Page 5 of Conundrums & Coincidences

“Well, well, Lizzy, what do you think of Oakwood Manor? I conducted a bit of an exploration and found eclectic furniture and all manner of whim-wham. Floral-design papers cover every second wall, and there are varying room heights, angled passages, nooks, crannies, and alcoves galore. From what I have seen, there is not much symmetry to be had. Still, it is quite the place you have here. Would it be too much to ask that you not wait until I am put to bed with a shovel to install your mother and silliest sisters here? I could use some peace and quiet at Longbourn before my eternal rest.”

Accustomed to her father’s ill-natured aspersions about his womenfolk, Elizabeth bit her tongue and remained silent as they made their way downstairs. Full well she knew that certain members of her family left much to be desired, but she loved them all. And, because of that love, she suffered a measure of guilt. Her mother and younger sisters had not been told the true reason for her and her father going to Buckinghamshire. They had been informed only that Elizabeth and four more friends of the late Miss Phoebe Armstrong had been invited to meet, stay awhile at her house, and enjoy her gardens. Only Jane knew the truth.

Little interest, however, had been shown in the whole affair once they had examined Elizabeth’s bequest. Considering her daughter had saved the woman’s life, Mrs Bennet had declared the gift piddling. Lydia, of course, was in Brighton by then; but Kitty had laughed over Elizabeth owning a cane, and she thought the golden buckles downright garish. Mary, however, had said that one’s faith was more important than false ideas about the necessity of riches.

The thought of potentially being able to financially assist her family sent Elizabeth’s spirits soaring again as she and her father spotted Mr Monroe awaiting them in the vestibule.

There, with utmost civility, the attorney hinted it was time for Mr Bennet to be on his way. Beneficiaries were not permitted to entertain guests. “I am sure you understand, sir. And, as promised in London, I give you every assurance your daughter will be quite safe here at Oakwood. Miss Rigby, the chaperon, will ensure everyone behaves with propriety, and I shall make certain the proceedings are conducted fairly.”

Mr Monroe then turned to Elizabeth. “Take a moment to bid your father farewell before joining us in the grand parlour.” He indicated the massive room immediately to their left, excused himself, went through, and spoke to someone within.

“Well, my dear, I have been summarily dismissed.” Mr Bennet kissed Elizabeth’s forehead. “Enjoy your adventure, and do your utmost to succeed. You have something more of quickness than your sisters, so I trust you to be a good girl and secure this house for them.” With a promise to return for her in a se’nnight, if not sooner, her father walked out into the spring sunshine.

Thank you, Papa, for placing that burden—which should have been yours—upon my shoulders. Now here I am, on my own and soon to be amongst strangers, four of whom will be my rivals.

No one observing her would have supposed Elizabeth had any wretchedness about her as she entered the grand parlour. The tumult of her feelings was carefully hidden behind fine eyes and a lovely smile. Within, she spotted Mr Monroe, Mrs Vincent, Rachel, another young maid, a lady of around forty years, a gentleman, and a strapping, liveried footman.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Bennet.” Mr Monroe shot to his feet.

The other man—reluctant, it seemed, to set aside a plate heaped with an assortment of cakes—stood more slowly. Elizabeth then was presented to Miss Rigby, the genteel chaperon whom she immediately liked.

Next was the gentleman, Mr Peter Fordham, another beneficiary. He resided with his wife just over two miles distant in Slough. Bowing, he said only, “Miss Bennet, how do you do.”

Elizabeth curtseyed. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Now, my dear,” said their host, “sit and have some tea and cake with us.” Consulting his watch, Mr Monroe said, “The other three participants should arrive directly. I shall wait for them before explaining what will be happening over the course of the se’nnight and what rules will apply.”

With her insides in tremulous excitement, Elizabeth chose a chair situated diagonally opposite Mr Fordham, all the better to observe the competition. While her tea was served, the four of them chatted about the bucolic countryside and the deplorable roads. Mr Fordham, though, engaged not so much in the art of conversation but in the fine art of cramming food into his mouth. Elizabeth noticed his beverage of choice sloshed in a wine glass rather than in a teacup, and she hardly could credit it when he rose and piled his plate with more sponge cake. She suspected he was an indolent man with a decided taste for sedentary pursuits, living only to eat and drink. Probably fifteen years her senior and not a handsome man, Mr Fordham was on the short side of tall and about a stone overweight. He certainly is nothing to the fit— Oh, do stay out of my thoughts, Mr Darcy.

After a few minutes, over the rim of her cup, she caught Mr Fordham, in an unguarded moment, sitting back and contemplating her with a shrewd, calculating look, measuring her up and, she presumed, forming an assessment of her acuity. Elizabeth lowered the teacup and smiled at him. He simply turned away. I shall be cautious round that one.

His appearance and manner might once have established Mr Fordham in her mind as being unworthy of the slightest admiration. However, recently taught a valuable lesson, Elizabeth no longer prided herself on her discernment. First impressions often proved wrong. After all, she once had thought Mr Darcy devoid of every proper feeling and that Mr Wickham—the wolf in sheep’s clothing—possessed every virtue.

A commotion in the vestibule roused her from those thoughts and heralded the arrival of another beneficiary. Mr Monroe excused himself to greet them while those remaining in the room waited in silent anticipation.

Upon the attorney’s return to the parlour, he brought in with him a gentleman who stopped short and immediately cried out in surprised delight, “Miss Bennet!”

4

WHO IS WHO & WHAT IS WHAT

As his carriage approached Oakwood Manor, Darcy thought he saw his good friend entering the house. But it could not have been Bingley, for he and his sisters were visiting relations in Scarborough. And, it being the eleventh of the month, there was no chance he ever could be fortunate enough to have his friend’s cheerful company during the seven-day ordeal. Still, the other young man had seemed so familiar, with the same energy and quick step and tall, slender build as Bingley.

With more dignity and less enthusiasm than his friend might have had, Darcy made his way to the front door and rapped the knocker, dreading the imminent yet necessary chit-chat and thinking it was insufferably tedious to attempt conversation with unfamiliar people. A footman granted him entry, and a stout man who identified himself as Mr Atwater, the butler, received him. While Darcy was being divested of hat, gloves, and walking stick, the host, Mr Monroe, appeared in the vestibule and greeted him with a warm welcome and polite enquiries about his health and his journey.

“Now,” said the attorney, “unless you would prefer to be shown directly to your chamber, do come and join us in the parlour. We await only one more beneficiary before we can commence with the proceedings. The two other gentlemen and Miss Bennet are already here.” He gestured towards the room he had come from.

At the mere mention of that name, a dagger reopened the wound in Darcy’s heart. Please make the bleeding stop.

“Sir,” said Mr Monroe, “are you unwell? Your face has grown pale. Mr Atwater, fetch Mrs Vincent. Our guest must be taken to his bedchamber.”

“No, no. I am perfectly well.” After all, how many Miss Bennets are there in the world? Many, Darcy supposed. There were five at Longbourn alone, and the surname was common throughout the kingdom.

With attorney and butler hard on his heels, he moved towards the parlour. Upon entering, Darcy came to an abrupt halt. While Mr Monroe managed to dodge round him, the portly Mr Atwater bumped into him from behind. Already caught off balance by surprise, Darcy tottered. Criminy. It is… “Miss Bennet!” Her name had sprung unexpectedly from his lips. The eyes of both instantly engaged. On their faces heat bloomed; on Darcy’s tongue words withered and died.

The occupants of the room—eleven, if one counted him and Elizabeth—gaped at the two of them. Whispers then circulated round the parlour like wind through willows.

“Well,” said Mr Monroe, going to stand beside Darcy. “This is unexpected. I knew Miss Bennet was acquainted with Mr Hadley here.” The attorney indicated the blushing, widely smiling young man with coppery hair. “But this association was unforeseen.”