Chapter Five #2
“You will have to see. You’d never believe me.” Elizabeth still wasn’t certain she believed, even having seen.
They returned to the kitchen, the narrow hall barely wide enough to walk abreast. Mrs. Bennet’s voice reached them as they approached the closed kitchen door, growing more intelligible as they neared. Mr. Bennet cast Elizabeth a surprised look, likely spurred by his wife’s calm tone.
“…a large, flat spoon is better, to be sure, and perhaps we’ll buy one, after we see the cost of plates and forks. But you can see, can you not, the difference in the two layers?”
“Yes, Mum,” Betty the maid said.
“For serving tea or coffee, we’ll want the cream alone, as well as for several of the recipes I’ll teach you, although those are usually the heavier, more festive ones and we won’t have much cause for that sort for some time.
For others, you’ll want to mix some of the cream back with milk.
If we’re churning butter, we’ll want as much cream as possible. ”
Mr. Bennet cast an incredulous look at Elizabeth.
He inched forward to peek around the edge of the doorway.
Over his shoulder, Elizabeth could see a thin line of kitchen.
Her mother and the maid stood shoulder to shoulder before the bucket, both with spoons, skimming off cream.
The smell of porridge wafted out, surprisingly appetizing.
Mr. Bennet backed away, gestured that Elizabeth should follow him, and led the way back down the hall. When they reached the parlor, he rounded on her, features slack with shock.
“And she’s made porridge,” Elizabeth said before her father could speak. “Not only made porridge, but done so in a very practical way, and without complaint, and she taught Betty every step.”
Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.” He stared at Elizabeth, bewildered.
“Papa, what is happening?”
Mr. Bennet shook his head again. He went around the table and retook his place on the lone sofa.
Elizabeth perched on the chair beside him, one of four that made up the remainder of the seating in the cottage’s only parlor.
To her left, a cheery fire crackled in the grate.
Ironically, Longbourn’s supply of firewood was stored far enough from the house that it hadn’t caught.
Because Goldfinch Cottage had only three fireplaces, they had enough firewood to heat it for years.
“When we quarreled last night, I told her she must recall her youth,” Mr. Bennet finally said.
Elizabeth frowned. “Her youth?”
“Your mother’s father was a clerk in his uncle’s law firm.”
Elizabeth nodded, aware of that even though her mother generally discouraged discussion of her roots in trade. “Yes, and when Mother was Lydia’s age, her great uncle died and left her father his house and his practice.”
Mr. Bennet cast Elizabeth a slightly amused look.
“Yes, well, you know the story. What you do not know is that from the time your mother was six your grandmother became quite ill. Because of that, your mother spent most of her time with the staff. In particular, she liked the kitchen and as she grew, she took on more and more duties there. She continued them when your grandmother died when she was thirteen.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. “You are correct. I did not know that.”
“After your grandfather inherited, he remarried. His second wife took over the household and set about removing any trace of sensibility from your mother. From Mrs. Phillips as well, though with less success. Your uncle Gardiner was away at school much of the time and was fortuitously unaffected. Your grandfather was pleased with his daughter’s sudden beauty and gave his second wife credit.
I can never understand how your grandfather needed curls and fancy clothes to see your mother’s beauty. ”
“Beauty?” Elizabeth repeated, remembering her mother that morning, waist cinched, hair up and face unpainted. Mrs. Bennet still had a beauty that was echoed in Jane. It was too bad her mother equated beauty with curls and rouge.
“When I courted her, your mother was a great beauty. She was more stunning than Jane.” The last sentence was almost wistful.
Mr. Bennet shrugged. “Much as you’ve seen your mother do with Lydia, her stepmother did, placing great hopes on that beauty moving her stepdaughter up in the world and thus raising herself by association. ”
Her mother had moved up in the world, and that had come through her beauty. Elizabeth’s father had married not, she suspected, for Mrs. Bennet’s personality, but for her fair face. “So, perhaps, Lydia isn’t really silly either.”
“I’m not certain we can claim that,” Mr. Bennet said dryly. “But if I’d understood the import of Mrs. Bennet’s early years sooner and guessed that moving into a cottage would reawaken her sensible side, I would have done so long ago.”
Realizing her father’s brief foray into seriousness had ended, Elizabeth smiled. “Would you not have missed your books?”
“Yes,” he said, “but there are advantages to having a sensible wife.”
“Well, I believe you may have one now, at least for a time.” Elizabeth gestured to the ledgers and writing material cluttering the low table.
“And, being a sensible and responsible daughter, the sight of paper, pen and ink reminds me that I promised Jane a letter this morning to report on how we fare here in Goldfinch Cottage while she basks in the luxury of Netherfield Park. If you’ve any writing materials to spare? ”
Mr. Bennet stood. “As we will head to Meryton for essentials this afternoon, including more ink and paper, I allot you one of the sheets the Lucases provided, to employ as you please.” A more genuine smile formed on her father’s face than Elizabeth had seen there in years.
“And you may now feel free to employ them. I believe I shall head to the kitchen to see my wife.”
Bemused, Elizabeth watched her father go, then moved to the dining room table that would barely seat the family to write Jane.
Not wanting to waste a sheet of paper even if they would soon have more, she filled both sides with a cheerful account of her activities since Jane left the previous day, such as they were, leaving only enough blank space for the exterior of the envelope.
When Elizabeth finished writing and the ink dried, she carefully folded the page, then asked their lone footman, Edward, to arrange for a groom to take the letter to Netherfield Park.