Chapter Eleven #2
Darcy’s eyes narrowed slightly, reflecting the sharpness of his mind.
“Prudence and economy in legal matters are virtues often overlooked. I am pleased to find a solicitor who shares such principles. May I inquire, Mr. Fletcher, how you have found the profession of late, given the manifold temptations and corruptions that attend it?”
Fletcher’s countenance grew thoughtful, and he allowed himself a brief smile that did not reach his eyes.
“It is true, sir, that the profession is not without its perils. Yet I have recently had the good fortune to employ a young clerk, Mr. Elias Bennet, whose integrity has been tested and found most exemplary. His conduct in a recent matter involving the attempted concealment of funds by a certain client was both steadfast and principled, a rare and gratifying circumstance in these times. You were right to suggest we could benefit from his services, and I am glad we kept him. he also passed our test of integrity.”
Darcy’s brow lifted ever so slightly. “Mr. Bennet, you say? I am glad he is useful.”
Fletcher inclined his head. “It is a comfort, in an often-disheartening profession, to find such men. The profession, for all its demands, must surely benefit from such exemplars.”
The two men settled into a companionable silence, the weight of business tempered by the mutual recognition of professional respect.
Fletcher, glancing once more about the room, found himself admiring the sober elegance of the space—the rich, dark woods, the orderly stacks of books, and the quiet dignity that seemed to infuse every corner.
It was a room that spoke of a man accustomed to control, to thoughtfulness, and to the solemn responsibilities of stewardship.
Darcy broke the silence at last. “If you will permit, Mr. Fletcher, there is one clause in the draft trust which I would wish to revisit. The powers granted to the trustees in the matter of investments—do you consider them sufficiently circumscribed to prevent any improvidence?”
Fletcher nodded. “A most pertinent enquiry, sir. The clause, as it stands, permits investments in government securities and landed property, with any other ventures requiring the unanimous consent of the trustees. I would suggest that, to guard against any undue speculation, we might insert a stipulation requiring the approval of the beneficiary, or their legal guardian, for any investment beyond these categories.”
Darcy considered this with an intensity that bespoke his careful mind. “A prudent amendment. The preservation of principle is of paramount importance. We shall proceed accordingly.”
The solicitor made a note upon the margin of the document, his pen moving swiftly but elegantly across the paper. “I shall prepare a revised draft for your approval, sir, to be forwarded posthaste.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher. Your diligence is most appreciated.” Darcy rose from his chair, signalling the conclusion of their business. “I trust your journey hence will be less arduous than your coming.”
Fletcher returned the courtesy with a modest bow. “I am grateful, sir. The hospitality of Pemberley and the clarity of our proceedings have been a source of satisfaction and encouragement.”
He paused as he remembered something.
“There is one further matter, sir,” he said, with a slight inclination of his head, “of a somewhat less formal nature, though I trust it will not be unwelcome on that account.” He reached beneath the portfolio and, from the seat beside him, produced a small, neatly arranged basket, its contents covered by a square of clean linen, tied at the corners with a length of green ribbon.
It was not a large basket—it was, in truth, a modest affair, the kind one might encounter at a well-kept market stall in any English town—but it had been assembled with evident care, and the faint, sweet scent that accompanied it required no great discernment to identify.
“My young colleague, Mr. Elias Bennet,” Fletcher continued, setting the basket upon the edge of the desk with a precision that suggested he had rehearsed the gesture, “upon learning that I was to visit Pemberley, was most insistent—I might say, unusually insistent, for a young man not generally given to insistence—that I should stop at the market in Derby and procure a basket of apples, to be presented, with his compliments and his thanks, to Miss Darcy. He was most particular on the subject of the apples,” he added, with the faint, dry amusement of a man who has been given instructions he finds slightly excessive and has followed them to the letter regardless.
“A most unusual request, Mr. Fletcher.” Mr. Darcy arched an eyebrow, but his countenance softened at the mention of his sister.
“I see no cause to refuse so uncommon a gift. You may present it to my sister at your leisure; it will afford her considerable pleasure. Yet I protest, you should not have expended funds on such a trifle.”
Fletcher smiled wryly. “I did not, sir. I possess the receipt, for I have deducted the cost from Mr. Bennet’s wages. No cause for concern, I assure you.”
At this, Darcy allowed himself a rare and genuine smile, one that lent a warmth to his otherwise reserved features. “A most practical arrangement, Mr. Fletcher. I commend your economy.”
Then the solicitor was conducted once more through the spacious corridors of the house and at length into the large morning room, where both Mrs. Darcy and Miss Darcy were seated together near a worktable, their sewing laid out before them in that quiet domestic occupation which so often filled the calmer hours of the day.
Mr. Darcy himself accompanied his visitor, and as they entered, he paused a moment upon the threshold, allowing the door to close softly behind them before advancing a few steps into the room.
“My dear Anne, Georgiana,” he said with composed courtesy, “permit me to present Mr. Fletcher of London, our finest solicitor, whose professional assistance has this morning been of considerable service in certain matters relating to the estate.”
Both ladies immediately set aside their work. Mrs. Darcy rose first, her expression bright with that natural warmth which rarely failed to put a visitor at ease, while Georgiana followed with quieter grace, her movements gentle though no less attentive.
“Mr. Fletcher, you are most welcome at Pemberley,” Mrs. Darcy said with an easy civility, inclining her head with a gracious smile. “Any friend or adviser of Mr. Darcy’s must be received here with the greatest pleasure.”
Georgiana added her own greeting with a soft courtesy, her manner modest yet sincere. “I am glad you have not found the journey too fatiguing, sir. My brother tells us you have travelled some distance on his account.”
Fletcher bowed respectfully to both ladies, not without a moment’s inward admiration at the elegance and composure with which the household of Pemberley received its guests.
Mr. Fletcher smiled and bowed. “Miss Darcy. I am charged by my colleague, Mr. Elias Bennet, to present this to you with his compliments, and to convey his sincere hope that you are well and in good spirits. He was most particular,” he added, with the same faint, careful amusement he had employed with her brother, “that the apples should be of the best quality available in Derby. I can only report that I did my utmost to honour the commission.”
Georgiana did not speak immediately. She stood quite still, her eyes resting on the basket, her expression one her brother, watching from the doorway, could not entirely interpret, though he was not without a sense of its meaning.
When she lifted her gaze to Mr. Fletcher, there was a colour in her cheeks that had not been there a moment before, and her voice, when it came, was steady—but only just.
“Oh, Mr. Bennet remembered,” she said, and then, as though aware that the words required some context for a listener who did not possess it, she added, more composedly, “that is—I happen to be very fond of apples. It is a long-standing preference.” She paused.
“Please convey my sincere thanks to Mr. Bennet. I am—I am very glad he is well.”
Mrs. Darcy, who had been watching her sister-in-law with the attentiveness of a woman who has learned to read the spaces between words, said nothing, but the expression she exchanged with her husband was brief and eloquent.
Georgiana reached out and lifted the corner of the linen square, just enough to reveal the apples beneath—a dozen of them, arranged with a neatness that was clearly the work of the market vendor rather than the solicitor, their skins bright and unblemished, their scent rising into the room with the clean, particular sweetness of early autumn.
She let the linen fall again, smoothed it with one careful hand, and then stood with her fingers resting lightly on the edge of the basket, as though she were not quite ready to step away from it.
“Mr. Bennet is well, I trust?” she asked, addressing Mr. Fletcher with a directness that was slightly at odds with her usual reserve, and which she appeared to recognise as such, for she added more quietly, “That is—I hope his work is going well.”
“He is very well, Miss Darcy,” Fletcher replied, with the measured warmth of a man who is fond of his young colleague and not entirely unaware of the significance of the present moment.
“Mr. Bennet works hard, and with a conscientiousness that I have rarely encountered in so young a man.” He paused, and then added, with the precision of a man delivering the final clause of a carefully prepared document, “He asked me to say only that he hoped the apples might serve as a small reminder that some things, once said, are not forgotten.”
The colour in Georgiana’s cheeks deepened.
She did not look up immediately, but when she did, her expression had settled into something quieter and more certain than it had been when she entered the room—the expression of a young woman who has received, in the form of a basket of apples and a solicitor’s careful words, something she had not known she was waiting for.
“Please tell your colleague,” Miss Darcy said, with a composure that cost her something and was the better for it, “that I have not forgotten either. And that I am very glad of the reminder.”
Mr. Fletcher bowed. It was, he thought, a journey well worth every mile. Another time, perhaps, the papers might travel with Mr. Bennet himself, who would then have the advantage of delivering his baskets of apples without troubling a man of the law.
Mr. Darcy, in the doorway, said nothing, but the slight relaxation of his expression was, for those who knew him well, equivalent to a great deal. Mrs. Darcy, for her part, found it necessary to attend to something in her book, though the book remained closed.
The basket remained on the desk for the remainder of Mr. Fletcher’s visit. When he departed, Georgiana carried it herself to her sitting room, and set it in the window where the morning light fell across it, and did not, for some time, find any particular reason to leave.