CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
In the ten days that followed, Bingley hardly left his bed. While his life was never in danger, he suffered constant headaches, fever, chills, and sore throat. He found it nearly impossible to stay awake during the daylight hours but was maddeningly unable to sleep during the night. A diet of vegetable soups, sweet cakes, and tea with honey sustained him for nearly a fortnight.
Two days after the initial onset of his symptoms, Bingley’s sister Caroline took ill, herself. She had him informed that her symptoms were undoubtedly as severe as his, and quite possibly much more so. Wilshere sent for Mr. Fletcher, the local apothecary, who prescribed saline draughts and barley water. Incredibly, these treatments, which had little to no effect upon her brother, caused miraculous healing in Caroline, so much so, that she was recovered enough to attend a noteworthy ball just two days after declaring herself—to her lady maid only—unfit to call on Jane Bennet, who had written to announce her arrival in Gracechurch Street after the new year, with her aunt and uncle, the Gardiners.
In the meantime, Mr. Wilshere, at his master’s approbation, dispatched a man to Grantley to keep a close eye on the volunteer constable. Wilshere’s man made rounds about the town and sat for hours in the alehouse—undoubtedly he was more than willing to fulfil this particular duty—casually gathering information on the man who mended shoes. He was also able to learn that, while Sir Andrew Fraser was distinguished locally with respect to his rank, the village’s population was not particularly enamoured by him personally. The reason for this qualm was two-fold: firstly, he was notoriously severe in his collection of past-due rents; and secondly, he was reputed to be a violent, and even profligate, drunkard. The rumour was that he, in his younger years, had been in the rather rakish habit of administering carte-blanche offers to young ladies, only to dismiss them unceremoniously once their corsets had been untwisted. This gossip circulated very much in hushed murmurs, though it seemed that the entire village was aware of such stories. It could then be concluded that whatever mourning had taken place in the village on behalf of his death was largely superficial, and that most of the people considered Gallagher’s self-appointed investigation as merely an act of self-aggrandizement.
The cobbler, for his part, had the reputation as a quiet family man who, perhaps, had taken to thinking himself more important than he was due to his role as volunteer constable, particularly following the murder of the estate’s lord. Since fleeing the house on Grosvenor Street, however, Gallagher had been racked by a nagging concoction of guilt and self-doubt. He repaired shoes in his shop during daylight and went straight home to his family in the evening, rarely appearing out of doors otherwise. It was all that he could do to forget the horrible thing he had seen, as well as the pieces of the puzzle he had yet assembled, but he feared wandering into a world of wealth, intrigue, and danger that he had not anticipated. In his mind, he had always, on some level, believed that the killer was a maniac. It was difficult then for him to confront the idea that such an act of ruthless barbarity might have been committed by one of England’s own gentlemen—that a knowing, calculated crime had been committed, rather than one of madness. Having concluded this, the thought of Sir Andrew’s murderer escaping justice haunted his every waking moment, but the thought of confronting that butcher haunted his dreams.
However, when pressed by Grantley Manor’s steward, Mr. Burton, on behalf of the heirs of the estate, Gallagher asserted that he had not at all relinquished the undertaking which he had initially persuaded them to finance. Mr. Burton was advised that there had been some progress but was at present stalled. Additionally, Gallagher requested a suspension in his payments while he tended to his family for a time, though he assured the steward that after a short respite, his work would resume. Throughout this time, the business of the estate went on as usual, with no new inhabitant taking up occupancy. Mr. Burton took care to deal with the estate’s tenants in much the same fashion as he had previously. It was nearly as if life in the village went on as normal.
By the time Bingley recovered from his illness, it was too late for him to attempt a trip to Marseille, and Maitland had had some difficulty in procuring further intelligence as to Lord St. John’s travel plans. In the cold, dark of winter, it seemed the waiting game was on. Bingley began to reappear in society little by little, although not nearly with the pleasure that normally accompanied it. He thought of returning to Netherfield, if only to be in the company of Jane Bennet, but his sisters, as well as even Darcy, had spent weeks attempting to convince him that, as pleasantly as she might have received his attentions, it was abundantly clear to them that she had no real attachment to him. It seemed that Caroline, in particular, never let an opportunity go to waste toward the aim of detaching him from Miss Bennet, and in many cases, attempting to attach him to Miss Darcy, despite his feelings on that particular subject which have already been expressed at length. All this increased his vexation and his impatience to hear from his man in France.
Eventually, word arrived from Maitland that Lord and Lady St. John were to journey to Genoa for a duration of four nights, moving from there by sea to Naples, where they would be entertained by Cardinal Ignazio Endrizzi, with whom Lord St. John apparently conducted some form of business, apparently unrelated to Bingley’s interests. They were to linger in Naples for a period greater than a fortnight. Bingley then resolved that this would be his best opportunity to bring St. John to proper justice, and hopefully bring the vast and wicked plot to an end, with the added benefit of escaping attentions from investigators or meddling constables at home. Wilshere arranged for a ship to be hired from Portsmouth to Naples. The journey, complete with a stop in Marseille to collect Maitland, would take just over nine days, which would put them into port five nights into Lord and Lady St. John’s stay. He also sent word ahead for a man to be hired and begin to gather intelligence on the Cardinal and his home.
It was quite another matter for Bingley to ensure that his sister stayed behind. Caroline was quite adamant that she take the holiday with him, despite his entreaties that the voyage would not be one of pleasure, but rather of business, and a further opportunity for him to collect his health in a warmer climate. She protested at this, as well, claiming to have been far more dangerously ill than he, despite her malady having lasted only a fifth as long as his. He took the measure of enlisting Darcy’s aid in convincing her that the middle of January was not an ideal time to travel abroad, and that she would have much more opportunity for leisure if she remained in London. Bingley believed that it was the prospect of spending more time in the solitary company of Darcy that was the factor weighing most heavily toward her eventual resolution to stay behind. She wished her brother Godspeed and turned her attentions entirely back toward her own self.
Bingley was thankful for Darcy’s intervention and, naturally, confided in him the true reason for his sudden excursion. However, there still lingered something in Darcy’s manner that Bingley struggled to resolve. His friend was at once steady in his good wishes for the journey and the desired outcome but was also oddly circumspect. In fact, Darcy seemed to be in conflict within his own self, which Bingley found not only peculiar, but downright troubling. Such, however, were the mental demands of his imminent departure that Bingley determined that there would be no solving the dilemma until his return. He and Wilshere were meticulous to ensure that their domestic affairs were in order before boarding their ship and departing into the unknown.