“Was that good?” said Lydia acknowledging the general applause.
“Good?” said Mary, “why Lydia, it was a splendid catch.”
“Was it?” said Lydia in a bored tone, “well I’m very happy for him.”
Kent passed two hundred runs with eight wickets down. Only two wickets were needed now by Darcy’s team. And they duly came. Jonny Hammond took another, clean bowled. And then his brother took the last, with Mr Collins completing another catch, albeit a much easier one this time. Kent had managed to score two hundred and eighteen in all.
When the last wicket fell, the players began to walk to the pavilion.
“What happens now?” said Lydia.
“Well, I’m rather hoping that lunch does,” said Mrs Bennet.
At that moment servants brought out several trestle tables. They set them up near the group of spectators who had come from the surrounding villages. Then they brought out refreshments; large trays piled with victuals of all kinds and many pitchers filled with cool water and sweet tasting cordials. The spectators assembled themselves into an orderly queue and waited to be served.
“Are we expected to stand and wait in line with those…people?” said Mrs Bennet rudely and loud enough for many of ‘those people’ to hear.
Mr Darcy, together with Mr Bennet, Mr Bingley and Mr Collins wandered over to her little group.
“How are you enjoying it so far?” said Darcy.
“Very much,” said Lizzy.
“It’s most entertaining,” said Mary.
“Are we all having lunch together?” said Mrs Bennet.
“Not at all, Mrs Bennet,” said Darcy, “I have arranged for lunch to be provided in the pavilion. It’s big enough and has its own dining room. It means the ladies can eat with their spouses…”
Lydia gave him a dark look which he affected not to notice.
“…and you can meet the other players if you wish.”
“You mean mingle with those men from Kent?” said Mrs Bennet, trying to conceal her distaste and failing dismally.
“Of course. The teams always take lunch together.”
“Very well,” said the good lady. “When will lunch commence?”
“In around a quarter of an hour. The players need to change you see. You wouldn’t want to be on the company of twenty-two half-dressed men, would you?”
All the ladies blanched. All except Lydia who turned away and gave herself a secret little smile.
The three gentlemen chatted to the ladies for a few minutes.
“What did you think of my catch, my dear?” said Mr Collins.
“I thought it was excellent,” she said. “I’ve never been prouder of you.”
That’s not saying a great deal, thought Lizzy to herself, enjoying a moment of malicious wit.
“Well, you’ll be able to see us bat after lunch,” said Darcy.
“I’m rather looking forward to seeing you bat, Mr Bennet,” said his wife.
“Really? I’m rather hoping I won’t have to,” he said dubiously. “I mean, I’m hoping we will have overtaken their score before I am needed.”
“It’ll be tough,” said Charles. “It’s not a bad score you know. It will take some chasing.”
“Hopefully you’ll get us off to a good start, Charles,” said Darcy. “Charles is opening the batting together with one of the players they loaned us.”
“Yes, I’d better go and have lunch now, so I’ll have plenty of time to get my pads on,” he said.
“Perhaps we all should,” said Darcy. “If you ladies would like to retire to the pavilion in around fifteen minutes, then luncheon will be deserved directly. Come along, gentlemen.”
The men walked to the pavilion, Darcy, Charles the two Mr Hammonds, and Mr Collins bringing up the rear.
Mrs Bennet grumbled that she would have to wait for her lunch for fifteen minutes at least…
Chapter 8
Lunch was eaten on a long table. On one side sat the fifteen players from Kent. On the other sat Darcy’s team as well as the ladies.
By chance, Kitty was seated opposite the fast bowler. He was a burly, big limbed man who exhibited a fiery menace when playing cricket. Off the field however, he was surprisingly shy. He smiled at Kitty and tried to think of something witty and charming to say. Nothing came and he looked at her helplessly, his mouth open. Kitty was a shy girl herself, and also struggled to make agreeable conversation. She had little knowledge of cricket but did her best anyway.
“You bowl very fast, sir,” she said.
“You are most kind, Miss. My name is Mr Ward.”
“I am Miss Bennet. Catherine Bennet.”
“My speed appears to come naturally.”
“It seems you somewhat fierce when in the field. But here, at lunch, you are gentle indeed.”
“I find it assists me if I adopt a rather savage attitude. It makes me bowl faster. My mother was the same.”
“Your mother was a fast bowler?”
Mr Ward chuckled.
“Indeed no, Miss Bennet. I simply mean that my mother was a fierce lady in her dealings with the world. She found that it helped her when she was negotiating the price of a cow or trying to get the best rates for milk and eggs. She was an astute woman.”
“So, your family is of faming stock?”
“It used to be. But due to my mother’s astute nature, we are now owners of significant parcels of land. We receive most of our income from rents. In another few years I shall be a man of independent means. On a decent income to boot.”
“You should meet my mother, Mr Ward. I think she would like you.”
Further up the table, Darcy and Lizzy talked in their usual animated way. Any animosity arising from their misunderstanding concerning Mr Hammond and Mary had long since vanished and they enjoyed a very pleasant lunch, eating and drinking with genuine relish.
Mary and Mr Hammond, seated next to each other, also enjoyed their lunch. They barely ate, so engaged were they in conversation, talking with ease yet gravitas too. They talked about life in the urban bustle of London and about the deep stillness of life in the Hertfordshire countryside. Neither of them tried to trump the other and claim that their respective way of life was better. They simply agreed wordlessly that the country and the town were different. Nothing more, nothing less.
And they talked about the cricket match too. To his surprise, and hers, she appeared to have an interest in the game and asked him many questions.
“And what does LBW mean, Mr Hammond?” she said.
“It means leg before wicket. It is rather complicated and sometimes too much for a lady to understand.”
Mary smiled.
“How patronising of you, Mr Hammond.”
He returned her smile.
“I apologise, Miss Bennet. I had no intention of giving offence. Please forgive me.”
“Unreservedly, Mr Hammond,” she said graciously. “I understand it must be unusual for a lady to take an interest in sporting matters.”
They both laughed easily together.
Their comfortable manner together went unnoticed by everybody. Except for one person. A little further up the table, Mrs Bennet eyed them closely. She nudged Mr Bennet with her elbow and signalled with a small nod towards Mr Hammond and her daughter. Mr Bennet did not say anything, but he frowned slightly and gave his wife a look with his eyes, instructing her not to involve herself at this stage. Reluctantly, Mrs Bennet looked away and gave her attention to other matters.
“I must say, Mr Darcy,” she said, looking down the length of the long table, “this is an excellent lunch.”
“Thank you, mother in law.”
“When do we take tea?”
“There will be a brief tea around three thirty.”
“And dinner?”
“After the match. And then a brief ball, time permitting.”
Mrs Bennet returned to her meal. She looked up at Lydia, seated opposite. Lydia pouted and did not talk to anybody. Neverthe
less, she still ate lunch with gusto.
“Why, Lydia,” said Mrs Bennet, “your expression could curdle milk. What is the matter, child?”
“I still cannot understand why my George isn’t here with me.”
Mr Bennet looked at her and then shifted his gaze to Georgiana with such a significant look that Lydia could not help but follow. Georgiana sat happily talking to her brother and Lizzy, laughing at their shared jokes and witty conversation.
“Don’t you, Lydia?” said Mr Bennet. “Don’t you understand why Mr Wickham isn’t here today?”
Lydia looked at her father and was about to respond. Instead, she lowered her eyes and carried on eating.
There was a hubbub of chatter along the table as everybody mingled and talked about many diverse topics, from the health of the king to the fortunes of English forces on the Peninsular, from trade in the Americas to the expansion of mercantilism throughout The Empire, from the latest novels published in London to the excellence of the weather. Above it all though, one voice could be clearly made out as Mr Collins yet again described his catch to anybody who would listen.
As lunch came to an end, Darcy stood up. He held up his hands for quiet.
“Would the ladies now return to their places near the boundary. The game will recommence in ten minutes and the players must now return to the dressing rooms to prepare for the second innings.”
The ladies stood and filed out of the room and left the pavilion. They walked across the fragrant fields and took their places again. The players and umpires went to the dressing rooms to make final preparations and emerged into the sun a few minutes later to applause from all the spectators who settled themselves to watch the second half of the match. It was intriguingly poised now, with Darcy’s team requiring a small matter of two hundred and nineteen runs to win.
Chapter 9
The fielding side came out first, closely followed by the two umpires, to a smattering of applause. A minute or so later the two opening batsmen emerged and strode purposefully to the wicket and this time the applause was louder and more sustained.
The opening batsmen were Charles Bingley, wearing an elegant cream straw hat of the Panama variety. The other was Mr Richardson, on loan from Kent, in a white, wide brimmed boater.
Mr Richardson took the first delivery from Kent’s left arm medium pacer. He played it easily enough to the left of mid-off and they ran through for a comfortable single. This brought Mr Bingley on strike. He gave his bat a little twiddle and tapped it a little nervously against his boot as the bowler ran in. It was a good delivery on off stump, but Mr Bingley was equal to it and played it straight down the pitch. It was a good stroke but brought him no run. Jane applauded him and he looked over and gave her a little wave with his bat.
His next stroke was better still. A short ball, pitched outside off stump which he cut away square of the wicket. The ball hit the picket fence for four runs, signalled with enthusiasm by Uncle Gardiner. This time it wasn’t just Jane who applauded, but all the spectators, graciously acknowledged by Mr Bingley with a little tip of his hat.
The openers batted well together. Pretty soon they had scored fifty runs together. They shook hands in the middle of the pitch as the Kent team clapped briefly in acknowledgement.
“I must say,” said Darcy, watching through the large, glassless window in the pavilion, “this is going rather well. It’s been a good opening stand so far. If Charles and Mr Richardson carry on in this vein, we may just have the match won before tea,”
He turned to his father in law.
“It appears you may not have to bat after all, Mr Bennet.”
Mr Bennet grinned at him with some relief. Darcy glanced out of the window again.
“I may have spoken too soon. Mr Richardson is out. Caught behind.”
Mr Richardson trudged from the field to polite applause. He was replaced by Mr Hendren, another Kent player on loan, who walked out quickly and confidently. He returned almost at once, slowly and sheepishly, having been bowled out first ball by a wicked delivery from the left arm medium pacer.
As the next man in, Darcy hurriedly finished putting on his pads and protective gloves.
“Wish me luck, Mr Bennet,” he said as he walked down the steps, towards the wicket.
“Good luck, my boy,” Mr Bennet called after him. He meant it too, for he knew that the longer Darcy batted, the less likely it was that he would have to go out and face the bowlers himself. Still, he consoled himself with the thought that Mr Hammond and his brother were excellent players.
Darcy joined Mr Bingley at the wicket. They spoke briefly and Darcy took his stance. He stood upright at the crease and played his first ball defensively with a firm press of the bat.
He and Mr Bingley defended stoutly at first. Runs were hard to come by and it was as though the bowlers had them trapped in a metaphorical vice, each ball difficult to score off and the fielders very quick and eager. However, they were determined not to give away their wickets. They managed to escape the net and score a handful of exciting runs here and there, but their progress was slow. The score crept up slowly. Past sixty, then seventy, then eighty. Things became a little easier and Mr Bingley and Darcy began to score more freely. A single here, a quickly run two there, interspersed with the occasional boundary. Before long the score had reached one hundred.
Darcey and Bingley continued, grimly grinding out the innings, creeping towards the Kent total, a run at a time. With a delicate cut shot for two, Mr Bingley reached his fifty. Darcy shook his hand and patted him on the back. They realised that they had an excellent chance of winning the game.
Then came the inevitable collapse. Mr Bingley was run out in unfortunate circumstances. Darcy played a shot to square leg. The fielder went to field but fumbled the ball. Darcy and Bingley thought there was ample time to run a quick single, but the fielder recovered quickly and threw in a fast return which hit the stumps directly and ran out Bingley by a couple of inches. There was an audible groan of disappointment from the spectators.
Bingley took of his hat and returned to the pavilion.
“Bad luck, old man,” said Darcy as he passed. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault, Fitzwilliam. Now, see it through to the end.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He was still quietly optimistic. His team only needed another sixty odd runs and had only lost three wickets. But, due to poor shots, good bowling and a little ill luck, wickets fell in quick succession. Five wickets had fallen now and the target of two hundred and eighteen seemed distant indeed. It would need a good batsman who could stay with Darcy who was comfortable at the wicket.
The spectators watched eagerly to see who was next to emerge from the pavilion. They applauded warmly as Jonny Hammond walked to the crease. There were murmurs of surprise which quickly turned to laughter. Jonny was carrying a bat of enormous width. Where Darcy’s bat was four and a half inches wide, Jonny’s bat was over a foot wide and covered the stumps completely, ensuring that he could not be bowled out.
He paused to talk for a moment to Darcy.
“Well, Fitzwilliam, cometh the hour, cometh the man.”
“But, Jonny, you can’t use that bat. It’s against the rules, surely.”
Jonny winked at him and proceeded to take guard, the stumps entirely covered by the huge bat.
Uncle Gardiner stepped forward.
“Now, young man,” he said, “it seems there is nothing in the rules about the width of one’s bat. However, I think it is against the spirit of the game, especially on a day like this.”
Darcy noticed that none of the Kent players had objected to Jonny’s bat. He suspected something was amiss. The Kent bowler walked back to his mark and began his run up to the wicket. As he was about to release the ball, he stopped. He and the other fielders started to laugh. Jonny laughed too and that’s when Darcy knew. Jonny raised his hand and grinned at Darcy and Uncle Gardiner.
“My apologies, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s j
ust a jest some of the fellows from Kent cooked up. Look, William has my bat.”
They looked over and saw William walk towards his brother. He took the wide bat from Jonny and handed him his usual, four and a half inch wide, bat. Darcy and Uncle Gardiner were laughing too now. Once it had subsided the game resumed.
Jonny was in excellent form and struck his first ball for an exquisite four through mid on. He quickly reached double figures. However, Darcy then lost his wicket to an excellent delivery which would have accounted for even the best of the Kent batsmen. Two more wickets fell, one after the other as the Kent bowlers increased their speed and accuracy. Darcy’s team had only two wickets remaining now.
The next man in was Mr Collins. However, he was unable to fasten his pads properly, so Mr Bennet took his place. He walked to the wicket nervously. He spoke to Jonny at some length, asking his advice and trying to agree the best way to reach the Kent total.
“Now, I’m seeing the ball pretty well at the moment, and I know you’re nervous” said Jonny. “I’ll take most of the strike. We only need another thirty runs, so I’ll try and get most of the runs. You just try to defend your wicket and don’t get out.”
“I’ll do my best, Mr Hammond.”
“Don’t worry, Mr Bennet” said Jonny with a grin, “you’ll be fine. Keep your bat and pad close together, keep your eye on the ball, keep it simple, and remember; it’s only a game.”
Mr Bennet nervously prepared to face his first ball. He tried to focus and not back away from the ball. It was a good ball too, fast and hostile. Mr Bennet got behind it and played it straight with a copybook defensive stroke. He was relieved and rather pleased with himself. He was actually looking forward to the next ball.
“That’s tea,” said Uncle Gardiner, and he lifted the bails from the stumps.
“Tea?” protested Mr Bennet. “But I’ve only just come in.”
“Sorry, Mr Bennet, but I’m just following the regulations. Anyway, I could do with some tea and a slice of cake.”
Darcy's Match Page 6