The Ladies of Rosings Park – Chapter 7

Every Monday I will post another installment of my upcoming novel, The Ladies of Rosings Park, here at Austen Variations. The book (which will be out in mid-March) primarily tells Anne de Bourgh’s story, beginning with the period covered in Pride and Prejudice (the part I will be sharing here) and then carrying well beyond to her own happy ending. These early chapters, though, will read like P&P “missing scenes” – your favorite book from a different perspective.

The ladies who live in and around Rosings Park (Anne, Lady Catherine, Mrs. Jenkinson, and Charlotte) take turns telling the story. Last week in chapter 6, Anne described her first look at Elizabeth in action, effortlessly captivating Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam. But someone else was observing that scene too. Today, we hear from Mrs. Jenkinson. Have you ever wondered what her story is?

(To catch up first, see these previous posts: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six)

– 7 –

 Mrs. Jenkinson

 Making Keen Observations

Poor Miss de Bourgh. What agonies she suffered that night, and there was very little I could do to assist her, much as I had wished to. I could not even openly sympathize with her lot, for that was not my place. But I made (and would continue to make) every possible effort for her comfort, everything up to the point of siding with her against her mother. Not that Anne would ever ask it of me. She knew I could ill afford to lose my position, and Lady Catherine, not her daughter, paid my salary.

So we communicated in a circumspect mode, Anne and I. We chose our words judiciously. We commiserated without speaking plainly, each careful not to involve the other in a culpable disloyalty.

“You are tired,” I said to Anne as I escorted her upstairs that evening. With the visitors from the parsonage gone and the young men adjourned to the smoking room, Lady Catherine had dismissed us for the night as well.

“Yes,” Anne answered without elaboration.

“You are not strong, and having so many people about can be taxing. Do not you find it so?”

“It can be, especially when there is much excitement and noise. But Mama is very fond of company, and she is determined to provide some lively society for my cousins while they are at Rosings.”

“I daresay it is very good of her to do so. Do you think the gentlemen were well entertained tonight?”

“They seemed to be enjoying themselves, especially Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes, indeed. I think Miss Bennet knows how to be quite amusing. And although she does not play so very well, it is always pleasant to have music in the house.”

“Mrs. Jenkinson,” Anne said with concern, “I hope you do not mind too much that Mama invited Miss Bennet to practice on your pianoforte whenever she pleases. I am sorry she should have done so without asking you first.”

This was as close to an actual criticism of her mother that Anne ever made to me. “How could I mind?” I said, even though I had in fact felt a twinge of resentment at the time. I thought Anne perceptive to have noticed. “I am beholding to your mother for every good thing. Even my pianoforte is here only by her kindness. Besides, Miss Bennet does not seem disposed to make use of the offer. Perhaps we will not see so very much of her during her stay after all.”

That is what I hoped, for I believed it was not only Colonel Fitzwilliam whose interest had been stirred up by Miss Bennet. I worried for my young mistress – that perhaps her unofficial engagement to the handsome Mr. Darcy (of which Lady Catherine spoke so sanguinely) might be in considerable jeopardy.

Although the gentleman was kind to Anne, I certainly had not ever noticed in him any symptoms of peculiar regard for her, any indications of a progressing courtship between them. His countenance did not glow when looking at her. His eyes did not light up when she entered the room. No, I had begun to think that any such positive signs of love existed entirely in Lady Catherine’s mind.

It was only that night, in the presence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, that Mr. Darcy seemed roused from his indifference. There was nothing overt in his speech or actions, but I noticed he watched her very narrowly. And in the end, he could not allow his friend to monopolize the lady’s time. He must have his share, though he had seemed to resolutely resist until then. I put it down to some inner turmoil, perhaps the struggle between will and inclination, between head and heart. No doubt one told him he must marry his cousin while perhaps the other led him in another direction?

I could waste no sympathy on Mr. Darcy’s struggles, whatever they may have been; he had to look out for himself. My concern was only for Anne, that she not be passed over and left behind. I could not tell for certain if she was aware of the danger or not. In either case, I knew it was doubtful there would be anything I could do to save her. My ambiguous position in the household gave me little influence. Although I was set a step above a common servant, I could never be fully family either. My opinions carried no weight. My concerns were not considered. Indeed, it would be more accurate to say that my opinions and concerns were never heard. I had to keep them to myself. And yet I could not help feeling them. One does not live a long time within the bosom of a family without beginning to care what happens to them.

I had been with the de Bourghs for several years by then, ever since the governess left them. I was not employed to be a replacement for her, nor did any other title neatly define what I did. I was part paid companion, part teacher, part nurse, part waiting lady, and, I flattered myself, part friend to Anne de Bourgh. I saw to her food and encouraged her to eat more than the bird-like portions she would otherwise have taken. I administered whatever physic and health regiment the latest medical man prescribed to cure her longstanding illness. I accompanied her on every outing, making arrangements, taking charge of coats and parcels, protecting Miss de Bourgh from weather and every other danger.

My tasks did not seem odious, as one might expect they would to a lady of some refinement who had once been mistress of her own household. When my husband died and I was left with almost nothing, I considered myself fortunate indeed to find a respectable way of keeping body and soul together. Anne was a sweet girl and undemanding, and I was happy to be of service to her. Although it is an undeniable blow to one’s pride to lose one’s independence, to be required to always bow to the authority of another, this is a situation most women must come to accept in some form or another. The change for me was not very shocking. Before, I had a husband telling me what to do; now, I had Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Lady Catherine was not an especially cruel taskmaster, as husbands or employers go. In many ways, she was quite generous to me. She provided me an extremely comfortable apartment when I came, allowing me to bring many of my own things (including my beloved pianoforte), to make me feel at home. She was comparatively liberal with my compensation as well. With the preponderance of daily expenses eliminated by my residing at Rosings, I was able to save nearly all my pay for a rainy day… or for when I was no longer needed in my current position. If it meant that Anne had recovered her health and was happily disposed in marriage, I should be glad to find myself unemployed in the end.

I prayed for that day’s arrival. Until then, I intended to stand faithfully at my post, doing what I was called upon to do in service of my young mistress, and ready to go beyond my prescribed duties if and when an emergency arose.

(continue reading chapter 8)

Learn more about Shannon Winslow and her books at shannonwinslow.com