Love Then Begins (22 page)

As if on cue, three women, one holding onto her friend in a deadly grip, rushed forward and tried to catch hold of Mr Derek’s “tree” with the result that they all got tangled up in their skirts and dove head first onto the ground.

“Get away you stupid cows!” the calls rang out and Mr Morris saw fit to swipe at the women with his cudgel.

“That ain’t no use!” someone called out to him. “They’re desperate for the lumber, ain’t they?”

Someone, presumably an individual concerned about his reputation as the domestic provider of such highly coveted timber of one of the fallen women, called out to the man to watch his mouth but Mr Morris swung his weapon a few times in the air and the play was allowed to proceed.

“Good people!” he called. “Spring is nearly here! The sap is rising in the trees! The birds build their nests and lay their eggs in the blossoming trees! Percy! You got any eggs in there?”

Mr Derek took an awkward step forward and Mr Pennyweather put both his hands on the crown of his tree, winking his eyes in an exaggerated and apparently female manner. The action, added to the hasty construction, made several branches break off and fall fluttering to the ground while Derek watched forlornly.

“No eggs here,” Mr Pennyweather squeaked in falsetto, turning to Mr Harris, standing at the ready as Bert the orchardkeeper, having strapped on his own bit of ungainly foliage.

“My dear father, your son is all ‘bark’ and no bite
And they say it’s not the size of the cock in the fight
But more like the size of the fight in the cock”

He turned to the audience and waggled his eyebrows up and down,

“I think I might take this old man for a walk!”

Standing gape-mouthed in outrage, Mr Derek pushed Harris out of the way and charged toward Mr Pennyweather, his appendage bobbing up and down as he ran. “That’s not in the script!” he bellowed. “You’re supposed to say,
‘Well bless me young husband with shoots from your tree’!”

Pennyweather turned to the audience again with a big wink. “
No! I think that old Bert is the better man for me!”

The audience went wild with laughter and he continued, gesturing at Derek:

“I’ve no wish to be tumbled in a hell-fire rush.
I’ll plant a more patient tree next to my bush.”

But that was all he could say before Mr Derek took a firm hold on Mr Pennyweather’s throat so that his carefully arranged bosum slid down a good twenty inches and settled around his middle.

“Oh for the love of . . . ” Holly heard a muttering voice beside her and could then feel Mr Darcy suddenly rise out of his seat and stand up. There was an instant hush as the Master of Pemberley just stood there for a while, completely quiet with his eyes at the play in disarray. Mr Derek slowly let go of Mr Pennyweather’s throat and took a few steps back.

“A wife’s gravest duty is to treat with respect
No worse can be said but that a husband’s henpeck’d
I charge you, bold wench, to mind all your ways
Love, honour and obey, for the length of your days!”

Mr Pennyweather hitched up his sagging breasts, shot a nervous look at Mr Darcy, and then smiled sweetly at Mr Derek.

“Oh husband your words cut me right to the quick
And you’ve given my womanly conscience a prick
Come. I’ll be your doe, if you’ll be my buck
Lie with me now and you’ll get a good—”

“Oh no . . . ” Elizabeth moaned, dropping her head into her hands, but before the fateful word could be uttered, Mr Darcy once again stood. He did so in a slow, dignified gesture that in its stillness demanded more attention than Mr Morris and his threatening cudgel could ever hope to achieve. His eyes were on his wife as long as he was straightening his back but then he turned them onto the scene before them all. All eyes turned to him, including Mr Pennyweather’s, who had let his bosom fall alarmingly again and was staring at Mr Darcy without any possibility of rallying. They all fell quiet and watched as a smile spread over the master’s lips, a smile that did not quite reach his eyes but which to those not close enough for scrutiny could not see. He then slowly brought up his hands and began to applaud, signalling the end to the performance.

At first, the abrupt and harsh sound rang alone around the lawn but after just a few moments, Mr Darcy’s solitary appreciation was echoed by an equally determined sound from the other side of the lawn.

“Bravo!” Lord Baugham exclaimed to his companions and they soon joined in as well, if a little surprised at the sudden end. However, after such an agreeable time together, they had no difficulty trusting his lordship’s opinion on the merits of the play even if some of the details remained sketchy.

The players stood dumb for a moment, but then took their bows amid a smattering of groans and laughter from the rest of the crowd before they shuffled back to the curtain in confusion.

Holly looked over to her husband where he had now abandoned the conversation with his neighbours and was watching her thoughtfully. She raised her eyebrows at him in a gesture both of reproach and question. He broke out into a smile, raised his tankard at her and then slowly made his way towards them as the crowd was breaking up.

“They promised,” Mrs Darcy turned to her husband in despair when he sat down beside her again. “They promised something appropriate for the day.”

“I daresay they thought a wedding theme
was
appropriate,” he smiled tightly, “but, this is par for the course for the mummers. It is what they’re renowned for, after all.”

“But, ‘all’s well that ends well’, don’t you think, Darcy?” His lordship’s voice was suddenly behind them and Holly could faintly smell the ale on his breath. She felt his hands, surprisingly warm under the circumstances, discreetly sliding down her sides.

“
Did
it end well, my lord?” Mrs Darcy asked with a sceptical gleam in her eye.

“It ended at any rate,” he laughed, using the opportunity to pull his wife a little closer in to him, “I suppose that’s all that matters. Miss Darcy,” he turned to the silent young woman standing by Holly, “I trust you are no worse off for the experience?”

“Oh! No! I suppose . . . I mean, that is . . . ” Miss Darcy stammered and dropped her eyes, which took in the sight of his lordship’s hands resting upon his wife’s waist in a show of casual intimacy on their way down to her feet.

“Oh really, Baugham,” Darcy shook his head and held out his hands. “Come Mrs Darcy, come Georgiana. I think we must go greet some more of our neighbours. I cannot imagine what the reverend will think of all this. I suppose we will have to extend some sort of invitation to shoot and dine as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” his wife said but Mr Darcy had a smile for her. “If you can make him smile just once and not pick his nose in nervous agitation while I speak to him, all will be well. That will amply make up for having to walk out in the woods with him like I probably must.”

“He likes to talk about chickens,” Georgiana said with a sigh, looking down the lawn where the poor offended clergyman presumably was clucking away. “He usually calms down when he gets to tell us the impossible places around the rectory he must collect the eggs each morning.”

“Hm . . . ” his lordship whispered into the back of his wife’s neck when the Darcys walked away, “I think that’s a very good idea.”

“What,” she turned in surprise, “you want to go greet their neighbours and talk about eggs?”

“No,” he smiled slyly, “not that. It’s the use of the commanding tone. The imperious gesture. The sense of purpose.” He held out his hand and adopted a stern voice, “Come, woman, I am in sudden and urgent need of some private conversation with you. And if it must include chickens, so be it.”

“Conversation?”

“Yes. A private, stimulating conversation. A little social . . . intercourse behind the pavilion.”

“Won’t it be cold back there?”

“No. I can promise you that you will
not
be cold,” he pulled her close, despite the milling crowd, and pressed his lips against hers. “So? What about it?”

“You’ve been drinking,” she said.

“I have,” he grinned, still pressing his lips on hers, “and so have you! Spiced wine, madam . . . ”

“And so you think I should follow you, and give in to your unmastered importunities?” she smiled back.

“I do,” he answered, adding, “Wife!”

“When you’re in such a state?”

“Especially when I’m in such a state.” As his hands slid down her back and pulled her in close to him, she could feel that he was in such a state indeed, and the affect the discovery had upon her made her realise the necessity of removing themselves from public view very soon.

B
AUGHAM LEANED INTO HER AND
put the cold tip of his nose into her ear before he removed it and dramatically exclaimed,

“Come with me, my sweet, I’ve got something to share
And nothing you’ve seen yet tonight can compare
What’s striving between us is no feeble shoot
Come with me, my sweet, and let rapture take root.”

It might have been the tension from watching the play earlier or the wine that was burning in her veins or that cold nose changing into a very warm breath that caused it, but Holly could not help but burst out laughing.

“Is that a ‘yes, please’?”

“Yes, please,” she giggled. “Oh, but I don’t know . . . ”

“The pavilion,” his lordship breathed in her ear again. “Not a drop of drink in sight over there so we can have our conversation quite undisturbed.”

It was madness, of course, but she was so relieved that the excruciating mummery was over and she did need to chase the cold away with something other than another mug of wine, so she followed him through the shrubberies and past the maze to the little Grecian pavilion peeking behind the greenery. Once there, Baugham threw himself down on the little stone bench and drew her with him to sit on his lap before he dove in to claim a hungry kiss. It warmed her up very quickly, indeed, but since she was not certain her toes were quite warm enough, she pushed her gloved hands in under his coat and drew him even closer.

“Mmm,” her husband said under her lips before he gently opened her mouth with his again. “Best spectacle I’ve experienced all day.”

“Well, I’m sure it won’t be but a few minutes before we are discovered so save your reviews until then, please sir.”

“‘Please, sir’ will do,” he mumbled. “Oh God, Holly, you smell so good—”

But suddenly his eagerness was interrupted by a loud crash and screams and shouts breaking through the faint music and the sounds of the crowd enjoying themselves behind them. Baugham froze and Holly clasped her husband to her even closer in a startled move.

“What was that?” she whispered.

Baugham turned his head towards the revel to listen. “Sounds like a brawl.”

“A brawl! Oh no!”

But her incredulity was countered by another high pitched scream mingled with more enthusiastic noises of people cheering.

“Oh yes,” said Baugham and grabbed Holly’s hand. “Damn. Come on.”

Back on the lawn between the tents and the little pavilion, Baugham’s fears turned out to be justified. A mill of what looked like arms and legs and fists were knocking heads together and reaching for throats and faces without seemingly heeding the calls either for ceasing immediately or giving Johnny, Ralph or Peter a ‘go at it’. In the terrible melange, Holly could clearly see Mr Harris with his ‘tree’ broken in two but with the fastening ribbons still fluttering about his waist, attacking Mr Pennyweather, who by this time seemed to have lost the last of his costume. Mrs Darcy was on the edge of the crowd holding her sister by the arm and taking small steps backwards. Mr Darcy stood amidst the fighting mass of humans, trying to break it up with the help of Mr Derek and his steward, while giving directions to a young boy to get more help.

The rest of the spectators were either enjoying the commotion, turned away in disgust or too happy with the company and food and drink to care either way to pay any attention to it.

“Oh no!” Holly said and nudged her husband. “Do something!”

Baugham rolled his eyes at her but then walked away from her without a word. Holly rearranged her disarrayed clothing and then hurried over to Elizabeth and Miss Darcy.

“Oh,” Miss Darcy said as soon as Holly reached them. “You must believe me, Lady Baugham, this
never
happened in my mother’s day.”

Holly shot a look at her cousin and was awarded with another pair of rolling eyes.

“I’m not sure you should be watching this, dear,” Elizabeth said in a tight voice.

“Oh . . . ” Miss Darcy said and kept looking, “but I’m sure they’ll stop soon. His lordship will put an end to it, won’t he?”

Lord Baugham, with his shirt neck open and his coat undone, threw his hat to the side and strode over to the musicians, now completely silenced by the uproar. Without preliminaries, he snatched the flute out of the piper’s hand and put it to his lips.