Conundrums & Coincidences (Mr Darcy’s Dilemmas)

Chapter 13

13

THE PLOT THICKENS

O n Monday, lost in a brown study and oppressed by a crowd of widely differing emotions, Elizabeth made her way down the grand staircase, her steps slower than was customary.

A worrisome dark cloud overshadowed her elation at having made amends with Mr Darcy. The foreboding gloom was due to the threats she had overheard between Miss Kensett and Mr Fordham.

At least those two are still alive…or were as of last night. Who knows what this day will bring. Elizabeth scolded herself for treating a serious matter with unbecoming levity.

Earlier that morning, Rachel had brought her a steaming cup of chocolate flavoured with cinnamon. “To begin your day in a positive way, Miss Bennet.” The maid had come also with a summons from Mr Monroe, and she emphasised that it was not to be taken lightly. “Each and every beneficiary is to arrive in the breakfast room at precisely a quarter to ten this morning. No exceptions, Mr Monroe said. Even if one is indisposed or has important business to attend. Those were his exact words, miss.”

At the foot of the stairs, Elizabeth noticed Alfred was not at his usual post in the corner between the front door and the parlour. His brother was there instead. Glancing at the vestibule’s tall pendulum clock, she saw it was yet early and decided to go for a short stroll in the gardens. She knew from their days together at Netherfield that, like her, Mr Darcy was an early riser.

“Miss Bennet, good morning to you!” It was not Mr Darcy but Mr Hadley. “I have just come from wandering in the great hall. Seeing you now, I remember my promise to show you the portraits of Biscuit on display in the gallery. Would you care to do so while we await breakfast?” He crooked his elbow.

Beyond the windows, a clear sky beckoned. Turning her back on sunshine, verdure, and the possibility of encountering Mr Darcy, Elizabeth nodded her agreement.

They spent half an hour viewing oil paintings in a gallery rich in specimens of plant life, floral arrangements, fruit, and Biscuits. Lots and lots of Biscuits! Elizabeth admitted the Pomeranian had an agreeable face. To be polite, she enquired about the dog’s temperament.

“Good old Biscuit. Thereby hangs a tale, no pun intended,” said Mr Hadley, pointing to a painting. He then addressed the subject with his usual enthusiasm, telling of the dog’s misdeeds and ending with, “He was playful, intelligent, sociable, and affectionate. Most of all he just wanted attention, pats, and belly rubs. Miss Armstrong doted on the rapscallion and spoilt him terribly. He was her only family, you see. She had no one else.”

Elizabeth’s eyes welled up at such a melancholy thought. “ But she had you…as well as Miss Kensett and Mr Fordham, did she not?”

The question seemed to have made Mr Hadley uncomfortable. As they walked on, his countenance took on an unusual solemnity. “I came here frequently and often saw Mr Fordham lurking about the place. I was told he had offered to have Miss Armstrong’s belongings—particularly the heirlooms—inventoried and valued for her. Apparently, he is an antiques collector himself and somewhat of an expert in the field.”

If Mr Fordham is spying on us through the peep-hole, so be it. These walls have eyes and ears, and listeners never hear any good of themselves.

“And what of Miss Kensett?”

“In all the many visits I made here since that day in Cheapside, I encountered Miss Kensett only the once. Other than that, Miss Armstrong never even mentioned her—though she did speak of the lady’s grandmother a couple of times.”

The gross duplicity of that woman! Leading us to believe she was such a good friend to the elderly lady. “I am very glad Miss Armstrong had your pleasant and frequent company, Mr Hadley.”

A lingering feeling of melancholy left Elizabeth no peace, and she belittled her own contribution to the late Miss Armstrong’s well-being. “I am undeserving of inclusion in this competition, sir. I spent but minutes in her presence.”

“But it was you who saved her from injury or worse! You are the most deserving of us all.”

“You are too kind, sir.”

They spent awhile longer in the great hall, admiring the old tapestries and sharing their thoughts about the revelries that might have been held there in olden times .

Standing then in the vestibule, Elizabeth said, “I understand your progress in this tournament was hindered by the disappearance of a certain vase. I hope that impediment has been rectified.”

“It has, indeed! Mr Monroe keeps a master list of all our puzzles, and he was able to duplicate the missing one for me.” Lowering his voice, he added, “I probably should not disclose this, but I have made remarkable headway since that setback.”

“You should not have mentioned that to one of your opponents, and you would do well to remember that in future. Now, I shall have to double my own efforts.” Elizabeth smiled fondly at him.

But what am I to do with a poser that says only ‘ Hearts shall weave ’? There is no loom here at Oakwood. Is there?

Christopher cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, Miss Bennet, Mr Hadley, but the others are gathering in the breakfast room now.”

As it had been each day, a large table laden with food had been placed in front of the breakfast room’s crackling fire, and Christoper stood at the ready to toast muffins over the grate. In pretty pots, honey and preserves sat waiting to be spread upon warm, freshly baked bread or rolls. Guests helped themselves to a selection of fruit, eggs, meat, fowl, and fish; and on the set table there was tea, coffee, chocolate, and even a pitcher of ale.

It was, however, the first occasion since their arrival that everyone was gathered for breakfast at the same time. With one exception. Mr Darcy had not come down.

Mr Monroe waited for him, rather impatiently in Elizabeth’ s opinion, until ten o’clock. “This is most irregular and unacceptable.”

Elizabeth silently agreed it was irregular. Mr Darcy was never late. Anything like a breach of punctuality was, to him, a great offence. At Netherfield, at Rosings, and there at Oakwood, he had always arrived at least fifteen minutes prior to dinner being served.

“Christopher, go and find your brother. He was assigned to act as Mr Darcy’s valet this morning.” As the footman hied from the room, the attorney frowned. “I trust everyone here is capable of toasting their own muffins in the interim.”

In less than a quarter of an hour, Christopher returned. “Alfred reports that the gentleman is unwell, sir. My brother tried to rouse him hours ago in order to deliver your summons, but Mr Darcy mumbled something incoherent and went back to sleep. Earlier than that, one of the chambermaids went in to light the fire in his room. She said he was drowsy then and stirring restlessly.”

Mr Monroe rang for the housekeeper and charged Mrs Vincent with ensuring Mr Darcy received the very best care. “Do not hesitate to summon a physician if such is deemed necessary.”

Although not prone to irrational fear, Elizabeth could not but be concerned. Mr Darcy always seemed so robust.

“I shall proceed as planned,” said Mr Monroe. “First, the latest tournament results. At present, Miss Bennet, Mr Darcy, and Mr Hadley are in a three-way draw for first place. Mr Fordham is in second, and Miss Kensett trails behind. I remind you that, today included, three days remain for you to succeed. This is not only a race against each other now but also a race against time. The competition ends on Wednesday at midnight.”

He paused for a sip of tea. “Now, on to an extremely vexatious matter…the missing Japanese vase. A search is still underway in the public rooms, and it is hoped the item simply has been misplaced. However, if its whereabouts have not been discovered by midday—an hour and a half from now—a search of the servants’ quarters will be conducted under the supervision of Mrs Vincent and Mr Atwater. If that is unsuccessful, your rooms and carriages will be searched on the morrow. It goes without saying that if the article is found in the possession of either a servant or a beneficiary, the local magistrate will be summoned.”

Missing Mr Darcy’s presence, Elizabeth picked at her food and surreptitiously observed the others. Miss Rigby and Mr Hadley seemed horrified by the notion of a thief in their midst. Miss Kensett kept touching her pearl necklace, and Elizabeth imagined she was concerned that her precious parure might be a thief’s next target.

Mr Fordham, on the other hand, gave an impression of studied disinterest in anything other than the generous portions of ham, bacon, and kippered salmon he had heaped upon his plate.

While Elizabeth had been wondering whether Mr Monroe knew Mr Fordham was a collector of antiques, the attorney himself had been speaking.

“…and those of us who attended church yesterday had the pleasure of listening to Mr Smith’s sermon regarding hope. Similarly, I remind each of you to not give up, even in the midst of disappointment.” He gave Miss Kensett a look that spoke more of pity than sympathy.

“Oh yes,” said the chaperon, “do remain hopeful and expectant. Have faith. Your hope will be fulfilled according to plan…but not necessarily your plan.”

“Well put, madam.” Mr Monroe set aside his knife and fork. “In conclusion, I shall say this. Only one beneficiary will win Miss Armstrong’s considerable wealth and the deed to this lovely property. However, none of you will—or, at least, should—leave here worse off than when you arrived.” The attorney’s pointed look was directed at Mr Fordham.

Head bent over his plate as it was, the recipient of that look seemed unaware of it. Elizabeth, however, knew a measure of relief that Mr Monroe might, after all, be aware of Mr Fordham’s pastime.

At a table in the library several hours later, Elizabeth finished writing a letter to Lydia in Brighton, wishing her a very happy sixteenth birthday. She longed to tell her youngest, silliest sister to behave but knew Lydia would neither appreciate the sentiment nor heed the warning.

Setting the letter aside for the nonce, she tried to occupy her worried mind by rearranging the letters in her latest puzzle: hearts shall weave. All she could think of, however, was Mr Darcy, and she prayed he would be well. Her heart had become irrevocably woven with his.

Lounging on a window seat, Miss Kensett did nothing more than sigh and complain about the unjustness of a tournament of wit and whimsy. Elizabeth listened with half an ear and smothered each of the reproofs she could have given. She startled when the chaperon, looking uncommonly distraught, rushed in and sat beside her.

When Miss Rigby spoke, her voice was barely raised above a whisper. “I waited in the garden, as arranged. Why did neither of you present yourselves? Oh gracious! Has Mr Darcy still not come down?”

Elizabeth turned over her puzzle and matched the chaperon’s hushed tone. “No, sadly, he has not, and I am beside myself with worry. But I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. Were you expecting Mr Darcy and me in the garden? If so, I was unaware of any such arrangement.”

“Indeed, I was. He arranged for the two of you to have a private conversation there at half past twelve today. Mr Darcy was supposed to mention it to you last evening. But, now that I think of it, he retired rather suddenly and quite early, did he not? Oh dear! He must have been unwell even then.”

Elizabeth nodded and encouraged her to continue.

“Mr Darcy reiterated there was no understanding between you but admitted that he hoped… Rather, the gentleman said you had important matters to discuss and solemnly promised the competition would not be part of that discussion. As agreed, I was to keep an eye on you from a respectable distance and?—”

“Of what are the two of you so secretly talking?” Miss Kensett trailed a finger round their table as she circled it. “Whispering in company is indecorous, is it not, Miss Rigby?”

“Quite right.” The chaperon pursed her lips into a prim expression. Then she smiled, but it was in a manner not reflected in her eyes. “While I think of it, dear, I have been meaning to enquire about the unusual, dare I say unique, appearance of those pearls of yours.”

The lady caressed her necklace. “Whatever do you mean? What is unusual about them?”

“Ladies,” said Mr Fordham as he strolled in. “Where are the others? Has that slugabed Darcy still not shown his face? I was hoping he and Hadley might join me at the pond and try our luck at a spot of angling. They are jumping out there.”

Upon hearing that Mr Darcy had not come down and that Mr Hadley’s whereabouts were unknown, Mr Fordham merely shrugged and eyed Elizabeth’s papers for a moment. Apparently seeing nothing of interest there, he sauntered over to a sideboard.

“Fermented fruit cordial! Is that all that is on offer? Pah!” Nevertheless, the gentleman filled a glass from the pitcher, then sat within reach of a table displaying a pyramid of seasonal strawberries, cherries, and melon.

Paying him no further heed, the chaperon gestured at Miss Kensett’s necklace. “To me, those pearls appear rather lacklustre. One would expect more of an iridescent shine. May I take a closer look?”

Miss Kensett hesitated but unclasped the necklace and passed it to her.

“Natural pearls are not perfectly round and have tiny irregularities. When rubbed together,” said Miss Rigby, doing just that and holding the necklace to her ear, “they would make a gritty sound.”

Seated next to the chaperon, Elizabeth clearly heard her whisper, “Paste.”

“I beg your pardon?” Miss Kensett’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

“Paste, dear. Your precious parure is paste, with a pearly coating.”

Mr Fordham choked on his cordial.

“You!” Miss Kensett pointed at him. “You did this!”

He shot to his feet. “Madam, you go too far! I will have you know that Miss Armstrong asked me to have her jewellery valued, which I did last year. That devious jeweller must have kept her real pearls and replaced them with paste. I then unknowingly returned fakes to Miss Armstrong, and she unwittingly gifted them to you. ’Tis unfortunate. But the fault is not mine! ”

Their raised voices summoned Mr Monroe; and when the situation was explained to the attorney, he asked Mr Fordham for the name of the jeweller and said he would investigate. The gentleman, however, could not remember to which jeweller he had taken the pearls.

In being so awkwardly circumstanced, the attorney secured Elizabeth’s compassion. The poor man had yet another quandary to resolve.

Returning the imitation pearl necklace to its owner, Miss Rigby said that the cost or quality of a bequest should be irrelevant. “What matters, dear, is that Miss Armstrong thought of you and wanted you to have a keepsake.”

Glancing at the others and evidently thinking it best to disguise her pique, Miss Kensett sat, smoothed her skirts, and patted her hair. “Well, of course, that is all that truly matters. And, certainly, I am touched by the sentiment.” She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a lacy handkerchief but shed no tears.

Perhaps, thought Elizabeth, Miss Kensett did not feel the need to truly weep because it was said that pearls represented teardrops.

At the sideboard, Miss Rigby held up the pitcher of sweet, blackcurrant-flavoured drink. “Cordial, anyone?”