Chapter 17 #2
“What a perfectly inspired idea. Certainly, you can do whatever you wish. I believe the expenses of the estate will bear it,” replied Elizabeth.
“We must speak to Mrs. Reynolds and to Winthrop. It’s fortunate indeed that harvest is still a month away, for the great barn stands empty.
Certainly, it also wishes for some entertainment. ”
“B—but William is still in Ireland—the canal is taking ever so long to complete.” Georgiana embraced Elizabeth. “Oh, if you were not here with me, I do not know how I would have managed.”
“As mistress of Pemberley, Georgiana, you will always succeed. Your mother would be very proud of you. Come, let us begin planning the grandest party that Pemberley has ever seen—perhaps the whole county!”
Some three weeks later, coloured lanterns were strung across the Pemberley lawn—laughter and music drifted from the great barn.
Barrels of ale and cider had been tapped, as well as tureens of lemonade, ratafia, and negus.
Elizabeth had persuaded Cook that three whole pigs and two bullocks should be roasted outside over open hearths and that the remainder of the feast consist of cold dishes, raised pies, tarts, and pasties.
The kitchen had begun ordering in provisions the moment an excited Georgiana had called a conference of the senior staff to plan the entertainments.
“Georgiana, this is your night. You are, after all, mistress of the estate. People will follow your lead. Please enjoy yourself. I will see to any issues that may arise.” Georgiana and Elizabeth stood at the edge of the terrace, looking across the lawn, watching the tenants—cottagers and leaseholders alike—gather to gaze in wonder at the illuminations.
With no more prompting, Georgiana moved among her guests, greeting each one with her cheerful smile—so very gracious, the mistress of Pemberley.
The women curtseyed and the men bowed as she passed.
Elizabeth felt tears come to her eyes—Pemberley was such a wonderful place.
As the first strains of a country reel began, Georgiana offered her hand to a little boy with patched trousers and a gap-toothed grin. “Shall we?” she asked, and together they joined the dance.
“Mrs. Bennet, a moment if you will.” Mrs. Reynolds came to stand beside her, looking across to the open doors of the great barn where Georgiana could be seen dancing with the young boy.
“Oh, she is so like her mother. I had forgotten such gaiety had ever existed at Pemberley—we had such wonderful times before the mistress passed away.”
Elizabeth turned to the housekeeper. “Do you ever take leave from your responsibilities, Mrs. Reynolds? Oh, forgive me, such a silly question… Now, is it Cook or one of the under-maids who is a trifle disguised?”
Mrs. Reynolds laughed. “Both. Whatever was an under-maid doing in the kitchen, I do not know! But she managed to knock Cook’s veal coffyn to the floor—it was to be a special treat for Miss Darcy, the veal specially brought up from Nottingham.
The maid is lying weeping on the flag stones, and Cook is set to beat her with her great ladle. ”
“Well, let us prevent a beating, and salvage what remains of the coffyn—surely Cook’s pastry crust can withstand a little accident?”
Elizabeth followed Mrs. Reynolds to the kitchen, where Cook was standing over a snivelling maid. The coffyn, a tall, straight-sided pastry case, had rolled under a table, still intact but slightly abraded.
“Cook, I came to congratulate you,” said Elizabeth, stepping between Cook and the cowering girl. “Mrs. Ramsgate declared your eel and bone marrow tart the best she has ever tasted. She demands the recipe.”
“M—Mrs. Bennet,” stammered Cook, caught between admonishing the under-maid and accepting the compliments of Mrs. Ramsgate, the most fastidious matron in the neighbourhood.
“I shall have it copied immediately.” The woman beamed, the veal coffyn forgotten.
Mrs. Reynolds, meanwhile, had pulled the maid to her feet and quickly ushered her out of the kitchen.
“What a magnificent job catering for so many people,” continued Elizabeth, as though nothing unusual had taken place behind her. “The whole kitchen is to be congratulated—Miss Darcy sends her thanks for maintaining Pemberley’s exceptional standards.”
Mrs. Reynolds joined Elizabeth as they returned to the barn. “Well, that went better than I expected,” she said. “Though, Mrs. Ramsgate has yet to arrive.”
“Oh, I must be mistaken,” replied Elizabeth, as both ladies chuckled, “perhaps it was Mrs. Markham who wished for the recipe. Now, let us check that nothing else is amiss—if Cook’s coffyn is the worst that can happen, then it will be a very good night.”
The dancing continued well into the morning, the great fire pits smouldering, reduced to charcoal and ashes. Winthrop had footmen walk the grounds, discovering snoring but contented villagers sprawled under trees and bushes. They would sleep off their inebriation.
“You should retire, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mrs. Reynolds, “The sun is beginning to let itself be seen over the horizon.”
“And so should you, Mrs. Reynolds. I suggested Miss Darcy retire some hours ago—the poor thing was quite exhausted.”
“I do believe,” said the other, “that she danced with every child who could toddle. She is so sweet.”
“Her nature is likely due to you, Mrs. Reynolds,” said Elizabeth softly, “for you were the most important woman in her life after Lady Anne died.”
Mrs. Reynolds blushed. “It was my duty, ma’am.
Oh, there were many a widow or Miss who set their sights on old Mr. Darcy—surely, they thought, he would be in want of a wife.
But he had loved Lady Anne so much, that he felt unable to sully her memory by remarrying.
She had borne him the children: Master Fitzwilliam, and sweet little Georgiana as she was then—still is!
Oh, the dear had nurses and governesses aplenty, but it was my privilege to be always here for her. ”
In the early light of dawn, Elizabeth saw tears form in Mrs. Reynolds’s eyes. Tonight, Georgiana had fulfilled all that a loving housekeeper could wish for her charge. Once again, Elizabeth felt humbled—but also despondent: that she would be but a fleeting interlude in Georgiana’s life.
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