Midwinter in Meryton Page 2

  Lydia’s notion of cruelty was an entirely selfish one, for she treated the departure of the Netherfield party with almost as much imagined tragedy as she did the rumour of the looming departure of the regiment. She cared little for their fate, for the wars or rumours of wars. She cared only that Meryton would soon be bereft of almost every eligible dancing partner. And now, with the snow, she was without a single opportunity to dance! Lizzy snorted. Lydia had not taken kindly to her pointing out that there was some providence in the absence of both partners and opportunity, in that case, for what good was one without the other?

  Wrapping her arms around her knees, Lizzy leaned her forehead down upon them, smiling to herself. She wondered if the spirit of Christmas had yet worked its magic or whether Lydia would still be giving her the silent treatment all day, punctuated only by occasional sighs and glares whenever Lizzy dared to attempt to speak to her.

  “Good morning, Lizzy,” Jane said, stifling a yawn. She propped herself up in bed and leaned past her sister to peer out of the window, shuddering at the sight of yet more snow. “How beautiful it looks! And how cold.”

  “It is winter, Janey, what do you expect?” Lizzy laughed, leaning back and wrapping her shawl around the both of them. Jane shifted so that they were sitting parallel and leaned her head on Lizzy’s shoulder.

  “Merry Christmas,” she murmured.

  “Merry Christmas! It will be a quiet one this year, I suppose.” Lizzy stifled her own yawn. “Just think, if the Gardiners were here, the whole house would be awakened by now, to the sounds of excited children running around.” She grinned, wickedly at her sister. “What do you say we put on just such a show, for dear Mama and Papa? I dare say they are missing the energy of a full house.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Jane said, with a laugh. “I am quite looking forward to a Christmas where Mama does not wake in a bad mood, nursing a headache and bemoaning her lack of sleep.” She frowned, thoughtfully. “I suppose we shall not even manage to make it to church today, for the roads look entirely impassable.”

  “What Heathens we have become!” Lizzy declared, struggling to hold back her laughter. “I wonder what Mary’s Sermons will have to say on the matter!”

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK BECAME of poor Darcy, Caro?”

  Caroline sighed, gritting her teeth. She had lost count of how often her brother had sought to mention Mr Darcy’s absence, his current state, his planned return. Charles had not yet mentioned Netherfield directly, but Caroline knew it was only a matter of time.

  “I dare say he is taking advantage of the opportunity to spend a quiet Christmas in his own home.” This was a lie, and she winced a little as she said it, but Charles, thankfully, did not seem to notice. His attention was fixed on the window, and he watched the milling crowds as if he might see their very friend amongst them, picking his way carefully amidst the snow.

  Caroline’s heart turned over. In truth, she had no way of knowing what had become of Mr Darcy. He had volunteered, with only the slightest request, to return alone to Netherfield and retrieve the case that Charles had left when she, Caroline, had done the only thing she could think of to keep her brother from going with him.

  “I hope you are continuing to recover, Caro,” Charles said, wrenching his attention away from the window and crossing the spacious parlour to where Caroline sat, wrapped in a blanket she did not need, and nursing a headache she did not have.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said, primly. She felt another tug of guilt in her heart at the notion that she had worried her brother so, for Charles did indeed look worried as he fixed his attention on her. “I told you I would rally in time, and with stillness.”

  Charles frowned.

  “I still wonder at the wisdom of not requesting the doctor...” he mused. “Now that we are a day after Christmas I am sure he would come, if only to ease your concerns.”

  “I have no concerns.” Caroline injected her voice with a breezy, nonchalant tone. “You need not fear for my health, Charles. I told you then and I shall tell you again, all is well. I need but to rest.” Sensing he was about to make some suggestion as to the restful nature of Netherfield in the countryside, she spoke on rapidly, silencing any such comment. “Here, in our own London home, I do feel so much more at ease than I think I have anywhere else in all of England!”

  “Really?” This was news to Charles, and Caroline bit her lip, recalling at length that this was the exact opposite of the reasoning she had given him for their taking Netherfield to begin with. Let us go to the country, Charles, and have a break from this hectic whirl of London life! Then her reasons had been two-fold, and selfish. On the one hand, she wished to escape the recent engagement of her friend Arabella Stephens - to the very gentleman she, Caroline, had imagined was in love with her - and on the other, she had known that Charles would think of inviting Fitzwilliam Darcy and if there was any suitable substitute for Arabella’s ill-gotten beau it was Mr Darcy. Caroline grimaced. She had not bargained on a houseful of scheming Bennets not only undermining her own plans for Mr Darcy’s heart but stealing their way into her brother’s!

  “Oh, you know how London is at Christmas!” She laughed, a little unconvincingly. “It slows down and becomes almost restful. Especially with the snow. Why, ever so many gatherings and engagements have been cancelled on account of it.” Her mind began to piece things together, and she brightened, hoping her changed mood would be contagious and seek to cheer her brother also. “I dare say it is the weather that delays Mr Darcy’s return to us. Come, Charles, sit beside me near the fire. Shall we not have a hand of cards or a game of chess? Some occupation will surely suit you, and I can sense you are eager or some sort of activity.”

  “Very well.” Charles’ response was rather less enthusiastic than Caroline might have wished for, but he was obedient nonetheless, focusing his attention on setting up a derelict chess set within easy reach of the both of them. Caroline had no great skill at chess, but she could hold her own well enough against her brother, whose impetuosity in life carried over into his gaming and left him too often acting in haste and repenting at leisure. As well he would have done had he been left to pursue Jane Bennet! Caroline reminded herself. She might feel guilty at the way she had manipulated her brother in order to separate the pair and bring an end to their rapidly blossoming romance, but she would not regret her reasons for doing so. She cared for her brother and wished him to be happy. However could such a thing be managed with Jane Bennet as his bride?

  “Now I believe you are recovering,” Charles said, with a grin. “For it is a while since I have seen such a brightness to your expression. Had I known all it would take was a game of chess by the fire - why, we might have managed such a thing at Netherfield, and never needed to travel back to London, to begin with!”

  “It would not have been achieved at Netherfield,” Caroline snapped, replacing one of Charles’ pawns with her own. “No, I tired of the country long before now. Frankly, I cannot imagine how anyone can bear to remain there.” Her voice lowered, cruelly. “I suppose, in certain cases, it cannot be helped, for if one has not the money nor the connections to live elsewhere one must be happy with one’s lot.”

  Charles drew his lips into a line but wisely did not respond. They played on in silence, but Caroline felt the same unwarranted flood of guilt that, quite unnecessarily, she blundered and allowed her brother to win the game easily. Ordinarily, he would rejoice at his victory but this time his own expression was muted and she wondered if, happy as she was to have left Netherfield behind, Charles would ever embrace London life again.

  Chapter Three

  “I do not see why we have to do such back-breaking work,” Lydia complained, with a theatrical sigh. “Is that not what we employ servants for?”

  “Oh, indeed!” Elizabeth said, cheerfully bending to her task, and scooping up a shovel-full of snow. “And what task would you have them leave undone while they see to this?” She tossed the snow in a light arc, before turning to gath
er some more. “Besides, it was only lately you have been complaining of being trapped indoors -”

  “I did not mean I wished to be punished with manual labour!” Lydia groaned, scooping up a minuscule amount of snow and tipping it, half-heartedly aside.

  “Lydia!” Lizzy shook her head. “We shall be at our task all day if you persist in doing only the bare minimum. Look, Kitty is not afraid to work hard and see how much progress she has made in all the time you have spent out here complaining!”

  Lydia scowled, turning her ire towards her sister and Kitty visibly slowed her pace, glancing warily back towards Elizabeth as if she were torn between two reactions: delight at being praised by her elder sister, and fearing the wrath of her younger.

  “Well, why can Jane not help us?” Lydia challenged. “Or Mary? You do not make them work until their limbs ache and their fingers are frost-bitten.”

  “I am not making anybody do anything!” Lizzy insisted, straightening up and leaning on the handle of her shovel for a few moments. “I merely thought that instead of running up and down stairs and causing Mama another of her headaches you might want to come and burn off some energy in a way that might be useful - ow!”

  She had been so pre-occupied in the delivery of her speech that she had not been watching what Lydia was doing, and that young lady, thoroughly bored and eager for some more agreeable entertainment, had scooped up a handful of snow, pressed it into a ball and lobbed it, quite intentionally, at Elizabeth’s back. When Lizzy turned, she had scarcely enough time to duck out of the way of another, aimed directly at her face.

  “Lydia!”

  “Oh, come on Lizzy! If we must deal with all this snow we might as well have a little fun doing so. You are not quite an old matron yet, incapable of having fun.” She arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Or are you?”

  Lizzy hesitated scarcely a moment before scraping together her own snowball and tossing it at her sister.

  Kitty squealed and ducked behind her shovel which provided less than no shelter for her and soon she, too, was drawn into the fight and all three girls were laughing, shrieking and dodging the snowballs which flew in all directions.

  Everyone was so engaged in the battle that their shovelling was forgotten, as was any consideration of life outside of their immediate campaign so that nobody was aware of the tall, broad-shouldered figure approaching slowly from the distance. Nobody noticed until he drew so close that a stray snowball, lobbed from Lizzy and aimed, poorly, at her youngest sister, missed its mark completely and struck Mr Darcy squarely in the shoulder.

  “Oof!”

  “Oh! Goodness!” Lizzy cried, straightening all of a sudden when she recognised their neighbour. She brushed stray flakes of snow from her skirts and blinked, willing her rapid breathing to still and wishing her face were not quite so ruddy and red as she knew it must be from the combination of cold and exertion.

  “Miss Bennet.” Mr Darcy glanced at the imprint of snow on his coat, before brushing its remnants coldly away. He greeted all three sisters with a curt bow. “Miss Lydia, Miss Catherine. I see you are not harmed by the lingering snow?”

  “Not harmed, no,” Lizzy said, struggling to keep her balance as she happened, at that moment, to be standing with one foot on the frozen surface of a puddle. Lydia, it seemed, could not resist throwing one last snowball in her sister’s direction and Lizzy flinched as it made an impact with her arm. She shot her sister a withering glance and turned back to Mr Darcy.

  “What are you - what are you doing here, Mr Darcy? We thought that the Netherfield party had gone to London almost as soon as the ball was ended.” She strove to keep her voice level, as if it were the most normal occurrence in the world to be spied, by a gentleman, engaging in a snowball fight in the middle of a wintry afternoon, and that gentleman Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy himself. She could not help but feel a glimmer of hope, for if he were here in Hertfordshire, perhaps Mr Bingley was too. Then all might not yet be lost as far as Jane’s happiness was concerned and the Christmas season might yet be redeemable.

  “They did,” Mr Darcy said, grimly. “That is to say, we all did. I had cause to return, and found myself trapped here by the weather.” He shivered, whether by accident or to illustrate the nature of Netherfield, bereft of its most jolly occupants. Lizzy felt a glimmer of satisfaction at the thought of bad-tempered Mr Darcy being forced to remain there alone, snowbound with only his own superior thoughts for company. Yet the thought did not give her as much amusement as it once might have done and she repented of it almost immediately, feeling a surprising flicker of sympathy towards the gentleman before her. It was this, perhaps, which prompted her to speak again, almost before she was aware of the thought.

  “Will you not come in for tea, Mr Darcy? I am sure my mother and father would be delighted to see you again.” She paused, unable to resist one last barbed comment. “And Jane, of course. I am sure Mr Bingley will wish to know how pleasant a Christmas we have passed at Longbourn. In spite of the snow.”

  Mr Darcy’s smile, if the perpetual grimace he seemed to wear could truly be termed such, did not falter, but Lizzy thought she saw the tiniest change in his stance. It was as if the merest mention of Jane was enough to cause him to flinch internally. It served only to confirm what she had suspected from the beginning: that it was Mr Darcy, and not Mr Bingley, who had prompted their hasty departure to London. All sympathy she might have felt for Mr Darcy’s solitary holiday vanished, and her smile grew cynical.

  “Assuming, of course, that you are open to the promise of company. I know how much you dislike it.”

  Lydia’s sharp intake of breath made Lizzy wonder, fleetingly, if she had spoken too harshly. Mr Darcy was still a gentleman, and just because he saw no problem in being rude and dismissive did not mean Lizzy ought to mimic him.

  “Lydia, run on and order us some tea, will you?” she said, reaching for her sister’s idle shovel. “We shall come after you. Kitty, I’m sure you must be as much in need of some refreshments as I am. You see, Mr Darcy, our Christmas has been neither solitary nor idle.”

  “Indeed,” he said, and after hesitating for a long moment, he reached for one of the shovels. “Miss Bennet, perhaps you will permit me to finish clearing a path for you. It is the least I could do, to earn a seat in your parlour for the afternoon.”

  IT WAS NOT IN DARCY’S nature to be lazy, but his was not a life of hard physical labour, and so he began to feel the strain of his exertions far sooner than other men might. Instead of stopping when pain flared in his arms, though, he merely clenched his shovel tighter and worked all the faster, eager to be done with the task and free to join the family indoors.

  He clenched his teeth as he worked, wishing he might be permitted to do so without an audience. At least the two younger Bennet girls had gone indoors. Lizzy, on the other hand, remained, ostensibly to help him but, he fancied, it was rather more that she enjoyed the spectacle of upright, gentlemanly Fitzwilliam Darcy being put to work.

  I volunteered, he reminded himself. This is chivalry, not servitude. The feeling buoyed his mood and he finished his task with a flourish.

  “There,” he grunted, tapping the edge of his spade against the path he had cleared, and kicking the remnants of snow to one side. “Miss Bennet, you should now be able to walk to the road with ease.” He cleared his throat. “Whether you will be able to progress any further along it, I am afraid, is beyond my skill to determine.” He nodded towards the fields. “I came across country, and have not yet been to see if the roads are cleared.”

  “Indeed!” Lizzy remarked, straightening from her position leaning on one elbow on her upright shovel. “I must assume, then, that they are not, for surely, were they passable, you would have left us already, sir, and returned to London.”

  Darcy would not dignify that with a response, merely inclining his head to indicate he had heard her. He did not know why Elizabeth Bennet seemed determined to take his presence as a personal insult, for indeed she seemed to. And no
t only his presence, but Bingley’s absence. It was this sudden flight from Netherfield that seemed most to annoy her, and she held him responsible for the event, for reasons he could not begin to fathom. True, he had sided with Caroline when she had mused, aloud, how suddenly and severely her brother had formed an attachment to Jane Bennet. He had witnessed too many contemporaries of his make hasty, regrettable matches, prizing a pretty face above a constant heart. He could not fault the wisdom in her suggestion that perhaps a little distance between Bingley and Jane Bennet would not be the end of the world, but he certainly had not been the one to insist upon their separation occurring immediately it had. Indeed, he had gone with them only because he was their guest at Netherfield and preferred to spend the season in his own townhouse, given the chance. It was ironic, then, that of the entire group he should have ended up being at Netherfield for Christmas, and being there alone. Solitary it had been, and he had not enjoyed it half so much as he might have expected.

  It was that which had urged him to walk out of doors today, and he had ventured as far as Longbourn almost by chance. He acknowledged it as almost because, in spite of himself, he felt some pull to make a visit to their near neighbours and ascertain, for himself, that the family were not suffering unduly from the dreadful winter frosts. Mr Bennet was not a young man, and with a houseful of ladies there would be no gentleman present to see that any repairs were done quickly, the fires were stoked and kept blazing. Oh, there would be servants, he did not doubt, but they were hardly rich enough for many of those, and at Christmas, everyone was a little stretched.

  He leaned his shovel against a fence post, retrieving the two that Lizzy held and adding them to the pile. He stamped his feet, wiling some warmth back into his icy toes and followed her through the doorway to be greeted by a wall of chattering warmth.

  “Mr Darcy!” Mrs Bennet cooed. “Well, how generous of you to call on us, sir, and to undertake to clear a path for us. Mr Bennet, is that not chivalry itself?”