Chapter 17 #3
His sharpness earned him a few surprised stares. It is so difficult to put on an agreeable face.
“Yes, we ought to leave off teasing Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said pleasantly. “He has a disaster to manage, lest you all have forgot.”
She gave Balfour and Utterson each a pointed look and then set to buttering her thick piece of toast with absorbed attention.
“It is well he did not join us because Darcy is a tolerably good shot and he would have left no birds for us,” Fitzwilliam said, smiling round the table.
They began to tell the ladies, who Darcy could tell did not care at all, about how they went out with a dog and Utterson brought back one brace of partridges and Fitzwilliam two, and one of them nearly stepped on a nest.
“How did you shoot, Lewis?” Mrs Lanyon asked Balfour.
“As I always do,” he cried, laughing. “I am a terrible shot, but I do enjoy it.”
“You are not as bad as you say,” Fitzwilliam told him. “There was one time when I thought you had a chance.”
“Nae, but you are kind to humour me,” Balfour said. “But where I could outshine both Utterson and you, Darcy, is fishing.”
Darcy was not equal to a reply beyond a polite smile, so Fitzwilliam said, “I suppose that is because you need not aim, and the fish come to you.”
Everyone laughed, and Darcy was amazed at how his cousin could take his friends shooting and keep up a course of friendly conversation. Even Elizabeth was talking with them through the course of her conversation with Mrs Lanyon and Georgiana.
When breakfast was nearly over, Fitzwilliam answered Mrs Lanyon’s question as to how he intended to pass the day. “I have business in Buxton and then in Matlock.”
Darcy wondered if the small movements of the widow’s lips and eyes showed disappointment that his cousin would be busy across the Peak, or if he only hoped to see that attachment there.
“Buxton and Matlock?” Balfour cried. “It will fill your entire day!”
Fitzwilliam only gave a rueful smile.
“You won’t return before dinner. Let me or Utterson take care of some of the business for you. One of us can go to either Buxton or to Matlock.”
Utterson folded down his newspaper enough to narrow his eyes at Balfour. “I will thank you not to put me forward without asking me first.”
“Oh, are you much occupied today?” Balfour said, drawing back. “Plan to return to Tissington, do you? Feel the need to call on Poole again?”
“What if I was?”
“I would call you a fool, but it seems to be the day for lengthy and indulgent travels.”
Utterson’s glare softened. “I am not visiting Lord Poole. I have only to go for my post in Lambton”—he turned to Fitzwilliam—“so if you want me to go anywhere for you, I shall.”
“I am afraid my business must be done myself, not by an agent.”
This satisfied Utterson, who gave a little nod and returned to his paper. Balfour, however, would not let it go.
“It is fifteen miles east to Buxton; it shall take you over two hours to get there, and then you must pass Pemberley to go on to Matlock. That is twenty miles in all! Then the five miles back to Pemberley from Matlock.” Balfour checked his new watch, and it struck something in Darcy’s memory.
“It is now half past ten. Can I at least go to Matlock for you so you can come right back after Buxton?”
“If only you could, but I have just learnt of an errand I must do for my father before I return to town.”
Darcy watched Balfour and Fitzwilliam share a commiserating headshake, as though both understood doing the bidding of one’s father. Balfour pocketed his watch and said, “You were good to take us shooting and put off your business, but it shall make you very late tonight.”
“It is no matter,” Fitzwilliam said, and he directly asked the ladies what they had planned.
“I had hoped to ride,” Mrs Lanyon said whilst giving Fitzwilliam a long look, before turning to her brother. “Perhaps you might like to join me?”
“Aye, so long as you don’t stop and draw,” he said with a teasing smile. “Miss Darcy, Mrs Annesley, shall you join us?”
“What about Miss Bennet?” Georgiana asked before turning to her. “I do not wish to leave you alone.”
“I have letters to write,” Elizabeth said cheerfully. “Maybe I shall practise the instrument and we can play a duet soon.”
Balfour and some of the others rose. “We might still be in the drawing room when you return this evening,” he said to Fitzwilliam, “but I doubt it.” He then turned to Utterson and asked, “Are you riding with us, then, since you have nothing else to do but get your post?”
“No, I shall find my own amusements,” Utterson said before giving Darcy a little bow and saying something about seeing them all at dinner.
Slowly, the group slipped from the room, with Elizabeth giving him a pointed look and saying clearly that since the maid was sure to be at work in her room, she would write in the library. Fitzwilliam remained, and Darcy dismissed the servants.
He leant back from the table, throwing his napkin onto it. “Thank you for being a charming host to my guests. I cannot dissemble for my life.”
Fitzwilliam laughed. “That is the truth. We must find something for the magistrate soon.” He too stretched his legs from the table and tilted back, looking up as he thought. “Housebreaking or burglary might be impossible to prove. It shall be grand larceny, I think.”
“I am more interested in proving murder.”
Fitzwilliam gave him a pitying look. “We may not be able to prove the thief is the same as the killer. You will have proof of theft if we discover items of yours or from Lambton in the pawnshops, and you might have to content yourself with that.”
The look on his face must have shown how little he liked this because Fitzwilliam threw open his hands. “Well, unless we find stolen items amongst their things—”
“Mr Birch will never issue a search warrant for their belongings,” Darcy said, running a hand across his eyes. “Unless the killer confesses, or we catch him in the act of stealing again, it all depends on us finding Carew’s missing ring.”
“He would be a fool to keep it on him,” Fitzwilliam said grimly.
“Then it is as you say: our best hope to connect him is to find her ring in a pawnshop and have the broker identify him. That would satisfy the magistrate that someone was connected to her death, and Carew will get her coroner’s inquest.”
“Or you might only prove that Utterson or Balfour stole a ring off a dead woman. He could claim that he saw her body, and in a moment of weakness stole the ring.”
“Her temple bone was fractured, and a bloody candlestick was found nearby!” Fitzwilliam gave him a stern look, and Darcy took a calming breath.
“Even Mr Birch will not be able to deny an inquest is needed if I can prove my houseguest pried a ring off her finger as she lay half-submerged in my stream.”
“But not that Balfour or Utterson was the one who killed her.”
“The coroner’s inquest will prove she was murdered,” he said firmly, “that she was struck with something like the candlestick that was stolen from this house. Utterson and Balfour were both gone that morning, and if the coroner agrees she was murdered, the magistrate will interview their friends to see who lied about their whereabouts. Their friends might lie to me, but they are less likely to lie when called to testify in court when the charge is murder.”
“They might only find manslaughter, or a miscellaneous killing. Her death may not have been planned—”
“I want to know who did it and why!” Darcy stood from the table with restless energy. “And I want Molly Carew’s father to know that even though I brought a villain to Pemberley, I did not protect him. I will drag whomever it was in front of Mr Birch myself.”
“It is not your fault.”
Darcy nodded once, thinking of Elizabeth’s words from last night. “I know that now, but I still have to do what I can to make it right. I shall go to Bakewell before I must oversee the rebuilding planned for today.”
Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow to silently ask the question.
“Did you see Balfour’s watch this morning?” His cousin nodded. “He bought it at a pawnshop in Bakewell last Sunday whilst the rest of us were at a well dressing, only because it looked finer than the one he had.”
Fitzwilliam pursed his lips. “He might not have gone back to the same pawnshop. It makes more sense to go farther.”
“Matlock is only five miles, and you intend to go there for the same purpose.”
“Only to be certain, and because it is a larger town. You said Utterson bought cufflinks last Tuesday in Buxton from a pawnshop. I think that is most likely to lead us to a solution.”
“You do not want it to be Balfour,” he said gently, “because you love his sister.”
His cousin rose. “And you want it to be Utterson since he is not as dear to you as is Balfour, but what we want does not matter, does it?”
Darcy shook his head. “What matters is that Molly Carew’s killer is found. I may as well check the Bakewell pawnshop whilst you check the ones farther away.”
His cousin touched his forehead in salute. “I am always happy to oblige.”
“Yes, you are,” Darcy said seriously, “and I am more grateful to you than I can possibly say.”
Fitzwilliam’s pleased look faded, and he gave a wry smile. “If you will thank me, why don’t you go to the library on your way to Bakewell? Miss Bennet said something about writing there. Let me help you: she was hinting that she wanted your company.”
“Was she?” he said with a straight face. “Are you certain?”
Fitzwilliam closed his eyes in disappointment whilst squeezing his hands into fists. “You need so much help. I shall be back very late, but hopefully with something useful.” He walked towards the door. Over his shoulder he called, “Go to the library. Remember, faint heart ne’er won fair lady.”