Chapter One #2
“I am in. She doesn’t suspect a thing. I need a snack. I see raisins! And apples! Yum, Yum, Yum.”
Jeffry nibbled at an apple slice, shivering with delight and eyeing the plump raisin he meant to eat next.
“What do you mean, she doesn’t suspect a thing?”
Jeffry scrambled around, searching for the owner of the voice.
“Yeah, what do you mean?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah?”
He looked up at the birds perched side-by-side on a dead branch inside their aviary.
Staring at him.
“Hunh?” a robin asked.
“Tell us,” said someone other than a bird.
Jeffry gaped at the rabbit hutch. The buck and doe stared back.
“What do you mean, she doesn’t suspect a thing?” came the sweet sound of the doe rabbit.
“Tell us what you meant or I’m going to rend you in pieces, and then eat you,” the fox said as he prowled in his cage, glaring across the orangery at Jeffry.
Jeffry shrieked and shuddered. He wished he already had a tunnel to hide in. He burrowed under the straw instead.
“I am not going to hurt Lizzy. I swear I am here to help her.”
“How?” the fawn asked, mincing his way toward the enclosure. “I want to help her.”
“Me too!”
“And me!”
“Me!”
“Me!”
“Me!”
“Goodness. Do you all want to help her?” Jeffry asked.
“Yes,” the water vole said, his voice deeper than Jeffry had expected. “And why do you talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Are you telling us you don’t know?” the rabbit buck asked incredulously. “How can you be so stupid that you don’t know you talk funny?”
“Oh, it’s a Peruvian accent. I am from Peru, you see. Aunty said it didn’t matter if I talk like this.”
“Who is Aunty?” the fox asked.
“It doesn’t matter who she is,” Jeffry said, wiggling his bottom. “Tell me. Has Lizzy met Darcy yet?”
“Who is Darcy?” asked the turtle.
“Yah, yah, yah?” the birds chirped.
“Very well, so she hasn’t met him yet,” Jeffry said slowly. “What about Bingley? Has she met him?”
“She has,” the fox replied.
“Good, good. Won’t be long, then,” Jeffry whispered.
“You know I’m a fox, right? I can hear you from twenty-five bounds away.”
Jeffry ignored the fox’s derision and nibbled on a raisin, thinking.
“We have to watch out for that cat,” he said to no one in particular.
“I don’t like cats,” a mouse squeaked.
The fawn leaned over the guinea pig enclosure and stole some of Jeffry’s food, mumbling, “Tell us about the cat.”
Jeffry obliged, scooting back from the hay.
*
Darcy left Netherfield with his friend, Bingley, right after they finished a hearty morning meal.
He felt a gaze on his back and turned around, expecting to find a servant or Miss Bingley standing on the threshold.
Instead, it was Miss Bingley’s gray cat.
He stared at Darcy with unblinking orange eyes.
“Your sister’s cat has an eerie way about him,” Darcy observed to his friend.
Bingley shrugged. “Basile is extremely attached to my sister. Any man who wishes to marry Caroline will have to make friends with her cat first.”
“I do not recall him being quite so…I cannot say what it is,” Darcy admitted. “I like cats, but if they were all like that one, I would have to say I prefer dogs.”
“Do not let Caroline hear you say that,” Bingley cautioned. They approached his dog cart. “Do you wish to tool my bay?”
Darcy waved away the invitation. “Where are we going?” he asked as he attained his seat. He felt a thump behind him, through the seat back. “Why are we bringing a dog?”
“That, my friend, is not a dog. It is a lamb.”
“You put a live lamb in the dog box behind the seat?” Darcy asked, incredulous. “Why?”
“His mother died not long ago. He is not thriving, poor chap, even though he has been weaned,” Bingley explained. “We are taking him to Longbourn to see if Miss Elizabeth Bennet can do anything with him.”
“And who is Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“She is Miss Bennet’s next youngest sister—there are five sisters in all,” he clarified with his usual level of insouciance. “Our shepherd suggested I take the lamb to her. It seems Miss Elizabeth has a way with animals.”
“Perhaps you need a new shepherd,” Darcy remarked. “Someone more knowledgeable. By-the-by, when did you get sheep?”
“It is only a small flock,” Bingley said. “Twenty strong—Leicester Longwools. Netherfield does not have many acres of pastureland, but there are enough for sheep. Perhaps you did not know of my fondness for the animals. I prefer them to cattle.”
“I did not know. So, you are dipping your toe into the farming pond?” Darcy asked, grinning. “I will be calling you Farmer Charles before long.”
Bingley chuckled. “One must diversify.”
“True. Where does this Miss Elizabeth live?”
“At Longbourn House, in Longbourn Village. It is a mile beyond Meryton.”
“Is her father a gentleman farmer?” Darcy asked, eyeing with pleasure the pleasant, slightly rolling countryside between Netherfield and Meryton.
“He is a scholarly gentleman, as it happens,” Bingley said. “You will like him, I think. Ask him about the Peloponnesian war, and he will like you, too.”
“I shall have to reacquaint myself with the intricacies of the Athenian and Spartan civilizations before I attempt to hold my own with a scholar.”
“He does not mind if you know nothing about it,” Bingley assured his friend. “Simply ask intelligent questions.”
“Were you able to do that?” Darcy asked, grinning.
Bingley barked out a laugh. “I confess, Miss Bennet primed me ahead of my attempt to engage him in a conversation other than commonplaces.”
“You speak of Miss Bennet often,” Darcy observed. “Is she your newest flirt?”
To Darcy’s surprise, Bingley’s lips tightened and his eyes narrowed.
“She is not my flirt,” he said in a steady, forced-calm voice. “She is a sweet, respectable lady.”
“I beg your pardon,” Darcy said, his eyebrows rising. “It was not my attention to imply that she is anything other than a respectable lady.”
Bingley acknowledged his apology with a stiff nod.
“How long have you known her?” Darcy asked.
“A fortnight.”
Darcy waited for more. It did not arrive. Finally, he asked, “Where did you meet her?” Good Lord, will I have to wrest every bit of information about this woman out of him?
Bingley’s expression softened. “I met Miss Bennet at the home of their near neighbors, Sir William and Lady Lucas. Sir William is a jolly fellow, and his wife is very obliging. They have a large brood, including a daughter around the age of the Bennet sisters. Miss Mary Bennet also attended their afternoon party.”
“An afternoon party?” Darcy asked, blinking. “Was it someone’s birthday?”
“No, no. It was an informal party where games are played inside if the weather is not fine, and lawn games are played when the weather permits. The party is to give the children a chance to socialize with their peers. Caroline came with me.”
“Did she enjoy the party?”
“We-ell, you know my sister,” Bingley said, shrugging and displaying a grimace. “I insisted she come with me so we could get to know our neighbors.”
“Laudable,” Darcy said, his tone dry.
“Darcy,” Bingley said, an unexpected warning note entering his voice. “I may choose to purchase Netherfield. These are my neighbors. Please make an effort to be sociable.”
Darcy drew in a breath and let it out slowly as he calmed his instinctive desire to shut his friend down. What is wrong with me today? Bingley does not usually put my back up. Am I simply still tired from my journey? I think I am going to blame my uneven tone of mind on that cat.
“The countryside is beautiful,” Darcy finally said, forcing a conciliatory note into his words.
“I enjoyed what I saw of Meryton when I drove through it yesterday. It seems to be a nice, tidy town. If you like the society you find here—which I expect you will—then you could certainly do worse than to purchase Netherfield.”
“It is nicely situated as well,” Bingley said, smiling again. “Near to London, I mean. Under a half-day journey with a good team in harness.”
“Precisely,” Darcy said, nodding.
The lamb bleated mournfully.
“Poor little tyke,” Bingley said, frowning and glancing over his shoulder. “It will not be long, fellah, before we take you out of that awful box.”
“I doubt he can hear you,” Darcy said with a twisted grin.
Bingley scowled at him. “He knows I have a friendly feeling toward him.”
“Does he?”
“You have said it often enough,” his friend reminded him.
“About horses and dogs,” Darcy acknowledged, nodding.
“If it works for them, then it should work for any animal.”
“I am not certain your logic follows, but we shall soon see,” Darcy said, keeping his remark pleasant.
Bingley laughed, his good humor restored. “It does not seem to work on Basile. I wonder if it is true for all cats or just not on arrogant ones.”
“The name Basile does mean royal or kingly.”
“Does it really? I thought it was just something Caroline likes to say about his highness.”
“I would not be surprised if that is why she picked the name,” Darcy said dryly.
“She tried out several. Jean-Guy, Jaques, Pierre, but she said his ears pricked up when she suggested Basile to him.” Bingley huffed.
“He goes with her when she marries—if she will ever choose someone other than you—and thank the good Lord for that. She is not foisting that smug, gray bundle of fur on me.”
“You say that, but you let him up on your lap anytime he wishes to honor you with his person,” Darcy teased.
“Well, there is no excuse for rudeness.”
Darcy guffawed. Bingley soon joined in.
And so, they passed back into countryside again. Enormous sweet chestnut trees lined the road to Longbourn Village, spaced widely apart, their significant girths indicating their great age.
“The chestnuts have started to fall,” Darcy observed, pointing at the prickly fruit, split open to reveal the dark-brown nut within. Several locals, carrying large baskets and wearing thick gloves, worked beneath the trees to pick the ripe chestnuts off the ground.