I’m very busy today, and I’ve been retraining myself to finish stories (which means they’re necessarily short and simple), so I’ll leave you with one of my recent efforts, a brief scene that might have happened near the beginning of Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice, but for some reason- can’t imagine why!- it didn’t make its way on to the page:

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It was a warm and sunny day in early August when the life of Miss Mary Morris, known to all and sundry as Polly, chanced to be altered in a pleasant way. No, she did not fall in love, being only aged fourteen at the time; nor did she suddenly become mistress of a large fortune, having no relations in possessions of so many thousands of pounds as might constitute such a windfall, nor any likely to die and leave a fortune of any size in her hands. Mr. Morris was successful in his way, as the steward of Lord Carford’s house at Netherfield in Hertfordshire, but he could hardly be called rich; Mrs. Morris was the daughter of a country curate and had little money of her own; and Polly’s brother Frederick might one day become rich through prize money, but no sixteen year old midshipman can never be truly beforehand in the world without the assistance of others. Polly, still a schoolgirl, found her situation comfortable and adequate, and had only barely begun to think of what her own future might hold.

Having been absent from home for nine months out of twelve, Polly always felt a little in the way in their small cottage when she returned from school. Mama kept a housemaid, a cook, and a lad to do the gardening, and all were so well-trained that there was really very little for Polly to do but take a holiday.

As a child, she’d rejoiced in those few months of freedom, rambling about the estate and playing with the cottagers’ children, but now that she was growing up, Polly felt the want of employment, and having gained her mama’s assent, she walked up to the big house and sought out Mrs. Nicholls the housekeeper. This good woman, having no daughters of her own to teach, and no new housemaids in need of instruction, happily received Polly and her willing hands in the kitchen and storeroom, where she was engaged in preserving an enormous basket of cherries still warm from the sun.

There were only so many cherries a household could eat at one time, and such delicate fruit would not keep more than a week without further attention. There was the ubiquitous cherry pie, of course, eaten by everybody, and the summer sun was hot enough to dry a great quantity of them. For the family, Mrs. Nicholls’ ingenuity turned to more delicate and expensive methods, bottling and pickling them in brandy, wine, sweet apple vinegar, and even sugar syrup. Lord Carford and his family would eat them all winter long at the house in town, a house Polly only knew by description.

She liked to help Mrs. Nicholls in the kitchen, learning how things were done in great houses. Even if she would never live in such a place, and might never be rich enough to preserve cherries in brandy, one never knew where life might take one, and Polly was determined to learn and better herself if she could. Mama had been the teacher of her early years; her teachers at school imparted the wisdom of books and manners to her; now she sought out other instruction in the management of a home.

The two women had been at work for perhaps an hour when footsteps pattered on the stone flags outside, and one of the housemaids burst into the storeroom. “Oh, Mrs. Nicholls, Mr. Morris bid me to say that there is a Mr. Bingley come to go over the house, with a view toward taking it for his own, and he wishes to make you known to the gentleman,” she said in breathless accents, taking care of the words that were not her own.

“Isn’t that just like a man!” Mrs. Nicholls exclaimed. “And me with my hands all covered with cherry juice, not fit to be seen!” She gave a great huff of indignation. “Well, never mind. Thank you, Eliza, that will be all,” she said to the housemaid, who darted away, lest she be volunteered for extra tasks as punishment for coming to the notice of her superior.

Mrs. Nicholls had no attention for such things at that moment, and was preparing herself to meet with the greatness that was the unknown Mr. Bingley.

For her part, Polly could not pass up such an opportunity to indulge her curiosity, and quietly followed suit, washing her hands, removing her stained apron, and trailing after Mrs. Nicholls, peeping round the corner into the hall.

Her father was there, accompanied by a gentleman Polly had never seen in her life. Young, fair-haired, and dressed with neatness and propriety, this must be the new and interesting Mr. Bingley. Having scarcely ever seen a handsome man before in all her fourteen years, Polly could not compare him to any one of her acquaintance, and thought only that he had a pleasant smile and graceful manner. He bowed and shook Mrs. Nicholls’s hand with great affability, and made her some compliment on the house- so comfortable and airy, despite being untenanted for so long!- it must be due to her diligence!

Mrs. Nicholl’s accepted his praise as one who knows her worth and is pleased to see it acknowledged. While they two were engaged in conversation, Polly crept forward, unwilling to vulgarly draw attention to herself yet equally unwilling to miss any thing that might be happening. A prospective tenant for Netherfield was no everyday occurrence, after all.

Mr. Morris happened to look ‘round, and was startled to see her standing in the doorway. “Polly, are you not needed at home?” he said, frowning.

“No, Papa,” she replied. “Mama gave me leave, and Mrs. Nicholls has been kind enough to teach me-” she broke off in some confusion as Mr. Bingley made a slight movement- “well, a few things in the stillroom.” Gentlemen saw no need to talk of such things, she knew. For them it was enough to know that the ladies responsible for such tasks knew their business.

“Very well,” Papa said, with a brisk nod. “My daughter, Mary,” he named her to Mr. Bingley, who bowed slightly.

Polly blushed at the attention and curtsied, not daring to come forward and hold out her hand. They exchanged how-do-you-do’s, and the men passed on to matters more interesting, leaving the women to return to their offices and the never-shrinking mountain of fruit that awaited them.

Mrs. Nicholls brooked no nonsense in her domain, and thus Polly, not wanting to be scolded for her admittedly too-assured behavior, returned to pitting cherries without a word, observing to herself and no one else that Mr. Bingley seemed a pleasant gentleman, and kind, to take notice of them. She wondered if there was a Mrs. Bingley, and perhaps children who might require a well-bred governess in a few years, fancying herself in that position with the creative eye of her imagination.

One could never know the future, but it was pleasant to think of it, and Polly passed the rest of a happy afternoon between her work and her thoughts.

After supper that evening, Polly ventured to ask her father for an account of the gentleman. Mr. Morris, pleased with his success, became more loquacious than usual, and Mr. Bingley was soon explained. He was a very rich man, looking for a home yet not ready to purchase an estate, and had learned from a friend that Lord Carford was wishing for a tenant. “Houses are meant to be lived in,” Mr. Morris pronounced. “Like people, they suffer for want of employment. A single young man like Mr. Bingley will do very well for Netherfield.”

“Has he any family?” Mrs. Morris inquired.

“His sister Miss Bingley will live with him, and he expects his sister Mrs. Hurst, and Mr. Hurst, to visit frequently.”

“I daresay they will be very pleasant neighbors.”

“If they are anything like their brother, they will be. A most amiable gentleman, and made no trouble about the house and manor- agreed to his Lordship’s terms without a murmur! Some of his servants will be in the house next week, and the family will be in residence by Michelmas.”

Two months seemed to Polly a very long time to put a house in order, but of course there must be things ordered from town, and craftsmen brought in to set things to rights. Lord Carford had not lived at Netherfield since he took up his inheritance nearly four years ago. To have any family in the house must be counted a great change in the neighborhood.

From that day on, Polly had no time to be idly bored with her holidays. If she was not working on her own preparations for returning to school, she was at the big house, sweeping, dusting, polishing furniture- one of the housemaids taught her a new method for cleaning wood paneling- and generally helping to make the place fit for habitation.

Mama had hesitated to let her go, thinking that Mr. Bingley’s servants, all of whom were strangers, might not understand the situation of Miss Morris, and think her merely another housemaid, but Mrs. Nicholls engaged to be responsible for her safety, and Polly was set to work, and learn, and earn a bit of pocket money.

Thus August and September passed by in a whirl, and it was shortly before Michelmas that Polly found herself at the George Inn, her pockets full of her earned largesse, waiting for the stagecoach that would take her back to school. She’d given her trunk into the ostler’s care, and since the air inside the inn was too close for comfort, she had only to wait under the shelter of the porch until the appointed time.

Another young lady might have objected to sitting outside, perhaps an object to attract the attention of any one passing by, but Polly was secure in her drab traveling dress and plain bonnet, and in a village where she had passed most of her life, she knew herself to be safe. Besides, there was so much more to see from the porch that could not be seen from indoors.

Even a small village was a bustling place at eight o’ clock in the morning. There was Mr. Jones’s apprentice making deliveries for his master; Polly hoped no one was very ill. Housemaids and a few bustling housewives trotted here and there, to the chandler, the butcher, and the baker, and there were Sir William Lucas’s carriage horses returning from their exercise. A motley assortment of children rambled about, pressing their noses against the pastry chef’s front window to see the delicacies displayed within, then abruptly darting away, their attention caught by a cat, which instantly streaked across the road and up a convenient pile of firewood stacked next to the inn, safely out of reach.

Such were the sights that greeted Polly for a time, then there was a commotion at the other end of the street, and an entirely new parade came into view.

First came three gentlemen on horseback. Polly’s attention was caught by one of them- it was Mr. Bingley, wearing the same blue coat she’d seen before and riding a black horse. She smiled inwardly to see such magnificence. The other gentlemen were of course strangers, and she could not tell one from the other, only that one must be Mr. Hurst.

Then came the barouche, with one half of its top shading the travelers within while allowing them to see the countryside around them. The ladies, who could be none other than Mr. Bingley’s two sisters, were more interesting to Polly than the gentlemen. With the keen eye of a girl accustomed to reading the clothes of the ladies around her, Polly detected an edging of fine lace upon one of of the ladies’ dresses- that must be Mrs. Hurst. Miss Bingley was dressed as a young maiden in perhaps her second season. Of course no woman would wear her best gown for traveling into the country, but Polly thought their traveling habits were as fine as any thing she’d ever seen. She particularly liked Miss Bingley’s hat- such a becoming shade of blue! The ladies did not speak, or look around and point vulgarly at any sight that must interest them, but Polly could not believe them ignorant of their surroundings, and resolved to practice their method of observing without appearing to do so.

Their party did not stop, but processed through the village at a dignified pace, taking for granted that the way would be cleared for them. Polly watched them go, followed by a lesser carriage that, from the look of it, bore the family’s personal servants and quite half the household’s baggage.

The sight of such a parade must affect any young girl, and Polly’s eyes glowed with the warmth of admiration at the ladies’ dress and manners. She had heard from her neighbors that old Mr. Bingley had been in trade, but this did not lessen them in Polly’s eyes; rather she had vowed to take them as a model- if these ladies could rise from low origins, perhaps she might be lucky enough to do the same.

The practical side of her character asserted that she was far more likely to end up as governess to one family or another, or to marry a man near to her own station. But she liked to dream, and if her aspirations led her to improve herself in the coming year, to study her lessons and practice the manners and deportment of a respectable woman, Polly could not think it wrong to be wishing a little.

Scarcely had she reached this comfortable conclusion than the stage pulled into the yard with its usual clamor. Polly gathered up her reticule, assured herself that her trunk was being strapped to the back of the coach along with all the other luggage, and prepared to board, ready for her next adventure.

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Happy Friday, and I hope you enjoy the long weekend in whatever way seems best to you!