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Chapter 6

Posted on Sunday, 28 November 2004

The curiosity that had led Mrs. Reynolds to succumb to a night of eavesdropping had turned to wretched suspense by morning. Sir Albert had intuitively understood how to draw out Miss Darcy. He was either precisely suited to her or a seasoned charmer, and Mrs. Reynolds was unable to discern which one.

Mrs. Darcy was equally anxious to discuss Sir Albert and enlisted Mrs. Reynolds’ assistance in ascertaining Miss Darcy’s feelings. That morning’s housekeeping plans were pushed aside for more pressing concerns. Mrs. Reynolds hoped her face did not betray her as she listened to Mrs. Darcy recount the events she had seen with her own eyes. Together they entered Miss Darcy’s sitting room, where with sketchbook in hand, she sat staring dreamily out the window.

“You played very well last night, Georgiana,” said Mrs. Darcy, sitting down beside her.

“Oh, Lizzy, it was . . . he was. . .” The rush of emotions overwhelmed her. She could not find words for her feelings, until finally she whispered, “What did my brother say?”

“First try to tell me how you feel. Do you like him?”

Miss Darcy lowered her eyes. “Yes.”

Mrs. Darcy smiled. “Good. We like him as well. And he likes you. He asked William’s permission to court you.”

Miss Georgiana’s eyes widened. “Did William agree?”

“Not yet. Sir Albert has made a good first impression on him, but he must first make inquiries to find out about his character. He is also a graduate of Cambridge, and they know some of the same people. You know William would do nothing less, especially where your happiness is concerned.”

Miss Darcy looked relieved. She had many fears regarding courtship; Mr. Wickham had severely shaken her trust of others and worse, of her own judgment. Yet nothing was more dreadful to her than the possibility of disappointing her brother again.

Mrs. Darcy continued, “If Sir Albert is truly a gentleman, then he will be able to court you. All you must do is wait.”

“Wait?!” cried Miss Georgiana. “But I can think of nothing else! What shall I do?”

“Do what you always have done, Miss Darcy,” said Mrs. Reynolds. “Practice your music, read, and sketch. You met him only yesterday. Your life is not so very different from only one acquaintance.”

“What do you mean? Everything is different now!”

Mrs. Darcy kissed her, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh, how I know how that feels!” She paused a moment to recollect herself, “Just try and be patient, and I promise, I will help you wait.”

Mrs. Darcy was true to her promise. She was a constant source of strength for Miss Georgiana since their first acquaintance. All her life, Miss Darcy had been taught that poise and fashion were the mark of good breeding, and it was a matter of anxiety for her to excel. She had grown so fearful of mistakes in etiquette that she rarely spoke in social gatherings. Some people mistook this as aloofness and pride, but from the moment they first met, Mrs. Darcy perceived it was mere shyness, and had spoken to the young lady encouragingly.

After the wedding, Miss Georgiana often listened with an astonishment bordering on alarm to Mrs. Darcy’s lively, sportive manner of talking to her brother, but in time, she began to comprehend that he appreciated his wife for it. If he could allow himself to be teased, then, she, too, need not be perfect nor fear her own mistakes.

The introduction of Sir Albert Harrington to their lives altered the sisters’ relationship further still. Most meaningful to Georgiana was when her sister told her about the months that had passed between her sudden departure from Derbyshire and her engagement to Mr. Darcy. She had believed that after leaving, she would never again see Mr. Darcy, and her pain had been acute. Miss Darcy heard all this with amazement, for she had some idea of the extent of her brother’s feelings during that time, and though he had never told her so, she knew he was himself insecure about whether he would be able to win the affection of the woman he admired. If the two people Miss Georgiana loved most in the world had endured their separation until its happy conclusion, she resolved to be patient through this period of inquiry.

Mr. Darcy at that time relented in the matter of sending Miss Darcy to Rosings. At first it had seemed that every advantage in it was for others; she would be company for their cousin, a courier for his wife, and perhaps even a healer in the breach between himself and Lady Catherine, however disinclined he was toward forgiving his aunt. But now he saw that there was novelty in the scheme which might distract Georgiana from the tender hopes she had begun to nurture, hopes which might very easily be disappointed.

Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived for Miss Darcy a week before Easter. Mrs. Annesely and Cora joined them, the former to visit her relations in Kent, and the latter to serve Miss Darcy. Whether the opportunity to travel to Rosings was a privilege or a punishment was a topic much discussed amongst the servants, particularly on the night of their dance, which was being hosted at Bradwell.

“It is a shame she will miss it,” said Ellen while they were waiting for their wagon. Martha, who was standing with them, now looked particularly forlorn. Her probation far from over, she, too, would miss the dance. Nancy, who had been punished along with Martha, had remained in her room, sulking at the injustice of it.

“There will be others,” said Polly. “I should think it would be fun to travel.”

Constance laughed. “You say that only because you barely know Lady Catherine. Oh, the demands she used to make of us when she and her daughter stayed here! I hope her quarrel with the Darcys lasts for years!”

“There is no virtue in carrying on a quarrel even when you know you are in the right,” said Mrs. Reynolds. But her words were ignored, for the wagon arrived as she spoke them. The maids began to climb on, followed by the menservants, and then Joseph drove up with the smaller, more luxurious carriage reserved for Mrs. Reynolds, Mr. Hammond, and Constance, who would be acting as chaperones. Joseph quickly alighted, and while another driver replaced him at the reins, he handed his mother into the carriage.

“Keep an eye on Timothy and Martha for me,” she whispered to him. “Do not leave them alone for a moment.” Joseph nodded, and as they rode away, Mrs. Reynolds watched as Martha followed Joseph into the house.

They arrived at Bradwell in merry spirits. The small ballroom was already crowded with dancers swinging and stomping to a lively Scottish reel. Those on the sidelines greeted their Pemberley friends with zeal, and soon almost everyone had a partner. Mrs. Reynolds took her place in the line of chaperones and extended her hand to Mrs. Johnson, the Bradwell housekeeper.

“You have fitted up the room delightfully.”

“I’m sorry. I cannot hear you over the music,” said Mrs. Johnson, and she hurried to the opposite side of the room without giving Mrs. Reynolds a chance to repeat herself. Mrs. Reynolds was a bit surprised though not offended. As Mrs. Johnson busied herself with the bowls of punch on the table, Mrs. Reynolds reasoned that hosting a dance could be very stressful. She did think, however, that if she were hostess, she would remember her own manners, no matter how harried she might feel.

Polly, meanwhile, had chosen to stay out of the first dance so that she could greet Mrs. Johnson with the politeness she felt due her former supervisor. Mrs. Johnson glanced at her summarily, recognized Lady Smalling’s cast-off silk dress, and with one disapproving glare, discouraged Polly from stepping forward any further. Confused by the repulse, Polly turned to a young Bradwell footman and maid, and smiling broadly, asked, “Do you at last have good news for us?”

“Yes,” answered the footman shortly, and without a further word, led the maid to the dance.

Now it was a matter of real exertion for Polly to greet more of her old Bradwell friends, and she was shunned by each of them in turn. Some looked at her stonily before flippantly turning away; others simply avoided her eyes. Lord Smalling’s valet whispered something to his dark-haired partner and pointed directly at Polly.

“I warned her not to wear that dress at Bradwell,” Constance said in Mrs. Reynolds’ ear.

In that instant, Mrs. Reynolds remembered Constance’s warning to Polly weeks before and understood the entire scene. The dark-haired girl was Lady Smalling’s new maid, and she had already felt her mistress’ censure many times, quite likely in the form of unfavorable comparisons, and her jealousy was roused. If this maid could not prove herself better than Polly in the performance of her duties, she would have to claim superiority in areas where Polly seemed weak, and maligning Polly would promote her cause. People change their opinions easily with enough repetition, and even the more loyal friends could be silenced under the threat of a few cutting, personal remarks.

While Polly struggled to regain her composure in the face of this affront, a wave of enthusiasm burst through the rest of the room as a troop of soldiers entered to join the dance. Mrs. Reynolds’ attention was caught as well, and she craned her neck in search of gold amidst the red coats.

“Where is the chaperone?” she asked Constance.

“Captain Everett at your service, ma’am,” came a deep voice from behind her. Its owner bowed to her. She briefly scrutinized his appearance; his uniform was brushed to perfection, his buttons shone, and his boots had not a trace of dirt. He was as meticulous in his person as in his dress; his hair was combed and pulled back neatly and his fingernails were trimmed evenly. He submitted to Mrs. Reynolds’ examination with nothing more than a knowing smile.

“There is no need for you to worry, madam. My lads will behave like perfect gentlemen. They know what awaits them if they do not.”

Mrs. Reynolds turned away with a shudder. She had heard stories of the punishments administered to misbehaving soldiers: public lashings, sometimes without clothes. Perhaps these deterrents were necessary for the discipline of some, but they were enough to prevent her from ever allowing her son to join the army, trustworthy as she knew him to be.

Mrs. Reynolds suddenly recalled Polly’s mortification, and looked over at her again to see how she was faring. She was unsure whether to be relieved or concerned as a handsome young soldier led a smiling Polly to the dance floor.

“Who is that one?” Mrs. Reynolds immediately asked of Captain Everett.

“Corporal Ames. Good lad. And she is one of yours?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Modest in dress and in manner,” he observed. “I daresay you command your company with as firm a hand as I do mine, Mrs. -? ”

“Reynolds. Housekeeper of Pemberley, sir.”

“Pemberley! Then you must know my commanding officer, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Mrs. Reynolds’ esteem for the captain was thus fully secured. “Indeed, I know him very well, sir.” And the two began to talk so agreeably of common acquaintance, of traveling and staying at home, of Kent and of Derbyshire, and with such spirit and flow as to draw Mrs. Reynolds’ attention away from the dancers almost entirely until a cry of “Oh!” turned every head in the room. Polly had fallen and her partner was helping her get to her feet. Mrs. Reynolds rushed to her side.

“Are you hurt?” she and the young soldier cried simultaneously.

“My knees hurt a little, but my wrist hurts terribly. I must have sprained it when I tried to stop my fall.”

“Here, let me help you,” Mrs. Reynolds gave Polly her arm for support and Corporal Ames released his own grip on her.

“Thank you,” Polly said to the soldier with an earnest parting look as Mrs. Reynolds led her to a chair. The Pemberley maids came from all sides of the room and surrounded her.

“That was deliberate! I witnessed it!” exclaimed Constance. “That dark-haired maid stood on the hem of your dress so you’d trip, the little shrew!”

Everyone looked at the back of Polly’s dress and saw that it indeed was torn. Mrs. Reynolds meanwhile gently prodded Polly’s wrist, and caused her to flinch and wail, “Oh! Oh! How will I be able to work tomorrow?”

Mrs. Reynolds spoke soothingly, “Do not worry yourself about that. I will manage it. Would you like to go home early? Edmund will drive you.”

“No, thank you, ma’am. Please do not oblige anyone to miss part of the dance on my account.” Polly looked around at her friends. “And you must enjoy yourselves also. I appreciate your concern, but you cannot do anything for me by sitting here.”

The girls protested; if their friend must sit out the dance, so would they. Mrs. Reynolds was pleased by their loyalty, but sensed that Polly’s real desire was to speak to her alone, so she urged them back to the dance floor. After they had gone, Polly’s eyes brimmed with tears as she said, “That valet dancing with her was once my friend. They were all my friends. How could they treat me this way?”

Mrs. Reynolds heaved a sigh. “Your successor controls them with a sharp tongue, I expect.”

“It is so petty!”

“Indeed. And you should not have to endure it. Do let Edmund bring you home.”

Polly shook her head and lowered her face. Mrs. Reynolds now ardently wished that Joseph were present. He would have escorted Polly without a moment’s regret.

Polly then looked up with unexpected fire and resolve. “No, I cannot allow them to intimidate me. Perhaps I will even dance again if someone asks me.”

Mrs. Reynolds admired her resiliency, but advised against her dancing again while injured. She knew this could be a severe disappointment for so young a girl, and determined to sit by her and engage her in cheerful conversation as long as need be. She could fulfill her chaperoning duties from where they sat, and Polly was in many ways a more desirable companion than the other housekeepers. She had not forgotten Joseph’s recent disclosure and realized that the girl beside her might someday become her daughter-in-law. She did not leave Polly’s side until Ellen joined them, giggling and chatting about one of her dance partners. That seemed to Mrs. Reynolds a conversation best shared amongst young girls, so she rejoined the other chaperones. She accepted a dance with Mr. Hammond as a matter of course, and was surprised to have Captain Everett as a partner afterward.

When that set had finished, Mrs. Reynolds looked over to check on Polly again, and saw that Corporal Ames had been talking with Polly and Ellen, and now rose and led Ellen to the next set. The dark-haired maid persisted in sending Polly jeering looks for the rest of the night, and at times Polly returned them with cold stares, and at others, purported to ignore her by engaging herself in conversation with Ellen and Corporal Ames. By the time the Pemberley staff was climbing back into the wagon, Mrs. Reynolds could only marvel at Polly’s serenity and concluded that her disappointment at Bradwell was far exceeded by her joy in returning to Joseph at Pemberley.

Chapter 7

Posted on Sunday, 12 December 2004

Under ordinary circumstances, the maids would share their impressions of a dance for days afterward, but this time, everyone considered Polly’s feelings and injury and refrained from discussing it. Mrs. Reynolds was glad of it on two accounts: for Polly’s sake and because Martha need not know that the other maids had danced with soldiers. Joseph’s report of her behavior during their punishment had been quite favorable, but Mrs. Reynolds still felt that the less said the better.

On the morning after the ball, Mrs. Reynolds sought Martha in her workplace behind the house to see if Joseph had been correct. She immediately commended herself for her foresight; Martha was standing with Timothy again. Both were on probation, and if they were misbehaving, both must be dismissed. She quickened her steps, but when she had gotten close enough to overhear them, it seemed that Martha was not so welcoming of Timothy’s attention.

“Give us a kiss, will ‘ya? L-rd knows, I’ve waited long enough for it.”

Martha ignored him, plunged her hands more deeply into her wash bucket and scrubbed with brisk movements.

“C’mon, love. Don’t be scared of that blind old hag. She doesn’t know half of what goes on around here. She can’t keep her spies on us every second of the day.”

He drew closer, and seized her so that she spun around to face him. But the force of his pull had been so strong that instead of a kiss, he received a good drenching from Martha’s wash bucket.

“You stupid, little -!” and he finished with an expletive that horrified Mrs. Reynolds.

“It were an accident!” cried Martha, cowering in terror. Timothy would surely have struck her next, and before Mrs. Reynolds had a chance to intervene, other servants were poking their heads out of the doors and windows to see the cause of the commotion. Laughter and jeering filled the air, mostly from other menservants, but Constance joined in, and above all the voices was Martha’s high-pitched twitter, giddy from relief. Mrs. Reynolds could only be grateful that the Darcys had remained indoors and were spared the shameful display.

Mr. Hammond, however, had heard everything, and running outside, shouted, "Dismissed! No character! Go inside and collect your belongings!"

“Good riddance!” called Constance from her window.

“Back to the kitchen, Constance!” bellowed Mrs. Reynolds. "Back to work, all of you!" Everyone hurried away.

Mrs. Reynolds turned to Martha, who was scrambling to pick up all the fallen laundry.

“No grass stains, ma’am,” she told Mrs. Reynolds nervously.

“I’ll go fetch more water,” and she ran off immediately, leaving Mrs. Reynolds with rather mixed feelings. From all she had seen, Martha had done nothing wrong. She really wanted to question Martha, to find out what had been between her and Timothy, and most of all, to hear why she had chosen to resist him this time.

“Why is she so altered? From what can it proceed? Polly’s influence could not work such a change as this in so short a time.”

But as she went over the scene in her mind, she concluded that perhaps simple fear of punishment accounted for the whole. It was perhaps the one difference between Martha and Timothy. Timothy had called her a “blind, old hag who doesn’t know half of what goes on.” Catching him in the fact must certainly disprove that, but she could feel no triumph, for his words had evoked too many new doubts. Of all things he might have chosen to say, he had called her “blind” and of course, “blind” was followed by “old.” If Timothy, crass and unintelligent as he was, had been perceptive enough to discover her secret, perhaps others had also.

“Stop this vanity, Hester!” she chided herself, and then was roused by the sight of Joseph entering the house, finished with his morning errands. Inevitably, he would have several shopkeepers’ notes for her.

She headed toward her workroom to receive them, but was detained several minutes by a question from Mr. Hammond as to whether Timothy should lose the wages owing him for the month of work. They decided that dismissal without a character was punishment enough. Timothy could never find a place in a great house again; he was sentenced either to the factories of London or to the army. When Mr. Hammond left her, she repeated Constance’s words in a low whisper, “Good riddance.”

She hoped never to hear of Timothy again, and was only too happy to turn her mind to something else. She reached her workroom, opened the door with all the freedom natural to her, and startled the room’s two inhabitants: Joseph and Polly, evidently engaged in earnest conversation. Had this led to no suspicion, the faces of both, as they hastily turned round and moved away from each other, would have told it all. Polly made a sudden move as if surreptitiously hiding something in her apron pocket, and Joseph hastily placed the shopkeepers’ notes in his mother’s hand and excused himself. Mrs. Reynolds could only guess at what she had interrupted, but to spare Polly any further embarrassment, she pretended she had noticed nothing and asked only, “How is your wrist now? Shall I send Ellen to help you?”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” said Polly, quick to return to work though her cheeks still retained a blush. “I am getting on quite well. The poultice you gave me helped immensely, and thank you for having Nancy bring up Mrs. Darcy’s tea. The tray would have been too heavy for me, I think.”

“And how was it attending to Mrs. Darcy?”

“She was very considerate and required little of me this morning.”

This did not surprise Mrs. Reynolds in the least. Like her husband, Mrs. Darcy regarded herself as the patron of those in her employ and was conscientious in seeing to their welfare. But Mrs. Reynolds must likewise concern herself with Mrs. Darcy’s welfare, and asked, “Did anyone else attend to her, then?”

“Yes, ma’am. Martha did.”

“Martha!”

“She was the first to volunteer, ma’am.”

This news vexed Mrs. Reynolds, but she saw no occasion to be harsh with Polly, and corrected her gently. “After the events of this morning, I must say you have improved the girl, much more so than I could have dreamed, and I am glad to hear she has enough good sense to show gratitude to you, but she is still not suited to attend Mrs. Darcy. If ever such a circumstance as this arises again - and it probably will not, since Cora is usually here - please send Nancy in your place.”

“I will, ma’am,” said Polly quietly, “but Martha is the best hairdresser amongst us.”

“Is she? How strange! I wonder how she learned. But it is of no consequence; this is not a matter of skills, but of character. A lady’s maid must have a certain refinement. Do you understand me? Mrs. Darcy is flexible and probably no harm was done. But in future, Polly, either yourself, Cora, or Nancy.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Mrs. Reynolds left the room with one more point to discuss in her meeting with Mrs. Darcy. After inspecting the upstairs rooms, she entered Mrs. Darcy’s sitting room, and noticed, to her own surprise, that the mistress’ hairstyle was particularly becoming. Mrs. Reynolds wanted to ask Mrs. Darcy if Martha had pleased her, but Mrs. Darcy had other matters in mind.

“Ah, Mrs. Reynolds. We have much to discuss today. We are expecting a large party of guests in two days. We will need three guest rooms and also our guest nursery will at last come to use.”

“Will the Gardiners bring a nursemaid, too, madam?”

“It is not for the Gardiners. It is for Sir Albert Harrington, his mother, and his married sister with her husband and children.”

Mrs. Reynolds could not hold back a very broad smile. Mr. Darcy’s inquiries into Sir Albert’s character must have been very favorable.

Anticipating the question Mrs. Reynolds would not dare to ask, Mrs. Darcy said, “Miss Darcy will remain in Kent for a bit longer. Unfortunately, Mrs. Annesley has been called away to help in a family illness.”

“I am sorry to hear it, madam. Is it serious?”

“It seems so. We are uncertain whether Mrs. Annesley will be free to return to us. And Mr. Darcy feels she will be nearly impossible to replace. But let us think about more pleasant things. Sir Albert and his family will be leasing Chanticleer. We have invited them here until their new home is ready. Please speak to Mr. Olivierre about more Italian recipes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Darcy sighed. “It really is quite an honor; I only hope I am prepared for it. Perhaps Pemberley has hosted foreign nobility before, but I never have.”

Mrs. Reynolds was certain that if anyone had enough grace and charm to host an Italian Contessa, it was the mistress, and she gave her every reassurance that the entire staff would be at peak performance.

She addressed the staff right before their dinner, lined up formally in order of rank.

“By now you have all heard about Timothy’s dismissal. That is not why I have called you.” Her eyes rested on Martha, who stood at the end of the maids’ line, “I find no fault with any of you. I have an announcement of a very different nature. In two days, the Darcys will be honored with a visit from Italian nobility - a Contessa and her family. Never has it been more important for you to give a good impression. Men in livery: keep yourselves pressed and spotless at all time. Cleaning staff: stay as much out of sight as possible, but your work in the house should be evident. Pemberley must shine like a palace. I have always told you that in serving Pemberley, you are emissaries for the Darcys. With these guests - and I mean no exaggeration - you will also be representing England herself. We will show them the finest in British hospitality. Only your best effort can achieve this, and I expect the best from each one of you.”

The attentive faces before her filled her with confidence.

“Now, we may eat,” she told them, and they settled into their tables, whispering. Most of them had nobility before; the Earl of Matlock was the master’s own uncle. But a Contessa, they understood, was something more.

After grace, Polly ventured to ask, “Will they be traveling with their own servants, Mrs. Reynolds?”

“I should imagine not. They have fled the war in their own country.”

Mr. Olivierre startled everyone with some vehement exclamations in French.

“Oh, now you’ve roused him,” said Constance. Mr. Olivierre’s previous employers, an aristocratic French family whom he loved, had been killed in the war.

“They’re lucky to have escaped with their lives, and you talk of servants. Soldiers are le dernier des hommes - the worst of men. When they see gold, they kill for it.”

“But surely not all soldiers - ”said Polly shakily.

“Yes, all soldiers, you naive child. You have no idea what war does to people.”

Mr. Olivierre’s violence took Polly aback, and Joseph came to her aid by interjecting some of his own views. He soon cooled Mr. Olivierre’s heatedness into a political debate which everyone else chose to ignore. They returned to their discussion of the Darcys’ new guests.

“Will I be attending the Contessa, Mrs. Reynolds?” asked Polly, “Does she speak English?”

“I daresay she does. She was married to an Englishman.”

“What exactly is a Contessa? Is it more than a Duchess?” asked Nancy.

“To be honest, I do not know. But anyway, that is none of our concern. As I said, all we must think of is doing our very best.”

So in the subsequent days, the Pemberley staff scrubbed and polished every nook and corner of the house under Mrs. Reynolds’ discerning eye. Nancy was relieved of her stillroom duties to be able to assist in preparing the guest rooms. Mr. Hammond and the footmen gave the Darcys’ entire collection of plate and silver a thorough cleaning. And Martha, with some help from Polly, laundered dozens of linens. But there was one item whose care Mrs. Reynolds trusted only to herself: a lace tablecloth she had made as a gift for Lady Anne twelve years prior. The Darcy family used it only on holidays or for very special occasions.

It was therefore with great pride that Mrs. Reynolds oversaw the table setting for the Darcys’ honored guests, and greater still when she, Mr. Olivierre, and Mr. Hammond were called to the dining room to receive the Contessa’s personal thanks. It was the closest glimpse Mrs. Reynolds had had of the Contessa and her family, and she was as fascinated as the young maids. As Mrs. Reynolds expected, the entire family was dark-skinned, but there was much that surprised her. Mrs. Reynolds had imagined the Contessa’s figure as tall and imposing, much like Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s, but in reality she was small and frail, though her delicate features indicated that she had once been extraordinarily beautiful. Her daughter bore little resemblance to her; she was buxom with a pleasant demeanor, but not nearly as handsome. The daughter’s husband wore a look of bored indolence, much like that of Mr. Darcy’s previous guest Mr. Hurst. And Sir Albert, who had already won Mrs. Reynolds’ regard, seemed softer and more gentlemanlike than ever as he sat beside and attended his elderly mother.

The Contessa employed him as a translator to convey her message to them: “In these few months that we are back in this country, we have not been treated with this degree of hospitality anywhere. It is a little taste of home.” She grew tearful when she finished, and her son and daughter calmed her.

“Truly, your grace, the honor is ours,” said Mrs. Darcy.

The Contessa looked up and smiled at her hostess. Evidently, though she would not speak English, she could comprehend it perfectly.

Mr. Hammond and Mr. Olivierre bowed and Mrs. Reynolds curtsied, and the three withdrew. In the servants’ hall, they congratulated each other with a round of warm handshakes. Mrs. Reynolds imparted the Contessa’s words to the rest of the staff. She regarded the Contessa’s praise amongst the highest compliments she had ever received in her lifetime and told the staff that each them had a due share in it. Had Mrs. Reynolds been formed for boasting, she would have gone to Lambton the next day to tell Mrs. Quinn, but as it was, she cherished the moment privately. She could imagine only a few things that could make her happiness complete: the marriage of Miss Georgiana to Sir Albert, Joseph's acceptance to university, his subsequent return to Pemberley as its steward, and his marriage to the worthy young Polly.

Chapter 8

Posted on Tuesday, 28 December 2004

The Contessa and her family had been at Pemberley a week when Mrs. Darcy informed Mrs. Reynolds of Miss Georgiana’s impending return from Rosings. The news was given and shared with a mixture of joyous hope and mild anxiety, for both women knew that as much as Miss Georgiana wished to be reacquainted with Sir Albert, her shy manners would present some difficulty in their initial encounter.

Mrs. Reynolds trusted the Darcys to devise some way of easing Miss Georgiana into a first meeting, and in fact, they planned her arrival for a morning on which the Harringtons had gone to Chanticleer to see its progress. Mrs. Reynolds herself was upstairs that morning and only learned of her arrival by the booming voice of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who called out, “Where is Mrs. Reynolds? You must meet her; I have known her since I was a boy!”

He climbed the stairs in search of her, followed by a young lady in fine clothing.

“Mrs. Reynolds!” he cried as she curtsied to him. “What a pleasure to see you! Let me present my lovely fiancé, Miss Amanda Griffith.”

Mrs. Reynolds shook hands with Miss Griffith. She looked about five-and-twenty, not handsome, but in person and address, most truly the lady.

“It is wonderful news, sir! May you have many happy years together.” And just from the pride with which the Colonel introduced his young lady, and the shy but fond glances the two exchanged in those few moments in which Mrs. Reynolds saw them together, she was assured that they would.

Miss Darcy came up the stairs after them. After they had gone away, she embraced Mrs. Reynolds and exclaimed, “Oh, I am so happy for them! They are perfectly suited! They are a very different sort of couple than my brother and Elizabeth, but anyone can see they are just as much in love!”

“My, my,” thought Mrs. Reynolds. “She is observing how couples interact. That is a promising sign.” Aloud she asked, “Did you enjoy your visit to Kent, Miss?”

“Much of it, yes, especially visiting the Griffiths. Richard took me quite frequently. But we had sad news from Mrs. Annesley; she cannot return as my companion; she will be nursing her sister.”

“I am sure you are sorry to lose her, Miss.”

“I am. But I do understand.” Miss Darcy removed a note from her reticule. “She has given you directions for sending her belongings.” Mrs. Reynolds opened the note, found the writing too small for her, and nodded solemnly as she resolved to give it to Cora. Cora had always attended Mrs. Annesley, and she was the logical choice to pack Mrs. Annesley’s belongings.

Looking up at Miss Darcy, she said, “It is a pleasure to have you back, Miss. The tuner was in for your instrument just last week. Does it please you to try it now?”

Miss Darcy’s eyes lit up, and Mrs. Reynolds followed her to her sitting room. She lifted up the piano cover and took a music book from the top of the neat stack Mrs. Reynolds had set out for her.

“What’s this?” said Miss Darcy, almost in a whisper. “I never owned this piece before.”

“I found it right here in this room, Miss,” said Mrs. Reynolds, who could not distinguish one music book from another. As Miss Darcy pored over the book, an idea as to its source dawned on both simultaneously. “Very sly of him,” thought Mrs. Reynolds, and she watched Miss Darcy to see how she bore the thought of Sir Albert entering her sitting room. Far from considering it an intrusion, Miss Darcy sat down and played from her new music book enthusiastically. Mrs. Reynolds curtsied and left her.

Cora, meanwhile, had gone up to Miss Darcy’s dressing room and was diligently unpacking her mistress’ clothing.

“Good work, Cora,” said Mrs. Reynolds. “Miss Darcy enjoyed herself in Kent, which means that you served her well there.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“And did you enjoy Kent?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Cora in such a saddened tone that Mrs. Reynolds knew she meant precisely the opposite. She had some idea of the conditions for Rosings servants; Lady Catherine had on many occasions advised her younger sister that she need not provide so much wood and food for the Pemberley servants. Mrs. Reynolds was rather sorry Cora had been obliged to make the trip and decided to lighten her workload to whatever degree she could. She would assign another maid to pack Mrs. Annesley’s belongings.

At that moment, Nancy entered the room with a small basket full of vials of aromatic waters. She was distributing them to the many ladies now occupying the house.

“Good,” said Mrs. Reynolds. “Leave rose water for Miss Darcy - she has her mother’s tastes - the lavender and mint blend for Mrs. Darcy, and several choices each for the Contessa and her daughter.

“Will that be all, ma’am?” asked Nancy.

“No. Miss Darcy’s governess will not be returning to Pemberley. Here are her instructions for packing and sending her belongings. After you have finished, tell me, and Ellen will clean and close her apartment.”

Without even a question about why Mrs. Annesley was leaving, Nancy curtsied and left. Mrs. Reynolds was pleased. Nancy’s sense of secrecy proved that she was the right choice as a substitute ladies’ maid. Mrs. Reynolds then turned to Cora.

“You may have heard that the Darcys have guests, a noble Italian family. Nancy has been attending Sin-yor-a So-fi-a, the Contessa’s daughter, in your absence. I had planned to assign her to you, but Nancy has been doing well, so for now, you need only attend Miss Darcy.” For a fleeting moment, Mrs. Reynolds considered adding, “And dress her with more than your usual care,” but the request seemed to reveal more than it should.

Joseph interrupted them. “Mr. Darcy calls you to his study, Mother.”

“Oh, my! The music must have drowned out the bell!” she cried and raced down the stairs in as dignified a manner as she could. “Excuse me, sir,” she apologized on entering the study.

Mr. Darcy, who had been standing at the window, turned toward her with a serious gaze.

“Close the door,” he said quietly, and when she had done so, he said, “The Colonel and I have agreed to give our consent for Sir Albert to court Miss Darcy. He may escort her through the park tomorrow in the afternoon. However, I must ask you to chaperone them; Mrs. Darcy will be with her doctor then and cannot, and I promised to” - he caught himself - “I promised the steward to go through his accounts.”

Mrs. Reynolds was honored that Mr. Darcy trusted her with something of such importance. She was also impressed at Mrs. Darcy for having been able to persuade her husband to use a chaperone other than himself, but on reflection, she decided that it was Mr. Darcy who deserved the most credit of all. He had the most challenging task among them; he had to overcome his natural protectiveness of Miss Georgiana to allow her feelings to develop without hindrance.

Thus, the next afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds accompanied Miss Darcy and her suitor around the grounds. The weeks of Miss Darcy’s absence made a great difference in the country, and every day was adding to the verdure of the early trees. Miss Darcy sighed at the familiar beauty of her surroundings; Sir Albert likewise observed them with his keen sense of picturesque. He was the first to break the silence.

“I have always loved the English countryside, and these grounds are amongst the most beautiful I have ever seen. I believe I saw your sketch taken from this very view. Now that I see the original, I must say, it was very well done.”

“Thank you,” replied Miss Darcy, blushing a little, “but truly, I do not think my drawings are exceptional.”

“You prefer music, then, as do I. I have an eye for art, but not the skill for it. You have quite an impressive collection of instruments all to yourself.”

“Oh, no,” said Miss Darcy, “My sister does play, though rarely. She would play very well if she practiced more, but I suppose married women seldom have the time.”

“For married women who learned to play in the pursuit of a fashionable marriage, that is probably true. Once they have secured themselves a husband, that is the end of their playing, but I doubt your sister was one of those. I daresay she plays just as frequently as she ever did, whenever it amuses her, or now, when it gives your brother pleasure.”

Miss Darcy smiled at this, for it was a very accurate description, and with this encouragement he went on, “But there are other women who find in music a way of expressing themselves more clearly and more deeply than speech. A woman such as that would never abandon her music, married or unmarried, and an attentive husband would see to it that she has time to practice.”

He looked at her intently and she immediately turned so that her bonnet covered her face. Mrs. Reynolds knew she was pleased and flattered, but even more embarrassed. Sir Albert realized it too, and went on in a lighter tone, “That is why I will always play, even in this country where they have the strange idea that a man who plays music must be a rake, or if he has a beard, he must have something to hide.” He rubbed his own beard and chuckled as he finished. As Miss Darcy steadfastly kept her gaze on the ground, he looked to Mrs. Reynolds for reaction.

“If you have something to hide,” thought Mrs. Reynolds, “The Darcys will find it out.” But somehow, for all his foreign ways and uncustomary directness toward Miss Darcy, she trusted him.

“The more I see of the world, the more I choose to live on my own terms. It seems your brother and sister do the same. Have you been to the Continent, Miss Darcy? I daresay you would love Venice. The streets sing with music.”

“Only once,” said she, looking up, “when I was very young. We went as a family when my parents were alive.” She lowered her face again, and Mrs. Reynolds understood what it meant. The voyage must have constituted her last happy memories of her mother. Lady Anne had taken ill on the journey home and passed away a few months later.

Observing the sudden alteration in her mood, Sir Albert replied in a gentle tone, “I lost my father at a young age as well. I was twelve. My family lived in England all the years my father was alive, but after that, the estate was sold and my mother took us back to Venice. I returned for university.” Then he sighed. “And now we are back again, in the safety of this good land. Yet in spite of it all, my mother still yearns for her country.”

“So you intend to return someday?” ventured Miss Darcy, sounding slightly dismayed. Sir Albert rightly took this as a sign of her growing admiration.

“Yes, someday,” he repeated with a smile, “but only when I am absolutely certain of our safety there. But let us not speak of what I have left behind. I trust you saw the music books?”

“Yes . . .um . . . thank you,” she stammered, for the more pleased she was, the more fluttered she became. “Beethoven is my favorite.”

“So you told me before your journey to Kent. And if I recall correctly, another favorite is Bach, particularly the Fifth Brandenburg Concerto.”

“Oh, yes,” she replied, with less shyness, “I love the harpsichord solo with those thirty-second notes spinning up and down the scale!”

“Ah, a challenge!”

“You can play it?”

“I can try. I believe I saw a harpsichord in that fine house of yours.”

Mrs. Reynolds escorted them back to the house, and Miss Darcy found a moment to whisper to her, “You do not think he is anything like Mr. Wickham, do you?”

“No, Miss. He seems a perfect gentleman.”

She told Mr. Darcy precisely that after Mrs. Darcy relieved her as chaperone.

“Indeed, he seems like one,” said Mr. Darcy evenly.

Chapter 9

Posted on Sunday, 9 January 2005

The master maintained his caution as the courtship progressed, but after a week of the pair walking out on a daily basis, the servants gave themselves free rein to speculate.

“It will be a summer wedding, I am sure,” said Ellen wistfully.

“And that will make up for our missing the master’s,” said Nancy.

“You are getting a bit ahead of yourselves,” said Mrs. Reynolds.

“Indeed,” agreed Constance. “You cannot trust these foreigners. I suspect he is trifling with her.”

“Oh, you only say that because you don’t like all this foreign cooking,” said Bridget.

“No, I don’t like it. When are they leaving, anyway?”

“I do not know,” said Mrs. Reynolds, “but in any case, Chanticleer is close enough that the Contessa and her family will probably visit here frequently.”

“To see Miss Darcy, of course,” said Martha.

Mrs. Reynolds looked at her sharply, and the conversation ended. She was in fact delighted for Miss Darcy, but this subject, to her mind, called for the utmost reserve.

Mrs. Reynolds learned of the departure of their guests at her meeting with the mistress the very next day. The Contessa’s daughter Signora Sofia was present, frowning as though displeased, which Mrs. Reynolds instantly understood to mean that the lady had some grievance to report.

“Is there something wrong, madam?”

“Indeed!” said Signoria Sofia, “Up until now, my family and I were utterly grateful for the fine service you and your staff have shown us. But something inexcusable has occurred. I have misplaced a pair of gold earrings and a matching bracelet, extremely valuable, and I must have them returned or replaced.” Her eyes rested on Mrs. Darcy as a reminder of who would bear the cost of the loss.

“I have assured the Signora of the upright character of every one of our maids, as I am sure you also will,” said Mrs. Darcy. “Perhaps there is some plausible explanation for this, but I must ask you to search their quarters.”

“Yes, madam. I will do so during the course of the day.”

“Thank you,” said Signora Sofia coldly, “because we intend to leave tomorrow night, and I do not wish to part on such unpleasant terms.” She looked again at Mrs. Darcy and added in a softer tone, “I should be very sorry to lose your friendship over such a thing as this.”

Hearing what was at stake, and feeling the urgency especially for Miss Georgiana, Mrs. Reynolds curtsied deeply and said, “I will search their quarters as soon as possible, madam, but if I may add, like my mistress, I too vouch for all the maids,” but as she hurried out, she thought to herself, “All perhaps but one, and she has been carefully kept near the wash lines.”

Although Mrs. Reynolds intended to make the search immediately after her usual inspection of the house, with so many rooms in use, it took quite some time, and she was slowed by her own deliberations. She was certain that she could account for every moment of Martha’s schedule and could not imagine how or when Martha could have gotten into the guest wing. Ellen, of course, was there most frequently, but she had worked at Pemberley for years, and no complaint had ever arisen before. The thief had to have been someone new to the staff, which meant Martha.

Then a discomforting idea dawned on her. Polly was as new as Martha, and she had been attending the Contessa. It would have been easy for her to take something if she chose. And the Bradwell housekeeper had never given Polly a character. Mrs. Reynolds had always believed that was because of Polly’s abrupt decision to leave Bradwell, and because of some jealous rivalry borne against Pemberley, but now Mrs. Reynolds could not stop herself from wondering if there had been something more.

“No, I do not suspect Polly!” she told herself. “Mrs. Darcy is fully satisfied with her and Joseph loves her. We could not all be deceived.”

She then began to doubt Signora Sofia. Perhaps the entire story was an invention, and the missing jewelry never existed. Perhaps it was some devious scheme to get some of the Darcys’ money. She thought of Constance’s oft repeated words: “You cannot trust these foreigners.” Everyone knew that nobility sometimes lost fortunes, and these had just fled a war. Perhaps Sir Albert’s interest in Miss Georgiana was as mercenary as George Wickham’s.

“Neither can be right,” she thought, dismissing the ideas which would cause so much pain to her own dear ones. “But how did Martha do it?”

While thus preoccupied, she was summoned to the Darcys’ presence a second time.

“We have called you for several reasons,” said Mr. Darcy in the formal tone he always adopted when something perturbed him. Mrs. Darcy’s expression was likewise solemn, even more than it had been earlier. Mrs. Reynolds grew anxious and prepared herself to hear more unexpected and dreadful news.

Mr. Darcy continued, “First is to inform you of another guest. Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter will be coming next week.”

Mrs. Reynolds allowed herself a quiet sigh of relief. “So that is the cause of all this gravity,” thought she, grateful it was nothing worse. The young couple had probably just had their very first quarrel, remarkable in itself as they had been married above five months.

The whole matter was easy for Mrs. Reynolds to envision. Mr. Darcy must have insisted that his wife needed rest between guests, and Mrs. Darcy would have assured him that she felt well enough and that they should seize any peace-offering made. Mr. Darcy would then state that his aunt had no such peaceful intentions; she more likely wished a chance to see for herself how poorly the new mistress of Pemberley got on. Lady Catherine had ample sources of information, and upon hearing of the Contessa and Sir Albert, she would feel compelled to make the journey and give her guidance on proper hospitality. None of this would surprise Mrs. Darcy. She would declare herself equal to the challenge, and Mr. Darcy would concede to her though he would to nobody else in the world.

“I will do my best to make everyone comfortable, sir. Will they be bringing their own servants?”

“One footman, Miss de Bourgh’s companion Mrs. Jenkinson, and two maids.”

Mrs. Reynolds nodded and was pleased for Cora’s sake. No guest at Pemberley, not even Miss Bingley, needed as much attention from the servants as Miss Anne de Bourgh. Lady Catherine, demanding and fastidious in general, was formidable when it came to her daughter’s care. Her ladyship could quickly reduce timid Cora to tears.

“We have also received a letter from Mrs. Annesley,” said Mr. Darcy.

“Oh, I am sorry, sir,” said Mrs. Reynolds, thinking that this was the true source of their solemnity.

“No, thank Heaven, her news is not of that nature,” said Mr. Darcy. “Her sister’s health is slowly improving."

“She writes to say that not all of her possessions were returned to her,” said Mrs. Darcy. “Have you searched the maids’ quarters yet?”

“Pardon me, madam, there was so much to do this morning . ..”

“It is quite all right. Until now, I did not doubt of any of our maids, either.”

Mrs. Reynolds curtsied and said, “Indeed this is very distressing, and I have been considering it all morning. Whoever did it had to have access to the personal effects of both Signora Sofia and Mrs. Annesley and I cannot think who - ” and then a shocking thought suddenly struck her. It was Nancy who had packed Mrs. Annesley’s belongings, and Nancy who had attended Signora Sofia. But Nancy had given Pemberley years of excellent service. Mrs. Reynolds could not believe her loyal stillroom maid was a thief. “Oh, my!” she cried, without thinking, and then recollecting herself, curtsied again, and said, “Excuse me. I will search the maids’ quarters immediately.”

She rushed to the attic room in which the maids slept, went to the bureau which they shared, and began emptying drawers and tossing their contents with frenetic energy. She found nothing suspicious in Nancy’s drawer, and went on to the drawer above it, which was Polly’s. Here she did find something, a stack of letters bundled together with string. Squinting, she read as far as “My dearest Polly,” and put the letters away. There was nothing suspicious in that. She remembered the very day she had caught Joseph giving Polly such a letter. She searched through Cora’s, Ellen’s, and Bridget’s, none of which contained anything telling. At the bottom was Martha’s.

“Now I’ve found you out,” said Mrs. Reynolds, and she pulled out a stack of papers similar to Polly’s, but the writing on them was rather like a child scrawling out his lessons. She was certain Martha had stolen the papers and continued to rummage through her drawer, but found no piece of missing jewelry.

Her fury rising, she began to turn over the beds, but found nothing there. She searched through the logs on the woodpile, and when she had reached the bottom, she heaved a desperate sigh and looked around at the chaos she had just created. She wrung her blackened hands and turning back to pile the wood again, she noticed a large hole in the corner wall where the woodpile usually stood. She knelt on the ground, reached her hand in, and felt a long opening. Inside it were many small objects, and slowly, she pulled out each one: a pair of gold earrings, a gold bracelet, an onyx breastpin, a pair of fur-lined gloves, an necklace with a large amethyst pendant, many vials of aromatic waters, candlesticks, and a large stash of tea and sugar.

Mrs. Reynolds was appalled. There was enough to send the culprit beyond the seas if the Darcys so chose. Worse still, many of the items came from the storage rooms to which she had so trustingly given Nancy a key. Could Nancy have pilfered all this under her own eyes? But Martha also worked near the storage rooms, Mrs. Reynolds reminded herself. This was a lucky recollection - it saved her from something like self-blame.

The disturbance of her spirits was by then very great, but she wanted to at least appear composed when she confronted the girls. She quickly straightened up the woodpile, leaving the hiding hole uncovered, remade the beds, and laid out all the items she had found. She called in the maids and watched their reactions. All seemed perplexed, both by the items on the bureau and the hole in the wall. Only Martha showed some signs of shame at having her writing paper on display.

Mrs. Reynolds turned on Martha first. “Well, what have you to say? Do you recognize any of these things?”

“Yes, ma’am. The writing paper, ma’am,” she said in a small voice.

“And from where did you get it?”

Martha looked down at her hands. “It were a present, ma’am.”

“A present from whom? Your friend, Timothy? We already know he was a thief.”

“Timothy weren’t my friend, ma’am.”

“It seems you are rather fickle. You were more than friendly to him when he was here.”

Martha raised her face to Mrs. Reynolds with a look in her eyes that spoke brazenness and defiance. The disguise of submissiveness she had been putting on in recent weeks was gone. “Timothy were never my friend! I’m glad he got the sack! He were Nancy’s friend, or her partner, anyway. She’s been nicking bits of the sweet waters a little at a time so you’d never see anything was missing. He were helping, but she’s the one what’s been runnin’ it all.”

“This is an outrage!” cried Nancy. “Mrs. Reynolds, surely you cannot believe her lies!”

“We’ll see if she’s lying. Martha, how do you know all this?”

“I saw how it was on the day we made the soap. She told me your eyes was so bad you’d never notice if she nicked some of the sweet waters. Then she went into the back, stole the wine, and told you she was chasing out raccoons. Timothy hid the wine in the mens’ quarters for her.”

“If you saw all this, why didn’t you tell me immediately?” roared Mrs. Reynolds.

Martha looked down and mumbled, “I couldn’t risk it, ma’am. You put me on probation because you thought I was flirting with Timothy. But I weren’t, though, it was just part of her plan. If you was angry with me and him, you wouldn’t bother with her.”

“Rubbish!” cried Nancy. “You’re trying to pin your own guilt on me! Mrs. Reynolds, you cannot listen to the likes of her!”

Indeed, Mrs. Reynolds wished to discredit Martha entirely, but when she weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be impartiality, the explanation seemed more and more plausible. The pile before them was amassed by a methodical thief. It did not seem the work of impulsive Martha. And Mrs. Reynolds had given Nancy freedoms in the house which she had never allowed Martha. Her own preferences and prejudices had helped along the scheme.

“How despicably I have acted!” she thought. “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! How could I be so wretchedly blind?”

She wanted nothing more than to hide her face in her hands and cry for her mortifying errors, but the young, anxious faces surrounding her still relied on her to be their arbiter of justice.

In a subdued voice she asked, “Cora, can you identify any of these?”

“I have never seen the gold jewelry, but the breastpin and gloves belong to Mrs. Annesley, and the amethyst necklace was a gift from Miss Bingley to Miss Darcy. She didn’t care for it, and gave it to me. When it disappeared, I simply assumed I lost it. I certainly never suspected . . .” and she glanced at Nancy reproachfully.

“And when did you misplace it?” asked Mrs. Reynolds.

“Last year, months before Mr. Darcy married.”

The implication of her words was clear to all of them. The necklace had gone missing months before Martha joined the staff.

“Pack up your belongings, Nancy, and only your belongings.”

Nancy burst into tears, loudly grieving over the terrible injustice done to her. Each wail pierced Mrs. Reynolds’ heart. She had invested so many years training Nancy, working alongside her with genuine affection. Now she was left with betrayal, and worse, the feeling that she was to blame. She considered her treatment of Martha, too, and turned to her suddenly and asked,

“Did you drench Timothy deliberately?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And who gave you the writing paper?”

Martha glanced at Polly, who nodded at her. “Joseph, ma’am.”

For a brief moment, Mrs. Reynolds was speechless from surprise. In a day of shocking discoveries, this one might well have surpassed them all. But whatever her own feelings, the matter of the theft was more pressing, so keeping her voice as calm as she could, said simply, “I see,” and led Nancy away to face the Darcys.

Chapter 10

Posted on Monday, 24 January 2005

Nancy’s dismissal was a shock to everyone at Pemberley, but it shook Mrs. Reynolds to her core. Never in her life had she known such self-doubt. She went about her tasks in a state of numbness and detachment. She gave the house as much attention as ever, but not with the same joy. And to make matters worse, she was very soon to face the scrutinizing eye of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and fully intended that she, rather than Mrs. Darcy, should bear the brunt of her ladyship’s criticism. She was determined to make herself into Mrs. Darcy’s shield. To this end, she insured that she, and no other servant, would directly interact with her ladyship, and it was she who announced Lady Catherine’s arrival to the Darcy's. Her ladyship entered with an air more than usually ungracious, made no other reply to Mrs. Darcy’s salutation than a slight inclination of the head, and sat down with a cold observation to her nephew that at least he had shown the good sense to keep the furnishings his mother preferred.

With so promising a beginning, Mrs. Reynolds asked boldly, “Shall I show your ladyship to your room?”

Lady Catherine declined; she and her daughter would settle themselves in later, so Mrs. Reynolds instead showed the Rosings maids to the beds they would occupy, and instructed them in all they needed to know about the house. This took her no more than half an hour, and she was again summoned to the salon. Mrs. Reynolds knew not what had passed in her absence, but Lady Catherine was suddenly eager to be shown to her room.

Mrs. Reynolds led her above stairs to the room recently vacated by the Contessa, the very same Lady Catherine generally used on her visits to Pemberley. Like the rooms downstairs, it was fitted up as Lady Anne had directed in her lifetime, the furniture maintained so that it looked as new as ever.

“My late sister always praised you as an invaluable and loyal servant,” said Lady Catherine. “It must sicken you as much as it does me to see her dearest wish so crassly disregarded.”

Mrs. Reynolds knew she was not in a position to openly contradict Lady Catherine. “I am gratified to hear that Lady Anne spoke so highly of me, madam.”

“I see that the public rooms are unchanged. What has she done with my sister’s chambers? Has she ordered a new bed? How wide?”

“Madam?” said Mrs. Reynolds, blushing deeply. Lady Catherine may have considered herself entitled to know all her nephew’s dearest concerns, but Mrs. Reynolds would not answer such a question. She searched her mind for a neutral reply that would redirect Lady Catherine’s inquiries. “The most significant change to the upper rooms is that one of the guest rooms has been turned into an additional nursery.”

“How unorthodox! If her guests’ children are so wild that they require their own nursery, they should be left at home. My Anne never required such a thing.”

“No, madam,” agreed Mrs. Reynolds. Even as a child, phlegmatic Miss de Bourgh never deigned to play with her cousins.

“She is sister to Wickham’s son. Has he been here?”

“Heaven forbid!” cried Mrs. Reynolds.

Lady Catherine eyed her narrowly. “He must have caused some disgrace amongst your maids that you react with such vehemence. Until this marriage, I would have faulted you for your lack of vigilance, but now I have learned that all the sensible instruction in the world cannot stop a fool from believing himself in love. And now I am to understand that Georgiana is being courted by a foreigner?”

“He is half-English, madam.”

“And descended from nobility on both sides. Perhaps Darcy is kinder to Georgiana than he is to himself. Colonel Fitzwilliam speaks highly of him, but I will judge for myself. If it truly is an advantageous match, I am the logical choice to represent the family. I understand they will dine here tomorrow night.”

Seizing on an opportunity to recommend the Darcys to her ladyship, Mrs. Reynolds said, “I daresay the master and mistress knew you wished to meet the Harringtons as soon as possible.”

“Indeed,” the lady replied coldly, unwilling to acknowledge that the Darcys could do anything to please her. She instead occupied herself by searching through her reticule, pulled some notes out it, and handed them to Mrs. Reynolds. “These are recipes for various tonics for my daughter. Have your stillroom girl brew them; our maid will administer them. That will be all.”

Mrs. Reynolds curtsied and left. She would not have believed it possible, but the interview ended worse than it began. Since Nancy’s dismissal, she had distributed some of the stillroom duties amongst the staff, but had taken on the bulk of them herself. Now she would have to brew the recipes which she could barely read. She sighed and decided she would have to rely on her experience alone.

The first day of Lady Catherine’s visit to Pemberley passed without incident. The Contessa and Sir Albert came to dine as planned, and Mr. Hammond informed her that it had gone quite well, given the family tensions.

“The Contessa was ingenious,” said Mr. Hammond, laughing. “She sized up Lady Catherine and then feigned complete ignorance of English for the rest of the evening. Poor Sir Albert had to translate for a while, but it got too much, even with Lady Catherine’s determination to be heard. There were moments in which I thought the mistress could barely keep her countenance. But she did. She wants to mend the breach once and for all. Oh, but that Contessa! Who would have thought it?” And Mr. Hammond chuckled some more.

Mrs. Reynolds smiled weakly. She was in no mood for mirth. She wanted only a quiet evening, and was grateful to find Constance taking tea alone. Of all the female servants, Constance was closest to her in age and rank. They had served together for so many years that they were as familiar as family members and had grown to love each other despite those qualities which each perceived as faults in the other.

“Where are the girls?” asked Mrs. Reynolds.

“Dressing each other’s hair with those fashion magazines Miss Bingley left behind.”

Mrs. Reynolds sat down.

“I hear Nancy has gone to work for Mrs. Quinn,” said Constance, pouring the tea.

It still pained Mrs. Reynolds to speak of Nancy. “Perhaps I should warn Mrs. Quinn,” she said somberly.

“Really, Hester, do you think she’ll heed you? She’ll assume you’ll say anything just to keep your stillroom recipes at Pemberley. Let Quinn have her. They deserve each other.”

“But if something goes missing at the inn, then it will have been my responsibility for not warning her.”

“Tosh!” said Constance. “Martha knew at least some of what Nancy was doing. Is she guilty then?”

Without intending it, Constance had dealt Mrs. Reynolds the worst blow yet. Martha might have approached her with what she knew, if only she had drawn the girl close instead of distancing her. If she had not bred so much distrust, Nancy might have been caught much earlier. But Mrs. Reynolds said none of this. She simply sipped at her tea.

“If it means so much to you, I will warn Quinn. It will look perfectly natural coming from me. Everyone knows that I am a wealth of information.” And Constance laughed heartily at her own joke. Mrs. Reynolds remained silent.

“Stop blaming yourself,” continued Constance. “She was a devious girl. If she could get past my prying eyes, she could get past anything.” Constance laughed louder this time, and still getting no reaction from Mrs. Reynolds, said, “If you could learn to laugh at yourself, you’d be much happier, you know. Allow yourself room for human error.”

“My errors have cost Pemberley.”

“Argue if you will, but you’d do better to forgive yourself.”

Mrs. Reynolds knew Constance was right, but that did not make anything easier. The material loss to Pemberley disturbed her, for she had no doubt that Nancy had taken more than was found, but that was nothing in comparison to the knowledge that her poor judgment had failed the Darcys and she had no means of correcting the damage.

The only thing in her power to correct was her treatment of Martha, for which she was also deeply ashamed. Perhaps Martha, lowly Martha, was far greater than she. She had endured such unjust censure for so many months, and all the while had been secretly educating herself, by her own choice. When Mrs. Reynolds had first heard of it, she assumed that Joseph, in his love for Polly and his interest in education, joined his beloved in the cause of bettering Martha, but Joseph and Polly assured her that it had been Martha’s idea. Mrs. Reynolds could not fathom her motivation. It must be more than fear of losing her place.

Mrs. Reynolds nodded and considered Constance. Without intent to gossip, and wanting only to know information pertinent to managing her staff, she asked, “Did Martha favor Timothy?”

“Perhaps when she first came. She seemed a right young fool, then, and probably liked anyone who showed her some attention.”

There was some comfort in that. It meant that her judgment in appointing Polly as a friend to Martha had been sound.

Constance, meanwhile, seizing on what seemed a sanctioned invitation to gossip, said, “If you ask me, Martha set her cap elsewhere quite a while ago.”

Mrs. Reynolds sat upright and asked, “Has she behaved herself around the young man?”

“Oh, yes,” said Constance grinning, “She has chosen wisely this time.”

That was all Mrs. Reynolds needed to hear. Further discussion, to her sensibilities, would have been idle gossip, so she finished her tea, washed out her cup, and retired to her quarters. She slept more soundly that night than she had in a week.

The next morning Polly met her in a great deal of alarm.

“Mrs. Darcy is very ill!” she cried.

“Find Mr. Darcy in his study and tell him. Then, make a stronger brew of tea with plenty of ginger.” Without allowing herself to get swept up in panic, she turned and headed toward Mrs. Darcy’s chambers herself. Mrs. Darcy was still at a stage when it might be nothing more serious than a particularly difficult morning. She sighed as she thought how much she needed a trained stillroom maid.

At the top of the stairs, she heard Lady Catherine scolding someone, so she quickened her step, only to find that the recipient of the scolding was a very pale and peaked Mrs. Darcy.

“I am appalled at your lack of consideration! Your guests are ill and you lie abed, uncaring, for as long as you please! Such self-indulgence in the mistress of Pemberley is unthinkable! I do not know how my nephew did not foresee that this would be the way with you!”

It was clearly a moment in which Mrs. Reynolds must exercise her resolution to protect Mrs. Darcy. She curtsied and addressed Lady Catherine. “What is the matter, your ladyship?”

“My daughter is so grievously ill she cannot leave her bed! Bring me the fool of a maid who brewed her tonics!”

“That would be me, madam. We are without a stillroom maid at the moment.”

Lady Catherine demanded to hear how Mrs. Reynolds brewed the mixtures, and as she recited the ingredients, Mr. Darcy joined them upstairs. Looking past his aunt, he said gently, “Elizabeth, go back inside. I will handle this.” Mrs. Darcy gratefully did so. Then, to his aunt, he said, “I have already sent for a doctor. Let us continue this discussion downstairs. If Anne is ill, she needs rest and quiet.”

“In a moment,” said Lady Catherine. She went into her room and emerged with a paper. Mrs. Reynolds knew immediately what it must be. When they reached Mr. Darcy’s study, Lady Catherine handed the paper to Mrs. Reynolds and commanded, “Read this!”

Mrs. Reynolds hesitated as her eyes brimmed with tears. This was more humiliation than she could possibly bear. Lady Catherine thrust her lorgnette into Mrs. Reynolds’ hand. “Read it aloud!” she snapped.

With the aid of the lorgnette, Mrs. Reynolds could read it easily. She saw her error instantly, and her stomach sank. She complied with the order and read aloud.

“You see, no ginger! Miss de Bourgh cannot tolerate it!” said Lady Catherine. She turned to Mr. Darcy, “She may have been of great use to your mother, but it is high time you retired her.”

Mrs. Reynolds bowed her head, not daring to meet the master’s eye. Her weaknesses had now been exposed in the worst way imaginable.

Mr. Darcy made no direct reply to this. He simply said, “Mrs. Reynolds, when the doctor arrives, send him to Miss de Bourgh’s room first. And now you must excuse me. I must attend to my wife. Good morning, Aunt Catherine.”

Mrs. Reynolds waited anxiously for the doctor, and as soon as he arrived, she disappeared into the stillroom to try to rectify her mistakes with the tonics. She remained there for nearly an hour, feeling all the while the futility of her efforts. Even without using ginger, some other ingredient, or some inaccurate measurement, might upset Miss de Bourgh’s delicate system. She strained with all her might to read Lady Catherine’s recipes, but tears blurred her eyesight further. It seemed her five-and-twenty happy years of service would now be terminated. At length she was again summoned to Mr. Darcy’s study. She entered with utter dread.

In his characteristically serious tone, he began, “I find I am at a loss for words to express my grief at what occurred this morning.” Mrs. Reynolds cringed, and once again, kept her head bowed. “Mrs. Darcy told me of your kindness to her this morning,” he continued, “To have deliberately placed yourself between her and my aunt so that you should receive my aunt’s unpardonable wrath shows a loyalty far beyond the call of duty. I am deeply in your debt for your protection of Elizabeth.”

Mrs. Reynolds looked up in wonder at her master, and in a flood of relief and emotion, burst into fresh tears.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, as she wiped her eyes. She felt terribly foolish, not only because she never allowed herself to cry in front of anybody, but because she knew she should never have doubted that the master would treat her with anything less than mercy. In all her life she had never heard a cross word from him, and despite her own serious errors, should not have expected to hear any now.

“I am sorry - deeply sorry that my aunt has caused you such pain,” said Mr. Darcy in a tone of gentleness and commiseration, and then in a more agitated voice, “Would to Heaven that I never invited her here! I, who knew how much damage she could cause.”

Mrs. Reynolds hated to see the master blame himself in this way, and many thoughts flew through her mind - that his attempt at peace was admirable, that any damage to herself was really negligible, and that the pain she had caused Miss de Bourgh might be far more serious. But she was too overcome to voice her feelings on any of these but the last. Tremulously, she asked, “How are Mrs. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh?”

“I am assured that both will be fine.”

“Thank the L-rd,” she whispered.

“And now I have something to request of you,” said Mr. Darcy, removing an envelope from his desk. “This is to purchase a particular item at Villeford’s. The shopkeeper has already been apprised of your coming. Joseph will drive you when he brings the doctor back to Lambton. I believe he is already waiting at the door.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Reynolds, curtsying. She sailed out of the study happily. He had been so generous, not censuring her where he might have, and still entrusting her as his proxy in valuable purchases, for surely the item at Villeford’s was jewelry.

But when she arrived at Villeford’s, she learned that her conjecture had been completely wrong. Mrs. Reynolds had not shown the envelope nor even spoken a word to the shopkeeper’s daughter when the young lady pulled out a box as though she knew precisely why Mrs. Reynolds had been sent.

“Try each of these until you find the best one,” said Miss Villeford, pushing the box toward Mrs. Reynolds. The box was full of spectacles.

“At least she had the courtesy not to ask my age,” thought Mrs. Reynolds. Diffidently, she selected a pair from the top of the box and put it on. Miss Villeford, who had been reading a novel, handed it to Mrs. Reynolds, presumably to test the spectacles. The words on the page appeared clear enough to Mrs. Reynolds, and eager to be done with it, said, “I’ll take these.”

“Try a few others,” said Miss Villeford. “There might be a better pair.”

Mrs. Reynolds sighed. If this was the way Mr. Darcy had chosen to inform her that he found something lacking in her performance, she ought to be grateful. Her pride had already caused too many mistakes. It was high time for her to swallow it.

But as she tried pair after pair, the mortifying process changed to something fraught with possibility. She would be able to thread her own needles without Joseph’s help. She could read shopkeeper’s notes, or whatever else she might choose.

“Do you perhaps have a Bible?” she asked Miss Villeford. The young lady handed her one, and she flipped to her favorite Proverb:

An accomplished woman, who can find her?

Her value is more precious than pearls. . .

A tear fell as her eyes scanned the familiar words.

She seeks out wool and linen and her hands work willingly

“Sheep shearing should be any day,” she thought. “Perhaps I will spin again.”

She opens her mouth with wisdom, and a lesson of kindness is on her tongue . . .

“Oh, how I have lacked!” she sighed to herself as another pang of shame seized her.

Grace is false and beauty is vain

“So true,” she thought, fingering the frames of her new spectacles.

but a G-d fearing woman, she should be praised.

“I will do my best,” she whispered, closing the Bible. “I’ll take this pair,” she said to Miss Villeford.

She gasped when she heard the price. It was an extraordinary sum for the Darcys to spend on her, and though she would offer to deduct it from her wages, she knew perfectly well that Mr. Darcy, in his liberality, would not hear of it.

Joseph was waiting for her in front of a shop opposite Villeford’s where he stood in friendly conversation with a soldier. It took a few moments, but she recognized him as Philip Ames, the corporal who had danced with Polly at Bradwell. When Joseph spotted her, he shook hands with the soldier who in turn gave him a letter and left.

“Is that a letter from the Colonel?” Mrs. Reynolds asked Joseph.

“What?” he asked, seemingly confused by the question. “Oh, no, this is from someone else.” He waved his hand as if to dismiss the subject. “And are you happy with your purchase, Mother?”

“You knew? Why did you not tell me beforehand?”

“With the doctor riding with us, I thought perhaps you would prefer -”

“Sparing your vain old Mum her feelings, were you? Well, you did right, lad. And yes, I am happy with them. I am sorry I did not get them sooner.”

But it is impossible for anyone’s vanity to disappear entirely in one day, so Mrs. Reynolds did not put on her new spectacles to show Joseph until they were well out of Lambton, entering Pemberley’s grounds. Joseph complimented them, and Mrs. Reynolds thanked him for all the help he had given her in reading and sewing, and more importantly, for keeping her secret for so long. Joseph demurred that he had only done his duty by her, but he glowed from her praise of him nonetheless.

“Look, Mother!” he cried, changing the subject. “Sheep shearing!”

She turned and saw Mr. Cuerden, one of Pemberley’s most long-standing tenants, carefully shearing a large ewe. Joseph did not have to be told to leave his mother at the cottage, and he knew she wanted more than just a good price for wool.

“Good day, Mrs. Reynolds,” said Mr. Cuerden, “Are ye comin’ from the village just now?”

She answered that she was, but had no wish to share the nature of her errand, and Mr. Cuerden did not press. Instead she took in the view around her, the meadows surrounding Pemberley resplendent in spring blossoms.

“The gardener has complied with Mrs. Darcy’s wishes admirably, has he not?” she remarked.

“‘Tis not his doing alone. I grazed me flock in farther pastures this year, and this bloom came up naturally.”

As he spoke, a few lambs scampered out to the front of the cottage. The sight of them filled her with exuberance so that she almost wished to skip around herself. It was a pleasure to feel so young and light after having felt so old and plodding. She stood there enjoying herself and a familiar voice came up behind her.

“Aren’t they the sweetest little creatures?”

Mrs. Reynolds turned around and smiled. “I trust you are feeling better, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Oh, yes, thank you. Walking always invigorates me.” Mrs. Darcy stepped forward to stroke one of the lambs. “I have loved sheep shearing ever since I was a little girl. My sisters and I used to watch every spring, but eventually, all of them lost interest. All but me.”

Mrs. Reynolds understood her perfectly. “My father was a sheep farmer.”

When Mr. Cuerden noticed Mrs. Darcy’s presence, he stopped shearing and held out a handful of freshly shorn wool for her to examine.

“Healthy sheep make good wool,” he said.

Mrs. Reynolds added, “If you rub your hands in it, madam, the natural oils will soften your skin quite nicely.”

“Mrs. Reynolds you are a veritable fountain of practical wisdom,” said Mrs. Darcy, laughing. “I should add that my eldest sister is grateful for your recipe for raspberry tea. I sent it to her when you first served it to me.”

“I am very happy to hear it, madam.”

Mrs. Darcy turned to Mr. Cuerden. “May I try shearing?” she asked.

He was reluctant to hand her the shears, but he could not deny Mrs. Darcy anything she requested. She received them with a smile, leaned over one of the ewes, and sheared her quite skillfully. Mr. Cuerden stared at her in undisguised incredulity. With a silent step, the master joined them. His face bore a similar look of amazement, but mixed with genuine admiration.

Mr. Cuerden bowed and began to apologize to him, “She requested the shears, squire, and in truth, she handles ‘em as though she’s shorn before.”

“I have,” said she. “My father’s farm hands taught me.”

"Arr?" said Mr. Cuerden. That any gentleman’s daughter should know how to shear puzzled Mr. Cuerden no end, but Mrs. Reynolds knew it was this sort of joy of life and disregard for convention that made the mistress so beloved to the master.

“Perhaps you might get my wife something with which to wash her hands when she is finished, and something for her to drink.

“Arright, squire!” said Mr. Cuerden, who at once went into his cottage and returned with a towel and a glass of water.

“You take such good care of me,” said Mrs. Darcy to her husband when she had finished her drink.

“Elizabeth, you are carrying our child,” he said in a low voice that only she and Mrs. Reynolds could hear. “I rather doubt I can take care of you well enough.”

Mrs. Darcy made no reply to this other than a tender gaze. She then turned and looked up at the house standing majestically at the top of the woody hills. “When I first saw Pemberley, I thought I had never seen a place for which nature had done more. Then you brought me here as your wife, in all the tranquility of a recently fallen snow, and I was breathtaken. And now today, in the full bloom of spring, it is impossible to say which of these views I love best.”

“Indeed,” said the master, looking at her and not the view, “it is difficult to determine. But I would say that Pemberley has grown steadily more beautiful, and is especially so now.”

It seemed to Mrs. Reynolds a good moment to let the couple outstrip her, and when they had veered off in a separate direction, she returned to the house. She did not see them for the rest of the afternoon, but by evening, she wished very much to thank them for the spectacles, and sought them in the salon where they sat after Lady Catherine had retired for the night. But before she had a chance to knock at the door, Mr. Darcy opened it, with his sleeping wife in his arms.

He blushed and said hastily, “She - the walk this afternoon - she fatigued herself excessively, I am afraid.”

“Oh, I quite understand, sir!” Mrs. Reynolds said, in an effort to curb his embarrassment. “Strong women often have difficulty acknowledging their own limitations.” She turned around quickly and headed toward her own quarters, but she could not help but notice how Mrs. Darcy stirred at the top of the stairs and how Mr. Darcy soothed her with a small kiss.

Continued in Next Section