The Crown's Favor at Netherfield

CHAPTER ONE

The King's Gift

The day Thomas Bennet saved the life of a king began with his wife objecting to a ribbon.

"It is not merely blue," Mrs Bennet declared, holding the offending length before the morning-room window. "It is peacock. Peacock is a color which announces itself. Sky blue only waits to be noticed, and no one has time to wait when half the county will be in Meryton."

Thomas kept his place in the book balanced upon his knee. The argument had begun with Jane's bonnet, travelled through Elizabeth's sash, and now threatened the dignity of the monarchy itself.

"His Majesty has endured wars, ministries, and the Prince of Wales," he said. "I hope he may survive a sky-blue ribbon."

Across the room, ten-year-old Elizabeth pressed her lips together. Twelve-year-old Jane lowered her head over her sewing, though the needle remained still. Mary, only eight and earnest in everything, looked from one parent to the other in concern.

"You laugh, Mr Bennet, but Mr Lucas says the King notices every mark of respect."

"Mr Lucas says a great many things when he hopes they will be repeated."

He turned a page. It was the smallest possible movement and, he knew, the most effective means of provoking his wife.

"Well! If you will not advise me, I must decide everything. Hill! Hill, where has that woman gone? Lydia has put jam upon her sleeve, Kitty is crying because she cannot wear Jane's beads, and we are expected in Meryton before noon."

The door closed behind her in a rush of muslin and indignation. Silence settled, fragile and welcome.

Elizabeth left her chair and came to stand beside him. "Will the King truly notice our ribbons, Papa?"

"I should think he has better employment for his eyes."

"Then why must we go?"

Thomas looked at the top of her dark head. She had asked the question without complaint. Elizabeth rarely complained when inquiry would serve her better.

"Because your mother desires it, because the whole neighborhood will go, and because a king passing within three miles of Longbourn is an event your grandchildren may wish you to describe."

"What shall I tell them?"

"That his coat was red, his carriage gilded, and his expression one of fortitude while Mr Lucas addressed him."

Elizabeth laughed. Jane whispered, "Lizzy," though she smiled too.

Thomas returned to his book. It did not occur to him that by nightfall his own grandchildren would hear the tale from every servant, tenant, shopkeeper, and gentleman within fifty miles—and that none of them would care what color the King had worn.

The royal progress had not been intended to pass through Meryton.

A broken axle on one of the baggage coaches and a flooded road near Hatfield had altered the route, and local enthusiasm had done the rest. By half past eleven, the principal street was hung with greenery.

Flags drooped from upper windows in the damp September air.

The assembly rooms had been opened for a cold collation, and every family with the slightest claim to gentility had contrived to receive a card.

Mrs Bennet's agitation increased with every yard of the carriage journey.

"Jane, do not hunch. Lizzy, you must not stare. Mary, if anyone speaks to you, answer clearly. Kitty, leave your gloves on. Lydia—where is Lydia's other glove?"

"Under her," Elizabeth said.

Five-year-old Lydia bounced in Nurse's lap and produced a crushed white glove with triumph.

"Mr Bennet, say something to them."

Thomas glanced over the top of his book. He had brought it into the carriage as a shield, though the road was too uneven for reading.

"You have heard your mother. Do not hunch, stare, mumble, disrobe, or conceal articles of dress beneath your person."

Mrs Bennet gave him a look of injury. Jane's mouth trembled. Elizabeth looked out of the window so that her laughter might be mistaken for a cough.

At the assembly rooms, they were separated almost at once.

Mrs Bennet drew Jane toward Mrs Lucas and the best light.

Nurse took Kitty and Lydia to a quieter corner.

Mary remained near her father, one small hand closed around two of his fingers.

Elizabeth stood on his other side and watched everything.

Mr Lucas moved among the company with a flushed, important countenance. He had arranged the greenery, advised the innkeeper, lent silver from his own house, and rehearsed an address which grew longer each time he repeated it.

"He means to speak all afternoon," Elizabeth murmured.

"Then we must hope the King has eaten well."

The royal party arrived to the crash of a small local band and a roar from the street.

Thomas saw scarlet uniforms first, then ladies in pale gowns, gentlemen burdened with stars and ribbons, and at their center a stocky man whose plain, open countenance seemed almost familiar from engravings.

Queen Charlotte walked beside him, small and erect, her attention moving quickly over the room.

Everyone bowed or curtsied. Mary pulled Thomas's hand down with such determination that he nearly lost his balance.

The first quarter-hour passed as ceremony required.

Mr Lucas delivered his address. His Majesty listened with patience, asked two questions about local trade, and complimented the decorations.

Mrs Bennet managed to be presented with several other ladies and returned breathing as though she had run from Longbourn.

"The Queen looked directly at Jane," she whispered. "Directly, Mr Bennet. I thought she would speak, but Lady Somebody moved between them. Most provoking."

"Perhaps Her Majesty was overcome by the ribbon."

"It is peacock," Mrs Bennet said, but quietly, because a royal equerry had turned his head.

The company was permitted to approach the collation by degrees.

Thomas would have preferred to remain near the wall, but Mary had begun to look pale and Elizabeth confessed to hunger.

He found them lemonade and a plate on which rested seed cake, thin slices of ham, and a small dish of glazed sugar plums.

"Not so quickly," he warned when Mary took a large bite.

She obeyed at once.

Some twenty feet away, the King laughed at something Mr Lucas said. He held a glazed sugar plum in one hand. Thomas saw him bite into it—and saw the instant he discovered it had not been pitted. The King's laugh stopped.

At first there was nothing remarkable in it. A man coughed. His hand rose to his throat. The gentleman beside him took one uncertain step away.

The King coughed again, but no sound came.

The room changed.

Thomas would remember that change more clearly than the shouting which followed. Conversation died in pieces. Smiles remained fixed upon faces that had not yet understood. The King's eyes widened. His mouth opened, but his chest made only a terrible, useless movement.

Queen Charlotte said, "George?"

Someone called for a physician.

Everyone looked toward the doors, although the King stood in the middle of them choking.

Thomas put the plate into Elizabeth's hands.

He had seen this once before. A stable boy at Longbourn, purple-faced over a piece of apple, had been saved when the head groom caught him from behind and gave three violent heaves beneath the ribs.

Mr Jones later supposed that the force had driven trapped air upward.

Thomas had listened with the detached interest he gave to all knowledge that did not require him to leave his library.

Now there was no head groom. No Mr Jones. Only a ring of jeweled and uniformed people frozen by the enormity of touching an anointed king.

Thomas moved.

The first guard blocked him with an arm across his chest.

"Stand back."

"He cannot breathe."

"The physician is coming."

The King staggered. Queen Charlotte caught his sleeve. His face had darkened from red toward a dreadful violet.

Thomas ducked beneath the guard's arm.

He had never in his life struck a soldier, but he drove his shoulder into the second man's side, slipped on a fallen napkin, recovered, and reached the King as hands seized the back of his coat.

"Forgive me, sir," he gasped.

He locked both arms around the royal body, braced his clasped hands beneath the King's ribs, and heaved with all his strength.

Nothing.

The King's body convulsed. Thomas heaved again.

A sword left its scabbard with a hiss.

On the third desperate heave, the plum stone flew from the King's mouth, struck Mr Lucas upon the lapel, and dropped to the floor.

The King dragged in a breath. It was a ragged, whistling sound, but it was breath.

Thomas released him.

Steel touched the hollow beneath Thomas's jaw.

Another blade pressed between his shoulder blades. The guard whose arm he had evaded twisted his wrist behind him until pain flashed to his elbow. Somewhere behind the wall of uniforms, Mrs Bennet screamed his name.

Thomas had time for one absurd thought: he had not marked his place in his book.

Then the King coughed, spat a streak of sugared plum juice upon the polished floor, and raised one shaking hand.

"Stop."

No one moved.

"Put up your swords." His voice rasped. He coughed again and looked at Thomas through watering eyes. "That gentleman saved my life."

The blade beneath Thomas's chin disappeared.

His knees nearly followed it.

Queen Charlotte reached the King and took his face between her hands without the smallest concern for ceremony. "You can breathe? George, answer me."

"I can breathe, Charlotte." He touched her wrist, then looked again at Thomas. "Thanks to him."

The room exhaled.

Noise rushed in: weeping, questions, orders, the physician at last forcing his way through. Thomas was moved backward and then forward, examined as if he too might be injured, and asked his name by three people in rapid succession.

"Bennet," he said. "Thomas Bennet, of Longbourn."

Mr Lucas stood nearby with a streak of sugar glaze upon his lapel. He dabbed at it very slowly.