Chapter 16
Elizabeth
As usual, Elizabeth woke up at daybreak, and William stirred when she rose.
“Come back to bed,” he pleaded.
“I must refresh myself, Husband,” she said softly.
Although their pre-wedding habit was to wake up early and walk out to meet one another, they now preferred having a more…
horizontal start to the day, so after tending to her needs, she hurried to wash her hands, rinse her face, and sip on some water. Then she scooted back to the bed.
“Um…Lizzy love, good morning,” William said as he hauled her back into his arms. He seemed sleepy, so she cuddled up to him and closed her eyes. However, he had a more active approach in mind, and she joined in with enthusiasm.
A blissful interlude later, William was taking care of his own business, and Elizabeth eagerly viewed the aspect from every window in their apartment.
She knew that the manor house was on a cliff near the ocean—the secret staircase down to the tunnel proved that—but she had not realised that the forest crowded right up to the cliff.
The deep green leaves had not yet donned autumn colours, although some were becoming edged with gold; she knew that Cornwall was south of Hertfordshire and, being on the ocean, its temperature was further warmed by the Gulf Stream, Benjamin Franklin’s “river in the ocean.”
William suggested they go to their separate dressing rooms to ready themselves to go downstairs. Elizabeth had just rung for her lady’s maid, Turner, when he called for her to return to the joint sitting room again.
“What is it, dearest?” Elizabeth asked. She saw that he stood before a small trunk she did not recognise. “What is that?”
“I forgot to tell you last night….” William explained that there had been some sort of misunderstanding, presumably as the servants attached the trunks to the carriages, back at Darcy House, and he shared with her Hopkins’s mention that somehow the trunk had been labeled, in the footmen’s minds, as a gift to be opened at Oakhaven.
“I told him that neither of us had prepared a gift for Richard and Cordelia—and that is correct, is it not?”
“Well, a beautiful estate is quite a gift, I must say, but I do not know anything about another gift, nor about this trunk. And…why the padlock has been cut open!”
At that point, Hopkins and Turner had already responded to their summons. Having checked their respective dressing rooms and found them empty, each servant stood in the door and waited silently.
William lifted his head and simply looked at Hopkins, and the valet seemed to understand the silent question, for he responded, “When you denied knowing anything about the trunk, I had Robertson cut the padlock so that you could at least ascertain what was inside of it.”
“Thank you,” William answered. Turning to Elizabeth, he said, “I suppose, rather than waste their time, we should dress and meet back here before going downstairs.”
“Wonderful,” Elizabeth confirmed. She kissed his cheek in gratitude that he was always considerate of their servants, and then she headed towards Turner and her dressing room.
A quarter hour later, dressed in a pale yellow morning dress and with her hair in a simple style, Elizabeth returned to the sitting room and stood before the trunk.
It was made of leather and seemed to have years of wear, and there was no visible label, no nameplate, no initials painted on or crafted with tacks.
William joined her, asking, “Would you like to do the honours?”
Elizabeth eagerly opened the trunk. She knew it was not a gift but rather a mystery—but she was immediately disappointed.
The trunk was only half full, and from what she could see, with plain white cloth.
She picked up the top piece and, as it fell fully open from its folds, she saw two things: first, it seemed to be a large bedsheet, and second, it was certainly unwashed.
It was decidedly and disgustingly dirty.
She dropped the sheet in horror. “What?”
Darcy bent down and fingered one corner. “The Darcy crest,” he said, showing her the small embroidered label. There was a number below the label.
“Why would—it is so…dirty!” Elizabeth said.
She could not see all the splotches of cream-coloured stains, but she knew that one portion she had initially touched was stiff and “crunchy.” Indeed, she held her hands out in a sort of horror, not knowing what was on the sheet.
She was determined to wash her hands before touching anything else.
William looked less horrified and more curious. He bent down and removed the next piece of cloth—yet another bedsheet bespattered with stiff cream-coloured stains. The third sheet was also stained, but two of the cream-coloured stains were tinged with brown, and there was a single dark stain.
“Blood,” he said.
“From our marriage bed!” Elizabeth gasped. She remembered seeing the blood and thinking how much larger the spot of blood was than she had expected from her Aunt Maddie’s description about what might happen upon their first coupling.
William checked the trunk again and discovered that there was one last highly-stained sheet. He tumbled all four sheets back into the trunk without folding them, and he said, “Let us wash our hands.”
They met back in the sitting room after scrubbing their hands. Elizabeth had washed her hands really well, and they looked quite red, but she felt clean again.
“What could these sheets being in a trunk on our bridal tour mean?” Elizabeth asked.
“It is extremely puzzling,” William said. “And embarrassing—it is like all of our lovemaking was inscribed on the sheets.”
Elizabeth thought about it and said, “Yes, I suppose you are correct. And I remember that there were extra sheets in the sitting room, and we ended up switching to fresh sheets without asking for help. Remember?”
William nodded. “It seems clear to me that these four sheets were the ones we used at Darcy House. Which makes me think of….”
He blushed as he fell silent.
“Of your amazing prowess in bed?” she asked. She tried to consider the number of messes on the various sheets. “Perhaps sixteen to twenty times? in a single day and night?”
He blushed harder but finally spoke, “I was going to say that the blood made me think of old times….”
Elizabeth said, “Oh! In medieval times, when court officials and royal family members would demand to see blood on the sheet of the marriage bed, to ascertain if the bride was a virgin?”
“Yes.”
“But you are not a king, and this is not medieval times!”
“Correct.”
William lowered the lid of the trunk and said, “I do not know who could have ordered those sheets being put into a trunk, nor why they would be sent with us on our bridal tour, but I cannot think of a good reason not to either wash them or burn them. What do you think?”
“I think we should do neither at least for an hour or so, because we are so shocked right now, but perhaps we will come up with explanations that would dictate what we do with the sheets.”
“You are, as usual, very wise, my dear.” William offered his arm, and the two went downstairs.
They were shown into a breakfast room in which Mr and Mrs Foster sat and ate.
Polite conversation about how people slept and the current weather occurred while William and Elizabeth chose from dishes on the sideboard.
Elizabeth was entirely done eating when Richard burst into the room holding up a letter. “Came by express, just now!” he exclaimed. “From my father. He says that Lady Catherine is on her way here and is likely to arrive sometime Monday. Meaning today.”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh?” Elizabeth asked. It was the second time that morning that she felt horrified.
William murmured, “We do not have another aunt named Lady Catherine—and, believe me, just the one is entirely sufficient.”
The Fosters had finished eating—thank goodness, Elizabeth thought—and made their excuses as they rose and exited the room.
Richard eyed the footman who stood at the ready, waiting to refill the coffee urn or to bring more hot water or toast. “We will ring if we need anything,” Richard said to the man.
The room empty and the windows closed, Richard asked, “Is there anything I should know before the Gorgon descends on us?”
Elizabeth asked, “Is your Gorgon auntie fond of medieval customs? And is she deeply concerned with primogeniture?”
Laughter burst from William and redoubled as his cousin looked thoroughly confused.
“Has there been a shake-up in the royal family?” Richard asked.
“Not as far as we know, Richard,” William replied. “But….” he turned to Elizabeth, and she could see the question in his eyes.
Instead of nodding to give him permission to confide in his cousin, Elizabeth said, “Richard, William, I feel quite curious about the possibility that Lady Catherine has been honoured with the position of Bedsheet Inspector.”
“Bedsheet Inspector?” Richard asked, his eyes widening.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “And the corollary position of Maiden Determination Expert.”
Richard’s eyebrows flew up in alarm, and Elizabeth could only laugh.
She murmured to William, “I will walk in the garden I can see from this window. I will allow you to tell your cousin anything you wish to, and do whatever you wish to do with the sheets. I just hope I did not force your hand with my jests.”
She left the room and laughed again at the madness of the mystery that had enlivened their morning. But meeting the aunt that she had been warned about while on her bridal tour seemed…less than ideal.
The arrival of autumn showed more in the garden blooms than it did in the forest, and Michaelmas daisies, chrysanthemums, and anemones were in full flower.
Bright red rose hips dotted the rose shrubbery, and purple, pink, and yellow flowers of what she assumed were coastal varieties clustered here and there.
The faint sound of the waves pounding the sand, the sight of the bright blue sky, the fragrance of blossoms mixed with the salty tang of the sea, and the feel of the cool breeze on skin warmed by the sun all helped Elizabeth to recover her equanimity.
She felt ready to take on any unpleasantness inflicted by a Gorgon.