A Season Lost

by Sophie Turner

  The interviews also surfaced a situation that had nothing to do with the weather, and made Elizabeth determine such interviews should be done regularly. One of the maids, Martha, had a mother living in Nottingham who was very nearly blind and could no longer work as a lace-maker. Her situation of living was exceedingly poor, Mrs. Reynolds was given to understand, and were it not for the money Martha sent, she would have been entirely destitute. Upon being told of this, Elizabeth began mulling over a solution to the problem, and arrived at one with reasonable rapidity: the widow of the previous rector in Kympton still lived within a little cottage in the village. Mrs. Reed’s income was no longer such that she could afford even a maid-of-all-work, but Elizabeth thought the companionship of another woman might appeal to her, particularly if Martha was to pay for her mother’s food and clothing. Elizabeth took Martha with her to call on Mrs. Reed and put the proposal to her, and found Mrs. Reed’s wish for companionship and desire to do a Christian duty met quite happily with Martha’s reassurances that her mother could still do her share of cooking and cleaning. Martha was, therefore, given leave and the use of one of Pemberley’s carriages to fetch her mother from Nottingham, and Elizabeth had the satisfaction of knowing that three lives were likely to benefit from this particular interview.

  The project to transform the conservatory also made good progress, and within a week, it was completed. Raised beds were built by Pemberley’s carpenter, Jasper, and then filled with earth and planted by several gardeners. Elizabeth and Darcy went to survey the space when it was done, and Elizabeth found it looked very spare and dull. She reminded herself that it would eventually be filled again with verdure and life, now that the vegetables would be given opportunity to grow. Her husband merely pronounced it to have been an honourable idea, told the men it had been excellent work, and then kissed his wife affectionately when they were alone in the hallway.

  It was raining that day, a steady rain that showed no signs of stopping, and Elizabeth felt badly for Darcy, who was to dine out at the inn in Lambton that evening, to discuss parish business with Mr. Clark and the other men. Elizabeth passed the remainder of her morning sitting with everyone in the saloon and looking over Cook’s menu for her next dinner: the dinner where only one remove was to be provided.

  A footman came in with the day’s post, one letter for Darcy – likely of business – and two for Anne. That lady read her first piece of correspondence silently, nodded when she had finished it, and said, “Mr. Ramsey is confirmed to the living.”

  “Oh, that is very good news,” said Elizabeth. Herbert Ramsey had been summoned to live at Longbourn until his placement in the living had been made official, and now it was.

  “I will write to Longbourn as soon as I have read this letter and let them know to go and establish his residence in the parsonage.”

  Anne opened the next letter, again read silently for some time, then tossed it aside. It landed on the sofa beside her, tumbled over, and then fluttered to the floor, at which point Elizabeth could see it was from Lady Catherine.

  “Fitzwilliam, may I speak with you in your study?” Anne asked.

  He replied that she could, and they went thither. Elizabeth was curious as to the contents of the letter, but felt she had reasonable guesses as to what they were, and in what vehemence they must have been written.

  She could not have her curiosity satisfied until her husband had returned from Lambton late that evening, however. Elizabeth had been waiting in bed for him, and eyed his hair, still damp from the rain, asking, “How was your parish meeting? It seems to have gone rather long.”

  “Yes, we had much to discuss, particularly what is to be done about the poor within the village. Our own families, those you know of, we will of course help. But there are many displaced manufactory workers who have come to settle here, hoping for work – some of them assisted with the digging of the ditches and preparing the beds for water-cress. They are sleeping on the common and elsewhere, and we discussed whether we should provide charity for them. We are not supposed to, as they are not of this parish, but this is not a normal time. I did not like the thought of leaving them to starve, particularly when some of them have given us work.”

  “What was the conclusion?” Elizabeth asked, although she was fairly certain what it was. Much of the charity would be funded by Pemberley, so if the master of Pemberley was for extending it to those not from the parish, it could hardly be argued against by the rest of them.

  “We will provide relief to all who seek it, so long as they do not become a nuisance. Any who do shall be required to move on. And we will see what work can be found for them around the parish – there are some repairs I would like to see on the church, and I am sure Jasper has a few projects he could use assistance with. These men are not wastrels, for the most part – they wish to work, but they cannot find any. I would rather they have a chance to earn what they eat.”

  “I am glad you will give them that chance,” said Elizabeth. “I will speak to Mrs. Reynolds in the morning about what can be done to assist with food. We will need much more than what we usually take to our local families.”

  “That is very good of you, my love, and I do believe we shall need much more. Kympton’s meeting is two evenings from now, and I expect we shall reach the same conclusion.”

  “Then we will prepare to feed those in both villages,” she said. “Now, you need not tell me if you believe Anne would prefer it stay private, but I am curious as to what Lady Catherine wrote to her, to anger her so.”

  “It was all you would presume of a letter from Lady Catherine in such circumstances. She is feeling better, which I suppose is the only positive of this whole situation, and she demanded that Anne return home. She had also heard a rumour that Anne had appointed someone to the living and demanded the particulars of it; Anne should not have done so without her approval, she wrote.”

  “Her approval? It is Anne’s living!”

  “Yes, that was Anne’s reaction. These are going to be difficult times, I think, for everyone connected to Rosings. Lady Catherine has grown used to having autonomy she should not have had, and it will not be easy to take it away from her. I look back and wish that we – Anne’s male relations – had enforced that the choices should have been hers to make. She was always so weak, though, and seemed content to leave matters to her mother.”

  “But you will enforce them now, when she desires it, and I believe that is most important,” Elizabeth said.

  “I believe so, too, but I fear we shall have to bring lawyers into a family dispute, and there will be talk about town. Lady Catherine will not yield easily.”

  “When will you take Anne to town? Soon?”

  “No, I think it better to wait. We have begun correspondence on the matter, but I would rather see Anne healthier before we go. She has a battle ahead of her, and she will need to be strong.”

  +++

  Elizabeth spoke with Mrs. Reynolds and Cook the next morning about what could be done regarding food for the poor, and the kitchen was set to work with plans that something should be ready for the next day. Cook was hesitant of this, with a dinner planned for the day following, but Elizabeth reminded her that there would be only one remove. Cook continued to be hesitant of this, as well, wringing her hands and saying it would not reflect well on the house, but Elizabeth reassured Cook that no-one should be judged on the number of removes except herself and her husband; the quality of the single remove served would no doubt reflect as well as it usually did on Cook’s skills.

  Thus, Cook was sufficiently mollified to produce several great vats filled with a sort of pottage, made in part from the remnants of previous dinners; the broth, Elizabeth was informed, had come from the boiled bones of game. It was filled out with peas, cabbage, and oats from the storehouse, and smelled so good it might have passed muster on Pemberley’s dining-table, if not for its homely appearance.

  The vats were placed on the waggonette and driven down to the village green, and
Elizabeth, Darcy, and Charles followed after in the carriage. Jane had by now grown large enough that they all bade her stay home rather than stand about ladling out soup in such wet weather as they were having that day. Anne was also absent; although she had expressed interest in assisting, she was still not so well as for anyone to think this was preferable to her going to Matlock and taking the waters. They arrived in Lambton and found Jasper directing some other men in completing the setup of an awning, under which the vats were placed. Elizabeth looked beyond the awning and gaped, to see the length of the line of people awaiting their food.

  “I am not sure we are going to have enough,” she murmured.

  “Then we shall have to be sparing, this time, in our portions, and enlist additional help in our next attempt. All of our local families may be counted on to lend their assistance, I am sure.”

  This was the first time Elizabeth had ever attempted to give aid at this scale; usually she visited the homes of the parish poor and brought food and other items they were in need of during those visits. It took them a few minutes to organise themselves, to determine that Charles should hand out bowls to those who had not brought their own – it appeared most had, fortunately, for otherwise they would not have had nearly enough – and Elizabeth and Darcy should ladle out the soup, Darcy occasionally stepping away to help the most infirm walk up to and away from the awning. The soup was received gratefully by all in the line, and Elizabeth felt herself even more overcome by that sadness she had felt in the post-chaise, to see the thin little children, to see the eyes of their mothers, to think of what it must feel like, to see one’s child hungry.

  They did, thankfully, have enough soup for all, and they were thanked profusely by those in the line. When they were done, when they had returned to Pemberley, Elizabeth went up to see her sons and nursed them both until they had their fill, holding them close and kissing their downy heads again and again in gratitude.

  +++

  There was one additional change Elizabeth had brought about for her dinner, and it was that Mr. Smith should be invited to dine, not just for tea. He was as intelligent and well-mannered as any of the rest of their guests, he was excellent company, and she saw no reason why he should not be included at the table. Darcy had been hesitant of this, when last they had spoken of it: not because Smith was still his tenant – even if he was a gentleman farmer – but instead because Darcy did not like the thought of Smith’s feeling required to reciprocate.

  Therefore, Elizabeth had delivered the invitation by telling Smith she was in need of someone to round out the dining party and hoped he would oblige her, but he should feel no compulsion to reciprocate. This was generally true – Smith would round out the number at the table, but Elizabeth had never been overparticular about such things. Her request was received genially, and Smith showed up at the door most punctually and impeccably dressed, to be welcomed by his hosts and neighbours. He was known to all of them except Anne, and they were introduced. Anne asked him how the water-cress did in his fields, and Elizabeth left them conversing on the vegetable.

  Her mind was on what was coming, on that moment when the guests would be informed as to the limited number of removes; she believed firmly that it was the right thing to do, but still, she worried over how they should react to it. Strangely, it was a bit of a relief to her, when everyone was lined up and they went in, for it meant the moment would be over soon.

  The food came out – as Cook had not been allowed quantity, she had made up for it in quality, for everything appeared perfectly done and perfectly dressed. Then Darcy stood. Elizabeth had offered to make the communication, as she knew this must discomfit him, but he had felt he should be the one to do it. This was not usual, for the master of the house to stand before dinner at Pemberley, and everyone turned their gaze to him.

  His countenance took on that old mask of closed reserve, and he cleared his throat. “As I believe all of you know, we have increased our efforts in aiding the poor in the villages, given the influx of displaced workers. Therefore, we intend to divert more food to those in need of it, rather than serve it at our own table. Ladies and gentlemen, you see your dinner.”

  No one gasped, but someone down the table dropped a utensil of some sort, and it landed with a dull clank upon the table. Most of the diners seemed surprised but not displeased, and as Darcy sat back down, Mr. Houlton said, “A capital idea, and if we should not be able to be quite happy eating such a display as is in front of us, we should never be able to be happy with anything.”

  A murmuring down the table seemed to indicate this was the consensus, and everyone began to apply themselves to the food before them. The water-cress soup proved to be particularly popular, and although Elizabeth was biassed, she thought Cook had done a better job of it than what had been served at Rosings, and intended to tell her so the next morning. Elizabeth applied herself diligently as well, even to those richer dishes she did not generally prefer, aware now that her husband, at the opposite end of the table, was far more mindful of her appetite than she had realised. It would never shrink as it had during that season in town, though, even if it might wane of its own accord on particular days. She was here, among people who respected her, people who were her friends – people who had accepted their limited dinner with goodwill.

  +++

  Anne awaited the entry of the gentlemen into the drawing-room eagerly, for she wished to continue her conversation with Mr. Smith. They had been near enough to each other to speak a little during dinner, but when talking of farming had begun to bore Miss Houlton and those others around them, they had been required to move on to other topics.

  She knew several men who were as well-read about farming as Mr. Smith – Fitzwilliam and his steward, Mr. Richardson, came to mind. Yet although she was eager to understand more about it, to take a more active role in the management of Rosings in the future, it was strange to speak with Fitzwilliam about it, when she had known him all her life and never before shown him an interest in such a topic. Mr. Richardson had discussed a few things with her, but he always seemed so harried with the management of Pemberley in the present season that she did not like to importune him. Mr. Smith, however, spoke freely and intelligently on the subject, and Anne, who felt her old fatigue – both mental and physical – lifting a little more each day, had followed what he spoke of closely.

  He entered, and she was struck with the thought that he was handsome. It was not an aristocratic handsomeness, but rather a workaday sort of rugged masculinity, becoming a face of about forty years of age. In truth, Anne believed she found this even more attractive, and then she blushed and chuckled. Oh, what would her mother think, to know she found a farmer handsome!

  Her mother would be incensed, Anne thought soberly, and this made her all the more eager to speak with Mr. Smith, even if her intent was still merely to learn more about farming. She smiled to him, and hoped this would invite him to come and sit near her. Her hopes were met, but they had hardly been speaking for five minutes before Laurence Sinclair approached and said, “Well, wasn’t that a surprise – one remove! I should not have thought such a thing possible at Pemberley. My stepmother thinks it appropriate, but I do not think my mother would have been so approving.”

  “I thought it quite appropriate,” said Mr. Smith.

  “Of course you would. I daresay this is the largest dinner you have ever seen, but I assure you there is usually far more. It reflects rather shabbily on Pemberley, I think.”

  Anne had spent so long ill that she had never confronted anyone before, on any subject, but she felt it necessary now. And perhaps there was something of her mother in her, for she spoke very strongly when she said, “Mr. Sinclair, you do realise I am part of the Pemberley family, do you not? I am fully in support of the step my cousins took.”

  He sniffed. “They were cowed into it by others in the parish, I am sure, just as my father was. Why we should have to support those from outside the parish I do not know. We are not legally requ
ired to do so. They should be sent back to wherever it is they came from.”

  “I believe it is your father who supports them, not you,” said Anne.

  “Yes, and if he thinks to cut my allowance for it, I shall give him a mighty protest. It is not my fault there is so much rain. It is not my fault these people have no occupation.”

  “Mr. Sinclair, as you know, I have been ill for much of my life and therefore more sheltered than most ladies, but I must congratulate you on the most spoiled, selfish statement I have ever heard,” said Anne.

  The recipient of this chastisement did not entirely register its meaning at first, but as he began to comprehend it, his face gradually turned a shocking shade of red. Anne was glad of Mr. Smith’s presence, for she thought momentarily that Laurence Sinclair might very well strike her in his anger. Mr. Smith seemed to think the same thing, for he sat up much straighter, as though he thought he would be required to intervene.

  “Well, if that is what you think, I suppose it is not worth my wasting any more time on you,” Mr. Sinclair muttered, and strode off, calling her a plain, sickly chit as he did so.

  Anne exhaled, and felt a little faint. “I cannot believe I said that to him.”

  “He entirely deserved to have it said,” replied Mr. Smith, “but you look very pale, Miss de Bourgh. Here, let me get you a glass of wine.”

  He did so, giving it over to her and then sitting again, waiting for her to take a few sips and then asking her if she felt any better.