“And the horses?”
“There’s a shed behind the house, and she has some small store of oats and apples to feed them a little, at least. In the morning, I’ll see what I can find for them.”
“Let us go inside,” I said tenderly to the woman in my arms. “You are dangerously chilled.”
Keller then reached up to take Miss Elizabeth from my grasp, and it was then I knew—I truly knew—therewasworse than being in love with a woman who did not love me back, for I felt as though half of my body had been torn from me.
CHAPTER 11
Iam not so much a believer in providence as I am a disciple of action. Luck, as they say, meets those made worthy of it through hard work.
Nevertheless, I felt an almost religious gratitude to discover that inside that humble house we had fallen under the care of a robust widow by the name of Mrs Hamilton.
“My word, sir—milady!” she gasped, turning her concern abruptly from me to Miss Elizabeth upon seeing her state.
“Abby,” she called above her head, “I need hot water!”
She then turned back to Miss Elizabeth and ushered her quickly up the stairs, telling us as she went to ‘mind the proddy mats’ and sit by the fire in the kitchen until she could see to us.
Having been left to fend for ourselves, we stripped off our filthy, wet coats at the door and leapt from one floor-board to the next to avoid stepping on the rag rugs that stood in our way. A girl bustled into the kitchen, filled a pitcher from the kettle, and only paused to take under her arm the bag Carsten handed to her.
“The lady’s things,” he said, “if you would kindly take them to her.”
Carsten helped me remove my boots, placing them by the fire. He then offered me a dry shirt from my valise before he removed his own boots and coat. We sank into chairs pulled close to the hearth, and when Keller joined us, he, too, put his boots to dry and sat beside us in his shirtsleeves.
“How are the horses?” I asked wearily.
“Passable, sir. Tinder is a mite lame but not yet worrisome. I couldn’t properly brush them down, though.”
I looked at my watch for the first time since we had saddled my horse on the road. More than four hours had gone by.
Meanwhile, the maid had returned and disappeared out the back door, eventually struggling back into the kitchen with a full bucket.
Keller stood, put on his boots, and said, “Are there more buckets?”
“By the pump.”
“Fill the kettle, then,” he said, stepping out to fetch more water.
Carsten also stood. “Are there more kettles?” He took the bucket from her and finished filling the kettle on the low bench by the hearth, while she knelt down to root around in a cupboard.
“It has no lid,” she said, producing a battered tin pot.
“It will serve. Do you have another pitcher? Does your mistress have another basin?”
This was all so mundane as to make me feel I had fallen into a strange dream. As I sat by the fire, chills overtook me as they sometimes do when warming up, and I wished I, too, had something to do, but a gentleman has his role, and it isnotto pump water and fill kettles. I submitted to the strange indignity of sitting idle and thought of the lady upstairs.
Was she warm? Had the clothes Carsten had helped her pull out of her trunk stayed dry under the oil cloth?Lord, might sheat least be spared a cold, I thought, though the possibility was strong that she would fall ill from such prolonged and anxious exposure.
Suddenly, Mrs Hamilton was in the room. I stood, bowed, and introduced myself. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, ma’am. I am deeply in your debt. How is…she?”
I faltered for good reason, as was made clear in her reply.
“The missus is tucked up in bed, sir. Would you like to go to her while I make up a tray?”
I looked helplessly at Carsten, for I did not quite know what to say. Fortunately, he did.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a lady of Mr Darcy’s acquaintance, ma’am. We met most opportunely after she had been stranded on the road from Hunsford.”
