The Forgotten Sister

by Louise Hathaway

  “I had no idea you were told to divert your eyes from us. How ridiculous!”

  “It’s the same at any big house,” she said. “At the last house I worked, we were told that we needed to be invisible to the family and that if they happened to pass by us, we had to turn around and face the wall.”

  “How very peculiar,” I told her.

  “Tis just the way it is,” she said with resignation.

  “Not while I am in charge of this house.”

  “I wish you were in charge all the time.”

  “Isn’t my sister kind to you?”

  “She doesn’t realize I exist. There are so many servants here.”

  “I am going to have to speak to her about it.”

  “Please don’t get me in trouble. I need this job.”

  “I would not think of getting you in trouble. I shan’t mention your name to her.”

  “Thank you, Miss.”

  “How much time off work do you have?”

  “Only Sunday afternoons.”

  “That is all?”

  “That’s better than some get.”

  “You have given me a lot to think about.”

  “May I go, Miss? I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

  “Not eaten yet? Why did you not tell me? I am sorry to have detained you all this time.”

  “Thank you, Miss,” she curtsied and left the room.

  After Kathleen left, I resolved to ask my sister and Darcy if the maid could be promoted to the status of my own “lady’s maid.” It would lessen all the upstairs and downstairs trips that the poor girl had to make each day and make her life a little easier.

  16th of May 1832

  Our little street urchin slept most of the day yesterday. At night, I had one of the man servants carry him up to the bedrooms. The boy has been no trouble at all. His feet are so badly burned that it is going to be some time before he’ll be able to walk properly again. I’m hoping that Darcy will agree to let him stay permanently. We could use another hand to help with all the work that it takes to keep this large estate running.

  Meanwhile, I had some thoughts about giving our poor servants some time off while the Darcy’s were gone, so I asked the housekeeper and butler to come to the morning room to speak with me.

  When they came and sat down across from me, I asked, “Would it be feasible if I gave half the staff the day off tomorrow; then the rest of the staff the next day off?”

  They looked at each other incredulously. Neither of them wanted to answer.

  I was surprised at how reluctant they were to speak. I asked the butler, “What do you think? The family is away, so there are fewer people in the house to care and cook for. It seems to me that it would be a good idea.”

  The butler said, “It has never been done before.”

  I answered, “Well, there is always a first time, is there not?”

  He looked at the housekeeper for reinforcement.

  I asked her, “Well, what do you think? Could the house run with half the staff off tomorrow?”

  “I think it could.”

  I was relieved that finally one of them was comfortable enough to answer me.

  “Well, then. Let us put my plan into place, shall we?”

  I said to the housekeeper, “I need you to come up with a list of who can be spared each day. I think that you would be the one who has the best idea how to split the workers in the two-day period.”

  “Yes. I could do that,” she answered looking at the butler with a raised eyebrow.

  “Shouldn’t this be decided by M’ Lord?” he reluctantly inquired.

  “Well, I am a Darcy by marriage,” I said, feeling a bit like I had overstated my position in the house.

  “As you wish,” he finally acquiesced.

  Meanwhile, I asked him if he knew of a position that the poor boy could be offered. I suggested, “Perhaps the scullery maid could use some help?”

  “Yes. She could definitely use some help; but, of course this must be decided by M’ Lord,” he emphasized.

  “Of course. I will suggest it to him myself.”

  “Very well, Miss.”

  He walked away somewhat puzzled. He probably thinks I am deliberately trying to turn his whole world upside down.

  15th of June 1832

  By the time that the Darcy’s returned, our little street urchin’s feet had healed to the degree that he could walk again. We put him to work in the kitchen where he seemed perfectly content to be on his hands and knees cleaning floors. He says that he is happy to be gainfully employed and have a roof over his head.

  Elizabeth and Darcy would have never known he existed and was a member of the staff if I had chosen to keep silent, but I felt it was the proper thing to tell them. When I told Lizzie about how the poor child’s feet were burned whilst he was up inside the chimney, she was appalled and demanded to meet him instantly. She has a very kind heart and wanted to personally apologize for the injury the poor child had suffered in her home.

  I told her that I had also taken it upon myself to give the staff alternating days off while she and Darcy were in Scotland. She thought it was a good idea, but felt that next time, Darcy should be the one making those kinds of decisions.

  After I had failed on that front, with misgivings I broached the topic of promoting Kathleen to the position of my personal lady’s maid. Lizzie was a bit confused about why I wanted this done. I told her that I was thinking of writing a novel and needed a secretary to help me with it. She seemed to accept the change but wanted to make sure that Darcy would approve.

  Darcy’s biggest objection was that he wondered who would perform Kathleen’s chores if she were no longer a maid. When Lizzie told him that there was a new scullery maid’s assistant hired when they were in Scotland, he demanded to know who had hired the worker.

  With much trepidation, I walked into the library to face Darcy and explain what I had done in his absence. He scolded me, just as the butler had, about hiring someone who had most likely been working among thieves. He wanted the housekeeper to make a thorough inventory of the silver to make sure none had disappeared.

  I explained that the poor child was only four years old and was living on the streets before we took him in. Despite what I said, Darcy still didn’t like the idea of having the child living there. When I related the sad story of the older sweep holding a lit straw up the chimney to make sure the poor child kept his leverage inside the chimney to clean it and didn’t slip down, Darcy started to show some compassion. He consented to let the child remain; but cautioned me to consult him the next time I had decided to make additions to the staff.

  With that out of the way, I had the freedom to start thinking about the novel I wanted to write. Since I had spoken with Kathleen about what her typical day as a maid in a large house was like, I had made the decision that I wanted to make her the protagonist in my tale. She and I spent many hours talking about the way the story would unfold. If our story were ever completed, I vowed to give her equal credit. I had heard that women besides Jane Austen were writing novels these days but were disguising their sex by using a male name. Kathleen and I spent many happy hours trying to come up with a name for ourselves. We decided to publish using the pen name Ashley Parker. “Ashley” stood for my fiancé and “Parker” was the last name of the butler. We giggled like a couple of teenagers when we thought about how upset Parker would be if he knew we were using his name.

  In our story, a maid falls in love with the master of the house. This would be easy to write about since both of us are a bit infatuated with Mr. Darcy. The name of our book is M’Lady’s Boudoir.

  I told Lizzie that Kathleen and I were writing a book together, using the name Ashley Parker and she was very excited for us. Now, all we had to do was figure out how to get it published.

  1st of January 1833

  When I first told Darcy about my publishing aspirations, he told me that a well-bred woman did not seek employment. It just was not done. If I
attempted to do so, I would face public criticism for trying to pursue a career and fame. He glowered at me with his dark brooding eyes. He can be so intimidating and old-fashioned.

  Elizabeth is entirely on my side of the argument and assures me that she will talk to her husband in private and convince him to help me. I must admit; she does have a way of twisting him around her little finger which is quite amusing to witness.

  After several days, she came into my bedroom and told me that she had at last convinced Darcy to help me publish my book. I was very surprised because I thought the most I could procure out of Darcy was his permission; I never imagined that he might help me get it published!

  Darcy knew a man at his club who was a book publisher and asked him to come to Pemberley and advise me, confidentially, of my publishing options.

  It was with much trepidation that I greeted the publisher at last. He, Darcy, Elizabeth, and I all sat in the morning room and listened to what the man had to say.

  He cleared his throat and began. “There are four options. The first is that Miss Bennet could publish by subscription. This involves finding enough people to sign up to purchase the novel. If and when enough subscribers were guaranteed, the publishers will then release the book.”

  I said, “I’m not sure I know enough people who would be willing to subscribe.”

  He replied, “In that case, you could publish by profit sharing.”

  “What does that entail?” Darcy inquired.

  “The publisher would release Miss Bennet’s book at his own expense.”

  “Why would a publisher be willing to do that?” Darcy asked.

  “So he could make a profit. Once he had, then he would share royalties with her.”

  “What if my book didn’t earn a profit?” I asked.

  “Then, you would at least have the satisfaction of telling your friends that you have a book in print.”

  “I was hoping to earn a proper living by it,” I told him.

  “In my experience, the likelihood of that happening is small. If you are lucky, the most you can hope for is that a publisher would agree to distribute your book. You would have to pay all the publishing expenses and the publisher would earn a 10% fee from the profits.”

  “That sounds fair,” I said.

  Darcy interrupted and said, “I heard that you could sell the copyright of the book. What about that?”

  The publisher answered, “Miss Bennet would be given a fee for the sale, but she would not be able to earn any of the profits. If her book became popular, the publisher would be the one who made all the money.”

  After much discussion, we finally agreed that the best course would be to publish on commission: we would pay the publishing expenses and he, as the publisher, would distribute it, keeping a 10% profit from the sale of each book. We gave him our novel and he said he would go back to London and begin the process.

  13th of October 1837

  Kathleen and I have been on pins and needles waiting and watching for our royalties to come in. The way we react whenever we make even the smallest of profits is akin to finding out that one had inherited a fortune from one’s maiden aunt. After two months, we made enough money to treat ourselves to a trip to London.

  We were very eager to see how our book looked in the bookseller’s windows.

  My dear aunt and uncle had passed away from consumption, so we couldn’t stay at their house in London as I had done before. Darcy kindly arranged lodgings for us in a very dear hotel.

  The first time Kathleen and I saw M’Lady’s Boudoir in the window of a bookseller on Charing Cross Road, we squealed with delight and hugged each other. We purchased a copy of our precious book, even though we each already had one. We wanted to keep this special edition for sentimental reasons.

  We went to see an Exhibit at the Royal Academy. We debated over which landscape painter we liked best: Constable or Turner? We also went to see a production of Sheridan’s “School for Scandal” since I had enjoyed his other comedy, “The Rivals” so much when I was in London with my dear Ashley. Speaking of gentlemen—I am in love again!

  I must admit that I never thought I would fall in love after losing Ashley.

  It all started when Kathleen and I were standing on a street corner in London, deciding what we wanted to do next, when a street urchin came up to us and handed us a flyer. It advertised a lecture that was being given about the conditions in the workhouses. Kathleen and I agreed that it might give us some material for our next book.

  The man with whom I fell in love was the fiery keynote speaker. His name was David Lawrence. From the moment I first heard him speak, he had bewitched me body and soul. He described the appalling conditions of the poor people who lived and worked in factories. He said that the food was so insubstantial that, by comparison, prisoners were given more sustenance. He told the audience that we may think it is merely fiction when Dickens writes about poor Oliver Twist saying, “Please, sir. I want some more”, but it was closer to the truth than we could possibly imagine. Mr. Lawrence told us that once a person enters the workhouse, they had to abandon all their possessions and were given a uniform. Children were separated from parents and husbands from their wives. To me, it sounded like the conditions of the slaves on the plantations in the American South. They cannot even go to church and have a respite from the workhouse: a chaplain came to the workhouse instead. Some of the work they had to do was breaking stones. They could have no alcohol, no tobacco, and no razors. “Indeed, prisoners had a better life than these poor souls,” Mr. Lawrence told us.

  By the time the lecture was over, I was so inspired that I went up to the speaker and introduced myself. I congratulated him and said how much I enjoyed his lecture. He thanked me and asked if I had dined yet. I had already eaten, but said I had not. Shame on me. I just wanted to be with him. I had completely forgotten Kathleen, who stayed behind in the audience while I went up to meet the speaker. Before I left for dinner with Mr. Lawrence, I finally remembered her and asked her to join us. She could tell right away that I fancied him; so, she wanted to give us some privacy. She said she was tired and wanted to go back to our lodgings. Lawrence hired a coach and we saw Kathleen to the inn before he and I went to dinner.

  While dining with this fascinating man, I could not help but think how odd it was that I felt this way after all these years. When I found out that dear Ashley vanished in the sea, I thought I would never love again. I had never been like my younger sisters Kitty and Lydia who were constantly chasing officers and thinking themselves in love. Love had come to me; I did not pursue it.

  When I returned to our inn, I was in a daze. I stayed up all night imagining what kind of life I could have with him. The next morning, I was surprised to see my sister Elizabeth walking down the street. What was she doing here? Darcy was with her, too. What on earth was going on?

  They entered our hotel and told me that I must brace myself because they had some very bad news. Elizabeth was unable to speak; she was weeping so much. Darcy finally found the words to convey what had happened. There had been an epidemic of smallpox in the towns around Netherfield and both Jane and Bingley had succumbed.

  I was speechless upon hearing the news. I could not believe that my dear Jane was gone. She was the most beautiful out of all five of us sisters—beautiful both inside and out. She had the gentlest heart. Her mind thought “kindly towards everyone and was scarcely clouded” as Jane Austen describes her in Pride and Prejudice. Lizzie and I were totally at sea. Darcy said that it was a good thing that Jane and Bingley were childless, or this might have been even more difficult to bear.

  That night, Kathleen and I returned to Pemberley. I didn’t have time to say goodbye to my new friend. Hopefully he would understand, and I would see him again someday.

  10th of November 1837

  My days have been very dark indeed. I can barely let Elizabeth out of my sight; I am so fearful of losing her. It is a horrible feeling to know that most of my family is now gone from
this earth. The fact that Elizabeth is older than I am scares me. I guard her health as if I am her personal physician. I spend every day crying, missing Jane so much. I know it is especially difficult for Elizabeth, since she and Jane were always so close. I have received letters and kind wishes from acquaintances, but I don’t feel like leaving the house. I feel a heavy cloud of melancholia hanging down over me. My sleep has suffered as a result. The family physician had to give me a sleeping draught. The weather has been gloomy here at Pemberley. Rain, rain, and rain. Mr. Lawrence has written several times, but I have not the motivation to answer him.

  Meanwhile, Kathleen has been exceedingly busy writing a new story. It is about a girl who lives in a workhouse and is defiled by one of the overseers. When she is not helping me dress or doing my hair, she’s busy creating another story. She tries to get me interested in writing with her, but it all seems too silly to me now. Who did I think I was? I ask myself. I am certainly no Jane Austen.

  10th December 1837

  I received some very surprising news from Kathleen today. I was in shock when she told me. She knocked on the door of my bedroom this morning and came inside holding a letter. She looked very worried and I was afraid that there had been a death in her family.

  She prefaced what she had to say by starting with, “Would you like me to bring you a cup of tea or a glass of sherry?”

  I told her that would be unnecessary, and I begged her to tell me what the letter said that was obviously troubling her so.

  She told me that she and David Lawrence had become regular correspondents since I was no longer answering his letters and she had been answering him in my place.

  In the course of their letter-writing they had grown very fond of each other. The letter Kathleen was holding was from him—and it was a proposal of marriage!!