Chapter Three #3
His Caroline clicked her tongue. “Brewster,” she said to the butler.
“Yes, miss?”
“Tell cook I wish to see her in my sitting room once we finish eating.”
“I will, miss.”
*
Lizzy met Mary as she walked through the outer doors into the orangery.
Dressed in a drab beige gown, trimmed in brown piping, Mary appeared ready to make her regular visit to the infirmary where she read to the sick, which she would do tomorrow.
She should buy some cheerful gowns to wear day-to-day.
“Ah, there you are,” Mary said. “Papa wishes to eat and you are late arriving as usual.” She eyed the apron. “You have been running again, have you not? Well, you had best take that off before entering the breakfast room.”
Lizzy immediately tugged the corners of her apron out of her waistband and gently let them fall to the floor so as not to startle her pets.
She proceeded to untie the offending garment and felt in the pockets for her friends.
Squeaky climbed up her arm and complained mightily with squeaks and chitters.
“He does not like it when I run,” Lizzy explained to Mary, who merely opened her eyes wide, tightened her mouth, and shook her head.
Lizzy ignored her and weighed the apron in her hands.
“This is too light. Goodness, now where did Jeffry go? He is most definitely not in my pocket like before. What if I dropped him?” She spied the guinea pig in his enclosure. “Oh, there he is.”
“He better not come into the breakfast room,” Mary said testily.
Lizzy frowned. “He will not stay put.”
“I am hungry,” Mary reminded her, turning on her heel. “Do not forget to take off your bonnet and pelisse.”
Hastily doing as Mary said, and placing Squeaky on the wide, orangery fireplace mantel, Lizzy patted her hair into place and hastened after her. They caught their father checking the clock on the mantel. Her mother and three other sisters stood next to the table, waiting for them.
“Lord, you have found her,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “Why must we always wait for you, Lizzy?”
“I do not know,” Lizzy responded, curtsying to her father and mother. “I have told you often enough not to do so.”
“Whatever your wild, uncivilized ways, Elizabeth Bennet, in this household we strive to maintain an appropriate level of civility,” her mother snapped.
“You have been out with Harry?” her papa asked, coming over to hold his wife’s chair for her.
“Yes, Papa,” Lizzy said, grinning. “It was a delightful walk. And most rewarding.”
“How so, dearest?” Jane asked, taking her seat.
Lizzy sat beside her. “We met Mr. Darcy in the home wood. Conny walked with him, which must count as a positive assessment of his character.”
“Must it?” her papa asked, chuckling. “Perhaps that lazy dog believed he would walk slow enough for her to enjoy a trundle through our wood.”
Several of his daughters dutifully laughed at his mild joke.
“Were you surprised to see Mr. Darcy, Lizzy?” Kitty asked.
“Yes,” Lizzy replied.
“Time for prayer,” her papa said. Everyone fell silent and listened until the moment to say “amen” arrived.
Hill carried platters from the sideboard and placed them on the table. The one set closest to Lizzy contained shredded parsnip and carrot fritters. She immediately passed it along the table. She could not abide parsnips in any form, a sentiment not shared by the rest of her family.
“Oooh, lovely,” Jane murmured, taking one.
Coddled eggs followed, with slices of ham afterwards.
“Is there walnut ketchup?” Lydia asked.
“I have it here,” their papa answered. He ladled some of the smooth dark sauce over his ham before he passed her the small ceramic pot.
“Here are some stewed apple slices, Lizzy,” their mama said, passing her the serving bowl, which smelled heavenly of cinnamon.
“I hope you did not look like you do now when you met Mr. Darcy. There are not so many eligible gentlemen around for you to impress. I wonder how much he is worth. Mr. Bennet, you must discover the amount of his income.”
“Must I?” their papa asked, sounding uninterested.
Lizzy spooned some apples onto her plate. “I had my apron on under my pelisse, Mama.” Peaking at her mother, Lizzy saw her eyes roll and her eyebrows lift. “I did not expect to meet anyone in our home wood so early in the morning.”
“Did he have anything to say for himself?” her father asked.
“We did not talk for long, sir,” Lizzy said, shrugging a little.
“However, he did suggest something. I told him about Cook’s efforts to write a cookbook.
You know, do you not, Papa, that Cook has been struggling with the method of creating recipes for women to use who do not have her type of measuring tools? ”
“I do,” he said, nodding. “You have mentioned it before.”
“Mr. Darcy suggested that a measuring cup—possibly made from tin—could be sold with the recipe book, or possibly to be given away with the book.”
Her papa nodded again. “A sensible notion. If Cook wishes to consult the tinker, Mr. Munk, I have no objections.”
“Mr. Bennet,” their mama said in a tight voice, “directing the female servants falls under my purview.”
“So, it does,” their papa murmured. “Do you think the idea has merit, my dear?”
“Which idea?” she asked, frowning. “The cookbook? The cup? Or the one about our cook consulting with Mr. Munk?”
“The last one.”
“Humph,” their mother said, slathering pear conserve over her piece of toast. “I think sending for Mr. Munk is more sensible. Cook may meet with him one afternoon when he is available.”
“As you wish,” their papa said as he reached for the platter of coddled eggs.
Lizzy grinned and addressed her food with pleasant anticipation. When the meal ended, their papa stood.