Page 3

It was a pleasant autumn morning as the Bennet family gathered in the dining room to break their fast. Mr Bennet watched his wife and daughters take their usual places at the table, and once they were gathered, he asked Jane to say grace over the meal.

When the eldest sister completed the prayer, Mr Hill entered the room with a teapot.

While the family reached for the bowls and platters on the table with porridge, meat, and some bread, Hill poured the tea beginning with the cup beside Mrs Bennet’s plate.

He moved around the table and finished with Miss Lydia’s cup.

“Why am I last to be served tea?” the youngest sister whined. “My cup always has leaves in the bottom of the cup.”

“We all have tea leaves in our cup with breakfast, Lydia,” Mary replied. “Mrs Hill makes the leaves serve the family several times.”

“But fresh tea tastes so much better,” observed Kitty.

“It does taste better, but tea leaves are expensive,” Jane said. “We have to make every penny count.”

Lydia smirked and said, “I shall marry a rich officer and have tea made with fresh leaves in every teapot. Or I shall drink wine with every meal.”

“Wine? At breakfast?” declared Mrs Bennet. “Nonsense, Lydia. You must never serve wine until supper. Beer and ale are suitable at luncheon if you do not wish to serve tea.”

Mr Bennet ignored the conversation about beverages for different meals until Elizabeth asked, “Father, has the price of tea risen in the past few years?”

Nodding once, he replied, “Your Uncle Gardner wrote in his latest letter that ships arrive with chests of tea every day of the week–even on Sunday. But the price remains high because His Majesty’s government maintains the tax on tea to pay for the war.”

Mary summed up the problem with a single word, “Bonaparte.”

Mr Hill entered the dining room with the teapot, filled once again with hot tea, and he began with Mr Bennet’s cup this time, ending with Elizabeth’s cup.

The young woman saw the chopped tea leaves in the bottom of her teacup. There were not many, but a few slivers were present. Turning to her father, Elizabeth inquired, “Father, did you know Mrs Hill uses the tea leaves several times when making our tea?”

His head buried in the newspaper; Mr Bennet ignored the question momentarily.

A London newspaper was always delivered to Longbourn in the afternoon, and Mr Bennet used it as a shield at the breakfast table the next morning to avoid conversation with his wife and daughters.

This morning, the master of Longbourn shook the newspaper out before folding it and turning his attention to his most intelligent daughter.

“What do you mean, Lizzie?”

“Mrs Hill uses the same leaves more than once to make our tea,” Elizabeth explained.

Mrs Bennet spoke up and said, “Lizzy, Mrs Hill knows what she is about in the kitchens. The tea leaves come from my brother’s establishment in London, and we have fresh tea more often than our neighbours.”

Mr Bennet nodded toward his wife and replied to his daughter, “There is hot tea when we break our fast, then again in the afternoon and sometimes in the evenings before I retire. Mrs Bennet directs matters in the kitchen.”

That ended the topic of tea leaves for the moment, but Mr Bennet chose the moment to address other matters of money.

He declared, “I have worked through my accounts for the year, and we shall be without funds for new shoes, ribbons, books, or cloth for new dresses until Mrs Bennet’s allowance arrives after the new year. ”

There were wails and tears until Mr Bennet reminded his wife and youngest daughters that they had new gowns for the assembly in two nights.

“Take care of the hems and seams so they are suitable to wear at Christmas parties,” he stated. “I shall wear my favourite coat and trousers without regard to their being new or old.”

“Gentlemen don’t have to worry about such matters,” Mrs Bennet said. “But Jane must have new gowns while in Mr Bingley’s company.”

“I appreciate your positive notions, my dear, especially since Mr Bingley and Jane have yet to meet,” Mr Bennet said gently.

“But such positive thoughts do not change the size of our harvest this year. Our tenants cannot pay coins they do not have, and you shall do without new tea and ribbons, my dear.”

Mrs Bennet frowned when her husband reminded her, “You spent your allowance on other cloth, thread, lace, and ribbons.”

Rising from the table and retreating to his private office, Mr Bennet left the ladies of his household to discuss how they would make their dresses last until after the first of the year.

“I shall die if there are no new gowns until next year!” swore Lydia. Kitty echoed her younger sister’s complaints while Mrs Bennet sighed and failed to relieve the concerns of her youngest daughters.

Finally, Elizabeth interrupted her unhappy sisters, “We have new gowns for the assembly. And if we work together, we can remake those gowns to fit each other if we must have new gowns this autumn.”

“Refit gowns? Oh, lord! We’ll be dressed in clothes fit for the housemaids!” declared Kitty.

“I shall not wear a maid’s dress to a party! I would die of shame!” proclaimed Lydia.

Jane said, “Kitty, you wear my remade dresses every day. And Lydia wears gowns that were Lizzy’s or Mary’s. This is what sisters do.”

“No! I shall never wear such a gown again!” the youngest sister declared.

~~~

The hullabaloo about new gowns remained a topic of conversation for the youngest Bennet sisters and their mother in the days before the assembly.

Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary ignored the complaints of the others as they finished the hems and sewed the lace to their gowns and the gowns of their younger sisters.

The regular appearance of their mother’s sister kept the sisters entertained in the afternoon.

Aunt Phillips always arrived with new gossip; the lady was married to the local attorney who handled legal matters for the estates around Meryton and the merchants who needed help regarding taxes or payments.

With a teacup in hand, Mrs Phillips regaled Mrs Bennet with her news, “Sister, there is such a tale shared in Meryton. A handsome young man appeared at the Running Pig, and he displayed himself along the street when he had the effrontery to introduce himself to Miss Charlotte Lucas and her sister, Maria. The two sisters did not run from his presence but spoke to him long enough to find his name to be George Wickham, a man of business, come to Meryton to visit friends in the militia.”

“A man of business?” Mrs Bennet parroted.

“Indeed. He was well-dressed, and he claimed to have good prospects. In any case, Charlotte and Maria gave him a ticket to the assembly.”

Mrs Bennet smiled and declared, “It is Christmas come early with two young men in Meryton at once! First, Mr Bingley, and now this Mr Wickham.”

“Is he handsome, aunt?” asked Kitty.

“I have not seen him, but Charlotte Lucas and her sister said he is the most handsome man they have ever seen.”

Lydia snickered and replied, “Charlotte and Maria Lucas are both plain, and any man who looks at them would appear handsome.”

Ignoring the comment by her daughter, Mrs Bennet pressed her sister for more information, and though there was none, she began planning to present her daughters in their best finery at the assembly.

‘Perhaps he has money and can make a good husband for one of the girls.’ Frances told herself , ‘Oh, to have two daughters well married. I should never want for anything again.’

~~~

Finally, the night of the assembly arrived, with carriages making their way along the dirt roads leading to the hall in Meryton where the gathering would occur.

At Netherfield, as he climbed into his carriage, Charles Bingley smiled and hoped tonight began his transformation into a member of the landed gentry–his father and mother’s dearest wish had been for their son to emulate King George and become one of the gentleman farmers who ruled Britain.

His years at school and then university built the necessary connections with the sons of good families.

Several strong friendships eased his introduction into London society three years earlier.

Unknown to his sisters, these introductions had also helped him expand the family businesses with porcelains–teapots, teacups, and saucers from the Bingley Pottery continue to be produced to meet demand.

Charles smiled as he thought, ‘Everyone drinks tea and needs more teacups and teapots.’

His thoughts returned to an estate in Derbyshire, near the Bingley family home and business in Stoke-on-Trent, that an agent updated Charles about twice each year.

The elderly owner had three nieces who would inherit when he passed away, and the agent expected the estate to come up for sale within six months of the owner’s death.

‘Of course, the man might live for another ten years,’ Charles thought. ‘But Glenhaven would provide an estate with farms–sheep, I think it was–for the Bingley family while allowing me to keep a hand in the potteries.’

He glanced at his sisters . ‘But I shall not tell them. We are supposedly separated from the stench of trade.’

The smile on Bingley’s face was broad as he encouraged his younger sister to emulate him.

He said, “Come, Caroline, I should like to see you smile tonight. This is our introduction to the families of our neighbours for the next three years, and I should think you would like to make a good impression.”

The reply was short and loud, “No! This is a wilderness!”

Geoffrey Hurst, seated across the well of the carriage, echoed Charles, “Sister, you and Louisa will be the best-dressed ladies in attendance tonight. You will establish yourselves as the most fashionable sisters in the whole of Hertfordshire.”