Page 81 of Fortuitous Encounters

Miss Elizabeth’s ugly sister gradually seemed to lose her reserve with the unattractive man next to her, and eventually they started talking quietly together while her chair gradually closed the gap between them. I suspect they were driven more by the constant gentle prodding of her sister and Mrs Gardiner driving her than any real desire to get to know the boy better, but as I said, Elizabeth Bennet is like a sheepdog. The eldest Miss Bennet seemed to be thawing to the man, as difficult as it must be. It is nearly impossible to get past such a slight as he had made on her person on the very first day of their acquaintance, though she must admit to not being particularly handsome, so I did not know why she was surprised that the man would call her not handsome enough to dance with. It was, after all, a simple statement of fact.

The Gardiners continued to show they were fashionable and well educated, and the discourse around the table was quite lively.

Anne told a truncated story that seemed to entirely omit Darcy’s proposal, probably because everyone else around the table already knew about it, or perhaps they were keeping it secret until they obtained my blessing officially; but I could keep my council and wait for her to tell me in private.

She drew some rather undignified laughter with the tale of the front door-bell, which according to her had been nearly worn down to nothing that day, ringing every five minutes.

I was just reflecting on that idea, when that selfsame bell rang—or rather, exploded. The front door slammed open violently, admitting the raging storm, before it slammed shut again as if smote by a giant.

Storm (Col Fitzwilliam)

It was the most perplexing thing I had ever seen, but it was indeed happening right in front of my eyes. Naturally, I could barely keep my eyes on the principals in the drama while being distracted by the delectable Miss Bingley. Now, there was a woman! Mad as a bag of ferrets! Mean as a bucket of snakes! Hopping, spitting furious, ready to kill someone! Anne plunked her down, right next to me without a thought for my safety. Evil woman!

I managed to keep half my attention on the beauty, which fortunately did not actually require conversing with her since she looked at me with less favour than I would my groom if he replaced my steed with a ten-year-old donkey, but she certainly had my attention.

The rest of my attention was engaged in trying my best to work out what the blazes was happening with the other loggerheads in the room. It was obvious something very strange was going on.

First, I had laboriously worked out that Miss Elizabeth was in love with Charles Bingley, which probably meant Darcy had made a play for the elder and more classically beautiful Miss Bennet. It only made sense. So why the blazes was he so nice to Miss Elizabeth? More curiously, when Bingley came in, Miss Elizabeth started trying to pawn him off on her sister. It was most perplexing. Had she transferred her affections to Darcy? That did not seem to be the case, but she had at least decided to be nice to him, which was a new development. Oh, she was never impolite, but she looked at him the same way the aforementioned Miss Bingley looked at me, if you catch my meaning. It took me several moments to work the puzzle out, being only able to devote a small percentage of my attention to the task, what with the ever-distracting Miss Bingley sitting next to me.

Eventually, I had my EUREKA moment, though actually saying that aloud would have sounded silly, so I just shouted it silently. It all made sense. Everything was clear! This idea happened when I saw Bingley and Miss Bennet gradually thaw to each other under the careful guidance of Miss Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner (what a woman). The two could barely stand the sight of each other when they started, but within less than a half-hour, they were chatting amiably like lovers. Hatred to amiability in half an hour! I was all astonishment! Either they were the two most tractable people under the King’s authority (the King was mad so perhaps not the best grouping), or my new universal truth could be taken as scientific fact.

If you wonder which truth I mean, well, here it is: It does not matter in the least which Bennet sister you get. Whichever one fate dumps on your lap will do just fine!

Now, this may seem far-fetched, and to tell the truth, I may be implying that I worked it out there in the parsonage watching Lady Catherine exhibit the oddest behaviour of her life, but that would be overstating the case. I may never have figured it out at all, except the door slammed open, tearing the bell right off its mount, and was then slammed closed after letting in a most disagreeable gust of howling wind.

The next thing I knew, the parlour door opened as well, and the tallest man I had ever seen ran into the parlour shouting at the top of his lungs, which I will tell you right here and now was sufficient for the task… if the task was to scare everyone in the room into panic, accompanied by senseless and counterproductive activities.

“The Wind! The Trees! The Wind! It is… It is… It is… The Trees!”

Those were the most sensible words he spoke, but fortunately he gave up on words and substituted action—good man! I always prefer action. My experience in life indicates nine times out of ten words will get you killed, where action—well, that is likely enough to get you killed as well, but at least it was less dull.

The giant ran across the room, directly to the head of the table where Anne and her mother sat together, her mother eyeing every couple and probably planning their lives in minute detail, while Anne sat like a snake, just waiting to strike.

The mysterious giant was apparently not a man to stand on ceremony, as he simply grabbed both ladies around their waists, yanked them out of the chairs and dove to the side just as an enormous branch crashed through the window and smashed the chairs they had recently occupied to bits. I have to say, I liked the boy—though he could have been more selective in his benevolence.

Being battle-hardened, trained, tested, refined, and manly, I did the exact thing my years of training prepared me for. I sat in my chair, frozen in fear, trying to make certain no embarrassing details about the condition of my trousers might become a topic of discussion.

Naturally, this afforded me the opportunity to observe the rest of the group at my leisure. Well, it may not have been quite at my leisure, as the delectable Miss Bingley screamed like a wildcat with her tail slammed in a door and her hair set afire, jumped directly in my lap, screamed again, wrapped her arms around my waist, curled her head into my chest—and swooned.

Naturally, my observations of the rest of the table may not have been as detailed as they might otherwise have been, what with the, er… distractions… but I do believe I may stand by what I saw.

The branch had come through the very edge of the window, and only the two chairs Anne and Aunt Catherine had occupied were truly in any danger (what were the odds?), but it would have taken a strong man to recognise that. It would have taken a man with nerves of steel. It would have taken a woman of supernatural, preternatural abilities and calmness to assess the situation and arise gracefully to act in the most reasonable manner. In other words, it would take Mr and Mrs Gardiner. The gentleman observed the state of the tree and the general lack of both comfort and danger immediately. He nodded to his wife who carefully put her spoon down, and then they got up to do what was necessary.

Unfortunately, both Darcy and Bingley were nowhere near that calm or that agile. I fully expected them each to look across the table to the other Bennet sister, or perhaps to their own family members sitting on the lap of the giant and the lap of the mad colonel respectively; but both paid attention only to the lady sitting beside them. It was almost as if they could not give two figs about the rest of the inhabitants. Darcy and Bingley both pushed back from the table, and both simultaneously set about gallantly caring for the ladies at their sides; which naturally had both learning the intrigues of the ad-hoc nature of Mrs Collins’ arrangements, and the awkwardness of chairs chosen by my aunt. This action meant both noddies fell over backwards flat on their backs with the wind knocked out of them, gasping for breath and mostly unable to move or even think.

Both ladies calmly arose from the table—without falling over I might add. They both looked down upon the respective gentlemen who were apparently assigned to them by either fate or proximity, and they both readied to very demurely assist the gentlemen to their feet, or at the very least nod sympathetically and say soothing words. IMPRESSIVE!

Both Bennet sisters were perfectly calm and collected, and both could tell as well as the Gardiners that they were in no particular danger aside from the embarrassment of the two lying on the floor; and to tell the unvarnished truth, I would classify that more as entertainment than embarrassment. In fact, both ladies continued this entirely sensible operation right up to the very moment when Mr Gardiner put his hand on the small of Miss Elizabeth’s back and pushed her over, sending her tumbling flat out, arms akimbo directly onto the top of the hapless Darcy.

That was a decidedly unusual strategy for an uncle, and I was most astounded when Mrs Gardiner did the same thing for the eldest Miss Bennet, who landed with her… er… well, let us just say she was directly on top of Bingley, and there may have been some ah… dislocation of her clothing, though I would never be so ungentlemanly as to comment on it.

Mr and Mrs Gardiner looked down at their probably compromised nieces, actually winked at each other, and went around to assist Anne and Lady Catherine, though they refrained from pushing either of those ladies onto the floor, since they were already sprawled on the giant—which to be honest, did not seem to trouble Anne all that much.

I was naturally concerned about the state of my comrades in arms, and looked past the hellcat swooned in my lap to ascertain their status. I can tell you, there is not a man in Kent any less amenable to the Parson’s Mousetrap than Darcy, and from what I knew of Bingley, he ran from women every week like the plague. No sir, there were no two men in England less amenable to the leg-shackles. Boy, were they going to be hopping, spitting mad when they got up. It might be useful to compare their demeanour with Caroline’s (EGADS! CAROLINE’s… was she still on my lap?), when they managed to extricate themselves, which should be easy enough for two stout men.

It was obvious to me that the Gardiners were malevolent dark-hearted souls, as ready to destroy a man as look at him… and they had me so fooled. It was blisteringly obvious both Darcy and Bingley had the wind knocked out of them, as they were unable to make even the slightest effort to escape the compromise. In fact, they were not moving or struggling at all. I wondered if the Gardiners had managed to kill them.

I wondered if the ladies might eventually lend them a hand, or at least get off the top of them since it was clearly all a misunderstanding, but was rather surprised at the ineffectual way both ladies worked at the task of getting loose. Even a gull like me could readily tell you that there was very little benefit in the task of climbing to your feet, in putting your hand through the hair of the man you were lying on, and neither of them looked around or paid the slightest attention to the surroundings and trying to get up. In fact, it looked like they were…WAIT!