Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Persuasion, combined in a Little Women story. 19th century New England, as Alcott had it.
Disclaimer: names that you recognize from Jane Austen's masterpieces are NOT mine. And lots and lots of the writing is not mine, either. More lines than I care to admit are stolen shamelessly from Louisa May Alcott. Much of the plot is borrowed from her lovely story, too. To surmise, anything that you recognize is NOT MINE.
The March Girls, Chapter Five
"What in the world do you think you're doing, Lizzy?" asked Emma, as her sister came tramping through the hall, in rubber boots, old sack, and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in the other.
"Going out for exercise," said Elizabeth, with a mischievous twinkle in her brown eyes.
Jane came into the hall, drawn by the voices, and looked doubtfully at Elizabeth's attire. "I should think two long walks this morning would have been enough! It's cold and dull out, and I advise you to stay warm and dry by the fire, as we all do."
"Oh, come, Jane! That's no fun," cried Elizabeth. "Tell Annie bye for me, I'm going out. I shan't doze by the fire like some old pussycat Snuffles. I'd rather have some adventure. Emma, come with me."
Emma threw a longing glance in the direction of the living room, were the cozy fire was. Seeing her somewhat inclined to "doze by the fire like Snuffles", Elizabeth dragged her to the door, throwing at her a scarf, mittens, boots, and thick jacket.
Jane laughed, and returned to the fire to curl up with Ivanhoe, listening to Anne play away at the old piano, with Betsy the infirm doll as spectator. Anne and Jane cheerfully bade them goodbye, while Emma tramped grumpily out the door after Elizabeth.
Elizabeth began to dig paths with great energy. She shovelled the snow, and Emma swept with the broom after her, and soon there was a path all around the garden for Anne to walk in when the sun came out and the dolls needed fresh air.
The garden separated the Marches' house from that of Mr Bingley. A low hedge parted the two estates. On one side was an old, brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, robbed of the vines that in summer covered its walls and the flowers which then surrounded it. On the other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly betokening every sort of comfort and luxury, from the big coach house and well-kept grounds to the conservatory and glimpses of lovely things to be caught between the rich curtains.
"Look! There's Mr Bingley driving off!" said Elizabeth suddenly, pointing. Emma looked up, and leaned against her broom, shielding her eyes.
"So?" said Emma, ingenuously.
"Come," Elizabeth only said, digging her way down to the hedge.
"Lizzy! What sort of mischief are you thinking of doing now?" demanded Emma, following her with an exasperated expression.
Elizabeth said nothing, only packed a snowball into her hand, brought it back, and threw with all her might. It smacked very satisfyingly against an upper window of the mansion, and Elizabeth stood back with a smug grin, while Emma watched on in a sort of stupefied fascination.
"LIZZY!" she finally said. Her tone was a medley of disbelief and horror.
"Oh, see! He turns!" said Elizabeth, waving an arm wildly. "Charlie!" she bellowed.
"What in the name of heaven are you thinking!" cried Emma.
"Hello there!" said Charlie, his voice slightly raspy, leaning out. He inspected the window pane, and was visibly relieved to find that no lasting harm was done.
"Good morning!" Elizabeth called back. "How do you do? Are you sick?"
"Fine, thank you, only terribly bored, and recovering from a cold," he croaked.
"That's a shame. Why don't you have someone read to you?"
"George is with Grandpa, and I hate to ask Darcy all the time. Besides, I don't like it."
"Not like reading!" said Elizabeth, appalled. "Well, why don't you invite your friends then, and have a regular romp? Wouldn't that be fun?"
"This is very bad form, Eliza Roberta," said Emma. Desperate situations called for desperate measures, in her opinion.
Not unexpectedly, Elizabeth scowled, but she paid no attention to her sister.
"The boys would tire me out. Grandfather forbade them to come while I'm sick."
"Why don't you have a nice, quiet girl come, then?" said Emma. Elizabeth looked to her in surprise, wondering at the sudden transformation in her face. She didn't look disapproving anymore; in fact, she looked very pleased. There was a very suspicious smile playing about her lips, and Elizabeth's eyes narrowed as she regarded her older sister.
"I don't know any," said Charlie sadly.
"I'll take offense at that!" laughed Emma.
"Oh, I do beg your pardon," cried Charlie, flurried. "I meant – oh, drat it."
"Well, why don't one of us come over and amuse you?" suggested Emma.
"Would you?" said Charlie, beaming.
"Of course! Just wait and see," said Emma, turning back and hurrying towards home. Elizabeth lifted her shovel and followed her quickly.
"Christopher Columbus, but what was that?" said Elizabeth.
"Don't you see?" said Emma, as if speaking to a very small child. "We'll just ask Jane to come and help Charlie. She's so kind-hearted she'll never decline something like that."
"Why Jane?"
"You dimwit! Don't you want them to be friends? They'll suit each other wonderfully," said Emma.
"Oh." Elizabeth paused. Then she rolled her eyes. "Emma."
Jane knocked hesitantly, thrice. She held a plateful of blancmange in one hand, and Snuffles in the other. She bit her lip nervously as a maid opened the door.
"Good day," she said politely. "I'm here to see Mr Charles Bingley."
"Show her up, it's Miss Emma or Miss Lizzy," Charlie's voiced called down, and the surprised servant hastened her up the stairs.
Jane frowned, a premonitory feeling settling in her stomach, as Charlie opened the door of his room.
"Hello, E–," Charlie's smile faltered, and his face paled. "Miss... J-Jane?"
"Hello, Charlie," said Jane brightly. "Emma said that you wanted for company, and that 'I'd do', so I came. I hope you like blancmange; it's so soft and would be wonderful for your cold. And I brought Snuffles too, Annie asked me to."
"Oh, I-I see," stammered poor Charlie. He looked in panic around his room, which in spite of half a dozen servants was anything but tidy. Jane raised an eyebrow, and then calmly said, "Sit down, Charlie, and have some blancmange."
Charlie obeyed dazedly, sitting down on the couch. Jane placed the dish in his lap, and deposited Snuffles beside him on the cushion. The pussycat mewed contentedly, stretching out and nuzzling Charlie's elbow.
Jane hummed as she went about the room; she straightened the items on the mantle, swept the hearth, and plumped the pillows, lending it an entirely different air. Charlie watched in respectful admiration as she whisked things into place, and when she was done she drew a chair by the couch and sat down, the compassionate smile never leaving her face.
"Thank you," said Charlie shyly.
"You're welcome," replied Jane cheerfully. "Shall I read to you?" She nodded toward some books lying nearby.
"That's alright. I've read all those, and I'd rather talk, if you don't mind," Charlie felt extremely proud of himself for saying so much without a stutter, although his voice was so quiet that Jane had to lean in to hear him.
Jane smiled. "Of course I don't mind. Although I fear I'm not as good at it as Lizzy. Once she gets going, there's no stopping her."
"Lizzy seems like a fun sort," said Charlie.
"She's a nice girl, although a bit of a tomboy."
"Annie is the quiet one, who stays home a good deal, and sometimes goes out with a basket?" said Charlie with interest. "I saw her once, and Snuffles is hers, I suppose."
"You seem to know a great deal," said Jane laughingly.
Charlie said frankly, "You see I often hear you calling to one another, and when I'm alone up here, I can't help looking over at your house, you always seem to be having such good times. I beg your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you forget to put down the curtain at the window where the flowers are. And when the lamps are lighted, it's like looking at a picture to see the fire, and you all around the table with your mother. Her face is right opposite, and it looks so sweet behind the flowers, that I can't help watching it. George and I don't have mothers, you know." His colour was high at having rambled so much, and at the end his mouth twitched a little, and he blinked as he poked at the fire.
The solitary, hungry look in his eyes went straight to Jane's warm heart. There was an instinctive, protective feeling towards the sick and lonely boy who had no mother – as Emma had said, she had an "older sister complex", which now kicked in full force and softened her mien and voice.
"We'll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave to look as much as you like. I just wish, though, instead of peeping, you'd come over and see us. Mother is so lovely, she'd do you a heap of good, and Annie will sing and play for you if I beg her to. She has the most beautiful voice, and Emma will show you her drawings too, which are quite splendid. Lizzy makes us all laugh, and have a jolly time. Why don't you come with George sometime? Won't your grandfather let you?"
Charlie bit his lip. "I don't think he likes me to be a bother to strangers," he said hesitantly.
"We aren't strangers, we're neighbours. And you shan't think that you'd be a bother. Everyone is quite willing to meet you and George."
"You see Grandfather doesn't go about much, only on business, and George goes with him. He's always in the library, and doesn't mind me most of the time. Mr Darcy, my tutor, doesn't stay here, you know, and I have no one to go about with me, so I just stay home and get on as I can."
Jane frowned. She said in a patronizing tone, "You ought to go out more; you're so stifled in this old house. Annie's bashful too, but she isn't always cooped up in the house all the time, like you. Fresh air is good for the constitution, you know."
Charlie coloured at being called bashful, but was silent. It was impossible for him not to take it as kindly as Jane meant it; there was a motherly cast to her face as she said it, and if Charlie's feelings had been anything but what they were, he would have found it very pleasing.
"Emma mentioned that you're a governess," he said at last, changing the subject.
"Oh yes, to the King children. They're such spoilt, cross little dears," said Jane fondly. She didn't seem to realize that her description was slightly contradictory, but Charlie smiled.
"Do tell," he said.
"Well, there are four. Lucy is the oldest, and such a sweet girl, only used to getting her own way, you know. Susie is everything prim and proper, a little lady really, with the funniest, most ridiculous airs. Paul and Jamie are twins, and very boisterous – they're a handful, certainly. There was a time when..."
And so Jane and Charlie chatted, and by and by Jane lost her condescending tone, and talked with him as an equal. Charlie was pleased, and smiled more and more; once he laughed aloud at the antics of Paul and Jamie, and a curious maid peeked in to make sure everything was all right.
They ventured down to the library after a time, Jane having expressed a desire to see it, to have something to tell Lizzy when she returned.
It was a grand, magnificent room, shelves lining every vertical surface, and the warm tints of the books' bindings gave the room a mellow, comforting atmosphere. It was larger than Rosefield's, and Jane concluded that it would fairly take Lizzy's breath away, if she ever saw it.
Jane sank into a thickly cushioned chair, with a happy little sigh. She wondered idly what it would be like to live in a house such as this; with comforts of every kind, and riches to be seen in every corner. It was a dangerous thought process, making Jane prone to envy and discontent, forgetting what she had that Charles did not: a loving mother and family, which was infinitely better than any velvet luxury.
Snuffles yawned, stirring her from her reverie, and Jane looked up to smile at Charlie, who stood with his hands clasped by one of the shelves.
"It is splendid. Lizzy would be ecstatic if she were ever allowed free reign somewhere like this," said Jane.
"I don't spend much time here. George and Grandfather do, and they're always purchasing new additions," said Charlie, feeling that he would have gladly spent two dozen afternoons in here, if only for the sake of being able to sound knowledgeable for Jane.
The doorbell rang then, and Jane jumped to her feet. "Mercy me, is it Mr Bingley?" she said, panicking a little.
A maid beckoned from the door. "The doctor to see you, sir."
"I suppose I had better go," said Charlie, walking to the door. He stopped to turn, saying shyly, "You won't go before saying goodbye, Jane?"
Jane laughed. "Of course not, now run along like a good boy."
She amused herself in her own way while Charlie was gone, inspecting the portraits as well as the books. She let Snuffles descend from her lap, and wandered round the room slowly, gazing thoughtfully around her. She fingered a small photograph of George, squinting at it contemplatively.
"Looks like a sensible sort, although what Lizzy would call 'dull'," murmured Jane absently.
"Really?" sounded an amused voice at her shoulder. Jane whirled around, and then promptly blushed intensely from head to foot – for it was George, of course, who else would it be? She could not, for the life of her, meet his eye, and studied the carpet with sudden fascination.
"Now who's that, eh? And who's this Lizzy, who calls my grandson dull?" said another voice, gruffly. To poor Jane's horror, it was Mr Bingley.
"I apologize, ever so much!" she cried.
"You do, eh? So you didn't mean it? Tsk, do you lie too, young lady?"
"Grandpa," said George, embarrassed. "I'm sure Miss March meant no offense."
Jane looked to him thankfully, smiling tentatively. Mr Bingley chuckled, "There, there, I'm only teasing." There was a kindly light in his eyes, which put Jane at ease instantly, and she was much relieved.
"Thank you, sir," said Jane shyly. "I'm only here, you see, to keep Charlie company, since he's sick."
Mr Bingley's eyes hardened at the mention of his other grandson's name, and Jane unconsciously took a step back. "Just like his father, dallying with young girls, playing on their better feelings," he bellowed.
"I beg your pardon, sir!" said Jane, in a sudden flash of spirit, her eyes alight with angry expression.
"Now Grandpa," soothed George, taking the old man's arm. "Come, you must be tired, sir. Let me help you to your room." He shot Jane an apologetic glance, and led Mr Bingley away.
Jane, flushed with excitement, stood rooted for some time, before a small voice said from behind her, "I heard voices. Did Grandfather come?"
Jane's eyes softened and she turned to Charlie with a gentle smile. "Don't worry, he wasn't very offensive, and I know he is kind, since he did send that lovely dinner. You put it into his head, didn't you, Charlie?"
"I –," started Charlie. Then he looked down. "No, George did," he all but whispered.
"George," repeated Jane, her expression dreamy. "He is so kind," she said.
Charlie kept his eyes downcast, suddenly not liking the new tone in her voice at all. He sighed, looking up. "Yes, he is," he said in a resigned tone.
"Well," said Jane, shaking herself from her trance. "I had better get going. I ought to help Annie with dinner. Goodbye, Charlie, it's been a real pleasure, and I hope you feel better soon."
After Jane left, however, Charlie thought that he felt considerably worse than when she first came. His thoughts turned despondently to her dreamy expression as she said his cousin's name, and he sighed again as he sank into the chair, staring morosely at the ground. Concession of defeat had come even before there was a battle; and he realized, with a heavy heart, that he never stood a chance.