Chapter Ten #2
“I have. I awoke early, and we took a romp through the gathering day,” Lizzy told Mary. “It was so clear, I saw the comet again.” They paused for Lizzy to wash her hands. Over her shoulder, she said, “Harry is outside, sleeping in the sun.”
“I thought as much,” Mary murmured. Then, she issued one of her many quotes. “Rumi said, ‘The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Do not go back to sleep.’”
“I like that one,” Lizzy claimed, drying her hands. She took her sister’s arm again, and they strolled toward the orangery door. “Who is Rumi?”
“He was a Sufi mystic, and a poet, born in 1207. Papa has a collection of his poetry in his bookroom—translated into English, as you would expect.”
“I see,” Lizzy murmured. “Perhaps I will read his poems, if you recommend them to me.”
“I do.” Mary dryly added, “But you will not read them.”
“Why do you say so?” Lizzy asked, surprised.
“You are not truly interested in anything other than your animals,” Mary pointed out.
“I could read a few every night before I go to sleep,” Lizzy protested. “You will see. I will make headway through them.”
Mary shook her head. “They should be savored, not rushed through.”
Lizzy crossed her heart. “I solemnly swear to savor every one of Rumi’s poems in that book. You may test me on them, if you like?”
“I will do so,” Mary warned. She reached out and pushed the door to the breakfast room open. “What will you purchase today?”
“I need to see the chemist for some lanolin,” Lizzy explained. “I must make some more hand cream before I run out. I mean to make some that smells like lavender this time. We have some dried lavender in the still room.”
“I like the smell of it,” Jane remarked, joining in on their conversation and smiling a welcome. “Mama is not yet down, and Papa has already eaten. Kitty and Lydia are with him, attending to their studies.”
“I suppose they wish to go to town?” Lizzy asked, picking up a plate from the sideboard. Because today was market day, the Bennet household ate buffet-style. Many affluent families ate that way every day, but their parents preferred to sit down together and eat family-style except for Saturday.
“They do,” Jane said. “They stopped in at Aunt Phillip’s house yesterday. She told them she had seen some militia officers about the town.”
“So, Kitty and Lydia mean to spy them out?” Lizzy asked.
She filled her plate with slices of ham and scrambled eggs containing mushrooms. She placed a slice of nicely fried eggy bread on her plate and topped it with stewed apples and pears.
Lizzy sprinkled the fruit with cinnamon and sugar before she carried her meal to the table.
“From their giggling, I am presuming that is their intention,” Jane said, shaking her head in a discouraged way. “If the militia is coming to town, I am afraid Papa will lose any hope of giving their thoughts a more serious turn.”
“Hmm,” Mary hummed, rolling her eyes and stabbing her food rather violently. “I think we three must find husbands before Kitty and Lydia ruin our chances through association.”
Lizzy grimaced and clicked her tongue. “We have almost no influence over them. They will behave the way they wish to—or, should I say, Kitty will follow Lydia’s lead.” The three sisters sighed mournfully. However, Lizzy soon rallied and asked Jane what she meant to purchase at market this week.
“Some embroidery needles,” Jane said. “I have bent two of mine. I would also like to add some new colors to my silk thread collection.”
“You had better remember to take your sample card, then,” Mary mentioned. “Remember the last time you forgot to take it, and came home with a pink almost exactly the same as the one you already had?”
“I do,” Jane said, chuckling. “I have already put the sample card in my reticule. That pink proved to be a happy accident because I used it for shading a rose motif.”
“Do you think Mr. Bingley will enjoy looking at silk threads with you?” Lizzy asked, grinning at her sister.
“Mr. Bingley is interested in anything I am interested in,” Jane vowed simply.
Lizzy swallowed a giggle and attended to her meal.
“At the tea salon, Miss Bingley told me her older sister, Louisa Hurst, and her brother-in-law will be coming for a visit this upcoming Thursday,” Jane informed them as she buttered a piece of toast. “They meant to arrive today but changed their plans when they heard about the Meryton assembly. They mean to attend that night as a family.”
“Do the Hursts have children?” Mary asked.
“Miss Bingley did not say.”
Lizzy picked up a knife to cut her ham. “How much older is she than Miss Bingley?”
“Approximately three years older,” Jane said. “Miss Bingley is eighteen months older than Mr. Bingley, who is two-and-twenty, and Mrs. Hurst is soon to be seven-and-twenty.”
“Seven-and-twenty with no children yet,” Mary said in a pensive fashion. “She must be getting desperate.”
“We do not know that she has no children,” Jane pointed out. “I said Miss Bingley did not say.”
Mary nodded and shrugged. “So, you did. I have a feeling, that is all.”
“I expect you will have the opportunity to ask her,” Jane replied. “If you do not, Mama will certainly discover it.”
“What will I discover?” their fond mother asked as she swept into the room, heading directly to the sideboard.
“Mr. Bingley’s other sister, Mrs. Hurst, and her husband, are coming to stay at Netherfield this coming Thursday,” Jane explained. “We do not know if she has children.”
“And you think I shall discover that bit of information?” their mama asked. “Well, you are right, I will discover it. And anything else interesting about her. Your Aunt Phillips’ housekeeper is cousin to the kitchen maid at Netherfield. Alice tells her cousin all the gossip.”
Jane exchanged a droll look with Lizzy. Covering her smile with a hand, Lizzy winked at her sister. Their mother had her ways of finding out gossip about anyone.
Mary cleared her throat and opened her mouth. Lizzy and Jane both stared at her. She snapped her mouth shut on whatever quote on gossip she might have uttered and returned her attention to her meal. She frowned at her empty plate and abruptly stood.
“I think I shall have some more toast and cheese,” she muttered.
“Very good,” Jane murmured.
“Mary and I are going to the Meryton market this morning, Mama,” Lizzy said. Her mother took her usual spot at the table, and Hill filled her cup with steaming coffee. “Do you have a commission for us?”
“I do not. I mean to attend myself,” their mother replied as she reached for a pinch of pepper to sprinkle on her scrambled eggs. “Lady Lucas and I are meeting at the lending library afterward. If I purchase anything, I shall have it delivered. But you are kind to ask.”
“You are welcome, Mama,” Lizzy said.
“When do you leave?” their mother asked.
“Directly after we have finished eating,” Lizzy replied.
“If you wish a ride in our carriage, you must wait for me.”
“We will be walking, Mama,” Mary mentioned. “Thank you.”
“Very well.” Their mama focused on Jane. “When is that delightful Mr. Bingley arriving to take you out?”
Jane glanced at the walnut longcase clock standing near the door. She rose. “Soon. I shall go up and finish getting ready. Please, excuse me.”
Their mother beamed at her and waved her away. “Do not feel you must rush back, my dear. Enjoy a lovely day.”
“Thank you, mama,” Jane said, beaming at her.
*
Darcy found a livery stable to leave his gig with while he and his sister strolled through the market. He tipped the ostler and told him there would be further largesse upon their return if the ostler took good care of his horse and equipage. The young man solemnly touched his cap.
Once on the road, Georgiana, carrying a lidded basket over one arm, looked about them with keen interest at the flocks of geese and ducks being driven down the street by farmwives carrying long willow switches.
“They certainly make a racket,” she told Darcy.
“They do,” he replied. “Shall I carry your basket?’
“No need, thank you. Have we unwittingly chosen the animal side of the market to park the gig?”
“It seems so. I should have asked Bingley more about the market layout,” Darcy confessed. “Come, let us go this way.”
They slipped down a side street and circled back toward the square. When they entered the rows of stalls, they immediately began to look at the wares on offer. Half-way down the first aisle, the siblings came upon a stall covered in white sheeting. Georgiana raised her eyebrows at the proprietress.
“Are you selling no wares, ma’am?” she asked politely.
The handsome, middle-aged lady, gowned in a black dress with a white lace collar and a white mobcap adorned with more lace, curtsied slightly.
“This here’s Wycombe lace, miss, sir,” she said with obvious pride.
“I keep it covered between customers on account of the dust. I’ve got collars, tippets, ruffs for gloves or sleeves, motif pieces for sewing onto gowns, bands of lace that can be used for clothin’, handkerchiefs, bookmarks, and so on.
All of our lace is produced in the town of High Wycombe. Would y’care t’see some lace?”
“I would, thank you,” Georgiana said, smiling.
The woman began to carefully roll back the sheeting, gently uncovering her wares, which lay on a large crimson tablecloth.
“Oooh,” his sister cooed, clearly enamored of the delicately shaped and patterned lace. “Do you think Mary and Lizzy will like some lace?” she asked her brother.
Before Darcy could say anything, the proprietress answered, “Every lady loves lace, miss.”
“Mrs.—?” Darcy began, raising his eyebrows at the woman.
“Mrs. Cooper, I am, sir.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Cooper is usually right. But I have seen Miss Mary on three occasions, and I have never seen her wear lace.”
Georgiana frowned in thought. “Mary loves to read,” she murmured to herself. She addressed Mrs. Cooper. “Will you show me your bookmarks?”