Darcy and Elizabeth- Answered Prayers Read online

  DARCY AND ELIZABETH

  Answered Prayers

  A Pride and Prejudice

  Short Story

  Mary Lydon Simonsen

  Quail Creek Publishing, LLC

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  Published by Quail Creek Publishing, LLC

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  ©2015 Quail Creek Publishing, LLC

  Cover Image: Alexander Francis Lydon (1836-1917) – “Warwick Castle, Warwickshire, England,” from the book “County Seats of The Noblemen and Gentlemen of Great Britain and Ireland” – 1870. This image is in the public domain in the Unites States.

  Darcy and Elizabeth

  Answered Prayers

  A Pride and Prejudice Short Story

  Darcy dismounted and handed Macbeth’s reins to a groom. After providing the boy with instructions as to the care of the stallion, he took one look at his manservant and ordered Mercer to Pemberley’s kitchen.

  “Mrs. Bradshaw always has a kettle boiling,” Darcy said, “and I insist that you have a cup of tea and a bowl of soup if Cook has one bubbling on the hearth.”

  Since leaving Derby at first light, both men had been in and out of the rain, only finding the sun a few miles south of Pemberley. Darcy had come through the cloudbursts unscathed, but Mercer, who was unwell even before they had set out, was most definitely feeling the effects of a thorough soaking. Despite his wan pallor and the occasional shiver, Darcy’s man insisted that he was capable of seeing to his master’s baggage that had been sent ahead to Pemberley the previous day.

  “Shall I arrange to have a tray sent up to your room?” Mercer asked.

  “Will you please stop worrying about me! You hover like a mother hen over one of her chicks,” Darcy said, shaking his head in frustration. “You should not even be here! If you had listened to me, you would, at the very least, be sitting in front of a blazing fire and under the care of Mrs. Hulstead. Instead, you look as if you are at death’s door.” Seeing the injury in Mercer’s eyes, Darcy softened his tone. “It would be a great inconvenience if you should die, Mercer. You do know that, do you not?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Then please go to the kitchen.” Darcy turned to the stable boy. “Jimmy—that is your name, is it not?” Not only was Jimmy an identical twin, making it difficult to determine who was who, but his brother’s name was Jemmy, further adding to the confusion.

  “Yes, sir. I be Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy, please see that my bag, as well as Mercer’s, is sent up to the house,” Darcy said as his stubborn valet stood beside him. After noting the set of Mercer’s jaw, he decided on a different approach. “Mercer, Mrs. Bradshaw will be all aflutter at our early arrival. If you go to the kitchen, you can provide advance warning that the master has arrived at Pemberley. Now, off with you. Please!”

  As Mercer inched his way towards the manor, too sick to do otherwise, Jemmy arrived to help his twin with the horses.

  “After they have been dried and brushed, make sure they each have a bucket of oats,” Darcy told the lads. “They earned their keep today.”

  With Mercer ill, Darcy was now regretting his decision to depart from Hulstead Manor a day early. His excuse for leaving Bingley, his sisters, Mr. Hurst, and his own sister, all of whom were to follow on the morrow, was that he had business with his steward, which was true, but nothing that could not wait. The primary reason for his departure was the need to break free of Bingley’s sisters and their incessant complaints about the Hulsteads and the quality of their accommodations.

  It was true that Hulstead Manor, a former coaching inn, had seen better days. When Darcy’s good friend, the newly married John Hulstead, purchased the inn and surrounding acres eight years earlier, he had big plans for the property. But all he had succeeded in doing was filling the house with little Hulsteads and the enclosed courtyard with dogs of every shape and size. With the canines baying at the kitchen door for scraps, and the Hulstead urchins wreaking havoc in every corner of the house, the nerves of Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst had begun to fray, and the complaints began.

  When Darcy told Georgiana of his plans to leave a day early, his sister had teased him: “I shall not protest your leaving me behind if you admit the real reason why you are going.”

  “I do not know what you are talking about,” Darcy said, trying to hide a smile.

  “You do not want to hear further complaints from Caroline about finding Billy Hulstead in her bedchamber yesterday morning.”

  “Billy? I thought one of the beagles was found sleeping under Caroline’s bed.”

  “No. The beagle was sleeping under the Hursts’ bed. It was Billy who was found in Caroline’s room playing jacks. Hearing scratching noises, Caroline thought a wild creature was under her bed, and she let out such a scream that all the servants came running to rescue her. One of the footmen, who thought the fire alarm had been sounded, arrived with a pail of sand in each hand.”

  “Where was I when all of this was happening?”

  “Out riding with Mr. Hulstead and Mr. Bingley.”

  “Sorry to have missed that,” he said with a devilish grin. “Well, whether boy or beast, it was a harmless bit of fun.”

  “Apparently, neither Caroline nor Louisa shares your sense of fun.”

  The grumbling by Bingley’s sisters, which had begun at breakfast, continued on through the whole of the afternoon, reaching its peak whilst all played cards that evening. It was during the rubber match when Darcy felt an urgent need to speak to his steward.

  Darcy insisted that he would not hurry to Pemberley based exclusively on the sisters’ complaints, but as Mrs. Hulstead was with child, he thought it best to move the party along so that she might have some rest.

  “Rest!” Georgiana said, laughing. “Not likely with four children under foot.” And apparently, a husband who cannot leave his wife alone. “But, I agree, we should leave.”

  “You will have to pay attention to the weather. Do not leave Derby if it is raining.”

  Georgiana reminded her concerned brother that that decision rested with Metcalf, the Darcy driver. “Metcalf will see us safely home.”

  “Then I shall see you at Pemberley.”

  * * *

  The morning of Darcy’s departure, the skies had hinted at rain, but not the downpours that drenched the riders when they were only halfway to Pemberley. Another soaking had occurred a few miles south of Lambton. After that, the skies had cleared, but it was to be a brief hiatus as storm clouds were once again forming. It was as if Darcy was tethered to a storm—the dark skies matching his mood.

  Before entering the kitchen, Darcy removed his boots and overcoat. An unshod Darcy made quick work of the bo
wl of soup placed before him by Mrs. Bradshaw.

  “I sent Mercer to bed, sir,” the cook explained. “Young Eddie is bringing him a bowl of soup. He looks like last week’s mutton.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bradshaw. I would appreciate it if you would have Eddie check in on him every now and then.”

  “Of course, sir, but his stomach won’t be seeing any solid food today.”

  “Do what you think is best.”

  On the way to his suite of rooms, Darcy knocked on the door of the housekeeper’s office to inform her of his arrival. He knew that Mrs. Reynolds liked all her ducks in a row, and one of her ducks had showed up a day early.

  “Mr. Darcy—” the housekeeper gasped upon seeing her master.

  “Yes, I know, Mrs. Reynolds. I was not expected until tomorrow. I hope my early arrival will in no way inconvenience you.”

  “Of course not, sir. It’s just that we have visitors. I wouldn’t have approved their application if I had known you would be home.”

  “How many people are there?”

  “Just three, sir. A couple from London and their niece.”

  “I think the house is big enough to accommodate three visitors without fear of our running into each other.”

  “I had them start in the garden, so they haven’t toured the house, yet. Perhaps I should limit the visit to the gardens. I don’t think they’d mind, and it does look like rain.”

  “Very likely, Mrs. Reynolds,” he said, looking down at the raindrops still evident on his breeches.

  “I can’t apologize enough, sir, for the inconvenience.”

  Darcy was puzzled by Mrs. Reynolds’s reaction. In the summer, visitors were frequently at Pemberley, so why was his housekeeper so apologetic? Was she frightened of him? Did she anticipate a rebuke? He understood that his temperament could be described as resentful, but surely his housekeeper had seen no evidence of that—at least none that was directed at her. From childhood, he had treated Pemberley’s housekeeper with the utmost respect and kindness, and, yet, she was clearly fearful of his reaction to the news that a paltry three travelers were on the estate.

  “Tell me the truth, Mrs. Reynolds. Do you think I am angry with you?”

  “No, sir,” she answered, shaking her head. “It’s just that I know you don’t like travelers in the house when you are at home.”

  “My objection is reserved exclusively for large parties. Three people hardly constitute a mob.” After further study of his housekeeper’s strained countenance, he asked, “Am I good master?”

  “The best, sir. None better. There is not one person who would say otherwise. After all, you are your father’s son.”

  “Excessive praise is not necessary, Mrs. Reynolds. I want to know the truth.”

  “The praise is not excessive, sir. All those many years ago, when I first came into service, I was serving in another house. It was… It was quite different from Pemberley. There was little kindness there. I’m don’t know a lot, but I’m sensible enough to know when I’m well off.”

  From stories told to him by his mother, Darcy recalled that Mrs. Reynolds had started in service with the Percival family. It was widely reported that the mistress made unreasonable demands of her staff and had a reputation for holding on to every penny that could be kept out of a servant’s purse. When she died, Lord Percival’s second wife proved to be equally adept at pinching pennies. After a few months with the second Lady Percival, Mrs. Reynolds had applied for a position at Pemberley.

  “I know that I can be moody.”

  “Can’t we all, sir?”

  For a moment, Darcy thought of his mother, sitting in her chair, staring into the fire. His father attributed such moods to women’s complaints, but he wondered if mother and son shared a tendency to withdraw into themselves.

  “I am happy to know that you have such a high opinion of me.”

  “Is there anyone who doesn’t?” Mrs. Reynolds asked.

  “I know of at least one.” Darcy said, shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge an image of Elizabeth Bennet. “Is Jackson about?” he asked of Pemberley’s butler.

  “It’s his half day, sir. He went into the village, but he’ll be back in time for his midday meal.”

  “When he returns, please tell him that I wish to speak to him.”

  “Yes, sir. But what is to be done about our visitors?”

  Darcy was unsure of what to do. He could remember only one time when the Wye had exceeded its banks to the point where it had affected the estate, most particularly, the bridge leading to Lambton. “What has the weather been like here at Pemberley? It rained on and off for each of the three days I was in Derby.”

  “Yesterday, we had sunshine all day long, but that was the exception. It’s been a very wet summer hereabouts. In June and July, when you were in Ireland, we had one storm after another. The river is quite high, sir.”

  “Yes, I noticed. If it does rain today, I am concerned that the approach to the bridge over the Wye will flood. It would be best if our visitors, after a quick tour of the house, were on their way back to the village. Perhaps you can eliminate the tour of the portrait gallery.”

  “If you wish, but that’s usually the favorite part of the tour.”

  “Is that true?”

  Mrs. Reynolds nodded.

  “Visitors starring at portraits of people unknown to them whilst listening to exaggerated claims of their virtues?”

  “Sir, I never exaggerate.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Mrs. Reynolds. I have heard your tour,” Darcy answered in jest. “Whatever you decide, I shall be in my bedchamber, and our visitors shall have no effect on me whatsoever.”

  * * *

  When Darcy went to his apartment, he found Mercer making preparations for a bath and shave for his master.

  “Mercer, Mrs. Bradshaw is under the impression that you are in your bed,” Darcy barked.

  “Mrs. Bradshaw is mistaken.”

  “Did I not tell you to go to bed?”

  “Not specifically, sir. You told me to go to the kitchen and have a cup of tea. I did that and had a bowl of broth as well. Will you be having a bath this evening?”

  Nearly exhausted from the ride, he was too tired to argue with his manservant, but argue he must.

  “Yes, I shall have a bath this evening, but Jackson will make the arrangements.”

  “Jackson ordering a bath, sir?”

  Mercer was right. Although the butler would follow orders without complaint, the man had very exact ideas on what was expected of a butler. Arranging for a bath was not one of them.

  “Oh, never mind. I shall forego a bath until tomorrow. However, I do need a shave, but not from a man who has the chills. I can shave myself. I have done so in the past.”

  “The last time you shaved yourself, you swore you would never do it again. A gentleman should never have blood on his cravat. It scares the ladies.”

  Darcy remembered the incident. With Mercer away visiting an ailing relation, he had decided that using a straight blade was a simple enough task and that he could do it himself. Although the results were less than stellar, as there were no guests in the house, there was no one to object to his stubble. His mistake was in telling Mercer of the blood-letting.

  A weary Darcy collapsed into a favorite chair by the window overlooking the gardens. With head back, he ran his hands over the smooth of the leather and remembered the day the servants had brought it into his room. As a young man, it was the first piece of furniture he had bought with his own money, a result of an increase in his allowance upon reaching his eighteenth birthday. His mother had teased him that he would soon be calling for his pipe. A few months later, she was gone.

  With Mercer still puttering about, Darcy told his valet that he could be dismissed for insubordination.”

  “So you have said in the past, sir.”

  Knowing there was no point in continuing the discussion, Darcy looked out into the gardens. His eyes followed the three people touring the g
ardens. From the girth on the man and the woman’s finery, Darcy imagined that the gentleman was a successful London merchant. As for the young woman, from such a distance, it was hard to say, but he guessed that she was probably in her twenties and on a tour of the North with relations who could pay her expenses. As the trio continued along the terraced paths, in his mind, he urged them to pick up the pace as he had no doubt a storm was on its way.

  Considering my luck of late, it will start raining, and these travelers will have to take shelter at Pemberley. I have no interest in playing host to three strangers. Maybe it would be best if they did not tour the manor.

  Too fatigued to rise, he decided to let Nature take its course.

  * * *

  “Elizabeth, you are very quiet,” Aunt Gardiner said as the ladies walked down a garden path. “I would have expected more commentary about an estate that you have heard so much about.”

  “What can I possibly say that would not be stating the obvious,” Lizzy answered. “The manor house is a testament to taste, and the gardens are exquisite. My only complaint is the humidity. If it were not for my curly hair, I would remove my bonnet. But if I did, my curls would take on a life of their own.”

  “But there is no one here to see your hair. If you take off your bonnet, I shall remove mine.”

  “Will you really, Aunt?”

  “At my age! Of course not,” Aunt Gardiner said, laughing. “But if I were twenty—most definitely.”

  Lizzy was happy to do so. After removing her bonnet, she took a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed her forehead. Taking his cue from his niece, Uncle Gardiner removed his hat and fanned his face with it before ambling towards a huge oak and a stone bench. Calling over his shoulder, he told his wife and niece that they should continue on. “As for me, I have seen enough gardens on this tour to last a lifetime.”

  “Your uncle suffers from the heat,” Aunt Gardiner said, explaining her husband’s grouchiness.