Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Darcy had never been so outraged in his whole life as he felt when he watched Balfour enter and pry open one of the coffin lids with a crowbar.
Balfour wrested off both shoes from the body and put them in a sack, and then came to the head to pick up a hand that was mostly bone to slide off a ring.
He replaced the lid and proceeded to do the same with a woman in the next coffin.
His surprise to witness Balfour, not Utterson, mingled with a disgust that made it hard to speak or act.
He watched Balfour move to the next victim to open the lid and remove the shoes, and then he tugged to try to remove a diamond ring.
Balfour pulled harder before huffing in frustration.
Darcy saw him pull a knife from his pocket, and his stomach roiled horribly as he realised what Balfour was about to do.
“Stop.”
Balfour cried out, and his knife clattered onto the table.
“Darcy! You nearly stopped my heart!” Balfour brought a hand to his chest and exhaled loudly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“What am I—” He gave a hollow laugh at the absurdity of Balfour’s question. “I am keeping watch against the desecration of the dead.”
“Aye, well, I am sorry.” Balfour rubbed the back of his neck. “You see, it was tempting to take a few trinkets no one would miss.”
“How dare you?” he whispered angrily. Thank heaven he did not bring any tenants with him, because their fury would outweigh his.
He had to get Balfour to Pemberley and send for the magistrate before his people learnt they were here.
“How can you steal from the bodies of wives and daughters of men who have already been robbed of what they hold most dear?”
“There was no harm done.” He gave a placating smile. “I can put it all back.”
“No harm? Balfour, the knowledge of what you have done would be a torture to those who survived the storm.”
Balfour threw him a look. “Come now, most of these bodies are not drowning victims. Most are long-dead people whose coffins were pushed out of waterlogged graves.”
“As though that makes it better!” Darcy cried.
He took a breath and lowered his voice. “We need to return to Pemberley before anyone in Lambton knows we are here.” The memory of the near riot in the aftermath of the storm came surging back to him.
The villagers might mete out swift punishment to someone who dared to desecrate the corpses of their loved ones.
“Very well, I shall put everything back, and it can all be forgot.” He returned the shoes and replaced the ring whilst Darcy watched in sickening disbelief.
It would be so much less painful to tell his friend it could all be forgotten. But then he could never look at Mr Carew again, and he would see Molly Carew’s corpse every time he closed his eyes. I am responsible for what I do, and also for what I could have done but chose not to.
“This can never be forgot, you know. We have much to deal with, and we are returning to the house.”
Darcy had been ready to draw the pistol if he had to, but Balfour pocketed his knife and took up the bag with the crowbar.
He was remarkably at ease. Perhaps he was chagrined at having been caught, but he showed no fear of the consequences.
For his part, Darcy felt horror-struck, and thoroughly ashamed that he had not known what his supposed friend was capable of.
His anger and disappointment built during the long, quiet walk back to Pemberley. When they passed near to where they had found Carew’s body, Darcy asked coldly, “Were you going to wrench the gold teeth from their jaws as well?”
He laughed, and said, “Nae! Good heavens, Darcy, the things you say.”
Balfour showed no consciousness of guilt that gave one look of embarrassment, and that burned a righteous fury deeper into Darcy’s chest. With one hand in his frock coat pocket, around the pistol handle, Darcy gestured with the other for Balfour to enter through the stable yard and go into the gunroom.
It seemed the servants were asleep since this part of the house was quiet.
The lamp was still lit, and Balfour set down the sack with the crowbar next to it before leaning against the table with his arms crossed over his chest.
Darcy stared at him for a long moment, waiting for Balfour to confess, to show regret, to plead for forgiveness, but he only waited silently.
When he felt the chains of patience about to snap, Darcy asked, “For how long have you been so hard-pressed for money that you have taken to stealing and pawning?”
Balfour gave his usual carefree smile. “I had a small legacy from my mother. She was from a noble family in India, you know.”
“But you spent it all.”
“Aye, I cast up my accounts a year or so ago and saw that I had spent near three times my income.”
Income was earned from work or from investments.
Darcy thought of every single family who worked Pemberley’s land, and of the pain of their recent losses, and how much work they would all need to do together to restore the value of their properties.
“You mean you spent three times the allowance your father gives you.”
Balfour’s expression darkened. “A man needs money to show to the world he is a proper gentleman. And because of all I still owe, it is near impossible for anyone in town to extend me credit. You know the fortune my father earned in India, and what does he give to me? A few hundred pounds a year. I am the son of a wealthy and influential member of parliament, a gentleman. Appearances matter.” In a calmer voice, he added, “As I said, my mother’s inheritance was gone, and I could hardly say where it all went. ”
“I suspect that whatever was not spent on amusements or baubles, you lost at play and the turf.”
Balfour shrugged. “You know how a gentleman must appear to be above the concerns of debts and expenses. If I cannot wager and spend freely, I am likely to lose friends.”
Darcy felt a vise squeezing his heart. “My friendship, far from being diminished, could only increase in the ratio to your misfortunes.”
“I am not a beggar, my dear Darcy.”
“No, you became a thief instead!” He pursed his lips and tried to stay calm.
“Do you do this often? Do you steal items from where you think they shall not be missed to sell for ready cash? So you can look to be a man of means before your friends and acquaintances, be able to wager what you like or spend on an impulse?”
“Yes, items here and there from homes and clubs and what have you. I do not expect you to understand. You are fortunate that your father is dead and you already have all of this.”
Darcy shook his head, staggered. “I would trade it all to still have my father with me.”
Balfour gave him a pained look. “I am sorry, that was unkind of me. I know what your father meant to you, and I remember how hard his death was on you.” He sighed. “Let me try again. You inherited when you were two-and-twenty, and have ten thousand a year. I need to accumulate sufficient income—”
“What you steal and pawn,” Darcy cried, disgusted, “is not income.”
“Capital, then, sufficient capital to maintain the gentlemanly style of life in which I had been brought up. You do not know how humiliating it is to have a father exert financial pressure on you. I pawn baubles that no one would miss to make it easier to sit at the same table with my friends. Once I inherit Hyde House, I shall have no need of that.”
“You are lost to all sense of shame,” Darcy said sadly, “and to every feeling that ought to govern an honest man.”
“Enough with the lecture!” Balfour cried.
“I usually take from those who are not so dear to me as you are. I shall not steal from your house, or your villagers. It was badly done, and I am sorry.” He bowed his head.
“I have lost your respect, and am justly chastised, and can only hope to earn back your good opinion. Now, may I go to bed?”
Darcy was certain his mouth hung open. Balfour thought he was here for a morality lesson, like a recalcitrant child. He was incredulous that Balfour thought his crimes would go unpunished. “I am sending for a constable and the magistrate.”
Balfour uncrossed his arms to set them on the table behind him, bracing himself. “You cannot mean it. Over a few pairs of shoes and jewellery? I put them back! Once the nails are hammered back into the lids, no one will ever know.”
“I might have overlooked that, I truly think I”—his voice broke—“I could have, but you know why I must see this through.” Balfour stared like he had no idea what could be the matter. “You killed someone!”
Balfour paled, and his shoulders tensed as he gripped the table’s edge. “That would be impossible to prove.”
“Do you deny it? Were you truly in Buxton playing cards on Thursday?” When Balfour said nothing, Darcy said, “You struck Molly Carew with a candlestick that you stole from my house, and then you pried a ring from her finger. That appears to be a habit of yours,” he added when Balfour was still silent.
“Did you pawn the ring, along with whatever else you pilfered in Lambton?”
“You cannot prove any of that.”
“And if someone checked the pawnbrokers across the Peak, would he find a gold ring with five pieces of coral, and a name and description of the man who pledged it?”
Balfour’s pale face turned red. “You are my friend. You won’t send for a constable to arrest your friend. I shall leave in the morning, and I can only hope that someday you forgive me for this little transgression in the village.”
As Balfour pushed himself from the table, Darcy said, “You are not leaving. You will be arrested, and you will stand trial.”
“Trial!” he cried. “You would see your own friend in a gaol? What about loyalty above all else?”
“Except above honour,” he said quietly.
“I am a gentleman—”
“By blood rather than behaviour! You ought to relinquish that title to a man more deserving.”