by Laura Hile
Lydia and Kitty rolled their eyes at him and began talking of something else. Elizabeth said, “I imagine your noble patroness would not approve.”
“Perhaps not,” he agreed. “It stretches credulity too far for my taste: mysterious voices, doors opening of their own accord, a helmet that launches itself from the wall.” His lips twitched into a smile. “Poor Conrad. Crushed by an enormous helmet.”
“You have read it?” said Elizabeth, smiling in spite of herself.
“Ah, but the question is, did I finish?” Mr. Collins raised an eyebrow. “Do you suppose that I read only theological works?”
Before Elizabeth could reply he turned to Hill, who refilled his cup with fresh coffee. He thanked her and took a tentative sip.
Elizabeth could not contain her surprise. “Without cream or sugar?”
He lowered the cup, his eyes suddenly intent. “Is that so unusual?”
“When first you came, you astonished us by taking five lumps of sugar.”
“Five?” There was no mistaking the loathing in his voice. He took another sip of the black coffee.
“Lizzy,” called Lydia from the other end of the table, “after breakfast you must fetch your pencils and drawing paper. Dear Anne needs a sketch of each of the officers. How else will she recognize them when they come?”
The last thing Elizabeth wished to do was sketch. Somehow she did not wish to expose her drawing ability to Mr. Collins. For he’d then pronounce her drawings to be charming and would prose on with compliments.
But it was Mr. Collins who answered Lydia. “Judging by the weather,” he said, “we could be snowbound for several days. I doubt anyone will call.”
“Surely the officers will,” said Kitty.
“Lizzy, please?” pleaded Lydia.
“I’d rather not,” she said. “You can describe them well enough.”
“Of course we can,” Kitty cried. “We’ll begin with Mr. Denny, Anne. He’s the one with sandy hair. And in the front, his hair curls backward. What do they call that?”
“A cowlick,” said Lydia. “He’s fond of dancing, and playing cards, and he laughs with the funniest sound, like this.” She demonstrated.
“You’ll love Mr. Wickham, too,” added Kitty. “We all do. He is tall and dark and so very amusing.”
“And he’s even better at cards.”
“I daresay he is,” Elizabeth heard Mr. Collins mutter. “He’s had rather a lot of practice.”
His jaw was set; his eyes held an angry flash. Here was more evidence of his dislike for Mr. Wickham. But he’d scarcely met the man!
Elizabeth was about to ask why when her mother came rushing over. “What a very promising thing this new friendship is!” she confided.
Although her mother meant to whisper, delight overcame good judgment. Her voice carried, and Elizabeth could tell that Mr. Collins was taking in every word.
“For Miss de Bourgh will bring them into company with other rich young women,” her mother went on, twinkling. “And you know what that means!”
Again Mr. Collins surprised Elizabeth. “But you are assuming, ma’am,” he said quietly, “that Miss de Bourgh has an extensive circle of friends. I can assure you that this is not so. Aside from the charm of her company, your daughters will gain very little.”
“Oh, Mr. Collins,” cried Mrs. Bennet. “How would you know?” And she moved away.
But he would be in a position to know, Elizabeth realized, perhaps better than anyone.
Mr. Collins finished his coffee, pushed back his chair, and excused himself from the table.
Elizabeth watched him go, feeling more perplexed than ever.
14A Fine Thing
Darcy came into the bedchamber to find Fleming sorting through garments. He looked up with a grin. “One benefit of traveling under threat of a storm,” he said, “is that one packs extra sets of clothes! I’m hoping there are enough dry stockings to see me through.”
Darcy digested this statement. “An extended stay,” he said carefully, “does appear likely.”
“Ah, but the snow has stopped, have you noticed?” said Fleming. “That fellow Ned put me on to the farm manager, or whoever he is. From him I have borrowed snowshoes. So I’m off to Netherfield to attend to my patient.”
Snowshoes! Was it too much to hope for a second pair? One way or another, Darcy must get to Netherfield. God only knew what Collins was up to.
Then too, every minute spent here, especially in Elizabeth’s presence, was disaster. This morning was no exception. Elizabeth was annoyed with him, though he could not guess why.
A half-empty breakfast plate was on the dressing table, and Fleming leaned over to snatch a bite.
Darcy chose his words carefully. “In a hurry to be off, then?”
Fleming made a face. “Unfortunately, yes. All in my line of work,” he said, around another bite. “Yours too, come to think on it. Though you are usually summoned later, eh?”
No doubt if Collins-as-Darcy expired—a disaster Darcy did not wish to contemplate—he would be called to officiate at the funeral. But he had no time to be annoyed with Fleming, for the man had given him the perfect opening.
“There wouldn’t be a second pair of snowshoes available?” Darcy said off-hand.
“I don’t see why not—” Fleming broke off speaking. “Hang on,” he said, suddenly serious. “You aren’t thinking of coming with me.”
Darcy shrugged. “As you say, the sickroom is rather in my line. And you need a guide to direct you to Netherfield.”
Fleming’s expression was not encouraging, but Darcy would not be put off. He went directly to the wardrobe and took out Collins’ overcoat and muffler.
“Collins,” said Fleming. “You are in no condition to walk that far.”
Darcy pulled open a drawer and removed Collins’ stockings and breeches. From under the bed he unearthed what he guessed was Collins’ valise. “It’s only two or three miles,” he said. “And you forget, this will not be the first time I’ve walked it.”
“In several feet of snow?” Fleming said. “Seriously, old fellow, you shouldn’t risk it.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “And leave you to face her ladyship alone?”
Fleming hesitated.
“She won’t like seeing you in place of your father,” Darcy pointed out. “And she will like your news about her daughter even less. You, ah, are planning to tell her about Miss Anne?”
Fleming sat down on the bed. “I’m still thinking that one out,” he confessed. “Theorizing, you know. Plotting the best strategy for breaking the news.”
“And what have you concluded?”
Fleming’s ready smile reappeared. “Ha,” he said. “That it is most expedient is to blame poor Jenkinson!”
Darcy had to laugh. “Much better to blame me,” he said. “It’ll come down to that in the end.” This might not be true, but he knew his aunt’s nature. Collins practically begged to be kicked, and she was certain to oblige.
“Collins,” began Fleming.
“It is the truth. In the eyes of my exalted patroness, I am the perfect scapegoat.” He leaned forward. “Do take me with you, Fleming. If only to spare yourself—and Jenkinson—a nasty scold. I’ve broad shoulders.”
Fleming grimaced. “I’ll get a scolding, sure enough. But Jenkinson?” he said. “The poor woman has no spine.”
“And neither have I,” said Darcy cheerfully.
“You don’t understand the difficulty I was under, Collins,” Fleming said earnestly. “Miss Anne would not be refused; I was forced to comply. I had no idea that we would run into a storm.”
“Don’t I know it? Let’s hunt up that other set of snowshoes before it starts to snow again.”
Fleming rose to his feet. “Better to die in the wilderness than to be slain by the dragon, eh?” But Fleming was also smiling.
g
Downstairs in the drawing room a debate was in progress. The younger girls were campaigning to have Ned shove
l out the main entrance, which was no small amount of work. Hill stood by, supported by Mr. Bennet, who agreed that under the circumstances the service entrance was sufficient access to the house.
“What else has Ned to do?” said Mrs. Bennet. “If any of our friends should call, we must be prepared, Mr. Bennet. How would it look to have the front entrance blocked up with snow?”
“It would look,” replied Mr. Bennet, “as if we, along with all our neighbors, have experienced the largest snowstorm Hertfordshire has seen for years.”
“But the officers!” cried Kitty. “Surely they will call.” She and Lydia put up such a fuss that to have peace Mr. Bennet relented.
He caught sight of Darcy standing there. “I cede to you, Mr. Collins,” he said formally, “the enviable position of Man About The House.” Mr. Bennet then retired to his bookroom and closed the door.
Lydia exchanged looks with Kitty and Anne de Bourgh. “Only imagine,” she said saucily. “Mr. Collins as the man about anything!” And they dissolved into giggles.
Mrs. Bennet regarded Darcy with narrowed eyes. “Do not take too much upon yourself, Cousin Collins,” she said.
Darcy was only too glad to follow Hill into the kitchen.
What he did not expect was a fight over his intent to leave Longbourn.
Fleming came in from the yard with the news that he’d procured a second pair of snowshoes. They were old, he said, but looked serviceable. Darcy buttoned Collins’ coat to the throat and wrapped his muffler securely.
Hill put her hands on her hips. “And where do you think you are going?”
Fortunately, Fleming had sense to remain silent. “To Netherfield,” said Darcy, drawing on Collins’ gloves.
“Walking there in all this snow? And you, with arms and legs as weak as a chicken’s!”
This caught Darcy by surprise. What did Hill know about Collins’ legs?
“I’m strong enough,” he protested. “More so, in fact, than when I made the trek yesterday.”
“Trek!” said Hill. “Isn’t that the truth? That woman,” she added wrathfully, “to be ordering you about as if you were her slave! It’s unchristian!” But there were tears in Mrs. Hill’s eyes.
Darcy wanted to reach for a handkerchief, and if he’d been himself he would have several ready in a pocket. But he was Collins, and had nothing to offer but a square of rough linen, none too clean.
Hill pulled hers from her sleeve and blew her nose.
“My dear Mrs. Hill,” said Darcy. He placed his gloved hands on each of Hill’s shoulders, as he would in making a point to Pemberley’s Mrs. Reynolds. “I am strong enough,” he said gently. “And should anything go wrong, I have Mr. Fleming with me, a physician.”
“You’ll fall and break a bone,” Hill faltered. “And then where will you be?”
“Fleming will set it. Won’t you, Fleming?”
Fleming began to answer, but Darcy cut him off. “Even you must admit,” he said to Hill, “that if I become stranded, I won’t starve.” Smiling, he patted his protruding stomach.
She gave an unhappy sniff. “I don’t like it,” she said.
“And neither do I,” said another voice.
Elizabeth Bennet stepped forward, and Darcy felt a flush rise to his cheeks. What was she doing in the kitchen? And how much had she heard?
Her arguments, like Hill’s, held weight, and he listened while she said her piece. But while it was one thing to be scolded by a worried servant, it was quite another to be ordered about by a pert young woman.
Darcy drew himself to his full height and faced Elizabeth. He saw her chin come up, a martial light sparkled in her eyes.
“As I have explained to Mrs. Hill,” he said crisply, “which no doubt you overheard, it is imperative that I reach Netherfield. My position as Lady Catherine’s rector demands it.”
“It most certainly does not,” she countered. “The risk is far too great. You are a fool to consider such a thing.”
The word fool rankled and Darcy felt his lip curl. “I appreciate your heartfelt concern.”
“Concern has nothing to do with it,” she flashed. “You are the hope of the family.”
Her sarcasm hit a nerve. Collins be damned! He was no weakling!
He put on his hat, took up his satchel, and faced Fleming. “We’d best be going before conditions deteriorate. Good-bye, Mrs. Hill, Miss Elizabeth.”
“But Mr. Collins,” protested Elizabeth. “This is madness.”
Again he met her gaze. “I prefer to think of it,” he said, “as a calculated risk. I should be back in time for supper.” He tipped the brim of Collins’ parson’s hat, pulled open the door, and went out into a world of white.
g
The snowshoes were cumbersome to affix to his shoes—curse Collins for choosing inadequate footwear! Surprisingly, it was warmer out than he’d expected, for there was no wind. Darcy raised his eyes and took in the trackless expanse of snow.
“She is right, you know,” said Fleming, speaking through his muffler. “This is madness. But no one lives forever. Best to be off.”
“We’ll follow the road,” said Darcy.
Fortunately the wall around Longbourn’s park was high enough to be visible, so he was able to get his bearings. Darcy set out with striding steps in what he hoped was the right direction.
All too soon he was sweating. Why hadn’t he thought to carry a walking stick? There was no hope of finding one along the way, as everything was so deeply buried.
Fleming marched alongside, swinging his physician’s satchel. Collins’ valise, which contained their extra clothes, became heavier and heavier. To spare his shoulder, Darcy switched hands.
“I suppose,” said Fleming sometime later, “that when we arrive, exhausted and half-frozen to death, her ladyship’s anger will be somewhat mollified.”
Darcy had been Collins long enough to know better. “By all means think so, if it gives you comfort.”
This was something Collins would never say, but Darcy was too weary to care. What was usually a pleasant one-hour stroll now required all his strength and concentration. Were they traveling in the right direction? Were they following the road? Casting his doubts behind him, Darcy soldiered ahead.
Presently above the trees he noticed a line of smoke. On a day like this every chimney at Netherfield would be belching smoke, or so he hoped. God be praised for his aunt’s aversion to the cold!
He and Fleming trudged in silence for a good half hour. Then Fleming took up the conversation. His breathing was only slightly labored, Darcy noted, whereas he himself was gasping for air like a fish.
“Will she have my head on a platter, do you think?” Fleming said cheerfully. “Like John the Baptist’s?”
“You won’t suffer alone,” Darcy managed to reply. “She already blames me for taking a holiday.”
“Ah yes,” Fleming said. “To find that all-important wife.”
To do what? It took Darcy a few minutes to find his voice. “Is this common knowledge?”
“It’s hardly a secret. A child could see through her ladyship’s intent.”
So he was not imagining it—all the more reason for Elizabeth to take him in dislike! Then again, he did not wish Elizabeth to like him. Not as Collins!
“It’s not like you have cause to complain,” Fleming went on. “Five unmarried sisters, most of whom are quite pretty.” He came to a halt and looked around. “How much farther do we have?”
“A mile, if my bearings are right.” Darcy’s calves and thighs were burning. Collins’ roly-poly body was good for nothing! He could not ride, he could not shoot, and he could not dance. Even walking a country mile was too much!
Patches of blue had broken through the gray above, and they gave the snowy landscape a hopeful aspect. “Best to be moving on,” Darcy said presently. “If we halt too long, I’ll keel over for good.”
As before, within ten minutes Fleming resumed talking. “There must be plenty of unmarried ladies in the coun
tryside round about,” he remarked. “There always are in places like this, according to Lady Cat.”
“According to whom?” demanded Darcy.
“Lady Cat. You remember, my little name for her ladyship?”
Darcy did not know how to answer this, so he marched on in silence. Besides, his nagging aunt was not a cat. Lady Fox Terrier was more her style.
At length Fleming spoke again. “I pity the woman, whoever she is.”
“What woman?” Darcy wanted to know.
Fleming gave a shout of laughter. “Why, your wife!”
“Not precisely complimentary this morning, are you?” grumbled Darcy. “I pity her myself. I am not the easiest of men to live with.”
“No, no, old man,” cried Fleming. “What I meant is, The Cat needs occupation. Wants to add your wife to her list of dependents. She’ll manage her half to death and in every detail. Aha!” Fleming added, pointing. “Look there.”
They came to a halt. Darcy’s instincts had been correct. In the distance was the Netherfield mansion, dark against the spotless snow.
“In every detail, you say?” Darcy set down the valise and massaged his aching shoulder. “If dear Lady Cat intends to manage even my marriage bed, I’ll—”
Fleming gave a snort of derision. “I daresay she would if she could. Instructs me on the contents of my satchel, the shining of my boots, the books I read, any number of medical procedures she’s read about in the London papers. She ought to have married an inn-keeper, with a score of servants and guests to manage.”
Then Fleming clapped Darcy on the shoulder. “So which of the sisters is it to be? The golden-haired beauty? Or the darker girl with the lovely eyes?”
Darcy could not answer in kind, how could he? The truth was that neither of them would have him. He’d fallen from being a matrimonial prize to a leper-like outcast. He was, in fact, attractive to no one. His companion’s laughing face did nothing to help.
“Fleming,” snapped Darcy, “kindly have the goodness to shut up.”
And of course, being Fleming, he did nothing of the sort. He teased Darcy about wife-hunting all the way along the road to Netherfield.
