Mr. Darcy's Dream (14 page)

“Molly,” Mrs. Makepeace said as the little maid sat back on her heels and surveyed the fire, now beginning to crackle nicely, with some satisfaction, “this is no time to sit there gawping. Cut along outside, and see if one of the gardeners can't find some flowers for in here, her ladyship is very fussy about having flowers in her room.”

Molly skipped off. Mrs. Makepeace and Sally finished making the bed. Sally smoothed down the heavy brocade cover while Mrs. Makepeace cast a final eye over the room. Then they almost ran through the door and along the landing, reaching the other side of the door just as Lady Redburn turned the corner at the other end.

Phoebe and Louisa retreated to Phoebe's bedchamber, where Miniver was waiting, hands on hips, to take Phoebe out of her disgraceful clothes and put her into something clean and more suitable before she met her aunt again.

Phoebe was laughing too much to protest when Miniver laid out a smart afternoon gown that Phoebe thought had been left in London. She took no notice of it, instead sinking into a chair and waving Louisa, who was almost as helpless with laughter as she was, into the chair opposite.

“Bless those children,” said Phoebe. “How well they did! It was the most perfect timing for them to come along just then, and rushing at such speed.”

“It is very fortunate that they didn't send Lady Redburn tumbling down the stairs,” observed Louisa.

“Little fiends, painting their faces like that. I hope it was Miss Verney's paint box that they had out, and not mine or yours.”

It was all Miss Verney's fault. She had left the children unattended while she had gone, Sukey said, to answer a letter. Left to their own devices, they had gone exploring. It was only when Sukey, the nursery maid, came back upstairs to
the nurseries after taking some washing downstairs that she realised the children were nowhere to be seen. And she was annoyed when Miss Verney turned on her, accusing her of neglecting the children, and not attending to her charges.

But it was Miss Verney who had drawn the full wrath of Lady Redburn upon herself. When the children ran shrieking along the landing, with her and Sukey in hot pursuit, she had certainly not noticed the new arrival, and had spoken to the children in the most unladylike way in front of Lady Redburn. Her ladyship delivered a short and pithy lecture on the manners and behaviour to be expected of a well-bred governess, and then demanded to know exactly who Miss Verney was, what her qualifications were, who had appointed her, and how it was that she seemed to have no idea of how to carry on in a gentleman's house.

“I believe she would have dismissed her on the spot, were she able,” said Phoebe. “But of course she can't, for she is in Cousin Georgina's employ, and so nothing to do with the Pemberley staff.”

“I should not be at all surprised if a letter were not to be on its way before tomorrow from Lady Redburn to Lady Mordaunt, expressing her displeasure at the governess, and saying that in her opinion she is not fit to be in charge of children. And she is right, Miss Verney does not seem to be very attentive to the children and their needs. The children are too rumbustious for a start, and she is not playful enough with them. It will not do, to be always rebuking them and expecting them to sit still. When we were children at Pemberley, the delight of being here was being able to run about and enjoy the freedom of a country house.”

Phoebe felt rather guilty. “I shall talk to Jessop at the stables about letting them go out on the pony. Even though they
are so very little, they would enjoy a ride. And I noticed that the swing near the flower garden does not seem to be there any more, perhaps one of the men could put up a new one for the children.”

“It is the least they deserve, for taking Lady Redburn's mind off the state of the house, and her fury at all the plants being brought inside. I truly think she would rather that the plants died, than the rooms in Pemberley were sullied with outdoor pots and trays of seedlings.”

“Nonetheless, what a fuss she made when she found there were no flowers in her room,” said Phoebe. “Poor little Molly, panting up the stairs with an armful of flowers, arriving just too late, and getting the full force of Foujay's tongue. It is too bad of her to speak to her like that, she is not used to their ways, and will now probably give in her notice.”

“I dare say Mrs. Makepeace will soothe her ruffled feelings. They must be in despair in the kitchen, for while we would willingly put up with all kinds of inconveniences given the aftermath of the storm, and the extra work it brought upon the whole household, I do not for a moment suppose that your great-aunt will be happy unless everything is just so.”

Betsy, coming in to take Louisa away to her room to change, heard this last remark. “And you are quite right in that, miss. Everything is topsy-turvy down in the kitchens, and I would have said there was no chance of preparing even half the dishes for this evening that her ladyship will expect. But that Mr. Drummond has set all to rights. He is a most capable man, he spoke to M. Joules in French, which surprised him and calmed him down so much that they were able to put their heads together and talk about what was to be done to get the big stove working again. And that's the second shirt that Mr. Drummond will have ruined today, because by the time he had
finished with his head up the chimney, and clanking around at the back of that great iron range, he looked like a chimney sweep.”

“Mrs. Makepeace should send the laundry maid over to collect all his dirty garments,” said Miniver. “He's got no manservant to look after him, and a gentleman like that needs someone to take care of him.”

“It's all to be seen to, now that Mr. Rutland is here,” said Betsy knowingly. “You can see he approves of Mr. Drummond. And even Mr. Grayling has left off his grumbling, at least for the time being. He says they wouldn't have saved half the stuff they did last night without Mr. Drummond's directions and help. Not to mention that he saved one of the lads from being crushed by that chimney that came down.”

“Did he do so indeed?” cried Louisa. “I honour him for it, but I would have expected nothing else.”

The door closed behind Louisa and her maid. Miniver and Phoebe looked at one another in silence. Then Miniver, kneeling down to pull the hem of Phoebe's dress into position, said, “That won't do.”

“I do not suppose there is anything in it, other than a kind remark,” said Phoebe, although she was sure of no such thing. There had been a glow in Louisa's eyes, and a warmth in her voice as she praised Mr. Drummond, that she had never heard or seen before.

 

Dinner was served late, but it was a remarkable meal in the circumstances. Lady Redburn had, grudgingly, agreed to dine in the smaller dining room, although she said it had been the habit always, when senior members of the household were present, to use the big dining room.

The staff had their pride to consider, and Lady Redburn was not going to be given a chance to complain about the food if they could help it. A clear soup, stuffed fried trout, roast duckling, a salad, and an excellent Charlotte Russe for pudding satisfied even Lady Redburn, who had an uncommonly good appetite for a person of her age. Phoebe and Louisa watched in awe as her ladyship ate her way through the courses, and Louisa whispered to Phoebe, at a moment when Lady Redburn's attention was distracted, that she wondered how she could eat so well and yet retain her slender figure.

“Put it down to her temper. I believe Lady Redburn needs a great deal of sustenance to keep her temper honed and lively.”

They were not joined by Miss Verney. Lady Redburn was not of the opinion that any governess should join members of the Darcy family at table. So it was a tray in the nursery for Miss Verney, and Thomas whispered to Phoebe that she was not best pleased by it. “And there wasn't enough trout to go round either, miss,” he said with a grin. “So she had to make do with some whitebait.” He noted Lady Redburn's eye upon him, and immediately wiped the grin from his face and stood to impassive attention.

After dinner, Lady Redburn led them into the great drawing-room and commanded Louisa to play to them. Louisa, knowing that she had not yet mastered the knack of the pianoforte with its modern double action, sat down with some trepidation. However, Lady Redburn was happy to criticise, and, as Louisa said to Phoebe later when they went upstairs to bed, it would have been a disappointment had she been able to play sufficiently well not to allow Lady Redburn to point out all the inadequacies of her performance.

Phoebe resolutely refused to play, saying with swift ingenuity
that she had hurt her finger trying to fasten a catch on the window on the previous night, an excuse that caused Louisa to look at her in a most reproachful way. Lady Redburn merely remarked that it was not Phoebe's place to be fiddling with windows, what were servants for? “Besides, unless you have improved considerably since I last heard you play, which I doubt, your performance upon the instrument gives little pleasure.” She then told her great-niece to fetch some cards, and settled down to play a game of solitaire.

Phoebe was much relieved, for she knew that Lady Redburn was a very good whist player, and had been afraid that she would want to have a game. She didn't dare pick up her book, since Lady Redburn did not approve of the novels of Sir Walter Scott, at least not for young ladies, although Phoebe knew perfectly well that Lady Redburn herself liked novels of all kinds and read a great many of them.

 

The days that followed Lady Redburn's arrival were ones of almost unequalled boredom for Phoebe. Almost, she envied the servants, who were busier than they had been for months, what with the stringent demands of her ladyship, and the work clearing up after the storm. Although it was no longer windy, it was still raining, the roads and lanes were muddy, and in many cases still blocked, and conditions were too bad for Phoebe to take exercise by walking or riding or even going out in the carriage. Neighbours who might have called, knowing that Lady Redburn was at Pemberley, could not visit for the same reason.

Louisa did not seem to be half so bored. Hers was the kind of temperament that took pleasure in small activities, and she was well able to occupy her hours with painting and draw
ing, practising the piano, doing her embroidery, writing letters, and, with the aid of stout galoshes, which Phoebe refused to wear, venturing out into the damp gardens.

Phoebe did her best to continue with the preparations for the ball, but she was very anxious to keep these hidden from Lady Redburn. She knew her great-aunt's inquisitive and domineering ways well enough to be sure that she would either wish to take over all the arrangements herself, or demand that she be kept informed about everything that Phoebe did, mostly so that she could point out where she was doing it wrong.

It was a mercy that, so far, Lady Redburn was unaware of Mr. Darcy's plan to hold a summer ball at Pemberley. Normally, a maid would have discovered that interesting piece of information from the other servants of the house within ten minutes of arriving, but Foujay kept herself to herself, and wouldn't demean herself by talking or gossiping with the other servants about anything to do with the Darcy family.

Fortunately Lady Redburn was not an early riser, and Phoebe found that she was able in the mornings to shut herself in the library, write the cards of invitation, draw up plans, and dash off notes to Mr. Tetbury about various expenses that she would be incurring, and asking him to undertake certain of the arrangements, such as enquiring about a large marquee to be erected in the garden. It was to be hoped that the weather would be much finer and dryer in June than it was now, but it had been an uncommonly late, cold, and wet spring, and when she questioned the more weather-wise among the gardeners, none of them held up much hope of a very fine or warm early summer.

It came as a welcome relief to the relentless routine of their days, therefore, when Betsy announced to Louisa that the wagons with the ironworks for the new glasshouse were due to
arrive later that day. “They've been shipped by canal, so Mr. Drummond tells me,” she said, “and then brought on to Pemberley by wagon.”

Phoebe had resigned herself to the loss of the old glasshouse, although she was disappointed by Louisa's more robust and practical attitude to its loss. “Mr. Darcy's plans for the gardens and grounds are a marvel,” she said enthusiastically. “The new glasshouse, the main one, will be a thing of real beauty. Mr. Drummond has shown me the drawings he has made, he is an excellent draughtsman, you know.”

“I do not believe for a moment that it can be at all beautiful. Such types of building, glass or otherwise, are all very well for those newly rich, who wish to have extravagant novelties in the grounds of the houses they have bought, but what place have they in a house like Pemberley, which dates back to the time Queen Elizabeth was upon the throne? No, novel is not always best, and I cannot share your or Mr. Drummond's enthusiasm. It would have been best simply to reconstruct the old house as it was. It worked perfectly well.”

“That is what you think, because you know so little about how things grow.” Louisa had paid attention to Mr. Drummond's words. “Plants, such as the pineapple, are tender, and susceptible to chill weather and draughts and uneven temperatures. They will not thrive in other than ideal conditions. The old style of glasshouse, with windows being difficult to open, too much sun on bright days, and not enough light when it's cloudy, makes it very difficult for the gardeners to grow the fruit and bring on the early vegetables as they would like. You are lost in a dream of your childhood, Phoebe. I do not know why that should be. Nothing stays the same, we all change, and the landscape around us and the houses in which we live, and the things we use in daily life, all change too. Fifty years ago,
there was no closed stove in the kitchen here. I asked M. Joules whether he would be prepared now to cook on the range that old Mr. Darcy's cook had to work with, and he said flatly he would refuse to work in such out-of-date conditions.”

Phoebe was stung by Louisa's words. She didn't care to be told that she was clinging to a lost childhood, although with the honesty that was characteristic of her, she had to admit that it was to some extent true. The future frightened her; she was not sure what it held, and because of what had happened in London, she looked forward to the life that lay ahead of her with no particular pleasure. In her present mood, she saw little prospect of fulfilment or happiness.

But then her natural good sense reasserted itself, and she was able to laugh at her melancholy mood, and allow to herself that when the rain stopped, and the days brightened, and she was busy once more not only with the ball, but with riding and walking and perhaps paying visits—she very much wanted to see her godmother again—then her outlook would improve, and she would be more cheerful.