Chapter 16
The next morning, refreshed and filled with new determination, a very different woman rang for her breakfast tray.
When the maid delivered it, she sent a message to Mrs. Reynolds to meet her in the garden, beside a rare climbing rose she had seen the day before.
It was the only feature that Elizabeth could remember from her dizzying tour.
At the appointed hour they met. Elizabeth began her first instructions as Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley. They were generic orders, of course. No young woman enters marriage knowing how to run a household with anything less than idealistic vagaries. Still, Elizabeth made a respectable attempt.
A few instructions were a little unusual.
One, for example, was that the cook should meet her twice a week, instead of just on Monday mornings.
The menu would only be made for the next three days and might change at any moment.
Mrs. Pompey was to keep a full larder in case of just such a change.
If Mrs. Darcy requested quail, or spinach, or lemons, then they should be available at once.
“You must think me very demanding,” Elizabeth said apologetically to Mrs. Reynolds, “But it is not for my benefit. Mr. Darcy’s appetite is unpredictable, and his tastes change as often as his mood. I will not have him going hungry because he suddenly cannot stomach anything other than pork.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Reynolds gave her an approving look. Lizzie knew that the old lady would have argued with a thousand cooks if it meant her master was well fed. Making sure that they were alone, Lizzie leaned closer and lowered her voice.
“Mrs. Reynolds, did my husband sleep well last night?”
“Who can say? He shut himself up in the music room with Miss Darcy. We have not heard from him since. No bells, no raised voice, not even the creak of the floorboards. Silence, madam, all night.”
The fear both women felt was unspoken but shared. They knew what such a night might mean.
“Is there any liquor in the music room?” Elizabeth asked, lowering her voice even more.
“No, ma’am. It was always Miss Darcy’s room, and she does not… did not…”
“I understand.” Lizzie gave the other woman a sympathetic look.
Then her determined glow returned, and she straightened up with a tight-lipped smile.
“Well then, Mrs. Reynolds, while Mr. Darcy is locked up he has given us a fine opportunity. I want you to go through this house at once and gather up every bottle and carafe that you find. Do you have the key to the wine cellar?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is it the only one?”
“Mr. James, the butler, has the other.”
“Good. You will bring them both to me when you are sure the house is empty. It all needs to be locked away, Mrs. Reynolds. Even the wine Mrs. Pompey uses for cooking, and the nips the servants buy for themselves - it must all go into the cellar. I will reimburse the servants, of course, but they must give it up.”
“I will make sure that they do.” The housekeeper nodded with the same fierce determination as her mistress. “If any of them lie to me or try to hide it, then I shall send them away without references.”
Elizabeth was shocked, “Isn’t that a little harsh?”
The lady looked archly back at her, “I have no time for liars, Mrs. Darcy, and I cannot abide a drunk in this house. If they cannot work without a drink, then they shall not work here at all.”
“Can you really say that, Mrs. Reynolds, since your master is in this house? It would be the height of hypocrisy.”
Mrs. Reynolds’s demeanour became icy: “Let me organise my staff as I see fit, madam. You will have a dry house within the hour.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth said, “Now, I need someone to show me around. I am afraid of getting fearfully lost.”
“Perhaps you might ask the master.” Mrs. Reynolds suggested, looking thoughtful, “It might be just the thing to get him out of that awful room.”
“Awful? The music room?”
“Oh, no. That is just what we call it. It used to be Miss Darcy’s favourite room, so we moved her in there after she… after her accident, ma’am.”
Lizzie looked back at the house, biting her lip. The ground-floor room which the housekeeper had gestured towards looked daunting, with its green curtains still tightly drawn.
It suddenly occurred to her that Mrs. Reynolds had only spoken about Mr. Darcy in all of their conversations. It was he who was shut away, and he who was being quiet. Miss Darcy was not mentioned at all. It was as if she didn’t exist. She was simply moved into her favourite room. An awful room.
“Perhaps I shall take a walk around without him.” Lizzie said softly and then gave Mrs. Reynolds a crooked smile. “Please send a servant to guide me.”
Pemberley was immaculate. Every time Elizabeth thought they had reached the end of it, there appeared another gallery, or an intimate dining room.
There was a room smaller than the library, but cosier, stocked with novels and books of verse instead of dry tomes.
There were wide seats beside the windows, a large and comfortable set of chairs beside the fireplace, and a cunning nook in one corner where one could hide away entirely.
Elizabeth had thought that she could not be more amazed by her new home, but that room made her jaw drop. She knew at once that she would spend a great deal of time in there, curled up in the corner with a pile of books at her side.
“Is this room used by Miss Darcy?” she asked, “I would not want to intrude.”
“Of course not, madam.” the maid who was showing her around rolled her eyes. Seeing Mrs. Darcy’s sharp look, she blushed and then pointed at a portrait above the fireplace, “The old mistress set it up. She was in here all the time. There is even a staircase in between it and her rooms.”
“Her rooms? Do you mean my rooms?” Elizabeth’s skin tingled. The thought of a secret door in her private rooms felt shockingly intimate. She was pleased when the servant shook her head.
“No, ma’am. Lady Anne used the rooms next to the master suite. You are further away. He did not put you in the real mistress’s rooms.” the maid’s eyes gleamed, for this piece of gossip was already making the servant’s hall buzz like a beehive.
Elizabeth did not react quickly enough to the sly leer in the maid’s voice.
When she did, it was only to frown. Her rooms were perfectly lovely, and they faced a very fair prospect.
It made no difference to her that they were far away from her husband’s.
The servant was speaking as if she should take her bedroom as some kind of insult.
She sighed and gestured for the tour to continue. First, she wanted to memorise the house, with all its secrets. Only then would she think about the people within it.