Chapter Eight
Elizabeth sat beside the fire and watched the rain slide down the windowpane in crooked silver lines.
It had been raining when she woke and showed no sign of stopping.
Mrs Goose had informed her, with some satisfaction, that the bridge some miles south of the inn had been washed away during the night and that the bridge to the north was still impassable.
No one would be travelling in either direction until the water subsided.
"Three days at the very least," she had declared while pouring tea. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if it was longer."
Elizabeth suspected Mrs Goose regarded this as excellent news. An innkeeper could hardly be expected to mourn a house full of paying guests.
The information had left her with several immediate concerns.
The first was for Mr and Mrs Frost, of whom there was still no news.
Mr Darcy’s footman had returned from near Barley Cross with little to report beyond further accounts of flooded roads and stranded travellers.
He found no sign of the Frosts. Now Elizabeth was trying very hard not to imagine every possible misfortune that might have befallen them.
Now that the south bridge was gone, even getting the little news they had received last night would be impossible.
The situation would have been laughable if it had not been so miserable.
She had left Longbourn intending to spend a few peaceful weeks helping her aunt with the children.
Instead she had become trapped in an inn with Mr Darcy and spent the night asleep in his arms. The possibility that Mr Jones and Polly might misunderstand what they had witnessed in the library no longer seemed quite so alarming.
Compared to the present situation, it was positively restrained.
She rose and crossed the room, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the window.
To be fair, she could not entirely blame the inhabitants of the inn for reaching such a conclusion.
She had apparently arrived half-conscious in Mr Darcy's arms. But surely there was a moment when the situation could have been explained? She found the whole thing intolerable.
A knock sounded at the door. But before she could answer, Mr Darcy entered. He stopped almost immediately upon seeing her standing by the window. "I had understood you were resting." He folded his arms. "Indeed, you should be resting, you have been very ill."
Elizabeth folded her arms in turn. "Although you are apparently my husband, Mr Darcy, I was not aware you were my keeper."
His eyes travelled over her face as if searching for something. His brow creased and she noticed that there was a shadow of stubble on his face. "You still look pale."
"I nearly froze to death yesterday."
"Yes," he said, his voice catching. "I should rather not see you ill again."
Elizabeth opened her mouth, discovered she had no ready response and was deeply annoyed by the fact.
She rallied quickly. "I assure you, sir, I have no immediate plans to repeat the experience.
Although I am trapped with the most vexing man in the world and finding it does very little for my recovery. "
She smiled archly, but the expression faltered when she saw his face. For a moment he looked exhausted and sad. Then whatever feeling had shown itself vanished and the familiar reserve returned.
"I see," he said quietly.
Elizabeth felt a small stab of guilt. It was a foolish reaction. She had merely repeated what she had told him often enough before. But it was difficult to reconcile the man who had cared for her through the night with the one she had spent weeks condemning.
He bowed stiffly. "I shall leave you to recuperate, Madam."
As the door shut behind him she felt her eyes unexpectedly fill with tears. She swiped at them and told herself that they were a lingering symptom of illness.
???
The afternoon dragged, and by four o'clock Elizabeth felt exhausted by inactivity.
The rain had settled into a steady downpour and the countryside beyond the glass was a wash of grey and green.
She had attempted a novel, but repeatedly discovered after several pages that she could not remember a single thing she had just read.
Every thought returned eventually to the same subjects: the missing Frosts and the gentleman occupying the inn below.
A knock at the door interrupted these reflections. She looked up,"Come in."
Burke entered carrying a tray laden with tea, bread and butter and a generous slice of seed cake. He set it down upon the table beside the fire. "Mrs Goose's compliments, miss. She says that you need feeding up."
Elizabeth laughed despite herself. "Mrs Goose has very strong opinions on my health."
Burke nodded, "That she does." He stooped to settle a log more securely upon the fire and stood for a moment watching the flames catch hold.
"Has there been any news?" she asked.
Burke shook his head. "Nothing yet. Though if Mr Frost has any sense, he'll have found somewhere dry and stayed there until the roads improve."
Elizabeth wrapped both hands around her teacup. "I hope so. I keep thinking how frightened Mrs Frost must have been."
"Aye." Burke's expression softened slightly. "But worrying won't repair the bridges, miss."
They lapsed into silence for several beats. "Mr Burke," she said at last, "tell me something about your master." She gestured to the chair opposite her.
He sat down and returned his gaze to the flames. "I've known him a long time," he said eventually. "Long enough to remember him before he became the grand Mr Darcy of Pemberley."
Elizabeth looked up with interest. "What was he like as a boy?"
Burke settled back in his chair. "Very much like he is now, if I'm honest. Serious. Responsible. Inclined to worry about things that hadn't happened yet. Kind with it though, don’t tell him I said this, but I couldn’t ask for a better master."
"Some of that sounds familiar."
"When his father died, everyone expected him to lean on his relations and let older, more experienced heads manage things for a while. Instead he spent months travelling over the estate meeting tenants and learning accounts. Half the people in Derbyshire thought him mad."
"How old was he?"
Burke looked towards the fire. "Just nineteen," he said softly. "But there were people depending on him. Mr Darcy has always taken that sort of thing serious like."
Elizabeth found herself thinking of Netherfield. Of the countless occasions she had caught him watching everything and everyone with that stern, assessing expression she disliked so much. Had he been judging them? Or simply paying attention? The thought was an uncomfortable one.
Burke rose to his feet. "Dinner is at six. Mrs Goose says she expects to see you downstairs."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then she'll come up and fetch you herself," he said with a smile.
After he had gone, she remained by the fire for some time, listening to the rain and thinking.
Burke had not told her very much, but somehow it felt like more than she had learnt about Mr Darcy during all the weeks they had spent beneath the same roof at Netherfield.
The discovery that he didn’t fit neatly into the image she had formed for him was irritating.
She couldn’t decide who he was and it was deeply unsettling.
???
The dining room was larger than Elizabeth expected, but it was packed with travellers of all shapes and sizes.
Two long tables had been pushed together to accommodate the unexpected influx.
Wet cloaks hung from pegs beside the door, dripping steadily onto ancient flagstones, while boots in varying states of ruin had been abandoned close to the large fireplace.
The windows had long since steamed over from the heat of the room and several candles burned low in their sconces.
Elizabeth paused in the doorway just long enough to discover that Mr Darcy was already seated at the long central table. There was only one vacant chair beside him.
His eyes lifted immediately and met hers. For one absurd moment she considered retreating upstairs. Mrs Goose appeared at her shoulder. "There you are, Mrs Darcy. Your husband's been looking towards the door every thirty seconds."
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, Mr Darcy was studying the ceiling with the expression of a man praying for strength.
"Thank you, Mrs Goose," she said tightly.
"My pleasure, dear."
By the time Elizabeth reached the table, several people were looking curiously at her. She felt heat creeping up her neck as she sat down beside Mr Darcy and accepted a bowl of soup from a passing maid.
"You are late," he murmured.
"You are fortunate I came at all."
Before he could respond, the lady seated opposite leaned forward eagerly. Mrs Prentice was a widow of perhaps sixty years with bright eyes and a garish green gown in the style of twenty years earlier. She introduced herself cheerfully and clearly knew who Elizabeth was already.
"My dear, it is lovely to see you looking so much improved. Your husband was quite beside himself last night."
Elizabeth nearly choked on her soup.
Across the table Mr Darcy clenched his fist around his spoon. "I assure you, madam—"
"I have never seen a man more concerned for his wife," continued Mrs Prentice.
"Mrs Prentice—"
"He carried you in as though the hounds of hell were after him. It was most romantic." The older lady beamed at Mr Darcy, while he stared with great concentration at his soup.
Elizabeth looked at him curiously. Surely not. Were his ears turning pink?
The gentleman nearest Mrs Prentice introduced himself as Mr Crabtree, a wool merchant travelling north on business.
He was a broad, ruddy-faced man of about fifty with thick grey side-whiskers.
Having established that Mrs Prentice's late husband had once owned a farm near Ripon, he immediately embarked upon a detailed discussion of breeding stock and the decline of agricultural standards.
Mrs Prentice appeared delighted by the topic and contributed several strong opinions of her own.
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy ate quietly, both pleased for their fellow travellers to carry the weight of conversation.
As the main course arrived, the door opened and a tall gentleman entered wearing military dress. He was perhaps five-and-twenty, broad-shouldered and with damp blonde hair pushed back from a fine-boned face. He moved with easy confidence that contrasted sharply with Mr Darcy's reserve.
Mrs Goose greeted him warmly. "Captain Henderson. We were beginning to think the flood had carried you away."
Henderson laughed and took a now vacant place beside Mrs Prentice. Introductions were made around the table and when his turn came he inclined his head politely to Elizabeth.
"Mrs Darcy."
There was nothing unusual in the greeting, but she had the curious impression that he found the circumstances of their meeting faintly amusing, a smirk lingered at the corner of his mouth.
Dinner resumed and for a time the conversation remained general. Elizabeth was beginning to hope she might pass through the meal without attracting attention when Captain Henderson turned towards her once more.
"Mrs Goose tells me you and your husband arrived during the worst of yesterday's storm."
"It was not as bad as all that," said Elizabeth.
"My dear," said Mrs Prentice, before Henderson could reply, "your arrival was the most exciting thing that has happened here all week. I cannot believe how quickly you have recovered. The resilience of youth I imagine."
Henderson smiled at this. "Then I am pleased to find you looking so…" his eyes took her in slowly, "well." The story sounded most alarming when I first heard it. I suspect you are made of sterner stuff than most travellers."
The conversation shifted and Elizabeth passed a pleasant quarter of an hour discussing books with the handsome captain.
His easy charm made him agreeable company and, unlike certain gentlemen she could name, he appeared capable of conversing with a woman without turning every exchange into a disagreement.
It was also, she noticed after a time, beginning to irritate Mr Darcy. He had become very stiff beside her. In fact, the more Captain Henderson directed his attention towards her, the quieter Mr Darcy seemed to grow.
"I confess," said Henderson, leaning back in his chair, "You are not what I expected, Mrs Darcy."
Elizabeth felt herself colour slightly.
"From the tales of last night, I expected a swooning invalid. Instead, I have been treated to the most charming dinner companion I can remember. "
Mr Darcy set down his wine glass and glared at the captain.
"Forgive me, Mr Darcy," he said lightly. "I meant no offence, indeed I congratulate you on having won such a wonderful lady. Most gentlemen would be pleased to hear their wives praised."
She could have sworn she heard Mr Darcy growl. But all at once she was overcome with a sudden pain in her temple. She pressed her fingertips to her temple.
At once Mr Darcy turned towards her, "You are unwell?"
"No." The answer emerged more sharply than she intended.
"You are pale."
"I have been pale all day. It is just a momentary headache."
"You are tired."
"I am not—"
She broke off as a wave of dizziness passed over her. Across the table Captain Henderson frowned. "Perhaps Mrs Darcy should retire for the evening."
Mrs Goose appeared at her elbow as though summoned by magic. "The gentleman is right, my dear. Off to bed with you."
Elizabeth looked around the table and discovered that every face was turned towards her. It was impossible to maintain one's dignity—or to put up a fight—under such circumstances.
"Very well," she muttered.
Mr Darcy rose at once. Henderson stood also and gave a small bow. "I hope tomorrow finds you fully recovered, Mrs Darcy."
"Thank you, Captain."
Mr Darcy nodded stiffly, but he said nothing and offered Elizabeth his arm. She accepted his assistance and allowed herself to be escorted from the room, though she could not help noticing that Captain Henderson's gaze followed them to the door.