Retaliation - 8

Part of the Dragons, Deceit, and Desire collection

Hi Everyone!

This chapter may help alleviate some of the problems Hypnos is having with Mr. Bennet. However, Mrs. Bennet is not a happy trooper. Oh well, she’s not normally happy with the world.

As always, your comments and likes will be appreciated! Your comments help by showing me my errors and giving me impetus to change direction in the story. The likes really help, too. ;o)

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Chapter 8

Fanny Bennet’s outraged screams ricocheted about the bedchamber, striking paneling and glass alike until the very air seemed to tremble with them. What began as sharp cries of indignation dissolved, by slow degrees, into ragged sobs. She flung herself face-down upon the bed and beat her pillow with both fists in a frenzy of injured sensibility.

At length, exhausted by her own distress, she pushed herself upright. Her cap was askew; her curls clung damply to her temples. With a trembling sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached, by long habit, for her slippers.

Her toes met only the chill of the bare floor.

She froze.

This was not merely inconvenient… it was catastrophic.

Mrs. Bennet drew in a breath so deep it seemed to hollow her very frame and then released it in a scream of such piercing anguish that it had, on former occasions, summoned Mrs. Hill from the farthest reaches of the house. It was a summons no servant had ever dared to ignore.

Today, however, no one came. The four servants assigned to the dower house had mettle.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Harriet paused in the act of drying a dish and exchanged a meaningful glance with the scullery maid. The footman, James, stood very still, as though sudden motion might betray him to the wrath above. All three turned their eyes, almost in unison, toward the back door that opened upon the vegetable garden, where John continued his steady weeding in blissful, or willful, ignorance.

“Do you suppose,” James ventured in a low voice, “that we might make ourselves useful outdoors? The cabbages appear in want of attention.”

Harriet, who began the inspection of her fingernails with studied composure, did not look up. “A charming notion,” she replied coolly, “but I fear there is no corner of this estate in which her ladyship’s sufferings cannot be distinctly heard. We should only exchange proximity for futility.”

Mary, elbow-deep in soapsuds at the washbasin, gave a short, practical nod. “And we should return to find twice the work undone. No—better to fortify ourselves here. The house must be in perfect order before she descends in search of sustenance. You know how she is if anything displeases her eye. Since she slept past breakfast, she will be hungry. When she stops shrieking, she’ll be heading to the dining room.”

“As if we could forget,” James muttered, though not without a trace of sympathy. He crossed to the cupboard, gathered the remaining silver, clean cloths, and a small tin of polish, and set himself to work at the rough table in the corner. Soon, the faint rhythm of cloth against metal joined the distant cadence of Mrs. Bennet’s lamentations. He began to hum under his breath—not merrily, but determinedly, as though it were a shield against the noise above.

Mary rinsed the last plate with brisk efficiency. “Harriet,” she called without turning, “if you have any intention of dining this evening, you will begin upon the sideboard and dining table at once. They must be spotless, and the dining room plate setting must be laid before the food arrives. I will not have her say the Bennet dower house has descended into barbarism.”

Harriet sighed, softly, but with feeling, and at last set aside her idle scrutiny. “Very well,” she said, reaching for a cloth. “Though I maintain that nothing we do will preserve us from her commentary.”

“That may be,” Mary returned, “but it will at least deprive her of evidence.”

At that moment, the kitchen door opened, admitting a breath of cool air and the earthy scent of turned soil. John entered with a basket brimming with produce—lettuce crisp and pale, carrots still dusted with the garden’s red-brown earth, slender onions, and a neat bundle of legumes. Sprigs of parsley, sage, and rosemary lay atop the rest like a fragrant crown.

“I thought a salad might be agreeable,” he said simply. “The missus favors salads.”

Mary turned, her sharp eye immediately assessing the offering. The lettuce was fresh enough to snap, the carrots tender, the onions mild—altogether a respectable foundation for something presentable, even under scrutiny.

“That will do very well,” she said, already reaching for a basin of water and the drainer. “We shall make it properly. Lettuce torn, not cut. Carrots will be shaved finely. Onions sliced thin enough to be polite.” She began as she spoke, her movements swift and assured. “Everything must be washed and drained well. The beans may be blanched—briefly, mind—and cooled before mixing.”

She set a large serving bowl upon the newly cleaned counter. “The dressing first—oil, vinegar, salt, and a touch of mustard—so we do not dirty another dish. Efficiency, if nothing else, may yet save us.”

Harriet, now wiping the table with renewed vigor, allowed herself a faint smile. “You speak as though we prepare for battle.”

“We do,” Mary replied, not unkindly. “Only our enemy is armed with nerves rather than weapons.”

A fresh wail from above made them all pause for a fraction of a second.

Mary resumed her work without comment. “If Mrs. Bennet chooses to denigrate her dinner,” she said calmly, tossing the herbs with practiced precision, “it shall not be the fault of the salad.”

And in the quiet industry of the kitchen—amid the scrape of cloth, the clink of silver, and the soft rustle of greens—they fortified themselves as best they could against the storm upstairs.

Upstairs, the noise gathered strength rather than diminishing, as though the very walls lent themselves to Mrs. Bennet’s distress.

She stood near the bed, her hair disordered, her cap slipping further with every agitated movement. The coverlet had been dragged askew, pillows displaced, and drawers yawned open on every side. A shawl trailed from her elbow, unnoticed.

“Harriet!” she cried, her voice rising to a pitch that seemed scarcely sustainable. “Harriet, where are you? Must I call until I lose my voice entirely? I am abandoned, quite abandoned, in my own house.”

She hurried to the wardrobe and flung it open with such force that the doors rebounded slightly. Without pause, she began pulling out gowns one after another, scarcely glancing at them before casting them aside.

“This one is too dark. It will make me look quite ill. And this, what was she thinking to leave it here? It is utterly unsuitable for a morning such as this. Oh, my poor nerves cannot bear such mismanagement.”

A pale muslin gown slipped from her grasp and fell in a soft heap at her feet. She stepped over it without noticing and reached for another.

“My blue gown is missing. I am certain of it. The one with the sprigged trim. I desired it particularly. Harriet knows I desired it. To deprive me of it now is nothing less than cruelty.”

She turned from the wardrobe to the dressing table, where ribbons and gloves lay in careful order. With trembling hands, she seized a pair of gloves, examined them briefly, and dropped them with a small cry of frustration.

“These will never do. They are far too slight. I shall take cold immediately. Nobody considers my health. Nobody attends to my comfort. I am the most ill-used woman in England.”

“Harriet!” she called again, louder still. “If you do not come this instant, I shall be forced to dress myself. And I assure you I am in no condition to manage laces and fastenings. I shall be left half dressed, exposed to every draft in the house, and then what will become of me?”

She crossed to a chest of drawers and pulled one open so sharply that its contents shifted within. Linen and petticoats were disturbed, lifted, rejected, and cast aside in mounting agitation.

“Nothing is where it ought to be. Nothing. My things have been entirely disordered. I cannot conceive how such negligence is possible under my own roof.”

Her voice faltered for a moment, then surged again with renewed force.

“A mother of five daughters, and not one of them here to assist me. A husband who shuts himself away with his books. Servants who do not heed my calls. I might as well be alone in the world.”

She snatched up another gown and held it against herself, turning slightly toward the mirror though she scarcely seemed to see her reflection.

“This might do. It must do, for I have no other choice, though it is far from what I intended. If Harriet had the least regard for my feelings, she would have had everything laid out properly.”

She clutched the fabric tighter, her agitation rising once more.

“Harriet, I insist upon your attendance. I require it. Do not suppose I shall forget this usage. My nerves will suffer for days. Weeks, perhaps. I shall not recover from it easily.”

Silence answered her, broken only by the faint, distant sounds of work below stairs.

Mrs. Bennet stood very still for a single moment, as though listening for approaching footsteps. When none came, her composure gave way entirely.

“I am forsaken,” she declared, her voice breaking between anger and tears. “Quite forsaken.”

She stamped her foot upon the cold floor, heedless of her earlier complaint, and raised her voice once more.

“Harriet!”

The name rang through the chamber, sharp and insistent, and the disordered room bore witness as her frantic searching and her screeching tantrum began anew.

Below stairs, the latest cry carried so distinctly through the ceiling that even Harriet, who had borne the earlier assaults with admirable composure, paused in her wiping and closed her eyes for a moment of resignation.

“That,” she said, setting down her cloth with care, “cannot be ignored without consequence.”

Mary did not look up from the bowl in which she was assembling the salad. “No,” she replied calmly, “it cannot. And as you are the one most loudly summoned, I believe the duty is yours.”

James, polishing a spoon to a respectable gleam, added under his breath, “Godspeed.”

Harriet cast him a look that suggested he might yet be made to repent the sentiment, then smoothed her apron, adjusted her cap, and drew herself up with the air of one going to meet an inevitable storm.

“If I do not return,” she said, not entirely in jest, “see that the table is laid straight and the silver properly aligned. I will not have her reproach me in my absence.”

“You may depend upon it,” Mary answered, reaching for the herbs. “Everything shall be in readiness. Pray only that she descends in a temper fit to eat.”

Another resounding “Harriet!” shook the boards above.

Harriet wasted no further time. She gathered her composure about her like a shield and quit the kitchen, her steps brisk but measured as she crossed the hall and began the ascent. With each stair, the noise grew sharper, more immediate, until it seemed less a sound than a force pressing against her.

At the chamber door, she paused just long enough to compose her expression into one of attentive concern. Then she knocked once, lightly, and entered.

Mrs. Bennet turned at once, her agitation finding fresh energy at the sight of her maid. A gown was clutched in her hands, while others lay scattered in every direction.

“Harriet, at last!” she cried. “Where have you been? I have called until I am quite hoarse. My nerves are entirely overset. You can have no notion what I have endured.”

Harriet dropped a small curtsey. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I was attending to the preparations below stairs, that everything might be in readiness for you.”

“In readiness,” Mrs. Bennet repeated, as though the phrase itself were suspect. “Nothing is in readiness here. My gowns are disordered, my slippers are nowhere to be found, and I have been left to suffer in a most unbecoming state.”

Harriet moved at once to retrieve the nearest fallen garment, folding it with quiet efficiency before setting it aside. “We shall soon put everything to rights, ma’am. If you will permit me, I shall assist you directly.”

“You must,” Mrs. Bennet said emphatically. “I cannot possibly manage alone. I declare I should have been obliged to remain here all day had you not come. And what would have become of dinner then, I cannot imagine.”

Harriet located the missing slippers beneath the edge of the bed, where they had been displaced in the earlier tumult. She placed them carefully at Mrs. Bennet’s feet.

“There, ma’am.”

Mrs. Bennet stepped into them at once with a small sound of relief, though her expression remained one of considerable grievance. “At least that is something. Though it should never have been necessary for me to suffer such discomfort.”

Harriet selected, from the various discarded gowns, the very one Mrs. Bennet had last held up and smoothed its skirts with practiced hands. “This gown, I think, will serve you very well this morning. The color is becoming, and it is light enough for the season.”

Mrs. Bennet allowed herself to be persuaded, though not without a sigh. “It is not what I first intended. My blue gown would have been preferable. But as it has been so unaccountably misplaced, I must make do.”

“I shall see it found and properly arranged, ma’am,” Harriet replied, already setting about the business of assisting her mistress into the chosen dress.

As Harriet worked, deft with laces and fastenings, Mrs. Bennet continued in a softer but no less aggrieved tone. “You cannot conceive how I have been neglected this morning. I might have expired where I stood, and no one the wiser.”

“I am very glad that was not the case, ma’am,” Harriet said, securing the final fastening. “All will be comfortable again directly.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Bennet said, settling her sleeves and casting a critical glance toward the mirror. “You must ensure that everything below is in proper order. I will not be subjected to further distress when I come down. My nerves would not bear it.”

“Everything is being prepared, ma’am.”

“Then I shall descend shortly,” Mrs. Bennet declared, lifting her chin with a return of dignity. “Though I do so under great disadvantage.”

Downstairs, Mary set the finished salad aside and began directing the placement of dishes with exacting care.

“The forks to the left, evenly spaced,” she instructed. “The glasses aligned. James, the silver must be entirely free of marks. She will see them if they are not.”

“They are as bright as I can make them,” he replied, giving a final polish to the last spoon. “If she finds fault, it will not be for want of effort.”

“That is all we can secure,” Mary said. She cast a measured glance at the dining room, ensuring each surface was clean, each item in its place. “We must be ready before she reaches the stairs.”

From above, the sounds had changed. No longer a storm, but a steady current of complaint, punctuated by Harriet’s quieter replies.

Mary straightened the last setting and briefly folded her hands, as though concluding an important task.

“Take your places,” she said.

James did so at once, setting aside his cloth, taking up the bowl of salad, and carrying it to the dining room.

A moment later, the faint creak of the bedchamber door opening overhead signaled what they had both been anticipating.

Mrs. Bennet was coming downstairs, where she would enjoy a fresh garden salad and a covered dish sent from Longbourn Manor.

In the months that followed, Mrs. Bennet threw fewer tantrums after realizing that the three available servants did not appear to care about her nerves, her demands, or her fainting fits. Instead, they informed Mr. Bennet regarding her behavior. As a result, the covered dishes contained foods she disliked more often until she was unable to look forward to any meal.

When she began walking into Meryton to visit her sister and various friends, she was able to enjoy better meals produced by their cooks. However, unable to refrain from criticizing the food as inferior in taste to that produced at Longbourn, she soon found that Mrs. Philips stopped calling for tea or inviting her to stay for dinner. In fact, the other matrons she called friends soon acted in the same manner. While Mrs. Bennet continued walking to Meryton and visiting, it became apparent that few of her visits were returned.

Mrs. Philips finally took pity on her sister and explained in detail why her friends did not call on her at the dower house. The explanation brought forth a histrionic fit of nerves accompanied by a wildly waving handkerchief to punctuate each of her grievances. At last, Mrs. Philips said, “Sister, look at the bright side. You’ve lost weight and now have a pleasing figure again. You no longer need to worry about being tossed into the hedge rows… You have a pleasant dower house to inhabit. You have learned to live on your pin money. Your daughters are all staying far away. And you don’t have to plan any weddings.”

When the Darcys arrived at Longbourn to attend the wedding of Jane and Richard. After the wedding breakfast, the newlyweds left for a honeymoon trip. They planned to spend the night at Darcy House in London, then go to the Fitzwilliam’s summer house in Brighton for a month.

Elizabeth and Darcy planned to spend time with the Bennets at Longbourn using the guest room that Colonel Fitzwilliam had occupied. The colonel’s batman had switched the locks back to the original early in the morning but left the bolts on the doors in place.

“Mary, would you like to come to stay with us permanently? We have plenty of room at Pemberley and think you will like it there.” Elizabeth watched as hope lit Mary’s face.

“I’d like that! Do you think Papa will let me visit again? Mama might not let me go.” Mary looked away. She knew her mother would try to keep her home and send Kitty in her place.

“Don’t worry. Darcy is speaking to Papa about it. We hope to keep you with us indefinitely. You’ll have access to masters and a great library. It will be fun. I’m looking forward to introducing you to our friends and neighbors.” Elizabeth spoke with fervor. She wanted her sister to live with them. Mary deserved a better life.

“I always knew Mama was silly and cruel. After Lydia died, the talk about our little sister’s immoral behavior changed from rumor to truth. Speculation about Kitty is rife among the neighborhood men. Mama refuses to believe any of the talk. Instead, Mama concentrated on the preparations for the wedding and chastising me.” Mary hung her head.

“Mary, I’m sorry to hear Mama is taking her troubles out on you. You’ll join us at Pemberley. You won’t be coming back. Bring everything you want to keep. We leave in a few days.” Elizabeth quipped. She smiled at Mary and gave the young lady a tiny push towards the stairs. Mary gave Lizzy a surprised glance before taking the hint and ascending the stairs.

Kira[1]: We will make sure she finds a good husband. There are plenty of dragons hoping their hosts will find a good woman to love. Derbyshire has several thousand such men living near Pemberley. We will stop in London for a few weeks to procure her a new wardrobe. Then we’ll take Kitty to the finishing school in Bath.

Elizabeth: Mary will like the new clothes and the kindness. I am afraid my goodness is not what it used to be. I really want to retaliate in some way for the treatment my mother has subjected us to over the years.

Kira: I begin to think my personality invades your own. Her punishment will reflect the pain her shortsighted, spiteful nature has caused. Don’t worry about her anymore. Zande[2]r will take care of the problem.

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[1] Kira known as: The white dragon who raised the first cities from the earth. The patron of architects, masons, sculptors, and engineers. The one who teaches sentients how to build walls, roads, aqueducts, or fortresses.

[2] Zander: The golden dragon who ignited the galaxy. The one who spun galaxies into spirals. The architect who provides the spark of life. The ruler of every world and creature he shapes, each one a jewel in his golden crown. The counterpart to Kira — she builds within worlds; he builds the worlds themselves.

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