So appealed the maids for Miss Bingley and Lady Garroway, both of whom had been moved into the scant-used chambers on the upper floor.
She might have guessed some negative would arise from the last-minute alteration—an excellent illustration of why she abhorred unpreparedness. “I shall have it seen to directly.”
“Are there strawberries on tonight’s menu? Miss Adams cannot so much as touch a strawberry without coming out in a rash.”
“Chef is aware. And pray advise Miss Adams to avoid the kitchen gardens and conservatory.”
Mr Aldridge’s manservant wished to know where the luggage had been taken to, for he was one box short.
“In the porter’s lodge, sir, though I believe your box is on the dresser out there in the corridor.”
“Might I trouble you for some pomade? I have forgotten to pack Mr Templeton’s.”
Mrs Reynolds looked at the unfamiliar young man who had asked this. “You will need to speak to Mr Matthis about that, sir. I do not stock gentleman’s pomade in my store cupboard.” She did, as it happened, but she had no intention of handing out Pemberley’s supplies to anyone so unworthy as to forget their master’s own.
She espied one of the footmen striding past the doorway and called to him. “Andrew, none of the bell-pulls along the upper north corridor are working. Will you run and let Mr Matthis know.”
“I’m on an errand for Mr Hurst at the moment, ma’am, but I’ll see if I can find Thomas or William to do it.” He made to leave, then paused to add with a grin, “Master just showed Miss Darcy the Chesterfield. Right pleased wi’it, she were. Right pleased.”
He went on his way, and Mrs Reynolds returned to answering questions, a strong feeling of gratification warming her from the inside. The late Lady Anne would have been as proud as punch to see the way her son cherished the daughter she did not live long enough to love herself. He truly had grown into quite the most generous young man. And she was pleased to have advised him to choose the lighter wallpaper, for she knew it to be Miss Darcy’s preferred colour.
“Ah, Mrs Reynolds,” said a new voice. “I am glad I have found you. The bell-pull in Mr Bingley’s new room does not appear to be working.”
She looked back around to assure Mr Bingley’s manservant that the matter was in hand.
“Excellent. And might I enquire what time dinner will be served today?”
“The same time as it always is, sir.”
“Right-ho. I thought I had better make sure, for Mr Bingley has just gone out with Mr Darcy and his sister, and I thought there might have been a change of plan.”
“Out?”
“Yes, to visit Miss Bennet in Lambton.”
Mrs Reynolds prided herself on authority that verged on omniscience where the running of the household was concerned. She therefore asked no further questions and kept her expression neutral, though not without some effort, for she was sorely vexed. Enough guests had just descended on Pemberley to fill almost every bedroom that was still available for use, every one of them expecting to enjoy Mr Darcy’s company—something this ‘Miss Bennet’ knew full well, for Mrs Reynolds explicitly told her and her friends yesterday. She could not like that this was the moment the young woman deemed appropriate to declare herself at home to callers and lure the master away.
“Miss Bennet is in Lambton?” Miss Bingley’s maid said derisively. “Well, there is a happy coincidence for the lady. The same as when she chanced to show up at Grosvenor Street when we were in town over winter as well.”
“It is her sister, Miss Elizabeth, I understand,” Mr Bingley’s man corrected her.
Miss Bingley’s maid screwed up her face. “My mistress would tell you that is even worse news.”
Mrs Reynolds pressed her lips together to prevent herself from asking why, though she was vastly relieved when Lady Garroway’s maid asked instead.
“Because the older sister is just your common or garden fortune hunter. But the younger one, Miss Elizabeth—she is the worst sort of impertinent country coquette. As soon quarrel with a man as flutter her eyelashes at him—preferably both at once. No manners whatsoever by all accounts.”
“Notallaccounts,” said a stern voice.
Miss Bingley’s maid blushed deeply as Mr Darcy’s manservant entered the hall. “I am only repeating what my mistress told me, Mr Vaughan. Miss Bingley said Miss Elizabeth plagued Mr Darcy with arguments at every opportunity.”
“What your mistress said to you at Netherfield is of no interest to anyone here. You are at Pemberley now, and Mr Darcy does not tolerate parlour-room tittle-tattle amongst the servants.”
“Quite so. Thank you, Mr Vaughan,” said Mrs Reynolds, more to save face than to express any real gratitude. It ought to have been she who quieted such talk—and would have been under any other circumstances—but on this occasion, she wished Miss Bingley’s maid had not been silenced. She would hear the worst of the charges against Miss Bennet. Better the devil you know, after all, and though there would be precious little she could do to prevent it if the woman chose to cut up the master’s happiness, at least she could be prepared to help ease him through any difficulty from afar, as she had done for him many times before.
CHAPTEREIGHT
FORCED CONFIDENCES
