Chapter 11
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy in Hertfordshire
Having seen Elizabeth safely home, Darcy hastened to Netherfield, the swirl of vibrant leaves dancing across the front lawn ignored as he considered all they had learned.
The new information they had thanks to Mrs. Phillips had proved… disquieting. No face or name to Wickham’s co-conspirator. No real clues as to how they might find him. And no proof strong enough to see Wickham arrested.
Hopefully, the others will have better news, and Bingley will be away, he prayed as he entered the library, the hunched postures of the men as they considered a map lending little encouragement, save for the absence of Bingley. At least the awkwardness of seeing him might be delayed.
“Ah, Darcy,” Lord Lightcliffe greeted, the cracking of the man’s back as he stood declaring just how long they had been studying the map.
“I trust you have had more success than us; for all we have narrowed down the area of Scotland to within a hundred or so miles of England, there are still too many places they might hide.” Rubbing his brow, he frowned, “It pains me staring long hours at a map with no way of knowing if we have passed over the location a hundred times or not.”
“Our success may give rise to more questions,” Darcy remarked as he joined them by the map. “Though, if this is the result of yours, I suspect even questions would be welcome.”
“Your cousin never told us you were a wit,” Mr. Aldry said dryly, the slight dancing of his eyes betraying his good humour.
Moving to a seat near the fire as the others slowly joined them, Darcy cast his eye to the closed door. Better that no one else hear.
“Now then,” Lord Lightcliffe said as he stretched his neck, “what is it you and Miss Elizabeth discovered?”
Steepling his fingers, he again reassured himself that no one might hear before recounting all Mrs. Phillips had heard and seen.
“...though there was nothing to learn in the alley, Elizabeth and I did consider who amongst the area's residents could afford to rent a house in London. Her father was home at the time, as were a Mr. Jeram and a Mr. Owens. Aside from these, only two names remained. Sir Lucas, whom Elizabeth does not suspect, however, the timing may put him in London, and Bingley.”
“Bingley?” Mr. Peters questioned, his voice rising as he sat back.
“She suspects him, does she?” Lord Lightcliffe quizzed as he tapped his lips, all signs of tiredness flown.
Darcy shook his head, “Truly, I think she suspects no one; leastwise, no one she knows. It is hard to envisage neighbours, many old friends, being as cruel as this.”
“I sympathize,” Mr. Peters remarked, “but any one of them might be involved.”
“The list Darcy provided kept me writing half a day when we sent out those enquiries, it is your turn now, Lightcliffe,” Mr. Aldry teased, his foot prodding the gentleman in question until Lightcliffe shoved the offending appendage away.
“I will do it,” Mr. Peters announced, patience thin as he considered them. “If only to end whatever argument you two mean to begin.”
“Agreed,” Mr. Aldry and Lord Lightcliffe said in unison, wicked smirks forming at their successful avoidance of correspondence.
Mr. Peters and Mr. Aldry each departing the room, one to correspondence, the other to leisure, Darcy turned his attention to the man beside him.
“Lord Lightcliffe,” Darcy began, the other man’s hand rising.
“Please, call me Lightcliffe, heaven knows I hear enough titles and pompous preening when I am in London; a man of substance such as yourself is a welcome addition to my circle.”
“Very well, Lightcliffe,” Darcy continued, “Leave off the Mr. if you prefer.”
“Good. In situations such as these, formalities are the least of our concerns… and judging by your expression, you have something to ask in regard to one of those concerns?”
Focusing on the man in front of him, Darcy agreed, “I do. There is no easy way to ask, but do you think one of the men Elizabeth mentioned could be involved?”
“Bingley in particular?” Lightcliffe surmised.
“He and I have not exactly been on the best of terms, what with both of us holding a fondness for Miss Jane Bennet, but is he involved? Years in my… profession… have led me to suspect everyone. He has appeared amiable, been helpful in all our requests, and has yet to display any overt behaviors which would lend me pause. As a good host goes, he certainly fills every requirement. Do I think he could hold a secret nature, then yes, I do.”
“And you are certain prejudice is not the cause for this assertion. Jealousy perhaps?
Shrugging he held Darcy’s gaze, “There is always that possibility. Without facts, I can merely suppose. However…” he added seriously, “because he sees me as a rival, I have seen looks you have not, and nothing in them speaks of a man who presents himself as warmhearted as he has. In them, I have witnessed something I have only seen once before.” Rubbing his jaw, Lightcliffe hesitated, his gaze distant and filled with unease, the air alive as Darcy waited for him to speak.
“I must warn you, Darcy, you will not like what I am about to say.”
Body rigid, Darcy’s breath slowed as he viewed him. What had Lightcliffe seen? What unwholesome thing could unsettle a man with his background?
“Darkness,” Lightcliffe continued, his eyes grown dim. “Such deep rage that its release would frighten any decent man… I tell you, if the look I witnessed is anything like the one I speak of, you do not want to know what the other was capable of. I only wish I did not.”
Rising, Lightcliffe took his leave, Darcy’s eyes unseeing as he sat by the fire.
Jealousy, surely. Lightcliffe’s own jealousy had clouded his judgement. No man such as Bingley would stoop to kidnapping, to threats, and possibly worse. He was a gentle soul, rather like Miss Jane Bennet– the two holding endless good will and generosity. Nothing dangerous or untoward.
Yet, though he stood with full conviction of his friend’s innocence, a cold chill met Darcy as he turned to leave; a heavy weight formed by the prickling of his skin.
Somehow, even in the staid walls of Netherfield, he could not shake the feeling of being followed.
∞∞∞
Later, after a pleasing luncheon and far too long spent considering every lead they presently had, Darcy, Aldry, Peters, and Lightcliffe donned their coats in preparation for a walk into Meryton, a man in their hire soon to keep watch on the alley if their trip went well.
“Has the man watching Wickham not discovered anything?” Darcy asked as they passed through the hall toward Netherfield’s main entrance.
“One would suppose he would,” Lightcliffe growled, “he has had long enough to do so.”
Opening the door Peters lifted his eyes heavenward, “You are becoming as bad as Aldry. Our man’s ‘occupation,’ if you will, does not allow him to be with Wickham every moment. Besides, his inability to keep to the man’s heels lessens suspicion.”
The door closing behind them, Darcy turned toward the stone facade, the indignation of Aldry ahead of him lost as his eyes narrowed on an upper window, a dark shape disappearing as quick as it had come.
Blinking as he stared at the spot, he shook his head before hurrying his pace to match the others.
Had he imagined it? It had appeared to be a man, yet, it could not be Bingley, he had left some time past in hope of seeing the eldest Bennet.
True, he could have returned unnoticed, but for all their suspicions, the man’s regard toward Miss Bennet appeared far more genuine than his dalliance the year prior.
To be involved in the kidnapping of her sister would in no way endear him to her.
Besides, deportation or the death penalty would be enough deterrent to a man of Bingley’s fortune; thirty-thousand pounds or even the sixty of both, could not be compensation enough.
Musings tossed aside as the worried, hurrying figures of Elizabeth and her elder sister came into view, Darcy and his companions rushed to meet them.
“Whatever is the matter?” Peters questioned as the gap between them closed.
Taking a steadying breath, Elizabeth gave an uneasy smile, “I fear my sister and I have allowed the situation to blossom in our minds, what with our family off visiting the Lucas’ and Mrs. Hill come down with a chill.”
Hand reaching for hers, Darcy forced it back to his side as Jane wrapped her arms around her sister, though he kept near should she need his support.
If only she would forgive him fully, he might have hope that she would grow to love him.
He had taken liberties in taking her in his arms the other day, her fear and his desire to comfort her too strong, but though she did not recoil, hope seemed too great a risk…
too painful a fall should she reject him.
Resting a hand on the elder sister’s shoulder, Lightcliffe showed no such compunction.
“What situation is that?” Aldry asked, the long silence at odds with the man’s measure of patience.
“Knock…” gulping Jane began again, “A knock came at the door, and seeing as the maid was attending to Mrs. Hill, I went to open the door. No one was there, but they had left… left.”
“Left what?” Lightcliffe asked softly as words deserted her.
“Here,” Elizabeth said as she held out a note, the pale paper stained with blood. “All that was left was this and a shattered pocket watch covered in blood.”
Snatching it, Lightcliffe scowled at the offending paper, the four men reading it with various degrees of anger.
Time is ticking, Darcy.
Your interference has cost you another thirty thousand.
A pity if it costs you more than money.
Throat aching, Darcy’s hands tightened at his sides; Wickham and whoever this man was went too far! Was Elizabeth not even safe at Longbourn?