Pip thought he was the luckiest boy in the world, but all his luck ran out at once. His mother became ill from fever at the end of a summer that had been unusually hot and muggy, and Mrs Bennett took charge of her. At first Pip wasn't worried, as his mother had been ill several times before, and Mrs Bennett had always nursed her back to health with her homemade remedies.

"Never mind, my lady. You just take your medicine like a good girl, and you'll be back on your feet in a few days," Mrs Bennett would say, and in the past, his mother had soon recovered.

But this time Mrs Bennett looked anxious about her, and Pip and his father were kept away lest she infect them. Mrs Bennett sat tirelessly by her mistress' bedside, feeding her broth, and herbal teas she had made herself, wiping her hands and face with a damp cloth to cool her.

After a miserable week, Mrs Bennett came out of the sick room looking hopeless and resigned, and said gently, "I'm sorry, laddie. I can do no more for her. Go in and see her one last time."

Pip tiptoed in to his mother's darkened room, and saw her face on the pillow, pale and pinched, her blue eyes with dark circles beneath them. He took her hand, softly saying, "Mama?"

"I'm sorry Mama isn't looking very pretty today, darling boy," she said with a wan smile.

Pip got her comb to smooth out the tangles in her damp hair, and patted some cologne on her temples. He kissed her cheek, and then his mother closed her eyes, and a great light went out of that house which could never be rekindled.

It was a dark house to live in, those dark days after her death. Pip's father insisted on keeping all the curtains and blinds shut as a sign of respect so that no sunlight could come in. There were no vases of flowers in the house, no singing or dancing, and everything felt stale and dusty. 

Even worse, Pip's father became cold and distant in his grief, and there were no bedtime kisses and cuddles any more, his father seeming to prefer a nasty-smelling drink to nice sweets. He was rarely at home now.

Pip was left to his own devices, and only while he was feeding, grooming, and exercising Finn did he feel like himself. He was far too sad to do any trick riding now, but he had come across a very gloomy book by a poet named Robert Black who seemed to understand the misery in his heart.

"I don't think I will ever smile again," Pip said to Mrs Bennett as he came into the kitchen one chilly day. It was a line from one of Robert Black's poems, but it expressed his feelings exactly.

"I don't feel that cheerful myself, laddie," Mrs Bennett admitted with a sigh, as she got out the vegetables for soup. "But it does you no good to wander about the house like a lost little ghost. Why don't you help me in the kitchen, at least? Keep your hands busy, and there's less time for your mind to brood over its loss."

Pip listlessly agreed, and Mrs Bennett showed him how to wash and peel the vegetables ready to be chopped. While he worked, Mrs Bennett muttered to herself as she set the bread, waiting for it to rise. Pip stirred the soup on the stove for Mrs Bennett, and she added barley to thicken it. His father didn't come home for dinner, so Pip ate soup and fresh bread in the kitchen with Mrs Bennett. At least it was warm there, and the firelight made it homely.

After that, Pip helped Mrs Bennett in the kitchen every day. There was wood to be gathered, the fire to tend, vegetables to prepare, water to fetch from the well. Pip was horrified to discover just how much work Mrs Bennett had been expected to do every day, and gladly did the sweeping, dusting, and mopping to lighten her load.

One day, Mrs Bennett asked Pip if he would step over to the farm and collect their eggs and milk. "Only, I don't have the money ready this morning, laddie, so ask the farmer's wife if she can give it to us on tick, just this once."

At the farm, Pip said, "Good morning, Mrs Fairfield. I'm here for the eggs and milk, but Mrs Bennett mislaid the egg money. Can we pay you back for it later, please?"

Mrs Fairfield looked indignant. "For shame, sending a child over to beg for food, the old hussy! I'll give you the eggs and milk, Pip, but I can't keep doing this. The farm still has to turn a profit."

She gave him a dozen eggs and half a gallon of milk, as well as butter, cream, and some raspberries and tomatoes from her garden. "That was a present, because I know things are hard for you. And now, please pay off your debts before coming back," she said.

"Thank you Mrs Fairfield, you're very kind," said Pip, managing a weak smile.

Pip gave the produce to Mrs Bennett on his return, and asked why they were in debt to the farmer. "Why don't we have any money for food?" he demanded. "Where did it all go?"

"The truth is, you never had as much money as you thought you did," Mrs Bennett said uncomfortably. "Your Ma and Dadda were only a pair of childer when they married, and they inherited their fortunes too young, with nobody left to guide them. Did you never wonder why a house this size didn't have a dozen servants to care for it, and not just one old woman?"

Pip shook his head.

"At first they survived on the good will of the few servants willing to remain, in loyalty to the old lord, Mr Peregrine Lenoir," Mrs Bennett said. "Oh, he was a fine man, your grandfather, I wish you could have known him. He wasn't only a gentleman, but a man who was gentle, and that kind-hearted. He loved animals, and was a great horseman, just like yourself. And he had a smile like yours as well, that lit up a room, and shone right through his eyes."

Pip murmured that he would have loved to have known his grandfather, then asked, "And why didn't the servants stay on? What happened to them?"

"Servants need paying, laddie," Mrs Bennett said bluntly, "and they were getting no wages here. One by one, they all left when they could find other positions to go to."

"Mrs Bennett, when were your wages paid last?"

"Oh, laddie. I haven't been paid for many a long year," she replied. "I stayed because I had nowhere else to go, and because I knew you'd need me one day. And your Ma was a pleasure to work for, a sweet lady who wouldn't have known how to make difficulties if she tried."

Now that he understood the grim circumstances of their family a little better, Mrs Bennett showed Pip how she had been finding food, and making it go further. The flower garden was allowed to let go, and Pip and Mrs Bennett concentrated on digging in and weeding the kitchen garden, which was their main source of food.

At that season, they had carrots, celery, leeks, runner beans, peas, and potatoes, some of which were put up in glass jars to be kept for the winter, and there were apples and plums on the trees to be made into pies, puddings, and preserves. Luckily, there were plenty of seeds so they could sow the next season's crops, Mrs Bennett always getting out her almanac to check the moon before planting.

Mrs Bennett taught Pip to find mushrooms in the fields as the sun rose, half of which Mrs Bennett dried so that they could be added to soups, stews, and pies in the winter. In the forest they gathered blackberries to be made into jam, bilberries for pies, and took hips and haws from the hedges, to be made into jellies. They picked nuts from the trees, and caught eels in the river, which Mrs Bennett smoked to preserve.

Once a week, Mrs Bennett managed to scare up a few coppers, and sent Pip to the village shop to buy one or two things they needed. It was a ruse to get rid of him, so that Mrs Bennett could go out with her slingshot and get them a rabbit, a hedgehog, or a couple of squirrels. By the time Pip got home, they were already cooking in a stew which Mrs Bennett invariably called "chicken", saying it was a tough old bird no one on the farm would eat.

"Forgive me my lies, but the lad has to eat something," she told herself guiltily.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LINDENSEA LORE

Robert Black, a leading light of the Tragic school of poetry. His literary rival was William Merrythought, known as the Bard of Lindensea, the founder of the influential Magic poetic movement. Merrythought described Black as "a sad crow with only one note to caw, and that repeated endlessly."

From An Introduction to the Literature of Lindensea by Professor A.D. Plumtree