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Authors: Stephanie Barron
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confidences—might be divided between husband and wife.
“Frank has been out early, and brought back kippers!” Mary exclaimed with delight. “And a quantity of fuel for the fire. He purchased nearly a cord of wood from a carter and had it sent round to our lodgings. But now he is gone out again. Should you like some fish?”
“Perhaps not just yet.”
I adopted the chair near the fire and reached for the plate of toast our landlady had provided. Frank had certainly discovered Chessyre's lodgings, then, and might even now be closeted with the Lieutenant.
“I intend to walk out in order to procure a suitable dinner for Martha,” I observed. “And you, Mary? Have you any plans for the morning? A visit, perhaps, among your acquaintance?”
“I shall accompany you to the market, if you have no objection. Mrs. Davies is quite insistent as to the efficacy of boiled eggs, for one in my condition. She assures me that there is nothing like a boiled egg for throwing off a fainting fit, in the evening; but she urges me to choose them myself, so that I might be certain they are wholesome.”
I raised my brows with feigned interest I thought it probable that a surfeit of dinner occasioned Mary's swoons, and might argue for a stricter diet; but lacking personal experience of the lady's state, I could not presume to offer an opinion. The addition of an egg or two, to the quantity of food she consumed, was unlikely to make much difference.
“Lord, how it does rain!” she cried. “I do not envy Martha Lloyd her journey on such a day. I own that I had thought the South would be pleasanter. Did not you, Jane?”
“Having spent most of my life in Hampshire, I may profess to be acquainted with its habits. I expect a severe March, a wet April, and a sharp May,” I returned. “But we may hold out hope for June, Mary. What would England be, after all, without her June?”
“Scotland,” she said promptly, and dissolved in giggles at her own wit.
O UR PLAN OF ATTEMPTING THE STREETS DIRECTLY AFTER breakfast was forestalled, however, by a visitation of ladies from the naval set, who had recently claimed our acquaintance. No less than three of them descended upon our lodgings at eleven o'clock—such an early hour for a morning call, that we were taken by surprise in the very act of tying our bonnet strings, preparatory to quitting the front hall.
“Mrs. Foote!” Mary cried with pleasure, at the sight of the smallest lady among the party—a pink-cheeked, dark-haired creature very close to herself in age. “I had not thought you abroad, yet! What a stout woman you are! And how is the precious child?”
“Elizabeth is thriving,” returned Mrs. Foote. She had been brought to bed of her fourth daughter only before Christmas, and looked remarkably well—an example that must prove encouraging to those in a similar state. From long acquaintance with the Foote family, and their various troubles, I sincerely wished them happy, and rejoiced to see the lady in health. Mary Patton had married Edward Foote only four years previous; she was his second wife, the first—an illegitimate daughter of a baronet—proving too unsteady for the care of her household or children. Having exchanged Patton for Foote, Mary has been increasing without respite ever since. 2 As the Captain already possesses three children from his first unhappy union, he must certainly be accounted a prolific progenitor.
“And you, Mrs. Austen?” enquired Mrs. Foote, with an eye to Mary's figure, “are you in health?”
“Excellent health, I thank you. My poor sister Jane is not so well.”
“You have taken a cold,” said a faint voice at my shoulder. I curtseyed in the direction of Catherine Bertie,
Admiral Bertie's daughter—who, though nearly ten years my junior, has already lost her bloom to the effects of ill-health. “Pray, let me offer you my vinaigrette.”
“What she needs is a good hot plaster,” declared a lantern-jawed woman of more
“Frank has been out early, and brought back kippers!” Mary exclaimed with delight. “And a quantity of fuel for the fire. He purchased nearly a cord of wood from a carter and had it sent round to our lodgings. But now he is gone out again. Should you like some fish?”
“Perhaps not just yet.”
I adopted the chair near the fire and reached for the plate of toast our landlady had provided. Frank had certainly discovered Chessyre's lodgings, then, and might even now be closeted with the Lieutenant.
“I intend to walk out in order to procure a suitable dinner for Martha,” I observed. “And you, Mary? Have you any plans for the morning? A visit, perhaps, among your acquaintance?”
“I shall accompany you to the market, if you have no objection. Mrs. Davies is quite insistent as to the efficacy of boiled eggs, for one in my condition. She assures me that there is nothing like a boiled egg for throwing off a fainting fit, in the evening; but she urges me to choose them myself, so that I might be certain they are wholesome.”
I raised my brows with feigned interest I thought it probable that a surfeit of dinner occasioned Mary's swoons, and might argue for a stricter diet; but lacking personal experience of the lady's state, I could not presume to offer an opinion. The addition of an egg or two, to the quantity of food she consumed, was unlikely to make much difference.
“Lord, how it does rain!” she cried. “I do not envy Martha Lloyd her journey on such a day. I own that I had thought the South would be pleasanter. Did not you, Jane?”
“Having spent most of my life in Hampshire, I may profess to be acquainted with its habits. I expect a severe March, a wet April, and a sharp May,” I returned. “But we may hold out hope for June, Mary. What would England be, after all, without her June?”
“Scotland,” she said promptly, and dissolved in giggles at her own wit.
O UR PLAN OF ATTEMPTING THE STREETS DIRECTLY AFTER breakfast was forestalled, however, by a visitation of ladies from the naval set, who had recently claimed our acquaintance. No less than three of them descended upon our lodgings at eleven o'clock—such an early hour for a morning call, that we were taken by surprise in the very act of tying our bonnet strings, preparatory to quitting the front hall.
“Mrs. Foote!” Mary cried with pleasure, at the sight of the smallest lady among the party—a pink-cheeked, dark-haired creature very close to herself in age. “I had not thought you abroad, yet! What a stout woman you are! And how is the precious child?”
“Elizabeth is thriving,” returned Mrs. Foote. She had been brought to bed of her fourth daughter only before Christmas, and looked remarkably well—an example that must prove encouraging to those in a similar state. From long acquaintance with the Foote family, and their various troubles, I sincerely wished them happy, and rejoiced to see the lady in health. Mary Patton had married Edward Foote only four years previous; she was his second wife, the first—an illegitimate daughter of a baronet—proving too unsteady for the care of her household or children. Having exchanged Patton for Foote, Mary has been increasing without respite ever since. 2 As the Captain already possesses three children from his first unhappy union, he must certainly be accounted a prolific progenitor.
“And you, Mrs. Austen?” enquired Mrs. Foote, with an eye to Mary's figure, “are you in health?”
“Excellent health, I thank you. My poor sister Jane is not so well.”
“You have taken a cold,” said a faint voice at my shoulder. I curtseyed in the direction of Catherine Bertie,
Admiral Bertie's daughter—who, though nearly ten years my junior, has already lost her bloom to the effects of ill-health. “Pray, let me offer you my vinaigrette.”
“What she needs is a good hot plaster,” declared a lantern-jawed woman of more
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