The Estimate of an outsider

Note-The final chapter here. It was meant as a long shot, and I thank all reviewers who took the time to read this work.

Disclaimer: All works belong to the memory of Jane Austen. I am merely "tweaking" this segment of the P&P plot for a couple of laughs.

Chapter 3

A watermark moon glimmered in the gathering dusk. Across the expansive fields, tired haymakers yawned and wondered what awaited them at supper while the lazy sounds of birds roosting in the rhododendron bushes wafted through the half open doors leading into Pemberley's kitchens.
The staff at Pemberley had had a busy evening what with the unexpected early arrival of its master. That really wasn't a surprise in itself. For as long as they could remember, Mr Darcy almost always returned home before his guests to ensure that everything was in accordance to his pleasure. Already widely known as the least genial of guests himself, he had the upper hand when operating from his own turf.
That very evening after dinner, he inspected the consignment of summer fruit which were thankfully unharmed (except for a few peaches, but after a few minutes of intent staring he merely shrugged and gave orders to turn the offending fruit into jam). Then he listened to verbal reports from his steward on the county's activities during his absence, made a detour to check on Mistress Darcy's room and suggested a few minor changes, checked the other guest rooms with the same care and only then did he settle down for the night.

Mrs Reynolds relayed all the events of the evening with a concerned air. Knowing the young Darcy as she did, she had learned to pick up the little clues that belied his moods and workings of his mind. There was an undercurrent of – something akin to nervous excitement in his manner although he appeared merely thoughtful most of the time. She wondered what or rather who could have occupied his thoughts.
Her eyes briefly darkened as she went over the list of guests that were arriving the next day. The sister of the young master's friend was accompanying Miss Darcy and the mere memory of Miss Bingley caused a sharp stab of annoyance to shoot through the housekeeper's ample frame. This was shortly followed by a jolt of irrational fear when she recalled the interest and care which Mr Darcy had shown in the other guest rooms.

With a barely repressed shudder, Mrs Reynolds held her glass up and nodded towards the pantry boy who waited patiently in the corner.
"Thank you Thomas, I could do with another drop of port."

Just then, the sounds of the back door opened and shut revealing moments later a grime encrusted Mr Pott as he marched across the clean floors of the kitchen.

Mrs Reynolds was not pleased.
"Mr Pott! What are you doing here?"

The gardener approached her and was about to lay a mud encrusted hand on the table before catching the warning gaze from the meticulous housekeeper's eye. He settled for drawing up a chair instead.

He averted further protests by coming straight to the point.
"Are the Stakes still on?"

Mrs Reynolds stiffened.
"I believe so", she remarked coldly. "it's disgraceful the way you men hold bets based on the marital bliss of your masters."

Ignoring this remark, Mr Pott continued, "Never mind that….I have an important tip."

He bent conspirately towards Mrs Reynolds who remained back due to the aroma of earth surrounding the gardener.

Mr Pott bought his voice down to a whisper.
"And - it's a dead cert!"

Despite herself, the housekeeper decided to overlook the previous transgressions of the whisperer and inclined her head slightly.
"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I have seen and heard things today that enable me to predict with certainty that there will be a new mistress at Pemberley before the year is out!"

Mrs Reynolds gave an involuntary gasp. Her suspicions were right! There was a certain someone occupying the young master's thoughts. She checked the further progress of that thought as her earlier fear caught up with her.
"It's…not one of the guests is it?"

The gardener gave her an odd look and at last comprehension flooded her apple-cheeked face. "You mean-" .

Nodding curtly, Mr Pott continued "I estimate the odds of an outsider (and they don't get more outside than that lass! ) at 33 – 1 . It's a fair enough margin and certainly beats Ol' Carol Bingley's 100 - 1."

He paused thoughtfully. "Do you think it's too far?"

Ignoring this crucial business enquiry as women are wont to do, Mrs Reynolds indulged herself in sentimental bliss over her favourite ward's future happiness.
"I knew it! I knew it! And what a pretty, well behaved young lady she is too. Oh! and so modest! no wonder she blushed so in the gallery!"


"Well?"

"Hmm..? Oh! I don't care a hang about those matters, Mr Pott. But anticipating your next question, I will put my wager on the er.. "outsider" hopefully leaving enough time to buy a new hat for the happy day!"

Mr Pott leaned back with the relaxed business stance that comes to those who know there's a sizable amount of money in the future.
"Exactly what I was about to suggest."

Fini