Chapter 2 Reflections
Mrs Reynolds said, “I will show you to a place to refresh yourself. We laid out some tea and biscuits in the Yellow Parlour, if you have no objections.”
“That sounds lovely. Thank you.”
They all trooped into the house, where the butler helped Elizabeth out of her coat and gloves; then she exchanged her bonnet for a black mobcap.
Elizabeth felt all the awkwardness of the situation, but had some sympathy for the two retainers, who were no doubt suffering double or treble the discomfort.
While her husband had left her in an untenable position, how much more awkward must it be for them.
Elizabeth spent a quarter hour in a retiring room, then found Mrs Reynolds waiting patiently to escort her to the Yellow Parlour.
They entered, and Mrs Reynolds asked her how she liked her tea.
Trying to pretend it was a normal, everyday occurrence, Elizabeth gave her preferences, then asked both to attend her in half an hour after she had taken some tea and biscuits, to which they readily agreed.
Left alone in what she had to admit was quite an enchanting parlour, she settled back to try to calm her shattered nerves.
The room was small and personal, and Elizabeth wondered if it was used for intimate gatherings of small groups of friends; or if it was the place hardest for the other servants to spy on.
In her present state of mind, she suspected the latter, but decided that was uncharitable—probably true, but uncharitable nonetheless.
Half an hour later, Jennings and Reynolds returned, and Elizabeth thought it was about time to get the awkward conversation over with.
“Mr Jennings. Mrs Reynolds. I understand it is unconventional, but I will ask you to sit or I will stand. It is your choice.”
Both frowned at the suggestion, but Elizabeth just waited for them to decide.
Those two could make her experience reasonably pleasant, or a living hell.
She was naturally inclined towards the former; but no matter her restrictions, she was the mistress of this estate, and if she did not establish some authority, she would regret it for a long time.
Authority once given was difficult to retrieve.
The two seemed confused for a moment, but eventually both joined her at the table.
Without preamble, Elizabeth asked, “What have you heard about how things are to proceed in my husband’s absence?”
The two looked back and forth, and finally Jennings retrieved a letter from an inside pocket. “Mrs Darcy, to be frank, the instructions seem… unusual… and he did not mention you being in mourning at all.”
“May I see the instructions?”
Jennings felt extremely uncomfortable being asked permission for anything by the mistress of the estate, so he just handed the letter over.
Elizabeth read the note and found it included the same restrictions her husband outlined in the carriage on the way to Hatfield.
The butler and housekeeper would maintain the house with its present customs until his return.
Elizabeth was not to call or take callers, not to entertain, not to visit the tenants, not to use the carriage more than twice a week, and not to redecorate anything save the mistress’ suite.
She could walk or ride as she chose, if accompanied.
She was thankful he left off the part about the books on the black shelves, not because she would disregard his instructions, but because the debacle was humiliating enough without that.
“This agrees with what he told me.”
She put down the letter and looked back and forth between the two pensively.
“We will be in each other’s company for some time, in a situation rife for mischief and misunderstanding. Does that seem a reasonable assessment?”
Feeling the conversation had left the safety of propriety some time earlier, both servants looked at each other, and finally Mrs Reynolds spoke for both. “To be honest, I do not understand any of this.”
Elizabeth sighed resignedly. “My husband has left me in quite a poor position, but I do not expect you to comment on that. It is not your place to choose sides, nor my desire to make you do so.”
Mrs Reynolds looked at her carefully. “That is kind of you. I find the whole thing does not match my understanding of your husband. I have never known a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old.”
Elizabeth frowned a bit, but tried to moderate the expression, assuming it was a skill she might have to perfect over the years and decades.
“I cannot really respond to that. I take you at your word on your experience, but mine does not match your observations.”
Mrs Reynolds saw the set of her mistress’ jaw, suggesting her master had been far from the mark but wisely surmised that the topic should be closed for the moment. The master could dig himself out of his own hole or not, and there seemed little point in trying to fight his battles for him.
Jennings, feeling most uncomfortable himself, asked, “How shall we proceed?”
Elizabeth looked down at the hateful letter once again. “If you do not mind, pray make me a clean copy of this. Then, I suppose we will settle down and wait for the master to return. Did he tell you where he was going or what he was doing?”
Neither the butler nor housekeeper could guess whether the mistress did not know, or knew and wanted to find out if they did. Either way, the answer was the same.
Jennings said, “He did not say, madam. He suggested lives and fortunes were on the line, and the mission was one of utmost secrecy.”
Elizabeth managed not to snort at his high-handedness. “I suppose his steward knows more?”
“Yes, madam. He is expected to handle the master’s affairs without instruction in the interim, so he knows more. He of course will not share it with anybody.”
“Of course.”
At an impasse, Elizabeth prepared to get on with doing something when Mrs Reynolds interrupted her politely. “Begging your pardon, but the master did not arrange for a lady’s maid. I do not know if I should engage one or not.”
Elizabeth sighed at one more sign of either disrespect or thoughtlessness on her husband’s part. “No, during my period of mourning I do not expect I need all that much help. I will not be entertaining, I will be dressed simply, and—”
She thought for a moment. “I suppose I can make use of other servants as necessary.”
“Of course.”
Elizabeth thought a minute. “Have you engaged a young girl named Molly Hatcher?”
Surprised by the question, the housekeeper replied, “Yes, she is a scullery maid, but she is the lowest ranked servant in the house, so you are unlikely to meet her unless you inspect the kitchens.”
“Why would I inspect the kitchens?”
“It is what mistresses usually do, and I am certain you must consult with me on menus and other matters.”
Elizabeth had not even thought about meals, but the idea of eating alone, in a big private dining room, surrounded by servants in full livery, all painfully aware of her humiliation—gave her chills. At best it would be tedious beyond belief. At worst, it would be a constant source of gossip.
“Mrs Reynolds, may I presume the staff eats well?”
The housekeeper looked affronted at the very question. “Of course. You will not find anyone at Pemberley who would not give the master a good reference.”
Elizabeth thought that statement optimistic, since she could name one off the top of her head, but judged it best not to dwell on that.
“I will not be following the usual customs during my mourning. I leave it to the two of you to offer suitable explanations to the staff to keep gossip to a minimum. People will ask how I married while in mourning, and you should simply say the wedding preceded my knowledge. You may put it about that I am not calling or taking callers because of my mourning, but I am a very private person and do not wish to expand on that. I also do not wish to dine formally while mourning, so I will take my meals in my sitting room—presuming I have one?”
“Of course!” Mrs Reynolds stated emphatically.
“Let us do this. Assign Molly to my own use, but do not promote her to lady’s maid, as I do not want to foment rebellion in the ranks.
I know her from before my marriage, and you should use that as explanation.
It is common for a new mistress to bring some staff from her home.
Molly will bring me whatever you are serving below stairs, and I will be content with it. ”
Jennings said, “That will seem very peculiar.”
“I know,” she sighed. “The only thing I ask is for the two of you to mitigate that as much as you can. Suggest my mourning was for someone vague but important. It might be best to tell people I did not share the information. People act peculiarly when grieving. As long as nothing any odder occurs, I believe we will survive it more or less intact.”
Both servants looked dubious, but since she was the mistress of the estate, and her ideas did not directly contradict the master’s orders, they had little choice but to go along.
Mrs Reynolds privately looked forward to a long association with Mrs Darcy.
She thought that, once the master returned, and the difficulties between the two were resolved—which they obviously would be since nobody could remain angry with the master forever—she would quite enjoy the new mistress.
She thought the vague but important dead relative was a bald-faced lie, but it was exceedingly clever.
You could explain almost any odd behaviour with mourning.
If they told the right gossip to the right people, they just might pull it off with an intact reputation.
If she were not explicit about whom she was mourning, she could mourn as hard or as easily as she chose and go into half-mourning or stop altogether whenever she was ready.
The housekeeper naturally said none of this to the mistress—there were limits to that odd conversation.
Jennings’ thoughts tended along the same direction, but he would never discuss such ideas even with the steward, let alone anyone else. Mrs Darcy had decided how she wished to comport herself, and he would do whatever was necessary to make sure the household responded accordingly.
Elizabeth said, “I would ask one more boon of you.”
“Anything you ask.”
Elizabeth thought that asking for a fast horse and enough money to disappear might be too much, regardless of how tempting the idea was.
“I would like to salvage some hope of eventually being a proper mistress for this house. I will not interfere with the smooth running of the house, but if you would join me for tea once a week and explain how things are done, I would appreciate it.”
Mrs Reynolds thought the request meant that things were much worse than she had surmised, since the mistress of the house felt the need to ask the housekeeper’s permission to perform the very most basic duty of the job; but such it was.
“Of course.”
Elizabeth gave a small smirk. “If there are changes you wanted to make for some time but did not want to ask, feel free to make them and blame me. Nobody will ever know.”
Jennings looked scandalised, but Mrs Reynolds just laughed and nodded.
Feeling like their business for the day was complete, Elizabeth said, “Shall we look at my suite? If there are changes necessary, I imagine we should get on with it.”
“Of course, madam. Right this way,” Mrs Reynolds replied.
Jennings added, “If you’ve no objections, I will bring a few footmen, just in case you want some small changes for the evening—moving furniture around and the like.”
“Thank you. That would be lovely. If you could show me the library on the way, I would be entirely content.”
With that, the three got up from what was probably the oddest conversation in history, all still quite uncomfortable with the situation, but at least believing it was manageable.