Imperative: Volume 2, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (97 page)

“Lady Matlock . . .” Evans began and then waved his hand.  “Is set in her ways.”

“So you should appreciate our mistress more.”  Mrs. Reynolds said sternly.

“I do, I do.  I’m just not used to it.  Although, come to think of it, she has not visited for quite some time.”  She looked around worriedly and startled when a maid entered carrying a plate.  “What is this?  That shortbread has not been touched!”  

“Mrs. Darcy took one bite and nearly turned green.  Mrs. Annesley hurried to have it taken away.”  She whispered. 

“Green?”  Mrs. Johns stared. 

They looked up as another girl entered, “Could you make up some peppermint or ginger tea for the mistress, Mrs. Johns?”

“Well . . . certainly, but . . . what is wrong with the tea we sent up?” 

“I don’t know, Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley were drinking it, but Mrs. Darcy would not so much as look at it.  She was holding her stomach.”

“Poor thing must be feeling a bit upset, she has been trying so hard to be confident with all of these guests coming any minute and the ball preparations taking up her every thought.”  Mrs. Reynolds nodded. 

“She asks for some biscuits, too.  As plain as can be.”  Susie added.

“Plain biscuits.”  Mrs. Johns looked at her shortbread with a frown.  “Well, I suppose that I have some about, but they are stale, I was going to use them to stuff the birds for supper.  No, no, that is not good enough.  I will have to make up a fresh batch for her.”  Unhappily, she wiped her hands and pointed to a girl.  “Go on then, get a ginger root and start peeling, and you, Jill, run out to the garden and pick some mint.   We will be ready for whatever she fancies.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Jill scurried off. 

“Weak stomach.”  Mrs. Johns muttered.  “Our mistress is not one to give in to nerves.  She has borne far more terrifying events than a ball without so much as a flinch!” 

“Well . . .”  Evans smiled.  “I would not say that.”

“Perhaps it is her monthly.”  Susie offered. Mr Evans’s face coloured and she hung her head.  “I am sorry.”

“As you should be.”  Mrs. Reynolds chastised her and then stopped and turned to the cook.  “Unless . . .”

“Oh, dear heaven!”  Mrs. Johns’ hands went to her face.  “Could it be?”

“Could what be?”  Evans demanded.

“We will have to ask Judy.”

“She won’t say a word, you know that.  We shall have to watch Mrs. Darcy’s plate.”  The women looked at Evans.  “That is your job.”

“What is my job?”  Evans glared.

“At dinner!  When you are standing around there like a statue, watch what the mistress eats!”

“Or does not eat.”  Mrs. Johns said sagely.

“And see if she shies away from any dish.”  Mrs. Reynolds’ eyes were lit up and she clapped.  “Oh my!  At last, at last!” 

Evans looked between them. “
What
the devil are you two babbling on about?”

“You old stupid fool!  The mistress!  She is with child!”  Mrs. Johns crowed.  Evans’ mouth dropped open.  “No rich foods, no black tea . . .!”

“No wonder the master is smiling all of the time!”  Mrs. Reynolds crowed.

“What is all of this noise?”  Parker asked as he walked through the kitchen on his way to the servants’ stairs.  When he did not hear anything, he looked up from the table where he had stolen a handful of raisins.  Popping one in his mouth, he studied the stares.  “I do not know a thing.”

“About what, exactly?”  Mr. Evans demanded.

“I have no idea.”  Parker nodded to them, ate another raisin and quickly disappeared.

“That settles it!”  Mrs. Reynolds declared.

“We really should ask Judy . . .”

“She is worse than Parker.”

“Jennifer!”  Mrs. Johns cried. 

Evans cleared his throat.  “Should you not be making the mistress her biscuits?  We will know when, and
if
, there is something to be told.  Now, until then we have houseguests arriving in two days and a ball to arrange.  Let us contain our effusions.”  He spoke sternly, but a smile played on his lips.  “And then perhaps we might celebrate.” 

The sound of voices in the hallway and a door shutting gained all of their attention as two boys struggled in carrying crates.  “What are you bringing into my kitchen!”  Mrs. Johns demanded.

“It’s the candles for the ball!”  One boy gasped.

“Put them in the pantry.”  Evans shooed them forward as a footman followed with a third crate.  “Did you find enough?”

“We were scouring the county, sir.  I bought eight hundred beeswax candles.”  Setting the box down, he puffed out his cheeks.  “The master is spending a fortune.”

“He wants the house to glow.  Which reminds me we need to have torches made up for the drive and garden.”  Evans looked in the box and took out a taper.  “I will have three boys working the night of the ball on the wax and drippings.”

“You will need more than that.”  Thomas watched another boy appear with a crate.  “Will there be fireworks?”

“Fireworks?”  Evans put down the candle.  “I have heard nothing of that.  What put that idea in mind?”

“The last place we stopped, a man in the shop asked if we were stocking up for winter, and I said we were preparing for a ball at Pemberley.  The man seemed interested and mentioned how old Mr. Darcy always had some fireworks at his balls.  He was about the master’s age, so I do not think he could have attended a ball.”  Shrugging, he hefted the box onto his shoulder.  “He looked familiar, though.  He supposed that the ball was to be held at the full moon and when I agreed, he left.”

“What are you doing giving out details to a stranger?”  Evans asked.

“Anyone who does not know Pemberley is giving a ball is blind.  Mr. Darcy is buying out every fancy good between here and London!”

“True enough, but that does not give you leave to talk about Pemberley business to any Tom, Dick, or Harry.”  Thomas refrained from rolling his eyes.  “He looked familiar, you say?”

“Tall, dark . . .”  He shrugged. “Familiar.”  Adjusting the box he moved to carry it further into the storage room.  “Enough?”

“Return to your duties.”  Evans frowned and seeing Mrs. Johns and Mrs. Reynolds whispering happily together, he shook his head.  “This is the calm before the storm, I think.”   

“COME ALONG, we can prepare for Mr. Darcy in my office.  He is speaking with the stable master about accommodations for all of the visitors.”  Barnes led the way up the servants’ stairs, looking through his sheaf of letters as he walked.  Noticing that he was alone, he turned and found Ferguson standing still and gaping at the magnificent foyer.  “Catching flies?”

Ferguson’s mouth snapped shut.  “I have never seen anything . . .”

“You grow used to it.”  Barnes looked around and hitting him with the letters, he lifted his chin.  “Gape on your own time, we are working right now.”

“Yes, sir.”  Following him, Ferguson still stared around as they walked.  “Sommerwald is stark in comparison.”

“Sommerwald is simply a retreat; this is the seat of power.  But as I said, you grow used to it.”  Barnes laughed.  “Although, Mrs. Darcy certainly is not yet.  I daresay I find her studying the murals at least once a week.”

“I do not feel so much like a bumpkin now.”  Ferguson smiled.  “She is a very kind woman.”

“Aye, she is.  And good for the master.”  Barnes smiled and winked.  “I have never seen the man so relaxed.”

“Well . . . I can understand why.”  Barnes tilted his head.  Ferguson cleared his throat and changed the subject.  “So, you . . . I imagine you followed your father around like I did with mine at Sommerwald, learning your business?”

“Yes, but he was not the steward, he worked for him.  I apprenticed under Mr. Wickham and when he died, I took over.  I cannot imagine taking on Pemberley at your age.  Sommerwald would be enough of a trial, but then as you say, you grew up following your father.”  Walking again, he returned to his letters. 

Ferguson’s brow creased.  “Mr. Wickham?”

“Yes.  He was a good man, his son probably would have followed him, I suppose.  Well, maybe not, he was still a boy when his father died.”  He scratched his face and shrugged.  “It doesn’t matter; he was given a great favour by Mr. Darcy and wasted it.”

“Mr. Darcy?”

“Our master’s father.  He gave Wickham an education and everything in the world.  Here, there was a miniature of him hanging . . . Oh that is right, it was taken down.”  He stopped in the doorway to George Darcy’s little reading room.  “Such a fool.”

“Wickham.”  Ferguson said quietly and remembered Darcy’s contained anger.

“Why do you keep saying that?  Have you run across him?  He’s no good, but from what I know of you, I would say you have enough sense to see that easily.”

“Is he . . . about my age?”

“A bit older.  You do know him?” 

“A Mr. Wickham came to Sommerwald, I . . . escorted him off.” 

“Was he worse for wear?”

“Aye.”

“Good for you!”

“I didn’t do it, Mr. Darcy did.” 

“Good for him.”  Barnes said with great satisfaction.  “It was long past time for that.”

“Why was he there?  At Sommerwald?”

“No idea, but he had a history of mistreating this family and always looking for money from the master.”  Barnes blew out a long breath and glanced into Mr. Darcy’s reading room.  “Odd that the master did not say anything of seeing him, we were nearly tearing the estate apart last winter, looking for signs of him.  I wonder what happened.”

Ferguson’s brow creased, remembering the beaten man in the shed.  The grateful, beaten man.  “I suppose it is not our business to know.” 

Barnes smiled.  “No wonder Mr. Darcy likes you.  He is a very appreciative of loyalty from his people, and rewards it.”   

The front door opened and Darcy appeared.  Striding across the marble floor, he peeled off his riding gloves.  “Please forgive my tardiness.”

Barnes straightened.  “Not at all, sir, we were just going to my office.  Just call us when you are settled.”

Darcy smiled.  “No need, come to mine.  If I do not speak to you now, I will be caught up in something else and who knows when you will find me?  Our guests are due to start arriving today.”

“Fitzwilliam?”  The men turned as Georgiana came down the stairs and rounded the banister.  “Oh, I am sorry.  Good morning, Mr. Barnes, good morning, Mr. . . .” She stopped and a blush came over her face. 

“Miss Cargill!”  Ferguson lit up with a smile.

“Miss Cargill?  No, man, this is Miss Darcy.  Do you not recognize her?  You surely saw her at Sommerwald.”  Barnes laughed.  “Who is Miss Cargill?” 

Without missing a beat, Darcy stepped to his sister’s side and gently placed a steadying hand upon her back.  “Miss Cargill is a cousin who stayed with us in Scotland for a visit.  She is the picture of Miss Darcy, do you not agree, Ferguson?” 

Ferguson saw fear in Georgiana’s eyes just before they moved to stare at her feet.  He felt his heart break for her, and then looked up to see the fierce posture of protection emanating from Darcy.  “Of course, yes, I was taken aback.  I should be able to spot the differences without fail.  The resemblance is remarkable.  Please forgive me if I have upset you in any way, Miss Darcy.”

“No.  I am not offended, Mr. Ferguson.”  Feeling Darcy’s hand move away from her back, she looked up and finally met Ferguson’s eyes, and was grateful not to see disgust.  “I am . . . very close to Miss Cargill; it is not an insult to be compared to her at all.  She is just a little more adventuresome than I, and you probably saw more of her when you were about the estate.”

“I am certain that you are correct.”  Ferguson assured her.  

“Very good then.”  Darcy smiled at her confidently.  “Did you need me for anything, dear?  I will be shut up with Mr. Barnes and Mr. Ferguson for a little while.”

“We will just wait for you inside of the study, sir.”  Barnes indicated the way and Ferguson finally looked away from Georgiana and bowing, joined Barnes on the short walk into Darcy’s study. 

Darcy turned to her and opened his arms.  Georgiana fell into them and he hugged her tightly.  “Forgive me for not warning you of Ferguson coming.  I thought it would be best if you met naturally, if at all.”

“But how could you know how he would react?”  She whispered.

“He defended Miss Cargill to the neighbourhood, did he not?  He kept your existence as secret as he could?  None of his workers breathed a word of her.”  Darcy looked down and tilted his head to see her face.  “Do you see?”

“Do you think that he suspected Miss Cargill was not my name all along?”

“Yes.”  Darcy smiled sadly and letting go of her, took her hand to hold.  “And I suspect that you are not the first young girl to fall with child that he knows, and from there springs his compassion.” 

“Oh.”  She looked down. “He seemed happy to see me . . . as if he liked me, even when he thought I was Miss Cargill, as if . . . he liked me even though I . . .   He knows everything.”

“Yes, he does.  And yes, he does seem to truly like you.”  Darcy took her chin and tilted her head back up.  “So it
is
possible that someday, when you are grown up, some other good man will like you, too.  Despite everything.”  Kissing her cheek, he let go.  “Think about that for a change.” 

“OH MARY.”  Elizabeth sighed and put down the letter she had been reading.
I hardly know what to think about all of this.  But you clearly love him.  I could not ever have even tried, not knowing how I was a bargaining chip for Papa. Not after meeting Will.

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Darcy?”  Judy asked and taking the letter Elizabeth held loosely in her hand away, set it on the table by her chair.

“I have felt better, I will admit.”  Rubbing her stomach, she sat up.  “This is doing me no good at all.  I cannot just sit here.  There is too much to accomplish.” 

“Mrs. Darcy, you need to rest, your sister will be here very soon.  Miss Darcy is beside herself at the thought of having to take your place, and you know that Mr. Darcy would be at his wits end to find you indisposed.”

Elizabeth sighed.  “Miss Darcy will not have to act as hostess.  She is as bad as her brother finding things to worry over when there is no need.  It is a good thing that Mr. Darcy is distracted with his stewards.  There is no need to concern him about what I do and do not feel.  I am certain that I will be quite well again very soon.”  Elizabeth saw Judy’s doubt and spoke determinedly, “I will be fine.”