Today we have a lovely entry from Rose, focusing on the housekeeper at Pemberley, Mrs Reynolds.
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A thousand thanks to my betas Dragonfly, and another dear, nameless friend.
Mrs Reynolds
She had known it was snowing the
moment she opened her eyes, and went directly to the window to look out over
the grounds. The young chambermaids who’d been up for hours told her it had
started just before sunrise, and the footmen came in for their breakfast
shaking wet hair and stomping wet boots and laughing, giddy as schoolchildren.
Now, Mrs Reynolds stood by the
window in her room, her hands resting on the sill, as evening stole over the
countryside. The fading glow of wintry twilight showed her the delicate flakes
swirling down like stars come to rest on the lawn and in the treetops, the
final Christmas ornamentation settling lightly to earth. Pemberley lay like a
jewel in a cupped hand, glittering brightly as snow drifted down over hill and
wood and frozen river.
It was unlike her, this moment of
lingering, watching, stillness. She told herself she was watching for the
carriage that would bring Mr and Mrs Bingley and the children and usher in the
beginning of the Christmas gaiety, but the view to the road was not good from
this window, not with the snow and the gathering dark, and after another minute
she smiled, admitting that she was simply enjoying the last moment of idleness
left to her until well into the new year. The arrival of their guests tonight
was only the beginning; if snow did not make an enemy of the road Pemberley
house would be full to bursting for many weeks to come. The Bingleys would be
the first to arrive and, most likely, the last to leave as Mrs Bingley was
anticipated to remain well into March, to stay with her sister through her
lying-in.
A memory turned her thoughts away
from the snow and the road and Mrs Reynolds’s smile grew brighter. Just that
morning, Mrs Darcy had sought her out in the servants’ hall, bringing the morning
letters, as she sometimes did on the occasions when she was too full of high
spirits or restless impatience to wait for Mrs Reynolds, more properly, to come
to her. Over the years since their master had brought her home to be mistress
of Pemberley, her occasional appearance in the servants’ hall had ceased to be
a source of gossip or surprise, but the first time she’d been seen braving the narrow
back stairs in her condition she had garnered more than a few
admonishments, most notably from cook, whose fierce attachment to their new
mistress was as vociferous as the housekeeper's was understated. But Mrs
Reynolds was not among the rebukers. She had seen too many children brought
into this world to doubt the strength of a mother’s will. Especially the will
of such a mother-to-be as her mistress.
Mrs Darcy’s eyes had sparkled as
she came into the room that morning, the delightful smile playing about her
mouth speaking of merriment just waiting to burst forth. She told Mrs Reynolds
without delay that Lady Catherine de Bourgh, making as excuse her
disinclination for travel in the winter, would not be joining them at Pemberley
for Christmas after all. And although Mrs Reynolds would never speak a spiteful
word concerning any relative of her master, neither could she feign sorrow that
Lady Catherine would not be descending upon them this year. Not when she was
apt to bring her scrawny little lady’s maid who was forever poking her overlong
nose into the business of Mrs Reynolds’s household. Spying on them was what
Lady Catherine and her maid got up to, and, though God help her she would never
give voice to her indignation, Mrs Reynolds had had her fill of it. Ever since Lady
Anne passed away, her more imperious sister had acted as though she had a
proprietary right to Pemberley. They had all borne it stoically through the
years so she made no attempt to silence the titter of holiday cheer that passed
around the servants’ table when Mrs Reynolds gave them the news over dinner.
But Mrs Darcy’s liveliness over
the matter of Lady Catherine was not quite sufficient to let her overlook the
unhappy news another letter brought. The Gardiners’ youngest daughter was still
ill, and they were so far from wanting to expose Elizabeth to the dangers of
the fever that the whole family would be staying in Gracechurch Street for
Christmas. Mrs Reynolds had condoled with her over the loss to their party.
Their absence would be felt, she knew; all the household owed Mr and Mrs
Gardiner a debt, and held them in the highest esteem, for being the first to
bring Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Pemberley.
Looking at her that morning,
sitting below stairs and filling the humble room with a glow that could not be
denied, Mrs Reynolds remembered her words to the young woman, foolish as they
seemed now, the first day she met her. I do not know when my master
might marry - I do not know who would be good enough for him. Miss
Elizabeth had been good enough. She had become a better mistress than Mrs Reynolds
had ever dared hope for, and her son would be just like her. Just like them
both. Mrs Reynolds thought with a swell of the deepest pride that she had known
the child’s father when he was just four years old, and, God willing, she would
live to see his son at that same age.
The sound of quick feet on the
stairs woke her from her reverie just as she realised what she had been looking
at for the past several minutes - the barest flicker of light to the west, just
where the road would be. She turned in time to see little Anna catch herself on
the doorframe and call out, all breathless, that Mr Bingley’s carriage had been
sighted down the road and now Mr Jansen was calling for her and cook was all in
a dither because Betsy let the second stove go cold. The girl was away again
before Mrs Reynolds could do more than nod her understanding, leaving her once
more alone.
Alone, but no longer idle. Mrs
Reynolds lifted her hands to adjust her cap, then to smooth
down her apron. Stepping calmly to the door, she glanced back once more to the
tall window and the drifting snow. Despite Betsy and cook, despite the
Gardiner’s absence and Lady Catherine’s rudeness, despite the weather that
would slow their guests and turn the halls into drafty caverns, despite all
this it was Christmas, it was lovely, and all would be well.
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I really enjoyed this little story and it was nice to read something based around such a minor, and yet very important, character as Mrs Reynolds. Thanks for sending this, it is brilliant Rose!
Your affectionate friend,
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