It was a brilliant notion in actuality, and I felt a touch of envy that it had not first occurred to me.
“The servants?”
“I shall meet the housekeeper to determine whether she is fit to run such a place.”
“You will need a much better cook, or you will not keep your lodgers for very long.”
He looked over his spectacles at me and purred, “I will thank you to consider me competent enough to run a business.”
I sank into miserable embarrassment and bit my tongue. There was much I wished to ask, but I did not dare, particularly since my uncle seemed to be chewing on his own tongue in order to refrain from pointing out—again—that were it not for my actions, he would not be forced to partake of this imperfect plan.
After a few moments of tense constraint, he said, “When is—what is the housekeeper’s name?”
“Mrs. Burke. She is set to come back on the first day in March.”
Uncle Gardiner harrumphed. This was still two weeks away, and I saw him struggle to decide whether he should take me to Hertfordshire meanwhile and then return to settle everything once and for all, or be sentenced to a prolongation of his dependence on Mr. Darcy’s hospitality.
By the end of our meeting, he had made no clear decision. The following day, he planned to go to Lambton and then to Derby to speak to the banker charged with the distribution of Mrs. Jennings’s funds and engage a solicitor to set in motion a writ of guardianship so that he could act on her behalf. He charged me with whatever small details were required to settle Auntie permanently in her new situation, to engage the day maid on his behalf, and to otherwise make myself useful without, he added dryly, “plunging us any further into anyone’s debt.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The business undertaken by my uncle took three full days. On the twentieth of February, he again went to the house and looked it over. I assumed he did so with a critical eye this time and with the intent to discover whatever improvements might be needed to make it a decent boarding house. I knew my uncle well enough to know that, if it were his to run, it would be akin to clockwork and clean to boot. Certainly, the gutters would be repaired, the yard set with gravel, and the shed rebuilt. As to the inside, I felt a pang of sympathetic amusement for Doreen who was sure to feel the sting of the whip for once.
The next day was Sunday, and since Uncle Gardiner seemed to believe we had been doing so all along—which we had not—we went to church. Two carriages were required since there were five of us, and I was surprised to discover that Mrs. Reynolds came with the ladies and Mr. Parker with the gentlemen. Every house had its customs, I supposed, and this was but an example of just how critical were these two members of Pemberley’s management.
For my part, I was glad to have the additional concealment. As it was, I was stared at, the subject of behind-hand whispers, and introduced with discomfort to the vicar and his wife who should have met me long ago and fell over themselves to extend a belated welcome. I sat between Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Annesley to lessen the impression I had insinuated myself into a sphere in which I did not belong and thought of Mary throughout the homily.
However often she irritated and embarrassed me, she had defended me against Mr. Wickham’s charge of fortune hunting, and for that I intended to reward her. She had never been taken to Aunt Gardiner in London, and she had overcome this slight by stating that town life held no interest for her. I decided that, when my uncle had forgiven me, I would convince him to take Mary to his wife for a gentle polishing and some rare encouragement.
After church, we met Sir Hugh and Lady Pembridge, but the weather was cold, and we did not linger. We ate a quiet dinner and spent the evening in private pursuits appropriate for a day of worship. I wrote a long letter to Jane, describing in detail all I had been through and then discretely tossed the pages—it was indeed that long—into the fire. For one thing, it read like a lurid penny novel printed on the unbleached pulp used to wrap fish, and for another, I had developed a protective impulse surrounding the whole debacle that left me hoarding its details as though they were precious jewels. It would be a long time, I reflected as I sat staring into the hearth, before I would be able to laugh at anything that had befallen me.
The following day found us in a state of residual quietude. My uncle sat with us in the little parlor after breakfast, while Georgiana and her companion went to the music room for her usual hour of practice. Mr. Darcy rode out on the estate. I knew because I saw him through the window, mounted on a majestic hunter and surrounded by three of his people, equally well-mounted and dressed for purpose rather than pleasure. I had come to understand by means of simple absorption that he took his responsibilities seriously, and I pitied the poor farmer who left a sickle out to rust or even let a dog run loose to scare any passing children.We had just such a man at Longbourn, and as a girl, I had worn a path on the far side of his fields in order to avoid being bitten on the heel. If only Papa had spent a tenth of his time—but this was fruitless wishing.
I sat in front of Auntie and held a dwindling ball of yarn as her needles clacked in and out of woolen loops. She had been so well entertained at Pemberley that she was just now coming to the end of the skein she had begun weeks ago, the one I intended for Penny’s shawl. Well, it was more of a blanket, but I would help her to tie it off when the last stitch was set, and it would be a great boon to the child.
“Auntie will need a few things from the village soon. She is low on tinctures and yarn, and I shall have a parcel for her kitchen girl,” I told my uncle.
He had been compiling a list of details pertaining to the Frye house and looked up almost agreeably, saying he would take me himself later that afternoon. He was little by little less stiff with me.
We were interrupted then by a footman who reported that I had a visitor—a Mrs. Burke. After a glance of surprise between my uncle and me, I asked that she be brought to us.
The woman strode in and spoke without preamble. “What is the meaning of this, Miss Bennet?”
By this time, I was standing, and I came reflexively to my full height. “Are you indeed speaking to me?” I demanded coldly.
She flushed and dipped a square curtsey. “Beg pardon, but what am I to think when my mistress has been taken from her home.”
“You might perhaps think that her rightful relations have undertaken her care and that you are her housekeeper.”
“I have only come to see that she is well,” she replied irritably.
I motioned her toward Mrs. Jennings and said, “By all means, Mrs. Burke. I have never thought you neglectful or disinterested in her welfare.”
She stalked across the room and bent over her mistress. “Good morning, Mrs. Jennings,” she said in her forthright manner. “Are you well?”
Not a spark of recognition lit Auntie’s eyes, and she looked to me for enlightenment.
“You remember Mrs. Burke, ma’am? She keeps your house and has been away for a few weeks.”
