by Robin Helm
“Friends!” Mr. Bingley exclaimed, suddenly excited. “Bring them! It is our custom to dine in the family for birthdays, so the younger children can partake in the celebration, but, if this does not seem too tedious for you and your friends, I hope you will join us.”
“Birthdays, sir?”
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Bingley stated. “Ah, I see, Fanny did not mention it.” Mr. Bingley exhaled slowly, shrugging in the way of a man who is surrounded by females. “This particular birthday seems to be a struggle for her.”
“Today? Today is Miss Bingley’s birthday? But why should she avoid it so? She is still young,” He pronounced.
“Females are made to feel age differently than are males,” Mr. Bingley explained with hesitation, as though still sorting it all out. “I have noticed that we approach them differently, without intent, but our expectations are for females to mature and be married young and for males to ripen over time. Daughters practice managing a household, while sons go off to school to continue childhood pranks.”
“But she is content here,” Dunby said, as much a question as a statement.
“She is… competitive,” the father replied, smiling. “Now, I believe it is time to go down for tea. Will you join us?”
CHAPTER VI
Fanny stood just inside her room, surveying it carefully. Like a brave soldier, she marched boldly forward, ready to meet her fate.
Miss Bingley,” Becky said, standing back to admire her handiwork. “Please allow me to fetch a looking glass.”
“No, Becky,” Fanny insisted resolutely, “I am determined to float through the rest of this evening without care or consideration. Twenty is not so ancient.” Then, glancing down at her gown, she asked, “Are you sure my complexion can still support this color? I am well aware of the damage I did today.”
Becky seemed relieved to find her young mistress not so changed and carefree as she threatened to be. She nodded sagely.
“My poultice was just the thing for your blotched face. None would guess your appearance but three hours ago.”
“Thank you, Becky. You are a magician.”
Becky wiped a tear from her cheek. “You look so beautiful tonight, Miss Bingley. Go on, then. The family will be waiting.”
As was custom in the Bingley house, the birthday child descended the stairway last, while the rest of the family stood below waiting. The girls especially liked to be dressed in their finest, and Fanny embraced the tradition fully this night. The servants, most of whom had been part of the household for many years, were allowed to watch from the sidelines and were often treated with a special smile or acknowledgement. Becky stood, hands clasped to her bosom, at the top of the stairs, just behind the over easing, so she could see without being seen.
Fanny paused on the landing, reflecting on the many sweet memories and priceless moments her life had afforded her. This was her family, and her birthday was as special to them as it should be to her. Holding her head high, she began to descend. With a gloved hand resting on the railing, her steps were sure, and she gazed around the lower landing at her family and at the servants she could easily call friends. Her heart was full.
“Fanny, dear, you look… radiant!” Father complimented, squeezing her hand gently and leading her to her mother.
“You quite take my breath away,” Mother said, dabbing the corner of her eye with a handkerchief.
“Both Grecian and Victorian,” said Louisa, approving her sister’s blend of styles.
Fanny turned slowly in a circle while the onlookers clapped. She blushed, a shy smile playing across her lips, then her eyes locked onto a large glass that hung in a frame on the wall. Ignoring her own reflection, she spun expectantly, finding the source of red her vision had caught in the mirror. Tucked away inside the inglenook, a cavity under the stairs that held a fireplace and benches on either side, stood a small group of men, two of whom wore officer’s uniforms.
Mr. Dunby stood behind the men. He gaped at the young lady who was now approaching, frozen in the stance he had taken just before seeing her reflection in the glass as she descended the stairs.
“Mr. Dunby? Is that you?” Fanny asked, peering curiously through the men. They stepped aside to allow for proper introductions. Mr. Dunby snapped to attention.
“Beg your pardon,” he stuttered. Calming himself, he forced a smile. “Yes, your father did us the honor of inviting us to your birthday dinner.”
Fanny smiled sweetly at the group. “I am so glad he did.” She once more gazed expectantly at Mr. Dunby. “Are these your friends?”
“Yes! I was to meet them at the station in Birmingham. We are to continue on to the abbey in the morning.”
“A wedding in an abbey? That must be Coombe Abbey. How wonderful!” Fanny said, still awaiting an introduction.
“Lady Mary thinks so,” one of the gentlemen mumbled.
“I thought it was Lady Jane,” said another.
“Does it matter?” the first replied jokingly, “they are Grimstons, and their sister married a Craven,” he ended sarcastically.
Fanny studied the men, particularly focusing on Mr. Dunby.
“You do not know which sister you are to marry?” she asked, perplexed.
Mr. Dunby stared in dumb silence.
“Dunby? Marry a Grimston?” one of the men chortled. “And the hot place would freeze over. Ah, pardon me.”
Fanny blinked, waved her hands in a small gesture at her sides, and smiled.
“As you say. Well, I am Miss Bingley. Please hold nothing you see or hear tonight against us,” Fanny welcomed grandly, making eye contact with each of the four men.
“We were promised to be entertained,” the older of the men said, smiling at her in a fatherly way. He was one of the men who wore a uniform. “They call me Somerset. At your service,” he added with a slight bow. Fanny returned the smile, noting that the man’s right sleeve hung limp. Her expression turned to one of awe.
“Not… Lord Fitzroy Somerset, who fought the French under the Duke of Wellington.”
“A historian!” exclaimed the other man in uniform.
“I am not so old as to be historic,” Lord Somerset replied drolly.
“Colonel James Scarlett,” the other uniformed man said, introducing himself with a slight bow.
“Commanding Officer of the 5th Dragoons,” Lord Somerset added, having heard of the lady’s interest in military affairs, “and this young man is a Mr. Russell. I have not quite ascertained what he is doing here.”
“Dickens put me up to it,” Mr. Russell complained with an Irish lilt, “and Dunby thought my discomfiture should be amusing.”
“He is a decent chap,” the colonel assured Fanny as he clapped Russell on the back, “but we have encouraged him not to speak often, as his Irish manners tend to show.”
Mr. Russell, choosing not to be offended, chuckled. “Aye,” was all he said in response.
Behind Fanny, Wilson opened the door to admit more guests. She turned, wondering who else should be coming to dinner on the evening most close family members and friends avoided.
“Charles!” Fanny cried, walking quickly to the handsome young man and extending her hands. He took them in his own and gave them a squeeze.
“Fanny! You look divine! And, what is this?” he asked, eyes sparkling as he lifted a finger to her nose. “A flock of freckles!”
Fanny gasped, immediately covering her face and rushing to the mirror, but she stopped before reaching it and took a calming breath. Smiling graciously, she said, “What a pleasant surprise to have you home, brother.” A second guest appeared behind him. “June! Good heavens, why are you here?”
June smiled wryly, gently touching her swollen midsection.
“I am not so fat that I need miss such a momentous occasion,” she said. “But I must say that I disapprove of Wilson’s adding stairs to the entryway every time I stop by.”
The family laughed. June, the smallest of the sisters, had always been active and fit
, and she now chafed at the natural progression of childbearing. Harriett raced to June’s side and took her hand, leading her to the guests in the nook. Fanny was sure, based on June’s sigh, she had not been expecting guests to be in attendance. If she had, why would be home in confinement, because very pregnant women were “offensive to the eye.” After introductions had been made, Mrs. Bingley spoke quietly into Fanny’s ear.
“My dear, we are ready.” Then, to her guests, she warned, “Pray forgive our seemingly random seating arrangements. I assure you that it was thoughtfully done in regards to your protection. My hope is that none of our forebodings come to pass.”
“Is my uniform quite safe?” Somerset inquired quietly of Colonel Scarlett. They had worn the full dress at Dunby’s behest but now wondered if perhaps a gentleman’s civilian attire would not have served them better. Both were expected to be in full dress for the wedding, and they had not much time to do repairs if necessary.
Upon entering the dining room, Mrs. Bingley immediately noted that something was amiss.
“No, Thomas, you are not to sit near Lord Somerset,” she chided.
“But my name is on the place card,” he replied boldly, pointing at the card.
“Switch them back,” the long-suffering mother enunciated carefully.
Thomas wilted, his expression sullen, but he obeyed. Lord Somerset’s fine, red jacket was safe.
CHAPTER VII
Through the first course, the older family members took turns explaining the birthday dinner tradition further.
“It began innocently enough,” Mother said, “allowing the little ones to have their birthday meals at the big table. They were scrubbed and polished and dressed in their best for the benefit of visiting family and friends.”
“Then Charles decided that it would be an even better treat to sit at the head of the table for your birthday dinner, so the children arranged themselves around the table in birth order and rotated accordingly when birthdays were celebrated,” Father continued.
“War nearly broke out when Mother would discover another baby was on the way, and we would place wages on who would have to stay in their old seat upon the next celebration,” June chimed in.
“Of course, the boys eventually went to university, but they make us promise to leave their seats vacant, out of respect,” Fanny added.
“Not all of your children are here?” Lord Somerset inquired of Mrs. Bingley.
“No! And thank heavens, for our table would not have held us all, I am afraid. As you can see, we have broken with the seating tradition for this occasion.”
“I believe Miss Bingley said you were a family of eleven children?” Mr. Dunby said.
Mr. and Mrs. Bingley smiled at each from across the length of the table.
“Eleven, yes.”
During the remove, conversation was shared between neighbors, with a hearty laugh or two being heard thanks largely to the children’s antics. As the second course was served, Mr. Russell addressed the table.
“This young gentleman, Henry was it? Yes, Henry. Henry has mentioned something along the lines of birthday pranks?”
Henry’s eyes rounded, and he made a point of studying his soup carefully.
“Do not fret, boy. You are safe,” Mr. Russell whispered to his new little friend.
The table was quiet. Mother and Father grimaced at each other while the other Bingleys giggled into hands, spoons, and cloths.
“Come now!” Mr. Russell chided. “We were promised entertainment!”
“Very well,” Mrs. Bingley acceded. “Though I beg you will not judge us harshly as parents. I have no idea how it began,” she trailed off, glancing at her husband. He also shook his head.
“I am quite sure it was Charles,” June stated, shooting her brother a challenging look.
“Stuff and nonsense. All Bingley children are well aware of your pranking genius and inclinations,” he shot back.
“June was a good one for teaching pranks,” Thomas offered, grinning proudly at his eldest sister. “Tis a pity she was too fat this year for it,” he continued, obviously disappointed, “but nevertheless, she,” little Thomas was reminded to hold his tongue with a swift kick to the knee.
“These pranks,” began Mr. Dunby, turning to Fanny, “these are what you were avoiding all day?”
She grinned in response.
“I begin to think I have approached parenting all wrong,” Lord Somerset mumbled. “Yours was a happy family, full of pluck and affection. My two boys quarreled more often than not and preferred not to come home on holidays.”
“I assure you, we are a novelty,” Mrs. Bingley said gently to her neighbor. “All of our family and friends are sure to mark their calendars with our children’s birthdays, lest they should find themselves entangled in a celebration here.”
“Go ahead, Fanny. Prank and Tell Time,” Louisa demanded. This was perhaps the most sacred of the rituals, the grand culmination to the day’s work, during which time the birthday boy or girl was made to describe each prank that was done to them and then to try to guess who did it.
“She will never guess mine,” Helen said proudly.
“I can guess already,” Thomas said defiantly, “for you and Louisa always get into the wardrobes, so your hands will not get dirty.”
“If all of us made mud pies and caught toads for baths and water pitchers, we should not have a garden or a toad pond left,” Helen shot back.
“Helen!” cried Harriett, the youngest.
Curiously, no eyes bothered to look at the little girl but instead focused on Fanny.
“Toad bath,” she said, matter-of-factly, and with no change in her expression of ease and calm. Just another dinner conversation.
“Harriett!” Mother scolded.
“Well, the boys could not hide in Fanny’s room while she bathed,” the child mumbled to her soup.
“Besides,” said Fanny, “Henry’s job was already done by that time.” The sister studied her young brother. “I seem to recall that you and James made a fascinating discovery during holiday last summer. A certain yellow skunk cabbage,” she said solemnly. “Fortunately for me, I made a point to check all of my perfumes for tampering, and I wore gloves.”
“Oh, Henry,” Mother moaned.
Father chuckled. “Clever children.”
“Eliza is a bit taller and handier than Helen, so I would say it must have been Eliza who made off with every reflective surface in my room. Yes, laugh if you will, but I honestly have no idea how I look this evening. I relied solely on my excellent maid, Becky.”
Eliza pouted prettily, still pleased to at least provide an original prank.
“That leaves Helen and Louisa with… the wardrobe pranks,” Fanny said, grinning ruefully at Thomas who scoffed at the weak but typical show.
“Becky assured me that there were no matching gloves or stockings to be found in my drawers - I shall blame… Louisa, for she has borrowed my gloves tonight.”
Louisa smiled ruefully.
“That leaves Helen with the corset. Imagine my distress upon finding that I no longer fit into mine, especially considering that I had starved and exercised myself unto death all day.”
Laughter was heard about the room.
“Sadly, for you all, my poor brothers and sisters,” Fanny began, making a point to look each in the eye, “Becky was ready for whatever came our way. She had a bucket with a lid for the toads or frogs or snakes or whatever else you may have planted in my room. She had all of my clothes for tonight safely stored downstairs, and she had various other plans in place just in case you got really creative.”
Henry and Thomas glanced at each other with rounded eyes. The thought, “What would be really creative?” was written all over their faces.
“I am afraid I was not here for pranks, but I did bring you a gift,” Charles inserted, his expression kind and considerate. Fanny pursed her lips skeptically.
“I am sure you did. Let me guess - an old maid’s cap?�
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He burst out laughing.
“You never did!” exclaimed the colonel.
“By deuce, my sisters would have slain me in my sleep,” mumbled Mr. Dunby.
Charles reached into his jacket and removed a tiny box, such as a jeweler would use for a ring. Grinning broadly, he opened it, and a folded scrap of white cotton and lace fell into his waiting hand. He unfolded it and waived it about for the room to appreciate.
“A spinster’s cap,” he said with a chortle.
June and Louisa glanced at Fanny, most likely expecting her to be near to tears, but she was laughing with the rest. They caught each other’s eyes and shrugged.
“But wait,” said Mr. Russell, interrupting some time later during the fifth course, “we have not heard what little Thomas here has done.”
“Done?” was the generally repeated word around the table.
Mrs. Bingley looked at Fanny who shrugged.
“Everyone, put down your utensils, if you please,” she said stoically. There was silence but for the clanking of silver.
Mrs. Bingley motioned for a footman to approach, and she whispered some instructions. He hastened from the room.
“Surely not,” Mr. Bingley said, glaring at his youngest son. Thomas became as small as he possibly could, sitting in the dining chair.
After several minutes, the footman returned, giving his report quietly to Mrs. Bingley.
“The fortunate news is that you may all resume your meal. I apologize if it is no longer an ideal temperature,” she glared at Thomas. “You are by no means obligated to pursue it. Thomas, you may be excused to the kitchens. Cook has saved something for you. Say your farewells.”
“But, Mother!”
“Thomas.”
“Will I still get cake?”
“No, Thomas.”
Thomas slid from his chair as a footman pulled it back from the table, and he skulked to the door.
“Your farewells, Thomas,” Mrs. Bingley reminded him.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, sirs,” he said gallantly, chin quivering. “Happy birthday, Fanny.” He fled the room, followed quickly by a footman given the signal by Wilson.