Page 20 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
Wednesday dawned, and from my window, I spied Mrs Darcy being driven out of the yard in one of the gigs. She was on her way to the Travers’ cottage, then to the Derby market on pretence. I wondered just how believable her ‘new-found interest’ in poultry would be on the estate.
As I stood there pondering, it occurred to me with a jolt that she would most likely be seen entering the town doctor’s house with Mrs Travers.
The gossip that seemed inevitable now thundered into my head.
That woman perpetually managed to throw an invisible blanket of fog over my thinking brain.
I had agreed to her stupid plan without a single objection!
I considered cancelling all my plans to follow her to the town to make her aware of the danger, but Darcy of Pemberley went nowhere unremarked in the radius of fifty miles.
If anything, my intervention would spark any number of sordid conjectures about my wife, such as I trailed her into Derby where she was caught in a tryst with some rakehell from London.
Gossip never required anything remotely resembling facts.
Time, being unmerciful, gave me no quarter.
But since November brought with it a post-harvest agenda—and in order to distract myself from my presentiments of disaster—I tackled those tasks en masse .
All the home farm equipment required maintenance.
The scythes must be taken to the Lambton blacksmith for sharpening, and the handles should be clean and oiled.
The stockpiles of grain and fodder needed to be inventoried and stored in the dry barns.
The marauding rodents of winter must be thwarted by the local rat catchers.
There were roads to repair, fences and pumps, carts, drays, and the mules that pulled them all requiring maintenance after a season of hard use.
Everyone at Pemberley knew their business, and it was far from my purview to manage these details, yet by enquiring minutely into them, no one dared to shirk their duties even after the exertions of the harvest. Johnson discretely wiped his brow after the sixth hour of our frenzied canvassing of the estate to oversee the work remaining undone.
As we came down the rutted track from the eastern pasture, I at last spotted my wife’s gig by the small column of dust that followed it on the long road from the spinney.
After dismissing my steward, I galloped back to the stable before having to witness Mrs Darcy being fawned over by my traitorous grooms. I stormed in the side entrance, washed, changed, and went to the library.
The room boasted several tables. My wife had staked out one for her own use and left it in a continual state of clutter.
Walking past the table deliberately on my way to a nearby bookshelf enabled me to conduct a covert inventory of her current fascinations.
A stack of references on chickens and ducks was pushed to one side.
The naval history remained open. She was now embellishing the battle map with watercolours.
The Irish poet was there, too, a constant companion to her.
Glancing once at the door, I reached out and opened the slim volume to the bookmarked page.
Alone in crowds to wander on
And feel that all the charm is gone
Which voices dear and eyes beloved…
I could read no more. A snort of pure exasperation escaped me.
Tragic, melancholy drivel. What world of pains and troubles had she to mourn?
A sound startled me from this furtive foray into her private business, and I quickly stepped to the bookcase nearby, where I pretended to browse the section on the British monarchy.
Mrs Darcy stopped to curtsey and walked swiftly to where I stood. Could she not walk at a stately, feminine pace?
“Forgive my tardiness. Would you prefer to go straight in to tea?”
“In a moment, madam. I have been in expectation of this appointment for the entire day, having become concerned that your visit to the doctor in Derby would be much remarked upon. We are not unknown in that town.” My tone was stern, even condemning, and I congratulated myself for it.
“In that case, I will put your mind at ease. My plan was—as you concluded—flawed. I was blissfully unaware that, as you say, I am not an anonymous figure. However, Mrs Travers was quite conscious of the need for discretion.”
“Was she? I am glad to hear it. How did you achieve such discretion might I ask?”
“After a cursory look around at the chickens, she pulled me aside and said she would just slip away for her consultation and that I best not be seen in company with her. I had already determined where the doctor was located, and we had begun to walk in that direction.”
“And how did you while away your time without looking suspiciously as though you awaited someone, madam?”
“Easily. I took John and?—”
“John! Who, pray tell, is John?”
“The child you employ in your stables,” she said in that slow, lecturing tone used for the persistently stupid.
“Oh. John.”
“He is often assigned to me when the other grooms are busy with more important work. He drove the gig.”
I waved in an impatient manner.
She proceeded, eyeing me as though I were a beast of uncertain temper.
“I tasked John with taking me to the sweet shop, where I spent time buying treats for the children of Pemberley when I visit the farms. He assisted me with my selections with the most endearing discernment,” she said, her eyes softening in recollection.
She then looked conscious and proceeded with her recitation in a more controlled manner.
“Then, since Mrs Travers had not yet returned, we went to the apothecary where I bought a few cordials for Mrs Reynolds, and then on to the bookshop. I sent John back to the market to await Mrs Travers, and when she eventually returned, I came out of the bookseller’s, and we left the town. ”
“I see.” I felt strangely deflated after a long day of anxiety for no cause.
“Will you take tea, sir? I do not believe we will have visitors unless someone comes unexpectedly. Your sister has mentioned to me that you are unusually busy these days, and I begin to wonder if she is not missing your company. ”
“Lead on, madam,” I said, stopping at the library door to ask the important question I had overlooked. “Was the Derby man able to assist Mrs Travers?”
“She came away with some remedies and advice. Time will tell. I wonder if I should arrange a similar visit for Mrs Pirtle.”
“If you do so, you will be remarked upon. Perhaps she could take the same remedies as Mrs Travers.”
“But what if her troubles stem from another cause? I wish the answer were clear to me.”
My idea had been judged the musings of an idiot, pointed out in her mild, exasperatingly cautious way. I went to tea feeling stupid, low, and increasingly alone against the gathering army of Elizabeth Darcy’s supporters.