Page 76 of The Shades of Pemberley

C urious as the events of the previous evening were, Darcy sat in his study trying to understand.

In the history of his family, he could not recall a single instance of an intruder in the house, and with all that had happened of late, it was a difficulty he did not feel himself equipped to deal with.

Yet something was off about the whole situation, something elusive such that Darcy could not put his finger on it.

The speed of the prowler’s flight suggested some familiarity with the house, which would suggest a former and perhaps disgruntled employee.

When canvassed again on the subject, the butler and housekeeper had denied any notion of who it might have been.

“The staff has remained static for the past year at least, Mr. Darcy,” said Monroe.

“Those who left the Darcy family’s service before then departed with references and left for reasons other than those of performance.

If I may say so, the Darcy family has always taken care to employ those of the highest character and treated them in such a way as to inspire loyalty. ”

The larger question was why one who had taken the trouble to enter the house had made his way to the family apartments when most valuables were in the study.

The safe sufficed to thwart a common burglar, but there were other items a thief might find valuable.

While a man might seek to steal some of the mistress’s less valuable jewelry—the pieces of extensive value remained in the safe when not in use—penetrating the family chambers was a task fraught with danger.

Darcy and Elizabeth slept together every night, but they did not publish that fact; anyone not a member of the household must suppose that Mrs. Darcy would be in her chambers at night, making the endeavor all that much more perilous.

When a distraction in the form of Bingley arrived late that morning, Darcy was not opposed to pushing his thoughts to the side for a time, for he had grown fatigued with them.

Bingley was his usual jovial self, his infectious good humor at once drawing Darcy from his weighty thoughts.

It had always been thus and was the reason Darcy valued his friendship.

“You will excuse me if I acknowledge some surprise at seeing you, my friend,” jested Darcy when Bingley stepped into the room. “Of late, I have wondered if you found my friendship so essential as you once did.”

As was his custom, Bingley did not restrain his mirth at the quip. “It is your own fault, my friend, for you introduced me to Miss Bennet yourself. If I find her company more agreeable than your own, you cannot complain at this late date.”

“You are fortunate the earl tolerates you as much as he does.”

“He is an excellent fellow, and his wife is nothing less than welcoming,” agreed Bingley. “I dare say that Miss Mary is also benefiting from the countess’s attention.”

“That is the truth. Mary was never so taciturn as to be a recluse, but she has often been an observer rather than a participant in life.”

“She is a good girl, and even I have noticed it, though my focus has been on Miss Bennet.” Bingley grinned.

“Now there is a woman worth speaking of. I am most obliged to you, Darcy, for I could have searched the length and breadth of England and not found her like even if I had traveled from one town to another all the days of my life.”

With those words, Bingley continued to speak of his good fortune and the perfections of Miss Jane Bennet, such that if one did not know him, one might have considered it gauche.

To Darcy, who was acquainted with him and had predicted his interest in advance, it was nothing more than the usual enthusiasm Bingley showed for everything.

In short, Miss Bennet was an angel, a veritable deity made flesh, among a whole host of other superlatives.

As Darcy was well acquainted with the woman, as well or better than Bingley, to own the truth, he did not need to listen to everything his friend said, allowing his mind to wander to other matters.

“What of your sisters and your brother?” asked Darcy when he had an opportunity to interject into Bingley’s raptures.

“All well,” replied Bingley. “You do not know him well, but Hurst is much as he ever is, and Louisa and Caroline as thick as thieves.”

Bingley considered them for a moment. “What happened between Lady Susan and my sister when you were on your wedding tour is not unknown to you.”

“I have heard several accounts of it.”

A nod was Bingley’s response. “Caroline is benefiting from her ladyship’s acknowledgment, and it has affected her in ways I had not expected.

Had Caroline received such attention before her eyes were opened, I dare say she might have become conceited.

As it is, I have nothing to complain about her behavior, for she almost seems humble. ”

“That is welcome news, my friend. Is there anything particular to report in the attention she has received?”

“Not as such,” said Bingley, shaking his head. “Not long after the evening in question, we had occasion to speak, and I urged her to weigh her options. I even persuaded her to consider a man’s character and her esteem for him rather than just his prominence or wealth.”

Bingley grinned. “You know enough about my sister to understand her previous ambitions.”

Unable to refrain from rolling his eyes, Darcy said: “As her disastrous encounter with my cousin proved.”

“Just so,” agreed Bingley. “Caroline is still ambitious and wishes to make a good marriage, but I believe we have convinced her that character is as important as attracting a man who boasts a title. As we are nearing the end of the season, I do not suppose there is time for a man to settle on her and make his sentiments known, but I have great hopes for next year.”

“What of you?” asked Darcy, provoking his friend to grin.

“If I have my way, I will be married by next year. Now, if I can only follow your example and provoke a situation where I must marry her at once, I shall be well pleased!”

“That would only come after a long delay, if you recall.”

“Then I shall instead proceed with whatever haste I can muster.”

Then Bingley regarded him with an expression knowing and curious at once. “Enough of that, my friend. Though you can be inscrutable when you put your mind to it, I did not miss your general distraction when I was speaking of Miss Bennet. Is something amiss?”

Thoughts flying back to the previous evening, Darcy shook his head. “We had an intruder in the house last night.”

Whatever Bingley had expected, it was not this. “That is quite unusual, my friend. Did you apprehend him?”

“He escaped, but the entire affair is troubling.”

At Bingley’s insistence, Darcy shared the events of the previous evening, their investigation, and conjecture about the affair.

Showing no sign of the frivolous man others sometimes branded him as, Bingley listened, his concentration displayed in the questions he asked.

When Darcy fell silent, Bingley sat back in his chair and considered what Darcy had told him.

“Most curious, indeed,” mused Bingley. “You say your man found the intruder in the family wing above stairs?”

“That is the most perplexing part of this,” said Darcy. “The study would be the logical place for a burglar to find valuables.”

“Did you not have some trouble with Miss Darcy’s companion of late? Could the intrusion have something to do with that situation?”

Like a bucket of cold water being poured over his head, Darcy realized what he had been missing. “I think it might, my friend. Please wait a moment.”

Darcy exited the room and slipped into the hallway, asking a nearby footman to speak to the butler and summon Lord Matlock and Colonel Fitzwilliam to the house, while instructing the housekeeper to attend him at once.

The woman arrived in the study almost the moment he reentered, her expression curious.

“Mrs. Mayfield,” said Darcy, “do you recall anything peculiar about Mrs. Younge’s habits while she was here? Did she often go out or receive letters, or did she have visitors?”

“There were no visitors, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Mayfield, seeming to understand the reason for his questions.

“There were several letters from various senders, friends, I supposed. She also sent letters from time to time. As for her comings and goings, she sometimes went out, but that is not unusual for a companion during her free time.”

That she was sending letters was interesting, for Darcy had heard nothing of family with whom she would correspond. That did not prevent having friends with whom she would wish to keep contact, of course. When Darcy commented to this effect, Mrs. Mayfield demurred.

“From what I recall, the letters she sent were sparse, and I have no notion of the recipient.”

“No, I did not suppose you would,” said Darcy, reflecting that she would have no reason to pry. “When she departed from the house, what happened to her effects?”

“The room is undisturbed except for the regular cleaning.”

Darcy nodded. “It may be time to search her possessions, Mrs. Mayfield.”

“You suppose last night’s excitement was connected to Mrs. Younge?”

“Though I had not considered it before, it seems like an interpretation we cannot ignore; I cannot say what the invader meant to accomplish.”

“Perhaps she has incriminating letters in her possession that he wished to retrieve,” suggested Bingley.

“That is my thought, too,” agreed Darcy, “though I wonder if there was not some more nefarious purpose. Georgiana was asleep not far from where Barnes discovered him.”

Mrs. Mayfield gasped. “Do you suppose he meant to enter her bedchamber?”

“I do not know, but I will also rule nothing out.”

“I shall see to it at once, Mr. Darcy.”