Chapter 4 Arrangements
Elizabeth woke up feeling surprisingly well the next morning.
She dressed herself in her black day dress, which she could do easily enough.
Molly brought her meal, so they broke their fast together.
Molly then helped put her hair into an easy pattern, which she covered with the black mobcap.
She thought that, if she were to wear a mobcap for the rest of her life, she might even consider cutting her hair, but that decision could certainly wait.
In some ways she hated the garment, and in others she loved it.
It would certainly make life easier, as it would never again be necessary to make her hair overly fancy.
She imagined that, if she had a husband she liked, who was at all social, then things would be different.
However, she had Mr Darcy, and what more need be said?
She imagined she would not become one of the ‘society women’ who spent all their time going from one engagement to another, the talk of the ton, busy morning, noon, and night.
No, she expected her future to be relatively quiet.
Mrs Darcy had no idea if her husband attended the Season in town, or if he had, whether he would continue.
She had no idea if he would want to proudly show off his wife as if he had chosen her, or if he would want to hide her away in a dark dungeon and feed her snakes.
For all she knew, they might only be in each other’s company a few hours most days, and sometimes not at all.
She had seen more than one marriage that went along in that fashion, including her own parents’.
She had hoped for more but must settle for less. Her mother certainly had.
When her thoughts became maudlin, or at least, too maudlin, she would break off and think of the library.
She would eventually be allowed to read the books on the black shelf, so it was not as if she were following her original plan of working at the mills.
She would remind herself that she was the wife of a rich man, who still did not actually have to do much of anything.
She would obviously have to tolerate him in her bed from time to time, as well as birth and raise some children—but that would be her fate no matter what, so she was no worse off.
At the very least, she would not have to tolerate Mr Collins’s attentions.
She looked forward to the children and wondered if she would do a better job than her parents had.
Elizabeth’s mood became more cheerful, or at least less maudlin, by midday, and she was making a good effort to explore the library.
She was happy to see several texts on geography, geology, botany, and other learned subjects she might like to study, as well as a few books that were ancient, yet not ancient enough for the black shelves.
She also found, much to her delight, quite a few children’s books, suitable for Molly’s education.
Reading a story about foxes and geese might seem odd to a sixteen-year-old girl, but she had to learn sometime.
She was examining a set of books related to Plato and Aristotle when the door opened, and a footman said, “Mr Knight is here to see you, Mrs Darcy.”
Elizabeth had no idea who that was, so the young man helpfully added, “Mr Darcy’s steward, ma’am.”
The young man, perhaps a year younger than Elizabeth, seemed uncomfortable having to tell that to the mistress, but it could not be helped.
“Might I have your name, young man?”
“Noah, madam. Noah Hervey.”
Elizabeth smiled to try to disarm him. “Very good to meet you, Noah. I would like to learn all your names, so might you tell your compatriots to introduce themselves when we next meet. It would be pointless for you to all do so at once, as I would have no hope of remembering them all.”
Noah had never had such an odd conversation, but if the mistress wanted introductions, who was he to argue? He would of course tell the butler, as was proper, and let him instruct the staff as he saw fit.
“Mr Knight is in the Yellow Parlour, if you remember it, madam.”
“I will ask you to escort me so I do not get lost, but I think it will do admirably. Thank you, Noah.”
Noah was recently hired, so he did not know Mr Darcy, but he had rarely seen any of his superiors thank a footman for simply doing his job, so he was a bit confused. “Pleasure, ma’am.”
The young footman led the way, and five minutes later Elizabeth was facing Mr Knight. The man stood and bowed. “Mrs Darcy.”
“Mr Knight.”
The man was about her father’s age, with greying hair cut in an old-fashioned style, grey sideburns, and an impressive paunch. He still looked fit enough to shear sheep, but he was obviously slowing down, and missing few, if any, meals.
The man also sported a look of thinly disguised disdain or contempt.
He obviously knew more about her situation than the housekeeper or butler, which was not particularly surprising.
The steward was the most trusted position on an estate.
He might be the highest-ranked employee Mr Darcy had, so it was not surprising that, if her husband had one real confidant in the area, it would be he.
The man looked Elizabeth over in a disconcerting manner. He was not leering, as some men did. It was more as if he considered her a problem to be solved, and he was trying to work out just how unpleasant the solution was to be.
Elizabeth tried waiting patiently, but it turned out that her patience was of limited supply, so she asked, as decorously as she could, “How may I help you, Mr Knight?”
The man shook his head, as if dislodging himself from an unpleasant train of thought. “I am instructed to give you your pin money, madam.”
Elizabeth had almost forgotten about that. “Very well. How shall we proceed?”
The man stood up a bit straighter. “You are due forty pounds per annum. The usual custom would be to pay any charges you made and then give you the balance monthly.”
Elizabeth did her best not to grunt, growl, or make any other unladylike noises. “I prefer to make my own purchases. Give me the funds, and I will deal with my own expenses, in my own way and my own time.”
The man looked either affronted or shocked. It was hard to tell, but he looked very much like someone who wanted things done the proper way, which obviously amounted to his way; but Elizabeth did not want to deal with him on a regular basis.
“If we do that, what am I to do if you charge something?”
“Do you expect me to go back on my word?”
“No, madam, but I am responsible for the finances of this estate.”
“Do you truly believe I am capable of putting even the tiniest dent in the finances of an estate like this?” Elizabeth asked in exasperation, waving her arms around at this to encompass the enormity of Pemberley.
While she could, with a Herculean effort, just barely see his point, he seemed to be making her life difficult just because he could—or worse yet—because her husband instructed him to.
“I have no idea, madam. I am however in the master’s confidence, so I know the truth of the situation.”
The set of his jaw and absolute confidence that he thoroughly understood the new mistress, set said mistress’ teeth on edge, but she tried to adopt a reasonable tone, just so there was one sensible person in the room.
“I see—but let me ask you this. Do you know the truth, or his truth?”
“They are one and the same, madam.”
“They most certainly are not!” Elizabeth snapped, trying and failing to keep her temper in check.
Unintimidated by her escalating temper, the steward continued implacably. “Are you suggesting you are not married due to a compromise?”
The sheer effrontery of having an employee speak both openly and disparagingly about the mistress of the estate told Elizabeth all she needed to know, but she thought to try reasonableness one last time.
“That is true. It is also true that my mother engineered it. However, I had nothing to do with it, and if Mr Darcy told you otherwise, he is vastly mistaken,” leaving unspoken the very real possibility that her husband was a liar.
The man half-grunted, “The apple does not—” but then managed to get his temper under control before finishing the old refrain, leaving unsaid the conclusion, ‘—fall far from the tree.’
He was normally quite an imperturbable man, but the fact that his master’s life had been thoroughly interrupted by an adventuress and her mother, which could have real material consequences for his own life and occupation, coupled with her complete lack of respect for his position, set his teeth on edge, and angry men are seldom wise.
He reeled in his temper. “Mistaken or not, madam, he is the master, and I have my instructions. You are due forty pounds per annum. He left disbursement to my discretion.”
Elizabeth snapped angrily, “So you could wait until the end of the year, then give me forty pounds, and be within your instructions?”
He belatedly realised the conversation was going very badly. “Yes, but it would clearly not be the correct way to do things!”
Entirely disgusted with the man, and fed up with his insinuations, which were in danger of turning into outright accusations, Elizabeth asked, “What do you propose?”
Finally feeling the upper hand, Knight said, “I like to do things quarterly, so the total budget for the first quarter would be ten pounds. I understand you are expected to pay for your postage, but I will deduct that from the next quarter’s allowance.”
Elizabeth thought she might break a tooth from grinding them so hard but said nothing.
His remarks about postage, in addition to the blisteringly obvious level of pettiness her husband clearly had, reminded her she needed to ensure she was not inundated with post from Hertfordshire.
The idea of paying money from her pittance of an allowance to read whatever nonsense her family wrote was likely to keep her up at night.