Chapter Six Departures and Arrivals
THE MORNING OF THE Bennet sisters’ departure from Netherfield arrived too soon for their liking.
Their trunks had been closed and they were ready to depart. Mrs Nicholls brought a tray to the bedchamber and placed it on the small table, where Jane sat wrapped in a shawl despite insisting that she no longer felt cold.
Elizabeth occupied the chair opposite her. She watched her sister spread butter on a piece of toast, divide it into four precise squares, and eat none of them.
“You should try a little more, miss.” Mrs Nicholls poured fresh tea into Jane’s cup. “Mr Jones was very particular about it.”
“I shall.” Jane lifted one square of toast and smiled at the housekeeper. “I was only waiting for my tea.”
The toast reached her lips just as a man’s voice sounded in the passage. Jane’s hand stopped. Colour touched her pale cheeks before a footman passed the door and continued walking to the rear staircase.
Mrs Nicholls moved to the bed and began folding the spare coverlet. “Mr Bingley has ordered hot bricks for the carriage. He also wished to send another carriage behind you in case the first should suffer an accident.”
Elizabeth lowered her cup. “Does Mr Bingley believe carriages become unreliable when transporting convalescents?”
“I believe he considers everything unreliable where Miss Bennet is concerned.” Mrs Nicholls placed the folded coverlet over the foot of the bed. “He asked whether the road to Longbourn contained any dangerous inclines.”
Jane concentrated on her food. “He is very considerate.”
“He is preparing for a three-mile journey as though we intend to cross the Alps,” Elizabeth observed. “If we remain another hour, he may send men ahead to remove the hills.”
Jane finally ate the square of toast. Her mouth curved, but the smile faded when she turned to the window. Netherfield’s lawns lay grey beneath the morning sky, and beyond them, the drive curved between the bare trees towards Longbourn.
She was glad to be well, but she was not glad to leave.
Elizabeth spared her the indignity of having this noticed aloud.
She continued drinking her tea while Mrs Nicholls collected the breakfast things and issued instructions to the maid concerning the stairs.
Once the housekeeper departed with the tray, Elizabeth inspected the room for anything they might have forgotten.
Jane’s gloves rested next to her bonnet. Elizabeth’s own pelisse hung behind the door. She had reached for it when she remembered the novel on the bedside table.
“I must return this to the library.”
Jane adjusted the fringe of her shawl without raising her eyes. “You could leave it here. One of the servants will return it.”
“I borrowed it from Mr Bingley’s library. It would be discourteous to abandon it in a bedchamber.”
Jane’s eyes rose at last, a suspicious gentleness entering her expression. “Of course.”
Elizabeth took the book. “There is no reason to say it in that tone.”
“I said only two words.”
“You placed a considerable amount inside them.”
Jane smiled and turned to the window again, leaving Elizabeth to depart with as much dignity as her sister’s implication permitted.
She opened the door and nearly stepped into the punch bowl.
It stood directly outside the chamber, positioned in the centre of the corridor with its engraved side facing her, morning light from the distant window travelling across the silver rim.
No footman attended it, no sideboard had been placed nearby, and nothing suggested that a serving vessel had any reason to visit the guest bedchambers.
Elizabeth stood on the threshold, one hand around the door handle.
The bowl remained still.
“You are not alive.”
It rolled towards her.
Elizabeth drew back. The bowl covered the remaining distance, reached the hem of her travelling gown, and rubbed its rim against the muslin.
She stared down at it. The movement had been unmistakably affectionate, although affection required a heart, a mind, and considerably less silver.
“This is magnetism,” she informed it. “Mr Darcy explained the matter very clearly.”
The bowl pressed itself against her ankle.
“An unusually determined form of magnetism,” she conceded.
It rolled back several inches, then returned and nudged her again. The gesture had the patient insistence of a cat requesting entry, except that a cat would have been far easier to explain.
Elizabeth glanced along the empty corridor. She ought to call for a servant. She ought to return to Jane, close the door, and wait until someone subdued the bowl. Instead, an absurd tenderness tightened her throat.
The creature knew she was leaving.
But it was not a creature. It knew nothing. It was an expensive household object suffering from magnetic irregularities and an inadequate respect for locked doors.
Elizabeth tucked the book under one arm and bent. The bowl tilted to her hands before she touched it. When she lifted it, it settled against her bodice with suspicious readiness.
Its engraved rim caught the light.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Did you smile?”
The bowl gleamed innocently.
She placed the book inside it and began walking to the main staircase. Carrying both proved less difficult than expected. The bowl made no attempt to escape, although it shifted occasionally against her arms as though improving its position.
She had reached the end of the corridor when Mr Darcy appeared below and began ascending the stairs.
He carried a pair of gloves in one hand and had evidently returned from outside, for cold air still clung to his coat.
His eyes found Elizabeth first. Then they descended to the bowl nestled against her and the book resting inside it.
He stopped two steps below the landing.
“My new friend appears to have escaped again,” Elizabeth told him.
Mr Darcy came up the remaining steps, his gaze fixed on the fugitive. “So I see.”
“It was waiting outside Jane’s chamber.” Elizabeth adjusted her hold when the bowl moved closer to her. “Very patiently, I might add.”
“That patience did not extend to the cupboard in my chamber.” He reached the landing but left several feet between them. “Fletcher locked it inside less than half an hour ago.”
Elizabeth examined it. “Perhaps it objects to confinement.”
The bowl struck the book with a small metallic knock. Mr Darcy’s eyes narrowed.
“That is enough,” he said, with his most severe voice.
It responded by rubbing its rim against Elizabeth’s sleeve.
She shifted the book before it could be dislodged. “You are remarkably calm about the matter.”
“I have discovered that alarm encourages it.” Mr Darcy moved a little closer and studied the bowl with the grave concentration another man might have devoted to an armed intruder. “It escaped twice during the night.”
“Perhaps it wished to apologise for frightening me.”
“It attempted to overturn Fletcher on both occasions.”
“Remorse affects everyone differently.”
Mr Darcy’s mouth moved, although he suppressed the smile before it fully appeared. The bowl tilted itself towards Elizabeth and settled more securely in her arms.
“I believe it has formed an attachment to you,” he murmured.
“I have always inspired strong feelings in tableware.”
“Is that a common accomplishment in Hertfordshire?” he asked.
“Only among the better silver. Pewter remains unmoved.”
His laugh was quiet and brief, but it softened the severity of his face. Elizabeth felt her own smile answer before she remembered that nothing about the situation deserved encouragement.
Mr Darcy extended both hands. “May I relieve you of it?”
The bowl rolled its rim away from him.
Elizabeth tightened her arms to prevent it falling. “I fear it does not approve.”
“It has not approved of me since I prevented it from entering your chamber.”
“You prevented it?”
“Shortly before dawn.” His hands were outstretched, although his gaze had moved to her face. “It was advancing on your door with purpose.”
Elizabeth glanced down at the bowl. “You see? It came to bid me farewell.”
“It was carrying a fruit knife.”
Her head lifted in surprise.
Mr Darcy’s expression was perfectly composed. “Fletcher believes the knife became attached through magnetism.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Am I in danger?”
“No.”
The single word disturbed her more than a clever explanation might have done.
Mr Darcy closed the remaining distance and carefully placed one hand under the bowl.
His fingers brushed hers, cold even through her gloves.
The vessel resisted him for an instant, then transferred itself into his arms with a resentful clang.
He removed the novel and tucked it under his arm. The bowl turned within his grasp until its rim faced Elizabeth.
“You are making this unnecessarily affecting,” she told it.
“It has a talent for moral coercion.” Mr Darcy secured it against his coat when it leaned to her. “Did you enjoy the book?”
“Very much. Its preternatural events seemed quite alarming when I started it.”
“And now?”
Elizabeth glanced at the object attempting to escape his hold. “The haunted castle would be greatly improved by aggressive crockery.”
“I apologise for damaging your literary standards.”
“I may never fear a ghost again unless it brings its own serving dishes.”
His amusement lingered, but concern returned to his eyes as he studied her. “You will take care on the journey?”
“It is only three miles, Mr Darcy.”
“Danger is not always considerate enough to observe distance.”
The warning carried a weight the journey did not warrant. Elizabeth searched his face for the meaning concealed beneath it, but the bowl chose that moment to strike him in the chest.
Mr Darcy lowered his eyes. “Your influence, Miss Elizabeth, has not improved its manners.”
“You explained not long ago that we may answer only for our own conduct. I refuse responsibility for the character of your silver.”
“I begin to regret giving you principles that may be used against me,” he said with a crooked smile.
“That is the danger of possessing any.”