“Mrs. Jennings forgets things?” I asked for the sake of clarity.
“Yes.”
“I am sure she does at such an age.”
“You will need to help her remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Everything.”
“I see,” I said, though I did not see at all. “And how shall I help her?”
“You must relate events to her again and again, and write things down in her calendar. I will show you the way of it in the morning.”
Naturally, my first night in new surroundings on the heels of an exhausting journey, passed fitfully.
In the morning, with eyes that felt gritty when I blinked, I stared at the foreign ceiling of my room and strove not to regret my decision to come. I rang for water—which arrived outside my door ice-cold—washed while gasping, and struggled into my dress. Unable to button the back closure, I rang the bell once again.
A girl arrived with a perplexed look on her face as though mystified as to what I could possibly require.
“I need assistance with my buttons,” I said, failing to disguise my impatience.
She dipped a curtsey and performed the office. When she was done, I ascertained her name was Doreen, and she served as both upstairs and downstairs maid. Unfortunately, as maids went, this one was neither smart nor charming. Nor was she even pitiable, such was the expression of a dull resistance on her face. Doreen, I surmised, was on par with a field ox—just as stubborn and only slightly wittier. I hoped for better below stairs and went to breakfast.
Once in the dining room, I met Mrs. Jennings.
The lady sat in a silk robe with shawls draped on her shoulders and lap and knitted slippers on her feet. She was terribly small, particularly when Mrs. Burke towered over her chair, but she had a pleasant face with bright, sparkling, dark eyes. I liked her instantly and felt the revival of my spirits.
“Miss Bennet,” she said, clapping her hands. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I am so glad you have come to me. I have read about you in this letter from my niece.”
“My aunt Gardiner, yes, ma’am,” I said, taking the tiny hand that peeked out of her shawls.
“Good, good,” she said, glancing up at Mrs. Burke. “Well, well. So, you are Elizabeth Bennet. From Hertfordshire, I understand?” When I nodded, she continued. “Your father’s estate is Longbourn, is that right? And your uncle, who married my niece, is your mother’s brother?”
“Indeed,” I said, taking the seat she offered me.
“And Mrs. Burke is going away,” she said, turning a little tentative.
“To Yorkshire, ma’am,” Mrs. Burke interjected. “My daughter is due to deliver her firstborn and has need of me. I shall be gone for twelve weeks, and I have marked the day of my return on your calendar.” The housekeeper gave me a significant look and then eyed the little escritoire in the corner where I assumed Mrs. Jennings kept her calendar.
“My calendar? Oh yes. Remind me, Burke, what day is it?” Mrs. Jennings asked sweetly.
“Today is the seventh day of December, ma’am.”
“Oh. Yes, now I remember. Something important is to happen today, is it not?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet has come from Longbourn in Hertfordshire, ma’am. Her aunt is your niece, Mrs. Gardiner.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Jennings said, looking at me pleasantly, even as Mrs. Burke gave me another pointed look.
We ate breakfast and spoke of extreme generalities, such as the tartness of the blackberry jam and the embroidered pattern on the napkins, after which I went to the kitchen with Mrs. Burke. There I met Mrs. Smith, the cook who came in for half days, and the kitchen maid, Penny, who was a child of perhaps twelve or thirteen. We then went out the back door to a shed where I met Mr. Smith—no relation to the cook, I was assured—a toothless elder who shuffled forward and greeted me with amiable, if slightly vacant, good will.
Mrs. Burke and I returned to the house. She locked the door to her small room, putting the key in her pocket rather than giving it to me, which struck me as churlish but also understandable. She did not know me, and had I been in the same situation, I might have done the same. She took up her carpetbag, and we went back to the breakfast parlor where she said a formal goodbye to Mrs. Jennings. At the door, she turned and looked back at me and her mistress with an expression of great foreboding, and then she was gone.
Chapter Three
The ten days that followed were a hell I prefer never to revisit.
