Chapter 13: Mrs. Skeffington's Just Desserts

A few days later, at a dinner which I was hosting for Bingley, Miss Bingley and the Hursts at my house, Bingley surprised us with an announcement. He told us, "I have decided to return to Netherfield. I intend to discover whether Miss Bennet has any true regard for me."

Miss Bingley protested, "But Charles it is but a few days shy of Christmas and I hoped Darcy and dear Georgiana might be persuaded to enjoy some of the festivities with us."

Mrs. Hurst added, gentler in her tone of address than her sister, "The Christmas season is no time to be away from close friends and family, to have no one but servants near."

Bingley responded, "I would rather miss your merrymaking than miss a chance at love."

While they continued to protest, Bingley held firm. Finally, when there was a momentary lull, Georgiana said, "This Miss Bennet must be special."

Bingley graced her with a beatific smile and said, "Yes she is." Although I had often seen Bingley in love before, he had a different earnestness about him this time.

The next day Bingley came to see me on his way out of town. He asked me, "Do you think I am being a fool? You may tell me if you like, but it shan't change my plans."

I replied, "I do not know, but you are braver than I. Foolish or not, I have no wish to dissuade you from your errand. Good luck and God speed." I clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a smile.

Just before he mounted his horse, I imagined Miss Elizabeth before me, beckoning me to join her beneath a kissing bough; I would pluck one of the white berries of mistletoe and kiss her on the cheek. I dismissed this sudden fancy as very unlikely, although it would not surprise me if Mrs. Bennet had kissing boughs a plenty at Longbourn. I had no reason to believe that Miss Elizabeth would encourage such a show of affection from me; Bingley was more likely to be the recipient of such good fortune from Miss Bennet than I was from her sister.

I had a sudden desire to accompany Bingley and wished that he might ask me to come with him. But my wish had no effect. If Bingley had, of his own volition, asked me to accompany him, I would have gone without hesitation, justifying that I was doing it in service of a friend.

Had I asked to go with him, I did not doubt that Bingley would welcome my company. I almost called out, "Wait!" But the words remained unvoiced. I knew it would not be right to leave Georgiana at this time of year. And, thus, he took his seat and rode away.

During the Christmas season I was busy in London appearing at some amusements arranged by my aunt, wife of the Earl, and accepting invitations for events hosted by others that she deemed important. As always, her son Edwin was to squire me to and fro but I begged off many in favor of sedate evenings at my house, spent with my sister Georgiana and her companion.

In a quiet moment when it was just the two of us, I asked Georgiana, "Do you remember Bingley speaking about Miss Bennet?"

"Yes, brother. It is so romantic that he is returning to pursue her!" She clasped her hands tightly together in front of her chest and beamed. Her smile and gesture seemed almost child-like in its unbounded enthusiasm and reminded me of the Georgiana of old, before Mother passed and George dimmed her light further.

"Well, she is not the only Miss Bennet. She is one of five sisters. When I was in Hertfordshire, I became partial to the second sister, a Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Georgiana clapped her hands and her smile grew even wider, unfashionably so (I remembered overhearing Miss Bingley advise Georgiana on the proper way to smile). She asked, as I had been asking myself more and more as the days passed, "Why did you not go back to pursue her as Mr. Bingley did his love?"

I stared at my knees. "She is not my love and I doubt she holds me in regard. You know how things can be difficult for me, but she has another reason to think poorly of me besides my own behavior."

"What happened?"

I hesitated in revealing more but chanced a quick glance at Georgiana. She was leaning forward, her brow slightly tensed. She was waiting for an answer.

"Well?"

I finally decided to trust that Georgiana was strong enough to hear talk of him. "It must just be a nasty coincidence but appearing there with apparently no better occupation for his spare time, but to circulate nasty gossip to plague me again and have me at sixes and sevens was George Wickham, lately a lieutenant in the local militia! I fear George's lies about our association have poisoned her against me and cost me any chance I might have had to earn Miss Elizabeth's regard."

I hated bringing up his hateful name to her but if I had not shielded her from all of George's actions while we were at school and university, she would have never been the victim of his ploy. I do not know how I was expecting her to react, perhaps curse his name, perhaps look sad, but she did something wholly unexpected instead.

Georgiana slid closer to me on the sofa, wrapped her slim arms around me and told me, "Brother, it is my solemn vow that I will do all I can to correct Miss Elizabeth's misapprehensions if given the opportunity."

I felt tears prickle my eyes. It was just so unexpected to have her as my ally and receive her devotion. I did not cry, though, and excused my emotions to myself as relating to the anniversary which was approaching.

The Christmas season without our mother was painful as she had gained her eternal reward but days after the previous holiday. While I tried to not remember the date, December 29 was forever etched in my mind.

In many ways Mother had finally come into her own unfettered by my father's iron will and the interference of his domineering sister, Matilda Skeffington, only a few years earlier. It had not been easy for her, though.

Thinking of mother's death put to my mind how much she had mourned for my father when he was gone, how the love that connected them made her suffer from its absence. This made me think about how I might never know both the pleasure of being with the one I loved and the resulting pain that would someday befall one of us when the other was gone. I wished, earnestly, that I might not live my life alone, that I might find a bride I could love as my father had loved my mother, someone who would love me in return. Georgiana, bless her kind heart, tried to distract me from my morose thoughts with lively tunes and games.

When my father had passed, my mother was deeply depressed and passive when she needed to take charge. I had attempted to complete my last term at university after attending his funeral, although sad about his passing I had much more mixed feelings about his death given our complicated relationship but felt I could carry on, but I was summoned home mere weeks later by Georgiana's missive. She was surprisingly coherent for a girl barely eleven who had just begun corresponding with me months before, mostly to enclose her latest drawings.

She wrote, "Please come home brother, Aunt Matty has changed everything and mother will not eat. Aunt Matty says because she is father's sister she is in charge."

I answered my sister's request not with a letter but with my presence as soon as I could pen a quick note explaining my absence and get to my horse. My first concern was for the health of my mother and as soon as I alighted, even before refreshing myself from the road, I was striding to Mother's chambers and knocking on the door. It was of course not seemly for me to see my mother in her chambers, but the timid maid who opened the door apparently understood I would not be gainsaid as she admitted me. The sight that awaited me was worse than I had anticipated. Mother was in bed and even through the concealment of her bedclothes, I could tell that she was beyond thin to gaunt.

"Mother!" I cried, walking to her side, "You must eat more. We cannot lose you, too."

The smile she had given me faltered. "Fitz, I will try." She shrugged and gestured to a plate set on a side table, that contained kippers and beans, two items of food that my mother abhorred. The smell of the cured fish was overwhelming and made me anxious to get it away from her.

"But why?"

"Your Aunt Matilda likes them, I suppose."

I told her maid to take her plate away and to fetch something else. "Toast," my mother requested, "toast with jam."

After I refreshed myself and washed the dust from me, I decided I needed to gather more information about the running of Pemberley and what food was being served. I went in search of Mrs. Reynolds as I knew she would know what was occurring. But even before I located her, I saw many signs that Aunt Matilda Skeffington was ordering Pemberley for her own pleasure, apparently having appointed herself both master and mistress. Artwork had been changed, furniture rearranged, and even Father's desk had her stationary upon it, and his substantial desk chair was gone, replaced with one of a more feminine design. It was not to be borne and yet I was fearful of how it would be when I confronted her, as I knew I must.

I was used to deferring to Aunt Matilda. She was very like my father, tall with dark hair (only touched with streaks of white by her temples as his had been before he died), dark eyes and a commanding presence. Although for a few years I had towered over her, she always felt larger than me. I could not help but remember all the times she had loomed over me and directed what I was to do. She was the instrument through which my father's wishes were carried out when he was otherwise engaged.

I suppose it would have been more appropriate to send a servant for Mrs. Reynolds, but many of the servants I saw about were unfamiliar to me. It is very difficult for me to talk to people I do not know well, and I thought it would be easier to find Mrs. Reynolds for myself than to talk with these servants. While I have known Mrs. Reynolds almost my whole life, I had few interactions speaking with her and certainly none as the master. I would have to set the tone for our new relationship without understanding all the clues that govern human interactions.

When I found Mrs. Reynolds, I told her, "I need to speak to you about all the changes at Pemberley." She nodded. I said nothing more as we gained my father's office. Once the door was closed, I gestured for her to sit. I half leaned half sat on the front edge of the desk, rather than sit in Aunt Matilda's chair with its distracting baroque details and its floral upholstery. I asked Mrs. Reynolds, "Please explain the changes in the menu."

Mrs. Reynolds told me, "Mrs. Skeffington hired Mrs. Lock to be the head cook without my knowledge and demoted Mrs. Richards. All the menus were changed at Mrs. Skeffington's direction and she even went so far as dictating what foods should be served to Lady Anne for each meal."

Mrs. Reynolds further told me, tears glistening in her eyes, her voice altered from its typical calm certainty, "I tried to consult with Lady Anne about these changes but she had not the strength to oppose anything or take an interest in the affairs of the house in her grief, so she told me to let Mrs. Skeffington have her way and let her be."

I found myself leaning forward to clasp Mrs. Reynolds hand, to offer reassurance. I doubt I had ever touched her before. I told her, "I will see to changing things."

"I am so glad you are home Mr. Darcy. Should we start by changing that chair?"

"Certainly," I replied, pleased to be called Mr. rather than Master Darcy, pleased that she wanted me to take my place as master.

She called for a servant and gave the footman who responded instructions. Once the original chair was firmly in place, I sat down and felt my anxiety ease a bit.

"Mr. Darcy, is there anything further you require?" The footman who brought the chair asked.

"Yes, I require the attendance of the new and old head cooks. Let us begin with the new."

"Mrs. Lock," Mrs. Reynolds clarified, "get also Mrs. Richards, but have her wait outside."

I did not converse with Mrs. Reynolds in the interval. Instead as we waited, I practiced what I would say to Mrs. Lock most carefully in my mind. I felt better that Mrs. Reynolds was there but knew this was my responsibility.

When Mrs. Lock arrived, I told her, "Mrs. Lock I regret to inform you that henceforth you shall no longer serve as head cook as your hiring was unauthorized."

She tried to protest, but I silenced her by declaring, "I am the master here and it is my decision. You may either remain as the second in charge or receive a letter of reference, but you are to take no further orders from Mrs. Skeffington." I dismissed her from my presence, telling her, "Send in Mrs. Richards.

After reinstating Mrs. Richards, I conveyed my worries for my mother's health to both her and Mrs. Reynolds. Mrs. Richards nodded and said, "Since Mr. Darcy died, God rest his soul, it is not unusual for Lady Anne's dishes to be returned still bearing food that looks untouched. I have tried to make Mrs. Lock send more appropriate meals to Lady Anne, but she only takes direction from Mrs. Skeffington. It has been better since Mrs. Reynolds suggested that Miss Darcy dine with her. I regularly send tea and biscuits to Lady Anne's room during the day, but little of it is consumed; her maid says that when Miss Darcy is not around that Lady Anne mostly stays abed. Mrs. Skeffington orders lavish meals for herself and her guests."

I responded, "This state of affairs cannot continue. My mother needs regular meals." I then ordered, "Henceforth the menus will be returned to their previous state with one exception: Anything you or anyone on staff may remember or discover as being particularly toothsome to my mother shall be added at once. There shall be no more lavish meals without my or my mother's direction. Any guests of Mrs. Skeffington, if they cannot be dissuaded from visiting or partaking of a meal here while our household is in mourning, will be served the ordinary household meals."

While mother, as was usual, dined in her room with Georgiana, I properly dressed for dinner that night. When I arrived to escort my Aunt Matilda to the table, I noted to my displeasure that she was entertaining guests: Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair, Mrs. Wickham and two apparently single gentlemen that were unknown to me. I was only slightly acquainted with any but Mrs. Wickham. It was curious to me that Mr. Wickham senior was not in attendance. Perhaps if he had been, Mrs. Wickham would not be sitting squeezed between the two gentlemen on a sofa. Although Mr. St. Clair attempted to engage me in conversation, telling me, "Mr. Darcy is missed," I made no response but a slight incline of my head and quelled further conversation with a look.

When the footmen arrived with the one course meal, consisting of soup, bread and a humble cottage pie, I heard Aunt Matilda apologize to her guests, "There must be some kind of error. This is not the meal I ordered. It will all be better after the next remove. I must go speak to Mrs. Lock."

She was in the process of getting up when I addressed her in the most formal and cold tone I could muster. "Madam, the meal is as I requested. There will be no remove and Mrs. Lock has no authority over the kitchen now. Your guests must be satisfied with what is set before them."

I saw her look of surprise and perhaps horror, but she resumed her seat and acted a proper hostess. Mrs. Wickham ignored us both and carried on a discussion with the men near her. I noticed she played with what appeared to be an emerald on a fine gold chain nestled in her décolletage, a gem that Mr. Wickham should not have been able to afford unless I was mistaken and it was paste. The man on her right seemed to show more interest in her and from my position at the head of the table, I heard her ask him, "Do I have something in my teeth, Mr. Needs?" She stretched out his name into "Neeeeeeeds." She leaned close to him, opened her mouth wide and bared her upper teeth, running her tongue over her lower lip. He leaned in toward her, his eyes roaming freely.

"Your teeth are fine," he responded. Then he leaned close and whispered in her ear. She giggled like she was a young maid. I felt sick in seeing this. Mr. Wickham was a good and loyal steward; he did not deserve to be treated like this by his wife. Memories from my childhood flashed before me and formed a picture that I did not like. With the wisdom of an adult, I understood now that Mrs. Wickham was not a loyal wife. My foul mood worsened.

I turned my gaze away from them and tried to focus on the other guests. I did not more than my bare duty to them, saying nothing that was not necessary. My stony visage served me well as none dared exchange more than a few words with me. When the meal concluded, the guests made excuses and departed. I noticed that Mrs. Wickham was escorted out by Mr. Needs. She clung too tightly to his arm and continued to giggle and carry on.

My aunt had the gall to confront me after they all left. She yelled, "You embarrassed me in front of my guests. How dare you usurp my role and change my meals! While a simpleton like you may enjoy meat from a previous meal disguised with potatoes in a pie, persons of consequence expect better!"

By doing so she provided me the very words I needed correct her. I faintly heard her continued diatribe, but I ignored it and did not respond immediately while I collected my thoughts and planned my words.

"Madam, a woman of consequence would not entertain guests so shortly after her brother's passing with food provided from said dead man's coffers to try to impress the simpletons who believe it appropriate to ignore her lapse in propriety in issuing said invitations by accepting them. A woman of consequence would not help Mrs. Wickham arrange her adulteries. A woman of consequence would not ignore her sister's suffering and add to it with food she cannot stomach. A woman of consequence would not bully servants who have served her family with true loyalty for many years. You try my patience, madam."

"You are no true master of Pemberley," Mrs. Skeffington said with a smirk. "My brother counted on me and not you to protect his legacy. You must give proper deference to your superiors in age and wisdom. I have known you since the cradle, watched each unnatural interest emerge, the ribbons and the like. You required a firm hand to improve at all. Your father coddled you overmuch by not allowing your governess free rein and look what has resulted, a man whom others deride who should be resident in an asylum, not polluting our line."

As my aunt voiced her terrible words, she stared at me with her dark eyes, barely blinking. Her eyes were so like my father's eyes, and at that moment resembled lumps of coal. I knew she wished me to look away as I typically would, to best me with her stare alone. I forced myself to stare back at her, to meet her gaze rather than look slightly above, though I felt an almost physical pain, as if I were being seared with a blacksmith's hot iron, in having her eyes upon me.

I began shaking with the terrible intensity of her words, her stare. I felt such powerful anger well up from me that I desired to strike her. I remembered how my tantrums erupted in the nursery when my words did nothing to stop Governess Hayes; I remembered the walls I had broken in the school room when I could not voice a correct answer and George sneered at me when Mr. Stowbaugh was not watching; I remembered the broken-down old cart I had ripped pieces off of with my hands until they bled when I raged like a wild beast. Fortunately, I was sufficiently master of myself that I did nothing then but press the palms of my hands against my thighs for a few moments to try to still them, as I gathered all the hate within me and directed it to my mouth, my tongue.

A deep voice, loud and angry but controlled burst out of me, "Madam, you will live at Pemberley no more!" I forced myself to walk away, past her, her threats and entreaties ignored, down a hall and then out into the gardens. All I wanted to do was to run and hide myself away, but instead I forced myself with measured steps to walk towards the woods.

When I was finally away from everything and everyone, I gave voice to every obscenity I knew, called her every vile name possible that could be applied to a woman, even those that made no sense relative to her or those terms that I did not truly understand (such as "laced mutton," "fusty lugs," "crone," "ape leader" and "strumpet") until I finally exhausted the extensive vocabulary I had learned at university, until all my words were all used up. Then I screamed and screamed until my voice was ragged.

Even then, I still shook with pent up rage. I wanted to hit and kick but knew I would only hurt myself. I forced myself to walk deeper into the forest, to name each type of tree as I saw it. As the names tumbled from my lips, I began to calm. I had named perhaps two dozen trees or more before I finally turned around. I named these self-same trees as I retraced my steps, noticing some small seedlings I had missed before. When I reentered Pemberley, I was able to think with more rationality.

In my chambers, I considered what was true. I knew who the master was, and it was not her but me. There were no terms in my father's will giving Mrs. Skeffington authority. Pemberley belonged to me and me alone, and to my heirs thereafter. While his will contained monetary provisions for my mother and sister and gave Edwin a small estate, all that it provided for Mrs. Skeffington was the return of the last property her husband had sold to my father, when mismanagement and overspending had required they retrench and live on my father's largess. My father, in separate documents, had set out plans for what was due those he cared for: the living for George Wickham, a place in Pemberley for Mrs. Skeffington for her life, eventually cottages for Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Richards which were to be fully staffed and paid for should they desire to leave the main house when they were too elderly to carry out their duties. The Wickhams were to keep the steward's house even after he could serve in that position no more; I was to build a new home for his replacement. However, these plans were only recommendations that had no force of law.

The following day, I instructed the butler with the arrangements I had decided on for Mrs. Skeffington (she did not deserve the appellation of "aunt"). She was to be removed with only her personal possessions to her property three counties away, along with the floral chair which she had apparently purchased with Pemberley's funds (I had no use for it and it seemed wasteful to consign it to a fire). While they did so, I remained in my room. She had a portion of her dowry and some support from her departed husband he had retained by living with us, so she could do well enough if she conserved. I resolved to think on her no more.

I had hope that my mother might improve with more appropriate food, but it seemed she only ate when Georgiana was present. When I saw my mother, her hair was lank, her face almost blank. I felt she was resolved to leave us; I did not know what to do to keep her from the grave.

It was my sister who happened on a solution, however. She told me, "I do not like to leave mother. She tries when I am near; otherwise she stays a bed. Do you suppose I could take my lessons in her rooms? And also, I know she has no wish to venture into the dining room, but perhaps there is a way we can all eat upstairs together?"

I thought her ideas to be most elegant solutions and as master of the estate I was the one who could implement them at once, but I would need my mother's cooperation. Fortunately, I believed I knew how to cajole her compliance with such a plan. Although she was far from well, Mother kept insisting, "Fitz, you must return to university and finish your education."

After consulting with Mrs. Reynolds, we converted a bedroom across from the master's and mistress's chambers into a room suitable for our purposes. Well-appointed furniture was placed about the room as well as a round table with chairs which was suitable for intimate dining and for my sister's more academic lessons.

I told my mother, "It falls to you to oversee Georgiana's education, I must insist that you are present for her lessons in this new room. Also, we shall the three of us dine together here, too, breakfast, tea and dinner. If I see that you are eating appropriately and making sure Georgiana is learning all that she ought, well then in a week or two I will feel I can return to Cambridge."

My mother made an effort, she truly did. After one week she insisted, "Fitz, you are leaving on the morrow for Cambridge; I shall be fine, Georgiana and all the staff shall see to it."

I did as she bid, however I made certain that I was to be informed immediately if she strayed from eating or engaging with my sister. In such a manner was I able to finish my last term, was at Cambridge to offer what comfort I could to Bingley when he learned that his father had died.