Chapter 47
They did not sit long. In the dining room, Hill set down coffee, bread, and cold beef with a silence more useful than condolence. Bennet swallowed enough to quiet the weakness in his hands; Darcy took food without appearing to taste it.
The hall clock struck the quarter before noon. Bennet set down his cup. Before the last note faded, Hill stood in the doorway.
“Mr Wickham has been seen on the lane, sir.”
Darcy rose at once. Bennet followed more slowly, his hand steady upon the table’s edge.
“At the gate?” Bennet asked.
“Not yet, sir. John Perkins saw him beyond the lower bend.”
“Alone?”
“So far as the boy could tell.”
Darcy’s eyes went to Bennet. “May I be in the room before he enters?”
“You may.” Bennet turned back to Hill. “Admit Wickham to the study. Do not keep him in the hall. Take note of his horse, his boots, and whether he looks behind him. Have a man placed where he may see the drive without being seen.”
Hill bowed. “Yes, sir.”
“And Hill.”
“Sir?”
“If any man waits beyond the gate, I want his face remembered.”
Hill’s expression did not alter. “It shall be done, sir.”
Darcy and Bennet crossed to the study. The noon heat pressed against the windows, and Bennet had ordered the curtains drawn halfway, enough to dull the glare upon the desk without darkening the room. The ransom note lay beside the map. His cane stood within reach.
Darcy stopped near the bookcase, where the shelf-shadow crossed his coat. From Bennet’s place beside the desk, he could see only the line of Darcy’s shoulder and the stillness of his hand.
Outside, gravel sounded beneath hooves.
The latch lifted. Hill opened the door.
“Mr Wickham, sir.”
Wickham entered with his hat in his hand and courtesy arranged upon his face. “Mr Bennet. I am obliged by your receiving me.”
“You are fortunate I have chosen to do so.”
Wickham’s smile held, but only just. “Then we may come directly to business. What answer am I to carry?”
“I have asked a gentleman of greater means to assist me.”
“Have you?” Wickham’s gaze moved once about the room. “A banker?”
Darcy stepped from the shadow. “Good morning, Wickham.”
The hat shifted in Wickham’s hand. For an instant, his face lost all colour.
Darcy stopped three paces from him. “Certain accounts are better settled in person.”
Wickham recovered with creditable speed. “Mr Bennet,” he said, without taking his eyes from Darcy, “am I to understand that Mr Darcy speaks for you?”
“You are.”
A crooked smile touched Wickham’s mouth. “Well, Darcy. We are head to head again.”
“No,” Darcy said. “You are to answer questions.”
Wickham’s smile thinned. “Questions are costly under the present circumstances.”
“Then answer quickly,” Bennet said.
Darcy took up the ransom note. “Miss Bennet is alive?”
“She was when I left her.”
Bennet’s fingers closed upon the chair back. Darcy did not look towards him.
“Unharmed?” Darcy asked.
“You choose an ugly implication.” Wickham’s eyes sharpened. “Miss Bennet’s virtue is not the article for sale.”
“Then you will have no objection to proving she remains able to say so herself.”
Wickham’s colour rose. “You question my honour—”
“Mr Wickham,” Bennet said, “do not bring so fragile a thing into a room where it cannot survive examination.”
Wickham’s mouth tightened. “If you want proof, Darcy must come with me.”
Bennet felt the words like a hand upon his throat. Darcy did not move.
“To Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked.
Wickham’s gaze flickered between them, eyes narrowing. “Darcy may satisfy himself that the lady lives. Payment may then be arranged. Every hour of delay shall cost you.”
Darcy folded the note. “I shall come.”
“Alone,” Wickham said.
“Mr Darcy is not a parcel to be handed over at your convenience,” Bennet said.
Wickham bowed slightly. “Then Miss Bennet is not a parcel to be returned at yours.”
The room went still. Bennet heard the clock in the hall, the faint creak of the window frame, the blood beating once in his bad leg.
Darcy said, “I shall come as surety until the money is called for.”
Wickham looked at him for a long moment. “Then we understand one another.”
“I doubt that,” Darcy said.
Wickham gave a thin smile and turned towards the door. “I shall wait in the paddock.”
The door closed; the latch settled.
For one breath Bennet did not trust himself to speak. Then Darcy moved to the window and looked down towards the drive.
“You will see Elizabeth,” Bennet said.
“I will.” Darcy’s gaze swept the grounds twice over. His face gave nothing away when he turned back to Bennet.
“How shall she know to trust me?”
Bennet beckoned him nearer and gave him the words. Darcy listened without interruption.
“That will do,” Bennet said. “She is her father’s daughter.”
Darcy bowed his head once. “I shall do all in my power.”
Bennet held his gaze. “Then I must be content with that.”
At the front door, Darcy paused and looked down at the gravelled sweep. “May I trouble you for a small canvas bag?”
Bennet followed his gaze. “For a weapon?”
“No. For a message.”
Bennet gave the order quietly. Hill bowed and withdrew.
“You cannot go alone.”
“I shall not be alone for long.”
When Hill returned, Darcy took the canvas bag and stepped onto the drive. He bent, filled it by handfuls from the gravel, and tied the mouth with a quick, hard knot. Stone struck stone with a dull, serviceable weight.
Barty came to his side.
Darcy lowered his voice. “Remain here. Await Colonel Fitzwilliam. The first stone will lie at the lower turn beyond the field.”
“Godspeed, sir.”
Darcy nodded once.
Bennet watched Wickham turn his head from the paddock gate.
“You wager much upon your cousin,” Bennet said.
Darcy’s mouth curved faintly. “If you knew Colonel Fitzwilliam, you would not use the word wager.”
* * *
Redbourn Heath, the same day
Elizabeth had measured the morning by indignities.
First came the grey strip of light beneath the shutter. Then the soreness where the cords had bitten her wrists. Then the flies, bold with heat, moving about the pail in the corner as if they had acquired tenancy.
She had borne fear. She had borne hunger. She would not bear filth in silence.
She crossed to the door and knocked.
No answer came.
She knocked again. “Mr Kerr.”
A chair scraped beyond the wall. His step sounded in the passage, measured at first, then checked. The bolt lifted. Kerr opened the door no wider than his shoulder.
“Miss Bennet.”
“I require the pail removed.”
His gaze moved past her to the corner. A faint tightening touched his mouth. “Set it by the door.”
“As I did before?”
“Yes.”
“Then I must ask you to open the door wider. I should dislike spilling it over your boots.”
His mouth tightened. “That would be unwise.”
“So would leaving it here.”
His eyes returned to her face. “You have recovered your spirits.”
“No, sir. Only my standards.”
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he opened the door wider and gestured.
Elizabeth crossed to the corner, lifted the pail, and set it carefully at his feet.
“Where is Mr Wickham?” she asked.
“Elsewhere.”
“How precise. I begin to understand why gentlemen employ scriveners.”
His hand closed about the handle. “I am not employed by Mr Wickham.”
“No. I suspect Mr Wickham is employed by his own hunger and no better master.”
Kerr lifted the pail. “You speak very freely for a woman in your circumstances.”
“My circumstances have not improved by silence.”
He turned towards the door. Elizabeth moved one step, enough to see the passage beyond him: bare boards, a pale strip of light near the outer room, no hat upon the peg where Wickham’s had hung yesterday, no second coat thrown over the chair beyond. Only Kerr.
“He has gone to my father,” she said.
Kerr stopped.
It was nothing. Less than a flinch. But she had lived since yesterday on less.
“Has he?”
“You would have denied it more quickly if he had not.”
His jaw set. “You build castles from dust.”
“I am in a poor room. Dust must serve.”
“Your father was given terms.”
“By Mr Wickham?” she asked.
“By those who hold you.”
“That answer limps, Mr Kerr.”
His colour rose. “Take care.”
“Of what? My good opinion of my captors?”
He looked at her then, and for the first time she saw fatigue under the calculation. He had the look of a man who had set machinery in motion and only now heard the teeth catch.
“You think him untrustworthy,” she said.
“I think Mr Wickham predictable.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
Kerr’s expression closed at once. He stepped into the passage with the pail.
“You wished it removed,” he said. “Be content.”
“I am rarely content with half a service.”
He looked back. “Then accustom yourself to disappointment.”
The door shut. The bolt fell.