A Governess for Longbourne Read online

  The rest of the meal passed quietly, with only comments on the deliciousness of the food.

  After all had gone to bed, Mrs. Young was making her usual night stalk about the house, finding herself in the schoolroom. The fire in the grate had long since gone out, any vestiges of warmth forgotten, she was glad for the soft, heavy wool wrapper she wore, a long-ago gift from, well, it is too long ago to dwell on it; but despite her mental direction, she found herself drawn in by the flood of moonlight and the memories the robe teased her with. In these short years, she had not rid herself of that night robe, not for the lack of desire to be rid of it, but for the simple fact that she could not afford the cost to replace it. Governesses and companions did not make much, the bulk of their salary was in their room and board. Life had taken her to some interesting places, and she had met some intriguing people, but only those who served her purpose were memories worth a moments thought, certainly not the ones who drew her in now.

  It was a night much like this, bright and entrancing, only in early spring and not winter, when John proposed marriage to her under the protection of the trees on the grounds of Pemberly. A widower, while in service himself, needed a mother for his son, although the boy was nearly grown, and hellion was an appropriate description, He thought the influence of a beautiful and steady tempered mother might be just what his son needed to set him on the right path. And while Henrietta was quite young, only fifteen, she had spunk and spirit, and would not bend easily when faced with the willful lad who at eleven, was so very near her own age but so far behind her in maturity, she would have no trouble commanding his respect. The boy shirked his studies, manners and despised class boundaries, but managed to excel and charm in spite of all that. He was the apple of his father's eye so when his father, her true love, told him they were getting married, the boy ran. He ran and hid and his father searched and searched in the awful weather. He searched for days, with no rest, no shelter, no dry clothing; consumption took him only a few weeks later. On the day that was to be the happiest, she was instead burying her hopes and dreams with the one who encompassed them all. He went in the ground, his son into the protection of a wealthy benefactor, and she had to go out and face the world alone, first as an under teacher in a girls' school due to her young age, she quickly proved herself more than capable, and then she improved her station to the position of governess in various wealthy houses in London, specializing in short term placement to the immediate, marked improvement in her charges, and then to the quiet position of Miss Darcy's companion for the summer at the seaside, which was to her, a holiday away from petulant children being brought into line before sending them off to school, but also a chance to have the position she had needed those few years earlier, when she had been passed over as young Georgiana's governess.

  Georgiana reminded her so very much of her own self at that age, quiet, ready to be in love and a will of iron beneath the gentle demeanor. It set her off; the girl must be protected from herself, and she arranged it that the young couple would find themselves seen by certain personages in the area who would cause the situation of his presence to be reported back to Mr. Darcy who then unexpectedly arrived to surprise his sister. She had not planned to be let go, but he was furious, and his manner implacable. Any attempt at an explanation was met with more fury and she was unceremoniously released and she spent the few months following, searching for another position. She had decided to look outside of London, and outside of Mr. Darcy's usual circles and haunts for the time being, until his ire would not follow and taint any chances of a good position.

  Mr. Collins stumbled in, tripping over his own feet, all while mumbling to himself about whether or not he should inform Lady Catherine of the impending nuptials of the illustrious Mr. Darcy. "Your concern for your patroness is admirable sir," She said quietly, so as to not disturb the house. Sharp eared Lydia was after all, in the next room. "Madam! I uh, forgive me." He wore such a worried, hang-dog look, she could not help but have compassion for him. "Your mind is greatly troubled over the matter at dinner, is it not?" She inquired. "Yes, indeed. I am troubled over the measure I must take to respect my patroness, but I am loathe to cause another rift between myself and Mr. Bennett." "And the legality of the assumed betrothal between Mr. Darcy and your dear patroness' daughter, not the hinge?" "Ah, indeed it is, thank you, Mrs. Young for helping clear my thoughts on the subject." He continued with further extravagant praises and said he would remember her in his letter to Lady Catherine to which task, he promptly left to attend, and she decided her wanderings complete for the night.

  The next morning dawned bright and cold with newly fallen snow frosting the world, welcoming the revelers, providing ample contrast to the red berries and green leaves of the holly for the home decorations. The younger ones in the Longbourne party paired off with their favorites, competing to be the ones to bring in the holly with the most berries, and amusement that even Mary seemed to take pleasure in. The elders trailed along behind at a more sedate pace, keeping a sharp eye on the frivolous minded, as good chaperones do. Kitty and Maria Lucas found a patch of holly and set to trimming sprigs while trying to not catch their dresses or prick their fingers too much, which turned into quite a delicate undertaking. Laughter, challenges, triumphs and general good humor echoed in the crisp air, the officers trying to one-up each other, to be the best and brightest.

  "Christmas is a jolly time, is it not Mrs. Young?" Mr. Collins sidled up beside her. Her smile and nod to the affirmative was more than enough answer for him and he continued. "I was very glad of your assistance in the most delicate matter set before me. The information was dispatched to her ladyship this very morning, and it shall be up to her to do what will. Should she have legal proof of the intended match, a letter to the Archbishop will cancel any license of Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennett." "It is wise of you to present the facts, and allow her to make her own decisions." "It is you who are wise, Mad..." Mr. Collins' compliments were cut short by a well placed errant snowball, the first of many that began to fly between the Longbourne party and the gaggle of young boys who had lain in wait behind the fence. Mrs. Young lightly chuckled at his imitation of a fish, his mouth opening and closing, and offered him the corner of her long scarf to clear his face of the snow. "At least it was clean snow." She remarked, a pretty smile gracing her face. "Indeed." Observing the all out snowball war going on about them, he offered his arm, "Shall we retreat to the road and get out of the line of fire, Madam?" All of this was not lost on Mr. Bennett, who true to his promise to his daughters was watching Mrs. Young carefully, and by extension, this newcomer, Mr. Wickham. 'By Jove, where did he get to? He thought. There Lydia was, to his relief, beneath the tree, hiding with ammunition at the ready for the next passing red coat. He watched as her head suddenly snapped up when a vine dropped on her curly head, followed by the booted feet of the man he was searching for. "One cannot have a proper Christmas without mistletoe, Miss Bennett." The charmer said. The blush on Lydia's face told Mr. Bennett that here was a relationship that bore close scrutiny. As the game wound down he suggested they all turn back and get warm by declaring that it would be a shame to all catch their death so soon before Christmastide. He also needed to get into town and learn what Mr. Phillips had found out. He had enough spies in the house that none could get up to much trouble for the short time he would be gone.

  As luck would have it, Mr. Phillips spy had arrived in town just that morning to deliver his news report and Mr. Phillips declared it fortuitous that Mr. Bennett would not hear of it third hand.

  The spy was an unremarkable chap, who it seemed could blend into any type of society, whether high, or low, and be unmemorable enough that if someone remembered his asking questions, they would not remember him to give a description to anyone that might come looking for whoever had been poking around, uncovering things they wanted to remain forgotten.

  When queried, the man succinctly stated, "One Miss Henrietta Young was a resident of Derbyshire county in the north cou
ntry. She was betrothed to, and some say - deeply in love with the steward of a local prominent house. The banns had been read and the wedding was set, but he died of pneumonia and was buried the day of their intended wedding.

  The young lady I believe, blamed the man's young son who had gone into hiding in protest of the marriage, his father searching in the ill weather for days. The lad was later found in one of the hay lofts on the Pemberly estate, well fed, warm and dry, careless of what terrors he put his father through.

  The young lady was most distraught and kept herself at home, out of local society, but after losing her only living relative a month later, and being denied a place in service at the Manor house, she disappeared from the area, naught to be seen since. The Reverend who holds the living at Lampton said that he believed she went into teaching at a girl's school."

  Mr. Bennett slowly absorbed the information, along with a glass of Port, staring into space, seeing the sad tale play out in his head. She had never married, that was quite obvious; it was not uncommon for women to take the title Mrs. when entering service for it garnered more respect no matter which position they acquired.

  "I am waiting for my other inquiries as to how she got from there to here, but it seems the schools are slow in responding." Mr. Phillips remarked. Mr. Bennett nodded, rose and put on his wraps, wished a good day to Mr. Phillips and turned to go but he turned back again and said, "You speak as a novelist Mr. Pennywell. If you were to consider a less dangerous and more comfortable profession, perhaps it would be an option?" Mr. Bennett asked with a raised brow and without reply. He stopped a few feet from the door and asked, "By the by, who was this gentleman Mrs. Young was so entranced by?" "He was the steward of Pemberly, Sir." Mr. Bennett nodded. "And his son?"

  "Young George Wickham."

  As Mr. Bennett slowly strolled home, having sent his carriage on, he mulled over what he had learned and what Mrs. Young might have planned for his Lydia. Now there was a girl given to pretty pets and near a simpleton. She had been managed alright by Mrs. Bennett, although spoiled and allowed her own way far too much, a likable girl, none-the-less.

  He had been more amused by her folly than of a mind to set her on the right path to be a grownup, hers and Mrs. Bennett's. His Fanny had been a beauty in her day, much like Jane; fawned over by many young men in uniform and without. While her father was in trade, and outside his social standing, it was a prudent match due to Fanny's fortune of five thousand pounds. As a landed gentleman, he did have an income from his estate, and some interest from the family's investment in the percents, it was not a great fortune, and would not attract the daughters of other landed gentlemen so well as a lady of some little fortune from the merchant class, hoping to improve her family's connections.

  So it was that scholarly William Bennett married flighty Miss Fanny Gardiner and tried to produce an heir to the estate who would then be able to provide for his many sisters, those who remained unmarried anyway. Every time Fanny would conceive, the hope would be renewed until at last, some years after Lydia was born, they realized that a son would not be, and Mrs. Bennett's fretting truly began in earnest. He had learned to find amusement in her fits, and even to provoke her to them as it kept her from nagging him, asking how they would provide for her and their daughters should Mr. Bennett die before she, and the girls were unmarried. His many faults were before him and he sought escape many days into the books that lined the shelves in his library, for in these tales he could imagine being the hero, not the poorly authoritative father who could not leave his loved ones cared for upon his death.

  It was during one of Fanny's fits that the illness had come upon her, shrilly yelling about how the girls must wed, and how there were not enough acceptable gentlemen in the area, and how they would all be turned out by this estranged cousin, the son of Mr. Bennett's sister, as soon as he died. Indeed, she had said that he would hardly be in the ground before they were in the hedgerow. He had said they should hope for better things and flatter themselves that he might outlive her. It was then, that her crying had turned to something else. She had a sudden onset of one of her headaches he had assumed, and it seemed it was a more difficult one for she could hardly speak. Jane had great difficulty helping her upstairs as her legs kept giving out. Lizzie took her other side and helped Jane get her to her room and into the ready care of Mrs. Hill. His guilt had grown each passing hour as first Mrs. Bennett's face had begun to droop on one side, and then when Doctor Jones had given the prognosis. Even his daughters did not know the whole of it. They knew that the good Doctor did not expect her to improve much, he had prescribed a tonic and powders but said that the best help they could give her was to spend time and to keep her spirits up. In the solitude of his study, the Doctor had told him the rest, that he did not expect Mrs. Bennett to live. It was rare for one to survive an illness like this, and of this magnitude, but to survive long, was unheard of.

  It was weeks later, on one of his walks that he had the thought that since he could not make it right, and could not truly make up for all his shortcomings, he at least could do his level best to do better by his daughters and see them ready to take their places in the world as wives of husbands with means enough to see to their welfare. All in fact, that Fanny had wanted from him to begin with. Too little too late, but some none the less.

  Lydia was walking alone, trying to sneak back into the house unseen it seemed, when Mr. Bennett neared the gate from the side lane, out of viewpoint of Lydia's path. "Lost your governess did you, my girl?" Lydia started, more from a term of endearment from her father to her than at being found out. "I only wanted a moment's peace, father." She said petulantly. "You have never wanted a moment's peace for a millisecond of your young life, now what is this truly about?" She pouted and looked at her shoes. "All things come to light in good time, Lydia. Isn't that right Mr. Wickham?" The final sentence being said at a volume and in a tone of voice that made that man freeze in his tracks where he had sought to slip away undetected. Lydia stammered and blushed, the young man came out of the bushes and stood beside her, shamefaced. "It seems we have a conversation to hold. Come, let us go in." He commanded and led the way, leaving them to follow in his wake.

  "What are your intentions toward my daughter?" He demanded once they were safely ensconced in the privacy of his study. "What any young, marriage-minded man's intentions would be, Sir." "Your mode of meeting today would hasten to tell me otherwise!" He thundered. "Any number of people could have seen you meeting today, and her name would have been ruined! You have seen enough of the world to know what even a hint of a secret romance can do to a young lady's reputation." Mr. Wickham had the good sense to keep silent. "Have a care, Sir! Once ruined, it cannot be repaired.

  "I love her!" Wickham declared suddenly. Mr. Bennett's only sign of reaction to Mr. Wickham's outburst was a blink. "Then why," He said after some time. "Did you not come to me, as you had ought [to do]?" "As her sisters are to marry such illustrious personages, I thought you would not approve, Sir." Mr. Bennett softened, shifted from his stance of punishing authority, to a more understanding pose, and replied, "For love, I can understand, but I must be certain you know, that she has no dowry, and few connections, and from what I understand, her new connections will want nothing to do with you."

  Wickham blanched, swallowed and explained. "It is true, Sir, that I attempted to elope with Miss Darcy." Mr. Bennett's suspicions on the identity of the young lady suddenly confirmed. "While I had thought myself in love then, knowing the difference now, with Lydia, err, uh, Miss Bennett, I can see how foolish I was. I beg you Sir, do not deny me on that account." He looked around a bit to gather his thoughts, all the while, Mr. Bennett's gaze drilled into him. "While I am in the Militia, I am not fully without fortune, your daughter will never go hungry or be without shelter and warmth, I promise you." He said earnestly. "I am sure you know of her fortune of one thousand pounds, but you do not know that said fortune will not be released until after her mother's death which could be many
years away yet." "All the same Sir, while I may not be able to provide all the luxuries, she will want for nothing of necessity." "You do not seem to be quite the scoundrel as I was led to believe, Mr. Wickham. It was said you were a fortune hunter and those without fortune you ruined without thought." "I have done much to cause pain in this world, Sir." He admitted. "What changed, that I should allow you the chance of causing great pain to my daughter?"

  Wickham explained his encounter at a Christian Revival in London, where he had fled after leaving Ramsgate. He had lost the bulk of what fortune he had left at cards; and was wandering the streets, his final few hundred pounds in his mind as he plotted how to win it back. He was drawn from his thoughts and into hearing the words of some preacher who spoke of sin and God's forgiveness. "I know that God forgave me that day. I then took my eight hundred pounds to the exchange and put it in the percents. I have not drawn on it since, living on my salary as an officer, saving even what I can from that." "How then, did you become an officer without purchasing a commission?" Mr. Bennett queried. "I am not proud of it, but it was offered to me in lieu of what someone owed me from a game of cards." "It must have been some game!" Mr. Bennett joked.

  "One condition lad," Mr. Bennett assented to his desires, detailing out the requirement, while Wickham paid rapt attention, nodding like an eager puppy. "You will do all you can to make it right with Darcy and the lady. There have been enough rifts in my family in recent years, I will not allow another." "Absolutely Sir! I will mend as what I can."