Page 8 of The Last House in Lambton (Pride and Prejudice Variations #6)

CHAPTER SEVEN

I approached the great house with more confidence on my second visit.

By my calculations and based on the scant information gleaned from Stevenson’s, Mr Darcy might not yet be in residence at Pemberley.

The possibility of encountering him was an unpleasant prospect easily dismissed, for even if he were at home, what gentleman lurked about anywhere near his front door?

None. Particularly a gentleman of Mr Darcy’s ilk, who disliked strangers so much.

I had seen Mrs Reynolds once already and was assured by her own invitation she would see me again. I would be ushered to her office, conduct my business, and wearily walk home just as I had the last time I had come this far.

Mr Brown again opened the door to me, and as any butler, underbutler, or head footman of such an establishment would, he had seen me coming with sufficient time to dredge up some recollection of me or, failing that, to look at his guest book.

“Good morning,” he said. “Are you here to see Mrs Reynolds, miss? Roberts, please let Mrs Reynolds know that Miss Elizabeth Bennet is here. ”

I acknowledged this even as the underling struck off down the hall, but by the familiarity with which I had been greeted, I suspected the next time I came to the front door, I would be politely told where I could find the service entrance.

God willing this was the last time I would have to apply to Pemberley’s housekeeper so that I would be spared the indignity, and in consequence, make some irate claim about being a gentleman’s daughter.

As bad as that might have been, no sooner had this thought crossed my mind, and immediately upon passing over the threshold, something even worse—something more truly awkward—then occurred.

“Miss Bennet!” exclaimed Mr Darcy, almost at the volume of a shout. He stopped mid-step as he came down the grand staircase and stared at me, incredulous.

Thankfully, my own gasp of surprise was drowned out by the volume of his exclamation, and I managed a dignified curtsey. “Mr Darcy,” I said coolly.

He came down the steps quickly and bowed, and before I could think what to say, he had extended his hand towards the double doors that opened instantly at his gesture.

Glancing once in uncertainty at the underbutler and in a state of complete bewilderment, I went gingerly into the opulent salon to which I had been directed by none other than the master of Pemberley.

What could he possibly wish to say to me, I wondered helplessly, looking down in utter mortification at the state of my dress.

Mr Darcy was notoriously unforthcoming even at the best of times. He struck me just then, however, as a man who had been rendered speechless by my sudden arrival.

I looked around me in obvious confusion until he finally gestured towards a chair.

“Will you not sit? A tea tray will be?—”

“Tea?” I asked dazedly. “I-I. Forgive me, sir. I believe there has been a mistake. ”

“Do make yourself comfortable in that chair,” he said abruptly, pointing to an elegant seat covered in gold brocade.

“I had better not,” I said, taking a fortifying breath and deciding that only bluntness would end this miserable meeting. “As you see, sir, I am covered in mud.” I made a reluctant gesture towards my petticoats, and added in a fading voice, “But this is not the first time you have seen me thus.”

“Do not regard it. Did you walk? Do sit. I insist.”

He spoke hastily and a bit breathlessly, which might have struck me as odd were it not for the fact that my own statements had sounded equally embarrassed.

I perched on the edge of the chair and was on the verge of an explanation for my visit, when he once again preempted me.

“Your family,” he said, with a slight frown of concentration. He looked up and asked more urgently, “Are they well?”

Fortunately, from where I sat, angled towards the doorway, I saw Mrs Reynolds come into the room just as he spoke, which spared me the requirement of answering.

I stood, which caused Mr Darcy to come abruptly to his feet.

“Good morning, Mrs Reynolds,” I said, my voice warm with relief. “I thank you for seeing me again, ma’am.”

I then turned towards Mr Darcy—too-eagerly perhaps—and spoke as if overjoyed to say farewell. “Good day, sir. I believe Mrs Reynolds and I should have our conference in her office, as I have need of her advice.”

My mind reeled, and it took a great deal of concentration to continue my errand.

Mrs Reynolds led me thoughtfully along the hall and down the flight of stairs to her office. As we went, she said, “I did not know you were acquainted with Mr Darcy, Miss Bennet.”

“We met when he was lately in Hertfordshire. I hardly expected to see him and was as surprised as he was when we met quite accidentally at the door. ”

I opted then to quit that subject by force. “Forgive me for intruding upon your time, ma’am, but I am once again in need of guidance. Mrs Jennings’s cook, you see, has caught me off guard and claims she will take leave for at least a week.”

We had reached Mrs Reynolds’s office, and almost as though we knew each other well, she motioned me to a chair.

“Indeed? And at this time of year? How odd.”

“I believe she is attempting to overpower me. We began crossways, and she is now determined to make me beg for her services.”

“You believe this to be a mere posturing?”

“I do. She wishes to teach me a lesson, and I wish to call her hand or even raise the stakes. As cooks go, her absence would hardly be a loss.”

“I so dislike that sort of ploy.”

“I would relish the challenge, if only I could cook. But that is what is at issue. Mrs Jennings keeps a kitchen maid who is but a child and is only given the meanest work, such as sanding the pots. I dread the prospect of bringing in someone new, someone I have never met, someone who might even make my great-aunt ill. I have only Mrs Jennings, myself, and three servants, and I was wondering if I could keep us fed on a pot of soup or a hearty stew until the woman returns.”

“Hat in hand, I would hope.”

“Unlikely but pleasant to imagine. Could I learn by the expedient of necessity, ma’am?

I would have looked up a book on cookery rather than bother you, but I was hoping for some sound advice on what a novice can or cannot undertake.

Or do you recommend I surrender to Mrs Smith and offer her a premium to stay?

That is the advice I have come seeking today. ”

Mrs Reynolds eyed me thoughtfully for the barest interval before she stood and went to a cupboard behind her. She brought out a book and thumbed through it while asking, “How did the pork jelly turn out, Miss Bennet?”

I smiled to say, “I made a credible showing. I thank you.”

“Very well. I believe you will also be able to make a credible showing with these few recipes, which I will mark with string. You may leave the book for me at Stevenson’s when you are finished with it.

Mind you, keep the stove from burning too hot.

That is the most common cause of a ruined meal.

Be patient, begin early, and you might do well enough for a week. ”

“Bless you, Mrs Reynolds,” I said, taking the book and clasping it to my chest like an imbecile. I was truly delighted not to have to give in to Mrs Smith’s tyranny.

As I left Mrs Reynolds’s office, I longingly eyed the passages of the lower floor, wishing I could slink out the back entrance rather than again cross paths with Mr Darcy.

But what a ninny I was. Had I not been determined to arrive at the front door like a gentleman’s daughter ?

And by no means would Mr Darcy be inclined to meet me again.

He would by now have made a strategic retreat into the far upper reaches of the house and come down only after he was certain I was gone.

Only, there he was!

He stood in the main hall with his hands clasped behind his back, looking for all the world as though he had not moved from the spot where he had watched me wander away with his housekeeper almost half an hour ago.

Was he stupid—as some highly intelligent persons are—I wondered, or was he simply stubborn, intending only to discompose me further?

He stood directly in my path as I approached, forcing me to come to a halt and to curtsey. “Good day to you, Mr Darcy,” I said, before attempting to move past him.

He waved away the footman and himself turned to escort me to the door. “I have called for a carriage,” he said.

“A carriage? I thank you, but there is no need for that, sir. ”

“It is raining.”

“And so it was when I walked here,” I said, fastening my coat and preparing to step out into a wet afternoon.

But there was no gainsaying the master of Pemberley.

The coach stood at the foot of the stairs with a liveried groom holding the door.

Mr Darcy took the umbrella from a waiting footman, placed it over my head, took my arm, and led me down the stairs.

Once there, he took my hand with a surprising degree of firmness and saw me sat down before he released it.

He then reached for the lap rug on the rear-facing seat and handed it to me.

He then shocked me by calling up to the coachman, “The Frye house on the north end of Lambton, Keller.”

I am sure I sat with my mouth agape in a most unladylike expression of idiocy as I looked at him.

The gentleman bowed, and said, “Good day, Miss Bennet.”