“In truth, I thought it seemed very peaceful,” Mary put in, thoughtfully. “I do not think I ever saw Mama so much at peace. But we are here to go through her things, are we not?”
“Yes,” Jane agreed. “I would like to suggest that Mrs. Hill be given her choice of a souvenir, anything of Mama’s that she would like.”
“Her jewelry, though?” Kitty asked.
“No, Mama would want her jewelry to go to us, of course,” Jane said. “A good deal of it was handed down from her own mother.” The girls agreed, and between them were able to decide upon the proper distribution of the opal ring, the pearl eardrops, the gold chains, the amethyst brooch and a variety of other lesser items. Kitty claimed some pieces for Lydia, in case their sister returned and demanded her share.
“I will get Mrs. Hill,” Elizabeth said, grateful for an escape from the somber proceedings. She found the housekeeper in the kitchen, stirring something with perhaps unnecessary vigor. Cook was responsible for the daily meals, of course, but Mrs. Hill had her own specialties that she occasionally provided for the family. “Mrs. Hill?”
The woman looked up. “Miss Elizabeth?”
“We are going through Mama’s things, Mrs. Hill, and we thought you might wish to have a – well, a souvenir – but perhaps that is not the right word. Mama would want you to have something to remember her by, Mrs. Hill.” There, that was better.
A tear dripped down Mrs. Hill’s face, unheeded, and fell into the pot she was stirring. “I do not need anything to remember her by. She was a kind mistress to me, she always was, and I will not forget that.” She stirred the pot even more energetically, her black cap askew.
“Nonetheless, Mrs. Hill, it is what she would have wanted. Please?”
Mrs. Hill finally agreed to accompany Elizabeth up to Mrs. Bennet’s room, though she would not promise to take anything. She gave the pot a final stir, washed her hands and followed Miss Elizabeth upstairs.
The girls had laid out Mrs. Bennet’s various gowns, shawls, nightgowns, shoes, and undergarments, and were recalling what had occurred when various gowns had been worn. “This stain was from Sir Lucas spilling his wine on her at dinner, do you remember that?” Kitty asked, laughing.
“Oh, yes, she was furious!” Mary recalled.
“And I never could get the stain out,” Mrs. Hill added from the doorway. She surveyed the yards of fabric on the bed; walking in, she picked up Mrs. Bennet’s cashmere shawl. “I always loved the feel of this,” she mused, quietly. “But it is too fine for me.” She put it back down.
“No, no,” Jane said. “It is certainly not too fine for you, Mrs. Hill; it is just right. Heaven knows you ran up and down these stairs often enough to fetch her shawls! Take the cashmere one, and also this lovely blue woolen one; you will be glad of it when winter comes.”
Mrs. Hill tried to protest against such generosity, but the girls would hear none of it; sniffling back her tears, Mrs. Hill left the room with her treasures in her arms.
Fabric was too dear to waste, particularly since they had been required to dye some of their own dresses black, so as many gowns as possible were divided between the sisters, to be remade by their nimble fingers. Those that were too shabby to be remade, as well as the undergarments, would go to the parish poor-box. The furniture, lamps, and the like would remain in the room, which would doubtless become another guest room.
Kitty said, hesitantly, “I do not know if I should bring this up…”
“Go on, Kitty,” Jane said. “Mary is right; we must speak up more often.”
“Well, Lydia left clothing, ribbons, and bonnets in our room. What happens to those? Do we save them for her, in case she returns? She would be furious if she found her things gone; you know how she is!”
“Do you want her things for yourself, Kitty?” Jane asked.
Kitty turned red. “I do, a bit, but it seems wrong.”
Mary shook her head firmly. “Kitty cannot be seen wearing Lydia’s things; it would as good as announce to the neighbourhood that we do not expect her to return. Also, we cannot take her things up to the attic; again, it would be difficult to explain.”
“I can at least take back the things she stole from me, though, can I not?” Kitty asked.
Elizabeth could not help smiling at that. “Of course, Kitty. I imagine a good number of her ribbons and bonnets are actually yours.”
“It feels lonely in there without a sister,” Kitty said, sadly. Suddenly she turned to Mary. “Mary, do you want to move in with me? You have your own room, but it is quite small; this might be better for you. We could put Lydia’s things into your room and simply say that it will be her room when she returns.”
Mary looked astonished. “Really? Me?”
“Of course you,” Kitty retorted. “Please? I am simply not comfortable in a room by myself!”
Mary could not but agree to this. Having been the overlooked middle sister for so long, Kitty’s offer was impossible to resist. The sisters turned their energies to moving Lydia’s possessionsinto Mary’s small room, and Mary’s possessions into Lydia’s now-empty wardrobe and drawers.
Elizabeth was grateful for the occupation; it kept her from thinking of Mr. Darcy, from her overwhelming regret, for a few hours, at least.
When the tasks were finished, Elizabeth recalled that she had promised Jane to speak with Mary; when she asked Mary for her company out in the garden, Mary looked at her sister for a long minute.
