Chapter 10
TEN
Three days after their house had returned to its usual calm—guest rooms aired, sheets pressed, and the depleted biscuit tins at last restored to a respectable fullness—Mr and Mrs Philips received delivery of a most substantial box.
It arrived just after breakfast, carried in with some ceremony by a boy who seemed to take great pride in announcing that it had come all the way from Darcy House in town. Mrs Philips, who never required encouragement to indulge her curiosity, insisted it be opened at once.
“With care, Mr Philips! You will tear the paper,” she cried, though she herself had already begun untying the ribbon.
Within, they discovered a neatly packed assortment of goods: a bundle of goose quills, their shafts smooth and perfectly cut; several bottles of rich, dark iron gall ink; a dozen pencils and brushes wrapped with a sketchbook from Ackermann’s; and, tucked between layers of paper, a handsome tin of biscuits and a small but excellent-looking bottle of sherry.
“Well!” Mrs Philips exclaimed, quite overcome. “This is a gentleman who understands gratitude.”
Her husband, who had already appropriated the sherry for closer inspection, discovered a folded letter nestled beneath the tin. Adjusting his spectacles, he broke the seal and read aloud.
Mr and Mrs Philips,
Enclosed you will find a small token of my appreciation for your most gracious hospitality.
I fear I imposed upon it more liberally than I ought, particularly in the matter of your excellent table, and beg you will accept these provisions—sent from my own cellars at Darcy House, together with a selection from a respected stationer and a favourite confectioner—as some small restitution.
It is my hope that these items may prove useful not only for your own enjoyment, but in the entertainment of future guests, whose number I suspect will not diminish.
With Mr Bingley settled at Netherfield, and Meryton likely to flourish all the more for it, your household may expect no shortage of callers.
I must also take the liberty of expressing my particular gratitude for the circumstances—however accidental—which afforded me a longer stay under your roof than I had anticipated.
I cannot but acknowledge that no small part of my present happiness is owing to that delay, as well as to Mr Payne and his regrettable mushroom fields, whose deficiencies in cultivation I shall not soon forget.
You will, I trust, permit me the satisfaction of informing you that Miss Elizabeth Bennet has done me the great honour of accepting my hand.
In consequence, I must consider you among those to whom I am most indebted; for without your hospitality, and the peculiar events which attended it, I might never have been so fortunate.
With every good wish for your continued health and prosperity,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Mrs Philips clasped her hands in triumph.
“Married! Well, I always said there was something in it. And such a letter! Such elegance! Such feeling!”
Mr Philips, who had by now sampled the sherry and found it entirely to his liking, nodded with satisfaction.
“A most sensible gentleman. And a very tolerable judge of mushrooms, it would seem.”
“And to think,” Mrs Philips continued, already reaching for the biscuits, “that it all began with rancid fungi and that dreadful rain and your besting Sir William when inviting him to stay! Really, my dear, you may take some credit.”
“I shall take the sherry instead,” he replied, pouring himself another glass.
She smiled, settling comfortably into her chair with the letter still in hand, as though it might yet yield further delights upon rereading. “Well, if this is the result of a little inconvenience, I hope we may be put out of our way again very soon.”