Chapter Thirteen #2
Mr. Darcy carried their breakfast into the dining room as well. He moved to the far bench, against the wall, so Elizabeth sat opposite him, her back to the door. She saw no reason to assign him the additional task of bringing any of the chairs back from the parlor. He’d done more than enough.
“You said Lady Catherine’s first letter stated that she has a copy of Mr. Collins’ will and that he left me ‘everything’?” Elizabeth mused as she stirred sugar into her tea.
Across from her, midway through slathering jam on his toast, Mr. Darcy nodded.
“What do you suppose ‘everything’ means?” Elizabeth wondered.
“It means everything.” He took a bite of his toast.
Elizabeth caught the gleam in Mr. Darcy’s eyes and realized he teased. “Meaning, you have no more idea what Mr. Collins’ estate may be than I do.”
“I’d never spoken to the man before the ball.”
Elizabeth sipped her tea. “It can’t be much. He didn’t strike me as wealthy. He was a rector, and he seemed quite, well, eager for the day he could have Longbourn.”
“Perhaps some savings and personal effects?” Mr. Darcy guessed.
“And a picture of his mother, apparently,” Elizabeth added with a grimace.
“Apparently,” Mr. Darcy agreed, reaching for a second piece of toast.
“This will begin even more rumors about me being an heiress. Now I have not only my imagined thousands from my father but imagined wealth from my cousin.”
“I’d heard, and doubted, the first rumor.”
“Wisely so,” Elizabeth said with a touch of asperity. “Apparently, my mother’s hope they would rebuild soon turned into a rumor that Papa has enough saved to rebuild this spring, which I agree would be a large sum.”
Mr. Darcy set down his toast. “Which is why Wickham courts your sister.” Seeming to realize the implicit insult as soon as the words escaped him, he added, “That is, one of the reasons why.”
Elizabeth’s reassuring smile felt flat. “No, you’re correct. I’m certain that’s why. He became quite put out when he learned there is no heap of savings and that, if any money is coming, it will not be until the estate is sold upon the demise of both of my parents.”
“So your father has no intention of ever rebuilding?” Mr. Darcy asked, sounding surprised.
As well he might, as a man accustomed to being lord of a manor. “I believe he’s happy enough with a simpler life, but only time will truly tell.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, thoughtful.
Elizabeth wondered if he retallied how unsuitable she and her sisters were, ticking off points for their lack of a grand home for entertaining to go along with the points already lost due to their connections to trade.
She took a bite of toast, trying to cast off that unflattering thought.
Mr. Darcy was behaving very well and deserved thoughts as charitable as his actions.
“There is much to be enjoyed living in Goldfinch Cottage,” he said with surprising firmness. “Especially if a small addition is put on and a few more servants hired, so you have more time for yourself.”
Surprised his view matched her father’s so closely, Elizabeth still frowned at Mr. Darcy’s statement. “Why do you say I have no time?”
He blinked, looking like a man caught in a mistake. “I know you have only two maids and a footman.”
Elizabeth narrowed her gaze. “But why do you think I, specifically, have no time?”
He looked down at his plate but that didn’t hide his grimace.
“It’s been over three weeks since the fire.
Mrs. Bingley, of course, has a new wardrobe already.
Your mother and younger sisters all have gowns that are either new or very well made over, and your father wears a well altered suit, which takes considerable time.
You, who look exceedingly lovely, I assure you, are wearing the gown you wore to the ball, with a few, very well done, decorations along the hem to hide what damage it must have suffered on the night of the fire.
Therefore, you do not have enough time.”
Elizabeth wished to be offended, but embedded in his disparaging remarks about her wardrobe, he’d called her lovely, and she couldn’t help but feel flattered by his obvious attention to her.
She hadn’t deemed Mr. Darcy as the sort to pay such close attention to women’s clothing.
She fought down a blush and said, “Perhaps I am simply frugal.”
“Perhaps, but your younger sisters are dressed well.”
They were, but it was because they had all saved clothing from the fire and were also altering gowns for themselves.
After seeing to the barest necessities, Elizabeth had switched to sewing for her father.
“Then I must admit that you are correct. I’ve been too busy.
The moment Jane saw me this morning she began apologizing for not gifting me with a new gown for her wedding, but I don’t blame her.
My gowns have been the last thing on her mind in recent weeks.
In truth, they haven’t much been on mine, either. ”
“But surely, three weeks is enough time to refurbish at least some of your wardrobe?”
“I did get new shoes.” Elizabeth poured them both more tea. “There’s been so much to do here.”
A line marred Mr. Darcy’s brow. “No one else could do it?”
Feeling a bit defensive for her family, even though Mr. Darcy was correct, Elizabeth said, “Kitty and Lydia have been sewing for themselves. My mother was working in the kitchen and Mary helped her, helps with the laundry, and has lessons on the pianoforte at the Lucases.” Elizabeth shrugged.
“With only three servants, we have to help.”
“I would think you could hire more servants. Forgive me for being blunt, but is money the problem?”
If she said yes, would he offer her funds? She rather thought he might, and so wouldn’t say yes even were they in need. Fortunately, they weren’t. “No, I don’t believe money is the trouble, even if Papa doesn’t have enough to rebuild right now. It’s more that we don’t have the space to keep them.”
“What about servants that don’t sleep in? Meryton is only a mile away. Even if you have someone for only a few hours a day, it would help.”
She didn’t like to admit that Mr. Darcy, looking in from outside, had hit upon such an easy, obvious solution when Elizabeth, toiling every day to the point of having almost no time to herself except when driven from her home to preserve her sanity, hadn’t managed to think of one.
She pushed down her chagrin and said, “I’ll talk to my father about that. ”
Mr. Darcy, perhaps suspecting he’d hit on a sensitive topic, asked, “What do you plan to put in the garden, come spring?”
Elizabeth cheerfully joined him in a conversation about the merits of different vegetables, surprised at the extent of his knowledge and opinions. But then, Mr. Darcy apparently had an opinion on everything.
The rest of their meal passed amicably, and Mr. Darcy insisted on doing most of the clearing up. They then returned to the parlor where he bid her father, who hadn’t touched his food, a pleasant farewell. Elizabeth saw him out, then returned to sit on the sofa.
She waited a moment, but her father didn’t look up, so she ventured, “Papa, Mr. Darcy suggested we hire extra servants who don’t live in, for a few hours a day.”
Mr. Bennet looked up, blinking. “Yes. Some people do that.”
“Why aren’t we? Can we not afford to?” Elizabeth knew they mustn’t live above their means, but she wouldn’t mind having time to take regular walks again, or perhaps call on Charlotte.
“Your mother is so used to the idea that servants are available at all hours that she doesn’t consider the alternatives,” Mr. Bennet said.
Elizabeth felt that to be a bit of a dodge. “Why not say something? It could be much easier on us all.” Except her father, she realized, as he didn’t do any of the housework or sewing.
He frowned at her, a finger marking his place in his book. “Because I am looking at the long view, not the short one. Not only won’t I be able to afford rebuilding the house next spring, it might take several years. If your mother gets used to living as if we’re poor, we’ll save money faster.”
“But she’s not doing anything. She’s staying in her room and Mary has taken over the kitchen.”
“But now your mother is enjoying a wedding breakfast and has been an eyewitness to an event which will be the scandal of the neighborhood. She’ll want the carriage to visit everyone, so she will no longer be staying in her room.”
“Perhaps, but after she’s told everyone all about it, she may go back to sulking.” And whether her mother sulked or gossiped, Elizabeth would gain no time for herself.
“I hope she will not.” Mr. Bennet studied Elizabeth for a moment. “We’ll hire a few daily servants to help. It won’t make a big difference in the savings.”
“But putting an addition on this cottage will. Is that really your plan?” Sometimes, Mr. Bennet said things like that simply to upset his wife.
“It is.” He touched the back of his hand to the teapot on the table, to check the temperature. “To be honest, I’m not certain I’ll live long enough to see us rebuild.”
Alarm shot through Elizabeth. “Are you ill?”
“No. Rebuilding is expensive. Even more expensive than Mr. Darcy’s carpenters.”
“I thought he brought them to help?” Was Mr. Darcy charging her father?
“He did, but he’s permitting them to keep the money they earn, which in turn has promoted them to find quite a bit of work similar to what they are doing for this cottage.
Some of our tenants have heard about it and invited them to look at their homes.
There’s even talk of them doing work at Lucas Lodge. ”
Work at Lucas Lodge wouldn’t affect Mr. Bennet, but Elizabeth understood his concern over the tenants inviting the Murphys into their homes. “And every tenant expects you, as their landlord, to pay for similar improvements as you’ve made here.”
Glum, Mr. Bennet nodded. “Yes, and good tenants are hard to keep. At least your mother elected to have the kitchen fitted out mostly with shelves. No tenant would expect to have a finer kitchen than their landlord has.”
“Mr. Darcy complimented the shelves as well. It seems Mama was right.”
“It seems she was, indeed, and I shall remind her of that.” Mr. Bennet gestured to the tray of cold tea and toast. “Is there any chance of heating the tea?”
“Certainly.” Elizabeth stood and looked down at the tray, trying to ascertain the best way to carry it without aggravating her hurt hand.
Her father put down his book and said, “No. Let me do that. I wasn’t thinking.” He took up the tray. “If you’d accompany me to the kitchen, you can instruct and I’ll enact.”
Tone teasing, Elizabeth said, “You’ll reheat tea and fix toast? I cannot wait to tell Mama.”
Mr. Bennet shook his head as they left the parlor. “I’ll eat cold toast. We can’t allot perfectly good food to the chickens and pigs. Now, tell me what was in Mrs. Clegg’s sack.”
After his tea was reheated and the sack discussed, Mr. Bennet returned to his book.
Elizabeth once more joined him in the parlor, unable not to reflect on the extravagant spread they’d missed at Netherfield Park.
Her mind also wandered, repeatedly, to Mr. Darcy’s helpfulness and the way he’d thrown Mrs. Clegg’s rock.
Elizabeth had glossed over Mr. Darcy’s vehemence in her recounting to her father, simply saying that the rock had been tossed out the kitchen door.
Mr. Darcy’s anger on her behalf somehow seemed a private thing.
Sitting in the parlor cradling her hand, she wondered how well mending would go with her injury, then thought about poor Jane.
Being attacked by a rock and someone’s lunch was upsetting, but Jane would always have the memory of Mrs. Clegg assaulting Elizabeth on her wedding day.
Elizabeth could focus on Mr. Darcy’s surprising anger on her behalf and on how unaccountably helpful he’d been in the kitchen, and put the rest of the incident behind her, but it was a memory Jane would always visit.
But late that night, as she lay awake beside Mary, listening to Lydia snore, Elizabeth realized she couldn’t put the incident from her thoughts as easily as she’d hoped.
Mrs. Clegg didn’t know that the letter claiming Elizabeth had destroyed her mother’s picture was forged.
She was still out there, angry and hurt and, insofar as Elizabeth had observed, a bit mad.
Although the attack hadn’t been well thought out or serious, it was still an attack.
When Elizabeth finally found sleep, her dreams included dried apples and flying rocks, and were rather frightening.