held Darcy’s greatcoat and Elizabeth’s wrap as far away from herself as possible so as not to dampen her own clothing.
“Wait here a moment while I deposit your things. Then I will conduct you to your chamber. You no doubt wish to refresh yourselves—rain always makes everything so dirty.”
She disappeared behind one of several doors in the hall, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy to exchange perplexed glances.
Elizabeth smiled. “Perhaps we should have paraded through the house in our wet things so as not to trouble her.”
Darcy did not find their reception so amusing. “If her conduct is characteristic of servants here, I begin to share your opinion of Gloucestershire’s hospitality.”
“Now you are too harsh. A warm fire will set all to rights.”
When the housekeeper returned, Darcy asked how soon they might have the pleasure of meeting their host.
“My master looks forward to welcoming you at dinner. We dine precisely at five o’clock every evening at Northanger Abbey. It is now half past four.”
She led them up a broad oak staircase with a heavily ornamented rail. At the top, they entered a long gallery lined with windows on one side and doors on the other. Nothing could be seen through the windows but darkness and splattered raindrops reflecting the candlelight.
They passed to the end of the gallery, where she opened a pair of folding doors. These led into a narrower gallery, with a winding staircase and more doors. The first of these on the left, she opened to reveal a generously sized apartment, with mahogany wardrobes, painted chairs, a canopied bed, and two dressing-closets. A large tapestry hung on one wall. Their trunks, already open, waited for them.
The room was dark save for the light of the candle the housekeeper carried. Darcy and Elizabeth waited in expectation for the servant to light a lamp or candle in the chamber, but the thought apparently did not cross her mind. She stood gazing about the room as if appraising the furnishings.
“This seems a pleasant room,” Elizabeth said. “Though perhaps a bit dim.”
“Yes . . .” She suddenly seemed to remember herself. “Oh! Indeed.” She crossed to the room’s sole lamp to light it. For some reason, the task proved a challenge, and she struggled with it so long that Darcy found himself nearly overcome by the urge to seize the lamp from her and light it himself.
Eventually, she achieved success and set the lamp in the center of the table. It sputtered, not quite committed to remaining lit.
“This chamber belonged to the late Mrs. Tilney,” she said. “The apartment has gone unused since she died, despite its being the nicest in the house. Can you imagine?”
Darcy had more difficulty imagining himself retaining her as asenior servant. Perhaps in her middle or late thirties, she was considerably younger than Mrs. Reynolds, but the true gulf between them lay in their professionalism. Captain Tilney must maintain far more relaxed expectations than did Darcy.
“The master thought it was time the apartment saw some use,” the housekeeper continued, “so we hope you find it comfortable.”
The room was not remotely comfortable at the moment—the air within was cold. Though a Bath stove occupied the fireplace, it sat empty and unlit.
“If you do not require anything else—”
“A fire,” Darcy said.
“Oh! Of course. I suppose someone will see to that while you are at dinner. I shall leave you now to dress and come back to escort you. As this is a large house, the master requests that you not wander it by yourselves.”
She closed the heavy oak door. Thunder rumbled outside, drowning out the sound of her receding footsteps.
Elizabeth looked to Darcy with an expression of bafflement. “All right, I concede. Would you care to remark upon the oddity of our reception, or shall I?”
“I would, but we have not time.”
Though their luggage was present, their servants were nowhere about—an unaccountable dereliction. They
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