Chapter Seventeen
The day after his visit to the solicitor, Darcy rode to the church where the Sykes boys were often to be found. As he approached, he saw young Matthew and Harry walking inside the sanctuary, carrying a wooden box with rags and polish. He dismounted and followed them.
The afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass, casting a kaleidoscope of colours across the worn stone floor of the small country church, and dust motes floated in the slanted beams of light. The boys were preparing to polish the brass railing at the front of the sanctuary.
“Hello, lads,” Darcy said.
Two heads shot up.
“I was hoping to have a word with you both.”
The boys exchanged a nervous glance as he approached, and when he reached them, he crouched down, his voice gentle but firm. “I need to know about the man who has been taking things from Hollydale and the Kendricks’ house, and I believe you know who he is.”
Matthew just stared silently at him, but Darcy did not move or look away, and it was not long before little Harry burst into tears. “We didn't want to, Mr. Darcy! He said he'd tell Da about the church if we didn't help him!”
“Harry,” Matthew hissed.
“And then Da wouldn’t let us . . .” Harry said in a voice both soft and defiant.
“It is all right,” Darcy reassured them. “We know where the candlesticks are—and I am not placing blame on you.”
The older boy was quiet, his eyes searching for any hint that Darcy was prevaricating. “Will you tell Mr. Milner to send us away?”
Darcy shook his head. “Not at all.”
This resulted in a slight nod. “It was just the candlesticks, sir, and we never took them out of the house. We handed them out the back door, but he said that would protect us.” Harry sniffled, and Matthew frowned at him. “We didn't take nothing else, I swear it.”
Darcy's suspicions were confirmed. He placed a comforting hand on each boy's shoulder.
“You're not in trouble, boys. But I need you to tell me everything you know about this man.” He stood, and when he heard Mr. Milner’s voice, he sought the man out and brought him back into the sanctuary to confirm their positions would be safe.
“We don’t know ‘im,” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But he was like our da, and I was afraid.”
Mr. Milner met Darcy’s eye. They knew precisely what Mr. Sykes was like. “Go on,” the pastor encouraged.
“He said it was not what he was due, but he would take all he could lay his hands on since his cousin left the house to someone else.” Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know what he meant. I just wanted him to leave us alone.”
The pastor placed a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “You could have gone to Mr. Kendrick and told him what was happening, Matthew. He would have helped you.”
The boy nodded but seemed sceptical.
“You did wrong, taking the candlesticks, and you shall have to apologise to the Kendricks. But as they will be recovered, and you were threatened, I do not believe you will be charged with theft.”
Matthew closed his eyes. “Thank you, sir,” he whispered.
It was a crime to browbeat a child into stealing for one’s own gain—or if it was not, it ought to be.
Darcy added justice for the Sykes boys to his growing list. With the information he now had, Darcy knew he must return to Hollydale—not inside the house, for Mrs. Bennet would still be distressed, but certainly outside, to help keep watch.
He rode back to Pemberley, his mind already formulating a plan.
As he entered the house, he found Georgiana waiting for him.
“Fitzwilliam, you rode off in such haste. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Darcy paused, offering his sister a small smile. “You are already helped by recalling Mr. Ellis’s relation, Georgie.”
“You and I have Grandfather’s memory,” she said quietly. “Father always said so.”
It was that memory that had helped them both do well enough at school that they had intimidated others. “By the by, I have written a letter to inform your headmistress you will not be returning, and why. I insisted she return the funds for your tuition.”
Georgiana squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “Will I go to another school?”
He hesitated. “I do not know yet. We shall have to seek out better recommendations this time if you wish to—”
“No!” she exclaimed. “That is, I should rather study here at Pemberley, or even in London if it is convenient for the masters.”
“We shall speak of it soon,” he told her. “But for now, I am afraid I must away.”
Georgiana blinked. “You are leaving?”
“I must,” Darcy replied. “I have reason to believe there is trouble at Hollydale, and I mean to be certain the ladies are protected.”
“But what about Mrs. Bennet?” Georgiana asked, her voice tinged with worry. “She seemed so upset when we left . . .”
“Especially because of that,” Darcy said. “Mrs. Bennet has been deceived by this man you recognised, and I fear he means the Bennet family ill.”
“And you gave your word,” his sister added.
He nodded. “And I gave my word.”
“Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana said gently, “I think you are a very good man.”
“I hope that I am.” Darcy could not deny that his sister’s estimation of his character pleased him. “But in this case, I am simply doing what any gentleman would.”
Georgiana shook her head, a fond smile playing on her lips. “No, brother. Not every gentleman would go to such lengths for a family they have known for so short a time. But while you are a man of duty, in this case I suspect there is even more that drives you.”
Darcy paused, but there was no point in denying it. Georgiana had recognised his feelings even before they went to Hollydale. “You are right,” he admitted. “Does that bother you, Georgiana? She is not the ton heiress with titled connections my aunts and uncle expect me to wed, but . . .”
“Do you love her?” Georgiana asked.
Darcy felt a flush creep up his neck. “Georgiana, I—”
“I have read your letters, and I have seen the way you look at her, even though you try not to. It is why I kept Mrs. Bennet so busy, although I truly do enjoy her company. Miss Bennet is a gentleman’s daughter, Fitzwilliam.
Her father has two estates. Even if she has little or no fortune of her own, she is still from a respectable family.
Our relatives should have no say in the matter. Do you love her?”
Darcy sighed. “She is a remarkable woman,” he conceded.
Georgiana reached out and squeezed his hand. “Then you must go personally to help her. You might even have time to make her a Christmas bride! Would not that be romantic?”
Darcy chuckled as he glanced around the hall, relieved to see the servants had abandoned them. “Let us not get ahead of ourselves, sweetling. But thank you. Your support means a great deal to me.” He met her gaze. “I must go now.”
“Promise me you will be careful?”
“I shall,” Darcy assured her, touched by her concern. “And you will be well, here on your own?”
It was his sister’s turn to laugh a little. “Fitzwilliam, this is Pemberley. I am never entirely on my own unless I am sleeping.”
With a final squeeze of her hand, Darcy left her to refresh himself, change his clothing, and have something to eat before riding back to Hollydale.
The first night at Hollydale was long and cold.
After taking his turn watching the house, Darcy moved to the men’s makeshift camp inside a closed-up room where the firewood for the kitchen was typically kept.
Someone had made room on the floor and tossed down two thin mattresses.
He stretched out on one and pulled a heavy blanket over him.
The floor had not been swept, so there were bits of wood and stone underneath.
As he picked them out, reminding himself that he had willingly left his comfortable bed behind at Pemberley, the door swung open on creaky hinges, and he stood to close it again. He made a note to mention it to Mr. Bennet, for in a storm the wood might be rained or snowed on and made unusable.
As he was examining the latch, a sound like a door opening made him look up.
A small figure emerged from the kitchen door, and he watched Miss Bennet—it could be no other—disappear down the path toward the front of the house. It was just as it had been some weeks ago, when she walked to the stables and had Thatcher carry out a box.
As he cautiously rose to his feet and moved closer, taking care to remain unseen, Darcy stepped into the little wilderness to one side of the front drive.
He stood where he was, peering around the corner of the house to see what she was about.
A cart stood waiting down the road a bit in the dim moonlight, its driver cloaked and seated with a bowed head.
The flickering lantern on the cart barely illuminated the scene, but Darcy strained his eyes to make out more details.
The figure sitting in the cart was familiar.
His posture, the set of his shoulders looked very much like Mr. Milner—but in the darkness, Darcy could not be sure.
Miss Bennet approached the cart quickly, glancing back toward Hollydale once more before handing a sack to the driver.
Their exchange was brief and quiet. Darcy caught only faint murmurs of their voices carried on the air, but nothing distinct enough to make out the words.
The driver nodded once, taking the sack from her hands, and placing it into the back of the wagon before urging the horse forward with a soft cluck of his tongue.
The cart rolled away into the night, disappearing into the darkness beyond the estate’s boundaries.
Miss Bennet stood there for a moment, watching it go, and Darcy watched her, his mind swirling with questions.
Whatever she engaged in, it was something she wanted kept hidden, even from him.
The thought made him uneasy. He was not supposed to be on the grounds anymore.
To confront her now would raise far more questions than he was prepared to answer.