Chapter Ten #2
Irked that her nephew was more focused on research than dancing attendance on her, Lady Catherine had insisted that they could not occupy the library unchaperoned; as a consequence, Anne de Bourgh’s companion, Mrs. Jenkins, sat in a corner of the room and knitted.
Naturally this limited the quantity of frank discussions they could enjoy, which was a shame because the books provided many fascinating topics of discussion.
The following morning, Mr. Darcy was called away for a conversation with his aunt’s steward, and Mrs. Jenkins had fled the library—apparently concerned that Miss de Bourgh was pining away without someone who knit at her.
Alone in the room, Elizabeth closed another volume of history and added it to the pile of unpromising books.
She and Mr. Darcy had commenced the search full of hope, but Elizabeth was increasingly worried that their visit to Kent was in vain.
She stood and stretched muscles that had tightened after so many hours of sitting. Perhaps she should go for a walk. Their task was so urgent that she was loath to sacrifice the time, but they seemed to be making little progress.
Wandering around the room, she surveyed the shelves for any likely books that they had not yet examined.
There, at the very top of a tall bookshelf in the far corner of the room, was a little nook that was cast in shadow even in the late morning sunlight.
There were two shelves full of identical books bound in green leather.
Curious, Elizabeth rolled the ladder to that position and stood on tiptoes to pull a book down.
It proved to be a handwritten journal without any name to identify the writer.
However, the writing was quite legible, and the date proclaimed that it had been written above two hundred years earlier.
Unfortunately, it contained no information about magical lineages or families with a facility for constructing portals.
However, at the very end of the journal, the writer speculated about discovering a quick way to banish goblins rather than kill them.
Collecting additional volumes, Elizabeth took them back to the table where she skimmed the contents.
Indeed two years after considering the idea, the author had developed a spell and tested it successfully.
Even as a mage was fighting a goblin, the spell worked quickly and effectively.
Why was it not widely known? Of course it was possible that the unknown writer had been female and needed to conceal her magical activities.
Elizabeth faithfully copied down the spell. Unfortunately, she often had difficulty implementing other mages’ spells, but perhaps with enough experimentation she might find a variation that worked for her.
Of course, the ultimate test of the spell’s efficacy would be to actually banish a goblin, and they were not precisely thick on the ground of Kent.
She was deep in the process of contemplating how she might test the spell when a maid arrived with the news that Lady Catherine had requested Elizabeth’s presence in the long drawing room.
With a rueful sigh at the wasted time, she followed the maid out of the library.
Upon arriving in the long drawing room, she found Charlotte ensconced in a chair beside Lady Catherine’s throne-like monstrosity.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Lady Catherine drawled. “Miss Lucas expressed a desire to visit Hunsford Parsonage, and it occurred to me that you have not yet visited it.” She paused, apparently awaiting a response to this momentous announcement.
“That is true,” Elizabeth replied neutrally.
Lady Catherine drew herself up. “I have made a great many improvements to the place which I believe you will find most amenable.”
“I have not accepted Mr. Collins’s offer of marriage.”
Lady Catherine waved this away. “When you see how convenient and comfortable the parsonage is, I have no doubt you will be convinced of the desirability of being his wife.” She gave Elizabeth no opportunity to respond but turned to the butler.
“Raleigh, fetch the young ladies’ coats.
We will take the carriage to the parsonage. ”
Since the distance was not great, Elizabeth would have preferred a brisk walk.
Nevertheless, she soon found herself huddled with Charlotte under a blanket in Lady Catherine’s open barouche.
Seated opposite, Lady Catherine appeared quite cozy in her fur-lined cloak.
The mistress of Rosings Park had sent a note to Mr. Collins informing him of their imminent arrival.
Elizabeth could only imagine how he must be scurrying around the house demanding that the maids remove every last speck of dust. Or perhaps he kept his house in a state of perpetual cleanliness in case his patroness arrived unexpectedly.
Collins’s housekeeper seemed quite flustered when she opened the parsonage door.
She showed them to a small parlor, a third the size of even the smallest room at Rosings.
Promising tea, the housekeeper bustled out of the room but then did not return in a timely fashion.
The three women waited for quite a long time as the ticking of the clock over the mantle counted away the minutes.
Finally, Lady Catherine exploded. “Mr. Collins should not allow his guests to languish for such a long time. It is highly irregular.”
Eager to please, Charlotte nodded enthusiastically. But Elizabeth’s attention was distracted by odd sounds echoing through the hallway. “Did you hear a noise?” she asked the others.
“I do not make it a practice to listen at doors,” Lady Catherine sniffed.
“I cannot hear anyone speaking. It sounds like…water.”
Charlotte frowned. “Perhaps a pump?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “It sounds rather like…someone walking through water—like wading through a shallow pond. But how is that possible? There has been little rain. I cannot imagine the house has been flooded.”
Charlotte tilted her head. “Oh, I hear it as well! It does sound like someone wading.”
“I hear nothing,” Lady Catherine declared. “I do not know where you get such fanciful notions.”
Ignoring this, Elizabeth climbed to her feet and hurried to the parlor door—with Charlotte steps behind her.
The noises were louder in the hallway, sounding as if someone was fording a shallow stream.
Standing very still, Elizabeth determined that the sounds emanated from behind the door beside the parlor.
“Where does that door lead?” Elizabeth asked a maid who was hurrying toward it with a pile of towels in her arms.
The woman hesitated but then said in hushed tones, “The library.” She appeared unwilling to enter the room in Elizabeth’s presence. How curious.
Elizabeth strode purposefully to the door and put her hand on the knob.
“No, miss, you cannot go in there!” the maid cried, just as Elizabeth turned the knob and opened the door.
A most remarkable sight greeted her. The room was indeed a library, albeit far smaller than its counterpart at Rosings.
Its floor-to-ceiling shelves were only half filled with books, but it was a rather large collection for such a small home.
The fantastic thing about the room, however, was that it was submerged in two feet of water.