Chapter 13 #2
“Very well,” his cousin sighed at last. “There is not that much to tell, in truth. I wrote to you about Bingley’s search for an estate.
” Richard nodded. “He found a fine-looking prospect in Hertfordshire, a place to lease and learn about estate management before finally settling on a suitable estate to purchase. I accompanied him there to offer what assistance I could, having some experience in the area.”
Here Darcy downplayed his abilities, since Pemberley was one of the best-managed estates Richard could imagine. Still, he said nothing and allowed his cousin to continue.
“The society there was quite savage. There is more elegance to be had up in Derbyshire than in that part of Hertfordshire, so close to London. The principal landholder is a man who might be worth knowing, if not for his indolence. He is intelligent and possesses a good education, but he is negligent towards his family and is a poor manager. His wife is worse, the daughter of a country attorney, with the manners to match.” He shuddered.
“She is loud and crass, with little sense and less understanding.
“This couple has the misfortune to have had five daughters and no sons, and the estate is entailed. The daughters will have nothing. The eldest is quite lovely, if I must speak the truth, and Bingley seemed quite enamoured of her for a while.”
“And you are in love with Bingley’s chosen one?” That would answer for Darcy’s gloom.
But instead of sighing deeply, Darcy bolted straight up in his chair, quite incensed at the suggestion.
“No! Not at all! The young woman is beautiful, but not of the character to attract me. She is far too placid and bland for my tastes. Her next younger sister, on the other hand…” He trailed off for a moment and eased back into the embrace of his chair, before resuming his narrative.
“This second daughter is also very pretty, with a quick mind and a ready wit. Next to her sister she is nothing out of the common way, I suppose, but taken on her own she really is most pleasant to look upon. Her eyes, in particular, dance with character.” Darcy’s own eyes lost their acute focus as he spoke, and Richard nodded to himself as Darcy spoke on.
“We were often thrown together in company, and we engaged in discussion on several occasions. I believe she took as much pleasure from our debates as I did.”
Richard had to hold back a laugh. The very thought of his staid and proper cousin engaging in frivolous banter with a woman was something to tickle the imagination.
“What is this? My cousin flirting with a young lady? How I wish I had been there to witness this remarkable event. You are,” he paused as he sought the proper word, “reserved.”
Darcy raised his great head in outrage. “Reserved? You say that as if it were an insult. I have no desire to prattle on endlessly like some people, but when I have something to say, I am not afraid to say it. And this lady was a worthy adversary.” He looked quite affronted.
“And she is unsuitable because…?” Richard took another drink to disguise his grin. This was a most enjoyable tale, and one with which he could tease his cousin for months, if not years.
“Richard, did I not explain it well enough? She is a nobody. Her father is barely acceptable, being a gentleman with a middling estate, but her mother! Her relations! One uncle is an attorney—a country attorney—and another is in trade in Cheapside! In trade, Richard! I could not imagine the degradation, to be connected with such people!” Something akin to a sneer worked its way over his handsome face.
“I have my position to think about, my lineage, my sister.”
“Really, Will, you can be such a bore sometimes. From my experience, some of the finest people I know come from the middle classes. Even your friend Bingley’s wealth comes from trade, does it not? His father was a merchant, just as this lady’s relations are.”
“I am certain they might be fine people—although if they favour her mother, that is questionable—but they are too far below my station to consider any sort of connection. I cannot be in love with her, because it is totally improper for me to do so. I shall forget her soon enough.”
From the look on Darcy’s face, Richard had his doubts, but his cousin would say no more, not even the lady’s name, and the two soon retreated to the billiards room to while away the time until dinner.
Richard found he had yet one more refuge from his mother’s machinations.
He had renewed his friendship with a fellow officer, now working for the Home Office, a certain Colonel Hastings.
He could easily excuse his frequent visits to Hastings’ offices as necessary for his coming assignment, and then spend the better part of the day in comfortable conversation with a sympathetic companion.
“I have been hearing rumours,” Hastings uttered across his paper-strewn desk.
“What sort of rumours? Why do I fear they involve me?” This could not bode well; Richard had lived his life hoping to avoid being the subject of wagging tongues.
“They are just mutterings, nothing even close to substantiated. But somebody out there dislikes you.”
Richard scowled. “Tell me. I had better know the worst.”
Hastings adjusted his coat as it lay across his broad shoulders, then shrugged, disarranging the fabric once more.
“You have not been mentioned by name; merely there are rumblings that the new commanding officer at a certain training camp near London has a history of harassing his subordinates. You are the only such colonel in the vicinity; therefore, they must refer to you.”
Red spots appeared before Richard’s eyes. “What sort of harassment did these rumours mention?”
Hastings adopted a stony mien, and then spat out an oath that Darcy would never have dared utter, if he even knew the word.
“Very well. You are said to have undertaken a series of actions against a junior officer over a prolonged period of time. These actions range from putting poisonous plants in his food to damaging his possessions, to outright physical attacks. There is no proof, according to the rumours, but that your men should watch themselves around you. These stories are scandalous and designed to foment suspicion and distrust, but nobody knows whence they originate.”
Richard’s fists were so tightly clenched he thought he might break bones in his hands. “I can tell you exactly where they originate. Or, at least, from whom. But I have a question to put to you: What can you tell me of a certain Major Jared Weekes?”
“Is he our culprit? Give me a moment.” Hastings excused himself from the office and disappeared down the hallway for some time. When he reappeared, it was with a grim smile upon his face.
“Anderson in Records just had a request regarding our man. I thought the name sounded familiar. There was a ship in five days ago with a package from the various forts in Bermuda. Seems that Weekes is being sent back to England; he was taken to a court martial recently and although he was exonerated, his colonels will not abide him under their command. He is at Fort St Catherine right now, and expected back here on the next ship, once they receive the documents. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” Richard growled, “I was present at that court martial. Let me tell you a story.” With short sentences and a good smattering of ungentlemanlike language, he recounted the tale of Weekes’ attack upon Emily and of the trial.
“The cur perjured himself up, down, and sideways, and his cronies lapped it up like a cat at a bowl of cream. They knew exactly what he had been up to, but were prepared to present their verdict in exchange for the relief of their gambling debts.”
Hastings stared at him with wide pale eyes, his bushy eyebrows rising further and further up his forehead.
“So this man was the true culprit of this campaign of harassment, but turned the story around to blame you? Bastard! This certainly fits with our mysterious source of these rumours. But how can these mutterings be circulating here if he is still in Bermuda?”
Richard thought for a moment. Then he said, “The same way you know about his reassignment, I suppose. He must have sent a letter to a friend setting this all out and asking the friend to initiate the rumours. He is set on destroying me and my career, and for what reason I do not know. Can jealousy and a broken-up card game really drive a man to such lengths?”
Hastings pondered the walls behind Richard’s back.
“I have seen men do many a strange thing that seem all but incomprehensible to most folk. If this man has some hidden derangement of the mind, if he feels threatened by something only he can see, there is no saying what he might feel it necessary to do.”
“Do you think I ought to be afraid of him?”
“I am saying,” Hastings supplied, “that you ought to be cautious.”
Such manipulated escapes from Lady Matlock’s plans were effective to a point, but eventually Richard had to return to the family’s house and the ploys began anew.
“Lady Moreton is holding a ball in your honour on Wednesday next. There is no remedy but to attend, my dear.” These were the words that greeted Richard when he entered the breakfast room some days later.
“You do not take up your duties for another week, and you have no excuses. I have called for your best evening garb to be cleaned so you are perfectly turned out for the event.”