Page 30 of Kismet

“Thank you, missus.” Going over to her, he took the bucket and the scrub brush she handed him and sat where she indicated. He reached into the water and started at his tasks. As jobs went, it was not too hard and sitting in the yard was nice. Soon enough the women started chatted again, ignoring, or seeming to forget his presence.

“Did you hear that Sally is no longer a maid at Derwent House?” the younger woman asked while she worked.

Not bothering to look up from her task, the other woman replied, “So she finally did leave that place? I do not care how much they pay, it is not worth the roaming hands of that son. Did she get a better position?”

“Yes, well, to hear the talk. Lord Matlock, from across the square, found out that Sally was in a tight spot and offered her a position as an upstairs maid.”

“Good for Sally. She's a hard worker.” The older of the two women nodded firmly, and Timmy noted that her smile radiated warmth and kindness.

“Apparently their footman Jones is engaged to the girl and when Lord Matlock found out how he worried for her, he made it so they could be in the same household. Lord Matlock is just like his cousin, Mr. Darcy. Neither of them will abide someone mistreating their servants.” Despite her work, the younger woman's face displayed a quiet pride, a reflection of her devotion to the family she served.

“Our Miss Catherine is right smart catching that gentleman. He is not like some of those other lords.”

“He is a good man, despite his title.”

“That he is.”

Timmy let their conversation slide over him, afraid to move too much or they might realize he was still there. He was relieved to hear that the people he had started to consider trusting were a good lot. You could tell a lot about a person by paying attention to their servants. Both ladies seemed happy and hard-working, but not in a resentful way. They also were kind women. Women he would not mind working alongside.

He kept to his task of scrubbing the potatoes with the brush, but soon enough, he was done and did not want to overstay his welcome. “I finished.” Picking up the bucket, he brought it over to the older of the two ladies for inspection.

Her head came up to look at him with a smile. “That was quick, and you were as quiet as a mouse sitting there working. I was likely to forget you were there. This is a good morning's work. You stay here a moment, and I will get you your reward.” She turned back into the house with the bucket and was gone for a few minutes.

Eventually she returned, but not with the scrape of stale bread he assumed he would receive. She held in her hands a paper-wrapped package and a warm pastry. He could see the steam rising off the top, twisting into the cool morning air. “That is too much. I only scrubbed some potatoes,” he stammered. Feeling flustered and overwhelmed, Timmy put his hands behind him, almost afraid to take the gifts. Because they were gifts to him—the likes of him never got good food fresh from the oven.

“The Darcys are good people, every one of them. They would never begrudge a hard worker a reward.” While the maid studied him, his stomach took the opportunity to growl loudly. “Tell you what, look at it as an incentive. On Tuesday we do the washing and I would be appreciative if I had some extra help. Maybe you will come back to help me if you know how good the cooks’ food is.”

Nodding eagerly, Timmy gave a little bow and said, “Thank you, missus!” before taking the offered package and pastry.

Once he felt far enough away, he ducked down an alley and looked over his earnings. Not wanting it to get cold, he devoured the pastry in quick order. He relished the delicate, fluffy texture of the treat, savoring the way it seemed to dissolve on his tongue, and reveled in the bursts of sweet berry preserve. There were other flavors besides the berry, but he could not place them. All he could say was that they were perfect, evoking memories of his childhood home and the loving presence of his mother, who would fill their house with the aroma of her baking. Slowly savoring his treat, he had to blink rapidly to fight the unwanted tears that threatened to fall.

Swallowing the last bite, he wiped the crumbs from his face and turned to the package. Inside he found what appeared to be two sausage rolls, a hunk of cheese, and a handful of cherries. He could eat for days. Clutching the package lovingly to his chest, he planned on how he could keep it safe. He would say this—for the Darcys, they may be wealthy toffs, but their people were generous. He would definitely be returning to help with the wash.

“Catherine, I know that Theodore’s mother invited you over for tea, but I would like to come along with you. I would like to remind Lady Matlock that there is solidarity with the Bennet sisters. Even when we marry and lose the Bennet name, we remain sisters.” As they looked through the morning's correspondence, Elizabeth's voice carried a mix of curiosity and trepidation from her spot next to Catherine.

As she placed the invitation on the table, Catherine couldn't shake the threatening feeling that emanated from its elegant wording and expensive paper. “It seems as if you are as wary of her as I am.” Elizabeth had offered to help her go through the invitations that had started coming when people found out that Catherine was courting the Earl of Matlock. They were discussing each one over tea. Trying to understand the nuances of acceptance and refusal seemed a daunting and perplexing endeavor. She could not attend every gathering that she was invited to. Their overlapping times prevented that, even if she kept the busiest of schedules, which Catherine refused to do. She needed time to herself, as well as her charity work and archery practice.

“Yes, well, William and I have both been concerned about how controlling she has been of Theodore’s social schedule. I would hate to fall back into bad habits, but I cannot like that woman.” Elizabeth stirred her tea with agitation.

“I do not think that this is a case where presumed pride and disdain is actually shyness and anxiety. Coming to understand William deeper left you with an amazing love and now the most darling little son.” Catherine’s grim smile was directed at Elizabeth when she added, “Though I am uncertain of the potential outcome of my attempts to be friendly with Lady Matlock. The only possibility that comes to mind is heart palpitations.”

“Yes, well, I am coming with you,” Elizabeth responded, putting down her cup of tea and embracing her younger sister. Giving her a last little squeeze, she asked, “Now would you rather go to the musical evening held by the Kensington family, or the intellectual dinner held by Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose?”

“Mrs. Darcy, I had not expected you when I invited your sister, Miss Catherine. I may not have enough biscuits.” Handing a cup of tea to the woman who had come into her home uninvited, Lady Matlock kept only the thinnest veneer of civility. Mrs. Darcy's unexpected arrival was just another example of how the Bennet chits never conformed to societal expectations. Lady Matlock had hoped to use the tea to intimidate the girl her imbecilic son had fallen for.

Mrs. Darcy took the provided teacup with a brilliant smile, somehow unintimidated by the cold welcome. “Oh, I am not one to overindulge in biscuits. I am sure you will be fine. After all, you have so many years acting as hostess. I am sure you know that the first rule is to always be prepared for unexpected visitors.”

How dare that country upstart from nowhere refuse to back down? Refusing to relinquish her authority, Lady Matlock redirected her attention to Miss Catherine. The girl's silent resilience was incredibly annoying. She was a naive young lady and Lady Matlock was certain her inexperience would make her susceptible to influence. Nothing else would do. “Miss Catherine, it is a pleasure to see you. You look rather well in that dress.”

“Thank you, Lady Matlock. It is a favorite of mine.” The girl's face lit up with a smile before taking a delicate sip of her tea.

“It really says something about your beauty that you can pull off a dress from an inferior modiste.” Lady Matlock watched as the barb took hold, eager to watch its effects. It was not an especially cruel shot, a glancing blow, so to say, but it would tell her more about the girl's mettle.

There was a subtle widening of Miss Catherine's eyes, followed by a smile that caught Lady Matlock off guard. “Oh, it is simply a matter of knowing what flatters me and not allowing myself to be exploited by a modiste who values her name and marked up fabric over genuine style.”

Lady Matlock fought the urge to gape like an idiot at Miss Catherine’s comment. It was only her years of experience in managing her position in London’s gossip mill that she could maintain her composure. How could a girl with practically no experience in the ton parry a barb with such skill? She had not yet decided on what to say next when Mrs. Darcy opened her mouth.

“Of all my sisters, Catherine has the best eye for color and form. She has helped us tremendously when choosing our wardrobes.” Elizabeth smiled at Lady Matlock from beside her sister on the settee. Taking a sip of the tea provided, she grinned before saying. “This tea blend is a simply splendid combination of flavors. I compliment you on finding it.”

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