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“I purchased this fine bust several weeks ago, and I am thoroughly pleased with it, but now my daughter tells me that its position on the sideboard does not do it justice, and I fear she is correct. Pray, what is your opinion?”
“I agree, sir,” said Finn, looking at the basalt grey bust of Horace. “It needs a plinth, preferably not a dark one. I would suggest one of maple. Set it against this wall, and could I suggest you paint the wall in that shade of red known as ox blood?”
“Maple? Is not mahogany a nobler wood?”
“The bust is dark already, sir. A lighter-coloured wood would show it to advantage.”
“But it will not match the other furniture,” said Sir William, glancing around.
“It will match the gilt edges of your picture frames.”
Sir William considered this. “And the whole room red? Will it not be rather garish?”
“Just this one wall, sir. Leave the others pale in colour to reflect the light.”
“You are sure?” asked Sir William, biting his lip.
“Very,” replied Finn. “Let me send you a quote.”
Impressed with this decisive advice, Sir William detained Mr Nobley until after lunch; giving him a tour of the house and garden and asking his opinion on this and that. By the time Finn left at three, Sir William had enough decorating schemes to keep him occupied for a twelvemonth.
“Capital! Capital!” he asserted as he showed Mr Nobley to his gig. “I look forward to your quote, sir!”
Having taken his leave of Sir William, Finn ignored the barman’s advice and headed straight for Longbourn. Given the Bennets’ circumstances, he deemed it very likely that he would be turned away without admittance, but he thought it worth a try.
He was in luck. Upon the door being opened by the housekeeper, he discovered the Bennets gathered in the vestibule around a scene of devastation. The chandelier had crashed to the floor not ten minutes ago.
“Oh, it is ruined! Ruined!” cried Mrs Bennet. “Just like everything else!”
“Perhaps I can help, ma’am?” Finn offered.
But upon inspection, the chandelier was found to be substantially damaged.
“There is never a time like the present to redecorate, ma’am,” Finn suggested, looking at the mountings in puzzlement. Several strong bolts were intact with parts of the plaster still attached. He could only assume that the chandelier had not been properly fixed to the ceiling in the first place. “I have just received a shipment of modern fittings, ma’am. One of them would update your vestibule admirably. In view of this unfortunate accident, I am able to offer it to you at a substantial discount.”
“Oh, what a dear man you are!” said Mrs Bennet. “But Mr Collins is such a nipcheese, he may refuse to pay for it!”
“Nonsense, ma’am,” came a stern voice from the door. “He cannot let his manor fall into disrepair. I am sure that the bailiff will agree.”
Finn turned to see a tall clergyman at the door accompanied by a lady with a shawl about her shoulders.
“Oh, Mr Elliot!” cried Mrs Bennet. “Thank goodness you are here! I am at my wits’ end!”
“Miss Mary said there was a problem, ma’am, so I came straight away.”
A recital of the whole devastating incident for Mr Elliot’s information followed, from which Finn learned that Mrs Bennet had fallen asleep in the parlour next to Mary, who had been sewing, when she had been rudely awakened, thinking the house was under attack by the French. She had arrived in the vestibule shortly after Kitty and Lydia, who had also been roused from their slumber in the sitting room upstairs. The youngest Bennet sisters nodded their affirmation, during which Finn could not help noticing that Miss Lydia’s coiffure was slightly askew after her nap. Mr Elliot made soothing noises and suggested they repair to the parlour while the servants cleared away the mess. Finn was invited in to display his wares while Mrs Bennet called for tea to calm her nerves.
Upon waiting for Mrs Bennet and the clergyman to precede him into the parlour, Finn was sharp-eared enough to catch a whispered exchange between the two youngest Bennet sisters who had tarried in the vestibule near the wreckage of the chandelier.
“I told you it could not take your weight, Lydia!”
“Lord, I am so bored!”
Chapter 36: Cross purposes
When Elizabeth arrived at the townhouse on Monday morning to the news that her cameo had not been located, she realised it was the beginning of a bad day. She tried to rally herself as her heart sank—it must turn up within the week as the house was thoroughly swept and dusted! She resolved to check the upholstery of the chair she had used by the hearth in the study as soon as she might—the only place she could think of where it might have been overlooked. Arriving in Mr Darcy’s bedchamber, she was surprised by his rather terse request to finish Sense and Sensibility. It had become their habit to read the novel in the late afternoon after more important business was accomplished. It was clear that he was in another bad mood, and Elizabeth felt less able to support it in her own melancholy state. Nonetheless, she sat down beside the bed and tried to focus on her reading.
In the atmosphere of uncertain anxiety that had seeped into the vacuum left by Finn’s absence, Darcy had begun to dwell on the ramifications of Miss Gardiner’s likely identity with Miss Elizabeth. Having made his decision to wed Miss Elizabeth, his determination did not waver in the face of this new revelation—he felt they were truly compatible—but his anger towards her grew. It seemed probable that Elizabeth had decided to step up her campaign to ensnare him by embroiling him in some sort of scandal. Darcy would have no truck with schemes of any kind. He was a direct person who had several times found himself at the mercy of more Machiavellian characters simply because he refused to condescend to their level by trying to second-guess their petty plots. Wickham came notably to mind. Of course, Darcy did not class Elizabeth with Wickham or even the scheming Caroline Bingley; Elizabeth had shown no tendency of that kind in his short acquaintance with her. Rather, he thought it likely that her mother was orchestrating the whole scheme.
