“I should be a strange sort of employer if I considered loyalty an impertinence. Be assured, I shall do everything in my power to save the house. Though, as a wise woman once said to me, Pemberley is more than stones and mortar. It will endure, no matter what happens to these walls.”
They certainly were wise words, and Mrs Reynolds took solace from them. She wished they had afforded the same comfort to the master, but he looked almost haunted by them, staring sombrely at the ground, his mind evidently off elsewhere entirely. She cleared her throat. “Did you come to the library in search of me, sir?”
“No, I came to see how the clerks were getting on. But I do need to speak to you, as it happens. Mrs Annesley wishes to expand Miss Darcy’s understanding of household management. She will begin with arranging the dinners, so you will be dealing with her instead of me each morning—a much pleasanter task for you and Chef, I am sure.” He gave another small smile as he said this, though it contained no real joy.
“I am sure Miss Darcy will excel at the task.” She caught the barest hint of scepticism on his face, which she knew from experience she would not have seen if he had not intended her to; thus, she permitted herself to add, knowingly, “I shall make sure to acquaint her with everybody’s favourite dishes, sir.”
“Just do not allow her to put foie gras on the menu, I beg you. And please remind Monsieur Dubois that Miss Darcy is fluent in French, so he must watch his tongue. Ah, good, here we are.”
Hannah had returned, and the master gestured for her to hand over the wine directly.
Mrs Reynolds took it, sipped it, and did indeed feel restored. “You are very kind, sir. And now I really must get on.” She set her glass down and put her hands on the arms of the chair, but before she could push herself up, she found herself all but lifted to her feet by Mr Darcy’s strong hands. He did it so quickly, and so discreetly, that she was standing before anyone else could see what he had done.
If she had been his mother, she would have cupped his face and told him what a dear boy he was. She was not, so she could not, but there were other means by which she could reward him. She had not previously thought it appropriate to share her memories of his family, but she would be gone soon, and then there would be no one left alive who could tell him the stories.
“Mr Darcy, would you allow me to tell you my fondest memory of this room?”
He looked surprised by the request but acceded to it, nevertheless.
“It was about half a year after I began working at Pemberley. You stole out of your nursery after the nursemaid was asleep and came in here. The alarm was raised in the morning, and of course the whole house was in uproar. It was your father who found you—curled up, asleep, in front of the atlases. He bought you a globe for your next birthday.”
Mr Darcy stood motionless for a moment or two, and Mrs Reynolds could almost see him sifting this new information into place amongst his own memories. At length, he smiled, but so sadly, it hurt her to see it.
“I recall my father giving me the globe. I did not know that was why. Thank you.”
She bobbed a curtsey and turned to leave, but the master forestalled her.
“You must take care, Mrs Reynolds. Let Mr Ferguson know if you need extra help. I cannot lose my housekeeper as well as everything else.”
* * *
“Mr Darcy will take a tray in his room later.”
“Again? Is he unwell?”
Mrs Reynolds did not like the way Mr Vaughan paused before answering “no.” It allowed the doubts that now lurked permanently at the back of her mind to nudge their way forward. She had been certain Miss Bennet’s departure would rid the master of his preoccupation and return him to his usual vigour and diligence. She had not foreseen that he would become steadily more inattentive, more withdrawn, more unhappy.
“He will be missed at dinner.”
“No doubt.” Mr Vaughan was apparently not inclined to elaborate and left.
Mrs Reynolds pursed her lips and pulled the chair next to her back under the table, wincing as the legs scraped on the flags. She straightened the tea tray in front of her, so it aligned with the grain on the table and stared at it. It was no good; her qualms could be ignored no longer, and she was unable to keep from saying to Mr Matthis, “Something must be wrong—do you not think? It is most unlike the master to be such a poor host.”
The butler lowered his paper to frown at her. “It is unlikeyouto criticise him.”
“I am not! But Iamconcerned for him. His guests will begin to comment if he continues to neglect them. They have not come all this way to dine alone.”
“I doubt any of them came with the sole purpose of watching Mr Darcy eat, either. Besides, it is hardly singular. Mrs Hurst has eaten dinner in her room three times since she arrived, and the younger Mr Pettigrew misses breakfast every time he overindulges the night before, which is most days.” In a gentler tone, he added, “I know you have a particular regard for the master, and nobody could dispute your devotion, but I think you are concerning yourself over nothing.”
“Let us hope so. ’Tis bad enough that his servants have begun speaking against him. I should not like to see his own circle doing so.”
Mr Matthis set his paper aside. “Which of the servants? You ought to have brought this to me sooner. I shall stamp it out directly.”
“I doubt it, unless you have suddenly gained authority over Mr Darcy’s steward.”
“Mr Ferguson? What has he said against the master?”
“Oh come, sir, you were here when he said it. On Monday. He sat in that chair and complained that Mr Darcy was not paying attention to estate matters. He was most unhappy about it, too, for when have you ever heard Mr Ferguson raise his voice?”
