Posted on Friday, 25 April 2008

“We are lost,” observed Mrs Darcy cheerfully.

“No, we are not,” her husband ground out between clenched teeth.

Elizabeth stemmed her hands in her hips and archly challenged him, “Tell me then! Where are we?”

Darcy glared at her, “We are in Bingley’s new house.”

“Where exactly?” She was having entirely too much fun with this.

The master of Pemberley grunted angrily, “Bingley’s house is smaller than our own. We cannot be lost. The idea is simply preposterous.”

Elizabeth opened the next door, gestured into the small chamber and asked, “Why then is this not the library?”

“We would not be here, had you not insisted that we check the spelling in a dictionary.” He did not even look into the room.

“I would not have insisted, had you not been so obstinate,” she said happily preparing for a lengthy argument.

“I obstinate?” He broke off and listened down the corridor. “Someone is coming. Quick!” he hissed and pushed her into the room.

Amused, she watched him listen at the door. “Did you just shove me into a small, dark room because you do not want to admit that we have lost our way?”

“We. Are. Not. Lost.” He sounded frustrated. “I know exactly where we are.”

“Then it must be our surroundings that are not where they should be.”

“You are not helping, dear.”

“I know. I am merely waiting until you get over yourself and let me ask someone for help.”

Darcy pretended to not have heard her. “We might deduce something from what is in one of the rooms on this floor. Then we at least know-”

“-How far we are from ever finding our way to the library?” suggested Mrs Darcy sweetly.

“Elizabeth, please. Humour me.” He looked as frustrated as he had sounded.

“What I do not do for love,” muttered the lady under her breath and looked around the room. “Well, if you mean to reach the library via below stairs, we should be on the right way. The kitchen must be fairly close by as this is a store room for preserves.”

She began ferreting about the shelves. He watched her surprised. “Elizabeth, what are you doing?”

“Mamma always said that you know whether a mistress is keeping good house by looking at what she has in stock.” She rummaged about the preserves. “Peaches! I hope that Jane will serve them while we are here. Pickles, peas, beans, tomatoes...”

“Is that the reason why Mrs Reynolds had to stock up on pickled pumpkins even though none of us like them?” he wondered.

“It it always worthwhile to be prepared for all eventualities. You might one day invite a friend who eats nothing but pickled pumpkins.”

Darcy thought the chances of this happening slim to non-existent. “I assure you that none of my friends live on such a diet. Naturally, I cannot vouch for future acquaintances. I could ask them about their food preferences when we are introduced, I guess,” he mused. “If any of them avows that he eats nothing but pickled pumpkins, I shall turn away and say ‘He is tolerable, I suppose, but his eating habits are not tolerable enough to tempt me’. Then we shall never be bothered with him.”

“I hope you are joking,” said Elizabeth sternly. But her twitching lips belied her amusement.

Darcy merely grinned. “Have you finished stocktaking now?”

“Yes, let us go and find the library.”

They slowly ambled along the corridor.

“Is Jane keeping a good house then?”

“A very good house. She even has pickled pumpkins.”

A number of wrong turns and thirty minutes later...

“I think the rooms are moving in this house,” declared Darcy while glaring into yet another room that had the audacity to not be the library. “The moment we are not looking they change places. The house does not like me.”

“You have no idea how paranoid that sounds,” remarked Elizabeth.

“I know exactly how paranoid that sounds. I just do not care anymore.”

“Then maybe I can finally ask someone for the way.” She had not much hope for it but she said it anyway.

“No,” was the implacable, though unsurprising, answer.

“Why? What is so bad about asking for the way?”

“Have you any idea what Bingley would do if he found out? He would never let me live this down.”

“Do you mean to say,” she pronounced slowly, “that we have traipsed about this house from the cellars to the attics for who knows how long because you cannot take a little teasing from your friend? A friend, too, who is far too good-natured to make so much out of a little matter of relative geography.”

“You have known him for how long? Four years? You do not know him as I do. Underneath all that good-naturedness and the smiles and the happy facade, he has a dark and mean streak. Nobody can be so annoyingly cheerful without being really mean at heart.”

“Is this your paranoia speaking again? Because you sound as if you are out of your mind.”

Darcy did not hear her for he had taken off at a fast pace. “I think I know this hall,” he cried joyously over his shoulder. “There is no need to tell Bingley anything. The library should be right around the corner.”

“If I had a pound for every time you have said that today,” muttered Elizabeth but followed her husband.

This time though, Mr Darcy had been right. The library was indeed around the corner.

Grabbing a dictionary, he asked, “What was the word again?”

“You forgot?”

“Well, I was preoccupied with matters of relative geography,” he defended himself. “Now stop gloating and tell me the word.”

“Uhm,” said Mrs Darcy.

“You do not remember either,” he stated incredulously. “We have wasted an entire afternoon because you insisted on checking the spelling and then you do not even remember the word.”

“Neither do you,” she pointed out.

Husband and wife looked at each other mutely.

“Well,” he said after a moment of deliberation. “I guess there is nothing to do about that now. We had better go back to our rooms and change for dinner. We are going to be late already.”

“Yes,” she agreed with a sigh and they left the library again.

“Where are our rooms?”

Meanwhile in another part of the house...

“It is very nice to take the circumferential route to the dining room, do you not agree, Jane?” Mr Bingley was determined to be cheerful. “We see so many pleasant aspects of our house that we have not had the chance to see before.”

“You are right, Charles,” said his wife complacently. “But I wish you would let me ask a servant. I am certain they would be delighted to help us.”

“No, Jane. Absolutely not,” he said resolutely. The jovial mask had slipped from his face. “I do not know how or when but I know that it would get back to Darcy eventually and then I would never hear the end of it.”

“I cannot believe Mr Darcy to be so unkind as to hold such a trifling matter against you.” Jane wondered if her mother had been right in more than one aspect when she had told her that men and women were different.

Bingley muttered darkly, “To get lost and ask for the way! In my own house, too! Can you imagine what kind of ammunition that would give him? Darcy would make sport of me for years to come. No, I prefer if we found the dining room on our own.”

Mrs Bingley sighed slightly but patted her husband’s arm understandingly and said, “We should try to get out of the servant quarters first.”

The End