Chapter 3
Margaret Reynolds walked briskly past the kitchen, which was a flurry of activity as the breakfast dishes were being readied and the vegetables prepared for dinner.
It wasn’t as busy as it often had been, of course.
With only the master and mistress here, and no entertainments planned, the house was generally quiet.
It had been so for too long, the housekeeper mused. Not since Lady Anne had lost her life not long after Miss Darcy had been born. Then entertainments had stopped abruptly, with only occasional family visiting.
“Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds!” The cook’s voice called out from her domain, and Mrs. Reynolds smiled.
“It is a cold one, to be sure, Mrs. Westby. I know you will have all in hand for the day. Venison tonight, I seem to recall?”
“That’s right. I believe the master favours it above all else.”
“Indeed he does.” Margaret nodded and moved on. A few moments later she heard the murmurings of maids before they turned the corner, heading for the kitchen.
“The mistress is always so kind and not at all demanding. But there is something wrong. I believe she had been weeping in the night again.”
“You’d think she had nothing to cry over, she is very rich and looked after well here.” The second maid sounded resentful.
Margaret stood at the side of the corridor as the maids rounded into the corridor and startled at seeing her.
“No gossiping, girls. You know the rules. It is nothing to do with either of you what cares or troubles the master or mistress have, and certainly not to be tattled about.” She glared at both of them. “Do you understand, Emily?”
Mrs. Darcy’s maid curtsied awkwardly. “Yes, madam. I’m sorry.”
Margaret turned to the other. “Do you understand, Sarah?”
Sarah curtsied. “Yes, Mrs. Reynolds.” Her eyes were lowered, and the housekeeper looked at her thoughtfully. That girl would do with watching.
“Very well. Get on with your work.” She glanced at the tray Emily was carrying. Mrs. Darcy had eaten very little of the toast, but she had tried the blackcurrant conserve today, and again, she had not taken the strawberry.
She nodded to herself. Perhaps she would arrange for apricot next, it had been difficult to ascertain the mistress’ preferences. She would never say, and Margaret had been left to guess.
She stepped out briskly; she would check the dining room next, and that the fires had been lit in the small parlour. Mrs. Darcy would spend the morning in there, she knew.
She pursed her lips; the maids should not gossip, but she had to agree with Mrs. Darcy’s maid.
The mistress was unhappy. Margaret sighed and shook her head.
Mrs. Darcy was very young. But she was kind and gentle; she knew the duties of the mistress of an estate and was working hard to become familiar with Pemberley and her tenants.
I must do something. She is a dear girl, I must say, and working so hard to be all that the mistress should be. I do not like to see her so lonely.
When breakfast was over, she joined Mrs. Darcy in her office as she usually did. Mrs. Darcy greeted her with a smile.
“Take a seat, Mrs. Reynolds,” and before the usual objection could rise to Margaret’s lips, her mistress arched an eyebrow.
Margaret dipped her head in acknowledgement and sat on the very edge of the chair. Mrs. Darcy had explained to her that she could not ask all the questions she wished to if the older woman was on her feet. She would instead feel that she had to keep the interview brief.
The housekeeper was moved each morning by the care of the mistress for those around her. Many ladies thought themselves too high to even consider the plight of those below them. Even Lady Anne had never thought to offer her a seat for their morning conference.
Margaret hid a shiver, remembering vividly the one time Miss Bingley had accompanied her brother to Pemberley — uninvited. That young woman had acted as if she were the mistress of Pemberley and had the whole house in an uproar within two days.
She smiled slightly; the master had been very firm and had instructed Mr. Bingley to take his family away with him that very day.
Mr. Jones had hurried to Margaret after their coach had left — the butler really was a terrible gossip, the worst of them all — and said Mr. Darcy had told his friend that if he ever arrived again with his younger sister, neither would be admitted.
“Do tell me what amuses you, Mrs. Reynolds.” Mrs. Darcy looked wistful. “I would welcome hearing something cheerful.”
“It was nothing, madam.” Margaret spoke hastily, and was discomposed to see the light die in the young woman’s eyes. It was such a relief that Mrs. Darcy was nothing like Miss Bingley. Margaret would have to do something.
Mrs. Darcy’s gaze dropped to the menus on the desk. She furrowed her brow. “Please explain the reason there is so much venison — almost every day?”
Mrs. Reynolds frowned. “Indeed, madam, it may seem much, but the deer must be culled at this season, or else the herd suffers. Venison does not keep forever, though the cold weather preserves it well enough for Christmas and a week or so beyond that.”
Her mistress frowned. “Is it not included in the tenant boxes on Saint Stephen’s day?”
“Oh, yes! it is always sent down to the tenants then, who look for it as part of Pemberley’s bounty. It is merely that the herds had a good year, so many needed to be culled.” She smiled fondly. “And it is a favourite dish of Mr. Darcy, too.”
Mrs. Darcy looked resigned. “Then of course it must be served. Although I must confess it is not my favourite. I have never cared for such rich meat.”
Margaret was shocked. “I am so sorry, madam. I shall be certain to ensure there are always lighter dishes alongside it. A fine turkey, perhaps, or a capon roasted with oysters. Perhaps fish, when it is to be had, or mutton?”
Her mistress looked up, seeming a little startled. “I would not wish extra dishes to be cooked just for me. I cannot eat it all and I would not want food to be wasted.”
“It would not be wasted, madam. Mrs. Westby always has several dishes prepared, as the servants must be fed, too. She will merely prepare one or two for you to have the choice, and less of the other for the staff, assuming there is some left on the dishes to finish up.”
The young woman looked down. “Then I will be very grateful. Tonight, whatever is planned; I do not wish to cause trouble, and then tomorrow you may show me the amended menus.” She rose to her feet, mirrored by Margaret, who felt rather anxious.
“There is one other matter, Mrs. Darcy. I am aware that you insist on walking out each day, but today’s weather is exceptionally harsh.
Might I presume to suggest you walk the gallery this morning?
It would be safer, and I have had fires lit there.
” She held her breath. She did not wish to allow Mrs. Darcy to go out, yet she still did not feel she knew her well enough to know whether she would be offended at Margaret’s solicitude.
“Thank you for the thought, Mrs. Reynolds.” The mistress tightened her lips and glanced at the window. “I would prefer to go out, but I suppose I ought not, today.” She smiled slightly. “Thank you for the conference. I will go to my chambers and collect a warmer shawl.”
Margaret curtsied. “I will send Emily up to you, madam.”
It was time to walk the public rooms. Margaret set off to begin with the breakfast room.
It ought to have been cleared by now, and the table would be being set for a light luncheon in the dining room.
She frowned; Mr. Darcy rarely ate during the day, and Mrs. Darcy must feel very much alone in the great room with the grandiose table and many footmen standing around, ready to serve her. And she ate very little.
Perhaps she could suggest the small blue parlour be made available for the mistress’ solitary meals? But Margaret wished very much to effect a way to draw them together.
Although the blue parlour could be made very nice for two people as well as one.
She sighed. Mr. Darcy was conventional; he was unlikely to consent to such informality.
As she entered the drawing room, her sharp eyes checking every corner, every cushion, she reflected on the situation.
The master was a naturally quiet man, happy with his own company, but Margaret had always been certain that he would be a great deal happier with a good wife beside him.
Mrs. Darcy was that good wife; a wonderfully kind, gentle young lady. And she was his wife for better or worse. Margaret did not know what had brought them together, but this situation could not continue.
She moved into the music room. Did Mrs. Darcy play? She crossed the room to get out some of the music she knew was stored within the stool. Perhaps if some Christmas carols were out on display, the mistress might believe she could play.
Margaret would arrange something. It was the Christmas season, after all. If the weather did not improve, no one would be going anywhere, and she hoped to be able, somehow, to bring Mr. and Mrs. Darcy together in company. Then she would pray that they find felicity with each other.
She had an idea. She would speak to Mr. Maunder quietly. The valet would have been with the master when he met Mrs. Darcy, and he might have some idea of things she might arrange for them.
They were both kind, honourable people; surely the senior staff could help bring them together?