Darcy's Match

by Philippa J Rosen

  “And where is Mary now?” said Jonny.

  “Still in the library,” said Uncle Gardiner. “I asked one of the servants to bring her some tea.”

  “And you’ve had no breakfast either, Mr Hammond,” said Lizzy. “I’ll go down to the kitchen and ask cook to prepare something for you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Darcy. I could do with something if I’m to be at my best on the field.”

  “You’re going to play then?” said Darcy.

  “Yes. And I’m rather looking forward to it. But I think I could do with a wash first.”

  He left the library, followed by Uncle Gardiner.

  Darcy told that Jonny had seemed in an odd, contemplative mood when he saw him at The Tower.

  “Perhaps he was wrestling with his thoughts about playing cricket,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, many years ago he was involved in rather a serious incident while playing cricket. He injured a man rather severely. A man called Gibbs. He was batting and smote the ball hard and struck Mr Gibbs, who was fielding at short leg, full in the head. It was a serious blow, and everybody was anxious for some time.”

  “Goodness, what happened to poor Mr Gibbs?” said Lizzy.

  “He made a full recovery. Missed taking his articles and joined the army instead.”

  “So, one less lawyer,” she said with a grin.

  “That’s right,” said Darcy. “But from that day, Mr Hammond refused to play cricket again. Until today it seems.”

  “On thing still troubles me though,” said Lizzy.

  “What?”

  “I don’t understand about the short leg.”

  “It’s a name given to a fielding position in cricket.”

  “I see. What a funny game it is.”

  “Yes. I suppose it is. Won’t be long now before the game starts.”

  Darcy glanced at the grandfather clock.

  “Good heavens, it’s nine thirty. The game starts in one hour and a half.”

  Lizzy chuckled to herself as he rushed from the room.

  For the next hour and a half, Pemberley was a bustle of hurried activity.

  The spectators made their way from the villages. They were a decent number. Entrance was free of charge for working men and their wives; only those with land or were of independent means were charged a fee. Even so, the amount raised for local men returning from the war was already in excess of twenty pounds.

  The team from Kent had arisen and were already in their whites, on the field practising.

  Chapter 6

  Before the game, Mr Collins remembered what Jonny had said about his friend in Hambledon. The wicket keeper who kept his hands soft by inserting a fresh steak into each gauntlet. He stole down to the kitchen and searched in the larder. On a large white plate were several beefsteaks. He selected two that looked about the right size and hurried back to the makeshift pavilion in which the players would change into their white shirts and trousers and ready themselves for the game. He slipped a steak into each gauntlet and hid them beneath a chair until he should return later and put them on to keep wicket.

  As the hour for the start of the game drew ever nearer, Darcy grew more nervous. Would it be a success? Would people be interested? Would those with land or financial capital be willing to pay the admission fee?

  He went out onto the field to have a little practice. Jonny was already there, walking beside the pitch, trying to ascertain whether the surface would be difficult for batting. It looked true and flat; Darcy’s men had done a remarkable job in such a short time.

  “Jonny, “said Darcy, “you’re a pretty good bowler. Would you bowl me a few, just so I can get my eye in before we commence in earnest.?”

  “Of course. How fast do you want ‘em?”

  “No too fast, old man,” said Darcy. “I haven’t played in a while.”

  “Very well. Go back twenty yards and I’ll send a few balls down.”

  Darcy took his stance, sideways on, tapping the ground with the end of his bat as he awaited Jonny’s first delivery.

  Jonny ran up and delivered his first ball using the round arm technique, in which his right arm was extended ninety degrees, level with the shoulder as the ball is released. It was a fast delivery and it whistled past Darcy’s bat as he prodded forward.

  “Well bowled,” he said. “Try it a little slower, I might at least be able to see it then.”

  Behind Jonny, Lizzy and Mary sat watching, intrigued.

  Jonny bowled again, slower this time. Darcy managed to get a little bat on it and sliced the ball a few yards to his right.

  “Good shot, darling,” called Lizzy.

  Darcy gave her a comical frown.

  “I barely touched it. I’m clearly out of practice.”

  Jonny continued to bowl to Darcy. He bowled four overs of four balls each. Some of them Darcy struck with conviction. Some hit the edge of his bat to where a slip fielder might have been positioned. Some he missed completely. He shook hands with Jonny and they both joined Lizzy and Mary.

  “Bravo,” said Lizzy. “You managed to hit one or two in the end.”

  “He’s a good bowler,” said Darcy. “He uses that new round arm method. One can bowl much faster that way.”

  “Round arm method?” said Mary. “What is the round arm method?”

  “Well, bowlers used to delivery the ball underarm, like in bowls.”

  “Then,” said Jonny with a grin, “it all changed. Thanks to some young ladies.”

  “Young ladies?” said Mary. “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, what happened, Miss Bennet, was that a cricket match was being played somewhere in Hampshire. A young lady was bowling to a batsman. She was trying to bowl underarm, but found it rather difficult because of her large dress, you see. He hand would get caught in the garment as she tried to deliver.”

  “Oh, yes, I see.”

  “So, she tried changing the method of bowling and lifted her arm so it was free of her dress. The other young ladies followed suit. And that’s how round arm bowling began. Before long, even men were using the round arm method. Even though they did not have the same disadvantage as the ladies.”

  “And then,” continued Darcy, “they realised that they could bowl much faster that way. So now, more and more people have rejected the underarm method in favour of round arm.”

  “So, it was all down to the females,” said Lizzy.

  “Like a great many things, Mrs Darcy,” said Jonny.

  “Well, I think it’s very interesting,” said Mary.

  “Anyway,” said Darcy, “I think I’ve practiced enough. I think four overs was sufficient, thank you, Jonny.”

  “And what is an over?” said Mary.

  “An over is a set of four deliveries. A bowler bowls four balls and then the other bowler bowls four balls from the other end. Each set of four balls is an over.”

  “I see.”

  “Well, Miss Bennet, “said Jonny. “I really should retire to the pavilion and make final preparations for the game.”

  “I’ll be supporting you, Mr Hammond,” said Mary sweetly.

  “Thank you, Miss Bennet, you’re very kind.”

  Both teams now went to their respective dressing rooms. In time the two captains emerged. They were applauded all the way to the middle of the pitch by all the guests as well as the spectators from the villages, all seated around the boundary of the field. The Bennet family formed their own little group. Lydia sat just behind the wicket fence, bored and wishing that Wickham was with her. Mrs Bennet asked idly what time lunch would be prepared. Kitty looked around her blandly at the sheep, grazing in the next field. Charlotte Collins watched nervously, hoping for the best from her wicket keeper husband, but fearing the worst. Lizzy and Mary both sat forward in their chairs, looking eagerly as the captains prepared to toss a coin t determine who should bat first.

  Darcy tossed the coin in the air. The Kent captain (Mr Walter Evans) called tails. It w
as indeed tails and Mr Evans chose to bat first. The captains returned to the pavilion to give their respective teams that Kent would be batting first. On the way back they chatted cordially.

  “Looks a decent wicket, Mr Darcy.”

  “Yes, I had my men spend the last few days preparing it.”

  “My team have toured the world over playing cricket. Cape Town, India, Ceylon. And the flattest wickets I’ve ever seen are in Australia.”

  “You’ve been to Australia?”

  “Yes. We toured there a year or so ago. They have some good players out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if they brought a side over here and played a match against the best players in England. You know, a cricket match, England versus Australia. Something to really test the abilities of the best players.”

  “A real test between countries? You think it might happen?”

  “Why not. And perhaps England could send a team there.”

  “It’s a nice idea,” said Darcy, “But I think if anyone tried to organise it, it would just turn to ashes.”

  “Maybe.”

  There were just ten minutes now until the start of play. Mary and Lizzy were talking intensely about how the game might proceed. Kitty became bored and wandered over to the adjoining field. She opened the gate and went to get a closer look at the sheep.

  Both teams were now prepared. The team from Kent were grizzled old timers who had been playing cricket over many seasons. Darcy’s team on the other hand, consisted of Darcy himself, his brother in law Charles Bingley, Mr Collins, his friend William Hammond and his brother Jonny and his father in law Mr Bennet, all of whom had played very little cricket, if any, since leaving school. The remaining five players were loaned to them by Kent, and it was likely that they would not be their best players. Therefore, it was likely to be a difficult match for Darcy’s team. However, to their credit, that was of lesser importance. What mattered was the celebration of Darcy and Lizzy’s anniversary, and also, money raised for Darcy’s good cause.

  They intended to enjoy the match. If they played well and ran Kent close, then so much the better.

  Chapter 7

  The fielding side walked out, Mr Collins bringing up the rear. They passed Mrs Bennet and her daughters.

  “Good luck, Mr Bennet,” called his wife, fanning herself.

  “Thank you, my dear. I hope our son in law provides plenty of cold drinks.”

  Close behind them the two umpires, Uncle Gardiner and Darcy’s valet, walked onto the field.

  “Good luck, Uncle” called out Lydia. “But what is that strange odour?”

  “I don’t know,” said Uncle Gardiner. “It was there in the changing room and it seems to have followed us out.”

  The game commenced. The fielding side took up their positions and awaited the arrival of the two opening batsmen.

  It was a typical July day and before long the players were sweating beneath the sun. There was a ripple of applause as the batsmen emerged from the pavilion, both wearing broad brimmed hats to shield them from the fierce sun. They went to their respective positions and the first batsman prepared to face the first ball.

  Just as the bowler was about to deliver the ball, the facing batsman turned away. He wrinkled his nose and looked around.

  “What is the matter?” said the bowler.

  “I’m just wondering where that revolting smell is coming from?”

  Everybody looked around. Before too long it was established that the smell was coming from the direction of the wicket keeper. Mr Collins was surrounded by a heavy swarm of blue flies. Hurriedly he took off one of his gauntlets and pulled out the steak, still a little bloody. He threw it in the direction of square leg and the flies followed it greedily. He took off the other and took out the second steak. He threw it to cover point and held up his gauntlets with a foolish look.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It was me. I didn’t want my hands to become gnarled.”

  “Mr Collins,” said Darcy. “I think you should go inside and wash your hands. And I think you may need a fresh pair of gauntlets, otherwise you will be pursued by flies for the rest of the morning. I’ll need to have that pair thoroughly washed. On second thought, perhaps we should just throw them away. And would you pick up those steaks on your way. At least my dogs can eat them.”

  With profuse apologies to everybody, Mr Collins left the field of play. He went to square leg and then cover point and picked up the steaks. He returned a few minutes later, his hands scrubbed clean and carrying a new pair of gauntlets.

  The game resumed at last.

  Jonny Hammond opened the bowling. His first delivery, bowled in the round arm style with all the skill he could muster, was fast and true. It went past the batsman and nestled into Mr Collins’ gloves with a satisfying thump. The next was stroked gracefully by the batsman and clattered into the picket fence. Uncle Gardiner made the appropriate signal for four runs. The remaining two balls of the over were pushed down the pitch for no runs.

  The next over was bowled by Mr Barnes from Kent. Mr Barnes was a tall man and bowled off a long run up. Like Jonny Hammond, he bowled round arm but there the similarities ended. Whereas Jonny was a gifted amateur who bowled reasonably quick, Mr Barnes was effectively a professional fast bowler. And he bowled very fast indeed. His first delivery went past the batsman, past the despairing grasp of Mr Collins and flew to the picket fence for four byes.

  Mr Collins took a few steps back. It didn’t help. The next delivery was edged behind by the batsman, came too quickly for Mr Collins and he dropped the catch. He dropped the next one too, the ball flew through his gauntlets and fell to the floor before he could hold onto it.

  The fast bowler stood in the middle of the pitch, his hands on his hips.

  “What day is it today?” he asked Mr Collins.

  “I’m sorry?” said Mr Collins, bemused.

  “I said what day is it?”

  “Why, it’s Saturday of course.”

  “Well, pretend it’s Sunday, Reverend, and keep your hands together.”

  His regular team mates (the two batsmen and the other four loaned players) hooted with laughter while poor Mr Collins reddened.

  The opening batsmen accumulated runs steadily, until Jonny trapped them both, leg before wicket. The captain, Mr Evans was their best batsman and came out to bat at number four. Unfortunately, he slipped when going for a second run from a cut down to third man. He tried to regain his ground, but Darcy was quicker and threw in an excellent return which hit the stumps directly and ran Mr Evans out by three yards.

  Darcy’s team were now in an excellent position, but Kent slowly recovered and soon took their total past one hundred. Mr Collins dropped another catch, then another. William Hammond then took a wicket, luring the batsman into a drive which Mr Bennet, standing near the boundary, caught at the second attempt.

  “Very well caught, Mr Bennet, “called his wife.

  He turned and gave her a little bow.

  “Are you and our daughters enjoying the game, my dear?” he said.

  “I think so. Mary? Lizzy? Are you enjoying yourselves?”

  “Yes, mother,” they said sincerely.

  “And what about you, Lydia?”

  Lydia did not reply. She was sitting a little distance from the others, sulking and wishing she was home with her husband.

  “Lydia,” repeated Mrs Bennet, “answer your mother. I said are you having a good time?”

  “I am just thinking about my George.”

  “Well, kindly desist, thinking about your George. Now, watch the game and enjoy yourself.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  “And you, Kitty?” continued Mrs Bennet. “Kitty? Kitty, where are you?”

  “I’m here, mother,” said Kitty. She left the adjacent field and joined her mother and sisters.

  The game continued. Kent had now lost four wickets for only one hundred and fifty runs. The fast bowler loaned by Kent then took another wicket. Five wickets down now.

 
Nobody noticed, but Kitty had left the gate open when she returned to the field. As the new batsman emerged from the pavilion and strode to the wicket, half a dozen sheep wandered onto the filed of play and slowly made their way towards the square leg umpire, Uncle Gardiner. He had a little book of the Laws of Cricket in his pocket. He consulted the book but could find no specific reference to sheep walking on the field of play. Therefore, he decided to act on his own discretion.

  “I believe that play cannot continue while there are sheep on the field. We need to remove the sheep.”

  The fast bowler turned to Mr Collins.

  “You heard him, Reverend, you’ll have to leave the field.”

  Again, his team mates hooted with laughter. Again, Mr Collins reddened.

  The game stopped while everybody herded the unruly sheep across the filed and through the gate. The gate was fastened shut and the game resumed.

  “Resume your positions, gentlemen,” said Uncle Gardiner, “and let us hope there will be no further interruptions.”

  Another wicket fell at once, the batsman’s middle stump lifted out of the ground by a very fast delivery.

  Fielding at slip, Darcy clapped his hands, urging on his players.

  “Seven down, gentlemen,” he said. “Three more wickets and we’ve got ‘em all out. Let’s keep it tight. And no more dropped catches.”

  For the third time, Mr Collins reddened.

  The lower order batsmen eked out a few more runs before the next wicket fell. And then Mr Collins surprised everybody, including himself.

  Jonny Hammond bowled a ball just outside off stump. The batsman attempted to drive it over the long off boundary but instead edged it behind. No slip was in place and the ball flew to Mr Collin’s right. He launched himself at the ball and just reached it with his right hand. It nestled in his gauntlet as he landed hard on the grass. Amazingly the ball remained in his big leather gauntlet. All his team mates walked over and shook his hand.

  “Excellent catch, Mr Collins,” said Jonny.

  “Thank you,” he said sheepishly.

  Sitting in the little group with Mrs Bennet and her daughters, Mrs Charlotte Collins applauded loud and long. It was the proudest she had ever been of her husband.