Nothing to Observe #3
“How fortunate they were not caught up in it,” Wickham said. “A fire in the evening, one shudders to think.”
“It was contained quickly,” Richard said pleasantly.
“Of course.” Wickham swirled his port. “Even so.”
He moved the conversation smoothly onward, and Darcy followed it, said the right things at the right moments, and thought about how quickly Wickham had acquired the name.
Henderson and Morris had vetted the staff. But the maid had still got in. Someone was still here. The gentlemen joined the ladies at half past nine.
Georgiana was at the pianoforte, not playing, her hands resting in her lap. She looked up when they came in. She had plainly been sitting with her own thoughts and was not entirely glad to be interrupted.
Darcy crossed to her. “You must be tired,” he said quietly. “It has been a long journey.”
“I am well. And you? Truly?”
“Truly,” he said.
“The fire must have been frightening.”
“It was over quickly.”
“Fitzwilliam.” Her voice dropped lower. “Were you… was anyone else…”
“No one was hurt,” he said. “It is over.”
She nodded once and lowered her eyes to her hands.
Wickham appeared at Darcy’s shoulder with a glass of wine.
“Georgiana worries,” he said fondly. “She has been fretting since we left Pemberley.”
“There was no need,” Darcy said.
“No,” Wickham agreed. “As it turns out.”
Their eyes met briefly.
“Good night, Wickham,” Darcy said.
He did not wait to see whether Wickham smiled. He went to bed.
He lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, thinking about a servant who had passed a name along within hours of Wickham’s arrival, and about the fraction of a second of disappointment in Wickham’s eyes before the smile reached them, and about Georgiana’s hands resting still in her lap and the question she had not quite finished asking.
Eight months and eighteen days.
* * *
At Longbourn, the evening had been considerably louder.
Mr Collins had arrived at four o’clock with two trunks, a great many compliments, and an apparent intention to admire everything he saw with equal and undiscriminating enthusiasm.
Mrs Bennet had received him with the warmth due to a man who would one day own the house, and Mr Bennet had retreated to his library before the first trunk was carried upstairs.
By nine o’clock Elizabeth had developed a comprehensive understanding of Hunsford Parsonage, Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s condescension, and Mr Collins’s views on the proper arrangement of a chimney piece. When Jane finally closed the bedroom door behind them, the silence was considerable.
“Well,” Jane said.
“Indeed,” said Elizabeth.
Jane sat down on the edge of the bed. “He spoke a great deal of Lady Catherine.”
“He did. I now know more about her ladyship’s rose garden than I know about my own family.”
“And her daughter,” Jane said. “Lady… I have forgotten the name.”
“Lady Selbourne,” Elizabeth said. “Married nearly five years ago, two children already, and Lady Catherine considers this entirely her own achievement. Mr Collins made that very clear.”
Elizabeth pulled the pins from her hair. “Mr Collins mentioned it three times, in case we had missed the significance the first two.”
“He is very… thorough,” Jane said.
“He is.” Elizabeth looked at her sister in the glass. “Are you well? Truly. You look tired.”
“I am quite recovered.” Jane hesitated. “Lizzy. The fire.”
Elizabeth’s hands stilled.
“You were in the library,” Jane said quietly. “When it started.”
“Yes.”
“You did not tell me at the time how serious it was.”
“You were unwell. There was no reason to alarm you.”
“And Mr Darcy was there too.”
“Yes.”
“And you got out through the old door behind the bookcase. The one Mrs Robinson used to…”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “That is how we got out.”
“Lizzy,” Jane said. “Is everything quite all right?”
Elizabeth looked at her own reflection in the glass.
“I think,” she said carefully, “that it will be.”
The next morning, Mr Collins attached himself first to Mary, who listened gravely to his views on parish duties and the moral usefulness of a well-situated pulpit. By the time the sisters prepared to walk to Meryton, his attention had transferred to Kitty.
“My dear Miss Catherine,” he said, offering his arm with solemn gallantry, “allow me the honour.”
Kitty accepted. Within seconds, she appeared to regret the decision. Elizabeth fell into step beside Jane.
“Poor Kitty,” Jane said quietly.
“She has only herself to blame,” Elizabeth said. “She wore the blue ribbon.”
“Lizzy.”
Lydia laughed. Elizabeth was considering whether mercy required intervention when the sound of horses came from the road ahead. Three riders came around the bend.
Mr Bingley saw the walking party first and raised his hand in cheerful greeting. Beside him, Colonel Fitzwilliam sat easily in the saddle, apparently enjoying the morning air.
Mr Darcy was on the other side of Bingley. He looked, Elizabeth thought, exactly as he had looked the morning she left Netherfield. Composed. A little tired. Carefully arranged. Their eyes met for a moment before he looked away.