Conundrums & Coincidences (Mr Darcy’s Dilemmas)

Chapter 21

21

BOMBOONS

T he celebratory air in Oakwood Manor’s library was immediately damped when Alfred announced the arrival of Mr Sumner and Mr Wright, respectively the magistrate and parish constable.

After polite greetings and necessary introductions, Mr Monroe said, “Mr Darcy, you are welcome to stay. In fact, you should.”

“Now then,” said Mr Sumner, “if the ladies will excuse us, we shall report on the findings at Mr Fordham’s home.”

“I shall stay as well,” said Elizabeth.

Before she obligingly left the room, Miss Rigby gave both her charge and Mr Monroe encouraging smiles and the magistrate, constable, and Mr Darcy a negligible curtsey.

With everyone seated, Mr Sumner glanced at Elizabeth, huffed, and looked to the attorney as though to say ‘do something about her’.

“If you expect Mr Monroe to send me away, sir, you will be disappointed. I am staying and shall brook no opposition.” That sounded like something Lady Catherine de Bourgh might say. With new respect for Mr Darcy’s formidable aunt, Elizabeth sat a little taller, raised her chin, and met each of the men’s eyes. They will not forcibly remove me. Will they?

Mr Monroe winked at her. “Proceed with your report, Sumner. As I told you, Miss Bennet is the new mistress of Oakwood Manor. Ergo, any of the missing heirlooms found at the Fordhams’ residence rightfully belong to her now.”

Heaving a dissatisfied sigh, the magistrate gestured to Mr Wright, whereupon the constable opened a notebook and reported that a pearl necklace with matching earrings, brooch, and bracelet had been found in Mrs Fordham’s bedchamber.

“Mr Monroe, I believe you mentioned something about genuine pearls being exchanged for imitation ones,” said Mr Sumner.

Elizabeth cleared her throat to gain the magistrate’s attention. “The genuine parure belongs to Miss Sophia Kensett in Maidenhead. Please ensure it is returned to her.”

Mr Wright jotted down her instruction. “Mr Monroe, you also said opium was slipped into a guest’s wine. We found this”—he showed them a vial—“during our search.” The constable then read from his notes. “Also, Mrs Fordham wore a ruby ring that her husband asserted was a bequest from Miss Phoebe Armstrong. Is that correct?” He seemed unsure whether he should look to the attorney or Elizabeth.

“That is a barefaced lie,” said Mr Monroe. “Mr Fordham was bequeathed a book. I did not understand Miss Armstrong’s intention at the time, but now I do. Her dictation to me was: ‘To Mr and Mrs Peter Fordham, I leave a dictionary. Hopefully, they will consult it to find the proper words they need to apologise for what they have done.’”

“I do not understand.” Elizabeth’s mind raced, searching for an explanation. “If Miss Armstrong knew, or suspected, they were stealing from her, why would she have included Mr Fordham in the tournament?”

“Good question.” Tapping his fingers on the table, Mr Monroe slowly nodded. “The old dear may have been too embarrassed to tell me what Fordham was doing. I suspect she rather slyly wanted him to be caught and trusted he somehow would trip up during the tournament.” The attorney then placed upon the table the inventory newly completed by Mr Atwater and Mrs Vincent. “Mr Wright, may I compare this against your notes?”

From the music room, where Miss Rigby must have taken refuge, came the strains of ‘Greensleeves’, and while the others compared inventories, Elizabeth took that opportunity to have a good look about the library—the decoration, the books, the globes, the art. My own book-room!

Her eyes then rested upon Mr Darcy, and she longed to also call him her own. In character, in intelligence, deportment, looks, and attire, in every way, he was superior to any man she had known. His close friend Mr Bingley looked to him for advice; and, as far as she knew, neither of them engaged in debauchery of any sort. He was a dutiful nephew; and from his letter, Elizabeth knew he was a good brother. The balance of approbation was tipping heavily in his favour.

Mr Monroe, after some minutes of study—accompanied by tut-tuts, humphs, and other expressions of disdain—held up a handful of receipts from the constable’s notebook. “These are acknowledgments from London merchants who purchased antiques from the Fordhams. Many of the items match heirlooms on Miss Armstrong’s original inventory but are missing from our current one.”

Mr Sumner turned to Elizabeth. “Unless you have an objection, I shall consider those receipts and inventories as evidence presented by you, the victim, and sufficient to support a trial by jury. You, of course, are expected to pay expenses incurred by Mr Wright. When this goes to trial, you also must pay the prosecution.” The look he gave her seemed to say, ‘And that is what you get, young lady, for sticking your nose in men’s business’.

If that, indeed, was what he was thinking, he was not half wrong. I am at sea. All this is out of my depth, over my head. Despising herself for it, Elizabeth looked to Mr Monroe, then to Mr Darcy, for guidance.

The latter gentleman at once responded. “I also was a victim of Mr Fordham’s wrongdoing. Although I suffered no lasting effect, the opium dosage could have killed me. He cannot be charged for that, of course. However, I shall bear the cost to take the Fordhams to trial for their thievery.”

“I do not want them hanged.” Elizabeth was emphatic. “I do not even want them pilloried.”

“What do you want, Miss Bennet?” asked Mr Monroe.

“I want them far away from our shores. I want the Fordhams transported for what they did to that dear old lady.”

“Miss Bennet,” said Mr Darcy as they left the library together, “I cannot begin to imagine the differing throes of emotion you have contended with during the events of last evening and today. You told me you are stronger than you appear. But are you truly well? Is there anything I may do for you?”

Hardly knowing whether to laugh or cry, Elizabeth said, “Could you possibly snap your fingers and make my entire family suddenly appear? How I long for my parents and sisters!” Tears gathered for an onslaught, but she fought back. Collecting herself as well as she could, she smiled and thanked him for offering to pay the expense of legal proceedings against the Fordhams. “I was at a loss in there. But I expect, someday very soon, I shall be able to repay you.”

“That will not be necessary.”

With thoughts that could rest on nothing, she chose to be bold. “There is one thing I would ask of you.”

“Anything.” He raised her bare hand to his lips. “Ask anything of me.”

She closed her eyes. Will you do that again, please? “Will you accompany me while I take the air? Otherwise, I honestly shall not know what to do with myself. Until I am reunited with my father, and we meet with Mr Pemberton in London, there is little I can do in the way of planning for my future. So, for now, I shall do something requiring physical rather than mental effort.”

“It will be my pleasure to accompany you, madam. Shall we say in…ten minutes? And will you invite Miss Rigby?”

As she set her foot upon the second stair, Elizabeth rather flippantly replied, “I would rather not.”

Fifteen minutes later, sporting a pale-green spencer over her sprigged muslin and wearing bonnet, gloves, and her half-boots, she strolled arm in arm with Mr Darcy. “How unusual,” she said. “Neither my chaperon nor a gardener within sight.”

“Nevertheless”—he lowered his voice and twitched his head across the lawn towards the stable—“once again, we are being watched.”

Jimmy was espied lurking about and observing them while playing with a stick. “Surely, sir, a stable-boy has not been tasked with watching us.”

Mr Darcy beckoned, and Jimmy came running. “What mischief have you been getting into today, young man?” He ruffled the boy’s hair.

Jimmy shrugged. “Nothing, sir. There’s not much work to do since the only two carriages left are yours and Mr Monroe’s. I’ve been playing quoits with this rope ring and broken broom handle, but it’s not much fun by myself.” The boy sounded terribly downcast, but his eyes lit up as he turned to Elizabeth. “Do you have any of those comforts with you, miss?”

“Comforts? Well, as you see, I do have Mr Darcy here with me. And, indeed, his presence is a great comfort.” She squeezed the gentleman’s arm and smiled at the boy.

“Aw, miss, not him ! I meant those sugary-sweet comforts you had.”

Elizabeth caught Mr Darcy mouthing, “Com fits .”

“Alas, all I have today are”—from the concealed pocket of her gown, she presented four wrapped sweets—“orange bomboons.”

“Hurrah!” The boy danced in place. “But will bomboons give me the toothache?”

She bit her lip, subduing a smile. “Most likely.”

Jimmy shrugged. “May I have one in any case? Please.”

“You may take two. The others are for Mr Darcy and me.”

“Good heavens!” cried the gentleman with an exaggerated shudder. “I recently read a report saying baboons were very big and hairy and horrible to look at. And now I discover they may cause the toothache. I shall pass, thank you. Jimmy may have mine.”

Delighted, Elizabeth smiled while the boy grinned. Mr Darcy was being frivolous, and she expected it was as much for her benefit as Jimmy’s. Be still, my heart! He has a sense of humour and is good with children.

Speaking then round a mouthful of chewy bomboon, Jimmy asked whether they wanted to play quoits with him. “I know I’m not supposed to bother you folks, but you looked like you weren’t having much fun either, just walking about doing nothing.” He put a finger in his mouth and unstuck a piece of bomboon from a tooth. “Miss Bennet, is it true you own Oakwood?”

Elizabeth said it was not yet official, but, yes, she had won the tournament.

“So, Mr Darcy,” said Jimmy, frowning at him, “are you wooing Miss Bennet now?”

Her face grew hot. “Quoits! What a wonderful idea. I saw metal rings and a hob amongst other equipment in the games room cupboard. Shall I fetch them?” She began to move away, only to be stopped by the gentleman’s hand upon her arm.

“I am trying to woo you, Miss Bennet,” he whispered, “but not because you are an heiress. My affections and wishes have been unchanged since April.”

Her eyes grew wider. Was he going to make an offer of marriage in front of Jimmy?

Heedless of grass stains, Mr Darcy then went down on one knee in front of the stable-boy, looked into his eager, young eyes, and…spoke too softly for her to hear what he was saying to him. Botheration!

Regardless of whatever was being said between the two—and Elizabeth suspected it had to do with either wooing or quoits—she replaced her image of giddy Kitty and laughing Lydia playing a game on the lawn. In her mind’s eye, she pictured her own children, the next generation of Darcys, playing quoits with their father.

That gentleman stood, and Jimmy nodded solemnly at him. Then the sad-faced boy waved to Elizabeth and walked towards the stable, head bowed, feet dragging .

“Goodness! Whatever did you say to him?”

“That,” said Mr Darcy, shaking his head, “was one of the most distressing communications I ever have had to impart to someone.”

Not knowing what to expect, Elizabeth clasped her hands in front of her. All concern and anticipation, she prepared for the worst. “Will you tell me of it?”

He offered his arm, and they walked towards a small, walled garden. “If you insist. But prepare yourself for something very dreadful.” The nudge Mr Darcy gave her prompted a remembrance of her own words at Rosings.

Then he was all seriousness again. “I had to inform your ardent admirer he could not marry you. The age difference, you see. Now, though, I have distressing news to impart to you.”

“Humph,” Elizabeth said. “I no longer know whether to believe your solemnity. Remember, sir, I already remarked on your commendable theatrical talents. But go on, then. Tell me this distressing news of yours.”

“I am sad to report that the loss of Jimmy’s matrimonial aspirations, due to the age difference, was borne with stoic resignation. He was, however, utterly heartbroken to realise his source of comforts would depart on the morrow.”

Mr Darcy stopped at the garden wall and gazed into Elizabeth’s eyes. “On the other hand…” He kissed her gloved fingers, and his voice was a husky whisper. “A mere seven or eight years is not a great age difference between husband and wife. Is it, Miss Bennet?”

Is this the moment? Is he going to make me a ? —

A giggle erupted from somewhere very close, followed by, “Oh, Mr Monroe!”