Chapter 3
Mary felt like she was writing her response before even finishing her letter from Lizzy. For shame that they wouldn't cross paths with the Bingleys, but for all that, the prospect of Georgiana's company and hours of music on a first rate instrument, as well as the libraries, the concerts, gave her more animation with each day approaching her departure. A response was also owed to Georgiana, and expectations to satisfy—what music they would play, and tease her with a few bars from her own latest compositions.
Only one concern lingered in mind, for her mother. It was hard enough for Mary to imagine how her mother would pass the time without a single daughter at home, even harder for Mrs. Bennet herself. Although, not a word of complaint passed her lips directly to Mary, her sister Phillips borne her lamentations with good humour. Mrs. Phillips even so kindly offered to Mary, that she would come and visit every day. Plenty promises of family dinners and card parties were liberal. Mrs. Phillips even attempted diversion.
"Now that your daughters are all off your hands, you may look elsewhere."
"What are you talking of, sister? I've two left. But I trust them entirely with Jane and Lizzy. They'll find them husbands soon enough."
"Well, my point is, you might look elsewhere for occupation. Mrs. Long's second niece is out now, and Jemima is still unmarried yet. We cannot forsake Mrs. Long with so many nieces to be married themselves. And there's still little Maria Lucas… Which puts me in mind. We still have Richard in our employ, and he's yet to choose a wife for himself."
"I had once imagined he'd do for one of my girls, but I think they're better off… Ah yes, Maria Lucas. He's a bit of a timid man himself. Oh what a challenge that shall be for Lady Lucas."
"They just need a little help, my dear!" declared Mrs. Phillips. "Let's get up a good party. I'll ask Mr. Phillips to invite some of his friends and contacts. He has a reach beyond Meryton. So we have a chance of getting Miss Lucas and Mrs. Long's nieces introduced to other young men."
"Now that is capital! You can do cards and supper one evening, and I'll do a dinner and dance here another night. Oh dear! Dancing but no music. We don't have Mary with us."
"Jemima will do for us."
"Jemima doesn't play so well as Mary," sighed Mrs. Bennet. Her daughter sat at the table finishing her letter to Lizzy. As the remark left her lips, she added: "But you mustn't mind us, my dear! You're going to London and you'll enjoy yourself. I don't want you here."
Mary chuckled. "Yes Mama."
"But that won't do, sister! If we want Jemima to be noticed in company, we shouldn't station her at the piano forte the whole evening."
"There will be other ladies present. Married ladies of Mr. Phillips' acquaintance, and they do play," replied Mrs. Phillips. "Besides, young men like to see a lady's accomplishments. It would be advantageous to have her play some, show her off in company."
"That is true."
"If I'm being all honest, I should rather prefer to have the young people here. I do not mind friendly introductions into society, but when the young people start to beg for dances and playing charades and such, I want nothing more to do with them. Last time I hosted officers from the –shire, before the decamping from Meryton, I was quite shocked at their outrageous behaviour and rude manners."
"Oh, I can well believe it," agreed Mrs. Bennet. "Although I shall not disparage all of them, but we were well off without their society before they came."
"All those charades that were put on, rather… unbecoming for ladies and gentlemen. Though I'm very good at acting charades, there's no earthly need to dress up for it. My neighbours cut me for days; for all the noise and racket the young people created between my house and the inn. And there's also that one officer, a visitor in my own home… I tell you, sister, I could put up with the wild antics of all the others, but his one officer… When all the others left, he stood in my parlour, giving me rather a dark look, and had the nerve to scold me for allowing it all!"
Mary's ears tingled, slowly taking on colour like her cheeks.
"You don't say! What was his name?" demanded Mrs. Bennet.
"Oh, I don't remember his name now. It was over two years ago. But I'll never forget him. This blond-haired fellow, rather tall, decent-looking but so ill-tempered. You don't go attend someone's party and then turn around and insult your host. Who was he to think himself so far above his company?"
She did not think of him often anymore, except when she tended the mint plants or put on her black and white gingham summer dress or was asked to play a jig at Lucas Lodge. That also didn't count the times she would go into her green tin box for linens or things, unable to access them without touching his old letters. They'd come so near the fire, but for Lizzy stopping her from doing so. Life was supposed to be returned to normal, and it was all normal, except undermined by dullness. But when Mrs. Phillips mentioned him, his presence at her house, she couldn't help recall one of their arguments, during which she had also accused him of wild and unbridled behaviour.
"...Have you no shame for the wild conduct of that night? Neighbours have related, reports also affirmed by Lydia and Kitty, that you were all running out into the streets drunk. I've heard of the indecent, imprudent charades performed at the Rose & Crown."
"I'm sure that—"
"And one of your own subordinates, Chamberlayne, play-acting in my aunt's clothes!"
"Mary, you have good right to be angry, but there's a difference between mere presence and participation. I was present, yes. Did I approve of all that passed? I did not."
Too late in the day, but still a sweet comfort, that he had not disgraced himself on such occasion. In fact, doing the unpopular thing to put a lenient hostess in her place, justified her kinder reminiscences. Fortunately, Mary could feign indifference and ignorance when asked about the officer. Without an affirmative, she could shrug her shoulders, give some vague answer. Poor Miss Lucas and the poor nieces of Mrs. Long. Now that the Bennet daughters were either married or out of the house, other victims in the neighbourhood were to be claimed for the matrons of Meryton.
Two weeks lapsed too slowly, but went they did, and Mary Bennet was on the road to London. Roads were turned rough and jagged from all the spring rains, but it was manageable. Chop and Lion alternated time between her lap and the opposite seat of the carriage. Poor things were in utter confusion; their lives having been so peaceful and carefree up until that point. Now, because their mistress wished to travel to new parts, they were forced to go too. With numerous little dried scraps of meat and tireless fingers scratching under the chin, they endured the rattle of the carriage and clopping of hooves.
Her arrival in Grovsnor Square did not disappoint the weariest traveler. Once the cats were properly secured and escorted inside by a manservant, Mary freely alighted from the carriage to meet her sister's gentle embrace, the formal but kindly welcome of Mr. Darcy, and the enthusiastic arms of Georgiana. In a day or so, the Gardiners were expected to dine. Ever since meeting them, Mr. Darcy remained on the friendliest of terms with the Gardiners, much to his wife's delight. Even their older children, old enough to sit at the dining table, were seated and served at the Darcy house.
The family, most particularly the young ladies, had not been long in town before invitations came on the winds from every direction. Balls, concerts, plays, musical soirees, an art exhibition, a ride through Hyde Park. For a girl of eighteen, barely out in society, Miss Darcy was perhaps the most popular newcomer to the London scene. Few belles have ever or would ever enjoy such a reception into the world, without having a coming out ball yet, which of course perturbed her brother. Love for a sister, patterned after the principles of his own family, did her no greater favour or disfavour in the world, as entering it with thirty thousand pounds. Mary saw dozens of cards dismissed and set aside, one or two were even discarded entirely. Only a few remained on Miss Darcy's writing table, on her letter tray to be properly addressed.
Caroline Bingley had only been the first of many women to make a play for her, with the hope and intention of family connection. Everyone from the dearest, oldest friends of the family to the barest of acquaintances was welcoming Miss Darcy to London, inviting her for afternoons, evenings, every social event that might renew attachment. Of course, whether it was stated or not, it was to be expected that the lady's brother, or cousin, or friend of so-and-so would be present, happy to escort them, happy to welcome them, assist them, fill a spot on her dance card if it were not filled yet.
There was only one exception in the bunch: a Lady Herncastle. Mary and Georgiana were resting from an impromptu symphony in the drawing-room. The younger girl set her tea down, read silently and with violent blushes. Before it conjured any mysteries, it proved a great shock to Mary to see her head lift and struggle to speak.
"Mary, I feel I owe you an apology," confessed Miss Darcy. "This is a letter from my friend. Before I tell you what she says, I should tell you a little about her."
"Why should you owe me an apology, Georgiana?"
"Lady Herncastle is very fond of music. Someone you might call a patron of the arts. I met her some three, nearly four years ago. She was paying calls on her neighbours, and while visiting us, visiting with my brother in the front sitting-room, she happened to hear me playing in here. My brother brought her in to meet me. Mrs. Younge, my governess at the time, and I were just doing our usual practice. But the lady declared she never heard such talent. Although, since then, as I've come to know her better, I don't believe it was anything of the kind. For she is surrounded by many prodigies and an abundance of talent; she must have been overly effusive. But she was rather kind. And this led to my brother and I receiving invitations to her house.
"She has a circle of young ladies, all of them musical talents, whom she gives professional endorsement. These ladies, Mary, they play at all the first parties in town. It's their career. Of course, some also give lessons, but the majority, they make an income off these engagements: balls, musical soirees, even concerts in the park. She introduced me to them all, even as young as I was at the time, and she would ask me to play at their gatherings. As terrifying as it was, I believe it went well. All the ladies seemed very pleased and enjoyed it. Ever since then, Lady Herncastle has been insistent, whenever I come to town, to call on her, and enjoy their company."
A web was being formed within the head of her friend, by a busy spider, raptly interested in the progress of this conversation. "Well, I still don't understand why your apology is necessary."
"Awhile back, when I lasted visited in London, sometime after my brother's wedding, I visited her. Of course, it was an informal party. Some of her musical circle were present. And I was playing a few different selections… One of them, not the whole, just a part—was your sonata."
"My sonata? Was it the one I copied?" Mary uttered breathlessly.
"The very one. I apologize because I never asked your permission. I'd been practicing it so frequently at the time, and so I began to play it from memory. I had no idea of the reaction it would inspire in the ladies. Mary, they were so taken by it! Lady Herncastle declared it was so passionate and original. She practically demanded to know who the composer was… I was so shocked, embarrassed by it. I felt now I'd done wrong by you. But it would only be worse, it was worse when they began to assume that I was the composer. I verily swore upon my honour that the music belonged to a friend. Someone unrecognized. A young lady from Hertfordshire, I informed her."
Miss Darcy waited for it, greatly feared the reproach to come. The heart of the composer was racing, awaiting the conclusion of the tale. For there were situations and details in it that excited emotion far greater than anything felt before.
"Well, after that evening, her musical circle, all of them as well as herself, have been most eager that, next time I should be in London, to bring my friend, the musical prodigy. They've all been trying my confidence, asking who you are and about your musical education. Some I take for curiosity, but a few have been rather impudent. This musical circle of ladies, Mary, they want to play your music. I think… I believe…"
"Yes?"
"I believe Lady Herncastle wants to see you published. I'll let you see this letter. It pertains as much to you as to me."
My Dearest Georgiana,
It has been too long since we've had the pleasure. I was delighted to get your card left at my door, and how very kind of you to remember me and remember your promises. No words can describe how I felt to see in the papers, though too brief an announcement, of the marriage of your dear brother. He deserves all the happiness in the world. His wife is a most fortunate lady, and I look forward to making her acquaintance soon enough myself. This Miss Bennet was quite the talk of town that winter. For I have it upon good authority, she incurred the wrath of one of Mr. Darcy's relations. I did not credit half the report; for really, the report circulated was so embittered, unflattering, and preposterous, that I was laughing with my husband about it over breakfast. Though I beg your pardon, not wishing your sweet cousin any harm, but mothers often do not make great matchmakers.
Now, onto current events, I will be hosting a little party at the end of the week, next Sunday at six. It's not a grand event of the season, just the usual small company. It would be a pleasure to have you, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Darcy among the number. And I must plead, on my behalf as well as my ladies, that if circumstances permit, you will please bring your mysterious friend from Hertfordshire. It's a scandalous thing that such a young lady as her go unrecognized in the musical community any longer. For you know my position on this matter, and so do all my ladies. We've worked hard to achieve the respect and recognition of, not just high society, but every citizen. It would be a pleasure to meet this friend of yours, to know her better, and if possible, persuade her to our cause. Let's see if we can't rectify this wrong about her musical works.
Yours etc.
Lady D. Herncastle
"Please say something, Mary."
Travels undertaken from London to Nottinghamshire proved more arduous than originally expected. Unfortunately, a series of moderate showers fell on the horses and carriage, bottling four females and one infant in rather close proximity. One silently fretted over the rain lashing on the window, and the risk of long exposure to the elements on her husband's health. Two were liable to be disagreeable if they opened their lips, and the fourth kept the smelling salts close to her nose, struggling against the motion of the carriage. Everyone did their fair share of entertaining little Davy, who tolerated the confinement of traveling much less. He wanted his toys, his mother's amusement, then circulated between the four. Letting him wander about, disturbing everyone's peace at will, though unpleasant was nothing to be compared with his tantrum.
Poor Jane, so ill at ease and sympathetic to everyone's disadvantage, had to hold him screaming in her arms while he aired his grievances in the fashion of all children two years of age. No amount of firmness or reasoning yet had penetrated, so he penetrated everyone's sense of hearing. The headache became contagious. Mr. Bingley, riding through the rain, was much to be envied even if he caught cold. Despite it all, they escaped the worst possibility of circumstances, of having the barouche become stuck in mud. Mr. Bingley diligently worked with the driver to maneuver around any questionable spots on the road. To have been forced to step out into the rain, every soul would suffer, and two punished: himself and the poor coachman.
In the absence of rain and wet conditions, it was indeed beautiful country. No hill proved overly steep, none of the woods darkened the road, and each little town or farm in passing waved a friendly hand at strangers. The inns, with each night's rest, were comfortable and gave no complaint, except for the usual noise and crowded dining space. None of the bright, soft lighting of a hotel dining room. Miss Bingley wished to have her dinner and breakfast tray delivered; such requests, when put to a local maid, was met with laughter and a rebuff in rather a rustic accent. If not for the presence of family, Kitty would've laughed aloud herself.
They set off early each morning, after taking a meal substantial enough to last them to the next inn. By the third day, stays at the inn were over, and now, the family arrived at Havilland Grove. Mr. Bingley had tapped at the window of the carriage, to give them notice when they were within a mile. Every face brightened tenfold at the approach of their destination. The sky was a teasing blue gray, one that had freshly rained out but wasn't done yet. After passing through another village, the barouche was directed down a western road. Miles and miles of wild wooded acreage, not owned, came to blend with the trees and timber that belonged to the estate. To mark its boundary, a long, tall fence tightly woven with ivy stretched alongside the road, which all led to the drive. A number of sections had wood boards in an advanced state of disrepair, some even completely fallen apart. Local workman could easily be hired to set about its restoration.
As for the gate, unlike the fencing, it had been well-maintained by the original owners. An artistic but unassuming stone arch, and wrought iron to open and close up the drive. It had been left open, allowing for the carriage to sail through with ease. Miss Bingley had hoped for more trees, to have the woods embracing the house. While still visible from the house, the structure itself stood apart from the grove, a stark white and gray brick manor structure, tall and lonesome, on a green lawn. An old, stagnant fountain graced the end of the drive. When they'd begin to host balls, and the fountain was repaired, the sight of carriages sitting stationary around the fountain, would be a fetching sight. More and more, with time and improvements, it would look like the seat of an old family that had been there for generations.
"What do you think, Jane, now that you see it?" asked Kitty.
"It's wonderful. It could definitely use some foliage, but it's so charming." Jane was standing on the front terrace, smiling down on the bald lawn and decrepit fencing. "Oh, I cannot wait to get started on it!"
"I do adore the thought of that fountain. So perfectly placed, but it's an eyesore," remarked Caroline. "Once repaired, it'll be so beautiful!"
"I believe Signore Andreozzi has plans for it already."
"Excellent!"
"Look at it Davy! What a wonderful place for us all to play, isn't it?" At the moment, the boy could care less, petulant and hungry from the journey.
As for the house itself, a lot of the furnishings had been moved in and set in their proper rooms. Levingford, as promised, had his hired workers busy throughout, filling the place with the echoes from hammers. The dining room remained roped off from entry. By his recent reports to Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, they'd need wait only one more day for the paint to fully dry. How did they like the front door, the new selection? Very much indeed! It wasn't the least bit inconvenient for the master or the servants.
Once Davy was settled and ready for an early nap, Mr. Levingford happily gave the new owners a tour of the house: from its entrance and staircase, to the dining room, the banquet hall, its drawing room facing the wood in the northwest, the library room and nursery with windows facing the road, the ten bedchambers, as well as the servants' quarters below. The piano forte for Caroline had already been placed in the drawing-room. Each of the bedchambers and the particularly requests of each were already met in their colours, textures, lighting, and style.
Kitty fell in love the first instant of setting foot in hers. Whether it was the choosing of her family or a random chance, being the northeast corner of the house, her windows would face the sunrise. The walls would only enhance the brilliance of those spring mornings. Being the prettiest side of the house, her view included the wilderness everyone called the grove, to the north. But here, one could look down on the rambles and untended walls, which would one day, become a courtyard and path of beautifully manicured hedgerows. Right now, it was little more than overgrown ivy, as well as blank and ugly ditch with another dead fountain at the center of it. She would miss the vantage of the opposite side of the house, with its meadows, cottages, and the stream off in the distance. Ever since it was brought up that night, both Charles and Jane were talking about that stream to no end. Such a fuss and mystery was made of it. What did the great horticulturist have in mind?
Except for the groves, the majority of open land certainly lacked the tall trees and copses so common to them at Longbourn. Of course, their old trees could boast many years and decades at their roots. It would take decades to have tall trees surrounding the Grove House. Whoever the previous owners had been, clearly, the beauty of the land had not been foremost. The master of the house had nothing to wish for and pursued nothing outside his doors, except the woods and the stream, especially come shooting season. Any lady or daughters that remained of the household lacked in the talent of housekeeping, and apparently, the decline of income did not permit them to keep a full staff. So of course, the first to show its neglect, the fences and the tenants' cottages.
"It could be a lot worse," mentioned Miss Bingley. "Remember that first house you looked at before Netherfield, Charles? While we were being shown in by the housekeeper, the master's entire pack of hounds were running loose in the dining room. And that parlour smelled worse than a stable."
With the open layout of the house, with banisters and railing instead of walls, Kitty could easily hear everything down at the bottom of the staircase. Overall, she heard Miss Bingley's opinion freely given to the new master and mistress. They regarded her opinion, but regarded it lightly. All three were descending, with Caroline trailing behind, moving onto the back terrace and the plans for the vegetable garden that would attach to the southwest wall.
"I think it would be an excellent way to economize," said Jane. "We were not able to keep one at Longbourn. Our father would've had to invest in a hothouse. But it will be so worthwhile."
"But what about the orange grove, Jane? Don't give up on that."
"Perhaps by and by, it could be expanded, but anything of the original size would be far too expensive to build."
"I agree with Caroline. Let's just start with something smaller," encouraged Charles. "Better that than give it up altogether. And from all we've read together, the orange tree is crucial to the style of Italian gardens. We'll arrange all the potted trees, just like that design you copied."
"We'll see, Charles. We cannot forget either, the trails and hedgerows."
"Yes!"
"Our new tenants and the servants will need an easy walk from their homes to the house, and it would be nice for ourselves and any visitors. The head gardener will not have to walk them through a lot of dirt when he shows them the grounds."
"I've thought of laying brick for those walks, but that's probably just an unnecessary expense."
"You should do it for the paths in the hedgerows and the gardens," suggested Caroline. "If you recall at Pemberley, every path was cobblestone. Oh Charles, do cobblestone instead of brick!"
Their conversation carried beyond and into a remote corner of the house, but not so remote that Miss Bingley's admiration of Pemberley and fawning over cobblestone was lost.
Now free from the barouche at last, eager to walk and feel alone, Kitty dressed in her purple frock and spencer, the elegant white bonnet from the wedding, and a parasol that Lizzy bought her as a present. Out for a walk of the grounds, she hoped to apprise herself of the reality and the improvements to be undertaken. Two dimensional blueprints and Jane's rough sketches did not give her a real vision of the beautiful estate. Havilland Grove spanned for some twenty miles, but the Grove House, and the estate, took in a hundred and forty acres. Miss Bingley could not have wished for a better house, except Pemberley, which would be her model for everything. From the sediment her foot would walk on, to the blooms she'd pick, to the fountains and lights.
Never in life before had Kitty taken much interest in this part of owning a grand estate. It's not that the gardens were not appreciated, but it wouldn't be her first priority, if indeed, one day, she should find herself mistress of any property. Selecting the colours and wallpaper in all the rooms was one aspect that would've tickled her, like selecting her own room. To have a great staff of servants, and to be capable of hand-picking them all, would feel grand; only the ones that smiled, happy and young maidservants, who could make her laugh too while helping her with her hair or dress. Menservants, none would suit except those with the manners of a gentleman, and provided they look smart in their livery. All the servants at Longbourn were dear, but the elder ones, those that had served them long, regarded her too much as a child. For having seen so much of their growing up, their watching eyes or whispers behind doors, intimidated. All that would be different in her own household.
Her parasol opened, and as instructed upon previous occasions, Kitty took the air with a leisurely walk. Lizzy got her into the habit of it at Pemberley, although the efforts began years and years ago. Both her elder sisters tried to interest and encourage walking, touted not only for a healthy constitution but for good spirits. Going outside held no purpose other than going somewhere: walking to Meryton, stepping into the carriage to ride over to Netherfield. New surroundings, in a strange county and house begged, from her curiosity, a little willingness to venture out into the meadows. There she might have the quiet, if nothing else occurred, to lose herself in a daydream.
Aimless ambling brought her to the outskirts of the woods, whose foliage grew so thickly and tangled it actually interfered with sunlight. Their trunks grew stout, their heads tall, burly branches and generously splayed roots. These trees seemed to instinctively know their aqueduct was nearby, stretching all its limbs between heaven and earth. With the recent rains, the woods felt happier than a child turned loose from a parent's side to run absolutely free. The skirt and petticoat picked up some of the dew on the clover and mosses. In so sedate a frame of mind, the sound of shouts coming from the river broke through abruptly.
These yells were none of the frantic sort, or in the heat of anger. For all the rushing water, men were merely attempting to make themselves heard. Indeed, the closer she drew, the volume rose dramatically. Such a noisy river! But much to her surprise, it wasn't the river alone. Kitty caught sight of the grove's pride and joy, one aspect even unparalleled to Pemberley: a waterfall! A tall white curtain, landing and rolling with grace upon the rocks below, throwing a shower of mist on the passerby. Though the woods encroached, bent over, and surrounded it, the authority of its current, as evidence by its roar, was not to be tested.
The closer one walked, the more difficult to approach the river. For shame, it should not be called a stream at all. But it proved to be the subject of the team of workmen, shouting to hear one another. One man that yelled from the east bank, was tossing a tool over to a man on the west side. Half a dozen were armed with picks and shovels, pruning the edges of the falls themselves. Fascinating to watch, these shovels and picks, along with fastened ropes, trying to edge their way behind the curtain!
"Signorina!"
Three men were involved, while the surrounding men held them by harnesses. Apparently, the other ropes, holding no bodies, were fastened to the landscape. Others, men as well as women, most surprisingly, were standing off at a further distance, with shovels of their own; these shovels were toiling with the smaller rocks and dry dirt, smoothing the incline. It must be for a future pathway.
"Signorina! Signorina!"
Kitty at last heeded the voice, not knowing it was addressed to herself. A young man came somewhere from behind, and grabbed hold of her arm, so unexpected that she nearly lost her balance. However, the man foresaw it, and had grasped hold in time before her foot strayed along with a medium-size rock. It tumbled into river below. With a voice of urgent insistence, incomprehensible to her, he begged her to take his hand and follow. He would not let go until she was brought higher, to level ground. His arms raised in front of her, delivering her, what she supposed to be, some admonition.
"I'm sorry, sir."
He continued to speak, as though she understood.
"I'm sorry, but I don't understand. Don't worry. I won't go down there again."
A second person joined them, bounding from the lower lying areas, from the base of the waterfall. With a few words of Italian, the other called off Kitty's young rescuer.
"Signorina! You should not be here," he said.
"Oh, Mr. or is it Signore…?"
"Andreozzi. What are you doing down here? This area is not safe. My cousin Angello just caught you before you had a fall. He was trying to tell you don't walk along here right now, not until we've installed a proper walkway."
"I'm sorry, signore. I just heard yelling, and the water… I didn't mean to interfere, only to see what was going on."
"There's nothing to see now. If you'll please, stay up here. See that stone balustrade over there? That little circle up there? We just finished all that. You can walk there, but no lower, for now."
"Very well."
Kitty wished to pass along apologies to the young man called Angello, whom she had initially resisted on first contact. But the architect did not linger, nor had he patience to entertain words. Any words to be had now were essential for communication, not to be wasted. Needless to say, his instruction was heeded. Kitty tripped on up to the rudimentary formations of a balcony. The balustrade, to which he referred to, was lined with numerous tiles. She was walking into a circle of piled up tiles, stacked planking, and a mile of fresh, coiled rope tucked neatly to a corner, along with various random tools.
Aside from a couple of the men, nobody seemed to mind or notice her presence. It was the goal to simply watch the progress, especially of the workmen behind the waterfall. However, all attention was suddenly drawn to her, when a minor trip and a hazardous hand upset a medium pile of tiles. A pile of them, about half her height, tipped forward. Nearby voices cried out to a man below to look out for the falling tiles; for Kitty could not raise the warning in time, nor alert them to any understanding. The potential victim rolled and dodged the catastrophe in time. Every tile smashed against the nearest boulders. Its every shard either was lost between the jagged rocks or rolled into the river, with no more difficulty than crumbs rolled from off a cake.
Her first day at the Grove House collapsed in ruin with the wreck of the tiles. For though they caused no injury, though she did not understand the foreign tongues around her, Kitty heard every word and felt the angry sting of every one of them. Mr. Andreozzi saw it and threw his hat on the ground, now roaring in anger: "You clumsy girl! How do I know better English than you? It's not safe. You shouldn't be here! What don't you understand about that?" The women who ran from safety to the young man that had tumbled and rolled on rocks to get out of the way were probably more harsh than the men. One or two of them, the younger ones, actually looked on in pity. On the majority though, her presence was chased from the waterfall with the rapids of abuses, all in Italian.
Nobody could hear the pathetic mumbles of apology, especially made weak by humiliation. And the tears in her eyes flowed like the rapids themselves, as she disappeared back out of the woods.
Well, what do you think of the new house? Definitely a fixer-up. Sorry if anyone was expecting something nicer. "It's nothing to Pemberley, I know!" to quote 1995 version Mr. Bingley.
Well, the next round of coffee is brewing, and the drama begins! Georgiana unwittingly giving Mary a little promo in high society. And Kitty, getting into a scrape with Italians. What can go wrong?