Chapter 6
Elizabeth was flying through the air and then sliding towards a cliff. In vain, she tried to gain a foothold as the edge grew ever closer . . . Her fingers dug into the earth, seeking a way to slow her descent.
Her eyes opened to see the light of day bright around the edges of the shutters. She tried to still her pounding heart and coughed. Another day gone. She was still on the little bed in the corner of the room. She struggled to sit up.
A female voice came to her in the dark. “Are you awake, Miss?”
Elizabeth froze. Slowly, she turned her head and saw an elderly woman sitting nearby. She could just see that her visitor’s hair was a dark gray and her face was lined and thin. When she stood, the keys on her chatelaine jingled.
“I am Mrs. Spencer,” she announced.
Mr. Darcy had not prepared her to meet the housekeeper, but he must have thought it important. Elizabeth wished he had remained to introduce them.
“I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” she said directly, and cleared her throat. “I presume Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam have explained why I am here?”
Mrs. Spencer tipped her head to one side. “They did not.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth felt a stirring of panic. How did Mrs. Spencer know she was here if Mr. Darcy or the colonel had not told her? Why had they not told her? Was this woman not to be trusted?
“I can see you are anxious,” Mrs. Spencer said flatly. “You need not be. I am loyal to the Darcys.” She approached the little table next to the bed. “I brought you more willow bark tea.” She carried the teapot to the fire, where she lifted a kettle out. A thin tendril of steam escaped from the spout. “I thought you might be in need of it.” She completed steeping the tea and spooned a little honey into the cup.
Elizabeth took it and lifted the cup to her lips. The honey could not entirely mask the terrible taste, but she was grateful for the tea’s soothing heat on her parched throat.
“Thank you, Mrs. Spencer,” she said appreciatively. She glanced around the room. “Is there . . . Might I . . .”
Mrs. Spencer seemed to know what Elizabeth was asking. She glanced around and found the chamber pot, assisting Elizabeth before helping her back into bed.
“What was it,” Elizabeth asked, “that gave us away?”
Mrs. Spencer shook her head and clucked disapprovingly. “Several things. Mr. Darcy was suddenly quite interested in willow bark. The man would no more know what willow bark is than he would understand how to care for an infant.”
Elizabeth laughed quietly. “Is he never ill?”
“Not often, Miss. Mind you, he has been given willow bark tea before, but he would not know the name of it if asked.”
Curious, Elizabeth asked, “Was that the only thing you noticed?”
“Oh, they are not nearly as smooth as they would like to believe,” the housekeeper told her slyly. “They took their meals here, and Mr. Darcy even slept in his study, near the fire. The colonel asked me not to wake the master, said they were deeply involved in business matters and he needed the rest. As if he would not rest easier in his own bed.” She shook her head. “When Mr. Slipworth did not object to the master sleeping in his clothes, I knew something was amiss.”
Elizabeth finished her drink and handed the cup back to Mrs. Spencer. The woman stood to pour another cup.
“You should have at least one more,” she commanded as she poured. “I cannot imagine you are feeling comfortable.”
Elizabeth agreed.
“There now,” Mrs. Spencer said, handing her the tea and patting her leg. “You just drink that down.” She hesitated, one hand still resting lightly on the bed. “Miss, I mean nothing untoward, but I do hope you might assure me that you are . . . well?”
Elizabeth paused with the teacup halfway to her mouth. She understood the housekeeper’s concern and was grateful for it. “Mr. Darcy and the colonel have acted with honor. As have I.”
The housekeeper appeared relieved. She nodded her head once, as though her world had fallen neatly back into place. “Well, I knew that, of course,” she replied, her cheeks flushing. “The master is the best man I know. It was my duty as a Christian to inquire, is all.”
Elizabeth set down her teacup just as the doorway opened and Mr. Darcy stepped inside. “Mrs. Spencer,” he said, sounding both astonished and frustrated. “What do you do here?”
Any uncertainty Elizabeth had witnessed in Mrs. Spencer vanished. “I am sitting with this poor creature, Mr. Darcy.” She peered up at her master, her eyes narrowing.
Mr. Darcy scowled, but he did not reply. When the housekeeper raised her eyebrows without flinching, he shifted his feet. Apparently he had lost some unspoken argument. Elizabeth was pleasantly diverted.
Mrs. Spencer took in Mr. Darcy’s petulant expression and cleared her throat. “You might have spared yourself and the young lady a great deal of trouble had you simply come to me, sir. I am surprised, I must say, that you did not.”