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Elizabeth did not know how many rooms the great house had. Her knowledge of it was confined to one wing only, where Lady Catherine received her guests.
“Oh, we shall have an apartment of our own, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Mrs. Bennet. “I daresay it will be as large as the whole of Longbourn.”
This latter was an exaggeration, but only slightly. For when they had followed the butler to where there were to be quartered—and it was quite a journey; Elizabeth pitied the poor footmen who carried the family’s luggage in their wake—they were shown to a large suite of rooms, with its own drawing room at its center. Two housemaids were already there, and they had lit the fire not only in the drawing room but also the fires in the bedrooms so that they would be warm for the tired party.
“Is this wing in which Mrs. Jenkinson has her rooms?” Elizabeth asked the butler. Mrs. Jenkinson was the companion to Miss Anne de Bourgh, Lady Catherine’s daughter.
The butler nodded. He was a tall and thin man whose expression was always one of perfect detachment, Elizabeth noted, for she had never seen him smile, frown, or display the least sign of emotion. She could not resist saying, “We shall disturb no one in this wing then.”
The butler did not respond but merely nodded again. “Should you require anything, Madam,” he addressed Mrs. Bennet, “please inform Betty or Giselle.” The housemaids each curtsied at the mention of their name. “Dinner will be served on the hour,” by which he meant eight p.m. Elizabeth determined, for the clock on the mantelpiece indicated that it was shortly after seven.
There were bedrooms enough for each of them. In Elizabeth’s room, a large tapestry hung, a depiction of a gentleman and lady, presumably French, meeting in an orchard amid the blossoming fruit trees. In the warm candlelight, it was a romantic scene, and it cheered her as did the crackling of the fire in the hearth.
Perhaps the adventure would go well after all. At least Lady Catherine would have a choice of Bennet sisters to interrogate, and Elizabeth might be able to finish her soup. She realized, thinking of this prospect with some amusement, that she was quite hungry.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said Elizabeth.
It was Giselle, one of the lady’s maids provided by Lady Catherine.
“I came to see if you were needing assistance, Miss.”
As Giselle helped Elizabeth dress—Elizabeth had selected a short-sleeved frock of Coquelicot silk, thinking its bold red perfect for her first foray with Lady Catherine and Giselle approved saying it brought out the amber flecks in Elizabeth’s brown eyes—the maid informed her concerning the doings in the house.
Although Giselle had been in Lady Catherine service for many years—she’d started when she was only fifteen, and she was now nearly twenty-five—this was the first Christmas where Lady Catherine was going to any pains to prepare for it.
Indeed, Lady Catherine sometimes spent Christmas in London, or at Pemberley with Mr. Darcy.
“I didn’t think she held with Christmas,” Giselle said through her teeth, for she was holding hairpins between them intended to pin up Elizabeth’s brunette locks. “Not enough to make a fuss about it, I mean. But this year! Why, we always put up some greenery, some evergreen boughs and such like, but she’s had the gardeners working in shifts what with the holly, and laurel, and bay—and mistletoe too, Miss.”
Giselle mentioned the mistletoe innocently enough, but Elizabeth could detect a merry gleam in her eyes. “A pretty housemaid could be placed in some peril from that,” said Elizabeth.
“As could a pretty lady, Miss,” was the maid’s smooth rejoinder.
“This strawberry tarte is exquisite,” Mr. Collins directed this to Lady Catherine, who was seated at the head of the dining table. “Fresh strawberries at this time of year—”
Lady Catherine raised her hand, and Mr. Collins fell silent immediately, bringing a finger to his lips.
The table was laden with desserts of every description. Elizabeth could not recall seeing so many at one time. In addition to the strawberry tarte that Mr. Collins praised, there was trifle, cakes, bowls of fresh fruit, assorted ices, and a huge marzipan replica of Rosings Park which served as a centerpiece but was not for them, as it was to be eaten on Christmas Eve after the cupola had been revealed. Elizabeth smiled when she saw that the cupola on the marzipan model was shrouded with a piece of white muslin.
Her family had dined very well indeed, for they were hungry after the long trip and Lady Catherine’s fare was excellent and varied, and they, along with Mr. Collins and Charlotte, were the only guests. In addition to the usual roasts and fish dishes, the meal included delicacies which were unfamiliar to the Bennets, many of them having French names.
Elizabeth was grateful that her mother and sisters were so preoccupied with food as to give only the most cursory answers to Lady Catherine’s questions. Mrs. Bennet, in particular, had been most circumspect, her mouth being too full in most cases to do more than nod her head for yes, or shake her head for no. When Lady Catherine had asked her concerning her decision to raise her daughters without the benefit of a governess, she had merely shrugged.
Elizabeth’s sisters have been more forthcoming but not by much. When asked about their accomplishments, or more particularly their lack of same, they admitted their deficits without apology or explanation. Elizabeth felt that they did not interpret Lady Catherine’s questions as being judgmental, but rather indicative of her interest in them.
They were all a little too shy and too awed by the munificent culinary display to say overmuch. Even Mary refrained from her usual pithy commentary, although Elizabeth noted that on one or two occasions she seemed ready to interject.
“You have family in London,” Lady Catherine asked, turning towards Mrs. Bennet w
ho was seated immediately to her left. “Did you ever consider sending your daughters to a school in town?”
“Only my brother, Edward,” Mrs. Bennet replied, her mouth full of trifle. “He’d never lift a hand to help.”
Elizabeth nearly protested at this but thought better of it. Mr. Gardiner, her uncle, had been instrumental in the marriage between Mr. Wickham and her sister Lydia after their elopement, although how he had arranged things Elizabeth had no idea.
They finished dessert while listening to Lady Catherine expound on her theories of child-rearing, including not only instruction, but matters such as diet and exercise.
