Chapter 4
MORE THAN A PASSING ACQUAINTANCE
W ith a firm tug, the heavy white sheet billowed into the air like a dense cloud before collapsing into a puddle at Hannah’s feet.
Mrs Reynolds placed a hand on the exposed mattress, pressing firmly to establish whether it was merely chilled, or the cold signified a more penetrating moisture.
With a shake of her head, she wiped her hand dry on her skirt.
She was not overly surprised; these rooms were seldom used, and damp was a pernicious blight.
It presented a difficulty, however, for one night was not sufficient time to air a bed, even in high summer.
“We shall need the mattresses brought over from the closed bedrooms, but I’ll not have any of you girls doing that.
Hannah, run and see if anyone is available in the servants’ hall to do it.
Ask Mr Matthis if you cannot find anyone.
Martha, go with her and help strip the beds before they are moved, else the sheets will all be scuffed about, and we shall have to begin again. ”
Both girls curtseyed and left directly.
“Edna, these fires all need lighting, post-haste. And you had best fetch some rosemary or orange peel or something to burn on them. Let us see if we can at least give the appearance of freshness. The grates will have to be done at dawn, I’m afraid, for these fires will need to be kept burning all night. ”
Edna set off for the stillroom with a nod. Mrs Reynolds turned to the other maids.
“Well then, girls, you know what needs doing. Mr Bingley will be in this room, and his sister in the next. Across the hall will be Lord and Lady Garroway with Miss Adams next to them in the Mahogony Bedroom. Remember, she must not have flowers in her room.” With one last look around, Mrs Reynolds nodded.
“I shall have the kitchen prepare you a supper for when you are finished.”
Despite having been labouring since dawn, the girls set about their extra work without a murmur of complaint, though Mrs Reynolds did not doubt there would be grumbling enough behind closed doors later.
It could not be helped; Mr Ferguson had given the instruction, and it was not her place to cavil.
The chef and his undercooks had returned from Astroite House on Monday, and Pemberley’s kitchen was once again returned to a cacophonous hive of activity.
With fifteen guests and their servants arriving with the family the next day, there was no shortage of work to be done.
Supplies were strewn in every direction—still being sorted and stored according to Chef’s preferences.
The kitchen maids were dashing about between the great oak tables with armfuls of ingredients.
Young Pip, whose job it was to turn the spit, looked fit to combust so hot did the fire blaze.
It was a scene Mrs Reynolds observed with great fondness, for the kitchen was the heart of any house, and Pemberley’s only beat when its master was at home.
After a quick word with Monsieur Dubois about supper for the housemaids, she took a cup of tea to drink quietly in the upper servants’ hall. She discovered Mr Darcy’s manservant there, eating a dinner of bread and cheese. “Mr Vaughan! Welcome back.”
“Thank you.” He stood, bowed formally, and sat back down, ever efficient in all things, not least conversation.
“’Tis a shame you missed dinner.”
He made a movement with his mouth equivalent to a shrug. “The luggage had already been unloaded when Mr Darcy received the summons home. Took some time to sort out.”
Mrs Reynolds lowered herself onto a chair. “Are you aware of the matter that required him to return early?”
“A problem with the house.”
“The architect who was here this afternoon does not appear to have put anyone’s mind at ease. Mr Ferguson has ordered the entire east wing closed.”
Mr Vaughan frowned. “Did Mr Darcy seem concerned?”
“I must say he did. Quite out of sorts.”
He gave a low grumble of unease.
Mrs Reynolds shifted her old bones about on the chair, doing nothing to make herself more comfortable. “A party of three came to the house today. One of them—a young woman—claimed an acquaintance with the master.”
“Name?” Mr Vaughan enquired in a business-like tone.
“Her friends called her ‘Lizzy’.”
He thought about that for a moment. “There was a Miss Elizabeth in Hertfordshire—Elizabeth Bennet. Stayed at Mr Bingley’s house for a few days. She was at Hunsford when we were at Rosings, too.”
Mrs Reynolds bristled anew at the recollection of the young woman’s coyness as she purported to know the master but a little. “What did you make of her?”
“She struck me as a pleasant girl. The colonel certainly liked her well enough, according to his man.”
“She knows Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
Mr Vaughan nodded. “He was at Rosings with Mr Darcy as usual. Miss Bennet dined there with them once or twice.”
And she had dined with Lady Catherine de Bourgh! “I believe she may be acquainted with George Wickham as well.”
“Likely. His company was encamped near her home in Hertfordshire.”
“Upon my word! Whatever can she have been about coming here in that case?” Mrs Reynolds cried, dismayed at the prospect of any friend of George Wickham’s snooping about Pemberley uninvited.
“I am sure there is no cause for alarm. There are plenty of ‘Lizzys’ in the world. Perhaps the young lady who came today was a different acquaintance. Or a total stranger.”
“He definitely knew her,” said a gruff voice from the doorway. “Evening, Vaughan. Welcome home.”
Mrs Reynolds jumped as Mr Howes clomped over to the table, dragged a chair noisily out from under it, and set his mug down with a loud bang.
Head gardener he may be, but he had never quite learnt to leave his outdoor manners in the garden where they belonged.
“What made you think Mr Darcy and the young lady were acquainted?” she asked him.
“His face when he saw her, for starters. Well, both their faces come to think of it. Never saw two people more embarrassed to bump into each other.”
“ That was what distressed him!”
“Seemed to knock him for six, to be sure. Not that he talked to her for long on that occasion.”
“Was there another occasion?”
“Well, there’s the other reason I know they are acquainted. Because if he did not know her, then how do you explain his coming back out around the lake to find her and her friends and take over the tour of the park from me?”
Mr Vaughan raised his eyebrows but said nothing and returned his gaze to his plate.
He never partook in speculation directly relating to the master, even among the upper servants.
Neither did Mrs Reynolds in the usual course of things, yet she could not allay her disquiet where this young woman was concerned.
She fancied that if Mr Vaughan had witnessed Mr Darcy’s distress in the moments after that first encounter, he might share her unease.
“Well, all I can say is we must be thankful she has gone and nothing worse came of it.”