Page 33 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“Mary has been to see me,” he answered.
“Mary has nothing to do with it!” cried Mamma.
“Mary has offered to play only Italian airs, and wear white frocks, and make no more scenes that embarrass our family.”
“Well, that would be a great relief, but I—”
“Please wait a little, Mrs. Bennet. It is to Lizzy that I speak.”
I was angry at him now, remembering last night. “I am surprised that chastising Mary would achieve that result. I thought I knew my sister better.”
“There was no chastisement. She arrived of her own accord to offer her promise to improve our social standing, in exchange for a promise from me. However, I declined the bargain, and instead, I apologized to her for last night. Her bargain shamed me, for I should not wish a beloved daughter to act so against her inclinations and beliefs. It is not Mary’s responsibility to defend her sister”—he nodded to indicate me—“by bargaining with her inadequate father. I should defend my own children.”
“Defend them from poverty and homelessness, I should hope!” cried my mother.
But I understood. Mary had been willing to sacrifice everything she treasured if Papa would not force me to marry Mr. Collins. As if the scraps of social standing she could offer were any recompense for the huge loss to our fortunes from my refusal.
“Come, Mrs. Bennet,” Papa said gently, pushing to his feet and extending his arm to my mother, whose face was falling as she understood. “Let us have tea and commiserate with Mr. Collins. He shall not be sending any happy letter to Lady Catherine today, for I can spare you the trouble of suggesting Mary as an alternate, and if you can convince Kitty or Lydia to marry Mr. Collins, I shall be amazed.”
14
A CURT GOODBYE
It was a little past dawn.I was, once again, standing in mud in front of our draca house. Winter in Hertfordshire is a damp affair. But this time, I had a clearer conscience.
“I have been reviewing the circumstances when I felt draca thoughts,” I said conversationally. Our firedrake tilted his bronze, narrow head. “They have been moments of extreme urgency, or at least high emotion. So—”
A contralto shriek rose behind me. “Miss Elizabeth! What have youdone?”
“Mrs. Hill,” I said reluctantly. Our housekeeper was staring, aghast, from the front doorway. “They are only boots.”
“Boots?” Her lips continued to open and close as if reciting an endless row of silent B’s.
I had borrowed my father’s riding boots, which reached to my knees, and then pinned my innermost petticoat to the outside of my skirt to create a sort of basket, lifting my skirts… well, notknee-high of course, but I admit they were above my ankles.
Mrs. Hill’s left hand landed on her hip, and her right stabbed at the doorway. “Get inside this instant!”
“I did not want to dirty more skirts…”
“Inside!” she snapped, and I clomped past her guiltily. “What if a neighbor had come?”
“It is so unfair, though, to dirty shoes and stockings and petticoats because—”
“No! No, ma’am, I am putting my foot down! I will button my lip while you chatter at drakes, but I willnotstand for you traipsing about showing your ankles!” Feeling like a scolded child, I plunked down where the gentlemen removed their boots and reached for mine. She slapped my hand away. “Do not touch those filthy things!”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I asked while she pulled them off. “Drag my skirts in the mud every morning? The laundry maids cannot enjoy that.”
“The joy of washerwomen is not your concern.”
Mrs. Hill had been dumbfounded when I returned from Netherfield and asked to meet the Scottish laundry maid on our next wash day. She seemed offended that I had deduced the existence of wash day at all, even though an entire yard was hung with drying cloth each time.
But now, I frowned at her. It was so…complacentto ignore the effort I was causing.
Affection creased her stiff cheeks. “Miss Lizzy. If this must continue, perhaps you could ask your father to place boards by the draca house? Like the walks in Meryton?”
“Thatis a brilliant suggestion. Thank you, Mrs. Hill.” Building anything, even a few boards, was so much a gentleman’s purview that it had not occurred to me. Instigating the idea felt as bizarre as my father suggesting embroidery for my bonnet.
It was Friday, the day I visit the tenants in Longbourn village. Pondering Mrs. Hill’s suggestion, I found Mary seated at our pianoforte but engrossed in a book, and I asked if she would like to come.
