Chapter 15
15
THEN THERE WERE FOUR
W ithout a sound, Mr Monroe lifted the latch of the door and pushed. Those crowded in the doorway, all half a dozen of them, caught sight of Miss Kensett inside. Bent almost double, she held in one hand a wooden trinket box, from which small alabaster balls were still falling and scattering across the wooden floor. With her other hand, she tried to capture the escaped ones, but her dainty palm was unable to hold them all. The more marbles she picked up, the more she dropped.
The attorney cleared his throat. The lady glanced up from her occupation and froze. Wide-eyed, she gaped at them, seemingly overpowered by the suddenness and unexpectedness of people standing there. Brushing past the others, Elizabeth helped Miss Kensett pick up errant marbles.
Meanwhile, closely followed by the chaperon, Mr Monroe stepped inside and folded his arms. “Miss Kensett, you are hereby disqualified from this tournament. ”
“What do you mean?” Between the lady’s eyebrows, a pucker formed. “Whatever for?”
“For being in a forbidden room, madam. This boudoir served as Miss Armstrong’s bedchamber during her infirmity. Your set of instructions and rules clearly states that entry to bedchambers other than one’s own is prohibited.”
“But I was merely searching for…something. And I assumed the rules would not apply to me . I have been in Miss Armstrong’s boudoir before.”
Elizabeth thought the lady’s petulant pout was humorously apt. I may not be fluent in French, but I do know ‘boudoir’ literally means sulking-place.
Looking every bit the prim and proper chaperon, Miss Rigby asked, “For what were you looking just now, Miss Kensett?”
Another marble fell, and all eyes watched it slowly roll across the floor.
“I…I was…” Miss Kensett snapped shut the trinket box’s lid, revealing a porcelain top embellished with birds, butterflies, and red poppies. By then the colour of her face almost matched that of the fiery flowers.
“Rather like closing the stable door after the horse has bolted, is it not?” said Mrs Vincent.
Aiming an exasperated sigh at both the housekeeper and the chaperon, Miss Kensett said, “I was hoping to find items to replace my imitation pearl parure. Despite what you think, Miss Rigby, I am certain Miss Armstrong would have wanted me to have a suitable keepsake.” She looked down at the trinket box with great disappointment. “Why would she have kept marbles in this? I expected rings or earrings.”
“As intimate as you supposedly were with her, Miss Kensett,” said the attorney, “you must realise that Miss Armstrong was a bit of an oddity. ”
The chaperon swept past Mr Monroe, nearly losing her balance when she trod upon a marble. Righting herself, she attempted to take the box from Miss Kensett’s hands. Each of them held fast to an end, and Elizabeth feared the two women were going to end up in a tussle.
“Ladies!” roared the attorney.
At the same instant, they both released their hold on the box, which fell to the floor amidst alabaster balls.
Rather calmly under the circumstances, the housekeeper said to Miss Kensett, “I shall instruct Henrietta to pack your baggage, madam.”
“And I,” said Miss Rigby, “shall keep Miss Kensett company while that is underway.”
To Elizabeth’s ear, the chaperon’s tone implied that, otherwise, the banished beneficiary might abscond with more than she had in her possession when she arrived.
“Alfred,” said Mr Monroe, “have Miss Kensett’s coachman and footman fetched from the estate, and notify Mr Bolton that he and Jimmy are to prepare her equipage for immediate departure.”
“It will be my pleasure, sir.”
About an hour later, in disgrace and showing no little measure of bitterness about being in such a state, Miss Kensett departed Oakwood Manor.
Everyone waved her a fond farewell except for Mr Fordham. He was there, but his pleased expression spoke more of good riddance than good wishes.
In her bedchamber that night, waiting for Rachel to come and unbutton her gown and unpin her hair, Elizabeth ended her day in much the same manner as she had begun it— lost in a brown study and oppressed by a multitude of widely differing emotions.
Miss Kensett’s departure meant she then was the competition’s sole female participant. Had it not been for complications with her latest puzzle, Elizabeth would have been confident she could hold her own against the three gentlemen. The engaging qualities of her mind were a matter of pride, and they had placed her first in her father’s esteem. But what she really needed was to be first in the tournament.
Focusing on problem solving and winning should have been her constant priority, but several diverting occurrences—Mr Darcy’s ailment, his recovery, his amorous behaviour, and Miss Kensett’s incidents with pearls and marbles and disqualification—had distracted Elizabeth from her purpose. Only two days remained, and she wondered where the time had gone.
Rachel hurried in and apologised for being tardy. “Etta—Henrietta, that is—and a chambermaid were cleaning Miss Kensett’s room, and they discovered this.”
Elizabeth accepted a folded, sealed single sheet of writing paper addressed to her. Seated at the dressing table while her hair was being unpinned and brushed, she broke the wafer and read the message.
Dear Miss Bennet,
To write long sentences about unpleasant subjects is both tedious and odious, so I shall not.
I only write at all because, of all the others at Oakwood, you were the only one to show me any degree of kindness, though cool and paltry a degree it was. But I begin to understand now, when it is too late, that tournament rules were not meant to be broken.
Nevertheless, despite your uncompromisingness, I hope you will be victorious. Why? Because you are a woman; and if you win, you may become an independent one, and at a much younger age than Miss Armstrong was when she gained control of all that wealth.
Of course, I would have preferred to be the vanquisher. I then might have escaped the influence and control of my father and brother. Alas, it seems I am not quite as clever as you.
Therefore, I am counting on you to outwit Mr Hadley, Mr Darcy, and—most of all—Mr Fordham. Do not trust that man! He is nothing but a weasel and a?—
My carriage is ready, and Miss Rigby is giving me that gimlet-eyed glare of hers.
Perhaps, Miss Bennet, when you are mistress of Oakwood Manor, you will remember me and invite me for a visit. My direction, I fear, will still be thus: Under my father’s or brother’s thumb, Maidenhead, Berkshire.
In the meantime, I remain not your friend but a well-wishing acquaintance,
Sophia Kensett
Elizabeth knew the woman possessed neither quickness nor strong understanding. But why did she not complete her warning about Mr Fordham?
Upon giving the letter a second reading, she felt utterly ashamed of herself.
Poor Miss Kensett! To be in such a predicament! Within minutes of becoming acquainted with her, I suspected she was all pretence and fragility. Why did I not try harder to befriend her? ’ Tis little wonder she wanted to capture Mr Darcy’s attention. I pray that one day she will either marry a good man or gain her independence and escape her family’s tyranny.
“Shall I help with your gown now, Miss Bennet?”
“My apologies, Rachel. I had not realised you were waiting.” Rising from the stool and holding her hair aside, Elizabeth remained still while the back of her gown was unbuttoned. Then, rather distractedly, she thanked and dismissed the maid for the night.
Once abed and with feelings in every way agitated, Elizabeth found repose only with great difficulty. The inquietude of her mind caused so much tossing and turning that she finally exhausted herself and slept.
In a heavy mist, Tuesday dawned half-heartedly, and Elizabeth was awake to witness it. Following her morning toilette, she sat in her bedchamber, longing to be out there, enwrapped in the silvery-grey veil.
Equally desirous of solving her puzzle, she stared at the foolscap on the table in front of her. The paper already bore numerous failed attempts to rearrange the letters in ‘ Hearts shall weave ’. Unsure whether such a method would even prove to be the solution, she flung down her pencil in vexation.
For her mother and younger sisters’ sake, she had to win. They were dependent on her providing for them should Mr Bennet die before at least one of his daughters wed a gentleman in possession of a good fortune. And, despite Sunday’s talks on hope, followed by Mr Darcy’s marked attentions, Elizabeth would not allow herself to hope for more than Jane to marry Mr Bingley .
She surrendered to disheartenment for but a moment while her eyes filled with tears of frustration. Angrily, she wiped them away before they could fall, and she flatly refused to work herself into a state of further distress. At that juncture, the honour of victory was doubtful; but she had come too far and was too close to winning to admit defeat.
Resolute, she knew what must be done. The puzzle could wait. A walk amongst misty verdure and dew-kissed blooms would soon set her right. Wearing half-boots and an unlined cloak with attached hood, Elizabeth reached the bottom of the staircase and noticed Alfred was back at his customary post.
Reaching behind himself, the footman produced an umbrella. “In case the mist turns to drizzle or rain, miss.” He then opened the door, stepped out, and unfolded the oiled and waxed green silk canopy for her. There even was an acorn attached to its handle to protect her from lightning.
Elizabeth smiled and thanked him. He and his brother are exceedingly helpful…and handsome, which one’s footmen ought to be, if they possibly can. If I am so fortunate as to win Oakwood Manor, I hope it comes complete with Alfred and Christopher.
With the brume gentle upon her face, she set off southwards and closed the umbrella, the better to admire the scenery. The surrounding countryside was laid out before her in every shade of green—verdant grasses in meadows and fields, lush foliage of trees and shrubs. The colours reminded her of Saturday past when Miss Kensett’s Pomona green gown and vivid emerald-coloured turban had harmonised with the variegated shrubbery. How she had frightened me! And what stories I shall enjoy sharing with Papa during our homeward journey!
Upon reaching the wet garden and discovering her ramble might not be a solitary one, Elizabeth’s entire being flooded with warmth and expectancy.
For a moment, Mr Darcy looked at her with what she liked to think was unfeigned pleasure. “Miss Bennet, I have been walking hereabouts for some time in the hope of chancing upon you. I remembered that you wanted to speak to me and that I had arranged for Miss Rigby and us to meet yesterday. Please forgive me for not being here at the appointed time.” He exuded a strong sense of regret over something that was not at all his fault.
“You have nothing for which to be sorry, sir, for I did not present myself here either. Please put aside your disappointment over that missed assignation and?—”
“ Assignation ?” He virtually choked on the word.
“Yes.” Elizabeth was all innocence. “An assignation is nothing more than a meeting by arrangement, is it not?”
“Well, no…or rather yes, but…”
Observing his shocked and confused countenance, she could no longer suppress a grin.
He returned her smile. “You know, you really are irresistible.” He offered to carry her umbrella, hooked its handle over one arm, proffered his other, and they strolled along winding gravel paths.
“You know, you really should smile more often, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth trailed her free hand across glistening bushes, causing a cascade of tiny jewel-like droplets.
“And why is that?” He inched closer.
“You may not have a big, open grin like Mr Hadley or Mr Bingley, but you must be conscious, sir, that one’s countenance appears to greatest advantage when smiling.”
“Ha! You are perfectly right.” He then smiled so handsomely that the outer corners of his eyes creased. “I shall endeavour to spend more time in your society, for that is when I smile the most. In fact, on this dreary morn, you already have dispelled gloom and brightened my day.”
Disinclined to spoil their good cheer, Elizabeth was hesitant to repeat what she had overheard on Saturday in the great hall and what Miss Kensett had almost shared about Mr Fordham in her note. The lady was gone and could neither extort that gentleman nor be hurt by him. For her own part, Elizabeth had felt ill at ease about Mr Fordham from first acquaintance. There was something cunning about him, and she would remain cautious.
While the lady and gentleman wound their way round the flower beds, the morning’s fine mist had gradually increased to a middling shower. As he opened the umbrella, Mr Darcy took a quick glance about the garden. “Where, pray tell, is our vigilant chaperon this morning?”
“ I had not planned on this assignation, sir.” Elizabeth grinned at him. “Ergo, I saw no need to advise Miss Rigby of it.”
“Nevertheless”—he lowered his voice and twitched his head to the right—“we are being watched.” He increased the distance between them.
From under the umbrella, Elizabeth peered across a bed of purple cone-flowers and espied the same gardener who had been trimming the shrubbery on Friday and the junipers on Saturday. That morning, he was raking gravel. Smiling sweetly, she waved and wished him a good day. Her greeting was gruffly returned.
Strolling arm in arm with Mr Darcy beneath their silk canopy, it did not seem life could possibly supply any greater felicity. The perfumed garden was at once both tranquil and alive, its floral displays ranging from delicate to showy.
Darting out from under the umbrella’s protection, Elizabeth stopped to admire a bed of heliotrope in shades of purple, blue, white, and pink. A sign indicated the flowers were traditionally symbolic of eternal love and devotion. Behind the heliotrope, arranged in an arc, were pots of roses in a variety of hues from white to wine. “Beautiful!”
She thought she heard Mr Darcy softly whisper, “Yes, so beautiful.”
When she turned to face him, his gaze was fixed on her face, not the flowers. Have I been elevated from tolerable to beautiful? Unaccustomed to compliments but warmed by the possibility of one from him, Elizabeth blushed and looked at the ground.
Instantly, the toes of his boots appeared a fraction of an inch from hers; and there he and she stood together beneath the umbrella, sheltered from rain and shielded from prying eyes.
“I am not one to speak in false or extravagant praise, Miss Bennet. You must know you are lovely. I thought so even at that ill-fated assembly in Meryton, and I should not have spoken so falsely that night.” He passed her the umbrella, then reached past her to pluck one of the roses. After removing the thorns from its stem, he handed the flower to her.
Elizabeth accepted the exquisite bloom and held it to her nose, inhaling its sweet fragrance. Grateful for the suspension of Mr Darcy’s compliments, she returned the umbrella to his care and said, “Speaking of Hertfordshire, I cannot say that I am in any hurry for the conclusion of our present visit. I shall miss Oakwood.” And you.
“Perhaps your leaving this place will be but temporary.”
“Do you think I shall win?”
“That is but one hypothetical ideal that could become reality.” He looked not at her but at a thorn embedded in his glove. “Another possibility is that one of the gentlemen here— Mr Hadley, for instance—might claim the prize and consequently be in want of a wife.”
Mr Darcy waggled his eyebrows at her, and she smiled at him. “Seriously, madam, I have been meaning to ask what you will do with Oakwood Manor should you win the tournament. As per the terms of Miss Armstrong’s will, this property cannot be put up for purchase. Ownership and inheritance must remain within the winner’s family for a specified number of generations.”
Elizabeth spoke then of how dearly she would love to win—needed to win—and why. He had entrusted her with the secret of his sister’s near downfall, and she had no qualms about confiding in him about the Bennet family’s situation. Certainly it was no secret.
Trust was significant. If the two of them were to further their acquaintance, what could be more important than mutual trust?
Mr Darcy stood looking into her eyes, attentively listening; and when she finished speaking, he remained silent, still gazing at her but seemingly deep in thought. So intent were they on one another that they jumped apart upon hearing a familiar voice.
“And why was I not invited to this cosy little tête-à-tête of yours?”
Elizabeth thought it odd that Mr Darcy chose that moment to glance at his watch and mutter in an unmistakably cynical tone, “Of course. Eleven o’clock. Right on the dot.”