“I don’t condone violence of any kind.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said. Then continued, “Can’t you at least give the slaves the option to leave if they don’t want to be there? Must they stay there if they are unhappy?”
“They wouldn’t be able to support themselves without us.”
His comment gave me pause, I must admit. I didn’t like his feeling that he owned people—I don’t care what color they are or how helpless he thinks they might be without him. I certainly hoped that he didn’t auction them and separate mother from child or husband from wife.
He sensed my hesitation and said, “You don’t have to answer me tonight. Think over what we have said.”
“I certainly shall,” I told him. “I ardently admire and love you. You have bewitched me body and soul,” I said, hoping that he hadn’t read those lines in Pride and Prejudice like I had.
In response, he reached over to kiss me. His lips were so soft, and I felt so warm and cozy in the shelter of his coach wrapped in a fur blanket, safe from the storm. Like a wanton woman, I volunteered my lips most readily. We did not kiss one time only. I would have willingly given him everything, if he had not stopped and said that as a gentleman, he must wait until our wedding night.
He reluctantly said goodbye in front of my aunt and uncle’s house and I blew him kisses as the coach pulled away. My aunt was waiting for me when I entered.
I chose not to tell her about his proposal just yet. It was going to be my little secret for a while. I didn’t want to hear anyone’s rebuttals and doubts. This was my moment, and no one was going to take it away from me.
When I awoke the next morning, I had made up my mind. I did not want to spend another night alone in my bed. I vowed to elope with him if need be.
15th of October 1819
He talked me out of eloping, the honorable gentleman that he is. He wants us to have a proper marriage with my family present.
When I told my mother, she was in raptures. She said that she will die happy now that all her surviving daughters are married. She loved the romance of my marrying an American and was quite flirtatious with my beau. It was very embarrassing to see her fawning over him, but he was most gracious about it and very patient with her. I was very proud of the way he conducted himself.
Two weeks later, my mother passed away in her sleep on the day I was to be married. It was almost in accordance with her declaration that she could die happily in her sleep now that her daughters were all married. The coincidence was very odd and not lost on any of my family who had overheard her saying it. My wedding had to be postponed until after the funeral.
We were able to get word to Lydia who was on the continent, where she and Wickham had been living a helter-skelter existence running from creditors who wanted Wickham to pay his many debts.
While waiting for Wickham and Lydia to come for the funeral, my beloved received an urgent request that he was needed back in Virginia because his brother had passed away. He left me in England to follow him later to America after my family’s business was finished. We will be wed in Virginia instead of England.
When Lydia finally arrived, I was quite shocked when I noticed how much weight she had lost since I had seen her last. She no longer had the bloom of youth and had to rely on rouge and wigs to look as she once did. Frankly, I thought she looked like a lady of the evening, but I was not about to say that to her.
1st of November 1819
The family is in turmoil once again. Wickham was arrested last night and put into the Marshalsea. Lydia is beside herself with worry and vows to live with him in debtor’s prison rather than be without him.
Darcy was able to pay Wickham’s most recent debts and secured his release from the Marshalsea but told him that it would be best if he and Lydia relocated to Australia. They could try their luck there before any more creditors came looking for him. Darcy stressed that this would be the last time he would pay for Wickham’s debts.
Lydia thought that going to Australia would be great fun and kissed us all goodbye after the funeral. I will probably never see her again and it makes me feel very sad. Meanwhile, I am anxiously awaiting word from my dearest in America.
In the meantime, we finally figured out why we had never received an answer from Jane Austen. Her sister, Cassandra, wrote us saying that Jane had passed away two years ago in Winchester. How disappointing. I had wanted to ask the authoress why she didn’t use her name when she wrote. Was it because she wanted her privacy? Was it because society does not embrace the idea of women writing books?
9th of November 1819
My days have been full of grey and melancholy. There is a horrible fog blanketing London from all the coal fires burning. It seems like something should be done so that we are not covered in dust whenever we go out. I wish there were other means to keep us warm and fuel our factories. The other night, I went to the opera with my aunt, and when I returned my white shawl was grey from the coal dust.
The Thames smells horrible from the raw sewage that’s dumped into it. There is an epidemic of cholera right now. I would leave London in a heartbeat and go to Pemberley, but I’m waiting to hear from my fiancé so that I can set sail for America once he was ready for me. It’s been one week, and I haven’t heard anything. It makes me ask myself, Was I dreaming? Did I imagine him? I must have. How could such a handsome and charming man be in love with a little church mouse like me?
I can’t wait to get out of London and see what his plantation in America looks like. How will I fit in? What will his family think of me? Maybe he’s having second thoughts about me because I questioned his ownership of slaves. Does he fear I’m an abolitionist who might bring down shame to his family because of my political views?
I was sitting in the morning room, trying to read the latest installment of Dicken’s new novel, when I caught sight of my sisters Jane and Elizabeth. I could hardly believe it. Was I losing my mind? Why were they here?
I was very glad indeed to see them and welcomed them with open arms when the butler announced their names. They both ran to me and each hugged me tightly with tears streaming down their eyes. I was shocked. Whatever was the matter with them?
Jane, my older sister, told me to sit down and asked the maid to bring us some glasses and brandy.
I could bear the suspense no longer and asked what in the world had happened.
Jane handed me a copy of the London Times and showed me an article that was circled. It was about a ship that went down at sea after it left Antwerp. What does it have to do with me? I wondered.
Then, I read further, and saw that it was the same ship on which my fiancé had departed in route to America. My eyes could no longer focus, and everything started spinning around.
When I roused from my faint, my sister Jane was holding my head on her lap, stroking my hair. “Could it be true? Did all the passengers die?” I asked my sisters. Elizabeth told me that Darcy had made inquiries to confirm what the paper was reporting and found out that there were indeed no survivors. All was lost to me.
29th of January 1820
I was relieved to go back to Pemberley after hearing the sad news. London only contained memories of my love and all our good times together. I have been wearing black and going for long walks when the weather permits it. I read in the paper that mad King George has finally died. The Prince Regent is now King George the IV. Time goes on, but I feel lost in the past.
15th of May 1832
My sister and Darcy are gone with their children on a brief holiday in Scotland, so I oversee running the house in their absence. My sister told me that the chimney sweeps would be coming this morning to clean the fourteen chimneys on the estate. I was told to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t run off with any of the family’s silver.
When I walked into the library, I witnessed a most upsetting sight. A teenage ragamuffin was holding lit straw up inside the chimney, from which emanated blood-curdling screams. I could only assume that the yells were from a
young climbing boy who was inside the chimney. I think it’s a travesty that there is no law to prevent four to five years olds from being told that they had to climb narrow slippery chimneys to clean the soot from coal fires. I had read that it was only the pressure of their elbows and knees that kept them up inside the chimney instead of slipping down to the bottom. The older boy with the lit piece of straw was telling the poor child, “Don’t you dare fall down. Keep cleaning or I’ll burn your feet again!”
I screamed when I saw the older boy doing this. I said, “Stop it! Right this minute!”
I could tell he was not expecting to see anyone, let alone a member of the family. He said, “Pardon me, Miss. I thought the family was gone, Miss.”
A young boy, who looked all of 4 of 5, lost his grip inside the chimney and slid down, landing ungraciously on his rear end, raising a dark cloud of soot. He pointed at the older boy and said to me, “He burnt my feet!”
I helped the poor child sit down and rang for the maid to bring some water so that we could create a poultice to sooth his burns.
“This is the most outrageous thing I’ve ever seen!!” I told the older boy.
“Please don’t tell anyone, miss; or I’ll lose me job,” he replied.
“Who told you to do that?” I questioned him.
“Me boss. It was all his idea. Not mine, Miss. I was only doing what was instructed!”
I told him to go and clean the rest of the chimneys by himself whilst I ministered to the boy.
After he’d left, I asked the poor child, “What’s your name?”
“My name is Tommy.”
“Where do you live?”
“On the street, Miss.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“The same. Am I in trouble?”
“No. Not at all. We are going to get you better and see if we can find a suitable home for you.”
“But Mr. McCawber will be angry at me, Miss.”
“You do not have to worry about him. You shall never see him again.”
“Really, ma’am?” he asked hopefully.
“Truly,” I told him. “Just relax. You are safe now.”
The maid came, and we applied a soothing poultice to his burnt feet. “What shall we do with this boy?” I asked her.
“He’s very dirty.”
“Yes. He is covered in soot. We should give him a bath. Why don’t you heat some water and bring up the hip bath?”
“Certainly, ma’am,” she said and left.
I told the little boy, “You just lie down on the settee and stay off your feet.”
The maid came back with a hip bath first, and then left to get some warm water. When she came back, she poured it into the hip bath; but it was only a quarter of the way full. The poor girl had to make three trips up and down the stairs to haul up all the pails of water.
Finally, we had enough water in the tub and took the clothes off the poor child. He slipped into the water, almost losing his balance because of his burnt feet. We cleaned the coal dust off him as best we could, and it made the water turn black very quickly. I told him to close his eyes and imagine he was far away. He acted like he’d never known such luxury.
I asked him, “Where are your parents?”
“I don’t have none, Miss,” he answered.
“No brothers or sisters?”
“None,” he replied forlornly.
“Do you get paid for climbing up the chimneys?”
“No, Miss. I just get food, ‘tis all.”
“Who gives you food?”
“Tis best not to say,” he replied.
I looked at the maid and we both shook our heads. I told her that we’d better get him some of my youngest nephew’s clean clothes.
When the maid came back with an assortment of clothes, we dressed him in a shirt and the smallest pair of my nephew’s pants she could find. We had to roll up the pant legs and the sleeves of his shirt. The maid and I couldn’t help but laugh as we saw how comical he looked in them.
“You are very thin. When was the last time you had anything to eat?” I asked him.
“Yesterday.”
“What did you have?”
“A bun and some gruel.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, Miss. Very hungry.”
I looked at the maid and told her, “Would you please go down and have Cook prepare a plate for him.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Whilst she was gone, I asked myself, What I am going to do with this child? I cannot just let him go back to his former life of living on the street. What would Mr. Darcy say if he came into the room right now?
As if reading my thoughts, the butler came into the library to protest. He told me, “I heard that you have taken some clothes. I hope you have not gotten it in your head to let this child stay at Pemberley.”
He has been especially churlish with me since the Darcy’s have been away. He has never approved of Mama and me moving into Pemberley and still holds it against me. Apparently, I am not grand enough to live here.
He continued, “You do not know what kind of upbringing the boy has had. What if his employer came here demanding his return? What if he steals something?”
I told him, “He is only a child—no older than four or five. He is innocent.”
The butler said, “M ’lord will not like this one bit.”
I told him, “I will tell Darcy. It is nobody’s fault but my own that I want to take care of the boy.”
The butler reprimanded me. “Look at the settee. It is covered in coal dust from his clothes. Someone is going to have to clean it.”
“I shall clean it myself,” I told him.
“What do you know about cleaning furniture?”
“Nothing. But I am willing to learn.”
He responded, “This is a very bad idea.”
Before he left, I told him, “Wait. I think you need to look for the older boy who was working with him. If anybody is going to steal from this house, it would be him.”
“I shall this instant,” he said and left.
The poor child had heard every word we spoke about him and told me, “I don’t want to make no fuss, Miss. Tis best I leave.”
“Do not be silly,” I told him. “With your feet so badly burned, I do not think you can even walk out of here if you wanted to.”
He attempted to stand but winced when he tried to put weight on his feet. Dejectedly, he said, “You’re right. I can’t walk.”
“You just relax and lie back down. I am sure you shall be better tomorrow. But, no walking for the rest of the day. That’s an order. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss,” he answered and lay his head back down on the settee. The maid came back with a plate of sliced ham and some potatoes, which he ravenously consumed. He was in heaven.
As he was eating, I told the maid that we had better get rid of the dirty water from the bath and try to clean the coal dust off the settee. I felt sorry for her since she had made so many trips up and down the stairs, so I told her that I would drain the water myself.
“Oh no, Miss. You mustn’t. It’s not your place,” she remonstrated.
“It is my place to be a compassionate human being and I can see that you are exhausted from going back and forth and need to rest.”
“It’s my job,” she told me.
“Not while I’m in charge,” I told her; then asked, “What shall I do with the dirty water in the bath?”
“Drain it by the bucket full and empty it downstairs out the servants’ entrance.”
It took me four trips to empty the dirty water from the hip bath. After my fourth trip, I found the maid brushing the coal dust off the settee while the boy lay on the floor in front of the fire, fast asleep.
After she finished cleaning the settee, we both sat down and watched him. I told her, “I have just realized something and am quite ashamed of myself.”
“Why are you ashamed?” she asked.
�
��I lived here all this time and have never asked you what your name is.”
“My name is Kathleen, Mum.”
“Hello, Kathleen,” I answered and told her, “I’ve never really stopped to think about what your typical day must be like working here.”
“There’s not much to tell,” she said.
“Tell me anyway. I am fascinated.”
She said, “What would you like to know?”
“What time do you wake up?”
“Five o’clock.”
“Then what do you do?”
“I make the fires and bring up clean water up to the family’s bedrooms, so they can wash themselves. Then I empty the chamber pots and wipe them out with vinegar. I clean the bedrooms while everyone is having breakfast. Most of my time is spent hauling water and coal for the fireplaces up and down the staircases all day and night.”
“It sounds like very hard work.”
“It is, but it’s not as bad as being a scullery maid. They have it the worst.”
“What do they do?”
“They clean pots and pans, scrub the kitchen floor on hands and knees, and are up to their elbows in soap and grease all day. Their hands are raw and red from the soda they use to clean the dishes. They can’t ever leave the bottom floor of the house and the only time they see your family is for morning prayers. Their world is like a dark dungeon from which they can never leave.”
“It sounds dreadful.”
“Tis. I count my blessing that I’m not a scullery maid.”
“So, in your opinion, which servant has the most exalted position?”
“Most definitely, the lady’s maid, Charlotte.”
“What does she do?”
“Her job is to dress and undress Mrs. Darcy and yourself, arrange your hair, and do your mending. She is allowed to keep the clothes that your sister doesn’t want anymore. She’s the only one who is close to the family. For the rest of us, we are told to divert our eyes when any of the family cross our paths.”
The Forgotten Sister Page 3