Chapter Twenty
Follies And Ruins
They were later leaving for Chesterfield than Darcy liked. Twilight was gathering, and they would have to either light their way to Chesterfield or see if the Hardwick Inn could give them rooms.
After feeding them a splendid meal, the housekeeper had given them an equally splendid tour of the New Hall.
She had the history of the place at her fingertips, knowing every painting, chair, and tapestry, and how each came to be in the Cavendish family’s possession, relating her tales with an air of bestowing exciting confidences upon them.
The tour was too fascinating to cut short, and by the time they were exploring the gardens, the air had chilled from its earlier thin warmth.
From the evidence of the clouds rolling up from the south, they would be lucky indeed if they escaped a shower or two on their way to Chesterfield.
“I think we should leave shortly,” Darcy suggested. He had managed to shake off Miss Bingley again—she was an indefatigable clinger to arms, he had learned—on the pretext of needing to discuss matters with Reid and the other gentlemen.
“Aye.” Reid took his gaze from the sky. “I dinna like the look of the weather. May not come to much, but the ladies will not want to be wet.”
They stood in the remains of the Old Hall, ruinous and roofless since the current duke’s grandfather had dismantled much of it for building work done elsewhere.
The noise of the masons had ceased as evening drew in and the men could no longer be seen; the duke had ordered the walls inspected and strengthened, Hardwick’s head gardener had explained as he led them into the ruin and proudly showed off its celebrated planting.
It was an oddly hybrid place: part old house, part garden.
Only the outer walls remained, and specimen trees had been planted in the roofless space that had once been great rooms and halls.
The ladies explored the grove with varying degrees of delight.
Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley walked around slowly, Mrs Hurst leaning on her husband’s arm and Miss Bingley raising a hand to her mouth more than once to inadequately cover a yawn.
She cast Darcy and Reid more than one glance, he noted, and the one he met earned him an inviting smile.
He looked away with only a nod, returning his attention to Reid and the weather, but not before observing the Misses Bennet flitting from tree to tree, exclaiming over particularly fine specimens or at the late-blooming underplanting of stonecrop, harebells, and autumn hawksbit thriving in this sheltered place.
Darcy had caught Miss Elizabeth’s bright glance more than once as they explored the garden.
He suspected her botanical enthusiasm rose in direct opposition to the ennui displayed by the Bingley party.
“I will walk down to the inn and fetch the coach and our horses.” Hugh cast Miss Bennet a lugubrious look, and scowled when she did not return it or thank him for his consideration for their comfort.
She had spent a great deal of the visit on Bingley’s arm, in close conversation, and Hugh, though he had buzzed about them much as a wasp might buzz about a man’s head at a picnic, had failed to claim her attention for more than a moment or two.
Every one of Hugh’s interventions played out in the same way: Miss Bennet would glance at Hugh with her serene, indifferent smile when he spoke to her, manage a word or two in response, then Bingley would say something, or point out some curiosity or rich item on display, and she was lost to Hugh again at once, turning back to Bingley as if Darcy’s little brother were of no more consequence than the wasp he imitated so well.
“That is good of you, Hugh. Thank you.” Darcy hoped his tone was conciliatory. “The ladies will appreciate it.”
He reached out a hand, but Hugh shrugged it off. “Those who are as yet undazzled, perhaps.” He stalked away towards the gate leading to the lane between the two Halls without another word, as black-browed and lowering as the clouds forming above their heads.
Bingley, nearby throughout, quirked an eyebrow at Darcy and proved he was hardly blind to Hugh’s interest. “Well, now the field is clear, I must take an interest in botanising. What did you say these plants were? Harebells?” He stooped and plucked a handful.
“I do hope I am not about to proffer weeds. I cannot write poetry, but at least I might weave in a compliment about her eyes being a more heavenly blue.”
Bingley marched along the footpath to join his chosen lady, and Miss Bennet’s acceptance of the makeshift posy was blushingly graceful.
Darcy exchanged a pained glance with Reid, who chuckled.
Rolling his eyes at the pair of them—when had Reid become indulgent and romantic?
—Darcy walked over to the wall to examine the remaining decorative plasterwork high above his head in what had once been a great room.
The walls looked unsteady. Pebbles bounced down, rattling from one great block of sandstone to the next, raising wispy eddies of dirt and dust. He looked up.
Forty feet above his head, a fine carving of…
Mars, was it? That would do. Mars decorated the remains of an elaborate overmantel above a fireplace in the Elizabethan style—that is, large enough to take an ox on the spit.
More stones bounced and rattled.
“Stay back!” Reid called. “Sir! Stay back!”
Above him, stones hopped and jumped down the wall, faster now. More of them. Bigger stones. The remains of the chimney bent and bowed, as though greeting him, then toppled forward.
Something gripped his shoulder and wrenched him back at the same instant he leapt backwards of his own accord. He landed awkwardly, off-balance. Reid steadied him.
The dull, crunching thud of the chimney crashing to its ruin echoed the thumping inside Darcy’s chest. Indeed, everything hammered and thwacked so loudly, he heard nothing else.
During that odd, thudding moment, other sounds broke through piecemeal.
A half-smothered scream, cries, Bingley’s startled cursing and Reid’s harsh breathing.
“Oh, lad,” Reid said, in his ear.
Darcy glanced around wildly. Was she safe?
Was Eliz— the ladies, thank the Lord, stood far enough away from danger.
She was safe. He pulled in a shaky breath.
His gaze caught Miss Elizabeth’s, her eyes wide and dark in her white face.
She took a single step towards him, covering her mouth with both hands.
He swallowed hard. Found his voice. Choked out an “I am well. I am quite unhurt. It is nothing!” despite the difficulty of getting a decent pull of air into his lungs.
The dust billowing up from the wreck of the chimney smelled ashy, as though welling from an ancient pyre.
It took him a moment to understand he had not been in significant danger: the chimney had fallen a few yards from him, and even if he had not leapt back, if he had stayed frozen in place, he would not have been hit.
“Good God, Darcy! That was close!” Bingley, all colour banished from his face, rushed to his side.
Darcy fought to control himself. He blew out a long sigh and forced himself into calm. “I do not think I would have been touched even if John had not been able to pull me away. Do you see to the ladies, Bingley, while I catch my breath.”
Darcy glanced at the rest of the company as he spoke.
The gardener hovered nearby, looking as shocked as Darcy felt, his florid face as drained of its colour as Bingley’s had been, or Miss Elizabeth’s.
Beyond him, Mrs Hurst was half-fainting on her husband’s arm, held up by Hurst and her sister.
The Bennet girls leaned upon each other, Miss Bennet’s expression one of great distress.
Harebells lay scattered at her feet. Miss Elizabeth’s countenance was still chalk-white, as she looked from him to the wall.
Darcy stepped back, towards the centre of the ruined house. His heart calmed with every breath, stopping its wild skittering. Unlike the walls, where stones skittered and bounced still.
Reid looked up, his gaze searching. “Stay near Bingley, lad. You hear me?”
Darcy caught at his sleeve. “Where are you going?”
“To see if anyone’s up there.” Reid dropped his voice, and tapped the pocket doubtless housing one of his tiny Wallis pistols. “And discover where Mr Hugh is. Stay close to everyone else.” He left at a run before Darcy could protest.
Bingley goggled. “Whatever is happening?”
“Nothing. Naught but misadventure, but you know how protective Reid can be! Now, let us reassure the ladies and escort them to a safer place.” Darcy glanced at the gardener, still hovering nearby.
“I suggest you close this part of the grounds to visitors until your workmen have secured the masonry.”
The poor man nodded meekly. “Yes, sir. I don’t understand it. The walls are not as weak as all that!”
“It appears they are, and I want the ladies taken to a safer location immediately. Hurst, do you require aid with your lady?”
“I can manage, thank you.” And Hurst turned to the wide gates, urging his wife along. Miss Bingley went with them, with many a glance at Darcy and her brother over her shoulder.
Bingley hurried to Miss Bennet’s side and offered his arm and a reassuring smile. “Let me escort you, Miss Bennet. Such an alarming accident, is it not? We should leave at once.”
That left Miss Elizabeth to Darcy. She put her hand on his offered arm without saying a word. Her hand trembled, and she looked him in the eye, her expression serious.
“I am quite unharmed, Miss Elizabeth, and can only thank God you are… that all the ladies are safe.”
She cast one more glance at the wall where the chimney had stood for more than two hundred years.
“I do not think it would have hit me.” Did he seek to reassure her, or himself? He could not tell.