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Apollo put his chin on Mr Darcy’s knee, in a negotiating gesture. Diana yawned and settled more heavily onto the carpet.
“They will not be moved,” Miss de Bourgh observed. “They have the moral advantage. Bates ran. Running is an admission.”
“I ran with dignity,” the closet protested.
Martin cleared his throat. “If I might suggest a removal to the service stair, sir. A cold chop from the kitchens, carried visibly, has been known to alter the convictions of these two. I can have one brought.”
“Do so.”
Martin delegated with a flick of two fingers to a hovering housemaid, who fled to do his bidding.
“If I do not emerge,” Bates informed them, “I should like to be remembered as a footman who tried. I did try. The urn in the hall was not personal. The pillar was not personal. The chicken was a little personal, but only at the end.”
Miss Darcy gave up all pretences, laughing heartily. Miss de Bourgh and Aunt Madeline followed. Elizabeth was laughing too, her palm pressed to the doorframe, gazing at a chuckling Mr Darcy. It was the laughter of people who were safe, who knew the man in the closet was safe, and they could therefore afford him his tragedy.
“You shall be remembered,” Elizabeth managed, “as the footman who left a cracked whistle and a very good pig to his brothers.”
“You are a good lady, miss. I leave you my best wishes, which I cannot leave to Michael because he would lose them.”
The housemaid returned bearing a plate with two chops. Martin presented them at knee height with great ceremony.
Apollo and Diana rose and followed him around the bend towards the service stair, their tails high.
Mr Darcy rose and offered Aunt Madeline his hand to help her to her feet.
The door opened, and Bates emerged in stages: a knee, a tray bearing the silver platter, and a great length of footman. Linen clung to his shoulder. He blinked at the daylight of the passage, and then he remembered his audience and bowed so deeply the tray struck his own shin.
“I am alive,” he announced, in case they had missed it. “I am sorry about the noise. I am sorry about the ham. I am not sorry about the closet, because it saved my life.”
“Return the tray to the scullery,” Mr Darcy instructed. “Then take ten minutes in the servants’ hall and a cup of small beer. Do not bequeath anything else before nuncheon. Mrs Reynolds will want a report. I suggest you lead with the fact that you are whole.”
“Yes, sir. Whole, sir. The whistle is still cracked, sir, but that is an older story.”
He departed, the tray rattling in his hands, his dignity reassembling itself somewhere around his third stride.
Miss de Bourgh drew her shawl close. “I have not laughed like that since Mr Collins sat on a cat while reading a sermon aloud at Rosings and tried to pretend its protest had been part of the text.”
Miss Darcy slipped an arm through her cousin’s, and followed Aunt Madeline down.
Mr Darcy looked at Elizabeth and tipped his head to the stair. They went down with the others, with the certainty that a courtship conducted under these conditions would never be dull.
Chapter Eight: The Most Astonishing Pivot
The morning mist had not yet burned off the surface of the lake when Darcy cast his line into the water. Beside him, Mr Edward Gardiner executed a precise, practised cast, sending his own line sailing with a soft splash near a cluster of reeds.
They stood on the grassy bank silently. An under-groom had arranged two wooden folding chairs and a basket of tackle before vanishing back into the trees, leaving the two gentlemen to their pursuits.
Darcy adjusted his grip on his fishing rod. He wore a simple coat and durable boots, grateful to escape the formality of the manor for a few hours. Mr Gardiner was equally comfortable, his posture relaxed as he observed the small painted float bobbing on the ripples.
“You have a magnificent piece of country here, Mr Darcy,” Mr Gardiner said, keeping his attention fixed on the water. “The timber is old and well-managed, and the lake is well situated. It is a testament to good stewardship.”
“I thank you, sir,” Darcy replied, matching the merchant’s low volume. “My father dedicated his life to improving the land. I merely attempt to maintain his standards, though the weather in these northern counties often provides a challenge.”
“Weather takes many forms,” Mr Gardiner mused, turning the handle of his reel a fraction of an inch. “Some storms arrive from the mountains, bringing rain and wind. Other storms arrive in a carriage from Kent, bringing a vast array of opinions.”
Darcy chuckled drily, the tension in his shoulders easing. “I must offer my continued apologies for the state of my household. I assure you, Pemberley is usually a place of tranquillity.”
“I require no apologies.” Mr Gardiner smiled, pulling his line to test the tension. “I reside in London, Mr Darcy. My daily existence involves navigating crowded streets, shouting vendors, and the unpredictable antics of my three young children. A couple of stubborn hounds and a trapped footman make me feel at home. It is an entertaining household, to be sure.”
