![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
𝑝𝑠𝑙 — the merry apple fair.
| ( the storm that swept across the area only weeks prior thankfully caused little damage to the crops. the frost remained for under two days before returning to a more agreeable climate. the harvest commenced on schedule with no complications at the end of august, and thither atticus went to bring in the harvest at old squire howarth's land. a commitment to service and respect for the squire's position and title (though lesser in the community than it once had been) compelled atticus to help the reclusive man. but, beneath his altruism, is a desire — nay, selfishness to avoid the gossip igniting meryton. attention, especially the unfavourable kind, rests uneasily on him and his instinct is to ignore and disregard. as it is written, where no wood is, there goeth the fire. so, with concerted attention to propriety, atticus has kept away from meryton for these weeks. naturally, he imposed a temporary self-exile from longbourn as well, although the demeanour and words of mr. bennet suggested that in addition to being unnecessary, it was unkind. when atticus arrived at longbourn that cold, wet august morning, mr. bennet readily accepted his apologies for they are both endowed with sense and tact. unlike mrs. bennet who, upon hearing the carefully whispered story, immediately loosened her tongue, erupting in fury and plunging the household into an uproar. despite atticus's and mr. bennet's attempt at discretion, miss bennet's return to longbourn was not a private affair. before she even arrived, most of the servants knew where and with whom she spent the night and were already spreading it to other servants in meryton. for mrs. bennet, who spends a great deal of energy in the pursuit of good husbands for her two remaining unmarried daughters, actions are counterproductive in that endeavour. quite wrongly, atticus believed three weeks was enough time to quell the gossip or for another scandal to occur. it does not take much to excite and enrage meryton. of course, town culture and countryside culture are wildly different, even in a country town such as meryton. chiefly, most of the labourers are men with time and strength only for work, not gossip while some others are migratory with no ties to the community. however, meryton is full of fools who have time and strength for both, explaining why the slander is still circulating through the town like a plague. not a word of it was spoken in the fields so it was believed that it was forgotten and now safe enough to return from exile. so atticus thought nothing of it when he refused payment from squire howarth but did agree to join him on his gig into town for the merry apple fair, a yearly event celebrating the end of the harvest and the last outdoor meet before winter's cold breath sends everyone indoors. when atticus and squire howarth arrive, the sun is high in the sky and the fairground hums with conviviality. the band strikes up a lively tune as another cockfight begins and the men place their bets. children dash and skip about, their cheeks pink from delight and hearty servings of apple cake. the older women huddle together on the benches or near the closed stalls while the young women participate in the smock race or dance to the music. tis the one day of the year that all social class is abolished and everyone from sir william lucas to the vagabond is on an equal level. in a festive and packed atmosphere like this, it's not difficult for atticus to enter and go unnoticed. still clad in simple rough clothing with tanned skin and unshaven cheeks, he is indistinguishable from most labourers currently roistering at the fair. if he wished, he could remain hidden for all three days of the fair. soon enough, he does find himself alone, misplacing sight of the squire near a jester act. but there's no time to mount a search for atticus soon finds a table fraught with goblets of apple cider and an empty barrel on which to sit. only after several moments of peace does he spy from the corner of his eye, miss bennet surrounded by two genteel women, bedecked in muslin and fur. from the woeful expression clouding her face, atticus assumes the words being spoken by the women do not match the joyful atmosphere of the fair. it takes him but a moment to decide to intervene. while not desirable, slander upon himself is tolerable but not on someone as blameless as miss bennet, and not whilst compunction weighs on him. he slides off the barrel and stalks over to the trio of women. the mood immediately darkens by his imposing presence and his deep voice, normally cheery, is thick with annoyance. ) And what, pray tell, should I have done? Abandon her in the rain and frost, condemning her to illness or death? Or perhaps I should have taken her home immediately, risking both our lives in the name of propriety? ( with his posture much improved and shoulders set back, atticus gives the appearance of a master reprimanding his servants. ) On every occasion, common decency triumphs over decorum and all of us would be remiss if we fail to practice and live by the statement. For very easy is it to unbridle one's tongue when removed but different when involved and desperate. I hope misfortunate befalls neither of you to remain naïve as to who is your neighbour and who is not. ( the glare he focuses on the women is enough to send them scurrying away. the victory of this, while exhilarating, may prove to be pyrrhic. they may return shortly with their husbands, smug in anticipation of the beating he may receive. certainly, at least, more wood is tossed upon the fire. however, the joy of this event may wash off any forming resentment and, so long as both he and miss bennet avoided them, the incident will be soon forgotten. ) |
no subject
Indeed, she was set to not attend this fair at all, but her father was oddly keen for her to do so. She cannot understand it. He never takes much interest in her doings unless he can find a way to make a joke out of it, so is he hoping for an opportunity to mock her? Or perhaps he does it because Mrs. Bennet hadn't wanted her daughter to show her face around town just yet. That surely must be it. Mr. Bennet wishes to oppose his wife in all things for his own amusement and so his daughter must subject herself to the stares and whispers of the townspeople.
At first she stayed close to her parents but Mr. Bennet abandoned them soon enough for cider and who knows what else. There is no one in town with whom Mr. Bennet takes pleasure with conversing — excepting Mr. Cartwright — and so he must simply wish for relief from his wife's constant babble. And babble she does. She takes her daughter over to Lady Lucas and Miss Maria, who both look decidedly uncomfortable being seen with Mary and quickly excuse themselves. Mrs. Bennet then drags Mary over to the Coles, then the Wymans, and finally the Bartons. When Mrs Bennet spots her sister Mrs. Phillips, she begs Mary to stay where she is while she has a quick word and leaves Mary with Mr. and Mrs. Barton, who abandon Mary just as quickly. Finally; a blessed reprieve from her mother's attempts to force Mary back into society through sheer will alone.
It is then that Mrs. Wilcox and Mrs. Marlowe (née the Arnold sisters) flank her on either side, playing up their concern for her while requesting all the details of her stay with the bachelor. Mary has no desire to tell anyone anything about his home or her stay there, and thankfully the ladies are too talkative to really take note of her reticence. When one declares she would never have done such a thing, Mary is unsure how to respond. It seems anything she says in defense of herself would be taken as defense of staying alone with a man, which she herself does not approve of in the slightest. Should she allow herself to be spoken to in this fashion by this woman? After all, Mrs. Marlowe is married and Mary is not. It's the type of social juggling Mary has never been at the center of before. When Lydia had run off with Mr. Wickham, Mary had thought she knew how things would be. The town would speak a great deal about the matter as they had little else to excite them, but as long as Mary and the rest of her sisters continued on as pious young ladies, surely Lydia's sins could not effect them. She could not see then how very damaging what Lydia had done was to their whole family. But now that she sees the looks, hears the whispers and — worst of all — endures the rude remarks of other women she understands why Jane and Elizabeth had been so dour after Lydia's disappearance.
She expects no relief from these attacks, so her surprise is immeasurable once Mr. Cartwright seemingly appears out of no where to rescue her. He looks so altered by the late summer weeks that she hadn't even noticed him at first, but she also had not been looking around the fair much at all. To Mary, who has never taken interest in appearances unless to compare them with her own, she never bothers taking in a man's physical features and judging them attractive or not. And yet as his shoulders straighten and his voice rises, she feels her cheeks grow warm and a fluttering in her stomach. Had that happened in his home as well? She cannot recall. But in this moment where he is scolding two uncouth woman in Mary's defense, she finds herself thinking Mr. Cartwright looks very handsome indeed.
Once the women quickly depart from his scolding, she lifts her eyes to his, unsure what to say. Everything he said was correct with no fault to be found, but she worries at what will result. She worries at what others will now say seeing the two of them next to each other. Should she not go look for her mother before Mrs. Bennet spots them and her screeches can be heard across the whole fair — nay, the whole county? She should, but she doesn't. ]
Thank you. I knew not what to say in response. I feared anything I said would only make things worse.
[ She looks down at her gloved hands, clasped together to steady herself. ]
For all my reading, I have not found a way to navigate such waters as Meryton society effectively. There is no compass one might follow.
[ It is probably the most poetic thing she's ever uttered, for Mary is a creature of reason and simplicity, and yet the metaphor entered her head on a whim so she spoke it aloud. ]
no subject
with the stern expression still creasing his features, atticus begins, ) Say? No, I don't believe anything you say would worsen matters. Now, if you are in need of further instruction on what to do to continue on this disgraceful path, I could certainly oblige.
( in a look now directed at her, in which his green eyes shines and a sharp grin cuts into his cheeks, he jokes, ) Come now, Miss Bennet, don't trouble yourself. The sea can be perilous, the wind wild, and the waves rough against the ship, but those faithful will cross unharmed.
( no doubt a shibboleth she must be acquainted with, for he has heard that she is a follower of ecumenical text. however, the sentiment is one self-evident lesson written in the text that nigh all their fellow citizens overlook, as apparent by the women admonishing miss bennet for an innocuous and unavoidable incident. one, which in the grand scheme of scandals that will disturb this area, can be described as trite. perhaps it was foolish of him as an educated and cultured man with over thirty years lived. alas, it was a foolish thing well done. )
no subject
Once more she is reminded of Lydia and how so much of the situation was unclear to Mary at the time but how more became clear as time has gone on. She recalls a bit of gossip after Lydia returned to Longbourn as Mrs. Wickham where the townspeople were disappointed she had married so she couldn't "come upon the town" now. At the time, Mary was confused because Lydia had been in London, but since then she has learnt that the phrase is a way of saying a fallen woman who engages in certain carnal activities for money. The town wished to delight in the gossip that would result had Lydia resorted to that path. Do they also wish the same of Mary? The thought makes her stomach turn. ]
I have always been devout in my faith and I will continue to be so. Your words have reminded me that I can only control my own thoughts and actions, and not those of others. What they choose to believe will reveal who they truly are.
[ And that has enlightened Mary. And first she was concerned about not being able to attend dinner parties where she could display her musical talents, but now she wonders why she would even wish to be in the homes of people who take such delight in gossiping about her family. She thinks of her father and how he's all but given up on society. Perhaps she should take a leaf from his book and do the same. Her mother will be hard pressed to stop forcing Mary into society, but what can she do? Force Mary into an evening gown and drag her down the stairs? Surely not. As long as her father takes her side, she can stay content at home. She is privileged enough to have two sisters who married well and they have already declared she should want for nothing in her future should she remain unmarried.
Yes, it's been decided. She needed someone to open her eyes; to speak of faith in a rational manner so she could look about her with eyes opened. Why does she crave the society of people like this? Is it because she has known no other? Are all small towns in England like this? Well, it's not like she's moving elsewhere to find out. No, now Mary sees that for all her studying of human nature she failed to fully examine the pleasure a group gains from being cruel to another. She has had enough. ]
Yes; I see that you are right. I should not concern myself with the good opinion of those who judge so harshly.
[ Her eyes dart around at those enjoying the fair. The farmers and laborers are more preoccupied with the games than the ridiculousness of socially cutting someone. It is the gentry and middle class who stare at the pair of them and whisper to each other with looks of distaste. She looks back to Mr. Cartwright and suddenly feels as though she understands her father a little better. Love him as she does, she has often felt disappointed with his treatment of her and the way he has managed his estate which left no dowries for any of his daughters. That has not been swept away, but something has been added. Like him, she wishes now to remove from society, and yet the man before her intrigues both Bennets. ]
I hope you have been keeping well, sir. I see you have been outside often.
no subject
atticus dips his head in a slight bow to her. ) A most healthy perspective that will serve you well, Miss Bennet.
( his brown skin contrasts agreeably against the white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly up to his elbows. like many of the harvesters and laborers, atticus wears only a waistcoat — green — as he taken his coat off during the ride and left it behind when they arrived at the fair. his neck is bare without a cravat or stock as neither are appropriate for farmwork. the absence of a neck covering displays the extent of his tan. the last appearance of his tanned skin was when he was floating on a ship near corfu, desirous of sighting one of napoleon's ships yet desirous of passing the entire war undisturbed. there being outside and acquiring a tan was a few of the little activities one could do to keep busy. many sailors couldn't read or write and, those who did, grew tired of reading and writing after a time. and, as shore leave is prohibited, one could only stay on the ship until their commission ran out and they could leave. )
Yes, Squire Howarth was in need of harvesters. ( his only son did not return from the war; thus atticus believed it was his duty to assist the squire as best he could. too many sons didn't return from the war. )
no subject
How good of you to lend your arms to the endeavor.
[ She knows of the squire's loss and that his property is much to handle. Mr. Cartwright's assistance just makes him more of a mystery to Mary, because he straddles the line between gentleman and laborer so effortlessly. Whatever his history, he has taken pains to hide it from the rest of them. She wonders if her father knows.
Speaking of her father, he wanders over with cider in hand to shake Mr. Cartwright's hand. There is the customary catching up, but then he leans in a little and says to the pair: Should you wish to spare your ears, I suggest you two take a stroll down the path a bit farther. Mrs. Bennet approaches. Then he gives his daughter a faint smile (more than she is used to receiving from the man) and he wanders off to casually intercept his wife to stall for time. Mary has gone a bit pale at the thought of her mother coming upon them because the woman is so wholly unpredictable when roused to anger. She looks up at the gentleman and lifts her brow in question. If her father has given his blessing, surely she should escape the looming situation with him. ]
I would walk with you, if you do not have plans to be elsewhere.
no subject
at the news of mrs. bennet's imminent arrival, his smile fades and he endeavors to immediately abscond. heretofore, he has been successful in eluding her and he is determined to preserve that. he bows his head again as he expresses his gratitude to mr. bennet. the older gentleman leaves, no doubt to postpones mrs. bennet's arrival just for a moment or two. the path alluded to leads to a beer stall. a half-pint porter would do well to alleviate his thirst in the tepid weather and miss bennet is pleasant enough company to pass some time. ) Certainly.
( in a signal for miss bennet to walk ahead, he steps aside and gestures to the path. he follows behind, distanced enough that one wouldn't assume they were together but close enough they could easily converse. although he may not immediately be recognized, atticus still prefers to curtail gossip as much as possible. he already brought enough attention and trouble to miss bennet.
up ahead, a disturbance bubbling with animosity arises near a cheese stand. heedful of appearing unconcerned in both his steps and countenance, atticus's pace quickens as does his pulse. he overtakes miss bennet, his body shielding her from becoming a unwitting and unwilling witness to the quarrel. at a distance, the four militia soldiers appear regal, adorned in their bright scarlet and gold regimentals with white crossbelts. however, upon closer inspection, the fantasy of the noble british soldier vanishes. dirt streaks their cheeks, slick with sweat; and their long hair, greasy from candle wax and a nursery of vermin, was pulled back at the nape of the neck. the stench of alcohol in their breaths indicate their lushness, but each are quick in movement.
the soldiers have seized by the shoulders two harvesters, evident of their trade by their rough clothing and tanned skin. three months has passed since the pentrich rising was repressed and its leaders arrested but the anxiety and caution for the next uprising only leads to paranoia and vilification. however, this altercation is not the result of paranoia but, rather, perhaps of disrespect. in the military, as with all situations, grows a breed of fractious soldiers who believe in receiving respect they do not deserve. this ambition overcomes them so they see disrespect where none lies and they respond with cruelty and jealously. during his service in the home office, atticus had experienced men such as this and it never progressed further than snide remarks and petty sabotage; but it was in the royal marines that he learned of cain's wicked influence on men.
up to now, this altercation has attracted only a small crowd but, in the air, howls of "luddites! luddites!" begin to overwhelm the conviviality, poisoning the atmosphere with a miasma of hostility. he hopes a constable or magistrate will come by promptly to calm the situation however, as the fairgrounds is quite expansive and the visitors many, the constables may not be able to attend to every situation. ) Oh hell, ( he mutters under his breath. )
no subject
Unfortunately (or thankfully?) she never gets to bring up the topic as the altercation happening in front of them cannot go unnoticed. Her steps pause and she suddenly feels that should she get too close, she would be in danger. One stray punch would knock her flat on her back and put her in a swoon. But before she can even change course, Mr. Cartwright steps before her and a sense of security washes over her. ]
What is going on?
[ The chants begin and her breath catches in her throat. ]
Surely not.
[ Her voice is low and meant only for Mr. Cartwright's ears. She looks on the harvesters with sympathy. No, they are not of her class, but they have as much right to walk freely around a fair as everyone else. ]
These men have done nothing to indicate they would be disruptive or destructive. What is the militia thinking?
[ The whole town well knows the Bennet household's feelings on the militia, as it was their dealings with that group that nearly led to the disgrace of all their daughters. True to his word, her father has never allowed an officer to step foot past his threshold since Lydia ran off with one. ]
no subject
however, on closer inspection, the current incident's antecedent is not paranoia of insurrection nor is it disrespect towards farmwork. tis envy of profit won at the cockfight by the men. a brief leap of logic is taken to assume the harvesters had won money and the soldiers believed unfairly so. greed and hatred, so very often the incitements to savagery and evilness.
well-acquainted with violence but the sickening churn in atticus's stomach still emerges as he steps forth from the small crowd to put himself between the harvesters and the soldiers. the vagary of a mob spurs exigency. in order to spare miss bennet the spectacle, before he commits to injecting himself, he turns to her and gives calm but pressing direction. ) Fetch the colonel. Or the constable. Or — ( he hesitates. ) Your father.
( he hopes that she finds the colonel of the militia or the constable first for he knows very little what mr. bennet could do in the face of madness like that of a maenad. but mr. bennet possesses authority that atticus cartwright lacks and perhaps that will be enough to pacify the militia soldiers. at the very least until their commanding officer can be brought. ) Make haste.
( with a last look at miss bennet, atticus moves forward and places a hand on a soldier's shoulder. although atticus is at least a head taller and perhaps half a stone of muscle on the man, escalation to violence is last on his list. )
no subject
The crowd is starting to close in after hearing the raised voices and chants, so Mary has to hurriedly slip past, uttering her apologies for brushing against people as her voice starts to shake. It's difficult to see past the tall hats and bonnets as she is terribly short, so she finds it necessary to ask these curious fair-goers where the object of her search might be. ]
Please; have you seen the constable? No? Excuse me, do you know where the constable is to be found? Last seen by the grange display? Thank you.
[ Her heart is racing the farther away from Mr. Cartwright she gets, for that distance must be covered again by the constable. By the time she finds the man standing with his family and looking over the vegetables and grains, she's out of breath as she relates the tale through soft gasps. The man looks unmoved by her desperate pleas to come deal with the issue and she turns to his wife, who looks vaguely uncomfortable. In this moment of growing panic, Mary doesn't bother to question the look. Whether it's embarrassment at her husband's unwillingness to help or not wishing to be addressed by Miss Bennet of Meryton's latest scandal, the moment is broken by the constable's young son rushing away in anticipation of seeing a brawl. His mother calls out to him, but the boy has ducked between two ladies and is gone. The constable grumbles that someone will have to pay him for his intervention as his wife shoves at his shoulder to go after their boy and to settle the disagreement that apparently has taken over the fairgrounds.
Mary nearly reaches into her reticule for the coin herself — as untoward as it would be — before the man finally takes off and she follows behind, worried to see what has become of the man who so valiantly stood up for her and now stands up for others. On the way, her mother's loud voice carries over to her and within a moment Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are beside her, inquiring as to the brouhaha. Mary quickly relates it to her father in particular. ]
And now Mr. Cartwright has put himself between them to stop them coming to blows, but he bid me find the constable or, or you to come intercede. Will you aid him, Father?
[ Before she had even gotten halfway through, her mother had started viciously tearing into Mr. Cartwright's character, but Mr. Bennet looks grim. Mary was not wrong in her assessment that he doesn't like to get involved in such things, but after a moment's reflection, he speaks. "I will surely be too late to stop an altercation, but should Cartwright need a hand up from the ground, I will offer it." And with that, he moves forward, looking for a way through the crowd with Mary following close behind and Mrs. Bennet wailing that their family should have nothing to do with the man. ]
no subject
a strict sense of self-perseverance and discretion establishes their temperaments but also their reactions to discord. at the first hint of peril, they melt away and inform the authorities only during their departure. doing so has endowed the bottreaux family to endure five hundred years of civil strife and regime changes. yet for him, he cannot. inaction is approval of cruelty. it's not a matter of propriety, safety, or strategy; it's a matter of responsibility. for, though the crown no longer rests on his head, the weight still burdens.
the shoulder belonging to the soldier on which atticus places his hand turns to him and immediately lunges to attack, hurling punches through the air. atticus steps back. to the left. then to the right, as if they are partners dancing a quadrille. with bravura, he's easily able to dodge the soldier's wild fists. as unwise as acquiring an injury would be, retaliation would be just as so. the idea of spending a fortnight, sealed in a cell away from celestial light and a fresh breeze is unappealing, especially for a foolish thing as this. his arms stay at his sides, disinterested in a counterattack. meanwhile, the two harassed harvesters take the distraction as an opportunity to flee. although, not noticing it at present moment, later, atticus cannot find it in himself to blame them for abandoning him.
the crowd that had once been a rabble has now shifted into an audience. many are eager to become witness to the beating of mr. atticus cartwright. though lackadaisical and easygoing in his manners, some townspeople interpret him as arrogant and condescending. then a soldier with dark eyes and a hare-lip steps forward — surely the leader as an arrogant superiority rolls off him — and, like a striking snake, throws his fists forward. before he can react, he's pummeled in the ribs by the soldier. once then twice. atticus wheezes. his legs almost buckle from the pain, but he's able to catch himself on the sticky wooden planks of the stall behind him. from beneath his raven black hair, atticus's green eyes harden and he glares at the man. contempt poisons his blood and, for an instant, he forgets his own warning against retaliation, thoughts now only on demonstrating to him and to everyone that he is just a bug beneath his boot.
the constable arrives, red with anger, and shouts for the crowd to disperse. mr. bennet then arrives, followed closely by his daughter and wailing wife. rather than the cooling, liberating sensation of relief at the sight of assistance, atticus feels only the bitterness of irritation. his friend pushes through the scattering throng to him and offers out a helping hand. atticus refuses. a grimace twists at his features as atticus stands back up fully and freely on his two feet, returning to his bent position, though this time it's due to his injuries. he doubts the soldier had the strength and precision to severely injury his ribs, but he believes he won't be able to go on his walks or even easily breathe for at least a week. this fact only adds to his ire and disdain.
after the crowd disperses, the constable turns his attention to the disrupters. he marches straight to atticus and begins yelling although, with the height difference of the two, his vitriol is directed to atticus's chest rather than his face. he allows this for a few moments before stopping the constable, recounting the incident in a calm voice that doesn't hint at the pain shooting from his sides. he reports names of witnesses that could vouch for him and mentions the injuries sustained in the attack from the soldiers. lastly, he states his intentions to press charges against the soldiers in both civil and military court. ) However, ( he hisses and casts a scornful look upon the soldiers, ) I am willing to overlook this incident so long as everyone here agrees to the same.
( his desire for conciliation outweighs his desire for retribution. vengeance will be neither master nor compatriot. )
no subject
The talk of legal action causes one soldier to start stuttering that he can't while the other goes pale but says nothing. There are stories behind their reactions; stories that many lingering around the scene would love to know so they can have new victims for their gossip for weeks to come, but Mary is not among those interested. Her dark eyes focus in on Mr. Cartwright and she feels something inside her twist almost painfully. She's never been known for having strong emotions. Looking at things in a detached, logical manner has always served her well, but something is changing and although she doesn't understand it, she doesn't shun it either.
As the constable informs the soldiers that their colonel will be informed of this, Mary moves forward. As the soldiers say they want everything forgotten and this has to go no further, she stops before Mr. Cartwright and looks up at him with a look of firm decision on her face. When she speaks, her voice is soft, yet determined. ]
You shall come back to Longbourn with us, sir. It is closer than your home and there you can find rest while your injuries are tended to.
[ Naturally her mother will not stand for this, but before she's managed more than a few words, her husband's voice cuts in to say of course Mr. Cartwright will come. He insists upon it. After all, he can invite whomever he likes to his house. Mrs. Bennet scowls so hard it could probably set fires from the inferno burning within her, but neither husband nor daughter pay her any heed. Mary is growing accustomed to tuning her out. ]
no subject
his body is bowed low enough that he's almost eyelevel with miss bennet. determination strengthens her brown eyes — like an oak tree, hard and durable enough to withstand the tempestuous storm raging in his green eyes. he relents, shoulders sagging as he looks away. if they want to help him, he shall grant them the indulgence, however much he'd prefer to tend to his injuries singlehandedly. he does not wish to offend them by spurning their benevolence when it is extended on friendship alone. after today, he no longer has the luxury of conceivably forming any additional friendships or alliances in the town so he must rely on what remains.
his mouth works as if a seed is caught between his teeth. ) Fine. I concede. ( his words were a hand, their generous offer a bear trap; and he now attempts to snatch the hand away before the trap snapped shut. ) To a three night stay. I leave the fourth day. I shall not infringe on your hospitality any longer than is necessary.
( forsooth, he does not wish to remain in the same house with mrs. bennet for long and be forced to endure her presence — and she him. a person's home is their refuge and he'd dare not take that away from anyone, even mrs. bennet. however, they have at longbourn what he does not at avalon: an icehouse, though being late in the season, its reserves may still be stocked enough even after the summertime ice cream and cold drinks. the mere possibility of cool relief, even in a drink, softens his reluctance to bivouac there.
the sun's light, once cherished before, now burns his eyes and stabs at his brain. the linen of his shirt becomes harsh against his skin; biting, irritating, and stinging. enough eyes still remain behind to gawk at him. the rancor behind his teeth fades and an overwhelming discomfiture washes over him, pulling him under its waves. he wants to disappear. he hates being the center of attention, the enthrallment of others directed at him is an ill-fitting coat on his body. not like this. he can endure whispers and stares under his own terms; out of view and immediately forgotten, but not when agony burns through his crooked body, shutting itself up in his bones, and he is weary with forbearing. it sickens him, almost more than the injured ribs themselves, and nothing more is desirous than to depart and melt away before his father's voice rings in his ears.
wordlessly, he turns on his heel and lumbers away, the usual gracefulness that defines his body gone. as the merry apple fair is some miles away from longbourn and mr. and mrs. bennet are not inclined to walking, he assumes they rode a carriage here, so he starts towards the track. it would be convenient if they encountered squire howarth so atticus can beg him to keep dustros until he returns from his convalescence at longbourn. alas, their paths do not cross, and he resolves to send a message as soon as he can. )
no subject
The carriage ride will be slow as Mr. Bennet tells the driver to take care on the road for their injured passenger and he ushers Mr. Cartwright in first before sitting across from him. Mrs. Bennet sticks in her head, glaring at her husband for forcing either his wife on daughter to sit next to that man, but Mr. Bennet does what he does best: utterly ignores the look and offers her a hand in beside him. Mary slides in the seat beside their injured neighbor and off they go to Longbourn.
On the trip, Mr. Bennet makes some brief statements about the atmosphere of the fair that involve poking fun at the townsfolk, though it seems said more to amuse himself than invite conversation. Once at the front door of the house, her father tells Mary to make preparations for their guest and she looks back in confusion until she realizes that the woman of the house might perish if she is forced to aid Mr. Cartwright in any way. A little stunned at being given responsibility, Mary exits the carriage and does her best to relay her orders to Hill, the head of the household maids. She asks for a guest room to be made ready for Mr. Cartwright, as well as ice packs for his injuries. As Hill leaves to do that, Mary worries at what she will have forgotten and looks back to the carriage with a furrow to her brow. She wishes to do this correctly and show everyone how intelligent she is, but her mind is still unsettled and it's hard to think clearly. ]
Please come into the parlor, Mr. Cartwright and I shall send for refreshments while your room is made up.
no subject
when they arrive at longbourn, mrs. bennet immediately exits and enters the house, rushing pass the housekeeper. though aware of her dislike of him, atticus didn't believe it was strong enough to provoke her to neglect her hostess duties. clutching his aching ribs, he steps from the carriage. the ride had stiffened his bones and made his gait more laggard. he had suffered injured ribs before but, then, he at least had the advantage of being tended to by experienced surgeons. here, he may not be afforded that privilege as the town doctor was accustomed to more idle maladies.
by mr. bennet's words, it appears that miss bennet is substituting as the lady of the house. as atticus passes by her, he stops and mutters softly so the others don't hear, ) May I suggest a downstairs bedroom, Miss Bennet?
( atticus can attest to his capacity to walk, but is less certain of climbing and descending. if he is expected to leave his room for meals, less exertion would make his temperament much more agreeable whilst in the presence of company. )
I would also suggest Hungary water. ( only a couple sips of hungary water, a distilled brandy with rosemary and thyme, were required and that with the ice packs would soothe his pain and nerves enough to rest.
he excused himself and followed the others into longbourn. although he was more familiar with the library and could travel there with his eyes closed, he had deduced the parlor's location some time again just by the way mr. bennet's mood darkened as they walked passed to get to the library. apparently, it was one of mrs. bennet's favourite rooms as it looked out on the front garden and enabled her to see the comings and goings. however, after atticus enters, it may fall from her favour. in fact, after his stay here, she may not be so distressed at losing longbourn when mr. bennet dies and she's forced out.
however, atticus is not forced to find the parlor on his own as mr. bennet waits for him in the foyer to show him to the parlor. the master of the house declares that it's luck that he came on this day and not the previous when the maids polished the floor. atticus responds that it's a pity then as that meant mrs. bennet would be forced to endure his presence for longer. mr. bennet chortles and leads him into the parlor. he takes his normal spot in the armchair near the fireplace while atticus sits on the sofa at the end with his injured ribs leaning upwards. his right hand still rests there acting as a temporary bandage until an actual one can be provided. )
no subject
Mary feels rather ashamed of herself. Good sense is one of the prime qualities of a respectable woman, and despite her father's jabs all her life that she was one of his "silly daughters," Mary has tried to be wise above all things. Clutching her hands tightly together, she keeps command over her disappointment in herself and instructs Hill to retrieve Hungary water as well. And then she thinks of something else that should probably be done before the day is out. ]
And have Thomas fetch the doctor. Mr. Cartwright's injury should be properly accessed to determine its severity.
[ Hill says it shall all be done and asks Mary if she needs anything for herself. Some smelling salts perhaps? Confused, Mary asks what she means and Hill responds that she looks quite pale and done for. When had she last eaten? Mary can't recall and Hill says she'll have her favorite scones brought in with the tea and that she should sit down. It's then that another maid rushes in, falters before curtsying to Mary, and informs Hill that Mrs. Bennet is requesting her aid upstairs. "She's in an awful state," the under maid says. "Says she needs her salts right away." Hill has a knowing look on her face as she transfers her duties over to the maid. With the way Mrs. Bennet has spoken of Mr. Cartwright since his arrival in Meryton, there's no doubt she's having an episode from him staying in her house.
Mary returns to the parlor and takes up a seat in a chair opposite her father, who by now has picked up the paper and is holding it in front of his face as if he's alone. Mary does a double take, unsure how to proceed. Clearly her father and Mr. Cartwright are friends, but even now her father won't deviate from his daily routine? Oh, dear. ]
I have relayed your request for the Hungary water, sir.
[ It seems smart to get that out of the way first. ]
Do you... need more pillows behind you? Or something to read?
no subject
alas, atticus is not entirely alone in his silence; the pain has now become a companion, a third person in the room, the sort who introduces themselves to their betters then nears too close as they begin the flattery and ingratiation. the severity of the pain is unsurprising, as this is not the first time he's injured his ribs. indeed, whether broken, cracked, or simply bruised, he has experienced his fair share of injures during his time in the royal marines. it is, however, the reaction to the pain that's worrying to him. there was a time merely a few years ago that an injury such as this effected ne'er pain but only a tenacity to recover and recover without delay so as to remain a benefit to his fellow soldiers. one time, during a rare time a battle occurred, he stumbled from sick bay suffering of a foot injury with his sword unsheathed, prepared to defend the ship from the invading french.
it's strange recognizing the peaks one once reached from the valleys one now occupied. the thought comes to him suddenly and alarmingly like being seized by a bear and a new sort of pain emerges: the fear of softening. though his home and station are low and obscure, he still lives the identical pleasant lifestyle as he would residing at bottreaux castle. the complacency, the convenience, the conceit he strove to quit when he forsook his situation and name! a fourth person emerges now: a determination to recover and return to an arduous life, like those of the harvesters he helped earlier. to do so would allow him to fulfill the goal he has so gingerly planned towards.
the fifth person soon arrives, fluttering into the parlor like a hummingbird and landing in a chair opposite her father. yet, while sitting, miss bennet continues to tremble. her countenance, which could be described as radiant at the fair, now bordered on sallow, like the sun through a veil of fog. the excitement and stress of the day must rest uneasily on her shoulders as a milkmaid's yoke. in this idyllic and comfortable corner of the world, he supposes miss bennet rarely encounters troubles — at least, not ones stemming from man's brutality and obstinacy. it saddens him a little that, through him, she has become a witness. )
Thank you. I am well at ease as so. ( at ease as he can be injured whilst in the company of others. he would much prefer convalescing at home, but, it speaks to his success of both luck and charm that he possesses friends willing to risk their reputation by opening their home to him. of that, he is appreciative, although the weight of the gesture is not yet wholly perceived. as for miss bennet, however — ) And now I wish the same for you. Please, regale me with tales from your past three weeks. I would have you divert my attention with conversation.
( mr. bennet scoffs, adjusting the newspaper in his face with a deft flick of his wrist, and mutters a summary of the three weeks as "battened down the hatches" and seemingly dismisses whatever else may be added. what he said was good enough therefore nothing else should be said on the matter. whereas atticus displays interest in conversing with miss bennet (if only for hopes of distraction), mr. bennet shows none. the younger man had observed this on several occasions and a familiar pang touches him. he too knows how it is like to be ignored.
in the pursuit to encourage miss bennet to want to speak, atticus turns to mr. bennet and jests, ) Come now, George, the esoteric realm of women is shrouded in mystery. A glance behind the curtains, however brief, could be enlightening.
( mr. bennet scoffs again, whether in agreement or disagreement did not matter. the conversation was not asked for his benefit but for mr. cartwright's. his commentary would not be needed nor warranted. )
no subject
There is a tiredness deep within Mary from it all. She has resolved to no longer care what anyone things of her, but that doesn't lift the heavy mantle of fatigue from her shoulders. The day had been exhausting on her nerves in a way she'd never experienced before. Conversation she is sure she can do, but even as her father scoffs at the idea, Mary feels doubts growing that her tired mind could say anything worthy of hearing. Mr. Cartwright has risen in her estimation so much over these last few weeks and yet so much of him is still a mystery. Surely he would have more interesting tales than she. Of course, it would be rude to ask for such a thing when he is feeling so poorly. She'll keep him occupied for now, but his life is one of which she wishes to learn more in the future. ]
I kept to my studies. I am learning a new piece of music and have been reading through some of Mr. Thomas Gray's poems again. I have found occupation enough around the house with autumn beginning and things needing to be switched out.
[ It all sounds so mundane. Elizabeth or Jane would have a hundred things to say now that they run their own households. Thankfully the tea is brought in by the under maid, along with scones and a small glass of Hungary water. Everything is set before Mary so she can serve, and the first thing she does is hold the glass out to Mr. Cartwright. ]
Here, sir. Will you take tea?
no subject
grunting softly, he leans over to take the glass from her with the hand not clutching his injured side. ) Not now, thank you.
( he sips the hungary water, grimacing as the drink burned a path down his throat. it sits uneasily in his stomach, like a boat rocking on choppy waves. he never developed the taste for brandy in the first place but his distaste is noticeably apparent. after a few years of rich meals, fresh food, clean water, and healthy air, his stomach would have to reacclimatize itself back to rot and staleness. as he takes a second sip, atticus regrets declining tea; however, if he had tea, he would not taste the hungary water again. the relief soon provided by the tonic would outweigh the momentary pleasure of tea.
he leans against the back of the sofa with the glass resting on his thigh. the movement causes the fire at his side to burn hotter but the alleviation of his sore back, which had been bent at an unnatural angle for some time, is of some comfort. his breath rattles out, like a breeze through the barren branches of a forest. ) Please, continue. What is the piece of music?
( it's impolite — downright cruel to mention music to a music lover such as atticus without elaboration. besides, as he requested, he will have conversation with miss bennet. )
no subject
Thankfully, she does eventually make up her father's tea and sets it on the small side table beside him. Mr. Bennet rustles the pages and makes a slight "Mm," sound of acknowledgment for her trouble before returning to the article he's reading. Now she starts her own cup but pauses as he inquires after her music. Mary is used to no one questioning her about it, so she hadn't thought to give him a more detailed answer. She turns away from the tea tray a little to properly address him even as her hand stirs in a small amount of honey into her tea. ]
It is Beethoven's Les Adieux, sir. Or as he is reported to prefer it: Lebewohl.
[ Her German pronunciation is not very good, but they're at war with France, so she understands the composer's feelings. ]
It is providing me with quite the challenge, but I believe I can properly execute the piece.
[ She won't, however, be properly able to execute the emotions the sonata requires. As she has already discovered, she plays without feeling and always tries to play technically instead. Her stubbornness will cause her to stay on the piece longer than she should, but she always convinces herself that she's played well enough and will eventually move on to another piece that is too difficult to her that she will play poorly. And so the cycle begins again. ]
no subject
alas, distraction proved to be the sweeter temptation.
his eyebrows rise in interest as a slight smile pulls at his mouth. ) Ah, "On the departure of his Imperial Highness, for the Archduke Rudolph in admiration."
( meanwhile, atticus's german pronunciation is nearly flawless. the perk of having access to first-rate tutors is that it's evident in one's speech and mien. so important it is to his identity that he doesn't perceive of his unintentional disclosure of a facet of his background. but, such an unexpected peek as this is enough to draw the attention of even the uninterested mr. bennet, who lowers his newspaper, slightly, to inspect him.
atticus takes no notice, content enough in his conversation about beethoven and in this company to not employ a constant sense of vigilance about his history. ) When you are comfortable enough, I would be delighted to hear it.
no subject
Truly? I should be happy to put on a performance for you, sir. [ A pause. ] I must say, your grasp of German is excellent. We had a tutor in Meryton several years ago who hailed from Germany, and you sound just like him.
[ "Indeed," her father muses. "What do we think, child? Is he secretly a German who has perfected English, or an Englishman who has perfected German?" Mary straightens a little in her chair. Whenever her father asks her deep, thought provoking questions she does her best to construct a sensible answer, despite him rarely allowing her to finish or listening to all she says. His humor often flies completely over her head. ]
He is certainly an Englishman who is very skilled at the language. [ Not that she can think up a list of reasons why it would be so. Faltering slightly, she can only think to add: ] He looks English.
no subject
he downs the remainder of the hungary water, eyes clamping shut and mouth twisting at the taste and sensation, and sets the empty glass on the side table next to him. it hides well the irritation needling at him. while he shall not and cannot blame either party for his mistake, he cannot pretend that he won't assign some liability to them. why blame the thief when it's the chef's fault for creating and decorating such delicious food? of course, this is the reasoning of the thief and when he is the chef, he would find fault with it. nevertheless, in this and in future instances, atticus will strive to be the arbitrator to the crime, neutral in his approach, and attempt to soothe away any suspicion or curiosity from his company's minds. it is no one's fault and inconsequential to dwell on it any further.
his chin lifts and his jaw sets to a square, a little haughty in its tilt and appearance despite the tan and bristle, to exhibit his profile to her. ) Is that so? Does my countenance agree with your design of the archetypal English man, Miss Bennet?
( truth be told, he considers himself cornish first and foremost, as did all of his family. since time immemorial, there has always been a bottreaux in cornwall; before they were granted the name and the title, before cornwall was known as dumnonia, perhaps even before the romans conquered the celts. it's interesting lore, if possibly apocryphal, but it stirs pride in his family and inspires their tenants to service. if a story can do that then what harm does it bring? )
no subject
Yes, I believe so. I realize now that my knowledge of Germans is somewhat limited and perhaps without the proper amount of data my response may be flawed, but in comparing you to other Englishmen I would say you share features with them.
[ There is a moment of hesitation before she adds: ]
Though I see far more with dark or blue eyes than with green.
no subject
( he laughs and his green eyes, twinkling with a vivacity like a sea of grass swaying from a heavy wind, settle on miss bennet's face. the effects of the hungary water has finally taken hold of him, dulling the pain in his side while loosening his bones, muscles, and tongue. so it comes to no surprise to him that a spasm of laughter overcomes him and he smoothers his mouth with the palm of his hand. the joke is not so funny but that's what makes it so. another factor in the humor is the brief bewilderment that crosses mr. bennet's features and that makes atticus laugh even harder.
perhaps this is what he should've felt at the fair; not an overwhelming desire for anonymity but an exuberance and ease at being surrounded by good company. the lesson taught here, and one that many, many before him have already learned, is that before he attends any social gatherings, a glass of brandy will soothe his tension and allow him to enjoy. of course, the following morning, problems will need to be settled, such as this one. however, atticus tends to solve his problems by circumvention, thereby having them resolve on their own. so far, this tactic has worked in his favor. )
no subject
You are quite harsh on your fellow Englishmen, sir.
[ It's all she can think to say before her gaze is distracted by another crumb she missed that she rushes to pluck off and set on the plate. If Lizzy were here she would have already parried his comment with a biting one of her own. But Mary is not Lizzy and has never wished to be Lizzy except in her darkest moments when she feel utterly alone, ugly and unnoticed. She swallows quickly and forces her thoughts away from such a twisting path of self-reflection. ]
Besides, a mind full of knowledge that is always ready to absorb more is worth far more than beauty could ever be.
[ That's what she keeps telling herself. Mr. Bennet — who has returned to his paper — snorts lightly to himself, knowing his daughter's mind is full of knowledge she doesn't know how to interpret. ]
no subject
After today's events, I believe I am justified in my harshness against my fellow Englishmen. If only for a short time. ( he sighs, compunction darkening his face at the realization of mischaracterizing the entirety of a society of people for the stupidity and brutality of a few wayward souls. especially not after the generosity of a few other members of that society. )
But, yes, yes, of course. You are correct. Forgive my facetiousness. ( his apology is interrupted by a hiccup that bubbles forth from him before he even realizes its birth until a twinge flares at his side. showing decorum that he rarely ever displays, mr. bennet gives no indication that he heard the sound. atticus covers his mouth again with his hand but, since it would do very little to reclaim the spasm, he drops it almost immediately to trace a finger along the rim of the empty glass next to him. )
I say, this is Hungary water was extraordinarily strong. Hungariest water. ( a faint smile graces his mouth at his joke, but, thankfully, he does not laugh. )
no subject
Indeed. I am sure its effects are going to start helping you soon. Would you perhaps like to retire to the guest room? We can have the doctor come by after you have rested a few hours.
no subject
( with great effort, he pushes himself off the sofa and stands on his own two feet, although unsteadily. his shoulders are raised up and back again although it causes pain to unfold through his body like a flood over a dam. however, he schools his features to impassivity, biting the inside of his cheek to help in the endeavour. )
I am fine. I will be fine, Miss Bennet. ( he turns to mr. bennet, who has lowered his newspaper down to observe atticus. ) George. I do not wish to trouble the doctor and take him away from the festivities. ( atticus already ruined one family's revelry. he shall not impose on another's.
he looks at miss bennet, tilting his head toward the door, and asks, ) If you could show me where I'm staying, I shall be eternally grateful. ( he presumes that it will be miss bennet's responsibility, not only because she's playing the part of the mistress of the house but also because mr. bennet has settled in his chair with a newspaper. he won't stand even if god almighty himself commands. he is not the kind to perform a duty if someone else can be delegated. )
no subject
Of course. However, if I do not see improvement in a few days, I will beg you to reconsider. Or simply go over your head and fetch the doctor anyway. This way, please.
[ As she leads him from the room, Mr. Bennet smiles behind his paper. He hadn't expected such spirit from his middle daughter. Perhaps she is not so dull after all.
Once they've left the room, she will slowly lead the way to his bedroom to allow him the leisure of walking at his own pace. And in her mind, if he should suddenly feel lightheaded or need a rest, perhaps she could aid him with the offer of her arm. ]
I believe everything should be in order. Some of my father's clothes should have been left for you as well. When will you wish to dine?
no subject
If that comes to pass, I will be obliged to conduct myself as Peter the Great did during his stay at Mr. John Evelyn's home. Then you shan't care if I improve.
( he shoots a grin to mr. bennet as he leaves the sitting room and follows miss bennet closely. behind them, as the door shuts, mr. bennet shouts, "i'll have your head!" and atticus's grin widens when the threat echoes down the empty hallway.
his movements aren't as halting as they were previously, but his injury is still noticeable, and later commented upon, by the couple of servants they pass to his room. the elán atticus so effortlessly commands and displays without a second thought snuffed out like a candle. it would take several weeks to recover and, even then, the rigor would linger for a little longer. he is not the young man he once was. however, he still possesses enough of the vitality of youth that he doesn't need assistance to walk to the back of the house where he'll be staying.
in the room he's placed in, most of the furniture is mahogany, giving the room a cozy and understated character. the bed, adorned with white linen covers and feathered pillows, is situated perfectly so that atticus could look out the window, which overlooked the garden, with very little effort. facing the bed is the dressing room which, upon it, is a change of clothing and, next to that, is the stand for the washing basin. the housekeeper already took the liberty of opening the window and a breeze blows by, stirring the white lace curtains from their rest. it's a simple yet comfortable room and it reminds atticus so much of avalon that it diminishes his enduring reluctance to stay at longbourn. )
At the household's designated dining time. ( he sits down on the edge of the bed. ) Please don't revise your schedule on my account. You've done more than enough.
( he goes to lean over to take off his boots but his body reacts in agony, forcing him to stop. ) If you call a servant to help remove my boots then you will have done more than enough.
no subject
Startled at her own behavior, she clasps her hands together once more and inclines her head. ]
I will do so at once, sir. Dinner will be served at five o'clock.
[ And with that, she quickly leaves the room to fetch one of the servants they passed and send them in. Her face feels very hot all of a sudden and she retires to her own bedroom to splash some water on her face. Hopefully at dinnertime she will have a better grip on her senses. ]
no subject
however, he is mistaken in her movement and intention as miss bennet acknowledges his request and scurries away. just as she passes through the threshold, he remembers the urgent message that he must relay to squire howarth regarding the care of dustros and his horse. but miss bennet disappears and a housemaid, a young woman with brown curly hair, is sent in her place.
atticus asks for the servant's name and she responds that it's sarah. with a military officer's effectiveness, he tells sarah that he has four tasks for her: the first is to remove his boots. the second is to adjust the pillows against the headboard so atticus can rest in an upright position. from his previous rib injury, he has found that sitting in an upright position is more comfortable and allows for easier breathing than lying flat on his back. sarah's third task is to fetch a footman or page to act as a messenger and contact squire howarth. as atticus didn't know whether the squire was still at the fair or back at his farm, it would take a great deal of time and effort to locate him. the messenger's reward for completing this task would be a shilling. as would sarah's if she completed these three tasks, along with the fourth and final task: ask mr. bennet if he could be so kind as to lend his valet at four-thirty to aid atticus in dressing for dinner. as atticus could scarcely lift his arms to his chest, it would be difficult for him to dress or, indeed, perform any hygiene ritual. for now, he would be at the mercy of others.
sarah completes the first two at once, pulling off his boots and setting them at the foot of his bed then arranging the pillows just so for him. she also helps him shift entirely onto the bed and the pillows. then she leaves and returns half an hour later to inform him that she spoke to the footman and mr. bennet. both agreed to atticus's requests. after he pays her a shilling, she gives him a glass of water and then leaves.
for the next four hours, atticus alternates between looking out the window and trying to drift off to sleep. the rib injury makes it difficult to find comfort and breathe. still, he passes the time by composing passages and observations about autumn in meryton in his head. later, he will translate his thoughts to paper and place them in his commonplace book. finally, at four-thirty precisely, mr. bennet's valet arrives. his name is mr. brooke and he asks atticus from what area of cornwall he hails. atticus's dialect is refined and indistinct enough that he goes undetected as cornish. still, it's noticeable in the way he sometimes rolls his "r's." atticus lies and says he's from exeter, a town thirty miles east of where he indeed hails. mr. brooke accepts the answer, mentions that he's from padstow on the coast, and helps atticus stand up.
they discover mr. bennet weighs half a stone more than atticus and stands a couple of inches shorter. thus, mr. bennet's trousers are loose and short on him, but the looseness problem is solved by a belt (though not fixed too lightly). what atticus lacks in girth, he makes up in shoulder width hence the white linen shirt is baggy in the stomach area and snug in the shoulders — not too much that he couldn't raise his arms but enough that he declines to fasten the buttons up to his chin. he forgoes a waistcoat as the piece could restrict his breathing. the valet tugs a pair of socks on atticus to cover the noticeable gap between the end of the trousers at his calves and his ankles. mr. bennet was also kind enough to gift him a pair of worn slippers as it's impossible for atticus to wear his boots.
just as he's finishing dressing, a footman knocks and tells atticus that he delivered the message to squire howarth. the squire agreed to keep his dog until atticus could fetch him, but would bring by his horse in the next day or two. atticus thanks the footman and pays him his shilling as well. he only has fifteen shillings remaining on him. he would be remiss if he did not tip the staff at the end of his stay at longbourn, despite it being convalescence in nature.
mr. brooke deems atticus proper enough to leave his room and the bell to signal for dinner rings. its tinkle is clear even at the back of the house. while not needing assistance during the journey from the sitting room to his room, atticus finds he does need some assistance now, at least until he reaches the foyer and regains the energy to shuffle into the dining room on his own. it's not surprising that only mr. and miss bennet sit at the dining table and not mrs. bennet, who won't show head nor hair until he and his smell was scrubbed from longbourn. )
I apologise for my tardiness. ( he grimaces as he moves behind mr. bennet's place at the head of the table to sit to his left. ) And my appearance.
( atticus would not be out of place in a caricature published in the observer depicting dandies in their outlandish outfits. )
no subject
After enduring all of her mother that she can, she returns to her own room, but there is a restlessness clinging to her that she cannot shake. Unable to focus on reading, she contemplates playing the pianoforte that takes up a good deal of her room but knowing how the sound carries through the house she decides not to disturb their guest. She attempts embroidery and pricks her fingers a half dozen times from being distracted. How the rest of the afternoon progresses she can't say because none of it achieved anything worthwhile and soon enough the maid is helping her dress for dinner.
The Bennet dinner table is not always so empty. Even with three daughters married and one often staying up north, Mrs. Bennet enjoys throwing dinner parties for her neighbors. However, with the fair going on few families are hosting such an event so the Bennets have neither invited anyone nor been invited to dine out. Mary takes her place on her father's right at a lonely chair in the middle of that side of the table. As usually, her father is seated sideways with legs crossed, holding a book aloft as he reads. "It shall be a quiet dinner tonight, child, with your mother abstaining," he observes to her with a light tone. ]
Yes, papa. I suppose I should have Hill take her up something?
[ "If you would like," is his airy response. Mary goes to relay those instructions and returns to the table just as Mr. Cartwright comes in. Her eyes immediately move over him and what he's wearing, and she feels a bit sorry that they could do no better for him. Resuming her seat, she looks to her father for guidance, but naturally there is none. If Lizzie were here, this is where he would turn towards her and make a sly joke at their guest's appearance and Lizzie would immediately add a clever comment. But it is not so when it is only Mary at home. ]
No apology is needed. I was leaving instructions for the housekeeper and so we have not yet begun. How are you feeling, sir? I hope that a few hours rest has began the mending process.
no subject
You ( atticus shifts his chair back a little to relieve the pressure caused by the edge of the table on his torso. ) have more faith in my mending abilities than I do, Miss Bennet. Alas, I feel the same as I did earlier. Discomfort is the nature of these sorts of injuries.
( the closest comparison he can think of would be women during their period of confinement — that is, the last six weeks of pregnancy — wherein, they cannot find a place of comfort, no matter what they lay on or in what position.
the footman who delivered atticus's message comes out from the kitchen with a tureen and sets it down on the table. in the dim light of beeswax candles, he leaves and returns several times with various dishes, setting the table with military precision. he finishes with a pudding, a savory kind if atticus's nose is correct. either from kindness or the shilling he gave him earlier, the footman serves atticus a bowl of pea soup for his first course and then asks if he requires looking after. being unaccustomed to servants after an almost decade-long respite, atticus responds that no, he does not. even while injured, he will accept only the bare minimum of assistance. he couldn't lie down, fetch a messenger, or dress on his own so he allowed help; but he can serve his potatoes without aid.
he takes a silent slurp of his soup, bearing great table manners for someone injured and, reportedly, uncouth. ) However, my pride is on the mend. In these past hours, I have concluded that my actions were foolhardy. But well done.
no subject
Mary, on the other hand is a bit of an anomaly within her family. Granted, Jane's sweetness and shyness is a little out of place as well, but Jane is valued and respected by all the Bennets and Mary feels she is only so when she has accomplished something impressive. Here at the table, Mary knows that she must be a good hostess for their guest, but the reason why has become clouded. It should be for praise, should it not? If she performs her role admirably, than perhaps her parents will compliment her and Mary thrives off compliments. Yet as the day has worn on and her thoughts keep running away from her, she thinks perhaps the praise doesn't matter. Perhaps she wants to be a good hostess because Mr. Cartwright deserves it. ]
It was a desperate situation and I can find no fault on your part in how it was handled. It is of course unfortune that violence was seen as a recourse by those men, but hoping for human decency is never foolhardy. I think you very brave for standing up for those who felt they could not stand up for themselves.
[ She nearly adds that it was the good Christian thing to do, but she hesitates and the moment passes. In a way, it feels dismissive of him to think of it as something any Christian would do. There are many among them who would have no thought of intervening, but he is different. Now she is glad she didn't add that part.
She goes back to her soup and for the first time since arriving at home, she doesn't look to her father to see if she spoke well or if he's impressed. It suddenly doesn't seem vital that she know what he thinks of her behavior.
A sudden thought strikes her and she quickly sets down her soup and dabs at her mouth with her napkin. ]
Oh, sir! I have only just thought- Your dog is all alone. Should he be brought here? Or we can send someone to feed him.
[ It's so ingrained in her head that a servant will carry on with duties that it took her until now to remember that Mr. Cartwright keeps no servants. If only she hadn't rushed from his room earlier, he could have spoken of his concerns on his dog and horse right then and there. ]
no subject
the exchange ends and, for a couple of moments, it's quiet except for the soft clings of silverware against glassware before miss bennet breaks it with her solicitude. he glances at miss bennet through his eyelashes, his bangs almost obscuring his vision, and a small smile graces his mouth. ) Already handled, Miss Bennet though I thank you for your concern. Earlier, your footman, Mr. Atwood, delivered a message to the squire wherein I asked him to care for my horse and dog while I recovered. To which, he agreed.
( his smile blossoms to a wide grin that he directs at mr. bennet, but his tone is entirely serious. ) Anyways, I doubt your mother wants to be in the same house with two dogs. ( the pair both laugh, a hearty kind that fills the room with a warmth more intense than the candlelight. mr. bennet's chuckles subsides and he asks that surely mrs. bennet has a better imagination than to deem him that minor and downtrodden creature.
atticus shrugs and dips his spoon into his soup. ) Regardless of the state of Mrs. Bennet's imagination, it'd be a great honour if she thought of me as a dog. What other creature holds us in such high esteem when we do not deserve it? ( he uses his napkin to dab his mouth clean and indicates to the footman that he is finished with his soup. )
no subject
Her mind strays back to Mr. Cartwright's words and she is struck by a sudden curiosity. ]
Why would you feel you do not deserve esteem, sir? You have time and again shown your kindness and sense of right over wrong, even in the face of opposition.
no subject
I speak in general terms. No, no. ( he shakes his head. ) I deserve every esteem bestowed upon my person as I am the paragon of integrity and humility. Shall we all agree to that?
( his behaviour would be condemned as contemptible and prideful if it wasn't for the facetious wink he shoots at mr. bennet. like most, atticus is aware of his merits and failings. he has tallied and studied them to value the good and resolve the bad. but he does not believe the ill outweighs the good. in the past, he has performed deeds that may not be highly regarded by polite society but, in the impolite society of war, they had to be done. it is a weak justification but no person who has experienced the grave places and ordeals he has would disagree. but this is neither the time, place, nor company to have that discussion.
atticus cuts a small piece of mutton, eats it, and almost grimaces. in typical british fashion, the food is plain and seasoned only barely. it's a certainty that the cook in the kitchen is not french nor french-trained. still, he continues to eat the mutton, dragging it through the butter from the asparagus for flavour. ) With food like this, I believe I shall make a swift recovery.
no subject
Without the opportunity of ever eating food prepared by a foreign cook, Mary's palette is accustomed to the bland food and takes him at his word. ]
I do hope it is so. I should not like to see you suffer any longer.
[ Any other reasons for a swift recovery besides that really don't enter her mind. What the locals will think, how Mrs. Bennet will react, and anything else simply matter little to her anymore.
Silence falls as they continue eating and both Mary and her father welcome it. It's impossible not to notice the lack of Mrs. Bennet's presence in the room when she is such a force throughout the house every day. Perhaps with a better education and better manners, her mother could have been someone to be admired but alas it was never to be the case. Mary honors her mother because the Bible says it must be so, but there are times uncharitable thoughts slip in.
Once enough of a pause has occurred, conversation with a guest must of course resume, and Mary takes the reins in an effort to be a good hostess. ]
I believe you mentioned once that you were a great traveler. That you "wore red-heeled shoes," was it? Would you speak of some of the places you have visited?
no subject
( where should he begin?
should he speak of the azure waters of the mediterranean sea where grey-winged gulls fly in the sun's rays while salt lay heavy on his parched lips? or should he speak of winter in the lappland province of sweden? cheeks red and numb from the frost as green lights danced in the inky black sky. or should he recount the hazy glimpses of the great pyramid of giza through a storm of fine, yellow sand?
oh, what if he speaks not of past travels but of dreams for the future? his feet upon american grass, ancient and untouched, and his neck craned to behold the verdant crowns of the weymouth pines swaying in the unspoiled wind. a place in the green of leaves and in the shadow of mountains where true isolation and peace could be attained. he works for that.
but his tongue halts, catching itself on his teeth like a foothold trap.
no. he has been bared enough today. instead, he shall speak of a place that should provide familiarity and, perhaps, comfort. ) Your youngest sister currently resides in Newcastle, yes? I stayed a fortnight therein last year though — ( a grin tugs at his mouth. ) — I did not have the pleasure of encountering your sister or brother. ( he expresses the sentiment out of sheer formality and kindness not because he believes mr. or mrs. wickham would be pleasant company. if rumours are to be believed, mrs. wickham is mrs. bennet's facsimile and yet occupies less space in the realm of sensibility and good judgement. and mr. wickham? the less said about him, the better. without meeting the man, atticus's opinion of him is unfavourable.
he continues, ) The area is known for its glassworks and shipyards but, I confess, my time was spent mostly at the Literary and Philosophical Society. On the day of my departure, I realized that I had spent no time engaging Newcastle's society. Although, forsooth, I had very little inclination to do so.
( certainly, mr. and mrs. wickham's presence would have put him off society entirely. his interest in public society, especially in cities, has always been tenuous at best. he prefers seclusion or small gatherings of trusted friends. )
no subject
Yes. It is clear you enjoy literature.
[ She glances away awkwardly, as if someone will appear to whisper in her ear what she should say. But then she swallows her nervousness and tells herself that she is capable of this. She is intelligent if not world savvy. ]
Have you ever read The Decameron? I have not, as I have heard it contains stories not appropriate for ladies, but I should like to read more of Italy. Have you ever been there?
no subject
his brows draw together tightly, a line appearing between them as if to stop them from merging. ) Yes? ( he clears his throat, baritone voice crisper now. ) Yes, yes to both. ( he pushes a potato around his plate like a sled through snow. ) If you are interested in Italy, I suggest Ultime Lettere di Jacopo Ortis or The Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis by Ugo Foscolo for further study. ( atticus doesn't speak italian; however, he speaks latin which allows him to give the impression that he speaks italian.
mr. bennet speaks up, "in her last letter, lizzie described reading a travel book about rome from an mr. bernard stirling. 'seven hills' or something. perhaps that should also supplement your study, child. wouldn't you say, mr. cartwright?"
atticus keeps his gaze down at his plate when he responds. ) I wouldn't know, Mr. Bennet, as I haven't read the book. I am prudent with my inclination to agree to someone's statements until I can verify them.
no subject
Mr. Bennet's interjection is not unwelcome, though she has to school her features at talk of Lizzie. It is simply the way her father says his favorite daughter's name that does something to her face at times. Uncharitable thoughts need to be squashed immediately if she wants to remain a reasonable creature and not a petty girl steeped in jealousy. ]
Perhaps she will send it along with her next letter, if it is not an inconvenience to her. And I always have pocket money so I can pay the postage cost.
[ Mary never buys ribbons or cloth for herself. Only sheet music and one book per year since the cost is so great. Her dresses are still serviceable and she plans to disengage with the cruelties of society anyway, so she doesn't require new gowns. ]
And if you have interest, Mr. Cartwright, I could lend you the book once I have finished, so you might form your own opinion on its accuracy.
no subject
Thank you, I shall. ( he sets his glass down. ) But I have little hope that I will find his observations accurate. These days, commentary and historiography are so predicated on bias and sentimentality that they have lost their purpose and credibility. Idealization has blinded many to the realities and mistakes of these societies. They built these grand edifices and spoke wise words, so they did no wrong. I believe they deserve our reverence and we should drink from their fountain of knowledge, but not in the sycophantic way that is commonly practised. ( he takes another sip of his water. ) However, perhaps Mr. Stirling will be the exception, and some of our opinions will run parallel ( , he concedes tactfully. normally, he does not readily dismiss a book before examining it himself. but, after so many inaccurate and fulsome analyses of history that serve nothing but to support a group's claim of greatness and destiny, he is weary. for him, though, the assurance is never in question as atticus's true opinions will parallel those expressed in mr. bernard stirling's book.
because atticus is mr. bernard stirling. )
no subject
I had not realized the practice of praise had led to such inaccurate accounts. It is a true pity for I have not traveled and am therefore reliant on the knowledge these authors possess on the subject. Is the practice truly so widespread within the travelogue community?