Elizabeth lapped up each word like a thirsty pup.
When Mary approached, Mrs. Hammond skillfully changed the subject.
“Miss Mary, we were discussing the many ways the storm might change the course of daily life here in Hertfordshire. Have you an opinion on the matter?”
Mary hesitated slightly before asking, “You want to know my opinion? No one ever asks my opinion.”
Elizabeth’s stomach seemed to drop to her toes. Was that true? Had Mary been so ignored that she was shocked at Mrs. Hammond’s question? What a shame that Elizabeth never noticed that they had this in common. Deeply regretting that she was blindly unaware, Elizabeth watched with interest as color filled Mary’s cheeks.
Her sister replied, “Mrs. Hammond, I wonder who will take charge of the children who might have lost parents or the families who lost their farm animals and crops. I worry about the servants here at Netherfield Park. As far as I know, Mrs. Nicholls has been the housekeeper and Mr. Morris the steward all my life. Since I was a little girl, I would see Cook shopping for goods at the market in Meryton. She always scared me because of her gruff speech. Now I see how Mr. Darcy and the colonel offer her deference. What will happen to them now that there is no house, no reason to use the kitchen, and no crops to keep? I fret over their future greatly.”
Mrs. Hammond patted Mary on the back of her hand. “Dear girl, it says much about you that you spent your precious minutes worrying about the welfare of others and not yourself.” Mrs. Hammond tugged on Mary’s hand until she sat alongside the elderly widow. “I admit to being disappointed at not hearing you perform last evening. I am certain you had a lovely piece or two picked out.”
“You did?” Mary blushed. “I cannot say how lovely it would have been since none in my family value my long hours of practice.”
“That may be so. Nevertheless, my girl, you have shown yourself to have a talent far more valuable than music. You have a tender heart filled with compassion. Do you know how precious this is in a practical sense? Why, dear girl, should you cultivate this to a greater degree, you will be a great lady someday.”
“I will?”
Mary looked younger than ever when her expression changed from dour to wonder. Her smile was brilliant, and her eyes sparkled. Elizabeth had never seen her as pretty.
“Truly.” Mrs. Hammond then taught both girls a valuable lesson. “Think of it this way. When under trial, which is more valuable? A diamond necklace from a wealthy man or a helping hand from a maid of all work?”
“The helping hand?” Mary guessed, as did Elizabeth.
“When people are most in need of human kindness, wealth and social standing mean little if nothing at all. Neither does having the most beautiful singing voice or skill on an instrument. Empathy cannot be bought, nor can it be inherited. Can it be earned? No. Can it be learned? Not typically. You see, a person humble enough to want to learn usually already has a measure of it in place. The key is not letting this beautiful gift go to waste. Practice makes it happen without thought. If you do this, Miss Mary, you will achieve happiness. I promise.”
Mary jumped to her feet. “I thank you, Mrs. Hammond.” Hurrying to their mother, Mary asked, “Is there anything I can do for your comfort, Mama?”
Mama rested the back of her hand on Mary’s forehead. “Are you well? Do you have a fever? Your cheeks are pink, and your eyes are bright.” She peered closely at her middle daughter, unsure if it truly was her. “I…well, I guess I…no, I do not think I am in need at the moment, but I do appreciate that you asked, Mary.”
Mary twisted back and forth until her hem twirled. “No, Mama. I am well. Please pardon me so I can ask the others if they would need a word of encouragement.”
Mama’s chin dropped. Then she smiled.
Elizabeth could hardly believe what she had seen and heard. Until she figured out what exactly happened, she cursed her ownfoolishness. Again, she was reminded how little she knew about people despite years of pride in her accomplishment of sketching characters.
She almost laughed aloud at her foolishness. Could it be that she was far more prideful than Darcy was when they first met? Was it possible that she was the ridiculous Bennet daughter instead of Mary, Lydia, and Kitty? Speaking of whom, in spending more time at Netherfield Park, what would she learn of her second youngest sister? That Kitty had as strong a personality as Lydia or even Mary? That she had unrecognized sterling qualities like Mrs. Hammond identified in Mary?
Good heavens!Elizabeth never knew herself or any of her sisters, did she?
Afraid to sit next to Mrs. Hammond in case there was more discipline coming her way, Elizabeth moved to an unoccupied corner where the few agricultural texts rested on the shelves. As she reflected only a few days ago, who was Elizabeth Rose Bennet?
Shaking her head with confusion, she knew how frustrating the topic was. Instead of wasting time on a subject of little importance, she decided to see if she could be of assistance in the kitchen. Like Mary, she had been apprehensive around Cook. No longer. Elizabeth now knew her to be a hard-working woman who brooked no nonsense or foolishness, yet her whole life centered around helping others.
From the doorway, she could see all the way through a kitchen undergoing a gigantic reform to the stables beyond.
She saw him. His jacket was off, so he wore only his waistcoat and fine lawn shirt over his trousers. His sleeves were rolled up, displaying strong arms and large hands that once held hers tenderly.
The thump of her heart pounded in her chest. Elizabeth doubted that she would ever be able to rid herself of the image. Nor did she want to.
Her breath caught in her throat. Mr. Darcy was magnificent. If only he could be hers.
Darcy watchedin concern as his coachman skillfully made the turn into Netherfield’s stable yard. His carriage had made two trips to Meryton and back with Bingley’s guests packed inside and up top. The other available carriage belonging to Bingley was closely following behind them. They had to clear the roadway of fallen trees and debris, so the task took far longer than expected. He fretted the whole time they were gone like a mother hen whose chicks were in the farmyard for the first time.
Helping to unstrap the harnesses, Darcy assisted in any way he could. Cook was tending a small fire with a pot suspended over the flames at the side of the small kitchen garden away from the house. Already, the woman had baked some sort of bread-like loaves and fried pork over the coals. The yard smelled far more divine than the cellar.
“Mr. Darcy, sir,” Cook loudly barked. “We will be having tea as soon as the water boils.”
