Chapter 10 #2
For a moment, he hesitated, and I nearly withdrew in mortification.
Before I could do so, however, he reached out and clasped the shawl, his fingers brushing mine as he took it.
Even as I write this, my cheeks burn. He removed his hat, bowed to me, then wrapped the shawl about his head and neck and replaced the hat over top.
“God bless you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said.
Then, with a slight nod towards Jane, he strode out of the hall and descended the servants’ stairs to the kitchen.
Mr. Bingley soon followed, and Jane and I trailed after.
We watched, from the corner of the kitchen, as they slung great lengths of rope over their shoulders, then stepped out into the storm.
Holding a lantern high, Mr. Darcy led the way, Mr. Bingley close behind him.
Within a few strides, the snow had engulfed them.
They became wavering shadows, silhouetted by the lantern light, then vanished from view altogether.
The rope, tied to a ring affixed to the doorpost, drew taut, then slackened over and over.
I watched it, imagining the gentlemen striding into the wind, steadily releasing coils of rope as they went.
Eventually, Jane touched my shoulder and suggested that we retire to the drawing room, for the staff had no need of us below-stairs, and I assented.
We returned to the drawing room, now dim and quiet.
Jane stood at the window, while I, finding myself in no humour to raise her spirits, settled at the writing desk and attempted to begin another letter to you.
With great care, I trimmed a pen, laid out the paper and ink just so, dipped the pen, and failed to produce anything but a large blot on the page.
All I could think of was that rope, stretching out into the frigid dark. Was it still tightening and slackening as the rescuers strode further from the house? Or had it torn free? Had the rescuers lost their way or collapsed in the ever-gathering drifts of snow?
At length, I gave up the attempt to write and went to stand beside Jane at the window. The candles had mostly burnt down, and we could see the snowflakes blowing against the pane, still too thick for any part of the landscape to be visible.
Jane clasped my hand and whispered, “Thank you for waiting with me, Lizzy.”
“Of course.”
“I am sure that they will be perfectly well.” In spite of these words, the quaver in her voice betrayed that even our hopeful Jane was not wholly sanguine.
As for my own fears—even now I cannot find humour in them, absurd though they were.
I could see, quite clearly in my mind’s eye, Alice’s face blue and frozen; snow drifting over Mr. Bingley’s curls; Mr. Darcy’s tall form prostrate against the snow.
You have my leave to laugh at me for such lurid imaginings.
Perhaps I am beginning to take after my mother.
Shortly after midnight, the storm blew itself out.
The drawing room was very dark indeed by then, for we had entreated the servants not even to bank the fire that we might see out the more clearly.
Thus we both observed the precise moment of the change, as the moan of the wind died away and the snow ceased to fall. We gasped in mutual excitement.
A moment later, a crescent moon emerged from behind the banked clouds, and we could at last see across the back lawn to the stand of beeches dividing the gardens from the home farm.
Shortly thereafter, we glimpsed a light flickering between the trees.
At first, I thought it a reflection on the glass, and I turned to look behind, certain that I would find someone holding a candle.
But no one was there. Then the light drew closer, brighter, and we knew that some person or persons must be approaching the house.
At once, both Jane and I left our post and rushed downstairs, nearly colliding with the poor little scullery maid in the passage outside the kitchen.
“John Coachman says the Master’s coming back, Miss,” she cried to us, before darting off in pursuit of whatever errand had been assigned her.
At this news, dear Jane let out a cry of relief and drew me into an embrace as she composed herself.
I ought to have shared her joy, but instead I found my fear only growing as I contemplated the maid’s words: Mr. Bingley was coming, but what of his friend?
When Jane was restored to her usual equanimity, we proceeded into the kitchen, now a hive of activity.
Kettles of boiling water were being carried upstairs for baths, while the cook warmed soup and sliced bread for the searchers.
I felt as though I ought to be doing something and yet knew myself to be entirely superfluous in such practical matters.
What good is a lady, aunt? We are not permitted to brave danger, nor to clean or cook. What use are sewing or music or painting when true disaster is at hand?
I know I speak unjustly: a lady in her own home may do a great deal of good for all those in her charge.
But at that moment, I felt only a maddening awareness of futility.
I wonder if I shall always feel so, if I do not marry.
It is almost enough to make one consider Mr. Collins’ suit—but not quite.
You perceive that I find myself in a most peculiar humour since last night’s crisis. Perhaps had I slept more, I might not be indulging in these lowering contemplations. All is perfectly well now. Why should I, of all people least inclined to melancholy, prove so poor-spirited?
Happily, my apprehensions proved fleeting. Mr. Bingley strode through the door first. Snow clung to his eyebrows and whiskers, but he was smiling triumphantly, and at that sight all my fears fled away.
“Oh, Charles!” Jane cried, rushing forward to clasp his frozen hands in hers. I smiled to see it. Mr. Bingley cannot now be in doubt of her feelings.
But my attention was soon diverted as a second figure appeared in the doorway.
Mr. Darcy to entered, bearing in his arms a wretched, shivering, but very much alive Alice.
She was wrapped in his greatcoat, so that his only protections against the elements were his riding coat and my shawl, which was thoroughly encrusted with snow. I smiled all the more to see it.
Everything after that moment was a whirlwind: we assisted poor Alice up to her room, where she was bathed, changed, prevailed upon to drink a bowl of steaming broth, and tucked into her bed with hot bricks at her feet.
By the time Jane and I returned downstairs, the gentlemen had retired, and we followed their example.
We saw them this morning at breakfast, however, and I am pleased to report that neither seemed any the worse for their adventure.
I am informed that Alice will keep to her bed today, but she is expected to make a full recovery.
The poor girl did manage to visit her family and found them all well, if a bit chilled.
She was caught by the storm halfway back to the house and lost herself in the oak wood.
Mr. Darcy found her huddled under a tree, nearly insensible with the chill, and he carried her all the way back to the house through knee-high snow. An impressive feat, think you not?
We are all confined to the drawing room once more, thanks to the fresh drifts, and I have since devoted myself to the composition of this account. I trust it may afford you some amusement.
In spite of the fresh snow, it seems our confinement may soon come to an end.
This morning dawned clear and bright. From the little desk by the sitting room window, I observe clumps of snow slipping off tree branches and sliding from the statuary in the rose garden.
If this thaw holds, the roads will soon be passable.
How I long for a walk in the winter sunshine!
In spite of my desire to escape this confinement, however, I feel some melancholy at the end of this singular interlude.
For all the trials associated with our residence here, I have learned to know myself better, and I believe I have gained a friend in Mr. Darcy.
I am determined to enjoy the time here that remains—and I yet hope to see Jane’s happiness secured before we go.
Yours,
Elizabeth