The very next day after this conversation was the day appointed for Thomas to join Jane and Bingley at Vinings, eight and twenty miles from Pemberley, and at the appropriate time an oversized carriage without any ornate family emblem on the door arrived to take him to his destination.
It was no more than half a day's journey to his oldest daughter's home, situated near enough to Pemberley to satisfy both sisters. Jane and Bingley were both waiting for Thomas when the carriage stopped, but first he had to wait for a few moments after the door was opened, before the steps were properly put in place. As he alighted, his granddaughters Sophie and Anne physically attacked his legs, wrapping their arms around them and exclaiming in joy until their mother made them stop. Jane embraced her father, Bingley shook his hand warmly, and he was brought inside with a real feeling of family togetherness.
Vinings was nowhere near the size of Pemberley, and the Bingleys and Bennets had generally all stayed at Pemberley together when they wished to visit. It had been several years, in fact, since Thomas had seen Vinings at all. Therefore he looked about himself curiously to revisit details which had grown blurred in his mind.
All seemed as lively and prosperous as ever. The same soft pink rose bushes, favorites of Jane, grew in the front of the house. Thomas remembered that Fanny had often exclaimed over them and wished that she had some just like them at Longbourn. The ivy vines which gave the house its name still overgrew the walls of both the house and stable, and the shutters around the windows still showed their accustomed dull blue paint. Nothing here had changed.
The house itself was a straight, low-built structure of two stories, with a row of windows on each story in the front and a rather smaller set along the side. A spacious portico opened in the front to a covered entry way into the house, and a small garden on the side of the home, fitted out with several ivy-strewn benches, completed its gracious look.
He was rather astounded by the number of servants who had come to meet him. He counted them once, and then counted them again just to be sure his eyes had not deceived him. Had there really been seven maids and five footmen in attendance at the house when the Bennets had last visited? Fanny could have told him if there were. She had known the exact number of domestic help available in all of her married daughter's homes, and regaled her friends and neighbors with those numbers endlessly whenever she could. But he himself could not seem to recall. All of them, however, greeted him respectfully enough, and he nodded at each in return, wondering what work was being done in the house to necessitate such a sizeable staff.
Inside the parlor he distributed the gifts sent by the Darcys to everyone—a letter from Elizabeth to Jane, part of her weekly correspondence; a pair of gloves; and a book on crop rotation from Darcy to Bingley. He also had sweetmeats for the two oldest children, who took them from his hand and ran off without a curtsey or a word of thanks while Jane apologized for their excitement. Elizabeth had also sent a new gown for the youngest Bingley, named Fanny for her grandmother, just two months old and sleeping soundly in the nursery through all the noise of his arrival.
Thomas was to become accustomed to hearing Jane's apologies over the next weeks, to the point that it became almost wearisome. It seemed that there was a great deal she had to apologize for.
Sophie and Anne were generally the first cause of apologies in the morning, and often the last cause in the evening as well, for the Bingleys either could not or would not make them behave in a way befitting children of ten years and six years of age. Mr. Bennet quickly became accustomed to the children joining in the conversation of the adults around them whenever they chose, whether they had been invited to do so or not. If he sat quietly in the parlor with Jane while she held her infant, they were sure to run in to show her some childish treasure they had found outside without asking permission first. If he walked with Bingley outside, discussing the addition of a well-house to the property, they were sure to play a mad game of tag around his feet, laughing and yelling at each other so much that Thomas could not understand a word Bingley had said. In short, he thought, though they were both delightful and affectionate, they were also the most thoroughly undisciplined children he had seen in some time.
The servants, too, were a source of many apologies, and at first Thomas was at a loss to understand why. There were certainly enough of them to maintain a small garrison in good order, if they had understood their work and applied themselves readily. But they did not. It appeared to Thomas that Jane did many things that rightfully should have been carried out by the servants themselves, and since she was only one person, there were some tasks which were not carried out at all. Thomas accepted his daughter's regrets for the occasional lack of fresh water in the wash basin of his room, for the heavy layer of mud that built up on his shoes and was never removed, and even for the dirty linens that should have been cleaned but came back almost as dirty as before.
And where was Bingley in all of this, he wondered. He was the husband and father of the home; why did he not intervene? Surely he could see what needed to be done? But Bingley spent the greater part of each day out of the house. If he noticed these irregularities, he gave no sign of it.
A week after his arrival, Thomas was surprised to be interrupted while he was sitting in Bingley's study, translating a passage of Homer's Odyssey into English for the sheer challenge of it, and avoiding the sounds of Sophie and Anne playing battledore and shuttlecock in the drawing room. Jane, he supposed, was in the nursery with Fanny. Bingley entered the study with his steward, followed by the household servants, and Thomas realized that they were there for the first quarter day, to receive their wages. But it was remarkably late—Lady Day had been seven days past.
Bingley approached Mr. Bennet and asked, if it was not too much trouble, and if it did not cause him any inconvenience, could he please have the use of the desk where Mr. Bennet now sat, in order to have room to look at his account book and settle up with his staff? Thomas nodded and moved aside gladly, wondering at his son in law's diffident, anxious manner. Bingley did not ask his father in law to leave the room, and Thomas thoughtfully set aside his translation so that he could watch unobserved, determined to watch and learn what he could.
Bingley opened the ledger that his steward, Peters, gave him, and fluttered through the pages nervously until he came to the last rows of entries, which he sat studying carefully for a brief time. At length he addressed Peters:
"Are all the servants accounted for? This includes both the household staff and the gardeners, the grooms and whatnot?" He waved a hand rather vaguely in the air.
Peters nodded, and Thomas wondered exactly how many servants Bingley employed. Did Bingley himself even know?
"And these wages—they are the usual amounts?"
"Plus the generous addition which you normally make," Peters answered. Bingley responded in his usual obliging, eager way.
"It is nothing, nothing at all. I am very glad to be able to do something for each of them, and it is certain that they have all earned their wages, and more besides. It is the very least any man can do, to care for the ones who care for him and his family. It is, indeed, a gentleman's obligation."
A general nod and murmur of approval came from the direction of the assembled servants, and Bingley looked at them with a pleased expression. "Well, if all is in order, then let us begin. I apologize for the delay in distributing your wages, but there were some little matters that had to be made right before we could proceed. I thank you for your patience."
Nobody objected, and the servants were called forward one by one. Bingley greeted each one, said a word or two of appreciation for their labor, and then counted out their wages into their hand. Thomas noted that Bingley was, indeed, a most generous employer. No wonder the servants were content to wait an extra week, with such amounts to enjoy later!
When the little ceremony was over and Peters had retreated to some unknown place with the account book, Bingley recalled Mr. Bennet's presence and offered him a glass of port. They drank to each other's health, and then Thomas asked, "Was there a reason for the delay in settling up for the quarter, Bingley?"
Bingley smiled in his usual genial way, but Thomas thought he saw a troubled expression in his eyes for a moment. "Nothing so terribly unusual. Peters had a bit of a family emergency and had to be gone several days last week. We could not settle up properly until today."
"A family emergency? Somebody sick, I take it?"
"His mother," Bingley answered. "Her illness often occurs at this time of year."
"And the tenants, I suppose, are as regular as ever in their payments? No problems collecting?"
"I believe all is as it should be." He took a last sip of port and set the empty glass down on the desk. "I am quite certain that everything is at it should be, indeed." So saying, he left the study without another word.
Thomas recalled the scene the next day while he walked around the garden, trailed by Sophie and Anne and their ever-indulgent governess, and noted many things he had seen before but never really looked at.
The same kinds of issues which afflicted the inside of the house were reflected on the outside of it. Jane's favored pale pink rose bushes were overgrown with weeds already, barely into April, despite the presence of at least two gardeners. The vines which had seemed so attractive to him at first as they curled up the side of the house were likewise overgrown, beginning to cover up a window or two on the second story and threatening several more. Several of the windows bore rain streaks which had never been removed. And the dull blue paint of the shutters was beyond dull—it was in need of being completely done over.
Thomas had liked to say, over the years, that Jane and Bingley were so complying that nothing would ever be resolved on, and so easy that every servant would cheat them. Was that the problem in the home? Were their inherently kind, easygoing natures the source of the general neglect? He wondered if his jesting words all those years ago had turned out to be more prophetic than amusing.
He asked the staff a few random questions in an off-hand way, and had at least one of his suspicions confirmed. Most of the servants in the house were related to each other, and at least half had been hired after a relative already in service had plied a tale of woe on Jane or Bingley, or both. Their wages, too, were far and away higher than was customary in that area of the country, and Thomas could see for himself that neither of the Bingleys had the resolve necessary to hold their employees accountable for the work that was not done, or that was done poorly.
A similar lack of resolve was on display with the children. Jane tried to curb their spirits and teach them proper manners, but with so many other demands on her attention her efforts were usually in vain. If she could have exerted herself to make the nurse or governess do their duty, things might have been different, but Jane had never prevailed on anyone in her life, and she was not likely to start now; neither was Bingley. And with neither master nor mistress able to really manage the staff, the staff managed themselves, but did not do much of anything else.
He saw much to concern him, but nothing that would justify interference, especially after Bingley's curt dismissal in the study. He and Jane had already spent a decade together in marriage, and if they had not settled already how best to handle their household, then they likely never would. Thomas closed his eyes to what he could not change, tried not to stare at the children or the servants whenever they demonstrated the lack of leadership in the home, and became accustomed to rather muddy shoes, a very dusty parlor, and grandchildren whose enthusiasm occasionally put the more fragile items in the house into some danger.
Thomas was surprised, several days later, to receive a letter from his fourth daughter. He was not due to visit her for another two months. Kitty rarely wrote to anyone and barely at all to him; yet today her painstaking writing filled two pages.
Dear Papa,
I have exciting news to share with you, news which is certain to raise your spirits at such a despondent time in your life.
Despondent? Thomas snorted in disgust. When had Kitty acquired such a flair for dramatics? The loss of Fanny had certainly surprised him. He had probably even been a little depressed. But he was not despondent!
You may have heard me mention my husband's brother Frederick, who is a clerk in a law office in the town of D-, some thirty miles from here. He is an intelligent, good-natured and respected gentleman in the neighborhood, and he has taken to calling on my husband several times a month, whenever he can leave the office. But to be truthful he pays little enough attention to either my husband or me, and all his attention to my sister Mary. In fact, for some two months now he has been courting her!
Thomas felt his eyebrows jump nearly to his hairline. He slowly lowered himself to a chair, the better to absorb this surprising development, and continued reading.
I do not quite understand what he sees in my sister, but there is no accounting for taste.
As the son of a gentleman Frederick has an independent income of four hundred pounds per annum, besides the income from his practice of law. He is a highly eligible match for Mary, whose only love is for books and whose desire for luxuries is minimal. If you were to meet him I feel certain you would agree.
When Frederick heard that you were coming to stay with us, he expressed an interest in being introduced to your acquaintance. Therefore we invited him to visit with us while you are here, along with his aunt, Miss Lucy Masterson (an agreeable woman- I know you will enjoy her company). When Frederick takes the opportunity to ask a significant question, we hope you will answer in the affirmative.
Thomas had never felt that Mary would ever be in any danger of being overwhelmed by suitors. Between her unremarkable physical appearance, her solemn, moralizing nature, and now her relatively advanced age of eight and twenty, an opportunity to for his daughter to settle permanently in her own home would indeed lift his spirits. If Frederick was all that Kitty described, Thomas, too, had to wonder at the sudden good luck of his most unfortunate daughter.
The only problem with all this is that Frederick must travel out of the country later this summer, and if you do not meet him soon I think you might not meet for many months.
I am simply wild for Frederick to make his addresses to Mary. I know she is my sister and she must live somewhere, but why must it be with us? We do have two other sisters, after all, who might be willing to take her in. They know what a trial it is to live with Mary!
You will hardly believe Mary when you see her for yourself! She hardly quotes sermons at us any more when Frederick is in the room, and you will not believe the eyes she makes at him! She flirts almost as much as Lydia used to! I can hardly stand to be in the same room with them sometimes.
I wish you would consider coming to us sooner than planned, so that you can meet Frederick and let him ask for your blessing. if you are agreeable, I will ask Earnest to send our carriage for you in a fortnight instead of six weeks. Please let me know as soon as possible if you can come to us then. I am
Your obedient daughter,
Catherine Masterson
Thomas briefly tried to picture Mary in his mind, playing the coquette with a suitor, her eyes widening owlishly behind the impossibly thick lenses of her spectacles while she fluttered her eyelashes. It was only slightly easier than picturing a perceptive and intelligent Mr. Collins.
"Jane!" he called, rising and moving towards the sitting room, where he had last heard his daughter's voice speaking to the children. Jane emerged at once holding a squirming Sophie firmly by one hand and a pouting Anne on her hip. She looked harried.
"Jane, permit me to read to you this letter from your sister Kitty. I think you will be vastly entertained. It would seem that your one remaining unmarried sibling may soon be resigning the name she has borne all her life."
"Papa?" Jane looked at him questioningly, her eyes wide. He wondered if she thought he was beginning to lose his mind.
"Here, I will read to you from the beginning. It should explain all." Obediently Jane remained standing, still clutching her children to her, while Thomas read the letter out loud. Halfway through the recitation Sophie managed to make her escape, pulling her hand away from her mother's and disappearing around a corner without a word. Jane remained where she was.
"What think you of that?" Thomas asked when he had finished. "Remarkable, is it not, that Mary should have a suitor after all these years?"
"I do not understand," Jane replied. "Who is this Frederick? When did he start calling on Mary?"
"Did you not hear a thing I said?"
"Forgive me, papa, I was not able to attend properly."
"And no wonder, considering the noise coming from that child," Thomas commented irritably, looking at Anne, for the girl had begun to whine, begging her mother to let her follow her older sister. Jane tried ineffectually to shush her. "Frederick is Kitty's husband's brother, and he has expressed an interest in your sister. Kitty wants me to go to her home as soon as possible in order to give him my consent. I hope you do not mind."
"Mind? Of course not. KItty has wanted Mary to be in her own home for months now."
The long-suffering father snorted. "No more than I wanted all those years!"
"Papa, that is not kind. She merely wants what is best for Mary." Thomas flushed at the gentle rebuke. Jane had always been his most gracious daughter, determined to see the best in those around her, and this was a trait she had not learned from her father. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must go find Sophie before she has a chance to cause more mischief."
"Why? What has she done this time?"
"She and Anne were playing spillikins in the parlor and they refuse to pick the pieces up. I have been trying this half hour to make them obey."
There was something in Jane's voice that made Thomas really look at her for the first time. He frowned as he took in the lines of fatigue plainly visible on her face.
"Jane, you are overtired, and that child is too big to be carried about in such a way. You should rest. Call the children's nurse and go lie down."
"The nurse is with Fanny. I am perfectly well, papa; it is nothing I am not used to."
"Jane, child, didn't you hear me? You need to get off your feet. If the nurse is not available then call the governess and make her do her duty for the children."
"She is off today to attend to a sick friend. Perhaps—" she looked at him apologetically, then at the young girl in her arms, now weeping petulantly. "If you might find Sophie and bring her back here for me, that would be a great help. She likes to hide from me when she has been naughty."
"Call one of the servants instead," he responded, annoyed that she was not taking his advice. "I did not finish raising five daughters just so I could play nursemaid to yours." He turned and began to walk away, intending to go to his bedroom and write an answer to Kitty, but he hesitated before leaving.
"Jane, are you sure that you do not mind my leaving you early to go to your sister's?"
"We do not mind in the least. Of course you must go to Kitty and Mary if they want you."
Thomas wished that she might show some regret over losing his company sooner than planned. "If you need me, I am happy to stay," he offered, but Jane was not looking at him. Her attention was given entirely to her daughter. "Very well, I shall tell Kitty to make the necessary arrangements. And by the by," he added, "if you cannot find Sophie indoors, you might try looking for her behind the servant's privy. That is where we always found Lydia."
It was evident that there was no more place for Thomas at Vinings than there had been at Pemberley. Jane was busy raising her children, Bingley wanted no assistance with the estate, and nobody had time for his thoughts on anything. But Kitty, at least, wanted him! Or at least she felt she needed him, which was nearly the same thing. In the privacy of his room he took up his pen and quill.
Since her mother's death Kitty had started to use her full Christian name instead of the family name she had gone by all her life. Not everyone had gracefully accepted the change.
Dear daughter,
If Mary and this Frederick Masterson wish to marry, they need neither my permission nor my blessing. But Mary in love is sure to be a spectacle, and I would not miss it for the world. You may send your carriage for me in a fortnight. I am
Your affectionate father,
Thomas Bennet
N.B. You may as well sign your letters Kitty, for as your mother never called you Catherine, neither shall I.
