Chapter 3 #2
Hanging her head, she admitted Elizabeth was correct. “I assume he did so because Mama always wanted me to become better acquainted with the Baker side of my family.” Heaving a sigh, she turned towards the house and spoke over her shoulder. “I shall make an attempt—but no promises.”
At dinner, Miss Hughes addressed her uncle. “Tell me about Bath, please. And for whatever reason did you and Aunt leave there and come to live in this lonely place?”
Setting his knife and fork upon his plate, Mr Baker clasped his hands across his expansive chest and seemed settled in for an equally expansive explanation.
“As you might be aware, two of your progenitors were part of the retinue that came over from Germany in 1714 with the prince who became the first King George. Your great-great-grandparents were—”
“Frederick,” cried his sister, “your niece did not ask for our family history.” She caught her brother’s eye, then made a point of glancing at Elizabeth.
“Ah. I do beg your pardon, Niece. I think it might be best if I tell you about our lineage at some other time, lest our guest suffer from the dreadful affliction that runs rampant amongst the ton. Ennui.”
Elizabeth protested, but he flapped a hand at her.
“I shall skip a couple of generations and make a long story short. Our parents moved with Alice, Emma, and me from London’s outskirts to Bath.
There, Alice met your father. As it so happened, she was fortunate to have left Bath for Hertfordshire when she did. ”
“Indeed.” Miss Baker took a sip of Rhenish wine.
“Bath was pleasant for a time, and we had many friends and acquaintances there. Remind me to show you my album amicorum sometime. But, after Alice left, the four of us contracted smallpox. The vaccine was discovered too late for us. Our parents perished, and we were orphaned.” Touching her cheek, she added, “As you no doubt noticed, Frederick and I were left with these unsightly pockmarks. Some of our acquaintances turned away. Eventually, we waved farewell to our true friends and took leave of Bath.”
Mr Baker continued the telling. “We did so to escape the crowds. There is less chance of catching any sort of disease in remote regions such as this, especially by the sea. Nobody catches cold here or wants for appetite, spirits, or strength. The bracing air and the briny water work together to heal, soothe, fortify. I suppose you might call me a health seeker.”
“Some might call you daft, Frederick.” His sister then spoke in a stage whisper. “For his health, my giddy brother sea-bathes nearly every morning in the Channel.”
“Ha, a most apt descriptor, Emma. Giddy means having a confused, swimming sensation.”
She shook her head. “See, ladies, what I must put up with? Miss Bennet, in a letter she wrote to me, my niece mentioned that your family escaped a contagion in your own neighbourhood. For that, we are thankful and very happy that you are able to be with us for the summer.”
“Thank you. I am delighted to be here but wish it could have been under different circumstances. And, yes, we were fortunate. Once the sore throats and fevers began afflicting our neighbours, my mother became wild with worry. Our family had attended a mid-winter assembly, and throughout that event my two youngest sisters had been in the company of your niece and their friend Miss Maria Lucas, giggling and gossiping, huddled together when not dancing with the few local young men in attendance.”
As her father had said, eligible neighbourhood gentlemen were almost as scarce as Lydia’s common sense.
Although it was not unusual for Mr Bennet to make sport of his wife and three youngest daughters, they rarely understood his mocking remarks.
One must be thankful for small mercies. Elizabeth knew, though, that he would be in great distress if a tragedy were to befall any of his daughters.
Even after the contagion scare was over, neither he nor her mother would allow Lydia to go to Brighton in late-May with the Forsters.
Miss Hughes gave an exaggerated huff. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, but as respectable young ladies, the four of us were neither giggling nor gossiping.” She went on then to tell her aunt and uncle all about her Hertfordshire friends and acquaintances.
“…and the former Miss Charlotte Lucas married the Bennets’ cousin Mr Collins. ”
As much as Elizabeth liked Charlotte, she was grateful for the cancellation of the planned trip to Kent with Sir William and Maria Lucas, who were good-humoured but empty-headed people.
Listening to the pair of them rattle on for fifty miles would have been as delightful as listening to the rattle of the Lucases’ old chaise.
Nor, if truth be told, had she looked forward to an extended stay at Hunsford with Mr Collins, although she had wanted to satisfy her own curiosity about the dubious possibility of her friend’s marital felicity.
Besides all that, Charlotte had written to Elizabeth with news that had made her triply glad to have avoided the visit to Kent: Mr Darcy and a cousin of his had been at Rosings Park with Lady Catherine de Bourgh for a se’nnight.
And we all know from Mr Collins that the garden in which stands his humble abode is separated only by a lane from her ladyship’s residence. What a narrow escape I had!
Elizabeth could not abide the haughty master of Pemberley, particularly regarding his uncharitable behaviour towards Mr Wickham, and she had championed the poor lieutenant while dancing with Mr Darcy at the Netherfield ball.
Two days afterwards, the entire Bingley party had fled the neighbourhood, and she had silently bade the whole lot of them good riddance.
Indeed, things had transpired for the best regarding Kent. Meanwhile at the Bakers’ dinner table, the conversation had moved on to another topic, that being the residents of Wyman’s Cove.
“Aunt, your letter mentioned a new neighbour. Has that gentleman moved into Strandsmere Park yet?”
“No, not as yet, but we expect him any day now. His cook told our Mrs Poole that he is bringing a large party with him. Apparently, he also has a sizeable estate in Derbyshire and leases a house in London. I already sent round an invitation for Mr Darcy, his younger sister, and their guests to soon dine with us.”
Elizabeth profusely apologised as her knife clanged against the delicate china upon which it had dropped.