Chapter 24 #3
Drowned puppies, stinking sprats, all drenched in mud,
Dead cats and turnip-tops come tumbling down the flood.
There was one cat in particular that arrived at Pemberley’s door seeking sanctuary. Unannounced, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst stepped down from their carriage, looking tired and cold—in short, bedraggled. Accompanying them was Miss Caroline Bingley.
The Crawleys had retired to refresh themselves before dinner. I was about to go up when the Hursts were announced.
“Mr. Hurst, we had no knowledge of your coming to Pemberley.”
“Miss Bennet… Is Mr. Darcy at home?” asked Mr. Hurst, a trifle embarrassed. “I have a great favour to ask.”
“Perhaps, sir, you should come inside; there is a chill to the air after the heavy rains.” I ushered them into the morning room, where a small fire had been set—not so much for warmth as to dry the lingering damp.
“Mr. Darcy has just this moment gone up to dress for dinner. Let me call for tea while he is notified of your arrival.” I went to the fire and added a little more coal.
“Miss Eliza, are you now a housemaid at Pemberley? Mr. Darcy is ever so kind to those who fall on hard times. I heard that Mr. Collins has taken up his inheritance, that you no longer reside at Longbourn.” Clearly, Miss Bingley had not changed since her exceedingly poor behaviour at the Netherfield Ball.
I was tired—a very long day since early morning, riding out to visit the tenants—my judgement likely faulty, as frayed as my temper. I ignored Miss Bingley and addressed Mr. Hurst.
“I suspect, Mr. Hurst, that you and Mrs. Hurst, for some good reason, are seeking accommodation at Pemberley. It is not my place to offer you beds, if that is what you wish—yet Mrs. Hurst and yourself are surely welcome. Nevertheless, it is unfortunate that your sister accompanies you—I am uncertain as to whether the same courtesy will be quite so forthcoming for her.”
Apart from the hissing of coal in the hearth, the room was silent. Both Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were too embarrassed to look at me. When the tea arrived, as any good hostess would, I poured and suggested they warm themselves by the fire, which was now glowing nicely.
“Ah, Mr. Hurst, Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, how can Pemberley assist you?” Mr. Darcy had yet to change for dinner, his trousers streaked with mud, his cravat hastily tied.
“My apologies, Mr. Darcy, the storm has washed out the road from Sheffield to Chesterfield. We intended to make for Bakewell, then take the turnpike to Matlock and rejoin our route at Ambergate. But we were seriously delayed—the inns are full…”
“Of course, Hurst, you may stay. The more the merrier, don’t you say, Elizabeth!
We shall have rooms prepared. Dinner is late, for there has been much work cleaning up after the storm.
Thus, it may take a little while to have chambers aired and the fires built up.
There are several other parties staying at Pemberley, as unexpected as yourselves. ”
Mr. Darcy had noticed Miss Bingley, who was standing some distance away, her face red and lips pursed. Certainly, he saw the glare she was directing toward me.
“What say you, Elizabeth, perhaps the East Wing?”
“Of course, sir. I shall speak to Mrs. Reynolds. Rather than delaying dinner, perhaps the Hursts would care to refresh themselves downstairs while their rooms are prepared and their luggage carried up. Dinner will be rather plain, I’m afraid.
The Crawleys have only a limited wardrobe, so we are dressing quite informally. ”
Mr. Darcy smiled. “Ever efficient, Elizabeth. Then you must change also; you have been in your riding clothes too long and must be quite weary of them.”
I chuckled. “Indeed, sir, it will be a relief to dress more comfortably. Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, a maid will bring you warm water and show you to a suitable chamber where you can refresh yourselves. Mr. Hurst, I leave you in Mr. Darcy’s hands.”
* * *
Dinner was a desolate affair, with little conversation.
I think all of us wished to retire to our beds, but etiquette demanded attendance at the main meal of the day.
The stew had been spiced to resemble a ragout, and several bowls of boiled potatoes prevented the table from seeming too bare.
Still, I could have danced a reel between the dishes.
But all, apart from Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley, appeared well-content that the food was hot, tasty, and plentiful.
Her ladyship eschewed the place of honour next to Mrs. Bennet and sat at the foot of the table beside Mr. Darcy.
Opposite her, the Admiral had been assisted from the Bath chair to take his seat.
Mrs. Crawley and Mrs. Hurst sat next to Mrs. Bennet; I suspect they felt more comfortable well away from Lady Catherine’s sullen looks as she and her daughter entered the room.
Mr. Collins was subdued—in speech only—for he helped himself to generous servings of potatoes and ragout.
“George, I cannot see how you abide it. Certainly Pemberley’s refinement has suffered since Mrs. Bennet and her daughter have been in the house. This meal is a disgrace—only one course!” Lady Catherine spoke loudly enough that all could hear.
The Admiral looked up, certainly not hard of hearing. “Ma’am, are you not in favour of good English beef and lamb? At Crawley Lodge, we have a ragout most weeks, and often twice.”
“A minor estate; certainly your menus are inferior to those of Pemberley, at least when my sister was mistress.”
“I cannot say I agree with you. Mrs. Crawley keeps a very fine table—I have never had cause to complain.”
“A sailor with good taste? Well, I have never heard of it. I cannot imagine you able to distinguish between salt pork and hard biscuits.”
“You have me there, your ladyship,” replied the Admiral, chuckling. “Are you a sailor, ma’am?”
Lady Catherine gave the Admiral a look of haughty disdain. “Upon my word, you are insolent.”
“My apologies, but I had mistaken you for my old sailing master—a man whose face was as weathered as driftwood, worn and salt-bleached from years at sea, marked by every squall. He was a good man, was Mr. Harcourt. Ne’er one to complain when he could sit to a hearty meal, a nip of rum, and excellent company, as we have at this table. ”
The Admiral resumed spooning his ragout, grunting with pleasure. He had a twinkle in his eye; his mind alert in spite of his infirmities.
We withdrew to the drawing room without the separation of the sexes, for the gentlemen were as weary as the ladies. The Crawleys gave their apologies and immediately retired, quickly followed by Lady Catherine, Mr. Collins, and the Hursts.
We Darcys and Bennets remained for a while longer, relishing the peace. I sat on the settee, letting the heat from the fire warm my weary body.
“Elizabeth, may I sit with you?” Fitzwilliam stretched out his long legs, leaning back, his eyes closed. The scent of amber and sandalwood lingered in the air.
“I am too tired for Plautus this evening, Fitzwilliam. I would sooner speak hog Latin as I did as a child than torture the Latin of the Romans.”
I leant my head on his shoulder and promptly fell asleep—well, I must have done, for I have no memory, only a dream, of him gently picking me up—as he had done so many times before—and carrying me to my chamber, where Sally, bless her, helped me undress.
* * *