Chapter 9
Shortly after the young ladies’ departure, Mr Bennet and Mr Bingley planned their day. Parker was also present as an essential part of their design. He was to gather and supervise the group of men who would search the parks and neighbourhoods for any indication of Darcy’s whereabouts.
“Let us see what we know for now,” Mr Bennet said. “We have read the messages that Darcy received after his arrival. Besides the note from Lady Catherine, which actually came to Netherfield, we found only two invitations for supper or luncheon from friends of yours.”
“Yes,” Bingley agreed.
“So, Mr Bingley, you are to go first to these two addresses and then extend the search to your mutual acquaintances. See also whether your sisters know anything, and ask them to help you question the people of your circle. It would not surprise me if the ladies knew much more than their husbands or fathers. We shall inform his closest friends that he is missing and ask for any possible help or ideas as to where or how we should search for him.”
“I will do that,” Bingley said.
“Unfortunately,” Mr Bennet continued, “we still have no clear indication of what Darcy did that morning. When Lady Catherine answers our messages, we shall at least know where he was at ten o’clock.
Let us assume that, since no note arrived from Lady Catherine reproaching him for failing to attend their appointment, he did in fact keep it and probably spent an hour or so there.
Regent’s Park and Hyde Park are the nearest places to Lady Catherine’s house where he might have disappeared.
Parker will begin the search there. If, in the worst event, he went for a ride and was attacked, he could still be lying wounded somewhere, hidden from public view.
Parker will extend the search to the neighbourhoods surrounding both this house and Lady Catherine’s. ”
They separated as planned.
Mr Bennet, in his carriage, and Parker, on horseback, first called upon one of the stable owners.
Parker suspected the man knew more than he was willing to disclose in ordinary conversation.
He appeared better informed than the others, even connected with some of the less respectable businesses that flourished in central London.
The stable owner had told Parker, in confidence, that certain natty lads might possess information worth discovering.
By natty lads, Parker explained to Mr Bennet, the man meant petty wrongdoers, pickpockets, or even malefactors who worked the streets of London.
Sometimes they acted alone; at other times they operated in gangs in Newton Street, Dyot Street, or the parish of St Giles, the great refuge of London’s thieves and pickpockets.
Blending into the crowds, they distracted unsuspecting victims before relieving them of their purses.
Most were content with theft, but some grew bolder, forcing their victims to surrender money or valuables under the threat of a knife.
Occasionally their victims resisted, and more than one such encounter had ended in murder.
That was precisely what Parker feared most. Those wretched creatures knew every foul corner of London, and hiding a body would not have been difficult.
“We need to make contact with one of their leaders,” Parker said. “They are very well organised. That stable owner knows more than he admits, and he can spread the word that we are searching for my master and are prepared to offer a substantial reward.”
“So we are not going to meet them directly?”
Parker tried to conceal his surprise. It was evident that Mr Bennet knew nothing of London’s strange and dangerous underworld.
“No, sir, that would be impossible, and rather dangerous. Their world has strict rules. All we can do is find a man like that stable owner, someone with contacts who can pass on a message. If we are to find my master, we shall also need the assistance of the Bow Street Runners.”
Mr Bennet admitted that he had never heard of them, so Parker explained that, especially in London, there were men whose profession was to pursue criminals.
“They are bold fellows who earn their living tracking thieves and murderers. One might say they stand on the right side of the law, though even with them it is better to deal through intermediaries.”
Mr Bennet was overwhelmed by everything he heard.
There were troubles enough in the countryside, but the theft of a horse was the gravest crime he had ever encountered personally.
He imagined Darcy lying dead in some dreadful place and the terrible duty of carrying such news to Elizabeth and poor Georgiana.
Under ordinary circumstances, he would have recoiled from any association with such people.
Yet he knew that, if anyone possessed knowledge of Darcy’s fate, it might well be one of them.
Parker sensed the older man’s uneasiness about the course they had chosen.
He had grown genuinely fond of Mr Bennet, the master of a modest estate, burdened with five daughters and an energetic wife, whose concerns had always belonged to the peaceful world of Hertfordshire.
London, by contrast, was a dark labyrinth inhabited by dangerous men and governed by unfamiliar rules.
“Mr Bennet,” Parker said at last, “I suggest I take you to my master’s club and introduce you as Mr Darcy’s future father-in-law. You will be comfortable there, and as soon as I have any news, or should I require your assistance, I shall come for you.”
It was a tempting proposal, although Mr Bennet felt guilty for abandoning the plan they had formed together.
He was an honourable and devoted man, and Elizabeth’s present suffering was the greatest sorrow he had ever known.
Even Lydia’s elopement with Wickham now seemed little more than an inconvenience.
“Mr Bennet, sir,” Parker continued, “in some of the places I intend to visit, people will speak far more freely to me than they would to a gentleman such as yourself. Let me manage this. I owe it to my master, and to the late Mr Darcy, who entrusted the young master to my care when he died.”
In the end, there was little else Mr Bennet could do.
Parker introduced him at the club, where a steward conducted him to the library, and before long a glass of the finest brandy was placed before him.
For the first time in many days, he felt a little less burdened, though neither the guilt nor the anxiety left him.
His thoughts remained fixed upon Darcy and the dangers that might befall an honourable gentleman who came to London on business.
Around noon, Bingley joined him over a glass of brandy with little encouraging news.
None of the friends he had visited had heard anything of Darcy.
Yet there was one consolation amidst the disappointments.
Every gentleman he had spoken to had immediately offered assistance.
Some intended to make enquiries of their own and contact people who might know how best to proceed in such circumstances.
One of them, the Earl of Devonshire, recalled that an uncle of his had been attacked and robbed the previous year whilst returning home one evening, not far from Darcy’s house.
“It was a dramatic incident. This uncle was still in good health and tried to defend himself, but in the end he was beaten and left in the street.”
“Did they catch the miscreants?” Mr Bennet asked, anxiety evident in both his voice and expression.
“No, they seldom do.”
“Mr Parker told me he intended to meet a Bow Street Runner. Are you familiar with them?”
Bingley had heard many stories that circulated in society, but he had never met one himself. “I have complete confidence in Parker,” he said at last.
“How does Parker know people like that?” Mr Bennet asked.
“Well,” Bingley replied, “let us just say that, in the past, we occasionally needed a man we could trust to rescue us from certain unpleasant situations.”
There was a faint smile on Bingley’s face.
It was the first time Mr Bennet had seen such an expression, and suddenly his future son-in-law no longer seemed the timid young man he had always believed him to be.
It was reassuring, for Jane needed a husband capable of protecting her.
For some time, Mr Bennet had doubted whether Bingley possessed such strength, but perhaps beneath the surface there was a more determined man still finding his way.
It comforted a father who wished all his daughters to find love, steadiness, and devotion.
The glass of brandy might have provided a pleasant opportunity for a future father-in-law and son-in-law to know one another better.
Under different circumstances, both would have welcomed it.
Instead, their thoughts remained fixed upon Darcy and the mystery of his disappearance.
Rather than lightening their spirits, the brandy only deepened the sombre mood.
They hoped, at least, that Parker might bring encouraging news.
Unfortunately, when Parker returned, his face alone announced bad news.
He was covered in dust, and by then everyone at the club already knew that something dreadful had happened to Mr Darcy.
It was not only women who spread news. Men, too, had their own way, using valets and coachmen to pass stories from one household to another.
The porter hurried the three gentlemen into a private room where they might speak without interruption. When one of their own was in danger, the usual formalities no longer mattered. Everyone wished to help.
“Mr Bennet, Mr Bingley,” Parker said, “I am afraid I have no good news. The men I hired have found someone. They believe he was a gentleman, judging by his clothes. Sadly…he is dead.”
A heavy silence fell upon the room. Was it possible that their search had already come to an end?
“And you are certain this—” Mr Bennet struggled to finish the sentence.
“No, not yet, sir. I have not seen the body. Mr Cavendish, a respected Bow Street Runner, instructed everyone involved not to move it until he arrived. By the time they found me, however, it had already been taken to the nearest hospital, as is customary in such cases. I shall go there immediately.”
“We shall all go,” Mr Bennet said quietly. “Let us learn the truth without delay.”
Mr Bennet was ordinarily an energetic and courageous man.
Yet, on reaching the hospital, he suddenly felt like an old man confronted with a tragedy he could scarcely bear.
As he looked at the others, he realised he must take upon himself the dreadful duty of viewing the body first, sparing Parker and Bingley if he could.
He needed only a moment to steady himself before following the doctor along the cold corridors. Mr Bennet heard nothing but their footsteps and the pounding of his own heart.
“He is in a dreadful condition,” the doctor warned. “Prepare yourself.”
Mr Bennet stepped towards the table, and a cry of relief escaped him. He did not need to look closely to know it was not Darcy. The dead man did not possess Darcy’s long, aristocratic hands.
“It is not him,” he whispered.
Parker stepped forward as well. “It is not my master.”
Then they hurried from the room. In the corridor, Mr Bennet suddenly felt his strength leave him. He leaned against the wall whilst Parker steadied him.
“Thank God. It is not him,” Bingley whispered while the others breathed with equal relief.
They emerged into the street feeling like prisoners seeing daylight after a long confinement.
London remained grey and rain-soaked, yet their hearts felt lighter than they had only minutes before.
There was still hope. Darcy was not dead.
The search could now be resumed and bring him home to those who loved him.
They agreed to return to the house and discuss their next steps over dinner. It had been a harrowing day and not a successful one, but at least it had not ended in tragedy.
The day weighed heavily upon Mr Bennet. He longed only to lie down and recover a little of the calm for which he was so well known.
He thanked God he had been spared carrying the dreadful news that would have destroyed his dear Elizabeth and Georgiana, to whom he had grown increasingly attached over the past few days.
He found that he missed Mrs Bennet, even her dear nerves, which so often drove him to distraction.
He would gladly have exchanged his present torment for an afternoon spent resolving a family crisis over a misplaced ribbon or an invitation that had failed to arrive.
He hoped with all his heart that they would find Darcy and soon return to worrying about dresses and suitors once again.