Page 36 of The Last House in Lambton (Pride and Prejudice Variations #6)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

T he business undertaken by my uncle took three full days.

On the twentieth of February, he again went to the house and looked it over.

I assumed he did so with a critical eye this time and with the intent to discover whatever improvements might be needed to make it a decent boarding house.

I knew my uncle well enough to know that if it were his to run, it would be akin to a clockwork and clean to boot.

Certainly, the gutters would be repaired, the yard set with gravel, and the shed rebuilt.

As to the inside, I felt a pang of sympathetic amusement for Doreen who was sure to feel the sting of the whip for once.

The next day was Sunday, and since Mr Gardiner seemed to believe we had been doing so all along—which we had not—we went to church.

Two carriages were required since there were five of us, and I was surprised to discover that Mrs Reynolds came with the ladies and Mr Parker with the gentlemen.

Every house had its customs, I supposed, and this was but an example of just how critical were these two members of Pemberley’s management .

For my part, I was glad to have the additional concealment.

As it was, I was stared at, the subject of behind-hand whispers, and introduced with discomfort to the vicar and his wife, who should have met me long ago, and who fell over themselves to extend a belated welcome.

I sat between Mrs Reynolds and Mrs Annesley to lessen the impression I had insinuated myself into a sphere in which I did not belong and thought of Mary throughout the homily.

However often she irritated and embarrassed me, she had defended me against Mr Wickham’s charge of fortune hunting, and for that I intended to reward her.

She had never been taken to Mrs Gardiner in London and had overcome this slight by stating that city life held no interest for her.

I decided that when my uncle had forgiven me, I would convince him to take Mary to his wife for a gentle polishing and some rare encouragement.

After church, we met Sir Hugh and Lady Pembridge, but it was cold, and we did not linger.

We ate a quiet dinner and spent the evening in private pursuits appropriate for a day of worship.

I wrote a long letter to Jane, describing all I had been through in detail, and then discretely tossed the pages—it was indeed that long—in the fire.

For one thing, it read like a lurid penny-novel printed on the unbleached pulp used to wrap fish, and for another, I had developed a protective impulse surrounding the whole debacle which left me hoarding its details as though they were precious jewels.

It would be a long time, I reflected as I sat staring into the hearth, before I would be able to laugh at anything that had befallen me.

The following day found us in a state of residual quietude.

My uncle sat with us in the little parlour after breakfast, while Georgiana and her companion went to the music room for her usual hour of practice.

Mr Darcy rode out on the estate. I knew because I saw him out of the window, mounted on a majestic hunter, surrounded by three of his people, equally well-mounted and dressed for purpose rather than pleasure.

I had come to understand by means of simple absorption that he took his responsibilities seriously, and I pitied the poor farmer who left a sickle out to rust or even let a dog run loose to scare any passing children.

We had just such a man at Longbourn, and as a girl, I had worn a path on the far side of his fields in order to avoid being bitten on the heel.

If only Papa had spent a tenth of his time—but, this was fruitless wishing.

I sat in front of Auntie and held a dwindling ball of yarn as her needles clacked in and out of woollen loops.

She had been so well-entertained at Pemberley she was just now coming to the end of the skein she had begun weeks ago, the one I intended for Penny’s shawl.

Well, it was more of a blanket, but I would help her to tie it off when the last stitch was set, and it would be a great boon to the child.

“Auntie will need a few things from the village soon. She is low on tinctures and yarn, and I shall have a parcel for her kitchen girl,” I told my uncle.

He had been compiling a list of details pertaining to the Frye house and looked up almost agreeably, and he said he would take me himself later that afternoon. He was little by little less stiff with me.

We were interrupted then by a footman who reported that I had a visitor—a Mrs Burke. After one glance of surprise between my uncle and me, I asked that she be brought up.

The woman strode in and spoke without preamble. “What is the meaning of this, Miss Bennet?”

By this time, I was standing and came reflexively to my full height. “Are you indeed speaking to me?” I demanded coldly.

She flushed and dipped a square curtsey. “Beg pardon, but what am I to think when my mistress has been taken from her home. ”

“You might perhaps think that her rightful relations have undertaken her care and that you are her housekeeper.”

“I have only come to see that she is well,” she replied irritably.

I motioned her towards Mrs Jennings and said, “By all means, Mrs Burke. I have never thought you neglectful or disinterested in her welfare.”

She stalked across the room and bent over her mistress. “Good morning, Mrs Jennings,” she said in her forthright manner. “Are you well?”

Not a spark of recognition lit Auntie’s eyes, and she looked to me for enlightenment.

“You remember Mrs Burke, ma’am? She keeps your house and has been away for a few weeks.”

I could almost pity Mrs Burke. She was clearly shocked to realise that she, who had been Mrs Jennings’s principal support for years upon years, had been so easily forgot. My great-aunt smiled pleasantly at the woman and went back to her knitting.

“You have arrived betimes, Mrs Burke, which is perhaps fortunate. This gentleman is Mrs Gardiner’s husband, who is here to settle Mrs Jennings’s affairs. Excuse me, Uncle, but I shall see if Miss Darcy is finished with her practice.”

I left them alone for what would be, in effect, an interview, and wondered if Mrs Burke, finding herself suddenly obliged to beg for a job, now regretted storming into Pemberley to berate me.

Later, on our way into the village, Mr Gardiner related that he had stated his intention of converting the house to a lodging for boarders, and he put the woman on notice he would arrive on the premises on the following day to discuss the matter further.

“That was fair of you, sir,” I said. “Now that she understands the precariousness of her position, she will have the place in good order.”

“I should hope so.”

“She is not bad,” I said.

“She had better become good very quickly, however, because I shall close the house meanwhile and bring someone from London if I must.” Later, before I dressed for dinner, I wandered to the library and met Mr Darcy quite by accident in the hall.

He had, to my absolute relief, ceased to be always presenting himself to my notice, and it had been days since we had said more than a civil greeting.

“I understand your sworn enemy paid you a call this morning,” he remarked with amused interest.

“Mrs Burke very soon regretted her effrontery since Mrs Jennings did not recognise her, and Mr Gardiner proceeded to point out to whom she will now answer.”

“Ah. Is your pride avenged?”

“Wickedly so, I am afraid. And now I even pity her because Uncle Gardiner is reputed to be meticulous in his businesses.”

“I do not doubt that. Might I help you find a book?”

“Oh, well…” The awful truth struck me like a blow. “Perhaps I should not become immersed in something new. Now that my uncle has met Mrs Burke and can finalise his plans, we shall certainly make arrangements to go.”

If silence were a maw, we would have been devoured by the beast, for it loomed enormously around us. I mumbled something incoherent and escaped to dress for dinner.

The silence that had bloomed mysteriously between us continued during the meal.

I found my throat was almost too constricted to eat, and Mr Darcy sat mute as a sphinx when my uncle announced the date of our departure—two days hence.

He was the only person pleased by this news, and so much so that he did not notice Georgiana’s retreat behind her mask-like expression or Mrs Annesley’s desperate efforts to keep some conversation in play.

The following day my uncle left me and a small purse of coins at Stevenson’s to make purchases, and he went to the Frye house.

He took Penny’s parcel with him, only after offering me a brief reminder that charity was one thing, but to become too attached would help no one.

The unfortunate truth—that the depth of poverty which surrounded the village was too great for an impoverished gentlewoman to solve with the gift of one shawl—depressed me into a state of calm resignation which lingered.

Later that afternoon, I packed my trunks with the help of Georgiana’s maid and in a manner far more deliberate than I would have in other circumstances.

I kept up a brave front. No good would come of making a spectacle of my unhappiness.

I met with Mrs Reynolds once again, this time to beg she would write to me or Mrs Gardiner at the addresses I supplied, if at any time Mrs Jennings became disruptive or required attendance beyond what Ruth could provide.

I reaffirmed our intention to pay for any medical attention or even the smallest trifle the widow might need.