Page 18

Chapter Eighteen

F itzwilliam Darcy had never been a man accustomed to waiting. His position, wealth, and natural bearing typically ensured the world bent to accommodate his schedule, not the reverse. Yet here he stood at the window of the Rose and Crown Inn, watching darkness descend upon the courtyard with growing impatience, his fingers tapping an agitated rhythm against the sill as the minutes crawled past with excruciating slowness.

Two days they had waited here, two interminable days with nothing but speculation and worry for company. While they had returned briefly to Longbourn as promised the day after meeting with Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet’s continuing histrionics had the household in such a state of agitation they had not stayed long. Darcy had not wanted to put pressure on Elizabeth, besides; he had taken a moment to assure her that his solicitor had been instructed to obtain the special license and he would advise her once he had it in hand.

Mr. Bennet had thanked them for coming but had little to communicate they did not already know, save that Mr. Burnley had concerns Darcy might have hired someone to arrange Wickham’s murder. Darcy was grateful for the intelligence, especially since Mr. Burnley had visited the Rose and Crown later that day and asked a lot of probing questions obviously tending in that direction. Darcy was able to answer with a clear conscience that the thought had never occurred to him and he would not even know how to go about hiring someone to perform such a dastardly act. .

Burnley went away again looking convinced, if somewhat disappointed; he had obviously hoped for a simple explanation to the case which thus far was proving anything but.

“You will wear a groove in the floorboards if you continue your pacing,” observed Colonel Fitzwilliam from his seat near the fire. His cousin’s voice carried its usual good humour, but Darcy detected the underlying concern.

“And you will wear through that newspaper if you continue to read the same page for the fourth time this hour,” Darcy replied, turning from the window.

The colonel folded the paper with a rueful smile. “Guilty as charged. Though I daresay neither of us expected to be cooling our heels here quite this long.”

“We cannot simply wait here indefinitely,” Darcy said, stopping abruptly. “Every hour that passes is another in which Miss Elizabeth’s reputation may be further damaged.”

“I understand your concern, but rushing into Meryton again would be imprudent. Remember, cousin, discretion serves Miss Elizabeth better than haste.”

Darcy nodded reluctantly. Fitzwilliam was right, of course. But the waiting... the waiting was intolerable. he could not settle even to reading a book for more than a minute or two, his thoughts racing, every instinct demanding that he take urgent action to resolve the situation, even though there was literally nothing he could do at present that might be of any use.

“Perhaps,” Darcy said slowly, the beginnings of an idea forming, “there is a middle path.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow. “I am all attention.”

“My servants. They could visit the local establishments in Meryton, the sort of places where my presence would be conspicuous, but theirs would not.”

“Your driver and footmen in a public house, you mean? Where tongues are loosened by ale and company?”

“Precisely.” Darcy felt a small measure of the tension in his shoulders release at the prospect of action, however indirect. “There will be talk, and they might hear it and bring the information back to us.”

The colonel considered this, his military mind assessing the strategy. “It could work. Your staff is discreet, and they need not mention their connection to you.”

“They are also well compensated for their loyalty,” Darcy added. It was not a boast but a simple statement of fact. He treated his staff well, and they repaid him with their discretion.

Within half an hour, Darcy had given his instructions to his driver and two footmen. They were to put on their plain coats and go separately to different establishments, listen more than speak, and return with whatever information they could glean about Wickham. Reluctantly he added, “And if you hear anything about Miss Elizabeth Bennet, or her family, I should like to know what is being said of them as well.” He pressed money on them, telling them to make friends and buy drinks or meals where necessary to loosen tongues, but be cautious not to bring suspicion on themselves.

“Understood, Mr. Darcy,” his coachman Thompson said. “We might be late back… sometimes men don’t start gossiping until they’re well in their cups.”

“We shall wait up,” Darcy said, knowing full well he would not be able to sleep until the early hours of the morning anyway. He had barely slept more than three or four hours together since Caroline Bingley had maliciously relayed the news of Elizabeth’s betrothal to Wickham.

After his men departed, Darcy found himself alone with his thoughts while Fitzwilliam went to arrange for their dinner. His mind, treacherous thing that it was, continued to conjure images of Elizabeth. Her eyes bright with tears when last he saw her, her normally animated countenance drawn with worry.

What truly tormented him was the knowledge that he could have prevented all of this. Had he exposed Wickham earlier, made public the man’s true character instead of guarding his family’s privacy, perhaps Elizabeth would never have been put in such a position. His pride and his concern for propriety had, in the end, endangered the woman he had come to care for more deeply than he had thought possible.

“You are brooding again,” Fitzwilliam observed upon his return, breaking into Darcy’s reverie.

“Contemplating,” Darcy corrected, though without conviction.

“Contemplating what precisely Miss Elizabeth Bennet will say when she discovers you have set your staff to collecting gossip about her in local drinking establishments?” There was a hint of challenge in his cousin’s tone.

Darcy frowned. “When presented in those terms, it sounds rather less noble than I intended.”

“That is because you persist in thinking like a man in love rather than a strategist,” Fitzwilliam said, his expression softening. “Though I confess, I have never seen you so affected by any young lady.”

“I am merely concerned for her welfare,” Darcy replied stiffly, though he knew the protest sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Fitzwilliam tactfully changed the subject, and they spoke of other matters over dinner, though Darcy found himself checking his pocket watch with increasing frequency as the evening wore on. It was nearing ten o’clock when a knock at the parlour door heralded the return of his men.

“Enter,” Darcy called, setting aside his brandy glass.

Thompson came in, doffing his hat respectfully. His normally impassive face betrayed a certain eagerness that told Darcy he had not returned empty-handed. His eyes were clear, though his cheeks were slightly flushed, evidence that he had likely indulged in at least a few pints of ale while on his mission. Darcy did not grudge it; it would have seemed suspicious if Thompson had not been drinking himself. He did not appear inebriated, though the fact that he was alone made Darcy wonder if Thompson had gathered whatever information the other two had gleaned and then sent them off to bed so their employer did not see them in a drunken state.

“Well?” Darcy prompted, attempting to moderate the urgency in his voice.

“There’s a fair bit of talk in Meryton, sir, about Mr. Wickham,” Thompson began. “It seems the gentleman left behind quite a number of creditors.”

“Creditors?” Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated. “Of what sort?”

“Various shopkeepers, sir. The tailor, the bootmaker. But mostly it’s his fellow officers who are in high dudgeon. Apparently, Mr. Wickham had significant gambling debts among the militia. One lieutenant was particularly vocal about losing fifteen pounds he’ll never see again.”

Darcy exchanged a knowing look with his cousin. This was entirely in keeping with Wickham’s character, leaving a trail of financial wreckage in his wake. “And what of his murder? Is there any speculation of who might have done the deed?”

“No, sir. Apparently the magistrate made it clear that though Wickham had no liking for you, you could not possibly have been involved.” Thompson looked apologetic even to have mentioned it, and hastily moved on. “There was talk that his quarters were searched after he was found. They found little of value; a few coins, some personal effects.”

“No surprise, given his living habits,” Fitzwilliam noted dryly.

“Precisely, sir,” Thompson agreed. “The landlady at the officers’ lodgings was complaining bitterly about unpaid rent as well; Colonel Forster won’t make good on it. They gave her Wickham’s possessions to sell but there wasn’t enough of value to cover her loss.”

Darcy had expected as much, but hearing the confirmation still provoked a surge of anger. Wickham’s profligacy was as predictable as it was despicable. He would inquire tomorrow about how much the landlady was still owed and see her compensated, as well as any other tradespeople in Meryton. It was the last time he would ever have to settle Wickham’s debts, after all, and he would not see honest, hardworking folk suffer. “And what of Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” he asked, steeling himself for whatever might report.

Here, something curious passed over the driver’s face. “That’s what struck me as odd, sir. There’s surprisingly little gossip about the young lady, not that I heard, and George and Henry said they heard nothing either even when they discreetly mentioned the Bennets.”

Darcy blinked, not having anticipated this response. “None at all?”

“Oh, her name is mentioned, sir, but not with the sort of... well, not with the scandal one might expect, given the circumstances. A few women speaking of how unfortunate the business was, but nothing malicious that I could hear.”

“Most curious,” murmured Fitzwilliam. “One would expect more speculation in a small community such as Meryton.”

“Indeed, sir. In fact,” Thompson continued, “I overheard several of the local men, farmers and such, saying quite plainly that Miss Elizabeth was ‘well rid of that Wickham fellow.’ Their words, sir, not mine. They seemed to think she’s much too good for the likes of him.”

A small weight lifted from Darcy’s shoulders. “And the general sentiment toward Miss Elizabeth’s family?”

“Largely sympathetic, from what I gathered. The family is well-regarded, it seems, despite some mention of her younger sisters being rather... high-spirited.”

Darcy allowed himself a moment of relief. At least in Meryton, Elizabeth’s reputation did not appear to have suffered irreparable damage. The locals, at least those moving in the lower circles of Hertfordshire society, had apparently seen through Wickham more clearly than he had given them credit for.

“Thank you, Thompson. You have done well,” Darcy said, dismissing him with a nod. “Good night.”

After the driver had gone, Fitzwilliam raised his glass. “Better news than we might have hoped for, I think.”

“In Meryton, perhaps,” Darcy conceded. “But what of broader society? Will the Bingleys of the world still receive her? Will she be welcomed in London drawing rooms, or subtly excluded?”

“The Bingleys will take their cue from you, I suspect,” Fitzwilliam replied with a knowing look. “As for London society, much depends on how the matter is handled from this point forward. You know my parents will stand behind you, no matter what, and they are not without influence.”

Darcy turned to gaze into the fire, his mind working through the implications. The local reaction was a small comfort, but he knew all too well how differently the affair might be viewed in more elevated circles. Elizabeth’s family lacked the connections and wealth that could smooth over such a scandal. She would be judged harshly by those who had never experienced her wit, her intelligence, her remarkable ability to see through pretence. Even the Earl and Countess of Matlock, who as his cousin noted did wield significant influence within the ton, might not be able to counteract all the gossip, particularly if Caroline Bingley would not hold her tongue.

“All things considered, I am somewhat heartened by what we’ve learned tonight.” Fitzwilliam broke the silence. “You, however, appear no less troubled.”

Darcy sighed. “I cannot help but think of Miss Elizabeth facing the subtle cruelties of those who would judge her without knowledge or cause. She deserves better than to have her reputation tarnished by association with such a man.”

“You truly care for her,” Fitzwilliam observed quietly. It was not a question.

“Probably more than is wise,” Darcy admitted, the words escaping before he could reconsider them. “But my feelings are immaterial to the present situation. What matters is ensuring she does not suffer unduly for Wickham’s perfidy.”

They lapsed into thoughtful silence, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. Darcy found himself hoping that his other servants would return with equally encouraging reports, yet he could not shake the sense that this entire affair remained unresolved. Wickham was gone, yes, his threat finally removed, but who had killed him? And what lasting harm might still come to Elizabeth because of it?

Tomorrow, Darcy decided, they would need to take more direct action. The waiting game had yielded some information, but not enough. He would not rest until he knew Elizabeth was truly safe.

The morning dawned clear and crisp, but with a lingering chill that prompted Mr. Darcy to button his coat as he and Colonel Fitzwilliam set out early from the Rose and Crown. They had agreed that fresh air might clear their minds, and the quiet country lane afforded them privacy for conversation that the inn, with its thin walls and curious staff, could not. Darcy had slept poorly, his dreams haunted by Elizabeth Bennet’s face and fragmented images of Wickham lurking in shadows. He welcomed the cool bite of morning air that drove away the last vestiges of those troubled visions.

“I propose we make for Longbourn directly after breakfast,” Darcy said as they began to walk briskly. “We have gleaned what information we can from a distance. Now we must speak with the family directly again...”

He stopped abruptly, his attention caught by the approaching rattle of wheels on the road behind them. Both men stepped to the side to allow the farmer’s cart to pass, but as it drew alongside them, Darcy felt an immediate jolt of recognition at the small figure perched among the sacks of produce. His head snapped around and he stared in surprise.

“Do you know that young lady?” Fitzwilliam asked as he followed the direction of Darcy’s gaze, his voice low.

“Miss Lydia Bennet,” Darcy confirmed, watching as the cart rumbled past. There could be no mistaking the youngest Bennet daughter, despite her plain cloak and bonnet. He had seen her often enough the previous autumn, always the loudest and most forward of the sisters, invariably drawing attention to herself with improper laughter or flirtatious behaviour.

Now, however, she appeared to be making an effort not to be observed. Her head was bent low, and she kept glancing over her shoulder as if concerned about being followed, though she did not seem to recognise Darcy and Fitzwilliam. As the cart approached a crossroads some hundred yards ahead, she tapped the farmer’s shoulder and hopped down with surprising agility when he slowed.

“So it is. Most curious,” Fitzwilliam murmured. “What would the young lady be doing out at this hour, unaccompanied and seemingly intent on avoiding notice?”

Darcy watched as Lydia hurried toward a small stone cottage set back from the main road. “Nothing good, I fear. Let us observe, but at a distance. I do not wish to be seen.”

They continued walking at a measured pace, maintaining the appearance of gentlemen taking their morning constitutional while keeping Lydia in view. She approached the cottage with obvious caution, looking about her several times before knocking at the door. A moment later, she was admitted inside.

“Do you know who resides there?” Fitzwilliam asked quietly.

“I do not,” Darcy replied. “But I confess I mislike the secretive manner of her visit.”

They positioned themselves beneath the spreading branches of an oak tree, partially concealed yet with a clear view of the cottage door. The modest dwelling showed signs of careful maintenance, with neat curtains at the windows, a good-sized herb garden to one side, and smoke curling from the chimney. It appeared respectable enough, which made Lydia’s furtive behaviour all the more concerning.

“Perhaps she is delivering a message for her family,” Fitzwilliam suggested, though his tone indicated he found this explanation unlikely.

“Without a chaperone, so far from home? In such a clandestine fashion?” Darcy shook his head. “Miss Lydia has never struck me as a model of propriety, but this... this suggests something more troubling than her usual indiscretions.”

They did not have to wait long. Within a few minutes, the cottage door opened once more, and Lydia emerged. Her movements were quick and nervous, her hands busy with something that she hastily stuffed into her pocket. Even from their position, Darcy could see that her expression held none of its usual animation. She looked serious, almost frightened; an aspect he had never before observed in the typically exuberant girl.

“Shall we approach her?” Fitzwilliam asked.

Darcy considered this briefly. “No. She would be mortified to encounter us here, and that might prevent us from discovering her purpose. Let us follow at a distance and see where she goes next.”

They waited until Lydia had started down the lane before following, maintaining a sufficient interval to avoid detection. The girl walked rapidly, her posture tense, one hand repeatedly checking whatever object she had secreted in her pocket. She led them toward the outskirts of the village, where the road to Meryton branched from the main thoroughfare.

There, she stopped and waited, partially concealed behind a hedgerow, her eyes fixed on the road. After several minutes, another cart rolled along, this one heading in the direction of Meryton. Lydia quickly emerged from her hiding place and hailed the driver, who slowed to allow her to climb aboard.

“Returning home, it would seem,” Fitzwilliam observed as they watched the cart diminish in the distance.

Darcy frowned, his mind working through the implications. “Whatever her errand, she clearly wished it to remain unknown to her family.”

“The question remains: what business could bring the youngest Miss Bennet to this particular cottage, conducted with such obvious secrecy?”

They stood in silent contemplation for a moment before Darcy turned his attention back to the cottage. “Let us discover who lives there. That may provide some insight into the nature of Miss Lydia’s visit.”

As they approached the dwelling, Darcy noted details he had missed from their previous vantage point. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the eaves, and the small garden contained plants he recognised as medicinal – feverfew, chamomile, cowslips, elderflower, and many others whose properties he knew to be used for various therapeutic purposes.

Before they could determine how best to make inquiries, the cottage door opened, and an elderly woman emerged. She carried a basket over one arm and was dressed in simple, practical clothing. She noticed them immediately and offered a polite nod before setting off in the opposite direction.

“And who might she be?” Fitzwilliam said quietly.

Darcy shook his head. He had never seen the woman before, and her dress and the general aspect of the house made it clear she was not of the local gentry. Why Lydia would have been visiting her, alone and apparently eager not to be seen, was a mystery.

They returned to the inn, both lost in thought as they considered the implications of what they had witnessed. Upon their arrival, Darcy beckoned to a chambermaid who had been tidying the entryway.

“A moment of your time,” he said, reaching into his pocket and extracting a silver half-crown. “I seek information about a cottage near the crossroads, just past the old oak, with a garden full of medicinal plants. An elderly woman resides there.”

The maid’s eyes widened at the sight of the coin. “That’d be Mrs. Holloway’s place, sir. She’s the midwife for these parts, has been these thirty years or more.”

“I see. And is Mrs. Holloway known for other... services?” Darcy kept his tone neutral, though he felt a growing unease.

The maid glanced around nervously before lowering her voice. “She helps women in various ways, sir, if that’s your meaning. Some say she knows which herbs to give for... well, for when a woman finds herself in a delicate condition she don’t wish to continue.”

Darcy felt a cold shock run through him. He managed to maintain his composure, but he sensed Fitzwilliam stiffening beside him.

“I understand,” Darcy said, pressing the coin into the maid’s hand. “Thank you for your candour. I assure you, we mean Mrs. Holloway no ill; I am sure she provides a valuable service to the local women.”

“Aye, sir, that she does.” The maid bobbed a curtsy, relief spreading across her face. “Thank ‘ee.” The coin disappeared into a hidden pocket.

After the girl had departed, the two men retreated to their private parlour, where Darcy immediately poured two glasses of brandy despite the early hour. He handed one to Fitzwilliam, who accepted it with a grave expression.

“So,” the colonel said after taking a fortifying sip, “it would appear Miss Lydia Bennet may have been seeking a remedy of a most... sensitive nature.”

“It would appear so,” Darcy agreed, his mind reeling with the implications.

“The question becomes,” Fitzwilliam continued, approaching the problem methodically, “for whom was she obtaining such a remedy? For herself, or...?”

“Or for one of her sisters,” Darcy finished, his throat tightening around the words.

For several long moments, neither man spoke. The parlour seemed to have grown smaller around them, the implications of what they had witnessed expanding to fill every corner of the room. Darcy stood by the window, his posture rigid, staring unseeing at the courtyard below. Behind him, he could hear his cousin’s measured breathing, the soft clink as he set down his brandy glass. The silence stretched, taut with unspoken thoughts, until Fitzwilliam finally gave voice to the question hanging between them.

“Darcy,” he began, his tone unusually hesitant, “you do not think, perhaps, that it is Miss Elizabeth who might require such... services?”

Darcy turned sharply, his expression one of absolute conviction. “No. I do not. Miss Elizabeth was entirely clear on the matter when she confided in me. Wickham forced a single kiss upon her, nothing more. She was cautious never to be alone with him afterward, precisely because she recognised his character for what it was.”

Fitzwilliam regarded his cousin carefully. “And you are certain she spoke the complete truth? Sometimes, in matters of such delicacy, even the most forthright individuals may…”

“She would not lie about this,” Darcy interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. He crossed to the chair opposite Fitzwilliam and sat, leaning forward with fierce intensity. “You have not had the privilege of knowing Miss Elizabeth Bennet as I have. She possesses a frankness of character that is... remarkable. When she speaks, there is no artifice, no attempt to mislead or mitigate.”

“I meant no offense,” Fitzwilliam said gently. “I am merely considering all possibilities, as distasteful as some may be.”

Darcy took a steadying breath, recognising the wisdom in his cousin’s approach. “Of course. Forgive my sharpness. But consider this logically: if Elizabeth found herself in such a predicament, would she, with her intelligence and discretion, entrust such a sensitive errand to Lydia of all people?”

The colonel’s brow furrowed as he contemplated this. “I take your point. From everything you have described of the youngest Miss Bennet, and what I observed of the dynamics among the sisters, she seems the least likely confidante for such a matter.”

“Precisely,” Darcy continued, warming to his argument. “Lydia is fifteen, impulsive and indiscreet. Elizabeth once described her as having ‘all the wild exuberance of youth without any mitigating sense or decorum.’ She would never trust such a sister with a secret of that magnitude.”

“And certainly Elizabeth would know she could not be with child from a mere kiss,” Fitzwilliam added, his expression clearing somewhat.

“Yes. She is well-read and level-headed, and she has grown up in the countryside. She would understand the impossibility.” Darcy hesitated before adding, “Furthermore, knowing her character as I do, were she to find herself compromised, I believe she would face the matter directly, not seek to conceal it through such means.”

“I am inclined to agree with your assessment,” Fitzwilliam conceded. “But then the question remains: what was Miss Lydia doing at the midwife’s cottage?”

They lapsed into thoughtful silence. Darcy rubbed his temple, trying to make sense of the morning’s discovery. The most obvious explanation was also the most troubling.

“Could it be,” he said slowly, “that Lydia herself is the one in need of such remedies?”

Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows rose. “You think she and who… not Wickham...?”

“You jump to the same conclusion as I have. It is not beyond the realm of possibility,” Darcy replied grimly. “Wickham has a history of pursuing young women in vulnerable positions. I prevented one such catastrophe with my own sister, as you know.”

“Yes, poor Georgiana,” Fitzwilliam murmured, his expression darkening at the mere mention of that near-disaster. “And Miss Lydia is the same age as Georgiana, is she not?”

“She is. Yet she possesses none of Georgiana’s natural reserve or propriety. From what I observed during my time in Hertfordshire, she is forward, flirtatious, and alarmingly unguarded in her behaviour toward officers.”

The colonel nodded slowly. “A perfect target for a man of Wickham’s predilections. An easy conquest.”

“Indeed,” Darcy agreed, the pieces beginning to fit together in his mind. “And if he succeeded in compromising her...” He stood abruptly, unable to contain his restless energy. “If this is true, it presents an even greater scandal for the Bennet family than we initially feared.”

“And one that would affect all the sisters, including Miss Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam observed quietly.

The realization struck Darcy like a physical blow. Of course, should Lydia’s behaviour become known, the reputation of the entire family would suffer, even more than it already had.

“We cannot be certain without more information,” Darcy said, his mind working rapidly. “We are still dealing in suppositions. Miss Lydia may not be in the trouble we fear, and even if she is, Wickham may not be the guilty party.”

“Justified suppositions, based on evidence and known character,” Fitzwilliam countered. “But you are right, we need confirmation.”

Darcy began to pace again, his strides measured and purposeful. “There is only one place we can find the answers we seek.”

“Longbourn,” Fitzwilliam nodded. “Though I wonder what sort of reception we might expect when we arrive bearing this intelligence. The situation is delicate, to say the least.”

“Delicate or not, it must be addressed,” Darcy replied firmly.

“Very well.” Fitzwilliam rose. “Shall we depart immediately?”

Darcy considered their options. “Yes, despite the early hour, I do not think this should wait. Have the carriage brought around while I settle our account with the innkeeper, if you would.”

As his cousin left to make the arrangements, Darcy took a moment to gather his thoughts. If Lydia Bennet had indeed been impregnated by Wickham before his untimely death, Darcy would do whatever was in his power to mitigate the damage, not only for Elizabeth’s sake, but because he felt responsible for not having exposed Wickham’s true character earlier.

Damn you, Wickham, he thought. Even in death, you’re still making messes for me to clean up!