Chapter Six #2
The stable yard was an expanse of snow and ice, but his greatcoat had at least been cleaned.
Darcy pulled it on as he crossed from the inn’s rear entrance, his boots crunching through the fresh powder that had fallen since morning.
The wind had diminished, though the sky remained a sullen grey, and the flakes still floated down around him.
He found Anders in the stable, examining one of the carriage horses. Johnson stood nearby, brushing down Darcy’s mount with steady, practised strokes.
“Sir,” Anders said, straightening at Darcy’s approach. “Did not expect to see you venture out in this weather.”
“I have been confined indoors quite long enough,” Darcy replied. “How do the horses fare?”
“Well enough, sir. They have had proper feed and shelter, which is more than can be said for many caught out in this storm.” Anders patted the carriage horse’s flank with evident satisfaction.
“And the roads?”
Anders exchanged a look with Johnson before answering. “The snow is finally slowing, sir. If that holds, we ought to be able to remove the day after tomorrow. Slow going, to be sure, but passable.”
One more full day trapped at the inn. Darcy supposed he had endured worse, though at present he struggled to recall when. “I see. That is something, at least.”
“Aye, sir. Could be worse.” Anders hesitated, then added, “Begging your pardon, sir, but are you comfortable enough? The inn seems a modest establishment for a gentleman of your standing.”
“I am tolerably well,” Darcy said. “My chamber was much improved. And you, are your rooms warm?”
“The innkeeper’s wife’s been good to us. The rooms have no fireplace, so she’s set us up on pallets in the kitchen near the hearth once the cooking is done for the night. Warm as toast, we are, and the cook slips us extra portions.”
Darcy smiled. “I am glad to hear it.”
“Better than some have it, that is certain,” Anders said. “There are folk sleeping three and four to a room upstairs, and not enough blankets to go round for all of them. Though things have improved today, I will say that much.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
Anders leaned against the stable wall, crossing his arms. “That princess, sir. Or lady, or whatever she may be. She has been making arrangements, quiet-like. Extra firewood for the chambers. Blankets distributed to those who needed them most. The innkeeper’s wife was telling the cook just this morning that she had never seen the like, a fine lady taking notice of every wayfarer’s comfort without making a great show of it. ”
“Without making a show of it?” Darcy repeated, unable to keep the scepticism from his voice. “I believe her companion makes rather a great deal of noise on her behalf.”
Johnson snorted. “Mrs. Hobart, she calls herself. A proper dragon, that one. Always demanding this and that for her mistress, running the innkeeper ragged with her orders.”
“Precisely my point,” Darcy said. “Would she do so if it were not on the lady’s orders?”
“Ah, but here is the thing, sir,” Anders said, warming to his subject.
“From what we have heard, the princess keeps trying to stop Mrs. Hobart. Quietly, mind you. Sends her off on errands so she can speak with the innkeeper herself. Asked him not to strip the other rooms bare on her account. The old fellow who tends the fires says she actually apologised to him for the trouble her companion was causing.”
Darcy frowned. “You seem remarkably well informed about the affairs of a guest you have not met.”
“Servants talk, sir,” Anders said with a shrug.
“We hear things. And what we hear is that while the companion demands enough wood to heat a manor house, the young lady has been giving most of it away. The old couple in the room next to hers near froze at night, until someone sent them extra blankets and had wood delivered to their chamber.”
“The innkeeper’s man told me his master was responsible for the improvements to my own chamber,” Darcy said slowly.
Anders met his gaze with an expression that was entirely too knowing. “Did he, sir?”
Darcy said nothing.
“The way I see it,” Anders continued, “she acts as a princess ought to act. Sees to the comfort of those around her, uses her position to benefit others, does not trumpet her charity from the rooftops. Whether she has royal blood or not does not much matter. She behaves with more nobility than most of the titled folk I have had the misfortune to hear of.”
Johnson nodded his agreement. “Too right. And she is kind to the maid, which says something. You can tell a great deal about quality folk by how they treat their servants.”
Darcy found himself without a ready response. He had been so certain of Miss Bennet’s duplicity, so convinced that her apparent kindness was merely another layer of deception. But Darcy trusted Anders’s judgement more than that of his own titled relations. Could he have been wrong?
No. He would not be swayed by gossip. A few kind acts did not erase the fundamental absurdity of her claims. She was still masquerading as royalty, still deceiving the innkeeper and his wife, still taking advantage of their credulity.
“If the weather holds,” he said abruptly, “we remove the day after tomorrow. See that everything is in readiness.”
“Very good, sir.”
Darcy turned to make his way back to the inn but paused at the stable door. “Anders. This princess. Have you seen her yourself?”
“Caught a glimpse yesterday, sir, when she came to the stable yard to check on her own coachman. Wanted to be certain he was properly provided for.”
“And?”
Anders permitted himself a small smile. “She has kind eyes.”
Darcy stepped out into the cold without another word, though Anders’s observation followed him across the yard like an unwelcome companion. Kind eyes. He had noticed that himself, despite his determination not to. But those eyes might belong to a woman engaged in an elaborate deception.
By evening, Darcy was thoroughly out of humour with the world in general and his current situation in particular.