Chapter Four
A few days later
“Peppermint drops or lemon cakes?” Ambrose demanded with the gravity of a judge weighing capital punishment, his small hands pressed against the confectioner’s window with enough force to leave tiny smudges on the glass.
Elizabeth smiled at his earnest deliberation, though her attention kept drifting to the street behind them.
The sensation of being observed had plagued her since they left Netherfield, a prickle between her shoulder blades that refused to be dismissed as mere fancy.
Twice she had turned to catch sight of a figure that seemed to melt into doorways or disappear around corners when she looked directly.
“Perhaps we might sample both?” Georgiana suggested gently, her own excitement at the prospect of town sweets barely concealed beneath her proper demeanour. “Mr Bingley did provide us with quite generous pocket money for this expedition.”
Jane laughed, the sound carrying across the autumn chill. “I fear we shall return to Netherfield with a small boy too full of sugar to manage. Your brother may never forgive us, Georgiana.”
“Fitzwilliam enjoys seeing Ambrose happy,” Georgiana replied with fond certainty. “Though he pretends to disapprove of too many treats, I have caught him slipping extra biscuits to the boy when he thinks no one notices.”
Elizabeth’s unease deepened as a shadow moved across the shop window opposite, too swift and deliberate to be coincidental.
She turned sharply, but found only empty street and the ordinary bustle of Meryton’s afternoon trade.
A merchant arranging his wares, a matron examining ribbons, children playing with hoops—nothing that should cause alarm, yet her pulse quickened nonetheless.
“Lizzy,” Ambrose tugged at her skirt, “you are not attending! The shopkeeper asked what we should like, and you are staring at nothing at all.”
Heat rose in Elizabeth’s cheeks as she realized her distraction had become obvious. “Forgive me, dear one. I was merely admiring the architecture of the buildings across the way.”
The explanation sounded weak even to her own ears, but Ambrose accepted it with the trusting nature of childhood.
Soon they were armed with paper twists of sweets, Ambrose clutching his treasures with the satisfaction of a successful negotiator who had indeed secured both peppermint drops and lemon cakes.
“Shall we walk towards the milliner’s?” Jane suggested, linking her arm through Elizabeth’s with sisterly affection. “I confess myself curious about the new ribbons Mrs Harrison mentioned at Sunday service.”
As they strolled along Meryton’s main thoroughfare, Elizabeth’s attention divided between her companions’ cheerful chatter and the persistent feeling of surveillance.
The sensation was not imagination—she was certain someone tracked their movements with uncomfortable interest. Yet each time she glanced about, she discovered nothing more alarming than the usual collection of shopkeepers, tradesmen, and housewives going about their daily business.
“Miss Darcy,” Jane was saying in a soft voice that made her beloved by all who knew her, “I cannot express how grateful I am for your brother’s kindness to our family. His assistance with the Longbourn repairs has been beyond generous.”
Georgiana’s cheeks pinked with pleasure at this praise of her brother. “Fitzwilliam believes strongly in helping one’s neighbours. Though I confess he seemed particularly motivated after meeting your family.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose at this observation, though she kept her opinions about Mr Darcy’s motivations to herself. More pressing was the figure she glimpsed again—definitely a man, tall and wearing a dark coat, who stepped quickly into an alleyway when she looked in his direction.
“There is something I wished to discuss with you both,” Georgiana continued, her voice dropping to a more confidential tone. “Mr Bingley has been so very attentive, Jane, and it is clear he holds you in the highest regard. Yet I sense you harbour some reservation?”
Jane’s colour deepened, and she glanced around as if fearing eavesdroppers. “His sisters have made their feelings regarding our connection quite plain. I cannot help but wonder whether such disapproval might influence his eventual decisions.”
“But surely Mr Bingley is master of his own heart?” Elizabeth interjected, temporarily distracted from her surveillance concerns by her sister’s evident distress. “A gentleman of his character would not allow others to dictate matters of such importance.”
“Yet family influence can be considerable,” Jane replied with the practical wisdom that often surprised those who mistook her gentle nature for naivety. “Particularly when fortune and social standing are involved.”
Georgiana stopped walking entirely, turning to face Jane with unexpected determination. “You must not allow such considerations to govern your happiness. As someone very wise recently told me, those who would judge you harshly for your affection are hardly worth impressing.”
Elizabeth recognized her own words from their conversation about Georgiana’s coming presentation, though hearing them repeated gave her a curious sense of pride mixed with responsibility. Had she really offered advice with such confidence?
“That sounds remarkably like counsel I have heard before,” Jane said with a meaningful look at Elizabeth. “Though I notice the giver of such wisdom sometimes struggles to follow her own recommendations.”
Before Elizabeth could respond to this pointed observation, Ambrose’s delighted squeal drew their attention to a most unexpected sight.
A bedraggled terrier, clearly a stray by its matted coat and cautious demeanour, had emerged from behind the baker’s shop.
The dog appeared friendly enough, its tail wagging tentatively as it approached their small party.
“Oh, the poor creature!” Ambrose exclaimed, immediately dropping to his knees despite his fine clothes. “Look how thin he is! May I pet him, Lizzy? Please?”
The dog’s appearance provided welcome distraction from both Jane’s romantic concerns and Elizabeth’s growing unease about their unknown observer. She knelt beside Ambrose, extending her hand slowly for the animal to sniff.
“Gently now,” she instructed as Ambrose’s small fingers tangled in the dog’s matted fur. “He has likely known harsh treatment and needs patience.”
The terrier submitted to their ministrations with grateful dignity, its tail wagging more enthusiastically as Ambrose shared pieces of his precious lemon cake.
Elizabeth felt her heart squeeze at the boy’s natural compassion—how could anyone doubt that such a child deserved the tenderest care rather than Miss Francesca’s rigid discipline?
“We should return to Netherfield,” Georgiana said eventually, though her voice carried reluctance. “Fitzwilliam will wonder at our extended absence.”
The walk back proved more pleasant than their journey into town, Ambrose chattering happily about his new canine friend while the ladies discussed the various purchases they had made.
Yet Elizabeth’s relief at leaving Meryton’s streets was considerable—the sensation of being watched had never entirely dissipated, though it seemed to lessen as they gained distance from the town centre.
Netherfield’s elegant facade came into view with welcome familiarity, its windows glowing warmly in the afternoon sun.
Mr Bingley greeted them in the entrance hall with his characteristic enthusiasm, immediately enquiring about their expedition’s success while relieving them of parcels and pelisses.
“I trust Ambrose has not bankrupted us entirely?” he asked with mock severity, ruffling the boy’s dark curls.
“Not completely,” Ambrose replied solemnly, producing his remaining sweets as evidence of restraint. “I saved these for after dinner, just as you taught me.”
As the others dispersed to refresh themselves after their outing, Elizabeth hesitated in the hallway. Her unease about their mysterious observer gnawed at her conscience—surely such concerns warranted mention, yet she feared appearing foolishly imaginative.
Her decision was made when she encountered Mr Darcy emerging from the library, his arms full of ledgers and correspondence. Despite her reservations about his character, his position as head of household made him the appropriate person to address such matters.
“Mr Darcy,” she began, then paused as he turned his full attention upon her. His dark eyes held the same intensity she remembered from the card game, though today they seemed more assessing than disapproving.
“Miss Bennet. I trust your expedition proved successful?”
“Indeed, though I confess something occurred that gave me some concern.” Elizabeth chose her words carefully, unwilling to appear hysterical yet determined to voice her observations.
“Throughout our visit to town, I had the distinct impression we were being watched. Not casual observation, but deliberate surveillance by someone who took care to remain hidden.”
Mr Darcy’s expression shifted slightly, his mouth tightening almost imperceptibly. “Did you observe this person directly?”
“Only glimpses—a man in a dark coat who seemed to disappear whenever I looked in his direction. I cannot be certain, but the sensation was quite unmistakable.”
She waited for his response, hoping for either reassurance that her concerns were groundless or acknowledgment that her vigilance was warranted. Instead, Mr Darcy merely nodded with what appeared to be mild interest rather than the alarm she had expected.
“I appreciate you bringing this to my attention,” he said formally. “Such observations are always worth noting.”
The dismissive tone stung more than Elizabeth had anticipated.
She had expected either worried questioning or immediate action, not this polite but clearly perfunctory response.
Did he think her given to feminine vapours?
Or worse, was he simply too proud to consider that danger might touch his household?
“You do not seem particularly concerned,” she noted, unable to keep a note of criticism from her voice.
“I am always concerned for the safety of my household,” he replied evenly. “Though I confess I require more concrete evidence before taking drastic action.”
The rebuke, though gently delivered, was unmistakable. Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment and irritation. Here she had swallowed her pride to approach a man whose character she questioned, only to be treated as if she were an overwrought female conjuring phantoms from shadows.
“Of course,” she said stiffly. “I merely thought such information might prove useful. I shall not trouble you further with vague impressions.”
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
“Miss Bennet.” There was something different in his tone now, though she could not identify what. “Your concern for Ambrose’s safety does you credit. I assure you, all reasonable precautions will be taken.”
The words might have been intended as conciliation, yet they only deepened Elizabeth’s frustration. He had managed to acknowledge her vigilance while simultaneously dismissing its importance—a masterful display of condescension disguised as courtesy.
“I am relieved to hear it,” she replied with matching formality before continuing towards the stairs.
As she climbed towards her chamber, Elizabeth’s mind churned with conflicting emotions.
The afternoon had begun pleasantly enough, yet concluded with her feeling both foolish and frustrated.
Had she imagined the surveillance entirely?
The possibility gnawed at her confidence, though the sensation had been so vivid, so persistent.
More troubling was Mr Darcy’s response. She had approached him in good faith, setting aside her personal dislike in favour of household safety, yet he had treated her concerns as barely worthy of acknowledgment.
The man remained as insufferably proud as her first impressions had suggested, whatever kindness he might occasionally display towards children’s welfare.
Yet as she reached her chamber door, one question lingered with uncomfortable persistence: why had she cared so much about his response? His opinion should matter not at all, yet his dismissal had stung far more than seemed reasonable.
The sound of Ambrose’s laughter drifted from somewhere below, innocent and joyful, and Elizabeth’s resolve hardened.
Whatever Mr Darcy’s failings in taking her concerns seriously, she would remain vigilant.
That sweet child’s safety was worth far more than her pride, and if suspicious figures lurked in Meryton’s shadows, she would not be caught unprepared again.