Page 46 of The Briar Bargain
"I can clear the worst of the mess in a day or two," Linton continued, following Darcy's gaze with professional understanding. "We can begin today. But I would not think to test the bridge with so much as a pony cart until she has been properly measured and walked by someone who knows what to look for."
"How long until a proper carriage might pass safely?" Darcy asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the way his pulse had quickened at the man's words.
Linton considered this with the deliberation of a judge weighing evidence. "End of the week, if fortune favours us and the weather holds fair."
Darcy said nothing immediately, though his heart made what he could only describe as a thoroughly disreputable leap at the prospect. Four moredays. The sensation was so unexpected and so inappropriate that he felt compelled to offer some conventional expression of regret.
"The Miss Bennets are no doubt eager to return to their family," he said at last, the words feeling strangely formal on his tongue. "But they will hardly wish to travel if the route presents any danger."
"No," Bingley agreed. Darcy detected the poorly concealed relief in his friend's voice. "They would not be reckless."
“Who builds an estate with only one way out?” Hurst asked indignantly. “It is madness.”
“There are other ways around, sir,” Mr. Linton said. “Such as the northern bridge. But they are considerably farther away and less convenient. Besides, the estate’s never been isolated like this before. Even the flood of ’96 did not cut Netherfield off from Meryton.”
Hurst huffed and attempted to turn his horse away. As he brought the stallion around, he exclaimed in surprise and shouted a remarkably colourful oath. The stallion reared and there was a tremendous thud, followed by a moment of profound silence.
Hurst sat up a moment later, half-submerged in what had previously appeared to be solid ground, but which was in fact a deceptively shallow canal. His hat had fallen from his head, his carefully arranged hair hung in sodden strings about his face, and his clothing was coated in mud. His expression was one of such exquisite offence that Darcy had to bite the inside of his cheek to maintain his composure.
"Are you injured, Hurst?" Bingley inquired with admirable restraint, though his voice carried a suspicious tremor.
"I am humiliated," Hurst replied with wounded dignity, struggling to stand upright with the aid of a conveniently placed willow branch. "Which, at my age and station, is considerably worse than any mere physical injury."
"Your horse’s footing failed you, sir," Mr. Linton commented drily.
"Yes, thank you," Hurst responded with some heat. “Damned rabbits ran right under Poseidon’s hooves.”
“Rabbits?” Bingley cried. He stood in his stirrups. “What did they look like?”
“One black, one black-and-white spotted,” Hurst barked. “What difference does it make?”
But Darcy knew from Bingley’s smile that these were Peter Farrow’s rabbits. He shook his head. The rabbits had removed themselves from harm when threatened. They had been wiser than the humans.
Ah, well. Bingley would enjoy telling Peter they were safe.
“Your hat, sir,” Linton said, nodding at the riverbank, where Hurst’s fine beaver topper had tumbled down to the river and was floating on its crown, spinning gently in the eddy.
Bingley made a strangled sound that might have been either sympathy or poorly suppressed laughter. Darcy did not bother to disguise his amusement, though he did attempt to moderate it to a level that might be considered charitable.
Hurst picked his way down to the bank and made a valiant lunge. Missed. Muttering, he stepped deeper, made another snatch, and this time, caught the hat. He placed it on his head at once, whereupon a stream of river water trickled down the back of his neck.
He shuddered. “Well. That is invigorating. I daresay I am now qualified to join the Navy.”
This produced a snort from Mr. Linton and laughs from Darcy and Bingley.
Darcy accepted Hurst’s sodden glove as he hauled the man back up to truly solid ground, muddying himself thoroughly in the process. Fortunately, he did not think Harrison would disapprove if he was awarded a vail in addition to his usual pay.
“Louisa shall find this tale highly diverting,” Bingley said.
“I shall be treated to no less than an hour of pointed lecture on the perils of inattention, followed by a full inventory of my husbandly failings,” Hurst replied, though a reluctant smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “And”—he glanced down at the state of his boots—"she will take particular delight in this shade of mud, as it clashes so violently with my waistcoat.”
"You ought to have allowed me to assign you a proper mount," Bingley said, "instead of insisting on your own horse. You know he has not been tested in such sloppy conditions."
"A mistake I shall certainly not repeat,” Hurst assured Bingley, "assuming I survive the inevitable scolding from my beloved wife." He brushed at his lapel with scant success. "Let us finish what we came to do."
They remained just long enough for Bingley to resolve the practical details of repair with Mr. Linton, who agreed to gather men from the estate and begin the work of clearing the debris that very afternoon. The old man promised to send daily reports to the house, and Bingley produced paper and pencil from his coat pocket, recording the list of additional tools and labourers that would be required for the task.
As they turned their horses towards home, Darcy allowed his mount to fall naturally into step beside Bingley's mare. Hurst, meanwhile, squelched along behind them leading his horse, determined not to meet any additional disasters.
