Chapter 23 #2
“Yes, sir. Mr O’Toole seemed dejected when I refused him entry, but I watched until he went towards the lane.
His clothing was dusty but not, in fact, as ragged as I earlier thought.
It was neither as fine as yours nor as well-worn as a cottager’s.
And when I said he looked rough, I suppose I meant rough round the edges on account of his walking all the way from the village.
Beneath his hat, his hair was jet black.
Oh, and he had a buck-tooth. I took the liberty of sending John to follow Mr O’Toole and make sure he was walking in the direction of the village. ”
“Good man. But keep an eye out for him, and I shall ask Mr Ansel and Edward to take a ride round the property in case this O’Toole person decides to return by other than the lane.”
After speaking to his land steward and groom, Darcy went in search of the younger Wright and was told that he was in the study. What? In my study! He was supposed to go to the garret. Damnation!
The sight before him as he opened the door struck Darcy so forcibly that his anger could hardly be restrained. Wright was, indeed, in the study, feet upon the desk, glancing through The Morning Chronicle that Darcy had yet to read.
Relieved that he had had the foresight to lock away all his important documents, Darcy strode across the room, swept the intruder’s feet from the mahogany surface, and grabbed the newspaper from his hands.
“No one, not even my own sister, is permitted in here without my express invitation. Until the morrow when you and your family leave, you are free to move about your family’s chambers, the public rooms, and the grounds.
But being in here when I am not present is strictly forbidden.
Now, kindly remove your carcass from my chair. ”
Wright obeyed, holding up his hands in surrender.
“Steady on, old boy. I saw one of your servants putting a newspaper in here and hoped it might be The Morning Post or The Morning Herald. And I had no notion that your study was so sacrosanct. By the by, why do you keep your cellarette locked?” He nudged Darcy’s ribs. “Trouble with thieving servants, eh?”
Bless you, Elizabeth, for coming to Wyman’s Cove and saving me from the remote possibility of having this ninny-hammer as my future brother-in-law.
“Sit.” Darcy gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I have further information about your caller. Ken O’Toole apparently has black hair and an upper tooth that projects over his lower lip.”
“Buck-toothed? By Jove! That was not Ken O’Toole at your door.
That was buck-toothed Cian O Dubhghaill!
” Head in hands, Wright sat upon the indicated chair and rocked back and forth.
“No, no, no! Darcy, your footman is a damned fool. Cian is one of my best mates. I was staying with him at the Albany, and he is, was, the answer to some of my woes.” He got up and moved restlessly about the room.
“He promised that once he returned from Dublin, he would loan me sufficient funds to settle a number of my mounting debts. I must go after him! He will be bound for Bristol in a private post-chaise. You must straightaway loan me a fast horse so I may catch him.”
“I most certainly shall not. Your family are to leave tomorrow, and the four of you can enjoy one another’s company all the way to Bristol or Bath.
” With the expectation of soon being rid of the whole lot of them, Darcy felt noble-minded enough to say, “I shall fetch some brandy for you. It may make you feel better.”
“Ah good, the whole bottle, then.”
Darcy poured measures of the distilled wine into two glasses and slowly sipped his.
Wright leant his head back, quickly quaffed his dram, and reached for the decanter.
“It seems that I am always thirsty these days, and, by Jove, thirst is a dangerous thing.” After pouring a more generous measure than Darcy had, he slid his chair back and seemed ready to put his feet up on the desk again but thought better of it.
“Now, tell me about that tempting armful named Elizabeth Bennet and the equally tempting dowry I hope she has.”
“Certainly.” Darcy set down his glass, stood, placed his palms flat on the desk, and leant forwards.
“As tempting as she may be, and although a gentleman’s daughter, Miss Bennet has no dowry worth mentioning.
Therefore, pursuit of the young lady would be as advantageous to you as pockets are to a toad. Am I understood?”
“There is always Miss Darcy.” Wright smirked and reached again for the brandy.
Darcy was faster. He held the stoppered glass container beyond arms-length of the fellow.
“Think carefully, Wright. Touch this decanter again, or anything else of mine, or anyone under my protection—that means not only my sister but also Miss Bennet and Miss Hughes while they are at Strandsmere Park—and you will never again be able to use that hand.”
“I understand your being so protective of Miss Darcy but not the other two. And regarding Miss Hughes… My father is now in high dudgeon. Just today, he received correspondence informing him that she is not royally connected at all. Rather, her great-grandparents were a baker and a maid to a lady-in-waiting. Were we all at Barleybrae instead of this godforsaken place, it would be Miss Hughes being evicted from our country home.”
Wright stood and, leaning over the desk, was eye-to-eye with Darcy.
“Now then, that leaves the other young lady of Cliff House. Since you do not want me touching anything of yours, I wager that you consider Miss Elizabeth Bennet yours. Oho! By the look on your face, I see that I have hit the nail on the head. ’Tis small wonder Hannah is alternately in the doldrums or in a tantrum—a woman scorned and all that.
Miss Bennet! The portionless jewellery thief!
Huh. I would have thought even a dispassionate fellow like you could do considerably better than her, old boy. ”