Chapter 31 Pemberley #2
“I have heard she plays the pianoforte,” I said.
Mrs. Reynolds laughed a strange, unguarded laugh as if I had spoken both a painful truth and the most na?ve idiocy in one breath.
Wordlessly, she walked down the hall. We filed behind her in silence.
We reached a pair of wide mahogany doors carved with a motif of musical clefs. For the first time, I saw another servant. A little housemaid was bent, polishing the door handles.
The housekeeper said, “The music parlor.” She gestured to the maid, who opened the doors wide. We gasped.
The room was on the back of the house, so we faced up the hill, peering into old forest.
The entire north wall was windows.
I had toured an orangery in London that boasted a wall half-filled with windows. That was a token compared to this. Here, the narrowest frames separated endless panes of perfect, polished glass. Gnarled, towering oaks rose in majesty beyond.
My eyes followed the branches upward, unobstructed. The windows continued for half the roof. The entire hill enveloped us in ageless woods until the sky broke in brilliant blue.
“It is a new method,” Mrs. Reynolds said, who had walked to the far wall. She tapped the glass with her knuckle. “Two layers, with a gap between. My master hired artisans from Scotland. They said there is no installation like this in the world. There may not be another for decades.”
I walked over. I could discern a faint, second reflection of myself. “Why two layers?”
“There was a requirement for the instruments.” Mrs. Reynolds’s lips crinkled. “An issue with temperature.”
“It is like layers of clothing,” I said, realizing. “To keep out cold and heat.”
“Yes. Very good, ma’am. That is precisely as Mr. Darcy described it.” Mrs. Reynolds gave me an appraising look as if I might hold further secrets. Little did she know.
But I had ignored the purpose of the room. I turned. And counted. “Seven pianofortes?” Two large instruments were in the center of the room, surrounded by comfortable chairs, settees, and end tables. The other instruments were arrayed along the side walls.
“Eight,” our guide corrected, indicating a large crate in the corner, by which the little maid was standing, her head lowered. “This one is newly arrived for Miss Darcy—a present from my master.”
“Eight seems extravagant,” I said. For the first time, my dislike for the privilege of wealth stirred. It had been happily silent until now.
“Your pardon, ma’am. Miss Darcy would not stand for anything wasteful. She keeps two instruments here, and another in her room. These others are sent by the great pianoforte builders, and they will be returned when she has provided her opinion of their work.”
My aunt was surprised. “They ask the opinion of a lady of sixteen?”
The housekeeper smiled proudly.
“Why two here?” I asked. Perhaps she enjoyed duets.
“They break, ma’am.”
“Break?” Our pianoforte had never broken, although it was often out of tune.
But Mrs. Reynolds had returned to her prior topic.
“Mr. Darcy would not stand for extravagance either, although whatever gives his sister pleasure is done in a moment. Miss Darcy has become quite firm in telling him no. But the master takes after his father. Old Mr. Darcy was a generous man and affable to the poor. Young Mr. Darcy exceeds even his standard.”
“Does he?” I asked, trying for a tone of casual interest.
“I dare say I do not know the half of it, for he is a modest gentleman. But the schools are one project all his own, and a great effort.”
“We saw the school in Lambton,” my aunt said. “The children were most eager.”
Mrs. Reynolds turned her attention to the little housemaid. “Lucy would know, for she takes lessons there.” She gave an encouraging smile. “What do you say, girl? Are the children eager?”
The silence lengthened. Perhaps the maid was too shy to speak before visitors.
The white cap lifted, and a familiar set of eyes found mine.
In an apologetic voice, the little housemaid who had done my hair at Netherfield said, “Good morning, ma’am.”
“Oh, my goodness!” I ran over and caught her hands. “How did you come here?”
“I don’t rightly know, ma’am.” She was grinning now. “It just happened. Mr. Bingley went traveling, and Miss Bingley was going to dismiss me, with not enough housekeeping to do. But then a coach came to London, and I was offered a position.” Her smile widened. “I greatly enjoy it, ma’am.”
“I cannot believe it!” I said.
Mrs. Reynolds stepped beside us, for the first time a stern housekeeper. Lucy dropped my hands and gave a silent curtsy.
“It is quite all right,” I said to Mrs. Reynolds. “We have an old acquaintance from when she served at Netherfield.”
Mrs. Reynolds considered that, then nodded regally. She patted Lucy on the shoulder and led the way from the room.
I lingered, catching Lucy’s hand for a squeeze. I had not realized how fond of her I had become.
“Will you visit again?” she whispered.
The answer was no, but I was reluctant to say it. I mouthed, I do not know. Then I had to run to catch up with our guide.