The Phantom of Pemberley

by Regina Jeffers

  Mr. Worth respectfully accompanied the two older women. He found Mrs. Jenkinson charming, for although the woman had earlier declared herself too old to participate in the winter fun, she embraced the experience with an unexpected enthusiasm: She shrieked and giggled like a girl enjoying her first outing. Mrs.Williams, obviously more frightened than Mrs. Jenkinson, closed her eyes tightly and said a prayer as the sled hurtled toward the flat land.

  Darcy placed Elizabeth in front of him, spooning her body with his and allowing her to help him steer the sled. He nuzzled her neck while he pulled the ropes to turn the sled as it zoomed to the bottom of the hill. Elizabeth screeched her delight, leaning into him and plastering her back to his chest. “That was magnificent, Fitzwilliam!” she squealed as she scrambled to her feet.

  He brushed the snow from her. “Indeed, it was.” He caught her hand to lead her to the top of the slope again. “Are you ready, Cousin?” he asked as he set the sled for his next descent.

  “I have not done anything like this since we were children, Fitzwilliam,” she confessed.

  “It is time you lived again, Anne.”

  She hesitated for only a moment and then seated herself behind him on the slick wood. “I am ready, Fitzwilliam, to be that girl again.”

  “Then hold tight, Cousin. I mean to give you the ride of your life.” The footman gave the sled a mighty shove, and they were off, the trees a blur as they sped by them. Darcy listened for Anne’s scream, but it never came. Instead, she sang a note of joy—laughter exploding from her. He found that he liked the sound. If Lieutenant Harwood had given Anne the courage to laugh again, the man had earned a measure of Darcy’s respect.

  When he helped her from the snow bank, along which they had skidded to a stop, Darcy leaned down to tell her,“You should laugh more, Cousin:You are beautiful when you do.”

  “Thank you, Fitzwilliam. Today, surprisingly, I feel beautiful.”

  Once, two sleds raced to the bottom. Darcy and Elizabeth won, just barely edging out the viscount and Georgiana. “That was so close,” Stafford asserted. “If it had been my servants helping to shove off instead of yours, Darcy, I believe the results might have been different.”

  Darcy laughed heartily. “Maybe so, Stafford—maybe so.”

  As the men returned to the hill, Elizabeth and Georgiana waited for Mrs.Williams and Mr.Worth to reach them.“Is this not great fun?” Elizabeth called as Worth helped the widow to dismount the wooden sled.

  “Great fun!” he yelled back genially.“It has been too long since I have done anything so impetuous.”

  Mrs.Williams motioned him on.“I wish to speak to Mrs. Darcy a moment.”

  Worth turned to the hill and the climb once more.

  “Mrs. Darcy,” the woman said as she caught Elizabeth’s arm. “I have a problem.” She glanced around to assure their privacy. “My petticoat, ma’am.The bottom of it has come loose. I caught it on the runner’s edge. I cannot go about with a lace ruffle hanging below my skirt. Do you have a suggestion? Should I return to the house?”

  Elizabeth glanced down at the offending garment.“Is it just the lace ruffle?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Can you simply pull it free?

  “I do not see why not.”

  “Then how about the storage shed? No one will notice, and you can slip in there and free the ruffle before it becomes entirely unraveled.”

  “I would be mortified if that happened.”

  Elizabeth motioned to Georgiana to precede her on the climb. “Do you need my assistance?”

  The woman glanced toward the small outbuilding. “As long as the door is unlocked, I can manage. If you go with me, it will bring more notice. Just tell Mr. Worth that I needed to catch my breath for a moment; he will not worry so much then.”

  “I will do just that.”

  Thirty minutes later, they all gathered at the bottom of the slope, shivering, but none of them willing to give up the camaraderie. When Elizabeth scooped up a handful of snow and struck Darcy on the shoulder with it, a melee broke out. Soft snowballs struck them all as a mist of snow filled the air, a splatter of white on a brown and green background. “Enough!” Elizabeth ordered as Darcy picked her up by the waist, threatening to dump her in a snow bank.

  Deep baritone laughter and soft soprano giggles indicated everyone’s enjoyment. Lydia Wickham suggested a snowman. Again, teams formed, and they rolled small snowballs over and over, the frozen spheres collecting volume and becoming crude circular masses.

  Bases fully formed, the men sat about stacking the globes one on top of another, while the women began to search for branches and nuts to use for decoration.

  “Mildred, what are you doing?” Anne said as she came sauntering over.

  After breaking an icicle from an overhead branch, the older woman began to suck on the frozen stick.“Have you never enjoyed an ice treat, Miss Anne?”

  “Of course, she has,” Darcy called as he straightened from lifting the mass to the second level. “Only my cousin prefers her icicles flavored.”

  Georgiana bubbled, “I love flavored ice, too. May we add some flavors, Fitzwilliam?”

  Always one to indulge his sister, Darcy sent Lucas to ask Mrs. Jennings to send out some oils of cinnamon and clove and licorice. When the footman returned with the oils, he also brought a small bowl of crushed walnuts and some plum preserves and some loose sugar. Everyone gathered around the tray the man held, each with his own tasty icicle.

  “Try this.” Darcy placed two drops of licorice on Elizabeth’s frosty rod.

  She let the licorice roll down the short stick, turning it to leave a trail of intense flavor in the ice before placing the coldness to her tongue. “Mmm!” she said in approval.

  “This is delicious.” Mildred Jenkinson followed Anne’s lead and spread plum preserves on the side of her frosty rod.

  “I knew that you would love it,” Anne teased her companion.

  “Here are a few smaller ones,” Mrs. Williams handed out the ones she had gathered.

  “This one has sugar already on it.”

  “Yes, I thought to use the sugar, but I can fix another one.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Oh, my heavens, yes. One or two of these are more than enough for me,” the widow shared.“I prefer my treats warm, in fact.”

  “Hot tea sounds heavenly right now,” Lydia declared.

  Adam Lawrence slapped his hands to shake off the snow.“Let us finish this snowman and then get everyone inside.”

  With a renewed effort, the men lifted and supported the three stacking globes as Elizabeth, Anne, Lydia, and Georgiana smoothed and shaped their creation. However, Mrs.Williams helped Mrs. Jenkinson to indulge in one more frozen treat before Lucas returned the flavorings to the house.

  Georgiana found a branch with five pointed twigs to represent the snowman’s fingers. “I think I am as cold as you, sir,” she said to the snowman as she shoved the branch into the side of the middle ball.

  “Why do you not return to the house?” Darcy suggested.

  “No, I would like to stay, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered.“I want to be a part of the group.”

  He argued, “But you could ask Mrs. Jennings to prepare hot cider for everyone.” Elizabeth squeezed his hand in a tender warning to listen to his sister and not exert his will over her each time.

  Georgiana swallowed uncomfortably, her throat working up and down, but she stood her ground. “Please, Fitzwilliam. It is important to me.”

  Darcy bit back the words, trying to trust Elizabeth—they had on more than one occasion discussed his tendency to be overprotective of his sister. He had served as Georgiana’s guardian for the past seven years—after their father’s passing. He was as much father as brother. “Very well, my Dear,” he whispered softly.

  Lydia interrupted, “Well, I will ask Mrs. Jennings for the hot cider.” She made her way to the house.

  “What do you think?” Anne asked the group.They a
ll turned to look at their snowy embodiment of a man.

  “He looks formidable.” Mr. Worth shook the snow from his coat. A chorus of agreement followed.

  “I suggest we partake of hot cider.” Darcy ushered everyone toward the house.

  Anne caught Mildred around the waist.The woman still sucked on a flavored ice. “Thank you for coming out with me today. I felt young and hopeful. I know that sound ridiculous, but I have spent a lifetime nearly empty of feelings.This was all new to me.”

  “You, my Girl, must never return to being that person,” Mildred said. She spoke unusually candidly. “You are too precious to suffer so. It is not necessary for you to completely defy Her Ladyship, but do not let your mother define you. Be Anne de Bourgh in all her glory.”

  CHAPTER 7

  SHEDDING THEIR SNOW-COVERED outerwear in a small room off the kitchen, the group made their way to the blue drawing room. Mr. Baldwin had built a roaring fire in the hearth, and the cozy sitting room offered the warmth they all desperately sought.

  “Ah, this is perfect,” Mrs.Williams commented as she took one of the arranged cups of heated apple cider and headed for a chair near the fireplace.

  “Oh yes,” Lydia Wickham asserted, spreading her fingers around her cup of hot liquid.

  Each took comfort in the steaming brew. “This is excellent cider,” Mr.Worth declared.

  “You should send a cup up to Miss Donnel, Lord Stafford.”

  Adam ignored Mrs. Wickham’s suggestion, pretending not to hear her as he walked toward the bay windows.

  Anne laughed lightly. “The rest of us are devouring the spicy mixture, and Mildred still partakes of her icicle. Are you not cold, Mildred?” Everyone’s attention fell on the older woman.

  “It is cold,” she admitted, “but it is so refreshing.” The lady slid the last inch of the stick into her mouth.

  Mr. Worth came up behind Mrs. Jenkinson. “I think the lady very practical. She uses the ice to offset the heat of the cider she will soon drink.”

  Blowing on the cup she held to cool it down, Anne added,“My companion is a very practical woman.”

  “I bend to your wishes,” Mildred Jenkinson said and nodded her head in acknowledgment of their good-natured teasing. She reached for the tray’s last remaining cup, as did Elizabeth Darcy, who had just entered the room. She had given Mr. Baldwin orders regarding their guests’ cloaks, coats, and gloves. “Ah, Mrs. Darcy, please.” Mildred quickly withdrew her hand. “You must have the last cup.”

  “Nonsense, Mrs. Jenkinson.” Elizabeth gestured to the steaming mixture. “The cider is yours.You must take it—I insist.”

  The older woman hesitated. “But it is your home, ma’am.”

  Elizabeth knew how to put people at ease. “Please take it, Mrs. Jenkinson. If you do, I will have a legitimate excuse to send Mr. Baldwin for another cup of the hot chocolate that I so enjoy of late.”

  “If you are certain, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Mrs. Jenkinson appreciatively took the offering and swallowed a mouthful of the spicy drink.“I have never tasted better cider,” she commented before taking another large sip.

  “I told you the ice would increase your tolerance of the heat,” Worth announced.

  Mrs. Jenkinson laughed at herself. “I suppose you correct, Mr. Worth.” She took a third sip and struck up a conversation with that gentleman about the many places she had visited with her late husband.

  The exuberance of the party waned as the warmth of the room seeped into their bones.

  “I believe I shall freshen up,” Mrs.Williams announced to those who sat nearby.

  “That is an excellent idea,” Anne agreed. “Mildred, I am to our rooms.”

  The lady lightly touched Anne’s hand. “I will be there in a moment, my Dear. I want to finish telling Mr.Worth about the late Mr. Jenkinson’s love of Denmark.”

  “Take your time.” Anne squeezed the woman’s hand. “You so rarely have a chance to share your wonderful stories with someone other than me.”

  Adam returned his cup to the tray. “I shall check on Cathleen.” He bowed and quietly left the room.

  Within minutes, everyone had deserted the blue room for his or her own quarters. Everyone, that is, except Mrs. Jenkinson and Mr. Worth. The two seemed to have a real affinity for each other, and they chatted away in front of a full fire on that winter day.

  “Mr. Darcy.” Murray stopped him in the front foyer before Darcy climbed the stairs for the evening. “Might I speak to you, sir?”

  Darcy, weary from the day and from his constant worries, considered putting off the conversation until morning, but he indulged the man. “What may I do for you, Murray?”

  The footman motioned Darcy to a private corner.“I-I have,” he stammered. “That is to say, sir—”

  “Yes?” Darcy glanced toward the main stairs, needing to be with Elizabeth and a night’s peace.

  The footman swallowed hard. “Well, you see, sir…I thought of something earlier, and Mr. Baldwin says I should tell you.”

  Darcy’s full attention now rested on his servant. “Go on.”

  “I thought you should know, sir, that I have spoken to young Lawson on three different occasions about not fulfilling his duties.”

  “What do you mean, Murray?” Lawson was the one footman that Mrs. Jenkinson had not seen that day.

  “The boy disappears for long periods of time, sir.” Immediately, Darcy wondered if Lawson was the one he had seen in the east wing. “I have addressed him twice. Plus, a fortnight ago I caught him in the music room with Miss Darcy. It was one of the evenings that your sister came down to play after everyone else had retired. We were having trouble with the fireplace in there, so I waited until everyone was asleep to clean it out.”

  “Caught him in the music room with Miss Darcy?” Darcy’s rage rose quickly. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing untoward, sir. They sat together in the room on the music bench. I simply did not think it appropriate, sir.”

  Darcy would need to consult with Elizabeth. The last time he had confronted his sister regarding her speaking to a man while unchaperoned, he had done Georgiana more harm than good. His wife would know how to approach the subject without giving offense. “Would you tell Lawson I wish to speak to him before he goes off duty in the morning?”

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy.”

  “And, Murray, I do not want the boy to have access to my sister alone late at night again—maybe we should see about transferring him to Mr. Steventon now. I wanted to wait until he turned eighteen, but we should see to it sooner.”

  “I agree, Mr. Darcy.” Murray took the safety of the family personally. “I am sure that nothing happened, sir,” he added.

  Darcy glanced toward the stairs again. The phrase Georgiana, lovely Georgiana rang in his head. Could Lawson be Georgiana’s intruder? “Just let me speak to the boy first—I have some questions to which I require answers.”

  Murray nodded and bowed and departed. Slowly, Darcy trudged up the stairs. He hated the disorder surrounding him at the moment. Maybe Mr. Baldwin is right, he thought. Maybe a curse besets this household. No other explanation seemed as plausible.

  In the middle of the night, a light but persistent tapping brought Darcy to his wife’s bedchamber door. He almost expected to see Georgiana huddling in the dimly lit hallway—perhaps her night-mares had returned. Finding his cousin took him by surprise.

  “Anne,” he whispered, trying to let Elizabeth go back to sleep. “What is the matter?”

  Tears ran down his cousin’s cheeks. “Please come,” she pleaded. “It is Mildred. She is very ill. I cannot…I cannot lose her.”

  Darcy shoved the door open. “Let me—” he began, but then Elizabeth slipped his shirt into his hand. “Lead the way,” he indicated, pulling the shirt over his head as they hurried through the hallway.

  He heard Elizabeth behind them.When she turned toward the servants’ staircase, he intuitively knew that she
sought Mrs. Reynolds for medical help. He followed Anne to Mildred Jenkinson’s small room. The woman’s gaunt figure thrashed about in pain. Darcy rushed over to steady her, making sure that her violent movements did not cause her to fall from the raised mattress.

  “Light more candles, Anne,” he ordered as he touched the woman’s head, checking for a fever. “She is cool and damp to the touch. Bring a cloth and some water.” Darcy took the woman’s shoulders and repositioned her in bed.

  Mrs. Reynolds, followed by Elizabeth, rushed into the room. Both women were wearing muslin gowns and robes, with their hair in long braids down their backs. He often considered how his housekeeper had taken on the role of Elizabeth’s mother some time ago, but this picture solidified the image. Mrs. Reynolds pushed him out of the way so that she could examine the woman.“Tell me what you know of her illness,” she demanded. She touched Mrs. Jenkinson’s stomach, and the woman recoiled in pain. “She has a tenderness in her lower abdomen.”

  “Mildred ate so little at supper,” Anne barely whispered as she came to the bed’s end. She handed Darcy the water bowl and the cloth. “She said she did not feel well; we thought maybe she took an ague, being out in the cold so long today.” Elizabeth moved beside Anne, sliding an arm around the woman’s waist. “She took a tray in her room, saying she was chilled.” Anne caught the post for support, swaying in place.“Mildred never complains, so I knew that she was not well; I kept checking on her. She has been experiencing stomach pains for several hours. I came for you, Fitzwilliam, when she brought up her meal in the chamber pot I held for her.”

  Darcy moved to where he could see the pot. He knew from his parents’ final illnesses that the contents of one’s stomach give clues to the illness. The yellowish tint of the congealed liquid in the pot told him that his cousin’s companion suffered greatly. Mrs. Jenkinson’s body shook with pain. “If I did not know better,” Mrs. Reynolds spoke for Darcy’s ears alone, “I would suspect cholera. I saw cases of it when I was a mere child, and this woman shows all the signs.”