September Storm Relay Story Part 4

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Without further ado, here’s our fourth scene. Enjoy!

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Elizabeth sidled through the servants’ passage and down to the kitchen, the overwhelming timbre of Lady Catherine’s diatribe growing louder with each step.

“I will most certainly not! I assure you I have never worn such a rag, and I assure you I never will!”

When Elizabeth stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, Lady Catherine stood in front of the fire, her arms crossed over her chest and her bearing as proud as a rather muddy, sodden peacock. That poor feather on her hat still bouncing at the whim of the woman’s movements. Elizabeth’s mother stood before the great lady with her best night gown held out on display. “I assure you, Lady Catherine. The lace is quite fine.”

Lady Catherine’s nose crinkled in distaste. “I insist on waiting until my own excellent trunk is brought from the coach!”

Darcy gripped his hands by his sides while a long, slow exhale trickled from his lips. He’d never wanted to strangle his aunt in his life, yet she kept him from what he wished most with her demanding behaviour.

“Mr. Darcy?”

His heart leapt as he whipped around at the sound of Elizabeth’s lilting voice. Carefully, so he didn’t draw his aunt’s notice, he sidled closer to the object of his affection. “I cannot apologise enough for my aunt’s appalling behaviour. Your mother has been most generous in offering my aunt a bath as well as her own night clothes, but I am afraid my aunt has sent Richard and Bingley back to the coach for her trunk.”

Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. “Poor Miss Bates.”

“Pardon?” he asked, with a puzzled expression.

“I have just come from Miss Bates, who is quite distressed upon learning she is to share a bedchamber with Lady Catherine.”

“I beg your pardon?” The lady cried across the kitchen. “I am not accustomed to sharing a bedchamber. I have no intention—”

“That is enough!” bellowed Mr. Darcy. “You have insulted these people enough. You will take the bath you have been offered and wear Mrs. Bennet’s clothing and graciously share a room with Miss Bates. I will not hear another word on the matter. Do you understand?”

“Well! I have never!”

No doubt Lady Catherine would have continued if Colonel Fitzwilliam and Bingley hadn’t returned carrying a dripping, mud-laden trunk between them as though it contained half the rocks of Derbyshire.

“We found it downriver from the bridge,” said the colonel. “We had to haul it from the water.” They dropped the trunk with a bang as Lady Catherine threw up her arms.

“Finally! I am not accustomed to waiting. If I had gone, I would’ve returned within minutes! Really, Fitzwilliam. I would think a man in the King’s army could do better.” She lifted the lid, screaming as a small fish flopped from the insides of the trunk into her face. The poor creature flailed as it fell until it became unfortunately situated face down into the front of Lady Catherine’s décolleté.

Lady Catherine only screamed louder, her hands slapping at the bodice of her gown. “Mr. Bingley! Mr. Bingley!” The poor man became ashen at the woman’s shriek. “I require your assistance.”

“Is that someone calling for help?” asked Mr. Bingley in a desperate voice before fleeing back outside into the storm.

“He shall require help!” Colonel Fitzwilliam tore after Mr. Bingley.

Mr. Darcy whirled around. “Run,” he hissed, grabbing Elizabeth’s arm and propelling her back toward the hall.

“Oh! Miss Elizabeth!” exclaimed Miss Bates when they’d returned. “I do hope you’ve sorted out this debacle.”

“Why Miss Bates,” said Elizabeth, crossing her fingers in the folds of her skirt. “Lady Catherine has just informed me of how amenable she is to sharing a bedchamber with you. She greatly anticipates becoming better acquainted.”

Miss Bates blinked a few times and made to speak, but Miss Moreland rushed into the hall followed by the remaining members of their party. “I have heard the most dreadful shriek and such caterwauling. You have a ghost, Miss Elizabeth, do you not?”

The door flew open in a gust of wind and rain as Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam tore through the hall and ran upstairs to the bedchambers.

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should retire for the evening. It shall take time for the servants to sort out night clothes and see to all of the guests.” A harried-looking Mrs. Hill bustled through the servants’ entrance with a stack of bed linens in her arms. “Mrs. Hill,” he said loudly, nearly causing her to drop the sheets on the soaked carpets. “If you are bringing those to the bedchambers, would you be so kind as to show each of the guests where we will be spending the night. It would not do for us to make a mistake and discover ourselves in the wrong bedchamber.”

After Mrs. Hill bobbed a quick curtsey, she started up the stairs. “Yes, sir. If you will all follow me.”

Elizabeth slipped ahead of everyone, leaning closer to Mrs. Hill. “How does my mother fare with Lady Catherine?”

“Your mother’s gotten her in the bath, but it wouldn’t shock me if that great lady marched without a stitch of clothing to her bedchamber. She still adamantly refuses to wear your mother’s shift. She insists on wearing her own clothing. As it is, I’ll be up all night scrubbing as much of the mud as I can, but I fear every last gown in that trunk of hers is ruint.”

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