He ought to step away. He knew it. He could make some business of the rain, or the path, or the comfort of his guests.
A shape darkened the western arch, and Darcy straightened. For one sharp instant he saw only a man where no man ought to be, high on the rise in a lightning storm, with the ladies crowded in a stone chamber at his back. He moved half a step forward.
Then the wind brought him the unmistakable smell of river water and trout.
The figure stepped in under the dripping stone and strode over to stand next to Miss Elizabeth, forcing everyone to shuffle again. Water ran from the brim of his hat and the hem of his coat, and he held a string of fish.
“Mr. Gardiner,” said Darcy, perplexed.
“Darcy!” cried Mr. Gardiner, greeting him as warmly as he might a friend at the door of his club. “And half the party here before me. Excellent. I had begun to fear my niece had got the better of you all and climbed still higher.”
He said it lightly. His eyes were on Miss Elizabeth as he said it, and Darcy understood him at once. His respect for the man increased, if that was possible.
Mr. Gardiner had come because his niece was here, high above the house, on a rise in a folly with three unmarried gentlemen and several ladies who, however respectable, were unwed and could in no way be considered chaperones. Mrs. Hurst might have done, had she and her sister not slighted Miss Jane Bennet while she was staying in the Gardiners’ home. He never said that he felt Miss Elizabeth required his protection, but everything in his presence did.
Miss Elizabeth understood it too. Her colour rose a little, but her eyes softened. “I am perfectly well, Uncle.”
“So I see,” said Mr. Gardiner. “Wet through, but composed, which is precisely what I expected of you. Do you know, Lizzy, I have had the mostextraordinaryday. Three more trout hooked before the storm broke, and then, at the very instant I began to think myself a sportsman, the heavens opened. Providence, sir, has a sense of comic timing I had not before credited it with.”
Miss Elinor gave a startled burst of laughter and clapped a hand over her mouth in horror at herself.
Mr. Gardiner looked down at himself and then beamed at her. “Just so, Miss Elinor. Itisvery funny. I am reliablyinformed by my wife that I have no notion when to come in out of the rain, and today has proven the charge a just one.”
Miss Bingley scuttled back with a look of revulsion as the string of trout passed within a yard of her gown.
The trout were laid out in state upon the cold stone, under the water that was spilling off the domed roof.
There really was no resisting them. They lay there, silver, speckled, and absurdly large, though still not as enormous as the fish of Master Henry’s imagination.
Bingley pronounced the largest the finest he had ever seen out of the Derwent. Mr. Gardiner corrected him, with relish, as to its probable weight. Richard offered a soldier’s estimate and was instantly disputed.
Miss Bingley said nothing. Her expression suggested that no fish, however large, could justify being present, let alone dead, in her company.
Mrs. Hurst, who did not care for fish and announced as much, examined them anyway. “Well,” she said at last, with great reluctance, “they are, for fish, tolerably handsome ones.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes met Darcy’s then, and there was such sudden mirth in them that he knew she had remembered the same thing.
Tolerable, but not handsome enough.
He had not supposed the words could ever be restored to him as a pleasure.
Her mouth trembled. His answered. It was the smallest possible laugh, and neither of them made a sound.
Bingley saw it. He instantly looked down at the fish, which had apparently just revealed itself to be the cleverest creature in Derbyshire.
Mr. Gardiner saw it too and spared them both by bowing solemnly to Mrs. Hurst. “My dear madam,” he said, “from onewho does not care for fish, that is praise of the most disinterested kind. I shall value it accordingly.”
Mrs. Hurst blinked, uncertain whether she had been complimented.
Miss Bingley’s mouth tightened. “You have been very fortunate in your sport, Mr. Gardiner.”
“Very,” said he. “Though I have found Derbyshire fortunate in more than its rivers. Its company has been unexpectedly obliging.” He glanced from Darcy to Bingley, and then added, with perfect mildness, “There is a great deal to be said for civility that does not exhaust itself in the first enthusiasm of an acquaintance.”
It was said genially. But Darcy saw Miss Bingley understand enough of it to lift her chin in defiance.
The folly, which a breath before had been a small round chamber of dangerous silences, became merely a crowd of damp people sheltering from a storm with three fish on display. Mr. Gardiner had altered the whole air of the place without even trying. He picked up the string and took it out of the folly, tying it to a tree branch before returning to their snug sanctuary.
The storm passed over in about three quarters of an hour. The rain thinned, the dome left off sounding like a drum, and the clouds rolled away off east.