Page 74 of In Want of a Suspect
No reaction, but Darcy could swear Henry’s glare was softening.
He made a big deal of looking left and right as if checking for witnesses. “It’s not a secret, only you have to promise not to laugh, all right? It’s... Fitzwilliam.”
Henry’s mouth quivered with what Darcy suspected might be the beginning of a smile.
“I know. Now, it’s not the worst name you’ve ever heard. I have a great uncle Archibald, you know, and I’m lucky my mother didn’t want to name me after him. And William is a nice, solid name. William sounds like a dependable sort, you know? But Fitzwilliam? I always thought it was a bit pretentious. Can you just picture a dandy named Fitzwilliam?”
Henry nodded. Progress.
“And heaven help me if anyone were to ever describe me as a dandy.” Darcy played up his dramatic shudder, although the sentiment was honest enough. “That’s why everyone, even Lizzie, calls me Darcy. Not as fussy, not as dramatic. It feels more like... me.”
His words seemed to have softened Henry’s hard exterior somewhat. The boy looked down at his hands and said, “Henryis who I am. But it’s more than a name. It’s...” Darcy waited for more, but Henry seemed at a loss for words. Finally, he asked, “Does Miss Bennet ever wish she was a boy?”
Darcy was so surprised by the question that he stumbled into a reply without thinking it through. “At times, I’m sure she wishes that she commanded the presence and respect of a man, but I’ve not heard her say she wishes shewerea man. Although... I mean... maybe you better ask her.”
Henry considered that for a moment, then nodded. “I always wanted to be a boy, ever since I was big enough to know the difference between boys and girls. And now... I’m a boy. And my name’s Henry.”
Darcy let Henry’s words sink in slowly. Before he’d met Lizzie, he might have laughed at the idea that Henry could just decide to be a boy, but there was something about associating with an unconventional lady like her that opened his mind, like a cabinet whose doors had always been locked, but she had turned the key.Why not?he found himself wondering. Life, he knew, was seldom easy or fair. It took courage to reach for what you wanted out of life—Lizzie had taught him that. If being a boy was what made sense to Henry, was what she—no, he—wanted, then...
“All right,” Darcy said. “Nice to meet you, Henry.”
There was a brief moment where Henry’s entire body seemed to relax. Darcy hadn’t been aware that up until that moment Henry had likely been tensed to fight, run, do whatever he needed. And that broke something inside Darcy, to realize thathe’d already faced such cruelty and hardship that he had honed an instinct for how to fight, even in the face of kindness.
But in a flash, that softness was gone and Henry demanded, “You aren’t going to tell Miss Bennet, are you?”
“Er, well... no?” Darcy said. He might have, but given Henry’s reaction, Darcy guessed that it wouldn’t be welcome. “That is, it appears that this is information you wish to keep private. And a gentleman always has discretion. So, no, I won’t if you don’t wish me to.”
Henry nodded, and Darcy felt as though he’d made the right decision. But his curiosity—and concern—got the better of him. “I must say, and I hope you’ll forgive this overstep, but keeping your hair long like that is a risk. Why not cut it?”
Henry gave him the most magnificent scowl, as if Darcy were a first-rate fool. “I know that. But I don’t got a knife or scissors, and if I go to the wigmaker she’ll know, and...”
“Ah,” Darcy said. So it was a matter of poverty, and not carelessness. “I only have a penknife on me, and it’s not particularly sharp... but I can get you a pair of barber scissors, if you like.”
“Really?” Henry was suspicious but hopeful.
“It would be no bother,” Darcy promised. “But first, if you don’t mind—would you care to tell me the message from Lizzie?”
“Oh, right.” Henry crossed his skinny arms. “She said you weren’t going to be very happy to hear it.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”
“But you don’t seem the type to get angry enough to hurt the messenger.”
“I’d never,” Darcy promised solemnly.
“She said to tell you she was meeting the Dashwoods and she’d find the truth tonight, at the storehouse.”
“Find the truth?” Whatever did that mean? “She didn’t say anything more?”
He looked at Henry, who didn’t respond. He’d crept forward close enough that Guy trotted up to him and sat. Henry was petting the dog; he looked happy for attention. Like that was what he was hoping for all along, and now he’d finally gotten it.
“You know Guy,” Darcy said.
Henry looked up at him, shrugged. “He was Mr. Simon’s dog.”
“Henry,” Darcy said, his voice very serious. “I’m not upset, but... please tell me the real reason why you’ve been following Lizzie around. It’s not just because she was kind to you, is it?”
For a moment, Darcy was afraid Henry would bolt again. He stared up, wide-eyed. But then Guy nudged his hand and moved closer to Henry, begging for more attention. Henry looked at the dog and mumbled, “It’s not fair.”