The Broken Watch
Fitzwilliam Darcy stared at his pocket watch… again! He compared the time to the mantle clock… again! He paced around the parlour agitatedly… again! He stopped, tried to get his annoyance under regulation, and checked his watch… again!
“Bingley, may I assume you gave your sisters the correct departure time?”
“Of course, but you know how women are.”
“Actually, I do not. See this watch?” he asked, brandishing the offending device. “If my aunt appeared, and the watch reported the time as different from when she promised to arrive, I would just set it, since the watch is far less reliable than my aunt.”
Bingley laughed good naturedly, as usual. “I do not know what to say, Darcy. My sisters wish to make an impression on the neighbourhood.”
“The impression of people who cannot afford clocks or reliable servants.”
“You seem unusually tetchy tonight. Sit and share a brandy with Hurst.”
Darcy looked over at Bingley’s indolent brother-in-law and decided the suggestion of sharing one with the man had little to recommend it; partly because the man had already shared at least one too many, and second because he was softly snoring.
It was sad to see a man so desperately caught that he had given up on life before thirty.
“Do your sisters, using some perverse logic beyond my understanding, think this will make a good impression?”
“I cannot tell you how they think. I barely understand how I think myself. I am curious, though.”
“About what,” Darcy replied testily.
“You generally disdain dancing, so being late seems like an improvement to the night’s plan. If you would just sit and relax, you could spend the space of a dance or two in quiet enjoyment, and that would be two less dances for you to suffer through.”
“The dubious pleasure of having one more brandy with Hurst will hardly make up for entering the assembly hall late, thus prompting everyone to stare at us like prisoners in the dock.”
“We are fresh meat. You of all people should know they will do that regardless of when we appear.”
Darcy growled, half because Bingley made at least some sense, and half because he just wanted to get the miserable chore over with.
Oh, he understood that the exit time was fixed.
It would be a half-hour after the last dance if he was any judge of Bingley’s habits.
Whilst delaying the start and thus shortening the duration should improve things, it was nowhere near worth the annoyance of waiting on two nominal ‘ladies’ who wanted to make the men dance to their tunes.
“How far would you say it is to the assembly hall, a mile?” he finally asked in exasperation, trying to calculate the night’s schedule.
“I suppose that sounds about right. Did you see it on the way through Meryton?”
“I did.”
He made one more circuit around the room, examined his watch one more time, compared it to the mantle clock one more time, and finally shoved the infernal device back in his pocket, then startled Hurst out of his wits (what little he had left) with a very uncharacteristic exclamation.
“That’s IT!”
Bingley startled as well, and asked sheepishly, “That’s what?”
“As I said—IT!”
“Can you be more… specific?” Bingley said as he watched in confusion as his friend headed for the front door at a brisk walk.
When Darcy arrived, he donned his hat and coat with the butler’s help, took his dancing pumps in hand, and walked out the front door.
Bingley followed to the steps and asked his retreating back, “Where are you going?”
“The assembly, of course!” Darcy replied without turning and just kept walking.
Bingley shook his head, but since he was happily anticipating the fearsome reaction from his sisters, he just returned to the parlour to enjoy the show. Darcy was, after all, a grown man, and if he wanted to walk a mile, what business was it of his?
~
Mr Darcy approached the assembly hall in a muddled mood.
It had been decidedly foul when he left Netherfield, but the mile long walk in the fresh autumn air, with no annoying company revived him; especially given how he had been forced to endure Miss Bingley’s perfume and chatter for three hours earlier in the day.
For a gentleman farmer, a mile was hardly far enough to reach the edge of his formal gardens.
Even most ladies (with notable exceptions) would have no trouble with a single mile.
Once he arrived, he saw a major flaw in the plan.
He did not know a single soul any closer than Netherfield, and while he had not been thrilled with the idea of entering a staring contest between the neighbourhood and the Netherfield party, the idea of enduring one between himself and the assemblage was even worse; especially without Bingley to take most of the heat.
To avoid just standing around in a stupid manner, he went to the cloakroom to dispense with his coat, hat, and walking boots in favour of his dancing pumps.
After that, he had no idea what to do, but his ruminations were distracted by a soft voice.
“He looks confused, Mama. Should we help him?”
“Hush Flora!” he heard from the attendant who had just taken his items, a young woman of about thirty.
He looked over and saw her looking down in either embarrassment or nervousness. The latter was reasonable in a world full of Caroline Bingleys. Oh great, two minutes in and already making people uncomfortable.
He thought it might be best to act like a gentleman, so he replied as politely as possible. “Pray do not scold the child on my account, my good woman. She meant no harm, and her remark is sound. I could use some guidance. Might I know your name, madam?”
The servant looked a bit confused, but Darcy assumed she got odd requests all the time in that position.
“Mrs Redgrave, sir. My impertinent daughter is Flora.”
“I am twelve,” Flora said proudly, which earned her a mild scowl from her mother and a rare smile from Darcy.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Redgrave and Miss Flora.”
Flora giggled as if she had never heard anyone call her ‘Miss’ before, which might well have been true.
“May we be of assistance, sir?” Mrs Redgrave asked kindly.
Darcy realised he had omitted part of the ritual. “Pardon my distraction. I am Mr Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.”
“A pleasure, Mr Darcy,” Mrs Redgrave replied, echoed by Flora who gave a wobbly curtsy.
Darcy continued. “I suppose this is an odd request, and I will feel no offence if you are uncomfortable, but I face a dilemma.”
“If you tell us your problem, we will not blab it about, and if we can help, we will.”
Darcy wondered if he had gone insane from the excess perfume he had inhaled that day, which naturally led to the theory that if too much of that perfume led to insanity it would explain quite a lot about his friend’s sister.
“I am new to the area and know what is likely to happen when I enter the hall. It is always the same, and I dread it.”
Flora, having determined there was no harm in the man boldly said, “People will see you are rich and stare at you like… like—”
“That is enough Flora,” Mrs Redgrave said, then turned to Darcy, “She was struggling to say something polite.”
Darcy chuckled, “Have no fear, Miss Flora. I struggle with the same thing myself.”
Her eyes got big as if such an idea had never occurred to her, while Mrs Redgrave gave it some thought.
“Would you like a suggestion, sir?”
“I would appreciate it greatly.”
“I do not know how to resolve your problem, but I know who might. Would you care for some assistance?”
“You are very kind.”
Mother and daughter looked at each other a moment, and Flora said, “Miss Lizzy!”
“That seems right. Fetch her… quietly if you please.”
Flora took off at a run, and Darcy looked askance.
“Do not worry. Flora can be quiet when she wants to, she just seldom does.”
“I am not concerned, Mrs Redgrave,” he replied, which was at least half true. He was mostly wondering what kind of trap he had laid for himself with this ‘Miss Lizzy’.
She was obviously an unmarried woman, a fact he was sceptical of, but he decided to reserve judgement for once.