The Ladies of Longbourn (36 page)

Dearest Papa and Anna, this is but a short note, for it is late, but it brings you the most wonderful news! We have just returned from dining with Charles, who has told us he intends to resign at Christmas from his practice in East London and move back to Hertfordshire. He wishes to work at the children's hospital! Papa, is this not the best news in the world?

I cannot tell you what a relief it is to know that we shall have in my dear brother such a good, dedicated physician in charge. He must stay at Netherfield House, of course, and when Mr Elliott and I move to live at Longbourn, he can have our suite of rooms. Oh dear, I must not run on so; I had best conclude as my husband has waited patiently for me to finish this, so it may be ready for the post tomorrow.

As her letter trailed to its happy conclusion, her patient and loving husband claimed her attention. For Anne-Marie it was perhaps the best moment of her young life, combining the sweet success of a dream with the warmth of deep and genuine love.

On the following morning, the letter despatched to the post, they left on their journey to Europe, which was to take them first to Paris and thence to Italy, where they were to spend Christmas enjoying the hospitality of a family who had long been their friends.

Two generations of Continis had known the Darcys and through them the Bingleys, with whom they had become close friends. The invitation to AnneMarie and her husband had come via her father, who had frequently travelled in Europe and stayed with them. For Anne-Marie, who had never left England, it was a whole new experience. Their generous, warm hospitality was almost as overwhelming as the art treasures and architecture of Florence and Rome. The Continis were keen to draw them into their family celebrations and make them feel at home.

However, in the New Year, as the Winter deepened across the continent, they began to feel the nostalgic tug of the familiar and returned to England. Snow, and more often slush and mud, covered the streets of London and most of its environs, drawing them back to the comfort of home and family at Netherfield Park. So keen had they been to be home, they had stayed but one night in London, where the attractions of the city were seriously eroded by the dreadful weather and the condition of the streets.

"At least," said Anne-Marie to her husband, as they left for Hertfordshire, "in the country, the roads may be equally poor, but the air is infinitely sweeter."
The cold discomfort of the journey from London was soon replaced by the warmth of the welcome they received at Netherfield. Though it was only early afternoon, it was dark when they arrived at the house and their greatest desire was for a hot bath and bed. Accompanying them up the stairs, Anna informed them that Mrs Perrot was in the throes of preparing a celebratory dinner to welcome them home.
"Charles," she said, "has gone down to Longbourn at the request of my Aunt Collins, who had been concerned that one of the maids has had a persistent cough, which had worsened despite several home remedies. He has taken the small carriage and should be back in time for dinner." Anna, urged the weary travellers to take time to rest and recover from what must have been an arduous journey.
It was a respite they welcomed. Travelling in Europe had been all very well when they were being conveyed from place to place in the splendid equipages of the Continis, who had insisted on showing them the splendours of ancient Italy, but traversing the continent by public coach in Winter was not for the fainthearted.
Anne-Marie was very tired and glad indeed to be home and in her own bedroom. Her husband was determined that she should enjoy a long and undisturbed rest.
So deep was the slumber into which Anne-Marie had fallen, she was not awakened when, around six o'clock, there was a loud knocking at the front door and much calling out and shouting in the yard.
Mr Elliott, aroused by the sounds, had looked but could see nothing out of the window, which was thoroughly frosted over. As the noise continued, he decided to go downstairs to investigate. He met Anna on the stairs; she too had been disturbed.
"Who on earth could it be?" he asked and was astonished when she said, "I thought I recognised the Rector's voice."
"Mr Griffin? What would he want at this hour? He cannot be here to summon us to Evensong, surely?"
Anna had only just managed to smile at his joke, for by this time one of the servants had come up from the kitchen and opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air that swept through the hall and caught her as she came downstairs, causing her to gasp.
Pulling her shawl more closely around her shoulders, Anna went forward as Mr Griffin and another man from the village scurried into the hall and the doors were shut again.
Both men looked exhausted, cold and wet with the sleet that had been falling all afternoon, and as they were ushered into the saloon, where they would at least be dry and warm in front of the fire, Anna ordered that they be provided with towels and hot drinks.
But it was quite clear that Mr Griffin was surprisingly unwilling to accept any refreshment, before he had revealed the reason for their visit. This was certainly no social or pastoral call. Both Griffin and his companion looked stunned and distressed as they tried to explain.
"My dear Mrs Bingley, it is very kind of you, but we cannot stay, there is no time to lose; we must find Dr Bingley and take him with us, it is absolutely essential." Mr Griffin was getting quite agitated.
The mention of Dr Bingley alerted Colin Elliott, "Dr Bingley has gone to Longbourn to see a patient," he explained and asked, "Why do you need him? Who is ill? What is wrong, Mr Griffin?"
Elliott's voice seemed to cut through Mr Griffin's agitation, as he addressed him directly, "Oh, Mr Elliott, I am so thankful to find you here. You must help us find Dr Bingley; he is needed at once," and he began to blather on again, but Mr Elliott cut him short, determined to discover the reason for his alarm. "Why man, tell me, why do you need the doctor? What has happened?"
Then, as if roused from an autistic torpor, the farmhand in whose cart the two men had travelled to Netherfield, spoke for the first time in sepulchral tones, "There's been an accident, sir, a terrible accident; there's been people killed for sure."
Anna gasped and the maids, who had come in with hot drinks and towels, cried out, as Colin Elliott grasped the man's arm and demanded to know, "What accident, man? Where?"
Only then did Mr Griffin, by now fortified with a hot toddy, find words to explain what had happened. Still shaking, he began the tale.
"It's the train, Mr Elliott, the train from London, which was due in at five and when it failed to arrive, those at the station thought it was late on account of the weather and snow on the tracks, but it turns out, it has come off the tracks, sir, as it came around the hill and gone down the embankment and into the creek below Sidley."
"Good God! What has been done to recover the passengers and crew?" Elliott asked, shocked and appalled by the news. The farmhand, now identified as Thomas, was most pessimistic.
"Nothing so far sir; the driver's dead for sure, the engine's gone head first down the bank, straight into Sidley's Creek, and she's taken the first two coaches with her."
Everyone gasped and for a full minute nobody said a word. As they stood aghast, a carriage was heard arriving and Charles Bingley raced indoors. Word had been received at Longbourn, from one of the tenants who had gone to meet his brother at the station. The news had only reached the station when some of the survivors, from the coaches that had slewed around and fallen over in a paddock beside the railway lines, had struggled along the line to raise the alarm. Among the walking wounded was his brother.
Charles, who having treated the maid with bronchitis, had been taking tea with Mrs Collins, had heard enough to alert him to the fact that they had a crisis on their hands. He had returned at once to get his things together and leave for the site of the accident. "I shall need some volunteers to help me with the wounded. We could set up a first aid post at the railway station. I have sent word to the police, and I gather they are already on their way. If only it was not such a wretched night!" he groaned.
Meanwhile, Jonathan Bingley, hearing the voices downstairs, had come to find out what was afoot. On learning of the accident, he gave orders for all assistance to be rendered and Mr Dobson was immediately assigned to travel with Charles to the site of the crash, where it was feared many people lay dead or wounded with nobody to attend upon them. Fortuitously, Dobson had served as a medical orderly at Scutari, working for Miss Nightingale in the Crimea, and was well experienced in tending the sick and wounded. Calm and sensible as well, clearly he would be an asset to Charles in dealing with the disaster that faced them.
As various people scurried to make preparations, Colin Elliott, anxious to assist, went upstairs to warn his wife, that he would not be back for dinner and quite possibly for several hours later. He found her still sound asleep. So tired had she been, so relieved to be home, that the multitude of voices downstairs had not disturbed her sleep. Gently, her husband awakened her and as she sat up, explained what had happened. In an instant, Anne-Marie was wide awake.
Seeing the look of horror on her face, Elliott tried to assuage her fears, "It may not be as bad as it seems, dearest, but I must go and do what I can. Charles is back and preparing to leave for the site of the accident with Mr Dobson."
She interrupted him, "I must go, too. Charles will need help; if people are wounded, they will have to be attended to at once or they will die in this weather. I have to go."
He tried to protest, to advise that she was too tired after her long journey, but she would not hear of it and as she sprang out of bed, said, "Colin, I am a trained nurse, I have cared for soldiers returned from the war with dreadful wounds. I know what has to be done. Dobson has been an orderly; he can certainly help, but I can work with Charles to save lives. I must go. Now, please find Jenny Dawkins; she knows where all my things are, from the hospital at Harwood."
As she said the words, a thought occurred to her and she raced out calling to her father, "Papa, the hospital at Bell's Field, may we not use it to shelter and treat the wounded?" she asked, and hearing her, Charles, who was in the hallway about to leave, turned at the door and came back in. "Anne-Marie, that is an excellent idea! It would give us exactly what we need--shelter from the cold and a clean, safe place to treat them within easy distance."
"There aren't any beds for adults, although there are pallets, pillows, and blankets. And it's bound to be cold," warned Anna, but neither Charles nor Anne-Marie were concerned.
"It cannot be colder than lying in Sidley's creek or out in the paddock. I think, Father, it would help save lives if we could use the building and keep the injured from dying of pneumonia as much as from their wounds," said Charles and Anne-Marie did not even have to add her plea to his.
Convinced they were right, Jonathan agreed immediately and gave Dobson the keys to the hospital, while others bustled around gathering together blankets, candles, and other similar necessities. The large carriage was brought round and presently, they set off, driving with some trepidation into the still falling sleet.
Poor Mrs Perrot had tears in her eyes as she saw them depart. Anna was unsure whether they were tears of sympathy for the victims or sorrow for the ruins of the celebratory dinner with which she had planned to welcome Mr and Mrs Elliott home.

On arriving at the bridge over Sidley's Creek, they were met by a scene of absolute devastation and panic. The engine and two of the front coaches had plunged into the frozen creek where they lay, half-submerged, crumpled wrecks, wrapped in an ominous silence, which suggested that most of the unfortunates within had perished. It was possible that a few, those who were young and strong enough, had clambered out but for the most part, there was neither sound nor movement to signify any hope of life. It was a hideous thought and Anne-Marie, feeling a cold knot of fear inside her, reached for her husband's reassuring hand, as they moved slowly down the embankment towards the wreck.

On the other side of the tracks, lying on its side, broken and buckled, was the rest of the train, twisted, pulled apart as if by a raging giant, its bits and pieces flung around the paddock like a child's toys. While some of it had been reduced to matchwood, other parts of the train were intact, and out of them hung injured passengers, in a variety of grotesque postures, while some had escaped by climbing out of the shattered windows. Many lay on the ground, forlorn, calling for help; yet others lay still, dead or dying.

Colin Elliott, gazing upon the harrowing scene, could not help himself, "Good God!" he exclaimed, "This is Hell!"
His wife tightened her grip on his hand; clearly he was unfamiliar with the scale of destruction and suffering that confronted them. She knew she would have to help him cope, by concentrating upon the practical things that had to be done immediately and they were legion!
Charles Bingley and Mr Dobson had set to work at once, attending upon those who lay on the grass or fallen beside the tracks, having been flung or clambered out of the shattered coaches. Some men from the villages around Sidley's Creek had heard of the accident and had come along to help; others had gathered out of idle curiosity.
Charles soon directed the local police onto them. "Tell them, officer, that they must either help us or go home to their families. Those who can help, I want strong men who can lift and carry to bring along flat boards to be used as litters; blankets and oil sheets to cover the wounded; and any form of transport, farm carts, anything that may be used to move these people to the hospital at Bell's Field, else many of them will die of exposure," he warned.
As the police moved in, there were a few predictable grumbles about town toffs ordering them about, but most of them realised the gravity of the situation and did as they were asked.
Some returned with carts and litters made from old doors, farm wagons, lanterns, and a load of firewood and kindling, with which they made a fire in the middle of the paddock, providing welcome warmth and light.
Charles Bingley moved quickly to assess the state of each of the survivors, while the police began their grim duty of trying to identify and remove the dead. Several of the victims were women and children, returning from an expedition to the city or from visiting relatives and, to her horror, Anne-Marie found that some had already succumbed to their injuries. Their wounds and the biting cold to which they had been exposed for more than an hour had taken their toll.
When Elliott had overcome the shock of seeing such mayhem, he went to assist Mr Dobson, who had a flask of brandy which he held to the lips of those who needed fortification, as they waited to be treated, many of whom grasped it gratefully. It was the only comfort available.
Anne-Marie, meanwhile, was working quickly to staunch the bleeding and bind up their injuries, while trying also to give hope to desperate mothers struggling to comfort their injured and terrified children. Paying scant attention to her own health, she moved from one to another, sometimes stopping to help and comfort, or calling urgently to her brother for attention to an injury that required his special skill.
Watching her work, Colin Elliott realised that, while he was well aware of her compassionate nature, he had known little of her skill and strength. With each passing moment, she grew in his esteem. In the intervening hours, Jonathan Bingley and his wife Anna had hastened first to Longbourn to acquaint Mrs Collins with the grave news and borrow the services of Mr Bowles and Harriet and thence to Haye Park to collect Dr Faulkner, Anna's father. Together, they proceeded to the new but not as yet open hospital at Bell's Field to prepare for the arrival of the wounded travellers.
Plans had been afoot to have Mrs Elliott, the wife of their newlywed local MP do the honours in the New Year, but Fate had forced an earlier opening. The emergency room and main ward were opened up; lamps lit; and pallets, pillows, and blankets laid out for the wounded, who were soon to arrive by a variety of means. Anna was glad her father had been able to attend. Dr Faulkner, though now advancing in years and not capable of rushing to an accident as he used to do when the railways first came to the area, was still a most reliable and experienced physician and, with so many injured, he would be of considerable help to Charles.
Back at Sidley's Creek, there was weeping, as the bodies of some adults and several children were taken from the water and the ruins of the coaches. Others, who were past care, lay in the open, clearly near death and as Elliott watched, amazed, Anne-Marie and her brother made them comfortable with a blanket, a drink of water, and a kind word, knowing there was little more they could do, as life ebbed from their bodies. Mr Griffin wandered among them, dispensing consolation with prayers and Holy Water, while Mr Dobson provided more down-to-earth comfort from his hip flask. Both men were doing their best; they would probably never know who was more effective in ministering to the distressed and dying at Sidley's Creek that night.
The wounded were being transported slowly; too slowly it seemed to Anne-Marie, who was eager to see them removed to a more sheltered place, from the wreck to the road above the creek and thence to the hospital at Bell's Field. She had ensured that their wounds were at least cleansed of mud and dirt and bound up, the bleeding staunched and their bodies wrapped in blankets to keep out the cold. Mr Dobson had taken charge of moving the injured, giving instructions to those men and women who had stayed to help, on the need to move them swiftly yet with great care. His experience in the Crimea was proving invaluable.