A Death at Rosings: A Pride & Prejudice Variation (7 page)

“Well, I shall miss you both,” Anne said, her voice weak.

“Thank you, Miss de Bourgh,” Mrs. Barclay said. “It’s been an honor serving you.”

Clutching her money to her chest, Mrs. Barclay curtsied. Mr. Greyson bowed. They both hurried from the room. Anne sat stiff backed on the settee, looking stunned. Darcy felt a bit dumbfounded himself. A glance askance at Elizabeth, beside him, showed a wry smile barely visible on her downturned face.

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth dressed for dinner with a trepidation that was all too soon to be vindicated. The meal, which was quite plain, was served by a young, frazzled looking kitchen maid, as all of the footmen had left. With each sign of the maid’s ineptitude, Anne’s face became more drawn. Mr. Darcy looked grim, and Mrs. Jenkinson worried. There was little in the way of conversation, though Elizabeth suspected they were all thinking similarly.

Elizabeth knew it was on her and Mrs. Jenkinson to provide conversation. Mrs. Jenkinson seemed content to dine in silence, however, and Elizabeth wondered if she was no longer being paid and therefore no longer taking her role as companion to heart. For her part, Elizabeth found her place across from Mr. Darcy too disconcerting to allow for casual conversation. She kept picturing the look of astonishment on his face when he’d opened the door and seen her in her nightgown. She liked to think there’d been appreciation there as well, but schooled herself against such whimsical, pointless vanity.

She maintained hope that he was too much of a gentleman to be perusing similar thoughts and kept her eyes away from his face, making it difficult to speak to him. The last thing she wanted was to look up and catch his eyes on her, that intent look in them that she’d glimpsed in the parlor earlier that day. Something about that look had brought a blush to her cheeks and stolen her breath. She wasn’t sure she cared for the sensation, especially not when it was caused by a man she was angry with for ruining Jane’s happiness and for regarding her and her family with such complete disdain.

When the maid had cleared away the last course, Elizabeth stood. “I’m going to the kitchen to assess the situation,” she said.

“Thank you,” Anne said in a small voice.

Elizabeth made her way to the kitchen, only taking one wrong turn in the process. If Rosings weren’t quite so large, she mused, it wouldn’t require such a massive staff. Not that there was anything to do about the size of the place. She smiled, picturing Anne’s face if she suggested they knock half the manor down. Her expression changed as the somber thought occurred to her that if they didn’t find more servants they might have to close off a number of rooms.

Entering the kitchen, she found the cook and two maids clearing up. One of the maids was the girl who’d served them. She gave a startled squeak when Elizabeth walked in. The other maid and the cook exchanged glances.

“Thought we’d do the clearing up one last time,” the cook said. She turned from the sink, wiping her hands on her apron. “I did the best I could with dinner, what with most everyone gone already.”

“Dinner was fine,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you for staying to prepare it.”

“I hoped to stay the night, truth to tell, miss,” the cook said. “It’s a twenty mile walk to my kin and I didn’t want to make it mostly in the dark. I plan to set out at daybreak.”

“Tomorrow morning?” Elizabeth asked.

“Aye, miss, and I won’t have time to be fixing no breakfast for anyone.” The cook’s face took on a mutinous cast. “I don’t work here now.”

Elizabeth nodded, smiling. She declined to point out that if the cook didn’t want to work for Anne, she shouldn’t expect a bed in Rosings that night. There was nothing to be gained by harassing the woman into preparing one more meal. They would have to learn to cope without her tomorrow, breakfast or not.

“I’m not very familiar with Kent,” Elizabeth said. “Will you be safe walking twenty miles alone? If you leave early enough, I’m sure you can make it before dark.”

“That’s why I mean to go at first light,” the cook said, relaxing at Elizabeth’s words. “We’ll be well enough. I’m taking Jenny here with me and two of the farmhands that have folks out that way are traveling with us too.” When she said Jenny, she gestured to the maid who hadn’t served them. “We plan to rest every hour and we’ll be bringing some bread. Sarah will be staying on with you, miss,” she added, nodding toward the girl who had served them.

“I’m glad to hear you’ll be safe,” Elizabeth said, not commenting that they had no more right to take bread than they had to expect accommodations for the night. “I know you’re busy clearing up, which is very kind of you, but would you mind giving me a few pointers for the morning? I don’t know where anything is. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I don’t even know how to light the stove.”

“I can show you where things are kept, miss,” the cook said. “Sarah will be able to light the stove for you in the morning, but I can’t tell you how to cook in an hour or two. The girls can finish clearing up.”

Elizabeth walked about the kitchen with the cook, who gave her the key to the spice cabinet and pointed out the range of earthenware jars where various staples were kept. She took Elizabeth to the cold room where a ham hung and showed her the array of cured meats and root vegetables there, the latter greatly diminished as they neared the harvest season. There were shelves of preserved and dried fruits, roots and vegetables, kegs of beer and bottles of wine, which came with a second key.

“How old is Sarah?” Elizabeth asked as the tour wound down. They were in a room off of the kitchen, inspecting shelves stocked with preserves. Some of the jars looked old enough that Elizabeth wasn’t sure the contents would still be edible.

“She’s almost fifteen,” the cook said. She gave Elizabeth a sympathetic look. “She’ll work hard for you, miss. I’m sure it will all come out right.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said.

She didn’t feel as optimistic as the cook sounded, but at least there was plenty of food. Now she needed to figure out how their stores would be turned into meals and served. She didn’t fancy eating age-old preserves out of jars with spoons, although picturing Anne, Mrs. Jenkinson and the aloof Mr. Darcy seated about Lady Catherine’s fancy dining table doing so restored her sense of humor.

“There are the animals as well, miss, to dine on, and chickens for eggs,” the cook said, pulling Elizabeth from her musings.

Elizabeth nodded, at least somewhat familiar with that aspect of farming. Though on a much smaller scale, she’d grown up in a similar circumstance to how Rosings was run. “So we’ll at least have fresh eggs in the morning,” she said.

“And the bacon,” the cook said. “Though you’ll need to butcher another hog before long.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Elizabeth said, vowing not to have anything to do with the actual butchering.

“Will that be all, then, miss?” the cook asked.

“Yes, thank you. You’ve been most instructive, and kind. Have a safe journey tomorrow.”

The cook nodded and headed back into the kitchen. Elizabeth followed her out of the storeroom and left her inspecting Sarah’s and Jenny’s work. She made her way to Anne’s favorite parlor, finding Mrs. Jenkinson and Anne both reading. Mr. Darcy stood at the window, a lean silhouette against the lowering sun. He leveled intent, serious eyes on her as she entered and Elizabeth had to fight down another blush.

“Well?” Anne asked, setting her book down. Elizabeth could see she was only a few pages into the volume and suspected Anne was too worried to read.

“The cook is leaving at first light. She has family about twenty miles from here and plans to walk. One of the maids is going with her as are two farm hands, so they will probably be safe. Only one kitchen maid will stay, but she’s about fifteen and not very experienced.”

“What do we do?” Anne asked, her eyes wide.

“Whatever we can. I would like to ask Mrs. Collins for help, if I may. She’s quite capable. Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, lifting her gaze back to him. “I have no idea of what must be done for the farm and with the animals. Do you?”

“I believe so,” he said turning fully from the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “Most important will be the daily care of the animals, which can’t be allowed to falter, but we’ll have a disaster if the crops aren’t planted. I’ll do what I can.”

“Miss de Bourgh,” Elizabeth said. “Does Mr. Darcy have your authority to hire people at more than the usual wage?”

Anne nodded, looking startled. Elizabeth wondered if she was surprised at the idea of paying more or at being asked. “Certainly.”

“I’m going over to the parsonage to speak to Mrs. Collins,” Elizabeth said. “We’ll need her help first thing tomorrow if we and the remaining servants want to eat breakfast.”

“I’ll send for the carriage,” Anne said.

“Who will you send?” Elizabeth asked with a slight smile. “I’ll walk. I’m in want of exercise.”

“Please allow me to escort you,” Mr. Darcy said. “It will be dark before you return.”

“Not if I leave promptly,” Elizabeth said. “The parsonage grounds border Lady Catherine’s and it’s only half a mile.”

He nodded, though he looked displeased. Elizabeth hurried from the room before anyone could object or see the color she could feel heating her cheeks. Did Mr. Darcy not realize he’d just suggested she walk alone with him, in the dark?

Chapter Eight

Elizabeth was pleased she woke quite early the following morning. She wanted to get down to the kitchen and see about breakfast before the rest of the household was up, although she was sure no one would expect the level of service they were accustomed to receiving at Rosings. She readied herself quickly, selecting her most worn gown as she didn’t know what tasks lay ahead of her, and made her way to the kitchen.

She found Sarah already up and in the process of preparing the kitchen fire. “Good morning, Sarah.”

“Good morning, miss,” the girl said, looking up from her task.

“Are you comfortable doing that?” Elizabeth asked, unsure if the cook’s assurance that Sarah could do so had been honest or meant to sooth.

“It’s my usual job, miss,” Sarah said. She straightened, using a towel to wipe soot off her hands.

“What can you cook?"

“Bread,” Sarah said. She looked about the kitchen, her face taking on the same frantic cast it held the evening before when she’d served dinner. “I usually make the bread. Cook has arthritis in her hands and she didn’t like to knead, so she taught me. Last night I boiled all the eggs and this morning I gave them out to those who lit out early, along with yesterday’s bread. Cook told me to do that.”

Elizabeth nodded, smiling to reassure the girl that she was doing well. She didn’t begrudge the former servants having the food for their journeys, even though she’d had some uncharitable thoughts the previous evening.

“There’ll be plenty more eggs for breakfast,” Sarah said hurriedly. She looked toward the door leading to the kitchen garden. “I just have to fetch them. I thought I’d start the water boiling for tea first, but I can get the eggs if you like.”

“I can fetch the eggs,” Elizabeth said. She crossed to the door where an empty basket rested. “I assume this is the basket?”

“Yes, miss.”

“You stay here and work on the bread, which I can’t do, and I’ll take care of collecting what the chickens have given us. Mrs. Collins will be coming here soon. Please follow her advice.”

“Yes, miss.”

Elizabeth took the basket and headed out into the fresh morning air. Even more so than the evening before, she was pleased to be out of doors. She hadn’t been at Rosings long, but she was feeling very stifled by the grand furnishings and plethora of ornate decorations. She was enjoying Anne’s company well enough, but wished Miss de Bourgh showed some slight inclination to walk outside. Of course knowing Anne, she would walk so slowly it would drive Elizabeth mad, so perhaps things were better the way they were.

Elizabeth’s long strides carried her across the grounds, past the kitchen garden and the stable, which were hidden from Rosings by a grove of fruit trees. She hadn’t been to the henhouse, but she had no trouble finding it. She could hear the chickens as soon as she stepped outside. She could also hear someone working in the stable as she passed. She wondered if it was someone who’d stayed or if Mr. Darcy had somehow already managed to recruit people.

The henhouse was a bit larger than she’d expected, but she supposed Rosings was a great deal larger than homes she was accustomed to. Inside was just as full of clucking and squabbling chickens as any other coup Elizabeth had been in, the sunlight streaming in the doorway illuminating air full of floating bits of straw, dust moats and downy feathers. Not that she’d had much occasion to spend time in chicken coups, though her first time in one sprang swiftly to mind.

She’d wanted to talk to Charlotte in private and had followed her into the Lucas’s coup to help her gather eggs. Elizabeth must have been about eleven at the time, making Charlotte eighteen. Elizabeth considered that the beginning of their friendship, their whispered words and shared giggles inside the chicken coup. It was odd, but she couldn’t remember what had seemed so important for her to talk to Charlotte about. She did remember Charlotte telling her not to say anything to Mrs. Bennet about gathering eggs, a task Elizabeth’s mother would consider beneath her.

As she stuck her hands under the chickens now, filling her basket, she was glad Charlotte had taught her to collect eggs that day. If only she’d paid more attention to Charlotte’s practical lessons, she wouldn’t feel so helpless in the kitchen. Fortunately, her friend was near enough to teach her now.

Elizabeth stepped out of the coup with a full basket, closing the door behind her. She frowned, considering her own thoughts. If Charlotte’s practical lessons were so useful, should Elizabeth revisit her friend’s most adamant one, that marriage was for pragmatic reasons, not sentimental ones?

Elizabeth shook her head, setting off across the grounds. What did it matter if Charlotte was right about that as well? It wasn’t as if anyone waited to propose to Elizabeth now, of practical worth or not.

Walking back toward the manor, Elizabeth realized she could see into the stable from the side the coup was on. For all the activity she’d heard on the way past before, there appeared to be only one man working. He was excessively tall and well built, with dark breeches and rolled up shirtsleeves. She wondered who he was, for he certainly didn’t look like a typical farm hand. He paused in his work, leaning on the pitchfork he was using, and glanced over his shoulder.

“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth exclaimed, shocked.

He turned to face her, moving the pitchfork to one hand so he could bow. “Miss Bennet. A pleasant morning to you.”

Elizabeth realized she’d stopped walking and hurriedly resumed, closing the distance between them. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her utter shock at his appearance. “Forgive me for not curtsying,” she said. “The basket makes it awkward.”

“Forgive me for my state of disarray,” he said.

He nodded toward the back of the barn and she realized his coat hung there, his cravat dangling from the collar. Her eyes dropped to the skin exposed at his neck and she quickly looked away. “I shouldn’t keep you from working,” she said, willing herself not to blush.

How he evoked such a rush of heat to her face she didn’t understand. No other man ever had. Not even Wickham, back when she’d thought she might possibly fall in love with him. She didn’t even care for Mr. Darcy, she reminded herself, though she did respect him. She also owed him an apology for misjudging him, but wasn’t sure how to begin it.

“I was looking for an excuse to stop working for a few moments and couldn’t have asked for a better one,” Mr. Darcy said.

Elizabeth looked up, surprised by what sounded almost like flattery. She scanned the yard, searching for something to say. “The farm workers can’t all have left. Is there no other to take on this task? Mucking out the stalls seems particularly onerous.”

He shrugged. “No, all of the workers haven’t left. Those who remain are far better than I am at various tasks that can’t be left undone. The only two who are as unskilled as I am are a ten-year-old boy and his grandfather. Tending the horses requires no special skill, only strength, which neither of them has in abundance.”

Unspoken was the fact that he was more than strong enough for the task. “Will you be able to hire people?” she asked, wondering why it felt as if there wasn’t quite enough air in her lungs for speaking.

“Yes, by paying double the usual wage,” he said.

“Double?” Elizabeth was shocked. She’d known he would need to pay above the normal wage, but double seemed extreme.

“It’s necessary. People are leaving farms for factories. Too many men are fighting Napoleon.”

“Too many or not enough?”

“You don’t agree we’re spread too thin?” Darcy said, smiling slightly. “It can be argued that we should give up some of our farther holdings and consolidate against Bonaparte.”

“It can also be argued that we should cultivate more allies,” Elizabeth said, playing the foil. “Why should England relinquish any more than she already has?”

“You’re an imperialist,” Darcy said.

“I am simply suggesting that England is strong,” Elizabeth replied. She turned her face more fully into the morning sun, returning his smile. It was invigorating to be out of doors and to be having a real discussion about a relevant topic, not stitching away in a stuffy parlor while debating which of Lady Catherine’s gowns were salvageable.

“England is strong,” Darcy agreed, looking down at her in that intent way of his. “As is Rosings, I hope. How is the household managing?”

“We won’t starve,” she said, displaying her basket of chicken eggs. “Though I doubt we’ll want eggs for every meal. I now wish I’d helped in the kitchen at home. I know nothing about what to do. I’m glad Mrs. Collins will be able to teach me.”

“You shouldn’t have to learn,” Darcy said. “I’m a bit surprised Mrs. Collins knows so much.”

“She has always been very dedicated to being useful,” Elizabeth said. In truth, Charlotte had worried she would never marry and thus have to stay to help her parents and then, hopefully, brother. “She won’t be able to help us every day, though. She has her own household. I will have to learn.”

“There are agencies in London where servants can be hired,” he said. He reached out, his fingers hovering over her hands where they held the basket. “These hands are for stitching and playing the pianoforte, not for turning red and callused with kitchen chores.”

“These hands have had more than their fill of stitching lately, thank you, and gathering eggs certainly won’t harm them. Not unless the hens take particular exception to me.”

“How could they possibly contrive that?” he asked.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, the feeling that she couldn’t quite breathe well enough returning. “We won’t have to find out if you can arrange for servants to be sent here from London,” she said. “What will it take?”

“Money,” he said, dropping his hand. “And Miss de Bourgh has plenty. I can have servants hired. I have an agent in London who can see to it. The most important thing is to handle the stock and get the planting done, and London servants won’t help with that.”

He looked over his shoulder at the stable and Elizabeth realized he was about to return to his task. She would miss her chance to apologize. She’d hoped for the conversation to somehow come around to it more smoothly, but she would have to do her best regardless.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said before he could take his leave. “I want to apologize for misjudging you so badly. I was a fool to believe Mr. Wickham.”

His face took on such a grim cast that she wished she hadn’t spoken. “Many others have been fooled by him, including my father.”

“The clues were there, if I’d only looked for them. Really, I feel a terrible fool and I treated you unjustly in that regard.”

“Only in that regard?” he said, his eyes narrowing. She opened her mouth to speak but he held up his hand, staying her. “No, you are correct. In some regards I am at fault. You have two apologies due from me,” he said. “The first is for my trying to enter your room when I returned to Rosings. In the past, I have had the use of that room.”

“That makes it perfectly understandable and it was clearly an accident,” Elizabeth said, unable to suppress a blush this time. “Your apology is accepted.”

“Thank you for understanding,” he said.

“I do, and I recommend we don’t speak of it again,” Elizabeth said. “What, may I ask, is the second apology for?” She could think of two grievances she harbored against him, not one.

“The second is for insulting your family when I proposed to you and in my letter. There was no need for that. I was unthinking when I proposed and bitter and angry when I wrote the letter.”

So he still felt no remorse for separating Jane from the man she loved. Elizabeth endeavored to be civil. He was apologizing, after all. “Your anger was understandable, since I was rude. The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself.”

He nodded, looking relieved. Elizabeth was pleased he’d thought to apologize for his insults, but in spite of her reply, she wasn’t completely satisfied on that score. He’d apologized for voicing his insults, but hadn’t said that he didn’t still believe them. Nor did he seem to care one whit about Bingley and Jane.

Nevertheless, she felt more sympathetic toward him than she ever had before. She supposed that seeing a different side of Mr. Darcy had something to do with it. She saw a man who was willing to shed his privileged identity when work needed to be done. Before this morning, she would never have imagined Mr. Darcy would condescend to work in a stable.

Once again, Elizabeth took in his state of half-dress, without his coat. His dark hair was in disarray and exertion had brought life to his visage. He was no longer cold, aloof and reserved, but rather vital and animated. She looked down at her own bedraggled appearance, acutely conscious of her flyaway hair, the basket she held between them and her utilitarian clothing.

Desirous of looking anywhere but back into Mr. Darcy’s intense gaze, Elizabeth scanned the roadway. It took her a moment to realize she saw a rider coming toward them. As he drew nearer, she recognized someone she’d seen in church. He was perhaps twenty-five and had fair hair and cheerful blue eyes. It soon became apparent that he was headed toward them. He brought his horse to a halt nearby and swung down from the saddle with practiced ease.

“Mr. Darcy,” he said, bowing.