Page 135 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

Jeffry wheeked. “That she is.”

“I don’t think we need worry about Mary anymore.”

Jeffry agreed. “Bingley is coming today to talk to Mr. Bennet.”

“Excellent, he didn’t listen to his sister this time.” Aunty fixed a gimlet eye on Jeffry. “And Darcy didn’t object?”

“He didn’t. When they had their talk at the Netherfield stables, I was hiding from the barn cats in the hay pile. Darcy supported Bingley’s decision.”

“What took y’there?”

“I had a feeling.”

Aunty nodded. “Good. I am getting up,” she said, swinging her legs out from under the comforter. “Has Basile been givin’ ye any grief?”

“Him?” Jeffry snorted. “He isn’t as tough as he thinks he is, or we had worried he’d be.”

“Does he like Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

“Basile will always be Caroline’s cat,” Jeffry mused, turning slowly around in circular pacing. “But he seems to like the colonel well enough.”

“Some cats are like that.” Aunty shrugged on a dressing gown and headed toward the bathroom. “I’m goin’ t’take a bath. You go back to Longbourn. Next time y’come t’see me I’ll be in the wagon.”

“I like the wagon,” Jeffry said.

“What wagon?” Clive the fox asked.

When the fox spoke, Jeffry realized he was back in the orangery.

“Yeah, what wagon?” Jack, the rabbit, demanded.

“Aunty’s wagon,” Jeffry explained to the other animals. He toddled over to his food and water dishes.

“What kind o’ wagon?” asked Mrs. Anne, the hedgehog. “I’ve seen plenty o’ different wagons in my time.”

Jeffry swallowed the mouthful of food he had begun to nibble before saying, “A Romani wagon.”

“What’s a Romani?” asked Bruce, the turtle.

Jeffry sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Romani people are gypsies, or tinkers,” Mrs. Anne explained. “Their wagons are often very colorful, they are.”

“I don’t understand,” Bruce said.

Jeffry heard a splash and thought the turtle had gone into the water in the indoor pond. “The important thing to know,” he said, sneaking closer to a mint leaf, “is that Aunty’s feeling better, and we won’t have to do anything more to help Lizzy and Darcy.”

“How come?” asked Carl, the fawn. He leaned his head down into Jeffry’s enclosure, his mouth coming closer and closer to the pile of greens set out there.

Jeffry’s teeth chattered angrily. “That’s my mint!”

“Oops, sorry,” Carl said, backing up a step.

“Answer the question,” Jack ordered. “How come?”

Jeffry snatched the mint and tucked it under his body. “Because Aunty will do what she needs to for them.”

“But, but,” Rusty and Scamp said together, climbing over and about each other and their dead branch like the squirrels they were, “we haven’t done anythin’ fer Lizzy yet.”