CHAPTER 11
The storm did not abate, and by breakfast, the rain fell with such violence that the windows appeared draped beneath a moving curtain of water, while every gust from the Irish Sea drove itself against the cottage with a force that caused the old timbers to creak and the hearth to sigh.
Mrs. Kewley, however, behaved as though such weather were simply an inconvenience. “Come now, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, the porridge will thicken if we wait any longer," she declared cheerfully, setting a steaming bowl before Elizabeth. "Storm or no storm, you must eat."
Mr. Kewley chuckled as he took his usual place, "My Margaret believes food improves every difficulty."
"Well, it certainly improves most husbands," she replied without looking at him.
Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged faint smiles.
They had already found themselves comforted by the Kewleys' easy affection.
Elizabeth observed the married couple speak over one another without offence, finished one another's thoughts without notice, and disagreed over the smallest matters that suggested long practice.
Elizabeth wondered about their happy marriage, and reflected on what made theirs seem so effortless. She had never before considered the question.
"You must forgive Thomas," Mrs. Kewley said as she poured tea. "When the weather turns rough, he begins inspecting every window in the house as though the wind had singled us out in particular."
"The wind has little respect for property, Mrs. Kewley," Mr. Kewley replied. "If I leave one shutter loose, it will find it."
“I should like to help you ensure everything is as it should be, Mr. Kewley,” said Mr. Darcy.
This brought a chuckle to the plump woman, "Mr. Kewley should like the attention I am sure, sir.”
She turned toward Elizabeth, "I’m sure Mr. Darcy is always making sure that everything is just so to ensure your safety and comfort, is he not? What an attentive husband he is,” she added, pleased.
Elizabeth looked up so suddenly that she nearly forgot herself, "My... husband?"
Mrs. Kewley smiled and nodded, sure of herself, "Always looking after everything. I’m sure of it.”
Elizabeth's eyes instinctively sought Darcy, before Mr. Kewley shook his head and added to the conversation. "Aye, it only right a gentleman ought to know what's happening upon the property where his wife is staying."
The remark, innocent as it was, settled awkwardly upon the table, and Elizabeth reached for her teacup to make herself look busy amidst the awkwardness of the conversation.
The room went silent, expecting a response from Elizabeth, nay, Mrs. Darcy, and she finally decided on some comprehensible statement, "Indeed, Mr. Darcy thinks rather more of practical matters than I, especially having never traveled by way of sea.
I would not know the first thing to do to prepare for a storm as such. "
"I should think so," Mrs. Kewley laughed. .
Elizabeth looked down into her tea, and Mrs. Kewley seemed not to notice.
However, Mr. Darcy was quick to come to Elizabeth’s defence. "...Mrs. Darcy," he corrected with admirable composure, "is perfectly capable of observing what requires attention."
Elizabeth resisted the impulse to smile, as Mr. Kewley, thankfully, had become occupied buttering a slice of bread and appeared equally oblivious.
***
The remainder of the morning passed with the loud storm brewing overhead. The weather made any venture beyond the cottage impossible, and so each member of the household found occupation within.
Mr. Kewley busied himself repairing fishing nets before the fire, while Mrs. Kewley kneaded bread and put a pot of broth upon the hearth.
Elizabeth insisted upon helping, but Mrs. Kewley protested, "Oh, no, my dear, you're the mistress."
"But, I cannot sit idle while you do all the work," Elizabeth responded in turn.
The older woman smiled knowingly, "I thought you might say as much." And so, before long Elizabeth found herself rolling pastry while Mrs. Kewley prepared vegetables beside her.
Mrs. Kewley had been humming, when she lowered her voice conspiratorially.
“Thomas, leaving his boots in the hallway yet again,” she sounded somewhat agitated, as she caught sight of a pair of black, worn boots.
She left the kitchen and returned again, shortly after, with a huff.
"And does Mr. Darcy leave his boots in the hall? "
Elizabeth blinked, "My... what?"
"His boots," Mrs. Kewley repeated before smiling again, "Thomas has left his there every evening these forty years despite my asking him not to."
Elizabeth looked helplessly toward the sitting room, as Darcy, quite unaware of the danger approaching from the kitchen, was examining a shelf of books with Mr. Kewley.
"I..." Elizabeth began.
"Does he?" Mrs. Kewley prompted.
Elizabeth could scarcely confess she had never once observed where Mr. Darcy removed his boots. Fortunately, at that precise moment, Darcy entered carrying another log for the fire.
Mrs. Kewley seized her opportunity, "Mr. Darcy, perhaps you can settle a disagreement."
Darcy paused, "If I am able, ma’am." He sounded unsure of what type of disagreement he might be called upon to resolve.
"I've been asking your wife whether you leave your boots lying in the hall," she stated poignantly. “Your wife was far too kind to answer.”
My boots? Goodness, with my valet, I’m no animal. Of course, he could not say that out loud, and he pondered what to say to Mrs. Kewley that would not sound discourteous.
For one dreadful instant, Darcy did not speak, and Elizabeth felt a growing sense of mortification. However, with remarkable gravity, Darcy finally answered, “I have learned to never leave my boots in the hall.”
Elizabeth stared at him, and he continued without the slightest hesitation. “Afterall, I have only ever heard it said that to have a happy life, one must have a happy wife. Leaving boots in a hallway would be unpardonable for Mrs. Darcy.”
This made Elizabeth let out the briefest chuckles, unable to hold in the silliness of the tale Mr. Darcy had spun. However, Mrs. Kewley beamed, "There now! A sensible husband. I shall tell my Thomas about the saying, for it is true, mind you keep to it, Mr. Darcy."
Elizabeth lowered her head lest anyone observe the smile that threatened to betray her composure.
She had already concluded that the Kewleys seldom entertained the owners of the cottage, and almost certainly never those accustomed to the habits of the great houses.
Their unaffected familiarity sprang from complete innocence of the distinctions that governed fashionable society.
It would never have occurred to Mrs. Kewley that asking a gentleman whether he left his boots in the hall was an exceedingly personal question, much less one addressed to the master of the estate.
In truth, the matter would scarcely have admitted an answer in households, where servants ensured that boots, coats, hats, and every other article disappeared almost as soon as they were removed.
Mrs. Kewley imagined marriage as she had always known it, a husband leaving muddy boots by the door, and a wife gently reminding him to carry them away.
That such a domestic picture bore little resemblance to Mr. Darcy's manner of living never entered her thoughts.
Elizabeth found there was something so sincere, and so wholly free from artifice, in the older woman's assumptions that she could not take the slightest offence.
Indeed, she was obliged to lower her eyes altogether, lest the amusement she struggled to suppress expose the absurdity of their situation.
***
By afternoon the storm had grown still more violent. Conversation became increasingly difficult as the wind shrieked down the chimney and rain battered the windows without mercy.
Mrs. Kewley at last abandoned her sewing, "We shall never hear one another at this rate."
"No," Mr. Kewley agreed. "The sea’ll be the only one to have thee conversation today."
Elizabeth settled beside the fire with a volume of sermons she had found upon the shelf, though she suspected she had read the same page three times without understanding a word.
Across from her, Darcy occupied another chair with a history of the island resting open upon his knee. Neither book received much attention.
From time to time their eyes lifted simultaneously toward the windows whenever another violent gust shook the cottage. More than once, they caught one another looking, and each time, both immediately returned to their books.
Mrs. Kewley observed the exchange with a contented smile touching her lips, "Newly married people," she whispered to her husband.
Mr. Kewley glanced across the room, "Aye, they're still shy."
"So they are," Mrs. Kewley held a smile.
Neither Elizabeth nor Darcy heard the observation.
Had they done so, each would have denied it with equal fervor.
Although, there was an undeniable truth hidden within the old couple's mistake. They were shy, though not because they were husband and wife, because they were not. Quite the contrary, their reserve was born from the reality that they had invented a history of married life that could have been there’s, but was, in fact, not.
And, they were both acutely self-conscious of their strained history.