Windswept: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

Chapter 15

Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to cover her ears to the strident whining of her mother. Francine Bennet complained about sitting lower at the table than Mrs. Hammond, despite it being a kitchen work table and an emergency. Then she was too cold. Then she was too hot. Then someone bumped her elbow. Did they not know her nerves were fragile?

Rolling her eyes did nothing, so Elizabeth continued to arrange the chairs until even the maids could be seated. Keeping busy kept her mind off her mother and the terrifying noises coming from the main part of the house and the roof of the kitchen. Hail pounded against the tiles like horse hooves on cobblestones. The constant shaking of the kitchen shutters sounded like a criminal demanding entry to strip the household of silver. Although she had heard the expression ‘howling winds’ many times, even used it on occasion, this reality was truly dreadful.

Drawing comfort from Mrs. Hammond’s composure, Elizabeth moved to where her youngest sister was sitting. Over the scent of the burning logs, she smelled…burned cork? Oh, no! Surely, Lydia did not paint her eyelashes and brows? Peering closer, Elizabeth’s stomach dropped to her toes. The Egyptian craze in London tempted ladies to imitate the pharaohs by trying to copy the royals by lining their eyes and brows until they were black. She heard of a mixture of lamp-black soot and oil being used around the eyes, but charred cork? Lydia!

“What are you looking at?” Lydia asked as innocently as possible for her.

Instead of chastising her for taking off with the officers, Elizabeth hissed, “What have you done?”

“I spent all my money on new ribbons, so I didn’t have funds to purchase the proper cosmetics. I had to make do.” Lydia batted her eyelashes. “Do they not look grand? Why, I believe my lashes are now longer than yours, Lizzy.”

In truth, Lydia looked anything but grand. Ugh! Her face was unnaturally colorful. When a drop of whitish paste began to trail from Lydia’s lower lip from the heat of the fireplace, Elizabeth realized that the fool child also used Rose Lip Slave, made from white wax, almond oil, the scent of roses, and a root powder for color.

Closing her eyes to the sight, she could not help but wonder how her mother and father did not notice the state of their youngest before they departed Longbourn. Elizabeth had never seen the reputed stage actresses from Drury Lane who painted themselves up to attract male companionship, but she could not imagine that they looked any different than her sister.

As it was, Elizabeth would give all her saved pin money for a damp cloth to clean the mire from Lydia’s face.

Then she spied something odd about her sister’s hair. Instead of her tresses having a healthy glow, they glistened unnaturally in the firelight.

“What did you do to your hair?” Whatever it was, it smelled no better than the burnt cork.

Lydia’s hand patted the curls in place. “I was fearful that the wind would undo all the work Mrs. Hill did so I ‘borrowed’ some of Jane’s hair tonic that Mama gave her. Mama insisted that it was the only way to get a man. And Jane has never used it. It was going to waste, Lizzy. I was helping Mama to save money.”

Elizabeth was so disappointed and angry that she could barely force the words through her lips. “Jane has too much sense to use anything that would take away from her natural beauty. Lydia! You not only look odd, but you smell. Perhaps you should move far away from the fire. I cannot think you are safe sitting here with that…that tonic in your hair, wax on your lips, and soot and oil on your lashes. Do move, I beg you.”

Lydia snorted. “You know nothing, Lizzy Bennet. I can do as I please, and right now, I would rather be warm where the firelight is behind me, highlighting my good looks. You sit in a corner. After all, no one is looking at you.”

Lydia had always been headstrong. Her sharp tongue usually affected Kitty and Mary the most. Setting aside her ire, Elizabeth softened her tone.

“Do come away, Lydia. You can be seated at the table with the women where you will be safe from the fire. Should the chimney cap blow off, the sparks could easily ignite your hair along with the lace of your gown. Besides, the only man in the room to observe how you look is Mr. Darcy and, on occasion, a footman who comes up from the cellar. Their attention is elsewhere. Come.”

Lydia folded her arms across her middle, her chin jutting out. There would be no reasoning with her. Going to her mother, Elizabeth attempted to move her to act.

“Lydia? Why shouldn’t Lydia sit by the fire? What does it matter where she sits when there are no officers in the room with whom to flirt?”

If only Colonel Fitzwilliam were dressed in his regimentals and stood alongside his cousin, perhaps her errant sister would listen to him.

Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy, surprised to discover him looking at her. Where she expected his expression to be one of disdain, instead she found concern.

Shifting her eyes from him to Jane, attempting to soothe their mother, Elizabeth realized something important. Mrs. Hammond was drawn to Mr. Darcy because his qualities likely were similar to Captain Hammond’s. Where her father, Mr. Bingley, the officers, and even Colonel Fitzwilliam sought a measure of their own comfort and ease, Mr. Darcy remained behind to see to the needs of others.

Good heavens!Elizabeth cupped her hand over her mouth. How could she have been more wrong? It was not Colonel Fitzwilliam who appealed to her. She swallowed. It was Mr. Darcy.

Darcy surreptitiously watchedMiss Elizabeth as she moved gracefully from lady to lady, checking their welfare. Over the noise and the weather, he could not hear the topic of her discussion with her sister. Nevertheless, from her posture, he sensed that she was either upset or disappointed. Miss Lydia was stubborn in her insistence on her way. When Miss Elizabeth retreated and pleaded with her mother (to no avail), Darcy was confident that she had not given up. Instead, she retreated to plan a different tactic.

Deciding it was time to retrieve Bingley from the wine cellar to remove his sisters from the stillroom, he was pleasantly surprised how many ladies stopped him to offer their thanks for his care. When he reached the end of the table where Mrs. Hammond sat, he knelt.

“Are you well, Mrs. Hammond?” At her affirmation, he added, “I beg your forgiveness for bringing you out in this weather. Had I known, I would not have done anything to put you in danger.”

She patted his hand. “Do not fret, Mr. Darcy. I would have sat home wishing I was here. If we use good sense, I have no doubt we will survive. I have weathered far greater storms.”

Placing his other hand over hers, he gently squeezed. “You are a woman among women, Mrs. Hammond.”

“I am not alone.” Nodding at Miss Elizabeth and glancing at Miss Bennet. “You have help should you need it.”

Descending the staircase, Darcy heard the men before he saw them. Bingley sang at the top of his lungs while Sir William Lucas attempted poorly to harmonize. Turning the corner after the final step, he noticed Richard pacing in the limited space, Mr. Hurst silently emptying another bottle, and Colonel Forster had a book. Mr. Collins sat sermonizing to the room.

“How are things in the kitchen?” Richard asked.

“As expected.” Asking Bingley for help was pointless. He was already well into his cups. “The ladies are fearful, and for good reason. I have never been in a storm this fierce, not even at Pemberley, where, as you know, the wind blows down from the mountains.” He stepped closer to his cousin. “This building is not stable. If it were not dangerous and dark outside, I would see how much of the roof has blown off. Any moment, I expect rainwater to make its way down to the kitchen.”

The colonel nodded. “We are fortunate that the stable is close enough to the main house that this monstrosity should serve as a windbreak, at least for as long as the house stands. That will keep the horses and those who are sheltering inside safe. If it is needed, we can move everyone to the dower house.”

“Can you really see the Bingley sisters sheltering with the stable hands, the tenants, and the servants even in the old house?”

“You know them far better than I, of course, but I suspect that any one of them would do whatever it took to keep themselves alive. But then, I am far too jaded to believe they would automatically look out for others.”

“Miss Elizabeth is…”

A bloodcurdling scream from the kitchen sent chills down his spine. He sped up the stairs. Before he reached the door, the terrible smell of burned cloth and hair offended his sensibilities. He feared what he would find.

The kitchen was in an uproar. Mrs. Bennet had her hands pressed over her eyes as her eldest was attempting to comfort her. Darcy wished they covered her mouth instead. The others pressed against the far wall away from the fireplace. Twisting and turning, Miss Lydia screamed while Miss Elizabeth used her bare hands to smother the sparks in her hair. Scalding vapor hissed from the tongues of flames taunting Miss Lydia’s damp garments.

His cousin grabbed a bucket.

“Thank heavens!” Elizabeth grabbed the handle and poured it over the side of her sister’s head.

Elizabeth peered up at Darcy without halting her task. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her fingers…Blast and damnation! Her fingertips were blistered.

Darcy took her hand gently in his.“Richard, some strong spirits for the ladies and some cold, clean water for Miss Elizabeth, please.”

“My hair!” Miss Lydia turned in a circle in a futile attempt to see the damage.

Darcy was grateful that she could not be too seriously injured if all she could think about was her damaged tresses. Dark, soot pooled under her eyes leaving her looking like a pathetic animal he saw once in a picture book from the Americas that he thought might be a raccoon.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst came out of the stillroom curious about the uproar. Others stood with their fingers over their mouths. When Miss Jane Bennet removed a few hairpins and a lengthy strand of shriveled hair came away with it, Mrs. Bennet fainted. As soon as her youngest child saw the damage, she turned away from the others, crying to her most responsible sister, “Lizzy, help me.” Her slim body shook with a violent sob.

Relief at being guidedby Mr. Darcy to the now empty stillroom surged through Elizabeth. Her fingers throbbed. She felt like crying with relief and anger and pain.

Lydia, who clung to her arm, stopped cold when she saw the flickering flame of the lone candle, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Come, Miss Lydia. You have nothing to fear,” Mr. Darcy assured them both. “This candle shall remain on the table. If you will be seated here, then it would be impossible for any harm to come to you.”

Lydia sobbed. “You are too late, sir. The harm is already done.” Using the back of her hand, Lydia swiped at her eyes, leaving a trail of sooty black.

Elizabeth worried for her sister. And she was frustrated. Had Lydia only listened, the damage would have been avoided. At the same time, she was relieved that things had not taken a turn for the worse, which it easily could have done.

Gratefully, Mr. Darcy ignored the chaos, stepping aside to allow his valet, carrying a small leather case, to join them. He softened his voice, knelt, and spoke to her like he would to a scared child (which she was). “I believe you can be fully confident in Parker’s ability to repair any damage to your garments and your person. When I was much younger, my cousin and I used to climb up and down the tall trees in one of the groves at Pemberley. When we returned to the house with pitch stuck in our hair, Parker was able to cut it away while concealing the damage, so our parents remained unaware of our exploits. Unbeknownst to me at the time, he had to do the same to my father when he was a lad. He even has experience with my sister’s coiffeur when she was too long in the stable with kittens and she did not want to cause more work for her maid.”

“Very well.” Lydia hiccupped as she endeavored to stop crying.

The scent of drying herbs and flowers was a stark contrast to the bitter smell of Lydia’s hair.

As he opened his case, Parker asked, “Do you have any burns?”

Elizabeth hid her fingers behind her back even though she knew he was asking Lydia.

Mr. Darcy noticed. Opening the door, he requested two full buckets of cool water and two empty ones. When the first one arrived, he said to Miss Elizabeth, “Perhaps you might test the water with your fingers while we wait for Parker to work his magic?”

“Magic?” Lydia spun to see what the valet was doing, her expression hopeful. On seeing the combs and scissors, her face fell. “There isn’t enough magic in the world to help me.”

Parker responded drolly, “We shall see, miss.”

Barely containing a sigh of relief when the water cooled her fingertips, Elizabeth nodded her thanks to Mr. Darcy, who stood quietly watching her. What was he about being so kind to Lydia of all people? Ashamed that he was doing what her parents should have done, Elizabeth felt much better about the man for treating Lydia with tenderness after her foolishness.

Turning her full attention to her sister, she listened as Mr. Darcy’s valet kept up a constant chatter of his actions.

“Miss, you might find it interesting to know that hair rarely burns. Instead, it singes. However, what we put on our hair can indeed catch fire. Once I remove your pins, we will wash your hair clean of whatever you used, and then we can decide on a flattering style.”

“Flattering?” Lydia asked.

“Oh, yes, miss. Very flattering.”

With cosmetics smearing her face and clumps of damp, shriveled hair draped down her back, Lydia looked even more pitiful once her tresses were finally freed. It would take a miracle to please her sister.

“Let us clean you up.”

Before adding soap to her hair, Parker wet a cloth to clean Lydia’s face until her skin shone. Leaning over one of the empty buckets, the cleansing soap was gently massaged into her hair. Parker was being extraordinarily cautious in the tender spots where Lydia’s scalp blistered from the flames. The bubbles were rinsed until the shine returned to some of her sister’s hair.

“Very good. We do not have an impossible situation here.” Parker studied Lydia’s face before he began pulling strands of hair away from her scalp. “I do believe that all the young ladies will want a shorter style after seeing you.”

“You do?” Lydia looked at him directly, her chin trembling. “I have always had the loveliest hair of all my sisters, well, except for Lizzy.” She sighed. “You really think others will want to copy my style?”

“I do.”

“Well, then, proceed if you will, for I cannot pass up the opportunity to make other ladies envy me.”

Elizabeth admired Lydia’s spirit. There she sat, as regal as a queen. Tears streamed down her cheeks with every snip. When Parker handed her a small mirror, Lydia turned this way and that before declaring, “I am stunned, sir. You have given me an appearance that is more grown. I am certain to catch an officer now.”

Only Lydia! Elizabeth sighed, grateful that the damage had not been more severe. Once the officer’s coat was removed and a few stitches added to the back of her gown, her sister was modestly covered—at least from that angle.

“What do you think, Mr. Darcy? How do I look now?” Lydia boldly asked.

Hesitating briefly, he replied, “In absolute truth, Miss Lydia, you appear to be a lovely sprite with far grander prospects than a poverty-stricken officer. Should you choose to emulate your two eldest sisters and wait a few years, I believe the Prince Regent himself could not resist you.”

Lydia clasped her hands under her chin as she grinned from ear to ear from his compliment.

Thanking Mr. Darcy’s valet for his valiant efforts, Elizabeth considered his master’s comment. She was stunned by each word coming from Mr. Darcy’s mouth. Not that she would ever want the Prince, who was rumored to be a reprobate, looking at her younger sister. Nonetheless, until this point in time, she would have insisted that Mr. Darcy considered her family to be offensive, far below his notice, with Lydia topping his list. Yet, again, he was…charming?

Catching his eye, she smiled, grateful he was in the room and not anyone else.