Section I, Next Section
Part 1
Title wholly inspired by being teased about The Making of This Post :-) Still, to make up for Ulrike not locking people into the library, here we go.
Unfortunately, as Colonel Fitzwilliam was later able to point out, there were some aspects of the Pemberley library that his cousin had most definitely neglected. It does not do to fill the shelves with three rows of books and then to allow the structure that bears them to be eaten up by woodworm.
The Colonel was removing all books from the first bookcase because he had heard insistent tapping and soft cries for help coming from behind it. Not one to believe in ghosts, he thought there was a more earthly explanation for this and he would not rest until he had found out what it was.
The sounds were too muffled to be identified beyond a doubt as human, but if there was a damsel in distress who had got herself trapped behind the books, he would insist upon being the gallant gentleman to rescue her. It baffled him how a living creature had managed to get behind the books, however, and he had first peeked out of the door to see if the sounds were not coming from the hall. They were not. The creature had reacted to him by tapping louder when he called "hello?" and he had set to work to remove the books.
"Do you really need these useless books, Darcy?" he muttered to himself when behind the first row there was a second row and then a third row. Piling the books on the floor, he soon grew warm -- Darcy did not like light reading in any sense of the word -- and he removed his coat.
The heavy work soon had him stripped to the waist, tiny drops of sweat glistening on his chest as he worked. It was propriety or a dying damsel, whom he suspected of being a large mouse, really, given the kind of luck he always had. The fact that the damsel, or mouse, had to be stuck behind the section with the heavy reference books -- it would not do to have only five on each subject, Darcy appeared to think -- signified that the Colonel was not favoured by the deities.
And then all hell broke loose.
It must be said that the Colonel did in his vexation replace a book back onto a shelf before the avalanche and that perhaps the force with which he carried out this action caused something to become unhinged at the other end, the preparations for which had already been carried out by the woodworm.
The top shelf sagged, the weight of the hefty tomes caused the shelf below to sag and thus it went on. The combined weight of all these heavy volumes pushing against the case was more than it could take. There were some soft cracks and then it collapsed sideways.
It was, also quite unfortunately, the case right behind the door. The Colonel had, quite sensibly, assumed the greatest danger would come from someone opening that door to push him off the ladder, since no sane person -- except apparently Darcy and his fondness for books and more books -- would have bookshelves right behind the door and said door would be opened with perfect unconcern for anybody right behind it.
The danger had now come from within the bookshelves. The ladder was, for reasons of safety, attached to the shelves and in his desire to be safe the Colonel had gripped the ladder tight, but now the ladder, the Colonel and all the books were deposited in a pile right behind the door. There were many books and apart from burying the Colonel, they also made it impossible for anybody to enter the room.
It was unfortunate for Colonel Fitzwilliam that Darcy -- possibly also due to his desire not to neglect the family library -- had invested in heavy Persian rugs and that the crash had therefore not been a loud one. It would not draw any curious people. The Colonel might be buried there for a long while until someone broke a window. Judging by the stillness of the pile, the poor Colonel was not very conscious and he would not be able to call for help.
There was, however, another entrance into the library that had now mysteriously appeared.
A lady stepped forth from the dark opening that had become visible now the books were gone. She had been tapping and calling in distress, then someone had called back and then she had heard muffled noises for a long while until she had seen a ray of light that had grown steadily wider and wider. She had started to push and at some point the wall in front of her had suddenly crumbled sideways.
Gingerly the lady had stepped forward, looking out with blinking eyes. She noticed it was the library. She also noticed that there was a huge pile of books lying just beside the opening to the secret passage from where she had just emerged. A book case must have blocking the way.
She had leant against the wooden panelling in her bedroom to remove her stockings and something odd had happened -- it had given way and she had fallen backwards into a dark orifice. Before she had been able to sit up to take her bearings, the panelling had slid back into its former place and it had become pitch dark.
The panelling would not yield and she had moved backwards. It had been one floor down and around a few corners that she had met with another wall. The library.
The lower body of a gentleman protruded from the pile of books. She, who had never dealt with this before, did not immediately hit upon the correct extraction method.
She pulled at a boot, but it came off. She pulled at the other boot, but it came off. She pulled at his trousers, but....
She began to remove the books, one by one, as they were quite heavy. It was partly her fault that this gentleman now lay buried. She had pushed against the bookcase.
Her efforts revealed a bare stomach and she paused temporarily. If his stomach was bare, the odds were that his chest and everything else upwards were also bare. She said a prayer and continued.
Suddenly it struck her that the gentleman had not moved at all. Perhaps she had unwittingly murdered someone. She gasped and she shook him by the hips. There was a soft moan from beneath the books and she worked on, a little more furiously. He was not dead.
Finally she managed to uncover his head, which had been shielded by his arms, but blood had trickled down from his forehead just below the hairline. The page of the book on which his head rested was coloured red.
"U-U-Urgh," the lady moaned and her frightened tears dripped onto his chest. She did not like the sight of another person's blood and was beginning to feel faint. "Let it not be serious." She grasped his hand and squeezed it in an effort to revive him.
Perhaps she ought to stop the bleeding. She looked for a paper knife and tore off part of her silk stocking. She pressed that against the wound, using her other hand to see if there were other wounds that bled. "Please, please, please!" She wiped her tears away with her dirty hands.
The gentleman -- which he appeared to be, judging by his boots and trousers -- moaned.
They moaned at each other.
"Angel," Colonel Fitzwilliam whispered when he opened his eyes with a flutter and perceived the outline of a female hanging over him. Then he realised that he had decided he would not be so lucky as to find a real lady. His eyes must be deceiving him. "You are a big mouse."
"Er..." said the lady, clearly thinking he had lost his mind. Some things had been shaken about in his head. "I am not a mouse."
"But I went to rescue a mouse." He blinked. It might be a lady after all. It could speak.
She shook her head. "And I thought I went to rescue a gentleman, but..." She touched his bare chest. "You are not, it seems." He ought to be dressed.
He frowned and winced at the pain this caused. "I am. I worked hard to remove the books. I began to sweat. I am sorry. I wanted to rescue you."
"And now you are wounded and it is my fault," she said sadly. One hand was still pressing the piece of stocking to his head. "I must see to your recovery."
"Mmm," the Colonel said when she stroked his hair. He closed his eyes. "I think I am seriously wounded. I feel faint."
"What can I do?" she asked in concern.
"Sit with me, Mouse. What happened?"
"Books fell on your head. Your wound will need to be cleaned. You will need to be cleaned. Yet I cannot take you out of the library because we shall be seen. I cannot be seen with you like this. You are only half dressed."
The Colonel opened one eye. "Dress me then."
"But then we still would not be able to leave, because I cannot lift those books that are blocking the way and if we go outside we shall not be able to go inside without alerting anybody."
He felt his head. Parts of his hair felt sticky and when he looked at his fingers he saw blood. He wiped his fingers on his chest and sighed. "Take me to that grubby little hole you live in then."
The lady looked confused.
"You came out of the wall. I presume you have your living quarters in there somewhere."
"I see being hit on the head with heavy books is not healthy," the lady remarked with some fascination. "You give every appearance of being in possession of your wits, but something has become misplaced in your head."
"You came out of the wall," he repeated. "Tell me how you came to be inside the wall if you are not one of those little creatures who live there."
"I fell into the wall."
"I have never heard of that happening."
"I had never heard of finding half-dressed gentlemen under a pile of books. You ruined Mr Darcy's dictionary of Latin," the lady observed. "There is a large bloodstain on the page that starts with a word that starts with qu-."
"It has too many words that start with qu- anyway. No harm done. And Darcy has too many dictionaries. Again, no harm done."
"Well, I do not suppose anybody has looked into this book since 1650, so it is no great loss."
"I do not think Darcy has books for that purpose anyway," Colonel Fitzwilliam commented.
"Do you still think I am a mouse?" the lady wondered. "Though you first called me an angel."
"If you insist on pointing my follies out to me you must be a woman," he groaned. He was not responsible for any odd comments he had made in a state of semi-consciousness.
"That would be fairly close to what I am," she agreed.
"I did hope you were a damsel in distress that I could gallantly rescue."
"But the tables were turned." The lady looked smug.
He did not like to be weak -- although she was extremely proficient at caressing his head and in some sense being weak had its advantages. "How did you come to be inside the wall?"
"I told you. I fell in."
"How?"
"There is a passage leading from here up to my bedchamber. The wall moved aside -- and back." She gave a little shrug. "I found myself locked in."
"And your husband did not rescue you at that end?"
"He did not."
"Was he happy to be rid of you?"
"Why these questions?" she inquired.
"I am trying to sketch myself a picture of your character and general desirability." He wished to know what the state of affairs was.
The lady responded by pressing a little harder against his wound.
"Ouch!" he cried out. "You do not like my honesty."
"I do not like your stupidity."
"But you have cried," he said, looking at her eyes. "Why cry, if it was not over his cruelty?"
"I was concerned about the possibility that I had murdered someone."
"Him?"
"Come sir, let us get you dressed," said the lady after wondering what to do with such a simple creature whose understanding had suffered such a blow. Her brisk practicality returned.
Belatedly, Colonel Fitzwilliam remembered that he was a soldier and that books were for fellows who were not good enough to be soldiers. He could never allow a mere book to get the better of him, even if it had landed on his head and knocked him out. He ignored the throbbing pain in his head and jumped up.
"Well, well," said the lady.
Naturally he assumed she was commenting on his figure and he straightened his back a little more. It was difficult, for he was still swaying a little inside.
"Could you be a military man, sir?" she asked.
"Is that evident?"
"You take a certain pride in your figure. While it may not be wholly unjustified in other instances, at this moment it is rather uncalled for."
His shoulders sagged. "Madam, I have suffered a blow to my head. Do you now also wish to deliver a blow to my vanity?"
"You give me a headache, sir," she replied. "This is all a dream to you, ladies coming out of the woodwork, ladies tending to your injuries, ladies falling into your arms because they are fleeing from wicked husbands...but I assure you it is no dream of mine to pull half-naked gentlemen out from under a pile of heavy books. Fasten your trousers, will you?"
He looked down. "What did you do?"
She did not answer, but threw him his coat. "Cover yourself, sir."
"Now I am not even certain any longer that I undressed myself," he muttered with some embarrassment. "Where is my shirt?"
She held that folded over her arm. "You do not get your shirt. Keep it clean. You have blood all over yourself."
"Well, Madam...Madam, what do you propose now?"
She looked at what was supposed to be a gaping hole in the wall. It was now a wooden panel. "Bother. It closed." She tried to step closer to push against it, but the books were in the way of a good exploration. As far as she could feel, it was immovable. "There ought to be a secret switch."
Colonel Fitzwilliam leant against a table. "I say it is a waste of time to search for a secret switch. I say you never came out of the woodwork at all. I say you hit me over the head even before I heard noises." That would render him completely innocent as far as the state of his clothing was concerned.
"Of course," she said over her shoulder, still trying to find a way to open the passage.
"She admits it!"
"Really..." She turned. "Will you not sit down on a sofa? I am fearing you will suddenly fall over in the middle of talking gibberish. I shall be more at ease knowing you are safely seated."
"I am not known for talking gibberish."
She looked a little more sympathetic. "That is good to hear. However, you have suffered a blow to your head and what you were known for in the past may have little significance for the present moment."
He allowed himself to be led to the sofa, gently but insistently, and he sat down with meek acquiescence. "My head hurts."
She took the opportunity to examine his wound. "But you are no longer bleeding. Perhaps the remainder of your common sense will now no longer drip out of you. Lie down. I shall excavate the door."
"The books are too heavy for you," said the Colonel, who wished for some special attention to his head.
The lady raised her eyebrows. "Yet I managed to push a great many on top of you. You underestimate me, sir. Considering my alternatives, I prefer some hard work. It is a good punishment."
"Who are you?"
"It is a compliment to my maid that you do not recognise me without her efforts, but not much of a compliment to me," said the lady, gasping for breath as she carried one of the heaviest books away from the door.
"My spectacles are somewhere in that pile," the Colonel confessed. He did not like saying that he had been forced to acquire some.
"Spectacles?" she paused, setting a book on her hip.
"It sounds very much as if you know me," he said, feeling uncomfortable. "Because you sound surprised."
"I may just suddenly understand why you mistake ladies for mice without them." The lady resumed her activity, placing the heavy book on the floor a bit further away from the door, then walking back for a new book.
"Do you know me?"
"Before I answer that, do you know who you are?"
"I do. But who are you? I think you have a maid because you just said so. I think you have a husband who does not care to rescue you and because you told me to cover myself as an unexcited wife would. I think you must also have children because you know what to do when people hurt themselves. I think you are not very wealthy because you do hard work."
The lady spotted the spectacles lying unbroken between two books. She laid them in the adjoining bookcase with a mischievous grin. "But until I find your spectacles, sir, you might as well imagine that I am none of these things."
Part 2
Colonel Fitzwilliam lay on the sofa while the mysterious lady piled the many books into several neat piles. Now and then he managed to draw her eyes towards him with his moans, but she wisely did not do more than that. When she was halfway, she paused and came towards him, her face flushed from the hard work. "Have you come to all of your senses yet or still to only a few?"
The Colonel contemplated losing his senses again over this lady, but he knew too little about her to do so already. "Perhaps I was lacking in sense to begin with, by your standards, and you will never know whether I have returned to my habitual state."
"Quite possible," she agreed. She did not forget her responsibility and self-imposed duty. "How is your head, sir?"
"Pounding and sticky."
"Are you ready for water to be poured over your head?" She did not wait for an answer, but rinsed his hair with the contents of three vases, giving him the flowers to hold every time.
"There is not more?" the Colonel said with some regret. He had enjoyed the rinsing, if not the cold water.
"Yes, there is some of what you gentlemen like to drink while reading, or perhaps you come here to drink that without reading, but it will sting. Lie still." She picked up a decanter from a side table and poured a little over his wound.
He flinched and sat up, after gently shaking the last drops out of his hair so as not to make his headache worse. "Are you done torturing me, Madam? Now I do not know which flowers go in which vase."
"I am sure you could come up with a pretty bouquet, or do you not see colours without spectacles?"
He randomly put the flowers back. "I see everything but letters."
"And ladies?"
"I see you, but I do not know you. To whom do I owe my life?" He stood up and swayed, suddenly feeling nauseous because he had moved too quickly.
The lady pressed a finger against his chest so that he fell back onto the sofa. "Sit."
He closed his eyes to let everything in his head shift back into place. "But I wished to express my gratitude."
"You do not have to do so standing up and you do not have to become so dramatic. Your life was never in danger, lying in that pile. Someone would have found you eventually. But it happened to be me. Alas." She returned to the books.
"Why is that? Are you ashamed of yourself, Madam? I shall speak on your behalf should somebody find us here. Together. Dishevelled. Dirty. Lying on the sofa."
"The words of a confused man with an obvious head injury have never carried much weight," she observed with some gladness. She was not lying on the sofa either.
It was a long while later that the lady removed the last book from where it had fallen. She could have opened the door several books ago, but she had wanted to be thorough. She laid the shelves aside as well and then she was done.
He had stopped moaning in her direction, because it had not worked to bring her over. He had merely lain here pouting and lamenting his headache.
"Feeling better, sir?" she asked, kneeling by his side.
"On a battlefield I would have fought on," he said, so she was aware of his true character. He was not a weakling. Neither was she, or so the sensation in his breast indicated.
"Sadly, you are outnumbered by the enemy's wits in this battle."
"I thought we were fighting a common enemy."
She clicked her tongue in a provocative manner. "Fighting, sir? There is no strength in you." He was a small child.
"You would be surprised at how I could surprise you there."
"I am interested in any strength of mind you have heretofore kept hidden, sir," she challenged.
"I am interested in something you have been keeping hidden. My spectacles or your reputation, Madam. If you please," Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked. She had finished with the books, yet she had not reported the find of his spectacles. Therefore she had hidden them for some wicked reason.
That took her by surprise. "What makes you think you could do any damage to it?"
"I can always do damage to a lady's reputation," he said confidently.
"That is most intriguing. What precisely would you do?"
"I would never reveal my secrets."
"Then you have no intentions. I am not fooled by such circumlocution."
"If you give me my spectacles, I shall leave you alone. I do not like bluestockings anyway. Circumlocution, indeed! Looked into dictionaries, have you?"
"Been hit over the head with dictionaries, have you? Your spectacles are on one of the shelves over there." She stood up and watched him walk unsteadily towards the bookshelves, feeling them with his hands.
"Oh my goodness, you are as blind as a bat!" she cried, her feelings towards him softening instantly at his apparent helplessness. "And you think you could damage my reputation? You would not be able to find it! Let me help you!"
"Find your reputation?" he inquired, wondering who was making the most headway in the battle of wits now.
"No, your spectacles!"
His fingers curled around them before she could reach him and he quickly put them on his nose. Then he looked at her, his vision suddenly clear. "Interesting. You have all kinds of dirty smudges in your face. I could not see what they were until now. Dirt and blood."
"You look surprisingly clever with spectacles," she noted in wonder.
"Am I supposed to have met you?" the Colonel asked doubtfully. To be truthful, she looked awfully familiar, but her behaviour was not in accordance with the image he used to have.
"Well, I have met you, so it seems necessary somehow. But perhaps you needed your spectacles then too and I was never more than a blur?" Oddly enough she was pleased not to be recognised yet.
He began to spit on his handkerchief. Then he put one arm around her so she could not move away and wiped the bloody smudges off her face very carefully.
She shuddered and wriggled, but could not break free. Her arms hurt from carrying heavy books and she could not use them properly. "How could you?" she gasped in disgust. "That was spit! That is dirty!"
"But it cleans," he whispered in her ear. "You held vases upside down to pour water over my head, Madam. Is that not dirty? Are you married? Will someone challenge me to a duel because of this embrace?"
"I thought," she said weakly, "you were convinced that my husband is now in our bedchamber, glad to be rid of me."
"How could someone be glad to be rid of you? I do not think you are married, for I do not believe your husband would let you go if you had one."
"Why not?"
"I would never."
"Let me go."
"I would never." He pulled her closer and kissed her, but apparently that became too much for the lady to bear after a few moments, because she gave him a vicious slap just when he smugly relaxed his grip on her and he fell back against the bookshelves, a sudden flash of pain in his head.
The lady ran upstairs, hoping she would not encounter anybody in her dishevelled state. In her room, she fell onto her bed and breathed heavily. That had been quite an experience. It had by no means been disgusting, but she had considered it best to run away before it could get any worse.
That she had had to slap him was something for which she felt exceedingly sorry. It must have given him some pain. He could not be hurt by her departure -- he would have realised he was going too far. The slap must have hurt him, however, but there had been no other way.
She pushed herself off the bed and began her preparations for the night.
"Hello!" said the Colonel, coming out of the woodwork. "You forgot that I know where you are staying. Up the secret passage. A little pressure in the right places does the trick. One must use some force to get what one wants. Negotiating is for the ladies."
The lady stared at him. To say that she was taken aback would be a grave underestimation.
"And I forgot I was not yet staying anywhere."
She shook her head stupidly. He was not staying here, whatever he seemed to be thinking.
"I also came to see if you had a husband, but that does not appear to be the case. How fortunate." With his spectacles on he appeared rather shrewd. "We also cannot wake any servants so long after midnight. It is closer to dawn." He yawned. "Who do I ask for your hand?"
"Me," she said tersely.
"To the devil with independent ladies. They complicate life."
Somebody came through the door before she could start an argument on who was complicating life here precisely and that negotiating about his sleeping here was not this lady's plan.
"Madam," said the shocked lady in waiting when she perceived a gentleman in the room. "I waited so long, but you never went to bed. I was about to give up checking if you had come back."
"I feel unwell," said the Colonel in a pathetic voice, leaning against the bedpost. His trek through the secret passage had not been very wise, perhaps.
The maid was shocked. "What is he doing here, Madam?"
"My head is splitting and I feel sick," he moaned.
"Take care of him, Miller," the lady said snappily as she disappeared behind the screen with a night gown.
"I am not strong enough to remove a man from the room," Miller said in confusion.
The lady peered around the screen. "Care, Miller. Care."
"I was not trained to take care of gentlemen," Miller spluttered priggishly. She would not easily oppose her mistress, but she would let her private opinion show regardless. "If you are one," she added under her breath. "Cad."
"Your mistress was not trained to take care of anything, yet she managed -- in her own inimitable, though not unpleasant way -- to soothe my pain."
"Miller" the lady ordered from behind the screen.
Miller eyed the Colonel with reluctance. "What happened to you, sir?"
The Colonel showed her his head wound. "And now my head hurts. I feel sick."
She observed that he wore no shirt under his coat and wondered to where that had disappeared. This was all extremely strange and perhaps she wanted nothing to do with this. "Did you bring a servant I can fetch?"
"No, I did not."
"I will not double as valet."
"Miller," her mistress came around the screen, wearing her night gown and untangling her hair with a brush. "Get over it, will you? He is hurt."
"I take it you are not often asked to take care of gentlemen, Miller," the Colonel said in a shrewd tone. "You must have a virtuous mistress."
The lady came to stand by them with her hair still in disarray, instructing and advising Miller, who was beginning to wonder why her mistress did not prefer to do any of this herself, since she was so concerned and solicitous.
Fitzwilliam underwent it all patiently, content to peek at his new heroine now and then.
"I think he will be all right now, Madam," Miller decided after she had cleaned his head and chest, and given him a swig of something disgusting to drink. "He ought to go to bed to give his head some rest."
"He ought to find himself a room that is not yet occupied." That might be a difficult task, with so many guests here already. However, he was not going to stay here.
"No need," said the Colonel. "I always have my own room when I stay at Pemberley."
"But you said..."
"I said many things. Good night, my love. Forgive me for not bowing, but I do not think my head would like the movement."
The two ladies watched him go. "Madam..." Miller began. She would really like an explanation, but could not ask for it outright.
"Go to bed, Miller. We have only a few hours."
"He called you his love."
"He suffered a blow to the head. I never even gave my name when he asked for it. Go to bed, Miller."
"Perhaps he knew your name already, Madam."
"He said he did not," she said doubtfully. But he had said many things, he said, implying that not all of them had been the entire truth. "Go to bed, Miller."
Miller finally listened and her mistress climbed into bed to review the night.
"Someone has been bleeding all over my 1678 edition of Johnson's Dictionary of Vulgar Latin!" Darcy ranted.
Bingley took some more coffee. "Look on the bright side. You still have the 1699, the 1727, the 1753, the 1793 and the 1809."
"The 1808."
"Sorry," Bingley mumbled.
His sister Louisa stared at him across the table. "How do you know which years they came out?"
"Lucky guesses. I know he had about six of them. They do not all come out in the same year, one supposes. And if the first was 1678 and there are six, it suggests that --"
"But who has been bleeding blood into my dictionary?" Darcy interrupted them.
"I would only care if they had been bleeding something other than blood," Bingley remarked. "Perhaps the Latin itself bled to death?" He chuckled at his own joke.
Darcy did not appreciate the lack of support. He was still fuming. "And someone took all of the books off some of the shelves! An entire bookcase was emptied and the case taken apart! What could be the meaning of this?"
"Thieves," Bingley suggested.
"Well," said Darcy ominously. "We shall just have to see who appears for breakfast with an injury!"
Mrs Darcy shook her head. "Do not be ridiculous! You cannot be thinking any of my relatives were responsible?"
"Who else are in the house?"
"My relatives," said Bingley. "And your own."
"Yes, but..." His own relatives were above reproach.
Mrs Darcy's temper was easily ignited. "I cannot believe you would think my relatives more likely to bleed all over a book than your own!"
They started bickering and Bingley continued eating.
Part 3
More and more people had come in for breakfast and the table was quite full. Darcy had scrutinised new arrivals very closely, but none of them had bandaged extremities. He stared when a bespectacled gentleman made his appearance. "Fitzwilliam! What are you doing here? What is that on your nose?" he exclaimed.
Colonel Fitzwilliam rubbed the tip of his nose and glanced at his fingers. They came up clean. "What?"
"Spectacles! What a spectacle!"
Fitzwilliam gave him a disturbed smile for this so-called wit. "Thank you. I do not wear them for fun, but to see who else are here." He glanced at the other guests. He groaned audibly when he perceived that all ladies had dark hair and some had their backs turned towards him. It was not easy to see what she looked like if she paid some attention to her clothing.
"Yes, I have more guests," Darcy informed him, misinterpreting the groan. He counted on his fingers. "One, two, three of Mrs Darcy's sisters. Bingley. Two of Bingley's sisters. One husband. One of our cousins. Mrs Darcy."
The Colonel bowed in the general direction of the table, not wanting to greet each person individually. Perhaps it was actually good that there were so many ladies. He would surely give himself away if his new obsession was the only other person present. But she was there, most definitely.
"And me!" Georgiana piped up. "You forgot me!"
"And Georgiana. But when did you arrive, Fitzwilliam? I thought you were due the twenty-fourth?"
"The fourteenth," the Colonel corrected. "As I wrote to you."
Darcy did not think that was his fault. "Your handwriting is atrocious. I must have misread it."
Since the Colonel could never really read what he wrote unless he made it huge, that was no wonder. He shrugged. "I suppose so. No matter, I was familiar enough with the house to let myself in."
Georgiana jumped up from her chair and jumped into his arms. "But at least I am happy you came, cousin! Do not mind Fitzwilliam," she whispered. "He is in a really foul temper because things happened in the library last night."
The same things were responsible for his headache and nausea, although Georgiana jumping into his arms was also not helping a great deal. It might even scare his mysterious lady off to see him thus assaulted by another woman. "What kind of things?" He wondered how much Darcy had deduced and told the rest of the family.
Georgiana's eyes grew large in excitement. "Mysterious things involving blood!"
"Georgiana," said Darcy, who did not like to see his sister embrace gentlemen with so little disregard for propriety, even if they were cousins of hers. Something might still arise in that quarter and it would not do to start any rumours. "Remember where you are."
"Come and sit by me, Richard." Georgiana pulled him with her towards her seat at the other end of the table. She gestured for another chair to be added.
He accepted something to drink, but declined all food, keeping his eyes on his plate all the time. He would not be drawn into studying all the ladies present. He might want to stare if he did. Georgiana forced him to eat a bit, nevertheless, but it caused him to walk quickly towards the door for some fresh air. Just out of sight he bent over to vomit. It was much better to do that outside than in.
People stared at the door and the room buzzed with speculations, most of which centred on drinking.
"Fitzwilliam," Darcy called when his cousin reappeared. "What is the matter with you?" His own cousin could not be embarrassing him in front of so many guests. His relatives ought to be better behaved.
"God." The Colonel reached for his temples. "They make your head pound and your stomach turn, do they not?"
"Who?"
"Ladies."
"Perhaps it is best not to reveal your soldiering ways at breakfast, Colonel." Darcy glanced at the many unmarried young ladies, fully convinced that it was his duty to shield their ears. They should not be hearing what soldiers did, especially not if it involved ladies.
"Only my lady love and I are privy to my private battles," he responded.
"You have a lady love?" Georgiana cried.
The Colonel's reluctance to discuss the identity of his lady love had not gone down well with the rest of the party, save one person, naturally. Despite indirect and direct queries, he had steadily been refusing to provide them with a name.
Kitty and Mary Bennet had traded opinions of the Colonel upon seeing him with spectacles. Kitty now thought him much less dashing and Mary considered him to be much improved in distinction. Georgiana and Anne De Bourgh merely considered their cousin advanced in age all of a sudden. None of the four young ladies were, however, well enough at ease with the present company to voice any opinions or questions about his lady. Some of the others had no such qualms.
"Will we be invited to your wedding, Colonel?" asked Mrs Darcy. "If we are and we shall see her there, you might as well tell us who she is right away."
"She is the sweetest lady I have ever met, Mrs Darcy," he merely said. "With a sweet and soft voice like an angel's. And her touch..."
"Was like a sweet fire upon your skin?" Mrs Hurst suggested.
"My breakfast is in danger of following yours, Colonel," Miss Bingley said in disgust. "Especially if she is quoting Mr Hurst. Oh, the image!"
"Even that image cannot spoil my happy mood, Miss Bingley," he replied, although by all appearances his mood was calm and unexcited.
"But you refuse to tell us who she is," Mrs Darcy pointed out again. "There may be hundreds of such paragons of sweetness in the country, even if I may share Miss Bingley's point of view when it comes to the saccharine overdose."
"I thought ladies had a taste for sweetness."
"I think you are making her up to annoy me," Darcy concluded. "Because I mocked your spectacles. But I shall not be caught this time. I am on to you. I have never heard you speak about angels before. Your heart is not as easily touched as that."
"Well observed and therefore -- but whatever you say."
"I for one am happy that you have found an angel of your own, Fitzwilliam. I wish you all the happiness you deserve. I know angels exist," said Bingley, winning an enigmatic smile from the Colonel.
"And I know they do not," said Mr Hurst.
"One man's angel is another man's devil," said the Colonel. "Or even the same man's devil. Hmm."
Mrs Reynolds appeared at the entrance to the breakfast room, holding a white textile bundle. "Mr Darcy, excuse me, but I found --"
Miss Bingley jumped up in a hurry, overturning her chair with a crash. "Mrs Reynolds! Mrs Reynolds! I am so happy! I am so happy! You found my missing chemise!" She pulled the housekeeper out of the room before anything further could be said.
"Missing chemise?" Darcy wondered. "Blood in the library, Fitzwilliam in love and chemises going missing in my house? What is the world coming to? How does a chemise go missing?"
"I advise you not to wonder. Not about Caroline's chemises," said Mrs Darcy icily. "It has probably been mixed with someone else's laundry."
"Miss Bingley," said Mrs Reynolds when she finally had an opening to speak. "It looks more like a gentleman's shirt to me."
"I should be ever so grateful if you agreed with me that this in fact my missing chemise."
"Why would that make you grateful, Miss Bingley?"
"Because it is my chemise."
"I do not wish to meddle in your private affairs, Miss Bingley," Mrs Reynolds said with a disapproving pursing of the lips. She had never liked Miss Bingley. "But the affairs of my master and his wife are my business and they do not condone such things in their house."
"Listen, Mrs Reynolds." Miss Bingley looked away for a second. "They have nothing to do with my chemise. I only want it back. I have no idea which things they do not condone, but they cannot want for my clothes to be stolen."
"This is a gentleman's shirt, Miss Bingley."
"Well, perhaps that is what I prefer to wear under my gowns. Is that any concern of yours, Mrs Reynolds?" she snapped.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had not intended for himself to be the centre of attention at breakfast and his slip of the tongue had been most unfortunate. He therefore stopped answering queries and concentrated on his cup of tea, because that was better for his headache. As soon as he had finished it, he pushed his chair back and announced that he was finished. Since the others were not, he could easily leave the room without being followed.
Outside, he came upon Mrs Reynolds and Miss Bingley. "Let me take that. Thank you," he said, pulling the shirt from Mrs Reynolds' hands without further ado.
She held onto it, however. "What do you want with Miss Bingley's chemise?"
"Nothing. But this is my shirt."
She gave it a hard pull. Then she held up the garment. "This, according to Miss Bingley, is her chemise. According to Master Richard it is his shirt. And what is this bloodstained thing?" She held up the piece of bloodstained silk.
"I would like to know that too," said the Colonel. "Perhaps that is Miss Bingley's missing chemise? I am not familiar enough with them to know how big they are. Give my shirt to me, Mrs Reynolds, and let Miss Bingley and me contest its ownership. You may throw that dirty thing away, for it looks as if it has served its last purpose." He smiled charmingly at the old housekeeper and she gave in.
Master Richard had always been one of her favourites and she could never ignore his wishes. "But I shall remember this," she said with a vicious glance at the Bingley woman before she left them alone.
"You were going upstairs, were you not?" the Colonel asked Miss Bingley. "My room is the first to the left after the seaside fishermen painting. Could you be so kind as to drop this off?" He pressed the shirt into her hands.
"I am not going into your room."
"You do not have to. You can open the door and throw this shirt in, can you not? You do not have to expose yourself to the shocking sight of a room barely slept in. If you are concerned regardless, take my spectacles and blur your vision."
"I am not a housemaid. And when did we contest the ownership of the garment?"
"Neither thing was ever in doubt. Want to borrow my spectacles to see the difference between a chemise and a shirt? If you are missing a chemise, you should inquire with the laundry maid. I never knew ladies were in the habit of taking their clothes off around the house."
"Gentlemen are?"
"It has been known to happen. Shall I give you the address of the place I bought my spectacles?"
She stared at him in absolute confusion. "I..."
He gave her his spectacles and went into the parlour when he saw he was going to be chased by a lady coming from the breakfast room.
"Richard!" The sound of the young lady's voice identified her soon enough as Georgiana and he turned. "What were you doing, talking to Caroline?" She sounded jealous.
He wondered why. "Asking her opinion."
"On what?"
"Curious, are you? I needed some advice on buying a chemise for my love."
"And you asked Caroline?"
"Why not?"
"That is useless to you. She only wears the absolutely most expensive ones."
"So I gathered. Silk."
"You did not tell her who your lady was?"
"I did not."
"Will you tell me?"
While pretending to think on the matter, he saw that more people appeared in the doorway, apparently each one bent on interrogating him in private. They all sat down somewhere, pretending to be busy or bored, but all waiting for the chance to catch his attention.
All ladies were now present, the nosy busybodies. Even Miss Bingley returned without his shirt, in conversation with her sister. This was the perfect opportunity, thought Colonel Fitzwilliam. He would take advantage of their lack of discretion and speak to them all in turn, even the ones he did not really know.
"Do not tell anyone what I am about to tell you, Georgiana," the Colonel whispered to his cousin. "This is an absolute secret."
"What did he tell you?" Georgiana asked Anne as soon as the Colonel had left the room.
Anne lowered her voice and revealed the secret immediately. It was too exciting to keep to herself. "He will be married in two days in Gretna Green! I asked to whom and he only laughed."
"He said that to me too! And he spoke to us all! Let us ask Kitty. Kitty!" Georgiana turned to the most approachable of the rest.
Upon inquiry, it turned out that the Colonel had said the same thing to everyone. He would be married in two days in Gretna Green, to a woman he did not want to name.
"He plays us like puppets," said Miss Bingley with some disdain when she was the last to be asked to affirm that Colonel Fitzwilliam had also said the same to her. "He counts on the indiscretion of gossipy young ladies. How much of the story is true?"
"Nothing?" suggested Mrs Darcy, who miraculously found herself agreeing with her enemy for the second time that day. "He is not always serious."
"But why would he joke? It is too serious a matter to joke about," Mrs Bingley remarked with some concern. "He must know some of you would believe it."
"I think that is precisely why he said it."
"Yes, but what if it is true?" Mrs Bingley did not want to condemn him yet.
"Jane, he would not elope."
"But he sounded sincere in his affection..."
"I cannot imagine his parents would condone an elopement," said Miss Bingley. "Which brings us to the mercenary point of view. It would be rather stupid to lose parental approval if you do not have any money of your own."
"Unless it is a wealthy girl."
"But nobody would object to his marrying a wealthy girl, Jane, and so he would not have any reason to elope."
"But his parents may dislike her."
"Indeed. Perhaps she has a wooden leg," said Mrs Darcy. "It seems to me that eloping with a girl with a wooden leg is rather a chore, though."
"So perhaps he had been drinking last night after all?" Georgiana wondered.
"Very likely," said Mrs Hurst. "Gentlemen like their drinks."
"Gentlemen drink far more than they ought, I have observed," Mary Bennet piped up. "And the Colonel being an officer, I see no reason why he should be an exception."
"It makes them merry," said Kitty, who had not had a ball in ages -- and Darcy was not giving one, the bore. "But they ought to share their good humour and not keep it to themselves."
After discussing the matter some more, the ladies dispersed.
"Any clues?" Darcy asked Mrs Reynolds.
She hesitated for a second and then spoke. She did not want to incriminate Master Richard, even though his shirt had been found near the scene of the crime. "No clues, Mr Darcy."
He looked reflective. "Are there any bookish types in the house? Did Miss Mary Bennet seem wounded to you? Perhaps she stabbed an intruder with a paper knife."
"None of the young ladies displayed any interest in the library whatsoever in the past few days, Mr Darcy. Why would one of them go there at night? The window was open. Somebody probably came in and the bookshelves collapsed."
"Gretna Green? Two days?" the lady asked Colonel Fitzwilliam somewhere between his bedchamber and hers. She had slipped away as soon as she could. There were some matters she had to get sorted.
"Good grief, Madam!" He laid a hand across her mouth and dragged her into his room. "Do not be so indiscreet! Darcy would lock both of us up if he heard of our plans!"
"Our plans? I have no plans," she protested as soon as he removed his hand.
"Not even a plan to oppose me?" He would expect one.
"What is the point? You think I will not succeed." Frustrated, she kicked at a shirt lying on the ground.
"You will not. Got you into my room, did I not?" he asked smugly.
"That is because I would really like to discuss this plan of yours. Not slapping you across the face for voicing it does not mean I am willing to be abducted in a similar manner with a hand across my mouth. Whenever I decide to be wed, I deserve a more respectable wedding."
Colonel Fitzwilliam dropped to his knees. "I will treat you with all the care a good girl deserves."
"I deserve none. You do not think so either. You presume me to be loose. Since when are good and respectable girls kissed without warning or permission?"
"Loose girls generally see it coming," the Colonel philosophised. "So if you saw no warning, you must be good. However, I apologise for kissing you if it was not pleasant. I do not have the time to court ladies with polite conversation in the company of watchful chaperones. I have an occupation. I cannot devote too much time to the pursuit of a worthy woman. I am forever being interrupted by the call of duty."
She raised her hands in indignation. "So you kiss whomever strikes your fancy and see nothing wrong with that? And treat her like a loose girl? If I saw no warning, it is my fault for being such a good girl! You are overturning everything!"
"No..." the Colonel said thoughtfully. "You did not strike my fancy, but you struck my heart, so naturally I am a bit confused about this. I do not know how to proceed with a lady who touched my heart all of a sudden when she never did before. But I assure you I mean well."
"Flattering," was the sarcastic reply. It was really not a good thing that she knew he meant well.
He stood up again and sat down on the small sofa. "Do not be afraid to be you. I know you are a good girl. Come here. I have a headache. You need to tend to it because you do that so well."
"I do not believe you! One night in a library and you have lost your mind!"
"Heart. I have lost my heart," he corrected.
"It is a delusion! One cannot lose one's heart in such a manner! Now you are trying to make me think I am the deluded one. Do you have any idea of where I am and how you got me here?"
"You are in my bedchamber and I dragged you in by force," the Colonel said as if it was not a bad thing at all.
"Precisely! I ought to be..." She shook her head in agitation.
"Pardon me, my love, but I have not laid a finger on you apart from that one action. Why do you not stop fretting over how assaulted and shocked you ought to be feeling? Quite obviously you do not feel that way and do you know why? Because you are a good girl who knows I do not have anything wicked in mind. I will not even tell anybody you were here. Now, do a good deed and hold my head."
Surprisingly, she felt herself go.
Part 4
"Richard is planning to elope to Gretna Green!" Georgiana told her brother with huge eyes. "In two days! He told all of us privately."
"Good luck to him," Darcy commented, recognising his cousin's mischievous bent. "With that lady love of his, I assume?"
A while later, he began to feel worried. He remembered how Georgiana had embraced Fitzwilliam that morning and how she had insisted that he sit beside her. Was there more? Surely she would never tell him about an elopement beforehand, but perhaps Georgiana did not know about her cousin's intentions.
Although he still did not believe that there was a lady Fitzwilliam was in love with, his cousin might still have plans to get wed and what better choice for an officer of limited means than a rich young cousin who was devoted to him? If Fitzwilliam approached Georgiana, she would not think twice.
It was terribly worrisome.
He would, if there was genuine affection on both sides and a plan for a respectable wedding, perhaps give his consent, but an elopement would surely tarnish the family name.
This called for action and he had his horse saddled.
Colonel Fitzwilliam decided he quite liked his new situation. "Are you a constant sort of girl?" he asked, lying with his head in her lap, having his hair ruffled because he had said this was soothing and she had felt enough guilt about pushing against the bookcase to give in to odd requests.
"Er..." She could guess to what he was referring, but any constancy did not yet apply to him. Her confusion was constant, but she assumed that a revelation of that nature was not what he was after.
"My love, believe me to be constant in my admiration," he assured her. "Even if I may not acknowledge you until we are alone again. I do not know whether I could speak to you normally."
"Normal words or a normal manner? You managed an hour of speaking in a relatively normal manner," she observed. "If we do not look at the precise words, that is. What are you afraid of? That I will beg you to kiss me again? You know that is not very likely."
He felt she looked unjustifiably severe and wondered if she was being more severe on herself than on him. "Blushing? Stammering? Staring? Improper suggestions?"
"Surely such an experienced man of the world would not stammer? Or would you stammer in disappointment at my not asking certain questions?" Perhaps, she reflected, she should not place too much value on his being a man of the world. He was also an officer, yet he behaved like small child.
"Any silence from you is disappointing. I am not really listening to what you say, as long as you say something. I like your voice."
She was not yet at ease with such undeserved compliments and fled into sarcasm. "I think you are listening, but you are convinced that it will all work out in your favour. Obviously I am merely a little deluded at present and once I recognise your greatness, I will fall into your arms."
The Colonel beamed. "Does it not feel wonderful to speak your mind without reservations, my dear? You should try that more often. That came straight from the heart."
"You are a bit confused, Colonel," she said with some sympathy. "While it is flattering to be your sweet-voiced angel at present, I know it cannot continue when your mental fog clears up. I ought to be more cruel and step back."
"Are you constant? Or are you constantly tending to fogged gentlemen?"
"If you mean to ask me if I have a habit of doing this, I do not. And I never liked gambling. I am not sure how you got me to gamble."
He smiled up at her. "I have rigged the game. You would be betting on a winning number."
She rolled her eyes at his confidence. "Will you really go to Gretna Green in two days?" Try as she might, she could not see how she would willingly accompany him and his going there alone would be rather pointless.
"Only if you go with me."
"Do I get a choice? Will I not be abducted? If you conquer the enemy, will you be allowed to take its property home? I warn you, if you waged war on me, you would lose."
"Out with you, woman," the Colonel scolded teasingly. "If a tyrant is your image of me, I do not even want you."
"Colonel, I do not think you have mastered all the principles of lady-chasing," she said with some reluctant amusement. One did not chase ladies by sending them away, which was perhaps not what she ought to tell him.
"That is why I am not yet married. I was hoping my new spectacles would render me more attractive, though. He has no fortune, but at least he has spectacles. That sort of thing." He sighed in mock disappointment.
"You have not had them on for the past hour. How much do you see?" she asked suspiciously.
"I saw more than you thought last night, although for a while I did see things double and a little blurred. You are lovely when you think you are not known." The Colonel reached up and touched her face.
She pounded on his chest for this deceit.
He groaned in pain. "I am bruised quite badly there. It looked quite colourful this morning when I looked into the mirror."
She was instantly concerned, but she hid it well. "I am sorry. I have not felt useful for a very long time and I have a feeling you do not really need any care. Should I get something for your bruises that helps nevertheless?"
"Well..." Colonel Fitzwilliam said thoughtfully. "Wait." He sat up and fetched his spectacles. Then he sat down beside her, studying her face closely. "Could you repeat that?"
"No."
"You want to be useful, yet you think it will be useless in the end, so you will not even start. I think it is time I started being useful to you."
"Miller! I need something for bruises."
"Has he been rough with you, Madam?" Miller asked, trying to keep a middle between sympathy and scandalous shock.
"He is bruised."
Miller had always known her mistress was not to be trifled with. "I did not know you had caused it, Madam," she said respectfully. "I shall get you something as soon as possible."
"Where is Darcy?" asked Bingley, who wanted some sport. Being locked up in the house was deuced tedious.
"He went riding," said Mrs Darcy. "I assume he is not yet back."
"Riding? Without me?" Bingley was always willing to go for a ride and that someone could have neglected to ask him was incomprehensible.
"I am sorry."
"It is not your fault. Do you know where he went?"
She shook her head.
"Ah, Fitzwilliam!" Bingley cried when another person appeared. Surely one of the many house guests would have to oblige him. "Sport?"
The Colonel was merely making a tour so it would be known he was still in the house and not up to anything secret. He did not feel up to whatever Bingley wished to do, because he had other plans. "Not yet. My head..."
"Put the ladies out of your head, man. That would help. Or are you afraid she will forget about you now you are gone? I understand such a fear, but I can only say that if she is a good woman and her affection is sincere, she will remember you."
Fitzwilliam wanted to remark it would be difficult to forget about him in only a few minutes, but he refrained. "I am going to lie down."
In the hall, Colonel Fitzwilliam was stopped by Mrs Reynolds.
"Colonel, I have not told Mr Darcy about your shirt, but I must ask you a question. Did you dally with Miss Bingley's maid? She was up and about last night," said Mrs Reynolds, who could not put the matter of the shirt in the library out of her head. A shirt on its own would not be so bad, but someone had been bleeding.
"I do not dally with maids, only maidens," the Colonel responded. "Fair maidens. And perhaps old maids."
The housekeeper shook her head in dismay. "Can I never get a serious answer from you, Master Richard?"
"You were never one to dally, Mrs Reynolds," he said regretfully. "But dallying with a maid would not contribute to an agreeable acquaintance with anyone, save the maid -- for a while. I am free to dally where I like, however." He did not feel he owed her an explanation. She was only the housekeeper.
"Indeed, Colonel, but not all over Mr Darcy's books. He takes the matter very seriously. I have not told him it was you."
"Thank you, but it was Miss Bingley's chemise."
That was the last thing she had expected to hear and she stared. "But...it was a man's shirt!"
"Yes, it looked that way to me too, but she assured me most determinedly that it was hers. I know enough of ladies to know that arguing with them is useless. I let her have it before I could devote any improper thoughts to her undergarments." He smiled charmingly, assuming that such propriety would be a point in his favour.
"But...she cannot have moved Mr Darcy's books. They are too heavy. I cannot see that woman exerting herself in such a manner. I can see her meeting gentlemen in the library, but I cannot see her doing any strenuous work."
"Meeting gentlemen can also be strenuous work," said he, losing all credit he had just built up. "I assume."
"Colonel!"
"It will forever be a mystery," the Colonel said politely.
The Colonel walked upstairs together with Bingley, who was going to change into riding clothes. "Are you certain you do not want to come?" asked Bingley. "The weather is great."
"Quite certain, but I am pleased you would consider spending time with me." Bingley's slapping him jovially on the back made him wince, however.
"Oh, anytime. You are not such a disagreeable fellow, you know."
Bingley's sister materialised suddenly from behind them. "Charles means he likes you quite well, but we are never too complimentary."
"Caroline, will you come riding with me?" Bingley asked.
"I cannot. I have something to do."
"Caroline, will you come reading with me?" the Colonel asked. He could not resist.
"I cannot. I have something to do." She quickly slipped into her room.
"And I thought you were going to lie down," said Bingley, looking confused.
"I am." He smiled politely at Bingley and retreated into his room.
This left Bingley even more confused. He stood staring from one door to the other, wondering where precisely the reading was going to take place.
Colonel Fitzwilliam reappeared, looking surprised that Bingley was still there. "Have you lost your room?"
"No, I was wondering. Why did you ask my sister to come reading with you if you were going to lie down?"
"Caroline, will you come riding with me? Caroline, will you come reading with me? Do you hear it, Bingley?" Colonel Fitzwilliam explained.
"Then you have no plans to read?"
"She turned down the offer, Bingley. I suppose that put an end to any plans I might have thought of having."
Bingley advanced a few steps and lowered his voice. "She would hardly accept your offer in front of me, Fitzwilliam. I forbid nothing, mind you; I am merely surprised."
"You forbid nothing?" The Colonel's eyes widened.
"Do you think my sisters take me seriously at all? If forbade Caroline something, she would only laugh at me. I have relied on her superior judgement too often for her to brook any interference. If she was not shocked by your offer, why should I be? She can take care of herself."
It was a settled thing that the ladies would go shopping -- save Mary, who took no pleasure in such an activity, and Miss Bingley, who could not be found. She was not in her room.
Bingley, who had not yet left because he was making some progress in persuading Hurst to come riding, denied all knowledge of his sister's whereabouts. "I saw her not long ago, but I have no idea what her plans were. She would not come riding with me because she had something to do. I do not suppose she would give that up to go shopping either."
Thus when Darcy returned he found everybody gone. Mary Bennet was in the library and he eyed her suspiciously, but she seemed to be reading. According to Mrs Reynolds Colonel Fitzwilliam was in his room and everybody else was out, so he had nothing to do but to remain in the library with Mary Bennet to find new places for his dictionaries. He soon found that Miss Bennet was more than willing to help and she soon began to lecture him about a new shelving system.
The ladies, who returned shortly after, did not feel inclined to help.
"Father!" Colonel Fitzwilliam said in surprise when somebody entered without knocking.
"Darcy rode like a madman to inform me you have plans to marry in secret. He was afraid you would elope with Georgiana because she hugged you at breakfast. I did not think the chit would be a suitable wife, so I rode after Darcy after a lengthy conference with your dearest mother." The Earl looked at the woman treating his son's bruised upper body with a salve from a jar. "But now I see you have other plans."
The Colonel was trying to be laidback about this. "Not really."
"This is merely a country witch with country poisons?" the Earl asked rhetorically. "They must have discovered how to make a beautifier out of mushrooms since I last saw a country witch." He sat down and studied the pair. "What is going on here?"
"I had an accident with some heavy books. They fell on me."
"And you, young lady?"
"I rescued him."
"And it does not bother you that he has no shirt on?"
"He had no shirt on when I first found him. Besides, it is difficult to treat bruises through his shirt," the lady said calmly.
"The sight does not bother you?"
She frowned a little. "The bruises bother me a little, but I must be strong."
The Earl felt he had to get this absolutely straight. "It does not bother you that you are in a gentleman's room and that you are not bothered that he has no shirt on?"
"If I were bothered by that, I would not be here."
"This is a compromising situation," said the Colonel's father, wanting to emphasise this very clearly, since the pair did not seem to realise that at all.
"I agree," the lady said softly, but not at all inclined to show any regret or embarrassment.
"That is a very odd sort of girl, Richard," the Earl observed. "And are you really planning to elope?"
"No, Father."
"What do I tell Darcy?"
"That he was mistaken."
"What do I tell your mother?"
"You may be truthful with her."
"Is the young lady your mistress?"
"No, Father."
"She is merely a young lady with a jar of soothing balm?"
"Yes, Father."
"Is that correct, young lady?"
"Yes, it is."
"Do I say this to your mother, Richard? I saw a young lady with a jar of soothing balm, spreading it on our son's bare chest without being bothered about this?" He spoke with very little hope of being believed by his spouse, should he arrive home with this story.
"Yes, Father."
"And what do you think your mother will say?"
"I hope she will ask how I came to be hurt."
"No, your mother will insist that I ride back and drag you home, so she can box your ears."
Part 5
The Colonel's father was in fact no more set on dragging his son home than the Colonel was on eloping. His position required him to make the official family standpoint clear, however, and he acquitted himself of that paternal duty quite admirably. "Your mother would not like it at all," he said, "that you chose to stay with Darcy so you could play with girls. This would not have happened in our house."
"Well, we have no secret passages," Colonel Fitzwilliam mumbled.
"I beg your pardon?"
"We have no secret passages," his son said, a little louder. "There would be no girls to rescue from secret passages and I would in turn not need to be rescued because we have no woodworm in our bookcases, so that ours would not collapse on top of me."
"I always knew those Darcys were odd people. The one my sister married seemed tolerable, but now the truth comes out. Secret passages, indeed!" the Earl mused. "But really," he said, recollecting himself. "I do not understand how this explains your bare chest."
"I grew warm while removing the books, because it was hard work, so I removed my coat and then my shirt."
The Earl suppressed the understanding noise he wanted to make. His wife would certainly not appreciate it. "And the distressed damsel was the only one you could ask to treat your bruises?" He glanced at the damsel in question, who was shifting the jar from one hand to the other.
"That would have required explanations. I thought it best not to alert anybody to the fact that she had seen me in such a state last night. They might misconstrue it."
"Indeed," said his father. "Concealment upon concealment upon concealment...and then the young fools are surprised to find themselves in trouble. Perhaps your young lady could have called for help last night? Of course, relinquishing the care of such a fine, unclothed young fellow to another is extremely difficult, I understand."
"There was a huge pile of heavy books blocking the door," said the young lady tersely. "And he seemed to be dead. When I had uncovered him, he was bleeding. You would have wanted me to let him bleed to death, I see, so I could protect my maiden eyes."
"I am happy to hear you had heretofore never laid eyes on such an unclothed fellow. It may lessen the gravity of your offence somewhat. Well, I must go. Her Ladyship will be dying of curiosity and I am not yet ready to part with her. Oh, and I must reassure Darcy. Why did you tell all the girls you were eloping?"
Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged. "They would not be satisfied with less after I had said a lady was responsible for my headache and nausea."
"May I suggest that, in anticipation of your mother's judgement, you refrain from getting yourself into trouble?" It was not a suggestion, but an order. "Do not seek each other's company. In case you think otherwise, it is a matter of hours rather than days. Should your mother insist on coming here only to find you in a similar situation, you know what will happen. Now, out with you, girl."
The worst that could happen, Colonel Fitzwilliam reflected as he lay on his bed, was that his parents would never want to see him again. He did not think they would come to such a decision, though. They were rather fond of him and even if he squandered that affection, they would still be fond of teasing him.
His father had been quite mild, seemingly more appalled at his stupidity than at his conduct. His mother, on the other hand, would not understand the attraction of pretty girls, but perhaps it could be explained to her.
"Darcy?"
"Yes, Uncle?" Darcy asked anxiously.
His uncle met him with a cheerful demeanor. "Richard is not planning to elope. He merely said this to tease the ladies, always a gratifying pursuit."
"And Georgiana? What are his intentions?"
"I can safely say he has no intentions as far as Georgiana is concerned." Now, that was a tactful answer his beloved could be proud of and he beamed.
Darcy looked relieved and then embarrassed. "I am sorry. I must seem foolish."
"Not at all," the Earl assured him. "Your alertness was quite appreciated. Do not be surprised if your Aunt appears later. She always thinks the rest of the world needs to be protected from the crippled mischief of the Fitzwilliam men." And then she came to inflict something far more grave on everybody, but of course the woman would never admit it, he reflected.
"As long as she is not coming for me, she is most welcome."
"She may want a word with her son, but I shall ask her not to pay her respects to you, Darcy, if you had rather not."
"No, no!" Darcy said hurriedly. "I am quite fond of my Aunt, as you well know, but I do not wish to be berated for causing any mischief."
"This time you are in the clear."
"I have a message for you from your son," the Earl announced as he embraced his wife upon coming home.
"You have disowned him. This does not bode well," said the Countess, who had been pacing in front of the window ever since his departure.
"I have not disowned him. I merely wish to stress he does not take after me."
The Countess sighed and concluded that the opposite was probably true. "What was his message?"
"That the young lady I found spreading something onto his bare chest was no mistress of his, but merely a young lady treating his bruises -- in the privacy of his bedchamber."
"And you think he does not take after you," she commented with a shake of the head. It shocked her a little to hear this, but perhaps there was a good explanation. Richard seemed to think so, if this was his explicit message to her. Still, to be entertaining young ladies in his bedchamber was not the sort of conduct she advocated for a son of hers. "What was your interpretation of the scene, my dear? You sound sceptic."
"Because I knew you would be. There was a certain innocence about the scene, however..."
"Innocence!" she exclaimed, not daring to believe it. The guilty would lock their doors, however. "I should have gone myself! I knew he would be able to fool you!"
"Let me finish! There was no guile."
"No guile! Would you be able to discern guile? Would he?"
"It appeared to be a very determined sort of chit. Not embarrassed. Said if she were bothered by it, she would not be there." He shook his head. "Odd sort of girl."
The Countess was not usually prone to fits of agitation, except in situations such as these. "What happened? Describe the scene to me. Let me draw my own conclusions."
"I came in and happened upon a young lady spreading something onto him. They both looked rather surprised. I told your son why I was there and concluded that he must have other plans than eloping with Georgiana. He said not really."
"You walked in and you started a polite conversation?" his wife exclaimed, quite capable of imagining how it would have gone.
"We are not all as aggressive as you," he defended himself. "I proceeded to ask what they were doing and I ascertained whether the girl cared about being in a compromising situation, but apparently she thought it more important to tend to your son's bruises. She was not bothered by the sight of him -- he inherited his figure from me, so I would honestly be surprised if she were bothered -- because she had found him like that, she said, when she rescued him."
"Such is the lot of the wife of a vain man!" the Countess lamented. "You are taking her indifference to propriety as a compliment on your own figure!"
"Well, no. I am merely saying that I understand that she --"
She held up a hand to silence him. "He was rescued by a girl? From what?"
"Books fell on him, he said, and they knocked him unconscious. Apparently he had been trying to rescue the girl, who was stuck in a secret passage behind a bookcase. The case collapsed and she found him unconscious. He had taken off his shirt while removing the books because it was hard work, he said. By the time I found them together, she was apparently used to -- or partial to -- the sight."
"There you go again, my dear," the Countess commented.
"You must be able to imagine yourself in her situation," he pouted.
"That is precisely why I should not," she said sternly. "May I hope that she likes more about him than his shirtlessness? That is a very weak foundation for a marriage."
"Why, thank you," the Earl said, still pouting. "She seemed rich, so why do you care?"
"Perhaps, if it is not too demanding of me, for the same reason we would not like his marrying Georgiana?"
"This one is a bit older, though." He supposed age came with some degree of wisdom -- for most people.
"He needs someone more like me," she said reflectively.
"No! The poor boy!" the Earl wailed.
"He needs to be kept in check."
"I really do not see why that is necessary. I told you, he does not take after me." He wondered if she was going to contradict him on that.
There were other roads to victory, however. "Do you need to be kept in check, my dear?"
"Not anymore," he said morosely. "I am not the man I used to be. I was forced to suppress some character traits, as you well know."
She raised her eyebrows. "Which ones?" It appeared to her that some had grown steadily worse.
"Was that your uncle?" asked Mrs Darcy, who had caught a glimpse of an older gentleman leaving the house.
"Yes, he had some business with his son."
"Oh my goodness! Someone told his father that he has been teasing us about eloping?" she cried. "Thinking that he must have forgotten to enlighten his parents about his intentions?"
"Er..." Darcy felt in part responsible, because it had gone only in part in the way his wife said.
"He was not serious. Anyone could tell that!"
It would be useless to mention the embrace at breakfast or the gullibility of his sister. "Georgiana could not."
"The poor Colonel! But I am sure he managed to convince his father that it was all a misunderstanding." Mrs Darcy had every confidence in his ability to be serious when required.
"Perhaps," Darcy said guardedly. He was not so certain that any convincing had been successful. "My Uncle mentioned that my Aunt may call later to have a word with him."
"Oh," she said ominously. "That is never a good thing. The Countess is as complex as the Earl is simple."
That was not, Darcy felt, a fair picture of his esteemed relatives. "She becomes simpler on acquaintance, Elizabeth, and he more complex."
Mrs Darcy looked as if her impression of people was always superior to her husband's. She did not want to argue, however, and she let him labour under the misunderstanding that he knew best. He had a rather stubborn streak that was best avoided. "But she will come for her son?"
"Yes."
"I find it rather fascinating that she would. After all, he is older than you are."
"He needs managing more than I do, I daresay."
The young ladies, who were creatively employed with their purchased pieces of fabric, had not noticed a thing. They did not even care to ask where Miss Bingley had been when she appeared. Only her sister did so.
"Yes, I did leave my room for a while, but I was there most of the time," Miss Bingley said vaguely, but keenly feeling all the pain of not having been looked for properly. "The village hardly makes for good shopping anyway," she said haughtily, taking up a book. "Do not feel too bad about not having looked for me."
Nobody really cared whether she was here. She might as well be absent, for all that they would notice. Staring at the pages of the book was not going to make her any more appreciated, nor any better informed. It was some sort of cheap novel, although if she put it away in disgust everyone would realise she had not been paying attention. Then again, nobody was paying attention to her anyway. How vain of her to think so! She laid the book aside.
There were the schoolgirls on one side and the married ladies on the other. That was how they sorted themselves out here. She belonged to neither, being too old for the schoolgirls and too unmarried for the married ladies. The schoolgirls were silly and the married ladies behaved as if they knew more than she did. Perhaps they did not do so consciously, but they spoke of their husbands and sometimes they exchanged knowing looks or smiles. It was incredibly vexing.
"Are you unwell?" asked Mrs Hurst.
"Tired." Her sister was the best of them, along with her sister-in-law, but both of them were married. "I am going to find a proper book."
Colonel Fitzwilliam was just inspecting the altered arrangements in the library. He looked curiously at the new arrival. "Are you coming to read with me finally?"
"I am fleeing from complete disinterest. I might as well not be here. I need to read something to remind me that it is very bad of me to care, something very moral." She looked at a section of the shelves. "Surely Darcy would have something that improved my mind and convinced me that my feelings of neglect were one of the greatest sins of mankind."
The corners of the Colonel's mouth twitched. "Not where you are looking now. That is all Greek or do you read Greek?"
"Neglected and also not accomplished. Of course I do not read Greek. Can you recommend anything else?"
"I can indeed recommend something, Caroline, but why do you feel neglected?"
She gestured in dissatisfaction. "Well, I am not one of the schoolgirls, nor one of the wives, nor one of the gentlemen. In short, I am nothing to anybody."
"You know what my father said," he said thoughtfully. "Do not seek each other's company."
"I did not come to seek you. I came to find solace in a moralising text -- if that is possible. If I find it, I shall go."
He had never been one to think that solace could be found in a moralising text. Good company was far superior a method. "I shall read them to you. I need to try out my new spectacles anyway and I never got a chance last night. Sit down."
"But your father..."
A grown man would never reveal the danger would come from his other parent. "I will deal with my parents, should they appear," he promised bravely.
Somewhat reassured, she sat down. Soon he found some suitable texts and carried them to the sofa. She interrupted him when he was ten lines into the first text. "That is horrible. Is it all like that?"
He nodded. "I take it you mean the text and not my reading."
"I am no scholar. I honestly admit to not having the taste for such longwinded and tedious prose. My mind will wander after a sentence and wonder if there is no simpler way of saying it. I suppose my intention must end as a good intention and that I should be happy to have at least thought of reading something edifying."
The Colonel smiled at her. "Thank you. I am glad you do not want more of this. Shall we move to fables? I honestly admit to having a more juvenile taste."
Caroline Bingley had not felt so well entertained for a very long time. She had even laughed. The company had been half the cure and the manner in which they had passed the time had done the rest. Fables were funny. Her companion was funny.
Her laughter stilled when an older woman in a riding habit entered the library and locked the door behind her. "I believe your father forbade you something, Richard Fitzwilliam," she said, coming towards them.
"Mother, we are reading moralistic fables."
"The accounts of your conduct that I have received are such that your morals are a fable, indeed," she said, lightly striking him against the arm with her riding crop.
Miss Bingley gasped. She had never before seen a mother hit her son with her riding crop and it shocked her immensely. "Do not hit him! What are you doing?" she cried.
"Giving him more bruises for you to tend to?" The Countess had not reckoned with the fierceness of the girl, but it was certainly interesting.
"Hand me that," she said demandingly, approaching the Colonel's mother. "I will not have you flog him, even if you are his mother."
The Countess handed over her riding crop. "Do you not think he deserved a little flogging?"
Part 6
Caroline laid the riding crop on the table. Carefully, to hide her distress. "No, I do not think he deserved to be flogged. We were reading. Is that so bad?" At this moment they could not be reproached for anything.
"Young lady, you have no right to be angry with me, for I have it on good authority that you were not reading when my husband found you earlier. If anyone deserves to be angry, it is me." The Countess was, however, more disposed to have fun. It turned out to be so easy. She wondered if the girl really believed she would strike her own son, no matter how stupid he was. There were much better ways to prolong her amusement than striking him.
Caroline turned to the Colonel. She wished he would take over, for he would know the best way to handle his mother. "Earlier we were not reading, but..."
He stood up. "Mother, I do not know what Father told you, but --"
She clasped her hands behind her back and cut off any excuse smilingly. "He told me what he saw."
What his father had seen could be interpreted in many ways, most of which were incorrect. "Did he pass on my message?"
"Oh, he did indeed. It was merely this and that -- as if being half-naked with a young woman would be merely anything. I say it is a good deal of something. A good deal of scandal, perhaps. You did not think of a scandal when you undressed?" Her tone was deceptively sympathetic.
"I have no time for scandals," Colonel Fitzwilliam answered.
"My dear boy! What sort of foolish reply is that?" his mother cried. She was secretly rather delighted at his stubbornness. "Scandals always have time for you!"
"Well, then it does not signify how I conduct myself, does it? If scandals will always find me. I might as well conduct myself as my heart dictates."
"Is such the effect of a concussion?" the Countess wondered doubtfully. "As your heart dictates! I have never heard that before. What does that involve?"
"Perhaps it involves reading to a friend to raise her spirits, despite my father's suggestion -- order."
"I do not wonder at her spirits, after she was subjected to your half-nakedness."
This brought a look of alarm to Caroline's face, as she was afraid she would now have to say whether her spirits had been high or low after the occasion.
"Perhaps you convinced her to subject herself willingly?" the Countess continued. "Undoubtedly you were very, very hurt." Again she sounded very sympathetic.
That made the Colonel sound like a cad and Caroline would have to protest against that. It had not been like that at all. It had simply happened. "I needed no convincing," she said, trying to sound confident. "I will take my share of any blame."
"Do you do what your heart dictates as well?"
"I have no heart," she answered gravely.
"Why has our Aunt locked herself into the library?" Georgiana asked her brother.
"I do not know what it is, but my library is always at the centre of people's odd behaviour," Darcy sighed.
"No heart," the Countess repeated with interest, but her interest was more directed at the fishlike opening and closing of her son's mouth. Fortunately he had the good grace to withhold any senseless comment he had been about to make. "I have never heard that before."
"I like to be unique," Caroline said proudly.
"I am sure Richard would agree that you have succeeded. Well, Miss..."
"Caroline Bingley."
If that surprised the Countess, she did not let it show. "Well, Miss Caroline Bingley, I am sure you would agree that I cannot leave my son in this house. I am sure you would agree that I must take him away as soon as possible. I am sure you would do the same if you were his mother."
"And you allow me no option but to agree." Caroline would not like it if the Colonel was taken away, not now he proved to be the only amusing person in the house and therefore she looked a little dejected. It was hardly possible for a lady to chase a gentleman and if his mother succeeded in taking him away, she had no hopes of ever seeing him again. "And then you will take him away and you will force some marriage to a suitable girl on him so he can never do it again." They might even take Georgiana for that -- or Anne De Bourgh. She shuddered.
"Precisely."
"I must however point out that he came of age..." Caroline looked at him to guess and decided to settle on something vague. "...quite a long time ago, so that he does not have to listen."
Only her own children and her own husband would ever think of contradicting the Countess, so this young lady's not agreeing with her instantly was a very intriguing occurrence. Perhaps it signified that she was ready to join the family circle. "Young lady, I have been his mother since...quite a long time ago, so you may trust in my abilities to let him do exactly what I want."
"What might that be, Mother?" the Colonel asked. He was certain that she overestimated those abilities. "You cannot force me to leave."
She ignored him. "Tell your maid to pack your things, young lady, for you are coming with me and then my son will follow."
"What if I do not?" he asked.
The Countess gave another one of her sympathetic smiles. "Then you will have to do without her."
He gave her a calculating look because of this surprising twist. "But if I come...what are the consequences?" Would he be kept away from her?
"I am not going to tell you that beforehand. You make the choice...now."
"Why are you taking me?" Caroline asked.
"You saw too much of my son."
"But is it not only scandalous if he sees too much of me?"
"Oh, was that your rationale? I am sorry. It does not work with me," the Colonel's mother said apologetically. "All instances of overexposure are equally improper to me. Off with you. I shall wait for you in the hall. Do not flee from me or I will set the dogs on you."
"What do we do?" Caroline lamented in a low voice as she climbed the stairs. "I did not see too much of you. And you explained yourself to your father, too!"
"There is not much we can do in the way of logic and explanations if my mother starts interfering. Her interpretations of events are usually unique."
"Does she know of my...history?" She looked worried, almost choking on the last word.
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at her closely. "Do you have a history I do not know about?"
"I suppose you know about what has had me feeling quite mortified."
"Oh, that," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, I know about that. I have been giving it some thought, to be honest, but I do not see it as much of a problem."
"But your mother...she may think I transfer my affections easily whenever such a thing is in my best interest."
"No heart, no affections." His eyes sparkled. "So that is why you said it."
"Exactly."
"I am happy to hear it. My mother always claims she was different before she was married and different before I was born, so I am sure she has some compassion for change."
The Countess went off to inform her nephew that she was about to relieve him of two of his guests. "A word in private, if you please," she requested when she found him surrounded by a multitude of young ladies. It looked as if he had enough of them left if she took one.
"Aunt! You have not greeted us!" cried Georgiana, who came running towards her.
"I had a very pressing business to handle, my dear. We shall invite you to dinner when all your guests are gone and then I shall tell you all about it. I must speak to your brother now." She took Darcy into the hall after patting Georgiana on the head. How could her nephew ever have thought that Richard was angling after Georgiana? She was still a child.
"Yes, Aunt?" Darcy asked.
"It came to my attention," she began in a low voice. "That one of your guests is an unattached young lady of great fortune."
Darcy no longer had any personal interest in unattached ladies of great fortune, so he had to think for a second. "That is possible." Kitty and Mary Bennet certainly did not, but there were three others who fit that description.
"So, you understand my business."
"I am afraid I do not."
"You must understand that I mean to attach her to my son."
Darcy stared and gulped. "Aunt! Who?"
"I agree it is a most mercenary scheme," she said with a hurried smile. "But a mother becomes a trifle desperate when her son fails to attach himself longer than two weeks to anyone, suitable or unsuitable! I must lend a hand."
"But which young lady are you talking of?"
"Miss Bingley, naturally."
"But...not her! But...but..." he spluttered. "Fitzwilliam is already attached to someone else! He would not tell us to whom and I did not believe him, but I feel I must mention it before you ruin his happiness, in case it was true after all."
"Thank you for mentioning it, Darcy. I shall, however, if you do not object and even if you do, take Miss Bingley with me to become better acquainted."
"Does Fitzwilliam know you are taking her?" Darcy could not believe his cousin would agree to any of this.
"He does and he did not mention that his happiness would be ruined, so I suppose it will not. He chose not to stay here, but to come home with me as well."
"Why do you need to take her, Aunt? I can tell you all about her."
"I always like to judge for myself, Darcy. And really, what does one need to know apart from that fortune?"
"But you cannot simply take her."
"I thought you would be glad to be rid of someone you did not like, or is it Mrs Darcy who dislikes her most?"
"They are indeed not the best of friends," Darcy said in a cautious voice.
"Then I am doing you a great service," she assured him most cheerfully.
"Darcy was appalled," the Countess said in satisfaction. She was riding back home with her son, while Miss Bingley and her maid were being transported in one of Darcy's carriages. "Horrified and appalled."
"You took liberties with the truth," Colonel Fitzwilliam stated. He wondered which ones. "I hope you did not tell him I assaulted her in the library?"
"No, should I have?"
"No!" He was all vehemence. "No. But why was he appalled?"
"Oh," the Countess said lightly. "I told him I was after the young lady's fortune. I think Darcy may pity you now. He thinks you are in for an arranged marriage with a young lady you cannot but despise, because she is no favourite of his."
He glared darkly.
"Your young lady has no idea what she is in for," she observed. "But I do not think she was happy enough at Pemberley to offer too much resistance to her abduction."
"Well, if she is already passed between her married sister and her married brother like a ball, it cannot matter much to be passed to you."
"You appear to have discussed this."
"Briefly."
"I wonder that you did not offer your services as a ballplayer."
"I knew there would be trouble," Miller sighed.
"I do not need any moralising from you, Miller," Caroline snapped.
"I know you will be locked up in a tower, Madam."
"They might not have a tower."
"Or a dungeon. And then you can be rescued."
"They might not have dungeons."
"By the Colonel, who has been required to kill rats with his coat and shirt," Miller fantasised.
Caroline shuddered at the idea of rats, although the other thought was quite appealing.
"And he will have been assisted by his valet and me."
"Let me guess, his valet also had to kill rats with his coat and shirt?" Caroline asked sarcastically.
"Yes, he gave the example, naturally."
"Miller, you are fantasising about someone you do not even know."
"How do you know I do not know him? He did not come to Pemberley this time, but I may have seen him once or twice."
"I wish he is old and ugly."
"Bingley! Bingley! Bingley!"
Bingley was not often called for with such urgency and he was therefore not used to responding to it with any sort of speed. "Yes, Darcy?"
"My aunt the Countess has taken your sister with her!"
Bingley took this quite literally and he frowned. "Your aunt the Countess was on horseback."
"But she ordered your sister to take a carriage. And do you know why?"
"Because Caroline is not fond of riding?"
"No! Because my aunt wants to arrange a marriage between Caroline and Fitzwilliam!"
"Bless them."