Page 62 of Cousin Conundrum

“I am a touch hungry, yet the thought of food makes me feel ill.”

“Perhaps some tea and dry toast?”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth agreed. “But not until after you tell me what else the Archers did.”

Jane studied her clasped fingers. Even with her face angled downward, Kitty could see tears slide down her cheek.

“Jane?” Elizabeth said with a touch more mettle in her voice. “If you do not tell me, I am certain Kitty will.”

Not wanting to be caught in the middle, Kitty popped up. “I will go see about that tea.” She hurried from the room.

She didn’t seek tea and toast directly, as Jane and Elizabeth needed time to talk and hadn’t sounded that hungry, but rather went two doors down. Peeking her head into the room, Kitty spotted, with relief, her trunk, and went in. It pleased her to find her room without mishap. She definitely didn’t feel up to walking into someone else’s bedchamber.

The trunk contained all of her worst gowns, none of their matching slippers, and a ridiculously unsuited collection of bonnets and ribbons. Kitty sighed, assuming Lydia had packed for her. The contents of the trunk spoke of the anger on Lydia’s face the evening before when told she would not remain at Netherfield Park to assist Jane, but Kitty would.

Or, more precisely, Mrs. Bennet had decreed, ‘Jane, you must do all in your power to secure Mr. Darcy, even if he is odious. Now that you have lost Mr. Bingley, you cannot be picky. Kitty, take care of your sister. Be certain Elizabeth does not harm Jane’s chances.’ All of which had been very cruel, for Jane already wept for Mr. Bingley, and they hadn’t even known if Elizabeth would wake to be able to say anything. Mama’s only sentiment on that score had been, ‘How clever of Elizabeth to hit her head so that you must stay here, Jane.’

As she went through her morning ablutions, Kitty issued a sigh. Mrs. Bennet would never be labeled the most soothing of women. Fortunately, with Elizabeth awake, Kitty could begin to see the humor in their mother’s pronouncements. She still didn’t forgive Mrs. Bennet for making Jane cry, though.

Finally settling on a combination of slippers, gown, and hair ribbons that didn’t make her appear completely devoid of sense, Kitty left her room and started along the wide hallway. As she went, she admired oils featuring bouquets of flowers, and felt considerable envy for the number of sconces, though at this hour light streamed in from a few well-placed windows, and spilled into the hallway from the high-ceilinged entrance hall Kitty approached.

As she neared the top of the staircase, a knock sounded and she hurried her steps. It was early for callers, so it must be Mrs. Bennet come to check on Elizabeth. Kitty would do all she could to keep their mother from going up. Her sisters had hardly had time to converse yet and neither Elizabeth nor Jane would be soothed by a motherly visit.

Kitty reached the bottom of the stairs as Netherfield Park’s butler opened the door to a plainly garbed man somewhere in his early twenties. He was neither tall nor short, with sandy brown hair under the hat he doffed. He would be unremarkable, not handsome or the opposite, were it not for a pair of keen green eyes. They met Kitty’s and widened slightly.

“Who may I say is calling, sir?” Netherfield Park’s butler asked.

Green eyes snapped to the man. “Mr. Fletcher, for Mr. Hurst.” He held out a card. “I realize it is early, but he asked me to attend him with all haste.”

“Mr. Fletcher?” Kitty repeated. He had the attentive eyes of a caricaturist, but the stiffness of his spine whispered something more military to her. Trying to ignore the strange jolt his regard sent through her, Kitty curtsied. “I am Miss Catherine Bennet. Perhaps Mr. Hurst mentioned me in his letter? I am not certain if he is awake yet?” This last she asked of the butler.

“The Hursts have not yet descended to dine, miss. None of the family have. Only Mr. Darcy, who has already eaten and gone out riding.”

Kitty suppressed a snort at that. Mr. Darcy definitely seemed the type to make his hosts feel as if they’d squandered half the day away by the time they rose for breakfast. She nodded to the butler, saying, “Thank you,” before turning back to Mr. Fletcher. “Had you time for breakfast before departing London, Mr. Fletcher?” She doubted he had, and she did not want to miss this chance to learn more about what Mr. Hurst was truly up to.

Mr. Fletcher tapped his hat against his leg, the article well-made despite how uniformly unremarkable it appeared by any other measure. In fact, all his clothing evidenced fine fabric and considerable quality of stitching. “No, Miss Bennet. I did not. And, yes, Mr. Hurst did mention you in his summons.”

Kitty dimpled at him. “How kind of him. Come, I will show you to the breakfast parlor.”

“Thank you.” Mr. Fletcher turned back to the butler. “Mr. Hurst requested all haste but also said I might be required to remain for several days. My cases will arrive later. I hope that is not inconvenient?”

“Not at all, sir.”

Kitty took in the exchange eagerly. Mr. Fletcher had raced here and may remain for several days? That seemed quite dramatic for a caricaturist, which Kitty had no thought he was.

Once they were away from the ears of the somewhat dour butler, Kitty hoping she could guess the way to the breakfast parlor, she lowered her voice to say, “I take it Mr. Hurst has brought you here because of the Archer issue.”

From where he walked at her side, Mr. Fletcher darted a look her way. “Indeed, Miss Bennet.”

“Oh, you should call me Kitty. Miss Bennet is my eldest sister, who you will meet as she is here as well, because one of my other sisters fell into a pool and hit her head and Mr. Darcy carried her all the way back to the house, dripping wet. He pulled her out of the pool, did you know?” Kitty added her most scatterbrained smile on top of that. The one that made people relax and tell her anything, because they felt quite certain she hadn’t a thought in her head.

“I did not.”

That was all he said. Kitty suppressed a grin. She enjoyed a challenge. She blathered on as she led him up and down the corridors, no longer caring that she didn’t actually know the way to the breakfast parlor. She had a twinge of guilt over not sending up any food for Elizabeth and Jane, but if her sisters grew too hungry, surely they would summon a maid.

Whenever Kitty stopped speaking, Mr. Fletcher would ask about the Archers in an attempt to direct her chatter, but he made no mention of the fact that she was obviously lost. Still, the house was only so large, and only so many reasonable locations for a breakfast parlor existed, so it was not overlong before they entered the sought-for room. A footman and a maid waited within, but no one dined.

In reward for his seemingly unflappable calm, Kitty decided to bestow a real piece of information on Mr. Fletcher as they sat. “They speak French. In fact, Mrs. Archer speaks it so well, I half wonder if French is her native tongue.”