The True Darcy Spirit. Elizabeth Aston

was admitted by a tidily dressed maid, who bobbed a curtsy and said that her mistress was expecting her. Cassandra followed the maid up the wide staircase and through double doors into the drawing room to be greeted by Mrs. Nettleton, dressed in a morning gown, who came forward to greet her in the kindest way.

      “I am so glad you are come, now sit down, and Betsy will bring us a pot of coffee directly. Do you like coffee? Yes, I was sure you were a coffee drinker, I can always tell.”

      The room was furnished with green covers and hangings, and done up with some style. Cassandra’s eyes went first to the pictures, none of which she found particularly interesting; most were on mythological themes, with a preponderance of scantily clad nymphs and some saucy-looking cupids. However, there was a landscape above the fireplace that she could admire: a pastoral scene, done in the rococo manner, with shepherds and shepherdesses dallying beside a gently flowing river while their woolly charges frolicked in a grassy meadow behind them. She would not herself have had the simpering figures, but the natural part of the scene was exquisitely done.

      Mrs. Nettleton was as pleasant as she had seemed the day before. She drew Cassandra out, asking about her drawing and painting, and said that as soon as she were settled, were she to decide that the accommodation met with her approval, then she must, positively must, show Mrs. Nettleton some of her efforts.

      Coffee came, and was drunk, and then Mrs. Nettleton took Cassandra upstairs to view the room. It was a large room on the second floor, and overlooked the garden to the rear of the house.

      “It is quieter, you see, on this side, for although St. James’s Square is not half as busy as some in London, there is always some noise, of carriages and people coming and going, and then at night, there are the night carts, you know. So it will be more peaceful for you here, and young people need their sleep, and you are young, for all that you are a widow. It is sad to see such a young widow, for you can hardly be more than one-and-twenty.”

      Cassandra smiled, and said, yes, she was but one-and-twenty. She had an idea that it would be better for Mrs. Nettleton to think she was of age. She preferred, she added truthfully, not to speak of her late, dear husband, as she found it upset her too much.

      That should put a stop to any awkward questions. The trouble with lies was that once started, the fiction had to be continued, and it was hard always to be remembering details that you had made up upon the spur of the moment.

      She was delighted with the room, and couldn’t believe her good fortune. With a little money in hand, and a comfortable roof over her head, she could begin to make her way in London. With some diffidence she enquired about terms, and was surprised at how reasonable the rent was.

      “I do not wish to make money, you know; as I say, I like to have a lodger because it livens up the house, so big as it is, and only me and the servants, and from time to time my young nieces who come to stay, I have a vast number of relations, and their mamas are very keen to have their daughters come to London and be under my care. However, just now, I have no guests, and if you will dine with me on some evenings, then you will be obliging me, and you may meet some interesting people, for my little dinner parties are quite famous. I also hold card parties from time to time, but I will understand if you do not wish to join me for those, since the stakes are often quite high, and if you are at present living on slender means…”

      Cassandra assured her that her means were indeed slender, quite sufficient to pay the rent, but not to gamble with. “I must take care of what I have.”

      “Why, as to that, I have no doubt that I shall very soon fix you up with the best imaginable position—as a drawing instructor, I mean. Such an one as yourself, with your ladylike ways and good looks, for I assure you those count in any employment; who would choose to have ugly people about them, while they might look on beauty?”

      Cassandra’s private opinion was that anyone who employed her to teach their children would not care how plain she looked; in fact, she had a very good idea that mothers, at least, might prefer to have their governesses and people of that kind as unprepossessing as possible. She would dress simply and keep a severe expression on her face when she went for interviews.

      Without knowing it, a severe look came over her face as she was thinking this, and it caused Mrs. Nettleton to give her a sharp look. “It is quite extraordinary, I do not know if you are related to anyone of the name of Darcy, for upon my word, you do have a look of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley! Not that I have ever met the gentleman, although I have many aristocratic friends, he is not one of those…we do not move in the same circle. However, there was recently a portrait of him that I saw exhibited at Somerset House. A very fine likeness, everyone said, and for a moment the similarity was striking. As to expression, of course, rather than feature.”