Chapter One
“Pride and Prejudice is the greatest of Jane Austen’s novels,” Caroline
Buford, a prim and perfectly coiffed blonde, asserted in absolute tones, an affected
twist to her lips, “so if we are to read one of her books, it should be Pride and Prejudice.”
“Perhaps Pride and Prejudice is the most beloved
of Austen’s novels,” Alison Bateman countered, “but many Austen scholars prefer
Persuasion. Besides, who hasn’t read Pride and Prejudice?”
Several of the women seated around
the mahogany dining room table looked at each other guiltily. Alison wore her
disbelief without any attempt to conceal it, her jaw dropping in astonishment.
“I’ve seen the films,” one finally
acknowledged.
“Colin Firth was the sexiest thing
PBS had ever shown before. I called my mom from college to beg her to send
Betty White a donation,” said another.
“I read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and saw the movie,” a third
contributed. “My daughter wanted to see it,” she added, a bit sheepishly.
Alison looked despairingly at the
well-read ladies who comprised her book group, wondering how they somehow
missed Austen. “If Davies’ film so impressed you, how did you not follow up
with a trip to the bookstore?” No one
could respond. She suppressed her bewilderment and smiled with as much graciousness
as she could muster across the table at Caroline, who sat smirking in her
self-satisfied manner. How can I discuss
this book without calling the creature Miss Bingley? she thought,
broadening her smile while saying to the group, “It had better be Pride and Prejudice then, lest any of
you are ever called to account for the glaring gap in your education.” Her
teasing tone did not disparage or shame, and most of the ladies laughed at the
prospect. “I’m due for a reread anyway. It’s been nearly a year.”
“How many
times have you read it, Ali?”
“No idea. I
stopped counting years ago. Maybe fifty?”
“When do you find the time to read
anything else?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I
manage.”
“It is not the quantity that
counts but the quality of the reading,” Caroline said. “I suggest we use David.
M. Shepard’s wonderful annotated edition. Do you have a copy, Alison?”
“I do not.” She had read his
annotated Northanger Abbey and loved
it, but she could not bear to replace the old and tattered volume of Pride and Prejudice she had been reading
since high school. It looked like she would now be forced into it, which was
probably just as well for the poor book was falling apart. Still, she was reluctant
to do so. It was like getting a new puppy while the dog beloved by the family
for years was sick and dying.
“I think it’s the best edition
currently available, especially as so many in the group are less familiar with
Austen’s world and writing than we are, Ali.”
“Agreed,” she ceded the point. It
was no use haggling with the woman. These days she saved her energy for arguing
with her daughters, and Caroline Buford wasn’t worth it, no matter how annoying
she was. She seemed intent on setting herself up as the Austen expert in the
group, alongside Alison, of course, who as the only rabid Janeite could not be
overlooked. This was a sure harbinger of her intention to control the
conversation, as usual. “I look forward to hearing the impressions of those new to Austen.”
“I’m a bit daunted by the
language,” one acknowledged. “Nineteenth century novels are always a challenge
to me. I just can’t relate to the characters. Did people really speak like
that?”
Alison sat up straight and donned
an exceedingly proper expression. “It will be most felicitous to learn whom
amongst you can overcome the linguistic archaisms to discover what excessive
diversion Austen has to offer. May that I vicariously rediscover the joy of
that very first introduction through yours,” she concluded to appreciative
laughter.
“Our expectations are unreasonably
high of the book that inspired the names of your large family.”
Alison’s smile grew forced as she
fought against that intolerable tinge of regret that assaulted her whenever
questioned about her daughters’ names. “It really wasn’t intentional, I promise.”
All the women knew the story. Their
children attended the same high school, and the mother of five girls is
necessarily well-known, particularly when she’s a reliable PTA volunteer with
pretty and popular children, like Alison.
The names began in total
innocence. Tom's mother died of cancer while she was pregnant with Jane. It was
not a favorite name of Alison's. She wanted to call her daughter Emily. She had
gone to school with a Jane and hated her violently, but how could she deny the
request when Tom made it on the heels of his mother’s passing? A few years
later, when she was again pregnant, she joked that if it were a girl she should
be named Elizabeth, just like the best-friend sisters from her favorite book. As
it was a name she actually liked, the jest became reality. Then, when her
mother Mary died and she became pregnant once more with a girl, the connection
to Jane Austen's characters had to carry on. No one could find serious fault with
her thus far, but it really should have stopped there. She never wanted more
than three children.
But Tom so longed for a boy, and
she truly had wanted to give him one. One more child. Alison was certain before
she could even confirm her pregnancy that something was different. She had
never before been so tired or so ill. Her first ultrasound confirmed the truth:
two heartbeats. A few months more and they would know the genders. The mystery
was rather a given. More girls, of course. In a moment of pique, Alison
insisted they must be Kitty and Lydia, and what began as a perverted whim of
pregnancy prevailed, far outlasting the hormones that must have inspired such
foolishness. The doctors insisted on scheduling a cesarean, and while sliced
open with her organs lying beside her, they tied her tubes. There would be no
boy. There would be no more children, period. Five was more than enough.
The book club broke up amidst
snide jokes from Caroline regarding the remarkable resemblance between the
twins and their namesakes in the book. “Just wait until you read what happens
to Lydia! You’ll understand why Alison keeps the twins on such a short leash.”
“There are many lessons to be
learned from Pride and Prejudice, one
of which is how not to parent,” Alison replied somewhat tartly, thinking of
what the twins had told her about their classmate, Gabby Buford, going to
college parties. Such choices put her in far more danger of falling for a rogue
like Wickham, the villain of Pride and
Prejudice, than Alison’s girls. She tried to warn Caroline, who had dismissed
as impossible the notion that her
Gabby could ever be so deceptive. Maybe this rereading would make Caroline wake
up to the dangers of being too lenient and indulgent. Maybe her previous reading
wasn’t as astute as she boasted, for she had obviously failed to absorb the
novel’s message.
“We cannot begin to compare the
realities of our world with those of Austen’s. Consider the disparity between
the genders and the rigidity of the class system! The nineteenth and twenty-first
centuries really are incomparable,” Caroline countered.
“Do you really think so? I think
human behavior is remarkably consistent despite the trappings of time and
place. Why should Austen be more popular than ever now if modern readers are
unable relate to her characters?”
“It is
fantasy, just like Harry Potter or Game of Thrones. Readers want to be
immersed in a new world.”
A retort froze on Alison’s tongue. Such a ridiculous statement really did not
deserve her attention. What was fantasy but the reflection of reality? She let
it go, absentmindedly saying her goodbyes. She had too much on her mind to
dwell on the inconsequential.
Sunday was her anniversary.
Twenty-five years of life as Mrs. Tom Bateman; well, twenty and a half. For the
first several years of her marriage, when she was still working in marketing,
she maintained the use of her maiden name, Lowery, but then legally changed it
when pregnant with Jane. Tom said it would be easier for the children, and so
it had proved. It was not the first of the many compromises she made over the
years on behalf of her family. The name change was preceded by retirement from
work so she could be home to raise the baby. Her colleagues had bemoaned the
decision, warning of the difficulty in returning to the business world after a
prolonged absence. She had smiled and demurred. Tom’s salary was enough for
them to live comfortably, though not luxuriously. Of course, more children
meant more money was needed, and her easygoing husband, who had never been
competitive before, found ambition in providing for his family, moving up in
his brokerage firm until he became a senior VP. By the time all five girls were
in school, he made more than enough money to preclude any necessity for Alison
to return to the workforce. Her time was better spent getting involved with the
girls’ school, a prestigious Baltimore preparatory institution on which they
were destined to spend far more money than most parents did on college. If she
considered the hours she had volunteered at a billable rate … but no. She would
not dwell on the staggering sum. Her children were the recipients of a
phenomenal education, and that was priceless. She might sometimes miss what was
or might have been, but she could not regret the choices she had made. Her life
was, by all reckoning, a charmed one, and she was acutely grateful for it.
As she drove home that night in
her husband’s BMW coupe – he had taken her far more practical Volvo SUV to pick
up Elizabeth from the airport – she thought wearily on the approaching
celebration. What had apparently begun as a surprise party (Kitty’s idea) had
not remained secret for long. Little did in the Bateman household. The youngest
girls, in their initial enthusiasm, used up all their allowance and savings booking
a room for the event. The beginning of the school year the following week and their
subsequent lack of money for school clothes first caused an argument, then
tears, then sent both girls running with their complaints to Mom, each eager to
detail their wrongs before the other had her say. By the time Alison had sorted
the squabble down to the root of the problem, the entire celebration and its
planning had necessarily become her own responsibility. New jeans were had by
all, but to the question of why the twins had chosen to have the party on their anniversary when it was the
same weekend as the school’s Homecoming, she never received a satisfactory
reply. Alison was touched by the sentiment that inspired her daughters, but she
was still stuck planning a party she never wanted with money that would have
been better spent on a trip for two to Europe. She and Tom could certainly use
some time to themselves.
Maybe it isn’t too late? Her thoughts punctuated the sound of the
turn signal as she waited at an intersection for the light to change. Perhaps
there was some last-minute deal she could discover online for a short getaway
if she could only find the time to browse. New England would be perfect. They
could drive; they would take the coupe and find some romantic historic inn on
the coast to spend a long weekend. It had been years since they escaped on
their own.
The house was largely quiet when
she arrived. The garage, empty. Sure enough, when Alison checked her phone, she
saw a message that Elizabeth’s flight had been delayed. They would be there
soon.
She said hello to Mary, who was playing
some sort of a game on the computer in the kitchen, and peeked in on Lydia and
Kitty watching TV in the den. Returning to the kitchen, she opened a bottle of
Bordeaux.
“What are you
working on?”
“I’m writing a
mod for our MMORPG.”
“Oh. Of course,
you are.” Alison had little clue what her daughter meant but made no further
inquiries, experience having taught her that she would be no more enlightened
following Mary’s explanation than she was at present.
Lights in the driveway indicated
Tom’s return. Mary saved her thing, whatever it was, and Alison called to the
girls to come greet their sister. Jane, who was in her first year of law school
at Northwestern, would fly in tomorrow for the party and leave early on Monday,
intending to return to Chicago in time for her first class. Elizabeth, in her
final year as a psych undergrad at McGill, could remain a few days longer. She
had made the arrangements with her professors at the start of the term, and as
could be expected of Elizabeth, her homework would be completed before arrival,
ensuring uninterrupted family time. Alison smiled in anticipation as she
listened to the garage opening and the car doors slamming. The great thing
about the anniversary party and why, despite all its hassles, Alison really didn’t
mind having it was the excuse to gather all the girls together at home, no
common occurrence these days. With Mary off to college the following year, it
was sure to become even more rare.
She didn’t immediately register
the meaning of a third, unknown voice echoing from the garage. Even when a
young man entered the kitchen with a suitcase in each hand, it didn’t occur to
her that he might be someone of significance, not until Lydia put her thumb and
forefinger between her pursed lips and released a piercing catcall of a
whistle, followed by a demanding, “Who’s that?” It was then she noticed
Elizabeth’s uncertain smile. Tom avoided her eyes as he entered behind the
young couple, and yes, they were definitely a couple. Their body language revealed
all.
Alison suppressed her curiosity
and embraced her daughter. “My dear Lizzy! How I missed you!”
“Hi, Mom,” she said while still
being hugged, “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
Alison looked between her
daughter’s shining eyes, her husband’s face still tilted in evasion, and the
smiling young man before her. She noticed he was handsome. Perhaps too
handsome. She looked back at her daughter in expectation.
“This is
George, Mom. George Worthford.”
Alison’s brain flickered in
recognition. “Oh yes! The assistant teacher who was so helpful in your
anthropology class.”
“We met in class, Mrs. Bateman,”
the young man spoke for himself, “but I like to think we have become much
closer since then.” He gazed down at Elizabeth fondly. She gazed back and
reached for George’s hand.
Giggles broke the silence. “Is Lizzy
allowed to date her teacher?” Kitty asked.
“I wonder if Mr. Jackson is too
old for me?” followed Lydia. Mr. Jackson, the boy’s lacrosse coach and a
teacher of level one Spanish, was universally acknowledged to be ridiculously
good-looking.
As Elizabeth greeted and lovingly chided
her sisters, Alison took too large a gulp of wine. “Where is home, George?” she
asked, suppressing the urge to choke.
“I’m
originally from LA, Mrs. Bateman.”
“Please, call
me Alison or Ali. Do you have family in the area?”
“No. Lizzy
invited me to stay with you.”
Elizabeth turned
to look at her guiltily. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Of course not,” she lied. “I’m
guessing you plan to join us for our little party on Sunday?”
“Little?” Mary
mumbled. “You invited half the town.”
“I found a great deal on a last-minute
ticket, and since it’s a buffet I didn’t think another person would matter to
the headcount,” Elizabeth answered on George’s behalf.
“No,” Alison acknowledged. How last-minute was this ticket? she
wondered, biting back the urge to ask Lizzy why she couldn’t have at least sent
a text to warn her. “One more person will not make much difference. Besides,
someone else is bound to be a no-show.” She glanced around aimlessly, searching
for a safe topic of conversation. Tom had already disappeared upstairs. Coward. “Are you kids hungry?”
“We grabbed
bagels at the airport,” Lizzy explained. “They just don’t taste as good in
Canada.”
“Coffee?” she
asked helplessly.
“Wine, if you
don’t mind,” George said with a grin at the bottle.
“Certainly. One
for you, Lizzy, as well?”
“Please,” she replied with a bit
of a preen, as her mom rarely offered alcohol to her children, even those over
twenty-one.
“Can I have a glass, too?” Lydia asked,
causing Kitty to resume giggling.
“No, you may not, and it’s almost eleven
o’clock. Don’t you two need a good night’s rest?”
“But it’s
Friday!” Kitty complained.
Lydia nodded vigorously. “It’s bad
enough we had to stick around to wait for Lizzy when everyone else is at
Maddie’s tonight. Why do we need to go to bed early?”
“It’s a busy weekend, girls.
You’ll be up half the night tomorrow, and we have the anniversary party on
Sunday. You need some time to recuperate. Besides, it’s not like I expect you
to be asleep in an hour. You can chat with your friends for a while if you
like. Just get washed up first and settle down.”
The youngest Bateman girls shuffled
off with hugs goodnight to their sisters and mother and insinuating giggles for
George.
“You’re a strict mother, Ali,”
said the stranger. “When I was their age, I wasn’t expected home until
midnight, and that was on weekdays!”
Alison was trying hard not to
dislike the man, but he was making it difficult. “We all have our own
approaches to raising children, George. I like to think of mine as balanced. Do
you think I am too strict with you girls?” she asked Mary and Elizabeth.
“Don’t
answer,” Lizzy warned. “It’s a trap. No answer you give is right.”
“Wrong answer.”
Alison smirked.
“Now I’m caught,” Lizzy bantered
in her usual manner. It eased the anxiety Alison had experienced ever since her
daughter walked in. “I promise you are a perfectly rational parent. Not too
strict, not too lax. The proof is in the pudding. Just look to your daughters
for evidence of your stellar parenting.”
Alison laughed. “It’s fortunate
that I don’t seem to have ruined any of you, yet. There is still time.”
“Then you had best get on it if you
want to do a really good job, though I’m sure the twins will meet you halfway.
Lydia, in particular.”
“She does keep
me on my toes, for which I’m rather grateful. I’d hate to get complacent.”
Lizzy rolled
her eyes. “Little chance of that. I’ve never known you to slack off, Mom.” She
turned to Mary. “Are you going to the dance, too?”
She shrugged. “I might stop in
with some friends. There’s a party in Towson that we’re definitely going to hit
first. I’ll bring a dress with me in case I need to change.”
“Not a college party, Mary?”
Alison asked. “You can wait until next year to attend plenty of those.”
“Like there couldn’t be a high school party going on in the entire
town.”
“At whose
house?”
“Sheldon
Murphy’s.”
Alison thought
about the name. “Is his mother on the fundraising committee?”
“He goes to
Tilman.”
“His father
owns the car dealership?”
“That’s the
one.”
“Weren’t you
friends with his sister, Lizzy?”
“I was, and if he’s anything like
he was four years ago, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were a gaming party, not
the debauched affair you seem to envision.”
Mary blushed and glanced shyly at
their visitor. “So what if it is?” she muttered defensively.
“I’m just explaining to Mom that
she hasn’t anything to worry about. You ought to be grateful to your big sister.”
Lizzy smiled. Mary hugged her a bit begrudgingly, said goodnight, and escaped
to her room.
“It is getting late.” Alison
looked at Elizabeth questioningly. There was no use beating around the bush, so
she asked rather bluntly, “Where do you intend for George to sleep?”
“Lizzy said there was a sofa bed
in the basement,” George quickly put in. Too quickly. Alison wished they would
stop answering for each other. “That suits me just fine. I don’t want to cause
you any trouble.”
Unlikely, she thought. “It’s no trouble. We can even do one better
than the sofa bed. Put him in Jane’s room, Lizzy. It’s freshly made up.” And right next to mine.
Elizabeth
frowned, “And where will Jane sleep when she gets home?”
“She can sleep in your room with
you. It’s just for two nights. How long will you be with us, George?”
“He is booked back to Montreal on
the same flight as me,” Lizzy replied, to her mother’s increasing annoyance.
“I’m sure George will be more
comfortable in a proper bed for four nights than in the basement. You’ll show
him up?”
“Thank you for
your hospitality, Ali. I’m sorry I came upon you unexpectedly.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled,
sincerely appreciating the belated acknowledgement. “It is good to have you
home, Lizzy.” Hugging her daughter once more, she said goodnight, being sure to
take the bottle of wine, still two-thirds full, with her.
Alison could hear Kitty and Lydia
laughing in their bedroom as she climbed the stairs. She walked down the hall,
turning on the light in Jane’s room along her way to the master bedroom. Tom
was inside, busy at work on the winterized patio that served as his office. She
shut the door and locked it behind her.
“Do you want a
glass of wine?” she called.
“Just a
minute, hon. I have to finish this email to Gordon.”
She stood in
the office door. “We need to talk, Tom. About this George …”
“I know, I abandoned you in
there,” he said while still typing. “I’m sorry, Ali, but if I don’t get the
loose ends on this deal wrapped up now so the Californians can sign before
going home for the weekend, we’re going to have to start from scratch on
Monday. It should only take a few more minutes.”
“I think I’ll
have a bath.” She sighed. “Come get me when you’re done.”
“Just five
more minutes,” he muttered, knitting his brows in concentration.
Alison replenished her glass and
took both it and the bottle into the bathroom. While the bath filled, she
located her copy of Pride and Prejudice
in its usual spot by the bedside. It was in precarious condition, particularly
for reading in the bath, but she risked it anyway, climbing in to luxuriate,
drink, and lose herself in Regency-era Hertfordshire. When Tom finally came in
nearly an hour later, the water was cold, her skin was pruned, the bottle was
empty, and he had to take the book away in order to convince her to get out of
the tub and go to bed. They never did discuss George.
Chapter Two
"That's
my shirt! I bought it at the concert. You weren't even there!"
"Whatever,
Kitty! You wore my skirt last week, and I didn't make such a big deal about it."
"But I
was going to wear it today!"
“You were not!
You’re just saying that to get your way.”
“Am not!”
Not yet! Alison prayed, pulling the covers more firmly around her
shoulders and squeezing her eyes shut determinedly. If she were lucky, her
dream of sitting on the deck of a mammoth cruise ship and drinking some
outlandish tropical cocktail might resume.
"Mom!" There was a thump
on the bedroom door. "Lydia's wearing my new t-shirt! Make her give it
back!"
No! Turquoise waters and muscled pool boys were already fading from
her grasp. Reason dictated that she might as well open her eyes, but they
refused to budge.
"Mom!" More knocking.
"Kitty is always borrowing my clothes without asking, and I never freak
out at her. It isn't fair!"
She heard her husband sigh and
felt him move on the bed. They had spent a fortune on premium memory foam only
to realize that it was his shifting of the covers that woke her in the night. Unfortunately,
the bed had a twenty-year warranty on it, so she was probably stuck with it for
another fifteen years. Blindly, she clutched her corner of the quilt, so his
turning wrenched the sheet off her instead. Now
the bed will be harder to make. The peevish thought brought an end to her
tropical fantasy more effectively than all else combined, but to settle the
matter once and for all, Tom laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a tiny
shake.
"Ali!
Wake up, won't you? The girls need you."
A chorus of
thumps and "Moms!" bore witness to his words.
"Why
can't you help?" she groaned.
"They are calling for
you," he retorted with a yawn, stretch, and scratch. “If I try to help, it
will only make it worse. This is your territory.” He kissed her fondly before stumbling
towards the bathroom.
Her tongue was thick and foul and
her head pounded as she stared at the ceiling, listening to her daughters
holler.
"Mom!" the twins shouted
in unison. Alison sat up, donned her bathrobe, and threw open the door to
confront her daughters.
"Girls!" she cried over
their simultaneous accounts, which assaulted her at once. "It's not even eight
o'clock, and a Saturday, too! What are you even doing awake?"
Both girls stared at her, slack
jawed. They were not identical, but mannerisms and habits made their likeness
remarkable. Kitty, the elder by less than a minute, was slightly shorter, her
hair not as dark, and her eyes rounder than Lydia's. They were both healthy and
attractive teenage girls, and Alison was proud of the image they presented. If
only they didn't insist on acting so dunderheaded, and darned if that mischievous
smile belonging to her youngest didn't conjure up instant images of Julia
Sawalha as Lydia Bennet! Now, as both stared at her incredulously, Alison knew
at once that she had forgotten something important.
"Mom!"
Kitty cried in horror. "It's Homecoming!"
"Oh, of course, it is."
Alison sighed, relieved the day's event required little from her. “It totally
slipped my mind.” All she needed to do was smile and take pictures and play
supportive momma. Then she frowned. "Why are you up so early?"
"Because
we're going to the airport first, of course!"
"I forgot about Jane,"
Alison moaned. “Tom!" she yelled. "Are you coming to the airport?”
“Wouldn’t miss
it for the world!” he called out.
“Then you’ll have to drive!"
she hollered back. Turning to her daughters she said, “Is Mary awake? She
wanted to go, too.”
“She’s in the
bathroom,” said Kitty. “What about my shirt?”
“Give it to me.” Alison reached
out and took the disputed item from Lydia. “Shall I get the scissors and cut it
in half, Solomon style?”
“You
wouldn’t!” Kitty exclaimed. “That’s not fair!”
“Then you had both better find
something else to wear. You can have your shirt back in a week, Kitty. The same
goes for anything else you squabble over this weekend. There is too much going
on for such nonsense.”
“Yes, ma’am,”
they both replied.
“Now go get dressed. I want you
both ready to go in twenty minutes. I’ll stay here with Lizzy and her, um,
George.”
The girls
burst into giggles.
“I got up to get a drink of water
around one, and I could hear them laughing in the basement,” Kitty volunteered.
“Wasn’t George supposed to sleep
in Jane’s room, Mom?” Lydia asked smugly. “He must be a very light sleeper. The
bed doesn’t look like it’s actually been slept in.”
“Enough, you two,”
Alison said firmly. “Hurry up now.” They scrambled down the hallway.
Alison wrapped her bathrobe
tightly around her before walking to the bathroom the girls shared and knocking
on the door. “Mary!” she called over the sound of the shower. “Dad will take
you and the twins to the airport to get Jane. Be ready in twenty minutes.”
“You got it!”
came the reply. Alison knew her middle daughter would be ready in half that
time.
She proceeded further down the
hall to Jane’s room. Sure enough, the coverlet was pulled back, but the sheets
had all the appearance of being deliberately ruffled. She was pretty sure she
knew where George Worthford had spent the night and resented the attempt at
deception. She didn’t like to invade her daughters’ privacy, however, so it was
with a slight feeling of guilt that she snuck down the back stairs. They
connected to the kitchen through a butler’s pantry, allowing her to descend
through the entire house without observation from the main living areas. The
basement, which they had finished some years before, looked reasonably unused,
but the strange ordering of the throw pillows told her someone had definitely been
down there. No one else in the family ever put them back the way Alison
preferred.
She found the culprits in the
kitchen. George made himself at home behind the counter, from where a distinct
smell of burnt bacon emanated.
“Good morning, Mom!” Lizzy said
cheerfully. “George is making breakfast for everyone.”
“I enjoy cooking,” he said in what
Alison considered a rather self-satisfied tone.
“So I noticed.” The scent was
distinctly unappetizing, but she tried to suppress her annoyance that her
center-cut, organic bacon had been subjected to such treatment. This was a
family weekend, and she did not want to let this infiltrator spoil it.
“Unfortunately, I’m not sure how much time everyone has to eat a big breakfast.
Tom and the girls have to leave for the airport soon.” She poured herself a cup
of coffee from the full pot, eyeing the thin brew with chagrin. It was far
weaker than she preferred. George must have made that, too.
“Aren’t you going?” Lizzy asked,
and Alison was disturbed to detect some disappointment in her voice. Like I’m going to leave you two alone in the
house!
“I didn’t sleep well, and there is
a ton to do. I thought I’d stay behind and get organized.” She sipped the watery
coffee and tried not to grimace.
“How do you like the coffee, Ali?”
asked the ersatz chef.
“George put cinnamon in it,” Lizzy
volunteered.
“Very interesting. I appreciate
all your efforts in the kitchen, George, but I like my coffee stronger than
this. If you make it again while with us, perhaps you could up the quantity?”
“Of course! I just didn’t want to
overwhelm the flavor of the cinnamon. Don’t worry about the food. I can make
breakfast sandwiches, and the family can eat them on the go.”
“Great,” she said, forcing a
smile. Now her car would reek of burnt pork, too. “I’d better go check on the
progress upstairs.” She would wait until everyone else was gone before calling
the couple out on the previous evening’s sleeping arrangements.
She discovered Mary tying her
shoes and ready to roll, Kitty and Lydia still trying to decide what to wear,
and Tom in his underwear in front of the computer.
“The LA office has a bunch of
issues with the contract. Two of them are coming into work today to view
revisions. I have to get it done before noon. I’m sorry, hon, but can you
drive? Then I can work on it in the car.”
“I wasn’t planning on going.”
He stopped typing.
Glad something can get his attention, she thought.
“Not going? You don’t want to meet
Jane? We haven’t seen her since August.”
“Of course, I want to see her, but
the car will be stuffed if we all go, and someone should stay behind to
supervise Lizzy and her, um, friend.”
“She is an adult, Ali. You have to
let her live her own life. It’s not like you’re there to keep an eye on her
when she’s at school.”
“Ask Mary to drive.”
He laughed. “That will never work!
You think I can work with her behind the wheel? It’s far too frightening.”
“You’re the one who taught the
girls to drive.”
“Mary was a hopeless case. She’s
too cautious.”
“You’ll wish for such problems
when it’s the twins’ turn.”
“Timidity behind the wheel is
maybe even worse than aggression. Especially on the beltway at rush hour.”
“Maybe you should just stay home,
then. I’m pretty sure Lizzy spent the bulk of the night in the basement with
George. We have impressionable teens in the house. Such behavior is
inappropriate, and of course, Kitty and Lydia are fully aware of what went on
last night. Someone has to have a talk with Lizzy about what is acceptable and
what isn’t.”
Tom balked. “Can’t we do it later?
I’d hate to wait a minute longer than necessary to see Jane, and you know you
feel the same way.”
“Fine. I’ll drive. We’ll have to
put up the third row and clear out Mary’s field hockey gear. She’s ready, so
I’ll ask her to take care of it. We’d all better hurry up or we’ll be late.”
She began to yank drawers open in haste, pulling out clothes for herself and
her husband. With drill sergeant-like commands at the twins, the bulk of the
Bateman clan was soon in the Volvo, smelly egg sandwiches in hand, and pulling
out the short drive of their Baltimore County home. Lizzy and George waved them
off, a bit too happily for Alison’s comfort.
Tom busied
himself on his laptop. In the back seat, the girls argued.
“Zac Efron is
way cuter than Liam Hemsworth,” Kitty asserted.
“How can you
possibly think so? Liam is ten times better looking,” Lydia countered.
“No way!”
“What do think,
Mary?” Lydia asked.
“Who?” she
replied, looking up from her phone.
Alison watched
both twins in the rearview mirror as they rolled their eyes in unison.
“What do you
think, Mom?”
“What?”
“Who do you think is hotter?”
“Between Liam Hemsworth and Zac
Efron? They’re practically clones. I can barely tell one from the other.” This sparked
a new argument.
Alison watched her husband typing
at lightning speed, totally oblivious to the cacophony behind him. She marveled
at his ability to shut them all out. Her head ached from the noise, lack of caffeine,
and a lingering hangover.
"Look out, Mom!" someone
shrieked, and Alison only saw the other vehicle in time to expect the impact.
She heard the screams, instinctively shielding her head with her arms. Then came
the sound of metal crunching and glass shattering. She saw Tom’s body jerk
beside her. The vision was surreal, like a slow-motion film. She had a moment
to wonder at its oddity before losing herself in the nothingness of
unconsciousness.
Chapter Three
"Mama! Are you injured?"
Kitty? Alison thought, but the voice sounded strange. She would not
open her eyes to see who it was, in deference to the pounding in her brain. She
felt like she was lying in the grass but had no notion of or interest in how she
came to be there. The ache in her head overrode all other concerns.
"La! It is a miracle any of
us is alive at all! I do think my whole life flashed before my eyes! How
exciting!"
"Lydia! Do but think! Our
mother is unconscious! Her survival, in question. You must temper your spirits to
the occasion."
Alison’s eyelids fluttered, and a
shock of light pierced her head. She groaned.
"She is moving!"
Definitely not Kitty. Consciousness would intrude despite her
agony. Her mind would not relinquish the notion that the voices were almost
familiar, but something about them was off. And where was Tom? She forced her
eyes open, braving the blinding light to perceive three oddly bulbous forms
gathered above her. If these were her daughters, then what had happened to
their heads?
"There, Mary! You see, she is
not dead, so now you can admit that a carriage accident when it does not injure
you, of course, is quite thrilling! I wish we might do it again."
“It was a surprisingly harmless carriage accident with
neither horses nor carriage suffering any detriment.”
“Carriage?” Alison questioned
groggily.
"Mama? Can you hear me?"
Alison focused all her willpower on making her eyes open despite the crushing
light. A teenage girl dressed like a character from a period drama came into
focus. The feared cranial deformity was nothing more than a bonnet.
"Don't try to sit up,
ma'am," a male voice emanated from a new figure, leaning over her from
behind the girl. "Johnny is on his way for help."
Alison wanted to oblige, but first
she must know what had become of her husband. “Tom?” she murmured. “Where is
he?”
“Mr. Bennet’s been sent for,
ma’am,” the man replied reassuringly, and she gave in to her body’s demands and
allowed herself to close her eyes.
vvvvvvvvvv
"Oh! My dear Mrs. Bennet! How
could such a thing come to pass?" Alison heard a man’s voice exclaim, and she
was roused to the unnerving sensation of strong arms lifting her from the ground.
“‘Twas a rut in the road, Sir
William! Weren't there yesterday, and I'd swear on that!"
"No one holds you to blame, John. Carriage accidents
happen all the time. ‘Tis no great mystery."
Alison wondered how she might possibly have been injured by
a carriage on I-83. None of it made the slightest bit of sense.
Eyes still closed, Alison felt
herself gingerly laid against a leather bench, her head supported by someone’s
lavender-scented lap. She sighed with relief and prepared to fall back asleep,
listening to a voice whisper, "It is but a short drive to Lucas Lodge, Mama.
This will not take but a moment."
I'll take it, she thought, and drifted off, only to be lurched back
into consciousness a moment later when the contraption conveying her began to
move. "What the hell!" she cried, sitting up quickly, only to be
forced to cradle her head while the world spun, jostled, and jolted all at
once.
"Mama!"
cried one scandalized lady while the other two giggled.
Before another word could be
spoken, the dratted vehicle slammed to a halt, nearly knocking Alison off her
precarious seat and onto the floor, but six ready arms grabbed at her in
support.
"Thank you," she said
gratefully, in a voice nothing like her own. Startled, she looked around at the
padded box in which she sat with three oddly garbed strangers who kept calling
her "Mama" in a lilting, staccato manner and wondered if she had lost
her mind. She soon knew she had.
One wall of the vehicle
disappeared in a shocking bolt of light, and a voice called out from it:
"Ah! Mrs. Bennet! You look more yourself already. Let me help you
down!" A hand reached out for her, like something out of a Korean horror
film, soon followed by the distended nose and ruddy complexion of the most
unfortunate looking man she had ever beheld. There was nothing else to do but
scream.
The girls looked at her in
surprise while the man's yellow smile fell with concern. "No, not quite
yourself yet, I see. No need to fret! We shall have you restored in a moment.
The lads will carry you into the house." He indicated two dirty-looking
boys, the smell of whom she perceived the moment her eyes spotted them.
"I think I can walk now,
thank you," she said shakily. With relief, she was allowed to step outside
on her own.
"It was a carriage!" she exclaimed, looking about her in
amazement. She stood upon a gravel driveway before a solidly Georgian house:
perfectly balanced, almost identical to the one she had grown up in, but for
the lack of a sunroom on one side, and not so dissimilar from the one she and
Tom owned. Many of the houses in her neighborhood were of the same design,
together presenting an impressive spectacle of suburban affluence, but they
were set on one- to two-acre plots, not surrounded by such unabated land as
this place. Nor did the chemically treated lawns of her youth ever sport sheep
grazing upon them, only an occasional garden statue, never to be fazed by
Chemlawn.
She turned around to see her three
traveling companions scurrying out of the honest-to-goodness carriage — drawn
by two horses, no less! She had only once been in a carriage before: a tourist
trap in Central Park. The ladies before her wore muslin dresses with empire waistlines.
She looked down at her own clothes and noticed with amazement the yards of
brocade she sported. As with the smell of those filthy teenage boys, who were
smiling at the young ladies, it took the observance of her eyes for her body to
notice that something was jabbing her in the ribs, and that something must be a
corset.
"Let us get you inside,"
said the man, taking her arm, from which she recoiled, and leading her into the
house. At least he didn't smell of the stables, just body odor and stale
clothing. She looked behind her to see one of the girls laughing at something one
of the boys said and shuddered. No good
can come of that flirtation, her motherly instincts warned, and she took a
moment to pray that her girls knew better.
She was made comfortable on the
sofa, or at least as much as possible on such a hard, unforgiving piece of
furniture. The shrill lady, who seemed to be the horrible man’s wife, sent him in
quest of a cold compress. She thanked the lady for the thought, especially that
which banished the man.
"My dear Mrs. Bennet! I do
hope you do not suffer any long-term distress from this day's work! It is a
wonder you and the girls were not killed, and not a quarter mile from Lucas
Lodge! How can such a thing happen? Do drink a glass of wine. I am sure it must
benefit you!"
Alison accepted the proffered
glass and sipped before saying in the strange voice, "I think there has been
some mistake.” Way too disoriented to perceive the severity of her
understatement, she continued, “Do you know where my husband and daughters
are?"
"Your girls will be in at any
moment, I am sure, and Mr. Bennet is at Longbourn, of course! He has been sent
for. Never fear on that score. I shall also drop a quick note to Mrs. Phillips,
shall I? She will want to know what has befallen you. It is too bad my Maria is
not at home to entertain the Misses Bennet. We look forward to the return of
our girls from Hunsford, do we not, my dear?"
Alison was on the verge of
protesting that she did not know any of the names her hostess mentioned when sudden
recognition kindled in her brain, quickly growing into a maelstrom. One of the young
ladies now reappeared, dropping a quick curtsy before burying her nose in a
book. From the outside, one of the others could be heard emitting a squeal of
girlish laughter. Longbourn, Bennet,
Lucas Lodge ... "Lady Lucas?" she asked tentatively.
"Yes?"
the lady readily replied, looking at her expectantly.
Dear god! Alison thought. I
think I'm Mrs. Bennet! The shock was enough to make her feel lightheaded
again. It might be one thing to travel back in time, as unlikely as such an
occurrence might be, but how was it possible for a person to be transported
into a book? Ridiculous! Impossible! She must be insane. It was the only
rational explanation.
It was upon drawing this
conclusion that the two remaining young ladies burst into the room, stumbling
upon each other and giggling. The tallest — perfect raven curls bouncing, rosy
cheeks aglow, and a devious sparkle in her eye — homed in on Alison and
announced in bold tones, "You shall never guess, Mama! Sir William's groom
has a litter of puppies in the stable. May we go look at them? James says I
might choose one to take home if I do not care for getting my skirts dirty, for
which I do not give a jot."
My god! It's Lydia! Alison recognized her youngest's namesake with
abject horror. Before her stood the most oblivious hoyden nineteenth century
literature had to offer. "Oh! My poor nerves!" she exclaimed, much to
her own dismay, closing her eyes and willing away the impossible scene.
Clearly her mind had come
unhinged, reality and fantasy merging in a perfect Gordian knot. But Alison was
not one to succumb to circumstances. Real or not, the weight of responsibility
for Lydia Bennet descended upon her like an anvil on a coyote. She reopened her
eyes, ready to confront five-and-a-half-plus feet of empowered teenager just
itching to do something stupid.
"Mama, may we not go see the
puppies?" she persisted with a laugh at such unaccustomed silence in her
mother.
"You certainly may not!"
She was relieved that her this-is-my-last-word-on-the-subject voice had just as
much finality in the unfamiliar English tones.
Everyone stared in shock at such
forcefulness from the permissive Mrs. Bennet, all but Lydia attributing such
unusual behavior to the bump on her head. "But Mama — "
"Not another word!"
Alison interrupted. "I may not understand all that is going on, but I do
know that to allow you, of all creatures, to go off in the company of stable
hands would be insanity." She was nearly yelling now, and the girl's lip
began to tremble at such harsh treatment. Alison knew she was overreacting. She
could blame the strain of her circumstances, but she acknowledged that her
emotions carried all the vehemence of a devoted fangirl, irrationally angry at
a fictional character, and pity for the apparently real person who stood before
her smothered her frustration. "Forgive me,” she said, her tone softened. “The
accident has rattled my nerves." She winced at her repetition of the last
word while Lady Lucas nodded knowingly at the familiar complaint. Just because
she was addled enough to believe that she was Mrs. Bennet did not mean she had
to behave like her. "Perhaps I was in need of a good rattling if you
thought I would consent to such an activity. However, I should not have raised
my voice."
"Our actions should always be modulated as best befits
our circumstance." Mary preened, in alt to see her mother check Lydia's
immodesty. Alison glared at her, which caused the girl's posture to wilt. Her
own Mary had similar tendencies when she was younger, setting herself up in
moral superiority to the others. Alison had waged a campaign to squelch such
behavior since it first materialized at the tender age of three, when Mary took
to spying on and reporting her elder sisters' activities, both good and bad. It
was only in recent years that Alison finally counted herself triumphant, a lesson
in the benefits of persistence in parenting.
"Here is your tea, my dear,"
Lady Lucas exclaimed in relief as a servant entered bearing the tray. "Do
sit back and rest yourself. I fear you are yet unrecovered."
Alison allowed herself to be
administered to, as her head pounded ominously. The damp rag Sir William soon
presented to her was not nearly cold enough to do the slightest good. She asked
for ice, at which request her hostess balked. “I suppose we could send to
Netherfield for some. They have the nearest ice house. It will take some time,
however.”
Alison groaned, “Do not trouble
yourselves.” What wouldn’t I give for a
pill! she thought. Anything would do: ibuprofen, acetaminophen, Aleve. She
was so accustomed to reaching into a cabinet and grabbing for a bevy of
remedies, always at her beck and call. What
on earth do these people do for pain? she wondered. Laudanum! The notion held some promise of relief, but it felt seriously
inappropriate to just ask for some in the middle of a neighbor's drawing room.
She hoped they had some at Longbourn, though she doubted it would do much more
than dull her awareness of the pain. Longbourn!
Even in her sorry state, she still experienced an excited thrill at the notion,
though more pressing concerns would prevail. What if she had a concussion?
Carefully, she sat up and looked around. There was a large mirror across the
room, reflecting the fireplace. Alison rose and went to it.
There she confronted a strange
face surrounded by stiffly curled hair and a veritable halo of a hat. Shaking
off the disorienting effects of the unfamiliar reflection, she checked the
dilation of her pupils. Mary came to her and asked in a hushed tone,
"Mama? What are you doing?"
Alison was holding her thumb and
forefinger around her left eye in order to pry it open. One look at Mary told
her this behavior was utterly alien to her company. "It is possible to
gauge the severity of a bump to the head by the dilation of the eye pupils. If
one is large and the other small, the situation is more severe. Mine, as you
can see, are the same size."
"Did Mr. Jones tell you
so?" Mary questioned, seemingly astonished that her mother would have any
specific medical knowledge beyond the most common cures.
"No," Alison succinctly
replied. "I think I am now recovered enough to be jostled along home.
Thank you, Lady Lucas, Sir William, for your hospitality. Come along,
girls."
"But you are to stay the morning!"
Sir William protested. "I have ordered a nuncheon prepared, and Mr. Bennet
will be on his way here!"
"You are very kind, but I
think I will be most comfortable in my own home," Alison said wistfully.
Longbourn was even stranger to her currently than Lucas Lodge, but at least
there she might relax. She longed to take off the confining dress and lie down
on a bed.
"Yet you must wait until
Mr. Jones arrives, now he has been summoned," Lady Lucas insisted.
Alison looked at her wearily. He
might be sent on to Longbourn, but she hated to cause others such undue
inconvenience. "I suppose we must wait," she capitulated, returning
to her seat.
Lydia, who was twitching
impatiently, ventured to say, "Might we not just look in on the puppies
while we wait?"
"No! Why do you persist
when I already said so?"
"But it would only take a
moment ... "
"Enough!" Alison
commanded. Her head felt like it would split at the sound. If this were her
child, in her own time, she would know how to proceed. This Lydia,
unfortunately, didn't own a phone, a computer, or even a TV to be denied. What
could she do: forbid her books? That seemed very backwards to Alison and, from
what she knew of the girl, not much of a punishment. "If I hear one more
word on the subject from anyone" —
she glared at Kitty for good measure — "she will not be permitted to attend the next
assembly or ball to come up, whichever it may be."
Lydia gasped and was on the
verge of retorting, but a quick pinch from Kitty stayed her tongue. Alison was
delighted to see how well her threat, no matter how vague, achieved its end.
Mr. Jones soon arrived and
examined her eyes, confirming the good sense of her previous actions. Mary
looked at her with renewed respect, and the lady in Mrs. Bennet's body tried to
set a good example by not looking too smug about it. The apothecary suggested a
precautionary bleeding, which Alison stoutly refused. With his departure, the
Lucases could excuse that of the Bennets, and the ladies were escorted to their
carriage and soon on their way. It was an unusually quiet ride, or so Alison
surmised. Mary maintained the bulk of conversation, a task at which she was not
fluent. Alison imagined that her younger sisters typically drowned her out, and
she responded encouragingly to one of the girl's less pedantic assertions, but
her attention was distracted by a familiar glare of rebellion from Lydia.
Truly, Alison thought it must be searing her flesh.
When they passed through an open
iron gate onto the grounds of Longbourn, Alison could not help but eagerly look
about her. She spotted the "wilderness" to the side of the house in
which Lady Catherine berated Elizabeth, and what must be the hermitage just visible
on a distant rise. She could not suppress a gurgle of delight as her eyes took
in the ivy-covered edifice: a testament to the stability and age of the stone
walls to which it clung. The sound of gravel scattering beneath the carriage
wheels was perfect, almost familiar, echoing through countless classic novels
and film adaptations. She was helped from the coach by an awkward boy and
surveyed the unobstructed facade. The house was perfectly charming, neither as
shabby as in the 2005 film, nor as stark as the 1995 version. Were it situated
in her own Baltimore County neighborhood, the place would cost a fortune. The
entryway was arched and supported by two sturdy pillars. The carved stairwell
nearly took her breath away, its artistry quite unusual in the modern world.
Mrs. Hill was a surprise, too: not
the dumpy, worn creature of film, but a plump and motherly lady with a bright
smile and twinkling eyes. She began helping Alison to remove her tight pelisse,
causing her to jump slightly at the feel of unexpected hands on her shoulders,
though no one seemed to notice. Lydia stalked off upstairs, soon followed by
Kitty. Mary retreated to the pianoforte, whose strained notes soon penetrated
Alison's ears.
"Can I
get you anything, ma'am?" Hill asked. "You will be wanting to rest
after your ordeal."
"Yes." She knew not
where anything was located. "Might you help me change into something less
restraining? I would like to lay down."
"Indeed, ma'am! Just lean on
me, and we will get you upstairs and comfortable. You shall be wanting a few
drops of laudanum in a nice cup of tea to settle your nerves. Ought I have
Sarah see to it?"
Apparently, laudanum
would have been a less exceptional request than ice after all.
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