Page 13 of Conundrums & Coincidences

Too uncomfortable to remain any longer, she crossed the vestibule and entered the manor’s newest addition, built during the last century. Therein was an elaborate billiards table and other surfaces appropriate for playing games. Fresh packs of cards were scattered about, and three tables already were set up for backgammon, draughts, and chess.

Mr Monroe had told his guests they were responsible for their own entertainment between breakfast and dinner. “I invite you,” he had said, “to enjoy your empty hours in the gardens, on walking paths, playing pall-mall or lawn bowls, or trying your hand at archery. There is fishing tackle to be had and a stocked fish pond. Indoors, Oakwood’s library has a plentiful supply of old and new publications. And just off the parlour there is a chamber complete with pianoforte, a small organ, a harp, guitar, and popular books of music.”

Elizabeth noticed that each room seemed to have an endless supply of new candles and writing materials. Nothing was lacking, as far as she could see. There can be no excuse for ennui here. Again, she wondered at some people’s idleness.

Settling herself near the unlit fireplace on one of the room’s many sofas, she again contemplated her puzzle. The leaves of an oak tree are green in summer. Was there some sort of hidden message within the sentence? The ‘eaves’ in leaves, perhaps? Was she to search under the eaves? Or had it something to do with eavesdropping through the peep-hole in the great hall?

So intently was Elizabeth studying the page that Miss Rigby gave her a start by speaking her name. She had neither heard the woman’s approach nor detected her familiar rose-water perfume.

“Miss Bennet, may I join you? Miss Kensett has retired to her room for a well-deserved rest. I fear the rigours of incessant bleating, carping, and grumbling have quite fatigued the creature. And what are you working on there, dear?”

“Needlework…as in looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.” Elizabeth waved her piece of foolscap. “There must be something hidden within this rather simple sentence. Oh, fiddlesticks!” She folded the paper and tucked it inside the hidden pocket of her skirt. “I was not supposed to show that to anyone other than Mr Monroe.”

“Indeed. And as much as I should like to assist you, I cannot.” Miss Rigby settled beside her. “Gracious, this sofa is rather unyielding, is it not?”

Elizabeth had been staring at her puzzle for such a duration that the sentence, each word of it, each letter of it, was permanently, she feared, fixed behind her eyes. The leaves of an oak tree are green in summer. Leaves of a… s of a… “Yes!”

Gaining her feet, she curtseyed. “Miss Rigby, I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. There is something I must do that cannot be delayed.” For I very much wish to be the victor in this contest.

The chaperon graciously excused her, and Elizabeth fled. With Miss Rigby occupying the games room and Mr Fordham in the parlour, she could not search those places. But there are sofas in other roo— “Oh!”

At that moment, Elizabeth discovered what happens when an unstoppable force, namely herself, meets an immovable object—namely the stolid, and very solid, Mr Darcy.

8

A SPECTACULAR DISPLAY

“Good God!” cried Darcy with more passion than politeness. “Are you well?” So great was his astonishment that it overcame the bounds of propriety, and he put his arms round her. While grateful to finally have her there, concern over her welfare overrode any other emotion.

Recollecting himself, he apologised for the collision, although it had been she who had rammed into him with great force. Soft curves remained obligingly crushed against his chest until he strengthened his resolve and slowly backed away. “Whatever is the matter?” From the corner of one eye, Darcy saw Miss Kensett descending the staircase, but he paid her no mind.

Miss Bennet stammered, “Forgive me. I was just… I…” Regaining her composure although her cheeks were ablaze, she drew herself up and said she was perfectly well. But when she touched her nose, she winced.

Her eyes are watery. The impact with my sternum must have been painful. “Shall I summon Mrs Vincent or one of the maids? Do you require a cold cloth or some ice?”

Darcy’s earlier outburst must have alerted Miss Rigby, for suddenly she was before them, asking what had occurred and casting suspicion upon him. Placing her arm across Elizabeth’s slender shoulders, the chaperon gently guided her towards the staircase, all the while murmuring to her as they left Darcy standing alone.

Before gaining the first stair, Elizabeth looked back over her shoulder at him. The soft expression upon her face crossed the distance separating them and laid claim to his heart—the heart he had tried with all his might to harden against her very presence. The struggle had been futile. He still was as much in her power as he ever had been.

He watched until his heart’s desire, in her simple jonquil gown, retreated from sight. Her fragrance’s sillage lingered in the air and on his clothing. Sniffing his sleeve, he caught a whiff of powdery sweetness, vanilla or honey, and fresh, crisp fruitiness. Fresh, pure, and—heaven help him—romantic.

Rousing himself, Darcy went hunting for tobacco. The most probable places were forbidden—the butler’s pantry, bedchambers, and the ground-floor boudoir Miss Armstrong had used while still ambulant but unable to manage stairs. Where else might blasted sot weed be kept?

There was no one he could question about whether the elderly lady had even used tobacco. Neither Mr Monroe, the other beneficiaries, nor the servants would be of assistance. If asked, the youngster, no doubt, would inadvertently give the game away. Darcy shook his head at Mr Hadley’s naiveté but could not help but like him. The younger man’s little fever of admiration for Elizabeth proved he possessed good judgment, at least regarding the ladies.

Turning his musings towards his other conundrum, Darcy remembered there was in the library a cabinet, which Mrs Vincent described as containing family heirlooms and knick-knackery from Miss Armstrong’s formative years in Carlisle. He supposed its shelves might house a snuff box or two that once had belonged to her father or brothers.

Upon reaching his destination, Darcy greeted one of the footman brothers who was stationed beside the door.

“Miss Kensett is within, sir.” Alfred’s tone revealed nothing; his eyes conveyed a warning.

Darcy considered retreating and returning another time but chastised himself for cowardice. Shoulders back, he strode into the room. At first glance, the place seemed unoccupied until, above the back of a rose-coloured armchair, he glimpsed the tip of a brunette head. So as not to startle her, he softly cleared his throat before rounding the seat. Leant over a piece of foolscap, Miss Kensett seemed not to have heard him.

Averting his eyes from the puzzle resting upon the lady’s lap, Darcy softly said, “Good day, madam. I hope I am not disturbing you.”

The lady jumped and gave such a shriek of alarm that Alfred dashed into the room.

By the time Darcy had looked from the footman back to the woman, Miss Kensett had gained her feet, and her puzzle had slid to the floor. Her next action occurred so swiftly that Darcy might have missed it. But he did not. The thick spectacles that had rested upon the lady’s blushing face were quickly torn off and concealed within the folds of her gown.