Page 12 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FRESH COURAGE TAKE

“ I ’m awful tired of apples,” Tommy said.

Cassandra was too, after three long days with nothing else, but she would not admit it. “It is better than going hungry. And as soon as I am certain they have stopped looking for us, I will light a fire and we can have roasted potatoes.”

“Butter would be nice, with the potatoes,” he suggested. “And mutton.”

“There’s no butter or mutton in the cellar.”

“Maybe we could order a delivery from Mr Porter. We will say we’re the ghosts of Netherfield Hall, and we are ghosts who like mutton and butter, and if he doesn’t bring them, we’ll haunt his shop.”

Cassandra grinned at this. “Yes! And same for Mr McRae’s bakery. We are ghosts who like mutton, butter, and fresh-baked bread and pies! Remember Mrs Nicholls’s apple pie? And picking blackberries for her to make into tarts?”

For several minutes, the children basked in memories of lovely times past—and the lovely meals that had once accompanied them.

“Cassie…you know when the men came, searching the house?”

Only too well, Cassandra remembered. She had figured it would not be long before Auntie thought of it, or someone did.

She had counted, however, on Auntie not doing the searching herself— she might remember the time when they were playing hide-and-go-seek in Netherfield’s attics, and had won the game by hiding in one of the trunks.

The twins’ first order of business upon arrival had been to make hidey-holes inside a couple of the bigger trunks by rearranging their contents.

The search itself had not even been very exciting—the men were so noisy, they had had plenty of time to clear out any obvious clues of their occupancy before the attic was searched.

The fellows had stomped around, shoving things aside, but never even touched the trunks they were hiding within.

“Yes,” she replied, adding a note of quelling sarcasm, “since it was just this morning.”

“I was kind of wishing that they would find us,” Tommy admitted.

“You want to go and live with Mr Darcy a million miles away?” she asked, hurt.

“No, never. I only miss Auntie, and maybe dinner, too, but mostly Auntie. I knew, if they found us, I’d at least get to see her again one more time. I just wish Auntie could hide with us. Do you think she would? We didn’t ask her.”

“We couldn’t ask her without giving her clues . It was too dangerous. Besides, adults never hide. They only seek. And then, only adults like Auntie. Most just tell you not to bother them while they’re going about their dull adult stuff.”

“But no, remember? Auntie Lydia told Papa he spent most of his life hiding!”

“Papa was right there in the room, plain as day, when she said it, and he never played hiding games with us. I don’t think Auntie Lydia understands what ‘hiding’ means.”

“Maybe not,” Tommy said, sounding discouraged.

“At least we know. And we have a big attic and lots of blankets and a cellar full of apples and potatoes. We can hide here for years and years,” she said confidently.

“What if someone moves into Netherfield?”

“Then they will fill the pantry, and we shall be real ghosts, and sneak downstairs at night and take all the bread and butter we want.”

Tommy seemed slightly cheered at this idea.

“I tell you what. How about we sneak into the orangery and see if we can find any gooseberries before it’s too dark to see? Jeffries will never be able to tell if a few are missing.”

“He’ll catch us!”

But Cassandra pooh-poohed this, having no very high opinion of the groundskeeper’s diligence. “He will not. You know he never stirs outside when it’s raining if he can help it, and he will have gone to his tea long ago.”

Tommy’s smile could have warmed the attic. “I could eat dozens and dozens of gooseberries.”

“Well, we have to be careful, just to pick a few here and there, so he doesn’t notice any missing.”

“I suppose,” he said, his smile dimming.

“But tonight, really late, when everyone else in the world is in bed, we shall light the fire and cook the potatoes in it, just like we used to with Auntie. That will be nice, won’t it?”

“Do you even know how to make a fire?”

“’Course I do. I’ve watched it done a million times. I’d have lit one before, except someone might notice the chimney-smoke. But no one will be looking at our chimneys in the dark.”

“How will you make one in the dark?”

This was more of a problem, for once darkness fell, the children were practically blind in the gloomy attic, but quickly Cassandra thought of a solution.

“I will set the kindling and coals right now, and fetch the tinderbox from the nursery. I could light a fire blindfolded. Just you wait, Tommy. It’ll be the best fire you ever saw. ”

“Even when Mrs Sergeant tries to make a non-medicinal tea, she cannot produce a proper pot,” Lydia said, grimacing at her cup. “Probably, it is why the sergeant says so little. His tongue must have curdled long ago.”

Elizabeth knew that Lydia was trying to make her smile, but she could not quite manage it.

“The sergeant is out there in the rain, even with his rheumatism,” she defended, trying not to flinch at the idea of him limping painfully around the countryside.

Everything else she thought of, however, was worse.

The children had taken their coats, but if they were out of doors, they must be cold and wet.

Were they growing ill? Visions of them shivering, hungry, huddled against the cold refused to leave her mind.

Their miniatures stared up at her innocently from the parlour table, images from a happier time.

A slight commotion sounded from outside her window, and she went to it, peering out, wondering whether there was news.

Longbourn was providing meals and a general gathering place for the searchers; she, once again, had agreed to wait here in the unlikely hope that the children might return home.

She had not seen Mr Darcy since early this morning, but he and another man—his coachman?

—were now at the gate; only Mr Darcy dismounted, however. She ran to the door, opening it wide.

Once he entered, his person seemed to use up all the space in her entire small foyer. He removed his hat, but would not let her take it; his greatcoat dripped upon her floor.

“I only stopped by to first, ensure all is well here,” he said.

Elizabeth nodded.

Mr Darcy appeared to hesitate, frowning.

“What—what is the matter? Something is wrong, I can tell.” Lydia came to stand at her back, laying a supportive hand upon her shoulder.

“Not exactly wrong, no. Certain of the men feel it is necessary to begin dragging the river.”

She could feel the trembling begin, and she groped for her sister’s hand.

“I do not agree,” he added instantly, and with great confidence.

“I believe it is a wasted effort, and waste of time better spent searching. We are overlooking something, somewhere, or else those who have gone farther afield have not yet brought back answers. I did not want you to hear of it, however, and make assumptions. There is not any evidence leading them to draw this conclusion.”

“Except that they have found no sign anywhere else.”

“Not yet. That does not mean we have nowhere else to look. I mean to ask questions myself in neighbouring villages today.”

She made herself take a few calming breaths. “Yes, very true. We shall assume they are alive, and safe, until we know otherwise.”

He smiled at her approvingly, and the smile changed his features utterly, surprising her, however briefly, with his youthful good looks. She had grown accustomed to thinking of him as dour, and older than his years. “Yes. Exactly.”

“We appreciate you telling us their plans,” Lydia said. “We might indeed have drawn the wrong conclusions when we heard…and we hear everything, do we not, Lizzy?”

“Yes. Yes, we do. Thank you. Oh, if you would…” She hurried back into the parlour, grabbed the miniatures and returned to the foyer, holding them out to Mr Darcy.

“Please, take these, if you are travelling farther than where the children are well known. They were painted less than a year ago. I know you must remember Cassandra’s looks, but here is Tommy’s picture as well.

It should help in describing them to others… farther afield, as you said.”

Taking them from her, he nodded, gazing solemnly at the images.

“Thank you. I will return these to you. And them.” He tucked the small frames into some inner pocket of his coat, replaced his hat and bowing, took his leave.

Elizabeth and Lydia stood in the open doorway, watching him mount his horse in one smooth, easy motion, and gallop away.

“There goes a prime example of a ridiculously handsome man,” Lydia said, sighing.

“Sometimes I do not understand why God distributes looks so arbitrarily. Why should Mr Darcy have been gifted with that physique, that face? La, even his hair is thick and oh-so touchable, and him so wealthy he does not even need such superfluous traits!”

Elizabeth gave her a look.

“I am only pointing out the obvious. I adore my Andrew, and will put his brains up against anyone’s. But would I refuse to acknowledge a masterpiece, simply because it is not my own, personal masterpiece? No, I would not. Would you?” Lydia waggled her eyebrows.

“Would I let out every bit of warm air we got, simply because I’m so busy gawping like a witless ninny I forgot to shut the door? No, I would not!” Mrs Sergeant called out indignantly from somewhere within.

With a sigh, Elizabeth closed it while Lydia only giggled unrepentantly.