by Nicky Roth
But really, it was all a bit too much, wasn't it? From her mother's reaction this morning it was pretty clear that she never helped around the farm, and as yet he had not heard or seen any of the younger sisters do so either. And then there was Sunday night when Mrs Bennet had left it to Elizabeth to organise dinner for the family when absolutely nothing was in the house except for broccoli.
Was it just him, or did Lizzy really have to carry most of the burden all by herself? After all, Jane was only here on holiday and would be gone within a couple of days to leave her next younger sister to fend for herself again.
Slowly but surely his mood became increasingly grumpy, and yet, what right did he have to scoop Elizabeth up in his arms and tuck her into bed as he wished to do? Preferable snuggling up beside her to hold her close for a while.
When, after some tumult in the entrance hall, Elizabeth got up tiredly to put on the kettle, and then both her younger sisters trudged into the kitchen in their jammies, looking fresh and well rested after not going to school as they ought, asking for their breakfast before slumping down at the table likewise, immediately starting to join the conversation of the two ladies, he had enough.
Chapter 19:
No gluebulls!
'Really, how spoilt can one be?' Darcy spat out incredulously, making Elizabeth almost jump at the intensity of his words that, truth be told, pretty much matched her own thoughts.
Honestly, she was seething, too. How dare Lydia trudge into the kitchen like that slumping down in her chair demanding breakfast as if she as her older sister was nothing but a scullery maid?
Kitty was slightly better, for at least she had gone to help herself to some cereal and milk, but it was no secret, that Lydia didn't like plain cornflakes and the ones she actually liked were three times as expensive, while the packet was only about half the size of the plain ones. Seriously, Elizabeth had seen no reason to buy them when she was last shopping. Thank goodness Lydia had not paid much attention then, or another tantrum would have followed... - By the way, why were her sisters here anyway?
She apparently wasn't the only person wondering about it for as soon as she had finished her thought, Darcy asked in an irritated voice: 'And should you not be at school anyway?'
Lydia answered promptly and not without a certain smugness: 'Oh, but we were so incredibly tired after last night's outing that we just couldn't get up. You know, our mother almost got molested by a sex offender. So we first had to call the police and by the time they had finally arrived and taken our statements, it had gotten pretty late. And can you believe it, they didn't even take us seriously!'
Really? One dare wonder why...
'And besides, it's none of your business!' Lydia carried on, glaring at Darcy with some defiance, while the complacency about breaking the news about their mother's supposed peril never quite left her face.
Not that Elizabeth paid much heed to it anyway, since her mother was in the habit of slightly exaggerating even the commonest of things. A petulant bee easily turned into a flying, death bringing monster, a sprained ankle into a life-threatening injury that at best had to be amputated to ward of any potential infection, and only a couple of weeks ago her mother had caused a major police operation, when, while playing hide and seek, Henry Jonson, Sam's son, couldn't find his twin sister Cathy and had asked her mother whether he had seen her, as any child would. Excitedly, Mrs Bennet's mind had immediately jumped to the girl being abducted, even though the boy had actually mentioned why he was searching for her in the first place.
So, yeah, in all likeliness the man she'd seen last night had done nothing but left his zip open without realising it. The cucumber had left the salad, so to say...
Or perhaps, at most, the poor sod had relieved himself in the bushes behind the van, who knew?
Though in some way, Lydia was right, of course, it was none of Darcy's business. Seriously, this spelt trouble. Neither her mother or sisters took well to any kind of criticism and truth be told, as deserved as it probably was, it was kind of embarrassing that a complete stranger would point out all her closest relatives' faults with such uncanny accuracy. She could literally see Lydia grew more and more deaf to what was being said while her mother flared up with indignation.
Darcy, however, seemed completely oblivious of the dark clouds gathering over his head ready to turn into a massive thunderstorm.
'You are really the most spoilt brat I have ever come across, Miss Lydia,' he, in his usual blunt and sometimes abrasive manner, carried on in a way that made Elizabeth feel even more uncomfortable and anxious.
Not, as said, that it really bothered Lydia at all.
Whenever something was said she did not like, she turned into the human version of a padded cell, meaning the harder one threw oneself against the wall, the further one got propelled from it, while said wall looked annoyingly unconcerned. In short, just like Lydia right now, while their mother was fuming, and it was easy to anticipate that any moment now, smoke would escape from her ears.
Trying to think of something to say in order to save the situation from escalating Elizabeth's mind was going almost into overdrive but stayed worryingly blank as her brain worked incredibly slow today. She could not quite finish her thought, not that she had gotten very far anyway, when her mother interrupted it with her usual subtle voice, at this point reaching almost the bone-piercing shrillness of a dentist's drill.
'Excuse me, Mr Darcy, how dare you scold my poor Lydia so? Can you not see that she's exhausted?' Mrs Bennet exclaimed loudly as if the one who spoke the loudest would win the fight.
Okay, with her father and his natural indolence that was actually a good way to go, but as yet, her mother had not realised that, under normal circumstances, in situations such as these, for example, retreating was actually the wiser decision to make instead to nag on and on without aim and purpose. And most and for all, without a good argument to back one up.
Right, even using the word “wise” in potential reference to her mother was something of a stretch. In short, it ought not to be attempted... - At least not without the danger of blowing apart one's brain in the process.
Darcy's voice, to the contrary, had gone down to an almost whisper, though she was sure that he was just as well heard as her mother had when he answered: 'Exhausted? Exhausted! Really, you speak of your youngest daughter as if she's the one working her butt off and here is Elizabeth clearly unwell and you don't give bloody five straws!'
Oops, she had not seen that coming. It was almost cute. As if he cared about her when surely he was only annoyed with Kitty and mainly Lydia and their mother for whatever reason actually escaped her. Ass said, it wasn't his business.
Besides, yeah, true, she did feel terrible but was it really that obvious?
If only her fucking brain wasn't so befuddled from the medication she'd taken earlier, okay, and from her stupid cold which had led to former measure in the first place, she might be able to discern why suddenly everything had gone so tits up in a matter of mere minutes, but alas, it was befuddled and it got increasingly worse if she were honest and consequently she started to not give a toss at all. At any rate, it was high time somebody told Lydia off and since it was an unpleasant task at best, Mr Darcy was readily welcome to do so...
She felt so incredibly tired her head started spinning.
'Lizzy is old enough to know when she should rest or not and since she is still here, that is that,' Mrs Bennet snapped back, crossing her arms in front of her bosom defensively. 'That cannot be said of either of my youngest, they have not our sense yet.'
Sure, she'd almost forgotten that Lydia was a fifteen-year-old toddler. The only thing that was missing to complete the picture was a dummy in her sister's mouth and a bib around her neck. Though actually, she was dummy enough herself to make the former unnecessary. Terrible two's my arse!
And wait, what? Did her mother just basically say that Kitty and Lydia could not be trusted with even such a simple thing as knowing when they
actually felt ill? Or when they should go to bed? Right, that really explained why she'd let them go out on a school night.
'You are kidding, surely?' Darcy asked, incredulously looking from one to the other until his eyes fixed on the back door, and as she followed his gaze she became aware that Jen Lucas had left the stage voluntarily and had slipped out of the kitchen just now. 'But as long as it is convenient for you and your youngest daughters why give a damn, right?'
Oops again. Elizabeth, turned around, looking just as shocked at him as the rest of the people still assembled. But her actions had been a bit too hasty for her dizzy head and the only thing that kept her from toppling over were Darcy's arms as he quickly caught her.
Shit, why did he always have to be right?
She felt horrible. Her sisters were selfish brats. Lydia in particular and her mother was so self-absorbed in her own reality, that she would hardly have registered a shower of bricks raining down on her if it didn't suit her.
'Now, does that convince you that she is ill?' Darcy thundered, picking her up daintily as if she weighed nothing and carried her out of the room and towards the stairs.
It felt oddly comforting to be held by him, Elizabeth mused for one little moment, only faintly hearing her mother as she seemingly panicked, screeching: 'Oh my God, is she dead?'
'No, she's not, she's only feverish, in case you've failed to notice. Feverish and completely exhausted from this morning's mishap,' Darcy replied with a raised voice so that it could still be heard in the kitchen as he ascended the staircase already.
'Which one is your room, Lizzy?' he asked gently as he had reached the top.
'Second door on the left,' she mumbled, almost falling asleep already.
'Good. Will you be alright changing into your pyjamas by yourself or shall I go and get Jane?'
'I could help,' Kitty piped up behind them, her voice sounding shaky.
'That would be great. Thank you.'
Putting her down on her bed, he immediately left the room again and Kitty began to help her undress. A moment later, the door flung open again, just as Kitty had taken off her sister's shirt and bra, revealing a furiously blushing Mr Darcy who was unceremoniously pushed back into the room for whatever reason, as her mother wailed about calling the doctor, or rather the undertaker, by the sound of it.
'I'm fine, mum. I just have a bloody cold, nothing more. You know, people don't die of trifling little colds.'
'That is what Mrs Jasper said and then she never woke up again.'
'Mrs Jasper was ninety-eight, mama.'
'Yes, but she was otherwise perfectly healthy. Had she called for a proper doctor instead of going to this quack Mr Thornton, she could have lived several more years.'
'Mum, Mr Thornton is a proper doctor with an additional education in alternative medicine...'
'Codswallop! All this newfangled stuff with herbs and old household remedies and what are these things called, the little round ones? Gluebulls?'
'Globules,' Darcy offered, determinedly staring down at his feet as Kitty completely undeterred now struggled to pull Elizabeth's denim from her legs.
It would have helped had she opened the button and zip, but it was hard to get a word in edgewise as her mother had just started on a rant about alternative medicine, the critique Mr Darcy had dished out only moments before completely forgotten. No surprise there. Such unpleasant things never stuck with her.
'Yes, yes, those are the things I mean. Exactly! I mean, how is one supposed to know what they put in there? It might just as well be drugs, for all we know. And then these herbal teas... - Oh, don't get me started on them! Thyme, caraway, ginger, sage and coughwort. I mean, that even sounds unhealthy, and then cold compresses. Cold compresses! I once almost broke my hand and Dr Jones was on holiday and so I had to go to him and Mr Thornton had the audacity to recommend nothing but cold compresses! Said it was merely a sprain and once the swelling was gone, it would be alright. Alright my arse, I tell you! Needless to say, it didn't work at all.'
Yep, it didn't indeed, for her mother had kept the cold compress on her hand a total of half a minute before deciding that she'd better go to the hospital and had quickly called an ambulance. What she forgot to mention now was, that the doctors at the hospital had given her an ice pack and some ibuprofen and had sent her on her way again. But, of course, an ice pack was so much more effective than a couple of crushed ice cubes stuffed into a zip-lock bag with a kitchen towel wrapped around it... Okay, it stayed cool for a bit longer, but it also needed an hour to cool down again, while, since it had been the middle of summer, ice cubes were on ready supply. If only they were not so totally ineffective... Sigh!
'And then a couple of days later, Kitty was stung by a wasp and we had to go to Mr Thornton again and what do you think he did? He went to some weird looking plant, cut off a piece and smeared the juice onto the badly inflamed sting! And then said, that should it start to play up again, we should cut an onion in half and rub its juice on there and that there was no need to take further action as poor Kitty clearly wasn't allergic to wasp stings. It was unbelievable!'
'Then perhaps you should go and call Dr Jones?' Darcy, at last, managed to interject, courtesy to her mother having spoken so much and so rapidly that she desperately needed to take a breath lest she'd pass out.
'Yes, yes, I will do just that.'
Kitty, in the meanwhile, had managed to pull her denim from her legs without opening the bloody button, and not just that, but her knickers were now caught around her ankles. Dying suddenly seemed like a very good option for even her fever could not conquer the mortification Elizabeth felt right at this moment, at flashing pretty much everything right in front of a stranger. Though with some relief she quickly realised, that Mr Darcy once again had left the room and had quietly closed the door behind him without her realising, so quickly was he gone.
Still, even when helping, on occasion her two youngest sisters made her want to throttle them. Did they just never use their stupid brains? Okay, apparently not. And it had been a rhetorical question at any rate, as slowly but surely Elizabeth drifted off to sleep at last. Glorious knockout! Unconsciousness at last!
Chapter 20:
Prickly little bastards
Okay, it was not as if it was any of his business, but if it meant Elizabeth could recover in peace, he would do what it took to keep the farm running in the meantime. And it was also not, as if he really needed to be back home in Derbyshire within the next couple of days. After all, Mrs Younge knew what she was doing and now that the harvest was over aside from a little ploughing and getting everything ready for the next season, that was that. Besides, she had enough staff to give her a hand. No worries there.
Here at Longbourn on the other hand, there was no capable steward such as Mrs Younge, and no-one like her husband to keep the machines and premises in order.
On the other hand, yeah, it still wasn't his bloody business... Darcy had gone through that a couple of times already now as he sat on the gate of the very meadow onto which he had ushered the cows earlier today, an imaginary little devil sitting on his left shoulder and a little angel on his right both quarrelling like an old married couple, and all because of the blasted question whether or not it was a good idea to help around Longbourn House Farm or not.
Right, what spoke against it, aside from that it wasn't his frickin' business?
Immediately the horned and goat-footed fellow to his left piped up: “Mrs Bennet, Lydia and Kitty...” - Well, what was there to deny? That indeed was a very good reason to fuck off and leave them to deal with it on their own.
“But,” the winged goody-two-shoes interjected, tapping on his right shoulder to gain all of his attention, “if you don't help it will not be them who suffer, but Lizzy, Jane and the poor animals...”
“Yeah, but what's in it for us?” Mini-Mephistopheles shrugged his shoulders in an innocent gesture.
“It's not always for what we get, but for what is the right thing t
o do...” the haloed nuisance countered, wagging her finger accusingly.
Okay, she was right. Technically.
But there were still Mrs Bennet, Lydia and Kitty... - And it still wasn't his sodding business.
“But just think of how relieved and happy Elizabeth will be,” Angie continued. “Just think of how thankful she'll be and how her eyes will be sparkling...”
“… while she's looking up at you giving you a nice quick blow job...” the trident-wielding spawn of hell grinned insinuatingly before poking his pitchfork into Darcy's shoulder.
Okay, that was the point, where he better stopped thinking and started working. Gods, he was going crazy!
But when Mrs Bennet had dragged him back into Elizabeth's bedroom, while Kitty unconcernedly continued to undress her sister, he had to admit that his thoughts had slightly strayed, or more accurately, his brain had re-located to below his waistline. And then suddenly, Elizabeth had lain completely naked on her bed in all her glory. Shit, the girl was just gorgeous!
Right, where was he? Ah, yeah, get going and muck around the farm a bit.
Sliding off the gate he remembered that as yet he'd had no time going to the doctor to remove the thorns in his badly bruised musculus gluteus maximus. Perhaps he was lucky and Dr Jones was still in the house. Yep, indeed he was. Though it posed the tricky question of how he was to mention his plight while the man was standing surrounded by Jane, Bingley and Mrs Bennet, all looking concerned.
Good grief, how seriously ill was Lizzy?
It took only a couple of words for him to realise that while Jane was also concerned about her sister, it was more the general situation of it all that had her look so worried, while Bingley was simply his usual compassionate self and it was only Mrs Bennet who seemed inconsolable at her daughter's indisposition and even more with what that meant for her...