Chapter Eleven
The remainder of the day passed so quickly that Elizabeth scarcely had time to think.
Mrs Goose, having apparently decided that she was no longer in immediate danger of expiring, found an endless succession of small but useful occupations for her.
One moment she was peeling apples beside Martha in the kitchen, the next carrying trays of bread to the dining room or entertaining a pair of restless little boys whose parents had joined the men labouring at the bridge.
Every time she imagined there could not possibly be another basket of washing left in the entire county, another would mysteriously appear beside her chair.
"You'll not be saying you're idle now," Mrs Goose observed with satisfaction as Elizabeth finished polishing a stack of pewter plates.
"I would not dare."
"You've more sense than most of the fine ladies I have met, Mrs Darcy."
Elizabeth found herself laughing more than she had done for many days.
There was something deeply comforting about the bustling world of the well-run inn.
Everyone appeared to know precisely what needed doing and set about it without complaint—or with so little grumbling it amounted to the same thing.
It reminded Elizabeth of the long harvest days at Longbourn when every member of the household seemed drawn into the same great endeavour.
Two things prevented her from giving herself over entirely to the work. The first was a constant nagging fear for the Frosts, and particularly Mrs Frost and her baby. The other was Mr Darcy.
Each time she crossed the yard or glanced through one of the kitchen windows, her eyes sought Mr Darcy without her intending them to.
Sometimes she caught sight of him in conversation with the blacksmith.
Once she saw him shoulder one end of a heavy timber whilst the labourers carried the other.
Another time he stood ankle-deep in mud beside a wagon whose wheel had sunk into the softened ground, his coat discarded once more and his dark hair blown untidily across his forehead by the strengthening breeze.
He scarcely came indoors all day, but when he did, it was only long enough to exchange a few hurried words with Burke, swallow a mug of ale or consult some hastily drawn plan before disappearing again.
She realised with some surprise that the whole inn had begun to revolve around him.
No one announced him leader, yet every difficulty somehow found its way to Mr Darcy.
The blacksmith sought his opinion before committing more men to the bridge, Mrs Goose caught him between one task and the next whenever some new crisis presented itself, and anxious travellers seemed reassured merely by hearing him say that matters were in hand.
Mr Darcy never appeared to give orders for the pleasure of it.
He listened until everyone else had spoken, asked a question or two that cut through any confusion, and then suggested a course that somehow satisfied everybody.
It was extraordinary—or was it Mr Darcy himself that was extraordinary?
Elizabeth’s feelings have gone through so material a change that she no longer knew what to think.
???
By late afternoon the rain had ceased altogether.
The clouds continued to drift heavily overhead, but every now and then the sun broke through, throwing brief flashes of light across the puddles that still covered the yard.
The sound of hammers had become almost constant, interrupted only by the occasional shout from the bridge works further along the road.
Elizabeth found Burke in the stable yard examining a harness. "Mr Burke," she said, "has there been any word?"
He paused in his work and turned towards her. "No, miss. The roads towards Barley Cross remain difficult. We've sent enquiries where we can, but no one's come back yet."
Elizabeth tried to smile.
"I'm sure they are quite safe."
"So am I," Burke replied with reassuring confidence. "From what you have said, Mr Frost's no fool. He'll not move his wife an inch until she's fit to travel."
Elizabeth wanted very much to believe him.
???
By the time the evening meal was served she discovered that she was quite exhausted. Mrs Goose noticed it before Elizabeth did.
"You've gone pale again."
"I assure you—"
Mrs Goose folded her arms taking on a look that brooked no refusal. "You've done enough for one day."
"I am perfectly capable of eating downstairs."
"You most certainly are not."
"I have been downstairs all day."
"And now you'll be upstairs all evening."
Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest. Mrs Goose merely pointed towards the staircase.
"Up."
Within minutes Elizabeth found herself once more in the green room with a tray balanced across her knees. It held hot broth, fresh bread, a wedge of cheese and a small baked apple which Mrs Goose had declared would 'put the colour back in her cheeks.'
She ate slowly, listening to the muffled sounds that drifted upwards from below.
Voices rose and fell beneath the floorboards, doors opened and closed, boots crossed the passage outside and somewhere in the distance a child burst briefly into tears before being comforted.
Gradually the noises diminished as the guests retired one by one until only an occasional burst of laughter floated up from the taproom.
Elizabeth attempted to read but again her brain refused to cooperate.
At last she abandoned the effort altogether and sat watching the fire trying to make sense of the last few days.
It seemed impossible that just over a week ago she had been sitting in the fine drawing room at Netherfield arguing about gardening—gardening!
—with Mr Darcy. He seemed like a completely different man to the one who had so irritated her then, she certainly felt like a different woman.
It was as if someone had turned the world upside down and shaken everything about.
She had no idea how to navigate this new normal.
She only knew that the vision of his dark eyes boring into her own flashed through her mind with alarming regularity.
She started when the door of the room opened behind her and jumped out of the chair as if she had been caught doing something scandalous.
Mr Darcy stepped inside. He appeared thoroughly exhausted and she hoped he had not noted the warmth in her cheeks as she examined him.
Mud stained the hem of his breeches and one sleeve of his shirt, his boots were caked almost to the ankle and his hair was disordered in a way that suggested he had been running his hands through it.
There were shadows beneath his eyes that had not been there that morning, and he seemed surprised to find her still awake.
"I beg your pardon," he said softly as he closed the door behind him. "I had thought you would be asleep."
She said nothing, feeling overwhelmed by the intimacy of being in the room with him so late at night.
The evening before she had been too angry with him to care, and the first night she supposed she must have been simply unconscious.
But now with the room lit only by the low glow of the fire and a few candles it felt as if they were in a dream-like space—a world where only the two of them existed.
His eyes went to the tray beside the fire.
"You have eaten something, that is good."
"Mrs Goose would accept no refusal."
"I imagine not."
A faint smile touched his mouth before he crossed to the armchair and began, with laboured movements to start arranging the blankets that had become his nightly bed.
Elizabeth watched him for a moment. It was only then that she realised he had brought nothing with him.
"You have not had any supper."
He looked up in mild surprise. "There has been little opportunity. I daresay there is something left in the kitchen." He spoke with such indifference that she knew at once he had no intention of seeking it.
"You have been working since breakfast."
"There was a good deal to be done."
"Mr Darcy..."
He smiled wearily. "I assure you I am perfectly—"
Before he could finish she was already on her feet and out of the door.
She returned a short time later balancing a tray that threatened to tip with every step.
The kitchen had been dark save for the dying embers in the great range, but there had been enough left from supper for her purposes.
She had found the stew still warm in its pot beside the hearth, cut several thick slices of bread, discovered a generous wedge of cheese beneath a cloth and, after a brief search, unearthed a bottle of ale from the pantry.
Mrs Goose had long since retired and Elizabeth hoped the good woman would never discover that one of her guests had been raiding her kitchen in the middle of the night.
Darcy looked up in evident surprise as she nudged the door shut with her foot and carried the tray to the small table beside the fire.
"Miss Bennet..."
"You neglected to eat," she replied simply, setting the tray down before him. "Someone had to remedy the situation."
He opened his mouth to argue but exhaustion seemed to steal the fight from him and he simply nodded and began to eat. Elizabeth watched him with satisfaction, happy she had been able to provide some small comfort to this man who had spent all day supporting everyone around him.
???
Darcy found himself looking up from his supper far more often than was necessary.
Elizabeth had settled once more in the armchair beside the fire with a book open upon her lap, yet he suspected she had read no more than a page.
Every now and then he caught her glancing towards him, only for her eyes to dart back to the printed words the moment she realised she had been observed.
Once he found her smiling to herself for no apparent reason.
He had very nearly smiled in return before remembering that gentlemen did not generally grin foolishly over bowls of stew because a lady had remembered they required feeding.