Chapter 6 #2
“And what exactly does the curse say?” Darcy asked, leaning forward. He could imagine Lizzie doing the same thing. “We’ve
heard bits here and there, but . . .”
“I don’t know the exact details, I’m afraid,” Mr. Thomas said, sounding truly regretful. “From what I gather, your great-aunt
was at the center of it, Mr. Bingley. Something to do with why she hid herself away for so many decades. But I do know that
in a small village where positions in service aren’t easy to come by, most families won’t send their youth to work for Netherfield
Park if it means they must spend the night within the estate’s gates.”
“Oh, I gathered that much,” Bingley said. “I had to bring most of my staff up from London, and my butler informed me I’ve
lost two servants since yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Thomas said, “but I’m afraid this discovery won’t help your home’s reputation.”
Darcy felt frustration well up inside him. There had to be a way to figure out who this man might be, short of questioning
every single villager in Meryton. His gaze wandered the room, falling upon a very large Bible that sat open on a nearby table.
The Darcy family Bible back at Pemberley was nearly as large, although certainly more ornate. It held the birth and death
records of every Darcy going back to 1626 . . .
Birth records. Death records.
“Don’t you keep records of all births and deaths?” Darcy asked.
“Of course,” Mr. Thomas said. “But . . . you think that the man you found will be in the parish records?”
“Not his death, obviously,” Darcy said. “But perhaps his birth, and if we cannot account for someone’s death, then maybe that
will give us a lead we need.”
“But what if the man isn’t from Meryton?”
Then this investigation would be at a dead end. But Darcy wasn’t ready to think like that. He needed to have something to
show Lizzie. With a new case at Netherfield to distract her, perhaps she would leave the issue of Lady Catherine well enough
alone until Graves could make some headway. “We have to start somewhere. May I see them?”
“Well, I can show you what I have.” Mr. Thomas rose and led him over to a shelf of simply bound ledgers and began to draw
them out. “This is the latest register, started by my predecessor. Between us, Dr. Fellowes had an atrocious hand.”
He handed the register to Darcy, who opened the book somewhere in the middle. The most recent entries were neat and orderly,
recording names and dates, baptisms and burials. Darcy flipped back through the pages, watching as the years ticked back.
Toward the front of the book, he encountered pages of uneven, hastily scrawled records. He squinted. “This is hardly legible!”
“It’s quite awful,” Mr. Thomas agreed. “Which is why I’m arranging for them to be reprinted at the Jeffries Print Shop. That’s
where the rest of the registers are, at the shop. Miss Clara Jeffries has been working on this task for . . . oh, a couple
of months, perhaps?”
Darcy handed the book back to Mr. Thomas. “We need to see those records.”
“Oh! Well . . . all right, I suppose. I think Clara is nearly done, but—”
“We can go there now and collect the registers,” Darcy said eagerly, glancing at his friend. Bingley nodded, although he looked
slightly confused by Darcy’s rush.
“Well, I haven’t settled up with Clara . . .”
“I can pay,” Darcy offered. “For the printing of the registers. I’m happy to contribute to this endeavor if it means we might
be able to inspect the records for any clue as to who the man might be.”
Mr. Thomas thought about it for a long moment. “That is . . . very generous. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you were to look
through them.”
Darcy intended to do far more than just look. “Finding what we need might take a while. Can we take the registers with us
back to Netherfield to study them?”
The vicar’s alarm was evident in his wide-eyed expression. “Take them back to Netherfield?”
“Just temporarily,” Bingley assured him. “And we’d keep them very safe.”
“And we’d only need the last . . . oh, eighty years or so? Perhaps one hundred, to be on the safe side?”
Mr. Thomas thought for a moment, and finally nodded his assent.
“All right. I suppose the whole purpose of these records is to have them in case . . . well, not in case there is a murder victim we need to identify, but in case anyone comes along and wants to know the history of the village. But please be careful with them.”
“Of course,” Darcy said, eagerness thrumming through him. It was not a very exciting lead, but at least he wouldn’t be returning
to Lizzie empty-handed. “Thank you. Do you mind if we go now?”
“I make my rounds to the farms north of the village today,” Mr. Thomas said. “And if I don’t leave soon, I’ll never be back
before dark. But I’ll write you a note to take Miss Jeffries, saying that I give my permission for you to take the registers.”
“Thank you,” Darcy said, reaching out to shake the vicar’s hand. “Thank you very much!”
Bingley and Mr. Thomas then discussed the final details of the dead man’s burial, setting a date for a service two days from
then. Mr. Thomas wrote a quick note on a slip of paper and folded it tightly, writing Miss Clara Jeffries on the outside before handing it to Darcy, and the two took their leave.
“He’s an agreeable one,” Bingley said. “It’s rather nice having some youthful energy in the parish. And his sermons don’t
put me to sleep, either.”
“While I’m happy for you on that count, for once I wish we’d encountered an old, stodgy vicar,” Darcy said, following Bingley
to the carriage. “Someone with a long memory for every mundane detail about his parish who could say, ‘Oh, you found a body
in your chimney? It must be old Jimmy Hackett—we always wondered what happened to him!’”
Bingley snorted. “And have your mystery solved in a moment? Now where’s the fun in that?”