Chapter 2
TWO
After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, Colonel Fitzwilliam rose slowly and stared after his cousin, then turned to his hostess.
“My apologies, Mrs Collins. My cousin has not been himself lately. He repeatedly put off our departure for London, then early this morning, he announced that we were leaving immediately. My batman and I hurried to accommodate his wishes, but now our brief parting call at your home has become an ungraciously long and rather uncomfortable visit.”
Mrs Collins nodded in confusion, and her eyes turned in the direction of the door. “Mr Darcy also left our company rather abruptly last evening, sir. Perhaps he is unwell?”
The colonel looked towards the door again. “Perhaps…” He turned to his hostess. “With your permission, madam, I will follow and see if anything is amiss. I shall return shortly.” He bowed and left in pursuit of his cousin.
Elizabeth pulled the shed door closed behind her, but it sagged slightly open with a creak.
She pulled it shut again, but it hung crookedly from loose hinges and would not stay properly in the door frame.
The only thing that would keep it closed was the lock, a primitive wooden peg contrivance that slid through a hole that was on the outside of the door frame.
Without the benefit of the lock, she could not make it close completely.
For a panicked moment, she searched for a way to secure it from the inside but quickly wondered at her own foolishness. Why would anyone wish to lock themselves inside a garden shed?
It did not matter if the door sagged open a crack, she told herself.
He will not be looking for you! Even on the infinitesimally slight chance he was in the parsonage and had spied her approaching through the garden, after the row they had had the night before, he would be the last man in the world to seek her out.
He and the colonel were paying a farewell visit to Charlotte and would soon be gone.
The letter had been written to prove his points and show her how wrong she had been about…
well, everything. It had manifested a strong ‘goodbye and good riddance’ tone.
Except the end, where it softened considerably, which made her feel even worse.
But Mr Darcy would not seek her out. She tucked the letter in her pocket and turned away from the door, yelping as she stubbed her toe on something hard.
Out of necessity, she stopped to let her eyes grow accustomed to the gloom, before she stumbled over anything else.
The shed might have been well built many years ago but had not been maintained.
It was small, more the size of a large closet than an outbuilding, and beyond the clutter, the structure itself was in a sorry state.
The wooden plank floor was worn and uneven, and some of the boards had come loose.
One wall was lined with shelves, a few of which had lost their supports and tilted haphazardly.
There were pegs on the other walls upon which hand tools like shears, pruning knives, saws, and trowels were hung, though a few lay on the floor. Cobwebs hung everywhere.
Even the floor was littered. Disused clay pots, some containing soil or other unidentified substances, were set against the walls, along with a large lidded wooden bucket.
Several of the pots were broken, and pottery shards, seeds, soil, straw, and broken bits of glass littered the floorboards.
Hessian sacks of unknown contents leant haphazardly against the walls.
Baskets full of seed potatoes, flower bulbs, and onion sets perched atop some of the clay pots.
Garden tools were hung on wooden pegs; the larger implements, rakes, hoes, and scythes, were haphazardly propped against the walls.
Though there should have been room for two or even three gardeners to stand and work inside, the clutter made it difficult for even one person to find a place to stand.
Elizabeth shook her head. Lady Catherine had obviously never seen this disorder. She would be affronted by it and would have taken charge. Charlotte would be repelled by it as well.
What little light available came from the slight opening in the door and visible cracks in the roof and walls.
There was a small many-paned window high on one side, which was too dirty to allow for much illumination; under which was a sort of small workbench, covered with more scattered seeds, soil, scissors, nails, and bits of wire and twine.
She moved an overturned terracotta pot closer to the workbench, stepped up on it, and braced her hands on the counter.
Leaning against it, pushing herself up and rising on her toes, she tried to look out the window.
But even if the glass had been clean, it was facing away from the lane in front of the house.
She could not see the carriage. She would have to listen carefully for the sounds of it being driven away.
How long would that take? What if Mr Collins found her there? What could be her excuse?
Besides her agitation from the letter, Elizabeth now worried that someone might find her.
She had panicked, wishing only to avoid Mr Darcy, even though it made no sense that he would seek her out, even if he spotted her from the window in Charlotte’s parlour.
She began to feel rather ridiculous. How would she explain her presence here?
But who would think to look in here? No one.
She tried to calm herself with the thought.
Mr Collins had announced his intention to spend the entire day either at the church or with Lady Catherine.
Charlotte was rarely in the garden; it was her husband’s domain, and she avoided it as much as possible.
Compose yourself Lizzy! All you need to do is wait.
Elizabeth brushed a stray curl from her cheek and then realised that her gloves were filthy from touching the oil-soaked dirt on the work bench. The front of her gown was stained with it and now her face was dirty as well. Her hems were picking up straw and soil from the floor.
She had been on her feet for hours, with no idea of how long she would have to remain hidden.
With a heavy sigh, she looked about her but did not see anything she could reasonably sit on while she waited.
She began to shift some of the containers on the floor in search of something she might perch on for a short time.
Perhaps the heavy wooden bucket could serve as a temporary seat.
It looked to be large enough to hold several gallons and had a lid, but it was placed too close to the wall.
In an attempt to shift it, she dislodged the lid, and a sulphurous stench assaulted her senses with some force.
The bucket contained a ghastly substance, a black and green and brown liquid with lumps and stringy unrecognisable shapes mixed in.
She jerked back, her eyes watering, and quickly put the lid back on. Lord, what was that?
Perhaps it might be some sort of mixture of composted food scraps; she had glimpsed bits of eggshell in the mix. Longbourn’s garden compost was outdoors and never smelled rank like that. Elizabeth knew enough about garden refuse to know it was not supposed to have a foul odour.
As she stepped back from the repugnant bucket, she bumped against a peg, causing a rusted pair of shears to fall, leaving a streak of orange on her sleeve. She jumped aside, knocking over a basket on the floor, spilling its entire contents.
Elizabeth huffed. Bother! Apparently, the only thing she could do was stand carefully in the centre of the floor, folding her arms or wrapping them about her own waist. With mincing steps she edged carefully to find a position to pick up the contents of the basket.
She could not clearly see what it was in the murky light, but when she peered at them more closely, they proved to be dahlia tubers.
Gathering her skirts at her ankles with one hand to keep them from pooling onto the dirty floor, she crouched over the basket, her back to the door, picking up the tubers and returning them to the basket.
She had retrieved most of them when she was startled by bright light suddenly filling the shed.
The door behind her had opened. Elizabeth stood and spun around in time to see Mr Darcy’s tall frame filling the doorway, blocking the sunlight and throwing the shed into gloom again.
He lowered his head to step in, leaving the door to swing shut behind him, a large cobweb hanging from his hair.
The two stared at each other, silent, blinking. Both were shocked by his presence there, Mr Darcy as much as Elizabeth.
After several moments, she managed to rasp, “Mr Darcy,” and dipped into a tight, constrained curtsey, nearly knocking a rake to the floor.
Upon entering the shed, Darcy immediately regretted his impulsive actions. It was completely out of character. He never acted impetuously, but an overwhelming compulsion had driven him here, and now he did not know what to do.
He had opened the shed door to a view of her backside, as she had been bending over, facing away from him.
The fashions of the day let ladies’ gowns flow gracefully from a high waist, accentuating the bosom, but obscuring the rest of the female form to a degree.
Her unusual posture gave him to discover that, along with her mesmerising eyes, her captivating smile, and her fascinating conversation, Elizabeth had a tiny waist and a perfectly shaped bottom.
Now, standing close to her, even in the dim patchy light of the shed, he could see that her cheeks were pale and she had shadows under her eyes, as if she had not slept. He assumed his torturous night also showed on his own countenance.
They stood within inches of each other, frozen. Finally, Elizabeth dragged in a shaky breath and spoke almost at a whisper. “I did not expect to see you here, sir.”
“I did not expect to be here.”
“Oh.”
Silence reigned for another few minutes until Elizabeth, with an effort, pulled herself together.
“I am sorry.”
They both understood what she spoke of.
Darcy opened his mouth to bark, You should be, but the words were inexplicably released as, “I am sorry as well.” His mouth snapped shut. Had he truly said that?
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at that; her countenance was doubtful. She accepted his apology with grace. “I thank you,” she said swallowing with difficulty.
Several long minutes passed, yet he made no move to leave. He felt rooted to the spot. He did not know what else to say, could not even encounter her eye.