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Lavinia has even less. Well,
never mind all that. How are things at Longbourn, my dear? How does your poor
mother do?”
    Although
somewhat overpowered by this welcoming onslaught, Mary was nonetheless pleased
to see Mrs. Brand, who was the closest thing to a friend she had at
Netherfield. “I am sorry to report that Mama has not taken the change in her
circumstances very well,” she answered. “I thank you, though, for asking after
her. Now, Mrs. Brand, I will go up to my bedchamber, if I may, before reporting
to the schoolroom.”
    “Of course, of
course,” said the housekeeper. “You must be tired after your ordeal. Clinton will take your cases up. Clinton!” she called out.
    “No, really,
Mrs. Brand,” Mary protested, “I am not the least bit tired, and I am quite
capable of managing by myself.”
    “Nonsense,
Miss. You are a gentleman’s daughter, and you shall receive your due in this
house as long as I have anything to say about it. Poor Mrs. Farnsworth, God
rest her soul, always made sure of that, and I carry on in her stead. Besides,
moving cases is a footman’s job. What else has he got to do, I should like to
know? Oh, there you are, Clinton. Do take Miss Bennet’s things up for her.”
    The footman
nodded his acknowledgement, and then allowed his hooded eyes to travel once
over the governess as he turned to collect her luggage.
    Mary followed
several steps behind as he surmounted the wide, curving staircase and started
down the dim corridor that accessed the family apartments. Her room was at the
far end, adjacent to and adjoining those of the Farnsworth children, the two
girls on one side and the young master on the other.
    Clinton opened the door and stepped back, giving Mary just enough leeway to pass by him and
into her bedchamber. With his gloved hand, he motioned for her to do so.
    Mary stopped
where she stood and regarded the footman critically. He was a well looking man
of somewhere above thirty years of age, no doubt chosen for his position
because of his superior height. Yet the elegant livery he wore could not
disguise his humble origins or unrefined manners. “You may leave my things and
go,” she said. “I will not detain you from your other duties any longer.”
    “’Tain’t no
trouble, Miss,” he said with a grin. “I’d be more’n happy to stay and help you
unpack your dainties.”
    “Mind your
place, man, and do as I say!”
    “O’right, I’m
goin’. Meant no offense, only that you can count on ol’ Clinton if you needs
anythin’ else toted, or shifted, and such like.”
    Mary watched
him go, then shut herself inside her room and looked about. It was just as she
had left it – a very pleasant apartment, perhaps not as finely furnished as
those belonging to the family, yet large and handsomely appointed nevertheless.
The closets were adequate, the bed itself more than comfortable, and the view
overlooked a green meadow where daffodils bloomed each spring. To either side
of the window, her own collection of books, which she had brought with her from
Longbourn, lined a low bank of shelves. Should these fail to satisfy her
appetite during her few free hours, she could hope to be granted special
permission to pick from the hundreds of volumes in the library downstairs, or
to play the fine piano-forte that resided in the music room next door to it.
    She could not
have wished for anything more perfect than to be allowed to cloister herself in
the welcoming seclusion of those two hallowed rooms, whiling away the hours unhurried
and unmolested by the demands of others. Living as she did, surrounded by these
intellectual delights, such imaginings did occasionally tempt her. It was pure
fancy, however, for only a daughter of the house could ever expect such
privileges.
    Mary had not
been given more than ten minutes to reacquaint herself with her surroundings
when she was reminded of her true situation. The door from the young master’s
room swung wide into hers, and a stout