Note: Yes it's been a l-o-n-g time before I last updated! But pls bare with me :) and R&R!
The sun was beaming down on him through the dusty window. A few silky cob webs hanging from the pane glistened in the morning sun. It was a remarkably clear day after yesterday's downpour; the previous night's storm had left nothing of its trace behind. One might almost trust the sun to go on shining eternally.
The last stroke of his brush was applied on to the canvas that lay mounted onto the easel and the skeptical artist viewed his creation from a distance. At first glance, it looked very similar to the portrait that lay perched on another easel on the right. But leaning closer, only a true artist's eye could tell the slight variations. The Duchess of Dosphia nevertheless looked positively angelic reclined on a tuft of white cloud despite the slight differences in the shape of one of her curls. Hardly satisfied, but tired enough, our diligent artist put his brush down and began to clean his palette.
It would have to do he thought.
*
Lady Bennet was confined to her bed chamber that morning, on account of having contracted a nasty head cold. When her niece entered the invalid's bedchamber, it was to find her nana wrapped up in a bundle of sheets with only her little nose peeping out.
"Who is it!?" snapped the bundle of blankets.
"It's only me nana." replied Elizabeth softly as she sat down on the corner of the well-heated bed.
"Oh thank goodness it wasn't her!" continued her ladyship "Why, she won't leave me alone for a minute and had her company been the least bit agreeable I'm sure I wouldn't have minded!"
"Mrs. Barrow is only concerned about your well-being nana. I'm sure she means well. By the way, where is Mr. Collins?" Elizabeth asked changing the topic. The last thing she wanted was for her ladyship to complain about old Mrs. Barrow again.
"Mr. Collins? He left to Meryton- which I say is about thirty miles from here- about six hours ago to meet the funeral director. There isn't one here in Kernshill. I daresay the only other building for miles is the local church! Oh Lizzie, what ill luck has fallen upon us! I won't be surprised if we remain here a week!"
"Surely he won't take that long." spoke Elizabeth encouragingly.
"No child, you don't understand." said her ladyship, shifting into an upright position, "You see, Paul's death was only witnessed by Simon and I'm afraid we can't find any of Paul's relatives to confirm his death and-"
Here, her ladyship was interrupted by a knock on her door.
"Who is it!?"
No sooner had Mr. Collins mumbled his name than he was admitted entrance. Lady Bennet was not one to stand upon ceremony when she was impatient.
When he saw Elizabeth sitting near her aunt, apparently in confidence, he stopped abruptly and began to excuse himself.
"No no! Nevermind! We were only discussing this odious business of yours. Pray remain here and tell me what has happened."
Being obliged by her ladyship to sit on a chair by the fire-place, Mr. Collins thus began,
"Well, I can assure you ma'am that you need not have any more worries. I have obtained the death certificate and all that remains is for me to choose a suitable burial site. I am certain we shall be able to leave Kernshill in a few days, unless your ladyship isn't-"
"Why, that is comforting to know."
"But nana, since we don't have a coachman, who will convey us?"
Elizabeth immediately regretted blurting this out for it sent Lady Bennet from peaceful contentment into the depths of despair.
Shortly, both her niece and Mr. Collins were discharged by her ladyship as she was unable to exert herself any longer and felt the need for rest.
As soon as they were in the corridor, Mr. Collins all of a sudden remembered some small business he had to attend to in the stables and excused himself, leaving Lady Bennet's niece to wander about the Inn alone.
The house was very quiet for once as a result Mrs. Barrows being nowhere in sight. It was barely eleven and the day was already extremely dull.
Sighing, Elizabeth sluggishly trudged down the staircase and dropped her slightly chubby figure onto one of the cushioned sofas.
Oh I do hope we leave soon!
*
Glancing one last time at his work and ascertaining that it was dry, the artist rolled up his painting and slid it into a sleek canister which he hung by his shoulder. After quickly looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting his habit shirt and coat, the artist was about to exit his bed chamber when he nearly collided with the youngest member of the family.
"Oh!" gasped a young girl of about fifteen, he face red with exertion.
"Where are you off to again!?" she demanded while panting. "Mama wants everyone down for *tea and and-"
"Lydia, I don't have time."
"But wait! Lady Lucas has come over and she tells us that she thinks the Wickhams are going to hold a ball!!!"
The artist merely blinked down in annoyance at his anxious young sister.
"Oh I really don't understand brothers! All you're concerned about is riding or fishing and when I tell you there is going to be a ball, you act if your breeches are on fire!"
"Lyd-""
"Honestly, you take all the jolliness out of it!"
"Then please excuse me and allow me to pass before I take even more jolliness out of the prospect of going to a ball."
"Oh! How-"
Stamping a slippered foot on the floor and exclaiming some unidentifiable expression, Lydia plonked her way downstairs.
After taking leave of his disinterested mama, the artist or rather, the 'world's dullest bore' as Lydia had christened him on his way out, headed towards the stables. It was quite a clear day in the country. A few birds were crooning to the notes of a distant piano whose sounds could be heard in between the shrieks of laughter- assumably, his mama's. Lady Lucas's carriage was parked just outside the main door. Charlotte, one of her daughters, was presently walking towards the carriage to fetch some ribbons she had bought on the way. Thankfully, she did not see him. He knew she would have guessed something was wrong with his countenance. Or worse, Charlotte-being an inquisitive and determined young lady- would have bore him down with questions as to his business. The last thing he wanted was to strike up a conversation with Lady Lucas's eldest daughter and so the tall artist was obliged to quickly disappear behind the house and hurry towards the stables.
Having reached the stables within a minute, he singled out his favourite horse, a mahogany coloured stallion and mounted on him.
"Well Sneaky," he spoke while affectionately patting the horse's back.
"We've got another take. Do you think we can handle it?"
For a moment, the artist looked down in apprehension at the canister that hung across his shoulder. But when Sneaky neighed impatiently, he immediately pushed all unpleasant thoughts aside and smiled.
"Yes yes, you're right. No time for worrying now. It's a fine day for riding and I can say that we've earned this, no matter how wretched a business it may seem."
* Morning tea