Chapter 11

Hardly believable was it to Kitty that a month had gone by since their first arrival in Nottinghamshire, and the Grove House. And a whole week had transpired since receiving any cross words or abuse from Miss Bingley. Both women kept their distance from each other while in the house. Whenever the family gathered for meals in the dining room, where avoidance was impossibility, they did not speak directly to one another. It was easier to resign herself to unsocial indifference than retraction. And without provocation, Caroline thanked her with frigid civilities and silence for the majority. In that way, saying good morning or please pass the plate or shall I ring for tea? need not dissolve in dramatic confrontation. Of course, when the tea arrived, Miss Bingley strictly monitored the tea until she had served herself. And as far as could be ascertained, there was no further retaliation against Davy's nurse.

"When we are not quarreling, or when she's not quarreling with another, or being a nasty, quarrelsome creature in general, she can be pleasant at times. For I've seen myself, at the dinner table, proof of a refined education and good manners. With Charles, she likes to tease and make light of his more troublesome duties of life. When he's complained of his endless lists of business correspondence, she reminds him to work on improving his penmanship. For if he were correctly understood in his first letter, he need not write two more to clarify. Some comment like that, if anybody else had said it, I'd have laughed! And I repressed the urge, for it would've irritated her. With Jane, of course, she is as sweet as sugar, and when Davy is brought into the drawing room after dinner, she dotes on him. Such sisterly affection! Affectation, of course, but at least, Jane now holds all the cards. A mistress of the house does not have to tolerate insolence from her husband's sister. If she were to take such insolent airs with Jane, Charles would proclaim banishment for his sister. And Caroline would be a fool not to control herself. Living here at the Grove House is perhaps the best option. What else is there? Reconcile with her sister and go back to the Hursts? Or there may be an ancient aunt or uncle, still entrenched in the bellies of trade and commerce that might take her in.

She should consider herself fortunate to be here. For twenty thousand a year, and as I recently learned, only two and twenty, same as Lizzy, she is in a position to be perfectly content—regardless whether she marries or not. And with such fortune, she could get herself a husband without a great effort. For there are plenty of girls out there, of better caliber than she, with no fortune at all. She could be two and twenty, with a dowry of one thousand pounds in the four percents, and nothing more to her name. She'd make herself the sweetest girl in the world if she were poor. But no, she's an heiress that must make due with her lot. I must make due with my smaller fortune, and Signora Ilaria must be content to work as a hired labourer the rest of her life. I wish she knew more English, and I more Italian. But I'm already working to remedy and remove that obstacle. I've been studying diligently, and look forward to meeting her again, try out my Italian. I'm certain it'll be clumsy babbling to all of them."

During spare time, her new guidebook to speaking Italian had quickly grown dog-eared. Her bedtime candles burned later and later into the evening; so in that restless spell between retiring and actually falling asleep, some verbs and conjugations were recited in soft tones. Testing these new sounds on the tongue often incite laughter, especially when Kitty attempted to imitate, from memory, the accents of the Andreozzi family. It worked for a time, until the slow decline of posture in bed began to bring on repose. On one morning, while everyone was preparing to leave for church and descend to the carriage, she sat at her vanity, finishing her hair, and attempting to speak a full sentence to the little orchid. It still looked very much like a face, a very unoffending, innocent thing that knew no better. This choice, this sudden passion for foreign countries—Italy in particular, was not a difficult truth to discern. Languages seemed an unnecessary obstacle to friendship with the Italians. Signora Ilaria, ever since the tree-planting contest, was a dear companion. Her broken English sufficed for simple commands, or to say yes or no; beyond that, they had no better connection. What a fine joke too, if she should learn a good deal of Italian, enough to understand what Signore Andreozzi actually said. Perhaps he felt too safe to speak freely and insulting of her, in the presence of family… The look on his face when he would be found out.

Did he really do that, though? Was it so conceited to believe he had nothing better to do than tease some ignorant English girl?

"Do hurry, Kitty!" Jane called from downstairs. Both sisters were dressed and ready for green work this day. Halfway through breakfast, Charles received a summons and announcement from his contractor that the beehives were safely arrived and ready for a harvest. Apparently, the full-producing hives were procured for good price, and now, a dreadful responsibility lay ahead of them. What groundskeeper was trained or willing to be trained? In the meantime, Jane obeyed the summons and set off with Kitty. Charles, rather disappointed to be called away by Mr. Levingford and some business with one of the tenants that could not be delayed, promised to join them as soon as he was free.

"I suppose he will convey some instructions?" asked Kitty. The both of them had left the terrace, commencing south, out in the direction of the meadows.

"I'm sure of that, but what exactly, I don't know. If I'd thought about it, I wish I might have brought my memorandum book, just to make some notes."

"I believe Signore usually has a little notebook or sketch pad always on his person."

"That would be excellent! Charles is of the opinion that none of the tenants, when under the old master, had ever been trained as beekeepers. If we can interest a willing candidate, he'll be paid double the salary of head gardener."

"How generous!"

"For the risk involved, he should be fairly compensated."

"Though I'm not surprised, for you were always generous. But Mr. Bingley, I am struck by it. At this rate, you and he will be king and queen of the Havilland neighbourhood."

Jane laughed. "No indeed! His or my generosity has nothing to do with buying good will. As you know, Charles comes from a family in trade, a large family, and of large commercial property in the north. Good wages, good business goes a long way to ensure loyal workers, staff, and in the social spheres—good friends and the poor benefit from generosity. If all we can do is bring profit and good to ourselves and our loved ones, does that really one a good person?"

"It's plain to see. I like that. Charles has no shame in having descended from a tradesman's family. And he should never be. For whenever I've heard him speak of his parents, they seemed like good and kind people themselves."

"Very kind. I wish I could've known them."

"Where is Signore Andreozzi?" How rude to make them walk so far from the house; though perhaps Kitty's exaggeration as to that fault lay with Mr. Bingley, for having bought an estate with extensive grounds.

"He said he'd be near the meadows, and closeby the stream. It does eventually wind in this direction, forming into a marsh. It's somewhere roughly in this area we've decided to put in a lot of the lavender."

"I like that idea, but what about the garden walk up beside the house? I think they'd make great companions with the orange trees, especially this time of year."

"Some will be spared for the garden, but if we do an extensive plot over here, they'll get plenty of good sun. And our beehives will appreciate the close proximity to such large quantities."

Kitty listened much more attentively than ever, about new paths, the tract of land for the lavender, the beehives, bringing two more sources of domestic income. Groundskeepers would be the permanent fixtures to do the work, but it will offer plenty of good work to a few local men and their families. Though a pretty house and estate, these improvements were much to the intent and purpose of earning than draining the assets. Eventually, they did stumble upon the contractor. Having passed through the meadows and maneuvered round a few trees, they came to the marshy land near the stream. Dozens and dozens of unplanted bushes of lavender, still wrapped in their canvas, sat waiting for their day and time to be put into the earth. Some bees were too impatient to wait, though, and already at work on the tiny, towering purple heads.

Through the lavender, in a more plain grassy spot, Signore Andreozzi called out good morning and greetings. At first, there was no knowing it was him, dressed thickly and protectively his beekeeper's attire, and face hidden beneath a wide hat and netting. Before approaching them, he slowly completed whatever his current task was, delicately moving and encouraging a small cloud of bees resting on his left shoulder to take flight.

"I must beg your pardon for my husband, signore. He was detained by urgent business this morning with one of the tenants, but informed me he'd be joining us, probably within an hour or two. In the meantime, if you have any instructions regarding the hives and their proper handling, I'm here and I'll gladly listen."

"Very well, signora. Your husband tells me that no one has been found yet that will tend the hives. Is there an alternative in the meantime?"

"Well… no, as a matter of fact."

"I see." He was nodding, looking thoughtful as he sized up her face. Yet, because of the netting, his expression was all shadowed. "Will you ladies wait here a moment?"

He'd dashed back to an overflowing pile of supplies resting a safe distance from the hives. Out of the basket was removed an almost identical long jacket, a pair of gloves, and another hat with netting.

"Jane, he's not serious, is he?" gasped Kitty. Both of them watched wide-eyed; comprehension sunk in the stomach, sending both their hearts racing.

"I will not force this, signora," he said. For he must've seen the mortification. "My instruction might make better sense if you are standing much closer, and you can see inside the hives. If you do not wish to handle the slats or the combs, that's perfectly fine. I'll do it all myself and explain myself through it."

"No… No, I should have a hand in it."

"Jane!"

"If you are confident it is perfectly safe, I trust you. Kitty, will you hold my hat, please?"

"But… don't they sting, signore?" protested her sister.

"When the intruder is calm and respectful, they don't sting," he answered. Little by little, he assisted Jane on with the protective jacket, which fit a bit bulky at first, to Kitty's uncertainty. The gloves were next, but over the ill-fitted sleeves, they were adjusted and pulled taut, sealing off any access to the skin. Then, Jane donned the hat and pulled down the green veil. "Well, Mrs. Bingley, are we calm?"

"Yes, signore."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Bees do sense fear, and any sudden or rash movements may be mistaken for a threat. So, please, tell me if you're uncomfortable, and I'll handle it."

Kitty wished that her fear and concerns carried more weight with her sister. In all their years together, this was one experience never had at Longbourn. It looked very unsafe. Their mother would've been standing where she was, throwing a fit and threatening to faint if her child did something so foolish. Far be it from her to imitate her own mother, but Kitty watched anxiously, unwilling to watch the scene to unfold but unable to look away. Signore Andreozzi spent a moment or two at one of the hives, giving Jane some brief instruction before removing the roof, unleashing a great swarm. He held up a finger, bidding to wait a minute before commencing. Unbelievably, Jane followed to where his finger pointed inside, and from the ground, he grabbed and handed her an empty mason jar. Delicate, slowly, slowly, delicately… Kitty repeated the words over and over, as though it were her hand reaching into the fearsome nest. All the while, the hum was loud and the swarm thickening, even as she could perceive from the distance.

Then, a crop was picked. Jane's hand withdrew a golden chunk of dripping combs, covered in a few more bees. It was dropped into the mason jar, with more to follow. As promised, the both of them took their time, worried for nothing else in the world. Signore Andreozzi replaced the roof, causing the swarm to slowly thin out; they stepped away but kept a wide berth from Kitty, for several minutes, until the last of the bees clinging to their person had lost interest. What a shock to see Jane, smiling brightly with the removal of her hat and netting, holding up her prize.

"What do you say, Kitty?" declared she. "The first batch of honey of the Grove! Thank you, signore. The honeycombs look wonderful!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. That was a frightful sight, Jane! I never expected you would do that yourself."

"Would you like to try it, Miss Bennet?" offered Signore Andreozzi.

"What?"

"Oh Kitty, it was not dangerous. Signore Andreozzi gave me good direction, and as long as you keep calm and be sensible, it's easily done... You don't have to, dearest."

"I think she ought to try. Forgive my contradiction, signora."

"Any particular reason why I should, Signore Andreozzi?"

"Well, not to exacerbate your fear, but if you do it just once, you may conquer it. Should not such a conquest make you proud?"

Cheeky, that little smile obscured by the netting. For it seemed so natural that his next sentence would recall her little conquest of the tree-planting. But in this context, it goaded one to accept the challenge. Perhaps it was owed him; for after all, he accepted her foolish challenge and accepted his own defeat along with it. If Jane could do it…

"That is a noble notion, signore. But I do not wish to press my sister."

"No Jane," Kitty exhaled. Squaring her shoulders, she approached and claimed the netted hat from her. "I must. For he's right. I am afraid. I'm far from calm, nor sensible. But if it can be done without a sting, I can do so too."

"Kitty, if you don't feel up for the task, I must advise you against it."

"May I have the cover, Jane?"

"Oh Signore Andreozzi, I fear this is not wise," sighed Jane.

He assisted her with the removal of the armour, and began to help Kitty with it. "I don't believe there's reason for great concern, Mrs. Bingley. When one has the will, it's amazing what courage will do to a person. Alright, the gloves too." He helped to fasten those, then readjusted the netting. "Ready for conquest. How do you feel?"

"Mad," retorted Kitty.

"As long as you're calm. The bees are accustomed to madness but not hysteria. You absolutely sure?"

"Yes, signore."

On that short walk to the hive, he repeated his instructions, and gave her the option: to remove the roof and hold the slat, or gather the honeycomb.

"I'll do what Jane did, and gather the honey." Her face felt shriveled by the hum that grew louder and louder at their approach. Instead of the same one, they moved onto the next hive; a fresh, empty jar was passed to her.

"Forgive us, your majesty," he teased. And without further ado, the roof was lifted and hundreds, if not a thousand, militiamen were roused by the invasion. It was almost enough to unravel Kitty's nerves, after so boldly and proudly declaring them.

"Ah, there's a good one! See that comb there," pointing to some triangular, stubby tower in the corner, "perfect for harvesting. This one actually has quite a bit. It's important that we do not collect everything. We need to leave enough for the colony to survive on themselves."

"Do I just… just peel it off? What about those bees crawling on it?"

"They'll move. Just open your hand slowly and as your hand closes, they'll get the idea. That's it… Might have to pivot your wrist a bit. Sometimes, it's very adhesive." Kitty gasped, shut her eyes, and pried it loose. "Perfect! Then just drop it into the jar. Looks like we have room for more. Will you pick another?"

"Why aren't they more angry?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I was little, my sisters and I were playing on our father's land. There was an old tree with a beehive inside. We didn't know it. My younger sister got too close, and she was stung. That was just one sting, and she wasn't trying to get their honey or disturb their hive."

"With wild bees, that doesn't surprise me. But they're like any animal, signorina. They can be trained, they can be familiarized with proper handling. Before you and your sister arrived, I'd just finished giving these hives a nice morning mist. I've been treating the inside of the hives with a watery, honey-mingled concoction. It's a trick I learned from back home. It keeps the bees sedate and calm during inspection or harvest of the honey. Now, some will use smoke, and it does no harm. But I've not always had good experience with it. Sometimes, the keeper uses too much smoke on the hive, and it drives them all out, they don't want to come back. That's very bad. Or the bees, if done too often, can become too accustomed to the smoke that it has no sedative effect. So instead of calming them, it becomes a worse agitator."

"What do you mean by smoking them?"

"Just a few smoking embers underneath the hive. It is effective, mind you, but it really depends on the skill of the beekeeper. That's why someone experienced or well-trained would be best for this post… Good, filled up your jar. We have quite a bit. How about another jar?"

"Very well. You're the master." Kitty passed the filled and accepted the second empty. "You said three hives, but there are more over there."

"They're not occupied yet. In this field of work, it's not easy, in fact very rare, to have a full-producing hive ready and available for sale. Farmers know the worth of their hives. Mr. Bingley must've made a good offer. But for the empty ones, eventually, these hives will grow out of their home, and can start occupying the others. It will probably require more queens. And growing, nourishing a colony until it becomes a full-producing hive can take a few years. They're a lot like trees that way."

"Why is it, with you, everything goes back to trees?" mumbled Kitty, shaking her head. "And what's all that nonsense about conquering my fears and I should be proud of it?"

"And you take offense to that? Why? I believe that should make anyone proud."

"I'm not offended. I'm just making an observation." This sparring over the swarm, for a very intense circumstance, was having a similar effect to the bees; the bitter-sweetness of it was calming to the nerves.

"It's a pretty dull sort of occupation, is it not?"

"Oh, it's very, very dull," giggled Kitty. "There's nothing so tedious as wresting honey from an angry mob."

"Believe me, if this were an angry mob, the three of us would be having another contest: a race back to the house."

What would Miss Bingley say to it? What would Lydia think of it, playing the beekeeper for a day? Of course, it was the bare minimum of the all that was required. By the end of it, Signore Andreozzi added with stern warning, that as they were still novices in this field, and until an experienced beekeeper could be hired, they were not to come near the hives and handle them without at least a second person to keep watch on them. Fair enough. But now having made their first golden crop, Jane was keen to celebrate their little victory.

"My husband and I were intending a picnic this afternoon, signore. I've already arranged it, and we have quite a spread. Perhaps, you'd care to join us?"

"Well…" He hesitated and looked uncomfortable. "That is kind, signora, but we will be planting some of the lavender today, as much as we can on the south border. Besides, I'm not very tidy for… luncheon." Kitty had seen him much filthier. Today, only the breeches were a bit dusty and no worse. Jane showed no contempt or care for it. They'd take their lunch near the stream, nearby the ruins of the old bridge. He ended up accepting, but not without a bit of a bashful expression that Kitty found rather humourous.

With the addition of their fresh honey, Jane's basket included such fare as a freshly baked loaf, grapes, cheese, cold chicken, and milk from one of the tenants. Upon returning to the house, packing their basket, and preparing Davy, they set off for a heavenly spot in the meadow, within view of the stream, under a luxurious canopy. It was noon, perfect time for eating, and it would've been understood if the contractor would rather dine with his family. What a happy surprise that he indeed joined them. Not only that, but his dusty working clothes were changed over for a tweed coat and cleaner breeches, with a red cravat. And he did not come empty-handed. Signore presented the ladies a present of a bottle of wine from his home country, which he hoped would meet the approval of the master when he came to join them.

"How delightful! That is too generous!" protested Jane.

"It was kind of you to extend hospitality."

Plates were passed, meat and bread were served, and the wine uncorked and poured. In the cool shade and enjoying food and wine, this dour man that hardly ever smiled, except in derision, was so pleasant, agreeable, even to the point that he could be called enjoyable company. Davy fidgeted for a time, showing both an interest but a boredom with his lunch. Jane got him interested in the bread, though he would not touch the chicken. He had some tolerance for the cheese but not much, but milk was acceptable. When it came to the grapes, however, properly cut to size, Davy enjoyed them so much that they could not possibly be kept all to himself. One by one, he started plucking from the bushel, passing each one in turn, to his mother, to his aunt, and this stranger that sat with them.

"Young master Davy," he called the boy, "I congratulate you on mastering a skill that little boys do not learn until much later, if ever."

"And what's that?" asked Kitty. Davy stood before signore, waiting for the answer, regardless of his small comprehension.

Looking him in the face, the man replied: "Generosity. That is very good. Little children like you, it's usually always: mine, mine, mine, isn't it?" The ladies laughed.

"Oh, don't be fooled by his sweet face," warned Jane. "He can be naughty and greedy too."

"No doubt."

"And wait until it's time for his nap," added Kitty. "You'll take back everything you've said."

Davy took a decided liking to the gentleman, by bestowing him two more grapes, one from each hand.

"Eh, young master, watch this!" Signore Andreozzi threw one of those grapes into the air, leaned back, and caught it in his mouth. To this foreign display of silliness by an adult, the little boy started to giggle; when he repeated with the second grape, and a flourish of the arms that said 'ta-da' on its own, the giggle rolled on into uncontrollable laughter. He picked another grape, gave it to him, and having it repeated the third time finally caused Davy to fall to his rear. By the second time, the man was beginning to laugh himself, and the boy's mother and aunt were left breathless, speechless, and teary-eyed. That cackle set off every adult in his vicinity.

"Oh no… no… I can't do another, my boy," he wheezed. "If another grape goes in, I'll choke to death."

"Here, let me try!" Kitty suggested.

"Then you'll be the one to choke!"

Kitty's attempt did not land the grape in her mouth, but the sight of the grape bouncing off her nose, her lip, or her eyelid held the same magic for Davy as a successful catch.

"Come Jane, give it a go!" Kitty passed the bushel in its cloth.

"In all our years at Longbourn, this was not a skill I ever learned…" When both sisters began to attempt it, nobody enjoyed it as much as Signore Andreozzi.

"I can see my presence here at the Grove a corrupting influence. Now, Master Davy, mind you don't do this little grape trick at the table, especially when your mother and father have guests to dine."

"I disagree! That's especially the time for it."

"Kitty!" chided Jane, still struggling to contain her laughter.

Within moments, Charles appeared bearing a basket, being followed by one of the tenant farmers. Everyone made their greetings, with Davy squealing aloud his at the approach of his father. On tiny legs that had been fortified several months from walking, he took off running. Charles put down the basket and scooped his son.

"There's my little man! And what have you been up to? I hope you're behaving yourself."

"What have you got there?" asked Kitty.

Apparently, the basket was an early gift of crop. Having discharged a duty with the Gregory family, and in their gratitude, they insisted on sending their new landlord off with a basket of early season apples. Mr. Gregory had taken a fall recently and was still recovering from a broken leg, in addition to the newfound leak in his roof. There were a few trees ready for harvesting, but would be forced to wait, that is unless someone was willing to pick them—for no compensation. There was little to give for a wage. However, this Mr. Gregory certainly did not expect the wife of his new landlord to take the duty upon herself. She did however—and the excursion did not disagree with any of her hearers. Upon the finish of their picnic, everyone returned to the tract of Gregory land, including the fellow tenant and Signore Andreozzi. He'd have gladly dismissed himself to return to his duties.

"You've worked everyday since you arrived, you and your family," said Charles. "Take the rest of the day! You and your family. It can wait until tomorrow."

"It is our way, Mr. Bingley. Employers don't usually give us days off."

"That's pagan!"

"Oh please," seconded Jane, "come with us! I'm sure all of you could use a rest."

How could it be argued? Kitty likewise joined in. "If you'll join us, will you ask your sister Illaria to join us too? Will you?"

This met some surprise, a shrug, a bit of a disturbed smile, a laugh, then acquiesence. It wasn't usual in his situation, a bit unorthodox as far as contractral work is concerned. This master and mistress were rather different, even following him back to the site of the crew taking their lunch and ease, preparing to start work for the afternoon. "Famiglia, ci hanno dato degli ordini. Il maestro dice di prendersi il resto della giornata libera!" Well, needless to say, nobody objected to such an order, and a mutual glad cry ran through the lot. "Ilaria! La signorina richiede la tua presenza con noi!" Once the Andreozzi sister joined up, she greeted Kitty with a smile delighted by the unexpected pleasure of being released from work. Both brother and sister, however, whipped around with greater shock when they heard: "Buon pomeriggio!"

For the rest of the afternoon, it could be described as nothing but perfect. Already, they'd had abundant pleasure in the peace of the day, the picnic, the company, and now, a family excursion. Mr. Gregory received them all with pleasure; from his upper window, directing them, he pointed out which trees required attention. Ladders were set up, baskets were readied. The picking was perhaps the greatest fun. Most of the orchard had not reached maturity yet, only a few rows, older and more established trees of prior years, produced prematurely. And therefore taller, the men either ascended by way of the ladders or, in Andreozzi's case, climbing. Jane, Kitty, and Ilaria stood below, entrusting themselves to the men to aim accurately and not accidentally strike them as apples were slowly tossed from the foliage. It became another game for Davy. Kitty held him in her arms; she charged him to hold a basket. And together, with the gentle aim of Charles and Andreozzi, they all caught great baskets full. Davy cackled just as much over the apples as the grapes earlier.

Davy also got a treat when his father scaled one tree, to encounter a bird's nest. The little boy was hoisted by Andreozzi, up to Charles, and from several yards' distance, both were awed by a young family of robins.

"Uccelli?" asked Ilaria. Her brother made some reply, and exchanged between each other. It was so swift, the both of them, their style of speaking that Kitty barely discerned anything.

"What does that mean? Il uccelli?" Signore Andreozzi answered with a bird's whistling. "Oh!"

Ilaria asked more of her brother, to which he responded with a question to Kitty: "My sister would like to know why you are learning Italian?"

"I would prefer to talk directly to her than through you. No offense to you, of course, signore. Or if one of your aunts or your mother should ask me a question, I'd like to give them some intelligible answer."

"…How curious." He conveyed her reply. The sister responded back, through himself: "She thinks your pronunciation could use some work, but she admires your tenacity."

Kitty smiled. "I expected as much."

"You do realize, Miss Bennet, that we will not be staying in England so long," he reminded. "Unless you have friends who also speak Italian, it may not be a worthwhile endeavour."

"On the contrary, signore. It is up for me to decide what is worth my time. Being capable of speaking, capable of understanding, being understood, making friends… That is worth my time, always."

Work continued, but the sun grew stronger, the day warmer. Davy grew tired after a good while apple picking. By the time Charles suggested on returning to the house, he was growing a bit feisty, and while his father carried him home, the boy fell sound asleep. All siblings departed with their own set. Though Kitty already knew arrivederci, Ilaria had to correct her. With a tripping tongue that hinged on one syllable for no reason, that had the Andreozzi siblings laughing, they all bid farewell for the day.

"I wish this day had never ended. I loved every minute, for all that we did, for everyone that was present, for the most lovely weather on a spring day—no rain, for the new adventure and skill that Jane and I learned, for having been able to speak some with Ilaria, and our picnic and the apple orchard. All of it! Funny thing, why is it that farming is considered so lowly in society? Farmers are essential to everyone's survival. True, it might be dirty work most of the time, but on the other hand, farmers are looked after by their neighbours, their lives are simple, they have greater freedom in their own realm than the richest people in the country. It was so endearing to watch father and son, so close together, discovering a bird's nest. Or Davy, just laughing hysterically at Signore Andreozzi, all of us, for merely trying to catch grapes in our teeth! We certainly could never do so in a dining hall of a great house, with company, not even family. That is a freedom one might have in 'lower society', such silly antics and games forbidden in the high circles."

By the following morning, Kitty hoped to catch Jane and beg her for a repetition of yesterday. For she was of a mind to meet the Italian family again and test more of her new skill, and check on the progress of the lavender—hoping they did not finish putting all of them in the ground yet. Kitty looked for her in the nursery and in the green room downstairs, without success. She did not appear at breakfast, inspiring some concern. Charles and Caroline were still dining.

"Where is Jane?"

"She took a light breakfast this morning," informed her husband. "You should find her in the library. She had some urgent correspondence that needed attention."

Urgent? A number of different correspondents could carry that great urgency for response: Lizzy and her delicate condition, her mother or father, or Mary in London. When Kitty found Jane, she was busy writing at the desk. The tray of letters had already been brought up by Mr. Montgomery. A large array spread over the tray, as thick and numerous as ever Charles used to have when he was merely a tenant and business owner only.

"I'm so sorry. I meant to come find you," said Jane. "I believe I came across a letter for you, from Mary."

"Are you alright, Jane? You seem a bit distracted."

"Yes. Forgive me, I'm… I've been a little agitated this morning. I had my tea brought here so I wouldn't worry you all about it."

"Is something wrong? Charles told me that you had some urgent correspondence."

"I wouldn't call it urgent, so much as… Well," with a sigh and some indecision overcome, "I suppose there's no reason you shouldn't know. It's Lydia. I've just had a letter from her this morning. And due to the nature of her letter, I thought it best to send a reply sooner rather than later. Perhaps, it would also be a good idea, that you are aware of this."

Her younger sister did not expect to be told about the letter, much less be handed Lydia's letter directly. Compared to the last letter Kitty had from her, this one was unsettling and provoking.

"Dear Jane,

I hope this letter finds you well. For I must confess, I'm not so well. I've been ill this past week, and the house is in such a state. Would you believe it? Our last maid has just handed in her notice! I'm frantic, Jane! Dora needs attendance, but so does Matilda, and I have no cook. I can scrape by some simple things, but beyond that, I am a dunce in the kitchen. We need another maid immediately! Do you know any good servants looking for work? There's also the matter of wages. I've tried to inquire and advertise, but I receive no replies. I've tried to beg Fletcher to come back and work for us, and she declares she will not, not for any raise in wages. And when someone interested has come along, asks me about wages, they turn up their noses at it.

I'm quite vexed, Jane! It shouldn't be so hard to get one decent servant. And I need someone fast. Can you spare fifty pounds? If I can, I'd like to hire a servant that will cook as well as look after the children. I love our girls, but good Lord, they are too much for either of us. If you please, Jane, I beg your assistance. All is not well! I'm lost without my family.

With love,

L. Wickham

"I've never seen her handwriting so poor," remarked Kitty.

"Yes, it is distressing."

"She's asking for money?"

"Yes. And this is not the first time… Kitty, when Lydia writes to you, does she speak of anything regarding herself and Wickham in particular?"

"Just the usual thing. She always sounds very cheerful, and she speaks warmly of him, always."

"Does she say anything about his not being well?"

"Curiously enough, she did mention something in her last letter. She implied that Wickham was not quite his usual self since being ill in the winter and has been fatigued as of late. And that his colonel has not been very understanding in that regard."

"Oh dear, that does not bode well for them."

"What shall you do? Fifty pounds—that is a good deal of money."

"Yes, it is, certainly." Jane continued to write. "I've been distressed and in a quandary what to do about it. This is not the first request we've received, and she's also written to the Darcys regularly with similar requests. On one occasion, she asked Lizzy for twenty pounds to cover their bill with a local merchant. They were apparently so behind on payments that the gentleman was threatening to bring a suit against the Wickhams. I, also, received a letter, almost identical, asking for twenty pounds. Mr. Darcy advised us not to act at that time. His steward made inquiries directly with the merchant in question."

"And?"

"The merchant was indeed pressing them to pay, but the debt owed by the Wickhams was in the amount of eleven pounds, and so many shillings and pence."

Kitty gasped indignantly. "Lydia! Why, she's learned absolutely nothing!"

"Mr. Darcy's steward dealt with the merchant directly, and settled the bill. Then a receipt was sent on to the Wickhams to inform them the debt was paid… Mr. Wickham and Lydia were not exactly happy about it."

"How dare they be outraged! Well, based on that, Jane, I… Oh, that just angers me!"

"Now Kitty, not all of their letters give false reports. The whole family, indeed, was very ill this winter. Our mother paid them a visit, and Dora was very poorly off. Lydia and Mr. Wickham were also taken ill for a brief time. It's a tricky spot we're all in: myself and Charles, Lizzy and Mr. Darcy, our mother and father too. There are legitimate needs, and for the sake of Dora and Matilda, we want to help. But it's very difficult to be helpful when Lydia is not being honest with us."

"Good Lord! Not honest? She's as much a liar as ever!"

"Kitty, will you please sit down, dear? I did not confide this to bring up bad memories, nor out of spite, to shame Lydia. I'm sharing this with you because Lydia is still our sister. I know that you both still write to each other regularly. It's not my intention to place a stop to it. But I wish you to be aware of it, should she write uncharitably or in a spirit of retaliation, I want you to be aware of what's really going on."

"I understand, Jane."

"There have been many times that Lizzy and I have obliged her, and dispatched small bills here and there. But we all know that such business cannot go on indefinitely. At this point in time, most unfortunately, the Wickhams have come to expect an easy way out of the financial burdens they create for themselves. That's why the four of us are trying to be more discriminate in our dealings with them. Ever since that particular event, Lydia began writing less frequently to Lizzy and more often to me, trying the same tactic. Instead, Mr. Darcy advised, if we did choose to give relief, deal directly with the merchants."

"Wise words."

"It's worked to an extent, yet failed to motivate real change… I do hope that this will not taint your relationship with her. You can probably see more clearly for yourself now, if you hadn't before, that Lydia has made some very poor choices. Irrevocably. Some of this extravagance, the deceit may be a reflection of Wickham's influence. Though, we all know, she too was disposed to extravagance and dishonesty before marriage. The difference now, is that she is a wife with children, yet still a child herself. Her lies were smaller. Her wants and whims were nonessential before, but now, deception is a method of survival for her… It's not defensible in the least, but it must elicit a measure of sympathy."

Kitty's head shook. "… No. Not with me, Jane."

"I say a measure of sympathy, not in its entirety certainly... We all know Lydia. We know the sort of person she is; and I do not blame you for your feelings. Believe me, Kitty, it's not easy. I do understand... But give it some thought, that's all I ask."

Her sister's speech reminded her of the day, nearly three years ago, when Mr. Bennet caught Lydia with stolen rent money hidden in her writing desk. Something he had said was instantly recollected: "It is time that she be made to feel a little deprivation, a little unfairness in her life. That is why I advise you not to think lending her any money as a kindness." It would seem as though the Bingleys needed such advice from Mr. Bennet; let Mr. and Mrs. Wickham feel the deprivation.

Hope you enjoyed the first half of this update. I know the second half may be disappointing. Probably realistic to assume with the end of P&P, that Jane and Lizzy were going to have ongoing conflict with Lydia. Jane Austen was good at that. Her heroines did not just have happy endings. They still had to face life, and accept the bad with the good in their happy endings.

I did some research for this chapter, and if there are any professional beekeepers in my audience, I apologize for any gross ignorance. When it comes to bees, I'm totally like Kitty. I respect them very much, but if asked to do the same, I'd be more of a nervous wreck. "You want me to do what?"

I feel like Davy was definitely the star of this chapter. Whether you have a baby, know one, or like those videos that pop up on your feed, where they just laugh uncontrollably, isn't it the greatest thing ever? But if there are concerns about the scene, I'll make clear that he was NOT eating whole grapes. Choking hazard.

Now that I'm gaining more momentum, I'll give a teaser. Chapter 19 is gonna be a big one. I know that's eight more away, but I'm getting there.