When Isabella knocked on Clara's door an hour later, she was still in front of her mirror reminiscing on her present life. She sure needed financial help, but she didn't imagine that she would be held up in such a big house playing home and mistress to a couple of young servants and hard headed older women.
The tiny knock came for the second time, and she quickly swung round on the dressing table stool and held out a welcoming hand. "Come on in, pumpkin. She said. Once Isabella stepped in, she flashed a cute and reassuring smile toward the girl. "I will be ready in a bit."
Isabella watched her pull open drawers, but she sad nothing. Only when Clara picked up one of the hair brushes in her drawers to brush her hair, did the little girl ask in a voice of suppressed fury, "Why are you using that brush?"
Clara looked in the mirror at the dark, sullen reflection that was staring right back at her through the mirror. "Because I want to brush my hair," she replied calmly.
"Don't you have a brush of your own?" demanded Isabella.
Clara, who was now accustomed to the Isabella's sudden intensity over trivial matters replied without surprise, "But this is my brush pumpkin. I met it right here, waiting for me when I moved in. Do you like it?"
"They are not yours, they don't belong to you." Isabella cried. "They belong to my mother! Mrs Eunice told me the brush set were part of the wedding presents from my father. You have no right to use them at all." She began to cry, and Clara experienced a sharp pang of bitterness that the pain was almost physical.
She put down the brush with distaste, then looked up at the weepng child. "Do not cry, Isabella," Clara said. "I will never use them again. I guess this was your mother's room, someone must have forgotten to put her things away. I'm sorry for upsetting you. Now, shall we go for our walk?"
But Isabella darted away from her. "I hate you!" The child screamed. "I don't want to go for a walk..." she cried, and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Clara did not try to follow her. The child's anger was justified, she just couldn't understand why Bennet would allow the maids to keep any of his late wife's possessions for her use. She had initially thought they were hers, she thought he got them for her. But now that she knew better, she couldn't help but note how much the cruelty of his heedless omission struck deep in her. She felt really sad that Isabella had to feel the way she felt. Her eyes found her reflection in the mirror and she was shocked to see tears in them.
She recalled Bennet asking if she wouldn't mind that their union would not be a romantic one as romance wasn't something he was willing to dive into.
'why would I mind?' she demanded angrily of her stricken self in the mirror. 'I'm not romantic, too.' But she did mind.
She stayed up in her room till evening, unable to think straight. She wanted to pick up the house phone, call Bennet, and scream at him. But she knew she couldn't do that. When she finally came downstairs, she wanted to visit the drawing room and take another look a Felicia's portrait, the perfect mistress of the Lewin's household. But when she got downstairs, the key was still missing from the lock and the furniture in the the rooms downstairs have all been quietly restored to their old positions.
She saw Aina across the dinning area, and screamed for the girl's presence. When she discovered that the terrified girl knew little to nothing about the restoration of the furniture, she sent her to call Beatrice.
Barely a minute later, the housekeeper came through a brown door at the back of the hall and asked Clara what she wanted.
"What do you want, Mrs Lewin?' she asked in that tone of disdain.
"The furniture.. Clara began, paying no attention to the tone of the housekeeper's voice. They have all been changed back to their previous position. By whose order, Beatrice?"
The housekeeper stood patiently just beside the door, and looked at Clara now with a tolerant smile. "Oh no, you can't possibly blame the servants for carrying out their duty as they are accustomed to, Mrs Lewin," She said in the soothing tones she used with Isabella. "Mr. Lewin is expected home any moment and he would not like to see the house looking messy."
"Then it was you....." Clara began, but Beatrice started heading toward the stairs.
"Excuse me, please, but I need to see what the servants are up to. Aina will be down soon to set up the table for dinner." Sne said, and went on up the stairs with no further comment.
Clara stood in the middle of the hall, visibly angry. Her temper was at it's peak. It was bad enough that the housekeeper would order the servants to rearrange her home, but what annoyed her most was the fact that she's treating her like a little child.
She was so furious that when Bennet unexpectedly walked in at the front door, it was both a relief and an invitation to an unconsidered speech. "Bennet, this is intolerable!" She exclaimed, her hands gesticulating wildly. "They treat me like a child or a... an irreponsible person! Do I actually have a part in your home or am I just a..... a furniture that is expected to sit at a particular position once I'm dropped there?
"What the hell do you mean by that?" Bennet said, looking at her curiously. "That's an odd way of greeting Clara," he teased, trying to calm her down a bit. "Being away from home doesn't mean I've forgotten you. Do not worry, you'll definitely get used to my occasional absence."
She knew that he was only trying to make her calm down. Yet, she was too angry to consider that the hall was not the place for such a scene.