Chapter 7 Winter
“Mrs Darcy”
… …
“Mrs Darcy”
… …
“Mrs Darcy”
… …
The words, spoken in little more than a whisper and repeated over and over, eventually caused Mrs Elizabeth Darcy to blearily open her eyes in confusion.
Those eyes saw a blurry, grey-haired, impeccably dressed man about her father’s age, incongruously kneeling on the floor on one knee.
Even odder, she felt as if he was shaking her slightly.
The man smiled kindly, or more like the way a father smiled when his child did something naughty, clever, and amusing at the same time, leaving him uncertain whether punishment or laughter was in order.
Elizabeth raised her head and regretted it, because it felt as if a horse had kicked her. With a groan, she let it drop back to—not her pillow. She was lying somewhere unfamiliar and a bit confusing.
Her nemesis whispered, “It would seem you found the brandy, and are not quite accustomed to it, my lady.”
She grumbled, “Apparently.”
Her nemesis whispered gently, “I would ordinarily let you sleep, but it might be better if we quietly moved you to your own bed. I have a concoction I keep for the master’s use, if you like.
It will make you feel as if you were burned at the stake for a few minutes, but you will feel much better afterwards. ”
Still thoroughly confused, she blearily asked, “Why?”
Still whispering, the man said, “I believe, madam, that you might be more satisfied later if your evening’s activities remain private, not to mention that this sofa will soon feel like a torture device and your mouth will taste like sawdust. Naturally, you may correct me if I am wrong, send me to fetch your lady’s maid, or chastise me for impertinence if I am out of bounds. I simply wish to aid you, quietly.”
She finally began to form some idea of just how embarrassing it might be if the housekeeper, the butler, the steward, and all of the servants (which amounted to everyone in the county), became aware that the newly minted mistress of Pemberley had drunk herself into a stupor all alone on New Year’s Eve, less than a week into a fifty-year sentence—an endeavour which might not be the best idea ever put forward.
“I believe you speak sense, my good sir,” she replied blearily. “Who are you exactly?”
“Bates, madam, your husband’s valet.”
Elizabeth started and jumped up to a sitting position, scared to death, head pounding in pain. “He is here!”
Looking startled, and not the least bit happy that a man’s wife seemed to fear him, Bates replied quickly, though softly, “No, madam. I apologise for the confusion. He travels without me. I am to spend a few months with my daughter and her husband. I am just here to straighten a few things.”
Even though it hurt, Elizabeth laughed a bit. “Was straightening the mistress one of the things you had in mind?”
Bates showed surprisingly good humour for a class of men trained to compete with butlers for inscrutability. “It was not my original plan, but we all must adapt to circumstances.”
The alarm of potentially seeing her husband again had woken Elizabeth fully, but she still felt half dead. “Does the master need your concoction… ah… often?”
Looking slightly embarrassed, Bates replied, “Not often, madam. You need not fear intemperance.”
Elizabeth’s muddled mind did not know whether her reaction was fear or annoyance, but she supposed it did not matter that much. Her husband would eventually return or he would not. He did not seem likely to grace her presence that day, for which she was eternally grateful.
“I thank you for scaring me to death,” she whispered, but removed the sting with a smile. “I appreciate your foresight and consideration. How exactly do you propose getting me into bed with none the wiser?”
“I will lead you up a set of hidden and rarely used back stairs that are nearly always empty. If you can tell me the name of your lady’s maid, I could fetch her to go ahead and be certain we are unobserved, but I did not want to ask the question when I stumbled upon you without your permission.”
Thoroughly embarrassed to be making the revelation, she said, “I do not have a lady’s maid. I have co-opted a scullery maid to serve in her stead, but I told her to spend the day with her family because I wanted to spend the first day of the year alone.”
Bates frowned slightly. “In that case, I am sorry for disturbing you, madam.”
“Do not be! You did the right thing. I was not exactly thinking clearly last night. I appreciate your efforts, and if you could direct me, I would consider it a great kindness.”
“It will be my pleasure.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I am awake now, so the bed is no longer attractive, but a bath would not be amiss.”
“I shall see to it quietly, madam. And the concoction?”
“I will follow your wise counsel.”
Bates came to his feet, spry for his age, then helped Elizabeth to her own. “This way, madam. This route is one you might wish to learn. It is convenient for moving about unobtrusively, which is useful from time to time.”
“I thank you.”
With that, they walked to the rear of the library, then through a cleverly hidden door to a small, cramped hall that led to a stairway, apparently leading to the family wing.
Elizabeth was grateful to know about the stairs, and she thought she might even consider moving into the halls permanently when her dour excuse for a husband returned.
As predicted by Mr Bates, his concoction made Elizabeth regret that it had not killed her for the first twenty minutes of her bath, but she emerged feeling almost human.
It turned out Molly had taken her seriously when Elizabeth suggested she visit her family, but she returned to Pemberley before luncheon after only a brief visit.
Another upstairs maid named Martha helped with the bath, and Elizabeth felt she might have pulled it off credibly.
The mistress reflected that the holidays had been quite a disappointment.
The Bennets did not go to extraordinary lengths to celebrate Christmas, but they did exchange small gifts and did a bit of holiday decoration.
Many people in England did nothing, and many deferred celebrations to Twelfth Night.
Elizabeth had arrived the day after Christmas to find some servants were given brief holidays, but by New Year’s they were all back to doing whatever it was they did.
Mrs Darcy frankly had no idea, nor at that moment any real desire to find out.
She supposed if anything happened on Twelfth Night, she might accidentally stumble on it but otherwise gave it no thought.
After her bath, she dressed in her second black dress.
She had asked the laundry maid to dye another day dress and thought the two she had might last her until her husband returned, or until she had to start mourning him instead of just her innocence and naivete, which she was presently grieving.
With an allowance of forty pounds per annum, she was in no mood to dye a third dress unless she grew desperate, since for all she knew, she might never get another.
She wondered if she would have to return to Longbourn to retrieve those she left for her sisters, but eventually decided she was indulging in entirely too much sour grapes.
Even the stingiest man in the world must have settled something on her, though apparently neither her husband nor her father saw fit to enlighten her, and she had not had the good sense to ask.
A while later, she heard a knock on the door, and found Mr Bates with a tray of food, that surprisingly also held a small purse. Her eyes rose in surprise at that, but she did not ask right away.
“There are certain foods that are more beneficial than others after a night of… ah—” he said, but being unable to add a word like ‘indulgence,’ or the more accurate but less acceptable ‘stupidity,’ he just left the middle of the sentence out and continued, “I have chosen a selection of things that are easy on the stomach.”
“I thank you. That is very thoughtful of you.”
“I am just doing my duty, madam.”
“On the contrary, unless you somehow acquired the title of lady’s maid, you have been going above and beyond. I certainly appreciate it.”
Looking embarrassed by the praise, he suggested, “Perhaps I should put this on the table, and you may partake.”
“I thank you,” she said demurely.
Once she sat down, she was surprised when Bates poured out her tea and prepared it just the way she liked it.
The elder gentleman winked. “You are not surprised that I have rudimentary knowledge of how to do my job, I presume.”
Elizabeth liked the older man. “I would not dream of it. My father’s man could not serve my mother tea if you gave him a week to work it out and provided him detailed notes.”
Bates chuckled a bit. “You do have a sense of humour, madam.”
“Oh no, that was just a statement of fact.”
Bates bowed. “Anything else I may do for you? Otherwise, I will leave you to break your fast. I asked Alice to come for the tray in half an hour.”
“The purse?”
“Ah yes, the purse,” Bates said, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I found it among the master’s things. He seems to have forgotten it entirely. Since it has your former initials, I thought it might belong to you.”
“It does.”
She examined the purse, looking exactly as it had when she handed it to Mr Baker in front of Longbourn after her first escape attempt.
Her father must have decided she at least deserved to have her own purse back, though she would have to dye it black if she wished to use it.
Elizabeth wanted to open it in private, since she strongly suspected her father had done something disagreeable.
“I thank you for returning it. I will examine it later.”
“Very good, madam.”
Before he walked out, Bates turned back. “I will leave in two days, Mrs Darcy. If you like, I would be happy to show you some of Pemberley’s secrets before I go.”
Elizabeth laughed a bit. “Do you assert that Mrs Reynolds might withhold something?”