Chapter 27 The Crate
“Ah, Mr Darcy, you are right on time. Grab the crowbar—assuming you know how to use one, or we can find a book with instructions somewhere.”
Darcy laughed. “Good morning to you as well, Mrs Thorne. I am well, and my health is excellent. The weather is fine, and the roads look exactly as they did the last time we discussed them. In response to your query, I can assure you that I am a gentleman farmer, where the key word is farmer. My father ensured that I learned every piece, every corner, and every job on our estate.”
“Was there a yes or a no somewhere in that diatribe?” she asked, then straightened up from staring at a wooden crate on the floor, smiled, and made a curtsey fit for a duke.
“Indeed, there was a subtle yes in there. I can relieve you of your present difficulty. What is in the box, if I may ask?”
“I have no idea, and at the rate you are moving, I likely never will.”
With a laugh, Darcy went to the storeroom for the required crowbar, shaking his head and chuckling all the way.
The month since his dances with Mrs Thorne had been half-enjoyable and half-confusing.
The lady always had a quality that he could not quite put a name to.
She was reticent or guarded most of the time, but then she would momentarily become playful, as in the present circumstance.
He suspected that playful was much closer to her natural state than the reticent face she showed him, but he could not prove it.
Darcy’s best theory to explain Mrs Amanda Thorne so far—and he had given it considerable thought—was that he reminded her as much of her former husband as she reminded him of his former wife.
He wondered if the two deceased spouses would be for ever a shadow, standing between any real understanding with the admittedly enchanting widow.
He had even spent a good week trying on the idea that Mrs Thorne was actually Elizabeth.
Was it possible? He had only known his wife for six weeks, five years earlier.
It was a grand total of less than a dozen common social gatherings, four days in the same house where she spent most of her time with her sister, one ball, one wedding, and one extremely uncomfortable coach ride for all of ten miles.
Even without typhus, someone who had five more years of age, a mobcap, different dresses, a likely change of hairstyle, and a bold-as-brass temperament, could very well stare him down and convince him that up was down and down was up—if she never broke character.
He occasionally supposed he could answer the question definitively by bringing one of her sisters to Scotland, or even Mrs Reynolds.
He had belatedly helped his sisters in law find husbands and was on cordial relations with all.
Mrs Jane Warner would come if asked, but what would he say?
‘Mrs Warner, I would like you to come to Scotland and prove me both insane and badly mannered?’ The ‘badly mannered’ part she could just write back and confirm based on experience, but the verification that he had gone completely mad would probably require personal inspection.
And if she did identify Mrs Thorne as Elizabeth, what then?
Even though Mrs Thorne had warned him off quite thoroughly at the assembly, she always welcomed him with the hand of guarded friendship.
She listened to what he had to say, agreed with what she liked, and disagreed with what she did not.
She never changed opinions based on who she was talking to, but he had seen her do so based on evidence several times.
Darcy had taken to ambushing Amanda for a midday meal two or three times each week.
He came into the shop with the same frequency, but not always on the same days.
He occasionally saw her early in the morning or late at night.
Not long after the first dance, Miriam’s mother packed her up for a trip to join her husband, who had been travelling with the mysterious buyer who seemed a mythological creature to him.
They were expected to be away for one to two months.
Mrs Thorne hired a private coach to take her to meet her husband near Scarborough.
He had met the mother several times but suspected she did not like rich men either, as she always excused herself within a few minutes of their meeting, though she was generous enough to allow him to keep Miriam’s company.
On that day, he had entered the shop and walked to the back to see Mrs Thorne staring at a large wooden shipping crate, which she very kindly (mostly) asked him to help open.
Returning with the crowbar, he said, “Your buyer would not send guns or bombs, I would hope.”
“Not likely, but mostly because he would fetch a better Thorne in London. They are mad for armaments there. You could say the same for snakes and reptiles.”
Darcy chuckled and went at the crate with the crowbar. A few minutes’ effort had the lid off, and he saw the contents were carefully wrapped in burlap.
Opening some of them, he saw a bottle of wine.
Amanda let out a happy sigh. “Oh, now that is something new. What do we have?”
She took the bottle and found it to be a very old, probably Spanish vintage. With a laugh, she started pulling out more bottles and found several more Spanish wines, three with German writing, four or five in Italian, and a bottle of rather old-looking port.
Darcy examined the port carefully after wiping the dust off it. “Are these for sale?”
Amanda dug down through the box until she found a sheaf of papers.
One was an inventory of what had been shipped and their probable values.
She showed that to Darcy for his opinion, while reading a note from her buyer saying that they had purchased ‘everything contained in the room’ in an estate auction and found the wine in a hidden cabinet that looked like a bookshelf.
There were three more crates already shipped to London, but this was for sale or consumption as desired.
She looked at the bottle of port. “Port you know comes from Portugal, I suppose.”
“Yes, it originated in Porto. Did you ever go there?”
She shrugged. “No. I planned to once but did not because of the war.”
The thought seemed to make her sad, as the war did for many people, so Darcy decided to change subjects, and perform the task he had come for.
“Mrs Thorne, would you consider riding out with me? I have something I would like to show you.”
She looked at him cautiously, without answering for a moment.
He thought she was likely to demur, so he added, “Of course, it goes without saying that I am simply taking advantage of the widow’s exemption to the rules of propriety. It is just a ride—nothing more and nothing less.”
He could see her wavering, and he imagined that in her head there was a battle looming between accepting behaviour that, to the untrained observer, would appear courting-like, and her desire to ride or spend time with him. He hoped for the latter but would accept the former.
“I do not often ride.”
“But you enjoy it?”
She looked at him, seemed to sigh a little, and replied, “I do, but not enough to board my own horse, and I am not a good enough horsewoman to take my chances with a rental.”
Very carefully, Darcy said, “I have the perfect horse for you. He looks intimidating, but once you know him, you will learn he is about as frightening as a rag doll.”
She laughed. “Well then, by all means, let us see this frightening-looking rag doll of yours. When were you planning this abduction?”
“I was thinking Sunday afternoon.”
She looked at him carefully for quite some time. Darcy thought, but could not really prove, that she was trying to work out a good reason to reject him. He had belatedly learned that Elizabeth had been doing the same thing at the Netherfield Ball, but he was at least marginally more aware by then.
He said, quite gently, “I see your indecision, Mrs Thorne. I would ask you to think only of your own comfort. If you are uncomfortable with me, I can bring—”
She put her hand on his arm. “You need not bring a chaperone. I trust you.”
A warm feeling welled up inside him. Trust was a precious commodity, and she had just bestowed it on him. He wanted very much to earn it.
He whispered, “Will you go, then?”
“Yes, I would like that. Shall we say one o’clock?” she finally said with a definitive nod.
“That would be lovely.”
The late summer sun was bright but not too hot as Darcy escorted Mrs Thorne to the stable.
Upon arrival, she looked them over. “You have the saddles backwards.”
He chuckled, not in the least convinced that she did not know exactly how matters stood, since she fearlessly walked over to Omega.
“Are you to be my rag doll, my beautiful boy?” she cooed, then punctuated it by handing him two carrots she had brought for the purpose.
“His name is Omega. Do not let his size worry you. He is the steadiest horse I know. I believe if he happened to stumble on a cannon, and it fired right next to him, he would just amble over to the cannoneer and beg for an apple.”
She laughed. “I was not intimidated in the least. You seem like a man who knows his horseflesh. Shall we?”
With that, he assisted her to the mounting block, then onto Omega. He briefly wondered if she had ever ridden astride or jumped but did not ask. There might be time for that later, but for that afternoon, he just wanted to ride.
Traffic was light, and they rode side by side most of the way out of town, so long as they were willing either to hurry through a gap or wait a moment for one to clear.
Mrs Thorne was clearly not in the least afraid of Omega, nor was the horse the least bit put out by her.
It was as if horse and rider had been together for years, and he found it quite enthralling.
He had a young stallion he was considering as a replacement for Omega when he went out to pasture, or for hunting or racing, both of which the old stallion found distasteful and annoying.
Once they were out on a country lane, he gave her a wicked smile and was rewarded with the sight of Omega taking off first at a trot, but within a few lengths, a full gallop.
He was reminded of the horse in his full glory of youth, after Elizabeth and before middle age, running like the wind.
Mrs Thorne laughed like mad when he got to full speed, and Darcy marvelled that she had that kind of horsemanship, but he had never been able to detect it.
He supposed it made sense, since various clues had made him believe her long-dead husband was a man of means.
After a run of half a mile, they cooled the horses down to a walk, eventually stopping at a nearby stream to let them water. There was a nice mounting rock nearby, so with permission, Darcy lifted Mrs Thorne down so they could take their leisure for a few minutes.
“This is lovely. It is hard to believe all this is only a few miles from the centre of Edinburgh.”
“Do you enjoy the country?”
She seemed to have to think about the answer for a time, and finally said, “I used to. I was raised in the country and found it very much to my liking, but I do not pine for it, if that is what you mean. It was a different life, and I was a different person. When I am in the country, I am a country girl. When I am in the city, I am a city girl. It is as if I am a completely different person, both inhabiting my body at the same time, but each yielding the right of expression to the other in the right circumstances. I know that sounds like sentimental nonsense, but—”
Darcy interrupted, “Not nonsense at all, madam. Anyone who truly understands both town and country would say much the same.”
He thought back to Bingley’s assertions along the same lines, which reminded him of his time with Elizabeth, who even after five years, was never far from his mind.
He was certain he would have loved her had he just listened to her on their wedding day, but that was water under the bridge, and he had a handsome woman sitting beside him who deserved his attention.
He started when he noticed he had been inattentive and started to apologise. “My appol—”
She simply squeezed his arm. “No apologies necessary. Were you thinking of someone else?”
He nodded, so she said, “Never apologise for that. It shows a depth of feeling, and anyone worth knowing will understand it.”
He nodded, not feeling the need to agree.
He did agree, but somehow thought that saying it would be disrespectful, as if her opinion were not worthy without his validation, when in fact she was more likely to be the victor in any dispute.
She had, over the course of the five months they had known each other, shown herself to be uncommonly witty, but that wit sometimes needed more thought than others.
After a half-hour’s rest, they mounted and continued towards his ultimate destination.
As they crested the rise into the small village, she noticed the changes to one of the outlying buildings and sat up higher in the saddle to get a better look. “Oh, look! The foundling house has some renovations.”
“Yes, I know.”
She looked at him. “Are you trying to bribe me, Mr Darcy?”
“Why would you think that?”
“It seems entirely too coincidental that you brought me to see that the charity I support has had visits from you as well.”
“Are you so exclusive with your support then?”
She laughed and shook her finger at him. “I see what you did there—but I thank you. I give what I can, but more is better than less.”
He nodded with a smile. “This case was serendipitous. One of the estates I visited had a large construction project just finishing last month, and another estate had one starting two months later. Several craftsmen were looking for work to tide them over. I engaged them here and got the work done for about two-thirds of what it might usually cost, because my friend promised them lodging through the autumn and winter. It all came out well for everyone involved.”
She smiled. “I will not be jealous of your showing me up. I am just happy to see it. What did you make?”
“A new schoolroom, kitchen, a dozen new beds, and I set up an annuity to cover the wages for three more matrons and additional food in perpetuity.”
“Shall we look around then?” she said, then with a laugh she urged Omega forward into a trot and then a run.
The children of the home were as overly excited by the two horses as you might expect, particularly when Mr Darcy begged to be excused for twenty minutes and returned with a cob and a pony from the local stable.
Amanda smiled as he gave the children rides and thought it a very fine day—a very fine day indeed.
They left in good time and arrived in time for dinner prepared by her cook. They broke open the bottle of port of unknown provenance and found it to be excellent; though, truth be told, they mutually agreed not to repeat the incident of their first dinner together.