Chapter Axle
Axle
Wood splintered with a deafening screech as Jane Bennet fell to the floor of her uncle’s carriage, and the maid, Ellen Taylor, fell atop her.
She struck her head on the door, though the blow injured her less than the noise frightened her.
Outside, horses thrashed against the coachman’s calm voice trying to soothe them—then came the unexpected thunder of another horse as someone galloped past, only to halt abruptly.
Through her confusion, a second man’s voice joined the effort to calm the animals.
In short order, the horses were docile, and Ellen clambered up, visibly shaken.
“Ellen, are you unhurt?”
“Right as rain, Miss Bennet.”
“Oh!” Blood stained the maid’s sleeve, and alarm surged through Jane. “Your arm is bleeding.”
“‘Tis naught but a scratch.”
Jane was not certain, but it mattered little, for she knew what to do.
Ellen Taylor was one of Edward Gardiner’s maids-of-all-work.
Until that very moment, she had enjoyed the journey immensely.
Any sensible maid would find the prospect of a few hours of idleness in a coach with Miss Jane Bennet, doing absolutely nothing, followed by a night at Longbourn, and a return journey— a considerable improvement over emptying chamber pots, making beds, and keeping the havoc wrought by the Gardiner boys to a reasonable level.
They were good lads, but lads they were, and a certain amount of mischief was to be expected before they learned proper manners—sometime in their forties, she presumed.
The Gardiners were fair taskmasters. All the servants could attend church every Sunday, and were granted a half-day every week; it was a most desirable position.
Mr Gardiner also paid generously, telling everyone he expected just a bit more in terms of grace and discretion.
The Gardiners were not strictly gentry, yet they comported themselves as well—or better.
She was shocked to have fallen upon Miss Bennet and hoped she would not mind—not that she had ever seen the least sign of temper from the lady. In truth, a tirade would be preferable to the moping she had witnessed for the past three months.
Ellen had never been in love, and if that was the result, she wanted no part of it.
She never would have days on end to brood anyway; and she thought if the elder Miss Bennet had some occupation, she might have been put to rights much sooner.
However, criticising her employers or their family was something a maid would never do aloud.
“The coach does not seem in danger of overturning, so pray, take a seat.”
Ellen did as she was bid and was surprised to see Miss Bennet pull a bit of embroidery from her workbasket, seemingly ready to bind her wrist with it.
In a panic, Ellen cried, “Oh no, Miss Bennet! You cannot.”
Jane was not to be dissuaded. “Have no fear. This is my sister Lydia’s. It is hideous, and this saves me from casting it into the fire—which would be satisfying, but might make more smoke than I prefer.”
Ellen laughed at the bit of silliness as Miss Bennet examined her arm.
“We must clean this, you know, but I do not believe it will require stitches. Let us get you bandaged up for now, and take care of it properly later. Cleaning it will hurt, but I must fetch some gin first.”
To Ellen’s amusement, Miss Bennet carefully wrapped the offending embroidery around Ellen's wrist and asked her to hold it in place; then, even more surprisingly, pulled scissors from the workbasket, cut a ribbon from her own bonnet, and wrapped it around the makeshift bandage to secure it.
“There, that should do the trick. Do not fret about the ribbon. My sisters have an insatiable desire to remake bonnets, so it was unlikely to survive the week. Have you any other injuries?”
Ellen smiled at the solicitousness and shook her head. “What about you? Are you injured?”
Jane examined herself, aware that not all injuries were obvious. “I believe I shall have a knot on my head, but otherwise I am fine. Shall we see what happened?”
The horses had calmed considerably, and boots struck the ground outside, implying the coachman was satisfied they were under control. Harnesses rattled, followed by a heavy thud; the man had unharnessed the horses. It seemed a sensible approach, and Jane thought to exit without injury.
She rose, looking carefully at Ellen for any other injuries, when the door opened. She started to speak as she turned. “Mr Chamberlain, I believe you performed quite a feat in settling the horses. Ellen and I are quite well, so—”
Her words were lost as she looked out to behold none other than Mr Darcy.
“Miss Bennet. Miss? Are you injured? May I assist?”
Jane shook her head in resignation at the vagaries of fate—or was it fate?
“This is Miss Ellen Taylor. Ellen, this is Mr Darcy.”
Both nodded, bows and curtsies being absurd in their present situation. That Mr Darcy would pay the slightest attention to a maid surprised Jane, but the man examined her makeshift bandage with a critical eye.
“Be not alarmed, sir. Save for a cut on Ellen’s wrist, and a small knot on my head, we are uninjured. Even that requires but a little gin and salve. I thank you for your aid, but you may be on your way.”
She glanced past his shoulder as the coachman approached, already speaking to the gentleman. “I thank you, sir. I am not entirely certain I would have brought the horses to heel without your help.”
“I think not, Mr Chamberlain,” Darcy replied. “I am happy to have been of some modest service, but have no doubt you had matters in hand.”
This display of civility, first to a maid and then to a coachman, was unexpected. Perhaps Mr Darcy was not always so unpleasant as Lizzy thought—but then again, a man would have to beat his dogs to match Lizzy’s opinion.
Jane felt she should at least match his courtesy. “Mr Darcy, I thank you for your assistance.”
She tried to think of something else to say, but nothing came to mind. What other subject could she broach?
“Miss Bennet. Miss Taylor. May I have the privilege of helping you down? Mr Chamberlain and I must examine the carriage.”
Unsure how to react, she simply reached out and accepted his hand. The most basic rules of courtesy demanded he offer assistance, and the same confounded rules demanded she accept; the entire exchange was predetermined.
Once Jane stood on the ground, Mr Darcy said softly, “Are you well, Miss Bennet? I know from experience that such accidents can leave one dizzy. I would not wish you to repeat the lesson that taught me, as you will not even have the dubious pleasure of my cousin Fitzwilliam to tease you about it.”
Jane stared at him, wondering where this teasing man had come from, but eventually gave up.
“I am quite well. I… I thank you, sir.”
As always, following Aunt Gardiner’s advice was never a bad idea.
Jane, when in doubt, always fall back on good manners. ‘Tis far better to be disappointed that you did not deliver a well-deserved setdown or could not manage to carry a proper grudge, than to repent that you have been unkind without cause.
Jane and Lizzy had perfected the art of looking at their mother with apparently rapt attention whilst listening to their aunt in their mind’s eyes, before their tenth birthdays. Jane found the vision as comforting at two-and-twenty as at two-and-ten.
Mr Darcy ensured her stability before releasing her hand, then reached within to hand down the young maid with the same concern and civility, while Jane watched in confusion.
“Miss Taylor, are you well? As I told Miss Bennet, sometimes this sort of accident makes people dizzy.”
The young maid was not accustomed to speaking with gentlemen—particularly gentlemen whose boots cost more than her yearly wages. She stared at her feet and murmured, “I am well, sir. Miss Bennet saw to my comfort.”
Jane moved closer to Ellen; the girl was shivering slightly. She glanced up at her trunk, wondering if it would be safe to retrieve a shawl. Before she could say anything, she was forestalled by the most confusing man in England.
“Miss Taylor, you are shivering. It is common when you have suffered shock or blood loss. May I?”
Neither Miss Taylor nor Miss Bennet had the vaguest idea what he was proposing, so they were surprised when he removed his greatcoat and wrapped it around the young maid.
As she stood wide-eyed, Mr Darcy said gently, “Miss Bennet, I believe it is for you to button this up, and then I suggest you ladies sit on that fallen log in the sun, while Mr Chamberlain and I examine your coach.”
By then, Jane had no idea how to react. She expected him to remount his horse and leave at once, though why he was on the road to Netherfield when Mr Bingley was in London was anybody’s guess.
She supposed a man in such humour would want to kill some birds, or engage in some other manly pursuit that did not involve chasing females across a ballroom; but why not go to his own estate?
In some ways, Jane knew she ought to apologise for her ill manners at the ball, but for the first time in her life, she simply did not have it in her to be polite or think the best of someone.
For the moment, she was relieved that the fit of temper Lizzy long expected would be delayed yet again. She did not look forward to it.
She followed the gentleman’s suggestion.
Even if he was impolite, he was at least not stupid.
She fastened his greatcoat about Ellen, wrapped a protective arm around the young woman, and led her to the log.
They were nearly the same age, yet of such different stations, they had held no true conversation.
It was simply not done, and Jane sometimes wondered why.
Considering how poor her relations were with her peers and superiors; she might be better off making friends among the servant class.
Ellen was close to her sister Lizzy’s age, and Jane had enjoyed her company when she allowed herself to do so.