Chapter 25
Elizabeth slowly descended the stairs again.
It had been nearly a week now. Five days of almost silent dinners.
Five days of enduring the taciturn company of her husband.
There had been no temper outbursts, for which she was grateful, but the strain of trying not to cause any anger or disturbance — especially as she could not imagine what might enrage him — was wearing on her.
One day, she might inadvertently say something wrong, and then his furious words would land upon her and he would retreat again in anger and disdain.
How she wished she could ask Mr Jones for his advice. The Meryton apothecary had known her since she was a child and his avuncular warmth and his skill would surely help her to know what to expect and whether she would ever see any improvement.
She turned into the drawing room, amused at herself. She would never see improvement because she so rarely saw her husband.
She stopped suddenly; it was as if her thoughts of him had conjured him to be sitting there, his usual frown well in evidence. Perhaps he had wanted her to arrive earlier — she had taken to only waiting a few minutes in splendid solitude under the eye of the footmen.
Mr Darcy rose to his feet and bowed. “Mrs Darcy.”
Elizabeth curtsied in return. “Mr Darcy.” Perhaps there was some improvement after all. He was here, even if his acknowledgement was formal and minimal.
She took a seat on the sofa by the fire, across from the chair he’d been sitting in and watched him cross the room to the drinks tray. As he picked up the decanter, she breathed a sigh of relief. A sherry would help her to get through the meal.
Then she watched in disbelief as he poured himself a finger of whisky and returned to his chair without even looking at her, much less offering to pour her a drink.
She bit back the sarcastic response she wished she dare say. ‘I thank you, I would like a sherry, please’. He would take exception to the sarcasm and perhaps be embarrassed enough to be angry.
Then she thought she would walk over and pour herself a drink, regardless of what the footman thought. But again she thought better of it, and quietly waited, her hands demurely in her lap, until dinner was called and he coldly offered his arm and they walked through to the dining room together.
Dinner passed in the usual silence, and it was not until Elizabeth rose to leave him to his port as usual that he looked up.
“I will meet you in the small parlour in the morning to attend services, madam.”
She inclined her head. “Yes, sir.” They had been to church the last three weeks, and she found herself resenting that he seemed to feel the need each week to order her to be ready.
Still, any day without him losing his temper was a good day, she supposed, moving towards the day three months after … after Netherfield, when it was hoped he might supposedly be recovered from this fragile state of mind.
Elizabeth pursed her lips; she would almost prefer to have the silent, haughty Mr Darcy of the autumn back.
His self-control had been absolute and at least she had known where she stood in his estimation.
As low as she did now, she supposed. It seemed he had no wish to make this marriage work, despite the fact that they were trapped in that union and there was no escape.
At church, her husband remained silently by her side afterwards while she spoke to Mr Mair and complimented him on his sermon. Then she spoke to Lucy Hayes and agreed to call on her on Tuesday. All the while she was conscious of the disdainful smirk of the Bellowes’ ladies.
She knew that Mrs Bellowes had wanted Mr Darcy for her daughter, and the similarity to Mama almost brought tears to her eyes. Not that she really missed Mama — not nearly as much as she missed Jane and Aunt Gardiner, and even Papa.
When needed she greeted them coolly, and followed Mr Darcy to the coach where he waited while the footman handed her in, before climbing in himself and sitting on the opposite seat.
“Have you been calling on our neighbours, Mrs Darcy?” His voice was expressionless and Elizabeth did not know whether he expected it or thought she might be revealing the nature of their marriage.
“I thought to make a few calls soon, sir, when the household duties are more familiar to me. And I have called on Mrs Hayes a few times, since she approached me at church to make the request.”
She would never willingly call upon the Bellowes.
Their eyes roamed amusedly over her provincial clothes, beginning to show their age despite Emily’s tireless efforts at maintaining them.
But if Mr Darcy wished his wife to be a laughing stock, so be it.
She would not show any distress by word or deed.
And she would never again ask him to allow her to access her pin money.
She huffed a laugh to herself; she was still as proud and stubborn as her father had always said she was.
On Wednesday, a maid hurried into the mistress’s office. “Mrs Darcy, I have been sent to ask you to meet Mrs Kerr in the linen stores. She apologises, but she cannot leave there to speak to you.”
“Thank you, Betsy. Please go back and tell her I am on my way.” Elizabeth rose to her feet.
She could not seem to be making undue haste, she knew that; but she also knew that Mrs Kerr was calm and professional.
She would not have couched the request in such a way unless the matter was truly urgent.
But the other consideration was that Betsy was young and excitable.
Like Lydia, she seemed to be willing to make a drama out of anything untoward.
As she crossed the hall, attempting not to walk too precipitately, she encountered Mr Darcy, and she instinctively slowed a little more. Their eyes met, but he did not stop, merely gave her a brief nod, and she breathed a sigh of relief and continued on her way.
Mrs Kerr greeted her calmly at the door to the linen store, and Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Tell me, has Betsy made more of a drama out of the event that was necessary?”
The woman curtsied respectfully. “I fear so, Mrs Darcy. I hope you did not hurry too much.” She glanced along the corridor to make sure it was empty before turning to the door. “I have not tried to wake her yet, madam, because I am not sure what we are to do afterwards.”
Elizabeth nodded and indicated that she wished to see inside and the woman opened the door silently, while adding, “I believe she slipped in last night and when the door was locked for the night, no one thought to check she was in there.”
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek in an effort not to laugh. Large numbers of sheets and other linens had been pulled off the shelves, and Mrs Reynolds was curled up in a sort of nest on the floor.
“Oh dear!” Elizabeth shook her head. “Once we have dealt with this, I believe Mr Reed needs to put a stout bolt on every door that might attract Mrs Reynolds's attention.” She frowned slightly.
“It is very cold down here. She may need a warm bath. How far is it to her rooms, and do you have a maid who is kind, gentle and very discreet for us to change her duties to caring for Mrs Reynolds?”
Mrs Kerr nodded. “The housekeeper’s room is next to mine, Mrs Darcy.
I think we will need to put her in a chair and have her carried there — perhaps Mr Maunder could assist us and Mr Payne.
They are discreet.” She looked thoughtful.
“I have an above-stairs maid named Jenny who fits your description, although there might be some complaints at the other maids taking on her work.”
“Well, if there are any complaints send them to me if they are unsatisfied, Mrs Kerr, and I will deal with them.” She nodded her head and was unable to restrain a smile as she watched the sleeping woman.
“I believe there is spare capacity within the accounts to hire another maid, especially if we cut back a little on the choices at dinner, do you agree?”
“Yes, Mrs Darcy, although what the master might think of that, I do not know.”
“I will go to the kitchens as soon as we are finished here. I am certain Mrs Westby will be sympathetic to our cause.” Elizabeth smiled reassuringly.
“Now, perhaps you could call Jenny, and arrange that Mrs Reynolds is taken to her room and made comfortable. I will wait here with her until all is arranged. Then, when I go to the kitchens, you could perhaps begin to seek a new maid.”
On meeting Mrs Kerr on Friday, Elizabeth heard that the woman had appointed one of Jenny’s sisters as the new maid.
Alice had been deemed suitable earlier and her name retained on a list until a suitable vacancy was available.
“She is a good girl, and will not gossip, knowing we do not keep employees found to be indiscreet. The sisters are amenable to sharing a room in the servants’ quarters, Mrs Darcy, which will be helpful to me, because we have some repairs waiting in the empty rooms.”
“So that is convenient,” Elizabeth smiled. “And how is Mrs Reynolds taking to being otherwise occupied?”
“Oh, very well. I have suggested to her that Jenny needs better skills with her sewing and I could think of no one better to train her.”
“Hopefully this will last until we can think of something better.” Elizabeth rose to her feet.
She knew they could not keep the situation as it was for long.
Mrs Reynolds needed to be pensioned off to a small cottage, and at Longbourn, she and Papa would ensure such a faithful servant was cared for as long as needed.
But would that happen here? When might Mr Darcy be amenable to her raising the issue? Would he ever?
“Thank you, Mrs Kerr. I am going to see Mrs Peterson out at Shirland this morning. I understand there has been some work done on one of the tenant cottages.”
“Of course, Mrs Darcy. If she takes you to see Mrs Dobbs, the children might be expecting some small treats.”
“Thank you for the warning,” Elizabeth laughed. “I would hate to be caught without. Will you arrange for a small basket while I get attired for a cold carriage ride?”
She watched Mrs Kerr hurry off, knowing the woman would not only prepare the basket, but arrange the hot bricks and extra blankets which would render her journey more tolerable.
At dinner that night, Elizabeth had something to talk about. “Mrs Peterson escorted me to see Mrs Dobbs and the children this morning.” She waited to see if her husband would respond.
He said nothing, although he did glance up as she began speaking and nodded as she finished. Elizabeth called on the reserves of her patience.
“The family seemed happy and content. Mrs Dobbs told me that her situation is immeasurably improved since you had the new room built onto the side of the cottage. She had been very concerned that little Martha would soon be too heavy for her to carry up the stairs.” She smiled slightly.
“All the children enjoyed the little ginger biscuits I took for them. And Mr Reed has had a stick carved for Martha. She is apparently now able to stay on her feet for a few minutes, and the older brother is attempting to help her to take her first steps.”
Mr Darcy was applying himself to his meal with no expression, but he mumbled something at the end of her recitation … more of a grunt, really.
However, Elizabeth was satisfied for the moment. She had told him what had happened during her call, and that she understood the needs of the tenants. He must find this useful, as it was unlikely his meetings with the steward could regularly canvas the small details.
Once again, she sat in the drawing room after dinner, but she did not expect to see him and after an hour industriously sewing shirts for tenant children, she tidied away her sewing and retired to the warmth and comfort of her own small sitting room next to her bedchamber.
As she sat in the comfortable chair by the fire, drinking the hot chocolate brought up by Emily, Elizabeth contemplated the following morning. Perhaps she would go to the hothouse. Today there had been several hours of sun, and the hothouse might have retained some warmth.
She had discovered it on one of her walks.
Hidden behind a copse on the other side of the lake, it was small for the size of the estate, and very rundown, the furnaces unused, and signs of the long lost tender plants.
But some native species and vines had pushed their way in, and the space had shown signs of some potential for the wonderful heavy sense of growth and warmth she loved about hothouses.
It might be possible as the spring advanced.
She had asked the head gardener about the history of it, and Mr Potts had told her that it had been built for the current master’s grandmother, but had been abandoned after her early death.
That might have discouraged Elizabeth, but the place felt as if it had been loved, and she wondered if it might be possible to improve it a least for the summers without expense and without Mr Darcy finding out about it.
It would be a comfort to her, a place of refuge from the echoing grandeur of the main house, where the silence echoed in contrast to the busy noise and chaos of Longbourn.
She leaned back in the chair, her homesickness almost overwhelming. But she must endure. She was beginning to build a life here; the tenants were coming to know her and anticipate her visits — and perhaps her husband might come to respect that, at least.
Lucy Hayes, too, was a good friend, and she had said nothing although she must be aware that Elizabeth was finding things rather difficult.
Perhaps, soon, Elizabeth might trust in her friend’s discretion and confide in her.
But, at present, Elizabeth dare not risk any hint of her misery reaching the ears of Mr Darcy.
She must wait in patience for the spring. Warmer days must make everything easier, surely.