Page 9 of The Last House in Lambton (Pride and Prejudice Variations #6)
CHAPTER EIGHT
E xtraordinary! That was the only word that came to mind as I sat in benumbed comfort on the carriage ride back to Mrs Jennings’s house.
He must have enquired! In the interim between my arrival and my departure, Mr Darcy must have asked the servants what they knew of me.
Mrs Reynolds had most likely told the butler of my first visit, perhaps only for the sake of relating I had her permission to call again.
In any case, the fact that the gentleman knew which house I visited struck me as, well—it was extraordinary!
No possible explanation came to mind, except that he perhaps prided himself on such meticulous attention to detail that he knew of everyone’s movements and whereabouts.
But no. He never cared one jot about who was where in Hertfordshire.
I shook off my confusion and opened the book Mrs Reynolds had lent to me.
Hmm, pease soup. The ingredients were all homely enough.
No references to obscure mushrooms or French sauces.
I knew we had cabbages and carrots stored in the root cellar under the kitchen, and though the potatoes were mealy, I could make use of them with some judicious paring.
Did we have dried peas? I was not sure, and so as we passed through Lambton, I knocked on the roof with my umbrella.
“I need to run an errand, if you would leave me here,” I said, when the footman opened the door.
The groom jumped down off the box and went to the team, and so I smiled and said, “There is no need to wait for me.”
“We are to see you to your door, miss,” the footman said with unblinking sincerity.
“Oh, but—” I could see there was no talking them out of their duty, so I changed tack. “I will only be a moment, but might you collect me outside the butcher’s shop?”
I returned in less than a quarter hour with a parcel of dried peas and a few other ingredients for my soup, and in a moment of supreme gratification, I caught a glimpse of awe on Mrs Edmonton’s face as the most elegant carriage in the neighbourhood passed by her front window and deposited me at Mrs Jennings’s door.
“On no account open the door if anyone knocks, Doreen,” I said, quickly taking off my coat and securing the latch.
Sure enough, not two minutes later, we heard Mrs Edmonton’s determined efforts to be admitted.
After three consecutive attempts, the lady gave up, and I then went to Mrs Jennings’s room to see how she fared.
I strove mightily to put the entire episode with Mr Darcy from my mind. I was aided in this by Mrs Smith’s threat of defection and my strategy to make her regret her manoeuvre to rule me.
“Good day,” I said breezily as I entered the kitchen the following morning.
She stood over a pot of porridge, while Doreen, Penny, and Smith sat at the table.
“Do sit,” I told them as they began to straggle to their feet.
Meanwhile, the cook stood with her back to the room, one fist thrust into her ample side, her elbow jutting out in opposition to me.
“Good morning to you, too, Mrs Smith,” I called out in my sunniest voice. “I believe your week’s leave begins tomorrow. I hope you enjoy good weather during your furlough. Does Mr Smith plan on a leave as well, or will we see him as usual?”
By the stiffness of her back, I knew my first volley had hit the forwards mast, so to speak. I pressed ahead before she could answer me.
“Smith, if you are not coming to work for a spell, see to the firewood, will you? Do we have coal to see us through Christmas Day? Oh, and if Penny is to haul all the water while you are gone, you might at least help her sand the floors today to make up for it.”
Smith darted a glance at the cook, lowered his eyes and mumbled something to the effect that he had no plans to take a leave.
“Oh?” I replied. “Forgive me. I had thought—but never mind. No doubt you will stay here if Mrs Smith is not at home? You can bunk in the kitchen and Penny can sleep—well, we shall shift things around neat as you please, will we not, Doreen? Do let me know about the stores of firewood and coal though, and be a dear and help Penny.”
“I dunna suppose I need to go,” Mrs Smith said warily, wiping her hands on her apron as she turned to face me fully.
“Of course you must take your leave!” I cried.
“Here. I have put your wages in this envelope, so you do not have to wait for the end of the month. I would not begrudge you the time you were promised and have looked forwards to all year .” This lament had been a feature of her original announcement, and I delighted in throwing her words back at her.
“No doubt you will visit family, just as Mrs Burke has done. But I should not be disrupting the breakfast. I believe that porridge is about to boil out of its pot. Perhaps the stove is too hot?”
She whirled around to rescue her porridge, and I fired my last volley with fearsome accuracy.
“I will go to the butcher first thing after breakfast and bring home the goose I bespoke yesterday. That way, you can truss it up and put it on the spit for Mrs Jennings’s dinner.
I am sure you are anxious to go, so you need not stay.
Penny and I will tend to the roasting and warm up yesterday’s pudding as well. ”
I believe it was Doreen, who after her first taste of goose and a large slice of pudding, had hinted that Mrs Smith had left the house in a state of dejection, having been denied a taste of such a luxurious bird.
The maid spoke with more animation than was usual—maybe even with a touch of glee—assuring me that both she and Penny had watched carefully and made note of every step required of trussing and roasting the bird.
This subterfuge had been at the heart of my sly plan involving the goose, as I had no intention of feeding Mrs Jennings a stew on Christmas Day.
Between the three of us and with help from the book lent to me by Mrs Reynolds, I began to hope we might have a reasonable Christmas dinner even without a cook.
I had walked a great many miles in the weeks since my arrival, I had sometimes slept fitfully on account of the discomfort of my legs, and more importantly, the discomfort of my situation, and I had no time for leisure whatsoever.
That night, however, full of triumph, pudding, and goose fat, I fell into a sound, dreamless sleep.
Yet, it is a perverse fact that an exhausted person who sleeps well will wake up to a case of even worse exhaustion, and so it was for me.
Christmas being three days away, however, meant this was no time for rest. I went out early for my errands, and two hours later, with my arms weighted on both sides by the baskets I carried, I trudged up the high street back to Mrs Jennings’s house.
A carriage pulled alongside me, but I paid it no mind, walking along in a daze, vaguely wondering if the rain would turn to snow later that afternoon. Strangely, I heard my name spoken in the unmistakable low and sober?—
“Mr Darcy!” I gasped.
“Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”
Unbelievably, the gentleman stepped out onto the road. “Here,” he said, taking first one and then the other basket from my benumbed fingers. He handed them to the liveried footman, turned back to me, and extended his hand in a wordless gesture suggesting he intended to take me up in his coach.
“There is no—” I began, only to find myself once again subjected to his firm grip and manoeuvred into a carriage.
I let out a small huff under my breath. No one likes to be the victim of so much assistance. A person thus treated begins to believe herself to be pitiful.
“Thank you, Mr Darcy,” I said distantly when he joined me.
“It is cold to be walking.”
I tried not to roll my eyes, and with some effort refrained from pointing out that some of us do not have a choice in the matter.
In response to my silence, Mr Darcy also subsided into a period of introspection, until the moment the wheels began to slow, signalling an end to our brief sequestration.
“Will I see you in church on Christmas Day?”
“I doubt we shall go, sir. ”
“Is Mrs Jennings feeling poorly?”
I looked him directly in the eyes, and said, “She does not keep a carriage, and my great-aunt is far too frail to walk that far.”
He had the good sense to look embarrassed. “I am sorry to hear it. I had thought that perhaps I might make you known to my sister.”
“I am sorry not to make her acquaintance,” I said, taken aback. We had come to a full stop and the footman opened the door.
“Might we perhaps come for you? Unless she does not wish to?—”
“I am sure Mrs Jennings would like to go to church, but perhaps another time when the prospect is not so sudden.” I could not explain that her fragile memory required extensive preparation for anything new, lest she become disoriented or even frightened.
“Of course,” he said, stepping down and leading me up the steps to the door.
I do not know why I then felt a touch of remorse for my coldness. Perhaps it was some change in his posture or his reluctance to release my hand even after he had helped me down the steps of his carriage.
I relented and turned to face him. “If you and Georgiana would like to call on Mrs Jennings, I believe she would be grateful for a visit. Our days are unvarying, and we have no company, save the scandalmonger next door.” I smiled at the gentleman apologetically as I said this, since the renewal of our acquaintance under these circumstances constituted an act of pure condescension on his part.
He glanced at the house, and I wondered if I had suggested more than he could stomach, but he then said, “Might we call tomorrow?”