CHAPTER 25 #4
He stopped just within the door, taking in the room in one grave glance: Mrs. Westbrook, Mr. Clark, Mrs. Doddridge, Pom-Pom alert upon his cushion, the untouched biscuits, Elizabeth standing beside the tea table with an expression of perfect civility and controlled murder.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I am before my time.”
“Not at all,” said Elizabeth. “You are expected.”
It was only the truth. That did not prevent it from sounding like rescue.
Mrs. Westbrook’s eyes moved over him with quick social assessment. Mr. Clark bowed with the faint stiffness of a gentleman who had not expected another man to arrive carrying papers and certainty.
“Mrs. Westbrook, Mr. Clark,” said Elizabeth, “Mr. Darcy assists me in certain matters of property.”
Darcy bowed correctly.
“Madam. Sir.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Westbrook. “How very useful.”
“Very,” said Elizabeth.
Darcy’s face did not change. This was to his credit, for Elizabeth was certain he had understood more than she had said.
“I am afraid,” she continued, “I must beg you to forgive me. I would not hurry you away, but my appointment cannot conveniently be delayed.”
“No, no,” said Mrs. Westbrook, rising with all the cheerfulness of a woman forced to retreat while pretending she had intended motion. “We have already trespassed too long. It was only a call of thanks.”
“And most kind.”
Mr. Clark rose more slowly. “I hope we may have the pleasure of hearing you again, Miss Bennet.”
“How generous,” said Elizabeth.
Pom-Pom growled softly.
Darcy looked down at him. The smallest change touched his mouth and vanished.
Mrs. Doddridge folded her sewing.
Mrs. Westbrook took leave with civility, Mr. Clark with consequence. He bowed to Elizabeth, to Mrs. Doddridge, and finally, with visible uncertainty, to Pom-Pom.
Pom-Pom did not return it.
When the door closed behind them, Elizabeth remained standing for one moment.
The silence which followed was not empty. It was, if anything, crowded with plain biscuits, wounded self-importance, business insulted in the abstract, and Pom-Pom’s excellent judgment.
Darcy set his papers on the table.
“I fear I interrupted you.”
“You did.”
His expression tightened.
“You interrupted them,” she said.
The tightness eased.
“In that case, I hope I was punctual.”
“Perfectly.”
Pom-Pom rose from his cushion, stretched with exquisite indignation, and crossed the room to sniff Darcy’s boot. Having established him as preferable to Mr. Clark, he permitted himself to be touched once upon the head.
Darcy obliged him gravely.
Elizabeth looked at the plate of biscuits.
“Mrs. Albright,” she said, when the housekeeper appeared a few minutes later to have the tea removed, “we shall be in the library. Pray send fresh tea there.”
“Yes, miss.”
“And sandwiches.”
“Yes, miss.”
“And the seed cake, if there is any left.”
“There is, miss.”
Elizabeth paused, then looked toward the abandoned biscuits with disfavour.
“And chocolate biscuits.”
Mrs. Albright’s brows rose only enough to show that she understood a distinction had been made.
“Chocolate biscuits, miss.”
Darcy, who had been collecting the Manchester Square papers, looked up.
“That is a generous provision for leases.”
“It is not for the leases,” said Elizabeth.
His hand stilled upon the papers.
Mrs. Albright withdrew.
Elizabeth turned toward the door. “Come, Mr. Darcy. You have arrived at a trying hour and behaved with admirable restraint. You deserve chocolate biscuits today.”
For a moment he looked as if she had said something much less ordinary. Then he bowed his head.
“I am honoured.”
“You should be. They are very good biscuits.”
They went into the library.
The fire there was steady, the chairs already placed, the Manchester Square box waiting upon the table.
Mrs. Doddridge followed and took her usual seat by the window.
Pom-Pom, having decided that business with Mr. Darcy was preferable to society with Mr. Clark, trotted after them and arranged himself near the hearth with the air of a dog restored to better company.
When the fresh tray arrived, it contained tea, sandwiches, seed cake, and a small plate of chocolate biscuits set with particular dignity at Mr. Darcy’s side.
Darcy looked at them.
Elizabeth looked at the papers.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, “I hope you have brought something very disagreeable about Manchester Square.”
Darcy glanced once toward the door through which Mrs. Westbrook and Mr. Clark had departed.
“I can oblige you with two leases, a disputed awning, and a tenant who believes memory superior to ink.”
Elizabeth sat down.
“Excellent,” she said. “I am restored.”
Darcy took his accustomed chair opposite her, the chocolate biscuits between his papers and his hand, and for the first time that afternoon, Elizabeth felt the room settle into sense.
“Begin with the awning,” she said.
“As you wish.”
Mrs. Doddridge resumed her sewing by the window.
Pom-Pom sighed near the hearth. Outside, January pressed coldly against the glass; inside, the fire gave a steady heat, the plain biscuits had been abandoned to their fate, and Manchester Square, with all its inconvenient habits, opened between them like relief.