Chapter Eighteen #3
“His father was informed at once,” Fitzwilliam said.
“He examined the find himself and sent word to the appropriate authorities. The gold and silver were surrendered, as the law requires. The bronze coins and the comb were returned to my brother as curiosities—of little monetary value but great sentimental interest.”
Mr. Bingley scoffed openly. “An absurd waste. If the land belonged to a family, then the treasure ought to have remained theirs entirely. The Crown has more gold than it knows what to do with. What right has it to anything found on private land?”
Jane shifted uneasily. “It is…established law,” she said gently.
“And an unjust one,” Mr. Bingley replied at once. “What incentive does it give a man to be honest? None at all. He is punished for his integrity and rewarded only if he conceals the truth.”
Elizabeth felt Darcy stir beside her, though he did not yet speak. She kept her eyes fixed on her hands, willing herself to remain composed.
Colonel Fitzwilliam tilted his head slightly. “Perhaps,” he said. “But my father always maintained that the law existed to preserve history, not to impoverish landowners. Gold melted down is lost forever. Preserved, it tells a story.”
“A story that does not put bread on a family’s table,” Mr. Bingley retorted. “I cannot imagine surrendering a fortune because a statute demands it.”
Jane’s color rose faintly. “I believe,” she said carefully, “that many people would find such a choice…difficult.”
Elizabeth could hear the strain beneath her sister’s politeness. She wanted—desperately—to change the subject, to steer them away from dangerous ground. But Mr. Bingley, once embarked, showed no inclination to stop.
“Difficult, yes,” he said. “But unnecessary. If something were found on my land, I would consider it mine by every reasonable measure.”
Darcy spoke then, his voice even but firm. “Reason and law are not always interchangeable, Bingley.”
The room seemed to quiet slightly, attention turning toward him.
“I am well aware of your position on the matter,” Mr. Bingley said with a laugh that rang hollow. “You have never met a regulation you did not admire.”
Darcy did not rise to the bait. “I admire order,” he said simply. “And the protection it affords. Without it, the strongest claim everything, and the rest are left to justify themselves afterward.”
Elizabeth risked a glance at him. His expression was composed, but there was something intent beneath it; it seemed like he was speaking not only to Bingley but to the room at large—and perhaps to her.
Mrs. Bennet, sensing tension, hurried to smooth it over. “Well! I am certain we need not debate laws at a picnic. The air will do us all good. Elizabeth, you enjoy walking, do you not? And Jane—color in your cheeks will do wonders for your complexion.”
Jane nodded, though her smile did not quite reach her eyes.
Mr. Bennet, who had been unusually silent since his announcement, cleared his throat. “If the outing is confined to pleasant strolling and cold meats, I see no harm in it. But I will not have my tenants’ fields torn up by enthusiastic amateurs.”
Elizabeth’s heart thudded painfully. She thought she heard, beneath his light tone, an edge of warning.
“Of course not,” Bingley said readily. “The common is quite sufficient for our purposes.”
The common, Elizabeth thought, unease curling tighter within her. How many more boots would tramp over it before the novelty wore thin? How many more spades would strike Earth in hope of striking fortune?
Fitzwilliam glanced toward her then, his expression thoughtful. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “you have been very quiet. What do you think of our proposed expedition?”
She met his gaze, grateful for his courtesy but wary of her own answer. “I think,” she said slowly, “that enthusiasm has a habit of outrunning sense. Treasure is a tempting notion, but it has already caused a great deal of speculation—and not all of it kind.”
Mr. Bingley waved a hand. “Speculation is harmless.”
“Until it is not,” Elizabeth replied, her tone still polite but firmer now. “People grow disappointed when expectations are not met. Disappointment can sour into resentment with alarming speed.”
Darcy’s eyes flicked to her again, approval unmistakable.
Jane reached for Elizabeth’s hand, squeezing it lightly. “I believe we should enjoy the day for what it is,” she said softly. “Good company, fine weather, and no more.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled at her. “A sensible approach.”
Mr. Bingley, however, looked unconvinced. “You all speak as though the mere act of looking were dangerous. It is only a bit of fun.”
Elizabeth did not answer. She wondered, not for the first time, how long the craze would last—how long before disappointment sharpened into something uglier, something that could not be laughed away at luncheon.
She wondered, too, how much longer secrets could remain buried when everyone was so intent on digging.
Outside, the sunlight continued to stream through the windows, warm and deceptively gentle. Elizabeth had the unsettling sense that it illuminated far more than anyone intended—and that before long, something hidden would be brought into the open, whether its keepers were ready or not.