A series of visiting vignettes
“I don’t want to go.” said Eliza Darcy, as her mother told her it was time to put on her cloak.
“It is part of our duty to visit our family, especially those who are older and lonely.”
“But Great Aunt Catherine’s house is so dull and she expects us to sit so quietly!”
“And Aunt de Bourgh does not play with us,” added young master Fitzwilliam. He was dutifully dressed but unhappy. The nursemaid finished with Eliza’s cloak.
Just then baby Anna started crying, Elizabeth picked her up to soothe her.
“Even Anna does not want to go,” said Eliza, “Why do we not visit Grandpapa and Grandmama instead? Grandpapa has the most beautiful picture books.”
“We are going to Rosings,” Elizabeth said, as she rocked Anna.
“Will Uncle Fitzwilliam be there?”
“Not this time,” said their mother, “Caroline- Aunt Fitzwilliam is indisposed.”
“Will she be well again soon?” said Eliza, with a voice of great concern.
“We hope that she will be,” said Elizabeth, “And I’m sure visiting their house in London will be even more enjoyable for you afterwards.”
“Can we visit them next year instead of Great Aunt Catherine?” asked Fitzwilliam.
“No,” said Elizabeth, “We always visit Aunt Catherine at Easter. We need to go to the carriage now.”
Eliza and Fitzwilliam begrudgingly made their way towards the door. Eliza tried one last time, “Why not Aunt and Uncle Bingley?”
“They will be at Pemberley this summer. It is only a fortnight, Eliza. You can endure a fortnight.”
When all three children fell asleep, halfway to Kent, Mr. Darcy turned to his wife, “We could have visited the Bingleys, if you had not persuaded me to reconcile with my aunt.”
Elizabeth glared at her husband, “It is part of our duty, that we are trying to impart to our children, to visit our relations, Mr. Darcy.”
“Could you not tell that I was speaking in jest?”
“Mr. Darcy, you ought to know that Lady Catherine is not to be trifled with!” Elizabeth said in almost a perfect imitation of her ladyship’s voice. It was a struggle not to wake the children with their muffled laughter.
———————–
Elinor and Edward waited until the carriage door was closed and they were halfway down the street before bursting into laughter.
“Every time!” Elinor finally said, gasping for breath, “he cried every time!”
Edward wiped tears from his eyes, “The moment she touched him!”
“And then he was perfectly calm for Fanny!” Elinor cried.
“Lucy was so angry,” Edward laughed.
“I should not laugh,” Elinor said, very seriously. She struggled to compose her face.
“No, no. Little Eddy did not mean to offend,” Edward said, stroking his son’s head affectionately. The four-month-old infant continued to sleep soundly. “I am sure it was only something Lucy was wearing that he did not like.”
“Your mother was quite besotted,” Elinor said seriously, “did you see that she gave me this?” She handed Edward several loose paper pound notes.
“This is nearly four hundred pounds!”
“I suppose we finally did something she approved.”
“Good God! I finally impressed my mother. Not that I was trying. You must not think I was trying to work my way into her good graces for profit!”
Elinor shook her head, “No, I would never suspect you of anything so repulsive as that! But quite by chance we finally found one thing we can all agree on: that our son is adorable.”
“I am certain by next year Robert will have a child and Edward will be once again supplanted.”
Elinor shrugged her shoulders, “In the meantime, we should be able to secure that pasturage for our cows. And I find myself less anxious about your mother’s next visit.”
“Who ever would have imagined?” said Edward as his son woke up. Elinor took him in her arms and kissed him softly.
——————
“Father, please,” said Anne, in a near whisper.
“Anne, I pride myself on being an impartial judge.”
Anne knew it was useless to protest. If duty had not brought her home once a year, she would have avoided her father and this ridiculous process. Yet there was, in the end, nothing to be done.
“Frederick,” Sir Walter called out. Anne’s eldest son came forward, while Mary glared daggers at Anne. Sir Walter handed him a small bundle of notes. Anne knew from experience that it was twenty pounds. “I am very proud of you,” Sir Walter said, patting his grandson on the head. Six-year-old Frederick smiled and sat back down.
“Anna,” he called next. Mary snorted. Little Anna was given her gift. “You will be breaking hearts soon,” said Sir Walter, despite Anna being only four.
“Walter Wentworth,” Sir Walter said, to distinguish the two grandchildren who bore his name. Anne brought forward her infant son, whom she had dutifully named in her father’s honour. She took his gift while Sir Walter smiled at the lovely child.
“Mary,” he said. Finally, a Musgrove was chosen, and Little Mary got up and accepted her present. Her mother finally smiled.
“Walter Musgrove.”
“Charles.”
The two Musgrove boys got up in turn and accepted their presents.
“And… Elizabeth,” said Sir Walter, with an emphasis on the “and” to signify this was the last child to be called. The least important. The child who had not been fortunate enough to inherit even a shadow her grandfather’s stunning good looks. Little Eliza was too young, at only three, to feel the affront to her dignity. Her mother, Mrs. Elizabeth Rushworth, however, felt the full force. She had disappointed her father when she accepted the proposals of only a squire. Elizabeth, thirty-three and becoming desperate, had managed to attract the young divorcee when he visited Bath soon after his legal proceedings had been completed.
Anne had never been considered a friend by her elder sister, but she watched Elizabeth’s hand anxiously rest on her swelling midsection with pity. Something must be done and her father would never change.
The children dutifully filed out of the room with their mothers to go back to the nursery. Anne formed a plan. Once they were out of her father’s hearing she said, “Sir Walter (he could not bear to be called “grandfather”, it sounded too old) loves all of his grandchildren so much that he calls you all one by one and by name. How very kind of him!”
Mary looked at Anne incredulously. Elizabeth pursed her lips, but then said, “Yes, Sir Walter loves you all so much he must see you one at a time.”
Mary still remained silent. Anne whispered to her, “We know; they do not have to know.”
Mary managed, “Yes, it was very kind.”
The children were soon playing happily together. Anne knew in her heart that her sisters would never have done the same for her, but it was not about her. It had never been about her; Anne was happiest when helping others.
————-
“Uncle James, Uncle Richard, Uncle William… Aunt Sarah…,” Kitty Tilney paused, “Um, Uncle George… Aunt Harriet.”
“Uncle James, Richard, William, Aunt Sarah, Uncle Edward, Uncle George, Aunt Harriet, Aunt Marianne, and Aunt Louisa,” said Harry Tilney with great confidence.
“Sorry,” said Catherine, keeping the two sweets in her hands, “That is not quite right.”
“My dear,” Henry said, with a smile.
“We are visiting next week. You can get it right,” said Catherine encouragingly to her two eldest children.
“Uncle James, Richard, William, Aunt Sarah, Uncle Edward, George, Aunt Marianne, Harriet, and Louisa?” Kitty tried.
“That is right,” said Catherine. She gave each child a sweet. “Now tomorrow we will try with their husbands and wives.”
Harry brightened, “Aunt Mary is first! She let me play on her piano last time.”
“And then Aunt Margaret!” Kitty cried.
“And…” Harry paused.
“Uncle William is not yet married. Aunt Sarah is married to…”
“Uncle William!” exclaimed Harry. “He is my favourite,” he said in a lower tone to his sister.
“Two Uncle Williams is confusing,” Kitty protested.
“Mamma’s brother is Mr. William Morland, and Aunt Sarah’s husband is Mr. William Price.”
“We are never going to learn!” Harry whined, “There are too many! Mamma has too many brothers and sisters.”
“We can end with an easy one then,” said their father, “Can you remember all of your father’s brothers and sisters?”
“Viscount and Lady Dalrymple, Uncle Frederick and Aunt Mary,” the children said together.
Kitty added, “But Aunt Mary has a brother Henry; she must get confused too.”
“Fortunately, family forgives us when we try our best,” said Henry Tilney.
“Are we going to have ten brothers and sisters too?” Harry asked, glancing over at his younger brother.
Catherine and Henry smiled at each other, “We shall see.”
(Aunt Mary Morland nee Bennet and Aunt Margaret Morland nee Dashwood, Viscount Dalrymple is an original character, related to the Dowager Viscountess in Persuasion. Mary Tilney nee Crawford)
——————
“I am going,” said Tom.
“I do not think it proper,” said Edmund.
“It has been five years, Edmund.”
“It could be a hundred, my answer would be the same.”
“Is forgiveness not a virtue?”
“There are some sins that cannot be forgiven.”
“She has suffered enough.”
Edmund sighed, “She has been living in relative comfort with our aunt.”
“Shut out from all society and company, that is hardly comfort. If she is to be accepted in her new community, the support of her family will help.”
“I am not going to our sister’s wedding.”
Tom shook his head, “I hoped for better from you. Why must our sister bear the full cost of their mutual folly?”
“I am a representative of the church.”
“And I represent this family.”
“Then go and represent the Bertrams, neither Fanny nor I want any part in this. And you know our father would not have allowed you to go, if he was still alive.”
Tom sighed and folded the envelope. It was no great match to be boasted of, Maria was only marrying Mr. Coxe, a country attorney in Surrey, but Tom was happy for her. He had been given a second chance; his sister deserved one too.
(From Emma, “William Coxe—Oh! no, I could not endure William Coxe—a pert young lawyer.”)
———————-
“Aunt Emma!” cried a chorus of little voices as she entered the room. “Uncle George!” was the next exclamation as her husband followed her.
“Did you bring us presents from Italy, Aunt Emma?” said Little Emma, called Emily, the boldest of their nieces and nephews.
“Of course, I have,” her aunt smiled. The children beamed, and hoped, and tried very hard to show that they were being very patient. Their aunt and uncle did not make them wait long, and soon the children were playing with their new toys or twirling around with new gowns.
“How are you, John?” said Mr. Knightley to his brother.
“Very good, how do you do?” said John Knightley.
A conversation followed, mainly concerning the affairs of Hartfield, Donwell, and Highbury, which had all been in John’s hands whilst George had been on the continent. Isabella soon was relating to a sympathetic Emma all of her concerns about her eight children. Three of them had been ill during their absence! But Mr. Perry had been so good as to come twice a day when little Philip had been sick with the measles.
Isabella noticed her daughter looking very intently at her aunt Emma, she took her aside, “It is not polite to stare, Emily.”
“Mamma,” said Emily, “Selina told me the other day that Aunt Emma is not a real woman. I was trying to see what is different.”
“Not a real woman? What nonsense is that! You must not listen to everything Miss Elton says.”
“She said that real women get married and have babies and if a woman with a ‘Mrs’ before their name does not have babies then she is not a real woman. Selina even said,” Emily lowered her voice and continued in a nearly frightened whisper, “that Aunt Emma is being punished for doing something bad.”
“No, that is not right. I do not know why some women are blessed with children and some are not, but I think,” Isabella paused for contemplation, “I think that we need all sorts of people in the world. And there are some women who never marry, like Miss Bates, but it does not mean that Miss Bates did anything wrong or is any different than myself. And is Miss Bates not always so very kind to you all?”
Emily nodded, “But she is a Miss. Selina said Missuses have children.”
Isabella tried again, “Not all married women (the missus means married) have children, Emily. I was so fortunate! And there are many women who marry but then do not have children- one never knows what will happen. We have been blessed, so very blessed, but it does not mean that your Aunt Emma did anything wrong.”
“But then why does she not have her own children?”
Isabella had never really contemplated this question before, and she was struggling to answer now. She did the most logical thing and redefined the question, “A proper lady,” she began, “is kind and generous towards the poor. She makes sure that guests in her home are comfortable and happy. She is dutiful to her family and loves her nieces and nephews. Aunt Emma took care of Grandpapa for such a long time, do you remember? She has always done exactly as a lady ought to do. So, she must be a real one.”
Emily nodded very seriously. She was now determined to bring her new definition of a woman back to Selena. She had a notion, though it was not very distinct, that while Mrs. Elton might have proved herself a real woman, she had somehow fallen short as a lady.
——————–
“Reginald,” said Lady de Courcy, her face a shade paler than the paper she was holding in her hand. They were sitting together at the breakfast table. “My mother has invited us to her wedding.”
“Oh. Oh!” said Sir Reginald de Courcy, “to whom?”
“To whom else?”
Reginald frowned, “To whom else indeed. Do you wish to attend Frederica, my dear?”
“I hardly… I do not know.”
Sir John, Lady Susan’s second husband, had died nearly a year prior after eating a large handful of strawberries, despite years of his physician recommending against them because of his strange reaction to their ingestion. Lady Susan had not played a hand in his demise, she had been visiting a “friend” when he ate the fatal fruit. Her son bore no resemblance to her late husband.
Mrs. Mainwaring had passed very recently from an acute fever. Her husband had not waited even three months before he proposed to his long-time paramour.
“She writes that she hopes both of us will attend… and she has given some instructions as to our manner of dress…” Lady de Courcy trailed off as she read further, colouring as she went.
“We are not required to attend, even if she is your mother,” Sir Reginald said firmly. They had been lucky not to see Lady Susan since Frederica’s aunt Catherine had liberated her niece from London. Lady Susan had not attended their wedding or even acknowledged that it happened. She still wrote to her daughter as only “Frederica”.
“My dear, why are you so pale?” asked Catherine Vernon, who was visiting her younger brother. She took her sister-in-law’s hand.
“My mother…” Frederica began, but then paused.
“Oh, you heard about the elopement?” Catherine said placidly.
“Elopement?” said Reginald and Frederica together.
“Yes, she eloped with Mr. Mainwaring last week.”
Frederica turned over the envelope, “This must have been mis-sent, it is dated seven days ago. This was all a cruel joke!”
“That is for the best,” said Reginald, “I hardly wanted to attend her wedding.”
Catherine only shook her head knowingly.
Frederica said softly, “We may need to visit her eventually, or at least extend an invitation here.”
Catherine put a hand on Frederica’s shoulder, “If there is anyone who deserves to be suspiciously ill if their mother wants to visit, it is you my dear.” Then taking Frederica’s hand she said, “Let me be both mother and sister to you.”
Some colour returned to Frederica’s cheeks as she gratefully embraced Catherine.
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My two published novels are here: Prideful & Persuaded and Unfairly Caught