11. The Invitation
Chapter 11
The Invitation
I was left with three days to prepare myself for work. Since I would no longer have much time of leisure, I had to live as much as I could in those remaining days.
The next morning, desirous to have company, I left with Kitty and went to the hotel. When I arrived, a mulatto woman, of medium brown skin, rushed up to Kitty and grabbed her hand. Judging by her uniform, I could tell that she was also a chambermaid.
“Kitty, did you hear the news?” she asked.
“No, I didn’t!” Kitty replied, excited. Then she remembered me, and she touched my hand. “Raspberry? 1 , this is my sister, Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth, this is Raspberry Pitcher.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Pitcher,” I said.
“Nice to meet you as well,” she responded. “It would do better if you were to call me Rasby. I respond to that more readily.”
“Very well, you may call me Lizzy. Or Eliza. Or Beth. Or Elizabeth. Or Betsy. It is just now that I am hearing how many variations of my name there really are.”
“Even Bettie,” Raspberry added.
“Oh, another one?” I said, rolling my eyes. “Makes sense, I suppose. Especially when you might be from a family where there are seven Elizabeths in each generation. That has been known to happen.”
“My mother put a stop to that in advance. Then again, she did also like raspberries.”
“I never met someone who didn’t. My introductions interrupted your news.”
“Yes, now I want to know more than ever!” Kitty declared. “Rasby, come on. You know we have only a matter of time before Frances comes out and gets mad at us for ‘clumping’.” She turned to me to explain. “Frances is our chief supervisor. Clumping is his term for whenever we congregate in public.”
“Our employers prefer us to go unseen,” Raspberry informed me, “the more invisible we are, the better.”
“Then let’s come away,” I advised. “I don’t want you both getting into trouble just because I am here. I’m visiting my friends on the second floor. If you escort me, you can look as if you are assisting me in some way.”
“You think on your feet,” Raspberry noted, “good. I don’t need them to have another reason to sack me.”
“Another reason?” I asked. Raspberry responded by pointing to her skin, and I understood the implications. As we walked up the steps to the second floor, Raspberry finally figured that she could unveil her news. And it was about time since she was practically bursting with excitement.
“The regiment is coming to Milton!” she professed.
“What?” Kitty cried.
“Yes! A regiment of her majesty’s militia is coming to Milton.” Kitty grabbed Raspberry’s hand and began to jump up and down giddily.
“Rasby, do you mean it?”
“Cross my heart! I have it upon very good authority that they will be here within a fortnight.”
“Oh, that is so wonderful!” Kitty cried. “If we get fortunate, then Lydia might come! Can you find that out for me?”
“I can write to my brother,” Raspberry offered, “but I fear that the response might be here right when they come. You can write to your sister if she will be in the party.”
“Lydia is awful at writing to us,” Kitty elaborated. “If she does come to Milton, then we won’t know of it until the day before.”
“And how do you know this?” I inquired, desiring to know. “You mentioned your brother.”
“Yes. His name is Plato. He’s my younger brother. He was able to find a way to secure employment in the military, and he’s one of the soldiers that will be settling here for the winter.”
“He must be pretty awe-inspiring to have overcome such obstacles,” I said, without shame or self-consciousness.
“Oh, he is,” Raspberry said. “Plato has always been popular, and he is the sort that has the ability to make anyone like him. He was able to make enough friends who helped him obtain his post. When you see him, you will understand. He’s different than me.”
“In what way?”
“I can’t explain it. He just has an aura. A nature that makes everyone see him for how he wants you to see him.”
“Your brother is charming?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Which,” Kitty encouraged, “in our times, is very refreshing.”
“Even his Colonel likes him. Then again, from what Plato writes, Colonel Fitzwilliam does seem to be a different sort of man.”
My eyes widened.
“Did you say Colonel Fitzwilliam?” I asked, my eyes widening.
“Ah, you know the Colonel, I gather?” she deduced.
“Yes, I do.”
“Lizzy,” Kitty realized, “isn’t that the name of Mr. Darcy’s cousin?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam was coming to Milton?
This week was continuing to bring so many surprises, and in the most unlikely of places.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “Colonel Fitzwilliam is Mr. Darcy’s cousin.”
“Who’s Mr. Darcy?” Raspberry asked.
“I’ll tell you all about it when we have to clean out Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins’s room,” Kitty said. “Eliza, here’s where we have to work. For look.”
Up ahead, we saw a very sour man, wearing the proper attire of a hotel steward. He was of medium height, was slightly balding, and he had a natural dour look. Have you ever met someone who was sour in person, and their face constantly displayed it? That was how this man looked.
“Kitty and Rasby!” he hissed. “Stop being lax in your duties and get to work.”
“Yes, Mr. Frances,” Kitty and Raspberry said in unison, with an intimidated look on their faces. I hated Frances on sight! My disgust toward him was cemented when he looked cruelly on Raspberry.
“And you, girl, are always a meter away from being sacked. I look for a reason to go the full distance of dismissing you.”
I was at my wit’s end. Standing in front of them both, I faced down Frances.
“Sir, both women were assisting me on learning of the delights of Milton. Why are chambermaids not allowed to assist guests?”
Mr. Frances, clearly not used to being spoken to like such, flinched.
“By assisting me, are they not holding to their service?” I furthered. My question was rhetorical, and I didn’t wait for him to respond. “Sir, you will excuse us.”
He stuttered.
“Very well,” he responded. “Begging your pardon, miss.”
“I was not the one who was being offended.”
Not wishing to remain, he bowed and left the hallway.
I turned to Kitty and Raspberry, with raised eyebrows.
“How did you do that?” Raspberry asked, amazed.
“I had one main trick up my sleeve.”
“And what is that?”
“I’m not the one who works for him,” I answered.
“I knew that I would like you! Now, come, Kitty,” Raspberry said, grabbing her hand. “His patience will be at its furthest limits, and he will grow red in the face.”
“But Rasby,” I called after them, eager to know, “if Plato has made friends, can you write to him to ask if there is a man named Wickham in his regiment?”
“Wickham?” Raspberry asked, her face scrunched up from uncertainty.
“Never fear, Lizzy,” Kitty said, “I’ll tell her all about him.”
They disappeared down the corner.
“Elizabeth,” Margaret Hale said as I met her, Mrs. Hale, and Dixon in the parlor of their hotel room. “We now have a home.”
“Do you?” I asked.
“Yes. It is the house in Crampton.”
“The one that Mr. Darcy escorted us to?”
“Yes, that one.”
“I thought that…”
I had recalled that she didn’t want to move there, due to the bad experience that we shared. Reading my expression, Margaret thought it best to explain.
“It really is the ONLY option that is left to us,” she elaborated, resigned. “And I was able to organize the setup of the house in a way where there would be room for all of us.”
“Mr. Hale is there now, signing the rent,” Mrs. Hale informed us.
“It will be nothing like Helstone,” Dixon grunted, “we’re to live amongst smoke.”
“Dixon, you have the strength to endure it all,” I stated.
“It is not myself that I am worried over, mark you all,” Dixon declared. “This is not the place for ladies. And I don’t care what this new house is to look like.”
“I’ve heard horrors about the wallpaper,” Mrs. Hale said, “but Mr. Hale seems to like the man who oversees that house: Mr. Thornton. I suspect that is the reason that the house is being chosen. They have become friends within the two days of knowing each other. I don’t see how your father can prefer the company of these Milton men, Margaret. I do not understand it at all.”
Margaret and I gave each other a look.
“Mr. Thornton?” I asked. “The Mr. Thornton that we met before?”
“Yes,” Margaret answered.
“Your father likes him?”
“Yes.”
And that would, undoubtedly, be the strangest news that I had heard all day.
“Fascinating,” was the only response that I could administer to the situation.
“Yes,” Margaret confirmed, “a very good euphemism for it.”
When Mr. Hale returned, he was all in rapture.
“I have just dined with Mr. Thornton,” he cried. “What an agreeable fellow. What’s more, he has requested my services as being a pupil of mine.”
“Has he?” Margaret asked, and once more, we exchanged a look.
“Yes, he has.” Sitting down next to his wife, he placed Mrs. Hale’s hand in his. “Dearest, this is wonderful news. With him signing on to private lessons, perhaps more of these manufacturers will follow.”
“What inspires him to take lessons, I wonder?” Margaret asked, apprehensive. “After all, he is a manufacturer of a determined and set age.”
“I have a theory on that score,” Mr. Hale deduced, “and that is the desire for enlightenment. After all, who doesn’t desire to better themselves? Such an inclination for self-enhancement is not confined to one region of England, Britain, or the world, for that matter. From Britain to Australia, from Australia to America, from America to Asia, and from Asia to Africa, one always prefers to be respected amongst one’s peers. Milton ought to not be an exception. These manufacturers naturally wish to speak, converse and be respected amongst the most learned men from Oxford, Cambridge, and the like. Education and intellect are as much a currency as money, sometimes. Mr. Thornton wishes to better himself. I appreciate such an inclination, and I expect that he will be a valuable acquaintance. If only for conversation at least.”
I looked at Margaret again, wondering how she was taking such news.
At last, when we were given a moment to converse with ourselves, Margaret was able to unleash her feelings.
“Of all the men for my father to befriend when taking two steps into a new town, it had to be Mr. Thornton’s sort,” she uttered.
“Did you tell your father about our first meeting him?” I asked. “He doesn’t speak like a man who knows the truth.”
“No, I haven’t, because it is neither here nor there,” Margaret advised, “I don’t know why but I don’t think it would be kind to tell father about Mr. Thornton’s bad first impression. I think…Papa is lonely right now.”
I scratched my chin, surprised by this honest confession.
“I must not make him desperate by trying to sour him against the first friend that he has made,” Margaret furthered, “believe me, that is never kind to teach someone prejudice, even if I feel it myself. No, let my father like him, and I will have to be content with knowing the truth.”
Her speech humbled me, for it rendered me a little disconcerted. It reminded me of another experience from my past. And a past acquaintance, by the name of Mr. Wickham, was involved.
“Very well,” I said. “But Margaret, I will have to advise you.”
“About what?”
“About the fact that, since Mr. Thornton may become friends with your father, that you will eventually have to encounter him.”
“I hope that they will not be long and frequent interactions. I do not expect myself to have anything to say to him. Oh, I see him now, with that violent look in his eye and that hellfire of a temper. My father is free to like him, and he ought to. But I may safely promise you that I will never prefer the company of Mr. Thornton.”
Since I had remained with the Hales the entire day, I was able to return home with Kitty.
“Rasby didn’t know of a Mr. Wickham,” Kitty informed me as we rode the omnibus home. “Plato has never mentioned him in her letters at all.”
“Well,” I gathered, “regiments can be large in number. Perhaps Plato and Mr. Wickham don’t move in the same sphere of acquaintance.”
“I do not think so, Elizabeth,” Kitty gathered. “Plato has always been very good at knowing names of everyone who serves around him. And Mr. Wickham is a popular man. Rasby will write to Plato about Mr. Wickham, but if she has not heard of him at this point, then it’s unlikely that Mr. Wickham will be in the regiment. And I am curious. Colonel Fitzwilliam—you met him?”
“Yes, I did. When I was in London, he was at a few dinner parties that I attended with Mrs. Shaw, Edith and Captain Lennox.”
“What manner of man is he?” Kitty asked.
“He is not very handsome, but after a while, you will not care. He is very charming, and he prefers women’s company. And, since he is in a redcoat, you will admire him a great deal.”
“Tease me all that you like, Lizzy, but there is nothing so very terrible about finding officers agreeable.”
“You still prefer them to anyone else?”
“Yes, because heaven forbid that we spend our lives having any sort of fun.”
“I just don’t want you to be ridiculed by others.”
Kitty looked at me shrewdly.
“More than how we are already ridiculed ever since we fell further in rank and position? Lizzy, we are poor now. What have we to lose?”
“Valid point. Very well. But we have one more thing that is worth keeping.”
“And what is that?”
“Our self-respect.”
“I have that. I respect the right to enjoy my life. After all, I have only one life to live.”
“That is a bit of philosophy that I do not deny has some logic, but still, Kitty, please do not compromise yourself very much. I don’t want others to cast aspersions at you.”
“We are below anyone’s notice now. I find freedom in that. Freedom, after all, is a poor woman’s first and last resort.”
I pinched her.
“What was that for?”
“For saying something witty. Even I don’t deny that you said it well.”
Kitty chuckled.
When we returned home and we stepped into our small lodgings, we were surprised to discover that there were two letters for us.
“The first is from Lydia!” Kitty cried, ripping open the letter. “It is about time. I haven’t heard from her in weeks.”
“Same with myself,” I said removing my bonnet and coat. “What was it that she said when we asked her to write to us often? Oh yes, that’s right! ‘Married women do not often have time for writing’.” I chuckled. “Mama would have agreed with her.”
“She is coming to Milton!”
“Really?” I asked. “Then Denny is in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s regiment now?”
“He must be.”
“There must have been some sort of exchange being made.”
“Whatever the reason, Denny is in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s regiment, and he is coming to Milton, with the officers’ wives in attendance. Lydia will hate Milton, I bet.”
“She will find something to laugh at, I am sure,” I noted, putting on my apron and going into the kitchen. “As long as she can find subjects of mirth, and men to pay attention to her, she will be happy. The smoke will not deter her.”
“And soon it will not deter you. You still are disgusted by the hustle, smoke and bustle of Milton, Lizzy. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Nothing is hidden,” I said, beginning to make a salad. “I put it out there for all my acquaintances to see, if they ever wish to read the subtleties of my expressions.”
“Very soon, you will grow accustomed to this place. Eventually, you will learn to like it.”
“How long will that take?”
“For you? A couple years at least.” She had joked, and I was aware of that.
“Who is the second letter from?” I asked, pulling the lettuce apart.
“Mr. Darcy!”
I stopped preparing our meal.
“What?”
“It’s from Mr. Darcy.”
Kitty looked at me and she could sense that I was uncomfortable.
“Eliza, I have to read it.”
“Of course. Go on, I am not against hearing anything that he would have to say.”
She opened the letter and read it.
Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, and Miss Kitty,
I pray that I find you all in good spirits and good health. Miss Elizabeth, having encountered you two days ago has reminded me of the joys of meeting previous acquaintances while being in a strange town. Desirous to rediscover friends made from Hertfordshire, I would like to request the right to call on you all and pay my respects.
If you would be so kind as to accept, please write back to inform me of what day would be the best to arrange the visit.
Sincerely,
F. Darcy
When Kitty finished reading it, her cheeks were red. Looking in her eyes, she felt precisely as I did.
“Never mind, I was wrong,” I uttered.
“Yes.”
We looked around ourselves, at our small lodgings, and our obvious unsuccessful attempt to make it worthy of anyone above our station to wish to visit. Let alone the Master of Pemberley!
“If he were to take one step in here and see how we lived,” I uttered. “I…”
“Yes,” Kitty said, understanding what I felt. “But we also can’t write back in the negative, because that would be rude.”
“Yes, it would be. Therefore, there is only one thing to do. After all, you are right. We are poor now, and I see that there is freedom in one way. There is no point in hiding anything.”
“What?” Kitty asked.
“I am going to tell Mr. Darcy the truth.”
After we ate, I composed a letter. Kitty left briefly, to give our leftover food to a family who lived around the corner, by the name of Boucher.
Late that night, once more, I was sleeping alone in my bed, and I had the blankets wrapped around me tightly. The night was cold, and the room let some of the chill in.
I was convinced that I was right for sending the letter to Mr. Darcy. I was tired of there being secrets and misunderstandings between us.
Even more, I had time to reflect on my history with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham. When Mr. Wickham had entered Meryton, and he very quickly made himself agreeable to everyone around him, including myself, I was beginning to see something.
I had been angry with Mr. Darcy ever since we first met and he slighted me, by refusing to dance with me and by thinking me to not be handsome enough to stand up with him. When Mr. Wickham came to Hertfordshire, having joined the regiment, Mr. Darcy’s offenses against him naturally would endear me to Wickham. After all, when someone hates someone that you hate, you band together and find an ally. But when I heard Margaret declare that she would never tell her father about our first impression of Mr. Thornton, on the grounds that she did not want to affect their relationship, it left me wondering.
Mr. Darcy vs Mr. Wickham.
How quickly I had sided with the latter against the former. Yes, my anger for Mr. Darcy was initially sparked from our disastrous first encounter with each other, but that was MY experience. Mr. Wickham’s telling me of how Mr. Darcy had robbed him of his inheritance and reduced him to a state of poverty, was Wickham’s experience. It wasn’t my prejudice to take up and share with him. Maybe Mr. Wickham was erroneous for trying to influence me into his way of thinking.
Then again…there was a more frightening aspect. After all, we are all adults who are responsible for our thoughts. Yes, others can be wrong for swaying us to their selfish cause. But, at the end of the day, it is mainly our fault for allowing ourselves to be swayed. Did I take a wrong step somewhere?
In the next second, I closed my eyes in vexation.
What was happening to me?
Mr. Wickham and I were very good friends! Why was I doubting him now?
Then I recalled Margaret’s words. And yes, they did make sense!
What was Milton doing to me? It had the uncanny ability to make me confused.
1 ? Raspberry was a REAL VICTORIAN name. Also, to make the reader aware, if you ever encounter a character with a strange name in this series, it is because of an attempt to be accurate to some names from real Victorian history.