I cried for Miss Hodges, who was so kind and full of interest and life, and for Mr. Thompson, who had already lost everyone else he ever cared for, and for myself, who had just found this wonderful friend, only to have her fading away before my eyes. I realized that Mr. Thompson already knew what was happening. Miss Hodges’ health had obviously been the reason for his look of pain the day I’d returned to London. Life, I reflected, was often exceedingly unkind.
As I’d suspected from her interview, the cook Miss Hodges selected was completely incompetent. She couldn’t even make a drinkable pot of tea. Without consulting Miss Hodges, as I felt it would only upset her, I let the woman go. This time, I hired a new cook on my own.
She turned out to be more than acceptable. In fact, she was quite good. I considered us very lucky to have her. The only reason she wasn’t working someplace much grander was because she was a recent widow without references, something I’d been willing to overlook in favor of my impression of her. Mr. Thompson enjoyed her meals so much that he asked me to discover if she was capable of preparing a dinner for six. He wanted to invite the members of the law firm he worked for to dinner, thinking it might help his standing there.
I spoke with the cook about Mr. Thompson’s dinner request and came away certain of two things. One was that she was quite capable of cooking such a dinner, and probably a much larger one. The other was the realization that the lodging house couldn’t afford to put on such a dinner. This was easily solved, as Mr. Thompson said he would pay for it.
Mr. Thompson’s dinner was a complete success. His effusive praise of how well the event faired, coupled with the quality of food coming out of the kitchen on a daily basis, convinced two of the other tenants to ask if they could pay to have dinners there. Word got out, and soon we had private dinners held at our lodging house at least twice a week, often hosted by people who lived blocks away.
We gave the cook half of the profits from each dinner. This was partially to be fair, but also because we knew that, the more her reputation grew, the harder it would be to keep her. It was Mr. Thompson’s idea, though he said it was Miss Hodges’. I was sure he had discussed it with her, but I doubted she’d comprehended what he was saying.
Miss Hodges’ health was the one blight on our happiness. Soon after we began the dinners, I had to arrange for fulltime care for her. Fortunately, between my management of the lodging house and the frequent dinners, we’d increased Miss Hodges’ income enough to afford the additional service.
I spent as much time with her as I could, but she was growing increasingly incoherent. In her frail state, she was becoming a danger to herself. We both tried to be as soothing as we could be, and the girl I selected to sit with her was very sweet tempered, but it rent my heart to see Miss Hodges that way. Though Mr. Thompson was unfalteringly cheerful when he visited her each day, I knew it must weigh heavily on him, too.
Miss Hodges’ health seemed to hit a plateau, and we settled into a happy enough routine. Mr. Thompson asked me to give myself a raise. As usual, he said it was Miss Hodges’ idea, but I had my doubts. Some days, she didn’t even remember who I was anymore. Most of the time, she seemed only to recall people from her younger years, whom I didn’t know.
After my raise, I was making the same amount that Mr. Darcy had paid me, and I enjoyed the work more. There was no mindless conversation with other governesses or constantly striving to stay in the background. I was also able to save more, because I didn’t have to dress as formally. We didn’t dress up for dinner. We ate in what we wore all day. Mr. Thompson insisted I move downstairs to a room with a fireplace the next time one became vacant. The room was quite small but it was a luxury compared to my attic room, and much warmer as the nights turned cold.
The days grew shorter and the air crisp, and I took to walking a short time each afternoon. I had the lodging house and side business as a private dining hall well in hand, and I found it increasingly difficult to spend all of my free time with Miss Hodges. She rarely knew me now, but had taken to the girl I’d hired, whom she thought was one of her cousins. She’d regressed so far back into her childhood that she seemed to no longer have a place in her world for a woman of my advanced age of nearly thirty, and my presence often upset her.
I’d taken a longer than usual walk, having gone all the way to the bank to make an addition to my small savings, and was just starting up our steps when I heard a man call my name.
I turned to find one of my least favorite people coming down the street toward me. “Mr. Wickham,” I said, my tone flat.
“Good day, Mrs. Younge,” he said, all smiles and affability. “Do you live here now? Why, I never thought to see you again.”
“I work here,” I said, using the truth as a lie. I didn’t care for the idea of Mr. Wickham knowing where I lived. “It’s a lodging house.”
“I’m overjoyed to hear you’re employed, and to find you looking so well.” He stopped at the bottom of the steps, leaning toward me. “I was worried about what might have happened to you after Mr. and Miss Darcy left Ramsgate so precipitously. I understand you left a few hours before they did, which made me suspect you hadn’t fared well.” He said it in a low voice, as if we were coconspirators, an idea I didn’t appreciate. His face was pulled into an exaggerated appearance of sincerity.
I eyed him, hoping he was there by coincidence and that he’d quickly forget he’d ever seen me. It shouldn’t be hard for a man of his self-absorbed nature to do. I didn’t believe for a moment that my name had crossed his mind in the months since we’d met in Ramsgate. Nevertheless, there was no point in making him my enemy. “I’m well enough. How are you?”
“I’ve been better, I must admit. I was pursuing something I thought would be quite fruitful, but it didn’t work out.” Another heiress, I didn’t doubt. “I’m going to join the militia in Hertfordshire. A man has to eat.”
Poor man. He actually had to go out and work for a living. Unfortunately, the militia wasn’t famous for working people very hard. He would have much too much free time and be given quarters to live in and food to eat. That was, if he was serious in the idea. I readily recalled him saying the same thing once in Ramsgate, to inspire sympathy in Miss Darcy. I reminded myself that there was no reason to make an enemy where I didn’t have to, especially one who was petty and spiteful.
“Good luck to you,” I forced myself to say with every attempt to appear sincere. “I hope things work out. I would like to stay and catch up more, but I have work to do.”
“I understand,” he said. “People such as you and me must always be working, just to get by.”
I smiled and nodded, doubting my tone should I choose to reply to that. He bowed and left. I hoped fervently that I would never see him again.
Chapter Sixteen
…stories like that did nothing but delude innocent young girls, making the realities of the world even more of a shock.
Miss Hodges died early in the morning on a bright, cold winter’s day. If the fact that it wasn’t a surprise mitigated the distress her passing caused in any way, I wasn’t aware of it. Mr. Thompson and I did and said all of the correct things, but I could tell by his tear-filled eye that he was deeply upset. It took all of my willpower to withhold my own tears for later in my room, where they belonged. Being strong for him was the only comfort I was permitted to give, though I was conscious of a desire to do more. I agonized to see him standing beside her body, suffering alone.
The girl I’d hired to look after Miss Hodges was a weeping puddle of cheap fabric, so I told her she could stay on as a maid until she found other work. Mr. Thompson watched the exchange with so little expression that I didn’t know if he’d heard us through his grief. I gathered the young woman to me, feeling it was time to leave nephew and great aunt alone, aware that not all of the girl’s distress had been quieted by my offer. She also seemed genuinely upset over the death of her charge, which didn’t surprise me. Miss Hodges, even in her decline, had been a warm and caring
person. Though few would ever know it, the world was a lesser place without her in it.
I took our new maid to the kitchen, seeking tea for us both. As soon as we stepped in, I realized the news had filled the house. As with most homes, all the help gathered in the kitchen. I looked about at the cook, weeping into her apron, the three existing maids, all crying, and the new hired man. He hadn't been with us for long, having recently been employed to take over much of the heavy work around the lodging, since Mr. Thompson generally didn’t have time for it any longer. Even he looked distressed, however.
“Missus,” the cook wailed, coming forward. “Missus, what will happen to us?”
I blinked at her, rearranging my thoughts. I was so upset over the loss of my friend and over Mr. Thompson’s pain, I’d forgotten to consider the practicality of the situation. What would happen to us indeed? One could hope and assume that Mr. Thompson would inherit Alder House, but there was no way for us to be sure. Even if he did inherit the house, would he want to keep it or sell it? He’d been growing increasingly successful in his own right. He didn’t need the lodging house to live, and it did represent an investment in time and effort.
Not that I would give voice to any of those worries. I was responsible for managing Alder House and the staff, and I took that responsibility quite seriously. “I will, of course, find out,” I said. “When I do, I shall tell you.” The cook moaned and covered her face with her apron. “Keep in mind what an intelligent and caring person Miss Hodges was.” I swallowed back tears. “I am sure she has a plan in place to take care of all of you.”
I wasn’t sure, but I would never admit that. I did my best to smile. “Now, everyone, please return to you duties. It’s important that we support Mr. Thompson at this time. He has just lost his family.”
I put a reassuring look on my face and eyed them all until they returned to their work. Once I was satisfied they were in hand, I climbed back up to Miss Hodges’ parlor to check on Mr. Thompson. My soft knock yielded a muffled, “Enter.”
He was standing where I’d left him, looking down at his great aunt’s still form. I could only see half of his face, the half with the eyepatch, but his slumped shoulders bespoke of his sorrow. I carefully shut the door and crossed to him, daring to put a hand on his arm.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “She was a wonderful woman.”
He let out a choking sob and turned, wrapping his arms about me and burying his face in my hair. I went still in shock, but only for a moment. I brought my arms up and held him, rubbing his back soothingly as I’d longed to do earlier. I was no longer a governess or chaperone. I wasn’t even a miss. I was now thirty and a widow, and there was no reason I shouldn’t comfort this man, for whom I held so much affection, in his time of sorrow.
Mr. Thompson didn’t give in to his grief for long. Sooner than I would have liked, he straightened, turning away to compose himself. I didn’t move, filled with a muddled mixture of grief and a strange longing. Georgiana’s silly romantic novels came into my mind and I struggled to dismiss them. I’d learned long ago that stories like that did nothing but delude innocent young girls, making the realities of the world even more of a shock. The sorts of things that happened in romantic novels didn’t take place in the real world.
Mr. Thomson turned back. His eye studying me, he reached up and smoothed a thumb across my cheek. I blinked, realizing I was crying. He unfurled his fingers, sliding them up the side of my face until his palm rested against my cheek, his fingers buried in my hair.
I didn’t dare move. I had no idea what he meant to do, but every fiber of my being was poised, waiting to find out. His gaze bored into mine and my breath quickened.
“You should go,” he whispered.
I nodded, the smooth skin of my cheek sliding along his palm, but that seemed to be the only thing I was capable of doing. For all of my years, for all that I’d been married and been an actress on the stage, I’d never felt before as I did in that moment. The urge to kiss him, to reach up and pull his head down toward mine, was nearly overwhelming.
“Mrs. Younge,” he said. “I beg you, please go.” He dropped his hand, turning back toward Miss Hodges’ still form, effectively shattering whatever spell had taken hold of me. I looked around the room, feeling how hot and still the air was, and took a stumbling step backward.
“I’m sorry,” I said, unsure exactly what I was sorry for. Miss Hodges’ death? My forwardness? The fact that he hadn’t kissed me? I all but ran from the room.
Chapter Seventeen
What if he took my avoidance to mean I was upset by what he’d done?
I already had a black dress because of the death of the relative of a former employer. I sincerely mourned Miss Hodges for herself but my grief was mixed up with my insecurity and the memory of Mr. Thompson’s arms around me and his strong hand on my cheek. I muddled through the next several days, managing to maintain a stoic façade when outside my room.
I kept putting off the staff’s questions about what would become of them, telling them I hadn’t found the right time to discuss it with Mr. Thompson yet. In truth, I was avoiding him. I didn’t know how to behave after our exchange.
Did he harbor feelings for me, ones I longed to ascribe to him? If he did, why had he pleaded for me to leave instead of kissing me? If it was out of respect for Miss Hodges, I understood and agreed, but he must have seen how willing I was. I felt he would come to me and make his intentions clear, if he had any. That he didn’t seek me out made me doubt it had been anything other than a moment of weakness on his part.
Finally, I could avoid Mr. Thompson no longer, for he called a meeting of all the employees so that a lawyer could read Miss Hodges’ will. He stood at the front of the room with the lawyer, looking very somber in black. Suddenly, I felt guilty for avoiding him. What if he needed someone to speak with, or to sit with? What if he took my avoidance to mean I was upset by what he’d done?
“I would like you all to know that I have inherited Alder House and will be keeping you all on,” Mr. Thompson said, once we were assembled. His gaze swept across us, not pausing on me, and I felt an additional tightening in a chest already constricted by grief. “Miss Hodges has made provisions for all of you in her will, which you shall now hear.”
He turned and nodded to the lawyer, who began to read aloud from a sheet of paper. The servants were each given a small sum of money. The largest amount was ten pounds, to her personal maid. The man servant received only one pound because of his recent employment. To my astonishment, Miss Hodges left me fifty pounds. It was a generous amount. Mr. Thompson inherited the rest, in addition to the house.
The reading of the will spurred a new round of crying from the cook and the maids. Mr. Thompson didn’t sit during it, but remained standing at the front of the room, his face impassive but pain glinting in his eye. When the lawyer was done, they shook hands and the man departed. I ushered the servants out, thinking Mr. Thompson would want to be alone.
“Mrs. Younge?” he called, as I herded the cook out last, reminding her that we had a dinner scheduled for the following day.
I froze, a bit daunted by the surge of happiness that went through me when he called my name. “Yes, Mr. Thompson?” I asked, turning back to face him.
I was acutely aware that we were now alone, though the doors to the hall were open. His expression remained neutral. If there was something more to be seen, some emotion lurking deep in his eye, I had no way to know if I was imagining it.
“Would you be willing to help me sort through my great aunt’s possessions?”
“Of course, Mr. Thompson,” I said.
“Do you have time now?”
I nodded. I had matters to see to, but nothing that couldn’t be put off.
“Thank you,” he said.
He crossed the room, stopping in front of me for a long moment, as if he might speak. I waited, filled with equal parts dread and hope. I knew what I wished him to say, but I wasn’t sure I was brave enoug
h to hear the opposite. As long as he didn’t speak, I could imagine he cared.
He shook his head and turned, walking past me out of the room. Tamping down my disappointment, I followed. We climbed the steps to Miss Hodges’ parlor, my mind conjuring up the bittersweet memory of the first time we’d made the trip. I was very grateful to have found such a good friend as Miss Hodges, if only for a little while.
It took us longer than I would have thought to go through Miss Hodges’ rooms, making a pile to sell, one to donate and one for Mr. Thompson. We also set aside a few small items for Miss Hodges’ personal maid, and for me. Mr. Thomson was adamant that Miss Hodges would have wanted me to have something to remember her by.
When we were done, I looked over the now barren parlor, to the bed chamber beyond. They were nicely furnished. I turned to Mr. Thompson, unsure if now was an appropriate time to discuss what should become of the rooms. It seemed wrong to let them, but vacant, they would stand as a constant reminder.
“What do you think we should charge for it?” he asked, saving me from bringing it up.
“You don’t want the rooms?”
“I only sleep in my room,” he said, eyeing me. “I have no wife, no children. This much space would be wasted on me.”
“I’ll ask around and come up with a figure,” I said, my heart filled with a strange ache.
“Let me know when you do.” With that, he left the room.
Chapter Eighteen
…if she had a brain in her head, she was hiding it well.
For a time, my interactions with Mr. Thompson became few and brief, and took on a strict level of propriety. I wasn’t pleased by that, but I had no idea what to do about it. I’d never learned the art of gaining a man’s attention. My marriage had been arranged without my knowledge or blessing, and in the theater, I’d worked to avoid any sort of entanglements.
Pride & Prejudice Villains Revisited – Redeemed – Reimagined: A Collection of Six Pride and Prejudice Variation Short Stories Page 21
