Chapter 24 #2
“Georgiana, please take Mrs. and Miss Crawley to the drawing room. If Mr. Collins is still there, the fire will have been well stoked. I shall bring tea from the kitchen.” I turned to Mr. Crawley, who seemed to be in shock.
“Mr. Crawley, could you take the Admiral to the drawing room? My apologies, but with the clearing up after the storm, we have too few footmen to assist you.”
“C—certainly, Miss Elizabeth. It is I who must apologise. We have had such a dreadful night, and the Admiral is quite exhausted by all the bother. Fortunately, he occupies a room on a lower floor and was not affected by the rain.”
I was about to proceed to the kitchen when I thought to collect the used tea tray and ask whether Georgiana required further assistance.
On entering the room I discovered an impasse.
Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Collins were occupying the seats closest to the fire, while Lady de Bourgh sat imperiously in a large wing-back chair, viewing the Crawleys with disdain.
Poor Georgiana, caught between caring for her guests and not wishing to upset her aunt.
I had no such concern after both she and Mr. Collins had so insulted me earlier in the day. Mr. Collins was nursing a glass of Mr. Darcy’s brandy. Without any by-your-leave, I took it from his hands.
“Mr. Collins, it is too early for spirits, and certainly you should not serve yourself without your host’s attendance. Your chair, sir, is required by the Admiral who has suffered grievously from the storm.”
He looked affronted—I did not care. “Mr. Collins, you will remove yourself immediately, before I have the outdoors men throw you down the steps!”
“Cousin Elizabeth, you cannot talk to your betrothed in such a manner!”
“Mr. Collins, you are not my betrothed. Indeed, you are the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.” I turned to Mr. Crawley. “Sir, can you remove this man—he purports to be a clergyman, but possesses not one ounce of Christian charity.”
Immediately, Mr. Crawley took Mr. Collins’s arm and bodily pulled him from the chair, depositing him in another by the window. I had never seen a man so pleased with himself. Georgiana covered her mouth, she was snickering—oh, what a treat!
“Miss de Bourgh, if you would, please move to the settee. It is warm enough with your shawls. Mrs. Crawley is quite chilled, having spent the night huddled below stairs with rain leaking into her house.”
Gently, Georgiana took her cousin’s arm, then sat beside her, arranging her shawls on her shoulders.
The lady looked up, giving me a venomous look, so different from the pale, weak creature I had thought her to be.
Did she truly believe that Fitzwilliam would offer for her?
That I stood in her way? Unconsciously I glanced at Lady Catherine who had not said a word.
‘Oh, Lizzy, Lady Catherine and Anne are certainly related—their expressions are exactly the same.
Not now, Kitty.
‘I believe I would not wish to marry Mr. Collins, even though he is a clergyman,’ said Mary solemnly. ‘I had not thought that a man of the cloth could be both so ridiculous and so unprincipled.’
I gathered up the tea tray and left the room to return to the kitchen, where I discovered that Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Abernathy were in the barn supervising the placing of the great crocks and pots of stew onto carts for distribution to the families of the estate.
Each pot was wrapped in straw, both to insulate and to prevent breakage.
Two kitchen maids were guarding the ovens.
I left them to their work, quickly setting a large tray with cups and filling two urns with boiling water, the kettle in the drawing room having been let run dry.
I found a cake basket in the pantry and filled it with sweet biscuits.
I was struggling across the hall—the tray was over-heavy—when Fitzwilliam came from the corridor leading to the stables.
“Elizabeth, you silly, silly girl! You should not be carrying such a heavy tray; it will do your shoulder no good, no good at all!”
Gratefully, I let him take the tray from me.
Indeed, my shoulder had begun to ache—I hoped I had not done it any injury.
“The whole house is busy, Fitzwilliam. Jacob is upstairs readying chambers for the Crawleys—I would not normally have a footman do so, but at least he is assisted by two housemaids—and the others are carrying stew to the carts. The ladies of the household are with them in the barn.”
“Elizabeth, you have become an indoors maid!” He laughed, the tray rattled. “I have never been one myself. Come, you lead the way as Mrs. Reynolds does, and I shall follow your skirts. Though I must say, I have never seen a maid dressed in a riding habit—is this the new Darcy livery?”
Sweet man.
“Fitzwilliam! I have never been treated so badly in my life. And why ever are you carrying the tea tray? That is a job for servants, not the heir to Pemberley!” Darcy ignored Lady Catherine and, on my instruction, placed the tray on the table, filled the teapot with hot water, and refilled the kettle on the hearth.
Georgiana sprang up and assisted me in pouring tea for the Crawleys, which was gratefully received—perhaps their only warm drink of the day. Biscuits were quickly taken up, and I was glad the cake basket had been filled.
Lady Catherine was growing increasingly indignant, but Fitzwilliam ignored her until his guests had been seen to. “Aunt, we have guests whose house has been severely damaged by the storm.” He stared at her—with what I had come to recognise as the Darcy Stare.
I have often engaged in staring contests with dogs—particularly, eye-dogs accustomed to shepherding sheep on the farm.
They catch your eye, just as they do sheep, and hold it.
Eventually, the dog wins the contest with the sheep, which turns away, to be dominated by the dog.
But such an animal had never bested me, nor Darcy—Lady Catherine turned away.
“I am beginning to understand, Aunt,” he continued, “why you travel with a clergyman. He possesses little enough charity, but his presence compensates, ever so slightly, for your having none.”
The room went very quiet, the Crawleys attempting to hide behind their biscuits and tea.
Fitzwilliam rose to his full height. “Dinner will be called a little late, for the kitchen is understaffed. But I suggest you and Cousin Anne retire to refresh yourselves and change. You will be notified when dinner is served.”
The lady’s face went red—I thought she might explode, such a tantrum as the world has never seen before. But she recollected herself, stood, and waited by the door for Anne to join her. Without any further word, they were gone.
Mr. Collins hastily followed. Surely, he was related, for his face held the same venomous look as did the lady’s when he passed by me.
“Thank you, Fitzwilliam,” I whispered.
“Father told me of her comments and those of Mr. Collins, which he overheard this morning. I am so ashamed, Elizabeth, that any relation of mine could treat you so poorly.”
The room seemed to shrink. He held an expression of such tenderness; his eyes, dark and intense.
He smelt of wet grass, damp soil, a sweet and dusty smell of horse, the rich, oily tang of saddles and riding boots; a sharp, salty, musky scent mingled with amber and sandalwood.
Unconsciously, I stepped closer—there was an aura, a glow about him which I had never seen before.
“Do you think, Lizzy, that the kitchen could make up some sandwiches for the Crawleys?” Georgiana came skipping across to us, kissing Fitzwilliam on the cheek.
I scarcely heard her. Was I family enough to kiss his cheek also?
The impropriety! In the drawing room with guests! Yet, I was so sorely tempted.
“W-what? Of course, Georgiana, I shall see to it. You see to your guests.”
She and Darcy crossed the room to join the Crawleys. The murmur of gentle conversation filled the silence. In the hall, I met Jacob returning from upstairs. “The rooms are made up, Miss Elizabeth. Do you wish me to escort the Crawleys to their chambers?”
“Jacob, there is a room adjacent to the library which once, I believe, was set up as a bedroom for the old Mr. Darcy, when his gout prevented him from climbing the stairs. Would it be suitable for the Admiral?”
Jacob thought for a moment. “It was before my time, but I know the chamber. Let me check, ma’am. Certainly, it would be easier than carrying him upstairs of an evening.”
“If it is suitable, have a maid change the linens and give the room a good airing. Let us wait until that room is prepared before we take the others upstairs. Now, I am to make them a few sandwiches, for they have not eaten all day.”
“Surely, Miss Elizabeth, it is not your place in the kitchen.”
I laughed. “Lady Catherine would agree with you; but needs must when the devil drives.” Jacob frowned, unsure of my meaning.
“It’s from the Bard, Jacob— All’s Well That Ends Well.”
I returned to the kitchen, just as Mrs. Abernathy came in from the barn.
I explained the Crawleys’ circumstances: that they would be staying at Pemberley until their house was put to rights, likely more than a fortnight.
I asked whether a hot meal, perhaps some stew or ragout, could be served at dinner.
“Of course, Miss Elizabeth. With fresh-baked, hot bread and lashings of butter. We’ll fill them poor dears up, an’ they’ll leave Pemberley fatter’n they arrived.
Just leave’t to Cook, my dear.” She chuckled.
“While very handsome, ma’am, I’m not sure t’estate could bear the expense of putting every maid in fitted jackets and long skirts, like yerself.
No, ma’am, our current livery is fine enough, and likely more practical. ”
* * *
How was it that Jonathan Swift, a hundred years before, had predicted in his poem Description of a City Shower, the strange sequence of events that befell us at Pemberley? We had endured the pouring rain; now came the cats and dogs—