was uncertain what she should do. Afraid, she called to Lilian and Rebecca in their rooms across the corridor. Lilian was at her side in seconds, and finding her father very distressed, she hurried downstairs to send a servant for the doctor. Rebecca, rushing in, found her sister in tears, unable to help her husband, whose breathing had grown more laboured. Together they struggled to alleviate his distress, but with little success. His breathing eased a little, but he was clearly very unwell and they waited impatiently for the doctor.

    By the time Dr Whitelaw arrived, the first streaks of dawn light were colouring the sky and a small chorus of birds had begun to greet the new day. But Dr Harrison, though somewhat less distressed now and breathing more easily, had lapsed into unconsciousness.

    Dr Whitelaw began to fear that his patient had slipped beyond his help. He tried to reassure the ladies, but his concern was difficult to hide and though Dr Harrison lived through the day, he remained unconscious throughout, while all around him, the household was in turmoil.

    The visiting chaplain from Apsley was sent for, and having prayed with them and administered the sacraments, he left. It seemed there was nothing more they could do for Dr Harrison but pray.

    This, they took in turns to do, reading his favourite passages from the gospels and the psalms and sitting by his bedside, all through that long day and into the following night.

RECOLLECTIONS OF ROSINGS

It was not that Catherine was entirely unprepared for the death of Dr Harrison; she had been very concerned, despite the assurances of Dr Whitelaw at the onset of his illness, that he was not making much progress at all.

    Lilian, too, had seemed unwilling to speak of her father's condition, as if afraid to contemplate the inevitable. Other friends and family had consistently and confidently declared that he would soon be well again and about his parish business, and Dr Harrison himself had confidently proclaimed his belief that it would indeed be so.

    But now he was dead.

    Only Rebecca, understanding her sister's anxiety, had not attempted to belittle her concern. She had sat with Catherine at his bedside, throughout the long night and into the morning, until it had become clear he was gone.

    Dry-eyed and tight-lipped, Catherine had been unable to respond to the sympathy expressed by those who called at the house, feeling alone and cold, as she sought to comfort Lilian, while worrying that she had felt no great shock or sorrow herself.

    Mr Benson attended to everything that needed doing in preparation for the funeral, and Mr Adams was always available to lend his support. Members of the family and friends of the Harrisons came from many parts of England: the Darcys, the Bingleys, the Wilsons, and of course her dear mother Charlotte Collins, who was in some pain with her rheumatism and yet had insisted on accompanying Jonathan Bingley and his wife, Anna, who travelled from Hertfordshire.

    It was a melancholy occasion, made considerably worse for Mr Darcy by the sight of Rosings after the fire. His reaction, one of shock, almost of disbelief, was natural; nothing anyone had said could have prepared him for the sickening vision that met his eyes.

    Darcy had been back and forth from Rosings Park since childhood; his mother and Lady Catherine were sisters. In adult life, he had been frequently called upon by his aunt to advise and assist her on matters of managing her estate after the death of Sir Lewis de Bourgh. Though they had often disagreed on many matters, there had ultimately been a grudging respect between them. Rosings had been everything to Lady Catherine; now she was gone and so was most of her heritage. Both Darcy and Elizabeth were quite unable to absorb the shock of it all.

    The funeral service was a simple one. Catherine had insisted that her husband be laid to rest in the churchyard at Hunsford among the parishioners he had served with great dedication and not at Rosings, where lay the more distinguished graves of several generations of faithful servants, including her own father, Mr Collins.

    Supported only by Lilian and Rebecca—for her two elder children were many thousands of miles away overseas—Catherine appeared remarkably calm, and afterwards, as they gathered at the Dower House, she was gracious to everyone who had attended.

    She had noticed that John Adams had been at the funeral, standing with a group of people from the Rosings Estate, but there had been no sign of Frank Burnett. It did cross her mind that he may have returned to London, but thought no more about it at the time. After all, she thought, he had never known Dr Harrison personally.

    On the day following, Mr Hanson the attorney came to read the will, and both Mr Darcy and Jonathan Bingley attended at Catherine's invitation. Dr Harrison did not have a very great deal to leave, but what he had was carefully and prudently invested and the whole of it willed to his wife. There was sufficient to support her in a modest way and little else, save for a collection of Bibles, many theological books, and writings, all of which were destined for the library at Rosings!