Oh Mama!
Mrs Bennet sat in her attic room and chewed on the end of her pen. This only led to her spitting out bits of feather.
“Bah!” she muttered as she tried to concentrate on her manuscript. But sounds from the world outside her head intruded. And not only sounds but smells. Paint and lacquer and freshly cut wood burned in her nostrils. Sawing and banging and hammering resounded in her brain. She could not think with such distractions! How difficult was it to add on a Grecian portico to the front of Longbourn? Or a little turreted tower at the back? The tower was to be her retreat for writing – her ivory tower, and goodness did she need it!
She returned to contemplation of her manuscript. It was difficult to decipher exactly what she had written the day before, D’Artagnan’s prints were everywhere, making lovely little patterns upon the quickly scrawled words. She felt like tearing her hair out and reached for her salts. That action deposed Athos from her lap, where he had been comfortably resting. He squalled and clawed at muslin to try and regain his place. Sarah Bennet shrieked.
Below, Mr Daniel Bennet heard the noise from his study and smiled. His sweet wife always got completely involved in her work! She must be writing a Gothic horror. Well, their household was turning into a Gothic horror show, so it was only fitting. Violette came up to him and rubbed against his legs. He sighed and sipped his brandy and went back to reading his book of Marlowe’s poetry.
In the parlour the girls were running about like mad.
“We have to make it perfect for Mama,” cried Lydia.
“Then why are you stuffing that roll of ribbon under a cushion?” asked Lizzy, as she straightened the Amdexter rug.
“There is no time to tidy up properly with all this mess!”
“Oh!” cried Kitty, backing out from under the settee. “I’ve found my missing scissors.”
Jane busied herself with arranging all the little Dresden shepherdesses upon the mantle, while Mary careened out of the room with a toppling stack of books.
“Just silly old sermons anyway,” snorted Lydia. Kitty giggled.
Lizzy shooed Aramis and Porthos out of her mother’s favourite chair.
“Poor Rochefort is scratching at the window,” cried Jane. “Shall I let the sweet thing in?”
“Not on your life!” cried Lizzy. “He was trying to pick a fight with D’Artagnan – and you know how mama feels about her adorable little boy.”
“Athos is her favourite,” said Kitty. “His black hair is always sticking to her white gowns.”
Lydia pouted. “Why do we have to clean the room? Where is Hill? Oh! Everything is covered in builder’s dust!” She punched another cushion and to prove her point dust billowed in the air, sending Kitty into paroxysms of coughing.
“Hill is preparing the repast,” said Lizzy, attempting to take a ball of embroidery thread from Bazin, Planchet, and Grimaud.
The fact that Mary did not return from the library went completely unnoticed.
~
Mrs Bennet squinted at the illegible sheets and finally exclaimed, “Between frogs and a wet place? Whatever can I have been writing?” She continued to peruse the page. “Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins ambush Lizzy, begging her to marry them.” She giggled. Now what would make the scene even better?
“Lizzy trips and falls into the lake!” cried Mrs Bennet, and quickly scribbled it down.
Now don’t get the wrong idea about Sarah Bennet. She dearly loves her daughters and wishes them the best in everything they do – especially matrimonial ventures, but she was still feeling a little miffed with Lizzy for refusing Collins, so the idea of placing her in a story with both the ponderous parson and the superior prig, Darcy, was a subtle means of paying her back. A fall into a lake only made vengeance that much sweeter.
Mrs Bennet’s hand rushed across the page with amazing speed, dipping and re-dipping her quill into the inkpot, as she covered page upon page with story.
The water in Longbourn lake is not chilly, surprisingly for the time of year – possibly it is all the pond weed and slime that keep the temperature up. She emerges spouting water and with a frog on her head. Darcy and Collins both pull her from the murky depths and then near wrench her in two as they each vie to be the one to provide mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She pulls herself free and stands before them, her bosom heaving in her wet, green-mottled, muslin gown.
“I don’t need resuscitation!” she cries. “Just the thought of either one of your lips upon my mouth was enough to make me cough up all the putrid water that I swallowed. And before one of you says another word I want to make something perfectly clear. I wouldn’t marry either of you if you were the last men on earth!”
‘That’s my Lizzy!’ thought Sarah Bennet with pride, as she tossed her pen away and reached for another rather than mend it and lose momentum.
Lizzy then hops upon a horse, even though she is not much of a horsewoman, and rides away to the next town. The fact that it is Mr Darcy’s horse does not bother her a bit, rather it makes the venture that much more enjoyable. The slime has dried upon her dress by the time she arrives. She is able to sell it to the milliner who thinks the design exquisite, and with the money purchases passage in a stage to the coast. Once there she looks for a ship flying the Jolly Roger and asks the captain if she can join them. She has always wanted to become a pirate. The fact that she is only wearing a chemise makes Captain Wickham jump at her offer at once. All throughout the voyage she fends him off with the frog that . . .
D’Artagnan chose that exact moment to knock over the inkpot. Luckily most of the manuscript was saved, but both Sarah Bennet and Athos were liberally splattered.
“Have you no compassion for my nerves?” shouted Mrs Bennet.
D’Artagnan only sat and blinked and licked himself.
“You have made me lose my train of thought!” she cried. “Darcy is to become a pirate, and there is a fearsome battle at sea, and then he boards the ship and discovers Lizzy, her chemise a bit worse for wear by this time but her eyes as fine as ever, and he fights a duel with Captain Wickham and makes him walk the plank and then he proposes to Lizzy again, and because he is a pirate and has a splendid hat she can no longer resist him, or his wonderful ship the Pemberley and . . .”
There was a tapping at the door.
“Mama!”
“Oh, what is it now? Must I suffer all these distractions?”
“Mama,” came the call again. “We need you downstairs!”
“Can nothing go on in this house without my attention?” wailed Mrs Bennet to her muses. But she placed her manuscript in the desk drawer and tucked Athos under her arm. “You’re on your own, Buster,” she said to D’Artagnan. As she went downstairs Mrs Bennet could not help but feel pleased that her girls needed her. After all, besides Athos and Mr B, they were her pride and joy. Not to forget the wily stable boys – she had a soft spot for them something fierce.
As she entered the parlour she could not believe her eyes. Despite a few lumps under some of the cushions and the rug, it was immaculate. And upon the tea table was set a delightful array of fairy cakes and a steaming pot of black tea.
“Whatever is this . . .”
She did not manage to finish her sentence because all her daughters, her loving husband, the stable boys, and a troupe of feline musketeers cried out in one voice, “Happy Birthday Mama!!!!”
And she with her lovely white muslin spattered with black ink! She threw hands out and drew them all together into one big hug. “Family! That is what it is truly all about,” she cried. And everyone agreed.
Happy Birthday Sarah Dearest!!!!!!!!