Page 12 of Conundrums & Coincidences

“It most certainly is not.”

“By gad, sir, how can you not see it? Here”—a paper rustled—“look again. See? It is meant to be, I am quite sure of it.”

About to quietly slip away before being caught eavesdropping on a private conversation, Elizabeth stopped in her tracks when the other gentleman was heard again.

“Your supposition, Hadley, is not only barmy but most improper.” That deeper, more cultured voice belonged to none other than Mr Darcy. “Furthermore, as you must know, showing your puzzle to me and consulting my opinion is strictly forbidden. More importantly, how could you possibly think that leg in any way resembles Miss Bennet’s lower limb?”

Rooted to the spot mid-stride, Elizabeth felt both her colour and her choler rise. How dare they!

Mr Darcy was still speaking. “Your visual puzzle plainly depicts part of the dining room’s epergne. I expect you will find your next poser in one of its hollow legs.” There was an interval of silence, then a huff. “Blast. I should not have revealed what I believe to be your solution. Forget I mentioned it.”

“The dining room’s what?” asked Mr Hadley.

“Epergne. Did you not notice the ornamental display in the middle of the table during dinner last night? No? Too busy gazing elsewhere, like a mooncalf, were you?” A sigh was heaved. “I speak of the ormolu centrepiece and its four cranberry-glass dishes overflowing with pyramids of fruit and nuts. Our host mentioned the Egyptian-influenced epergne was created for the Fifth Earl of Carlisle. As you know, Carlisle is where Miss Armstrong was born and raised, but Mr Monroe did not know how the ornate piece ended up in his client’s possession. At any rate, its supporting legs are those of lions, Hadley. Lions, not Miss Bennet’s shapely⁠—”

Rounding the hedgerow and bristling with indignation, Elizabeth cleared her throat and was more than a little appeased by the looks of surprise, guilt, and mortification upon the gentlemen’s faces. Mr Hadley quickly hid a piece of paper behind his back and hung his head. Mr Darcy consulted his watch and muttered something that sounded like, “Eleven o’clock. Of course.”

Two grown men resembling naughty schoolboys caught in the midst of wrongdoing threatened to ruin Elizabeth’s solemnity. Embarrassment and pique quickly converted to amusement.

First to regain his voice, Mr Darcy bowed to her. “Miss Bennet, please forgive us for speaking out of turn. It was badly done, and I apologise.”

Red-faced, Mr Hadley nodded his agreement. “It was my fault, and I am duly ashamed and terribly, terribly sorry.”

She gave the gentlemen as stern a look as could be managed under the circumstances. “Upon hearing myself discussed in such a way, I had considered reporting the two of you to Mr Monroe for collusion. But I shall not let the cat out of the bag. Such collaboration, it seems, was unintentional.”

One of the gardeners earlier seen working along the hedgerow stepped up and doffed his cap. “Begging your pardon, madam, sirs. Is there some dishonest behaviour afoot here? Ought Mr Monroe to be fetched?”

The three beneficiaries looked guiltily at one another.

Elizabeth told the man there was no need. He gave each of them suspicious looks but lumbered away, shaking his head and mumbling to himself.

Once he had gone, she faced the gentlemen and said, “As Mr Darcy is aware, I delight in the ridiculous. Your remarks concerning lower limbs—mine and not mine—qualify as absurd. You are, therefore, forgiven.”

She turned to go but swung back. “The creatures on the epergne are sphinxes, by the bye. They have the legs, paws, and claws of lions. I, on the other hand, am clawless…until provoked.” She curtseyed then walked away, head held high.

Rounding the hedge, she heard Mr Hadley exclaim, “Upon my soul! Remind me to never again provoke such a lion-hearted lady.”

Elizabeth grinned. Lion-hearted. I like that. Much better than being sphinx-like.

Upon first acquaintance, she had thought Mr Darcy and The Sphinx had a similar inscrutability. But at Hunsford she had witnessed the gentleman’s agitated manner and heard his passionate declaration. Furthermore, since arriving at Oakwood, he had apologised to her not once but twice, and each time his feelings had been completely transparent. He was, after all, capable of passion, of making self-deprecating apologies, and of accepting humiliation. Her esteem for him flourished.

But what of his temper? At Netherfield he had suggested it might be resentful. Once his good opinion was gone, was it, indeed, gone for evermore?

She certainly had lost Mr Darcy’s good opinion in Kent, but might it be regained in Buckinghamshire?

At present I cannot indulge any expectation of it. But she seriously turned her thoughts towards achieving such an accomplishment.

For no other reason than to avoid a second encounter with the gentlemen, Elizabeth retreated to the house.

Peeking inside the parlour, she found it occupied by Miss Kensett and Mr Fordham, both under the watchful eye of Miss Rigby, who was silently engaged in needlework. The other lady’s work—a turban, it seemed—sat upon her lap, untouched; and the gentleman was seen wandering about the room, picking up and carefully inspecting each piece of knick-knackery.

Why are those two not working on their puzzles?

The chaperon’s company would have been welcomed but not that of the other two. So Elizabeth wandered into the great hall with its massive but unlit hearth, its screens, coloured flagstones, dais, gallery, and what she had been told was a ‘squint’—a peep-hole for spying or eavesdropping. The large cavity in the stone wall of the dais was concealed behind one of the room’s seventeenth-century tapestries. The small peep-hole in the textile could only be seen if one knew it was there, for it was well disguised.

Earlier that morning, Mrs Vincent had taken Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, the only beneficiaries unfamiliar with the manor, on a tour of its public rooms. To the new housekeeper’s understanding, the great hall had once been used for large-scale entertaining such as dancing or performances by a touring company of actors. Miss Armstrong, it seemed, had not offered any such diversions during the few years of her residency.

Feeling very small, Elizabeth thought such an immense, cold, draughty room ought not to be so long deprived of a merry crowd. Oh, the private balls one could host here! Imagining minstrels playing in the gallery, Elizabeth held her arms in a rounded formation, gently grasped her skirts, and performed a number of quadrille sequences. Even the exertion of dancing could not dispel the chill, and she shivered. Glancing suspiciously at the suits of armour and at the peep-hole, she felt as though someone was watching her.