Page 10 of The Last House in Lambton (Pride and Prejudice Variations #6)

CHAPTER NINE

A pparently, my willingness to stand up to Mrs Smith’s bullying caused a renewed sense of dedication in the servants who remained.

Smith shrank into near invisibility, but he did haul the day’s water and helped Penny sand the kitchen floor, as well as relating, through Doreen, that we had sufficient firewood and coal to see us through the second week of January.

Penny was rendered more in awe of me than was reasonable, however, and I spoke kindly to her as often as possible.

And Doreen, though never truly energetic, seemed more inclined to do her work.

We were a beehive of activity in the morning, for I had announced the previous afternoon that we would have important company that day, and we had better not embarrass Mrs Jennings.

Satisfied that the parlour would be presentable for company, and in my apron and poorest dress, now relegated to serve as my costume for domestic toil, I began the business of making pease soup.

Anyone witnessing me engaged in the art of cooking would think I was performing a surgery.

With my hair piled up and restrained by a wide strip of linen, my brow wrinkled in concentration, and mumbling aloud as I worked, I wielded my cleaver and ladle.

The broth began to steam and let out a tempting aroma, which encouraged my devotion to its development.

I sieved out the chicken bones, added the dried peas, carrots, bay leaves, and thinly sliced cabbage, and I had just set the lid and moved the pot to the spot on the stove that was favourable for a gentle simmer, when the door to the kitchen burst open.

Doreen, looking mildly harassed, stood before me and said, “Miss, the gentleman and lady have come.”

“What? My lord—the time! But it is not yet eleven! My goodness!” I exclaimed, fumbling with the knot of my apron strings when I came to a full stop.

“Mr Darcy!”

“Forgive me,” he said at the kitchen door, bowing awkwardly over the large hamper he carried. “I thought this too heavy for you to manage.” He came farther into the kitchen and put his offering on the table.

“Oh!” I exclaimed stupidly. By then I had at least managed to remove my apron, which did little more than reveal my ugliest brown wool dress.

And my hair! I reached for the linen strip, only to find that a large tendril of hair had escaped.

I brushed it aside, gathered what precious little dignity I had left, and said, “You are very welcome, sir. Is Miss Darcy with you?”

His sister stood in the parlour looking uncomfortable and extremely elegant in green velvet with a matching, fur-lined pelisse. Mr Darcy, a man disinclined to apply finesse of any kind, then performed a stilted introduction, which made the actual clumsiness of our meeting ten times worse.

The gentleman’s failure or inability to gloss over my ill-preparedness for callers by begging pardon for his premature arrival, left me with no choice but to behave as though I were not at all embarrassed by being caught out.

I spoke in a bright, uninterrupted babble of disconnected thoughts, a style I sometimes resorted to when on the back foot.

My father had characterised this as my attempt to fluster the enemy with a hail of friendly grapeshot, and indeed, Mr Darcy and his sister both stood before me with looks of befuddled amazement.

“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Darcy. But how lovely for us you have come! Forgive me for the state of my dress just now, but I was trying my hand at cooking, which I have never done, and I lost track of the time. Mrs Reynolds suggested I might manage a soup, because our cook left us unexpectedly for the week—but never mind. I believe I might enjoy cooking, which is quite surprising to me, but a pastime that would horrify my mother, should she ever find out what I have been up to. Might you excuse me while I fetch Mrs Jennings? She will be so happy to welcome you both, but—where are my manners? Goodness, I am all at sea! Please make yourselves comfortable, and Doreen,” I called out to the maid gawking at us from the hall, “tell Penny to put the kettle on the hob and help me with the tea.”

I finished with a tremendous smile which I hoped lessened their feelings of dismay, and in truth, by that time, I could not help but be amused by the extreme awkwardness of our meeting. Miss Darcy returned a tentative smile to me, and I dashed away.

Once upstairs, I struggled out of my horrid brown dress and into my only decent gown with a front closure.

I let my hair down, pinned back my curls with two combs and a ribbon, ran to Mrs Jennings’s room, helped her into her shoes, fixed her cap and shawl, and after a large gulp of air, I took her down the stairs.

“Auntie,” I said, “this is Mr Darcy.”

“Oh, Mr Darcy!” she said, clapping her hands together in glee. “How good to see you again, sir. And Mrs Darcy,” she added, beaming at the gentleman’s sister. “You look so well in green. But when did you return from London, ma’am?”

“Auntie, this is—” I began.

But Mr Darcy stepped forwards, and with surprising gentleness, he took her hand. “I am glad to see you again, Mrs Jennings,” he said, leading her to a chair. “When was the last time we met?”

“Just after Michaelmas, sir. Do you not recall? Dear Mrs Darcy brought me a basket. Mr Jennings was not well…”

Oh dear. Talk of Mr Jennings always resulted in teary confusion as to why he would not come home.

“A basket?” I cried happily, glancing apologetically at my company. “And what did dear Mrs Darcy bring you?”

“Tsk-tsk, Hannah. Do you not recall? You were with me when she came. You came all the way from Yorkshire when you heard John was poorly.” Once again, her face seemed about to crumple.

“Did I? Well!” I turned urgently to the young lady in search of some other topic. “How long will you stay in the country, Miss Darcy? Do you go to London for the Season?”

Miss Darcy then struck me as fatally shy. She blushed fiery red, and with downcast eyes, replied they would go to town for the most pressing part of the Season. I could get no help with the conversation from that quarter, so I glanced pleadingly at her brother.

He seemed to understand what I asked of him, but unfortunately, he chose the one topic I wished to avoid.

“What was Mr Jennings’s principal business, ma’am?”

“He wrote pamphlets for pleasure later in life, and took his pension from a brokerage in Manchester. He had many connexions with the mine owners here, but principally, he represented the interests of Lord Carlson,” I hastily explained.

I was on the edge of being forced to make excuses for Mrs Jennings then, as she began to worry her handkerchief, but we were rescued by the sound of the knocker.

Our guests looked questioningly at me as I sat rooted in my chair. After a half-second of mortified disbelief, I began to chuckle and shake my head.

“Miss Darcy, I am afraid you will be held captive in this room for half an hour at least.”

I stood up. “Pardon me while I retrieve the tea tray, and pay no mind to the door. On no account give way to the impulse to open it, sir,” I added, “lest you make the error of becoming acquainted with our neighbour.”

Once I stood safely behind the closed kitchen door, I rested my back against it, covered my face in my hands, and suffered a moment of silent, slightly hysterical laughter that co-mingled with tears of mortification.

“Are you well, miss?” Penny whispered.

I straightened and brushed down my skirts. “Never better,” I said briskly while swiping at my eyes, and we set about readying the tea.

Mr Darcy came quickly into the hall to relieve me of the tray before I had fully entered the room, and as I went about the ritual of refreshments, I spoke with deliberate composure, lest I break into a fit of demented giggles.

“Mrs Edmonton will knock again shortly and again in ten minutes. Thereafter, you will have a spell of a quarter of an hour before she comes out again in which to make your escape. You must be wondering at my rudeness, but she is only here to satisfy her curiosity, and she stays for such prolonged visits that poor Mrs Jennings must thereafter lie down to recuperate.”

Even as I finished speaking, the doorknocker sounded again.

This caused Miss Darcy to peek at me and to offer me a shy grin, which I answered with an encouraging smile.

Still, she was unequal to helping along the conversation, and her brother, no less tongue-tied, paid meticulous attention to his cup and saucer.

What an exhausting pair, I reflected despairingly as I searched for something to say that would not bring the ghost of Mr Jennings into the room.

“What do you hear from Mr Bingley, sir?” I asked.

“He is in London just now with his sisters,” he replied, looking askance at the rug.

“Oh? I had thought he had perhaps left town. My sister Jane called on Miss Bingley some weeks ago, and though they met again briefly, I do not believe they have seen one another since.”

My lord. Could I have selected a worse subject? I was now, compounded with feelings of mortification and harassment, strongly irritated with Mr Darcy. However, the subject had been broached, and I boldly searched his face as I spoke, thinking I might catch some expression of guilt.

“Ahem,” he said, looking abstractedly at a framed watercolour on the wall. “I believe he intended to visit relatives in Scarborough.”

“Did he?” Miss Darcy asked in a tiny voice. “I saw Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst very lately, and they made no mention of leaving London.”

In grim triumph, I watched Mr Darcy’s colour change to the dusky shade of a shameless liar, fairly caught.

“Oh well,” I interjected, “I doubt such elegant ladies as Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst have much time for an acquaintance from Hertfordshire. Though they did claim to like Jane a great deal when they were at Netherfield Park, did they not, sir?”

I turned to Miss Darcy. “My eldest sister fell ill while visiting Mr Bingley’s sisters, and they insisted she stay to recover.

Miss Bingley in particular expressed so much relief when she was finally well enough to leave Netherfield and return home, I thought she might be sincerely attached to her.

” I slanted a glance at Mr Darcy to see how that dart struck before breezily returning my attention to his sister.

“Mr Bingley even paid my sister the compliment—or so it seemed to the neighbourhood—of delaying his ball until she was well enough to dance. He is a most amiable young man, is he not? All Meryton thought he was suited for country life. But perhaps we misread him, for he never did return to Hertfordshire after saying he would come back in a few days. He even promised to take dinner at Longbourn, but now there is talk he will close up the house and give up the lease.”

I smiled like a cat at Mr Darcy as he shifted in his seat, and then I glibly continued. “But perhaps Jane will meet the Bingleys and Hursts at church—” I stopped abruptly and pinned him with a slightly accusatory look. “But at which church do they worship, Mr Darcy?”

“Saint Bride’s, I believe.”

I had discomposed him to such a degree by hinting Jane would force herself on Mr Bingley’s notice at church that he visibly jumped when the door knocker sounded again.

And when we at last enjoyed a resounding silence at the end of a prolonged interruption of persistent knocking, he stood to take his sister away.

We saw our company to the door, where Mrs Jennings was sweetly affected by the farewell.

She thanked her visitors for coming, sniffled and wiped her eyes in gratitude, and wondered at their goodness.

I tucked her shawl around her tiny shoulders, clucked at her for being such a watering pot, and spoke my appreciation much more succinctly.

Mr Darcy took Mrs Jennings’s hand and then my own, which surprised me very much, for he was not a warm man.

This inspired me to offer my hand to his sister, and she took it with shy goodwill.

I have noticed that those we wish to be rid of are parted with most cordially indeed, and felt this to be the case, since the end of their visit could not have been a happier occasion for me.

I supposed they must also be rejoicing as they went down the road.

I dashed upstairs to put my brown dress back on, and I went back to nurse my soup, content that we would never see the Darcys at our door again.