Section I, Next Section
Posted on Tuesday, 15-Sep-98
I've got Leah and Rachel to thank for (inadvertently) giving me the idea for this story. I love how they've intertwined P&P with Bachelor Mother and Monty Python so much that I've decided to give my favorite all-time movie (ahem, after P&P, of course) a similar treatment. As some of you probably know, it's The Shop Around the Corner. Before I begin the story, I want to thank Ernst Lubitsch, the producer and director of the film, along with Samson Raphaelson, who wrote the screenplay, and Nikolaus Laszlo, who wrote the original play. And of course, thanks to Jane Austen, who has made all these wonderful tales we write possible. And so here begins "The Corner Shop," and I hope none of these people strikes me dead from their perches in heaven for meddling so in their tales.
The History of De Bourgh's.
From the time of her earliest childhood, Anne de Bourgh had been trained to be the obedient wife to her cousin. She had been taught (when her health permitted) everything which should have brought ease and comfort to him. Her reward for all this was to have her hopes cruelly dashed by his marriage to another woman. Miss Anne felt herself to be treated abominably, and there were many who agreed with her. As time passed, however, she wondered if maybe she herself hadn't been the problem. Surely Darcy wouldn't have rejected her if something hadn't been wrong with her.
Over her mother's insistence that no one could compare to her, she began to compare herself to the new Mrs. Darcy and quickly realized how poorly she compared. Armed with such a poor opinion of herself, Miss Anne was destined for disappointment. Two years after the marriage of her cousin, she too married--to a man her mother approved of, but who turned out to be much of a wastrel. The marriage produced one son and a great number of debts. The birth of the child proved deadly to his mother, who passed away of childbed fever two weeks later.
In spite of such a terrible beginning, the child, named Marcus Atwater, grew to be a great man. His grandmother took over his upbringing when, at eleven months, she grew tired of dispatching the father's debts and gave him a lump sum in exchange for the boy. Although Lady Catherine had increased in years, her spirit remained the same. Marcus willingly took her name, and although the de Bourgh fortune had seen better times, there remained enough for the family to live respectably.
Then once again, fate played a cruel trick on Lady Catherine. Marcus fell in love with a common, ordinary girl named Clarissa Warwick. Not even the threat of disinheritance could prevent him from marrying the beautiful shopkeeper's daughter. Lady Catherine carried out her threat and disinherited the young man.
The couple struggled for several years, but Marcus was determined to prove himself to the world. He worked hard to make Clarissa's father's business a success. To his grandmother's horror, he did. And when old Mr. Warwick died, Marcus renamed the business and relocated it to London. The name his chose was the final stake in Lady Catherine's heart: De Bourghs'. She died four months after the news reached her.
Upon her death, Mr. and Mrs. de Bourgh were informed that although the lady left most of her fortune to her late husband's family, she left small annuities to her great-grandchildren, and of course, Marcus inherited Rosings as he was Lady Catherine's blood relation. Marcus used the money to make De Bourghs' a grander place It became the most popular place for the wealthy to shop. It catered to several members of the royal family--or so it was said.
In the early 1880's, the family branched into America. Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Chicago all became homes to De Bourghs' stores, and all of them did quite well. Indeed, the New York store soon surpassed the London store as bringing in the most business in the early 1900's. For many years, things were grand.
The Great Depression ruined most of the family. Many members of the family suddenly found themselves as miserably poor as the people they once employed. And although it pained them to do it, all of the stores were forced to close down.
All except one. The one in New York had managed to survive, for it had been given to Marcus' youngest grandson, named Alfred de Bourgh. Not that Alfred had much to do with the store--he left that to the direction of his wife, a handsome, feisty woman in her late forties named (ironically enough) Catherine.
As the Depression worsened, Catherine worked harder to keep it going. Everyone else had abandoned De Bourghs', including her husband, but to her, the once popular store was a baby in grave danger. One she could save, and would, no matter how hard she herself had to work. Someday, she vowed, it would be left to her daughter, Hannah. Her hours grew longer.
Slowly--very slowly--De Bourghs' pulled out of danger. It was still precarious, and one did not know how things would be come the new year, but if Catherine had her way, it would survive. A good deal of credit, she knew, belonged to her best sales girl, Elizabeth Bennet (no relation). And someday, Catherine promised her, she would show Miss Bennet her appreciation for all her hard work.
Miss Bennet, however, considered having her job all the appreciation she needed. After all, it was a dreadful time to be out of work. She'd heard a rumor--although Mrs. de Bourgh would not confirm it--that even members of the great Darcy family were being forced to find work.
Imagine! The Darcys having to work? She couldn't even fathom it. If they were as bad as Caroline Wickham was forever telling her they were, she wasn't sure she wanted to.
Dear Friend
Intelligent, sensible young man seeks young lady of similar mind for anonymous correspondence. Please address letter "Dear Friend," Post Office 19, Box 263.
Elizabeth Bennet stood in the warm May sunshine outside of De Bourghs', waiting for the proprietor herself to arrive. She reread the ad, thinking.
She'd been hunting through the paper that morning for a job for her flighty sister Lydia. You'd think with a Depression going on the foolish girl would be grateful for any job, but she supposed that Lydia would never act like anyone else if she could help it.
Elizabeth had accidentally flipped a page too far back and had come to the personal ads, and thus to this one in particular. The ad intrigued her so much that she was able to block out all the sounds around her: her mother's shrill voice raining complaints about Mr. Bennet, a retired mill worker, when she wasn't screaming at Mary for taking a job in a library which paid less than the factory job she'd been working at for two years; Kitty's coughing from not having fully recovered from a nasty bout with influenza over the winter; Lydia's incessant chatter about her latest boyfriend. When Mrs. Bennet finished with her husband and middle daughter, she started in on Elizabeth, and how scandalous it was that she'd moved out on her own without being married and with no plans to get that way.
It almost made Elizabeth wonder why she continued the tradition of going home for breakfast every morning and supper every evening. But even as she questioned it, she knew why. Her father had made her promise she would come, every day, if for no other reason than he would go mad without at least one voice of sense in his house.
She looked at it again.
Intelligent, sensible young man.
Lord knew, there weren't all that many of them in her neighborhood. And He also knew that she was an intelligent, sensible young lady.
But to answer an ad in the newspaper? Her mother would have another one of her spells of nerves if she ever found out. Mrs. Bennet was fond of saying that any young woman who answered such an ad was cheapening herself, and heaven help them if the neighbors found out.
Elizabeth herself had always felt that people who placed those ads were extremely desperate, and the people who answered them even more so.
Still...
There was no physical description at all. Most of the ads were for men looking for a good time. And the whole thing was anonymous.
She was beginning to think there was nothing to lose.
Dear Friend,To begin with, I'm not normally the type of girl who answers these ads. I consider myself a level-headed young woman, and although perhaps not the most beautiful girl in any room, pretty enough to get noticed. However, your ad fascinated me, so here I am, writing to you. If you would be interested in corresponding with me, please write me at Post Office 25, Box 134.
Sincerely, A Friend.
To begin with, you must know that I'm not the type who should need an ad. There are plenty of young women of my acquaintance who I should have an interest in, but I find them to be somewhat lacking. Perhaps it's just me, but I have always hoped to find a woman I could talk to. I cannot talk to any of them.
Although I have not seen your face and I don't know your name, I sensed even as I opened your letter that you were what I was looking for. It's odd, isn't it, that two sensible people such as ourselves should be doing this? And that our feelings should be so similar?
Your Friend. Dear Friend,
Dear Friend,I take your letter to mean that you don't believe in fate. I don't either. I feel there is no fate but that which we make for ourselves.
I find myself extremely curious about you. I thought answering an anonymous ad would lessen the tension in the beginning of friendships, yet I realize that it may create more than its fair share. We know nothing about each other, and as we continue to write I find more and more that I want to know everything about you. What do you? Where do you live? What are your thoughts on the world in which we live and how we can change things?
Where would you like to begin?
Your Friend
Your last question opens a great number of doors, and as I thought about it, I realized that I made the right choice in placing that ad. There were times before you answered when I thought it as foolish and desperate as you undoubtedly did. If our correspondence is as successful as I think it will be, it'll certainly be worth some small embarrassment at the beginning.
You ask what I do. Recently, I took a job as a clerk in a nice department store. Although it pays little now, it is dependable work. I have thought of applying at another place where I have a connection, but I decided against it. My family has not exactly had a compatible relationship with this person's family. I would give you the particulars but I fear boring you.
Your Friend. Dear Friend,
Dear Friend,Please let me assure you that you could not bore me. My daily life does that so much, that anything would seem fascinating.
Wait. I just read that again, and I feel I just insulted you. Forgive me, I didn't mean to say that you were boring at all. But do you ever get the sense that everything you do in your life has no purpose? I certainly feel that way, especially today.
Lately, I've found myself wondering what you look like. Are your eyes blue or brown? Are you tall or short? Do you like to laugh? Do you enjoy books or do you prefer to see movies? I realize that there is a great deal to talk about, and my mind races from one topic to the next, and I can hardly wait for your next letter...
The Bennets at Home
Mrs. Francine Bennet often said that she didn't understand all the fuss about the Depression, because her family never did have any money and the worsened economy did nothing to change that. Of course, Mrs. Bennet wasn't the sort of woman to bother herself with anything that didn't take place outside of her Lower East Side neighborhood, much less national or world affairs, so naturally she wouldn't understand the problem. She was a woman of little understanding and less patience. The only downside to the Depression was that the number of men who had money--the pool she wanted her daughters in--had shrunk.
Twenty-five years earlier she had married Mr. James Monroe Bennet, known to everyone in the neighborhood as Monty. At the time, Mrs. Bennet thought that she was marrying a handsome man who would do anything for her. She'd made so many plans for what she'd do when they married that she never even bothered to think about how being married to her would change him. Although Monty Bennet had started out the most affectionate of husbands, enamored of his pretty wife and pleased as anything with his first two children, daughters named Jane and Elizabeth, the rosy glow of matrimony soon faded. Day after day, he listened to Francine's voice get a little more desperate as she realized that things weren't going to change much.
It infuriated her the way that Monty could be satisfied with their life in that neighborhood, which although not the squalor of some places, was not what she'd imagined when she married him. It wasn't enough for her, and it never would be. Nor would it be enough for her daughters. From the day of her last and favorite daughter's birth, Francine planned for more for them.
The Depression couldn't have hit at a worse time as far as her daughters were concerned. Worse than there not being many men she approved of for them to marry was the fact that they had to go out and get jobs, difficult enough for men and harder for women.
Jane, her eldest and certainly her most beautiful, had worked alongside her sister Elizabeth at De Bourghs' until she'd married one of their co-workers, an amiable, attractive young man named Charles Bingley. Charlie had insisted that Jane quit working. He felt certain they could make ends meet on his salary alone. They lived not three blocks from the Bennets in a nice, if plain, apartment. Although Mrs. Bennet was a bit furious at Jane marrying a clerk, she couldn't help but be won over by his manners and his insistence that Jane shouldn't have to work.
"If only I could find a man like that for my other daughters," she would say, "then things would be heavenly. Of course, there's little likelihood that Elizabeth will ever do anything like give up her job for her husband. I swear, that girl will be lucky if she ever catches a husband."
Elizabeth had always been independent, even from an early age. Her father had taught her to depend on herself ahead of anyone else, and she took his lesson well. The other lesson she took from him was perhaps not one he had intentionally wanted her to learn, but she had nonetheless--that marriage was not a particularly desirable state. She wasn't going to marry any of the boys she'd grown up with just because her mother thought she needed to be married. If she was going to ever marry, it would be to someone who loved her, and who she loved in return.
Unfortunately, those she might have any interest in were few and far between, and she was hampered by a problem not even her mother could have foreseen--her height. Elizabeth had been shorter than Mary up until she turned eleven. Then it seemed as though almost overnight she went from a petite dynamo to a five-foot-eleven Amazon. She was by far the tallest of her sisters and taller than quite a few of the men in the neighborhood. Whenever anyone talked about her, they would say, "She's a nice girl, and she has very pretty eyes, but she's so tall!"
Elizabeth would simply roll her eyes, and her father would chuckle from behind his paper. They understood each other perfectly.
A few weeks after answering the ad in the paper, Elizabeth found herself reluctantly opening the door to her former home. The moment her mother saw her tiptoe in, the lament began.
"Why can't you be content to find a good man like Jane's Charlie? Why must you--"
"Enough! For God's sake, Fanny, every morning Elizabeth comes in you start the same diatribe. And every evening!"
"But Monty, it's unnatural for a girl of twenty-two to prefer being single. Mark my words, no good shall come of it. I am already the laughingstock of the neighborhood, and men who would ordinarily be able to overlook her lack of looks and her...well, her height...cannot overlook the fact--"
"That I make more money than they do," Elizabeth finished. "They're jealous that a woman can do so well."
"People point me out in the street. They say I'm the woman whose daughter remains unmarried and living on her own, working--"
"I've worked since I was sixteen," Elizabeth grumbled, pointing out that she'd been working before the Depression and was lucky she hadn't lost her job in those first few agonizing months after the stock market crash.
"But if you married--"
"Mother, we're in the middle of a Depression. Even if I were married, I would have to work."
"Jane doesn't work."
"She should, and she and Charlie both know how I feel about it."
"It's most unnatural--"
"I enjoy working. I like my co-workers."
"Last week you called Caroline Wickham a two-faced, conniving liar," Kitty mumbled as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
"The week before that, you said that Catherine de Bourgh was an ill-tempered shrew," Lydia joined in gleefully, grateful for any lecture that wasn't heaped on her head.
"The week before that--" Mary started.
"No job is perfect," Elizabeth snapped. "Now could everyone please stop bothering me long enough so I can get something to eat before going to work?"
Mrs. Bennet glared at her, but plunked a bowl of oatmeal before her nonetheless. Mr. Bennet had retreated to his newspaper.
"How are the Yankees doing?" Elizabeth asked.
"Too soon to tell, I think," he said.
One of Elizabeth's favorite memories was the last Yankee game her father had taken her and Jane to, several years earlier. Babe Ruth had hit his sixtieth home run that day, the ball ending up not thirty feet away from where they'd been sitting.
"No one will ever top that, mark my words," Mr. Bennet said as he brought his daughters home. "You girls witnessed history made today."
Perhaps. But Mrs. Bennet had managed to spoil the day by fretting more than usual that Mr. Bennet was treating his daughters like sons and they would never find husbands.
"Nonsense," Mr. Bennet replied. "Anyone looking at Jane or Elizabeth can tell that they're all woman."
And ironically enough, it was a mutual love of baseball which brought Jane and Charlie together when they'd reached for the same newspaper, intent on reading about a Yankees' victory. They'd met for coffee after work and things had progressed from there.
Still, Mrs. Bennet objected to Elizabeth's love of the game and, as she did today, proclaimed it to be one more example of why she was still unmarried. Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth simply ignored her.
"I answered one of those ads today," Lydia announced as Mr. Bennet handed the sports page to Elizabeth.
"Good. It's about time you took responsibility for finding yourself a job," Mr. Bennet mumbled.
"Not those ads. Those will never lead to anything. I mean one of those personals."
"What?!" Mrs. Bennet shrieked.
"Well, I was so tired of seeing the same old guys. I wanted to try something different. So I answered one." Lydia looked defiant.
"Oh! Oh, Monty! Tell her she can't do that! What if people found out? I could never go out in public again!"
"There is no need for hysterics, Fanny."
"You don't understand! If the neighbors find out--"
"Continue that screaming and all of New York will know," Elizabeth murmured.
"My dear," Mr. Bennet said, "I need hardly remind you that Lydia is an adult."
"But you could--"
"And if she enjoys such foolishness, let her do it. Heaven only knows what she would do if you forbade her to do something."
"You have no idea what sort of man you could meet!" Mrs. Bennet wailed. "My poor baby! I just know that men who place those ads are all sick, desperate lunatics--"
"They are not," Elizabeth said fiercely, thinking of the letter she had received from her secret penpal just yesterday. It had been quite long and informative, as all his letters were. Not that hers were any less long, but it seemed as though there was so much to write every time. She kept his last letter in her purse, planning to read it again if she had time on her lunch break.
"As if you have such experience," Mrs. Bennet said, not questioning why Elizabeth would have said that. "Oh! What's to become of us!"
Elizabeth had reached the end of her endurance, which seemed to grow shorter even though she no longer lived at home. With a longing glance at her half-eaten oatmeal, she rose from the table.
"I have to leave or I'll be late," she said. "Good-bye, Papa." She kissed his forehead.
"Leaving so soon?" he said with a smile. "Will we see you this evening?"
"No. I have that dinner with the De Bourghs this evening, remember?"
Mr. Bennet sighed. "I do hope you get what you want, Elizabeth. Just remember how your poor father shall suffer today."
Elizabeth smiled. She knew better. Her father would likely spend most of his day at the coffee shop just down the street, talking with his old friends Mr. Lucas and Mr. King. It drove Mrs. Bennet crazy, but it was his only respite against her.
"Have a good day," she said. "Good-bye, Mama. Kitty, Mary, Lydia. Lydia, I do hope your mystery ad turns out like you hope." It would be too much to hope that he would be anything like the person she wrote to every other day. Lydia didn't have that much sense.
Elizabeth picked up her purse and made her way to De Bourghs', thinking of what she would write to her friend.
Dear Friend,You mentioned in your last letter that nothing means more to you than your family. I envy you that. My family tends to make me want to scream. I love my father and my eldest sister, and I do have affectionate feelings for my mother and younger sisters, but there are days when I dearly wish I'd been part of some other family, a family where there was love between the mother and father and no one played favorites with the children.
And I wonder if all families are like mine, and my desire for normalcy comes from the fact that I am normal...
The People at Work
Elizabeth walked to work that morning, as she usually did. She enjoyed the exercise, because it was healthy and kept her figure neat and she was able to clear her head of her mother's complaints. She could put aside the vexations of home and set her mind to the day of work ahead of her. However, there were days, and today was one, when thinking of work was almost as vexing as thinking of her situation at home.
De Bourghs' employed six people, Elizabeth included. The first one that came to Elizabeth's mind, since he was her good friend and her brother-in-law, was Charlie Bingley. Charlie could be considered the friendliest clerk at the shop and he did his share of the work, but unfortunately, he was something of a birdbrain. For instance, that nonsense about Jane not working because she was married. Elizabeth couldn't understand it. Money was tight enough for her, living on her own. She had no idea how Charlie and Jane managed. Charlie's lack of great sense could be overlooked for the most part, but Mrs. de Bourgh had little tolerance for foolishness and was quick to point out Charlie's shortcomings. Elizabeth always felt bad when Mrs. de Bourgh did this, but at the same time, she couldn't help feeling that the woman was right to do it.
Caroline Wickham had been with De Bourghs' for nearly two years, and Elizabeth wished with all her heart that Mrs. de Bourgh could see the woman for what she was. Caroline was forever trying to stir up discord between the employees of De Bourghs', starting rumors or reporting to Mrs. de Bourgh when someone might be "sloughing off" their duties. She had tried this once with Elizabeth only to receive a haughty set-down from Mrs. de Bourgh, who told her that Elizabeth did more work on accident, than many of the employees did on purpose, so there was no way that she was lazing around. Ever since then, there was a strained politeness between Caroline and Elizabeth, and Caroline was forever looking for a chance to make Elizabeth look bad.
Charlotte Lucas was a friend of Elizabeth's from the neighborhood, having to work to support her parents and younger siblings. Mrs. Lucas was too frail to work, although she certainly seemed healthy enough when she climbed four flights of stairs to let Mrs. Bennet know the latest gossip. Mr. Lucas, who managed the apartment building they lived in, tended to spend most of the money he earned on frivolous things. Charlotte's contribution, therefore, went to the important things with only a little left over for herself.
Very little was known about the newest of the employees, Susan Price. They knew that she was living with her aunt and uncle and that her aunt hated the fact that she worked, but the alternative (that Aunt herself might have to work) was equally repugnant. Susan once said, "When I am not there, my sister Frances comes to visit, and so it isn't so bad for her." But other than that, Susan didn't talk much about her family, though she listened at length to Charlotte's tales, and sometimes Elizabeth's and even Charlie's.
Then, finally, there was...Elizabeth almost groaned aloud. The store's "errand boy," though he was older than Elizabeth and thus "boy" didn't exactly apply. No one particularly liked Billy Collins, Elizabeth least of all. Indeed, she often felt that even Caroline Wickham wasn't so bad compared to Billy. Billy was a pest, and worse than that, he tried to convince any female who was within hearing distance that he was "good husband material."
Especially Elizabeth.
Elizabeth turned on one street and made her way to the corner of M---- Avenue and B---, where De Bourghs' was located. There was no better real estate than that, Elizabeth always thought, and she was mirrored in her thinking by Mrs. de Bourgh.
Charlie was already waiting, since he liked to be early even though the chances of Mrs. de Bourgh ever arriving around the same time and praising his punctuality were next to impossible. Elizabeth smiled and waved to him, but as he turned she saw the bulky body of Billy Collins.
With a lecherous grin he no doubt thought was attractive, Billy waved to her. Elizabeth grimaced--which he undoubtedly took as a smile, since he headed in her direction.
"Good morning, Elizabeth," Charlie said.
"Morning, Charlie. How's Jane?"
"Feeling a little under the weather, but that's to be expected, with a baby coming."
Elizabeth smiled. Jane had told no one but her husband and sister that she was having a baby, not wanting her mother to make a great fuss over her. Soon, however, the news would have to be revealed, and although she would never say it to Jane, Elizabeth dreaded the day it happened, since it would be one more thing her mother had against Elizabeth's continuing employment.
"Good morning, my lovely little tulip," Billy said, lecherous grin growing.
Elizabeth groaned. She was two inches taller than Billy--what was this "little" nonsense? "I'm allergic to tulips," she muttered.
"Must not get kissed much," he replied, laughing. When neither Elizabeth nor Charlie laughed along, he broke off. "Say, Betsy, I heard about this great deli nearby. How about lunch this afternoon?"
Elizabeth bristled at his use of the name "Betsy." She was rather particular about her name--no "Lizzy" or "Betsy" for her. Not even "Beth." She was Elizabeth to everyone except her father and Jane, who called her Lisa when they were alone. Elizabeth had once thought that when she fell in love, the man would call her Lisa, but her height and lack of beauty made her realize long ago that there would be no man to call her that.
"It's Elizabeth and I'm having lunch with my sister today." If she was feeling up to it, that was.
"Then how about dinner? There is a fantastic restaurant not three blocks from my apartment--"
"I'm eating with the de Bourghs this evening."
"Oh." Billy frowned, but a moment later he perked up again. "Need an escort? I think it would look good to Mrs. de Bourgh, if you--"
"I think it would be presumptuous," Elizabeth replied. "Mrs. de Bourgh invited me alone. Another guest may upset her."
"Oh. Well, another time then."
Charlie coughed. Elizabeth smiled at him, knowing he was barely able to hold back his laughter.
"Good morning!" a soft, cheerful voice called. Walking up the street to them was Charlotte Lucas and Susan Price, who always met a few blocks from the store and walked together.
Billy, having been rebuffed by Elizabeth, cheerfully moved on to his fellow co-workers.
"Excited about dinner with the boss?" Charlie asked her now that they were by themselves.
"Nervous," she replied. "I've never been to 'Rosings Park' before. I've heard that it's splendid, though."
"I'm sure you'll be just fine. Just imagine--you there with Mrs. de Bourgh--and Mr. de Bourgh--and little Hannah."
"'Little' Hannah, I hear, is a rather pretty eighteen-year-old. Her mother's sending her to college in September." And Elizabeth would never admit to anyone that she was jealous, having always wanted to go to college herself. There was never money for it, though, even before the Depression.
"All the better for her, because I hear she's a bit plain." Charlie looked around before saying that.
"Some of us aren't fortunate to be as pretty as Jane."
"Who isn't fortunate enough to be as pretty as Jane?" a slightly shrill voice asked as she walked up the sidewalk to them.
Caroline Wickham dressed meticulously, every outfit she owned showed her off to good advantage. She was just the sort of woman Elizabeth despised. Not because she was pretty, because Jane Bingley was ten times prettier and Elizabeth would've liked her even if they weren't related, but because she was forever flaunting it.
Elizabeth was the hardest-working sales girl at De Bourghs', yes, but Caroline was the most popular because she flirted with the male customers who came into the shop. With the female customers, she was flattering and demure, and only when they looked away did she roll her eyes or make a face at them. And only after they were out the door did she bother to say what she really thought about them. Most of it wasn't complementary.
"Good morning, Caroline," Elizabeth said.
"Good morning. Who isn't fortunate enough to be as pretty as Jane?"
So much for trying to evade the subject. Elizabeth and Charlie glanced at each other, then Charlie said, "I do not believe you wish to know. You wouldn't like the comparison."
Elizabeth almost laughed, since Charlie was rarely one to be unkind to anyone. Caroline Wickham, however, was an exception. With a small, injured sniff, Caroline walked over to talk with Billy Collins, who was repugnant but could always be counted on to flatter her.
"She's still grateful Jane's gone," Elizabeth said.
"Of course, for no one could compare to Jane." Charlie smiled the smile of a man besotted, and Elizabeth, as she sometimes did when she was in a wistful mood, felt a small pang of envy. She wished she could have Jane's happiness.
But, she thought with an inward sigh, it was never meant to be. She hadn't been given a great deal except an imposing height, pretty eyes, and a sharp mind. She was making the best of what the Good Lord gave her.
A taxi pulled up to the corner shop, and before anyone could blink, Billy Collins was there to hold the door open for Mrs. de Bourgh. For a bulky man, he was swift at times, but Elizabeth reasoned that he had to be in order to make as many deliveries a day as he did sometimes. It was his quickness alone which kept him employed at De Bourghs'.
Mrs. de Bourgh stepped out of the taxi without bothering to acknowledge Billy. She looked at her little group of employees with a small smile, feeling, as she always did, a bit paternalistic towards them. She sometimes saw them as she did the shop, children in need of her guidance. Charlie needed someone to sharpen him up, but he was gentle at heart and handsome to boot. Charlotte was efficient and quiet, while Susan bustled with so much energy that sometimes she got a little too enthusiastic. Billy--well, the only thing she could say about him was he got the job done with little hassle. Caroline was like a rebellious teen-ager, needing only a guiding hand to mature her. As for Elizabeth, who was the most like a daughter to her, there was little Mrs. de Bourgh saw in her that needed changing or guidance. And if they fought occasionally, well, that was all right as well. She wished her Hannah showed a tenth of the spunk that Miss Bennet did sometimes.
"Good morning, Mrs. de Bourgh," everyone chorused.
"Good morning," she replied with a smile.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared today was going to be a good day.
Mrs. de Bourgh approached one of their front windows, which currently had a very pretty set of luggage for display. "Who came up with this window?" she asked, a small frown replacing the smile as she decided whether or not she liked it.
"I did, Mrs. de Bourgh," Charlie said.
Mrs. de Bourgh looked at the eager young man, who had tipped his hat in deference to her, then back at the display. Her smile reappeared--the window was tastefully done. "It's nice."
"Thank you, Mrs. de Bourgh!" Charlie said, tipping his hat again and beaming.
Mrs. de Bourgh unlocked the door, and the shop was open for business once again.
A Man So Humbled
De Bourghs' had been open for almost two hours and there had only been three customers in the shop. When no one was around, the employees spent a good deal of their time pretending to be working, but mostly gossiping or talking about the Yankees, the world, and of course, the Depression.
Elizabeth had told no one, not even Jane, of the letters she'd been sending back and forth with her mysterious penpal. But, having talked about everything interesting with Charlie and there being no customers in the shop, she decided that she would tell someone about him.
"Charlie?" Elizabeth was a bit nervous as she led him back into the stock room under the pretext of putting away traveling bags. "Can you keep a secret?"
"Of course," he replied.
Elizabeth pulled the latest letter from her penpal out of the pocket of her skirt with hurried movements.
"What's that?"
"A letter from this man I've been corresponding with."
"That's terrific, Elizabeth! Who is he? Why haven't you mentioned him to your mother? And why do you want it kept secret?"
Elizabeth sighed. "Because I don't know who he is. I answered a personal ad in the paper."
Charlie's eyebrows must have shot up four inches. "Your mother detests those things."
"I know--she thinks that girls who answer them are modern and shameful. But Charlie, I couldn't resist this one. This man wrote that he was intelligent and sympathetic, and that he was seeking someone like him for anonymous correspondence."
"So he doesn't know who you are, either."
"No. That's the great thing. We're getting to know each other without ever having met. And we talk about the most interesting things."
"How long has this been going on?"
"Not long--only a couple of months. We've exchanged five letters so far. This one came this morning. Want to hear some of his thoughts?"
"Well, if you're willing to share them with me, I wouldn't be disinclined to hear."
Elizabeth opened the letter, peeked out the door to see what the other employees were up to, then began to read.
Dear Friend,There are times when I wish that I were better-prepared for the world than I am. You see, before the Depression struck, I was never the sort who would need to wonder what the future held for him. I knew exactly what it would be--a never-ending parade of society parties, "gentlemanly" pursuits, eventually a dull, proper society wife and proper, well-brought-up children.
Now the future is mine to command, and for that reason alone I am grateful for what has happened. At times, I miss some of the things I used to have--money, of course, it tends to be important, and I miss my old home. It was quite lovely. And I absolutely detest the trouble I have keeping a job. But when I think of everything I have gained, I wonder if perhaps the first twenty-seven years of my life were a depressing dream, and the past four have been a slow awakening.
"Isn't that lovely?" Elizabeth asked with a smile.
"Certainly interesting," Charlie agreed. "So you say you have no idea who he is?"
"No. Can't you see why this works well for me? He has no idea that I'm not pretty, and that I'm a veritable giant."
"But you don't know what he looks like, either."
"He's probably a lot like me! Who else would place an ad like that?"
"Excellent point. So you wouldn't mind having a plain man for a husband?"
Elizabeth grimaced. "I think you've been around my mother too long. I have no intention of getting married anytime soon. I barely know this man. But if there comes a time when I fall in love with him, or some other person, I would not care what he looked like. In fact, an ordinary person would do so much better for me, because then he wouldn't be disappointed in me."
"Elizabeth," Charlie said in a moment of pure gallantry, and because the occasion seemed to call for it, "any man who would be disappointed in you isn't worthy of your attention."
"Miss Bennet!" Mrs. de Bourgh called.
Elizabeth sighed. "I'm being summoned," she said. "Thank you, Charlie." She kissed him on the cheek, folded her letter and put it back in her pocket, then walked out of the stock room and back onto the main floor of De Bourghs'.
"Yes, Mrs. de Bourgh?" Elizabeth could put soldiers to shame with her ramrod straight posture, her eyes looking directly at her employer and eager to know what was wanted of her.
Mrs. de Bourgh was holding a small box in her hand, smiling as she looked down at it. "Take a look at what was just sent over to me from The Laszlo Company."
It appeared to be a cigarette box, and to Elizabeth's expert eye, a rather cheap one at that. Why did Mrs. de Bourgh keep looking at it as though it were made of gold?
"It's...interesting," Elizabeth said diplomatically.
"Ah, but its appearance isn't the best thing about it." Mrs. de Bourgh opened the box and a tinkling little tune began. Elizabeth thought she recognized it.
"Why, Mrs. de Bourgh, it's playing Mozart!" Caroline Wickham walked over to where they were standing, smiling. "Such a lovely little tune. 'Voi che sapete,' is it not?"
Mrs. de Bourgh beamed at her employee's knowledge of the song. "It is, indeed. I'm supposed to call Laszlo Company back in just a few minutes with my decision, but I was wondering what you thought of it. I just want your opinion. Your honest opinion, that's all I want."
Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Charlie, who had been about to come out of the stock room. He ducked back into the room the moment Mrs. de Bourgh mentioned that she wanted an opinion on something. Mrs. de Bourgh tended to scoff at Charlie's opinions.
"Well, Mrs. de Bourgh," Elizabeth said gently, since it was clear that her employer was attached to this item, "I think it's...interesting, but it's not for De Bourghs'."
"Why not? A cigarette box that plays 'Voi che sapete'! I am certain that people would love such a novelty. Miss Price!" Mrs. de Bourgh turned to Susan Price, who had been listening without comment. "What do you think of this box?"
"I think that people who like to smoke cigarettes and listen to Mozart will like it," Susan said diplomatically.
"I'll go even further," Caroline said with an ingratiating grin. "I think it will make cigarette smokers out of music lovers and music lovers out of cigarette smokers. I think it's sensational."
Mrs. de Bourgh, pleased that her other employees seemed to like the box, turned again to her best and favorite employee. "Well, Miss Bennet, do you think perhaps it is a good idea now?"
"No, Mrs. de Bourgh." Elizabeth hated to be the one who deflated Mrs. de Bourgh's hope for this box, but she knew that it wasn't something that would sell well at the shop. "I still think it's...inadvisable."
"Give me one good reason!" Mrs. de Bourgh was frowning.
"Well, Mrs. de Bourgh, think about it this way. Say a man smokes twenty cigarettes a day. This means that twenty times a day he has to open that box and listen to 'Voi che sapete,' which would surely grate on his nerves in time. Besides that, the box has been put together rather cheaply, made out of imitation leather and in two weeks the whole thing will fall apart leaving you with nothing more than 'Voi che sapete.' It's a terrible idea and not worthy of De Bourghs'."
Mrs. de Bourgh knew that Elizabeth was right, but she was too attached to the item to just leave it by the wayside simply because it wasn't perfect. "I know it's imitation leather. I've been in this business longer than you've been alive and I knew that."
Elizabeth walked away from Mrs. de Bourgh with a small grin on her face. The telephone rang. Charlotte answered it, listened for a moment, then said, "Mrs. de Bourgh, The Laszlo Company is on the phone in regards to the cigarette box."
"Oh..." Mrs. de Bourgh walked over and picked up the phone. Elizabeth kept her eye on her employer, wondering if she intended to place orders for the cigarette box in spite of Elizabeth's objections. "Good morning, Mr. Laszlo. What...well, I think perhaps...I need a little more time to decide about it...yes...no, it isn't the price...just a little time..." She frowned, and there was a small gleam in her eye that warned Elizabeth of an explosion. "You can't expect me to make up my mind in five minutes! Well, if that's the case, then no, I'm sorry, we won't be taking any."
Mrs. de Bourgh hung up the phone and glared at it for a moment. Then she retreated to her office, slamming the door behind her.
"Was it necessary to be so antagonistic?" Caroline grumbled. "Now she'll be in a lousy mood all afternoon, and over a lousy cigarette box, no less."
"If you had been honest, I wouldn't have to be antagonistic."
"I was honest."
"Then why did you just call that 'lousy cigarette box' sensational?"
"Because it never hurts to assuage your boss's ego," Caroline said. "I'm amazed you haven't learned that in the eight years you've been here. How you ever managed to become the head salesgirl is beyond me."
"Perhaps Mrs. de Bourgh appreciates someone who will be honest with her," Elizabeth replied, breezing by Caroline and her sharp tongue. She was in no mood to talk with her today.
The bell over the shop's door tinkled, and someone entered the store.
Elizabeth was, as she always was, rushing to the door in the hopes of being some assistance to the customer, but even she stopped short as she took a good look at the man.
He was tall--Lord, was he tall! She was five-eleven and she had to look up at him. Thick brown hair with red highlights waved becomingly. His eyes were the most magnificent shade of green that Elizabeth had ever seen, a green that rivaled emeralds for their brilliance. He wasn't handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but he was far from ordinary. Striking, perhaps...or distinguished. Yes, distinguished was the word to describe his profile.
At the moment, he was looking around the store with no little bit of disdain in his eyes. He then looked at her.
"Good morning," Elizabeth said with a smile, thinking that although his looks were interesting to her, his attitude wasn't. "Is there anything I can help you find?"
"No, not at the moment," he said with a heavy sigh.
"Oh, well, if there's anything I can help you with, please just let me know."
He looked around the shop again, and it seemed as though he'd rather be anywhere but where he was.
But if that was the case, why was he there?
"Excuse me, ma'am, but I noticed that you were having a summer sale."
"Yes, we are. Everything in the store is marked down today," Elizabeth said in her best businesslike manner, relieved that he was going to make a purchase. On a slow day like today, he might well be one of her only customers. "For instance, do you see these wallets? They're absolutely lovely, and yesterday you couldn't get them for a penny less than $5.50. Today they're $3.95."
"They're...interesting," he said, obviously thinking the opposite.
Elizabeth bridled at his use of the word.
"I guess you're going to have a lot of business, then," he said.
"We fully expect to," she replied briskly, thinking the question a bit odd. "You're lucky that you're here early. Later today you probably wouldn't have been able to get in the door."
"Then you'll be taking on some extra help?"
Elizabeth frowned, something she knew she shouldn't do to a customer. She wasn't quite sure what his questions were leading to. "Well, we probably will."
"Then maybe you could use me. I'm looking for a job."
Elizabeth didn't feel nearly so bad about frowning at him now. In fact, she felt a bit deceived. He'd let her go through her whole routine without bothering to mention that he was just looking for a job. "That wasn't very nice, making me go through all that," she said.
"I do apologize, ma'am..."
"It's miss. Miss Bennet."
"Do you think it would be possible for me to see Mrs. de Bourgh?"
"Ah, well, I don't think that's such a good idea today. Right now we're not doing any hiring."
"But you just said that you were going to have to hire someone to keep up with the rush!" he objected.
Elizabeth gave him a pointed glance, then swept her arm around the empty shop. "Well, take a look around, sir. You can see how we're doing for yourself."
The man's shoulders slumped, then he straightened. "May I give you my qualifications?"
"Sir, please don't--"
"I've been working at Fisher and Sons for a year and a half and I left of my own accord. I worked briefly at the Laszlo Company--"
"Sir, even if you'd worked at Hirsch & Company--"
"I did! I know how to take care of the finest clientele."
"But we don't get those kind of customers here. Our customers tend to be more middle-class."
"What do you think Fisher and Sons clients were? And they'd take me back right this minute."
"Then why don't you go back there?"
He hesitated. "Well, that's a long story and I don't want to get into it. Look, ma--Miss Bennet, all I'm asking is to see Mrs. de Bourgh for a few minutes. I think it's in your best interest to do so, because she'll be upset if she doesn't get to talk to me."
Now he was pulling that superior attitude on her, and Elizabeth again felt her temper rise. Tamping it down, she said, "I don't think Mrs. de Bourgh is in the mood to speak to someone about a job. She's sort of in a strange mood today."
"I only need to see her for a minute."
"Sir, I've known and worked with Catherine de Bourgh for eight years and I know her inside and out. I know exactly what she would say if she were standing here right now and I'm sorry to say that she'd tell you it was impossible."
As Elizabeth had been making her speech, Mrs. de Bourgh had walked out of her office and had listened to Elizabeth's words. Caroline Wickham watched the most attentively and with no small bit of amusement.
"Miss Bennet?"
Elizabeth almost groaned, and the man--did he give her a name?--smiled.
"Could I have a word with you, please?"
Elizabeth turned to face her employer. She knew she was in for a tongue-lashing. "Yes, Mrs. de Bourgh?"
Surprisingly, her boss kept her voice low. "So, you know everything about me? You know exactly what I'm going to say before I say it? You must be a mind reader!"
"But Mrs. de Bourgh--"
"And I'm surprised that you didn't recognize this young man."
"I've never met him in my life. He's not a customer."
"No, Miss Bennet, he isn't. He's a relative from the Darcy side of the family."
Elizabeth turned pale, and for the first time, she wondered if perhaps her job was in jeopardy. Even though the Darcys and de Bourghs were pretty much separate entities now, Catherine de Bourgh was big on family.
With a warm smile, Mrs. de Bourgh turned to the man. "Hello. I'm Catherine de Bourgh. Which of the Darcys are you?"
"I'm Fitzwilliam Darcy--Liam. We're only distantly related--"
"Nonsense. I feel there is no such thing as a distant relative, except in terms of geography. Please, have a seat."
Mrs. de Bourgh was treating him better than he'd thought she would. He gave a triumphant smile at the little salesgirl who had so annoyed him a moment ago.
"Thank you," he said, sitting down. She sat beside him.
"Whose son are you?" Mrs. de Bourgh asked.
"Uh...George and Anne's."
"Of course! How are your parents?"
"They're...well, ma'am, to be completely honest, they're struggling. We all are."
"Oh. Are you alone here in town?"
"Yes, ma'am. They're still in Buffalo. I was wondering--"
"I'm surprised you haven't come to see me before this."
"Well, you know how some members of your family talk about mine."
"They're complete fools and their fight isn't mine. We'll put all that behind us now, Liam. You simply must come to dinner this evening!"
Elizabeth almost gasped aloud. Dear Lord, she'd been dreading this dinner enough--now she was going to have to endure his company?
"Well, of course, I'd love to join you for dinner, but Mrs. de Bourgh--"
"Catherine. You must call me Catherine."
"Er...Catherine...that's not why I came here today. You see, I was at Fisher and Sons--"
"Ach! Such dreadful things at that shop. You'll find something much nicer here."
"No, I wasn't shopping there. I worked there. And I'm looking for a job now."
Mrs. de Bourgh frowned. "Oh, no! Oh, it's impossible! I'm sorry, Liam, but...still, come to dinner tonight!" Abruptly, she stood up and rushed back to her office.
Elizabeth looked at the young man, who had just been revealed to be a member of the high and mighty Darcy family.
A moment ago, he'd been somewhat disdainful and arrogant. It was exactly what she would've expected from such a man, but now...
He looked dejected. He looked sad, almost at the end of his possibilities. He looked almost humbled. He may have once been one of the Darcys, but now he was just like everyone else--a desperate man needing a job. Maybe he had a wife and children to support.
Elizabeth couldn't help but feel sorry for him as she walked over to where he was sitting.
"Look," she said softly, "you really kind of came at a bad time for us. Maybe in a couple weeks, when we're finished with inventory, we'll need someone then."
He gave her such a look of hope that her heart caught in her throat. Mercy, but he could be very attractive when he wanted to be.
"You'll think of me first, right?"
"Absolutely," she replied.
"Do you have a piece of paper?" he asked. She found one on the counter and handed him her pencil. He wrote down his name and telephone number on it. "You can contact me there. If I'm not home, let my landlord know that you have a business message for Liam. He'll pass it along."
"I'll be sure to do that," Elizabeth said. As he handed her the note, his fingers brushed hers and Elizabeth felt a slight tingle. With a puzzled expression on her face, she put the piece of paper in her pocket and walked back to the storage room.
The Sales Pitch
"Miss Bennet!"
Elizabeth heard the tension in Mrs. de Bourgh's voice and knew that she needed to show herself quickly. She hurried out of the stock room and into the shop.
"Yes, Mrs. de Bourgh?"
"Step into my office, please."
Elizabeth passed a worried-looking Charlotte and a smug Caroline as she made her way into Mrs. de Bourgh's office. She fully expected to be chastised for being a bit rude to Mrs. de Bourgh's cousin. At least she was doing this in the privacy of her office rather than in front of the other staff members. Still, she could expect Caroline to listen at the door if she thought she wouldn't get caught.
"Close the door," Mrs. de Bourgh said as Elizabeth entered. Elizabeth did as she was told. With a heavy sigh, Mrs. de Bourgh continued. "Elizabeth, why did you make me go through that scene with Liam Darcy?"
Elizabeth frowned. "Forgive me, Mrs. de Bourgh, but it wasn't my fault."
"It wasn't? Whose fault was it, then? Mine?"
"Well...yes. I would've explained to you that the young man was looking for a job, but you didn't let me. And I'd never met any of the Darcy family before, which was why I didn't know who he was."
Actually, that wasn't true. Elizabeth had finally remembered that she had seen him before, several years ago, right before the Depression. He'd been featured in one of the Society pages as one of New York's premier bachelors. Even back then, Elizabeth hadn't liked the disdainful look in his eyes.
"What's gotten into you today? You're my oldest and most trusted employee, and you've been disagreeing with me all morning."
"Very well, ma'am, from now on I'll agree with you." Although Elizabeth hated the idea, sometimes Caroline's tactics were better than her own. "If you ask for my opinion on something, then I'll say, 'Yes, Mrs. de Bourgh.'"
Catherine de Bourgh knew quite well that Elizabeth would do no such thing, at least not for very long. She smiled. "I hope you're looking forward to this evening."
"I am."
"You aren't nervous, are you?"
"No, not at all."
"Good! Good. You know, I've talked about you so much to Hannah and Alfred that they're dying to meet you."
Elizabeth somehow doubted that.
"You know, Elizabeth, I've singled you out above all my employees because I see something in you that reminds me of myself. You're determined and intelligent and clearly not one of those girls who intends to work until she finds a husband."
"Well, ma'am, you know that it isn't likely I'll ever find a husband."
"Nonsense. Any man would be lucky to have you." Mrs. de Bourgh smiled. "Liam was quite handsome, wasn't he?"
"Now, Mrs. de Bourgh, don't go getting any ideas. I'm sure that someone like Liam Darcy would have nothing to do with me if the Depression hadn't come." Elizabeth remembered that already she was disagreeing with her employer, and even after she'd said she wouldn't. "But yes, Mrs. de Bourgh, he is handsome."
There was a knock at the door, and Charles stuck his head in to say, "Excuse me, Mrs. de Bourgh, but I think I've found a buyer for that cigarette box."
Mrs. de Bourgh brightened. "Wonderful!"
"What price should I give him?"
"Let me see...I bought it for $1.95, so we'll try selling if for $4.25." Mrs. de Bourgh and Elizabeth walked out of the office to see who had been interested in the box.
They found Liam Darcy holding the box, which was opened to play its tune.
"I'll take care of this, Mrs. de Bourgh," Elizabeth said. She walked over to the man. "Look, Mr. Darcy, I said we'd call you when there was an opening and I'll keep my word. You'll be the first one we call."
Elizabeth was about to continue to try getting him out of the shop when Mrs. de Bourgh said, "Just a moment, Miss Bennet. Tell me, Liam, what do you think of this box?"
"What I think?"
"Yes. I'd like to have your opinion. Your honest opinion. That's all I want."
Charles, hearing those dangerous words, abruptly disappeared into the employees' locker room. Elizabeth would've chuckled but she was too preoccupied.
"Well, I think it's nice. And I've always loved Mozart."
Mrs. de Bourgh beamed. "Would you buy it?"
"Unfortunately, Mrs. de Bourgh, I can't afford to buy anything right now."
"No, I mean, would you buy it if you could?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why?" This seemed to puzzle him. "Because...because it's romantic."
"Romantic?" Elizabeth scoffed. "What's romantic about it?"
"I think of moonlight, and cigarettes and music and...and of giving this lovely box to a young lady who would appreciate such things."
"Ah, see, a romantic young man's point of view." Mrs. de Bourgh beamed and looked pointedly at Elizabeth.
"Yes, Mrs. de Bourgh." Elizabeth walked away, seeing two customers come in.
Liam Darcy asked Mrs. de Bourgh softly, "How much are you selling this for?"
"Uh...$4.25."
"Four twenty-five?" In a louder voice, Liam said, "That's a bargain! That's a real bargain!"
One of Elizabeth's customers, who had drifted over to look at some purses, overheard Liam's comment and looked interested. Liam clutched the box in his hand and walked over to the woman.
"Good morning, madam," he said.
"Good morning," she replied. She looked at the box.
"It's quite a lovely item, isn't it?"
"Yes. It's a candy box, isn't it?"
"Actually, madam, it's--" Mrs. de Bourgh was about to correct her.
"Yes, madam, it's a candy box," Liam said before she could speak. "And I must say, quite an unusual one. May I?" He lifted the lid and "Voi che sapete" began to play.
"That's 'Voi che sapete.' Isn't it nice?" Mrs. de Bourgh said.
"Oh, heavens, no! That would never do!" the woman laughed. "Where do people get ideas like that? Every time you opened that box, you'd have to listen to that song."
Elizabeth smothered her laughter, but could not contain her smile as the customer confirmed her own reservations about the box. Mrs. de Bourgh frowned at her, but said nothing.
"That's an excellent point, madam, but this little box has been a rather popular item for us, especially with ladies."
"It has? How so?" The woman looked suspicious.
"Well, there's no denying that each and every one of us has a weakness for candy." Liam looked the woman over. She was a bit on the plump side, and for a second, he was afraid he might've offended her. "Which isn't anything against candy, but...we tend to overdo it a little."
"I suppose so," the woman said with a smile.
"You know why we do it? Because we eat candy absentmindedly. We pick up a piece and then another, and so on and so forth until we've gained a few pounds. And that's when the troubles begin. All sorts of dreadful things just because we don't think about how many pieces of candy we eat a day."
"I suppose you're right."
Liam could sense the woman starting to cave in. "Now, this little box makes you candy-conscious. It's what De Bourghs' designed it for."
"Really?"
"Yes. Every time you open it up to pick up a piece of candy, that tinkly little song is a reminder to you. 'Too much candy--now be careful.'"
The customer looked over the box again and smiled. "How much is it?"
Liam thought fast. "Five-fifty. It's reduced from $6.95. A real bargain, madam, wouldn't you agree?"
The woman nodded her head. "I'll take it."
With gratitude in his eyes and his voice, Liam said, "Thank you, madam." He then looked over at Mrs. de Bourgh, who looked suitably impressed. He had a feeling that she was about to change her mind about that job.
Mrs. de Bourgh turned to Elizabeth. "Well, Miss Bennet, what do you think now?"
"I think that people who like to smoke candy and listen to cigarettes will love it." With that, she turned and walked toward the employees' locker room just as Charlie walked out of it.
Mrs. de Bourgh turned to her cousin. "Perhaps I was a bit hasty, Liam. Do you really like this box, though?"
"Yes."
"Because I'd like to have your opinion. Your honest opinion. That's all I want!"
Charlie turned and headed back to the employees' entrance before he could be singled out. Liam didn't notice, and fortunately for Charlie, neither did Mrs. de Bourgh. She motioned for Liam to join her in her office.
Dear Friend,I've had a dreadful day and the only thing that brightened it was your letter. It's amazing to me how much I've come to depend on your letters in such a short time.
You mentioned in your last letter that you had trouble keeping a job. If there is something I've become an expert at, it's how to maintain a sense of balance when it comes to work. Although you do at times have to endure dreadful employers and equally dreadful co-workers, sometimes the best thing to do is to find something to keep your mind off of your troubles. I like walking. I like to read. And of course, now I have your letters...
Dinner at Eight
Elizabeth dressed with extreme care that evening. She had, the same day Mrs. De Bourgh invited her to dinner, gone out and splurged on a most becoming dress of green--a shade of green to rival the eyes of...
Elizabeth groaned. She'd done a great job of putting Liam Darcy out of her mind since she'd left work. Only now, seeing the dress she'd bought months ago, did he return to her thoughts. Maybe she shouldn't wear it. He might think she'd dressed in this color deliberately.
The moment after she thought that, she told herself that she was being silly. She had ever right to wear the dress. So she put it on, arranged her stubborn dark hair in its usual knot at the base of her neck, and left. For the occasion, she splurged a bit more and spent money for a taxi to take her to Mrs. De Bourgh's home. She had reason to believe that her salary would be increasing soon, and so the expense would be well worth it.
Indeed, Elizabeth had great hopes that she would soon be made the manager of De Bourghs', the first woman (excepting the current owner) to have achieved such a status. And she would have earned her position, which was even more astounding to some of the men she knew. Mrs. De Bourgh had been talking about spending more time with her husband once Hannah was off to college. She'd hinted that she trusted Elizabeth enough to leave her in charge.
This dinner, in Elizabeth's eyes, was a giant step toward attaining her goal.
She'd endure even Liam Darcy for that.
The taxi pulled to a stop in front of a grand home in one of the most fashionable parts of the city. Elizabeth paid the driver and sent him on his way. She looked up at the house. Its size wasn't as impressive to Elizabeth as the fact that only one family lived in a space that would've served for at least three or four families in her neighborhood. She speculated that she would see at least one room in this mansion that would be larger than her entire apartment.
The door opened only moments after she'd knocked. The butler was short but stood as though he were wearing a steel brace. "Yes, miss?" He somehow managed to seem as though he were looking down at her, as though he knew exactly how much her green dress had cost and was unimpressed with the expense. When Elizabeth had bought it, she thought it was decadent. Now she felt almost cheap.
"I'm Elizabeth Bennet. Mrs. De Bourgh invited me to dinner," she said, gathering her courage and staring right back at the man.
He blinked several times, seeming to decide whether or not he should let her in. Finally, he said, "Come in." He stepped aside to allow her entry.
The moment Elizabeth stepped into the foyer she felt outclassed. The sheer opulence of the room overwhelmed her. For a moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to turn and run out the door, but then she saw a shadow appear at the opposite end of the hall.
"Miss Bennet! You're right on time!" Mrs. De Bourgh said with a smile.
"Good evening, Mrs. De Bourgh." With her boss in the room, Elizabeth felt a bit more confident. Not much, but enough.
"Come into our parlor. We're still awaiting Liam."
Perhaps he won't show.
Mrs. De Bourgh led Elizabeth to a room where a tall man about the same age as Mrs. De Bourgh and a tiny, fragile-looking young lady a few years younger than Elizabeth stood waiting. Elizabeth presumed them to be Mr. Alfred de Bourgh and their daughter Hannah. Mrs. De Bourgh's introduction proved her correct.
Hannah acknowledged her with a small nod. Alfred de Bourgh, however, took her hand in his warm one and shook it heartily and long. Once her hand was free, Elizabeth resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her skirt as his hand was somewhat sweaty.
Before any sort of conversation could commence, there was another knock at the door. Liam Darcy was shown into the parlor along with a trio of Hannah's school friends. Elizabeth, who had thought there would only be four at table, suddenly realized that this evening would not see her getting a promotion. Her stomach churned with bitterness, even though she knew there had been no reason to assume that she'd be promoted.
Mrs. De Bourgh called from them to adjourn to the dining hall.
"How long have you worked for De Bourghs', Miss Bennet?" one of Hannah's friends asked. Elizabeth had trouble keeping them straight--they were named Annabelle, Annabeth, and Annamarie, and they were practically identical to Hannah in size and fragility. And attitude. The "Annas," as she called them in her mind, sat across from Elizabeth.
Elizabeth found herself unfortunately situated between Mr. de Bourgh and Liam Darcy. Liam, for all intents and purposes, was ignoring her while Mr. de Bourgh seemed to show an unusual interest in her.
He also seemed a little too interested in Hannah's friends, which made Elizabeth wonder if there was something wrong with his marriage. But she was just an employee, and such a question would likely cost her her job.
"I've been with De Bourghs' for about eight years," she replied. She looked at the caviar that was sitting in a gooey heap on her plate and swallowed heavily. She'd already come close to being sick after eating the goose liver. This caviar looked like it would taste worse than that, so Elizabeth studiously ignored it and hoped no one noticed that she wasn't eating.
"Indeed," Mrs. De Bourgh said. "Elizabeth was the only employee I didn't fire when I took over the shop. Whereas the others were lazy shiftabouts, Miss Bennet worked so hard I wondered whether or not I was even needed at the store."
"I dare say you weren't," Mr. de Bourgh said. "Miss Bennet here probably could've handled things quite well."
Why did it seem as though he had a second meaning to that sentence? Elizabeth frowned.
"Why did you not consider hiring a man to run the shop so you would not have to be bothered?" Liam asked. "I am certain a man could have done a most competent job."
Elizabeth nearly spit out the champagne she'd just drank. "Do you mean to insinuate, Mr. Darcy, that Mrs. De Bourgh hasn't run the shop adequately?" she asked acidly.
Everyone looked at him. Liam flushed and looked distinctly uncomfortable, but he said, "No, Miss Bennet. I detract nothing from our hostess's achievement. I merely don't see the need for her to have done so."
"The last shop manager was a thief," Elizabeth said. "And so was the man before him. Mrs. De Bourgh had to take over herself to insure that things were back to proper order. Surely you can understand why she might be reluctant to trust a man."
"Miss Bennet, I believe you misunderstood me. What I was wondering was why Mrs. de Bourgh took over instead of Mr. de Bourgh."
The caviar was whisked away, to Elizabeth's relief, and the first decent food items appeared on the table--what appeared to be French onion soup. The change in courses allowed everyone to pretend to forget Liam's audacious question.
Everyone except Elizabeth, who wondered what the meaning behind his question was. She waited until the soup was replaced by Cornish game hens and some green vegetable Elizabeth couldn't identify to ask her question.
"Mr. Darcy, your earlier question seems to suggest to me that you don't approve of women working," she said.
Liam stuck a hunk of meat in his mouth to give himself time to think about his reply. Once he'd swallowed, he replied, "Not when there is a perfectly healthy man to take care of them, I don't."
Elizabeth smiled sweetly. "Are you of the opinion that women should think only of getting married and having children?"
"Men in this country have enough trouble getting jobs without the added problem of women who think they should work to prove some antiquated point."
"Meaning that since women have the right to vote they should be happy with that and be content to continue to stay home, being at a man's mercy and being in his shadow?"
"Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but I believe that a woman's place is in the home."
"What about widows who must work to support their children? Wives whose husbands are incapacitated? Young women who cannot find a man to marry? Daughters who must support elderly parents?"
"Which of those four necessitates your work, Miss Bennet?" Liam asked coldly.
Elizabeth turned scarlet, his meaning clear to everyone at the table--that she was unattractive enough to find a husband. "None of them," she said. "I work because I want to work. Perhaps it's an 'antiquated point' to you, but I'm an intelligent, honest young woman and I believe with all my heart that there isn't a single man who can do my job as well as I."
"Well said, Miss Bennet," Mrs. De Bourgh said. "That was the reason I took over the shop, Liam. I grew up in the trade, and Alfred hadn't. There was no reason for him to start when I could do it just as well."
"No doubt better than I," Mr. de Bourgh added, raising his champagne glass. "A toast to liberated ladies. May they always be around."
After draining the contents of his glass, he motioned for more to drink. As soon as the servant had refilled his glass and stepped away, Elizabeth felt a hand on her knee. Liam Darcy's hands were both on the table.
Elizabeth turned to look at Alfred de Bourgh, who was smiling at her. Elizabeth wanted to shout out that everyone knew the truth about Catherine de Bourgh's taking over the shop--her husband preferred the horse races and afternoons at his gentleman's clubs to the reality of how his pleasures were financed.
But his hand on her knee blocked all that out. She had to get him to stop that, and the urgency grew as his hand started to move higher up her leg.
The Annas talked about how they hoped going to college would insure that they would not fall to the dreadful fate of having to work, while Mrs. De Bourgh tried to encourage them that there were benefits to it. Liam took the opportunity of the distraction of the other guests to eat his meal. He ate like he wouldn't be eating again for a while.
Elizabeth surreptitiously removed her butter knife from the table. As Mr. de Bourgh's hand started to move again, she jabbed at it.
"OUCH!" Mr. de Bourgh howled, drawing his hand away.
"Alfred! What is the matter?" Mrs. De Bourgh appeared quite worried. Alfred glared at Elizabeth, who glared right back.
"I think I accidentally cut him," she said. "I lost my grip on my knife and it fell."
"You are not seriously hurt, are you?" Mrs. De Bourgh asked.
"I'm fine, Catherine."
Elizabeth, however, was not. She'd lost her appetite. This dinner was going even worse than she'd feared.
Elizabeth stepped out of the cab and attempted to pay the driver, who informed her that Mrs. De Bourgh had paid for it. Her stomach was objecting a great deal to everything she'd eaten--and to all the stress she'd been under.
Instead of going to her apartment, Elizabeth had asked to be dropped off at her parents' apartment building. She wanted to tell her father everything that had happened, and she knew he'd still be awake. She only hoped that her mother had had another attack of her nerves and had retired for the night.
She hesitantly opened the door to their apartment.
"Come in, Lisa," Mr. Bennet said quietly. He was sitting in his favorite chair, one that should've been replaced years ago but he stubbornly clung to because it was comfortable. "How was dinner?"
Elizabeth sighed. "Well, Hannah de Bourgh and her little band of friends made me feel like a freak because of my height and then because I was a working girl. Mr. Alfred de Bourgh...is most likely a philanderer, and Mrs. De Bourgh hired her obnoxious cousin today. He insinuated that women had no place in the workforce and then--" Elizabeth could barely think of what she'd overheard Liam Darcy say to Mrs. De Bourgh without wanting to hit something.
"I bet you gave him a scolding he won't soon forget," Mr. Bennet said.
"He won't. Later, when I was returning from the ladies' lounge, he was in Mrs. De Bourgh's study. I heard him ask her if..." Elizabeth swallowed her anger and continued. "If she was certain the managers who used to run the store, were the ones stealing money. He then asked if it was true that she was considering my promotion--and cautioned her against it!"
"A detestable man indeed."
"He was trying to take my job. I just know he was. I've worked so hard and endured so much..."
Mr. Bennet frowned. "She didn't give it to him, did she?"
"No. She laughed at him, because she knew darned well I wasn't the one. We proved those other two were stealing from the company. As for my job...she said she hadn't decided on that yet."
"Oh, Lisa. You must've been so disappointed, since you thought you were going to get the promotion tonight."
"I was--and I am. But what can I do other than keep working and waiting?"
"Nothing, my dear. You'll make it because you're strong." Mr. Bennet smiled affectionately at her.
"Thank you, Papa. I have to be getting home now."
"Let me put on some shoes so I can walk you home."
"No, I can walk alone."
"Lisa, the streets are unsafe for a young lady to go about unescorted."
"It's hardly five blocks, and I'll be just fine. In the mood I'm in, any man thinking of bothering me is in peril of losing years off his life." Elizabeth kissed her father on the forehead. "Besides, you need to stay here and wait for Lydia to come home."
"How did you know she was out?"
"She always is. Good-bye, Papa. See you in the morning."
Despite her assurances to her father, Elizabeth was a bit nervous walking by herself. She rushed home.
She glanced about her small apartment, such a stark contrast to the de Bourghs' home. Elizabeth decided that for all its plainness she far preferred her place to that one. The palace came with a roaming, lazy king and an icy princess...and a very annoying court jester in Liam Darcy.
Elizabeth's hand automatically reached for the letter from her friend. But she'd left it in the pocket of her work skirt, which she found on the floor of her room where she'd hurriedly kicked it aside in preparing for dinner. Elizabeth picked up the skirt and pulled the letter out of the pocket. When she did, a small scrap of paper fell to the floor. She bent down again to pick it up, puzzled by what it was.
Then she remembered. It was Liam Darcy's telephone number, from when he'd been nothing more than an out-of-work down-on-his-luck man. She couldn't believe she'd been so nice to him.
Without bothering to look at it again, Elizabeth crumpled it into a tiny ball and threw it into a waste paper basket.
...I wish there were more men like you in the world. It seems like all the ones I meet are from the Dark Ages. If I could find a man who could accept me for myself, I would be very well pleased. But such a man would hardly be sensible, since I'm not considered attractive and I tend to have a dreadful temper and, heaven forbid, I actually like to work. I wouldn't want to love a fool, so that would end any relationship right there. It's just as well. I've never thought of myself as being capable of grand passion....
Dear Friend,I suspect you are too harsh on yourself. Do you believe that to love is foolish, or that loving you would be foolish? I fear that you would not like me nearly as much were we to actually meet. I am, at times, a man of strong and stubborn opinions. I can be harsh in my judgment and my temper is implacable. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.
I wish there were more women like you in the world. You are so refreshing, compared to the women I know. They are either out for marriage or out to change the world. They all have motives of some sort. It is why your letters are so wonderful. I never know what you will say next...