Alliance and the Artifice of War 21-30

Chapter Twenty-one — In which progress is shared

Darcy

Steven drove Miss Mary in Netherfield’s gig, while Darcy rode alongside to their meeting with Miss Elizabeth. Mrs Nicolls had sent them off with a basket of apples and bread rolls for breakfast. She had tucked in a couple of flasks of tea, too.

As soon as Steven handed Miss Mary down, she rushed into her sister’s arms.

Darcy felt a wave of jealousy flood over him; would that Miss Elizabeth would embrace him thus!

“Oh Lizzy, you look pleased and rather tired!

“Oh, Mary, you look tired and rather pleased!”

The sisters pulled apart so that Miss Elizabeth could greet the men, then they took their seats underneath the spreading oak. Miss Mary handed them each an apple and a bread roll stuffed with folds of ham, and they sat in silence, watching the sun rise while they ate.

Darcy was beginning to cherish those quiet, companionable starts to their meetings; sitting next to Miss Elizabeth, watching her from the corner of his eye. Her own very fine eyes were almost green in the bright sunlight. He wondered what they would look like when she was in his arms, in his bed, in his chambers, in his home at Pemberley. Where had that thought come from? Was it merely lust or was it the beginning of love? He had known her barely a month; there was no hurry; he would enjoy her company while finding out.

Miss Elizabeth broke the silence. “We had three redcoats for dinner the other night.”

“Boiled or roasted?” asked Miss Mary.

“Lightly simmered in ‘darling’ Lydia’s wit.”

“We had lessons on how to walk the other morning.”

“Prussian or Egyptian?”

“Mrs Younge’s Very Most Exclusive Seminary for Girls with More Money than Sense.”

“Ha, ha, ha; you win!”

Darcy and Steven laughed along with them.

“Very well,” said Miss Elizabeth. “Mr Darcy, would you like to tell us how you arranged for three neatly trussed foolish redcoats to be delivered to our door?”

“Indeed. It was a very delicately conceived plan,” he began.

“Nonsense, William!” Steven interrupted. “What really happened, Miss Elizabeth, was that the foolish recoats overheard him saying your step-sister’s name …”

“But why were you saying ‘darling’ Lydia’s name?” Miss Mary cried.

“I was trying to not think of her …”

“There is no shame in that,” interjected Miss Elizabeth.

Darcy pretended to frown at her. “I was trying to not think of her as ‘darling Lydia’ and, absentmindedly, said her title out loud.”

“While he was trotting past the Stoat and Gristle.”

Miss Elizabeth added to their chuckles by asking, “And —might we be permitted to know— where was Ajax while you were trotting past the Goat and Whistle?”

Darcy found that he did not mind her teasing —did not mind it all at— especially as it gave him the opportunity to hear her glorious laughter.

Miss Mary poured tea from the flasks into tin mugs and passed them along.

“I shall take up the mantle of telling the next instalment of the foolish redcoats,” announced Miss Elizabeth. “It was a cold and windy day. Our heroine, Miss Eleanor Bonnet, was working her fingers to the bone trying to find an errant one and six ha’penny in the housekeeping accounts, when a movement outside caught her attention.”

“More tea, Mr Darcy?” Miss Mary broke in.

“There, skulking around the side of her poor shack …”

“A castle, Lizzy.”

“No, she moves to a castle later. A figure was sloping …”

Darcy joined in. “Was it ‘skulking’ or ‘sloping?’ You needs must keep your yarn untangled.”

Miss Elizabeth turned to looked at him; her jaw dropped and quivered, her eyes filled with tears and her brow creased in distress.

“Oh, Elizab— Miss Elizabeth! I did not mean to offend you!”

Her face brightened. “You did not. The figure crept around the side of her poor shack to the kitchen door. Entering the kitchen, he helped himself to all of the shortbread!”

Miss Mary laughed, “It was Ned, then.”

“Sounds like a truly gothic tale to me,” added Steven with a shudder. “All of the shortbread!”

“Distracted, as the heroine was, by the masked shortbread thief, she nearly missed the flock of foolish redcoats tolling the bell at the gatehouse. Its mournful sound echoed around the bailey and the aged retainer inched her way to the portcullis.”

Darcy wanted to point out that the heroine had moved from a shack to a castle, but perhaps not. He was not sure if Miss Elizabeth had been teasing him and did not wish to risk upsetting her again.

“‘Aged retainer!’” cried Miss Mary. “I shall tell Mrs Hill that you said that.”

“Hmph! She ought not to have let Ned have the remainder of the shortbread. Besides, this aged retainer was called ‘Mrs Mountain.’”

“We do not have mountains in England,” Darcy chanced an interruption.

“’Tis true, Mr Darcy. In vain, Mrs Valley tried to hold back the hordes of foolish redcoats. The traitorous Mrs Pigswell admitted them to the throne room, where they prostrated themselves at the feet of our heroine’s step-sister.”

“This really is too exciting, Lizzy. May I tell you my news?”

Steven’s look of disappointment mirrored Darcy’s.

“I think that mine will be the more scandalous tale,” Miss Marry assured them.

“Does it feature artfully arranged plaits and pinched cheeks?”

“Oh yes,” Miss Mary looked at each of them and gave a knowing nod. “Oh yes. And Mr Stevens can start the tale.”

“I have but a small part.”

Darcy snorted.

“Miss Mary sent me on a quest to find a chaise longue which, with the help of the shortbread thief, I put in Miss Bennet’s room; carefully avoiding any glances at plaits or cheeks.” Steven’s faced reddened a little.

“Thank you, Mr Stevens. You told your part to perfection.” Taking another sip of tea, Miss Mary continued, “Having had experience in arranging plaits, I took up the challenge to arrange … no, I cannot say it. Oh, oh, but I must, for Mr Stevens’ role cannot be celebrated in absence of the whole yarn.”

She had their full attention.

“I dragged the chaise longue so that the sunlight fell on it, just so.” Her hands mimed dragging the chaise. “Then plopped ‘darling’ Jane onto it, just so.” Her hands mimed dropping Miss Bennet. “And put a light blanket over her.” Her hands mimed throwing a blanket.

“Just so?” asked Darcy.

“You are correct, Mr Darcy. How did you guess? Mr Bingley was due —at any minute— for his morning peep around the door, so I arranged the blanket, just so, as you so rightly surmised, Mr Darcy. I left the very tips of the toes of one of ‘darling’ Jane’s feet uncovered. The effect on Mr Bingley was quite surprising!”

As one, the sisters straightened their legs and looked at their own booted toes. Darcy and Steven studied the sky and the ground respectively.

“Seeing the success of this, tomorrow I shall arrange the blanket just so revealing the very tips of the toes of the other foot. If he has not proposed by Sunday, I shall consider revealing the very tips of all ten toes.”

“Oh, Mary, no wonder you are rather pleased!”

“Thank you, Lizzy. I must miss the remainder of your tale of derring-do as I must return in time to arrange the toes and the blanket. Mr Stevens, would you mind driving me back to Netherfield? I must relieve our sister, Kitty.”

Again the sisters embraced and again Darcy was envious.

Chapter Twenty-two — In which a confidence is shared

Elizabeth

“I find myself perched upon the horns of a dilemma,” said Elizabeth, taking Mr Darcy’s proffered arm.

“Is there nothing you could take for your present relief?”

“No, I thank you,” she replied, grinning up at him in surprise at his silly response. “I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received.”

“If I can assist you in any way, Miss Elizabeth, you have only to ask.”

Stop it! cried Elizabeth’s brain. Stop this blushing! In a strop, her brain relinquished control of the feet allowing the body to stumble. It was thwarted. The hand merely gripped Mr Darcy’s arm more tightly and every blood cell rebelled by rushing to the throat and face.

Elizabeth ignored the machinations of her body and managed to reply, “I thought that I kept the book-room —my father’s book-room, that is— locked at all times, and now it appears that Mary, that my sister, has been skulking, sloping and creeping in there to borrow books from the top shelf. I tell you now, sir, when she returns to Longbourn, she will be on bread and gruel for a month complete!”

“I understand your dilemma, madam. Would you permit me to help you down from your perch on its horns: I would do exactly the same if she were my sister. Indeed, bread and gruel and no new gowns.”

“Mm. The latter would be no punishment for my sister as none of us have had new gowns for some time,” she shook her head. Though we shall very soon, she hoped.

Mr Darcy’s tone became serious. “Would you tell me what it has been like for you; your life, since your father died?”

She looked down and away, uncertain whether she wished to answer. Gathering her thoughts, she replied thus:

“I do not wish you to think that it has been a life of misery; no, not solely of misery. It is not that we have no coin for new gowns, it is maintaining the appearance that we have not sufficient coin.” She shook her head, “I am not explaining this well.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Our mother died almost eight years ago; our grandmother a few years later. We relied upon her a great deal and I think that it was the two loses that made Pappa vulnerable to that woman’s ploy. She had not long been widowed and with a torn bodice and a shriek and her brother as witness, she caught a new husband, a gentleman. That woman compromised Pappa and installed her two …” she sneered, “…‘darlings’ in our house.”

She felt Mr Darcy’s hand cover her own.

“With no son, Pappa had encouraged Mary and me —Kitty was too young then— to learn about managing the estate. Mary has a knack for talking with the tenants, while I concentrate on the administration and paperwork. Unfortunately, this allocation of responsibilities has left Kitty subject to ‘darling’ Lydia’s whims. Mary and I are trying to correct that. But as our father’s health faded, there was little time but for planning and …” She could not finish.

“If I may: I believe that you ought to be proud of your sisters and your raising of them.”

“Thank you, sir. That means a great deal. You see, I love them so very much.” Tears fell and a handkerchief was pressed into her hand. She allowed him to lead her to the trunk of a fallen tree where they sat in silence while the claw of anxiety gripped her throat. “You do see, do you not, that I must free them from her? Mary and I might amuse you with our story-telling, but it is desperation that is driving us.”

“I understand.” His low voice offered some comfort.

“The casual cruelties, the destruction of the Bennets’ reputation, being treated as maids.”

“Indeed.”

“You are doing the same for your sister, are you not? By trying to thwart Mr Bingley?”

“Indeed; I do understand.”

Her head fell against his shoulder. “Do you see, too, that I have not the luxury of tears or doubt?”

She felt his arm wrap around her, pulling her close.

“I do see,” he paused. “Will you not …”

She continued, not hearing him. “I have no power, you see. Men have all the power. I am not permitted to … to better care for Mary and Kitty. My uncle, he helps, but he cannot ….” Abruptly she blurted, “I must get them out of Longbourn! My sisters must be freed from this grey life!”

“Will you not share your burden with me?”

“I cannot!” She shook her head. “I cannot deny that I am tempted, Mr Darcy, but I have known you barely a fortnight.”

“Two fortnights. It will be four weeks tomorrow.”

“Is it really? Let me count the days.” Rapidly, she counted, “Seventy!”

“’Tis but seven and twenty.”

“Seventy days until quarter day.” She felt panic rise. “So much to do, so very much to do. I must away; I have so much to do!” She sprang to her feet and started to rush away.

Mr Darcy’s voice paused her steps, “Please, I beg you, permit me to help. Let us do one thing at a time. What must you do this very day; this very morning?”

Chapter Twenty-three — In which a stalwart comfort is offered

Darcy

Her distress distressed him in turn. Having seen both the teasing distress and the true distress, he knew which was real. He waited as Miss Elizabeth calmed herself.

“One thing?” she replied, taking a deep breath. “The one thing, right now, that I should like, is a cup of tea. Then, I am to see our steward later this morning.”

“Very well.” He took her hand and put it on his arm. “Let us return to Longbourn —before the shortbread thief— and see if Mrs Hill has such a thing as a cup of tea. Then, if you would like me to, I shall join you in your meeting with your steward.” He was relieved to see resolve creep back into her expression.

“We share our steward, Mr Onions, with Sir William. Neither of us has sufficient work to employ him ourselves, so he alternates days at Longbourn and Lucas Lodge unless there is anything pressing for him to deal with.”

“Are there ever any conflicts of interest?” Darcy had not heard before of sharing a steward.

“Oh, very, very rarely. Sir William was my father’s oldest friend and he and his family have supported us a great deal these last few years.” She looked up at him, tears dried. “You have met my dear friend, Charlotte Lucas, have you not?”

“Yes, at the assembly, then at her father’s house and at other gatherings. She struck me as a sensible, straightforward young woman; is that a true reflection of her character?”

“You will but recommend yourself to me, making such an observation. She is capable, too. The local men are missing a wonderful woman; she having no dowry with which to tempt them,” she added with a note of bitterness, before her face cleared and she looked away.

She’s thought of something, thought Darcy. I shall not ask what.

She drew a small notebook and the stub of a pencil from her satchel and flipped through to an empty page. His curiosity was not assuaged as he watched her write ‘C↑?’. He guessed that the ‘C’ was for ‘Charlotte,’ but could not divine the meaning of the upward-pointing arrow.

They had reached Longbourn and he led Ajax to the stables before following Miss Elizabeth to the kitchen door.

“Forgive our lack of formality, Mr Darcy. She does not come into the kitchen, so it is a calm —if not always quiet— place to sit with a nice hot cup of tea.”

“Indeed. I am not shocked! I have been seen in my own kitchens, both in London and Derbyshire.”

Miss Elizabeth startled. “‘Derbyshire?’ I had not comprehended your being from that county.”

“Indeed?” Why did she startle? “I understood Miss Bingley to have broadcast every detail of my properties and worth to the whole of this county.”

Gathering herself, Miss Elizabeth replied, “I have not heard of such a thing. I have an aunt from Derbyshire; she talks with great animation about the Peaks.”

“Indeed. Great animation is required for any and all talk of the Peaks. From whence does she hail?”

“Oh, she calls it ‘a small town of little consequence except to those who live there’: Lambton.”

“Lambton! That is but five miles from Pemberley!”

“‘Pemberley?’”

“My estate, Pemberley.”

“I do not believe that she has mentioned it. As the daughter of the old parson there, like as not, she had no cause to visit local estates.”

“Mr Grey’s daughter? Was she Miss Grey?”

Miss Elizabeth turned to busy herself with pouring the tea, while replying, “I believe so.”

“Miss Grey? Did she not marry a man called …?” Darcy’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall the man’s name. “Ah, Gardiner? Edward Gardiner?”

“Oh, um, yes. She did. I believe so.”

Why is she reluctant to acknowledge her aunt and uncle? Darcy wondered. Attempting to put her at ease, he said, “If he is the Edward Gardiner of Gardiner’s Imports and Exports, I know him to be an excellent man. Indeed, if I were to allow her, my sister would visit his emporium daily!”

After a moment’s introspection, she appeared to have made a decision.

“I thought that you might disdain a tradesman.”

“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “I must tell you that I have done some profitable business with him and enjoy his company.”

Miss Elizabeth’s faced relaxed in relief. She drew breath to speak and was interrupted by a call from the kitchen door,

“Miss Lizzy!”

Disappointed to miss what she might have said, Darcy stood to greet Mr Onions.

They spent an interesting morning examining a couple of the estate’s buildings, agreeing on repairs which could be made while the weather was warm and dry. Returning to the small manor house, they again entered into the kitchen where Mrs Hill and the cook had laid out a small luncheon for them. As Miss Elizabeth repaired to the book-room to collect a map of the estate, Mr Onions explained that they always met there in the kitchen under the watchful eye of the housekeeper.

“Miss Lizzy ’as to rush to and fro with books and the suchlike, but she prefers it this way,” he added, then tapped the side of his nose. “The new mistress don’t come in ‘ere, neither.”

“Indeed.” Unconventional, but sensible in the circumstances, Darcy thought. “Is Miss Elizabeth fair to work for?”

“Come now, sir! You cannot be an-expecting me to an-answer that! ‘Tain’t fair to the young miss.” Mr Onions shook his head. “But she’m a good mistress; good ‘ead on them young shoulders.”

“How old is she?”

“Now, now, Mr Darcy, sir! You know better than to ask a lady’s age.” Mrs Hill stood over him, waving her finger in mock severity.

Darcy reddened. “I am impressed by all that she does.”

“So are we, sir, so are we.” Mrs Hill nodded towards the door and Darcy heard Miss Elizabeth’s footsteps returning to the kitchen.

Chapter Twenty-four — In which money is demanded

Elizabeth

“Eliza! Eliza! Where are you?”

Elizabeth went into the parlour rather than letting Mrs Bennet find her in the kitchen.

“There you are! My darling Lydia needs money for new ribbons and a new bonnet.” The second Mrs Bennet turned to face ‘darling’ Lydia and chucked her under her chin. “Then you will be unresistible to the soldiers, will you not, my darling!”

‘Irresistible’ not ‘unresistible.’

“I have explained this to you before —many times before— the Longbourn estate cannot afford ribbons and bonnets for your daughters. There is enough to put food on the table, but no more.” Not since I am saving it. “Mary, Kitty and I do not have new dresses …”

“But you are not as tall as I, so you do not need new dresses.”

One, two, three … “You know that the interest from your own money is for shoes and clothing for you and your daughters. There is no spare money for such things.”

“But you are always getting new things, Eliza!”

“Name one thing that I have new, Lydia! One thing!”

“You bought a new book home, last week. So there!”

“I brought a book home, yes …”

“See, I told you, Mamma.” ‘Darling’ Lydia sat back, arms folded, looking smug.

“A book that Charlotte has been kind enough to lend to me.”

Deaf to that which did not interest her, Mrs Bennet tried again to get money for new ribbons.

“Wait, just wait!” Elizabeth stamped up the stairs into the little room that she shared with Mary and Kitty. Pulling her reticule from the hook on the back of the door, she stamped downstairs again. Throwing the bag at ‘darling’ Lydia, she cried, “Take it; it is all yours!”

‘Darling’ Lydia upended the bag onto her lap. Out fell a handkerchief, an old pencil and a single farthing. “See, Mamma, I was right! She does have money hidden from us.” She pocketed the coin and threw the bag, handkerchief and pencil on the floor.

Elizabeth left them all there, the second Mrs Bennet and ‘darling’ Lydia, the handkerchief and the pencil, and, snatching her bonnet and satchel on the way, stormed from the house.

She had felt so much less alone after spending the morning with Mr Darcy. She had not told him of her schemes, but he had been a stalwart companion —a friend, perhaps— in her despair. Then she had allowed the interlopers to rile her. Argh! Her brain chided her: ‘Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting,’ then it took charge of her feet, setting them on the path to Lucas Lodge.

She regained a measure of equanimity before arriving and Charlotte invited her to sit in the garden. There, over a cup of tea, Elizabeth tentatively tried to sound out her friend’s wishes for her future life: did she wish to stay in Meryton or would she be prepared to move away? Her questions were not subtle enough.

“What are you asking me, Lizzy?”

“Charlotte, dear. I am planning something which I shall not yet share, so, I beg you, do not press me for details. Suffice to say, it will mean great changes for the Bennet family and I should like to include you.”

“Ah, so you would like to know if I should be interested in some unknown venture.”

“Sight unseen, cave canem and so on, yes.”

“Beware of the dog?”

“Very well, caveat emptor.”

“When would this unknown venture be?”

“If all goes to plan, towards the end of September.”

“And where would the unknown venture take place?”

Elizabeth turned a little so that the afternoon sun was on her left shoulder and pointed vaguely northwards. “In that sort of direction.”

“Very well. And when you say the Bennet family, I assume that you mean you, Mary and Kitty.”

“Mm-hm.” Elizabeth nodded.

“How long will this unknown venture take?”

Elizabeth took her friend’s hands in her own and answered quietly but earnestly, “The rest of our lives.”

“Oh.” Charlotte was silent for several long moments. “I do believe that that answer is ‘yes!’”

Elizabeth was relieved, so very relieved. “I know that you do not care for getting up at dawn as I do …”

“There is early and there is night, Lizzy.”

“… but come with me to the mount on Monday morning, or to our stables, if it is wet, and I shall tell you more. Not all, not yet, but more. There are some people whom I should like you to meet.”

Chapter Twenty-five — In which a third cousin is welcomed

Darcy

On Sunday morning, he had chosen to walk to the small church in Meryton rather than share a carriage with the Bingleys and the Hursts. Steven had overtaken him in the gig, Misses Mary and Catherine squeezed in beside him. Darcy had enjoyed hearing the three Bennet sisters in song behind him, but had been disappointed to miss an opportunity to speak with Miss Elizabeth afterwards.

His darkening mood was chased away on his return to his chambers after dining. There, dozing on his bed, was his cousin, Richard.

“So, you are come at last! I began to think I should never see you,” Darcy said, hitting the man’s feet to wake him.

“Aye! Why do you sound like a character from one of those novels that Georgie reads?” Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam replied, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed.

A reply was postponed by an arrival from the dressing-room. “Eh up, Dicky!”

“Eh up, Little Cock Robin!” Richard grinned in welcome.

Darcy’s two cousins —one on the distaff side, one on the spear side— greeted each other with a friendly bout of rough and tumble.

Holding Steven around the neck and ruffling his hair, Richard said, “I see that you have finally made an honest man of Cock Robin, Willy. Given him some useful employment.”

“Indeed,” Darcy sighed in resignation. “Yet, daily, I needs must threaten to terminate his employment …”

“Henceforth, forthwith.” Steven did not look at all chastened, but, at a peremptory knock and the opening of the door, he scrambled to his feet and scurried back into the dressing-room.

Mr Bingley came in. “I say, old chap! Who is this?”

“A very distant cousin, Bingley. May I introduce Hughson?” Darcy knew that Richard would forgive him for the implication that Mr Bingley outranked him, but was relieved that he did not flinch at the hastily contrived pseudonym. “Cousin, this is my host, Mr Bingley.”

Richard stood and the men bowed to each other.

“Do you need a room, Mr Hughson?”

“If you have one prepared, Mr Bingle. Otherwise, a room at the Moat and Thistle will do me well, sir.” Richard’s posture had changed. Gone was the soldier; in his place, hair still awry from his tussle with Steven, was a cringing working man, grinning a little subserviently at Mr Bingley.

Darcy did not dare to start laughing; he must conceal his pleasure for his cousin’s arrival. The blackmailing Bingley must not suspect that Darcy had reinforcements. ‘War is based on deception,’ he thought.

“Good man!” cried Mr Bingley. “I shall ask Mrs Nicholls to sort something out. Food too, if you want some.”

Richard bobbed and bowed eagerly and looked at Mr Bingley with unctuous adoration.

Mr Bingley beat a hasty retreat.

As one, the cousins threw themselves face down onto the bed to conceal their laughter in the pillows. Steven had not found something as effective in the dressing-room; they could hear his semi-smothered guffaws.

“‘Hughson?’” Richard shook his head.

“Your father is Hugh, thus you are Hugh’s son.”

“Aye, but you might have warned me!”

“What? While you and Steven were engaged in fisticuffs?”

“Aye, very well,” Richard conceded, punching Darcy on the arm. Suddenly serious, he asked, “Why am I here?”

Another knock at the door delayed an answer. Mrs Nicholls and a maid arrived with a groaning tray of food and the news that the adjoining chamber was ready for the new guest.

While Richard and Steven fell upon the pies and bread rolls and cheese and fruit, Darcy explained.

“Mmm,” said Richard, his mouth engaged with a large piece of cake. “Good thing you asked me here. Aye, I shall dispose of him tonight.”

“No. I must have those statements, even though I know that they are forgeries.”

“Nonsense. We shall get rid of him and take the papers from his room.”

“He could have hidden them anywhere!” Darcy protested.

“There is more to this story, Dicky,” interjected Steven. “Willy has fallen under the spell of an Art-of-War-quoting local gentlewoman.”

And so the teasing begins, groaned Darcy to himself.

“Ah, a fem fatal, eh?”

“Elizabeth is not a femme fatale!”

“‘Elizabeth,’ eh?” Richard wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tell me more, Cock Robin; aye, tell me about Willy’s fem fatal.”

Darcy groaned again. Knowing that the price of help was the teasing, he felt it was best to get the worst over with.

Greatly embellished, the agreement with Misses Elizabeth and Mary was explained, Steven making much of his role in providing the chaise longue for the ‘just so’ plopping of Miss Bennet thereon. The sighting of the very tips of toes was unconfirmed, but Steven did not doubt the veracity of Miss Mary’s report.

Steven reddened a little and Richard’s laughter began anew.

“So, let me see: you two have fallen for the local fem fatals, and are now in league with them —aye, a strange courtship, if you ask me— to solve two problems with one stone.”

Both Darcy and Steven hastily denied courtships, and, hiding a wince at Richard’s mangled metaphor, Darcy noticed Steven’s blush. Oh? Indeed.

“When do you plan to meet them again?”

“Tomorrow, at dawn.”

Chapter Twenty-six — In which an arrow is drawn

Elizabeth

Yawning and protesting at the lack of daylight, Charlotte hurried out of the rain to join Elizabeth and Mary in the stables. As Elizabeth started to explain how Charlotte should behave, Mary interrupted:

“You know that Lizzy is always quoting Sun Shine …”

“Sun Tzu!”

“… it is best to not say anything.”

“Anything at all?”

“As little as possible. Allow our guests to reveal more than they ought,” Elizabeth instructed Charlotte.

Both Bennet girls blushed at her answer.

“I can hear them coming,” interjected Mary in a whisper. “Do you remember our trick of co-ordinated curtseys, Charlotte? We shall perform on Lizzy’s signal.”

The women sat on the bale of hay and three men appeared at the stable door leading their horses. Mr Darcy directed them to stalls and showed where to hang their damp coats. The men lined up in front of the women.

The women regarded them in silence.

“Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Lucas, good morning,” said Darcy.

As one, the women stood and curtseyed.

“May I introduce my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam? Richard, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, her sister, Miss Mary, and their friend, Miss Lucas.”

Richard bowed and, again, as one, the women curtseyed before sitting down. Mary gestured to the wooden bench and the men sat.

“Cousin?”

“Mm, cousin.”

“Spear?”

“Distaff.”

“Mm.”

“Reuse of …

“… family name.”

Elizabeth hid a smirk at the new cousin’s discomfort. Messrs Darcy and Stevens did not. It was clear that they had not warned the newcomer of their little trick. Elizabeth felt oddly pleased that Mr Darcy had not shared it.

“What is the colonel’s purpose here?” asked Mary.

“His purpose appears to be to stare at Charlotte,” Elizabeth observed.

Mr Darcy spoke, “And Miss Lucas’ purpose seems to be to stare back at him.”

“Shall we leave them to their staring while we eat these rolls?” asked Mary. She looked at them as she passed them out. “These have chicken in them.”

Both Charlotte and Richard had a bread roll and a tin mug of tea pressed into their hands, but did not appear to notice, caught, as they were, by each other.

“I can see why you were so keen for your cousin’s arrival, Mr Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “He is going to be a great deal of assistance to us.”

“Indeed.”

“Mary, dear. Would you like to make the attempt to distract the distaff cousin. Perhaps tales of plaits just so and toes in the sunshine might do the trick.”

“But not toes in the Sun Tzu.”

Mr Darcy looked puzzled, while Mr Stevens was watching the colonel staring at Charlotte, a huge smirk on his face.

Elizabeth nudged Mary. They stood —as one— and shuffled further into the stables to sit on another bale of hay. Mr Darcy nudged Mr Stevens from his distraction. They stood and found seats on two old stools opposite the sisters. Mr Stevens stumbled, still occupied in his observation of the colonel.

“Miss Mary,” said Darcy, nudging Mr Stevens again. “I should like to hear of your success.”

“Oh. Yes,” agreed Mr Stevens. “My apologies for my inattention. I have not seen Dicky behave thus before.”

A snarl came from the other end of the stables. “Do not call me ‘Dicky’ in front of this lovely lady, Cock Robin.”

“I take it that Mary and I are not lovely ladies, then, Colonel?” asked Elizabeth.

“Aye, Willy and Cock Robin can tell me your tale, later, Miss …”

“‘Elizabeth.’”

“Aye, that too,” said the colonel.

Delighting in Charlotte’s good fortune, Elizabeth forgave the unintended slight.

“You must have been very funny as little boys, Mr Darcy, Mr Stevens,” said Mary.

“No more than other little boys. Why do you say that?”

“‘Dicky,’ ‘Willy’ and ‘Cock Robin,’” replied Mary.

“We suppose that Mr Stevens is really ‘Steven Something,’” Elizabeth said.

“Steven Robin Something,” Mary corrected her.

“Of course,” agreed Elizabeth.

“Do you spell it with a letter ‘v?’”

At Mr Stevens’ nod, Mary continued, “But you knew that it could also be spelled ‘ph.’”

“Thus ‘Step-Hen.’”

“Then ‘Step-Cock.’”

“Because you were very funny little boys,” laughed Elizabeth.

“Then you appended his other name.”

“It really is a shame that little boys grow up, is it not, Mary?”

“But do they, Lizzy? Do they? I confess to not being quite certain.”

“Now that we have the silly names out of the way, Mary, dear, do tell us of your progress with the sunshine, the blanket and the just so arrangement of ‘darling’ Jane’s plait and toes.”

“I think that I have made a little progress, Lizzy. Mr Bingley the blackmailer has started to drool before he leaves. I do not know if that is normal behaviour for a man when he sees all ten toes …”

“All ten, now?”

“Yes, all ten.” Mary addressed Mr Stevens. “Is that normal behaviour?”

Mr Stevens nodded and swallowed. And nodded. And swallowed again.

“Pappa’s books …”

“Those out of reach on the top shelf?”

“Yes, those. They did not explain why a man would drool upon seeing all ten toes.”

“That reminds me, Mary. When you return to Longbourn, I shall put you on bread and gruel for a month complete.”

“Oh, thank you, Lizzy! I shall anticipate that with great anticipation.”

“I do not know if I should punish you further now, by telling you of the latest flurries —forays?— of foraging redcoats.”

“If I promise to not look at those books again, will you allow me to return to ‘darling’ Jane’s chaise longue, without hearing of the redcoats’ many adulations of ‘darling’ Lydia.”

“Very well, if I have your promise.”

“Thank you, Lizzy. Shall I see you on Thursday?”

Elizabeth hugged and kissed her sister, and Mr Stevens shot to his feet to offer to escort her back to Netherfield.

Tutting to itself, Elizabeth’s brain noticed that Mary’s blood cells misbehaved by rushing to her cheeks.

After refilling their tin mugs, Elizabeth said, “Thank you for your company and your kindness the other day.” She blushed. Oh, not again, thought her brain. “I appreciated your care when I was feeling so … despairing.”

Mr Darcy leaned forward and took one of her hands in his. Despite the shower of rain, it was a warm summer day. Neither were wearing gloves, so he released it immediately. “I was and am very glad to be of service to you, Miss Elizabeth. How have you been since then?”

“Oh, after you left, I had yet another argument with her and ‘darling’ Lydia about money. Time and time again, I explain that Longbourn will pay for their food, but the interest from her money must pay for anything else that she and her daughters want.” She shook her head. “I am ashamed of myself: I lost my temper and threw my reticule at ‘darling’ Lydia saying that she could have everything in it.

“Do you know, she gloated —gloated— at taking my one and only farthing.”

Mr Darcy looked appalled. “Do you need more money, Miss Elizabeth.”

“No, no, sir! This is what I meant about maintaining the appearance that we have not sufficient coin. I am determined to save every penny, every ha’penny and even every farthing.”

“Is there such thing as being too thrifty?”

“Possibly, possibly. My Uncle Gardiner invests everything that I can spare. This is part of my longer plan, to secure Mary and Kitty’s futures.”

“Indeed. And what about your own future?”

“I have a plan for that too —pray, do not ask me about it yet— but as I am in loco parentis, as it were, for my sisters, I must think of them first.”

Chapter Twenty-seven — In which a target is struck

Darcy

“Upon my word, you assume a lot of responsibility for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?”

“With two younger sisters grown up,” replied Miss Elizabeth, smiling, “you can hardly expect me to own it.”

“Indeed, But you cannot be more than twenty, I am sure, therefore you need not conceal your age.”

“I am not one-and-twenty. I am not even twenty, I am but nineteen.”

He leaned forwards again, intending to take her hand, but stayed the movement. “You are full young to be in charge of an estate and your sisters.”

“Because I am a woman not a man?” Her tone suggested that she had taken umbrage.

“No, no. Because you are young. My own excellent father died when I was twenty-two …”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

He acknowledged her sympathy and continued, “… and, though I had had a lifetime of preparation and working by his side, I was still unprepared. Indeed, I have every comprehension of your travails … no, that is not true. I have no idea of being a woman in such a role.”

She seemed to accept his clumsy compliment and started to repack the food basket. “Can I trust my friend with the company of your distaff cousin, or ought we to free them from their enchantment. I am intending that we adjoin to the kitchen.”

“For another cup of tea, perhaps?”

“Indeed, sir,” she replied, grinning at him.

He stood and followed her to Richard and Miss Lucas, and watched as she took cold mugs and uneaten bread rolls from their unresisting fingers. He laughed as she deliberately stood in between them, breaking their gazes.

“Charlotte, dear, would you like to come inside? You may bring your swain.”

Darcy decided to follow her lead. “Dicky, dear, Miss Elizabeth has invited you inside. You may bring your fem fatal.” To his utter delight, Miss Elizabeth snorted.

Richard and Miss Lucas stood, the latter then swept away by Miss Elizabeth, while Darcy started to pull the former.

“Have you … … betrothed, Willy?”

“‘Betrothed?’ Indeed.”

Richard’s words tumbled out. “Ride …glorious … London … special … aye … wonderful … licence … never met … dazzling …”

Darcy elbowed him sharply in the ribs and stamped on his foot.

“What did you do that for?”

Darcy clicked his fingers in front of Richard’s rather stupefied face.

“We have been invited to join the ladies inside the house. Shall we accept the invitation?”

Richard was lost again. “… magnificent …”

Having had enough of his cousin’s cow-eyed imbecility, Darcy walked him to the horses’ water-trough and pushed his head into it.

Richard was found! His indignant imprecations followed Darcy to the kitchen door where Mrs Hill was standing ready armed with a drying cloth.

“Can you remain sensible for an hour or so?” Darcy asked as Richard rubbed his face and hair dry.

“Aye! Course I can!”

“Very well. Let us see what Miss Elizabeth and your blushing bride have to tell us.” And blushing, Miss Lucas was. The men entered the kitchen to find Mrs Hill and Cook fussing over and laughing with Misses Lucas and Elizabeth. What a pretty picture, Darcy thought.

Their hostess invited them into her father’s book-room. Some hidden signal between her and the housekeeper had deemed that acceptable. Once settled there, with tea and shortbread, Miss Elizabeth explained that she had invited Miss Lucas to join with herself and Miss Mary in their shared plotting. She went on, “The rest of the household are not likely to awaken yet, but I should prefer it if we were to speak quietly.”

The others nodded, though Richard and Miss Lucas kept stealing glances at each other.

“Mr Darcy, have you told your distaff cousin of our agreement so far?”

“Indeed, but I must also tell you of my deceit at Netherfield,” he replied.

“‘Deceit!’ ‘Deceit,’ he calls it!” Richard interjected loudly.

“Keep your voice down, please, Colonel.”

“Aye, oh yes. Sorry, Miss Elizabeth,” he said in normal tones. “But to call Willy’s words ‘deceit,’ is not doing them justice.”

Darcy huffed. “I could not allow Bingley to know who you were. I thought that, unaccustomed as I am to …” He waved his hands, and remembered the word. “… dissimulation —that is it, dissimulation— I did quite well.”

“Can you believe this, Miss Lucas?” Richard turned to look in Miss Lucas’ eyes with ardent appeal. “He introduced me as a distant cousin called ‘Mr Hughson.’”

Darcy’s foot beat an impatient rhythm on the nearest leg of the desk. “Your father is called ‘Hugh,’ thus ‘Hughson’ is accurate.”

The others looked at him in silence.

Rubbing her forehead with her fingers, looking as if she was counting, Miss Elizabeth broke it.

“Very well, we have ‘Mr Stevens’ who is really ‘Steven Robin Something,” and ‘Mr Hughson’ who is really ‘Colonel Fitzwilliam.’ Would you mind —very much— if Charlotte and I keep our own names?”

“Not at all, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Lucas,” Darcy answered with a bow of his head.

Miss Elizabeth sighed and took a breath. “It appears that Mary is doing well at Netherfield as she has told you that Mr Bingley is now drooling at the sight of ‘darling’ Jane’s toes. And Mary is to be punished with bread and gruel for a month for her impertinence of taking books from the top shelf.”

Unconsciously, her gaze drifted to the top shelf; Darcy and Richard followed her gaze.

“Now, I needs must tell you of the redcoats and their many and seemingly interminable visits.”

“‘Redcoats,’ Lizzy?” Miss Lucas spoke for the first time.

“Yes, dear Charlotte, redcoats. ‘Darling’ Lydia is fixed upon the idea of marrying a man in a red coat over the anvil.”

“Why?” scoffed Miss Lucas.

“Ah, as she is the tallest she must be the first to marry.”

Darcy noticed that Richard shared his confusion at such reasoning —perhaps it was a local custom— but Miss Lucas greeted it as if it were obvious.

“And you are trying to further her ambitions?”

“Mm.” Miss Elizabeth nodded.

“And this is part of the unknown venture?”

“Mm.” Miss Elizabeth nodded again.

Darcy was impressed by Miss Lucas. She did not quibble or question, but thought for a few moments in silence. She knows more than I do of Elizabeth and her sisters — or can guess what their plan are for their future.

“Mm,” said Miss Lucas. “Is there more to this agreement?”

“Yes. Mr Darcy is in a fix: Mr Bingley is blackmailing him with some forged letters which could ruin his sister.”

Darcy was surprised: Miss Lucas nodded. She did not look shocked or confused or … anything. She merely nodded.

“The terms for the return of these forged letters is that Mr Darcy will find an heiress for Mr Bingley to wed …”

Miss Lucas nodded again.

“… and a titled gentleman for Miss Bingley to wed.”

“Jane is the heiress. Who is to be the titled gentleman?”

“I think that Mr Darcy was hoping for Mr Hughson’s help in that matter.”

“I need to think about this,” said Richard. “Aye, someone foolish and desperate to shackle himself to the Bingleys. Willy, Cock Robin and I shall find the right man.” With that, the colonel stood. “If you will excuse us, I shall escort Miss Lucas home and have a quick word with her father.”

Miss Elizabeth stayed him. “Sir William is not the most discreet of men. Would you approach him as the colonel or as Mr Hughson?”

Richard sighed, retook his seat and groaned. “See what you have done, Willy? You have caught me in your tangled web. Hmph! I shall escort Miss Lucas home and shall not have a word with her father.”

With that, Richard and Miss Lucas left. Miss Elizabeth immediately led Darcy back to her chaperones in the kitchen, where they found Ned Nicholls, mug of tea in hand, munching his way through a plateful of shortbread.

Chapter Twenty-eight — In which a titled fool is suggested

Elizabeth

“Oh, Mary! Dearest Mary! A courtship! Well done!” Elizabeth hugged and hugged her sister.

“’Twas nothing, Lizzy. All it took was all ten toes, an ankle and her nightgown nudged —just so, you will be glad to hear, Mr Darcy— towards her shoulder.”

As expected, Messrs Darcy and Stevens determinedly studied the sky and the ground, so Elizabeth and Mary watched the colonel’s reaction. He stared back at them with a broad grin on his face. Elizabeth realised that she would have to ask a married woman about these various reactions. That must wait.

“He is to speak with Mr Phillips, tomorrow.”

“Who is Mr Phillips?” the colonel asked.

A voice came from the path nearby, “Mrs Bennet’s brother, Jane’s guardian.” Charlotte joined them and, after the usual courtesies, took a seat with them on the large rock. “Dawn, Lizzy? Only you!”

“‘We do not know if they are friend or foe, good or bad,’” remarked Elizabeth, shocking the colonel.

“He will see Mr Bingley’s wealth and might think him a good catch,” agreed Mary, passing bread rolls filled with slices of beef along the row.

“Well done, Mary! We must hope that a courtship is but the first jump to betrothal, and from betrothal to matrimony.”

The other joined her congratulations.

“We might have success, too,” said Mr Stevens. “Dicky thought of the Lord-Lineley twins.”

“Go on, Mr Stevens, go on.”

“Baron and Barton Lord-Lineley.”

Elizabeth joined the laughter. “‘Baron Lord-Lineley?’ Really?”

“Is he a fool?” asked Mary.

“No, he is not,” admitted the colonel. “Aye, but he may yet be suitable.”

“Go on, Mr Hughson, go on.”

“The older twin, Baron, is crippled having been thrown from his horse. He is not expected to live much longer.”

“Oh dear, poor man.”

“The estate will then go to Barton and it is in dire need of money.”

Elizabeth knew that both Mary and Charlotte understood the ramifications of this. One of them must give voice to their shared disquiet. To her surprise, it was Mr Darcy.

“We discussed this, the three of us, and have anticipated that such deception will not sit well with you. To a certain extent, we agree.”

Mr Stevens continued, “We know that it is not your decision to make, but we found that we should not care to disappoint you,” he glanced at Mary. “Any of you.”

Elizabeth frowned and shook her head.

“What are your reservations, Lizzy?” asked Charlotte.

“It is cruel —unnecessarily cruel— to Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said.

“She was cruel to you,” Mary retorted.

“What? Tell me!” cried Charlotte. “In what way was Miss Bingley cruel to Lizzy?”

“She asked how much I charge.”

“Charge for what?”

“It seems she meant for my favours.”

It was the colonel’s turn to interrupt. “The daughter of a tradesman asked a gentlewoman that?”

“Indeed, Richard, she did,” answered Mr Darcy. “She and the Hursts tittered about it as we returned from the assembly when we first arrived here.”

“It is worse: her maid has spoken of ‘Miss Eliza and her favours’ below stairs,” Mr Stevens admitted.

Elizabeth felt Mary’s arm around her and a kiss on her forehead. Further debate was unnecessary.

Mr Stevens hurriedly added, “The local servants, those who know you, shout their disbelief.”

“And thus reputations are ruined, I see. I admit to some ambivalence towards your scheme, but yes, I do see, Mr Darcy. I see, all too clearly, why you submit to playing along with these odious people. They leave ruined reputations in their wake: mine, your sister’s … others too, I doubt not.”

Mr Darcy nodded. “You all will, we hope, acquit us henceforth of cruelty towards Miss Bingley.”

Mary spoke next, bringing some calm to Elizabeth’s distress. “How will you persuade the Lord-Lineley twin to propose and how will you persuade Miss Bingley to accept?”

“Ah,” said the colonel. “Leave that to us, aye. Willy has already written to Barton-the-younger. And we have had a tentative acceptance. He is to go to their estate in Devonshire to discuss the idea with Baron-the-older. In the meanwhile, we shall, to paraphrase Sun Tzu, ‘confuse the enemy, so that he cannot fathom our real intent,’ with a bit of subterfuge.”

“Dicky means eavesdropping and nosiness,” said Mr Stevens. “Theirs, not ours.”

Elizabeth turned to Mr Darcy. “And you, sir, will you be ‘practising dissimulation?’”

“No, Miss Elizabeth, but I hope to ‘mystify, mislead and surprise the enemy.’”

Her brain tutted and ordered her eyes to look away. They disobeyed, lost, as they were, in returning Mr Darcy’s earnest look of admiration. Her brain had a sudden thought: thank him for the return of the cross! Her mouth and lips disobeyed, lost, as they were, in the very wicked temptations suggested by Mr Darcy’s lips as they curved into a smile

Chapter Twenty-nine — In which claims are overheard

Darcy

Misses Bennet, Mary and Catherine had returned to Longbourn that morning after church. He had not been able to talk with Miss Elizabeth earlier and, to make him tetchier, on their return to Netherfield, Richard and Steven had cornered him in his chambers to rehearse.

He could not act!

He was trying his very utmost to dissimulate.

Urgh, but the disguise and the lies of acting were an abhorrence.

His cousins had written down his words, but, in their rehearsals, he had stumbled and stuttered through them.

“Willy! Make it sound natural!” hissed Steven.

“But Lord-Lineley does not own half of Devonshire!” His voice grew louder.

“Aye, it is closer to three-quarters,” Richard shouted back at him.

“But what would Lord-Lineley want with Miss Bingley?” Darcy shouted.

Richard’s face was inches away from his. “You must persuade Bingley to raise her dowry!”

“To match Georgie’s,” Steven suggested quietly.

“To thirty thousand? THIRTY THOUSAND!” Darcy could not shout any louder. “All because Miss Bingley wants a title!”

At some signal from Stevens, Richard grinned. Clapping an irate Darcy on the back, he said, “Well done, Willy! That was perfect.”

“What!” Darcy was still angry.

“You performed to perfection.”

“What?”

“Bingley-boy’s ferret was valeting in the servants’ passage and heard it all,” said Steven.

“But I did not say the right words! Not the words you wrote for me!” Of what are they talking?

“Even so, you performed to perfection, aye. Quick, Cock Robin, distract him!”

Steven came towards him and rubbed Darcy’s back. “Meditate on the very great pleasure which fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow,” he said in the soothing tones of a mother to her child.

“You tricked me.”

“Fine eyes.”

“You tricked me,” he grumbled.

“Fine eyes.”

“Fine eyes.” As Darcy allowed himself to be calmed by the thoughts of Miss Elizabeth’s fine eyes, he caught Steven and Richard exchanging looks of relief. “You tricked me,” he mumbled.

“Aye.”

Darcy looked at them through narrowed eyes.

“Now,” said Steven, slapping him on the back and dispelling any hint of a comforting thought of fine eyes. “In a couple of days, I shall give Bingley-boy’s ferreting valet, some copies of your begging letters to Baron-the-older.”

Darcy closed his eyes. How, how, had he become involved in this?

Steven must have read the irritated anguish in his expression. “We do it for Georgie, William, for Georgie.”

“Aye.”

“Indeed,” he acknowledged wearily.

Chapter Thirty — In which suitors are juggled

Elizabeth

Since Mary, Kitty and ‘darling’ Jane had returned from Netherfield, Elizabeth felt that she had not had a moment’s peace. Mr Bingley and the foolish redcoats had visited daily. So far, the blackmailer of Netherfield Park and the men of the militia had not arrived at the same time. But both stayed far longer than polite custom dictated.

She and Mary had discussed how to deal with concurrent visits. They agreed that ‘darling’ Jane’s beau ought not be in the same room as ‘darling’ Lydia’s beaux; the former must not be given the slightest opportunity to break off the courtship. Elizabeth worried that the behaviour of the latter and ‘darling’ Lydia would put off any sane man.

At supper, one evening, Elizabeth sowed the seed of an idea. “Did you not say, Mary, that you would like the small yellow parlour to be used as a private sitting room?”

Mary watered the seed. “It would be quite cosy.”

Kitty had been primed to add a little warmth: “I should like that, too; somewhere for intimate conversation.”

As they had hoped, Mrs Bennet disagreed. “No, no. You are not to infer that you need your own parlour. That room is for darling Jane and Mr Bingley to use.”

Elizabeth concealed a wince. I was implying not inferring. Implying quite strongly, at that.

“I think not!”, she replied, dissembling. After all, she thought, Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.’

“La, Eliza! Jane will not catch Mr Bingley unless she gives him more encouragement.”

“Mary, Kitty and I would like somewhere to sit so that we do not disturb your visits from the handsome redcoats.”

“La, Mamma …”

Elizabeth’s thoughts skittered away. ‘La Mamma, La Mamma?’ A book of Pappa’s about strange and mythical foreign beasts. ‘La Mamma, La Mamma?’ Oh, llama, that was it. She could not remember what it was supposed to look like but would enjoy finding a description for her sisters’ amusement.

Meanwhile the seed had sprouted: Mrs Bennet declared that she had been thinking for a few days that the small yellow parlour must be reserved for the courting couple, while the redcoats could pay homage in the main parlour.

Feigning dejection, Elizabeth and Mary agreed to provide chaperonage in the small yellow parlour as necessary.

Elizabeth had not felt such acute disappointment since the second Mrs Bennet had arrived to live at Longbourn. She, Mary and Charlotte climbed Oakham Mount at dawn and only Mr Stevens and the colonel were there. Mr Darcy was not with them.

She felt decidedly de trop. No, she was not unwelcome, but she felt rather surplus sitting with the two couples, one nascent, the other tentative.

The men explained their ploy to have outlandish claims made and overheard. Mr Darcy had ridden to London to meet with Barton-the-younger to agree upon his role in the scheme and to have the prospective suitor outfitted by Darcy’s own tailor. They hoped that Barton-the-younger would travel to Netherfield —in his guise as Baron-the-older— a fortnight hence.

After Mary had explained about their plans for segregating the blackmailer from the fools, Elizabeth excused herself to meet with Mr Onions. Estate work was never done.

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