Virtue and Vanity: Continuing Story of Desire and Duty

by Ted Bader

  When she retired to her room, she settled into a chair to muse. So, he enjoys my writings! She felt relieved as a barrier between herself and Andrew lifted. On such a basis, their friendship could be advanced. Now, she would have to make amends with him. No wonder he looked perplexed when she leveled that charge at him.

  Over the next week, Sarah pondered how she would contact Andrew, if at all. She started and crumpled a dozen letters to him. More importantly, he was rising in her esteem. As such, she felt humbled that she had ever concluded Andrew disliked her writings.

  As for her involvement with the Methodists, though she was nominally their teacher, she learned more than she taught. While she could easily return full-time to the Anglican church, she did not wish to abandon teaching merely to please a friend or prospective suitor. In any case, what was Laura’s role in all of this?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A week later, Lady Georgiana and Sarah entered the magnificent hall of Pemberley. A letter had been written and received from Mrs. Busby, who stated that a six-month term of service seemed appropriate. With this response, the three gathered in the parlor of Pemberley. They sat down after warm greetings from Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.

  Maria began tentatively, “I have asked Aunt Georgiana and Miss Bingley here to help me make a request.” She paused and looked at Georgiana, who silently nodded encouragement. Maria continued, “I would like to ask permission to enter service under Mrs. Busby in Yorkshire.”

  “What?!” her parents gasped at once.

  After a moment passed, Mr. Darcy composed himself and queried, “May I ask why?”

  Maria stood, “Oh, father, my life has become so vain. I have little understanding of what it means to serve myself, let alone others. My life has been that of a pampered princess. . . . If I am to become a mistress of an English estate, I should at least understand what the servants do.”

  Mrs. Darcy sighed, “Is that all? Then why not watch our servants?”

  “Oh, Mother, it would not be the same. The servants would still treat me as the princess of the house. I want to do it on my own.”

  “They would let you do all the work you wanted to. Mrs. Reynolds would see to it,” Elizabeth said.

  “Only to the point that I seemed tired or until some social obligation came up. Then I would be returned to the pampered princess role again.”

  In a shaky voice, Mrs. Darcy said, “You mentioned a name and place, but I was so taken aback I did not pay attention. Where is it you wish to do this service?”

  Maria replied, “Sarah has asked a woman who runs a roadside inn in Yorkshire.”

  “A roadside inn?” Elizabeth quietly gasped

  Maria looked towards Sarah.

  Sarah asked, “Do you remember Mrs. Busby, the assistant housekeeper for my parents? On several occasions she came to Pemberley to help Mrs. Reynolds with big events.”

  The elder Darcys slowly nodded with faint recollection on their faces.

  “She now runs a respectable inn. She is an extremely reliable and kind woman. She has agreed to take Maria for a period of six months.”

  A long pause ensued and then Mr. Darcy looked at his sister, Georgiana, and asked, “Are you also in on this conspiracy?”

  “Yes. You know in your heart that Maria needs the maturation that would come from an activity like this.” With a slight smile, she continued, “I remember you telling about the times you worked in the fields as a young man and that it helped you to be a better master.”

  Mrs. Darcy interrupted, “But it is different for a woman.” Grasping Mr. Darcy’s hand as though for support, she said, “My baby. . . I mean Maria, may be exposed to all sorts of dangers. . . It is just not ladylike to go into service.”

  Georgiana moved to sit beside Elizabeth and grasped her other hand, “My dear sister, I have heard my brother speak with pride about your non-genteel activities--such as you walking miles alone to Netherfield with muddy shoes and the like. Your refusing to send your babies out to a nursemaid. . . .”

  “That is quite different,” Mrs. Darcy replied with a low tone, pulling both her hands free.

  “Perhaps, not,” Mr. Darcy ventured. He gently stroked Elizabeth’s back as he looked to Maria and said, “I can see the wisdom in your request and I am inclined to permit it.”

  As Elizabeth stiffened, he quickly added, “however, your mother must concur. She may veto my permission.”

  All looked to Mrs. Darcy, who replied playfully, “Well, I must say, my dear husband is quite permissive with his children.” She now looked at Maria, “Perhaps someday, Maria, you will have your own daughter and comprehend how difficult it is to let go of your offspring for what can only be termed an adventure in toil. Please let me think about this overnight. I will search my mind for a method to discourage your scheme, but with so many in favor of your cause, the chances of my doing so seem doubtful.”

  Maria stood and went to hug her mother. As she pulled back from the embrace, Mrs. Darcy said, “I have always been unconventional. That my daughter is also should come as no surprise. . . I never knew how hard it was to be a mother to a daughter who scoffs at society’s rules.”

  In the morning, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy met Maria in the parlor. Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy appeared weary as she said, “Is there not any way I can dissuade you from your intention?”

  “No, Mamma, my mind is certain.”

  “My dear Maria, there are vulgarities and dangers in the commonplace world that you have never been exposed to. Hard work never hurt anyone, but I am very concerned about the type of people you will come in contact with.” Seeing the eager hope on Maria’s face, she took her hand she said, “With a reluctant heart, I will permit you to enter service under Mrs. Busby for six months. Please be assured that you may return sooner--at any time.”

  Mr. Darcy asked, “How are we to contact you without revealing your name?”

  “I have already thought of that, Father,” Maria bubbled. “So as to not arouse suspicions, I would like our correspondence to be received and sent through Miss Sarah Bingley, with her position noted as governess at Staley Hall. This should not create questions about my connections. My name will be Maria Harwood. Oh, and another thing Father, I do not want you to come visiting me. Your presence might lead to the revelation of my true identity.” Before he could reply, she continued, “And, I do not wish anyone outside the family to know. Please tell others I am traveling in Europe with an older friend.”

  Elizabeth hugged her and sighed, “It is obvious you have spent much time thinking about this. Our thoughts and prayers will be with you. With John leaving for his ship and your departure for Yorkshire, we have only Andrew remaining; and, of course, your cousin, Laura.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A week passed. Sarah was sitting at the breakfast table of Staley Hall. She felt reasonably well, but coughed briefly several times during the meal. Finally, Sir Thomas asked, “How are you doing, Sarah?”

  She tried to reply, but when she opened her mouth, her voice was labored and raspy. “As you can hear, my voice is worsening,” she managed.

  Sir Thomas stated, “then we need to send for Mr. Hewett to see you. He has the best remedies.”

  Sarah nodded gratefully.

  “You may also be excused from teaching Anna until you have recovered.”

  Sarah replied in a staccato rhythm, “We can communicate by writing. . . I really feel. . . quite well except for. . . my . . . voice.”

  “As you wish,” Sir Thomas replied, “but please let us know if you prefer need a break from your teaching duties.”

  A servant entered and said, “A letter for Miss Bingley.”

  Sarah took the letter from Maria and retired to the parlor to read it.

  My dear Sarah,

  My first week here at the Royal Pheasant Inn has been quite eventful.

  Mrs. Busby is everything you described her to be. She is jolly, rotund, tireless and strong. If she does not like what a servant is doing, or how is guest is
behaving, she will raise the spatula she always seems to carry--shaking it to emphasize her point. Last night, one salesman did not believe her prohibition of early eating and reached for a biscuit; his hand was promptly swatted and a look of respect came into his eyes.

  I have had the treatment I wanted and expected; that is, I am treated no differently than the other servants.

  When I arrived, my small trunk was taken to a third floor attic room, with a sloping roof. Little things, like where my clothes were to be put, have provided a challenge. Finally, it occurred to me that the few dresses that Mrs. Reynolds gave me could just hang on the pegs.

  The next morning, Mrs. Busby awoke me at 4:30am and told me to get ready. I did not know life even existed at that early hour of the morning. I tried to look in the small mirror to brush my hair and could not even seem to get my brush on the side I wanted it. Lately, I had watched my maid fix my hair and it all looked so easy in the mirror. I am afraid my hair looked quite disheveled the first few days.

  Apparently, the lowest servant in the household has to arise first and start the fires. Fortunately, Mrs. Busby was very patient with me as she demonstrated multiple times how to get the fire started. I never before appreciated the blazing fires that were always present at Pemberley upon my arising in mid-morning. There is a peculiar smell to old ashes at 5 am. My hands are quite cold as the match is struck to begin the household activities.

  The cook, Mrs. Fellows, begins boiling water for tea and coffee about half an hour after I light the fire. I supervise the steeping of the tea and obtain ingredients and dishes for her. She has no idea who I am and is often snappish and demanding.

  Needless to say, my late nights are over. Early rising clearly demands early retirement. I have never been so exhausted, yet slept so well, in my life.

  One of the maids, Jenny Williams, is about my age and has befriended me. She is quite handsome but has very little education. She is kind and has shown me many things. I think she is suspicious of my background since my language and lack of housekeeping knowledge have almost betrayed me at times. My story of being the destitute daughter and orphan of a gentleman-city dweller named Mr. Harwood seems to satisfy most inquiries.

  You may show this letter to Uncle Thomas and Aunt Georgiana. I have enclosed a separate letter to Mother and Father.

  Sincerely,

  Maria Dunn

  Sarah penned the following reply:

  My dear Maria,

  Your first letter was full of news. I am having a vicarious experience listening to your challenges and admire your determination to empty yourself and discover the meaning of servanthood.

  My voice is suffering. Some days it is clear and other days it is raspy and inconstant. At least letter writing is always possible.

  Yes, your adventures may provide the plot for another novel in the future, but only with your review and approval.

  Love,

  Sarah

  A second letter was received three weeks later:

  My dear Sarah,

  I find little time and energy to write letters. Most of the servants cannot read or write and I do not wish to demonstrate my ability.

  After a month here, the novelty of the occupation has worn off. Getting up early is drudgery and helping irascible guests and servants above my pretended station is taxing.

  I sometimes feel like the pigs that must be fed twice a day with the scraps from the inn’s table, as I have taken only one complete bath since my arrival, I look (and smell) much more like a servant.

  Jenny shows me around the place. Last week, we watched the milk maids obtain milk. Modesty prevents a description of the activity; but, sometimes the milk maids squirt each other when the foreman is not around.

  Observing Mrs. Fellows cook has been an educaiton. I am the cook’s assistant and I have learned a lot about fixing hearty meals. These may not be the delicate dishes of my parents house but one’s appetite is certainly aroused by the savory flavors and hard work of the day.

  I am sorry my letters are so infrequent and short.

  Your next inquiry is anticipated. No, I am not ready to return home. I have much of the Darcy stubbornness and would be embarrassed to return early. I am determined to finish the six months. Then no one, including Mr. Paul Westbrook, will ever be able to say I have no understanding of an English household. All my life, it seems I have learned such useless things--how to dance, pour tea, do needlework. . . at last I am learning something of use--how to take care of myself and a household. I take great pride in my small accomplishments.

  Sincerely,

  Maria Harwood

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A few days later, Anna came into Sarah’s room at Staley Hall and relayed a request from Lady Staley for Sarah to come down to the parlor.

  Entering the downstairs room, she saw Mrs. Darcy sitting across the room from Georgiana. Her aunt, Elizabeth Darcy, was evidently agitated as she stood and said, “I suppose you are wondering at my visit. . . I must confess my enormous curiosity and concern over Maria.”

  Georgiana asked, “What has happened?”

  “Oh, nothing special. We have received essentially the same information that you have had from Maria. . . .”

  “Nonetheless, I am worried about her.” Looking intently at Sarah, she continued, “How can my baby, er, my daughter be surviving in a world apart from Pemberley?”

  Sarah replied, “I think she is probably doing as well as can be expected. She is under the shadow of Mrs. Busby’s wings and under the constant care of Providence.”

  Her aunt replied, waving her hand as though in dismissal, “I know those truths in my head.” Pulling her hands towards her chest, she continued, “However, in my heart, I yearn to see her. . . .”

  Georgiana interrupted, “Dear sister, you promised not to visit her during her service.”

  “I did not,” Elizabeth snapped. “I am sorry, I did not mean to sound harsh.” With a mischievous smile she said, “Truly, I did not. She specifically asked her father not to visit her.”

  She leaned forward in her chair and continued somewhat breathlessly, “Sarah, will you accompany me and show the way as I visit my daughter? I plan to go incognito, so she will not notice me.”

  “Incognito?” Sarah queried.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said smiling brightly. “I plan to go in disguise.” At this, she pulled out a brown wig and placed it over her head.

  Sarah’s smile turned into laughter when her aunt pulled out a rounded artificial nose and place it over her own natural one.

  Elizabeth asked in an innocent tone, “Do you think she will recognize me?”

  “Only if you speak,” Georgiana said mirthfully.

  “If you will recall from my first days at Pemberley, I quite enjoy mimicking other people.” With a low, shaky voice she continued, “I will simply talk like this when it is necessary to speak.”

  The plan was soon settled. Elizabeth would return in the morning and they would use a new carriage. The driver and footmen would be men Maria would not recognize. Sarah was to show the way and do all the talking. Mrs. Darcy offered another wig for Sarah’s use and the group laughed as she put it on her head.

  The next day, the carriage from Pemberley arrived at Staley Hall with the dawn. Quickly, the two spies were off.

  As they settled in their seats, Elizabeth asked, “Are you sure we can reach this inn before nightfall?”

  “With such an early start, we should be able to,” was Sarah’s reply. She continued, “Pardon my curiosity, but does Mr. Darcy know of this mission?”

  “Oh, dear me, no! He would have restrained me if he had known. I told him I was taking you to visit my relatives and let him assume that meant my relations in Hertfordshire.”

  After several hours, the driver, Mr. Riggs, stopped the coach and came back and asked, “Would you ladies like to stop soon for your breakfast?”

  “Yes, we would. Can you find an open meadow?”

  “I will do my best.”


  The carriage went on for another ten minutes and the coach stopped again. This time the driver had a little concern in his voice as he said, “This is a meadow with a pleasant vista. However, my lady, I am concerned that we may be followed.”

  “What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Well, it may only be my imagination--there have been so many tales of highwaymen recently. . . but, I seem to keep glimpsing a man on a horse who appears to be trying to stay back out of sight.”

  “How many are there?”

  “I have only seen one, but he could be the scout for more. One can never be too cautious about highwaymen.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “I think it will be reasonably safe to stop for a short visit here. The coachman and I will keep our pistols at the ready.” Seeing the concern on his passengers faces he said, “I am willing to continue on if you feel that to be the wisest course of action. There have not been any recent reports of villainous activity on this road.”

  “What do you think, Sarah?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I would like to at least stretch my legs for a few minutes and then we might eat while we continue on.”

  The two women were assisted out by the driver. The second time they circled the coach, Sarah saw a black figure on a horse come galloping up the road towards them. They rushed back to the carriage door as the footman and driver pulled out their pistols.

  The black-coated figure had a dark scarf hiding his face. At a distance of twenty yards, his horse came to an abrupt halt. He then turned and rode away in the direction from whence he had come.

  “Drive on, Mr. Riggs,” was Elizabeth’s command as they climbed back in the carriage. Leaning back in her seat as the coach briskly started, Elizabeth sighed, “What does this mean?