Caroline nodded, digesting this news. Georgiana was very keen on music, fervent about it in a way that few other young ladies of their acquaintance were; it made sense, therefore, that she had formed an attachment to an unsuitable friend on the basis of a common interest. Caroline could hear her mother’s voice in her head, warning her that while a Darcymight have reputation and status enough to show compassion to those of lower classes, a Bingley was not yet so removed from tradesmen and therefore must be extremely careful about whose company they kept. She felt a pang of guilt but pushed it down. What harm could one visit really do, as long as no one from the proper circles found out about it?
As long asMother never finds out about it.
“Oh look, we’re almost there,” Georgiana said airily, sitting up straight and smoothing her dress down.
Caroline turned to stare out of the carriage window as it rolled to a stop, and only just resisted the urge to sigh loudly. Miss Beatrice Merryhill’s house was precisely as Caroline had suspected. It was exceedingly small, barely even a house at all by her standards, since it stood only two storeys tall and perhaps only forty feet wide. The gardens—if one could really call them that, for Caroline had seen bigger picnic blankets—were hardly more than a few tragic squares of lawn, edged with wilting flowerbeds. The woman who waited at the door was in her late thirties, of rather plain countenance, and so broad in the shoulders and hips that the overall impression reminded Caroline of a water pitcher.
Caroline frowned as she descended from the carriage and followed Georgiana down the narrow path. Meeting one’s guests by one’s self was a little odd. Was it possible that Miss Merryhill was too poor to afford any servants at all? And if so, what on earth were they doing here, spending time with such a person? If this was to be a lesson in holding her tongue when the situation so clearly called for judgement, then she was about to have a very difficult afternoon indeed.
“Miss Darcy,” Miss Merryhill said, her voice unexpectedly soft and mellifluous. “How perfectly lovely to see you. You shallhave to excuse the state of the house today, for Mrs Wimple has been called away to deliver another baby.”
Georgiana waved away the excuse with a smile and turned to Caroline, who was wondering who on earth Mrs Wimple was. “Allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Bingley.”
“Why, Miss Bingley, it is so lovely to meet you! Miss Darcy has talked of you often.”
“In glowing terms, I hope,” Caroline said, smiling.
In response, Miss Merryhill only smiled back, though it did not quite reach her eyes, which were as pale blue as a December sky. “Come in, come in. The others are already here.”
“Others?” Caroline muttered, as she and Georgiana followed their hostess into the dark hallway. “You never said there would be others.”
“I wasn’t aware there would be, Miss Bingley,” Georgiana muttered back, a warning tone in her voice. “Is that a problem?”
Caroline subsided sulkily, choosing instead to glare first at the back of Georgiana’s head—beautiful as ever—then at the walls, which were painted a shade of muddy brown that no person with even a single fragment of taste in their body would have allowed within a hundred feet of their home. The wooden floor was a moderately dark oak, whorled and grainy, and looked as if it had been swept recently but not polished. There was not a scrap of carpet to be seen anywhere, nor an inch of wallpaper. Since she was at the end of the small procession, Caroline allowed herself a single satisfying eyeroll. Miss Darcy’s shoulders looked stiffer than usual, though that was hardly Caroline’s fault; she hadn’t given her opinion on anything yet, though she’d certainly formed some rather large ones in the few seconds they’d been inside.
Somewhere in the distance, the cool green scent of mintmixed with something sharper and richer. Caroline sniffed the air. Cheddar, perhaps? It was almost too much to hope for.
Good God, let there be decent cheese at least, Caroline prayed, as Georgiana ducked her head slightly in order to step into the next room.I can withstand almost anything,as long asthere is cheese.
The parlour was as small and dreary as Caroline had feared. Two rose-coloured couches faced each other over a low wooden table like two frustrated chess players. A high-backed armchair, in a shade of lighter pink that neither matched the couches nor complemented them, sat at the opposite end of the room, as if overseeing the whole tasteless affair. The walls were painted a cold, passionless white, quite unbecoming of a supposedly cosy room, and the presence of three people already seated there did nothing to alleviate the stark effect. The party stood when their hostess led Caroline and Georgiana inside, smiling towards the newcomers. An impossibly tall young man in a black jacket bowed jerkily, his movements hampered by the equally tall young woman who clung to his arm as if she were drowning and he was the only slender log for miles around.
“May I introduce Mr and Mrs Grimley?” Miss Merryhill said, stepping aside to allow for a fuller inspection.
Good grief, Caroline thought.Their children will be able to build chimney stacks without need of a ladder.
She swept the two with a glance that took everything in at once: A loose thread hanging from the sleeve of his jacket, which would have looked old-fashioned on her father. A grass stain on the side of the lady’s left shoe. His hair, mussed so much it looked as if it had never so much as heard of a comb, far less seen one. Her rouge, which looked as if it had been drawn on by a shaky-fingered, weak-sighted child. “Good morning,”the Grimleys chorused in unison, sending a shiver of horror down Caroline’s spine.
Aware that Georgiana was watching her closely, Caroline offered a nod that was far more gracious than either of the Grimleys deserved. “Good morning.”
“And this,” Miss Merryhill said, turning to the other gentleman, “is Mr Acton. This is Miss Bingley, a friend of Miss Darcy’s.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Darcy, Miss Bingley,” Mr Acton said, nodding to each of them in turn. His manners were handsome enough, as was his face, though his waistcoat was frayed, and his hands, though evidently scrubbed, still bore traces of paint.
“Come, sit down,” Miss Merryhill said, ushering them in. Caroline waited until Georgiana had seated herself on one of the couches before hurriedly sitting beside her. Their hostess disappeared into the hallway as the other guests seated themselves, too.
“Who is Mrs Wimple?” Caroline murmured.
Georgiana blinked in confusion, evidently taking a moment to recall the brief mention of the name from their arrival. “She is Miss Merryhill’s recently widowed sister.”
Ah.Caroline nodded. That explained a lot, though it left one glaring question: Why was this lady’s sister out delivering babies? Did not babies generally deliver themselves? There was, after all, only one route outwards into the world. Where else would they go? She had a sudden image of a woman holding a candle, coaxing a baby out into the light like an animal from its burrow, and had to stifle the giggle with a cough.
Miss Merryhill returned a moment later bearing a tray, upon which sat an assortment of sandwiches. She set them down on the low table in front of Caroline, who eyed them cautiously,before she disappeared again. When Miss Merryhill returned a second time, she was laden with two trays—one holding several plates piled high with cake, and a larger dish which contained a variety of fresh fruit. It wasn’t a terrible spread, Caroline had to admit. Nothing close to Pemberley’s standards, of course, but it didn’t look entirely like something a ploughman might be presented with after a hard morning’s work doing... whatever ploughmen did.
Ploughing, presumably.
“Thank you very much,” Mr Acton said, casting an appreciative glance at their hostess as Caroline reached for a cheese sandwich. “Is this your famous apple cake?”
Miss Merryhill blushed. “It is indeed.”
