Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thrice Is Malice
“Here, lad. Get this into you.” After leaving Elizabeth’s room, Reid had steered Darcy down the stairs and into his own office off the Great Hall on the triple premise that no one would look for them there, that in lieu of his beloved whisky, brandy was far better than music as a soother of the most savage breast, and finally, I canna sing, anyway.
Now he pushed the promised glass of brandy into Darcy’s hand and closed his fingers about it. “You’ll feel better.”
“I doubt it.” But Darcy gulped down a generous mouthful. If he were to harbour regrets, then a too-swift ingestion of a good brandy was a regret innocuous enough to drive out weightier ones. “I do not wish to think about it.”
“No. But you must anyway.” Reid nodded at the decanter. “This might make the thinking easier.”
“Nothing will. We have no proof, John. Nothing we could take to any in authority. General Lackenby is the magistrate, is he not? He would say we could not prove each incident was not mischance.”
“Mischance?” Reid snorted. “Yesterday’s…
well, are we calling it an accident? Saying some fool took a shot without looking where he pointed his gun?
Well then. Yesterday’s accident, the fire, the chimney in that old ruin.
.. No. Once may be chance. Twice may be ill luck. But thrice? Thrice, lad, is malice.”
Darcy took another welcome mouthful of brandy.
Slower, this time. He would gain nothing spending the night in his cups.
“I cannot argue with that. We cannot close our eyes to it any longer, and each time I am the target at which he—whoever he is—aims that malice. Disconcerting enough, but when Elizabeth is the one to suffer, then we can be passive no longer. It is too much.” He pointed to the twist of paper holding the Chinese drug that he had put down on the desk. “What think you of this stuff?”
Reid frowned. “We doubted the brandy in your study all along, thinking it strange we should both be overwhelmed that night and did not see the danger of fire. This Chinese powder may well have been the reason. Miss Elizabeth is right, there.”
“But we have no proof,” Darcy said again. “Merely conjecture. That powder leads where I wish it did not.”
“All our conjectures point to someone. None of this has happened without someone’s hand behind it.
Someone added something to the brandy to send us to sleep and then set the fire.
Someone brought down that chimney in the ruin.
Someone shot your hat from your head and caused Miss Elizabeth to be hurt. ”
“All of it points where I wish it did not. I would prefer we are seeing malice where none exists.” Darcy tossed off the last of his ‘wee dram’.
“And I wonder how… well, for instance, how could our ‘someone’ have known about the chimney at Hardwick? Pure unplanned opportunism? Anyone up on the wall must have seen the chimney would miss me, but took his chance… to do what?”
“Well, taken against the other happenings, it builds up the idea of a threat to you. Maybe he wasna trying to kill you outright at Hardwick, but took his chance to add to the atmosphere, as it were, to make you nervous and suspicious.” Reid chuffed out a short, humourless laugh.
“Made me nervous, I can tell you, and I’m a suspicious man by nature. ”
“I am glad of it. It has saved me before now, more than once.”
Each time fingers pointed in one direction. He could close his eyes to that no longer.
“It’s my job, lad. A threat is a threat. I’ll guard against any attempt.” Reid grimaced. “Talking of magistrates, if we can prove it, would you heave the miscreant into court? Our ‘someone’ may well meet his end dancing upon nothing.”
It did not bear thinking about. For an instant, a wave of sickness had Darcy regretting the brandy.
He rubbed his free hand across the back of his neck, to wipe away the prickling sweat.
“I do not know what I will do. I was so angry yesterday when Elizabeth was hurt, I would have built the gallows myself. The likelihood is I know him and… and care about him. I must not allow that to weigh with me. I cannot let him go unpunished, unmarked. We would never be safe.”
“It isna right he should go free.”
“Lackenby knows us all, and some he has known all their lives. Handing the shooter over to Lackenby to face the penalty he deserves would cause a scandal. A terrible one. We would be the talk of the district forever. Even if yesterday’s accident is not yet known to be a—” Darcy paused, and twisted his mouth up into a grimace.
“Let us say, a stray shot. Well, if mouths in every house in the district are not already wagging with the news of a shooting, they will be by tomorrow. We cannot keep it secret. We Darcys are rich and respectable, but scandal of this sort could sink us.”
“Then we must find another way out of it.”
Reid was silent for a short time. Darcy watched him, all of the unvoiced affection he felt welling up in his chest. He had never been so thankful that John Reid was at his back.
“I don’t see it yet, mind. A way out without scandal, I mean.” Reid sighed. “Whenever I think on each time something happened, I remember young Hugh was not there to be vouched for.”
“Nor was George, except for the fire, when he was in the house and Hugh claimed to be with Tom Lackenby. I remember George was still dressed that night, too, when he ran down the stairs to join me. He said later he had been working on the papers for the Michaelmas rent day. Hugh was at Hardwick—although walking in the woods, he said—and George was not. Neither was with us on the road yesterday, but I do not believe Hugh would miss his shot.”
“Naught happened when you were in Buxton, when there were opportunities, maybe, to try something.”
“No. But Hugh was present and in company all the while. George was absent. If there is a pattern, I cannot quite see it.”
Or did not wish to name it. Nor did Elizabeth, he decided, and that is why she had been so insistent both Hugh and George went with him to Riverlethe the next day. Nothing would happen if both were there together.
Reid refilled their glasses. “Mmn. So, other than Miss Elizabeth’s information that the powders are no longer kept in Pemberley and must have been brought in from outside the house, possibly from Sparrowhill, we’re no further forward when it comes to certain proof.”
“All we can do is watch and wait, see how the cards fall.”
“Aye, and hope the next time is not the one when our ‘someone’ hits his mark.”
Darcy nodded. Ensuring that would indeed be the winning trick.
They breakfasted early. Darcy had slept ill and did not anticipate their journey with any great joy, but he had made a promise to Bingley and would not break it.
Reid joined them for breakfast, and Darcy was reminded of many a Bengal dawn when he, Reid and Bingley had broken their fasts before the heat of the day drove all appetite from a man.
Only Hurst was the interloper, until the door sprang open.
Hugh arrived without Tom Lackenby, who, Hugh explained, was a slug-a-bed unless there was the chance of some sport to make the effort worthwhile.
Whatever Hugh’s virtues when it came to early rising, he was, sadly, more stubborn and less likely to yield than the millstone grit from which the high Peaks were hewn—a characteristic amply demonstrated when Hugh declined with far more haste than civility when pressed to join the trip to Riverlethe.
Darcy persisted, though he would have gained more satisfaction if he had walked up to one of the gritstone Peak outcrops and briskly banged his head against the rocks.
He tried flattery (“You understand estate work almost as well as George does, having been brought up to it and having the advantage of our father’s guidance.
You know more than either Bingley or me, certainly.
Your advice can only be of benefit.”) and he tried brotherly cajolement (“I have had little real chance to spend time with you, and this short trip away from Pemberley would do us both some good, I think.”).
That latter assertion had Hugh frankly staring, but neither argument swayed his obdurate younger brother.
Hugh lowered his voice, although Bingley and Hurst had both gone to the sideboard to make further selections, and were bickering over the last of the sautéed kidneys.
It was unlikely either was listening. He appeared to discount Reid, who sat sipping on strong coffee, his head cocked and his gaze fixed on Hugh, eyes bright and with no sign of the weariness infecting Darcy.
“Do not ask it of me, Fitzwilliam. I will not help your friend find an estate. I am striving to accept Ja—” Hugh brought himself up, grimaced, and glanced at Bingley with nothing of amiability in the look.
He went on, more quietly, “I am striving to accept matters, but that is too much to ask of me.” He swallowed his coffee with a gulp and jumped to his feet, pushing his chair back under the table.
He raised his voice. “Time for me to roust out Tom, to take the dogs out cubbing at Bagshaw’s farm.
Ted Bagshaw told me on Saturday a family of foxes was sighted near his hen run, and I promised him I would see to it. ”
“Good hunting, then.” The look Bingley gave Hugh was so neutral, Darcy wondered if he had indeed overheard, despite his mild dispute with his brother-in-law.
Hugh gave him a sharp nod in return. “I wish you all an interesting trip. Gentlemen.”
Darcy sat back, and scowled at the door Hugh closed behind him with such careful deliberation, his young brother might as well have banged it to and be done with it.
Bingley and Hurst resumed their seats. Hurst had prevailed in the matter of kidneys, Darcy noted. Bingley was far too obliging at times.