A Death at Rosings: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  That would leave Jane home alone with their mother and father. Perhaps it would be soothing for the whole household. Hopefully it wouldn’t amount to torture for Jane, being the only available focus for their mother. If Elizabeth remained with Anne for a few months, she could always invite Jane next, assuming her hostess proved willing.

  The next day’s mail brought a letter from Elizabeth’s father. She, Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson were again seated in the parlor working on Anne’s wardrobe, though Elizabeth wished it otherwise. She was bored with sewing, never an invigorating task, and tired of being quiet and still. She longed for a brisk walk and fresh air, two things Anne never seemed to desire.

  There was also a letter for Colonel Fitzwilliam, but he and Mr. Darcy were out riding. Though not much of an equestrian, Elizabeth envied them the ability to go where they pleased and not be confined to be within walking distance. Setting aside her sewing, she opened the letter from her father. She had the fleeting, uncharitable hope that his permission wouldn’t be forthcoming.

  Dear Elizabeth,

  Though Jane is here, our home wants you to balance out the silliness that still remains. Unfortunately, it seems you are needed where you are. Stay for so long as you are pleased to stay and feel yourself required, but not a moment past.

  Your Loving Father

  “Is it from your father?” Anne asked as Elizabeth scanned the short message a second time. “What does he say?”

  “He says I may remain as long as I wish and am needed,” she said, trying to sound pleased. Seeing her father’s hand made her miss him and her home in a way that Jane’s agitating letter had not.

  “That’s wonderful news,” Anne said. “Mrs. Jenkinson, could you please ring for a servant and request my writing supplies be brought? I wish to write Mr. Bennet immediately to inquire about inviting Miss Kitty.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Jenkinson said.

  Though she gave no indication by tone or manner that she resented the request, it reminded Elizabeth of when Mrs. Jenkinson had insisted she was more of a servant there than a true companion. Once Mrs. Jenkinson left, which she likely would when Mrs. Allen arrived, would Elizabeth be thrust into a servant’s role? Elizabeth didn’t care for the notion of being treated as a servant by Anne, or anyone.

  Anne’s letter was written and sent off with a footman by the time Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy returned. The colonel accepted his correspondence and sank into a chair with a sigh, but Mr. Darcy strode across the room as if invigorated by hours in the saddle, rather than taxed. Though she tried not to, Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice how well he looked in his riding clothes, his eyes alive and his skin darkened slightly by the sun.

  “Blast it all,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

  Elizabeth wrenched her eyes from Mr. Darcy, turning to see Colonel Fitzwilliam surge to his feet. He strode across the room toward her, his expression grim. For an alarmed moment, Elizabeth wondered what she could possibly have done, but realized the colonel’s goal was Mr. Darcy, who’d somehow ended up standing before her. He turned now to his cousin.

  “Read this, Darcy.” Colonel Fitzwilliam thrust the letter at Mr. Darcy and started pacing the room, muttering curses under his breath.

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” Darcy said, looking up from the letter.

  “I shall have to depart at once, of course,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Anne asked, sounding alarmed.

  Mr. Darcy looked to the colonel.

  “It’s father,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “He was dashing about the house for some reason and took a tumble. They say his left arm is broken and he knocked his head. So far he’s alive, but they can’t get the old dog to wake up.”

  Mr. Darcy held out the letter. Colonel Fitzwilliam waved it off. He wheeled around, bowing in Anne’s general direction. “Ladies,” he said, hurrying from the room.

  Elizabeth could hear him calling for a fresh horse. Mr. Darcy turned back toward her, his expression worried. He sat in the chair beside hers and carefully folded the letter.

  “Oh my,” Anne said. “I hope Uncle Matlock will recover.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded, looking grim.

  Chapter Six

  Darcy woke with a heavy heart and dressed slowly, tired of donning unrelenting black. At his suggestion, they were holding the funeral that morning. None of the Fitzwilliams would be able to attend with the earl so unwell. There was no reason to delay any longer.

  As he stood before the mirror carefully tying his cravat, Darcy hoped his uncle would recover and he could soon put off his mourning clothes, as soon as it was decent for him to do so for his aunt. Although if his uncle died, it would not extend the period of mourning by much. Darcy wasn’t given to bleak or maudlin thoughts but his mother and father were already gone, and his Aunt Catherine and Uncle Lewis. It was too soon for Matlock to follow.

  He let his hands fall and studied his appearance, finding it satisfactory both to himself and propriety. Briefly, he allowed himself to picture Elizabeth at his side and it occurred to him that he was too tall. He’d never thought so before, being secretly pleased with his stature, but perhaps it was something she didn’t like about him. She would have to crane her neck to look up at him, after all, when she was standing close. Darcy shook his head, exerting all of his will to drive thoughts of Elizabeth from his mind and properly attend to the obligations of the morning.

  The funeral was a dreary affair, as was to be expected. He couldn’t help but wish to be riding instead. A man needed freedom and fresh air to clear his head and assuage his grief, though he knew he grieved more for the oftentimes cruelness that was life than for Lady Catherine herself.

  Later, his duties finally met, Darcy made his way to Anne’s favorite parlor to find her, Elizabeth and Mrs. Jenkinson sewing, as usual. What wasn’t usual was that the material they worked on was a stunning blue color, not black. He sank wearily into the chair nearest Elizabeth and asked, “Blue?”

  “For Elizabeth,” Anne said, looking up. Her eyes were sympathetic and he realized she must be aware he’d had a tiring day thus far. “She needn’t always wear black.”

  “It’s another of Lady Catherine’s dresses,” Elizabeth said. “Miss de Bourgh is very generous, though I worry she’s too hasty to give her mother’s things away.”

  “We must put her death behind us,” Anne said. “No good will come from enshrining perfectly good material. Speaking of which, there’s another task that needs completing today. Mrs. Jenkinson, could you ring for a maid?”

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Jenkinson said, standing.

  Darcy frowned. He wouldn’t have noticed it if Elizabeth’s face hadn’t taken on a disapproving look, which she quickly hid, but Anne did seem to order her companion about a great deal. Mrs. Jenkinson wasn’t actually a servant, after all. She was a gentlewoman.

  He shrugged, leaning back in his chair and watching Elizabeth’s hands as she sewed. She had long, delicate, capable fingers and created a very even stitch. Still, skilled as she was at it, she must be growing tired of sewing. In fact, it had been his intention the afternoon before to invite her for a walk, as the day had been very fine. Of course, Richard’s news had spoiled that plan. Maybe this afternoon, though, when Anne was through with whatever it was she’d requested a maid for.

  “You rang, misses, sir?” a girl said, stepping into the room.

  “Yes,” Anne said, looking up. “Please tell Mrs. Barclay and Mr. Greyson that I would like to see them.”

  “Yes, miss,” the maid said.

  As the girl hurried away, Anne set her sewing aside, sitting up straighter and smoothing her black skirts.

  Darcy frowned, wondering why she wished to see her housekeeper and chief steward. “Anne?”

  “I’m seeing that my mother’s will is carried out, Darcy,” she said, not looking at him. Her face had a resolute cast.

  Elizabeth’s hands stilled. She looked up at Darcy in mild alarm, her face questi
oning. Mrs. Barclay and Mr. Greyson entered the parlor.

  “You sent for us, miss?” Mr. Greyson said, bowing.

  Mrs. Barclay curtsied.

  Anne nodded. “Please see that all of the household staff and the farm workers are gathered. It is time to give out the bequests from Lady Catherine. Anyone who wants to leave before the quarter is over will be paid up until today.”

  “I don’t think that is a good idea,” Elizabeth said quietly, her tone urgent.

  Anne leveled a hard looking frown on Elizabeth before turning back to her housekeeper and steward. “Mr. Hayes is in my mother’s . . . that is, my study, with a large strongbox that is locked inside the cabinet next to the door.” She held out a key, which Mr. Greyson took. “Have him and it brought to the front parlor and request that everyone gather. I will see each of them in the parlor, one at a time.”

  Mr. Greyson appeared startled, but he bowed. “Yes, miss.”

  “Yes, miss,” Mrs. Barclay echoed, curtsying again.

  As soon as they left, Darcy watched Anne turn a glare on Elizabeth. “I would prefer you give me advice in private,” Anne said stiffly. “I don’t like you trying to undermine my authority.”

  “Is this sufficiently private?” Elizabeth asked, her tone contrite, though Darcy felt he knew her well enough to read anger in the set of her shoulders and jaw.

  “Yes, it is.”

  Elizabeth took a quick breath. “Then let me tell you that if you do this, too many of the staff will leave. It wouldn’t matter if only one or two went, but your mother was very generous with her bequests. You’re going to lose more than a few.”

  Darcy hadn’t thought of that, but once Elizabeth brought it to his attention, he shared her concern. The way Lady Catherine had constructed her will, all of the most experienced workers would be given enough that they could afford to leave if they wished. Those individuals were the ones needed most.

  “I am not going back on my word,” Anne said forcefully. “I’m sure the servants here are more loyal than you think, or are apparently accustomed to. They won’t leave. Besides, they live here or nearby. Where would they go?”

  Elizabeth turned beseeching eyes on Darcy, who cleared his throat, wondering if Anne was correct. His own staff was very loyal. He was certain of it.

  “Darcy, come,” Anne said, standing. “I want you by my side. You may certainly come too if you wish, Elizabeth, but please do not contradict me in front of the servants.” With that, Anne marched from the room.

  Darcy stood, surprised by Anne’s forcefulness.

  “Do you think I’m needed?” Mrs. Jenkinson asked.

  “You should take some time for yourself,” Elizabeth said before Darcy could answer. “I’ll go.”

  Mrs. Jenkinson smiled, looking grateful, and began putting away her work.

  Elizabeth rose, gathering up her sewing. “Shall we, Mr. Darcy?” she said, gesturing toward the door.

  He nodded and turned to follow Anne. He wasn’t sure if his cousin was doing the right thing, but thought her new attitude was a good sign. She would need a strong backbone to run Rosings. He just hoped they weren’t helping her become another Lady Catherine.

  They quickly caught up to Anne and the three of them paraded into the front parlor, where Mr. Hayes and the strongbox were waiting. He handed Anne the key she’d given Mr. Greyson and she used another key to open the strongbox.

  The room was exceedingly formal, even the least expensive items of décor worth more than many men could hope to earn with years of labor. It was also dark, stuffy, garish, and Darcy’s least favorite room in Rosings.

  Anne crossed to the stiff red settee boasting yards of golden fringe that was centered in the room. She settled herself on it, adjusted her shawl, and looked up at him and Elizabeth before turning to Mr. Hayes. “Please sit to my right, Mr. Hayes. I leave it to you to count out each amount correctly before passing it to me to bestow.”

  “Yes, miss,” Mr. Hayes said, bobbing a bow. “A magnificent plan. A splendid idea.”

  Anne nodded as she turned back to Darcy. “Darcy, please sit to my left. Do your best to look as you normally do; aloof and imposing.”

  Darcy raised his eyebrows but crossed to take the indicated chair. It was outlandishly uncomfortable, something he knew from experience. The high back was so straight it seemed almost to lean inward into a man’s spine, and the red and gold striped cushion was so stiff he’d often wondered if it was down-stuffed or simply covered-over wood.

  Anne glanced at Elizabeth but didn’t say anything.

  Elizabeth said, “Do you want me to keep a record of who received how much money or would you prefer for Mr. Hayes to do it as he counts out the money?”

  Anne’s expression became uncertain. She looked from Elizabeth to Darcy.

  “I was planning to do it,” Mr. Hayes said, gesturing to an account book on the table.

  “Seated where you are?” Darcy asked.

  “I will stand up and make a note of it,” Mr. Hayes said.

  Everyone looked at Anne. “Arrange things so that they will be done more efficiently,” she said, her tone once again commanding.

  Darcy agreed with her choice. Although Mr. Hayes was being paid to help, there was no point in him standing up and sitting down for every servant. They rearranged the seating so that Darcy, Elizabeth, and Mr. Hayes sat at a large table with the account book and the strongbox on it. Mr. Hayes was seated closest to Anne so that he could hand her the bequests. Darcy was relieved that the chairs the servants brought were considerably more comfortable than the one Anne had first directed him to.

  Once they were seated, Mr. Greyson stepped into the doorway. “Many of the servants are already here, miss. We’ve sent for the farm workers.”

  “Thank you, Greyson. Please begin showing them in. I’m sure the others will arrive before we’re done.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  A line of maids and footmen began to file in. Mr. Greyson introduced each servant. Darcy read the amount from the account book and Mr. Hayes looked at it, saying, ‘confirmed’ with each amount. Elizabeth wrote the name of the person receiving the money on a receipt, giving it to Darcy to fill in the amount. Mr. Hayes then counted out the amount. Those who could sign the receipts did so. The others made their mark, which Darcy, Elizabeth, and Mr. Hayes witnessed.

  As Anne handed out the bequests, Elizabeth would ask each beneficiary if they intended to stay. Most of them said they did not. Darcy could feel Anne growing more nervous as the afternoon wore on, a feeling he shared.

  At one point, as Elizabeth handed him a receipt, her gaze met his. Darcy was struck by how bright her eyes were, his look lingering on hers. A beguiling flush brightened her cheeks. He wished that flush had something to do with him, but felt it rather more likely it had to do with her concern over the problem Anne was creating. After that silent exchange, if exchange it was, they both kept their eyes on the business at hand.

  “A moment,” Elizabeth said when the smiling cook entered.

  The cook halted halfway across the room. “Miss?” she asked, casting a longing look at the money Mr. Hayes was counting out.

  “You accepting this now is contingent upon cooking dinner tonight,” Elizabeth said in a firm tone.

  Darcy glanced at Anne, finding her regarding Elizabeth with wide eyes.

  “Yes, miss,” the cook said. “I’ve already done half the work.”

  “Fine,” Elizabeth said. “Proceed.”

  The cook hurried forward, her smile reappearing, wider than before, as she accepted her sum.

  If Anne looked distressed over how many of the household staff were leaving, Darcy was more than dismayed at the number of farm workers who said they would depart. True, more of them stayed than did members of the household staff, but there would be difficulty handling the stock and finishing the planting. He wondered how many of the fields hadn’t been planted.

  Finally, no one else seemed to be waiting without. Mr. Greyson and Mrs. Barcla
y entered.

  “That is the last of them, miss,” Mr. Greyson said. “Will you require anything else?”

  “Not at this time, Greyson,” Anne said, sounding tired. She looked smaller, as if the long afternoon of handing out Lady Catherine’s bequests had diminished her.

  “May we have our sums, then, miss?” Mrs. Barclay asked.

  “Do you plan to stay?” Anne asked before Elizabeth had the opportunity.

  “No, miss,” Mrs. Barclay said. “With your lady mother’s generosity, my husband and I can afford to retire. It’s a blessing, it is. I thought we’d be working until the day we died, hardly ever to see one another. He works two villages over, you see. We only meet on our days off, if we can have them at the same time.”

  Darcy looked at the graying housekeeper, hoping his surprise didn’t show on his face. How had he not known Mrs. Barclay had a husband? He wondered if his aunt had realized the woman wasn’t widowed. As was the case at most estates, his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, was a widow. He’d been fortunate to find a woman as capable as Mrs. Reynolds who didn’t wish to remarry.

  “I see,” Anne said, handing Mrs. Barclay the money Hayes offered her. “Will you be staying, Greyson?”

  “No, miss,” Mr. Greyson said, his eyes on the sum Anne passed to him. “I’ve long dreamed of my own small dwelling, perhaps with a garden and some geese. A quiet place for my remaining years, near my grandchildren. My son has a cottage on his farm he’s been begging me to take over since his last tenant left. Now I have enough money to do so without burdening him, thanks to Lady Catherine’s generosity. I was always so very grateful to your mother for giving me a place of employment after my wife died. I never expected this additional gift.”

  “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.