26th December 1811
Afternoon
Yes, he just said good night and left. Practically closed the door in my face.
I spent half the night thinking it over and the other half of the night thinking over the conclusions I had reached during the first half and thus by the end of the night I was back to where I had started, not knowing what to make of it at all.
I was also very tired. Oh, so very tired.
However I can not return to my room for an afternoon nap because Mama has decided we must immediately develop a scheme to mitigate Jane's unmarried state, preferably by bringing about an engagement with Mr. Bingley (though another eligible gentleman might do should a suitable alternative be found).
Since I cannot dissuade her enthusiasm for the subject and barring her from my rooms would only cause an uproar throughout the entire household when her displeasure became vocal, I am hiding. I'm not proud of it. But sometimes one just needs a little time to oneself. Time to further consider dismissive forehead kisses and what receiving one must mean for one's marriage especially when the forehead kiss is followed by a hasty retreat on the part of the kisser and the kissee finding herself on the lonely side of a definitively shut door.
I suppose his side of the door must have been lonely as well. Or perhaps not. He probably enjoyed his solitude. Experienced blissfully uninterrupted sleep untroubled by bothersome thoughts about the contrariness of his spouse. Bloody bastard.
The resentment I feel for Darcy at the moment is unreasonable, I know. But one's thoughts do not have to be reasonable especially when one has been reduced to hiding in the linen closet.
Yes, the linen closet. Mama will not think to look here for another twenty minutes at least. Previously I had been hiding under the desk in Darcy's study. I only just made it out in time to evade her as she made the mistake of calling for me prior to entering the room.
Were it not raining I would take Sir Sebastian (The Dog) for a walk. However it is raining and also he no longer considers me his favorite person. The displacement of his affection would not be quite so painful if his new object of devotion was not Lydia. When they first met she tried to shoo him because he jumped at her skirts. Now she carries him around everywhere, doting on him as if he were an infant. He hasn't even tried to bite her once. It is insupportable.
Honestly if she was going to attract one of the Sir Sebastians why could it not have been the man? Perhaps she will win him away as well. They have yet to meet and since my youngest sister is apparently so bloody appealing—
I am not jealous over the love of a dog. That would be ridiculous. That would be mad. Nevertheless, someone ought to want to cuddle me and if it cannot be my indifferent husband at the very least it could be that odoriferous curmudgeon of a dog.
I am going mad, am I not?
Not only am I mad I am about to be discovered. I hear footsteps headed this way and it will be Mama because that is the sort of day this is.
The footsteps come to a sudden halt. She is right outside my hiding place now. I brace myself for discovery. My time is up. She will have checked everywhere else by now.
"There you are!" an exuberant voice cried as the door flew open. The words were expected but they were not spoken by the person I dreaded.
"Were you playing the hiding game?" Belinda asked clearly perplexed to find me crouched down in a corner of the linen closet.
"Yes, with my mother."
"You're so lucky. My mama never wants to play the hiding game with me," she said, then turning away from me she shouted down the hall, "Henri, I found Lizzy."
"Shhhhhh!" I hushed her, "I'm still winning."
"Sorry," she whispered, "I wanted to give you a report on the investigation."
It was now my turn to be perplexed. "The investigation?"
"We are searching for Lady Whisperton's spy."
Ah, yes. Another concern I had completely forgotten about. I still needed to uncover the culprit but it hardly seemed pertinent compared to more pressing matters. However I tried to look encouraging as I asked, "Indeed, and have you discovered the traitor?"
"No, but we have eliminated several suspects," said Henrietta, appearing in the closet doorway beside her sister.
Belinda bursting with enthusiasm continued, "Yes, we know isn't the housekeeper. I went through all her things—she had nothing incriminating."
"You did what?" I asked, forgetting my own desire for subdued speech. I stood suddenly banging my head on the shelf above.
"It isn't Saunders either," Belinda said heedless of my look of horror.
"You cannot go into people's rooms! How would you feel if someone went through your things?" I scolded.
Belinda shrugged. "Miss Hopkins does it all the time."
"She just did it the once. Because of Tidbit. Bel was keeping a rat in her room as a pet," Henrietta explained.
"Tidbit was a mouse, not a rat!"
"You mustn't go through any more rooms. Servants are entitled to their privacy."
"Oh, we investigated everyone, not just the servants. You will never believe what Cousin Will has in his bedchamber."
"What did you find?" I asked urgently, thinking of my husband's collection of illicit literature.
"He has a box of stones! Is that not ludicrous?"
"It is a mineral and rock collection," said Henrietta primly.
"He has them labeled!"
"Well, they would hardly be useful if they were not labeled." Why I was defending Darcy's fastidiousness I did not know. Not two weeks ago I had found that aspect of his personality rather tiresome.
Belinda rolled her eyes as if I was rather tiresome. "You both are in love with him so you can hardly be expected to be sensible about it, but anyone else would think it odd."
"I am not in love with him!"
This was spoken by Henrietta. Not me. Though there is a slight chance the outburst that might have followed the indignant breath I had drawn would have been just as vehement and completely unconvincing as Henrietta's had been had she not delivered it before me.
"I collect rocks as well," Belinda continued on, ignoring her sister's denial, "but I don't label mine. I just keep them because they are pretty or interesting or they taste good."
"Taste good?"
"I have one rock that is salty and another that is sort of tangy and bitter but in a good way."
"I have lived with her for nine years," said Henrietta with a beleaguered expression.
"Perhaps you should not lick your minerals," I said, hoping she would take my advice seriously and ignore the fact that I was hiding in a closet and thus probably should not be giving advice to anyone.
"I also collect feathers."
"You do not lick those, do you?" asked Henrietta tauntingly.
"Of course not!" replied Belinda hotly.
"Did your investigations uncover anything else?" I asked before an argument could erupt.
"Georgie had nothing suspicious. Mama has rouge and face powder even though she said such things are only for hussies. We would have searched Dora's room, but Henri wouldn't go in because she was frightened."
"She has beetles everywhere," Henrietta argued.
"They are dead."
"You just wanted to lick them."
"I do not lick everything, just the rocks!"
"Did you invade the privacy of anyone else?" I asked.
"I did not check your parents' or your sisters' rooms because they weren't here when it all began so they are unlikely to be involved. We went through your chambers though. I read some of your letters until Henri made me stop. I like your friend Miss Lucas, she is most amusing. You should invite her to stay."
Clearly she had not read the most recent letter if she thought Charlotte would have any interest in coming to stay. My dearest friend and I were having an epistolary row. I might have pressed her just a little too hard on whether she really wanted to marry Mr. Collins after all. Someday I will learn to keep my opinions to myself.
"Why were you investigating me?"
"You are the least likely to be suspected thus the most likely to be able to get away with it," replied Belinda.
"I suppose that is true, but why would I spread gossip about myself?"
"You might have some unhealthy predilection—an obsession with notoriety. Some people enjoy being talked about no matter the reason," said Henrietta wisely.
She was certainly correct; there were such people. Sir Sebastian Seymour came to mind.
"So what were your conclusions about me? Am I guilty?"
Belinda answered, "We think it unlikely, but we are not ready to present our final findings at this time."
"Well, thank you for this information," I said, preparing to crawl back into the closet and close the door. Suddenly I reconsidered. "Where is my mother, do you know?"
"In the drawing room with our mama."
Add the drawing room to my Places I Have No Desire To Visit list.
"Mrs. Bennet didn't seem to be looking for you. I think it's possible she may have forgotten you were playing the hiding game. Henri does that to me sometimes, too. It is quite annoying. One time I hid for hours."
"Yes, that is exactly what happens, I forget," said Henrietta with a sly smile.
Belinda cast her sister a suspicious glance.
"Come, Bel, let us continue our investigations in the kitchen." I suspected this to be code for, "Let us go beg Cook for sweets."
Just as they were about to round the corner Henrietta turned back and said, "You know, you ought to have someone investigate us, just to be sure. Our investigations might be a clever ruse to cover our own perfidy."
"But whom could I trust with such a task?"
"That is a dilemma," replied Henrietta seriously before disappearing down the hall.
Well, what darling little sneaks. I will have to remember to hide my private papers thoroughly and warn Darcy to do so as well.
Darcy. I really should speak with him. But I am afraid to find out if all the progress we had made in our marriage has been erased. If we have returned to painfully stilted conversations or, heaven forbid, outright arguing again I do not think I can bear it.
"Madam?"
I only screamed a little. A quiet scream, hardly noticeable. The butler really must be complimented for his lightness of foot, he is positively cat-like.
"Yes, Mr. Saunders?" I was extremely glad he had not found me seated on the floor of the linen closet hiding like a child. Standing in the linen closet is perfectly permissible. One might be doing anything.
"Forgive the intrusion, madam, but Mr. Bingley has just arrived. Should I put him in the drawing room?"
"No!" What is it with butlers always so eager to take people to the drawing room and announce them? One would think it was a duty of their positions or something.
"No," I repeated in a much more reasonable tone, "That will not do at all. Take him—" anywhere my mother is not, "to the study."
"As you wish. Shall I alert Mr. Darcy to his arrival?"
"No, I will tell Darcy. I need to speak to him anyway."
In truth I had every intention of finding Jane and sending her to the study, then finding Darcy and keeping him out of it. I never said I would not scheme to get Jane engaged to Mr. Bingley, I just said I didn't want Mama to do so.
I wished I had thought to question Saunders about the location of my eldest sister and husband prior to sending him off. Now I would have to search them out on my own.
Getting past the drawing room would be a challenge. I considered using the servants' stairs but dismissed the idea immediately. Hiding in the linen closet was one thing, start using the servants stair in your own home and it's all over. You are an Eccentric.
The door of drawing room was open to the hall and I could hear my mother's voice from a level below. Her loudness would be to my advantage covering the sound of my approach, crossing in front of the door without being seen however would require speed. Approaching the drawing room entrance at a run I leaped at the last moment, sailing past the door undetected. It would have been a riotous success had I not flew straight into Darcy.
Darcy, impressively solid as he is, was not moved at all, whereas I bounced off him and would have landed quite soundly on my bottom had he not steadied me. As though we were dancing, Darcy steered me across the hall and into the library with one quick maneuver.
Both of us watched the door slowly swing back to a close. Privacy thus ensured Darcy proceeded to kiss me breathless.
This was exhilarating on multiple fronts.
There were the obvious physical effects. Heart racing. Loin clenching. Jelly Knees. That sort of thing.
But then there was also the fact that this was wonderful proof that he must not hate me entirely. I just do not believe people go about kissing people they hate, at least not so thoroughly.
"Darcy," I said when we parted to draw breath. You know, just in case he needed reminding who he was. And then, to my great horror, I added, "So you do still love me?"
Darcy stilled. Went completely statue-like. It was eerie. It would have been horrifying even if I had not just accused him of loving me.
"Not love!" I practically shouted careless to the fact Mama was just across the hall, "I didn't mean love, of course. You don't love me, and I certainly don't love you. That would be completely mad."
"Yes, completely mad," Darcy replied, his tone lowering the temperature of the room to the point I felt I would quite like a coat.
"Completely," I repeated weakly. I was so befuddled. Yes, I had spoken foolishly, but there was absolutely no reason for Darcy to look so . . . so . . . well, frankly he looked incensed.
His dark demeanor passed quickly. His lips quirked to a slight smile. A cold smile, not a real smile. He said with false pleasantness, "And of course I do not love you because that would be absurd."
"Yes, completely and utterly absurd," I said with my own false agreeableness. Now I was strangely angry. What on earth was the matter with us?
"Well, then."
"Yes," I said not having the least idea what I was agreeing with.
"I'm glad to have clarity on the matter."
Again, I replied, "Yes." Still as clueless as the first time I had said it.
"If you will excuse me I have things I must att—"
"No!" I exclaimed, once again forgetting myself and shouting. I pushed him back, he stumbled a little, his imbalance likely caused not by the force of my shove but by the surprise at my fervor. "We are going to stay here and . . . and. . . ." Oh, hell what are we going to do?
"Not love each other?" Darcy asked with great vehemence.
"Yes," I replied with equal fury.
And then we started kissing again.
Don't worry, it doesn't make sense to me either.
"Bingley!" I cried out after some minutes of expert kissing.
Darcy did the eerie statue freeze thing again.
"I just remembered I had Saunders put him in the study."
Darcy exhaled with obvious relief. "Yes, I know. I passed him in the hall. I told him I would be with him in a moment."
"Oh," I said, deflated, "Should you go to him?"
"I do not think he will notice my absence. Jane was already in the study seeking refuge from your mother."
"Excellent." It probably was not proper to leave them, but I was quite done with propriety at present. "In that case, perhaps we might retire upstairs . . . and have tea?"
"Tea?" he asked, kissing me teasingly. "Is that what we are calling it?"
I nodded. "Tea has the remarkable quality of being both soothing and invigorating. It is most healthful, yet we haven't had tea in days. We should be taking tea far more often."
"Indeed?"
"Oh, yes," I said, feeling emboldened to the point of insanity, "I even think it would be quite agreeable to have tea in the library."
"Ahem."
Darcy, model of dignity that he is, actually jumped higher and yelped louder than I did. Startled did not even begin to cover the rush of emotion I felt upon turning to see my father leaning non-nonchalantly against a bookshelf amused expression plastered irritatingly on his face.
"Papa! I was just—we were just—Darcy and I were just discussing—" I have no idea why I felt the need to explain myself, which was good because I had no idea how to explain myself.
"Tea, I think, was the primary subject of the conversation."
"Yes, I was suggesting we might be in need of refreshment," I said, blushing madly.
"Yes," Papa agreed, chuckling gallingly, "You both look quite thirsty."