Chapter 18
Charles awoke to the soothing sound of rain on the roof. Hallelujah! The rain hadn’t stopped overnight as he had feared. He and Darcy still had a chance to reverse the intolerable course of events. Although he usually abhorred inclement weather, today he welcomed it as a harbinger of good fortune.
He hadn’t felt more energised since the day he had moved into Netherfield as master of the house. He bounded out of bed with renewed vigour, convinced that success was finally within reach.
Last night’s failure already forgotten, he rang for Hobbs, perfectly ready to adorn himself in the dreariest attire without complaint.
He emerged from his chamber with an extra spring in his step and tapped on Darcy’s door. “Are you ready…friend?” he inquired, conscious of the valet’s watchful eye. “Good morning, Mr Henderson.”
“Good morning, Mr Darcy. I’ll just finish brushing Mr Bingley’s coat, and he’ll be ready to join you.”
“An excellent choice,” he said, admiring the cut of his green coat with contrasting collar and lapels. Darcy, of course, appeared rather less enthused.
“Indeed, sir. Mr Bingley always dresses in the first stare of fashion,” Henderson said with a final swipe across Darcy’s back.
“You’re in rare form today,” Darcy said as they descended the stairs.
“It’s still raining,” he said in an enthusiastic whisper. “Just what we’ve been waiting for.”
“I’ll admit that it does bode well,” Darcy said with the merest hint of optimism. “I hope our patience will be rewarded.”
When he entered the breakfast parlour, Caroline observed his good mood. “What has you in such high spirits on this dreary day, Mr Darcy?”
He paused at the sideboard while he considered how best to answer. “I slept soundly last night, thanks to the rain. It reminds me of home.”
Caroline released a contented sigh. “How true. There’s something so comforting in the sound of the rain, is there not?”
“I can sleep anytime, if I’m being honest,” Henry said.
“Yes, Henry, we’re all well aware of your sleeping prowess,” Louisa said in a patronising tone.
Charles agreed with this observation; he’d seen Henry sleep in crowded rooms.
“I trust you’ve abandoned the idea of holding a ball, Charles,” Caroline said with a superior air.
Although Darcy made no reply, neither did she bother to wait for his answer.
“It was a terrible idea. I can only the imagine the trouble Louisa and I would have had securing a proper orchestra, food, wine, and flowers, to say nothing of the interruption to the household,” she said, her brow creased at this perceived hardship.
“You may put your mind at ease, Caroline,” Darcy said. “I won’t hold a ball this year.”
“I should think we could host a far better event at Grosvenor. Don’t you agree, Louisa?”
“Certainly. Perhaps we should plan a holiday ball, Henry,” Louisa said in high alt, as though inspired. “It would be just the thing.”
“What a marvellous idea,” Caroline said, as though they hadn’t planned this discussion. “We could invite all your friends in town, Charles, including Miss Destiny.”
Charles was conscious of his sister’s blatant attempt to divert his attention from Jane, but he had scarcely given the fair lady in London a single thought since he had come to Hertfordshire.
“I suppose no one thinks of the interruption to my household, but perhaps I am mistaken,” Henry said in a perturbed tone.
Caroline and Louisa exchanged irritated glances but said no more on the subject, which suited Charles perfectly. Besides, he had more important matters to consider. It was finally time to put their plan into action.
After breakfast, Charles suggested retiring to the billiard room, which was the only place in the house where the ladies had no entry. However, other than billiards and cards, there was precious little to do there. “How shall we pass the time?” he inquired.
“I suggest you and Darcy practice your boxing skills,” Henry said. “Your form needs work, Charles.”
“Are you now an expert on the sport?” Charles said, knowing full well that his brother-in-law had no athletic skills.
Henry assumed a serious mien. “By no means, but I’ve seen plenty of matches. Proper form is the key to success. Fists up, elbows tucked in, knees bent, footwork nimble,” he said, demonstrating each position.
Recalling their previous session, Charles hesitated. “Can we agree there will be no punishing blows? Mr Hobbs has already remarked on my bruised shoulder.”
“Agreed,” Darcy said, removing his coat. “Caroline won’t fail to notice any visible bruises.”
By the time the men called for their coats, umbrellas, and lanterns that night, the rain had returned with a vengeance. Convinced that the time had finally come, Charles followed Darcy and Henry out of the house.
“This is what we’ve waited for, lads, and we must use it to our best advantage,” Henry said as they walked towards the gates.
No one with any sense would venture out of doors in this weather, but Charles surrendered his umbrella to Henry, then positioned himself in the muddy lane, ready and willing to repeat every manoeuvre that had previously failed.
He ignored the mud and threw his heart into the effort, heaving himself into Darcy and allowing Darcy to do the same.
All he managed to gain from his trouble was a thorough drenching.
In the mud room, Charles decided against waiting for his valet, stripped down to his breeches and headed for the stairs. Once in his chamber, he rang for Hobbs. While he waited, he removed his rain-soaked breeches and scrubbed himself with the cold water in the wash basin.
“Oh my,” Mr Hobbs said in despairing tones upon observing the state of the washstand.
“I apologise for the mess. Rather than leaving a trail of mud, I’ve left everything downstairs.”
“I’ll see to it after I’ve fetched your nightshirt,” Hobbs said, then dashed away.
Shivering near the fire, Charles hoped he hadn’t caught a chill.
***
Saturday 23 November
After waiting another full day and performing the same nightly ritual in the rain and mud, Darcy was at his wits’ end.
With all the indignities he had suffered over the past ten days, he had fully expected the hooded man to finally make an appearance and spout another cryptic speech, but he remained elusive.
“Show yourself, old man,” he shouted, as the rain pelted his face. “What do you want from me? Why won’t you reverse the spell?”
“Out, damned spot. Out, I say!”
Darcy shook his head in disbelief at Hurst’s nonsensical use of the Macbeth line. “What are you going on about? This isn’t a murder reversal.”
Hurst shrugged, then handed over Darcy’s umbrella. “Well, I’m no scholar, but it seemed like an appropriate speech for the occasion. The spell is like a stain.”
Although startled by this interpretation, Darcy couldn’t disagree. “You might be a scholar, after all, Henry.”
Charles accepted his umbrella, and they slogged through the mud to the paved driveway. “To be Charles, or not to be Charles; that is the question.”
As Hurst laughed merrily at his brother-in-law’s joke, Darcy joined the game. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”
“That’s a good one,” Hurst said. “You’re playing Charles and he’s playing you.”
Darcy recited another Shakespearian line. “The devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape.”
Hurst howled with laughter. “He’s got you there, Charles. Oh, I’ve got one from Shelley – Sometimes, the devil is a gentleman.”
“Am I the devil, Henry?” Darcy inquired, daring Hurst to accuse him.
“Could be, or maybe he’s the old hooded fellow,” Henry said, then spread his arms wide. “What if it’s me?” He cackled as though possessed of a demon.
Darcy thought there was a distinct possibility that all three of them had devolved into lunacy.
Upon entering the mudroom, the men found a stack of fresh linen towels, which had undoubtedly been placed there in anticipation of another muddy night. Darcy removed his boots and left his soiled clothes in a basin, apparently also provided for this purpose, then carried the lantern up the stairs.
“I fear Hobbs is ready to bolt,” Charles said as they entered the great hall.
Darcy had the same fears. “I dread Henderson’s disappointment. He’s likely to give notice if this continues much longer.”
“Don’t lose heart, lads. We’ll come about,” Hurst said. He had also been soaked through, but with the exception of his boots, he’d managed to avoid the mud.
As expected, Henderson entered Darcy’s chamber with sad puppy eyes, his sunny disposition and ready humour understandably absent. “I’ve brought warm bathing water, and you shall presently be more comfortable.”
“Thank you, Mr Henderson,” Darcy said, knowing he was undeserving of such kindness. Although the valet was amply compensated for his expert services, Darcy was fully conscious of the extra work he had imposed on the man this past sennight.
“Your greatcoat is all over mud, sir,” Henderson said as he filled the wash basin.
“Yes, sorry about that. Do what you can with it.”
Henderson sighed. “Your boots, too.”
Darcy scrubbed his face “It was quite unavoidable, I’m afraid.” Although the valet might disagree with this response, Darcy had spoken the undeniable truth. The mud had been an absolute necessity.
Heaving a great sigh, Henderson hung a clean towel on the wash stand. “I’ll get your nightshirt and banyan,” he said in a dejected tone and retreated into the dressing room.
Darcy felt like the greatest beast in nature for diminishing the man’s joyful outlook, but what else could be done?
Continuing as Charles Bingley was entirely unfathomable.
If he didn’t find a way to reverse the spell, the life he once knew would be lost. He must find the path back to his true self.