AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Two
The next day I was not so fortunate in escaping Lady Matlock. She was at her worst, wanting a certain necklace, and then her ear bobs, a particular ‘favourite’ book—which I had certainly never seen her read—and then, that it be exchanged for a different one. She alternated between boasting to Mr Darcy of her various illnesses and claiming herself in the pink of health, and offering him the various potions and plasters which were responsible for the latter. One moment, she was excessively flattering; the next, she berated him for his neglect. She was such an ugly mixture of neediness and disapproval, I wondered how he endured it.
Of course, this was my life now. I forced myself to remember that she was a human being who grieved her husband’s loss and possessed not an ounce of charm with which to fill it. She only had me, and that because I required a roof over my head and meals to eat and a bit of money besides. In one way she was generous; upon her husband’s death, she had discarded most of her dresses in favour of black bombazine and crape. She had given me trunks full of discards to make over for myself, and even if in the most frightful colours, I could do something with them—all of my mother’s daughters were skilled with a needle. But I wondered why he put up with her, needing neither her home nor her clothing. He said little, but as the days crept by, I made a few little discoveries of his feelings.
When Lady Matlock uttered something mildly foolish, he flicked an imaginary speck of dust off his waistcoat or trousers. When her words were utterly, embarrassingly ridiculous, he smoothed his left brow with his left forefinger, as if preventing his eye from rolling upwards. Yet, he was polite; he gamely agreed with her nonsense, whether or not she deserved such consideration. But if she mentioned his dead wife, he turned to stone.
Even the oblivious dowager countess soon learned that unless she wished for her favoured guest to disappear or in some way turn his coveted attention away from her, the late Mrs Darcy was never to be mentioned.
I wondered how long he would bear with his aunt. I could admit that it was mildly embarrassing, knowing he watched me scampering about fulfilling her ladyship’s demands, especially when she was critical or accused me of disremembering when she reversed her instruction. Lady Matlock was only related to him by marriage, and it was kind of him to visit her. But I selfishly wished he might not stay a good deal longer; he saw too much.
A week after he had arrived, I entered the breakfast parlour to see him alone in it. This was unusual—Lady Matlock very much looked forward to her kippers each morning and was seldom late to the table.
I glanced at him—I suppose my surprise showed—for he said, “Apparently, my aunt is indisposed. The apothecary has been called, but she will not be down.”
“Oh. Perhaps I should order a tray be brought to me in her room, then.”
His brow furrowed in something like annoyance. “You are not her nurse, and she has her woman. Do have your breakfast.”
There was nothing wrong in his words, but I wondered at the irritation in them as I took a plate and studied the selection of food at the sideboard. Still, he had always been somewhat ill tempered, had he not? Unexpectedly I remembered that long-ago assembly, our first meeting, when Mr Bingley had begged him to dance with me. To this day, I do not know what made me say it.
“The hash is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” I put a poached egg on my plate and, suddenly embarrassed, seated myself as far away from him as possible. What might have been a humorous set-down had I still been a daughter of Longbourn was a ridiculous mortification from his aunt’s companion.
He did not acknowledge my silly remark, and I hoped he had not heard—I had spoken only in a murmur. It did not take me long to finish my egg.
“I suppose I will see whether Dawson has any news of her ladyship’s health, if you will excuse me,” I said, standing.
He stood as well, offering a shallow bow. Quickly I escaped the room.
* * *
Dawson relayed unfortunate news—the countess was genuinely sick, and not simply in an ill humour. Mr Burns gave it as his opinion that it was the grippe, though Dawson was not so sure. She, evidently, had nursed her sister’s family through the grippe and two children died from it; her ladyship did not seem nearly so sick as they.
“More than likely caught a chill from sleeping with the window open, though I’ve told her time and again it will be the death of her,” Dawson grumbled. “But the Quality cannot be brought low by so humble a complaint. It all must be life-threatening, or it will not do.”
I smiled. “We shall hope so. Were you up in the night with her? Have you had your breakfast?”
“Hetty brung me a tray. The mistress be too poorly to bother about me unless she wants her barley water. I’m dozing by her fire, as comfortable as may be, with sewing enough to last the week.”
“When shall I take my turn? I can sew and bring her barley water as needed.”
“You shan’t,” she replied with finality. “When she’s truly ill, she only wants me. There’s no help for it.”
“Oh, you cannot do it all yourself!”
Dawson only shrugged. “Dora will do the nights. Mistress been running us off our feet of late, and we could all use a rest. You more than some others, I’m thinking.”
I hesitated, torn between wanting to accept the proffered break in routine, and guilt at how much I wanted it. “You will tell me if I can do anything to assist you?”
“Go on with you,” she said, turning back to the countess’s chamber, and shutting me out of it. I stared only a moment at the solid oak in front of me and then hurried away.
I went to my room and fetched wrap and parasol, deciding upon the garden again as my destination. There was a village only a mile away, but then I would be required to make conversation and—since the apothecary had, no doubt, reported to all and sundry news of the illness—talk about it, and the countess, all morning. Rosings’s grounds were extensive, with a pretty little wilderness and hermitage, and plenty of quiet. I almost took my sewing with me, for the weather was clear, but decided that for today I would give myself up to the pleasures of idleness.
I had not been walking above a quarter hour, when, unexpectedly, I met Mr Darcy. I paused for an awkward greeting, but to my surprise, he fell into step beside me.
“You need not feel obliged to accompany me,” I said. “I have no direction to my ramble, and shall probably stay out of doors all morning.”
He only nodded solemnly, matching his steps to my shorter ones. After a few moments, he said, “It was untrue, and I ought not to have said it. I apologise, most sincerely, if belatedly.”
