Chapter Eighteen
When they had trussed the intruder up so tight he could never escape, the men sat him up. Darcy placed his hands on his hips so they would not curl into fists, his fury unabated even when he registered Morris Fitch’s dejected mien. “Start from the beginning, Mr. Fitch.”
“It was not supposed to be like this,” Fitch began, his voice low and tinged with regret. He sat slumped in his chair, the fight gone out of him. “I never meant for anyone to be frightened. I needed things to sell, but I did not intend for it to go this far.”
“But it has,” Darcy reminded him. “And you are in possession of enough stolen goods to see you hanged.”
The man blanched. “You found my hoard?”
Darcy glanced at Thatcher, who shook his head. Clearly Mr. Fitch was not a master criminal, for he had just implicated himself by admitting that he had stolen and hidden the goods. “What is your connection to this estate?” He knew already, but he wanted to hear it from Fitch himself.
“My wife was Mr. Ellis’s cousin, his only remaining family. Did you know that?”
“I know she died fifteen years ago,” Darcy said. “Long enough for you to make your own fortune and not bother Ellis about his.”
“I had an unlucky turn at cards and owe money to men who are not accustomed to waiting. But when I told them Mr. Ellis was on his deathbed and I was his only remaining family, they gave me more time to pay.”
“Never heard of a man done in by one bad hand of cards,” Thatcher said, and Freedman murmured an agreement. “Tell the man the truth, Fitch.”
Mr. Fitch closed his eyes and nodded. “It was more than one hand.”
“And you resorted to thievery to pay what was due,” Thatcher insisted, his tone sharp.
Fitch flinched. “It started small,” he admitted after a pause and a nudge from Thatcher’s boot.
He fixed his eyes on the floor. “I came to see the old man a few times after my wife died, and he would stand me for a meal and a night’s lodging.
But the wagers took my mind off my troubles, and I needed more money to continue.
I took a snuff box. Then a few books from the library.
A silver teaspoon. Items I could easily sell without raising suspicion.
Mr. Ellis had so much, and I had nothing at all.
I was family, so it would all be mine one day. ”
Darcy heard several of the men snort at the entitlement of Fitch’s last statement, and he held up one hand to stop it. He did not want to make the man defensive, for he might stop talking.
“After Mary passed,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, “I could not bear the emptiness of our home. The gaming hells offered an escape.”
As he spoke, it became clear. What began as a distraction soon spiralled into an obsession, with Mr. Fitch chasing increasingly large wagers in a desperate attempt to numb his grief.
As his debts mounted, his tenuous connection to Hollydale through his late wife became a lifeline in his mind, a belief that he would have the funds to dig himself out of debt.
He visited more often and stole something each time.
Ellis must have noticed things going missing. Perhaps that was why he had taken to hiding small, valuable items like the candlesticks? Did he fear Mr. Fitch would arrive and carry them off?
While Darcy felt a flicker of sympathy for Mr. Fitch's loss, his pity hardened into abhorrence as the man described his decision to target Hollydale. “I thought Mr. Ellis might have left me something. That he had not was the greatest of insults to Mary.”
“To Mary,” Darcy repeated. “Your wife, his distant cousin, who preceded him in death by fifteen years?”
Fitch dropped his head. “It does not feel so long to me.”
“How long have you been watching the house?”
“I arrived a month ago to find I had inherited nothing and there was a family I had never heard of installed in the house. When the man left, I thought it would be easier to enter at night and take a few things, just to satisfy the worst of my creditors. But there were patrols.”
“That, Mr. Fitch, is because good men protect women and children, they do not prey upon them. Would your wife be proud of the man you are now?” Darcy’s disgust was evident in his voice, but he did not alter his tone. “Is that what you expect us to believe?”
It was an old story, a man brought low by personal tragedy. But Fitch’s actions had crossed a line.
“I never meant to harm anyone, truly,” Fitch continued, shame evident in his voice. “I just needed more money. My creditors were closing in, and I was running out of options.”
“And tonight?” Darcy asked.
Mr. Fitch shook his head ruefully. “A foolish, desperate attempt. I saw you all watching the window and thought I could outsmart you. I remembered the trick with the kitchen door from my last visit. I never imagined . . .” His voice trailed off, and he winced as he touched the lump on his forehead where Mrs. Bennet had struck him.
As the confession concluded, Darcy exchanged glances with his men. Mr. Fitch's story painted a picture not of a hardened criminal, but of a man driven to extremes by his own poor choices.
“Mr. Fitch,” Darcy said, his tone firm but not unkind, “while I understand your difficulties, your actions cannot go unpunished. You had no right to any of Mr. Ellis's property, regardless of your former connection. You will be turned over to the proper authorities come morning.”
Fitch nodded resignedly, seeming almost relieved his ill-fated scheme had come to an end.
Freedman took charge of their prisoner, and Darcy tugged at the sleeves of his coat.
“We’ll keep guard, Mr. Darcy,” Thatcher said. “Why don’t you have a bath and sleep in your soft bed tonight?”
The other men stifled their laughter.
“I am happy to oblige,” Darcy said, adjusting his coat. “I would not wish to deny you the satisfaction of proving yourselves more resilient than I.”
The men exchanged amused glances.
Darcy smirked. “Indeed, I shall be thinking of your noble sacrifice every time I stir the embers of my warm fire or pour myself a glass of brandy.”
That led to rueful smiles all around. Thatcher tipped his hat. “We’ll take good care of things, sir.”
“I know you will.” He did. He would not send them a bottle of brandy tonight, for he knew they could not drink it while they had charge of the prisoner. But tomorrow—tomorrow, he would. “Good night.”
“Good night, Mr. Darcy,” they chimed and turned back to their work.
Darcy wished to make his farewells to the Bennet ladies before calling for his horse and returning to Pemberley in the moonlight, but he was not certain he should impose. He stood with one hand on the banister and gazed up the stairs.
“Come with me, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Riggs said as she bustled past, and his dilemma was solved.
Darcy ascended the stairs behind the housekeeper.
As he reached the landing, he paused, caught off guard by the scene before him.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet stood in the hallway, a picture of composure despite the late hour.
Her hair was pinned up, and she was fully dressed, as if the disruption of her sleep was a mere trifle.
She was issuing clear, concise orders about the preparation of his room and spoke to Mrs. Riggs about hot soup and drink for the men who would remain with the intruder overnight.
Darcy was captivated by this glimpse of Miss Bennet competently managing a crisis with grace and authority.
Mrs. Bennet stepped out into the hall to speak to her daughter and saw him standing there.
As though she had entirely forgotten her insistence he be turned from the house, she said, “Mr. Darcy, I am sure that the man who broke into the kitchen tonight was the same man I overheard in the bookshop in Lambton.”
Miss Bennet turned to gape at her mother.
“Do you know who he is?” Mrs. Bennet inquired, ignoring her daughter.
“We do now, madam,” he replied. “His name is Morris Fitch.”
“Why did the man Mamma overheard in the bookshop turn up here?” Miss Bennet asked, but before he could reply, she had worked it out. “Oh.”
Darcy nodded at her. “Precisely.” He turned his attention to Mrs. Bennet. “I am afraid Mr. Fitch said those things to manipulate you. He hoped you would send me away, leaving you all vulnerable.”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes filled with tears, and Darcy hastened to add, “But your quick thinking and bravery prevented his plan from succeeding.”
She blinked owlishly.
Miss Bennet took the opportunity to step forward and say, “Mr. Darcy, you must be exhausted. I have asked Mrs. Riggs to prepare a bath for you and open your former room.”
Darcy nodded gratefully.
Mrs. Bennet dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Mr. Darcy, I... I must thank you for your intervention this evening. I have misjudged you terribly.” She paused, looking a little overwhelmed.
“I believe I shall retire now. Goodnight, Mr. Darcy. Lizzy, I know you will see Mr. Darcy has everything he needs.”
With that, Mrs. Bennet retreated to her chambers, leaving Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy alone in the hallway.
Elizabeth turned to face him, her eyes bright with a mix of gratitude and amusement. “It appears she has returned to matchmaking, Mr. Darcy. My apologies for the swiftness of it.”
He scratched the back of his head, not knowing what to say. In truth, he was pleased to be pushed together with Miss Bennet—if that was what she wanted too. “Think nothing of it, Miss Bennet.”
She took a deep breath. “I must add my deepest thanks for your actions tonight. You have done us a great service, particularly considering . . .”
Darcy inclined his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It was my pleasure to be of assistance, Miss Bennet. Though I must say it was your mother who struck the decisive blow.”
Miss Bennet let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “I must confess, that is a wonder to me. And I never thought I would see my mother thanking you so earnestly.”
Darcy's smile widened. “Nor did I, Miss Bennet. This night has been full of surprises.”
Elizabeth nodded, her own smile growing. “Indeed it has.” She paused, her expression becoming more serious. “Please, do not let me keep you from your rest.”
They gazed at each other for a moment longer, and Darcy thought he detected something like longing in Miss Bennet's look, a quiet yearning that made him wonder if her heart was inclined to him.
It was Miss Bennet who broke the silence. “Good night, Mr. Darcy. I hope you sleep well.”
“Good night, Miss Bennet,” he responded, his voice warm. “And the same to you.”