Chapter Four
B’s aunt confirmed my suspicion that the man was likely having an acute mental health episode and advised me to take him to the nearest hospital.
In the meantime, she said to try to keep him as calm as possible, which meant playing along with his delusion so he wouldn’t get upset.
With that in mind, I headed back over to his table with a pot of tea.
“Would you like to order anything to eat, Mr. Darcy?”
He studied the menu, frowning. “I am unfamiliar with any of the dishes presented here. What, pray tell, are Sherlock Scones?”
“They’re scones with clotted cream and jam. We’re a literary-themed café, so all the dishes have book-related names. Although, I’ll admit, some of the puns are pretty weak.”
“I consider myself a scholarly gentleman, but I cannot boast to recognize any of these references. Lord of the Ring Doughnuts?”
“That’s Lord of the Rings by Tolkien.”
He shook his head. “Crepes of Wrath?”
“Yeah, that’s Grapes of…” I paused when I realized what was going on.
All these books had been written after the early-nineteenth century, the period Pride and Prejudice was set in, and the time this man seemed to believe himself to be from.
I studied the menu, looking for any titles that he might recognize.
“How about a Hamelette? That’s a ham-and-cheese omelette, and probably one of the least offensive items on the menu. ”
“As you wish,” he said curtly.
I returned to the till, where Enzo was waiting for me with pursed lips. “Dana tells me we have Mr. Darcy in the house.”
“That’s what he thinks, poor sod.”
“I told you he had odd energy; I felt it the second he walked in. I’m not sensing anything evil or dangerous, but there’s something freaky going on there.”
We both stared at the man, who was cautiously poking the light bulb on the table lamp.
“He’s not as hot as Matthew Macfadyen or Colin Firth, is he?” Enzo said.
“I think he’s quite handsome.”
As I said this, I remembered that moment he’d first looked at me, when I’d felt as if my whole world was tilting off its axis.
I’d never believed in love at first sight—instalove had always been one of my least favorite romance tropes—but was this what it felt like, both thrillingly new and as if I was somehow coming home?
And I knew he’d felt it too; I’d seen the shocked recognition flash across his face.
But then again, the man was clearly going through something, so this was hardly the time to be thinking about romance.
I served him his Hamelette, which he devoured in about three minutes, and then I took him a slice of Life of (Apple) Pi for dessert.
I knew he was unlikely to have any money to settle the bill, so I paid for it out of my own pocket.
By that point, it was the end of my shift, so I changed back into my own clothes and headed over to his table.
He looked at me in confusion, clearly not recognizing me out of my Elizabeth Bennet dress.
“It was my work uniform,” I explained.
“I was under the impression—”
“You thought I was from Pride and Prejudice too?”
His brow furrowed. “Where is Pride and Prejudice?”
“It’s the book, Mr.… You know what, never mind. You said you wanted to get back to Netherfield Park?”
“That is correct,” the man said. “I have been staying there with my friend, Mr. Bingley, who will be most concerned at my unscheduled disappearance.”
“I think I can help you get back there, if you want to come with me now?”
“To Hertfordshire?”
“Sure,” I said. “We just need to stop off somewhere first where there are some people who can help you, and then you can go back.”
I saw relief flash in his eyes. “Thank you, madam. And I apologize, for I have not yet inquired of your name.”
“I’m Zoe Knight.”
“Well, Miss Knight, I am most grateful for your assistance.”
I said goodbye to Enzo and Dana, promising I’d text them when I got home to let them know I was safe, and then led the man outside. As soon as he stepped onto the crowded pavement, his face fell.
“What is this godforsaken place?”
“We’re in Covent Garden.”
He shook his head. “The fruit-and-vegetable market? Nay, you are mistaken, for I have ridden past there, and it is nothing of this foreign land. And what are those diabolical contraptions?” He pointed toward an Audi parked at the curb.
“That’s a car—an automobile. It’s like a carriage, only it doesn’t need a horse to move.”
“Sorcery,” he said with a shudder.
“OK, we should get going,” I said, taking his arm to lead him across the piazza.
I’d planned to catch the Tube from Charing Cross to Warren Street, but given how he jolted every time there was a loud noise, I quickly realized that the Underground would only upset him more.
But our progress on foot was slow, with him stopping every few paces to exclaim in surprise or alarm at something he’d seen.
Remembering Bianca’s aunt’s advice about playing along to keep him calm, I decided to ask questions about Mr. Darcy’s life in the hope of distracting him from twenty-first-century London.
“Do you have any siblings?”
“I have one sister, Georgiana, who is but sixteen.”
“What’s she like?”
“She is a precious child, sweet natured and shy. Our parents died when she was still in the nursery, and I have been her guardian since.” My plan was working, as I could see some of the anxiety seep out of his face as he talked about his sister.
“And what about the friend you mentioned, Mr. Bingley?” I asked. “Have you known him long?”
“Some five or six years.”
“And you said that you’ve been staying with him?”
“He has taken an estate in Hertfordshire, where I have been residing this past month, along with his sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and Mrs. Hurst’s husband. Though these past few days, we have been joined by some houseguests: two Miss Bennets.”
I swallowed a smile, realizing where in Pride and Prejudice the man believed himself to be. They were chapters I knew so well, I could practically recite them by heart.
“How are you finding the Miss Bennets?” I asked.
“The elder seems a charming young woman, though she is at present in ill health and has taken to bed. The second sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, is most lively and forthright, and I believe takes great pleasure in vexing me.” There was a slight softening in his tone as he spoke of Elizabeth, and although I knew I was being completely unhinged, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.
“She was dining with us this past evening and had just turned down my invitation to dance when…” He paused, his face once again creasing.
“I do not claim to understand the events that transpired, only that one moment I was in the drawing room, and the next the world went dark, and I came to in what I believe to be an omnibus in this infernal phantasm.”
I stopped walking so suddenly that a woman behind us almost crashed into me, swearing as she swerved past.
“Did you say you woke up on a bus?”
“It was a wheeled contraption, of which I have subsequently seen many. In fact, there is one presently.” He pointed at a London bus as it came thundering past.
“And do you know where you were when you woke up on the bus?”
“The driver informed me I was in Camden Town, although it bore no comparison to the parish of such a name that I know.”
I felt a cold chill spread through my body despite the warmth of the afternoon sun.
I’d been on the bus in Camden last night when I fell asleep reading Pride and Prejudice, at exactly the same point in the novel the man was talking about.
I stared at him, trying to slow the thoughts that were racing through my head.
“Is this some kind of a joke?” I said carefully. “Did Bianca put you up to this?”
“I am unfamiliar with any Bianca. And I do not joke, Miss Knight, and certainly not of my current ill-fated predicament.”
“How did you end up in Cake Expectations this afternoon?”
“I spent the night attempting to walk from Camden Town to Mayfair, where I maintain a residence, but I could not find my bearings,” the man said.
“At one point, a stranger took pity on me and delivered me to a hospital, but I was left to wait for hours and at last discharged myself. I eventually walked to the place you call Covent Garden, and there stumbled upon your establishment.”
I swallowed, my heart hammering against my rib cage. This had to be some elaborate and frankly perverse hoax, which meant there must be a way to catch him out.
“What’s your date of birth?” I demanded.
“The fifteenth day of November in the year of our Lord 1783.”
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Lady Anne Darcy.”
“And the name of your housekeeper at Pemberley?”
“Mrs. Reynolds. Why do you interrogate me thus?”
I had to give it to him, this man was a Jane Austen superfan—or else I was the one having a delusional episode.
Or… But that was impossible, surely? As much as I wanted to meet Mr. Darcy, I couldn’t have somehow magicked a fictional character into real life.
But how else to explain what was going on?
I felt suddenly dizzy, and I leaned against a wall.
“Are you quite well, Miss Knight? Your complexion has turned pale.”
I stared at him, willing myself to wake up from this bananas dream. When I spoke, my voice was barely a whisper. “Are you telling me that you’re the actual Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice?”
“I know nothing of a town called Pride and Prejudice. But upon my honor, I assure you that I am Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
At which point, I bent over and was violently sick on Mr. Darcy’s shoes.