Chapter Six
Darcy had forgotten it was market day in Lambton.
Mrs. Reynolds had intended to send a footman into town for this errand, but he had unexpectedly found himself without anything pressing to do and fancied a bit of a ride.
He hoped to stop at Hollydale on the way back.
It was not directly in his way, but only a mile or two out of it, and he wished to see how Mr. Bennet was getting on with the library. At least, that would be his excuse.
“Ey up, Mr. Darcy,” he heard, more than once. He returned the greetings until a woman of fifty years said in a raised voice, “’Ee’s the magistrate, ain’t ‘e?”
His heart sank. He was one of three magistrates in the area, but the only one currently standing before them. He knew what that meant. A few curious onlookers stopped what they were doing and approached, drawn, no doubt, by the unusual sight of a magistrate on the green.
The woman who had called out—a Mrs. Higgins, he believed—shuffled over, her face pinched with annoyance.
She was closely followed by a short, thin man he recognised as Mr. Jacobson.
Soon, Darcy was surrounded by a small crowd of townspeople who began voicing their complaints, stirring one another’s agitation until they were arguing with one another.
He cleared his throat, and they all turned to face him. “One at a time, please.”
“Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Higgins cried as she elbowed the man next to her for pressing too close. “My silver ladle is gone, snatched right off my table here not an hour past. How am I to serve my Christmas punch without it?”
Darcy had seen the ladle in the past, Mrs. Higgins’s prize possession, more than likely not silver at all and the handle bent with ill-use.
He wished to say that in the month and more remaining until Christmas, she would certainly find it or be able to arrange for a different ladle.
Instead, he chose diplomacy. “I assure you, Mrs. Higgins, we shall do our best to recover such an essential utensil. You say it was taken here at the fair?”
“Indeed it were, and no one about seen who done it!”
Darcy nodded. “Have you visited the pawn shop?”
“’Ere now!” a male voice shouted from the back of the crowd. “I don’t take no stolen goods!”
He doubted that was true, but he nodded just the same. “Very good, Mr. Nestor.”
The cobbler spoke up next. “And my new boots, Mr. Darcy! My best pair, made from the finest leather, just walked off in the night!”
Darcy’s smile was strained. “Mr. Rutherford, I am sure your boots did not just walk off—.” He closed his eyes. The pun had not been intended, but it was too late to change course. “On their own.”
“That they did not,” Mr. Rutherford concluded, crossing his arms over his chest.
“And Selina’s favourite ribbon was stolen right off her neck!”
That was Mrs. Travis, and this was worrying. “Is Selina your daughter, madam?”
This produced snorts and laughter. Mrs. Travis turned and said something to the others in a thick Derbyshire accent before she turned back to glare at Darcy.
“Selina is my cat,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “Though I do not see how it matters.”
Darcy’s left eye twitched.
“Right,” he said at last. “I shall add her ribbon to the list.”
“And I’ll be keeping my eye out, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Rutherford assured him. “It’d be better for the thief if the magistrate catches him first.”
Several other men muttered agreements.
“If any of you apprehend a thief, you are to call for one of the magistrates. Do not take the law into your own hands, or you may find you are the one being punished. I have sworn to uphold the law. Hold him, but do not harm him.”
“Might not even be a him,” someone mumbled.
“If that should be the case, my instructions are even more pertinent.” He looked at the three who had lodged complaints. “Ladle, boots, ribbon. Now, if there are no further reports—”
“What if it’s not a person at all?” Darcy’s eyes were drawn to the young voice piping up from just in front of him. It was a young boy, the older one of the pair who had knocked Miss Bennet over.
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Travis asked.
“What if it’s a ghost?”
A ripple of laughter went through the crowds, but there were a few gasps as well. Mrs. Travis bent down, and when she rose, there was an orange cat in her arms.
“I can assure you,” Darcy said, his voice strained, “it is not a ghost.”
Mrs. Travis held the protesting feline close to her chest. “How can you be sure? Grandmama always said Lambton was haunted by the Christmas Duchess!”
Murmurs of “the Christmas Duchess” rolled through the crowd, which was growing. Nothing like the retelling of a ghost story to draw people away from the business of selling their goods.
An older man Darcy did not know pursed his lips and said with complete seriousness, “She was known to be mischievous, but she brought things, she did not take them . . .”
“Quite right. I never heard of a duchess stealing things,” scoffed a woman next to Mrs. Travis. “Even if you believe that ridiculous tale.”
Darcy thought this a good opportunity to end the conversation. “I quite agree. Now, if there are no further questions—”
This was met by a few loud protests, and Darcy swept his eyes over them all in exasperation until he saw Miss Bennet and her footman standing a few feet back from the gathering, one gloved hand covering her mouth in yet another attempt not to laugh at him. Their eyes met, and she smiled at him.
He opened his mouth, searching for words to regain control of the situation, when she walked towards him, the crowd parting to allow her through.
“Good day, everyone,” she said, raising her voice so all could hear. “I am Miss Bennet of Hollydale House, and I am new here, though I am the niece of Margaret Wright, who lived among you before she married. It is wonderful to meet you all.”
The murmur that ran through the crowd seemed friendly enough.
“Because people who are new sometimes see things that those more familiar with an area might not, might I offer a few more earthly possibilities?”
Every face turned to her. A few people even smiled at her gentle teasing.
“Mrs. Higgins,” she said kindly, “I was here a few hours ago, and you were not using a ladle to serve your cider then. Is it possible you left it at home? Perhaps to polish it so it is ready for Christmas?”
The older woman thought for a moment. “You may be right.”
“And Mr. Rutherford,” Miss Bennet continued, “I saw a pair of boots like the ones you describe. One of your neighbours saved them from a dog and took them to Mr. Milner for safekeeping. You may enquire at the parsonage for them.”
Mr. Rutherford doffed his hat, looking relieved. “I thank you, Miss Bennet.”
“Mrs. Travis?”
“Yes?”
“Selina is a beautiful cat. I am sorry she was treated so poorly.” She reached into her reticule and withdrew a ribbon the colour of a summer sky. “Please give this to her with my compliments.”
The ribbon would have looked wonderful in Miss Bennet’s dark hair.
Darcy knew it was wrong to resent the cat, but a small part of him did.
As Miss Bennet said a few more things that soothed those present with gentle logic and genuine warmth, he could only observe with gratitude.
The villagers’ anxiety seemed to melt away, replaced by sheepish smiles and chuckles.
Now everything was settled, they began to disperse, most moving back to their stalls or returning to their shopping.
Miss Bennet held the cat while Mrs. Travis tied the ribbon around the beast’s neck. She caught his eye again and smiled.
When even Mrs. Travis had wandered away to boast about her cat’s new adornment, Darcy approached.
“I must thank you for the timely rescue, Miss Bennet.”
“Not at all, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, caught up in brushing the cat hair from her cloak. “Consider us even.”
He offered her a little bow. “A cat’s ribbon was not what I expected to be discussing this morning.”
She smiled. “Do not forget the boots. It was fortunate for you I saw them when I visited Mr. Milner today.”
“It was indeed. And the ladle?”
“Only a guess. I truly had been past her stall earlier and did not see her using it then. And before you ask, I doubt Selina ever had a ribbon.”
“Then why would you offer your own?”
“Mrs. Travis is a widow, judging from the black edging on her gown. I suspect she dotes on her cat and has long wished to have a ribbon for her but can no longer afford one. It is such a little thing when I have been so blessed.”
She was so matter-of-fact about her act of generosity that Darcy could only feel chagrined he had not considered Mrs. Travis’s situation. He always attempted to preserve a man’s dignity when they did business together, but he had not applied the same behaviour to the widow.
“You are a marvel, madam.”
“Not at all, Mr. Darcy. I have many faults. You simply do not know me well enough to enumerate them.” She smiled winsomely.
“One of my flaws is an untoward enjoyment of frightening tales. One day you shall have to allow me to read your magistrate’s report about the Christmas duchess who haunts Lambton. ”
Darcy groaned, but not without a chuckle. “I assure you, madam, there will be no ghostly duchess in my report. In fact, I need not write one at all now. Thank you for that.”
Miss Bennet shook her head. “Pity. It would have made for entertaining reading.” She paused, studying him for a moment. “You appear as though you could use a respite from all this excitement, sir.”
“I would not say no to a moment of peace,” Darcy admitted, surprising himself with his candour.
“Would you like to join us for tea at Hollydale? We could discuss your past investigations in a less spirited environment.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “That was a terrible joke.”
She laughed. “You are one to talk. Boots, Mr. Darcy?”
“That was not even my joke. I simply did not realise what I was saying until it was too late.”
“That does not make it better.” She finished with her cloak and looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Shall we see you at Hollydale, sir?”
Darcy hesitated only for a moment. “I must complete an errand here but could ride out in another hour or so. I must say, tea and good company would be welcome.”
“Very well, Mr. Darcy, we shall look for you then,” Miss Bennet said, and then addressed her footman. “Thatcher, I think I am finally ready to depart.”
“Yes, Miss Bennet,” Thatcher said, but eyed Darcy from head to toe before he turned to escort his mistress back to her carriage.
Darcy could not bother to be affronted. Miss Bennet had invited him to tea, and suddenly he could not recall what Mrs. Reynolds needed him to do.