by Gail McEwen
“Lambton mummers on the Pemberley lawn,” he managed in a contorted voice. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear . . . ”
And then he burst out laughing. As he did so it was Holly’s turn to stand up and give her husband a narrow eyed stare.
“Brute,” she said and walked away.
But Lord Baugham sat in his chair shaking his head and laughing quietly until Mr Reynolds came in and in the presence of only one worried footman asked if there was anything he could do.
“Dessert then, my lord?”
At that Lord Baugham burst out laughing again and Mr Reynolds withdrew to assume another strategy in such highly upsetting circumstances.
DARCY WAS NOT IN THE library but at first that did not bother his lordship. The wine was good, the fire was warm, the chairs were comfortable and there was plenty to occupy his mind in the peace and quiet. He stretched his legs and thought about the break-up of their happy little dinner party. That in turn made him remember the cause for his unbridled mirth and—he could now confess—his quite incomprehensible behaviour.
Well, he amended, not so incomprehensible. His reaction to Mrs Darcy’s incredulity concerning the nature of the mummers who traditionally invaded markets and houses in the north around Christmas—and apparently at Candlemas as well—was based on his own personal experience when visiting Lambton as well as his memories of his first times witnessing the same tradition around Cumbermere and Appleby as a boy.
Baugham shook his head as he remembered what those plays had done to him and his imagination as a young boy. He had never thought of them as shocking, even though his mother had never liked them. He never told her about his efforts to sneak out of the house without her knowledge, catching them performing and walking the lanes, singing their songs, striking up their little plays whenever there was a penny to be earned. Much of what they portrayed had been nonsense to him then, much of it he had learned to laugh at without understanding why. But yes, there was an element of the carnivalesque, the revelling, the almost medieval boisterous irreverence that had both appealed to him and made him curious.
Carnival, of course, was a dying art form. Slowly the civilizing elements of society were pushing out the bawdy and brash, the irreverent and the satirical, compelling the mummers to clean up their act or die out. From what Mrs Darcy said, this was already the case in Hertfordshire. But here in Derbyshire . . . well, it was still a different story.
Suddenly he had no desire to sit alone in Darcy’s splendid library and think of carnival celebrations dying and becoming inappropriate. After a few paces to test his resolution he walked out of the door and headed upstairs. He had unfinished business in more earthier temples of knowledge than the library.
Walking down the corridor he quickly slipped into his own room. He was not very surprised not to find any trace of her there so he threw off his coat, unbuttoned his waistcoat and tugged at his necktie before moving over to his wife’s rooms.
When she was not there either he was annoyed. Where on earth could she be? She was not on some foolish errand of diplomacy, was she? She was not walking around the house in an effort to avoid him? Had she not confess she had gotten lost just a few hours ago? What would that same bewildering house do to her now that it was dark and quiet?
Taking a peek out of her door again, he saw her walking slowly down the hall towards him. She looked thoughtful and was winding her shawl between her hands, staring at her feet before her. Then she paused and half turned to look behind her.
Baugham sighed and Holly looked up.
“Is that you?”
Baugham rolled his eyes at her, which most probably, she could not make out but the impatience of his voice was unmistakable.
“Of course it is! Where have you been?”
He could see her stop maulling the shawl and raise her hands to rest on her hips in a defiant gesture.
“I was talking to Elizabeth. Your hostess. Whom you mortally offended.”
Baugham let out a disbelieving puff. “Nonsense! Darcy managed that feat perfectly well without my help. I was just . . . reacting.”
“You were laughing!” She spoke the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.
“It was funny,” he grew defensive, stepping out into the hall and took a few steps toward her.
“It was not funny, it was a terrible misunderstanding and your disgraceful behaviour didn’t help the situation one bit!”
“Is that so? I’m afraid if Mrs Darcy is going to be inviting the Lambton mummers to her grand events, she will have to get used to behaviours much worse than mine!”
With a greatly affronted look, Holly swept her shawl around her and strode to her door. “There is no behaviour worse than yours. And you supposedly a gentleman and all!”
In a few steps he was almost beside her, so she changed her dignified gait into a hasty tip toeing motion and quickly slipped inside to her room, closing the door behind her.
“Oh, really, Holly!” she heard him say on the other side. Almost as an afterthought to that she looked down at the key in the door and then quickly turned it. The second after that she could hear the door knob rattling in vain. Suddenly she felt her heart beating and she did not need the shawl for protection against the cold anymore.
“Oh really!” her husband said again on the other side of the door. “What on earth do you think you will achieve with this?”
“A point!” she said, slightly louder than she might have needed to since they were, after all, only separated by four inches.
“What point?” The question came as a hiss.
Holly swallowed and caught her breath. “There’s no use talking about it with you.”
“What? That’s insane! Holly, what are you talking about?”
She put her head a little closer to the door. “You were rude!” she said. “And unfeeling. Do you know how hard Elizabeth has worked at trying to fill the shoes of Mistress of Pemberley? Do you have any idea how much she has had to struggle with that? You are all the same, you ‘to the manor born’ types! You prance around, all filled up with how great and important you and your family are and expect everyone to implicitly rise to your level and then all you can do in your unfeeling, unsympathetic arrogance when they fall short is to make either a joke or a scandal out of it! And if you think you will get away with anything like it at Cumbermere you are sorely mistaken!”
“Well, there will be no mummers on my lawn; that is very certain.”
Holly gasped and jumped at the voice coming from inside the room. In the open door between their two rooms stood her husband with a grin on his face. “And I very rarely prance.”
“Oh!” she said “Oh! Oh! You!”
“Yes, me. Be careful when locking doors, madam! Inconsistencies may give the wrong impression.”
Holly threw her shawl on the bed and gave him an angry look. “I don’t give a fig for what impression you get, sir. I am angry with you, that much should be perfectly clear! You are a perfect disgrace.”
Baugham spread out his hands in a frustrated gesture. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Oh, yes you did!”
“I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did! Those mummers are a disaster! And tomorrow they will build the tent and prepare the food and heat the wine and build the bonfires and Elizabeth is devastated! Did you have to add insult to injury like that, you big oaf!”
“What? It was all a joke! A harmless joke! They will get over it. Have you ever seen the mumming, Holly? It’s just . . . a bit of fun!”
“Hah!” Holly put her hands on her hips and gave him an evil look. “Fun? Fun?! Oh, I have seen mummers at Clanough, my lord, and I’m not sure my mother doesn’t regret her liberality on that score today still.”
Baugham threw his hands in the air. “The Clanough mummers! The depravers of innocence and corrupters of youth!” And then he gave a big snort.
“Well, you’ve never seen them, have you?” Holly answered triumphantly. “I’m sure Mrs McLaughlan nev
er lets them within ten yards of the house!”
Baugham rolled his eyes.
“As well she shouldn’t!” Holly added.
Her husband cocked his head to the side and gave her a mischievous look, which she tried to ignore by fiddling with her dress and picking out the ribbons in her hair. “Why is that then?”
“They’re no better than they ought to be,” Holly muttered.
At that Baugham laughed. “Of all the prissiest, prudish, missish—”
Holly turned around. “Well, they are!”
But Baugham’s grin had not diminished. “So, what are they?”
Holly turned back, suddenly conscious of her cheeks burning again. “I’m not saying. I’m not telling you.”
Baugham took a step closer to her. “Is there a Doctor?”
She looked over her shoulder. “No,” she mumbled. “No, Doctor. A Knight,” she added more defiantly.
“Oooh!” he said mockingly. “A Knight!”
“With a very long . . . spear.” She had no idea why she said it except remembering that was her own first bewildered impression.
Before she knew it, her husband had come to stand before her.
“And a dragon?” he asked.
Holly shook her head. “No St. George. But there was a maiden.” She swallowed. “Several actually.”
She felt the mockery in his eyes die away without his gaze leaving her face.
“Sir Gawain,” Holly went on carefully as her husband’s eyes travelled downwards, settling on her hand clasping the locket hanging around her neck.
“A very gallant knight, I hear,” he said quietly.
“Not so much so in that mummers’ play.”
“Really?”
“No. He was . . . forward.”
“With his . . . spear?”
Holly swallowed but could not quite keep her mouth from twitching. She bit her lip. “Well, he came to a very . . . sticky end at the hands of those maidens.”
At that, her husband burst out laughing. “I can imagine!”
Looking up at him, Holly raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you can really, since you never saw it.”
In that moment he reached out and very slowly put his arms around her. Carefully, hesitantly, Holly thought and so she made no objections.
“I’m sure it was all quite educational. For knights and maidens alike.”
With her hand now tracing the folds of his shirt front, Holly simply smiled. But it did not last long before Baugham bowed over her and closed her lips with his.
“Stuff dinner,” he muttered. “We should never have gone down. My Maledisant,” he whispered against her cheek, his hand moving over her breast. “My Bienpensant...”
“Who are they?” Not that she cared at that moment.
“She. The bane of Sir Breunor’s existence,” his lordship whispered against her throat, softly working to find the knots and strings of her stays and petticoats. “His partner on his mission, his taunter and abuser, his champion and his damosel turned wife, lover, partner, conscience and mistress of his Castle at Pendragon . . . ”
“Oh, she . . . ” Holly said as his lips met her bare skin and goose pimples travelled up her arms and back.
“Yes, you.”
“Well, I’m sure Sir Breunor did not interrupt her and tease her and annoy her as much as you do me,” she sighed. “There is a lot to say for the dead days of chivalry, I think.”
He released her just enough to renew his hold on her waist and then lifted her up. “At your service then, my lady,” he said and carried her to the bed.
DRINKING HER COFFEE THE NEXT morning, Holly stood by the window overlooking the lawn in the breakfast room, watching the hustle and bustle that had begun early before first light and was already in full swing. Her husband had taken a quick breakfast in their room before hurrying out with boyish enthusiasm. “I’m going to supervise the bonfires!” he said and grinned. She laughed and told him she loved him and he had rushed back, already fully clothed, for a quick kiss from his wife, still buried in the bedclothes and groggy from sleep.
“Don’t stir up trouble again,” she mumbled between what turned out to be many quick kisses.
“Mm, very well. Although I don’t know why I shouldn’t. I like the stirring that comes from trouble. And I think you do too, love.”
“You are so bad,” she giggled. “And we were so silly last night.”
“Yes,” he sighed. “Thank God.”
She giggled again and let him go. And now she was here, fully dressed, wondering if she might find something equally challenging as bonfire building to keep her occupied. Maybe Elizabeth needed help with something. But her cousin was nowhere to be seen.
After a third cup of coffee, the door finally opened and Elizabeth walked in.
“Oh!” Holly said, suddenly pleased to see her so late in the morning, thinking from her own experience it must be a good sign things were returning to normal. “I think there’s some food left!”
Elizabeth just gave her a look and calmly proceeded to pour herself a cup of coffee. “That won’t be necessary,” she said calmly. “I had breakfast two hours ago.”
“Two hours ago?”
“Yes. I have been up since six.”
“Six?”
Elizabeth gave her cousin a stern look. “Lots to do this morning, Holly. Busy day.”
“Yes, of course, but . . . I thought . . . Well, I didn’t realise . . . Where is Mr Darcy?”
Her cousin had not sat down and so she came to stand beside her at the window. She turned her eyes out onto the lawn with a sharp eye.
“He went to meet his sister.”
Holly impulsively put her hand on Elizabeth’s sleeve. “It will be a great day. A success.”
“Perhaps it will,” she answered evenly. “But before that can happen we have a lot to do.”
“I know Mr Darcy will think so too,” Holly added a little more quietly.
“We will see. But it is not time for that now, Holly. Later, not now.” She turned to put down her cup. “So,” she smiled, “when I said ‘we’ I did mean the two of us, you know!”
Holly mirrored her gesture and returned the smile, if a little hesitantly. “I am at your service, Mrs Darcy!” she said, and then could not help but blush profusely.
“Well,” her cousin said and just hastily wrinkled her brow at her before she went on, “here’s the first of our labours today, completed and achieved.”
She drew out a note from her pocket and waved it at Holly.
“At great expense of my dignity and pride, but hopefully in the long run serving to keep my standing in the community intact, I have sent a note to Mr Derek—quite a grovelling note, I might add—and this is the response.”
Holly took the note out of her hand. “A very fortuitous note,” Elizabeth added, “don’t you think?”
Holly nodded and looked over the short neat handwriting. “They’re changing the play?”
“Into a morality play.” Elizabeth could not hide her obvious relief. “Although for some reason it makes me feel even more foolish for receiving such mercy.”
Holly smiled. “Well, it will all work out then.” She glanced at the note again before she gave it back. “Biblical, no less!”
Elizabeth winked at her. “About Adam’s brother, the orchardman. I didn’t know Adam had a brother, did you?”
“I didn’t think Adam could have a brother, technically speaking but . . . “
Elizabeth sighed. “Yes, well, ‘verily, verily, they do seek us, not because of the miracles, but because of the loaves’. Speaking of which, Holly, the roasted pig . . . ”
MISS GEORGIANA DARCY TRIED VERY hard, Holly thought, but she failed miserably. The fact that she had witnessed firsthand on so many occasions what a pretty, young woman’s ingenuity and determination could accomplish when plied with skill and single-mindedness, made her view Miss Darcy’s attempts with pity mingled with sympathy. She tried so hard. She directed all her c
omments to Lady Baugham in the most deferential and sweet manner. She took part in the conversation—not too much and not too little—although it was perfectly clear she was not enjoying it so much as practicing it. She looked for support in her brother and sympathy in her sister and both gave it to her generously and lovingly. She never said a word, never gave a look and never paid any attention to his lordship and yet . . .
Holly smiled. And yet it was perfectly obvious that Miss Darcy was mesmerised by him.
Her husband had, of course, not made it easy on the young girl and only had himself to blame for Miss Darcy’s growing struggle not to give into unbridled adoration. At first he had greeted her warmly, joked a little of her growth and then quite seriously told her she had turned into a very pretty girl and that he had heard great things about her since they last saw one another. Then he asked her about her dog Flora, an unruly spaniel that the girl tightly clutched to her bosom for protection but who escaped her mistress’ arms and was running around begging attention from his lordship more freely and happily than Miss Darcy could. The deed, of course, had been done when Lord Baugham lifted up the dog, let it lick his face and with a laugh pronounced it to be a droll little thing. After that, Miss Darcy was forced to fight her feelings in a most heroic struggle.
“I’m sure you’ll love Cumbermere,” the girl now said, looking very steadily at Holly.
“I’m sure she won’t,” his lordship chimed in, “if she has some sense. But it can’t be helped.”
Miss Darcy struggled but then surrendered. “Is it really as bad as all that?” she asked and let her gaze flitter for a second over his lordship’s face before she came back to Holly again.
“Oh, you should know Lord Baugham takes great delight in cultivating the myth of being saddled with a hopeless legacy. In actuality, it has great potential,” her brother said and filled his grumbling friend’s glass once again. “Beautiful country.”
“And a lot of work,” Baugham said and sent Darcy a look.