CHAPTER EIGHT
Bingley could scarcely contain his excitement as the evening approached. He had been settled in Netherfield but a fortnight and had already been visited by such pleasant gentlemen and met with such handsome young ladies as he might have ever imagined. He had been called back to town by business for a brief spell, and had returned at once relieved and heavy-hearted. The very thought of a dance—an opportunity to forget his troubles, along with the sadness and corruption of the world—no matter how provincial, delighted him to no end. With the burdens of the darkness of other men upon his shoulders, a pleasant evening dancing with charming maidens offered just the respite for which his weary soul pined. His delight was tempered, however, not only by the brooding countenance of his friend, who as was well-established, thought rather lowly of the company in which the evening would be spent, but also by the line of questions Mr. Darcy had seemingly prepared for him as they waited in the drawing room for his sisters and Mr. Hurst.
“What happened in London, Charles?”
“What ever could you mean, Darcy?” he replied with a hint of sarcasm.
“I hesitate to believe you were called away on such urgent business that could not be expediently handled by your steward.”
“Mr. Wilshere is most trusted, you understand, but I had to attend to a matter of particular detail and importance which dictated a swift and singular response,” answered Bingley.
“One which Mr. Wilshere is not authorized to give?” Darcy asked.
“A response I would not require him to give,” Bingley said, casting a grave and ironic look in Darcy’s direction.
“Your singular response did not, in any way result in the body of Thomas Abbott floating in the Thames, did it then?”
Bingley looked as if he might be sick. “You’ve never asked in such depth about my ventures before, Darcy. Why do you take such an interest so suddenly?”
“Because you have never killed a member of Parliament before, Bingley.”
“Thomas Abbott may have been in the House of Commons, but his connection to Sir Andrew Fraser and his… dealings, was rather particular.”
“You have yet to explain those dealings to me, Charles, and I do not ask out of morbid curiosity or any such trifle of the sort, but only because dispatching members of the nobility and members of Parliament potentially raises the profile of your mission significantly. You may continue to count upon my silence, but I must ask: you are unequivocal in that these acts have no connection to the poor treatment by these men of your late father?”
“Poor treatment? Darcy, had it not been for the influence of your own good father, may he rest in peace, they might have ruined him completely.”
“You must understand that your mission ceases to be a noble one when it crosses into personal vendettas and a thirst for revenge. I will always be your friend, but I could not support such endeavours.”
“How can I answer you, Darcy?” Bingley shifted in his seat and then stood quickly. He remained in thought, arm propped on the mantle for some time.
“Do not mistake my meaning—”
“My personal feelings of betrayal and animosity were certainly principal motivating factors for my investigation of Walters in particular, I would not wish to deny it. However, the severity of the crimes that I—or rather Mr. Wilshere—discovered that these men were engaged in is my sole motivation for their elimination.”
“You swear it, Charles?”
“Darcy,” Bingley said, turning to face his friend. “You did not object to the dissolution of Eoin Walters once you learned what kind of man he was, did you?”
“Certainly not,” Darcy answered. “His character was more wretched than I could have ever imagined.”
“You must, then, allow me the benefit of your continued confidence in my mission,” Bingley replied. “Eoin Walters was a choirboy in comparison to the coterie of Andrew Fraser.”
Darcy glared at him gravely. “I am hard pressed to believe such a thing could be possible.”
“Believe it,” said Bingley. “And if you cannot believe what your mind cannot conceive, then at least believe in your friend. You know my character better than anyone on earth. I have always been honest and candid with you, Darcy, and I do not cease to be so now.”
“I do believe you, Bingley,” Darcy answered. “I only hope that you are cognizant of your own personal prejudices when it comes to this rather necessary, albeit unpleasant, business to which you have been called by the just arm of heaven itself.”
“I take no pleasure in it whatsoever, I have you know. The only satisfaction I take is the fact that such horrible men have ceased their capacity and their propensity to contrive the most grievous injury upon such defenceless victims.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Darcy. “And I take no pleasure whatsoever, I have you know, with such vapid and agrestic persons in whose company we are, no doubt, to spend the evening.”
Bingley laughed and shook his head. “Your perspective on these things is, in truth, utterly preposterous.”
Darcy stood as Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst entered the room, followed by an unsteady Mr. Hurst.
“Prepare yourself to be disappointed, then,” Bingley stated nonchalantly. “For I believe, despite your best intentions to the contrary, something splendid may result from this dance.”
“I shall be quite disappointed either way, I believe.”
“At the very least,” said Bingley. “I shall have a grand time and will not allow your contemptible demeanour to dissuade me in the least.”
“I would not have it so,” Darcy answered with a half-smile, Caroline taking his arm as they turned toward the door.
“Let us do what we can,” she half-whispered to Darcy. “To allow my dear brother some mirth and levity. He is but a gentle soul and deserves at least one evening’s diversion.”
“I rather agree,” Darcy replied.
She smiled and squeezed his arm as they descended the steps toward the coach.