Page 25 of The Last House in Lambton (Pride and Prejudice Variations #6)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
P arker and Mrs Reynolds followed me to my study and stood by as I wrote out a note to Miss Bennet to send with Maggie along with sufficient provisions for her to serve as cook for a few days.
Neither asked questions nor had to be told to smooth over any hint that the night had been eventful.
Carsten also refrained from an enquiry, though he saw for himself my tightly wrapped ribs and the bruising that had begun to show on my collarbone. He worked quietly and quickly.
“Wake me at ten,” I said, and in minutes, I fell into restless sleep.
Waking was painful, as I am unused to brawling and ached from head to toe.
And though I longed to stay in bed and indulge my pains, I could not do so without fuelling speculation about where I had been all night.
Besides, I had left Georgiana abruptly in the midst of a pleasant evening and wished to gloss over any appearance of irregularity.
Summoning the required stoicism, I managed to look a reasonable semblance of myself, and went in search of my sister. She sat over a half-eaten late breakfast with two kittens in her lap and a third wreaking havoc on her braids from the perch of her shoulder.
“What a charming picture,” I said, as I sat down with my plate, noticing with a tinge of relief that my knuckles were only slightly reddened and unlikely to give me away.
The cut on my lip was small enough that I hoped it, too, would escape notice, but I was prepared to blame Carsten for too close a shave if needs must.
Georgiana smiled wistfully, put her tormentors in the basket at her feet, and said, “You are hungry this morning.”
“Starving, in fact. What are your plans today?” I asked.
Rather than answer me, my sister spoke to her companion. “Mrs Annesley, would you mind very much taking the kittens to Marie in the kitchen? I am sure that is where Buttons can be found, and she should be mothering her brood instead of helping with the cream buckets.”
She continued to pick at her breakfast, and I continued to devour mine, but I could not help but notice that the air in the room had changed—that my sister was oddly preoccupied. No sooner had the footman left the room with the tray of cleared dishes, than she confirmed my suspicion.
With uncharacteristic directness, she asked, “What happened last night?”
Damn. I had not thought to ask Parker what she had been told. “A bit of a row at the squire’s. I wish I could share some exciting news, but it was a bit of hum.”
She looked piercingly at me throughout this lie, and after a protracted silence, Georgiana spoke with grim intent. “Wickham is in Lambton again. You may as well tell me.”
“What? No!” I cried, searching my sister’s face. “What makes you think so? ”
“What else would cause you to leave in such a way and with so many men?” she demanded. “I know Wickham has been seen lurking around somewhere,” she said darkly, “and you are going to fight him.”
I stood abruptly and moved my chair close enough to take my sister’s hand, to look earnestly into her eyes, and disabuse her of her horrible suspicion.
“The truth is, love, that a band of criminals was seen coming down from Sheffield. I went to warn Miss Bennet and Mrs Jennings.”
“Are you in earnest? But nothing happened, surely.”
“They had a scare. Nothing more, but I am glad I went.”
She sat back in amazement, and with a touch of relief in her voice that her worst nightmare had not come to pass, she said, “Well! We must visit them today, make sure they are comfortable, and help them forget any upset.”
I was too battered to protest and only too anxious to fall in with my sister’s plan.
Love only wishes to see what it loves, and though it was hopeless, I wished to lay eyes on Elizabeth and see for myself she was no worse for wear.
She would leave Derbyshire soon enough, I consoled myself, and then time would mend the great tear in my life.
Surely, I would not die of love. To do so would be silly and useless besides.
In order to stop thinking of myself, I turned my attention to Georgiana, who was intent upon leaving as soon as was seemly.
On the carriage ride to Mrs Jennings’s house, I asked, “What did Parker tell you about where I went last night?”
“He concocted a little story about Sir Hugh having need of you for a magisterial matter.”
“That is not so very unbelievable.”
“No, and I would have swallowed it whole had you not taught me to observe people more closely. ”
“Oh?”
“He sniffs.”
“What?”
“Mr Parker sniffs.”
“My dear sister, I have never yet met a butler anywhere who does not sniff at everything.”
“Well, I cannot say why, but there was a peculiar quality to his sniffing. And he was slightly stiff in his manner.”
To this I laughed outright. “Oh well. There you have it. Whoever heard of a butler who is stiff in his manner?”
She threw me a reproachful look, but replied with good humour. “Mock me all you like. I knew he was lying, and for that you must take credit.”
“I suppose I should, although you knew I, too, was trying to conceal the truth. This does not bode well for me in future, should I ever wish to keep you out of my concerns.”
“Your concerns?” she asked, but with such a lilt of teasing, I felt certain she had her suspicions about my interest in Mrs Jennings’s visiting relation.
“In a moment you will have me crying for mercy. I am too tired to parry such thrusts. Perhaps you should tell me of your concerns?”
Georgiana sobered instantly. “On my honour, I have none except the one thing I spoke of today.”
“Wickham will never intrude upon you again, love. That I promise,” I said with an earnest squeeze of her hand.
She smiled wistfully—disbelievingly—and we fell into our private reflections as we neared the high street in Lambton.
Once at Mrs Jennings’s door, we were greeted by the maid who spoke in a low voice.
“Miss be upstairs, sir. Sick with the headache,” she said, and then dropping her voice to a near-whisper she added, “and Mrs Jennings is terribly low on account of no one to sit with her. ”
“Might we come in to cheer her?” Georgiana asked.
The maid was only too happy to let us in, and once she had shut the door behind us, she abandoned us to do whatever we pleased with Mrs Jennings.
Thankfully, Georgiana came prepared to be of use and went to the lady who was bent over a shawl she was working.
At least Sam had set a good fire and the candles I had sent had been put to use, otherwise the room would have been too sad to tolerate sitting alone as she was.
My sister, with her soft voice and willingness to talk of yarn, slowly encouraged Mrs Jennings to engage with her.
“I am Miss Darcy, and this is my brother, Mr Darcy,” she said occasionally, and after the third repetition, Mrs Jennings’s recollection of my father resurrected itself.
“Mr Darcy?” she asked tentatively.
“Good to see you again, Mrs Jennings.”
“So good of you to visit us, sir. Maybe they will bring the tea things soon,” she said fretfully, and then, “There is a girl who helps me, but I do not know where she is just now.”
My sister, wishing to help me out of this floundering conversation, interrupted and asked after a figurine on the mantel of a girl from King George’s time.
“That is lovely. Did they indeed wear such enormous skirts then?”
The old lady brightened. “My first ball gown was made of ten yards of pink jacquard,” she said confidingly. “And Hannah had one of gold. We were once invited to a public ball at the squire’s.”
“Were you? How old were you and Hannah when you went?”
The minutiae of costumes and of the social excitement of bygone days consumed a quarter of an hour, after which Georgiana had fully established herself as good company in Mrs Jennings’s unsteady opinion.
They fell to talking of my sister’s kittens, and soon ended at the parlour table with Georgiana, who is an accomplished artist, sketching pictures of all her pets.
This delighted Mrs Jennings, and it was this scene that Miss Bennet witnessed as she came down the staircase.
She clung to the railing for support and stepped gingerly on the treads, which alone would have led me to believe she was not well. But it was her cheeks, drained of all colour, and her eyes—large, over-bright, and underscored with shadows—that sent me to her aid.
“How good of you to visit, Miss Darcy, Mr Darcy,” she said sweetly, darting a look of uncertainty at me before she went to my sister to welcome her fully. She dutifully looked at the drawings and smiled warmly at the pleasure they gave her great-aunt, but the strain of speaking soon began to show.
With a significant look at Georgiana, I made known my wish that she continue to entertain Mrs Jennings while I helped Miss Bennet to sit in a quiet corner in the parlour.
When the tea things came, I felt compelled to spare her the exertion and offered to pour if she would only give me a hint of how to do it.
With the gentle encouragement of one of her softest smiles, I managed to do the deed credibly.
Miss Bennet’s state, however, continued to strike me as tenuous, and when she set her cup down with a telltale rattle, I came to stand close and spoke in a murmur of concern.
“You are truly ill.”
“I have fallen prey to a headache and nothing more, sir. Will you not sit? Thank you for bringing your sister to Mrs Jennings. I am sure she had a lonely afternoon while I rested.”