A Death at Rosings: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  She smiled at him, obviously unaware of how she affected him. “Thank you. Until dinner, then, Mr. Darcy.” She dropped another curtsy.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing. Then she was walking away, the wind sending her hem dancing about her boots and her hair blowing forward into a face he couldn’t see with her back turned, but could unerringly picture. Darcy leaned against the stable wall and watched her go.

  Chapter Ten

  After gathering the eggs, Elizabeth walked quickly back toward the house. She had the oddest sensation that Mr. Darcy was watching her, but didn’t turn to look. If he was, the way the wayward wind was blowing her dress against her backside would make meeting his gaze insufferably embarrassing. She yanked at her skirt with her free hand, though it didn’t seem to do any good, and hoped he’d returned to his work long since.

  Not that he’d really seemed to be working. Yes, he had his coat and cravat off and his shirtsleeves rolled up in that way he’d taken to of late, a state of half dress that did unacceptable things to her ability to think properly. He’d no pitchfork, brush, or any other tools for various horse related tasks about him, though. It was almost as if he’d simply been standing there waiting for her, which was ridiculous. With all that needed to be done to keep Rosings going, Mr. Darcy had too much to do to wait half the morning for a few words with her about chickens.

  She entered the bustling kitchen, her mind still on Mr. Darcy as he’d been in the stable yard, dark hair tousled by the wind. He had no right to go standing around the yard in his shirtsleeves, his hair in disarray, where any young miss could see him. Though he was often a bit grim and reserved, surely he couldn’t be unaware of how appealing he was, and she did not mean for his station or income. Why, standing in the yard like that, still unwed, was nearly irresponsible.

  “Elizabeth,” Mrs. Allen said, startling Elizabeth back into the moment. “Thank you, dear. It’s kind of you to take this task on yourself. We do need every bit of help we can find to keep this kitchen running as it should.”

  In fact, Mrs. Allen need not be in the kitchen now that they’d hired a cook, but Elizabeth would never say as much unless the cook protested. It made the widow too happy to be there to rob her of it. “It’s no trouble at all,” Elizabeth said.

  To her chagrin, she had to battle down another blush as she spoke. She felt guilty accepting praise when she knew the only reason she took on the task was to have chance conversations with Mr. Darcy. Worse, she’d somehow felt compelled to lie to him about why she was doing it, in case he suspected, which had only embarrassed her.

  Elizabeth handed over the eggs and hurried from the kitchen, displeased with her inner turmoil. She did not, she reminded herself, harbor any ardent feelings for Mr. Darcy. He was highhanded. He was pompous. He’d never apologized for thinking so little of her station and family, or for breaking up Bingley and Jane. None of his crimes had changed.

  Though, she respected him now, as she never had before. Not just because of the truths in his letter, but because of his recent actions. Much as she bemoaned the enticing appearance he’d adopted as he saw to farmyard tasks, she was impressed with his willingness to take them on.

  Who would have thought that the lofty gentleman who hadn’t found her, or any other woman in Hertfordshire, handsome enough to dance with, would be working in a stable of his own free will? Why, where was the condescension now? The aloof arrogance that had so turned her against him from the start? If Miss Bingley could see Mr. Darcy this way she would be horrified, yet every moment Elizabeth spent in his presence warmed her toward him more.

  She sighed, then glanced quickly about the hall she walked to make sure no one had observed her. It wouldn’t do for anyone to think she was mooning over some gentleman. Especially since she most assuredly was not. His offenses still remained, she reminded herself, listing them again for good measure.

  Elizabeth took a moment to collect herself, forcefully setting aside images of Mr. Darcy looking warm and approachable, and made her way to Anne’s room. Before her meeting with Mr. Darcy, she wanted to ask Anne’s opinion about additional servants. She didn’t think Anne would volunteer one, but had been trying to get the mistress of Rosings to take more of an interest in her estate.

  Elizabeth knocked on Anne’s door. She could hear Kitty within, reading aloud. Waiting for the maid to answer, Elizabeth was unable to help glancing at the entrance to her own room. That conjured up an image of Mr. Darcy as he’d been the night he arrived in Rosings, his eyes dark with appreciation before he came to his senses and left her chamber. Had he still wished to wed her, he could have easily made the incident public and possibly forcing her to marry him. Of course, Mr. Darcy was not a man to do such a thing.

  Anne’s newly appointed personal maid opened the door Elizabeth stood at, securing her attention. “Yes, miss?”

  “Is Miss de Bourgh seeing visitors?”

  “I’ll ask, miss.”

  The girl disappeared behind the closed door, but it reopened almost immediately.

  “She says she’s happy to receive you, miss,” the maid said, backing into the room with a curtsy.

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said.

  Anne’s ruffle-bedecked chamber wasn’t as stuffy as usual; the curtains thrown wide and the windows cracked open. Elizabeth was pleased to see that, for she privately thought that a lack of sunshine and healthy fresh air was part of Anne’s trouble. As often happened, Kitty was sitting in a chair holding a book. What was unusual of late was that Miss de Bourgh was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows.

  “What are you reading?” Elizabeth asked, smiling at them.

  “It’s called The Mysterious Hand and it was written by Augustus Jacob Crandolph,” Kitty said. “There’s an exciting scene that takes place on a balloon ride. Count Egfryd is really frightening.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a book from Rosings’ library,” Elizabeth said, amused by Kitty’s enthusiasm.

  “It wasn’t, but it will be now,” Anne said. “I ordered it and some others from London after Mother died. I’m glad I did. Kitty enjoys books with a bit of adventure in them, and I find it’s more fun to read when I share it with someone.”

  “I love it,” Kitty said. “It’s even better than The Mysteries of Udolpho. I read that when Miss de Bourgh was sleeping. She’s already read it.” She gestured to the table beside her.

  Elizabeth saw three other books there as well, in addition to a slightly worn looking copy of Mysteries of Udolpho. There was The Life of Samuel Johnson, a book of poems called Lyrical Ballads, and a dictionary of the birds of Kent. “You’ve been reading about birds?” Elizabeth asked Kitty. That one hadn’t come up during dinner yet.

  “Miss de Bourgh says that every time I read a novel I should read something that isn’t a novel. I don’t like that one,” she said wrinkling her nose at the bird book. “The others were kind of interesting.”

  “Papa has books at home,” Elizabeth said.

  “I never wanted to read them. Lydia wasn’t interested in reading,” Kitty said.

  “As I said, it’s more entertaining when you read them with someone,” Anne reiterated, smiling at Kitty encouragingly.

  Usually, Elizabeth bemoaned that Kitty was a follower, seemingly unable to think for herself and dragged along on every inane idea that popped into Lydia’s head. Now, she saw that trait could be turned into an advantage for her younger sister. In following Anne, she’d selected a much better role model. Perhaps, if they could see her wed to a reasonable gentleman, she would follow him into a pleasant life, free of silliness and rudeness.

  “I’m sure Miss de Bourgh is entirely correct in both her recommendation and declaration,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps, if we took a walk sometime so that you could see some of the birds you’ve been reading about, you may even come to appreciate that book.”

  “Maybe,” Kitty said, scrunching up her nose again. “Are you going to stay long? I do so want to find out what happens at the end of thi
s actually interesting book.”

  “No, not long,” Elizabeth said. She shook her head at Kitty’s manners. Well, Anne’s good influence couldn’t be expected to change Kitty entirely. “I came to ask Miss de Bourgh a question about the servants.”

  “Oh,” Anne said, sinking down into her bed. “I’m sure you know the answer better than I do.”

  “It’s a matter of preference,” Elizabeth said. “Your preference, so no one can know it as well as you. Mr. Darcy is going to send to London for more servants. I didn’t know if you wished to restaff to the extent your mother kept.”

  “I don’t know,” Anne said. She seemed almost to shrink. “She did have so very many servants. One couldn’t breathe sometimes. I know Rosings has a certain image to maintain.”

  “Rosings is yours now,” Elizabeth said in a gentle tone. “Rosings’ image is whatever you wish it to be.”

  “I simply can’t make decisions like this,” Anne said. “I don’t feel well. Kitty, could you please latch the windows? The air is too chilly.”

  “Yes, Miss de Bourgh,” Kitty said. She set aside the book, glaring at Elizabeth, and jumped up to go close the windows.

  Elizabeth sighed. “It isn’t a decision that will affect anything,” she said softly, so Kitty might not hear. “You can’t make an incorrect choice in this. I won’t let you have too few servants or too many. I just desire to know your feelings on the matter.”

  “Really, you will have to decide,” Anne said. She draped the back of her hand across her forehead, closing her eyes. “I trust you implicitly, Elizabeth. I need to sleep now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Of course,” Elizabeth said, trying to keep her annoyance from her tone. She curtsied, though Anne’s eyes were still closed, and left the room. Kitty followed her out on soft feet.

  “I hope you don’t bother Miss de Bourgh too much about the servants,” Kitty said, glaring at her. “You’ve upset her terribly.”

  “Rosings need a proper staff and Miss de Bourgh should be aware of that, at the least,” Elizabeth said. She drew Kitty away from the door, in case Anne’s new maid was listening. “Why, her new maid is so green, she likely doesn’t even know how to properly arrange Miss de Bourgh’s hair for a dinner party, let alone how to help her select garments. As mistress of Rosings, Anne requires a tutored level of service.”

  Kitty set her lips in a mutinous line. “I have been teaching Miss de Bourgh’s maid and assisting Miss de Bourgh. I don’t only read to her. I take care of her.”

  “That’s good of you,” Elizabeth said, relinquishing the argument. She’d focused on the maid as an example of the situation with the staff, not the only issue. There was no real point in trying to convince Kitty that more servants were needed, though. Obviously, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy would have to make such decisions.

  “It’s odd to say, as it seems like it should be a trial to spend all day helping someone and reading to them, but I enjoy it,” Kitty said.

  “That’s good of you too,” Elizabeth said.

  “You know, Lizzy, I never felt useful at home. I was always the person who was most often ill and people had to help me and I could tell that for you and Jane and Mama and Papa, I was just in the way. Now I know someone who is really ill and I’m helping her, and I’m not in the way at all.”

  “Oh, Kitty,” Elizabeth said, filled with distress at her sister’s interpretation of their actions toward her, and guilt at the mildly accurate content of that interpretation. “You were never in the way.”

  “I was, to everyone but Lydia,” Kitty said. “Only, the older we get, the more in the way I am to her, too. She didn’t want me to get to go with her to Brighton. She was happy I wasn’t invited. No one wants their coughing sister in the way of their enjoyment.”

  “I can’t speak for Lydia,” Elizabeth said. “I, for one, am very happy you’ve come here. You’re a tremendous help to Miss de Bourgh and that means you’re helping all of Rosings.”

  Kitty blinked, looking surprised by Elizabeth’s vehemence. “It’s nice to feel like I’m helping,” she said. A grin split her face. “Did I tell you, Lizzy, Miss de Bourgh let me have another one of her dresses? I have to add a bit to the hem, but she’s given me some beautiful lace to do that with. It’s too bad you have to remake Lady Catherine’s dresses completely because they’re so large for you. Miss de Bourgh’s are much nearer your size. You’d only have to take them in a bit at the bosom. Maybe if you didn’t pester her so much about servants, she would like you well enough to give you one of her gowns.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. No, she couldn’t expect Anne to have changed Kitty completely. Still, it seemed her sister was benefiting more from her association with Miss de Bourgh than Elizabeth ever would have expected. If for no other reason than to thank her for her influence on Kitty, Elizabeth supposed she could stay a bit longer and make a few more decisions about servants.

  Chapter Eleven

  Darcy strode into the library, leaving the door open to safeguard Elizabeth’s reputation, though he couldn’t say the thought of closeting them in didn’t pass through his mind. She looked up at him and smiled and he reminded himself that her smile meant nothing, weary with the reiteration of that internal mantra. She sat before a table, surprising him with the copious looking notes arranged in front of her. No wonder she proceeded with such efficiency.

  “I see you have come prepared,” he said, bowing before taking a seat across from her.

  “Preparedness, I believe, leads to more fruitful results.”

  “Undoubtedly,” he said. “What conclusions have your preparations led you to?” Aside from that you would be the perfect mistress of Pemberly? He frowned, trying to push that thought from his mind.

  “We have several issues to discuss,” Elizabeth said, looking down at her notes. “First, there is the disparity between the higher wage we’re paying the new servants and the lower one being given those who loyally remained.”

  “Paying all of the servants the new wage would be costly,” Darcy said, though he could see the fairness of it.

  “I believe Miss de Bourgh can afford it,” Elizabeth said, raising amused eyes from her pages.

  Darcy nodded. “She can.”

  “I also believe it would be only fair to make the raise in pay we’d be giving those who didn’t leave effective as of the day Miss de Bourgh took over the estate.”

  Darcy nodded again.

  “Good,” Elizabeth said. She set aside several sheets. He could see they contained the names of various servants. “Then there is the issue of those who have returned, seeking their old positions.”

  “Returned?” Darcy asked.

  “A few of those who left have returned, looking quite sheepish, I might add.”

  “And you believe we should hire them back?”

  “I do,” Elizabeth said.

  Darcy frowned. He wasn’t sure. They’d shown disloyalty.

  “Everyone was leaving,” she said. “For many, handing them a large sum of money is nearly like plying them with drink. It obviously went to their heads and they followed along with the rest. I wouldn’t punish them for a momentary lapse in judgement.”

  “I may.”

  “Then you and I differ on that,” she said, a challenging spark in her eyes. “We need experienced staff who know how to conduct themselves at Rosings. Those who wish to return represent the surest source of such men and women.”

  She was correct there. He noted that she’d left out that salient point until she’d engaged him in an argument. Had she done it in order to win? As much as he enjoyed debating her, there was little point in drawing out the issue now that he was in agreement with her. Still, the defectors should suffer some penalty. “They shall be under a year’s probation in which they can be let go without reason.”

  “Isn’t that the life of every servant?” she asked, amusement leaving her.

  “I suppose that depends on the household,” he said.

  “I take it, the
n, that is not how you conduct your estate?”

  “I would never cast someone out without reason, or without some means of ready currency to help them find their way.” His mind flashed to Wickham. He hadn’t even sent that reprobate away empty handed. If anyone deserved to be left desolate, George Wickham did.

  Perhaps Elizabeth’s mind traveled to a similar place, for she abruptly dropped her gaze to her papers once more. “I feel that those who have returned should receive the higher wage as well, but should only receive it from the day they are reinstated, not from the moment Miss de Bourgh became mistress.”

  “I would see them suffer a bit more for their foolish abandonment of their posts, but I will defer to you on this.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I believe it will be for the best, so that everyone can integrate peaceably. We don’t really want to employ people who harbor resentment.”

  “True.”

  “That brings us to the number of additional staff needed,” she said. “I don’t believe we should return Rosings to the level Lady Catherine kept it until Miss de Bourgh says that’s what she wants. Footmen are expensive.”

  “I believe Miss de Bourgh can afford it,” he said, tossing her earlier words back at her.

  “Because she can afford it, doesn’t mean she will want it.”

  “Not want it? Why wouldn’t she want to live in luxury?” Darcy asked. Was she arguing for the sake of it again, or could she possibly be serious?

  “Not everyone considers luxury that important,” she said. She flushed, perhaps realizing that her statement could be taken as reference to her refusing his proposal.

  “Most people do. Most people would sacrifice many non-material things for living in greater luxury,” he said. “You are the only exception I know.”

  Though he wished to say more, to expound on her virtues, that was the closest he dared come to mentioning his proposal. He took in the conflict on her face. Was she regretting her decision? Had living in Rosings, even in the state it was in, accustomed her to luxury? Was she about to say she’d changed her mind and would be happy to marry for money? If she did, would she still be the Elizabeth he loved? He leaned forward, both longing for and dreading the words.