Page 78 of The Shades of Pemberley

D arcy house became something of an armed camp in the ensuing days.

As he promised, Fitzwilliam had contacted some acquaintances, and that had resulted in several capable men entering the house and providing extra security.

Whereas they had entrusted one footman to prowl the halls at night, now there were at least four men hard and serious, searching for anything out of place, poised to act to protect the family should they discover something.

There were few outings in those days, as the family stayed close to home, and while this was not planned, it rendered them better able to protect the girls, any of whom might now become targets to unscrupulous men.

No one in the family had much heart for revelry in those days, and invitations to soirees, balls, parties, and other such activities received a polite but firm refusal, and while the family heard nothing, soon their absence from most society became known.

“There have been whispers, as we might have expected,” said Lady Susan during a visit almost a week after the event. “Charity, my youngest daughter, told me of a rumor of a breach into Darcy’s house, but the details were not well defined.”

“I suppose it was too much to ask that the event remain unknown to society,” grumbled Darcy, feeling annoyed by it all.

“News travels on wings of thought, Darcy,” said the lady, offering him a warm smile. “Endure it as well as you can, and recall that it might have been worse.”

Though unfortunate, Fitzwilliam’s questioning of Mrs. Younge revealed nothing they did not already know.

“She continues to claim that she has no notion of any intruder or why someone would invade your house.”

“Her continued insistence against the growing evidence is only making her situation worse.”

“At the moment, it is all she has, so she clings to it.” Fitzwilliam shrugged.

“In the end, I have every expectation that she will crack, for she cannot misunderstand the power we possess over her. At my father’s word, she faces the scaffold, whereas we can commute her sentence to transportation if she cooperates. ”

“From what I understand, life in the penal colony is difficult, such that she might wish she were dead. I do not suppose your father would use his power with such indiscriminate ruthlessness.”

Fitzwilliam’s responding grin was no less than feral. “You underestimate what my father will do to keep the family safe. But even if you are correct, Mrs. Younge does not know my father as well as you or I. We can use that against her.”

“Then I shall leave her disposition to you,” said Darcy. “I cannot but suppose you present a much more imposing figure than I.”

“Thank you, Darcy,” smirked Fitzwilliam. “As I rather enjoy the role, I shall accept your offer in the spirit in which you extend it.”

In a stark contrast to the concerns of the adults, the girls appeared to be affected little by recent goings on.

Though Mrs. Younge had departed, Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bennet stepped into the role of their tutors without hesitation and with little disruption to their daily routines, and the girls appeared happier for it.

“Mrs. Younge had become difficult to endure,” said Georgiana one evening when Elizabeth commented to that effect. “I feel nothing but relief that she is gone.”

“Is there something more in her behavior than you have already told us?” asked Elizabeth.

Georgiana shrugged. “She was never kind to Kitty and Lydia.”

“That is an understatement,” muttered Kitty. “The woman scowled every time she saw me.”

“It was worse with me,” added Lydia. “She seemed to consider my presence a personal affront.”

“In the last few days in the house,” said Georgiana, “she became so demanding that nothing I did pleased her. The lessons, if they could be called such, she offered with little apparent interest, quick to judge, slow to praise, and altogether disagreeable.”

“That is curious,” said Darcy, “for she must have known that we would hear of it.”

“Perhaps she knew that our discovery of her was only a matter of time,” suggested Mr. Bennet.

“Then why did she not flee?” asked Elizabeth. “If she had, there would be a far greater chance of evading the consequences of her actions.”

Darcy looked to Bennet and saw his opinion reflected in his father-in-law’s thoughtful expression. “I suspect,” began Darcy, thinking aloud, “that she felt escape was no guarantee.”

“It was not,” said Mr. Bennet, “unless she somehow took a ship away from England without our knowing.”

Darcy nodded but said nothing further. What they had decided not to tell the girls was the potential connection to the man who had fled that night, and the possibility that fear of the man had kept Mrs. Younge at her post long after it became untenable.

If she was so afraid of her confederate— or confederates, Darcy supposed—then how substantial was the danger that awaited at their gates?

Before long, a notion took hold in Darcy’s mind.

In London, amid the bustle of the city and the legions of its inhabitants, protecting them was even more difficult when one with ill intent could mingle among the masses of the city, and they would never know of the danger.

In the north, where the estate was bordered by fields of grain with empty spaces between the house and any wooded areas, Pemberley would provide a far safer island in the stormy sea that had become their lives.

Darcy did not make this observation to his family for the moment, for he sensed something would change before long, something that might bring clarity.

Though he had no notion of what that might be, he could not dismiss it, so he remained silent while the tension built in his heart.

When the dam broke, it did not provide the clarity he had hoped to obtain, but it firmed his determination to change the rules to better protect them all.

A commotion arose three days after the countess’s visit, the sound of shouts across the street from Darcy’s house.

When it arrived at his door, Fitzwilliam entered alongside a footman, between them a short, dirty man held in their grip, obviously frightened if his darting eyes were any sign.

Darcy, on hand to greet them, looked to Fitzwilliam with a questioning glance—the other man was quick to respond.

“I found this one watching the house, Darcy. He was hidden across the street in a strand of trees, but I have caught glimpses of him at other times I have visited, and knew the moment I saw him today what he was doing.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Masters,” protested the little man, “but I ain’t got no idea wot you’re on about. I were just takin’ a stroll in the park when this one comes at me.”

The man’s shifty eyes told another story, one of a man looking for a way out.

The twitching of his nose reminded Darcy of a rat, and his unkempt appearance, worn hat, and wrinkled, dirty clothing suggested he was not a man accustomed to moving in a place such as Mayfair, or any of much less finery.

Disreputable as he was, Darcy had no trouble believing that he was up to no good.

Fitzwilliam growled and grasped the man’s lapels, shaking him in anger. “Do not play games with me, cur, or it will go ill with you.”

“We should take this to the study,” advised Darcy, noting the crowd they were drawing, especially Kitty and Lydia, who were at the end of the hall, whispering together.

“With pleasure,” said Fitzwilliam, keeping his hold on the man and dragging him down the hall.

From what Darcy could see, the dirty man did not try to struggle, appearing petrified by his predicament.

When Fitzwilliam entered the room, he left the man’s disposition to the footman and took one of Darcy’s chairs, setting it in the open space before the desk.

The footman forced him into the chair, and then Fitzwilliam took up position before him, glaring down and causing the man to shrink back into the chair as if he hoped he could hide in the fabric.

As Darcy joined him, allowing the man to see him but staying back and allowing Fitzwilliam to handle it, Mr. Bennet stepped into the room, drawn by the tumult.

Darcy nodded at him but did not speak, and Mr. Bennet understood his caution to remain silent.

“Now, tell me what you were doing watching Darcy’s house.”

When the man stammered a denial, Fitzwilliam put his face inches away and hissed: “There is no point denying it. Today is not the first time I have seen you. Given your clothing, you do not belong within ten miles of Mayfair. It would be in your best interests to tell me what I wish to know.”

Fitzwilliam’s deadly quiet voice was more effective than if he had bellowed in his loudest parade square voice. The man stared at him, slack-jawed in fright, and then appeared to crumple in on himself in surrender.

“I dunno who ‘e was,” muttered the man, unwilling to look up in Fitzwilliam’s face. “All I know is ‘e paid me ter watch the ‘ouse an’ let ‘im know when you stepped out.”

“Details,” barked Fitzwilliam. “What did he look like?”

“Older bloke, ‘e was—maybe a touch older than that one there.” The man pointed at Mr. Bennet. “Grey ‘air, dressed a bit like me—weren’t no one I knew, though.”

“And where did you meet him? How did he pay you?”

“East end o’ town, down by the docks,” muttered the man. “I don’t know nothin’, I swear it. Just told ‘em wot I seen, is all.”