“Call?”
“Telephone. A family member or a social worker, maybe?”
He looked at me as if I’d just spoken in Dutch.
“OK, well, in that case, how about you sit down and have a nice cup of tea, and I’ll see if I can get you some help. How does that sound?”
For a moment I thought he was going to argue, but then his shoulders sagged. “I would be most grateful for sustenance, for I have not dined since Netherfield this past evening.”
“Great. Why don’t you sit here, and I’ll get you the menu.”
I ushered him over to a table in the corner—as far away from the other customers as possible—gave him a menu, and then retreated to the staff room to call Bianca’s aunt, leaving the man staring around the café as if he’d never set foot in one before.
Chapter Four
B’s aunt confirmed my suspicion that the man was likely having an acute mental health episode and advised me to take him to the nearest hospital. In the meantime, she said to try to keep him as calm as possible, which meant playing along with his delusion so he wouldn’t get upset. With that in mind, I headed back over to his table with a pot of tea.
“Would you like to order anything to eat, Mr. Darcy?”
He studied the menu, frowning. “I am unfamiliar with any of the dishes presented here. What, pray tell, are Sherlock Scones?”
“They’re scones with clotted cream and jam. We’re a literary-themed café, so all the dishes have book-related names. Although, I’ll admit, some of the puns are pretty weak.”
“I consider myself a scholarly gentleman, but I cannot boast to recognize any of these references. Lord of the Ring Doughnuts?”
“That’sLord of the Ringsby Tolkien.”
He shook his head. “Crepes of Wrath?”
“Yeah, that’sGrapes of…” I paused when I realized what was goingon. All these books had been written after the early-nineteenth century, the periodPride and Prejudicewas set in, and the time this man seemed to believe himself to be from. I studied the menu, looking for any titles that he might recognize. “How about a Hamelette? That’s a ham-and-cheese omelette, and probably one of the least offensive items on the menu.”
“As you wish,” he said curtly.
I returned to the till, where Enzo was waiting for me with pursed lips. “Dana tells me we have Mr. Darcy in the house.”
“That’s what he thinks, poor sod.”
“I told you he had odd energy; I felt it the second he walked in. I’m not sensing anything evil or dangerous, but there’s something freaky going on there.”
We both stared at the man, who was cautiously poking the light bulb on the table lamp.
“He’s not as hot as Matthew Macfadyen or Colin Firth, is he?” Enzo said.
“I think he’s quite handsome.”
As I said this, I remembered that moment he’d first looked at me, when I’d felt as if my whole world was tilting off its axis. I’d never believed in love at first sight—instalove had always been one of my least favorite romance tropes—but was this what it felt like, both thrillingly new and as if I was somehow coming home? And I knew he’d felt it too; I’d seen the shocked recognition flash across his face. But then again, the man was clearly going through something, so this was hardly the time to be thinking about romance.
I served him his Hamelette, which he devoured in about three minutes, and then I took him a slice of Life of (Apple) Pi for dessert. I knew he was unlikely to have any money to settle the bill, so I paid for it out of my own pocket. By that point, it was the end of my shift, so I changed backinto my own clothes and headed over to his table. He looked at me in confusion, clearly not recognizing me out of my Elizabeth Bennet dress.
“It was my work uniform,” I explained.
“I was under the impression—”
“You thought I was fromPride and Prejudicetoo?”
His brow furrowed. “Where is Pride and Prejudice?”
“It’s the book, Mr.… You know what, never mind. You said you wanted to get back to Netherfield Park?”