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Even after six months of marriage, the size of her new home still sometimes amazed Elizabeth. Her childhood home had been modest enough, while Darcy’s estate was big enough to get lost in. She had found her way around quickly, however, and while it had taken some adjusting, she found she actually quite liked it there. It was large, but not uncomfortable, and together the two of them were making it feel more like home every day (by Darcy’s own admission, he hadn’t actually spent a lot of them there over the past several years; he tended to wander, go where he was needed, and as a result it sometimes seemed like he was adjusting to the place too).
One of the drawbacks, though, was that it could be difficult to find anyone within the house if you weren’t sure where they would be. Elizabeth had been in the training room for most of the afternoon, and she finally emerged as dusk fell. She had gone in search of her husband, only to discover that he was nowhere to be found. She ended up wandering through the house, wondering where on earth he could have gotten to.
“Darcy!” She called as she reached the bottom of the stairs on the ground floor. She knew that it would be fully acceptable to start using his first name now, and sometimes she did, but the name Darcy had sort of stuck. That was how she had always thought of him. Furthermore, there was something about “Darcy” that seemed to suit him better than “William”. He didn’t mind. For his part, Darcy had transitioned fairly smoothly into calling her Elizabeth. She was working on prying him into calling her Lizzy, which he had done a few times, hesitantly and a bit awkwardly, bless his stiff and overly guarded heart.
Elizabeth came to a halt midway through the hall and gave a frustrated sigh. She must have checked every room by now, and Darcy was still nowhere to be found. Surely he hadn’t left without informing her? She bit her lower lip, trying to determine where she ought to check now. Her thoughts were broken by the sound of footsteps behind her, and she turned around.
It wasn’t Darcy. It was one of the maids, on her way to the kitchen to help with supper. “Good evening, my lady.” She said when she saw Elizabeth.
“Good evening.” Elizabeth said with slight disappointment. Then she asked, “Have you seen Mr. Darcy?”
“I believe he went down to the cellar, Ma’am.”
“The cellar?” Elizabeth repeated in surprise. Admittedly, she had not checked the cellar, but she had not thought it to be worth it. There was nothing in the cellar except for their reserve supplies of essentials (in case of a zombie attack, of course) and a few other items of storage. What would Darcy be doing down there? “Are you sure?” She asked the maid.
“Yes, my lady. He’s been in the cellar for over an hour now, I believe.”
Elizabeth frowned, puzzled. “Thank you.” She said, and quickly started for the cellar entrance.
As she descended the stairs into the cellar, she saw all the proof she needed that Darcy had to be down there: there was the faint glow of candlelight coming up and lightly illuminating the last few steps. There would be no candles burning in the cellar were empty. Growing steadily more curious, Elizabeth reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the cellar, looking around the dimly lit room. She was about to call his name, but the word died on her tongue as her eyes rested on her husband, and her curiosity transformed into surprise and confusion.
Darcy was perched atop a cupboard, on his knees and elbows, a jar in one hand and its cover in the other, and the lit candles assembled right next to him. He did not seem to have noticed her enter. The room was filled with a faint buzzing noise, which, Elizabeth realized, was due to the flies. There were several of them flying around, being instinctively drawn to Darcy’s light. He seemed to be trying to coax them into his jar.
“Darcy?” Elizabeth asked finally.
He must have been giving his task all his concentration, because she startled him, something that was very hard to do. He jumped slightly, and his leg slipped. Elizabeth watched as he fell from the cupboard and hit the floor on his back, the jar still clutched in his hand. He gave a small groan. “Elizabeth.” He said.
She walked over and took his hand, helping him to his feet. “What in God’s name are you doing down here?” She asked. She waved her hand irritably as she heard the buzzing noise zip past her ear. “And why is the cellar infested with flies?”
There was something close to embarrassment on his face as he answered her. “I, um…I breed them.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him incredulously, which only caused him to look more sheepish. “You breed them?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Well, they’re very helpful.” Darcy insisted. “You’ve seen me use them. They’re by far the most effective way of picking out a zombie in a crowd. The only problem is that after every time you use them you need to catch new ones. It’s rather difficult to catch flies in a jar.” He held up the jar in his hand. “This is the easy part, unfortunately. From there I have to get them into the vile I can carry in my pocket. That can take hours.” He looked at her, and saw that she was stifling a smile. “You’re laughing at me.” He said, looking slightly wounded.
“No, no.” Elizabeth insisted, but a giggle escaped her nonetheless. “It’s just…Colonel Fitzwilliam Darcy, feared zombie slayer, catching flies in his cellar.” She gave him a smile, and his expression softened somewhat. “How do you breed flies, exactly?” Elizabeth asked.
“Oh, you don’t, really.” He admitted. “I basically just released a bunch down here and have kept them trapped ever since. They do the rest themselves.”
Elizabeth nodded, and then looked at him. “Are you telling me we live above a fly brothel?” She asked.
He froze, and she could practically see his mind working as he tried to decide how to answer this. “Um…” He began helplessly.
She grinned. There was nothing she enjoyed more than making him squirm. “I’m teasing, William.”
He relaxed, hints of relief in his eyes. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
Elizabeth looked at his jar again, which was noticeably empty. “You don’t seem to be having much luck.” She observed.
He sighed tiredly. “It’s not been a particularly successful afternoon, I admit.” He said.
Elizabeth suddenly clapped her hands together in the air, being careful to cup them instead of flattening her palms. “You just need to improve your reflexes.” She said.
“Don’t crush them.” Darcy said.
“Relax.” Elizabeth told him indignantly. “What do you take me for?” She brought her hands to his jar and released the fly she caught into it. He quickly slammed the cover on. “There.” She said, satisfied. “That’s one. How many do you need?”
They spent the next ten minutes working together to catch a few more flies. By the time they were done, Darcy had five flies buzzing around in his jar, and both of them were out of breath and full of laughter. “You have quite a talent for fly catching, Miss Bennet.” Darcy said. “I must remember that.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth said playfully. She linked arms with him. “Perhaps we ought to get back upstairs. We shouldn’t spend too long down in the cellar together. People might talk.”
It was a moment before Darcy suggested, “We could let them.”
Elizabeth looked at him in surprise, and then turned so she was facing him with a slightly mischievous smile on her face. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Why, Darcy,” She said, and then kissed him, lingering for a moment before saying, “You’ll have to catch me first.” Then she pulled away before he had a chance to react, snatched the fly jar out of his hand, and started running back up the stairs.
She had caught him off guard, and he simply stared after her for a few seconds in shock. “Elizabeth!” He called after her, and he heard her giggle. He grinned, and grabbed his candles, hurrying after her. “Lizzy!” He shouted as he rushed up the stairs.