Page 21 of Conundrums & Coincidences

When she faced him again, Elizabeth was disappointed that his teasing smile had vanished, replaced by a frown. If he, too, was disappointed, an explanation was in order. “Not a quarter of an hour ago, I was on an errand but was diverted by the goings-on here in the parlour. I have, you see, an enigma to investigate and must do so on my own. But,” she added with a sugar-sweet smile, “I do wish you and Miss Rigby a most pleasant promenade along the avenue.”

She could not be sure, but as she walked away, she thought she heard Mr Darcy mutter, “Imp.”

Elizabeth had solved her enigma earlier that day, and thereafter the answer seemed glaringly obvious. Although confident of her solution, she reviewed the rhyme once more while nearing the stable.

Tho’ mean and humble is my birth,

I sit enthroned on high,

My footsteps far above the earth,

My canopy the sky:

O’er labouring subjects thus in state

I bear despotic sway,

Yet on them condescend to wait,

At break and close of day.

A stable-boy, when asked, said he knew exactly where Mr Bolton might be found. He gestured for Elizabeth to follow, and it took them but a moment to reach the coach house, attached as it was to the stable.

“Wait here, miss, and I’ll fetch him for you.” The boy then nimbly wove round several carriages and climbed a set of stairs at the rear of the huge building.

Elizabeth wandered about, trying to determine which conveyance belonged to which beneficiary. From above, she heard footsteps and men’s voices. From the adjoining stable came shouts and laughter, neighing and nickering, pails clanging and shovels scraping.

The boy returned some minutes later, followed more slowly by a middle-aged man who limped past the vehicles and over to Elizabeth.

“Begging your pardon for keeping you waiting, miss.” The lean, swarthy man doffed his cap and bowed. “I’ve been thrown from the box more times than I care to admit.” He patted his thigh. “So I’m a bit slow getting about on foot.” Belatedly, he added, “I’m Mr Bolton, miss. How can I be of assistance?”

Oakwood’s coachman was better clothed than Longbourn’s counterpart, but he wore no livery, and Elizabeth hoped she was not interrupting the man’s precious leisure time. Oakwood servants, she had learnt, enjoyed one full day off per month and worked reduced hours every Sunday to allow them to attend services and have at least a half day of rest.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, but I was hoping you might have something for me. I am Miss Bennet, one of the beneficiaries staying here, and I have solved a puzzle for which I am fairly certain the answer is ‘coachman’.”

When shown the rhyme, Mr Bolton gave a laugh both loud and vigorous. “Ha! I’ve heard this one before. What think you, Jimmy? Am I despotic?”

The stable-boy shrugged. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Never mind, son. Well, Miss Bennet, I was told by Mr Monroe to expect someone. And when Jimmy said there was a fine lady down here asking for me, I fetched this.” From a coat pocket he withdrew a creased and greasy piece of paper and passed it to her.

Elizabeth accepted it gingerly.

Mr Bolton grimaced and apologised. “Obviously,” he said, wiping his fingers on a sullied handkerchief, “I should have done this before touching that. I was oiling the tack, you see. The harness, not the reins, mind. Never the reins! Can’t have them slipping through my hands now, can I?”

He rattled on awhile longer about beef tallow, neatsfoot oil, and lampblack. Some of his blather was nonsensical, but his hearty good humour had Elizabeth smiling and engaging in a bit of banter. As soon as seemed civil, she thanked him for his time and then offered both coachman and stable-boy the sweet pistachio comfits she had wrapped in paper and secreted away in her pocket. Jimmy’s eyes lit up, and Elizabeth thought she might have made a friend for life.

On her way to the manor, the sun was so warm on her face that Elizabeth adjusted her bonnet. Mama never will forgive me if I arrive home with more freckles than I already have. Unfolding and reading the grease-stained puzzle, she thought the rhyme atrocious but had a vague feeling she should know the answer.

Having reached the house, she greeted Alfred and was informed that Mr Monroe could be found in the library. There, she sought and received the attorney’s verification and his congratulations, although he, too, had hesitated in handling the paper with oily marks upon it. Slowly ascending the staircase, fingers trailing along the handrail as she went, Elizabeth reread her new poser.

The good man who reads me is oft part of a crew;

A mighty ship, the sea, stars, and wind his venue.

My upmost point in life shows that which is true.

Zephyrus! Boreas! My points reckon thirty-two.