Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
“I am not blind to your brother’s interest in Miss Bennet.” Bingley stared at his plate and pushed it aside, perhaps deciding cold beef was not, after all, to his taste. “I am sorry if that is causing difficulties in your relations with him. You must feel caught betwixt us.”
“It is not that. The choice is Miss Bennet’s alone, and I do not believe he would have succeeded in fixing his interest there with or without your presence.”
Hurst glanced up to say, “I am impressed with both the Bennet ladies.”
“Two good and bonny lasses.” Reid nodded.
Hurst smiled more broadly than usual and toasted Reid with his coffee.
“They are indeed. More than that, though. They have character, and both display to advantage against other ladies. I am impressed by anyone who can deliver set-downs to Caroline while smiling so sweetly. The neighbour’s chit, too, I remember, failed to score a hit against Miss Elizabeth at supper last week at the assembly. ”
“Caroline is not so bad,” Bingley protested, his tone mild.
“You have not lived with her for the last two years.” Hurst raised his fork, loaded with kidney, and his next words were somewhat indistinct. “You had all the advantage in being far away in Bengal, brother. Safety is not the least benefit of so great a distance.”
Darcy’s breath caught in his throat. He took no more note of Bingley’s laughing protests, or of Hurst’s good-natured grumbling about the irresponsibility of youth leaving his elders to manage opinionated, difficult siblings.
Far away in Bengal. A great distance. Safety.
Darcy met Reid’s gaze. Reid inclined his head. Reid understood.
Perhaps there was an alternative that would prevent scandal, after all.
George joined them as they passed Sparrowhill, quiet, his attention turned inward. Darcy let him be, not wanting to talk any more than George did.
They did not rush to Riverlethe. It was a bright, if cool, late October morning and they made the most of the clement weather.
The horses, ordinary hunters and hacks, were not bred for a forty-mile round trip within a single day and benefitted from their leisurely pace.
Reid reckoned that at their current speed, it would be noon before they would ride into the inn yard at Hallows, the hamlet west of Sheffield which was but two miles from Riverlethe’s gates.
He had it timed with his usual exactness.
Morris, the Hall’s land agent, met them at the inn, joining them for a noon meal before they rode on to the Hall. It was a modern house built within the last twenty years, with a plain Palladian frontage enlivened by a full-height portico over the door. All in all, a substantial building.
“Oh, it is nothing to Pemberley, I dare say,” Morris said, when they brought their horses to a stop before the portico.
“But it is well built and has every modern contrivance and convenience. Ten good bedroom suites, two fine drawing rooms, music room and three smaller parlours… and the grounds, as you can see, are well-kept, if not extensive. Your lady, Mr Bingley, may enjoy expanding the gardens to meet her tastes.”
“I hope so, if ever she does become my lady.” Bingley gave them all such a mooncalf-y smile that Darcy did not hesitate to roll his eyes and made sure Bingley saw him.
George and Morris settled in the study, the ledgers spread on the desk before them.
Darcy glanced in on them as George was stripping off his gloves, ready to start work.
George seemed his usual self, his mind bent upon the papers, and suggested they allow him to work while they explored the house and grounds.
They left the two stewards to their task.
Hurst stretched out on one of the sofas in a quiet parlour to recover from his meal, uninterested in proceedings.
The rest did as suggested, and made a minute investigation into all the rooms before letting themselves out through a garden door to wander the grounds.
“A fine house,” Bingley said, turning to survey it again after walking a few yards.
Darcy grunted.
Bingley blew out a hard breath. “You, my friend, have little interest in it, do you? You are too serious by half, and never more so than the last few days. Miss Elizabeth’s accident weighs on you, I think.”
“More than you can know.” Darcy grimaced. He glanced at Reid, who nodded. “Let me explain our dilemma. I need your help.”
They walked the autumn gardens as, supplemented by Reid’s comments, Darcy explained their reasoning for thinking there had been serious attempts to remove him as master of Pemberley.
They ended their perambulations at an ornamental pool full of silver carp and stared at the fish for a few moments. The fish stared back.
“I do not doubt the threatening atmosphere provoked by these incidents, and I was never more frightened myself than when that chimney came down, but what can you offer to support the idea of malicious intent? You have nothing to persuade a magistrate, and none will act without more reasonable suspicion.” Bingley’s serious demeanour would seem unusual to anyone who knew him less well than did Reid and Darcy.
They both knew that beneath the friendly, happy exterior lived an intelligent and educated man whose good sense and opinions Darcy valued highly.
“No. Conjecture only, which is why I will not put a name to my suspicions.”
Bingley cocked an eyebrow at him. “I would not expect you to, and I will keep my guesses to myself. What may I do to help?”
“Bless you, Charles. It was something Hurst said this morning at breakfast, about Bengal being at a safe distance. If I had an urgent need for a berth to Calcutta, could your uncle in the East India Company arrange it with one of the company’s ships? The next one to depart, if possible.”
“You seek to send him to India?”
“I seek to put him at such a distance he cannot cause further harm, nor cause my name to be bandied about in the scandal sheets for the next year.”
“My uncle could secure a berth. He is a discreet man, and would not question the need. The passenger, though, will not be a company employee, and will need to find some occupation when he arrives in Bengal.”
“An educated man can always make something of himself there, either with the company as a local agent or with one of the independent traders. He should not be made desperate.”
“Then leave it with me. I will write to my uncle tomorrow when we return to Pemberley and send it express. We will have a reply within the week. What will you do?”
“Somehow endure today.” Darcy sighed. “Tomorrow, I will confront him. No one else will be hurt the way Elizabeth was. Tomorrow, this shall all come to an end, one way or another.”