Chapter 1 #2
When young Mr Hughes had been home from school during Yuletide and attended local soirées with his family, Elizabeth had caught him staring and smiling at her in the same manner as he gazed upon the festive arrays of cakes, syllabubs, and sugarplums. At first, she thought his regard, like the confectioneries themselves, was sweet, though it quickly became as unsettling as devouring too many such treats.
But at least it was a world apart from the manner in which Mr Darcy had observed her—as though he had taken a mouthful of meat pie only to discover a nasty piece of gristle therein.
“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Bennet.” Miss Hughes donned her bonnet in preparation for disembarkation.
“You must tell me about your reverie while we consume whatever The George has deemed fit for dinner. Perhaps I can guess. You were hoping to meet a handsome gentleman this summer and fall madly in love.”
“No, that was the furthermost thing from my mind.” Never would Elizabeth admit to giving the disdainful Mr Darcy a second thought.
Miss Hughes stood and shook out her skirts. “Very well. Come along, you two.”
Upon entering the fifteenth century inn, they were met by the publican’s pink-cheeked wife, a roomful of warmth, and the tantalising aromas of freshly baked bread and roasted viands.
Once they were comfortably seated round a table in a private sitting room and had requested a meal, Miss Taylor whispered, “I trust the meat here will be palatable with no disagreeable or inedible bits. We all know how Miss Bennet abhors gristle.” The maid smiled fondly at her mistress’s friend.
Wishing Miss Taylor had not elicited thoughts of Mr Darcy again, Elizabeth eyed with some suspicion the serving of stew set in front of her.
The fare, however, was satisfactory, and they tucked into the toothsome dish with wonderfully tender beef, accompanied by slices of buttered bread and cheese, all washed down with tea.
Knowing they would have an early start in the morning, they took a quick walk to stretch their legs and view the ruins of the twelfth century abbey and the Abbey Gateway.
While the sun dipped below the horizon, they retired to their shared room.
“I am becoming a little more reconciled to my removal from Greenlea and my residence at Cliff House.” Miss Hughes stood patiently while Miss Taylor helped her shed the sombre crepe gown.
“I know so very little of my mother’s family and regret not being more inquisitive.
I believe my ancestors had some sort of connexion to the Court of Hanover.
All I know is that the Bakers lived in Bath at one time.
Bath! Would it not have been grand to go to such a civilised place? ”
Like a pendulum, Miss Hughes’s moods swung to and fro.
During their travels, they had discussed topics ranging from death and afterlife to Sir William’s large nose.
There were times when she sat unnaturally quiet, lost in her own thoughts.
When her sorrow could have no moderation, she softly wept.
When she was eager to engage in conversation, Elizabeth was more than happy to oblige.
“As I understand it,” continued Miss Hughes, “there is only a small community in Wyman’s Cove. Whatever shall we do for entertainment?”
Sitting upon one of the beds, Elizabeth curled her legs beneath her. “I seem to remember something about walking along the shore to collect seashells and dipping our toes in the Channel.”
“I suspect that might become tiresome after a while. Do you not wish instead we were bound for Bath, to visit the Pump Room and drink spa water? In time, I want to attend a real ball, for I never have been to one, only February’s assembly at Meryton, which does not count.
My parents went to a ball at Netherfield Park, but I was not permitted to attend, which was unfair because your younger sisters were allowed to go. ”
Elizabeth wished to God that Mary, Kitty, and Lydia had been ordered to stay at home, for what a dreadful night that had been.
Miss Taylor fetched her charge’s nightgown from a trunk, helped her into the soft cotton garment, then brushed and braided the girl’s hair.
“May I remind you, ma’am, that you were not out in November and that you are in mourning now and must remain so for the time being.
We do not yet know how strictly your aunt and uncle will adhere to custom.
It may be months before you are permitted to attend a ball. ”
Pouting, Miss Hughes threw herself upon the mattress.
“Yes, but perhaps we might visit Bath and simply stroll the streets, admiring its architecture.” Yawning, she slipped beneath the bedclothes that had been turned down for her.
“Sleep might come more easily tonight, although I am anxious about arriving at Cliff House. My aunt’s letters gave no indication whether she and my uncle might be tolerant, strict, or terribly pious.
” Biting a fingernail, she yelped when Miss Taylor tapped her hand.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am. I feared there was a ravenous beaver here in the room with us. You did ask me to cure you of that habit.”
“I bite my nails lest I bite someone else again.” Silence followed. The candle was snuffed, and bed linens rustled as Miss Hughes tossed and turned.
About to drift into much-needed slumber, Elizabeth was startled into wakefulness when the girl cried out, “Fiddlesticks! Do you suppose Aunt Baker remembers my biting her arm thirteen years ago? Oh! What if my teeth left a nasty scar upon her skin? If such be the case, she can scarcely have forgotten my barbaric behaviour.”
“Miss Hughes, do not make me come over there again. I swaddled you when I was your nursemaid, and I shall swaddle you again if you do not stop fussing. Kindly allow Miss Bennet and me some peace.”
“Humph! You must bear with me a little longer because I just remembered something. After I tell you, I promise I shall be as quiet as a church mouse in a graveyard. Except in autumn, I suppose. I think it possible that a mouse could be heard scurrying through crisp fallen leaves.”
“Miss Taylor,” Elizabeth called across the room, “shall I ask the innkeeper’s wife for an extra sheet we could use as a swaddling cloth?”
“Or a shroud,” muttered the lady’s maid. Then she gasped and spoke with urgency. “I humbly beg your pardon, Miss Hughes. I spoke without thinking and certainly meant no disrespect, particularly considering your bereavement.”
“Do not fret, Miss Taylor. Never would I terminate your employment over such a lapse. And as for you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I simply wanted to mention something before I forget to do so. Now I shall not tell you unless you ask nicely.” After a prolonged silence, she heaved a sigh.
“Oh, very well, I shall gratify your raging curiosity. One of Aunt Baker’s letters indicated there soon will be an addition to their neighbourhood.
A wealthy gentleman has inherited Strandsmere Park, a marine villa left to him by his great-uncle—a judge, if I remember correctly. ”
Although Elizabeth was warm enough beneath the covers, a slight chill ran down her spine.
The words ‘great-uncle’ and ‘judge’ sounded strangely familiar.
Had she overheard that combination of words somewhere?
She grasped at a fleeting notion but was too weary to remain alert.
“No doubt,” she mumbled, “we shall meet your neighbour soon enough, my friend.”