by Alix James
“Bingley Buttons, yes I know that name. May I bid you welcome to Birmingham? A far cry it is from your pastoral heaven in Hertfordshire, but really, when you get used to it, it is not so bad. Just so long as the Luddites are content and we militia officers are not often called upon to keep the peace. But, a man such as I ought to have no right to complain, naturally.”
“I am sure you uphold your office faithfully and well,” I told him. Indeed, he must, for any officer so smart-looking and polite must find it convenient merely to talk the hammers and pitchforks out of the rioters’ hands. I sighed…silently.
“You are very kind, Miss Elizabeth. But may I be so bold—I am old friends with a fellow named Fitzwilliam Darcy. Grew up with him, you see. I wonder if we might be speaking of the same chap.”
“I doubt there could be too many gentlemen fittingly cursed with such a pompous name,” I retorted.
“Hah! Then it is most decidedly the same fellow. And he is here in town, you say? I do not wonder at the caustic tone in your voice but allow me to assure you—Darcy is not a bad sort. In fact, he is quite capable of making friends where he chooses, and I am sorry he has not seen fit to make a friend of you.”
“It is no loss to me if he does not.”
“An excellent perspective, Miss Elizabeth.” He tipped his hat to us once more. “Please forgive me, for I must be about my duties. I hope we cross each other’s paths again. Good day.”
I watched him go, and for a moment, I forgot all about my troubles with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
7
“You have it all wrong,” Mr. Darcy insisted—for the fourth time.
Mr. Bingley dropped the wrench and threw his hand in the air. “Then you show me how it is done! I warrant you are no more versed in the use of that contraption than I am.”
“Miss Elizabeth here could employ it better,” Mr. Darcy grumbled, but I thought I caught a glimmer of something in his eye as it flicked my way. Was the man mocking me?
“I hope you do not mean to imply that my niece is indelicate,” my uncle objected mildly.
“Not at all,” Mr. Darcy replied. “And Bingley knows very well that I mean no true insult to his abilities. It is generally thought a credit to his station that he should be unfamiliar with the use of laborer’s tools, but we shall not accomplish our design by beating away at the machinery with all the expertise of primates. In any event, nothing is to be gained by loosening that nut just now, for I wish to conduct a survey of rotations per minute at half pressure on the boiler.”
Mr. Bingley squinted, shook his head, and then relented. “Very well, Darcy, do as you please. Shall I escort the ladies to the upper floor, away from the noise?”
My uncle glanced over at me. “I believe I will claim that privilege, Mr. Bingley. Come, Jane, Lizzy, let us walk about for a moment.” He waited for Mr. Bingley to fall back, then offered each of us an elbow as we walked toward the stairs. He glanced back once, then turned us quickly into the smaller chamber instead of going up to the next floor.
“Lizzy,” he said in as low a voice as could be heard, “let us look at that stamping machine while the gentlemen are occupied. Have you thought of anything?”
“Well,” I answered in an equally modulated tone, “I cannot think it is the machines themselves. Nearly everything is operating oddly, so why are we not inspecting the belt drive or the engine?”
“I believe that is what Mr. Darcy is about, but I cannot follow his method. You and I, we think more alike, and perhaps between us we might discover something.”
“Honestly, Uncle, this is beyond my understanding. I might be capable of tinkering with models in your workshop, but I have only enough knowledge to get myself into trouble. Mama never permitted me to study—”
“Which is exactly why I hoped to have you here,” he interrupted. “You know the basic principles behind everything that comes out of my warehouses, and you have a quicker wit than most men I know. Why, how often do you detect and then solve a problem by sheer intuition and your own good sense? The experts are at a loss, so perhaps we need an unschooled intellect.”
“Or perhaps I will only get in the way and expose myself as a lady who dabbles in unladylike pursuits. What will Mama say?”
My uncle sobered and stopped to look at me. “I had thought this a charming chance for you to indulge your mind in such a puzzle and yet keep your respectability intact. Do you feel at risk, Lizzy? I would not want that, and indeed, would escort you back to Longbourn on the morrow if you wished.”
I shook my head. “No, I thank you, Uncle. I simply do not believe you ought to look to me for your answers. I am certain you will find them yourself, but come, I am willing to pretend I might be of some help.”
“There is the spirit. Here, do these teeth look at all worn to you? What of the tightness of the gears—too much gap?” He gestured to the belt drive of the stamping tool, and we began our investigation in earnest.
Half an hour later, we had, quite accidentally, separated in our quest. Jane kept close to Uncle Gardiner for some while—at least, I believed she did, but at one point I thought I heard Mr. Bingley’s voice with hers in the next room. I looked about, but my uncle had wandered off on his own inspection, and I assumed they must have all been together.
The main chamber had gone quiet again, but there was some fuss from the boiler room. I could hear that the furnace had been stoked, and the main belt was flying at full speed. I stood back a moment watching it, when I noticed movement from the corner of the room. A lever and a hand, rocking slowly—just enough to engage the wheel on the belt, and then drawing back before it locked in.
Fascinated, I wandered closer, until I could just make out Mr. Darcy’s tousled dark hair. He crouched behind the lathe, his face leaned close to the gears, his mouth pressed tightly in thought. He released the lever and took down some note for himself. As he was writing, I crept round behind him until I could see a rough sketch of the lever and wheel drive in his book. Beside it was a jumble of numbers I could not hope to comprehend, even if I had been near enough to make sense of them.
He left off writing and tipped his head up to the lathe. “Have you ever seen the like, Miss Elizabeth?”
I jumped, my hands searching behind me for the wall as my stomach clenched. When did he notice me?
He did not glance back at me but resumed his writing. “The lathe, I mean. A well-constructed piece, I should say. Fascinating in its relative simplicity, but startlingly efficient all the same.”
I stepped forward. “I am sure I cannot share in your appreciation, sir. What was it you called this device?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Forgive me, madam. As a lady of refinement, I do not suppose you have had an opportunity to understand the machine’s basic design or its task. Perhaps I ought instead to be applauding your forbearance in acceding to our rather amateurish whims and whiling away the evening in such an environ. Most ladies would feel it, at best, an uncomfortable employment, and at worst, a loathsome and socially disastrous obligation.”
“It is no punishment for me to accompany my uncle, and my sister is always content in Mr. Bingley’s presence. Others, I dare not vouch for.”
“These others you speak of, are they other ladies, or other gentlemen in our party?”
I crossed my arms and drew back my shoulders. “Either.”
He turned his face back to the lathe. “Shall I presume by your attitude and manner that you are not in pursuit of an advantageous marriage? Apart from Bingley, who is an exception in every way, I cannot think of a single gentleman in possession of sufficient fortune to afford a modestly dowered wife who would also appreciate a lady with machine grease on her cheek.”
My heart stopped. He had recognized me! I tried to bite out a quick retort but choked on it.
Mr. Darcy rose to his full height and laid his book aside as he turned to face me. “Is that a safe assumption, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Indeed, it is not!” I snapped. “What I mean
to say is that my motivations are no different from any other lady’s.”
“Then you do aspire to an advantageous match? You have a peculiar way of going about it.”
My indignation flared. “I do not know which is more offensive—that you presume that all ladies must seek wealthy gentlemen to marry them, or that you find my own manner ‘peculiar!’”
“In the first case, I merely state my own well-documented observations,” he answered reasonably. “In the second, I refer to simple facts, and I would challenge you to deny them.”
I raised my chin as I stared back at him. “I have no need to do so. My affairs and interests cannot possibly be your concern.”
“No? And have you never heard of gentlemen who were compelled into marriage by honor rather than inclination? What think you of females who contrive to place themselves in compromising scenarios to bring about such a match?” His tone was everything cool, hard, and intentionally provoking.
Mine was less controlled. “Know this, Mr. Darcy!” I hissed. “I am not the sort of female who would deceitfully ensnare a respectable man. Nor would I rejoice in gaining your interest, your wealth, or your connections, be they ever so much superior to my own!”
A wry smile twisted his mouth. “Is that a fact? Care to prove yourself, Miss Elizabeth?”
I crossed my arms. “Why should I bother?”
“Because everyone in this factory this evening has their reason for being here. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Gardiner wish to prove, each to the other, that he is clever and amiable and a worthy business contact, soon to become a relation. I am here to nurse a long-held fascination and, I hope, to make myself useful to my friend. Miss Bennet's motives are, perhaps, better left unsaid, though they are clear to both of us. And what of you, Miss Elizabeth? Are you here as a female machinist? A guardian to your sister who does not bother to guard her? Or had you something else in mind when you agreed to come this evening?”
I glared at him until he finally blinked, then marched past him. So, he wanted it this way, did he? Then he would have it. I pointed at the machine.
“This lathe is a model 135, the latest in its size class from my uncle’s designers. It employs three different wheel diameters for variable speeds and was the first in its category to feature the longer adjustment arm on tool post. The tail stock has been fitted with an attachment to hold the small buttons manufactured here, and a similar piece has been built for the chuck.”
Mr. Darcy pitched up one eyebrow and eased closer, his hands laced behind his back. “And what of the rotational velocity? Does this lathe operate according to the manufacturing specifications?”
I drew my eyes away—I was not certain when they had become distracted from the machine back to the man, but so they had. “I am afraid I cannot answss…” I stuttered and gulped when I sensed that he was looking over my shoulder, his frame near enough to my own that I could feel the heat from his chest, the vibration from the timbre of his voice. My palms began to sweat.
“Do be easy, Miss Elizabeth,” he said roughly as he took a fractional step away. “I am afraid I owe you an apology.”
“A—an apology?” I repeated thickly.
His hands remained locked behind his back and he stood a respectable distance from me, but I felt dizzy. It was almost as if he had just embraced me and twirled me about for a waltz, and I remained breathless and reeling, no better than Lydia when she first sampled champagne.
“Indeed, an apology,” he rasped, “for I can see that your intentions are quite as genuine as my own. You demonstrate an understanding and an interest which is… rare for a lady.”
“Pray, say what you truly think.” I set my teeth and prepared not to flinch when I heard him denounce me. “You may as well, for anyone would. My behavior is shocking. Scandalous. No man in his senses would even dare ask me to dance if he knew how I spent my leisure hours. I am heedless and ungovernable, and my family must be contemptible to have indulged my whims to the point they have.”
He looked as if he might laugh, but his voice was serious. “I will declare your character a unique one, Miss Elizabeth. Have no fear that I will expose you, assuming I am the only one to learn this facet of your character. I will only offer you one caution.”
I blinked. “Caution? What would that be?”
He came a step closer, tipping his face away as his voice hummed low in my ear. “A factory lad does not run on the balls of his feet like a dancer. Nor does he smell of lavender.”
I stood there, staring at his cravat and the way his throat, with its fresh stubble moved against the soft white fabric. Caught like a foolish rabbit I was, too mesmerized by the snare to make my escape. He stepped back again with a mild look and raised his hand in greeting to someone behind me.
“I see Bingley and Gardiner are growing impatient with my inspections, Miss Elizabeth,” he said in a normal tone. “Perhaps we ought all to retire to the inn.”
8
The following morning found me eager to escape the inn. I could not abide the thought of sitting across the breakfast board from Mr. Darcy again, for the way his steady, grave expression had rested so frequently on me the previous evening had left me in a fit of knots that endured well into the pre-dawn hours. Thus, I persuaded Jane to break our fast late in our room, and then look in on a quaint little stationery shop we had discovered on a previous outing.
I felt safe in descending the stairs at half past ten—surely, the gentlemen would have gone by then—but was dismayed to find none other than Mr. Darcy just outside and speaking urgently to an express rider. His color was ruddy, his features pinched with some great anxiety, and his tones clipped and commanding. There was no hope of passing by without his notice, but he only looked briefly in our direction before returning to his business.
I glanced over my shoulder and quickened my steps, catching Jane’s elbow to hasten her as poor Mildred almost jogged to keep up.
“Lizzy!” Jane panted, “I do not think they will sell all the ink and paper before we arrive.”
I said nothing, but I did slow… a little. Jane huffed and pulled her wrap up round her shoulders again as she shot me a quizzical look. I think she meant to ask me why my oddest and most provoking behaviors seemed suddenly to have centralized round the person of Mr. Darcy, but by then we had gained the shop and a red-coated officer was holding the door for us.
“Why, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth! A pleasure to encounter you again. A very good morning to you both.” Mr. Wickham bowed from the waist, a teasing twinkle in his eye.
“And a good morning to you, sir,” I answered. “Have you come to purchase notepaper?”
“Naturally, for what is a gentleman or an officer who neglects his correspondence? A useless fop, I say. And what of you, Miss Elizabeth? I hope you have not come for supplies to write to some fortunate fellow in Meryton.”
Jane rolled her eyes and wandered into the shop, leaving me to make answer on my own. “Oh! I do not expect any such fellow could exist.”
“No?” he asked in surprise. “Impossible, Miss Elizabeth.”
I stared back. “Why impossible? I have never been a lady to catch the gentlemen’s notice, and even less have I found any of interest to myself.”
Mr. Wickham laughed easily. “Now I know you are in jest, Miss Elizabeth. If you will pardon my indelicacy, I shall proclaim you exceedingly fetching in every way a gentleman finds appealing.”
“Save for my lack of dowry or feminine accomplishments.”
“Ah! That is unfortunate, but with a face such as yours, I still wonder at the wits of the men in Meryton. They must all be blind, I should say.”
“I do not know of any who are blind,” I mused, yet I touched my chin in thought. “Nor are any half-witted. They are all quite average.”
His brow furrowed, and he laughed again. “Then I shall express my opinion that only a very exceptional fellow shall one day be blessed with your favor. What do you think, Miss Elizabeth, is that not a terribly gallant thing t
o say?”
“Gallant, perhaps,” I confessed slowly, “but nonsensical. Do you mean to imply that I would only favor a particularly remarkable individual, or that my favor alone would furnish the sort of distinction you claim?”
“Er…both, I should think. Come, Miss Elizabeth, I was just about to purchase ink so I might write to my dear mother. Will you accompany—here now!” he exclaimed as a rider brushed by at a high gallop, perilously close to the walk. Had I been a step nearer the street, I might have been nicked by the rider’s irons.
“I say,” he sputtered, “that was uncalled for! Miss Elizabeth, are you well?”
I was watching after the rushing horse and did not answer immediately. “I think he is an express rider. I saw Mr. Darcy speaking with him a moment ago. I wonder what the hurry could be?”
Mr. Wickham seemed to still. “Darcy hired an express rider?” He turned his gaze up the street. “And riding north… I wonder…”
“Is anything amiss, sir?” I asked.
“Amiss? Oh! I am certain it is nothing. Did you say yesterday that you were in company with the gentleman? I do advise caution, Miss Elizabeth. Darcy can be a dangerous fellow to cross. Wealthy as Croesus but let him hear or think the slightest unsavory notion of you, and he will ruin all your prospects. I ought to have been given a clergyman’s living, according to old Mr. Darcy who was my patron, but…well, a soldier’s lot is not all bad.”
“The son denied you? This is most distressing!” I cried, but before I could beg an explanation, the gentleman himself was walking briskly our way. “Mr. Wickham, pray look there.”
Mr. Darcy appeared to be on a grim mission, but the moment his eyes landed on me—or, rather, darted from me to my companion and back again—his steps faltered. I had never seen anyone’s face take on a blacker hue than his did in that moment, and I do believe he clenched his gloved fists before starting in our direction.