Page 15 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

My sprouting confidence, however, would be tested on the following day. After another extended tramp in the woods, breakfast, and dressing for the day, and after seeing Mrs Reynolds and making notations in my account books, I received a note from Mr Darcy.

Madam—

I wished he would call me anything other than that. ‘ My dear pariah’ had much more of a personal note to it. I sighed and took my letter to the window of my little office to warm myself in the weak sunlight.

My gamekeeper has notified me that your regular invasion of the south wood has disrupted Pemberley’s brood of pheasants.

I heard his complaint today, yesterday, and last week as well but brushed his concerns aside, never believing you would or could walk such a distance once, much less on a daily basis.

Today, however, I myself observed your departure at first light into that wood and at a speed more natural to a hastening man than a gently bred woman.

By my clock, I calculate that it is indeed likely you walked far enough to send our pheasants scattering for safer havens.

If we are ever to lure a single game bird back to the estate, you will do us the honour of confining your walks to the established paths which were designed to protect our resources from such senseless disruptions.

I looked up and out of the window in dismay only to see a gardener narrow his eyes at me in contempt as he passed. Word had spread. I was on the verge of amassing my nerve to reply to my husband when Mrs Reynolds brought to my study the steward of Pemberley.

Mr Raymond Johnson wore a woollen coat and breeches, a serviceable waistcoat of woven jacquard, and well-used riding boots.

He had a significant moustache, side-whiskers, and the leathery skin of a man much used to being out of doors.

He looked to be older than my husband and younger than my father by a decade both ways.

There was an air about him that hinted at his dislike.

His address was not inappropriate in any way, but his eyes glinted with something bordering on amusement, and I felt strongly that he meant to make a game of harassing me.

Ordinarily, I would have risen to this provocation with my wits on the prick but having just read such a scalding letter from my husband for a trouble I had unknowingly caused, I was rattled as I faced the second challenge of the day.

“Thank you for coming to me so quickly. I would like to meet the tenants and wondered if you might have an hour or two to accommodate me,” I said, correcting the tendency of my shoulders to droop in his presence.

“Mr Darcy instructed me to see to your request, ma’am, though an hour or two will hardly scratch the surface. Are you at leisure to begin today?”

I felt around wildly in my skull for some plausible excuse, but finding none, I braced myself. “Today would be acceptable.”

“I will see to having your horse saddled then and meet you at the west portico in a quarter of an hour.”

“My horse? I would rather we went in a gig. No doubt you are aware I am a novice rider?”

“Indeed, indeed, ma’am,” he said, striving to appear commiserating. “I would, however, recommend you ride.”

“And why is that?” I thought I knew the answer. He wished to make me feel incompetent from top to bottom as he introduced me to Pemberley’s people.

“Our estate history is long associated with horses. You perhaps do not know that at least half of our income from the annexations of neighbouring pasturelands in 1750 derives from blood stock. As mistress, your standing would be much lowered were you to be observed being driven in a cart.”

I crossed my arms and marvelled at the man’s condescension. He had made an error with that smirk because upon seeing it, my courage rose up like a tidal flood.

“You are good to think of my reputation, Mr Johnson. However, I do not ride well at all. Will that not be seen as worse than being driven in a cart as you say?”

“I think not. Besides, you cannot ride so poorly, now can you? We will have one of the boys ride alongside you if you would like. ”

“I see you mean to have your way. Very well. You will, however, give me twenty minutes to change for riding.”

Upon retiring to my room, I realised that it was I who had made the error in allowing the steward his way.

“Oh Wilson, I do not know what I was thinking to agree to this,” I said in a muffle as my new blue velvet riding costume came down over my head.

“But they will send a groom with you, will they not, ma’am? Someone to catch the bridle if your horse shies and capers.”

“At least I will have that. I hope they send Carl. He has been very patient in helping me to learn.”

“I am certain they will send him,” Wilson said as she helped me on with my boots. “You look quite the picture, ma’am.”

“I do hope you mean the picture of elegance, Wilson, and not that I look like my insides have been tossed in a bucket.”

Carl, the head groom, was a small man of between thirty and forty with a pronounced limp from a skirmish in the Irish rebellion.

He approached me just like any shy, skittish horse.

He spoke in a fatherly ‘now, now’ kind of way, and I trusted him greatly after only a handful of instructional rides.

I fully expected him to lead my horse to the mounting block.

But no. Instead, they had given me a child of perhaps twelve with a sprinkling of freckles and a jaunty, gap-toothed grin, which he flashed as he pulled his forelock.

“Mr Johnson, was Carl not available to assist me?”

“I am afraid not, ma’am.”

“Pray why not, if I may be so bold as to ask?” My irritation could be plainly heard by this time.

“Mr Darcy has ridden to an estate near Crossly with a couple of yearlings that Mr Anderson bought for Fairhaven’s stables. He took the head groom along to help him, ma’am.”

“Very well. I suppose it will fall to you to help me up,” I said, trying not to speak through gritted teeth.

The man pleasantly accommodated me and made a great show of good spirits, whistling and speaking jovially to anyone we passed as we went out of the grounds surrounding the main house and headed for the long road through the estate.

He seemed to delight in my grim silence as I focused on keeping my seat and holding myself erect just as Carl had shown me.

And, as if to underscore his comfort against my dis comfort, he spoke expansively about the families I would meet.

As we approached the first farm, my heart sank. I had forgot to bring even a pocketful of sweets for the children I would meet.

Three hours later, Mr Johnson said apologetically that he had an appointment with the engineer charged with building the new bridge and begged to continue our introductions on the following day.

“Perhaps we shall just finish at Travers cottage around the bend there if that is agreeable to you, Mrs Darcy?”

“Whatever you say, Mr Johnson,” I said faintly.

‘Around the bend’ was in fact quite a long way. When we finally arrived, Mrs Travers wiped her hands on her apron, welcomed the steward, and curtseyed to me before inviting us to sit at her kitchen table.

She offered refreshments and I said, “That is kind of you, Mrs Travers, but Mr Johnson does not have a great deal of time to spare. When I next come, I would be happy to stay a little longer. Tell me what your husband farms?”

The conversation proceeded along these lines.

Eventually, after hearing about the woman’s children—six, those half-grown were out helping their father—and her livestock—two dozen chickens, ten geese, a pair of milk goats and a yearly hog for fattening—I began to notice the woman glancing uneasily between me and the steward.

“I wonder, Mr Johnson, if you would be so good as to go and check on John. I do not want him disturbing Mrs Travers’s laying hens by pacing up and down next to the fence. I shall join you shortly,” I said, turning as majestically as I knew how back to the farmer’s wife and dismissing the man.

From out of the corner of my eye, I saw that he was quite taken aback. His moustache twitched as if he was formulating an objection, and he paused overlong before he stood and said, “Very good, ma’am.”

Ten minutes later, I emerged and went to the wooden crate John had turned on its side for me to use as a mounting block.

“Is all well with Mrs Travers?” the steward asked as he helped me up.

“Perfectly. Lead on if you will.”

We turned around and headed the seven or eight miles back towards the great house.

Mr Johnson’s buoyant spirits were somewhat subdued, while I, now suffering a blistering pain from my waist to my knees, sought to distract myself with gentle questions posed to John.

The boy answered me artlessly—he really was a very charming child.

“Is Thistle tiring out, do you think?” I asked, patting my mare’s neck.

“Most likely she is, ma’am. She’s old as anything, I wager, but the master don’t send any of his riding stock to the knackers. ”

“I am glad to hear it. Have you been to school?” I asked in gentle irony, having heard his version of proper speech.

“Mr Roger’s place I have. Decent sort, Mr Rogers. But I won’t say I weren’t glad of a chance to go up to the big house and toss hay.”

“ Ma’am,” Mr Johnson interjected coolly.

“Oh begging your pardon, yes, ma’am.”

Eventually, we reached a fork in the road. The steward pulled up and turned around, and I gently brought my horse to a stop.

“Is this where you leave us, Mr Johnson? I have had an enlightening day. By your description this morning, I expected a much more reserved welcome than I generally received. No doubt your advice and company have smoothed my way.” I looked at him with piercing directness, having spoken purely for the sake of irony and wishing to put him on notice I was no one’s fool.

“My pleasure,” he said, back to smirking at me. “Shall we continue again tomorrow?”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “You know quite well I will not be capable of sitting in a saddle before Wednesday next. I will mark that morning in my calendar if you are agreeable.”

“Perfectly so, ma’am,” he said with a jaunty salute.

John led Thistle down the road, and he was soon chattering freely without the looming presence of the steward and frequently forgetting to properly address me as his mistress.

I asked many questions and gathered a horde of trivial estate gossip and lore.

When Pemberley could be seen in the distance at last, I asked how far away we were.

“Perhaps not even two miles, missus.”

“Perfect. Help me down just here.” I pointed my crop at a log on the verge. “I fancy a walk. ”

“A walk?” he asked, eyes bulging in horror.

“Yes. Take Thistle back to the stables and give her a treat for her labours today.”

“Yes, ma’am. But I shouldn’t leave you on the road alone.”

“Perhaps if we were not so close, no. But you see for yourself the house is just there in the distance. Send for my maid, and ask her to walk out to me. I will meet her halfway or thereabouts. Will that suit?”

“Probably get tanned for it.”

“Not if you tell the stablemaster that I insisted on walking alone. Come, John, and repeat the word to me.”

“She insisted , sir,” he said, his face a grimace of consternation and concentration.

“Just so. Now, do not forget about my maid and get along with you. I insist. ”

Resisting the urge to assess just how tender my bottom was by fondling my benumbed cheeks, I set out walking. I tottered along as the numbness gave way to a variety of aches, kinks, and—oh lord! There were two spots that were now stinging.

“I verily hate Mr Johnson,” I muttered to myself as I went.

His challenge, I realised, had been stiff.

The matter of daring a novice rider into taking an exceptionally long ride was in itself in the nature of a prank.

The more overt challenge was in how I managed the event after the fact.

I thought hard about what to do. I would not pit my husband directly against his steward, of that I was certain.

For all I knew, they were accomplices. Nor did I think confronting Mr Johnson head on and alone would accomplish anything but an escalation in our developing war.

I had been wrong to let him goad me into riding.

I fervently hoped I would never again be so stupid in my dealings with him .

For all that, I really could not let him get away unscathed.

Nothing came to me as to what to do, however, and so I turned my thoughts to my private conversation with Mrs Travers. I thought carefully about what steps I might take in her case, and I devised a plan. Eventually, I saw Wilson marching towards me in a great huff.

“Mrs Darcy! I cannot believe they have had you out riding all this time. I began to be exceedingly concerned over three hours ago.”

“I am afraid I will have to take dinner standing, Wilson.”

“You really should speak to Mr Darcy. What could that man have been thinking to take you halfway to Manchester and you not used to a horse?”

“I believe he was testing my mettle. Do not distress yourself. I have learnt a great deal, I assure you.”

“I hope you have, ma’am, but at what cost?”

“I need to write two letters as soon as may be. I suppose I will stand at the bureau to accomplish that, then I would like a hot bath.”

“Of course. I had them set the water on the hob as I stepped out.”

“And I suppose I will need a salve.”

“We shall ask Mrs Reynolds what to do. Here, lean on my arm.”