T he chaos naturally caused the card party to end early. Darcy could tell Elizabeth wished to remain at Stoke House with her aunt and uncle, but Mr. Gardiner insisted that she return to Netherfield.
“It is much too dangerous for you here, Lizzy. I need to know you are safe with your friends.”
“But what about my aunt and the children?” she protested.
Darcy cleared his throat. “If I may be so bold, sir, I should like to offer the use of a few footmen and stable hands from Netherfield. I shall send them over in the carriage as soon as we arrive.”
Mr. Gardiner’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Normally I would tell you not to wake them at this hour, but I value my family’s safety too much to refuse. We still have not finished fully staffing the property, and our servants are spread a bit thin.”
“We shall leave immediately, then, so they may come as quickly as possible.”
With that, Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the carriage, where the Hursts were already waiting on one of the benches. As soon as the door closed behind him, Darcy tapped the roof with his cane. “Quickly, please,” he called out.
Along the way, Mrs. Hurst fretted and whimpered, while her husband patted her hand in an attempt to keep her calm. Darcy looked down at Elizabeth, who sat next to him on the seat. A small part of him thrilled at their close proximity, but he tampered down the feeling and asked her, “Are you quite all right, Miss Elizabeth?”
Looking up at him with wide, solemn eyes, she whispered, “I simply do not understand what Mr. Smithson would want with my cousins. They are quite young and unable to give him any information about the fire or what occurred. And to attempt to enter the nursery in the middle of the night! There was no need—”
She froze, her words cutting abruptly off as she went pale. “What if he was not after them?”
“What do you mean?” he frowned. “It is not as if the man accidentally went there instead of, say, your uncle’s study. Everyone knows that children of an estate are usually kept in the upstairs rooms.”
“No, not the wrong room; the wrong children . What if he were looking for Benjamin?”
The pieces clicked together in Darcy’s brain. “The baby you found in London? But is he not staying at Longbourn?”
“Yes, but what if Mr. Smithson did not know that? In our conversation the other day, he asked where Benjamin was. I told him that the Gardiners had offered to take him, but before I could explain that he was at Longbourn instead, I was interrupted.”
Darcy thought furtively back to the interrogation he had witnessed. “I do believe you are right.”
Elizabeth spoke quickly, her voice excited with the discovery. “And all of his questions were about Benjamin, not the fire. Remember? He seemed overly eager to learn about his origins. What if he is after him?”
“But why?”
Elizabeth seemed to deflate, her shoulders sagging as she sank back onto the carriage cushions. “As to that, I have no idea. Benjamin is an orphan, or at least partially. His mother died in the fire, and Meg—the woman who had him—was a…” she blushed, her words trailing off. “Well, I simply got the impression that his mother was unmarried and would not know who the father was. So why would he be important?”
Darcy was silent for a moment, his brows drawn in thought. Elizabeth could feel the weight of his attention, but she kept her gaze fixed on the passing countryside beyond the darkened window.
“Even so,” he said at last, “there must be something more to it. If Benjamin were merely an abandoned child with no connections, why go to such lengths to find him? Why break into a nursery at night?”
Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “Unless…” Her breath caught. “Unless someone is looking for him. Not out of malice, perhaps, but for some claim. But then why send a man like Smithson?”
Darcy did not answer, and Elizabeth did not press him. Her mind was spinning too quickly to form another question. She glanced across the carriage. Mrs. Hurst had finally gone quiet, though her face was still drawn with worry. Mr. Hurst snored softly, chin resting on his chest.
The gentle rumble of the carriage wheels on the road did little to soothe Elizabeth’s frayed nerves. Her thoughts were with Longbourn now—was Benjamin truly safe? Did Smithson know where he was? Would he try again?
She glanced up at Darcy. He sat with his arms crossed, his profile etched sharply in the dim carriage lantern light, eyes narrowed in deep concentration.
“Do you think,” she asked quietly, “that someone like Mr. Smithson is acting alone?”
Darcy’s jaw flexed. “No. A man like that works for someone. Someone who has money. And secrets.”
Elizabeth nodded grimly. “Then it is not just Benjamin’s future in danger. It is ours, too, if we continue to ask questions.”
The carriage slowed as they approached Netherfield. Before the wheels had even fully stilled, Darcy rapped twice on the roof and called for the driver to ready the stables immediately. “Two footmen and three stable hands need to go to Stoke House immediately,” he ordered as they stepped out. “Send them armed and have them report to Mr. Gardiner.”
Elizabeth turned to him in surprise. “You think it might come to that?”
“I do not wish it to,” Darcy said tightly. “But I would rather be prepared than caught unawares. Your aunt and uncle have had one close call already.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard, her throat dry with nerves and exhaustion. As they stepped into the house and Darcy handed her off to the waiting housekeeper, she turned once more.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “For everything tonight.”
He inclined his head, but something in his eyes—something dark and urgent—held hers. “Get some rest, Miss Elizabeth. Tomorrow… we will begin to find out who Mr. Smithson truly is.”
The following morning, Darcy was enjoying a quiet breakfast when a footman appeared at the door.
“Sir, there is a gentleman—Mr. Bennet of Longbourn—requesting an audience. He’s already in the drawing room.”
Darcy sighed. He was not surprised that Elizabeth’s father had arrived so early, given the events of the previous night.
Rising from the table, he placed his napkin beside his plate and gave a curt nod. “Tell him I shall be there directly, and send someone to fetch Mr. Bingley.”
By the time he arrived downstairs, he found Bingley already there, an uncharacteristic frown on his face. Mr. Bennet stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out the window with an expression far more severe than Darcy had ever seen on him.
“Good morning, Mr. Bennet,” Darcy said with a bow.
“Good morning, sir,” Mr. Bennet replied, turning. “Forgive the hour, but I am here for my daughters. I would like them returned to Longbourn without delay.”
Bingley’s frown deepened. “Once again, sir, I must protest. Surely Miss Bennet’s ankle needs further time to recover! Mr. Jones said she must not—”
“She will be carried, or laid out in the carriage with every cushion we can manage.” Mr. Bennet’s tone was clipped, unyielding. “I want all of my family under my roof with my protection. After what occurred at the Gardiner’s home last night, I no longer feel comfortable having them scattered across the county.”
Darcy studied him. This was not the indolent, ironic patriarch he had come to expect. There was no hint of teasing in his voice—only a tight, simmering dread poorly masked with civility.
Bingley looked wounded. “I assure you, Mr. Bennet, that I would protect Miss Bennet—”
“Better lame than dead,” Mr. Bennet said flatly.
Darcy winced at the bluntness, and so did Bingley, whose jaw visibly tensed. Before his friend could respond, Darcy stepped forward. “I understand completely, Mr. Bennet.”
Bingley whirled on his friend, betrayal on his face. “You do?”
Without breaking eye contact with Mr. Bennet, who was giving him a measuring look, Darcy replied, “I do. If it were Georgiana—my younger sister, sir—I would be making the same decision.”
Mr. Bennet gave him a short, appreciative nod. “Thank you.”
Darcy’s thoughts were already racing ahead. If Smithson had been after the baby, as Elizabeth suspected… then Longbourn was now the most vulnerable point in the whole arrangement. And if Mr. Bennet wanted his family together so he could protect them personally—well, Darcy could hardly argue.
Still, it left a sour taste in his mouth to imagine Elizabeth gone from Netherfield. Gone from his immediate presence. No more conversations in the drawing room. No more catching her eye across the breakfast table. No more walking alongside her in the shrubbery, watching the sun catch in her curls as she teased him about his lack of conversational ease.
“I will see that the ladies are readied immediately,” Bingley said sullenly.
“Thank you,” Mr. Bennet said again. “You’ve both been hospitable—more than I expected. I am grateful.”
Bingley murmured something in acknowledgment, his brows still furrowed.
Darcy took his leave then, but not to supervise packing. Instead, he went straight to his study and called for writing paper.
There were letters to write—important ones. And this time, they would not go unanswered.
∞∞∞
Once the Bennet ladies had departed, the house fell oddly still. Bingley lingered near the window, visibly deflated, while Darcy retreated to the study and summoned paper and ink.
He penned his first letter to Mr. Reimont, his solicitor:
I require urgent inquiries into the man known as Mr. Smithson, who claims to represent an insurance company. His behavior and intentions are suspect, and I fear he may be involved in criminal activities under the guise of an official investigator. Please send word if there are any known affiliations, aliases, or related claims to this name or identity.
Also, advise whether it is possible to engage a Bow Street Runner to attend to the matter discreetly in Hertfordshire.
Satisfied, he sealed it with his signet.
The next letter was more difficult— addressed to Lord Matlock, his uncle. He hesitated before beginning. The earl had grown distant of late, and his silence in response to Darcy’s earlier missives about the fire was… troubling.
My lord,
Forgive the urgency of this letter, but I must implore your attention to a matter that grows more concerning with each passing day...
He once again detailed the events surrounding the fire, only this time, he went into what he learned about Elizabeth’s early awareness, the abandoned baby, the interrogation, and now Smithson’s attempted entry into the nursery. No detail was omitted.
I beg of you to look into this situation. If you hear nothing of this Smithson through your contacts, I fear something far more sinister is at play than an insurance company wishing avoid payout. It may be tied to the child. If there is anything you know—anything at all—I beg you to share it without delay.
His hand hovered over the paper before he signed it, sealed it, and wrote the direction on the outside.
Darcy then turned his attention towards the final—and perhaps most important—letter. This one would be to his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, who was currently stationed in London in order to help maintain order in the city after the fire.
Colonel Fitzwilliam,
I know you are in London, and no doubt you are drowning in chaos and duties. But I must ask you for a favor of the kind I suspect you are uniquely able to provide...
This one was more candid, layered with concern and unspoken trust. Last year, when the colonel had returned home from another tour of duty on the Continent, he showed up unannounced at Darcy House, where he proceeded to become thoroughly drunk. Amidst his ramblings of the horrors he had witnessed, he had muttered something about having contacts with the Home Office.
The following morning, the colonel had been alarmed upon hearing of his inebriated state the night before. He had demanded to know what all had been spoken, showing relief upon hearing that it was a bunch of nonsense. He swore Darcy to never speak of it, and since that night, the colonel had refused to drink alcohol in any form or quantity.
Darcy had kept that promise—until now.
I am hopeful that a few of your contacts may be able to help with a strange situation I have encountered here in Hertfordshire. There is a man named Smithson who is claiming to be an agent for an insurance company. The questions he has asked, however, have nothing to do with the destruction of property. Instead, he seems to be uniquely fixated on a baby who was found in Cheapside during the fire itself. The man went so far as to break into a gentleman’s home last night in an attempt to reach the children of the household, mistakenly believing the infant was there. He has since disappeared, but I suspect we have not heard the last of him.
There is something strange to all of this. I have not yet received a response from your father with regards to my last letter suggesting that the fire was set deliberately by France. I normally do not involve myself with such affairs of state and politics, but there is now too much at stake for me stand idly by.
Please make inquiries—discreet ones. I have made the same request of your father, and I plan to send for a Bow Street Runner to begin investigations here.
Darcy leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingertips together. Three letters, three directions. He only hoped that something would break before another attempt was made on the Gardiners—or on Benjamin.
Or Elizabeth.
He would not allow that.
Elizabeth was quite disappointed to have been called back to Longbourn with Jane, but her father’s unusual severity did not leave room for question or debate. Watching Netherfield Park fade from view, Elizabeth privately admitted that she would miss the enigma of Darcy most of all.
Poor Jane had been forced to endure an extremely painful carriage ride over the three miles of poorly paved road, her ankle jostling at every rut and ditch in spite of the large quantities of pillows, cushions, and blankets being used to stabilize the limb.
Upon arriving at Longbourn, Jane was carried upstairs to her room by Mr. Hill, where she gratefully accepted a cup of laudanum-laced tea. She was soon fast asleep, leaving Elizabeth free to seek out Benjamin, whom she had not seen in several days.
The young lad grinned and reached for her when she stepped into the nursery. Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Bennet both agreed that he was now about six months of age, and Elizabeth did not think she had ever seen such a handsome child. His light blue eyes and dark hair …gave him a striking appearance, and though his cheeks were still a touch too thin, he had begun to fill out from regular feedings and proper care. He babbled when he saw her, pudgy arms flapping with delight, and Elizabeth felt some of the heaviness in her heart ease.
Cradling him close, she sat by the nursery window and let him tug at the ribbon of her sleeve while she hummed a nonsense tune. Her time in the nursery flew by, offering her solace and consolation from the disturbing recent events. She took her lunch and dinner on trays, and soon it was time to retire for the night.
“Good night, beautiful boy,” she whispered as she kissed a sleeping Benjamin on the head.
As she left the nursery, Elizabeth could scarcely hold back her tears. Please, Lord, keep him safe. Keep all of us safe.
∞∞∞
The following morning, Elizabeth descended to the breakfast room feeling weary in both body and spirit. She had slept poorly; every creak and groan of the house woke her with a racing heart, terrified that Smithson had broken in to take Benjamin.
She entered the breakfast room to find everyone else already at the table, even Mr. Bennet, who was perusing the morning post.
“Good morning,” she said, fetching a plate of eggs and ham from the sideboard.
The ladies in the room responded to her greeting with their own, but Mr. Bennet did not reply. He was staring blankly down at one of the letters, the black edging around the parchment unmistakable in its meaning.
Elizabeth’s stomach turned. “Papa? Who?” She gestured towards the missive, unable to put her thoughts into words.
He looked up at her with a grim expression. “My cousin, Mr. Collins, is dead.”
“The heir?” gasped Jane.
He nodded. “Apparently, he was in London when the fire struck. Had just completed his studies and was preparing to take orders. They say he fled in the wrong direction—toward the blaze rather than away from it. He died from smoke inhalation.”
Jane’s hand fluttered to her chest. “How dreadful.”
“They were only able to identify him from the initials on his pocket watch,” Mr. Bennet continued. “His schoolmates recognized a sketch in the newspaper and confirmed it. The solicitor was listed as an emergency contact, and he managed to trace us here thanks to Mr. Collins’s… frequent boasting about inheriting Longbourn.”
“Oh, thank the Lord!” Everyone turned to stare at Mrs. Bennet, whose hands were raised above her head as if in praise. “We are saved!”
But Mrs. Bennet was already rushing forward, her face lit with sudden joy. “If Mr. Collins is dead, then the entail—why, Jane could be the heir! Or even Lydia! Oh, what fortune!”
“We know nothing of the sort,” Mr. Bennet said firmly. “The solicitor made it very clear that they would not be handling the matter. The entail must be consulted— Phillips’ predecessor drew it up. I will go into Meryton to speak with him.”
“And I shall come with you!” Mrs. Bennet declared. “I must tell my sister immediately. This is news worth sharing!”
Mr. Bennet sighed. “Yes, I thought as much.”
At the prospect of a trip into town, Kitty and Lydia perked up at once.
“Oh, Papa, please let us come!” Lydia pleaded. “There are soldiers in Meryton, and it is ever so dull here!”
“With so many officers about, we will be perfectly safe,” Kitty added.
“Very well,” Mr. Bennet said heavily. “But you are to stay with your mother and remain out of trouble.”
Lydia gave a squeal of delight and darted off to prepare, dragging Kitty behind her.
Elizabeth caught her father’s eye as he stood, and he gave her a small, tired smile.
“I will find out what I can, Lizzy,” he said quietly. “And if it truly is the end of the entail… we shall see what comes next.”
She nodded, unable to find the words to respond, unease settling deep within her chest. The news of Mr. Collins’s death had stunned them all—but somewhere deep inside, Elizabeth could not help but wonder if the fire was done with them yet.
“Lizzy, come!”
Elizabeth looked up, startled. Mrs. Bennet was standing with her hands on her hips, staring down at her. “You had best get dressed and come to the village with us to meet the officers. Lord knows there is nothing for you here at Longbourn.”
“But Benjamin—”
“Now, Elizabeth.”
Mrs. Bennet’s tone brooked no room for refusal. Elizabeth sighed and rose from her chair. I just hope we do not see Mr. Smithson while there.