“You are aware, no doubt, that Miss Darcy’s parents died some years ago, and that she was left in care of her brother. A brother who loved her very much, but who was but a young man himself, with heavy responsibilities thrust upon him.”
Neither of these facts were questions, so Caroline merely nodded.
“You must also be aware, then, that Miss Darcy was alone for many months at a time. And that the servants, myself included, cared for her as if she were our own daughter.” Mrs Reynolds’ lips pursed into a thin line. “You should be aware, therefore, that we seek to protect her at all times, and that, having once failed to do so, it is our wish that we never fail her again.”
Wickham, Caroline thought savagely, hating the man more than ever. Her hands were shaking, the teacup rattling against its saucer.
“Let me ask you now, Miss Bingley.” The housekeeper’s eyes were hawk-fierce, pinning Caroline with the force of a glare which rivalled Lady Catherine de Bourgh in its intensity. “If we continue to turn a blind eye to this affair, will we be failing her again?”
A complicated question, with an even more complicated answer.
“No,” Caroline said, at last. “For I do not wish to fail her either. I believe our interests are aligned on that point.”
She held her breath while Mrs Reynolds’ eyes raked her face, the stern expression giving no clue whether Caroline had passed or failed this test.
“Very well. In that case, my second question is simply this: If you and Miss Darcy are so... involved”—the housekeeper nodded in the vague direction of the dining-parlour—“then why on earth cannot she win our bet about the toast? Surely she knows you better than I do.”
Caroline was momentarily speechless, a thing which had happened to her only a handful of times in her entire life. She stared at Mrs Reynolds, who stared back. Before she knew what she was doing, she was clutching the housekeeper by the arm and the two of them were howling with laughter. It took long moments for Caroline to get a hold of herself, and by the time she had found a handkerchief to wipe her streaming eyes, Mrs Reynolds had lapsed back into the role of polite, inscrutable servant.
“You’re good for her, ma’am, if I may say so.”
Unexpectedly, Caroline’s nose prickled as mirth turned topoignancy. “Thank you. I know that she... that you...”Good grief, why is it so hard to describe mere feelings?“I would never knowingly hurt her. That is all.”
“That is all any of us can ever ask for.” Mrs Reynolds nodded. “Although, I do not think Mr Darcy will be quite as easy to convince as I.”
Her words were conciliatory enough, but a lingering look in her eyes made Caroline feel like a warning shot had just been delivered across her bow. The next strike, should it come, would be grave indeed.
She had better do her best not to earn one.
