Elizabeth glanced up at the clock on the wall and then back at the machine she was operating. It was her first night running a machine without the guidance and tutelage of stinky Lukas and she had to admit that she found it to be a great deal more enjoyable than sweeping ever could be.
It was still several minutes before the horn would sound, signaling their second break of the night, so she turned to pick up another tray of mail from the pallet behind her and easily tossed it onto the edge of the feed belt before discarding the tray upside-down on the top of the machine's closed lids and using her hands to order the mail into a neat line, flush with the metal edge of the machine.
Another glance at the clock showed that there were now only two minutes before break, so she turned her attention to her operator's log, filling in the details that she could. Each mailing was named and broken into multiple passes, so that information and the run end time were all things that she could fill out in advance. The only line she needed to leave blank was the count of how much mail she had run up to that point. She wouldn't know that until she stopped the machine and the counter stopped ticking away.
No sooner had she picked up another tray of letters than the horn finally sounded. Leaving the full tray on the feed, she reached to hold back any more mail from being fed through the machine and gave it all a few seconds to clear before hitting the red button that powered the whole thing down. Jotting down her total mail run for the night up to this point, she joined her co-workers in their mass exodus from the floor to the break room, the floor seeming almost silent as it usually did once all the machines had been turned off.
Conversations started up as the workers moved in an untidy herd towards the exit and Elizabeth knew it was only a matter of time before Charlotte would catch up with her and pick up the threads of the conversation that they had started during the pre-shift meeting and continued at both their first break and their lunch hour.
The topic had been, of course, Mr. Bingley's apology to Jane. Since Elizabeth herself didn't have much firsthand knowledge of what had actually been said, their conversation had been full of speculation about all of the particulars but they had dwelt the longest on what Darcy's involvement might have been.
"I've been thinking," Charlotte said, jogging down the hallway to fall into step with Elizabeth, "Jane said he wasn't directly involved with whatever made Bingley break things off with her, right? The only thing I can think of that would be an indirect cause was if Darcy had said something-"
"Did you just say Darcy?" A new voice broke into the conversation and both women threw startled glances at the man who had joined them. It was George Wickham, and he seemed entirely unconscious of having broken into a private conversation, for he continued. "You don't mean William Darcy, do you?"
Elizabeth sighed internally and gave Charlotte a meaningful stare before replying. "Yes, George. She does mean William Darcy. What do you care?"
The defensiveness in her tone had everything to do with wanting to protect Jane's reputation among people who were unknown to her. Her sister would not be made into an object of general gossip among people who had no deeper connection to her than being co-workers with Elizabeth. Irritated that Charlotte, as the one person who did know Jane at least a little and who could therefore be a sounding board regarding the latest events, wasn't showing the same level of discretion, Elizabeth spoke far more sharply than she had intended.
George Wickham held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry," he said, flashing his white teeth in a charming smile. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. I'm just surprised that the news seems to be going around so fast."
They were in the lunchroom by this point and Elizabeth halted her progress towards the table that she and Charlotte usually sat at. "What news?" she demanded suspiciously.
George's face registered confusion. "So you don't know then? Sorry. I probably shouldn't have said anything."
The words couldn't have inspired more curiosity had they been specifically designed to do so. The two women exchanged a look before Charlotte grasped Wickham firmly by his upper arm and steered him towards their table.
"You can't drop remarks like that and expect to get away without telling what you know," she informed him, her tone brusquely no-nonsense. "Sit." She shoved him gently towards a chair. "Talk."
"Oh, yes ma'am," he drawled, taking the chair he had been directed towards and offering up a wink and a smile. "But not for nothing. Do you actually know Darcy?"
"I know he's arrogant and high-handed," Elizabeth put in, plopping gracelessly into her own chair and putting her feet up on the unused fourth chair.
George laughed, throwing back his head as he did so, seeming genuinely amused at her assessment.
Elizabeth studied him a moment, trying to determine why they had never really spoken previously to now. He had made a few friendly overtures before and had always seemed genial and polite. He was good-looking too, not that such things really mattered, but neither did they hurt. He approached six feet in height and had a muscular solidity to him that was very attractive. When paired with his open face, guileless blue eyes, general propensity to laugh and his casually disarrayed honey-blonde locks, it wasn't hard to see why most of the women on the shift tended to gravitate towards him. Even the married ones fussed over him more than what was strictly necessary.
So he was friendly and good-looking and seemed intelligent. None of these were reasons to hold him at arm's length, but up to this point she had. Giving herself a reminder that not all men were going to be as arrogant as Darcy or as inconstant as Bingley, Elizabeth decided then and there to give friendship with George Wickham a chance.
"You do know him," George was still grinning broadly. "I take it that he never took any pains to secure your good opinion."
"I don't believe he cares about anyone's opinions if they should happen to differ from his," Elizabeth replied dryly. "And yes. We had the misfortune to meet several times."
"You have my condolences," George responded solemnly. "I grew up with him myself. My father worked for his father and we had a boyhood friendship. It didn't last past Darcy gaining an understanding of how his sphere was so far removed from my own, I'm sorry to say."
Intrigued by this information, Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask a question but Charlotte was impatient to hear the gossip that George had hinted at earlier.
"He's a snob," she said. "We get it. What were you talking about earlier? What have you heard about him recently?"
"Ah. That." George rearranged his frame deliberately, as though trying to give himself more time to think of the phrasing he wished to use. Leaning back casually in his chair, he stretched long legs to rest his feet on the same chair that Elizabeth was using for the purpose.
Though their feet didn't touch, Elizabeth felt that the action was somehow intimate and she was briefly unsettled, wondering if she should remove her feet and put them safely on the floor and out of reach. But that was ridiculous. There was nothing implied in the gesture other than that he wished to relax while he had time to do so.
"I've been here since noon," George began. "I've been trying to pick up extra hours whenever I can and they were shorthanded on the day shift. So imagine my surprise when I'm on break and I see my former friend, the excellent William Darcy, walking around with the management like he owns the place."
"Please," Elizabeth snorted. "That's how he always walks."
George laughed again, the sound low and deep this time. Nodding and shooting a wink at Elizabeth, he agreed and continued. "He does.
"Anyway, I was curious as to why he might be here. I know enough about him from what you see in the papers to know that this is not the sort of industry that our mutual friend has ever been involved in before. Of course, he's often breaking into new areas, so I figured it wasn't entirely unlikely that he might be assessing the potential earnings of Blue Line."
Elizabeth groaned. "Oh, I hope not."
George shrugged. "I nosed around in the few minutes I had," he admitted. "Which means I tried to charm some information out of the secretarial staff. If rumor can be trusted, it seems that Darcy has already made the purchase of the company and we're all supposed to hear the announcement at the next shift meeting that we have new ownership.
"And," he added, voice growing softer, "it seems that I'll need to start looking for another job."
"What?" Charlotte and Elizabeth demanded nearly in unison.
"You think he'll have you fired?" Elizabeth was the one to finish the question.
He shrugged again, broad shoulders slumping. "If he ever finds out I'm employed here, sure. I could see him doing that. He's already run me out of one job, so why not do it again?"
"I can't believe the nerve of that guy," Elizabeth fumed, the bare fragments of that story having resonated deeply with her. Then a thought occurred. "Wait. He's already fired me once, too. Do you think I'm going to get fired? He knows I work here!"
"Surely not," Charlotte said instantly, at the same time Wickham was nodding thoughtfully, as though he could easily picture such a thing occurring.
The last several minutes of their break were spent again in speculation, but this time it centered around what motives Darcy could possibly have for purchasing Blue Line and whether or when or how it might affect either Elizabeth or George.
Ending the discussion on a grim note, Elizabeth trudged back to her machine and felt her heart squeeze in surprise when she found Mr. Collins waiting there for her.
"Michael will be running this machine for you for a few minutes. We need to talk in my office."
Wondering if Darcy could possibly have moved so quickly as to have her fired without cause on the very day he took over the company, Elizabeth followed Collins to his office, half trembling with an equal blend of anxiety and indignation and half focused on inconsequential details such as wondering whether Collins were, in fact, sweating more profusely than he normally did.
If he was, it could be a bad sign for her. If he had been tasked with letting her go, he would know that the action would be unjust. Terminating someone's employment was the sort of decision that was largely left up to the shift managers who oversaw the employees and tracked their daily performance.
All at once, Elizabeth felt clammy and a wave of nausea swept over her. She was going to get fired. She just knew it.
Once in Collins' cluttered office, he shut the door. Another bad sign. On the other side of it, machines were once more whirring into life and the clatter of mail sounded as it was sorted into its bins.
Taking the unbalanced chair that Collins offered, Elizabeth waited with mounting nerves as he moved to sit behind his desk, looking and smelling as unpleasant as she had ever seen him.
Let it be quick, she prayed silently and then remembered that this was Collins. Quick was not in his nature. He would spend the next half hour detailing all the trumped up reasons why she was about to be let go and then finally get around to actually saying the words and escorting her out of the building.
She clenched her hands into fists in her lap and attempted to keep her face devoid of any emotion.
"As you know," Collins began and then instantly corrected himself. "No. That is to say. As you are unlikely in the extreme to know - for I myself have just found out this very day that these changes are afoot - er. There are changes to the company.
"My mother has always said changes are good. 'Sonny boy,' she tells me, 'changes are what keep life from getting stale.' And so I have found her to be correct in this, as she is correct in so many things. We shall undoubtedly see some fresh, er, changes in the coming days and I have been instructed by my superiors to tell you of the impact they will have on your particular situation."
Collins paused, clearing his throat loudly and fishing around in his pockets for a handkerchief which he at last produced and then used to mop his balding forehead.
"My particular situation?" Elizabeth echoed, just because she couldn't sit there in the suspended terror of total silence while she waited for him to get to the point.
"Yes, your particular situation. I understand that you had trained to be a secretary before coming to work with us?"
"Yes," Elizabeth acknowledged this cautiously, wondering what on earth that might have to do with anything.
"Excellent," Collins beamed, revealing discolored rows of crooked teeth. "A new position has been created on the day shift," he continued, throwing Elizabeth's grasp of the situation even more off-kilter. "It's uh-"
Elizabeth became aware that she was bouncing one leg in agitation, the motion causing her decrepit chair to rock back and forth, beating out an annoying tattoo on the cement floor. With great effort, she stilled herself, waiting as Collins sifted through the detritus on his desk and eventually came up with a crumpled piece of paper.
He consulted this, squinting at the handwritten notes, face relaxing back into placid slackness only once he had apparently deciphered their meaning. "Ah yes. There is a new secretarial position that will provide support to the main office. I have been instructed to urge you to apply for it."
Elizabeth was completely still now, digesting this revelation. So she was not to be fired, it seemed, but instead clumsily guided to a new opportunity that sounded as though it had been designed expressly for her.
For just a moment, she was tempted.
Then the anger began to burn low in her.
"Mr. Collins," she asked baldly, "were your instructions given to you from the new owner of Blue Line?"
He gaped at her, clearly surprised that she aware of the fact that Blue Line had been recently purchased. "W-well, yes," he stammered and then tried to catch himself. "Th-that is. I mean..."
Feeling her anger flame even higher, Elizabeth stood. With as much self-possession as she could muster, she spoke coolly to Collins, who was now squirming and sweating still more, having clearly divulged information that he had been instructed to keep secret.
"I thank you for passing along the information regarding this opportunity. I assure you that I will give it my fullest consideration."
Without waiting for him to make a response or to dismiss her, she turned on her heel and opened the door, letting the noisy bustle of the floor wash into the small office. Stepping out into the fresher air of the wide open space, she took a deep breath and stalked back to her machine and tapped Michael to let him know she was back and could take over.
For the last two hours of the night, she worked hard, concentrating as much as she could on the rhythm of throwing the mail, adjusting the feed and helping her sweepers man the side of the machine that she was on. When they finished the run, about a half hour before the next shit was due to arrive, she didn't slow her place as they pulled it down, putting sleeves over the trays to contain the sorted mail and pulling the heavy, full cages into the back part of the warehouse where the trays would be checked for accuracy, labeled and sent out the door.
But no matter how diligently she threw herself into her labors, it wasn't enough to distract her thoughts from what she had discovered this night.
Whatever his reasons might have been, Darcy had purchased Blue Line and apparently created a position that he wanted her to hold. It was all she knew for sure, and though she racked her brain for answers, she could not begin to guess at his motivations for such extraordinary actions.
By the time she arrived home, mentally and physically exhausted, she had arrived at a series of definite conclusions. First, whatever had caused Darcy to undertake this course of action didn't matter. Second, he was even more manipulative and controlling than she had originally given him credit for. Third, applying for that position was the last thing in the world she could possibly be tempted to do.
If Darcy desired a thing and it was in her power to affect the outcome, she would defy him. He would never be permitted to have even an ounce of mastery over her life.
Resolved, she at last passed into a restless and uncomfortable sleep where Darcy invaded her life once more, haughtily informing her that he knew what was best for her and that she had better do as he said.
It was not a good night.
A/N: I barely managed to get this written and it only got a cursory once-over from me. So yeah. Hope it's not too riddled with mistakes.
On the plus side, my boss did some interviews last week so we're at least one step closer to my not having to do the work of two people. Back to the minus side, it's been a freaking month already so I'm guessing the most optimistic outlook is getting help (and therefore my writing time back) sometime in the middle of next month.
Next up, the dinner. I'm going to warn you all in advance that writing big group scenes is not a strong suit of mine, so I expect the chapter to be tricky to write as well as being fun to work on. Hopefully we won't see posting delays, but it's a possibility.