Mrs. Withers

Mrs. Withers

By

Sandy Grissom

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 by S.K.G. Haag

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Cover image by: Trevor Rickard used under Creative Commons Attribution/Share Alike 2.0 Generic License

As you may know, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen dealt with Jane and Lizzy as the oldest of five unmarried Bennet girls. My first book on this same family was called The Other Bennet Girls and dealt with Kitty and Mary in their encounters with love. Then I simply could not leave poor Lydia stuck with the horrible Mr. Wickham for the rest of her life. So I wrote this book about her.

In doing so, I also introduce you to other ladies in their circle. Ladies who likewise are searching for happiness in an era when obtaining a wife was more of an arrangement than a love match.

In some ways life was simpler back then. One knew their place in society and how to accommodate, if not wholly accept, a life in that sphere. Yet at the same time, life also had its difficulties, especially in relationships. Finding a spouse was paramount in the mind of every ‘single’ person. Couples were kept apart and so had little if any private time together.

Charlotte Lucas expressed the situation well when she said that it was best not to know all the faults of the man you were to marry. It was getting a man that was the struggle, much more than the circumstances of marriage she must live in afterward.

I dedicate this book to all those like me who are enthralled with the Georgian era.

Chapter One

Mrs. Withers walked slowly down the lane to the small vine covered cottage where she had resided for the past two years. In one arm she held her purchases. With the other, she held onto her worn bonnet as the fall breeze pushed back against the faux lace trimmed edges. She was forced to release the bonnet in order to push open the heavy wooden front gate when she reached the cottage. She passed through and on to the door. Once inside the kitchen, the lady laid her bundle on the small table.

She broke into the tied bundle to set aside the sweet treats she would carry with her next door. Then she sorted and put away the few other items she’d bought. Since she had not taken off her coat and bonnet, she only needed to slip her handbag into a drawer and take up the treat again before departing the cottage.

It was a very short walk to her neighbor’s home. Both cottages were situated quite near to one another, separated only by a shoulder height rock wall, of the same sort that was so common in England. The wall was obviously not new for it was covered with mature vines, the same type of vines that adorned the sides of the two cottages. Both places gave off a peaceful ambiance though little in the two ladies’ lives had ever been that peaceful.

Lydia stepped through the open and welcoming door without knocking. Not only was she was expected but the women had become familiar enough in the last two years that Lydia felt comfortable doing so without knocking. Once inside, she greeted her neighbor before divesting herself of the treats that would accompany their tea.

Mrs. Westfield was seated on a small but comfortable settee where she had been busy with her needlework. Which project she set aside when her young friend arrived.

The lady would be called stately. She had a bearing that spoke of high born status even when she was relaxed, like now. Though in her mid-forties, Mrs. Westfield still had the marks of beauty on her face. Lydia had often thought how beautiful she must have been as a young woman.

As was her norm, the lady was dressed quite properly as if she might entertain visitors at any time, expected or not. Lydia was sure the habit was from her youth and that she had never departed from it. Lydia would have loved to have seen her standing with her late husband. She could only imagine what a striking couple they must have made.

The lady had a body that carried an outfit well. One would not call her slim. She had obviously bore children. No, Lydia thought, her figure was curvy much like Lydia’s own. Strange that she hadn’t noticed that similarity until now.

There were other similarities, Lydia now counted. They both had light brown hair and eyes. Lydia was shorter than Mrs. Westfield but for all that, the two could be taken to be related. The thought caused Lydia to feel quite pleased for she cared a great deal for her neighbor.

With that in mind, Lydia smiled happily at Mrs. Westfield as she made her way to the lady’s kitchen. She was comfortable taking that familiarity. Mrs. Westfield had afforded Lydia the liberty soon after Lydia moved to Baines. She now performed the task as a matter of course. For the ladies took tea together every afternoon. Lydia discovered quite early on that she very much enjoyed serving the gracious lady.

She filled and then set the tea kettle on to boil, then returned to the lady who was still waiting in the parlor.

How long have you lived in Baines now, Mrs. Withers, her neighbor asked as Lydia sat down.

Lydia began to arrange the tea things on a table situated in front of the settee as she answered the older woman.

Two years. Have you forgotten when I took the cottage next door?

Not at all. It simply does not feel like so long a time to me.

I suppose that is true. Yet on occasion, Mrs. Withers added after a moment of thought, it seems like a very long time.

I know just what you mean, Mrs. Westfield replied with a heavy sigh.

The lady remained silent with her thoughts as Mrs. Withers continued to organize the various paraphernalia required for tea. It had become their practice quite soon after Lydia took the cottage for the two women to take tea and chat in the afternoon. By that time of day, both of them had spent the morning alone and now sought company.

The older lady had been lonely until the cottage next door was let. Though Mrs. Withers was younger, not more than two and twenty to the lady’s forty five years, they had become friends.

She supposed at first it was simply because they were neighbors. Their two cottages were set somewhat on the outskirts of the town, not exactly isolated but a little apart from most of the other houses, all those being closer in to town. It seemed logical to Mrs. Westfield that such seclusion created more closeness than might have otherwise grown between the two ladies.

Later on as they got to know one another, their relationship became more than just friendly neighbors. They began to rely on one another. That reliance took the form of shared shopping or other errands. Mrs. Westfield provided welcome advice to the younger woman but only when it was requested of her. In time, confidence and trust grew between the ladies, perhaps even dependence of a sort. In any case, they grew closer each day. Now two years later, they were good friends.

Both women would have said if asked that they were drawn together because neither of them had relatives or friends from bygone years. No one from the past came to call on either lady. Mrs. Westfield discerned quickly that Mrs. Withers was just as alone as she was. She needed a friend as badly as Mrs. Westfield did and so they quite naturally fell together. It seemed inevitable that they’d become friends.

Not at first, of course. It took time before they came to talk about more than the price of eggs. Mrs. Westfield for the most part spoke openly about most of the events in her life. Mrs. Withers, not so much. Lately curiosity had gotten the better of Mrs. Westfield. She had started asking more questions about her neighbor’s life before she came to Baines.

Mrs. Westfield had by then shared a number of stories about her life. So she could not help but wonder why Mrs. Withers had not reciprocated in a like fashion. She had told the younger woman how she’d met her husband, a militia man, about their children all married with children of their own and even that Mrs. Westfield saw them but once a year at best. The lady also explained the circumstances surrounding how she lost her husband and how she retired to the cottage in Baines.

She talked about her travels including her visits to the European continent. Mrs. Westfield truly enjoyed travelling, meeting new people and visiting new places. She supposed it was because she’d moved so often with her husband, him being in the military, that she never feared new places or experiences.

Mrs. Westfield spent a month each year at the home of one of her children. She visited her other children and their families at the same time. For all of them lived in the same upscale neighborhood in London. The lady took another month or two on the continent each year, occasionally going far from England, once as far as India. When such a plan wasn’t sound, she simply traveled around England. The remainder of the year, the widow lived in the small cottage in the nondescript village of Baines, a fair distance from Shropshire. And for the last two years next door to Lydia Withers.

Mrs. Westfield thought as she waited for the tea kettle to whistle that the trust earned over the last two years should be enough for Mrs. Withers to share more about her life. It was what friends did. They opened up and told one another about both the good and the bad events they’d gone through. Mrs. Westfield felt the timing was reasonable to encourage her young friend to finally tell her why the young woman lived all alone and had no visitors.

Mrs. Withers soon brought in the cozy covered tea pot and placed it on the tray in front of the settee. The tray already held two tea cups and saucers, spoons, a sugar bowl, cream pitcher and a saucer of sliced lemons. The sweet cakes Lydia had purchased sat next to the tray along with saucers and dessert forks. With everything carefully in place, the younger woman sat down next to Mrs. Westfield. She leaned back comfortably as the ladies waited for the tea to steep.

Mrs. Westfield smiled thinking how well her young friend set out the tea. She’d apparently had some experience in the upper echelon of society. That made her more curious than ever about Mrs. Withers though the lady began conversation in a casual manner.

Did you get your shopping done, sheasked cordially.

Oh yes. I didn’t need much. Truth to tell, I simply wanted to get out of the cottage and walk. I do so little these days that I often find myself a bit restless.

I know what you mean. This is the time of year I often plan a trip. My feet simply get itchy to travel. I have been known to leave for sunnier parts to avoid the winter cold which will soon be upon us. This year, however, I believe I will wait until spring or possibly next summer to do any travelling.

Mrs. Withers smiled at the amusing way the lady spoke of her itchy feet.

Why do you not go with me this year, she asked Lydia.

I am embarrassed to admit it, Mrs. Westfield, but I have very limited funds, which I sorely need to live on.

Mrs. Westfield didn’t respond to that. It would not do to embarrass her young friend. Instead she slipped the idea into the back of her mind where it might ruminate, yet not be forgotten.

You have never told me, she said instead, how it was you lost your husband.

Perhaps on another occasion Mrs. Withers would not have responded so readily. It might have been the abrupt change of subject that caught her off guard. Her neighbor’s comment about travel had surely sparked a bit of life into the girl who felt she had done little but survive these last two years. She certainly didn’t feel that she had lived during that time.

Her mind was thusly absorbed on the travel Mrs. Westfield spoke of. It sounded so exciting to be able to get away if only for a short time. Therefore, when the lady asked the question about her earlier life, Lydia didn’t stop to consider whether or not she should answer. Her mind so agreeably occupied, she simply responded to the inquiry.

He was sent to the Severn when that river flooded almost three years past now. You might recall the incident.

The lady nodded that she did.

Lydia thought this part of her story would elicit no concern so she continued talking about the incident.

"Several bridges along the river were damaged in that flood. The local constable in one small town where the damage was particularly bad, asked for help in keeping the spectators away from the site. He worried about accidents. He apparently had the most trouble with children and older boys. Yet I was told even the adults caused him more problems than he could handle alone.

"It was quite unsafe to be near the damaged bridge especially when the repairmen stopped work for the day. No one was there waylay mischievous boys who would dare to crawl out onto the broken timbers. A number of boys were caught who had done that very thing. They might have gotten hurt or even killed if they hadn’t been found when they were.

"Even during the daytime it seemed the workers had problems with the people. Onlookers got in their way and slowed down the repairs. I suppose they were curious and came down to watch the goings on but the situation was getting worse rather than better over time. One would think the people would have gotten bored and gone on to some other activity. Yet the damage was extensive so that the repairs were taking time to complete.

Eventually, a local official called in the regulars to guard the bridge. Both day and night, they stood watch. The official no doubt hoped their presence would stop the residents from coming to the site. Or if not, at least prevent them from getting too close to the work where they might become injured or cause one of the workers to be."

Lydia paused, perhaps hoping she’d said enough. It could be an easy leap to see such a thing happened to George. But apparently her friend expected more.

Go on, Mrs. Westfield encouraged as she leaned forward to pour out their tea.

Lydia took a breath and continued with the story.

Bystanders could not help but be in the way of the workers. Materials arrived but could not easily be set down where it was needed for the people that were gathered around. The delivery men had a hard time even getting through the crowd to drop off the supplies. For a time, I understand, they took to moving timbers in at night, not that it easily done in the dark. Yet night deliveries proved to be just as dangerous as those done in the daytime. I imagine that was when the military was called in, that is to push the crowds back.

I see. And your husband?

"Mr. Wi…Withers, must have fallen, or perhaps was accidently pushed, into the water. No one noticed with so many people milling about. It was only when an officer noticed that the crowd had moved right up to the shoreline in one section that he guessed the officer assigned to that area had encountered some sort of a problem. Someone went sent across to discover what had