Twixt Two Equal Armies (9 page)

With this, Holly snatched up her basket and, too outraged to sit still any longer, stood up and began furiously plucking what few leaves remained on a nearby bush.

“I . . . I am speechless . . . ” she sputtered. “What right . . . oh! how dare he . . . if it is possible to truly despise a person one has never met, then I must say that I do — so intensely — dislike this Mr Darcy that I could easily . . . agh! ‘I would eat his heart in the market place’!”

In spite of herself, Elizabeth had to smile.

“Thank you, Holly. Your outrage on my behalf is really very comforting and if I had to choose a champion on whom I could rely to gladly overlook all my faults and stupidities and fight for me to the bitter end, I would, without hesitation, chose you. Thank you for letting me wallow in my self-pity and misery for a while. I rarely do get the chance and it was very refreshing. But all this is nonsense. Things are as they are and Mr Darcy is as he is — whatever that is. I must stop. I want to stop. And I hope I never have to turn over Mr Darcy’s most inconsiderate and annoying unpredictability again.”

She came up to her cousin and lifted up the basket that was lying askew on the ground at her feet.

“Come Holly. We are even further away from Mr Darcy’s and my troubles now than I thought I was in Derbyshire. And I would like it to stay that way for this little while, at least, now that I am here with you.”

T
O BOTH MEN IT WAS
inconceivable to tarry over breakfast, or spend more time indoors than absolutely necessary. Their motives for this restlessness were not the same, but the result was that one offered a tour around the immediate grounds which the other accepted with alacrity despite the slight drizzle.

As they walked around the house to admire the view of the river to the east, Baugham’s housekeeper, Mrs McLaughlin, and another woman came towards them up the slope. Darcy paid them scant attention at first, but after Baugham sent both of them a smile and a good morning, he took a closer look. They were carrying baskets of eggs and other crudely wrapped victuals and a pail of milk — presumably bought for their enjoyment the next morning.

“I must say you live more frugally than I would ever have expected of a man as fond of his comforts as you,” Darcy said as the two women made their way up past them again. “Only two maids and a stable hand?”

“One maid. Or actually, one housekeeper and no maid; Mrs McLaughlin takes care of all I can ask. Mrs Higgins is Mrs McLaughlin’s cousin. She works down in the village for some old French widow and her daughter. Comes up here to gossip with her cousin as often as she can, I believe. Although it is hard to know which cousin has the most to impart about the scandalous manners and habits of her employer.”

Darcy felt his heart contract.

“A French widow? That is unusual.”

“I dare say it is. I think her husband was some sort of revolutionary; he was exiled from France and died here in Clanough. Although strictly speaking I think the woman herself is English. She’s notorious enough, but you hardly ever see the daughter. Mrs McLaughlin tells me she is a teacher at a seminary for young women up in Edinburgh.”

There was silence and Baugham’s thoughts drifted to the cutting of wood, then to trees on his estate in danger of collapsing with the first autumn storm, and whether walking would be preferable to riding if he took Darcy with him on a more extended tour to check on them.

Darcy on the other hand had one fixed thought in his head:
That must be them!

By the time they passed the stables, Darcy’s train of thought had moved on from hesitation and doubt of his good fortune to a definite resolution and plan of action.

“Clanough,” Darcy said. “Any society worth mentioning? Or visiting?”

“No,” Baugham said shortly. “Well,” he amended, “Mr Robertson down at the Caledonian Thistle Inn has decent ale and takes in papers from Edinburgh. But to be fair, I don’t know anyone else. Nor do I wish to. I don’t think I have missed much.”

“That French widow sounds intriguing though. Why here? And you said she was English.”

Baugham shrugged his shoulders as they walked back toward the warmth of the house.

“And the widow of an exiled Frenchman,” Darcy was unwilling to let the subject drop so easily. “Hardly well off then. Do you know her history?”

“I do not. I know Mrs Higgins works for them and they live at something called Rosefarm Cottage at the end of some village lane by the backfields. That’s all. Surprisingly enough for me, I am not curious in the slightest to know anything else about them.”

“You have no interest in romantic pasts or gallant revolutionary tales,” Darcy said tartly.

“No. And if I did there are plenty of horridly tawdry novels I could indulge in to produce the desired thrills that would not involve actually meeting these people. It is much easier to close a book than it is to break an acquaintance. I’m sure I would never get away from them if I made the mistake of showing an interest. People like that live only in the past and have no interest in a present that does not suit their old notions and preconceptions of the world. Tiresome and vulgar.”

Darcy’s face was grim, but he said nothing.

“And considering the fact that you sent me away from Town because I had too much to do with women, you can hardly expect me to seek out any female company here,” Baugham said.

“I didn’t send you away. I gave you good advice and you took it.”

“True,” Baugham said quietly. “And I am glad I did. You were right. But it does not affect my antisocial inclinations.”

Chapter 4

In which Company is Enjoyed, Endured, Sought and Found

So will there really be no young men inclined to dance and no music at all?”

Elizabeth took a few elaborate dance steps together with her rake. Holly stopped in the middle of cleaning the steps and stone slabs in front of the cottage and leaned on her broom.

“We-ell . . . ” she said slowly, “usually it is useless to even try, for no one can really hear any music over all the chatter and talk and, I believe, given the wretched condition of our old spinnet, most of our guests would agree that it is a blessing.”

“That old thing truly is a disgrace,” Elizabeth laughed. “I cannot understand why you keep it still.”

“Well, first of all it doesn’t take much room. Second, it was left for us by the Pembrokes — so we are not really at liberty to dispose of it — and lastly and most importantly, it serves as a convenient piling station for books and papers and when closed it is just the right size to hold the tea tray.”

“The Pembrokes sound like very kind friends. They have a son, do they not? Is he handsome? Does he dance? Oh, tell me he does not quote poetry!”

“Yes they have a son and yes, he is handsome.” Holly said in a level voice and, not looking up, attacked the same spot she had just finished sweeping. “No . . . no poetry — he fancies himself a scholar. But he will not be coming. I expect he is busy.”

Elizabeth skipped around the growing heap of leaves she had gathered and then gave a formal curtsey to her tall and thin dancing partner.

“A pity. Oh well,” she said generously. “I am looking forward to the party all the same, even if I am to be deprived of the pleasure of a quadrille partnered with a handsome young man.”

“Are you forgetting our vow so soon, Elizabeth?” Holly smiled shakily, “Our pleasures will come from stimulating conversation and Sir John’s spectacular displays. No men, remember?”

T
HE ONLY THING THAT PREVENTED
Darcy from requesting that his friend tie his hands to the armrests of his chair was the fact that he was still depending on Baugham to somehow bring him closer to Rosefarm Cottage and its inhabitants. The rain had kept them inside for most of the afternoon and that definitely had a depressing effect on his lordship’s mood. Darcy could not deny he felt the same. In his case, however, his nerves were further tried by what a day cooped up with only his friend for company did to his plans to find Miss Bennet.

He had just formed a firm resolution to start taking his daily exercise by riding up and down the Clanough village lanes, when a commotion and the sound of female shrieks were heard out in the hall. Lord Baugham’s nervous finger tapping stopped and Darcy immediately found himself eternally grateful to whoever was responsible for the interruption.

A minute later, Mrs McLaughlin walked through the door with a tea tray and what looked like a wet rag stuffed in her apron pocket. Darcy frowned slightly at this singular sloppiness but Baugham did not seem to notice.

“What was all the hubbub, Mrs McLaughlin?” he asked. “Not another guest, I hope.”

He gave Darcy an impish grin which was returned by his friend’s pursed lips and derisive look.

“Noo, it was Mrs Higgins dropping the hot kettle. Ye must excuse her, m’laird, she’s fair nervish tonight.”

Baugham nodded and transferred his attention to the tray’s cold cuts and preserved plums, but Darcy’s attention was firmly caught.

“Nervous? Why?”

“Because she’s been driven out of her kitchie while the women have their party.”

Now Baugham looked up too, but it was more due to the housekeeper’s scornful tone of voice than pity or concern for the fate of Mrs Higgins.

“Really? How odd.”

“The Tourniers?” Darcy interjected, ignoring the abundant display of food and beverage in front of him which seemed to have broken Baugham’s concentration on the issue at hand once again. “A party?” Immediately his mind turned to the probability of the guest list including young female relatives from Hertfordshire.

“Aye,” was Mrs McLaughlin’s short reply since Lord Baugham was by this time perched behind her, anxious to get his hands on the cheese.

“And do these parties take place at Rosefarm Cottage often? You must have an intimate knowledge of the family and their guests, Mrs McLaughlin.”

Baugham stopped the shovelling of meat onto his plate and stared at his friend in stunned silence. Mrs McLaughlin gave a snorting throaty sound as she finished pouring the tea.

“What else goes on besides explotions in the kitchie? I don’t know that I want to know ought else.”

“I take it they are an eccentric bunch then,” Darcy went on calmly.

Mrs McLaughlin shrugged and surveyed her finished work.

“Aye, well. They have that niece from the Sooth staying with them. She’s respectable enough, it seems.”

Baugham was still staring at Darcy when Mrs McLaughlin decided question time was past and sailed out again. Darcy shrugged, but felt a growing sense of triumph moving about in his chest even as he tried to return to his book in a detached manner.

“Just curious,” he muttered when he felt his friend still watching him.

“So I see,” Baugham said and resumed his finger-tapping.

Darcy sighed.

H
OLLY HEARD VOICES IN THE
hall downstairs and she rushed to stick the last pin into her hair, threw one more look at herself in the small looking-glass on the wall and pinched her cheeks. Not too bad, she reflected. She would never be a great beauty, but her time at home had eased the worried frown on her forehead and her eyes were not the hard ones that usually looked back at her. She’d do. After all, no one would be in attendance this night that she needed to impress with her looks; if she could get through the evening with some attempt at spirited conversation and well-argued opinions, she could count it a success.

As she flew down the stairs she heard Elizabeth’s voice and she could tell it was choked by barely contained mirth.

“You
must
be Mr Grant,” she was saying.

Holly rolled her eyes and bit her lip, but then remembered Elizabeth would be by her side and her frown turned into a smile.

A young man was bowed over her cousin’s hand as she entered the parlour. Instantly he looked up at her and Holly recognised Mr Grant’s usual stunned expression.

“Mr Grant,” she said. “I see you have met my cousin, Miss Bennet. How do you do?”

“Miss Tournier,” the young man said and flushed wildly. “I . . . I am charmed. By you both, naturally.” He swallowed hard, giving Holly a moment to exchange a look with her cousin. “
She walks in beauty like the night,
” Mr Grant said in a constrained voice. “You . . . you look lovely, Miss Tournier. As always. As always . . . ” he muttered and kissed her hand again.

“Is that poetry, Mr Grant?” Elizabeth asked in a cheerful voice. “Or is the lighting too dim for your tastes?”

Mr Grant looked bewildered. Holly, not meeting Elizabeth’s eyes lest they both burst into laughter, smiled politely then turned to welcome the other guests in an attempt to extricate herself from his attentions. It was not an easy task; Mr Grant was nothing if not persistent and he followed her possessively as she made her rounds.

B
AUGHAM TWIRLED THE EMPTY WINE
glass in his hand. He eyed the decanter that stood on the table, but could not quite decide whether he wanted any more. He sighed.

What now then? They had discussed plans for roe buck hunting, whether the trout might be worth the small trek up stream, the upcoming social calendar of the locals including the traditional Martinmas fair, church attendance and the quality of the preaching, as well as if Clanough had anything to offer in the form of attractions. Historical attractions, Darcy had felt it necessary to add.