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Chapter 11

Posted on Sunday, 6 February 2005

Mr. Darcy was downstairs early the next morning, and had the gardener and a local carpenter called to his study. Mrs. Reynolds, who also had business with the gardener, went about her morning tasks while listening for them to finish, for she knew that as soon as they emerged from the study, they would survey the grounds to begin the work on whatever they were planning. Over an hour had passed when Mrs. Reynolds heard them near the front door, still in earnest discussion. Diffidently, she stepped into the hallway, and on seeing her, the gardener instantly promised the very thing she sought: a large harvest of petals for her aromatic waters.

Immediately after that was settled, Lady Catherine descended the stairs. Mr. Darcy sent the two men outdoors, and politely inquired of his aunt as to the health of his cousin. She had not come down for dinner the night before.

“She is slightly improved, and with the doctor’s approval, I will remove her to Matlock which I am certain will further her recovery.”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Mr. Darcy. “As soon as you have his sanction, I shall assist you in your journey by every means in my power.”

This sounded to Lady Catherine like the honor due her, so she favored her nephew with the first smile of her visit. And since she must reciprocate by attending to his needs, she eyed the men with whom Mr. Darcy had been speaking, and said, “If that is your gardener, you must reprimand him for the state of your grounds. I have never seen such neglect. Why, wildflowers cover every hill and valley!”

Returning her smile, he said, “As a matter of fact, I quite like the color they have added, but we are all entitled to our own tastes.” He bowed, ordered Mrs. Reynolds to see to her ladyship’s breakfast, and went outdoors to join the men.

For her part, Mrs. Reynolds had not forgiven Lady Catherine for suggesting Mr. Darcy retire her and was only too happy to allow Joseph to attend her in the dining room. She went to the kitchen to deliver the message that her ladyship’s breakfast was wanting, and entered to the rare sight of Mr. Olivierre and Constance laughing together.

“Well, I have good news for both of you. Lady Catherine’s party will be leaving today, quite likely, but meanwhile, her ladyship is waiting for breakfast.”

“Toast and jam, Bridget. I’ll make the eggs,“ said Constance. “Her ladyship would not touch the muck she insists on for her daughter.”

“Just a moment, Constance,” said Mrs. Reynolds. “Step into the larder with me.” And the two left, with Constance repeating everything she knew about how Miss deBourgh disposed of her food, which in its way, was meant to comfort Mrs. Reynolds. Following Lady Catherine’s recipes did not guarantee improvement in her daughter’s health.

As Constance prattled on, Mrs. Reynolds slipped on her new spectacles and turned around to face her friend.

“Well, well,” said Constance, “Don’t you look as serious and respectable as ever?”

“But do they,” said she, “do they age me much?”

Constance laughed. “You look just the age to have three married daughters, seven grandchildren, and a son fit for university.”

It was not perhaps the answer Mrs. Reynolds would have liked, but in a soft whisper, she thanked Constance for reminding her of her blessings, the fruits of a lifetime with a promise of a future. It was far more than Constance had.

Still wearing the spectacles, Mrs. Reynolds walked back to the kitchen with Constance. Neither Mr. Olivierre nor Bridget seemed to notice any change in her appearance. She addressed the head cook, “I hope you can spare Bridget this afternoon. I need all the hands I can get for the aromatic waters.”

“Certainly,” replied he, cocking his head as though suddenly noticing the difference. “They look very well, Mrs. Reynolds.”

She smiled slightly and left the kitchen without a word. The kitchen staff had been as kindly as she could have hoped, and she had no doubt Mr. Hammond would be equally gentlemanlike. Yet somehow, she still dreaded facing the pretty young maids. She winced at herself and wondered why, at her age, she still harbored the fears of a plain-faced farm girl. Then the words of the Proverb read the previous day flooded her mind: “Grace is false and beauty is vain, but a G-d fearing woman, she should be praised.”

In that state of reflection, she walked distractedly to her own workroom. One of the gardener’s lads placed a small sack on a pile of others like it.

“There you have it, ma’am,” he said, pointing. “Each sack has a different type. Roses and orange blossoms from the hothouse, gardenia, lavender, mint, and one sack with all sorts of wildflowers.”

Mrs. Reynolds thanked him and began opening each sack, taking in the inviting variety of fragrances. She always awaited perfume-making season with eagerness, and this year, with a new mistress to please, the prospect was even sweeter.

“I must have Constance bake some cloves,” she thought. “Mrs. Darcy will appreciate a spicier blend.”

Just then, Polly entered the room.

“Is the mistress lying in this morning? I expected she might.”

Polly started a moment at Mrs. Reynolds in her spectacles and replied, “Yes, ma’am. The master told me early this morning to let her sleep as long as she likes. I think he is planning a surprise for her.”

“I daresay,” agreed Mrs. Reynolds, looking out at the grounds where she could detect the distant figures of three men on horseback. “Anything that will give Mrs. Darcy pleasure is to be done in an instant.”

Polly continued to regard her cautiously, and Mrs. Reynolds self-consciously adjusted her new spectacles when Polly suddenly curtsied and said, “Ma’am, I have a confession to make. I have not told anyone, not Cora, nor Mrs. Darcy.” She paused to gather her breath and courage. “I have received an offer of marriage.”

Mrs. Reynolds could not contain her delight and embraced Polly immediately. “Dear child, I have suspected it would soon be coming. I am surprised at Joseph’s circumspection.”

“Oh, please do not be angry with him.”

“Angry? How could I be angry at a time like this? We should be rejoicing!” and she pulled Polly close again and kissed her on the cheek. “My dear daughter!”

“Ma’am?” said Polly, all astonishment. Then her eyes widened with understanding. “Joseph is not my beau, ma’am. He is a fine, young man, of course, and helped Philip and me carry on our correspondence. I am engaged to Philip Ames, the soldier we met at the Bradwell ball, the one who was dancing with me when I sprained my wrist.”

Mrs. Reynolds grew suddenly stern. A rapid succession of thoughts flew through her mind. She was almost jealous on her son’s behalf. She remembered the large stack of letters she had found while searching the maids’ quarters. She had assumed they were from Joseph himself. But, no, Joseph had only been a messenger. Polly’s lover was another, a soldier.

“I am shocked! You have known him for only five weeks. You cannot decide to make someone your partner in life after so short an acquaintance!”

Polly trembled, but her face was set with the same resolve that she had shown at the ball. “If you wish to inquire into his character, ma’am, you may apply to Captain Everett. He has recommended Philip to Colonel Fitzwilliam so that he might be stationed in London, and we are hoping that with your recommendation and Mrs. Darcy’s, I could become Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s maid.”

“So you are giving notice.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Another maid improperly trusted,” thought Mrs. Reynolds. Nancy had already made a fool of her; she could not allow Polly to do the same.

“Thoughtless girl! You are leaving your mistress in her time of need and me with two vacancies to fill! When Cora first recommended you, I wondered at your lack of loyalty to Bradwell. I thought perhaps that if Pemberley offered you a better situation, you would stay. But now I see that nothing pleases you. You are more willful than I ever suspected! You will get no character from me!”

Polly’s eyes filled with indignant tears, and Mrs. Reynolds expected her to retaliate, for without a character, she had nothing else to lose, but she said only, “I could not help when I fell in love.” She then curtsied and fled the room.

Mrs. Reynolds considered following her, but went instead to confront Joseph. With brisk, determined steps, she entered every downstairs room in search of him, all in vain. Finally, she went out to the stables where he might be readying the wagon for the day’s deliveries. It was a few minutes’ walk, and that gave her time to reflect on all she had heard. That Joseph had acted as the couple’s messenger showed that he had known of their attachment from the beginning, but Mrs. Reynolds could not believe that he had done it without some jealousy. If his love for Polly was so selfless that he could, for the sake of her happiness, help another man to court her, that only underscored the fact that Polly had chosen the lesser man.

“Joseph,” said she, “what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be assisting this man Ames? Have not you always loved Polly?”

Joseph started, colored deeply, and then replied, “I have never loved Polly, Mother, nor is this the time of my life to attach myself to any woman. My examinations are only a few weeks away.”

“But you told me yourself that you think she is a good girl.”

“I do think so, just as I think that Corporal Ames is a good man. And you know that I never give such compliments lightly.”

Confused and deflated, she replied, “That is precisely why I thought you loved Polly.”

Joseph walked toward her and kissed her on the cheek. Grown man that he was, he seldom displayed his affection in physical endearments. The gesture was meant entirely to soothe her. “Are you very disappointed? I assure you I plan to marry someday, and to a woman you will esteem as much as Polly. But now, my mind and heart belong in my books, and I will keep them there until I complete my education.”

When he finished speaking, she heard other men’s voices from a greater distance, and remembered that Mr. Darcy, the carpenter, and the gardener were circling the grounds.

“I must return to the house,” she said.

Joseph nodded dutifully, but before climbing onto his seat in the carriage, he said, “Mother, will you accompany me to the examinations? You have not been away from Pemberley in three years.”

“I am needed here,” said she, “and besides, I should only be in your way.”

“The examinations last several hours each day, but for evenings and meals, I cannot think of anybody whose company I should enjoy more.”

Mrs. Reynolds smiled warmly. “Dear boy. I shall consider it. But it is over one hundred miles away, and I am much needed here,” and in her own thoughts added, “despite all my recent mistakes.”

She walked back up to the house, and as she approached it, she heard a tune sung very prettily, though the voice was not Miss Darcy’s nor was it coming from inside the house. It seemed to at the back, so she followed the voice, only to find Martha singing her heart out while hanging the morning’s wash. Martha stopped everything suddenly and curtsied when she saw Mrs. Reynolds.

“Martha, what in the world are you doing?”

“Petticoats, ma’am.”

“I see that. I mean, why were you singing?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t thinking what I was doing.”

“Well, stop it and think!” hissed Mrs. Reynolds. She turned on her heel and headed toward the house. Before she had even entered, she overheard Lady Catherine berating the kitchen staff, and thinking of the fearful look Martha had just given her, and of the violence of her accusations against Polly, Mrs. Reynolds began to regret her own behavior. She seemed to have become as overbearing as Lady Catherine herself. She again remembered a verse from the Proverb: “A lesson of kindness is on her tongue.” She returned to Martha.

Martha was so surprised to be revisited by Mrs. Reynolds that she unconsciously stepped back and nearly kicked over one of her water buckets. Mrs. Reynolds sighed. Since the dismissal of Timothy and Nancy, her opinion of Martha had changed dramatically, but she had never once been able to speak openly to her.

“Am I so very frightening, Martha?”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the girl without thinking. “I mean - ”

“Do not apologize. I want you to be frank. In truth it is I who owes you an apology for misjudging you for so long. And I must thank you also. You cleared Joseph’s name, and soon he will take his examinations for university as originally planned.”

Martha did not cease her washing while Mrs. Reynolds spoke, nor did she meet her eyes, but she was listening, and Mrs. Reynolds judged by the slowing of her movements that she was much affected by what she heard.

“Timothy were never my friend, ma’am,” said she, as though still trying to persuade Mrs. Reynolds of her innocence. “And I didn’t need Polly to teach me that neither. ‘Course I am grateful to her though. And. . .to you. . .for putting her up to it.”

They were the most gratifying words Mrs. Reynolds could imagine hearing from Martha. She was thoroughly humbled.

“I dare not claim much credit there. Polly befriended you quite willingly.”

As she spoke, she felt how profoundly Polly’s loss would affect Pemberley. She owned to herself that it was worry over losing Polly that led her to confront her so unjustly. After all, she could not honestly blame her for her secrecy; courtship ought to be a private matter. The suddenness of it did bother her, however, but as Polly had suggested, she need only make further inquiries into the lad’s character. Mrs. Darcy would undoubtedly do the same.

In all her musings, Mrs. Reynolds momentarily lost sense of her situation and did not immediately notice that Martha was staring at her. As soon as her eyes met Martha’s, the girl averted her gaze.

“Do you like my spectacles?” ventured Mrs. Reynolds.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Even Timothy knew I needed them.”

“He were - was - too big a fool to work that out for himself, ma’am. Nancy told ‘im. She told me, too, the day we made soap. She said that’s why you always work from memory.”

“She was a clever girl, but not an honest one.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It is best to be both. Now, because I have no stillroom maid, all the maids will be helping me make perfumes this afternoon directly after our supper. I expect you there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Martha, smiling and curtsying.

Mrs. Reynolds went away, grateful to have apologized to her, and well aware that she must also do so with Polly.

But making such a resolution and executing it were two very different matters. Polly had gone upstairs to Mrs. Darcy, and a new thought occurred to Mrs. Reynolds that filled her with dread. Surely Mrs. Darcy would notice Polly’s distress, and Polly would have no reason to conceal it. As much as she feared dismissal yesterday, she had more cause to fear it now. One was an error born of vanity, but this time, she had spoken words of malice, and breached the Pemberley standard. She went over all her harsh words, and grew more and more ashamed.

It was shortly before the servants’ dinner when Mrs. Darcy called her to their daily meeting.

“I hope you are well this morning, madam,” began Mrs. Reynolds with a curtsy.

“Yes, thank you,” said Mrs. Darcy without the faintest trace of a smile. Her dark eyes, which usually danced with humor and liveliness, seemed serious and penetrating now. “First and foremost, you and I must discuss Polly.”

Mrs. Reynolds was not surprised by the mistress’ directness. It was her way in all things, and Mrs. Reynolds had learned to always respond in kind. “I apologize to you, madam, and will apologize to her at the first opportunity. I was unjust; I know it. When she gave notice, I allowed my disappointment to get the better of me.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Darcy very quietly, “I have certainly been guilty of making unjust accusations myself. And I will be grateful for the rest of my life that I was given a second chance.”

Mrs. Reynolds shuddered as she thought how easily she might have lost her own second chance.

“Polly will be a great loss to me,” the mistress continued, “and I do intend to make inquiries about Corporal Ames for her sake. I agree with you that it is a very short acquaintance for so momentous a decision, but I do know of happy couples who feel they are made for each other from the first.”

Mrs. Reynolds wondered if Mrs. Darcy was speaking of her husband and herself, but those particulars were not her concern. “When does she plan to marry him?” she asked.

“She hoped very soon, but you, in mentioning my time of need, gave her pause. She was considering a delay, but I told her she ought not on my account. There are other good maids. Martha was quite good when Polly was injured.”

Mrs. Reynolds curtsied. “If you please, madam, I have come to like Martha very much. She is honest, and determined to improve herself, but she is an uneducated. She could not read to you, or assist you in your correspondence, or -”

“I have never required a maid’s help in any of those things,” said Mrs. Darcy, as the laughter returned to her eyes, “but I do appreciate a good hairdresser.”

“As you wish, madam,” said Mrs. Reynolds. Inwardly, she considered Martha’s abilities as a seamstress. In that she was more than adequate, and Polly might teach her some of the niceties. With a discreet glance, she surveyed Mrs. Darcy’s present apparel, and when eyes rested on the lace trim, she abruptly cried, “Oh, Mrs. Darcy, I have not even thanked you for the spectacles! When I think of all the things I have missed out on doing! So many years, and I have not even been able to thread my own needles!”

This happy thought brought the final release of all the tension of the morning, and Mrs. Reynolds grew slightly tearful. It went unnoticed, however, for at that moment, Mr. Darcy entered the room, smiling broadly as though he had very good news to report.

“So, Mr. Darcy,” said his wife with a mixture of sweetness and archness, “Do you come in all this state to tell me that your aunt is leaving us? If so, then I am sorry to disappoint you, but she made me aware of that herself. She very graciously bestowed her forgiveness on me, in fact.” Then, straightening her back stiffly and deepening her voice, she said, “‘Given your connections and lack of experience, I cannot rightly expect more of you, so despite my previous reservations, I will continue to maintain my ties here, for Pemberley’s sake.’”

Her performance was uncannily accurate, and even Mr. Darcy, who would otherwise have been very angry, burst into a laugh louder than Mrs. Reynolds had ever heard from him. She could barely contain herself either, and looked down lest the Darcys see the tears accompanying her smothered laughter.

“My dearest, incorrigible Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, “pray speak of it no more. I will have no dark clouds on this glorious day. Come! The little phaeton awaits you,” and he offered his arm as she rose from her chair.

“The little phaeton?” she asked, puzzled. Mrs. Reynolds smiled as Mr. Darcy led his wife outside to present her with whatever surprise he had been crafting for her all morning.

That afternoon, the entire female staff gathered behind the house to make the aromatic waters. The lads had carried out some of the tables from the stillroom and filled two barrels with water. Constance brought out baked cloves, fresh from the oven, and a large bowl of salt. Mrs. Reynolds arranged the earthen storage jars on the tables, and with the and sacks of flower petals and mint leaves removed from her workroom, she began her directions.

“Cora, you will make Miss Darcy’s, of course, and Ellen will help. She favors the recipe I used for her late mother: about three quarters of rose petals to one quarter lavender.” Mrs. Reynolds removed the petals from their sacks in correct proportion. “Polly and Martha, you may improvise a bit for Mrs. Darcy’s. Make use of the cloves for spiciness, but the sweetness of the flowers should dominate the blend. Next is the salt,” but she hesitated before pouring it out. “Bridget, run into the kitchen and fetch us a measuring cup. I ought to be precise in my instructions.”

When Bridget returned with the cup, Mrs. Reynolds eyed the tiny numbers carefully, and nearly laughed at herself for doing it. Measurements were for the young and inexperienced, and now in her advanced age, she was relying on them. “Two cups for each pile of flowers,” she announced.

She began to rub the petals into the salt, and the girls copied her. “Bridget, fill the jars almost to the top.” The girl complied while the others continued to rub. “There now,” she said, “You see. The friction turns the petals into paste, and we scrape it off the table and put it in the jars. Let me smell it first.” And she went round the table and sniffed at both mixtures. “Delicious,” she praised the girls. “And now we repeat until all the petals are gone. It may surprise you to know that these waters will retain their aroma for several years, but I make more every summer. I must see to something indoors. Please continue as I’ve shown you.”

Mrs. Reynolds went into the stillroom and prepared six small vials of the lavender water already in storage for each of the five maids helping, and an extra one for Polly. She then returned outdoors to the maids, checked on their work, and though they were not finished, gave each one her vial, and then holding up the last for all of them to see, said, “and here is an additional one for the bride among us.” All the girls looked up in astonishment, four at the news, and Polly at Mrs. Reynolds’ change of heart.

With a bit of a flourish, Mrs. Reynolds handed the vial to Polly, and finished, “with many wishes of a happy life together.” Then she embraced her and whispered in her ear, “I am sorry.”

Polly’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she said nothing to Mrs. Reynolds, for the others began to bombard her with questions.

“Why did you not tell us?” Cora and Martha both asked at once.

“Is it that soldier from the Bradwell dance?” asked Ellen.

“I can keep no secrets from any of you,” laughed Polly, and she began to tell them about her courtship, all the while glancing at Mrs. Reynolds, not to seek her sanction, but with some desire to prove that she had not made a rash and foolish decision.

“I liked him from the moment he led me to the dance, but when the Bradwell servants taunted me and made me fall, he was so gentlemanlike that I saw that perhaps he could be much more to me than a pleasant partner at a dance. Oh, I hope someday all of you will hear a young man speak to you gently while feeling the strength of his arms supporting you.” Her voice trailed off dreamily. For a moment it was silent around their work table, as all the girls indulged in dreams of their own.

Ellen was the first to speak. “I tell you, I thought it would happen, though I couldn’t guess how. When he sat with us at the dance, anyone could see who he preferred, even though he did dance with me.”

“But how did he court you?” asked Cora. “You might never have seen him again after that.”

“He sent me a note the next morning. And it was . . .” She paused to collect herself and went on, “And I answered him, and we have continued ever since.” She looked at Mrs. Reynolds a little fearfully, for that part of their courtship required Joseph’s collusion.

“Undoubtedly you will cherish those letters for the rest of your life, Polly. And when the time comes, each of your friends will have stacks of letters of their very own.”

“All letters?” asked Martha, incredulously. “You’ve seen him only just that one time?”

“No, I did see him on Sundays. He began to attend church at Kempton instead of with his regiment. His captain permitted it.”

“Fancy all those weeks and I never even noticed the young man,” thought Mrs. Reynolds.

“But when, Polly?” asked Martha a little forlornly.

“I was thinking perhaps in October, or perhaps,” she ventured another glance at Mrs. Reynolds, “sooner. Perhaps during the summer.”

“That is soon,” said Mrs. Reynolds. “You discuss it with your young man.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Polly, smiling broadly, “We certainly will.”

“Come, we must not forget our work,” said Mrs. Reynolds, and they all busied themselves with the petals once again while chatting excitedly about weddings and dresses, but they were soon drowned out by the noise of one of the carpenter’s assistants, who had sat himself down to work near them, and was hammering away obliviously.

“Whatever is he building over there?” asked Bridget after a while.

“It looks like a bench,” said Martha.

“So it is!” said Mrs. Reynolds, remembering Mr. Darcy’s meeting with the carpenter and gardener that morning. “I daresay they are adding new benches all around the park and woods so that Mrs. Darcy might rest when she is out walking.”

Already in a romantic mood, the young maids sighed at the thought of so attentive a husband. Mrs. Reynolds understood. “Without question, wealth can add greatly to the pleasures of life, but I promise you, my girls, a man who truly loves you will make you feel like a queen regardless of the size of his pocketbook.”

Chapter 12

Posted on Sunday, 20 February 2005

A few weeks of quiet followed Lady Catherine’s departure from Pemberley. With the exception of Sir Albert, the most frequent visitor to the house was the dressmaker, for Mrs. Darcy’s figure had swelled and she was having a new wardrobe made. The lull in activity was very welcome below stairs, for summer was fast approaching, and soon the servants would be busy again as dozens of visitors came to Pemberley, many to tour its grounds, and others by invitation. For Joseph and Mrs. Reynolds, however, the respite was especially fortuitous. Joseph’s university entrance examinations were scheduled for that period, and it seemed likely that his mother could accompany him. He wanted it even more for her sake than his own.

In general, Mrs. Reynolds was reluctant to take leaves of absence. Even at the quietest of times, Pemberley needed her. At present, there was Martha to be trained and her replacement to be found, as well as a replacement for Nancy, already lacking for several weeks. Yet there were other arguments in favor of her making the journey. Mrs. Darcy seemed to have passed the worst and no longer requested any special brews of tea. There was a ball planned in honor of Miss Darcy’s birthday at the end of June, but there was enough time for Mrs. Reynolds absent herself for a little while before she had to begin preparations. Indeed, as she reflected on it more, she could not think of better circumstances under which Pemberley could spare her. She had not been away from Pemberley since her daughter’s wedding three years earlier. Accompanying a son to university seemed the equivalent.

On a warm and bright morning, she boarded a small carriage alongside Joseph, and together they headed for Cambridge, a journey of nearly two days. Mrs. Reynolds had not had such a long and uninterrupted stretch of time with her son in years, but neither of them could completely relax and enjoy it. Joseph was anxious about the examinations, and Mrs. Reynolds, now traveling the great distance that would soon separate them, was almost beginning to regret losing him. She knew such reservations were selfish. Attending Cambridge would be the fulfillment of a goal Joseph had worked toward for years and an extraordinary opportunity for him by any standard. So as the carriage rolled on, she tried hard to banish such thoughts and sat and listened to him review his studies aloud. She surprised herself in how much she was able to follow.

“Speaking these ideas to you clarifies them in my mind,” Joseph told her.

“This is the patience he used in teaching Martha,” she thought proudly, and for the first time, her long-cherished dream of his becoming Mr. Darcy’s next steward was replaced by the image of him teaching poor boys at the local grammar school, educating others in return for the charity he had once received. He was equally well-suited to both.

Mrs. Reynolds and Joseph spent the first night in an inn, and on the second day, the countryside seemed to gradually disappear and be replaced by villages increasingly larger in size. When they reached the town of Cambridge, Mrs. Reynolds realized that they were in a city. She was not fond of cities. She had been to London only once in her life more than twenty years before, and had declined every offer to revisit it since. But as she looked around Cambridge, she concluded that it was very different. It was a university town, not a place of factories and business, so the air was cleaner. More importantly, she saw no street urchins as she had in London. For all of London’s grandeur, those street urchins still stood out as her most prominent impression of the city.

Mr. Darcy had arranged for Joseph and herself to stay at the home of his former mentor, Professor Demarest. This had given her apprehensions from the beginning, though she dared not tell Mr. Darcy. It seemed to her that perhaps it would be too great a condescension for a professor to host a domestic servant. Joseph’s attending university would change his sphere in life, but it felt strange to her to be received as a guest in the home of someone who outranked her. Yet the professor’s warm welcome proved that he was not above entertaining a domestic servant, and Mrs. Reynolds swelled with pride when the professor shook Joseph’s hand and said, “Mr. Darcy has spoken very highly of you, young man.”

Joseph made a slight demur as politeness would dictate, but Professor Demarest continued, “Nonsense! Young Mr. Darcy’s recommendations are always superior scholars,” and as though on cue, Lawrence Prewett, son of Pemberley’s vicar, stepped into the room. A few years older than Joseph, Mr. Darcy had sponsored his education almost immediately upon his father’s assuming the vicarage at Kempton. Like his father, Lawrence Prewett intended to take orders once his education was complete, but because the elder Mr. Prewett was in excellent health and was much loved by his parish, Lawrence Prewett would have to seek his living outside Pemberley.

“Larry!” cried Joseph, clasping his hand.

“Surprised?” he asked, turning to shake Mrs. Reynolds’ hand as well.

“No simple handshake will do for me, young man,” said she, and the two briefly embraced. “Your mother asked me to try and see you while I was here. I did not expect to find you so soon.”

“Mr. Darcy arranged it,” said Professor Demarest.

“And I would be much obliged if I could join you on your journey home,” said Larry. “It has been some time since I have seen my parents.”

“Our pleasure, of course,” said Joseph happily. The familiar face was precisely what he needed to ease his anxiety. King’s College at Cambridge was founded especially for commoners, so he would find peers there, but most of the students were graduates of Eton. Joseph, schooled locally in Derbyshire, would enter the university with no acquaintance than other Larry Prewett, and was glad to see him so early on.

They were served a plain meal, and the two young men fell into conversation. Professor Demarest, meanwhile, shared with Mrs. Reynolds his fond memories of the late master, whom he also knew well. With such reminiscences, Mrs. Reynolds enjoyed herself immensely. All the while, however, from sheer force of habit, she evaluated the work of the servants in the professor’s home. From the overall neatness of the house and heartiness of the dinner, she knew that he employed servants who took good care of their widowed master, and that such things came from real love and respect, and not a mere sense of duty.

When they were shown to their rooms Mrs. Reynolds was glad to see that hers was small and humbly furnished like her bedroom at Pemberley, not a lavish guest room where she would feel out of place. She went to sleep feeling thoroughly satisfied with the journey thus far. Although the distance from Pemberley still bothered her, she saw at least that Joseph would be in reliable hands.

But nothing could have prepared her for the magnificence of the university when she was brought there the next morning. It was like Pemberley, a hundred fold vaster. The chapel was the tallest and most ornate she had ever seen in her life, and she lingered there after services to pray in privacy for Joseph’s success. Larry Prewett took the time to show her around the university afterward. He began with the library, which surpassed even Pemberley’s, which itself was reputed as the largest in three counties. This one was floor after floor, room after room, all full of books. She knew that Joseph would also be awestruck upon first seeing it, and would savor his hours there if given the opportunity, but as there was not another woman in sight, she did not wish to stay. Larry then brought her out to the gallery where they viewed portraits of some of King’s College’s most prominent graduates. Charles Townshend was the most famous, but Larry pointed out three generations of men named “Fletcher.” Larry admired them because they were parsons and poets, but what struck Mrs. Reynolds was that after one man received an education and joined the world of achievement, his son and grandson were able to follow in his path. She uttered yet another prayer that the Almighty bless her with even a morsel of such good fortune.

At lunchtime, they met Joseph and ate what they had brought from Professor Demarest’s house. After that, they walked along the gardens until they came to the River Cam where there was another new sight to capture Mrs. Reynolds’ attention. Young men were standing on tiny little boats, pushing themselves with long sticks up and down the river.

“It’s called punting,” Larry told him, “and it’s a favorite sport here. You ought to try it now, Joseph. It’s great fun and a superb way to release tension.”

Joseph chuckled, watched a little more, and then grinned and agreed. He and Larry ran to the river’s edge, found punts and sticks, and after a quick lesson, Joseph was punting down the river with the others. Coming back upstream was harder, of course, but he was invigorated when he was back on land.

“You were right,” he told Larry. “And now, the examinations resume.”

In the subsequent days, while Joseph was busy with his examinations, Mrs. Reynolds returned to the college, and found herself drawn to the chapel and gardens in particular, dividing her time between prayer and watching the sheep graze. Joseph tried punting every day thereafter, growing more graceful with practice, and amusing both himself and his mother by racing with Larry. At night, they would return to Professor Demarest’s home, and while the men engrossed themselves in scholarly discussions, she donned her new spectacles and sewed beside the fireplace. Joseph commented more than once how pleased he was to see her enjoy her well-earned leisure.

After a week, Mrs. Reynolds, Joseph, and Larry began their journey home. Joseph was in a lighter mood than before. The examinations were behind him, and he was confident, though guardedly so. Larry assured him that from what he had heard, all the professors who met Joseph were impressed with him, so his admittance would simply be a matter of time. Mrs. Reynolds listened attentively, hoping Joseph’s ambition would at last be fulfilled, but as the large distance between Cambridge and Pemberley stretched out before her again, she could not shake a tinge of sadness at his going so far away.

As soon as they arrived back at Pemberley, however, Mrs. Reynolds no longer had time to entertain such thoughts. Upon arrival, they were called to the Darcys, who greeted them with actual excitement and asked them to sit and recount their experiences. It felt strange to Mrs. Reynolds to sit down with the Darcys and converse with them as though they were equals. Having been with the family so long, she was of course on very intimate terms with them, and she knew that the Darcys held Joseph and herself in higher esteem than they did many people in their own class and even some of their relations, but there was always some formality in their communications that preserved the distinction of rank. Yet if her trip to Cambridge had taught her anything, it was that the strict social structure she knew was fast disappearing. Joseph might very likely raise the name of Reynolds to heights her own late husband would never have dared to dream.

And with the memory of her husband and the impressions of the previous week flooding her mind, she was glad she was sitting down, for she had an impulse to do something foolish and undignified, like kneeling down and kissing Mr. Darcy’s hand. But instead she spoke effusively, though not very coherently, “Mr. Darcy - the professor - so very kind - I am so grateful - if only Mr. Reynolds had lived to see it!” And here, she paused to dab her eyes with her handkerchief. Collecting herself, she said, “I am sorry. I am overcome. How can I ever thank you enough for what you have made possible for Joseph?”

“As I have always said, my role in Joseph’s education is the smaller one. Joseph has made this possible for himself.”

And he, much moved by his mother’s speech and Mr. Darcy’s response, was also profuse in his thanks. “It was far greater than I had ever imagined it. I have never wished for anything so fervently in all my life. I will be forever indebted to you should they choose to admit me.”

“But of course they will!” his proud mother interrupted. “Larry Prewett said the professors were impressed with you.”

“Even without having heard from any of them, I am confident that is true,” said Mr. Darcy. “And how were the examinations?”

Joseph then began to discuss all sorts of academic subjects in great detail while Mr. Darcy listened attentively. It was much like the nightly scenes at Professor Demarest’s home, only this time, there was another woman present, though she seemed to be as interested in the conversation as the men. But the mistress did not forget Mrs. Reynolds, and turned to her and said, “Georgiana is in the salon. She will certainly want to welcome you home.”

They left the men and walked to the salon whose door was wide open. Mrs. Reynolds instantly understood why; Sir Albert was in there with her. And as they drew closer, she could hear that the two of them were speaking in a foreign language she assumed to be Italian. This seemed to Mrs. Reynolds the clearest proof of Sir Albert’s having broken through Miss Georgiana’s shyness. Mrs. Reynolds would not even dare to pronounce the name “Olivierre,” and she remembered that the Contessa herself would not speak English in company, and relied on her children to translate for her. Miss Georgiana did not speak freely even in her native language except amongst those she loved best. Thus, in some astonishment, Mrs. Reynolds whispered to the mistress, “He is teaching her to speak his language?”

“Is it not wonderful?” said Mrs. Darcy in an similarly hushed tone. “They now spend as much time practicing Italian as they do practicing music.”

“Mrs. Reynolds!” cried Miss Darcy when she entered. “How was your journey?”

“Yes, tell us,” said Sir Albert with almost as much enthusiasm. “I should love to hear about dear old Cambridge.”

She began to narrate the things she had seen, and amongst them, mentioned punting.

“Punting!” laughed Sir Albert. “Oh, you bring back happy memories.”

“I thought punting was very dangerous,” said Miss Darcy, surprised. “The current of the river is so strong, it could sweep the boat out from under someone. At least that is what happened to - ” and she broke off, realizing what she had almost given away.

“Happened to whom?” asked Sir Albert in amused. “Who has been toying with your affectionate heart and exaggerating his bravery in order to impress you? Was it your brother or the Colonel?”

Miss Darcy, who could not bear to hear either of her guardians spoken of in such unflattering terms, hastily said, “No, no! Neither of them would ever invent a falsehood!” and she blushed furiously, not daring to speak lest she reveal something more.

“Please do not take me so seriously,” said Sir Albert, “though your loyalty is praiseworthy. I do not think Sofia would come to my defense with such passion, but I suppose that is because I am her younger brother.”

Miss Darcy made no reply to this, so Mrs. Darcy did.

“Perhaps as the older sister, her responsibility to defend you is even greater.”

Mrs. Reynolds saw what she was about. She hoped to give Miss Darcy a chance to compose herself by changing the subject to a general discussion of human nature. It was a favorite tactic of hers, but this time, it failed. Sir Albert was watching Miss Darcy with concern. He had not seen her retreat into silence in this manner since the very beginning of their acquaintance. Her trust was not easily won, and he had earned it through his patience and understanding. Mrs. Reynolds remembered the day he stood transfixed by her music, somehow able to read her character from the way she played. For these two, music was as much of a language as English or Italian, so when speech failed, Sir Albert knew how to reach her.

“Shall we play some music? Which do you prefer: to duet or to accompany me?”

“I will accompany you,” Miss Darcy answered softly.

Sir Albert looked disappointed at this reply, and knew that he must tread lightly. He led toward the conservatory and not to the more intimate setting of her sitting room.

“It is a shame she did not chose to sing,” Mrs. Darcy said to Mrs. Reynolds when the two left the room, “but if she changes her mind as the evening wears on, we will know that all was forgotten.”

“I daresay he suspects nothing, madam,” said Mrs. Reynolds.

“I agree. I am more concerned about how Miss Darcy views herself. She still blames herself, I fear, perhaps so much so that she will judge herself unworthy of Sir Albert’s love. He cherishes her for her innocence. I have heard him tell her so.”

“And he is right. Had she been less innocent, she would have seen through Wickham’s scheme.”

“Yes, of course. And I for one believe Sir Albert would agree. The difficulty lies with Georgiana. Both because of her own principles and because she has seen the frankness between my husband and me, she values honesty in a marriage. On one hand, she feels obligated to tell Sir Albert about her past, and on the other, she wishes to conceal it from him. Mr. Darcy and I each have our own opinions, but we both agree that ultimately, Georgiana should decide whether or not to tell him.”

Mrs. Darcy sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“Are you unwell, madam?” asked Mrs. Reynolds. “Shall I have something brought to you?”

“No, I am perfectly fine. I tire more easily now, but it was just as you told me. One morning, I woke up feeling better and have been ever since.”

“Very good, ma’am. And may I ask if Martha attended you at all in my absence and if you were satisfied? I instructed Polly to allow her at least one day with you as part of her training.”

“Martha suits me very well, thank you,” said Mrs. Darcy smiling. “Indeed, everything went well in your absence.”

Mrs. Reynolds heard this with a mix of pride and relief, but also a little jealousy that Pemberley could run smoothly without her.

“You must also be tired from your long journey,” Mrs. Darcy went on, “We will speak in the morning. We have much to discuss. We are expecting visitors in a few days. The Bingleys will be coming, along with my two unmarried sisters and Miss Bingley.”

Mrs. Reynolds was surprised that Miss Bingley would be included in the party, but said nothing. Meanwhile, Miss Darcy’s voice swelled from the conservatory.

“Ahh, Sir Albert has worked his magic once again,” said Mrs. Darcy. “Perhaps my worries are groundless. Settle yourself in, Mrs. Reynolds. And welcome home."