Conundrums & Coincidences (Mr Darcy’s Dilemmas)

Chapter 16

16

IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS

W ith professions of pleasure, Elizabeth had greeted Miss Rigby more warmly than Darcy had; but he suspected she was as disappointed as he by the chaperon’s ill-timed arrival.

Just prior to that, a pair of fine eyes had been fixed on his face with such a remarkable expression of pensive admiration that he could not help but have hope. And what he would not have given for some privacy, such as they had enjoyed—or at least he had enjoyed—in Kent. Nevertheless, even had they been alone, and as much as he longed to do so, Darcy would not have dared to make her an offer again so soon. And there were recent complications to consider.

He turned up his collar and walked alongside the ladies, envying the chaperon’s advantageous position. Of course, he had done the proper thing and invited Miss Rigby to huddle beneath the umbrella with Elizabeth. As they advanced towards the manor, Darcy listened to their chatter but contributed nothing to it.

“And I assure you, Miss Rigby, that our being together was not because of an assiduous endeavour to meet but rather the result of fortuitous timing. I have been having difficulty with my current puzzle and was feeling low because of it. Hence, I came to the garden seeking solace and inspiration.”

The chaperon patted her charge’s arm. “And who could not find comfort and inspiration in such a place as this? Rain has enhanced the colours and makes everything look so clean and smell so fresh.”

Even above the patter of raindrops hitting their umbrella, Darcy heard Miss Rigby quietly add, “I assume you have found that which you seek, dear.”

Catching Darcy’s eye, Elizabeth smiled. “I believe I have, yes.”

Does she mean me? He felt almost weak for an instant. Then such profound affection and happiness swelled within his heart that he feared it might burst from his chest.

“My spirits have been restored,” continued Elizabeth, “and just as this sprinkle has washed away dust on plant life, the morning’s freshness has cleared the cobwebs from my mind. I now believe I have the answer to my conundrum.”

Darcy was confident he, too, had the answer to his most significant conundrum, namely Elizabeth Bennet herself. But now I have eliminated one quandary only to find myself with a new one.

But what was he to do about it? Disguise of every sort was his abhorrence.

In his bedchamber, Darcy sat at the writing table in his shirtsleeves and contemplated his newest puzzle, a charade :

My First is a Preposition.

My Second is a Composition.

My Whole is an Acquisition.

There was only one meaning for ‘preposition’. Unfortunately, the English language had well over one hundred of them. As for ‘composition’, that could mean a number of things—the manner in which something is composed, a musical creation, a literary work, a writing exercise, the construction of a sentence, or the arrangement of objects in a painting. ‘Acquisition’ was either something obtained or the act of obtaining it.

Unable to hold his attention, the charade was set aside.

Although Miss Armstrong’s legacy was of great material value, Darcy had been preoccupied with something else since the moment Elizabeth had explained she not only wanted to win the tournament, she needed to win it. It was a different sort of enigma, and it required a different sort of solution.

Were she and he still in a draw with Mr Hadley? For all Darcy knew, the younger man might be alone in first place at that very moment; and he realised that, other than in passing, it had been some time since he had spoken at length with the amiable gentleman. The barrister-in-the-making spent most of his time with Mr Monroe, having deep discussions concerning the legal profession.

Gaining his feet, Darcy stood at the window, one palm braced against its frame. The wet had not let up, and the view through the pane was distorted by runnels of rain. It hardly signified. His thoughts were turned inwards. A desperate resolution began to form; but its groundwork was interrupted by a sound from the door and the subsequent entry of the butler and a footman .

“Pardon the intrusion, Mr Darcy,” said Mr Atwater. “Christopher and I are here under the instruction of Mr Monroe.” The senior servant seemed embarrassed. “We are to conduct a search of your room, sir, so please have a seat at the writing table whilst we do so.”

Darcy had forgotten about that day’s planned search; and while he understood the necessity of it, he did resent the intrusion at that moment. Unworried, though, he knew a thorough examination of his apartments would neither take long nor prove fruitful.

As directed, he sat upon the Windsor chair and watched Christopher search beneath the massive oak bed and behind its pillows. Next, the footman inspected the cupboard washstand in the corner and then the cabinet concealing a commode. He even peeked behind the fireplace screen and in the grate.

Meanwhile, the butler had gone to examine the dressing room, where most of the space was taken up by a massive, centuries-old armoire that Darcy had been told once held a knight’s suits of armour.

Minutes later, Mr Atwater emerged, stern-faced and flushed. “Christopher,” said the butler, “fetch Mr Monroe.”

“Why?” Darcy shot to his feet but received no response.

Half an hour later, after a hushed conference with Mr Atwater, the attorney ordered Christopher to fetch his brother.

When Alfred came in, Mr Monroe said to him, “As Christopher no doubt informed you, the Japanese vase has been found, wrapped up in Mr Darcy’s greatcoat, inside the armoire. However, the gentleman tells me you can vouch for the fact it was not there earlier this morning. Is that correct?”

“Indeed it is, sir.” The staid footman seemed indignant on Darcy’s behalf. “After helping Mr Darcy dress, and knowing his intention was to walk through the gardens, I brought out the greatcoat and suggested he wear it in case of rain.”

Standing with arms crossed, Darcy said, “As I already explained to you, Mr Monroe, I declined. Alfred then returned the greatcoat to the dressing room.”

“Where I carefully folded it,” continued the footman, “and replaced it on the armoire’s top shelf. I am certain the Japanese vase was neither in that dressing room nor out here at any time prior to Mr Darcy departing for his walk.”

Alfred sent Darcy an apologetic look, then said to Mr Monroe, “The gentleman is fastidious about his belongings, sir. ‘A place for everything and everything in its place’. I have memorised his preferences. Top drawer—cravats, stick pins, and fobs. Bottom drawer—stockings of silk, cotton, and worsted. Boots and shoes on the bottom shelf, breeches and trousers on the next, shirts and waistcoats above, then tailcoats. Topmost are hats and the greatcoat. His satchel, writing desk, and trunk all have locks, and the keys are always kept on Mr Darcy’s person except when he is abed.”

Despite himself, Darcy smiled, although it may have looked more like a grimace to the others.

“Alfred,” said the butler, “did you say you put the greatcoat on the topmost shelf?” The footman replied in the affirmative, and Mr Atwater turned to the attorney. “When I found the vase, sir, with the garment maladroitly wrapped round it, it was on the next shelf down with the tailcoats.”

Mr Monroe stood stroking his chin. “A shorter person could have dragged down the coat from the top shelf but would have had trouble neatly putting it back up there, especially if they were in a rush.”

Darcy sat bolt upright. Is he thinking the same thing I am? Peter Fordham probably stands no more than five feet five inches tall .

But, if beneficiaries were being watched constantly, as Mr Monroe once had indicated, how was it that both Miss Kensett and Mr Fordham had been able to enter forbidden bedchambers?

Fully expecting to be alone while he vented his frustration, Darcy arrived in the games room only to be greeted with Mr Hadley’s customary hail-fellow-well-met alacrity. “I say, Darcy! Jolly good of you to come and save me from beating myself.” He held an ornate, ivory-capped mace in his left hand and a leather-tipped cue in the other.

Although he had entered in a surly humour, Darcy could not help but be amused. “Whatever, may I ask, did you do to deserve self-inflicted corporal punishment?”

“Eh? Oh. Ha! No, not that sort of beating. Billiards! I was going to play against myself, you see. Left-handed with a mace and right-handed with a cue. Instead, I hope you will join me, although I am rather poor at it.”

Other than Bingley, Darcy had never known anyone who would so deliberately suppress his own merit. “I shall be delighted to prove you either right or wrong.” He accepted the proffered cue from Mr Hadley. “You presently seem at leisure, spending time in a pursuit unrelated to the winning of Miss Armstrong’s legacy.” Was the younger man just biding his time, waiting to claim the grand prize? My solution will be to no avail should either of the other gentlemen prevail.

“Yet here you are, Darcy, doing exactly the same as I.”

But Darcy’s aim had been to vent his spleen by hitting something other than Mr Fordham. And where is that weasel? What underhandedness is he hatching now?

Opening a wooden marquetry box, Mr Hadley presented it to Darcy. The padded interior held a red ball and two ivory ones. After choosing the white ball with a small black dot, Darcy bounced it upon his palm. “Do you happen to know Fordham’s whereabouts?”

“No.” After he thought for a moment, Mr Hadley added, “I dislike being unjust to the merit of another, but I fear he is not to be trusted.” Taking the two remaining balls from the box, he placed them on the billiards table. “Christopher ironed the baize a while ago, so there should be no wrinkles to impede us. But, since daylight is rather dull in here and there are no lamps above the table, let us say thirteen points to win. By the bye, Darcy, speaking of light, have you seen the delightful Miss Bennet today?”

“She went for a walk in the gardens this morning.” Darcy chalked the tip of his cue. “Why do you ask?”

“Simply curious. I missed seeing her this morning.” Mr Hadley leant over the table, lining up his shot. “I had to stay in my apartment while it was being searched.”

Jaw clenched, Darcy managed to grind out six one-syllable words. “They found the vase in mine.”

The other gentleman’s ivory ball shot past the padded rail and rolled across the floor, reminding Darcy of alabaster balls in the boudoir. Mace in hand, Mr Hadley advanced on him. “You? You!”

“Not me! Apparently, while I was walking in the gardens, someone entered my dressing room and rather ineptly hid the vase there. Mr Monroe summoned Alfred, and the footman confirmed it was not there earlier this morning.”

“Good. I am glad.” Relieved, it seemed, at Darcy’s innocence, Mr Hadley grinned. “So, while you were walking in the gardens this morning, did you happen to see anything in bloom there? Anything cheerful or lovely? ”

The very thought of Elizabeth brought a smile to Darcy’s face.

Mr Hadley soon grew serious. “The vase, though… Who would have done such a thing? To steal it in the first place… But then to implicate you! And let us not forget that someone drugged your wine. Unconscionable! Do you suppose it was”—he lowered his voice—“Mr Fordham?”

“That is what I would like to determine. So now, future barrister, despite your hesitation at being unjust, tell me everything you know or suspect about Peter Fordham. But do so quietly. I once caught him listening at a door.”