“I shall write to Margaret and invite them,” Mamma said.
“Thank you, my dear.”
The second course arrived: a roasted grouse, fresh trout, bread, and pickled vegetables. While there was not much variety, there was plenty of good food for them all.
When they finished, Papa and Mamma excused themselves to their chambers, citing exhaustion. Elizabeth watched as they wandered upstairs, arm in arm.
She followed not much later, but there was a scratching at the door and a soft voice calling her name soon after.
“Come,” she called, and a young woman entered, pulling the door closed behind her. She stood facing Elizabeth, but one hand still rested on the knob. “Good evening.”
The girl curtsied. “I am Punchaby, Miss Bennet. Mrs. Riggs sent me up to help you with your hair and gown.”
“How kind of her,” Elizabeth said, and the maid came further into the room. Elizabeth sat on the chair before the glass and asked, “Are you from this area?”
“Oh yes, miss.” Punchaby removed Elizabeth’s hairpins with gentle efficiency. “My family has been near Bakewell for as long as anyone can remember.”
“So you are able to see them often?”
“Every chance I have. My father is a whitesmith there,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice. “The best you’ll find.”
Elizabeth sat before the glass as Punchaby picked up a brush and carefully pulled it through her curls. “It must be a family trait, excelling at your craft, for I doubt Mrs. Riggs would have sent you to me tonight unless she thought highly of you.”
“Thank you, miss. We all think highly of Mrs. Riggs too.” Punchaby’s complexion pinked, but she never stopped her work. Soon she had set the brush down and was braiding Elizabeth’s hair.
“I have been to Lambton several times and have heard many stories about the area. I was wondering—have you heard of the Christmas House?”
“Oh yes, miss!” Punchaby nodded vigorously. “The Christmas House is a wonderful place, they say. There's a story still told about how, during a harsh winter a hundred years back, the owners opened their doors to half the village, providing food and shelter until the worst had passed. And just last Christmas, whoever lives there paid off the debts of several families from here to Bakewell who were struggling with illness, all anonymous like. It’s a bit of a tale, I suppose, since no one really knows if it’s one house or lots of houses, who lives there, where it is, or even if it’s real. But it’s a nice story, and if it encourages those who have been blessed to bless those who are in need, I don’t see any harm in it.”
“Nor do I,” Elizabeth assured her.
“Oh, listen to me going on.” The maid sounded embarrassed. “Begging your pardon, Miss Bennet, it’s just that we haven’t had a family in the house in so long. Oi, Mrs. Riggs will have my head.”
“Not at all, Punchaby,” Elizabeth assured her, amused, “for it was I who broached the subject.”
The maid could not be encouraged to speak on it again, however. Soon she was finished, and with a quick curtsy, was gone.
Elizabeth moved to a little writing desk that occupied one corner of the room and sat down to write a letter to Jane.
Hollydale House, Derbyshire
October 1, 1810
My dearest Jane,
I hardly know how to begin this letter, for the news I must share is so extraordinary, I can scarcely believe it.
First, know that we have arrived in Lambton without incident and are all well. That office completed, I shall tell you what has happened.
When Papa, Mamma, and I left the solicitor’s office this morning, we had quite the wrong impression of Mr. Ellis’s bequest to me. We knew it would not be a small thing, as we were required to travel here to claim it, but I could never have imagined—it is ahouse, Jane. And not a snug little cottage hidden in a glade, which would have been more than enough. Hollydale House is an estate with room for us all should we ever have need of it.
To say I was astonished when we arrived at Hollydale this morning would not come near the depth of my sentiments. And Mamma and Papa—they are quite transformed by it. I should say no more on this subject in case it does not last, but they seem—well, a good deal younger, as though a burden has been lifted, which I suppose it has.
Hollydale is quite a handsome place, though it is clear it has seen better days. Mamma is already busy with plans for improvements. As for me, the grounds are heavily wooded and I long to walk them, but we shall be so busy in the coming days, I doubt I shall be able to do much more than stroll in the gardens.
I do hope you and all our sisters are well. I miss your company terribly, particularly at such a time. It is strange to be here in this grand house, so far from everything familiar, and I long for the comfort of your counsel. Please write to me soon, for your letters will be a great comfort to me as I become accustomed to this unexpected but certainly quite welcome good fortune.
Your loving sister,
