Darcy & Elizabeth (31 page)

Mrs. Darcy's Horse

Elizabeth's sleeping habits had altered but little since her marriage. She had always slept deeply and relished in doing so. The soundness of her sleep and that she awakened so refreshed betokened the gratification she was rendered by her husband's robust attentions beforehand. As would be expected, once she became a mother she never slept again with the same depth. (Darcy had teased her that so lightly did she take her sleep that she had come to do so with one eye open like some fugitive from King's Bench.) Hence, when her children's sleeping through the night coincided with a replenishing of their nightly vigours, she once again began to enjoy a most satisfying rest.

Therefore, when Darcy knelt next to her well after midnight one chilly night in early spring, his attempts at awaking her were, beyond a few loving murmurings of her absolute willingness to comply with whatever he wanted of her, unfruitful.

“Lizzy,” he gently shook her shoulder once again. “Lizzy!”

“Yes, I am quite awake,” she said, the truth of her statement impugned by the lack of her eyes being open.

“It is time,” he said.

“Time?” she opened one eye, sat bolt upright, and threw back the bed-clothes. “Time! It is time?”

“Yes,” he assured her.

Once her eyes were open, she saw that he was fully dressed—at least insofar as boots, shirt, and breeches. He had foresworn proper coat and neckcloth for his greatcoat. Over his arm was a cloak for her. By the time she saw all that, she was fully awake. She was on her feet in an instant, grabbing her cloak and swinging it about her shoulders, all whilst heading for the door.

“Wait,” he said. “
Wait
!”

Their exchange had been made in stage whispers, for the house was compleatly asleep save a few footmen standing post. Both understood their undertaking may well be lengthy and she under no circumstances wanted the babies to be roused.

“Sshhh!” she reminded him, turning to see what was the matter.

“You must wear your slippers lest you catch your death!”

In one hand he held a candle and in the other her slippers. They were daintily hanging from the tips of two of his fingers, which he then extended to her. Knowing the wisdom of his insistence, she impatiently allowed him to fit them upon her feet by balancing one hand on his back as he bent before her.

“Lizzy,” he implored, “if you would just be still…”

“I cannot help it,” she said. “Time is of the essence!”

“I beg to differ, my dearest; it is not.”

She cut him a look that suggested he knew little of what was or was not imperative, but kept still enough to be compleatly shod ere she made for the door.

“Wait, Lizzy! Wait!” he said helplessly as she bounded down the stairs.

He had caught up with her as they quit the house, but he slowed momentarily to trade the candle for a lantern from the footman by the door. In that brief exchange she again outdistanced him, but before she gained the courtyard he had caught up with her once again and grasped her elbow.

“If you insist upon making such haste in the dark you are certain to turn your ankle,” he admonished, adding for good measure, “then who shall see to your children?”

She turned to gift him a glare at that overt abuse of her motherly instincts, but attempted to rein in her ever-increasing excitement all the same.

“I can see perfectly well,” she insisted, only to be blessed by the God of the Willful with a stumble.

He, however, had the good sense not to speak the words “I told you so,” when he caught her before she fell, but the expression upon his countenance said it quite well. Her dignity slightly bruised, she altered their discourse from her haste to the reason for it.

“How does she fare?” she asked. “Is there any way to know how long it shall be?”

“Not a method yet known to mankind,” he assured her.

The entire of their employment at that hour was due to the impending foaling of Elizabeth's mare, Boots. Although some would have considered it indecorous for a gentlewoman to attend a birth such as this, to allow Elizabeth to witness it had been the Darcys' design since they first learnt of Boots's condition. But fortune saw when the time was nigh that it was nightfall and there would be few people about to be offended by their unseemliness.

It was the event around which they had set their plans to decamp for Brighton. Elizabeth had wanted to await Boots's foaling. As time grew near, Darcy had twice-daily appraisals of the mare's progress. Until this particular event, he only came to a foaling when it was convenient and never in the middle of the night. But on the advice of Hardin that Boots appeared more restless than usual, he had come to the stables late that afternoon directly to see for himself. Although not as practised as Hardin, he recognised the signs in Boots immediately and gave Hardin leave to awaken him if it became necessary.

The horse barn was a huge fieldstone edifice with a gabled roof. With the lantern before them, Darcy escorted Elizabeth down the passage, picking their way carefully along as if it had not been swept clean of any trace of droppings. She was happy to take her husband's arm, but it would have been truly no great feat to have found her way on her own, for the place was well lit by lanterns hanging from various posts around the stall. Moreover, Edward Hardin sat upon a stool outside the stall door, carving knife in one hand and a piece of wood in the other. A large pile of thin yellow coils lay between his feet, attesting to the length of the wait. He stood up directly upon seeing the Darcys approach and took a deferential step back. Then he seemed disconcerted, clearly uncertain of the exact protocol; he had never encountered a lady under these particular circumstances. He bowed, figuring if that be decorum when met in daylight hours it would suffice quite nicely for night.

Elizabeth returned Hardin's shy bob with a smile, asking, “How does she fare, Mr. Hardin?”

“All's well, ma'am.”

She stepped up on the first rung of the stall door and peered in. Boots was then standing, but was clearly distressed, nickering and throwing her head about. Elizabeth frowned as the mare turned several revolutions before dropping first to her knees, then gingerly rolling onto her side.

“Pray,” Elizabeth whispered, “is it imminent?”

“She has been doing this for some time,” Darcy said, “but may well proceed as you see her for some time more.”

She looked upon him with true trepidation, “Do you truly think so? She is lying down; I understood you to say that was done only at the last.”

Darcy put his arm around her shoulders and gave a small squeeze, saying, “Fear not; she will take what time is needed and we cannot hurry her.”

“Coffee, Mr. Darcy?” said Mr. Hardin, holding out a cup of steaming brew.

“Ah, yes,” Darcy took it from his hand, and then held it out to Elizabeth. “Lizzy?”

She shook her head and neither made any note that he had called her his pet name in front of Edward Hardin. In the night air, with the smell of hay and muck about them and wearing little to cover their
déshabillé
, it seemed altogether fitting. Darcy and Hardin leisurely sipped from their cups and warmed their hands simultaneously. After a few moments Darcy upended a wooden bucket.

“Your throne, madame,” he quipped. “Truly, you may as well sit, Elizabeth, for you know what they say of a watched pot.”

As if to prove that point, no sooner did she sit than Boots sat up, dragged herself to her feet, and again commenced to circle restlessly, nickering and occasionally attempting to bite her stomach. When at last she went down once more, she lay back upon her side straining.

Hardin and Darcy stood, but did not move nearer.

“Is the time nigh?” she asked anxiously.

“Perhaps,” Darcy said cautiously.

Elizabeth leapt to her feet, but feared to go nearer if the men did not. Darcy put his hand out as if anticipating her moving too fast and startling Boots. They watched for a small time before Hardin nodded once to Darcy and moved towards the stall door, then swung it open just far enough to allow them to enter one by one. Elizabeth sidled in last and hung back against the wall, holding her breath.

Boots did not try to stand again. But she did alternate lying out full and sitting upright several times in succession. Then she lay upon her side once again and began shivering and giving low, shuddering moans. Hardin had inched his way to her haunches in a half-crouch, shushing her all the while. Elizabeth dropped to her knees, watching closely as he slid his hand across the horse's rump, soothing her in both word and movement. Boots began to strain even more fiercely and liquid began to drain from her hindquarters.

“See there,” whispered Hardin. “Do you see?”

“Yes,” gasped Elizabeth, not noticing that this inquiry was not of her. “I see. Is it the foal?”

“Yea,” said Hardin. “'Tis.”

“I can see something,” she said, still whispering. “Is that the nose?”

He shook his head, “Nay. 'Tis the feet.”

She inched her way forward upon her knees until she was almost even with Hardin and touched his shoulder. He looked at her and nodded his approval.

“Is all well?” she asked.

He nodded, “'Tis.”

In a moment, she could see two small feet protruding. Nothing further happened for a full half-minute and Elizabeth felt herself becoming alarmed, recollecting all that she had heard that could go wrong with the foaling of a highly bred animal. She knew that her own breath was hasty, but could not hear it for Boots's. Thereupon Boots again sat up. Hardin reached out and grasped the foal's protruding feet. In one swift movement Boots stood—simultaneously delivering the foal compleatly. It came slithering out in one gush and Elizabeth leapt to her feet, backing hastily away. Hardin stepped back as well, but not half so hastily. He picked up a handful of hay and wiped the birthing residue from his hands, again shushing Boots who stood unsteadily. Directly, Boots turned about to the mass of mucus, blood, and wet hair and began meticulously to pick at the surrounding sac. At the same time a head joined the feet as discernible body parts and the foal in its entirety began to struggle free of its translucent jacket.

With the collaboration of Boots's licking and the foal's kicking, ere long the newborn got unsteadily to its feet and stood in all its knobby-kneed glory. With the encouragement of Boots's licking, the foal was propelled forward and it began to hop about with all the finesse of a drunken lord, lifting up each foot high as if trying out its new hooves. Forthwith, it nosed around upon Boots, first behind the front legs and then in front of the back legs until at last it found the proper spigot and began to nurse hungrily.

At this, Elizabeth clasped her hand to her mouth in awe, exclaiming, “Darcy, have you ever witnessed anything so remarkable?”

She turned about to see if Darcy exposed any of his tightly held emotions upon this momentous occasion, but she saw him not. The stall door was ominously agape and she went through it into the pathway separating the stalls on either side of the barn. She quickly looked both ways and saw his lone figure against, but not leaning on, the frame of the open barn door. He stood quite erect, his forearm resting against the door frame, the back of his hand seemingly pressed against his lips. She could see him momentarily drop his head and then throw back his shoulders as if ridding himself of some burden. Something about his attitude made her uneasy.

“Darcy,” she said quietly, walking the short length of the pathway. “Are you well?”

He turned, the moonlight backlighting him with a mysterious aura. She could not see what his countenance beheld, but she sensed it. She could tell that he was struggling to maintain his emotional equilibrium, but she could not fathom why under such celebratory circumstances. She walked briskly to his side in order to ascertain just what it was.

Before she could speak, he cleared his voice and admonished, “Lizzy, come. It is far too cold here.”

He reached out and protectively drew her cloak closer around her. However lovingly meant, that did not thwart her.

“She has foaled,” she said.

“Good,” he said, then twice more. “Good. Good.”

It was even more clear to her that something was amiss. “Pray, why did you take leave?”

He did not look at her, but still fussed with her cloak, saying, “I felt of a sudden…constriction. I desired fresh air.”

“I see,” she said, but truly she did not, saying dryly, “I thought you invulnerable to the stench of animal husbandry.”

Upon the rare occasions that she found him out of sorts, it was seldom that he confided in her of its origin. Hence, she did not expect him to then in so unlikely a place as they were—amidst shuffling hooves and the odour of wet hay. She took his hand, however, to lead him back to admire their newest foal. He stopt abruptly, thereupon she did in turn.

“Abide with me,” he said softly.

She turned to face him and he nestled his hand on the side of her neck beneath the collar of her cloak. Thoughtfully, he stroked her chin with his thumb, and first rested his chin then laid his cheek against the top of her head. Drawing her ever nearer, he gently began to sway them both. She was truly puzzled by this tenderness, but spoke not a word. She felt that if she made a sudden move that he might bolt from their intimacy like some frightened animal.

“I know why,” he said finally, “the female of the species gives birth.”

“Do you?” she answered.

“Yes. We men have not the mettle.”

She did not for a moment think he spoke of her mare.

“It is our lot, I fear,” she agreed. “Yet you must agree that as a rule, all goes well.”

“As a rule,” he repeated ruefully.

Increasingly between them came small patches of conversation where words were not spoken, phrases omitted, entire subjects avoided—but all was deduced. This was such a time. Hence he was not called upon to repeat those fears that he had endured—that he endured still. She understood it all. In suggesting that, she took his hand and brought it to her lips. That was a rare gesture for her, for if hands were to be kissed they most often were hers.