Keen to be with her sister and share in the cares that must now fall upon her alone, and discounting Catherine's reassurances, Becky packed a trunk, caught a train, and not long afterwards, arrived at the Hunsford parsonage with her maid, Nelly. The joy with which Catherine greeted her left her in no doubt that she was very welcome indeed. As they embraced, tears filled their eyes and Becky noted how strained and tired her sister looked.
"Oh Cathy, my dear, what can I say? Tell me first, how is Dr Harrison? Is he recovering well?" she asked.
Catherine, clearly unwilling to alarm her sister yet unable to lie to her, replied cautiously, "He is much better this week than he was when we first returned from Derbyshire, but, Becky, I fear he has suffered an attack of greater severity than we suspected, and it may be a very long while before he is quite well again. Dr Whitelaw, though he fears he will distress us and so will not say it outright, seems to be hinting that Dr Harrison will not recover sufficiently to return to work in the parish."
Her voice fell as she concluded her sentence, and Rebecca put her arms around her.
"Oh my dear sister, what you must have gone through this last week! No wonder you look so pale. I am certain now that I was right to come."
Catherine's expression suggested that she agreed.
"Thank you, Becky dear, it was kind of you. I am glad you have come."
When they were seated together in the parlour, taking tea, Rebecca asked more searching questions about arrangements at the parsonage and learned that Mr Benson, the manager of the estate, had just that morning called to assure Catherine that if the need arose for her family to move, the Dower House was being made ready for them.
"He told me Jonathan Bingley had insisted upon having the house opened up and had inspected it himself. It is some time since it was occupied permanently, and Jonathan had given orders that all the rooms should be aired and prepared in the event that we may need to move there. He has been exceedingly kind, Becky, he cannot do enough for us," said Catherine and Becky agreed.
"Indeed, it would seem that Jonathan feels no bitterness towards us at all, despite the fact our sister Amelia-Jane used him very ill. I always said he, above any of Jane Bingley's children, has inherited her sweetness of disposition and generosity of heart."
Catherine understood exactly what she meant but was disinclined to go down that path. It had been for her a particularly harrowing period, during which she had watched her young sister, self-willed and ill-advised by fickle friends, destroy her marriage and later herself through a series of events that had driven her husband, Jonathan Bingley, close to despair. The memories were too painful to recount at this time.
She chose instead to recall the many years that their family had lived at the parsonage at Hunsford, when their father Reverend Collins had been the incumbent. Later, after her marriage to Dr Harrison, she had returned to live there and had raised her family in the parish. Catherine had no other memories of a home.
"I was born here, Becky, I have known no other home but Hunsford and Rosings, of course, thanks to Lady Catherine."
Her voice sounded forlorn, as though she had already accepted the inevitable, and Becky, hoping to lift her spirits a little, spoke of earlier days when, as children of her chaplain, they had enjoyed the condescension and even the occasional benevolence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Their father, Reverend Collins, had always insisted that they should be grateful; it had not always been easy for Becky, a precocious little girl, to understand why this was so.
"You were always more amenable than I was, Cathy; no wonder Lady Catherine invited you to stay on at Rosings," she said with a grimace that indicated her own perception and made her sister smile at the memory.
Jonathan Bingley, arriving to say his farewells before returning to his family, who were still at Pemberley, found them thus occupied and was relieved indeed to note what a significant difference her sister's arrival had made to Catherine.
Though she was still undoubtedly in shock and anxious about her husband's health, she appeared in better spirits. Becky Tate was renowned for her natural cheerfulness, tending to optimism in the face of adversity. Combined with a genuine and strong affection for her sister, this would surely help Catherine greatly at such a difficult time, Jonathan thought. When he left them after a welcome cup of tea and taking with him their warmest wishes for a safe journey, he was feeling a good deal more hopeful than he had been all week.
***
In reality, Rebecca Tate, having suffered in her own life some grievous misfortune, including the loss of her only daughter Josie, was far less inclined than before towards optimism. Her husband, Anthony Tate, deeply dejected following the death of their daughter, had so immersed himself in his work, leaving Becky very much to grieve alone, that they had grown apart and were now as strangers in the same house. As he found solace in expanding his commercial empire, Becky had turned to Catherine and the two sisters had found comfort in each other's company.
More recently, as Mr Tate had made preparations for a journey to the United States, where he expected to do business with a fellow publisher, Becky had found less and less to occupy her at home. With both her son Walter and her husband away for many months at a time, there were fewer functions to attend and families to visit. Since her husband preferred to meet his business friends at his club, they rarely entertained at home.
She went up to London only occasionally, usually invited by a new friend, Lady Ashton, who had decided that Becky could be useful to her, but with whom Becky shared very few interests, which meant she was often alone and bored.
Yet, Becky's generous disposition had not deserted her, and finding her sister in a nostalgic mood, she chose wisely to let her indulge herself, reminiscing about the things they had shared, hoping to draw her out of the contemplation of her present circumstances.
There was much to remember and talk about, which very soon had them both in a lighter mood. Indeed, so addictive a pastime did this become that over the days and weeks that followed, when at the end of the day they sat down to tea, inevitably their conversation would begin with one or the other saying, "Do you recall the day when…?"—so delving into their shared recollections of childhood at Rosings and Hunsford over the years, even as the debris of the recent calamity was being gathered up and cleared away.
Catherine, as the eldest daughter of Reverend Collins and Charlotte Lucas, had held a very special place in their home at Hunsford and later in the household of their patron at Rosings. She had never been certain what had engendered Lady Catherine's partiality towards her. It could not have been only her father's egregious deference and loyalty, surely, but that young Catherine Collins had been specially favoured, no one had any doubt.
Throughout the years she had spent at Rosings, many people had seen fit to inform her that never before had Lady Catherine been known to be so generous, even affectionate in her treatment of any other person outside her own immediate family, and even they were called upon to show a high degree of gratitude and respect for her Ladyship in return.
Rebecca was curious to learn if Catherine had ever discovered the secret of her popularity with the almost universally disliked Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Recalling the days when, as children, they would accompany their parents to Rosings and then be banished to the old schoolroom at the other end of the house, to take tea with the maids and perhaps Mrs Jenkinson, Becky reminded her sister of the way she would often be summoned to return downstairs afterwards and entertain Her Ladyship by playing the pianoforte or reading to her.
"You were favoured because you read so well and played so sweetly on the instrument, unlike myself. I never gained such a high degree of proficiency as you did," she declared.
"Only because I practised assiduously, as Lady Catherine said I should," Catherine explained and Rebecca retorted, "Whilst I spent all my time scribbling things on bits of paper! No wonder Lady C had such a strong prejudice against me."
Her sister was more charitable. "I do not believe it was really a matter of prejudice, Becky dear, so much as her desire to be obeyed by everyone around her. When she commanded me to practice, I did!"
"Poor Catherine, she must have had you truly terrified," said Rebecca, but her sister disagreed again.
"Indeed no, she did not. You must not think that—I was not afraid of her; but she was a most formidable person and being very young, I was in awe of Her Ladyship and found it difficult, if not impossible, to refuse her anything or to disagree with her on any significant matter."
"Did you ever?" asked her sister, amazed at this confession.
Catherine's voice was low as she replied, "No, not in anything really significant; sometimes I wish I had done so, but then it is all very well to be brave after the event, is it not?"
"If Mama is to be believed, Papa was not very different, so you need feel no shame. He was so much in awe of Lady C he went nowhere, made no decision, expressed no opinion without her prior approval!" Rebecca said, to which Catherine added quietly, "Which of course, made it easier for Her Ladyship to demand the same degree of compliance from the rest of us. You were probably fortunate, Becky—you acquired an early reputation for recalcitrance, and I do believe she gave up expecting you to do as she advised."
Becky did not hide her consternation. "Advised! Commanded, more likely. Yes, I was very much the black sheep, was I not? I recall how angry she became when I said I wanted to be a writer. I was only a little girl, but she addressed me with such seriousness—it was as though I had announced my intention to join the Revolution! She ordered me to abandon such a foolish notion forthwith. 'Women,' she declared, without fear of contradiction, 'should have better things to do than waste their time on such frippery,' and she urged Mama to have me taught to sew and knit and make pin cushions, which she said would help me get a good, respectable husband—and a boring one, no doubt! I recall telling Mr Tate about it when we became engaged and we had a good laugh about her Ladyship's notions. He was not particularly troubled by my lack of skill in sewing or making pin cushions."
Becky was enjoying herself, recounting the days of her youth, when she suddenly noticed her sister's countenance. Catherine looked deeply unhappy, as though some painful memory from the past had intruded itself upon her thoughts.
Becky was immediately solicitous. "Why, Cathy dear, what is it? Are you not well? Do forgive me for going on and on, I wasn't thinking… I do apologise…"
Catherine brushed aside her concerns. "I am quite well, Becky, it's just that recalling Lady Catherine reminded me of something she once said about her daughter. She declared to Mrs Jenkinson and myself that Miss Anne de Bourgh could well have married a knight of the realm, who had shown some interest in her, if not that her poor health would not let her live in Scotland!"
Becky exploded, "And how pray was this to happen when she scarcely let the poor creature out of her sight? Cathy, I truly believe Lady Catherine had quite lost any connection with reality. How else would she make such a preposterous prediction?"
"Ah well," said her sister, "you certainly proved her wrong, Becky; you have achieved your ambition to be a writer
and
you have married a most eligible and successful gentleman as well. Lady Catherine would have been very pleased and not a little surprised, I'm sure."
Rebecca did not respond to this statement.
Their confidences had not included the current, somewhat parlous state of her own marriage. She had been reluctant to speak of it, too mortified to reveal the truth, even to a beloved sister.
Catherine continued, "I suppose, Becky dear, there are times when every one of us must wish we had acted differently. I have often wondered how very different our lives might have been had Papa not been appointed to the living at Hunsford and we were not brought so totally under the influence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I do not wish you to think I am ungrateful for all she did for me; indeed, in many ways there was little difference in her treatment of myself and her daughter Anne, and being blessed with good health, I was better able to benefit from those opportunities than poor Miss de Bourgh. But one cannot help wishing we might have been a little more emancipated," said Catherine.
Puzzled by this cryptic remark, Becky wanted to pursue the matter but was thwarted by the arrival at that moment of Lilian, who on finding her mother's bed empty had come downstairs to look for her. Seeing her with Rebecca and noting that she looked weary, she asked with more than a little concern in her voice, "Mama, are you not coming to bed? It is well past midnight."
Catherine rose and, bidding her sister good night, accompanied her daughter up the stairs, leaving Rebecca to follow later.
Earlier that same evening, Dr Whitelaw had called to see his patient and declared that Reverend Harrison's condition appeared to be improving, though slowly.
"But he must not be permitted to hasten back to his parish work, Mrs Harrison," he warned, "or he will suffer a relapse. I know he will claim that he feels fit enough, but in such cases as this, it is far better to err on the side of caution."