Thanks alix33 for finding yet more bloopers. And to Beaty for spotting the continuity error with Charlotte's age.
Suggestions for the title of chapter 25 were:
"Stalker", "Obsessed", "Love, Lust, or somewhere in Between" by Chica De Los Ojas Cafe,
"Once more, from the top" by YepItsMe,
"Losing his head" by Windchimed,
"Trial and Error" or "Trial by Bathory" by Dizzy Lizzy.60,
"Interview with the vampire" or "Overwhelming confession" or "To kill or not to kill" by Laura Saintyves,
"Burdened" by nessy22,
"True Confessions", "Full Disclosure", "The Proof is in the Fangs", "Burdens Lifted, Burdens Shared", "Two Heads are Better than None", "Is He or Isn't He", "Vampire Chronicles" by SacredWoman2K,
"Fangs, FinnFacts for Fitzwilliam" by Deanna27,
"BLOOD REveLATIONS" by beaty,
"Inconceivable" or "Let Me Explain/Let Me Sum Up" by amamama
Lots of great suggestions there including the clever pun by Beaty. I loved "Inconceivable" by amamama, but I think I will go with the nod to Anne Rice with "Interview with the vampire" by Laura Saintyves.
Chapter 26 Elementary
Sometime after Elizabeth left, the colonel judged it likely that the other inhabitants of Rosings would be stirring and he set off from the lake to return to the manor house. His aunt typically breakfasted at eleven. Richard stopped first at the back door to hand the fish to a maid before traversing the kitchen and rose gardens to go in by a side entrance. During his walk, the sweet perfume of spring encouraged him to pluck some roses before he thought better of it. He knew Anne typically found it difficult to sleep once the sun had risen, which would normally have allowed him some time alone with her, but he had kept her up most of the night, talking and kissing, which probably meant that she would not come down before his aunt. Richard was just thinking of surreptitiously discarding the blooms before entering the house when he saw the window of the breakfast parlour was open—the sign Anne had suggested to indicate that she had come downstairs and was alone.
Peering cautiously through the open window, Richard saw his cousin lying on a sofa with a book on her lap, looking pale and wan. Her eyes were closed but upon his drawing nearer, she opened them, possibly sensing his shadow or hearing a movement. When Richard proffered the bouquet, some colour stole into Anne's cheeks as she accepted the flowers.
"What are you reading?" he asked softly, reaching down to gently squeeze her hand.
"Oh, just a silly romance," she replied, sniffing the blooms contentedly. "A novel called The Necromancer by Ludwig Flammenberg about a supernatural being who comes back from the dead. I am comparing the English translation to the original in German."
Before the colonel could tease his cousin about the odd combination of her appalling taste in novels and her linguistic erudition, the door opened and Darcy walked into the breakfast parlour, upon which it occurred to Richard that the novel was perhaps not so silly after all.
Anne tried to remove her fingers from Richard's grasp before her newly arrived cousin could notice, for she did not wish to hurt his feelings. Darcy was wearing his coloured glasses and shielding his eyes against the light from the window as if he had indulged too much in drink, so Anne did not think he had done more than register her presence. But Richard proved uncooperative, refusing to relinquish her hand.
"He knows," he whispered.
Anne looked at Richard, wondering when he had managed to talk to their cousin. But before she could say anything in reply, the sound of her mother advancing down the hallway could be heard, dispensing orders to the servants and Mrs Jenkinson. The colonel hastily blew a kiss to Anne and withdrew from the window.
"Good morning, cousin," said Anne gently to Darcy, swinging her feet off the sofa to the floor.
"Good morning, Anne," returned Darcy civilly. He had detected Richard at the window from his scent despite the blinding light emanating from it but diplomatically chose to say nothing before his aunt's imminent eruption.
Anne noticed Darcy did not bend to kiss her hand as he normally did. He really did look to be in some pain.
"Ah!" said Lady Catherine loudly, entering to survey the room, "did your cousin Darcy give you those, Anne? Such a pretty bouquet!"
"I have but just walked in," said Darcy, still shielding his eyes.
"Oh! Poor Mr Darcy!" exclaimed Mrs Jenkinson. "Do you have another of your horrible migraines? Shall I close the curtains?"
"Please," replied Darcy shortly.
"I picked them myself, Mama," said Anne, handing the bouquet to a maid. "The perfume from the garden drew me into it."
Lady Catherine seemed disappointed and turned her attention to her suffering nephew. "No coat?" she asked, viewing Darcy's shirtsleeves and waistcoat askance as the curtains were drawn. She could not think the diamond pin in his cravat lent the necessary formality.
"It is very warm," replied Darcy dismissively as he waited for his aunt to be assisted into her chair by Mrs Jenkinson and a footman before seating himself.
Five minutes after the church bells had struck eleven, the colonel entered the breakfast parlour, having changed his faded uniform for more respectable civvies*. The dishes were still being placed upon the table.
"You are late," said Lady Catherine with disfavour.
"I beg your pardon," replied the colonel, seating himself beside Darcy. "I went fishing. If we are lucky, the cook may have served us the fruits of my labours," he said, lifting several covers in exploration. "Here we are!" he exclaimed triumphantly, revealing three fish, "Tom, Dick and Harry!"
"I do not like fish for breakfast," declared Lady Catherine, "and neither does Anne!"
"More for us then, Darcy?" said the colonel sanguinely, and then with an evil grin at his cousin, "Or do you prefer red meat?"
"I'll take some fish," said Darcy, looking over his dark glasses at his cousin and narrowing his eyes.
A desultory conversation was conducted over the dishes until Lady Catherine disappeared behind The Morning Post, sent down from London as usual that morning. When Mrs Jenkinson bent down to arrange Lady Catherine's footstool—for her ladyship suffered a little from the gout—Darcy whipped out his left cufflink and pulled up his shirtsleeve quickly, baring his lower arm to the colonel, but shielding it from the other diners below the tablecloth.
As Richard had expected once he had accepted Darcy's tale, no wound was visible on Darcy's arm. The colonel grinned, which reaction took his cousin by surprise. But it just so happened that Darcy's surreptitious action had reminded Richard of the hijinks they had used to get up to at Rosings when they were young, the most memorable of which resulted in the accidental escape of a frog under the dinner table. Mischief gleamed in the colonel's eye. Eyeing Darcy steadily, Richard tugged slowly on one end of his cravat, undoing the knot. Anne, who was seated closest to them, looked on goggle-eyed as Richard appeared to be undressing himself at the breakfast table. He raised an eyebrow provocatively at her.
Unfortunately at that moment, Lady Catherine chose to share her opinion on an article she was reading. Lowering the paper in preparation to unleashing a diatribe, she was in time to intercept Richard's glance at her daughter.
"What on earth are you doing, Richard?" she asked acerbically.
"I caught my signet in my cravat," replied Richard without missing a beat. "Cousin Anne is laughing at my expense."
"How careless of you!" smiled Anne who was also remembering the great frog debacle and wondering what was going on. Her cousins had been perfectly sensible and staid grown-ups for years.
Richard got up to retie his cravat in the mirror and the incident passed off.
Half an hour later, a footman came in to announce to Lady Catherine that her carriage was ready.
"You are going off?" asked Darcy, who had hoped to question his aunt about several extraordinary expenditures he had discovered in the logbooks.
"Dr Jeffreys tells me Mr Ottley had a minor stroke last night. The doctor does not think he will be able to give the sermon this Sunday. I have arranged to drive over with Mr Collins to check on his welfare and arrange matters."
Darcy hoped his aunt did not intend to bully Mr Ottley in his sickbed.
"If you do not mind, Anne, I will take Mrs Jenkinson with me to carry my basket," asked Lady Catherine perfunctorily.
Anne quickly disclaimed any urgent need for her supposed companion whose attributed task might have been performed by a footman. Without further ado the two departing ladies left, followed attentively by all the servants.
"Well!" said the colonel, wiping his chin with his napkin, and looking at his two cousins. "How convenient! While the cat's away*, eh?"
At the parsonage, the day of Sir William's departure for Hertfordshire had been disrupted by Mr Ottley's illness. Lady Catherine had withdrawn the offer of a gig to convey Sir William's baggage to the next town where a post chaise could be hired. Instead, a village boy had to be sent off from the local inn to Hamley on a horse to arrange the post chaise to come to the parsonage, which increased the charges. Sir William put the slight off cheerily, claiming that Mr Ottley's need was higher than his own, but Charlotte silently ground her teeth, for she knew that Lady Catherine had sufficient horses and servants to comfortably accommodate both journeys. The grande dame simply required all effort to be directed towards herself when it was required so that she was not inconvenienced in any way.
After seeing her father comfortably bestowed for his departure at eleven, Charlotte was hopeful that she would have some time with Elizabeth in the afternoon once Mr Collins went off with Lady Catherine at half-past twelve, but alas! It was not to be. Upon arriving on the doorstep of the parsonage, Lady Catherine expressed surprise that Mr Collins had not arranged for the curate to accompany them, as he would likely be delivering the sermon at Failford on Sunday. When Mr Collins pointed out that the curate was needed in the village to ring the bells, Lady Catherine snappishly expressed the opinion that the curate should have trained the village boys sufficiently that they could manage on their own at a pinch*. Mr Collins forbore to repeat the curate's lament that between stupidity and mischief he had his hands full with his bell ringers. He hurried off to the village to retrieve the curate, leaving Charlotte to offer Lady Catherine and Mrs Jenkinson tea.
Finally the party set off for Failford with the curate perched on the Dickie seat of Lady Catherine's carriage—for although there was room enough for him inside, his rank was not sufficient for him to deserve a place there. The bell ringing dilemma had been solved by Charlotte's offering to supervise the village boys—a task she felt in no way competent to fulfil. Nonetheless, she was buoyed by the knowledge that Lady Catherine would not be present to hear any mistakes made. The pleasant afternoon Charlotte had anticipated with Lizzy after her father's departure thus evaporated.
Charlotte and Mariah departed hurriedly for the church in time to supervise the bell being struck for one, after which they intended to occupy themselves rearranging things in the church between the half-hourly bells. As it had come over dark and cloudy, Lizzy abandoned her idea of an afternoon walk in favour of letter writing. This she pursued until three while it sprinkled on and off, the half-hourly church bells marking Charlotte's success in supervision. But upon the sound of the last bell falling away in the mute of the damp, Elizabeth eventually abandoned her letters, and driven by an increasing sense of restlessness, decided to take a walk after all.
Drawing an oilskin cloak Charlotte kept in the downstairs closet around her, Lizzy set off for the lake, thinking she might take refuge in the hut should the rain turn into a downpour.
Arriving at the plank, Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised to recognise the colonel's voice before she stepped onto the pier and fully expected to find him in conversation with the gamekeeper. But upon emerging from the reeds, Lizzy encountered Colonel Fitzwilliam with Miss de Bourgh on his arm, shielding her from the elements with the large oilskin umbrella Lizzy had last seen in church.
"Ah! Miss Elizabeth! We meet again and you could not have come at a better time! Here I am, trying to convince my cousin to let me paddle her round the lake and she will not oblige me because she does not wish to leave poor Darcy alone. You see, Anne? You can be easy. Miss Elizabeth and Darcy are old acquaintances from Hertfordshire!"
Miss de Bourgh smiled timidly at Elizabeth. "You do not mind Miss Elizabeth? It seems a little impolite to abandon you after you have just arrived."
"Nonsense!" said the colonel. "Let us go out while we may, while the weather holds off!"
Elizabeth replied in the only polite way she could, encouraging Miss de Bourgh to take advantage of the break in the rain. She took the umbrella from the colonel while he untied the boat and continued to hold it over Miss de Bourgh so that she might step aboard unencumbered.
Satisfied with his preparations, Richard held out his hand to assist his cousin. But when Miss de Bourgh gingerly placed her kid boot on the seat instead of stepping into the bottom of the boat, she almost lost her balance when the boat tipped slightly. When Anne fell against her cousin, Elizabeth thought they might both end up in the water, but the colonel recovered admirably to help Miss de Bourgh settle in the stern. As Elizabeth handed the umbrella to Anne, Richard pushed off with one oar, tipping his hat to Lizzy and looking mighty pleased with himself. The boat pulled away swiftly from the pier as he made several strong strokes with the oars.
During all this time, Mr Darcy made no appearance and had it not been for the colonel's comment, Elizabeth might have been unaware of his presence. But after the boat drew away, the slightly ajar door of the hut opened further and Mr Darcy filled the space, with his top hat pulled down low over his coloured glasses.
Having had no further time to speak privately with his cousin since their pre-dawn interview, Darcy had failed to explain his last encounter with Miss Elizabeth at Netherfield, which had essentially amounted to her kidnap. The pair thus faced each other with some awkwardness. Their first private meeting since this event was one of embarrassment for Darcy and of trepidation for Elizabeth.
"Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said softly. "You must excuse me for hiding away in the hut, but I have another of my sick headaches."
"I beg your pardon, I had no wish to intrude upon your party and only stayed because Colonel Fitzwilliam insisted upon it. I will go off now and leave you in peace."
"Please don't go. I would very much like some company and if you will permit me to retreat into the hut, the pain will lessen immediately," said Darcy, doing his best to take advantage of the opportunity Richard had made available to advance his interests with Miss Elizabeth. Darcy had been wracking his brain on how he might contrive to politely call at the parsonage one evening, but was still not sure he was doing the right thing in pursuing Miss Elizabeth's hand.
Elizabeth hardly felt comfortable staying given their history, but something in his voice seemed to implore her. She decided there could be no impropriety if she sat just outside the door when the other members of the Rosings party were nearby. Noticing the corner of a small tuffet had been used to prop the door open, she pulled this outside the hut to sit down upon it, employing a nearby fishing rod in its place to wedge the door ajar.
Mr Darcy rearranged a burlap bag thrown over the top of the door to block more of the light so that the room was once more cast into gloom. Retreating to sit in the furthest armchair from the door, he was pleased by the prospect of Elizabeth, framed by the only light that penetrated into the interior. To any other, she hardly looked a picture with the shapeless oilskin cloak draped around her, but Darcy saw only her pretty face.
"That is better," he remarked. "Please feel free to talk on whatever topic you wish, my headache is quite in abeyance."
Lizzy felt a little like Scheherazade, summoned to entertain the sultan. Since he had arrived at Rosings, Mr Darcy had held himself aloof, though the various glances he had thrown at her during their two meetings had shown him not to be indifferent to her presence. Her feelings about Mr Darcy were still at war—romantic feelings driven by her natural attraction to him were only kept in abeyance by more sober consideration that the inclination he had shown for her was not a proper one. Lizzy had no wish for another regrettable lapse such as had occurred at the Netherfield ball and if his lofty distance was the price she had to pay for her safety, it was worth it.
Determined now to be civil, Lizzy quashed her thoughts of that regrettable incident at the ball. Drawing on the few conversations they had shared, Lizzy tried to think of an innocuous topic to start off with. Her impertinent curiosity got the better of her. "I realised last Sunday at the service that it was the first time I had seen you in the daylight. Are you frequently troubled by the light?" she enquired.
"Yes, I have developed a sensitivity to it. It gives me headaches."
"That is unfortunate. I suppose it might be bearable in London, which seems to never sleep, but it must be quite a handicap* in the country, especially when you are managing estates."
Darcy thought Miss Elizabeth had summarised his former thoughts succinctly. He had been loath to return to Pemberley where he was sure that his housekeeper Mrs Reynolds would immediately detect there was something perverse about him—she had known him from his boyhood. The 'never sleeping city' had seemed the ideal setting to hide his vampirism, but after the incident of the anomalous vampire, he now saw its shortcomings—other creatures such as himself could hide just as easily. At Pemberley, he was master of his own domain. With his increased senses, Darcy doubted anything could be hidden from him there.
"It is regrettable," he replied. "But with the help of a steward, not insurmountable. It proved workable to go out in the evenings to view the estate at Netherfield, and I have been doing the same here. I admit it will require some changes at Pemberley."
"You have not then returned to Derbyshire since your journey to the Continent?" Elizabeth asked in surprise, having never been absent from Longbourn for more than a few weeks.
"No, my health and my sister's have precluded it. But it was my intention to make the journey once I leave Kent." Darcy silently acknowledged that he would first need to return to Hertfordshire to speak with Mr Bennet. He was suddenly glad that he had sent those tokens via Elizabeth's father. At the time Darcy had deemed the gesture in deference to her father, whom he had discovered to be a person worth cultivating at the Netherfield ball. Having only just made his acquaintance, Darcy had not wanted to slight Mr Bennet by his sudden removal from the district, necessitated by his indiscretion with his daughter. In retrospect, he realised the small gifts had clearly shown his preference for Elizabeth and would make his approach to Mr Bennet easier.
"You are lucky to have such a trustworthy agent," remarked Elizabeth.
Darcy stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, having lost the thread of their conversation in his rumination. "Indeed, I know it."
"Will your sister be accompanying you?"
"Yes. She has recovered and prefers Pemberley to London. I expect you also prefer the country?"
Elizabeth thought this a strange question since she'd had little opportunity to view the delights of the city as the Ton knew them and wondered if Mr Darcy was being sarcastic. She had visited the city rarely and the theatre but once, where she sat in the pit with her aunt and uncle and viewed the bejewelled ladies and gentlemen in the boxes with some awe and a little envy. She did not doubt that Mr Darcy sat in those boxes and supposed that the Bingleys sat there too. No wonder Caroline had been so disdainful of them. At a country assembly, they might have seemed equals but in London the gulf would be all too apparent.
"Yes, I prefer the country," she affirmed.
A gap in the conversation yawned. Lizzy, never usually short of a word, felt doubly uncomfortable in Mr Darcy's presence.
"You are very close to you sister then?" she blurted before thinking the question was perhaps too personal.
Darcy, on the contrary, was pleased to be able to explain more of his circumstances to her. "Yes and no. Since our parents died, we have chiefly had each other but there is more than a ten year age gap, which sometimes seems a chasm."
"Ten years?" said Elizabeth, remembering Lieutenant Wickham's tale of his elopement. In her mind, Miss Darcy changed rapidly from a Charlotte Lucas-like 'mature lady' to positively 'on the shelf'. But just as quickly, Lizzy realised the underlying assumption in her imaginings. She frowned. "Is your sister older or younger than you?"
"Younger," replied Darcy, thinking that Elizabeth would help bridge the gap. "My parents thought not to have any more children because of the difficulties of my birth, but then Georgie came along belatedly. My mother always wanted a daughter and I believe she died happy knowing she had succeeded."
Elizabeth flushed, realising that rather than eloping with an aged contemporary, Lieutenant Wickham must have attempted to abscond with a schoolroom miss. Her opinion of him dropped even lower than it had dipped after the incident with Miss King. Mortified by her preference for Wickham and wondering how she could ever have been so gullible to believe the words of a charming stranger, Lizzy retreated into herself, leaving Darcy wondering what next to say. A silence threatened to stretch between them.
"Have you ever trained at singlestick?" essayed Darcy, then blushed. His words sounded gauche to his own ears.
"Good Lord, no! Is that not like sword fighting?"
"It is a type of sword fighting, a way of training to thrust and parry without using a blade."
"Heavens, no! Why do you ask?"
"I have twice seen you pick up something in the manner of a quarterstaff."
Lizzy was at a loss to know when that could have been, perhaps Mr Darcy had glimpsed her when she was playing billiards with the Bingley sisters?
"Well, when I was small...," at least three years ago, she thought, "I might have played the occasional game of Friar Tuck and Little John with Charlotte's brothers..."
"Friar Tuck and Little John?" repeated Darcy. "How does one play that?"
"It chiefly involves hitting each other with sticks," she replied.
Inexplicably Darcy burst out laughing, which made Elizabeth immediately regret her indiscretion. Her mother had frequently scolded her for her hoydenish ways.
It was on the tip of Darcy's tongue to ask her what had happened to Robin Hood when Miss Elizabeth gave a start and jumped up from her stool, kicking the tuffet inside the hut with one of her boots and slamming the door. Finding himself suddenly alone in the dark with Elizabeth was almost overwhelming. When Darcy's fangs instantly deployed, he clutched the leather armrests of his chair. The sound of a squall lashing the door and roof of the hut hid his gasp.
"Oh! The colonel and Miss de Bourgh!" Lizzy exclaimed, blithely unaware in her extremity that she had shut herself in a dark room with a rake, and completely unaware of her real danger.
Darcy felt one of his fingernails pierce the leather of his chair but simultaneously knew he had mastered the situation. He watched Lizzy lift the burlap bag the colonel had nailed to the window to peep through its dirty pane, now lashed by the rain. He was very aware of his itching fangs that he had now retracted, as well as the dull throb in his groin. He felt slightly delirious.
"It is impossible to see anything!" she yelled above the noise of the storm. "How quickly and silently it burst upon us! I saw it coming across the water!"
"Elizabeth...," said Darcy softly.
But whatever he had intended to say, Elizabeth never knew, for a clatter and a bump shook the hut, closely followed by a high shriek and a burst of hearty laughing.
Elizabeth opened the door of the hut as the rain continued to dash down to reveal the colonel and Miss de Bourgh had returned hastily from their jaunt. She hurried on to the pier to stretch her hand out to Miss de Bourgh. The colonel, having shipped the oars, was vainly trying to shield his cousin from the weather with the umbrella he had taken from her. But before Lizzy could assist Anne to stand, Mr Darcy emerged from the hut, jumped lightly into the boat, scooped up his cousin, and disappeared back into the hut.
It all happened in a flash and Elizabeth could only assume that the cold rain had frozen her own limbs and made her stupid.
"Come on, Miss Elizabeth!" said the colonel, jumping from the boat with the umbrella to touch his fingers lightly to her back and pushing her ahead of him into the hut.
Footnotes
*civvies—civilian clothes.
*While the cat's away—the mice do play, idiom. German equivalent, when the cat's away the mice dance on the table. Foreign language speakers, if your country has an interesting variant, let me know, I collect idioms.
*at a pinch—when necessary
*handicap—at the time, this did not refer to a disability but something that put one at a disadvantage. The usage is retained in handicapped horse races in Australia where weights in the saddles of horses are adjusted to disadvantage past winners.