Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

March 1813, Pemberley

" L ord, Darcy, but you look like something the cat dragged in!"

Darcy, soaked in slush and mud, turned away from the roaring torrent of dirty water to see his friend Jamie Hedges dismounting from his horse on the road behind him.

"You're going to need some mighty big logs to stem that tide," Jamie said, shaking his head at the ferocity of the flooded stream.

Darcy nodded. "We have been considering that same possibility. Trees are being cut as we speak—the largest we are able to drag down here. I am concerned about first moving them into place, and once moved, how long they will last."

"Pritchard and I can send some men to help yours, and I bet old Fletcher will help too. He ain't that far away. And it don't need to be a permanent repair, just long enough to put up some protection for the buildings downstream. It wouldn't do to try anything fixed till the stream's down to a trickle in summer."

Above the noise of the rushing water, Darcy heard another voice. "Count me in too, lads. The more hands we throw at the problem, the sooner it'll be repaired."

It was Everett Perkins, another farmer with holdings similar to those of Hedges, dismounting his horse. He looked at Darcy and slapped him on the back. "What happened to you, son? Did you fall in?"

The snow melt in Derbyshire had been far worse than usual, compounded by heavy spring rains, resulting in rivers and streams too full and fast to be confined in their banks, pushing rocks, trees, and vast quantities of mud downstream. One of the casualties had been a small earthen dam on Pemberley land that had partially collapsed. Darcy and his steward had spent the morning slogging through the mud and slush endeavouring to come up with a plan to prevent the dam from giving way entirely, thus endangering cottages and farm buildings in the shallow valley below.

The three men, along with the steward and the workmen in Darcy's employ, talked through a plan and agreed to come back in the afternoon with more men, horses, lots of stout rope, and the logs from the trees being cut down before going their separate ways.

A short time later, clean, warm, and full, Darcy thought with gratitude of his neighbours, now also his friends. Georgiana had called them his farmer cronies, and he had laughed at the idea. He valued the time he spent with them and had been surprised at how they had embraced him as one of their own after he had barely taken the time to know them for so many years. They had more than filled the vacuum left behind by Bingley's marriage and removal from society and Fitzwilliam's long absences. In his secret heart of hearts, he treasured the fact that these old friends of his father's called him ‘son'.

They comprised a motley group. All were older than he, a few from his father's generation. All were landowners but at varying levels of society; Jamie Hedges and Everett Perkins especially could not be considered gentlemen. He could understand why his father never mentioned them to his mother; she might have insisted that he end those friendships he so enjoyed. Strangely, they reminded him slightly of the neighbourhood surrounding Netherfield Park, where he had stayed over a year before. He had not taken the time to know those people either, having considered them beneath his notice; an eccentric collection of country folk worthy only of the barest civility, certainly not friendship.

A few hours later, gentlemen, farmers, and labourers were gathered back at the dam site. Before they could go forwards with their plan, Mr Pritchard pulled up in his gig, a younger man sitting next to him.

"Ho there, lads, wait a bit! I have someone here who can advise us!" The younger man helped the old man down from the gig, and they walked over to Darcy.

"Darcy, may I present Mr Lionel Fielding. He has inherited the old Harrison place, Birchwood Grange."

Darcy was impatient to begin and wondered why introductions were necessary at this particular time. He opened his mouth to speak, but old Pritchard interrupted, one finger in the air. " And , he is a trained engineer! He has experience with dams and bridges!"

Darcy laughed and bowed to Mr Fielding. He held out his hand. "Welcome to the neighbourhood, sir! You are just the man we need!"

Work was delayed until Mr Fielding could consider the situation. For the rest of the day, they laboured with ropes and horses, moving the great logs into place upstream, guiding them down the stream bed with ropes on either side, easing them into place and letting them settle. The quantity of water escaping the dam slowed and then diminished. While water from snowmelt was still flowing into the reservoir, it was mostly contained for now, and they would spend the next few days devising ways to protect the properties in harm's way with a mix of diversion schemes involving ditches and earthen dikes. But for now, they could rest.

It would be, Darcy mused, another excellent excuse for avoiding Easter at Rosings. Not an excuse, he chided himself, a reason , a very important reason. The next day, he wrote to Fitzwilliam and to Lady Catherine, explaining that necessity dictated he remain at Pemberley to deal with the floods.

The next week, he received two letters in return. Lady Catherine filled several pages in a blistering screed, castigating him in strong language that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, threatening him with ruin if he did not come to Rosings immediately and marry Anne. She is mad, truly mad, Darcy thought as he set the unsettling letter aside. He would not dignify it with an answer, but he would notify his uncle.

The other letter was from Fitzwilliam and consisted of a single page containing a single word: Coward.

In his adult years, Mr Bennet had not enjoyed the city, though he could admit it possessed some diversions. He could even understand there were pleasures to be had and remembered being something of a London gadabout on his university holidays. Now here he was, on his way home from another journey to the city, another wedding. After rarely leaving Longbourn for years, he had been to London three times in the last six months. Strange indeed.

He had wondered whether he would have anything to say to the German fellow, Mary's new husband. Music was not a thing he understood. Strangely, given the shrillness of her voice, Fanny had been the one with the ear for it, the sense of rhythm and melody, but had never had musical training. She had been a delightful dance partner. He had liked Herr Heidemann, however, and recognised in him a character similar to Mary's but with a dry sense of humour. Heidemann was a well-educated man, twelve years Mary's senior, old enough to understand her singular character and recognise her attributes. They would complement each other nicely, and he would take great care of her.

One daughter with a husband and household, one more daughter married in St Benet's, one other daughter now ensconced in the house on Gracechurch Street. Which of his daughters was the surprise. Kitty was the daughter he was leaving behind, and Lizzy was dozing in the seat across from him in the carriage, bundled in blankets for the bumpy return to Longbourn.

The Gardiners had expressed concern when they learnt that Elizabeth had again deferred her stay in London in favour of a younger sister. Lizzy was almost two-and-twenty compared to Kitty's eighteen years of age. She was certainly not on the shelf; how he despised that expression! But Kitty, although she had matured a great deal since their great trauma over a year before, was still very young. Mr Bennet and the Gardiners agreed to view Kitty's stay as a chance for her to acquire some polish and further her education. They would postpone introducing her to any single gentlemen for the time being.