A Merry Darcy Christmas

“You’re not shooting?” Lord Northover said.

“Nor are you,” Darcy answered.

“But I never do,” Northover replied, offering his flask.

Darcy shook his head. He needed to keep his wits about him.

“Something is troubling you,” said Northover. He was wrapped up in a large red tartan blanket, and sipping from a silver flask. “I just come on these things to get out of doors. But you, on the other hand, are an expert marksman and it is not like you to pass up such a fine opportunity for sport.”

“You are marksman enough to beat me at shooting, as I recall. Though not by much admittedly,” Darcy replied. Northover, for all his lethargy, had a knack for winning wagers and contests of all sorts. “I shouldn’t be surprised if you were to best me in a duel—even swords—though it might only be by a hair’s breadth.

/>

“But I have other things on my mind than shooting today,” Darcy continued. “Something of far more consequence.” This was true. He had only agreed to come on the shooting party as it afforded him a chance to speak with McGinty. Darcy had made some efforts attract the man down on his own, but McGinty was as elusive as a ferret. He doubtless suspected that whatever it was Mr. Darcy wished to speak to him about was not something he would wish to entertain.

“Your mind works overtime,” Northover said. “Always has. I find any mental effort to be fatiguing. I prefer to leave that to others. “

“I am unable to leave this matter to others,” said Darcy. It was true that he ought to at least make a pretense of shooting, but he wasn’t in the mood to engage in any form of subterfuge. All he needed was a chance to get McGinty alone.

“Have a drink then,” Northover said. “Whenever the merest ghost of a worry crosses my mind, I always chase it off with a drink.”

Darcy relented and took a small swig from the flask. It was as cold as ice, so cold he could feel the metal of the flask through his leather gloves, but the brandy it held burned going down his throat.

“If you like, you can tell me what is on your mind,” Northover said, accepting his flask back. “It will be a distraction from all the damned noise.”

Darcy debated for a moment what he should tell his old friend about his problem. There was no harm in candor that he could see. “McGinty has a scheme to fence the common here at Rosings Park. I intend to prevail upon him not to go through with it.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” Lord Northover said. “I recall that when Pettigrew told you about it over dinner in London that it seemed to get under your craw.”

“And it does not trouble you?”

“Of course it does,” Northover said sharply. “Of course it does, Darcy, you know I don’t countenance it. It’s an outrage.

“But I don’t see what can be done about it. It’s up to Lady Catherine how Rosings Park is managed.”

“She will not see reason,” Darcy said. “Perhaps McGinty could be made to see it.”

“Oh, you’ll not get anywhere with him. If the organ grinder will give you no satisfaction, you’ll do no better with the monkey.” Northover chuckled. “Why don’t you press your suit with her Ladyship? I take it you’ve tried that, but just press her harder.”

“I will appeal to her better nature, and give her my opinion,” Darcy said. “I do not know what more I can say to her than that, although I am open to any suggestions.”

“Well, you have more influence over her than you think, dear boy,” Northover said reflectively. “She has great plans for you, as you doubtless know. I’m surprised she doesn’t do your bidding without protest.”

“How do you mean?”

“Why her daughter Anne, of course,” Northover said. “She has her heart set on you marrying Anne, and given that you have a say in that, I should think you could hold her toes to the fire.”

Darcy laughed. “More likely she will hold my toes to the fire. I have no intention of marrying Anne, and I do not intend to use her as a bargaining chip.”

“It may be the only chip you have.” Northover took a long pull from his flask. He dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief, coughing slightly. The beaters had fetched the downed pheasants and McGinty was displaying them to Bingley and Pettigrew. Soon Darcy would have his chance.

“Nevertheless, I will not play it,” Darcy said, beginning to compose a plan to get McGinty alone. He would say he wished to have a word with him about—no, that would not do; he would be frank with the man, he would plainly state his position.

“Did you know that your aunt has made me a very singular offer?”

Darcy remembered that Northover had mentioned something at their dinner in London about a financial arrangement that Lady Catherine had proposed in her letter to him. It had slipped his mind since arriving at Rosings Park. Elizabeth Bennet had dislodged every thought other than thoughts of her, and that of the need to keep the common from being enclosed.

“What was the nature of her offer? I’d meant to ask you.”