Lydia curtsied respectfully to the housekeeper and dashed downstairs to the kitchen. Cook had held back a good numberof the delicious items that were being served to the guests, and Lydia was delighted to be allowed to partake. “These are delicious pastries, Cook,” she said. “But I have been remiss in thanking you for recommending me to Miss Alice. It was a treat to teach her dance steps!”
“Better than changing linens, I suppose,” Cook replied.
Lydia gaped at her. This was the longest speech she had ever had from Cook. “Yes, very much so,” she managed.
“You could be housekeeper one day, you know,” Cook continued.
“Me?” Lydia was astonished at the thought.
“Do you want to be a housemaid all your life? You are clever enough to do better. And Mrs. Hodges is in her fifties already; she cannot last forever.”
Lydia could only stare at the woman. A housemaid all her life? It had never occurred to her that this was her most likely fate. If this was the case, then yes, being a housekeeper was a good deal better. She had once peeked into Mrs. Hudson’s bedroom, and it was a good deal larger and more comfortable than the room Lydia and Edith shared.
It was too much to take in all at once; she would think about it later! Lydia thanked Cook and ran back upstairs to take up her position in the ladies’ retiring room once again. It was past two in the morning when an exhausted Lydia crawled into bed. Edith murmured in her sleep, but did not awaken.
***
The next morning, Lydia awoke to find Edith already dressed and alert. “What are those coins?” Edith demanded at once, pointing to the coins on top of their shared dresser.
“Some of the ladies gave me money for helping them,” Lydia said. Knowing immediately what was expected, she took half thecoins and gave them to Edith. “You had to do my work for me, so you deserve half of this money.”
Mollified, Edith took the money and hid it in one of her drawers; Lydia did the same.
“What was the ball like?” Edith asked as they made their way down to the family’s bedrooms to begin their morning chores.
“I know not,” Lydia said, shrugging. “I was in the ladies’ retiring room the whole time.”
“You did not see them dancing?”
“Not at all.”
Edith sniffed. “So this supposed treat of ya watching the ball was just ya sewing up ripped hems and the like.”
“Exactly. But Cook did give me some of the food that was for the guests.”
Edith shook her head. “I would rather have had the extra sleep.”
“As would I,” Lydia admitted. “But you know that our wishes count for little.”
***
That night, the Countess woke up from a deep sleep and sat upright in her bed with a gasp. She had just recalled why that maid in the retiring room had looked so familiar.
Chapter Forty-Five
Late October 1812
Longbourn was a very different place than it had been just a few short months ago. The house was quiet. Oh, there was conversation enough and the piano was practiced a good deal, but the hectic feeling that had once permeated the house was quite gone.
Mr. Bennet felt that he would give a decade of his life to have the noise back again. But since that was not an option, he did what he could to become a supportive parent to his remaining daughters.
The girls had made good use of Madeleine’s gift of fabrics, and he had made certain to compliment them on their appearances, offering again to purchase any materials needed. Lydia would have taken him up on his offer in a flash, he knew, but the other girls – his remaining daughters – simply shook their heads and maintained that they had enough.
Jane ordered far simpler meals than had her mother, and they did very little entertaining; in addition, Mr. Bennet refrained from adding to his library. As a result, he was able to set aside money for his girls’ dowries. It felt good, he reflected, to do what was required of him, rather than hiding behind his study door, hoping not to be disturbed. Why, he wondered, had it taken him so long to discover this?
A knock on the door distracted him from his reflections. “Come in!” he called. To his surprise, Mr. Bingley walked in.
Mr. Bennet rose and the two men shook hands. “Drink, Bingley?” Mr. Bennet enquired.
