Page 123 of The Difference of a Darcy
Mrs. Reynolds hesitated a moment longer, then sighed. “Very well. But please, Miss Darcy, promise me you will keep silent.” No one seemed to notice the housekeeper’s use of her mistress’s maiden name.
“I will,” Georgiana vowed.
“I have sent John up the hill to keep watch. He is to light a lantern if anyone arrives,” Mrs. Reynolds informed them. “I will be keeping watch in the drawing room.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said earnestly. “Truly.”
Mrs. Reynolds waved a hand, already turning for the door. “No thanks, only caution. And prayers, if you have any left to spare.”
When she was gone, Mrs. Wells looked between the two women and gave a small, resigned sigh. “Well, there is no sense in starving while we wait,” she said, filling two bowls from the pot on the hearth. “Eat up, girls—begging your pardon, Mrs. Wickham.”
Georgiana startled, then gave a weak giggle. “It is quite all right, Mrs. Wells.”
The cook smiled faintly and handed her mistress a bowl, who immediately tucked in. “That is better, my dear. There is no shame in keeping up one’s strength.”
They ate in near silence, save for the occasional clink of a spoon or the soft pop of the fire. The stew was rich and warm, a small comfort in a day of fear. Elizabeth used a crust of bread to soak up the last of the broth, and when Georgiana looked scandalized by the act, she said with a teasing smile, “It prevents wasting food and makes washing dishes easier.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Georgiana mimicked her and dabbed the last drops from her own bowl.
Mrs. Wells chuckled, shaking her head. “I wager you gave your mother all sorts of trouble as a girl, Beth.”
“You have no idea,” Elizabeth said with a smile, though her mind was half elsewhere—listening for hooves, for footsteps, for any sound that might shatter the fragile peace of that small kitchen.
When Mrs. Wells at last glanced toward the clock and frowned, Elizabeth’s heart quickened.
“Best settle yourselves in the scullery,” the cook said. “If he made decent time, he will be back soon. When he does arrive, Mrs. Reynolds will tell him you have both gone. I will lock the door after you go in. Try to push a barrel or two in front of it, just in case.”
With a murmured word of thanks, Elizabeth guided Georgiana through the narrow door. The air inside was cool and faintly scented with soap and coal dust. Together, they arranged the blankets at the wall shared by the kitchen, as it would be warmest. Looking around, Elizabeth quickly dashed out to the kitchen, then returned with a pail.
She caught Georgiana looking at her curiously. “In case we have need of a chamber pot,” she explained, causing the younger girl to blush.
Mrs. Wells lingered only a moment more, her weathered face unusually tender. “Keep quiet, girls. Be safe. May angels be with you, and the good Lord protect us all.”
Then she closed the door and turned the key.
The soft click of the lock echoed like thunder in the stillness that followed.
Chapter 24
The sound of the lock caused Georgiana to let out a small whimper. Elizabeth looked at her compassionately.
“Here,” she said softly, “let us make you comfortable.”
She spread one of the blankets upon the floor, folding it over several times until it formed a makeshift cushion. Then she took another and wrapped it carefully about the girl’s shoulders. “There. That is a little better.”
The scullery was narrow and dim, its single window high and small, letting in only the faintest hint of afternoon light. Rows of shelves lined one wall, and barrels were stacked along the other—some filled with flour, others with salted fish, potatoes, or dried peas.
Elizabeth moved toward them, testing the weight of each one in turn. She tipped them gently, judging which were light enough to move yet heavy enough to serve her purpose.
“Let me help,” Georgiana said quickly, starting to rise.
Elizabeth turned at once. “No, no—do not strain yourself. I can manage. Sit and rest.”
The younger woman hesitated, then obeyed, her hands clasped over her rounded middle.
“Best keep you and your babe safe,” Elizabeth murmured, more to herself than to Georgiana, as she began to roll one barrel toward the door.
After a few minutes’ effort, Elizabeth had several of the barrels positioned near the door—enough to hinder any sudden attempt to open it should the lock fail. She straightened, brushing her hands together, and turned toward the small hamper Mrs. Wells had left them.
