Page 17 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“Yes, ma’am. I’m lucky. I washed laundry before, and the lye in the water hurts.” She flexed her fingers in remembered pain. It must have been some time ago. She had the hands of a lady’s maid now, slender and smooth, a great contrast to the cracked, red skin of the Scottish woman.
“How did you become a housemaid?”
“A lady said I was pretty, ma’am.”
“What did your mother think?”
“Don’t have one. No father, neither.”
“Are you…” What was I trying to discover? “Who teaches you? Do you read?”
“I don’t have my letters, ma’am, but I’m taught how to wait, and curtsy, and speak properly to ladies and—” Her hands stopped, and her face became a picture of distress. “Am I doin’ it wrong?”
“No, you do it wonderfully.” She cheered up with the quick moods of a child, and I wondered if she was even younger than I had thought.
She began setting my hair, her tongue peeking out while her fingers pinned my curls. “Miss Jane is so pretty and nice,” she said. “Like… a flower, with yellow petals, that always smiles.”
“She is a wonderful sister, and so thoughtful that I do not begrudge her outshining the rest of us.”
“And you are like a tree,” she added decidedly. “One that is light and lively in the wind, but tough. Like an ash, but with dark leaves for your hair.”
“I believe you are a young poet,” I said, very seriously. “But I would make a short tree. A shrub, perhaps.”
“I mean, she does not outshine you, ma’am.” She took her hands away.
I had to move to see my reflection. She had set my hair higher than I would choose for dinner, more suited for a ball. But a few curls had been left down and loose, almost untouched. It had no recognizable style, but I would not have criticized her attempt even if I found a bird’s nest on my head.
“Eliza! How nice that you…”Miss Bingley’s voice stopped.
I had entered the dining room curious. I had never dined at Netherfield, even when it was kept by prior families. The room was twice the length of Longbourn’s dining room. Under a horrid clutter of ornamental china, the furnishings were fashionable and in good taste—not always the case when an estate was freshly leased. I wondered who had chosen the furniture. Not the sisters, who preferred elaborate dresses and often wore both earrings and jeweled necklaces. And it was hard to imagine affable Mr. Bingley caring about décor.
Miss Bingley’s silence made me look over. That seemed to restore her voice.
“How nice that you are able to be our guest for dinner, at last,” she said tonelessly, her gaze locked on my hair.
So. It was to be insults at three paces. I examined her dress, choosing targets, but she simply indicated a chair, then sat herself as the others arrived.
Though we had breakfasted together casually, dinner began stiffly, which happens sometimes with the formality of servants and courses. I tried for a topic but without much goodwill, as Mr. Bingley was the only one I honestly liked. And every time I looked at one of his sisters—or at Mr. Darcy, who was seated opposite me—they seemed to be staring at me.
But Mr. Bingley was determined to thaw our party. “Darcy, for goodness sakes,speak, man! We have finished an entire course, and I think the only thing that has passed through your lips is soup.”
Mr. Darcy gave a curt nod, accepting his friend’s rebuke but oblivious to the irony of his silent response.
“I believe you scored a hit, Mr. Bingley,” I said before I could stop myself, for Mr. Darcy looked like a fencer acknowledging a touch, although I had only seen fencing on stage inHamlet.
“Indeed, you are right!” Mr. Bingley said in a wondering voice. “You must be my witness, for it will never happen again.”
“Is he so hard to hit, then?”
“I fenced with him exactly once, and I have never been so humiliated.”
This prodded Mr. Darcy to speak. “You are overly kind. There are many at my club who beat me soundly.”
“His club filled with fencing masters, he means,” Mr. Bingley said with a laugh.
“How remarkable that you have such skill and never mention it,” Miss Bingley said. “I should adore to see you fence.”
“It is a skill for exercise and discipline, not performance,” Mr. Darcy replied.
