Chapter Thirteen #5
Elias made his notes carefully, cross-referencing each entry with its corresponding feed bill, building the comparison column by column until the discrepancy was no longer a suspicion but a documented fact.
Then he closed the ledgers, gathered his papers, and went to find Mr. Darcy.
***
The Pemberley master sat in the study, where he had been for most of the afternoon — Elias had the impression of a man who had been waiting with a patience that was costing him something, and who was relieved to have the waiting ended, whatever the result.
“Well?” Darcy said as Elias Bennet set the ledgers on the desk between them.
“I should like to show you the figures directly, if you are willing, sir. It will be clearer that way than if I simply describe them.”
Darcy nodded, and Elias opened the stable accounts and the sales register together, walking him through the comparison of dates and quantities with the same quiet patience he had applied in the library — pointing to each entry, setting the corresponding feed figures beside it, allowing the arithmetic to speak for itself.
He did not hurry. He did not editorialise.
He let the numbers do what numbers, properly arranged, do best.
Darcy said nothing throughout. He followed the figures with the focused attention of a man accustomed to understanding things quickly and who does not require them to be explained twice.
His expression did not change, but something in it — some quality of controlled stillness — intensified as the evidence accumulated, until by the time Elias reached the final entry and set down his pencil, the silence in the room had a weight to it that was not comfortable.
“The cattle register shows the same pattern,” Elias said.
“Calves recorded as sold in the autumn at prices below what the estate’s breeding stock would ordinarily command, with no reduction in the feed accounts for the home farm in the months that followed.
I cannot tell you, from the ledgers alone, where the animals went or what was received for them.
But I can tell you that the estate has been paying to maintain stock that was not, according to its own records, on the premises. ”
Darcy had not moved. He was looking at the open books with an expression that was not anger — not yet — but something harder and more controlled, the expression of a man who has been proved right about something he had very much hoped to be wrong about.
When he finally looked up, his voice was level, but only by effort. “How long?”
“The entries I have examined go back eighteen months with certainty. The pattern may be older than that — I have only looked at the current year’s books and part of the previous one.
If you wish a complete picture, the registers for the past three or four years would need to be compared in the same way. ”
“I will have them brought.” A pause. “Is there anything else?”
Elias hesitated for a moment and then said, carefully, “At the inn in Derby last night, I overheard a conversation in the taproom. I did not seek it out, and I cannot vouch for the character of the men who were speaking. But they spoke of Pemberley colts being available through the steward at a price well below their market value, and they spoke of it as common knowledge among dealers in the county. They named Slater directly.” He paused.
“I mention it not as evidence but as context. The ledgers are the evidence.”
Darcy was very still. “Common knowledge,” he said, with a quietness that was more dangerous than anger.
“Among a certain class of buyers, it appears so.”
Another silence. Darcy rose, moved to the window, and stood there for a moment with his back to the room, looking out over the park in the last of the afternoon light.
When he turned, his expression had settled into something more composed, though the composure was clearly effortful.
“I am grateful to you, Mr. Bennet. And to Fletcher for sending a man with the sense to look at more than one book at a time.” He paused.
“I will need to know what the law requires of me. I will not move against Slater based on ledger entries alone, however suggestive they may be. I want the matter properly established — the full extent of it, and the proper course of action.”
“Mr. Fletcher anticipated that. He has asked me to remain at your disposal for as long as the examination requires, and he will advise you himself on the legal position as soon as I have sent him a full report.”
“Then I will ask you to stay.” He said this without any particular inflexion, as though the offer were purely practical. “I can offer you a room here, which will be more convenient than the inn.”
“Thank you, sir. I am very willing.”
Darcy nodded. He looked at the ledgers on the desk for a moment longer, and then said, with a quietness that was not addressed to Elias so much as to the room itself, “Eleven years.” He did not say anything further. He did not need to.
The fire had burned low by the time they finished.
Elias gathered his notes, and Darcy rang for a servant to show him to his room.
The matter that had begun as an unease without a name was now a question with a very clear answer, of course, as such answers generally produced a set of further questions that would require considerably more time to resolve.
***
Mrs. Anne Darcy was informed of any situation in the same manner that most matters at Pemberley were eventually brought to her attention: by asking her husband, who answered frankly and did not hide anything from her.
Possessing both the tact and the quiet authority necessary for the management of such an estate, Anne Darcy, did not intrude upon the gentlemen’s labours but chose instead to wait in the great hall until they should conclude their examination.
She heard the bell, then saw a footman coming and taking the ledgers to their places.
When the heavy oak door of the study finally opened, and Mr. Bennet emerged, carrying a packet of papers in his hand and wearing the expression of a man who had been engaged in serious work but had not found it altogether disagreeable, Anne understood at once that the matter had reached a stage where practical arrangements must begin to supersede mathematical inquiry.
“Mr. Bennet,” she said, her voice carrying that soft, unhurried cadence which the peace of Pemberley had nurtured in her, as he paused in the hall, clearly uncertain whether he was expected to return to the library or withdraw from the house entirely.
“You must be fatigued after your journey and the afternoon’s laborious examination.
I hope my husband has not kept you too long among the ledgers. ”
“Not at all, Mrs. Darcy,” Elias replied, bowing with the precise and respectful formality he owed the mistress of the house. “The figures required a great deal of attention, certainly, but I am pleased to say that they rewarded the effort we bestowed upon them.”
“That is precisely what I suspected,” Anne observed, glancing briefly toward the closed study door before returning her attention to him.
She regarded the young man with the thoughtful composure of a woman who had already formed a definite conclusion and was now merely determining the most gentle and effective method of putting it into execution.
The frailty that had once so thoroughly defined Anne de Bourgh was nowhere to be seen; in its place was a quiet, unshakeable authority tempered by genuine warmth.
“You will, of course, dine with us this evening, Mr. Bennet.”
The words were spoken without any undue emphasis, yet in a tone so entirely natural and settled that they carried the absolute authority of a decision already made.
Elias hesitated only long enough to observe that this invitation carried the appearance not merely of polite courtesy, but of deliberate intention.
“You are very kind, madam,” he murmured, inclining his head once more.
“I am merely practical,” Anne replied, with the faintest suggestion of a smile warming her pale blue eyes.
“A matter of this sort should not be endlessly debated between gentlemen who have been scrutinising ledgers for half a day and have had nothing but ink and suspicion for company. I have always found that a good dinner restores proper proportion to most problems.”
At this moment, the door of the study opened again, and Fitzwilliam Darcy joined them in the hall, carrying the distinct air of a man whose natural patience had been forced to accommodate a deeply unwelcome certainty.
Anne regarded her husband with the same calm, affectionate attention she had just directed toward their guest, her presence immediately softening the rigid set of his jaw.
“You have finished your examination, Fitzwilliam?” she inquired gently.
“For the moment,” Darcy replied, his voice heavy with the residue of his recent discoveries. He looked from Elias back to his wife, clearly troubled by what the afternoon had revealed. “The matter is, unfortunately, quite serious. It is serious enough to require further formal examination.”
“That is exactly what I had surmised,” Anne said, allowing the silence to settle briefly within the vast, quiet space of the hall before pressing her advantage. “In that case, Fitzwilliam, Mr. Bennet must certainly remain with us for the evening and for dinner. I have already invited him.”
Darcy looked at her, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed the shift from estate business to domestic hospitality.
“For the evening?” he repeated, as if he had already mentally composed his schedule for the next several hours.
“I had fully intended to retire to the library and write to Fletcher tonight, so that the legal machinery might be set in motion without delay. It seems Slater has developed a scheme to steal money.”