Miss Baxter took up an iron and stirred the fire forcefully, still vexed at being called away from the nursery in favor of this far less agreeable occupation.
"Report back if he should die or awaken," was the brusque order given before she was left to watch over this coarse-looking man sprawled asleep across the large sofa facing the flickering hearth, Mr. Bridges having employed big Angus to haul his slender build with relative ease into the small parlor.
His mere presence was discomfiting, enough to question the choice of her above scores of lower servants without the standard courtesy of even a vague explanation. However, her gentle argument to Mr. Bridges, that nursing random invalids was hardly a task becoming of or beholden to a governess, was firmly countered with the assertion that their mistress was currently tending to matters far less becoming, well outside her province—"and without a word of protest. You might rather consider the circumstances, Miss Baxter, than quibble over a breach of convention."
And thus her conscience was stirred just to the point of compliance as she endeavored to make the convalescent a little more comfortable, stoking the fire, placing a pillow under his head, and then pouring him a tall glass of water for when (or if) he should need it. After that, she took to observing him, and nervously so, her dearth of details forcing her to rely on the same fractured intuition probably most accountable for Mr. Wickham's disappearance. It was implied from the start, that this man played some role in his precipitous return—but to what extent?
How was it even possible? thought she, for his countenance alone suggested him incapable of having a useful hand in almost anything. With his every breath was heard a low wheeze, his slight but constant movements conveying an inability to relax completely in his corrosive state. Reflexively he clinched his coat tighter as if still seeking warmth, impelling her to fetch a blanket to accompany an already blazing fire. She opened up the wool coverlet and draped it over him, which was apparently unwise; for he gasped and jerked violently, prompting her to jump a foot back to avoid being struck. In horror she watched his body start to convulse as if in the throes of a dreadful nightmare, chest pulsating, his breathing loud and harsh. His eyes shot open, fixed on her for half a second, and then rolled back, lids falling shut. As he continued to tremble and pant, she considered holding his hand as she had held that of many a feverish child, but quickly discarded the notion for fear of another fierce reaction. Short on ideas, she opted to try and soothe him with a lullaby, though she was never one to sing, not even in church. And so she hummed softly, tenderly, feeling rather ridiculous but likewise encouraged as he gradually began to calm, respiration slowing to even pace, blanket clutched in his white-knuckled grip. He muttered something nonsensical, fell back upon the pillow, and then went still and quiet as a plank of wood. The nightmare, it would seem, had passed.
She exhaled with equal parts relief and anxiety. What sort of man was this? So wretched a fellow felt sorely out of place in so fine a manor, so far from any rational person's image of a good Samaritan, that only by virtue of her enduring regard for her employers could she possibly have agreed to this appointment wholly unbefitting a woman of scant frame and musculature as herself. Surely Angus would have been better qualified to take on the likes of him. What if he were an escaped convict? What if he were dangerous, or deranged?
What an absurd notion! she then thought. Of course the Darcys would never allow such a man under the same roof as their children. Indeed he must be harmless…mustn't he? Whatever his connection, either to them or Mr. Wickham, the odds of harshness to heroism certainly appeared in the former's favor. To that feeling, the notion of sitting with him seemed so improper that she could only hope the recent string of dismal events had not driven the Darcys to madness in their bringing this man into their home.
Eventually she took herself to the smaller sofa at the far end of the room, determined not to lose sight of him by falling asleep. Meanwhile, his own slumber deepened to the point of snoring, loudly, which somehow drained from her every drop of fear, as if no man who emits such a silly sound could possibly be perilous. As she restfully reclined, exhaustion ultimately prevailed, giving her leave to catch a few winks, her intended catnap lasting nearly two hours before the four o'clock chime awakened her with a start. Her attention flew to his resting spot, where she found the water glass depleted, walking stick vanished, and the sofa barren. He was gone!
She sprang from the settee to make absolutely certain that, indeed, only a crumpled blanket remained where he had been lying just moments before—or so it had seemed. In haste she lighted a candle and quit the room to begin a frantic search down the vast, empty hall, her steps quickening with every thought of this strange man wandering about the home doing God-knows-what. Rounding a corner, she slowed upon sight of a distant glow emanating from…the billiard room? She drew closer, ere long hearing the hard strike of cue against ball then cracked against another to have it drop, upon her reaching the entryway, in a corner pocket.
She watched in shock and awe this suddenly stout individual take position for another strike, his focus sharp and aim precise. "Sir!" she cried out just as the hit was made, the cue-ball sent skittering down a clumsy path to scatter all but the completely missed target.
He barked out a vulgar curse before meeting her narrowed eyes. "You sharked me! I declare foul; the play is nullified," and then moved to reposition the balls for a reshoot.
"On the contrary," she shot back. "Only a distraction caused by an act of God or a non-shooting player—deliberate or otherwise—constitutes interference. Barring a physical disturbance, non-player distractions are a mere discourtesy." On his curious look she added, "My father was quite proficient at billiards."
"As was mine." He bent, aimed, and then cracked the cue ball with expert skill, banking it off the cushion to knock the target straight into the side pocket. "And yet he has never bested me. Not once. Not even in my youth." He paused to look her up and down before moving to line up another shot, asking haughtily, "Pray what was your father's profession? barrister or shopkeeper?"
"That is not to the purpose, sir," she replied defensively; for the former presumption had been the correct one, though she would be damned to confirm it to this unsavory chap. "Just what do you suppose gives you the right to take such ill-mannered, unfettered advantage of this manor's amenities?"
"The fact that I never asked to be brought into said manor," he answered just as firmly, cementing her impression that this man of clearly some education was really more difficult than dangerous, and more petulant than vicious. "You might rather call the Darcys' manners into question than my own; for I am but an innocent, a hostage, and until freed shall do just as I please." He made another shot, sinking the next ball with seemingly no effort.
She glared at him, her every worry diminished as annoyance steadily increased. Suddenly her appointment as acting guardian felt less of a wonder. Who else but a practiced disciplinarian could be expected to monitor such flagrant impudence?
"You were declared half-dead upon arrival, sir. We sincerely knew not if you would last the night. Is this how you thank a person for helping to save your life?"
His face distorted into a mawkish look of contrition. "Oh, how you shame me, dear madam! I—I do beg your forgiveness; for I undoubtedly would have perished were it not for your replenishing glass of water, your life-preserving pillow, your spread of wool to shelter my shivering bones—"
"You are forgiven, sir," she sweetly rejoined, piercing his sarcasm like a knife to leave him wholly unsatisfied. "And now I must go and report the happy restoration of your strength, if you will excuse me. Not that I can force you, but I would suggest you perform the rudimentary courtesy of waiting here for someone to formally receive you."
She pivoted towards the exit, only to nearly collide with the master himself, his wearied, disheveled state to that of her new (and undesirable) acquaintance equal by half. She was nervously prompted to dip a curtsey which he scarcely acknowledged, the two men locking eyes almost instantly, staring hard, as if one were waiting for the other to flinch.
She stood frozen, knowing not but to wait while their staring contest endured for some moments. Finally the bushier man spoke first:
"You had better straighten out your governess, Darcy. She is a cheeky one."
She flushed deeply, at both the remark itself and his razor-sharp deduction of her station, replying swiftly to the master, "I truly meant no offense, sir. Pray forgive me, I should not have spoken thusly to the—the—"
"Gentleman," the stranger proudly proclaimed, making a deep bow, "but of far superior birth and distinction. Tell her, Darcy."
Gentleman! Her eyebrows shot up and mouth dropped. "I—I did not know, Mr. Darcy! I was—provided no such intelligence, sir, merely a word of instruction upon—"
"How dare you claim ignorance, madam," sneered this alleged gentleman in a tone to match his pose of affected resplendence. "Is it not read all over my face, my posture, my person, that my heart pumps with the noblest of blood, that I am rungs above you, nay, above all that I survey, that my family mingles among monarchs as the—"
"SHUT IT!" snapped Mr. Darcy in an extraordinary fit of temper, pointed finger trembling, his stubbled face overspread with anger and exhaustion.
While she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sharp interjection, from its object came no response but the mere shrugging of his shoulders, followed by the casual recommencing of his billiard game.
The master then surprised Miss Baxter with a request for a private word with her out in the hall. With mounting dread she followed him, bracing herself for a hearty dismissal, only to be addressed in the kindest, gentlest manner.
"My sincerest apologies, Miss Baxter, if that man has by any means offended or insulted you. It was most unfair to throw you into this situation; but my wife, you see, was herself thrown into a rather peculiar position at but a moment's notice, and with scarcely enough time to think and act. Nonetheless, I ask your forgiveness."
"Why of course, sir," she said in all forbearance, feeling a great swell of remorse for her prior disgruntlement. The master duly acknowledged her reply and continued:
"Of his identity and purpose, I cannot…" he shook his head vigorously, "I cannot emphasize enough the delicacy of this new circumstance, nor the sound disruption to me, my family, my children his mere presence yields, and yet—nay, I must cease these paltry attempts at clarification—for I have so little myself! There is a great deal you do not—cannot know, so much that even I do not know, and yet I must ask more of you, Miss Baxter."
His desperate tone paired with his singularly unkempt exterior was truly alarming, and in that moment wished she nothing more than to relieve the Darcys' troubles to whatever degree was in her power. "How may I help, sir?"
The master sighed with relief before answering, "Whatever your methods, Miss Baxter, I deem them to have been effective to some degree, unpleasant as your charge must have been and, well, shall continue to be, should you be agreeable to your new, albeit temporary, occupation." He cast a furtive glance inside the billiard room, where the ambiguous stranger was busy racking up for another game. "My wife," he went on, "did well in appointing you. You are so very adept with children, to whom I should more readily compare him than almost any adult. He really is better off with a teacher than a nurse, a feminine presence, but also one of high intellect, certainly of higher virtue, who will challenge him, whom he cannot browbeat or manipulate. And he will try, madam."
"I am not sure I follow, sir," replied she. "Are you proposing that I take charge of him?"
"Precisely, madam, though he cannot know that, of course. Whatever his limitations, physical or otherwise, he must always feel in control."
"You are tasking me to govern an ungovernable pupil, sir? and a grown man at that?"
"Essentially."
"And a gentleman, sir, which would make him my superior by virtue of his station alone."
"He has no station, Miss Baxter," the master firmly retorted. "Apart from the shell you see, he is nobody, a phantom, in all perception if not reality. Per the law of the land, that gentleman no longer exists. And from the look of him…" he paused to clear his suddenly constricted throat. "From the look of him, the truth will very soon match the consensus," (he glanced off, murmuring) "but I may be wrong; perhaps it is not too late, perhaps Matty shall be able to…" (he shook his head again, reverting focus on her) "Forgive me again, madam; and bid me not expand on that response for the time being, for I cannot oblige you. Already I have said too much, and ask of you more faith and trust than what is acceptable, far less deserved."
"I have plenty to spare sir," she said earnestly, "for you and the missus have been extremely good to me, and in my estimation should be placed in the most affable light. Truly I could not have asked for a better situation."
"That is reassuring, Miss Baxter, and I pray you do not eat those words in the near future. He will try your patience to the brink, but let him not faze you with his assertions to superiority. Again, he is nobody. And has nobody."
"What, no one at all, sir? What of the family he spoke of?"
"While indeed of some prominence, what few remain are as dead to him as he is to them."
"How dreadful, sir!" cried she in all compassion. "I should not get on at all without someone in the world to care for me."
Mr. Darcy concurred before relating the following: "There was a manservant at one time—really more of an associate—a rather brilliant fellow who, for years, was deeply devoted to his interests and wellbeing. Until Fate demanded they part ways, I dare say Mr. Reddy was more valued and trusted than any one person in his entire life. But that was ages ago, though I have good reason to believe they reunited some time within the past two years, well before November last. That was when Mr. Reddy's carriage was ambushed on the road in a brutal brigand attack. All in the party were murdered savagely, Mr. Reddy left hanging from a tree. I must presume he knows this. In fact, I am positive he does."
She again expressed her deepest sympathy, and again Mr. Darcy apologized for relating so horrible an incident before he went on: "The children's lessons are to be suspended for the duration of our mutual friend's stay, however long that may be. Beginning now, I mean to grant you three days rest in preparation. You will need it."
"Thank you, sir. That is most generous."
To this he laughed, another wince-inducing impulse never heard from the master till now. "Oh, but this is a thankless task indeed, madam, despite the raise in salary you are to receive for your efforts which, I assure you, none of your peers would covet."
She said proudly, "I am up for most any challenge, sir. Pray what are my specific duties with regards to the gentleman?"
"To bear his company, his conversation, his…eccentricities. You are to monitor his health, his waking activity, and to relate any signs of improvement or…deterioration. I welcome and encourage you to manage him just as you see fit, not unlike your management of the children. As you have faith in us, Miss Baxter, so shall we have in you. Of a truth, my expectations are minimal, but I am confident you will do your best to see that he is…well, I am not certain, really. docile? diverted? relatively content?" A shadow passed over his tired face as he then gave a word of caution. "Should you find his behavior particularly troubling, you must report it immediately. Take none of his nonsense, stay on your guard, and—above all—expose to him not a bit of vulnerability, ever. Understand?"
"Indeed I do, but…if I may be so bold, Mr. Darcy…"
"You may, Miss Baxter."
"As I've said, I do trust you, sir. And, while disagreeable, I see in that poor, enfeebled man nothing to fear. But was there a time, Mr. Darcy, when you would have called him dangerous?"
He thought hard on this question before answering, "It rather depends on one's definition of the word. On the whole, I must concur with Mrs. Darcy who once asserted, many years ago, that he is a danger to no one with good sense. On that head, I expect you will earn his respect ere long. Speaking of the missus, she shall remain inaccessible for a short while. As you can well imagine, she has been through a good deal, and is excessively tired."
As are you, sir, she almost replied, but then settled with, "Of course, sir."
"Dr. Fitzwilliam has administered a draught that we hope shall keep her rested for a day or two. George, too, is resting comfortably."
Miss Baxter then, in a rare breach of propriety, looked straight into the master's watery eyes and smiled. "I am very happy Mr. Wickham is come home, sir. God bless whatever course was taken to end in his safe return."
He stared for a beat or two, and then nodded soberly. "I feel the same. And now I must insist you retire, Miss Baxter. Should you need anything, do not hesitate to ring for it. I intend to retire myself, but not before I've had a word with…our honored guest."
"Yes, Mr. Darcy. And by what name shall I address him?"
"Ah, good question. George has been calling him Mr. Blackbeard. Let that be his moniker for now."