Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (24 page)

After Hannah had assured Mrs. Darcy that the weather, the roads, and her health were splendid, Mrs. Darcy came directly to the reason she had bid her come to Pemberley. Would Hannah be agreeable to undertaking a situation of lady-maid?

Lady-maid to Mrs. Darcy! At that thought, two bright red splotches coloured high upon Hannah’s cheeks. She flushed with pride and pleasure. She had no notion of why Mrs. Darcy would ask a person such as herself to hold such an important position. Even Hannah knew that most great ladies insisted upon a French lady-maid. She had
seen one from Whitemore following the Earl’s wife with more disdain upon her face than the great lady wore herself.

An agreement was met. Hannah understood there would be a period of trial for them both. With an ingenuousness not usually found amongst ladies of station, Mrs. Darcy suggested that Hannah might not favour the position. Hannah could not imagine such a thing. She would gladly have scoured the scullery and emptied the chamber pots in such a great house.

Even if Mrs. Reynolds was the harridan she evidently was.

Curtly, the housekeeper bid her bring her things to the house the next day, giving notice at the inn obviously not an issue. Having worked there, Hannah knew a great deal about caring for the needs of others, but none so privileged as those at Pemberley. She thought perchance that was why Mrs. Reynolds was so brusque to her, for her duties would be complicated and ignorance a disadvantage. But eager to please, Hannah wrapped up what few personal items she could call her own and vowed to remember all she must. In a small wooden box containing other keepsakes (a lock of her mother’s hair and some buttons), she placed the letter written to her from Pemberley and set off for her new life.

She beat the cock to the morn to arrive at Pemberley by half-past five and stood, with all her earthly belongings, upon the threshold. Promptly at nine, she was ushered upstairs. Mrs. Darcy told her that because she had not had her own lady-maid before (Mrs. Darcy whispered the confidence to Hannah that she had shared one maid among five sisters) they would simply make their own rules about many things. Hannah’s few reservations about her own ability to please evaporated. Her lady was kind, the house was beautiful, and a bed-closet to herself was more than she might ever have dreamed.

Because it was midwinter, society dictated that Miss Georgiana, her companion, Mrs. Annesley, and her lady-maid, Anne, soon quit the house. Her return to London announced that Pemberley had returned to its pre-wedding routine. With the newlyweds in residence, however, that was not quite so. Without need to question anyone, Hannah noted that Mr. and Mrs. Darcy shared Mrs. Darcy’s bed each night, although the bedroom adjoining it (referred to by tittering chambermaids as Mr. Darcy’s bedroom) had its pristine linens changed with the same regularity as hers. Evidently, propriety and convention were respected, if not actually embraced.

Hannah quickly understood that Mrs. Reynolds held the triadic position of housekeeper, butler, and steward over the male and female help because Morton, the erstwhile butler, was of infirm mind.

Old Morton’s situation was a bit sad, as no one had ever had the heart to tell him he was no longer in charge of either the house or his faculties. Hence, when he remembered to issue orders, they were accepted with a bow and then ignored. The single duty the senescent Morton could recall was the morning snuffing of candles, and he spent most of his time shuffling down the corridors, extinguisher in hand regardless of the hour. This was a bit of a bother, but it did offer an additional position in the house for another servant whose sole duty was to trail him at a distance and relight the wicks. (One evening he did accident into the Darcy boudoir whilst Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were in connubial embrace. It was believed he methodically put out their candles just as he did all others. But as he was as blind as he was senile and neither of the Darcys of a mind to share the
level of his intrusion with anyone, it did not enter into the annals of Pemberley lore.)

With her ever-present keys dangling from a cord at her waist, Mrs. Reynolds concurrently familiarised both Mrs. Darcy and Hannah with the one hundred and two rooms and history of the house. To Hannah, the place was daunting and Mrs. Darcy was quite in agreement. Indeed, Hannah overheard Mrs. Darcy telling Mr. Darcy about that very thing.

“I fear I should be unable to find my way back to the ground floor without leaving a trail of bread crumbs to follow,” she had declared.

Evidently, that lament induced Mr. Darcy to undertake her tutelage himself. It was upon some of these excursions that the intentions of their meanderings veered from instructional into the realm of outright playfulness. Even as a child, Mr. Darcy was never accused of being frolicsome; hence, this was a bit astounding. A first-hand account of such doings was offered by a particularly rotund charwoman. She told Hannah (in the utmost confidence) about a most disconcerting experience.

Evidently, whilst rounding the corner of what was presumed to be an unoccupied floor, she espied Mr. Darcy himself jiggling the doorknob of a small closet.

“Aye asked the gentleman if Aye could be of assistance and held out me keys,” she explained. “He claimed no. He shook his head, he did. Said he had no need of no key but when Aye walked on, he kept a jigglin’ the doorknob!”

Then she lowered her voice and advised that when she came back, “He was not there, so Aye guessed him gone. Found what he needed and gone. But, no. When Aye come upon that door, it bust open, it did!”

The woman took a generous gulp of air before continuing, thus allowing Hannah’s eyes to widen in anticipation.

“And who comes out? Mrs. Darcy, she does! Aye turned, surprised ye know? She bumped right into me. Bounced back she did. Right back into Mr. Darcy who was comin’ fast right behind her!”

“No…” Hannah said, unsuccessfully containing her amazement.

“In a fright Aye was…Mrs. Darcy bumpin’ into me, Mr. Darcy right there. Aye was in a fright!”

Another chambermaid stopped to listen (in the utmost confidence). The charwoman stopped to update the newest member of her audience upon the events leading up to this diversion before continuing.

“They looked at me, then back at each other an’ almos’ laughed, they did. Then they ’scused themselves and hurry on,” she lowered her voice and raised an eyebrow as two more servants joined the assemblage. “Mr. Darcy, Aye never seen him no way but proper. Never even his jacket crook’t. Not in all my days here. But he was then, he was. As they’s walkin’ down the hall, he fixes his jacket like this,” she pulled at invisible lapels. “But he took no notice that his shirt was hangin’ down in back. Down to his knees it was! Ye could see it each time he tookin’ a step!”

“Ohhh…” announced that all privy to this dissertation were suitably impressed with the significance of the disclosure.

Likewise, house prattle was how Hannah learnt of the staff’s belief that every bed in every vacant bedroom under the roof of Pemberley was being methodically christened in some manner by Mr. and Mrs. Darcy’s passion. Granted, it took a great deal of snooping to learn this, but the Pemberley staff was nothing if not diligent.

Then there was the matter of the dogs.

Every servant, too, knew what was commencing in the Darcy bedroom whilst the dogs lay whining outside the door. Yet, everyone passing by stepped over Troilus and Cressida without a glance. Neither did they raise an eyebrow at the soundly shut bedroom door.

Hannah was a maiden, but she had brothers. She was not unwitting of what went on betwixt men and women, married or not. However, there were noises that came from the Darcys’ bedchamber in the daytime that ordinarily would not have been heard even at night. Some detonations unexpected to be heard at all. In light of the unseemly noises, rustled beds, and whining dogs, the servants of Pemberley allowed that, clearly, there was a great deal of affection betwixt Mr. Darcy and his wife.

Ribald noises notwithstanding, there was that queer matter of the missing pier glass. A rather large, gilded mirror had hung upon the wall in Mrs. Darcy’s bedchamber. One morning, it was not there. In foot-tapping annoyance, Mrs. Reynolds asked Hannah if she knew what betide it. She asked it a little pointedly for Hannah’s taste. Did she think Hannah had somehow pilfered it? A huge mirror like that? What would she have done, Hannah thought defensively, packed it out upon her back?

Every spare moment was spent in search of that pier glass and the mystery was in no way solved when Hannah bechanced it under the bed whilst gathering Mrs. Darcy’s night-dress one morning (Mrs. Darcy’s night-dress was often in odd places). Hannah immediately called Mrs. Reynolds to inform her just where the wayward mirror had been located and anticipated an explanation or at least a retrieval of the mirror. However, Mrs. Reynolds merely thanked Hannah politely and said nothing more.

Hannah bade, “D’ye want someone to hang it back?”

Mrs. Reynolds shook her head. Hannah’s lips formed the beginning of a query but Mrs. Reynolds pursed her lips and waved her aside.

That was peculiar. The old woman had been so concerned about the missing mirror, then when it was found, she wanted it left under the bed. Hannah could see no sense in it.

But there was sense in it. Those less innocent of sensual pleasure would have understood. If the Darcys wanted the mirror underneath the bed, there it would remain.

The old housekeeper kept a careful ear for the transferral of lascivious gossip by scullery maids in the kitchen, a watchful eye upon the chambermaids upstairs, but had no notion at all what to do about the whining dogs.

I
n the country, any illustrious occasion was scheduled by the moon. When it was to be full could be determined by the calendar. A clear night sky to guide the guests’
coaches to the Pemberley ball, however, fell to serendipity. Everything else was being done by the staff, just as ably as it had in the past. Preparations being so well taken care of and out of her hands, Elizabeth knew she had no more influence over the success or failure of the evening than she did the condition of the sky. And that left her both relieved and anxious. Polishing the silver would at least have bestowed her something to do besides fretting, for worry she did. Her presentation to Derbyshire society was quite the event and curiosity would be rampant.

However, Jane and Bingley had arrived that forenoon and their presence was a substantial comfort. That inviting the Bingleys necessitated invitation to his sisters as well was not.

Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst were in obvious raptures upon being house-guests of Pemberley. But having perfected it upon Jane, they continued to hide their obvious dislike of the lesser-born Bennet sisters behind a demeanour of fawning insincerity. Elizabeth would have much preferred outright animosity, but Jane’s love for her husband, and those he loved in return, was unconditional. Jane’s wishes ruled in this matter, for the sisters were, after all, her in-laws. Elizabeth could, however, find some pity for them, for she and Jane, quite unknowingly, had foiled them twice. Once, when Georgiana Darcy did not marry their brother, and secondly, when Caroline Bingley did not snare Darcy for herself.

Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were to travel to Pemberley from London for the festivities, but Mr. and Mrs. Bennet did not come immediately. They were away to Newcastle for Lydia’s first laying-in (Mary Bennet refused to visit the morally bankrupt Wickhams). And unless Lydia’s newborn was more punctual than was its mother, they would miss the ball. Of this, Elizabeth was prodigiously (if somewhat sheepishly) relieved. Her first foray into Derbyshire society would be less agonising without the fear of humiliation by her mother. Kitty and Maria Lucas, who favoured a grand ball at Pemberley more than visiting a whining Lydia in grimy Newcastle, were taking on Mrs. Bennet’s role as resident mortifiers quite nicely.

Elizabeth knew she would have to take ultimate responsibility for that embarrassment. For it was she who suggested Kitty invite Maria Lucas to accompany her when Mary (who found even less pleasure in a ball than in visiting wicked relations) had not wanted to come. For every dance, frock, fan, and feather that Mary Bennet saw as decadent, Maria Lucas found equally agreeable. She and Kitty were of the same age and both loved society. All would have prospered quite happily had it not been a matter of ill-timing. For Kitty and Maria came thither from Hertfordshire upon the immediate heels of sharing a particularly histrionic novel.

This work of fiction (a distinction lost upon the two girls) portrayed a heroine who had the misfortune of constitution that bade her fall into a dramatic faint at the least provocation, and, of course, at the greatest romantic moment. At the grand estate of Pemberley and in preparation for a particularly impressive ball, Kitty and Maria saw the necessity of perfecting this act of swooning in the unlikely prospect that a romantic moment might fall at their awaiting feet. Such behaviour had been overlooked with patient indulgence when they merely fell in the privacy and unobtrusiveness of Kitty’s bedroom. But the girls harboured the notion that one must refine one’s techniques for greater benefit of an audience (for there was no other reason to swoon) in the drawing
rooms at Pemberley. Moreover, neither was of a mind to be outdone, one’s swoon inviting the other, the synchronousness of which was lost upon no one.