Chapter 12
I could not claim we slept well, for we were naturally restless from such extreme fatigue and the consciousness we were not yet out of difficulty.
In the hour before dawn, I noticed Keller, who snored unceasingly when he was asleep, had fallen silent.
By some sense I knew that Carsten was also awake, and there we lay, each of us considering what must still be done to reach London.
Had we been by ourselves, the case would have been far simpler, but we had Elizabeth Bennet to consider, and naturally, she had become our priority. I could not quite see what we should next do, and I shifted restlessly in this quandary until at last Keller sat up.
“What time is it?” I mumbled.
“Five o’clock, sir,” Carsten said, holding his watch at an angle to catch what faint glow of firelight yet remained.
The house woke up alongside us, and thus we began to do what must be done in the order it seemed to appear.
Keller went to see to the horses, Carsten took up our bedrolls and scraped our boots.
We visited the privy in our shirtsleeves, shaved and washed at the pump, and dressed by the dwindling warmth of the as-yet untended hearth.
I was by no means presentable, but I was conscious that of the three, I alone had a clean shirt and fresh socks.
Abby went to a nearby cottage for eggs and milk, bringing back with her a young boy, who was, as it turned out, her brother.
He chopped wood, sanded pots, and brought water before Mrs Hamilton set us a heroic breakfast. By this alone, I knew Carsten had given her an equally heroic purse for her troubles, for which I was heartily glad.
As we ate, we commiserated, arriving at a patched-up plan to proceed to London, and then Mrs Hamilton came down with Miss Elizabeth’s breakfast tray.
“The lady asked to see you, sir,” she said.
I gestured to the door for her to precede me and upon topping the riser of the last stair, I was shown into a little room. I stood uncomfortably at the door, a little dismayed that Mrs Hamilton had disappeared back down the stairs.
I did not know why I expected Elizabeth Bennet to be sitting in bed with shawls and a handkerchief to her nose, but, of course, she stood at the little window, neatly dressed and bright-eyed.
“You are no worse for wear,” I blurted out awkwardly.
“Forgive me for asking you to come to me, Mr Darcy. I did not want you to think I was so half-hearted I could not come down to breakfast,” she said, “but Mrs Hamilton would not have it. I am to stay in this room like fine porcelain in a case, I believe.”
“In this she is very right,” I said. “I would rather you not eat in the kitchen either.”
“But I assume you have done so?”
“I can, upon occasion, be flexible. Were you warm?”
“Delightfully so. Though I am told you had to sleep on the floor.”
“As you see, I have survived,” I said with a faint smile.
“And Mr Keller, Mr Carsten? They have not fallen ill, have they? Your horses, are they still standing where we left them?” And then, a little sharply, “What, sir? What have I said to earn such a stare?”
“If I am staring, it is in admiration. You have asked after my people, my horses, and me. I assume you will next ask if Mrs Hamilton has been properly paid and if Abby has had her porridge yet. If you knew he was here, you would also ask if her brother, who is in the woodshed, is perhaps too young to use the axe.”
I paused to look earnestly into her eyes. “You have not once complained, and I can think of no other lady on earth who would not be raging at me in this moment for what she has endured.”
“Oh,” she said with a faint blush. We fell silent as she looked at the floor in embarrassment, and I continued to stare at her.
She then rallied, met my gaze and said, “I-I wonder what we are to do next, sir? My uncle must be mad with worry.”
“I know it. I would send an express, but we would likely reach him ourselves before we could find a rider with a swift horse. We are deep in the country, and did not even make as far as the village proper. I am afraid our options are fewer than I hoped. Keller has gone to find fodder and information, and meanwhile, we wait. Might you like to sit in the parlour? We could perhaps brave Mrs Hamilton’s disapproval if you were to be sat tenderly upon her best chair. ”
“I would like that very much, Mr Darcy,” she said with a most delicious chuckle, “but only if it is her best chair.”
“I see you have lost none of your humour.”
“And I see you have found some of your own,” she said archly. “Lead on, Mr Darcy. Let us wait for news together, shall we?”