by Gail McEwen
“Shrewsbury,” Elizabeth said absentmindedly. “Lord but this room needs a fire!”
She hurried over to the enormous fireplace and crouched down. “Well, if you so desperately want to help,” she grinned, “now is a good time to do it! It will take some time before Anne gets here. Or Annie,” she added thoughtfully. “Anna . . . ”
Holly crouched down with her cousin and together they began to work the tinder.
“You haven’t told him, have you?” Holly asked. “He does not know of your struggles with . . . everything.”
“No,” her cousin said still concentrating on the fire.
“Why?”
Giving up for the moment and sitting down on the floor, Mrs Darcy gave her cousin a look.
“Because I don’t want him to know.”
“But I don’t understand. Why not?”
“Can’t you tell? You know the whole story and you know me. You saw us at Rosefarm and you attended our wedding. Holly, he didn’t marry me for me to be dependent on him. If I go crying to him for help, he will help and most likely will be glad and proud to do it, but I don’t want him to always have to help me. He has done so much for me already and he has had worries and vexations enough when it comes to me. Now I will help him.”
Holly could tell that her cousin was serious about sparing Mr Darcy the truth about her unfamiliarity with the running of a great household, even though it was perfectly clear that he could never have been blind enough to her qualities to expect her to be anywhere near proficient in that capacity. Her cousin was shielding him as much as herself, it seemed.
Elizabeth lowered her voice and continued almost in a whisper.
“Oh, Holly, you must know—I can tell you know—there is a sweetness in surrender that I didn’t know about before I married. A most surprising and rewarding satisfaction in submitting and yielding, but that is very different from what else there is. In other things he loves me for my strong opinions and self-reliance. He has told me so. He loves me for all my worst traits as well as my good ones and that is what he wants from me—a friend and a mate, a supporter and a comfort. Not a dependent wife to be guided and a servant of his house and estate.”
“Of course he doesn’t!”
“He sacrificed so much for me, you know.”
“Elizabeth!”
“Oh, well,” Mrs Darcy said and shrugged, “principles mostly, I dare say, but he was much attached to them all the same.”
She paused to listen to the footsteps hurrying down the hall by boots much rougher than her own.
“And that is why I will somehow manage this,” she said firmly. “On my own.”
Holly heard the approaching servant just as clearly and she grabbed hold of her cousin’s hands. “No, not on your own. I will help you as best as I can. I promise. I will help you Eliza, we’ll do this together and Mr Darcy will be proud of his Mistress of Pemberley in every way.”
Annie—as it turned out—performed miracles in the rooms by sweeping aside drapes and kindling a roaring fire before summoning more fire wood, the delivery of her ladyship’s effects and marching servants through the rooms to turn down the bed, fetch hot water, unpack, and bring food and sustenance. Holly and Elizabeth watched this milling activity for a while, still standing by the sheltering fire place.
“Holly,” Elizabeth said and took her hand again, “if I spare you an all night girlish talk in the shelter of your warm bed on everything tonight, will you join me for a walk before breakfast?”
Holly smiled. “We haven’t given up girlish talks altogether, have we?”
Elizabeth returned her smile. “Absolutely not! There are plenty of hiding places at Pemberley where secrets can be indulged in. I’ll show you some tomorrow.”
“I would love to. But . . . we have all day, don’t we?”
Elizabeth’s brow darkened in what Holly had to confess looked like a pout. “I am not certain we do, cousin. You have no idea about how many people have claims on my time. It’s quite shocking! The more leisurely a lady becomes, the less time she has for herself, it seems. People calling at all hours of the day, expecting to be entertained . . . ”
At this she had to burst out laughing because her cousin suddenly looked horrified.
“Oh, Holly, don’t you ever think I could include you in ‘people’! I am so very, very, very happy to see you!”
“Well,” Holly muttered sheepishly, “I’m glad because now I’m beginning to think I have been very selfish . . . ”
“Not at all! And if your arrival was a trifle . . . unexpected, I will put you to good use all the same. I give you Annie to be at your every beck and call, and endless fields of sports for your husband, and then I shall be able to keep you by me all day!”
That, thought Holly, was a small price to pay for the pleasure of Elizabeth’s company. When the attendants finally left, she could inspect the room again and confess herself pleased as well as impressed.
“You are welcome to stay as long as you want,” Mrs Darcy said.
“Til Candlemas certainly,” Holly said firmly.
“Three weeks!” Elizabeth said. “What luxury! Oh! But speaking of luxury . . . ” Taking her hand she pulled her over to the corner of the room behind the bed. “You will never believe what we have here.”
Opening a door to the dressing room and then a smaller door to a cupboard just behind it, Elizabeth turned around guarding the contents with a mischievous smile.
“I think I told you what faith Mr Collins puts in the arrangement and design of closets in a well-ordered house such as his parsonage at Hunsford, but I don’t think even he could claim the superiority of his beloved shelves to this!”
Stepping aside, Holly peeked into a small room where a high backed chair stood on a small platform over a barely visible, beautifully decorated china bowl. Her hostess reached out and lightly fingered a small bell pull hanging directly by the chair on the wall. A small trickle of water could be heard from inside the chair and Holly’s eyes flew open in amazement.
“Eliza!”
A small giggle escaped her cousin’s lips before she pulled down the rope and a rush of water could be heard flushing through the chair.
“Someone certainly wanted to impress someone staying in these rooms!” she said. “I haven’t quite dared ask yet, but you shall try it out and tell me if it’s worth emulating!”
It was too much. Holly felt laughter—some sort of relief and childish delight at finding her cousin was still the same Elizabeth and still provoking her to unseemly giggles regardless of the grand environment—bubbling up through her that she could not and would not stop. Soon both women were nothing but girls again, mischievously pulling at the rope to hear that delightful sound once more.
“There,” Elizabeth gasped, “I finally have revenged myself on you and that chamber pot at Rosefarm with Buonaparte’s fierce features at the bottom, which I could never quite muster up the courage to use without closing my eyes and being very quick about it!”
Holly looked around, fetched the nearest candle and held it over the shining bowl. Peering down into the darkness, she asked, “But . . . where does it go?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion,” Elizabeth laughed, “I have never dared to ask.”
“So you want me to sit over this . . . hole, that leads to who knows where, and . . . Oh, I don’t think so!”
“Holly, are you really so old-fashioned?”
“Have you?” Holly asked. “Tried it, I mean?”
“Once,” Mrs Darcy looked sheepish, “when Mr Darcy was out for the day.”
“And?” Holly pressed, still peering down into the dark void.
“Once was enough,” Elizabeth admitted. “I didn’t like the feeling of all that emptiness below me.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Holly sighed with relief. “Will you make sure Annie brings me a proper pot instead?”
“I MUST SAY,” MR DARCY remarked as he took his seat again once the ladies had departed,
“that I am less surprised at your showing up here than I was at hearing your plans to remove to Cumbermere just weeks after the wedding. Considering all I know of you, this makes much more sense.”
His lordship raised his hand in a dismissive gesture and, still stiff and sore from the long days in the carriage, declined the seat offered by his host.
“You know I’m an abominable traveller,” he said in excuse. “But you are perfectly right; I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were thinking that your steward might at last resign in frustration if you didn’t pay some sort of attention to your affairs?”
“Quite. I don’t know what I would do without Tilman and he does have the patience of Job when it comes to my, shall we say, limitations. But fear not, I was thoughtful enough to dispatch an express from Cheadle, telling him of our regrettable delay.”
“Cheadle?” Darcy smiled. “You made it as far as Cheadle before the urge to detour overtook you? That is very good—progress I should say.”
Helping himself to the wine from the decanter, Baugham gave his host a disarming smile. “I blame my wife. She was missing her cousin.”
“Of course,” Darcy smiled. He, more than perhaps anyone else, knew his lordship’s feelings about his family and his ancestral home, and as much as he liked—and felt it was his duty—to remind his friend that personal feelings did nothing to negate established obligations, he also understood the feelings of ambivalence that accompanied the fulfilment of those obligations.
“Have you fixed your plans then,” he asked, “or are those subject to the whim of the moment as well?”
“I hear,” Baugham crossed the room and at last settled into a chair with his glass, “that there is quite a ‘to-do’ planned for the end of this month. I should hate to miss the presentation of Mrs Darcy to the masses.”
“Yes, well.” To the untrained eye, Darcy would appear to be unaffected by the offhand comment, but a good friend could very well notice a slight increase of colour. “It’s only natural they should want to meet her. And, as always, you are welcome to stay as long as you like, but I would assume that the locals in Cheshire are equally desirous to meet the new Lady Baugham.”
“No doubt,” his lordship sighed, “but I am in no hurry to parade her around for their pleasure. It’s bad enough, you know, that I must bring her there at all to bear witness the shameful neglect of my duties as Lord and Master. It is odd to think that cumbersome, crumbling, Cumbermere will now have a mistress of sorts—”
“Of sorts? I admit the whole thing is rather a surprise, at least it was for me—Elizabeth tells me she knew all along—but what do you mean, a mistress of sorts?”
Baugham smiled to himself. To hear his friend so casually take the Christian name of his wife and pronounce it with such ease and even tenderness told him all he had ever wondered about how Darcy would adapt to letting a woman into his private sphere. With humility and gratitude, it seemed.
“Your surprise, my friend, cannot be greater than my own. If you should ask me how any of this happened, I could not give any rational explanation. I can only say that I am luckier than I deserve to be.”
“How well I know that sentiment,” Darcy smiled, “but you have not answered my question. What of Lady Baugham, Mistress of sorts of Cumbermere?”
“Oh, she will be mistress in rather the same fashion that I am master. That is, as briefly and as infrequently as possible.”
“If you say so.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
Darcy looked at Lord Baugham shrewdly. “Have you met your wife, Baugham? She does not appear to me to be one to take her responsibilities lightly, or to do anything of great importance briefly or infrequently.”
“I have met her, Darcy, and I know her temperament well. But,” Baugham sat back, smiling smugly, “I am her husband, and as such, my wishes and inclinations must prevail.”
“Yes,” Darcy nodded in sober agreement, “that is as it should be—though I still have hope that your feelings on this matter will change. A wife can be very useful for giving you a new point of view on old habits, you know.”
“WELL? WHAT DO YOU THINK?”
Holly held on to her cousin’s arm, letting her gaze sweep over the landscape opening up on a frosty winter morning. The sun was just edging its way over the rolling hills in the east, painting the sky pink and blue in a myriad of delicate and pale shades. Picking up the faint rays, Pemberley House stood confidently on the slope below them, calmly preparing to receive yet another day’s homage to its beauty and imposing structure that nevertheless fit into the landscape like it had just as much reason for being there as the ancient oaks on its grounds, the eternal hills lending it a sweeping backdrop and the magnificent peaks rising in the distance.
“It is absolutely beautiful!”
Elizabeth turned her gaze to where her cousin’s already rested.
“I’m so glad you could see it like this on your first day. All that magnificent colour that will just bring us rain or sleet before evening!”
Holly smiled. “What more effective way than to ensure you will sit down with me in one of those infinite girlish hiding places you promised last night!”
Their breaths swirled around them like clouds of white smoke as they laughed.
“I will! You may rely upon it!”
“And then you must tell me all about your troubles. Not until after breakfast,” Holly said quickly. “You know how I am without my breakfast.”
Her cousin smiled at her. “Of course. In fact, I cannot believe my good fortune at being able to drag you out for such an extensive walk before you ate!”
“Well . . . ”
Mrs Darcy gave her a shrewd look. “I think I have made you pay for your imposing manners last night well enough. Come on! Time to feed you!”
Holly could not deny she relished the prospect. Pemberley and its grounds in the early morning had been a sight to behold, but her stomach was ever her enemy when teased at the expense of indulging her other senses and so she was very happy they took the short cut over the grass, through the grazing sheep up to the house again.
The gentlemen were out riding, they were informed, and so breakfast was served in the small parlour where they could enjoy the magnificent view out to the distant Roman ruins—erected as a strange object for contemplation while greeting yet another day with tea and toast.
Thankfully, there was a lot more to breakfast at Pemberley than tea and toast. Holly almost turned around on the stairs and decided to forego a change of clothes after she caught hold of the smells wafting out from the room they passed.
“Mmm,” she said following the smell with her nose, “is that—?”
“Griddle scones,” her cousin smiled. “I know how much you like them.”
Holly’s eyes glittered. “Five minutes,” she said seriously. “That is all I need.”
“I’ll catch up with you then,” Elizabeth said calmly but sent her a wink as they parted ways on top of the stairs.
Five minutes was possibly an exaggeration, but when Mrs Darcy at last came down to breakfast, her cousin was already happily on her second cup of coffee and wiping her greasy fingers most contentedly on her napkin.
“Oh!” she said sheepishly when her cousin inspected her empty plate in an exaggerated manner. “I left one for you, that is . . . ”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” was the answer. “I’m not that hungry.”
“Not that hungry?”
“Well, I had something in my room. Earlier. Did you see the newspapers?”
Lady Baugham confessed no newspaper had interfered with her griddle scones and so the next half hour was pleasantly spent making up for that discrimination and her prejudice towards the other offerings on the side table. But the blissful morning could not last. Elizabeth began to send her glances and Holly felt obliged to stand up and briskly announce she was in the mood for some earnest housekeeping talk. Her cousin looked relieved and together they w
alked through to Mrs Darcy’s private study, a small, bright room in the corner of the west wing with its wall covered in delicate Chinoiserie scenes and with specimens of fine China displayed among the heavier bound books on the shelves.
Holly lightly touched the pocket journals and ledgers on the shelves while Elizabeth sat down at her desk and dug through her drawers. With a bang she let two heavy books fall on the desk and Holly looked up.
“Here they are,” Mrs Darcy said grimly. “The two worst enemies to my days of privilege and leisure.”
Holly came up to her and together they started looking through the household expense book, a pocket memorandum book with notes spilling out of the packed pages, accounts and a folder overflowing with correspondence.
Elizabeth pushed the folder aside with a sigh.
“Inquiries,” she sighed, “on the most impossible things. But I will not even look at them before I know if I have the funds to begin with!”
Holly gave her a careful look. “What about your housekeeper,” she slowly said. “I mean, I know you should and want to know about all of this yourself, but surely there is a housekeeper that can at least tell you how it was done and managed?”
The look her cousin gave her made Holly’s eyes bulge.
“Mrs Reynolds,” Elizabeth said darkly. “Let me send for Mrs Reynolds so you can tell me what you think about that splendid idea yourself.”
The housekeeper was duly summoned and she did appear very promptly. She was a tall, dark and exceedingly thin woman, quite a different appearance from the good-humoured Mr Reynolds that Holly had encountered on bursting in upon the household the previous night.
“Mrs Reynolds,” Elizabeth said with what Holly thought was a most peculiarly affected air, “my cousin, Lady Baugham, has been so kind as to show an interest in the running of such a fine establishment as Pemberley. As you so painfully must be aware, I am still learning so perhaps you would be so kind as to tell her how things are done around here?”
Holly gave her cousin a quick look at the peculiar question, but Mrs Reynolds’ face broke into an angelic smile.