“Ellen, are you unhurt?”
“Right as rain, Miss Bennet.”
“Oh!” Blood stained the maid’s sleeve, and alarm surged through Jane. “Your arm is bleeding.”
“‘Tis naught but a scratch.”
Jane was not certain, but it mattered little, for she knew what to do.
Ellen Taylor was one of Edward Gardiner’s maids-of-all-work. Until that very moment, she had enjoyed the journey immensely. Any sensible maid would find the prospect of a few hours of idleness in a coach with Miss Jane Bennet, doing absolutely nothing, followed by a night at Longbourn, and a return journey— a considerable improvement over emptying chamber pots, making beds, and keeping the havoc wrought by the Gardiner boys to a reasonable level. They were good lads, but lads they were, and a certain amount of mischief was to be expected before they learned proper manners—sometime in their forties, she presumed.
The Gardiners were fair taskmasters. All the servants could attend church every Sunday, and were granted a half-day everyweek; it was a most desirable position. Mr Gardiner also paid generously, telling everyone he expected just a bit more in terms of grace and discretion. The Gardiners were not strictly gentry, yet they comported themselves as well—or better.
She was shocked to have fallen upon Miss Bennet and hoped she would not mind—not that she had ever seen the least sign of temper from the lady. In truth, a tirade would be preferable to the moping she had witnessed for the past three months.
Ellen had never been in love, and if that was the result, she wanted no part of it. She never would have days on end to brood anyway; and she thought if the elder Miss Bennet had some occupation, she might have been put to rights much sooner. However, criticising her employers or their family was something a maid would never do aloud.
“The coach does not seem in danger of overturning, so pray, take a seat.”
Ellen did as she was bid and was surprised to see Miss Bennet pull a bit of embroidery from her workbasket, seemingly ready to bind her wrist with it.
In a panic, Ellen cried, “Oh no, Miss Bennet! You cannot.”
Jane was not to be dissuaded. “Have no fear. This is my sister Lydia’s. It is hideous, and this saves me from casting it into the fire—which would be satisfying, but might make more smoke than I prefer.”
Ellen laughed at the bit of silliness as Miss Bennet examined her arm.
“We must clean this, you know, but I do not believe it will require stitches. Let us get you bandaged up for now, and take care of it properly later. Cleaning it will hurt, but I must fetch some gin first.”
To Ellen’s amusement, Miss Bennet carefully wrapped the offending embroidery around Ellen's wrist and asked her to hold it in place; then, even more surprisingly, pulled scissors from theworkbasket, cut a ribbon from her own bonnet, and wrapped it around the makeshift bandage to secure it.
“There, that should do the trick. Do not fret about the ribbon. My sisters have an insatiable desire to remake bonnets, so it was unlikely to survive the week. Have you any other injuries?”
Ellen smiled at the solicitousness and shook her head. “What about you? Are you injured?”
Jane examined herself, aware that not all injuries were obvious. “I believe I shall have a knot on my head, but otherwise I am fine. Shall we see what happened?”
The horses had calmed considerably, and boots struck the ground outside, implying the coachman was satisfied they were under control. Harnesses rattled, followed by a heavy thud; the man had unharnessed the horses. It seemed a sensible approach, and Jane thought to exit without injury.
She rose, looking carefully at Ellen for any other injuries, when the door opened. She started to speak as she turned. “Mr Chamberlain, I believe you performed quite a feat in settling the horses. Ellen and I are quite well, so—”
Her words were lost as she looked out to behold none other than Mr Darcy.
“Miss Bennet. Miss? Are you injured? May I assist?”
Jane shook her head in resignation at the vagaries of fate—or was it fate?
“This is Miss Ellen Taylor. Ellen, this is Mr Darcy.”
Both nodded, bows and curtsies being absurd in their present situation. That Mr Darcy would pay the slightest attention to a maid surprised Jane, but the man examined her makeshift bandage with a critical eye.
“Be not alarmed, sir. Save for a cut on Ellen’s wrist, and a small knot on my head, we are uninjured. Even that requires but a little gin and salve. I thank you for your aid, but you may be on your way.”
She glanced past his shoulder as the coachman approached, already speaking to the gentleman. “I thank you, sir. I am not entirely certain I would have brought the horses to heel without your help.”
“I think not, Mr Chamberlain,” Darcy replied. “I am happy to have been of some modest service, but have no doubt you had matters in hand.”
This display of civility, first to a maid and then to a coachman, was unexpected. Perhaps Mr Darcy was not always so unpleasant as Lizzy thought—but then again, a man would have to beat his dogs to match Lizzy’s opinion.
