Page 25 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
ELIZABETH DARCY
Since consulting Yardley for her feet and approving of him almost reverentially, Mrs Reynolds took an eager interest in his settlement in the cottage near Lambton. Having explained to her the arrangement for our doctor’s lodging, Pemberley’s housekeeper exclaimed and clucked her tongue.
“I should send at least half a dozen people over to clean and make the place up for him, ma’am.”
“Yes, of course, Mrs Reynolds. Are these cottages furnished?”
“Indeed, but with what would be better used as firewood.”
Mrs Reynolds looked downcast at this admission, and so I said, “What of Pemberley’s attics? Do we have anything to the purpose? I am sure our linen closets are overfull of things that are not quite worn enough to make rags but seldom used for good company.”
“Might we furnish it, ma’am? I wonder if the master would allow it.”
“He has told me to do as I see fit so long as we do not go over our monthly allotment. Besides, when Mr Yardley is called back to sea, all that is borrowed will be returned to the house and put back where it belongs. Do we have a good mattress we could donate to the cause?”
Mrs Reynolds fretted that if Mr Darcy were to arrange a house party, she would be mortified to have to tell him she could not accommodate someone for lack of beds.
“A house party!” I exclaimed, striving not to laugh. “When was the last time Mr Darcy hosted a house party?” I could not conceive of a less social or more business-like estate than Pemberley.
Mrs Reynolds puffed up in affront before exhaling with a little huff and looking slightly abashed. “Mr Darcy has never hosted more than a dozen people, ma’am.”
“And we have thirty-four rooms at least always made up save for sheets? Goodness! I say we make our new doctor comfortable and confront the horrid spectre of a house party if and when it is arranged.”
Not being one to sit idle when a project presented itself, I rang the bell.
When Andrew came, I asked for a cart to be brought around to the service entrance in an hour, for the assistance of two men not immediately occupied, and to send for the maids that Mrs Reynolds named.
I did not know if it was my resolution to act or that I fell in so readily with her wishes that earned me a look of admiration from Mr Darcy’s housekeeper.
Whatever the cause, she then dispatched her workers with matching energy before she took me and two footmen to the attics.
On the stairs, we encountered Georgiana who begged to be of use and to go with us.
She was really no use at all, tending to fall into reveries of nostalgia to see certain draperies, a bird cage, and her childhood lap desk.
In the end, Mrs Reynolds and I negotiated a respectable selection of furnishings, neither shabby nor valuable, and the footmen put on dust aprons and began to cart it all down the stairs.
Mr Darcy, hearing the noise from as far away as his steward’s office, came to investigate. He looked primed to issue a tremendous scold until his sister tripped ahead of me.
“Oh Fitzwilliam! The most exciting thing! We are furnishing Mr Yardley’s cottage with some of the cast-offs from last year’s refurbishment.”
“Ah,” was all he could then say, though I wondered if I would subsequently be spoken to on this subject. I smiled sweetly, and we left him standing, arms akimbo, on the landing.
With cleaning and refurbishment of his cottage underway, Mr Yardley sought me out, and we called for a gig to take us to meet the tenants of Pemberley.
I returned in good spirits but covered in dirt as the road was powder dry.
I required a bath and to have my hair washed and wondered whether my daily appointment with Mr Darcy might be avoided by necessity.
Wilson, however, proved too efficient. The bath was steaming even as I stepped into my room.
My maid then proceeded to plait my hair very cleverly to disguise its dampness.
Mr Darcy, I was told by one of the maids who came to haul the water away, awaited me below.
“You are to be congratulated,” he said tightly upon my entry to the library, “for seeing so thoroughly to Yardley’s comfort.”
“I would dearly love to earn such praise, but I must own I did not think of it. I only informed Mrs Reynolds of Mr Yardley’s removal, and she expressed dismay that he would be housed so crudely.”
“Did she? ”
“I believe he prescribed for her bunions, which pain her most days.”
“Oh.”
“She said he recommended some specific changes to the construction of her shoes, a notion Mr Waverley never thought to mention. He only gave her a mixture of lard and salts of magnesium which did nothing but make her stockings impossible to wash. I am quoting her, sir.” I strove to lighten my tone with a soft smile before turning away.
“Has he seen Mrs Travers?”
“He met her and most of the tenants today. We made only a flying visit to the principal farms. He has not yet met Mrs Butters, since she is on the dairy side. I intend to take him around to her and the rest of your people tomorrow afternoon.”
“His is a leisurely pace with which to address this trouble.”
“I would much rather have lined his patients up at his door this morning, I assure you. However—and I begin to believe he is right—he proceeds by observing the civilities first, as though enticing a skittish herd to come to the fence rather than racing after them as they bolt around the pasture.” I tried my soft smile once again, adding, “His words, not mine.”
Mr Darcy went around the room in his usual fretful-bear manner, while I went to my table and took up my writing things.
I had been trying to write to Jane but found the tone of complacency difficult to achieve without sounding false.
She knew me too well to be comforted by forced gaiety.
Mr Darcy abruptly interrupted my thoughts.
“I do not want Georgiana to become taken with him,” he barked out almost involuntarily.
“I am sure she will not. ”
“Oh? And how can you be so sure?”
“I am a woman above all else, and I would know if there was even a glimmer of infatuation growing in her.”
He snorted. “You assure me on the basis of your woman’s intuitions ?”
“That and the very real occurrence of your sister telling me that he reminded her greatly of you and Colonel Fitzwilliam in both wisdom and experience.” I paused before I spoke again. “Your sister,” I said evenly, “classes the doctor as a father-figure—a grey-beard, in fact.”
He looked dispassionately at me. “I suppose I am to be gratified by this assurance.”
“I would imagine you are, since not two minutes ago, you expressed your aversion to her developing a tendre for him.”
“I wonder that you have an answer for everything.”
I put down my quill and stood. “You will be happier if I quit this room.” Before I left, I turned and said, “I begin to think this daily meeting is too arduous, sir. Perhaps we should abandon the pretence.”