Chapter 25 #2
In a lower voice directed to the ears of only his immediate party, he added, “I have urgent business to attend to in London. Mr. Bennet explained your family’s situation to me fully.
As I am not without connections, I offered to speak with Sir Bradley Headstone on Mr. Bennet’s behalf.
” Elizabeth sucked in a breath. How would he know Sir Bradley, the Collector of Customs?
“We happen to go to the same club. So you see, it is only natural that I use any influence I have on behalf of my friends.” Mama was delighted.
In her mind, one mention of the name “Darcy” was all it would take to set this matter to right.
Elizabeth wished it were so simple, and she doubted Mr. Wickham’s effort on their behalf would be fruitful. “Pray do not trouble Sir Bradley any further on the matter. We have done all that we can. Mr. Robinson has sent many letters, and his man of business in town is in constant communication.”
But Elizabeth was immediately contradicted by Jane. “Nonsense! If Mr. Wickham is an acquaintance of Sir Bradley, what can it hurt for him to approach the gentleman? We ought to be grateful someone with connections is willing to put in a kind word for us.”
Their mother agreed. “Mr. Wickham has more influence than a mere secretary can possibly have.” Turning to him, she said, “We are grateful for your assistance to Mr. Bennet in this trifling matter and anticipate your return so that you may dine with us. A celebratory dinner, if you will.”
“Let us hope so, Mrs. Bennet, though I dare not proclaim victory too soon,” he replied good-naturedly.
It was not until Elizabeth felt his eyes on her that she realized that her own gaze had wandered in the direction of the inn…
where Mr. Robinson had gone to post his letter.
Somberly, Mr. Wickham added, “It must distress Mr. Robinson greatly that this matter is not yet resolved. He takes his work very seriously and no doubt considers it a personal failure. Pray say nothing to him of my involvement.”
Elizabeth could not deny that Robinson took his work seriously.
Everything that could be done had been done.
She was eager to defend him, to list out all the steps he had taken to soften the blow to her family.
She longed to refuse Mr. Wickham’s help, but she was not in a position to do so.
It would confirm Jane’s suspicions. Thus, before a rainbow of colorful ribbons, she added her thanks to those of her mother and sister and pondered how different the two men were.
Dread filled Darcy’s chest and twisted his stomach. Wickham had yet to strike. The longer he waited, the more destructive Darcy anticipated the blow to be.
He had received no word from Brenner yet.
His valet would have received his messages, and Darcy was confident that the trustworthy man had immediately secured letters from other prominent exporters on the continent.
The weather, however, was not in their favor.
Winter was coming, and with it, an unfavorable turn in the winds.
Brenner would arrive with his letters, but he might be too late to prevent damage to the Bennets.
Already, the funds Elizabeth relied on to manage Longbourn had been seized.
Next, their personal goods would be sold.
Already, the family’s reputation had taken a blow.
Darcy saw how the villagers’ view of the Bennets had changed.
Some looked on with sympathy, but most avoided them, perhaps out of embarrassment, or perhaps they were unable to summon the right words to say in such a situation.
It pained Darcy to see years of friendship lost so quickly.
Others, like Mr. Bingley’s sisters, were entertained by the Bennets’ misfortune, no doubt whispering about what they did not understand in drawing rooms, feigning sympathy while they trampled over the family’s reputation.
At least it appeared that Mr. Bingley had offered some kind words.
To Darcy’s knowledge, no one else in the village had done the same.
The post had arrived at the inn, and among the packet of letters were two addressed to Robinson: one from Richard and another from Reynolds.
“First door on the left is empty if you wish for some privacy,” offered the innkeeper kindly. Darcy nodded his thanks. The man was a good sort, his concern for the Bennets genuine.
Taking his letters into the parlor, he first read what Reynolds had sent.
That he had penned the letter while agitated was evidenced by the aggressive angles of his letters and the blots of ink dotting the page.
He had met with Sir Bradley—again—and had been told in no uncertain terms that, while he had heard rumors about fraudulent business practices at Imperial Spirits & Fine Goods and he was certain that the evidence supplied by Darcy and Elizabeth sitting on his desk would support those claims, his time was so much in demand he could not give the documents the attention they deserved without a substantial monetary inducement.
Darcy gritted his teeth and cursed the man’s corruption.
He would have to be cautious with his next move lest he turn Mr. Bennet into an easy target for continued blackmail.
Still, Daniel Robinson had a fortune of his own.
He would use it to spare Elizabeth and her home, if necessary.
As discomfiting as that letter was, Richard’s letter was worse.
He, too, had been making frequent calls at Sir Bradley’s offices.
Sir Bradley had not openly requested a bribe—one must be more cautious when dealing with the son of an earl, especially one who knew what to do with the pointy end of a sword.
Sir Bradley, no doubt believing the feat impossible, stated plainly that one damning proof of fraud would erase the debt held against Mr. Bennet.
Until such an irrefutable proof was provided, he was powerless to intervene.
That exchange had been expected, but it was Richard’s parting question which piqued Darcy’s nerves: Do you know what business Wickham has with my father?
Darcy did not. The fact that Richard had to ask him worried him further. Apparently, Wickham had an appointment that evening at Matlock House.
He unsealed the letter he had written to Richard and added a few more lines at the bottom before resealing the note. He would have to send it by messenger so it would reach Richard before Wickham called.
He had just made arrangements and seen the messenger depart when Wickham came into his view.
The ingrate tipped his hat from the back of his horse.
With a menacing wink, he kicked his horse into a gallop, passing the messenger as the two disappeared down the road to London.
Darcy felt the wind shift, and he braced himself for the impending storm.