“Nothing of great consequence. It’s only that this is the time of afternoon when I always meet with Mrs. Parrish to take notes for Dr. Lancaster. Usually Mr. Parrish joins us, but I can’t find him, and I thought there should be a third person present for the sake of propriety. I’d ask Mrs. Hurst but I’m told she’s napping, and Mrs. Bingley —”
“I’m happy to help you, Professor.”
A smile conveyed his gratitude. “I’m sorry to disturb your reading. By all means, bring the book with you.”
“You needn’t apologize. I was beginning to think a warm fire preferable to views of the bleak landscape outside.” Indeed, the only things green or cheerful about the conservatory today came from within the room. On the other side of the glass, thick grey clouds hung low in the sky, and the temperature had plummeted since morning.
They found Caroline pacing in the drawing room. She greeted Elizabeth’s entrance with a look of uncertainty. “My husband is not coming?”
“I could not locate him.” Randolph ushered her to the sofa. “Mrs. Darcy has consented to play chaperone.”
Elizabeth held up her novel. “I will just sit in the corner with my book so as not to intrude on your privacy.” She settled into a wing-backed chair and opened the volume.
“Mrs. Parrish, how are you feeling today?” Professor Randolph sat at the desk and withdrew a small notebook from one of his breast pockets.
“My hand hurts.” She pulled at the bandage. “This is wound too tight.”
“I’m sure Mr. Jones applied it properly when he saw you this morning.” Randolph dipped a quill into the inkpot and jotted a few words. “How are your spirits?”
“How should my spirits be? I have just spent two days with the—” She caught herself. “Away from here. All my clothes were destroyed in the fire. I am reduced to wearing borrowed cast-offs from Jane’s sister until my London
Elizabeth read the same paragraph for the third time and still comprehended none of it. She gave up trying to fool herself into thinking she would attend Mrs. Radcliffe’s words instead of Mrs. Parrish’s, but upheld the pretense of reading for Caroline’s benefit.
“Have you suffered any headaches today?”
“None but this interview.”
“That’s a good sign — the spearmint leaves must be helping.” Randolph entered a few notes.
“What is it you’re writing about me?”
“Only what you’ve just told me.”
She stomped over to him and seized the notebook. “ ‘Headaches improved, but out of sorts,’ ” she read. “Really? Is that your impression?” She transferred the notebook to her left hand and snatched the pen with her right. She dipped it into the ink hastily, scattering drops of ink onto the desk as she withdrew it. Then she scrawled something onto the page.
“There—” She shoved the notebook and quill back at Professor Randolph. “Forward
As Caroline abandoned him to pace around the room, Randolph read the words. He colored, cleared his throat, and turned to a fresh page in the notebook.
She picked at her bandage again, this time unraveling the gauze. She then tossed the dressing into the fire. “I am taking off this bloody thing!”
“Mrs. Parrish—”
“Shocked you, did I? Well, I will say it again. Bloody! Bloody-bloody-bloody-bloody-bloody-bloody-bloody! I’m bloody tired of everyone in this bloody house treating me like a bloody invalid!” She tugged on her wedding ring but could not slide it off her still-swollen finger. “My hand hurts. But that is all. I am fine. I am fine!” She burst into tears, great gulping sobs that wracked her whole frame. “I am fine. ..”
Professor Randolph returned the quill to its stand and closed his notebook. He met Elizabeth’s troubled gaze and released a sigh. “Of course you are, Mrs. Parrish.”
He withdrew his pocketwatch, muttered something under his breath, and glanced at Mrs. Parrish. He stared at her a long moment, then returned the watch to his waistcoat without opening it. Indeed, there seemed little point in consulting the time — Elizabeth doubted the interview had lasted five minutes.
Caroline quieted, apparently having pulled herself together. Elizabeth offered to escort her to her chamber. With a nod, she accepted.
As she rose and reached for Elizabeth’s arm, her ring scratched Elizabeth’s skin. Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from crying out. Good Lord, but those stones were sharp! The scratch didn’t bleed, but did leave an inch-long welt on her arm. A month ago, she might have thought the accident deliberate. But in Caroline’s current state Elizabeth doubted she was sensible of half her actions anymore.
Mrs. Parrish came down to dinner that evening for the first time since leaving London. Her husband, his face drawn with anxiety, watched her every move and never left her side. The man looked exhausted. Elizabeth wondered if he’d allowed himself any sleep since the night of the fire.
Caroline sat between Mr. Parrish and Professor Randolph. Mr. Kendall, still hanging around Netherfield for reasons the Darcys could only guess at, sat opposite. He lounged in his seat with the ease of someone actually welcome among the party, which he decidedly was not. His contemptuous presence smothered any gaiety that might have been felt upon the eve of the family’s homecoming. Had he conducted himself thus at Pemberley, Elizabeth suspected Darcy would have shown him the door long before now regardless of the weather or any other excuse the brute could devise. But Bingley, lacking the firmness to oust even an uninvited guest from his home, and worn down by recent events, tolerated his continued imposition with forced civility. The others followed his lead.
Tonight, however, Kendall’s insolence exceeded all previous displays. No sooner had the soup been served than he commenced offering backhanded compliments to his hosts. The main courses saw him expanding his veiled insults to include additional members of the group. During dessert, he stared at Caroline until she became so disconcerted that her fork clattered against the plate each time she lowered it.
Finally, she gave up eating altogether. “Have you something you wish to say, Mr. Kendall?”
“I was just noticing how your color has faded since the London season. Perhaps it is too much bloodletting.” He cast a pointed look at her scarred wrists. “Someone should question your physician.”
“Maybe other leeches are to blame.”
Beside her, Parrish took her hand in his in a gesture of support. His wedding ring caught the flickering light of the candelabras. “Don’t let him provoke you, dearest.”
She winced and brought both hands to her temples.
“Caroline?” Bingley’s voice held concern.
“I fear another of my headaches is coming on.” She rose to leave. When Mr. Parrish began to join her she motioned him back to his seat. “Stay. I’ll be fine.”
Parrish looked as if he very much wanted to follow, but heeded her request. As the door closed behind her, Kendall shrugged. “Pallor. Headaches. It would seem that marriage does not agree with her.”
Parrish locked gazes with Kendall as the rest of the company waited in strained silence to see if he would rise to the ill-mannered gentleman’s bait. They stared at each other a long moment, and Elizabeth sensed some unspoken communication was taking place. Ultimately, Parrish placed his napkin beside his plate, rose, and bowed to Jane. “Excuse me, Mrs. Bingley. I am going to check on my wife.” He departed without another look at Kendall.
Elizabeth admired his restraint. Kendall’s presence in the house was unpleasant to all, but it must be particularly awkward for Mr. Parrish in light of his previous relationship with Kendall’s daughter.
Bingley’s face flushed with uncharacteristic ire. “Mr. Kendall, I must insist that while you are a guest in my home, you treat my family with respect.”
“Respect your family!” He laughed, a short burst that sounded like nothing so much as a donkey’s bray. “Do you speak of your mad sister or her fickle husband? I’m a betting man, Bingley, and I bet Mr. Parrish won’t stick
