Page 94 of Companions of Their Youth
“It is actually worse than what we feed our servants,” Elizabeth said, “but you were warned of the consequences.”
With a look of fury, Georgiana shoved the plate away. The water sloshed and spilled across the tablecloth. Elizabeth reached for the linen drawer and handed the girl a cloth.
“Wipe up your mess, please.”
Georgiana stood stiffly, glancing at the others as if expecting rescue. Mr. Bennet went on buttering his toast. Lydia looked faintly amused. Elizabeth merely waited, cloth in hand.
With ill grace, Georgiana snatched it and dabbed at the puddle. When finished, she dropped the cloth to the floor.
“Pick it up,” Elizabeth said quietly. “It belongs in the scullery basket. If you leave it, you will be asked to wash it yourself.”
With a mutinous glare, Georgiana obeyed.
Lessons that day began with another test: a discarded nightrail on the nursery floor, barely a foot from the laundry hamper.
“You may pick it up now and place it on your bed or in the hamper,” Elizabeth said mildly, “or wash it yourself on wash day.”
“But it is only Monday. You said wash days are on Wednesdays.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “So if you choose to leave it on the floor, you will go without it until Wednesday.”
“I will just wear another one. I have plenty.”
“I see. Did you pack them to bring with you?”
Georgiana hesitated. “No, I left them at Netherfield.”
“Then you only have the one. Unless you would like to sleep naked tonight, I recommend you pick it up.”
There was a long pause. Then Georgiana bent slowly to retrieve it—though she did not refold it—and tossed it onto her bed with contemptuous force.
The second day was worse. She arrived in time for breakfast and seated herself haughtily between Kitty and Lydia. But the moment her tongue touched the crumpet, she shrieked.
“It burned me!”
She picked up the plate containing the crumpets and tossed it across the room. The ceramic shattered.
The silence that followed was deafening.
“You will clean this room from top to bottom,” Mr. Bennet said, rising and motioning for Stephens. “And you will help Cook replace the food you ruined.”
“But it burned me!”
“Perhaps next time you will test the temperature more cautiously,” Elizabeth replied, standing. “Come.”
“I will not go into the kitchens. I am the granddaughter of an earl!”
“Today, you are the girl who ruined the morning meal.”
In the kitchen, she tried to run. Elizabeth caught her arm—not roughly, but with a strength that surprised them both. Though Georgiana was taller and had the curves of early womanhood, she had the softness of one who had never hauled a bucket or lifted a skillet.
With steely determination, Elizabeth pulled her toward the kneading board and pressed her fingers into the flour-covered dough. “This is what crumpets feel like before they are baked,” she said with exaggerated patience. “You will knead, shape, and bake them. Then you will clean the floor.”
Georgiana screamed, shrieked, and cried—but the flour caked on her hands all the same.
The third day brought another horror. The new nursery maid discovered bloodied cloths shoved into the corner of the bedroom. Mortified and infuriated, Elizabeth hauled Georgiana to the laundry room.
“I am not touching those!” the girl cried.
