Page 16 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Jane rolled over to face her sister and said, “I am very glad. Does that mean you appreciate the man more now?”

“Yes, most definitely. I still think he is overly proud, but oh Jane, to hear Father speak of all Mr. Darcy did during the fire! He toiled and struggled and even put himself in danger to save the house! I admire him for his diligence and respect his intelligence. I would not say that I consider him a friend, exactly, but,” and here she continued in a very serious tone, “I find him tolerable enough to speak to.”

This provoked a flurry of giggles from her older sister and Jane patted her on the shoulder. “Oh Lizzy, you are ridiculous sometimes!”

/

Lydia’s, formerly Elizabeth’s, Bedchamber

Longbourn

Lydia shivered in a miserable little huddle under a pile of Lizzy’s blankets.

She missed her room, her clothes, her trinkets, her jewelry, and her own bed.

All of it entirely gone now, mostly likely through her own careless fault.

She whimpered, since there was no one around, before another shiver wracked her frame.

Her eyes strayed towards the little heap of wood in the basket beside the fireplace, terribly tempted.

But no – she would get no more for another twelve hours, and if she used it all up tonight she would have to get up in the morning freezing with no chance to warm.

Lydia sniffled, wishing Kitty were here.

She felt so very alone without her favorite sister around, whose constant presence had been a comfort since Lydia’s birth.

But she was at the Netherfield hunting lodge with Mamma, who was furious with Lydia.

She wondered pitifully if Mamma’s anger would spread to Kitty like the fire had spread – would Kitty be furious and hate her, too?

She had always been able to depend on Kitty and Mamma loving her, even when her father and Lizzy and Jane were displeased.

Mary was usually displeased with her as well, but it hurt to think about Mary, so she did not.

And it was so unfair! She had left the candle burning, yes, but like Lizzy and Jane said, there was no proof it had been the candle that had started the fire. It might have been one of the servants! Or a loose spark popping out of the fireplace! It might not be anyone’s fault at all!

She hated that it was probably her fault.

Mamma was always so worried about all of them finding husbands.

Lydia sniffed, considering this. Perhaps, if she could get married, Mamma would not be angry at her anymore?

But who could she marry? Mr. Darcy was proud and unpleasant, Mr. Bingley was paying marked attention to Jane.

Perhaps a militia officer? Many of them were both handsome and charming, and she would dearly love to marry an officer in a red coat.

It would be difficult to attract a husband, now, though, wearing Mary’s old clothes. They were all so plain and drab and boring, not at all fit for her bright personality and fine figure! Perhaps she could beg some lace from Jane to spruce them up? Perhaps a few embroidery threads from Lizzy?

Her mind lulled by these pleasanter reflections, Lydia succumbed at last to her fatigue and slipped into sleep.

/

On the road to Longbourn

Two days later

Bingley had paced all the previous day, chafing at being stuck inside as the rain hammered down, washing the house and flattening the flora outside.

It had passed during the night, and the sun had risen into a clear sky to shine down on a world bejeweled in water-drops that soon vanished in the autumn light.

The road beneath their horses’ hooves was muddy, but it was not so bad as to spatter, at least.

As they entered Meryton, Bingley nodded and smiled to various acquaintances.

Darcy’s greetings were more restrained, composed entirely of stiff nods as necessary.

A flash of red caught the corner of his eye, and he turned his head in time to see a militia officer entering the pub.

Darcy’s mouth set; the red coat was a reminder that Wickham was, or had been, lurking around as well.

It was a distasteful thought, and there was nothing Darcy would have liked more than to plant his erstwhile friend a solid facer for the scurrilous scheme at Ramsgate.

But Wickham held the leverage here, and as long as he stayed out of his sight, Darcy would be content to ignore his presence in the town.

His heart lifted as they left the village behind them.

He was eager to see Miss Elizabeth again – she was, of course, a very interesting conversationalist. He found few people who could hold intelligent discussions and were so ready and willing to challenge him, and so charmingly.

Of course, he reminded himself, he was not going merely to see Miss Elizabeth.

She was incidental to his real reason for going.

It was, after all, his duty to keep Bingley company – and if he were honest with himself, he greatly appreciated the reprieve from Miss Bingley.

She hung incessantly from his coat-sleeve, flattering him and making snide comments about the Bennets, and he was thoroughly sick of it.

A thin and searching breeze tugged at their hats and coattails as they rode, bringing the smell of damp earth and old vegetation with it.

It was a lovely day, the cool sun unobscured by the few thin wafts of cloud wisped across the sky.

In the brown grasses, wrens and sparrows rustled about, calling out to one another.

This serenity was lost as they approached Longbourn, which was a hive of activity.

Servants were scurrying about, carrying food and hay and water, unfamiliar tradesmen hauled lumber, and over there, the blacksmith Milton was consulting with one of the tenant farmers.

There were several of those about, Darcy noted as he dismounted; they were not especially busy at this time of year, freeing them to help their afflicted landlord.

A servant led a cow by him and Bingley, heading towards the stable.

It swished its tail, wafting about a less-than-pleasant aroma, and Darcy pondered for a moment on its presence here, until he realized that it would be more convenient to have a cow nearby for milking, thus freeing up men and transportation for necessary repairs to the house.

The cow and her minder passed by Ben, who was trotting towards them eagerly.

They relinquished their reins to him, and turned towards the house.

There was almost as much activity in the destroyed east wing as in the yard, and Darcy glimpsed men moving around the husk of the kitchen.

He frowned a little; that did not seem at all safe, with the rest of the house liable to crumble down at any moment, but it was likely necessary to salvage pots or silver or anything else that might have survived the flames.

He noted that sturdy boards had been nailed over the broken windows of the dining room and drawing room in order to provide protection from rain and wind, though Darcy had no doubt that the dining and drawing rooms were cold; the east wing was a jumble of broken wood, and the doors to the east wing were greatly damaged and leaky.

It was a chilly day, and he hoped that the servants were not suffering too much from the cold.

He glanced over his friend as Bingley knocked on the door, and checked his own trousers and boots. Neither he nor Bingley was much the worse for the muddy ride over, he was glad to see. But then the front door opened, and he cut his cursory inspection short.

The butler received them with a regal indifference to the noise emanating from the nearby drawing room, and he guided them a few feet to a room which Darcy had never seen before, but which he assumed, based on its furnishings, was some kind of formal parlor.

Now it was a makeshift office, with a table placed near the window, the better to illuminate the papers spread all over it.

Mr. Bennet was standing with his back to the window, staring down at his daughter Elizabeth, who was seated on a simple wooden chair, her brow furrowed as she ran her pen down what appeared to be a column of figures.

“I think that if we are able to reduce our food expenditures…” she said, and then stopped as the butler coughed expressively.

“Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley!” Bennet exclaimed, looking up with a smile. “How good to see you again, sirs.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bennet,” Bingley replied. “I do hope we are not interrupting vital work.”

“It is vital, but Lizzy and I are both thoroughly tired of it,” Bennet answered. “My dear, fetch Jane and tell her that we have visitors and will be in the sitting room. Selkirk, would you kindly arrange for tea?”

“Yes, sir,” the butler said, and removed himself gracefully.

“Come along, gentlemen,” Bennet requested. Bingley and Darcy followed the master of Longbourn down the corridor toward the back sitting room.