Mrs. Reynolds stared at her. The older woman’s throat worked, as if she was swallowing back tears, but her professional stoicism served her well. The look she gave Elizabeth was that of a mother trying to hide her own pain for the sake of a crying child.
“You are in a difficult position, Mrs. Darcy. All I can say is that he hasn’talwaysbeen like that. God willing, now that he has stopped drinking, he will return to us.”
“God willing.” Lizzie agreed fervently, reaching out to grasp the housekeeper’s sleeve, “But what if he does not?”
“I don’t know. But… I don’t think you have any reason to be afraid of the master, ma’am. His letter about you was very considerate. He was most insistent that you be treated well. He made sure, madam, that you would not need to defer to him for anything. You have a most generous allowance, and no limitations on the household accounts. Your every comfort has been thought of. It was not the letter of an uncaring man, Mrs. Darcy.”
“I know that he cares for me, Mrs. Reynolds. At least, when his mind is clear.”
“There was another detail, madam: your rooms are placed far enough from the master’s that you need never see each other. I can move you to another suite easily, if you would rather change that.”
“To… be further away?”
“I was thinking more aboutcloser,madam.” Mrs. Reynolds said.
She was not a conniving woman, but the relationship between this lady and her master was utterly baffling. This was the only way she could think of to get a real answer. So, she was most gratified when Mrs. Darcy confided in her.
“We are married in name only, Mrs. Reynolds. He wishes me to help his sister, that is all. I will accept any arrangements Mr. Darcy has made. I am sure that he thought about them very deeply. He is quite taken up with propriety, after all.”
After that, recognising in Mrs. Reynolds both an ally and a sympathetic ear, Lizzie quickly described the circumstances of her marriage. Relating her husband’s kindness to his loyal housekeeper made her feel churlish. She had criticised him so savagely just a few minutes before. She blushed at the hypocrisy and was about to apologise when Mrs. Reynolds stopped her.
“I am glad,” she said, “That you got to see a little of the man he used to be.”
Elizabeth smiled weakly, “Yes. He is trying so desperately to be that man again. He is exhausted.”
“As are you, madam. But you are home now - and I shall help you.”
Turning to ring the bell, Mrs. Reynolds abruptly stopped and looked back. “You are his equal, Mrs. Darcy. You are not his servant; you are his wife. Do not let him frighten you anymore. If he tries it, tell him he is not too grown up for me to box his ears!”
The housekeeper chuckled and disappeared before the stunned Elizabeth could reply.
Before the servants came back with her bath water, Elizabeth Darcy stood in the centre of the room and stretched her arms out like wings. The fog drew back, and there were the emotions once more. Worry, homesickness, and fear.
Fear was welcome. You had to feel fear before you could vanquish it, and Elizabeth was determined to let hers burn.
Lizzie stared in the mirror and saw the fire in her eyes.
I am Mrs. Darcy, and I am his equal.
I am Mrs. Darcy, and I am not afraid ofanyone.
Chapter 16
The next morning, refreshed and filled with new determination, a very different woman rang for her breakfast tray. When the maid delivered it, she sent a message to Mrs. Reynolds to meet her in the garden, beside a rare climbing rose she had seen the day before. It was the only feature that Elizabeth could remember from her dizzying tour.
At the appointed hour they met. Elizabeth began her first instructions as Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley. They were generic orders, of course. No young woman enters marriage knowing how to run a household with anything less than idealistic vagaries. Still, Elizabeth made a respectable attempt.
A few instructions were a little unusual. One, for example, was that the cook should meet her twice a week, instead of just on Monday mornings. The menu would only be made for the next three days and might change at any moment. Mrs. Pompey was to keep a full larder in case of just such a change. If Mrs. Darcy requested quail, or spinach, or lemons, then they should be available at once.
“You must think me very demanding,” Elizabeth said apologetically to Mrs. Reynolds, “But it is not for my benefit. Mr. Darcy’s appetite is unpredictable, and his tastes change asoften as his mood. I will not have him going hungry because he suddenly cannot stomach anything other than pork.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Reynolds gave her an approving look. Lizzie knew that the old lady would have argued with a thousand cooks if it meant her master was well fed. Making sure that they were alone, Lizzie leaned closer and lowered her voice.
“Mrs. Reynolds, did my husband sleep well last night?”
“Who can say? He shut himself up in the music room with Miss Darcy. We have not heard from him since. No bells, no raised voice, not even the creak of the floorboards. Silence, madam, all night.”
The fear both women felt was unspoken but shared. They knew what such a night might mean.
