Brothers Already
The morning post arrived while they were still at breakfast. Among Bingley’s correspondence lay two letters addressed to Darcy, one bearing the Earl of Matlock’s seal and the other Richard’s familiar hand.
His uncle’s letter was formal. As Darcy’s guardian, he gave his consent to the proposed marriage and added, less formally, that he expected to welcome Elizabeth properly before long.
Richard offered his congratulations, then wrote that he had found a promising lead in Hunsford village. If Bingley could provide him with a bed, he would come to Netherfield within a few days and report what he had discovered in person.
Darcy folded both letters before Miss Bingley could discover more than the seals.
“News from Matlock?” she asked.
“My uncle writes upon a family matter.”
Her attention sharpened, but Mrs Bingley rose before she could pursue it.
“I promised Lizzy I would go to Longbourn this morning.”
Bingley looked disappointed. “Must you leave so soon?”
“I shall return before dinner.”
“Then Darcy and I will ride with you as far as the turning,” he said. “We meant to look over the western fields.”
Darcy agreed readily. He wanted movement, open air and an opportunity to tell Bingley what his uncle had written.
Half an hour later, Mrs Bingley’s carriage set out for Longbourn while Darcy and Bingley mounted and followed it down the avenue.
“Your uncle has replied, then?” Bingley asked once Netherfield was behind them.
“Yes. He has given his consent.”
“I did not suppose he would object.”
“Nor did I, though the formality was necessary while I remain under his guardianship.”
“And now there is nothing to delay you.”
“Nothing beyond the arrangements themselves.”
Bingley smiled. “Mrs Bennet will be relieved to hear it. Jane tells me she asked yesterday whether an earl could reasonably require more than one day to answer a letter.”
“And what did Mrs Bingley say?”
“That the distance between Hertfordshire and London remained unchanged by her impatience.”
“A courageous answer.”
“Jane can be very firm when defending the postal service.”
At the turning, Mrs Bingley’s carriage continued towards Longbourn while the gentlemen took the western road.
“And Richard’s letter?” Bingley asked.
“He has found a lead in Hunsford village. He wishes to come to Netherfield within a few days and tell us what he has discovered.”
“Then he shall come.”
“You do not mind having another guest brought into your house upon my account?”
“Mind?” Bingley looked astonished. “Darcy, we are shortly to be brothers. I should hope you would bring your family to me when they have need of a bed.”
Darcy looked ahead, though he could not suppress his smile. “Richard may require more than a bed. He has a habit of arriving with questions, papers and several men who answer to no one but him.”
“Then Caroline will be occupied for days trying to discover who they are.”
“That may be reason enough to invite them.”
Bingley laughed. “You see? We are brothers already.”
He touched his heels to his horse and pulled ahead.
“Is that a challenge?” Darcy called after him.
Bingley looked back over his shoulder. “Only if you believe you can catch me.”
Darcy gave him three lengths before setting his horse after him.
By Thursday, Darcy had called at Longbourn three times, been detained for luncheon twice and invited to dinner once.
Elizabeth had also spent an afternoon at Netherfield with Mrs Bingley, where Miss Bingley had been faultlessly civil and Mr Hurst had slept through most of the visit.
Mrs Bennet had discussed the wedding breakfast, the guest list and the number of carriages required, although no date had been fixed and no announcement made beyond the two households.
On Friday, Elizabeth declared that she must go into Meryton. Jane wished to visit Mrs Phillips, Bingley offered his company, and Darcy was invited before he could offer his own.
Miss Lydia joined them at the door.
“Kitty and I require ribbon,” she said. “We mean to retrim our bonnets.”
“You retrimmed them last month before I went to Kent,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, but we have since seen better ones.”
Miss Catherine appeared before they could leave, declaring that Lydia could not possibly be trusted to choose ribbon without her.
The road to Meryton was busy with the ordinary traffic of a fine morning, and the party made slow progress.
Lydia and Kitty went ahead, debating ribbon with the seriousness of generals.
Mrs Bingley and Bingley followed, walking close and preferring each other’s conversation to anyone else’s. Elizabeth and Darcy came last.
It was the first time since his return that they had walked together through Meryton, where every acquaintance might see them and there was no danger in being seen. Their engagement remained private, but secrecy no longer protected anyone’s life.
Now they simply walked towards Meryton.
“You are quiet,” Darcy said.
“I am enjoying the novelty of being observed without caring very much about it. For months, I have taken great pains to avoid notice.”
Darcy glanced towards a cart passing them upon the road. “I cannot remember entering a room without first marking who occupied it. I still look at every face we pass before remembering there is no longer any reason to.”
“I doubt either of us will cease noticing things.”
“No.”
“But perhaps one day we shall notice them without expecting the worst.”
Ahead of them, Miss Lydia stopped in the road, seized by some fresh dispute concerning ribbon. Miss Catherine nearly walked into her, and both appealed loudly to Mrs Bingley for judgement.
Darcy watched them, his brows raised.
“Your family,” he began, then stopped.
“Yes?” Elizabeth supplied, with a warning she did not entirely mean.
“I intended to say something diplomatic. I find I would rather say something true. Your family is loud, your youngest sister is exhausting, and your mother has already spent my income four times over in her imagination.”
Elizabeth waited.
“And I would not exchange the prospect of belonging to them for anything I can presently conceive of,” he continued. “I have known silence enough. I should like to belong to something loud.”
Elizabeth found, unusually, that no teasing answer presented itself.
“That is the most romantic thing you have ever said to me.”
“I am aware,” Darcy replied. “I have been saving it.”
Darcy and the Bingleys returned to Netherfield shortly before dinner. A travelling carriage stood before the house, its horses still being walked in the drive.
“Richard,” Darcy said.
They found him in the drawing room with Miss Bingley, who had arranged herself beside the fire and was listening with uncommon attention.
“Darcy.” Richard rose. “Bingley. Mrs Bingley.”
Miss Bingley smiled. “Colonel Fitzwilliam has been telling us almost nothing about his journey.”
“I feared anything more might leave us without conversation when my cousin returned.”
“You might at least have told us how long you mean to remain.”
“That depends upon whether Bingley intends to turn me out after breakfast.”
“You are welcome for as long as you choose,” Bingley said.
Richard thanked him, then looked towards Darcy. Bingley glanced towards the clock.
“There is still half an hour before dinner. Will you play a game of billiards?”
“With pleasure,” Richard said. “Darcy?”
Darcy nodded.
Miss Bingley looked from one gentleman to the next. “You have scarcely arrived, Colonel.”
“And already I am being challenged. You see how little ceremony friendship permits.”
Bingley led the way towards the billiard room. Darcy followed, aware of Miss Bingley’s gaze upon them until the door closed. Richard waited until Bingley had crossed to the table.
“They found the room,” he said.
“And Pritchard?”
“Found. He admitted the northern journey and the use of Wickham’s name. Edward has his statement.”
Bingley chalked his cue at the far end of the table, out of easy earshot and absorbed in the ordinary business of racking the balls. Richard lowered his voice.
“But first, congratulations. Properly this time.”
Darcy looked at him.
“I meant what I said before, but there were people listening. I am glad you finally had the sense to ask her, and even more astonished that she had the sense to accept you.”
“Richard.”
“I am very glad for you, Darcy. There. I have said it plainly once, and I shall not do it again.”
“Thank you. For that, and for the five years. You held my arm in that wood. If you had not…”
“You would have got yourself shot, and Miss Bennet would have watched it, and none of this would have happened.” Richard picked up his cue. “Yes. I know. It is the one useful thing I have done in the whole affair, and I intend to remind you of it at every anniversary for the rest of your life.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
Bingley called from the table that they were keeping him waiting. Richard raised a hand in acknowledgement.
“Now,” he said. “The room. You will want to sit down, except that we are playing billiards, so you will have to make do with looking as though you are losing, which will not be difficult because you are about to stop attending to the game entirely.”
Darcy set his hand on the table’s edge. “Tell me.”
“He took a room in Hunsford under the name Williams. The woman who let it believed him a commercial traveller. He paid in advance and left a case behind when he went to Rosings.”
“What was in it?”
“Money, powder and several notes written by the man who watched the park.” Richard’s voice hardened. “They record Miss Bennet’s walks with the children, the intervals between the patrols along the southern boundary, and the arrival of a gentleman the watcher believed might be you.”
“So Wickham suspected.”
“For three days. The watcher never got close enough to be certain.”
“Then why did he wait?”
“Edward.”
Darcy stared at him.
“One of the men watching Rosings noted his arrival on Saturday. When Edward returned to London, the man followed him. We found his report among the papers in Wickham’s room.
He learnt that Edward was preparing proceedings concerning your guardianship and that the evidence against Wickham had reached his chambers. ”
“How did he learn it?”
“That remains uncertain. Edward is questioning everyone who had access to his office, but the report reached Wickham that night.”
“And Wickham reached Hunsford the next morning.”
“Yes. Until then, he knew where Miss Bennet was and suspected you might be there. After that message, he knew he had very little time left.”
“Then we may never know who gave the information.”
“Probably not.” Richard sighted along the cue. “It may have been nothing more than a clerk speaking too freely at dinner, or a servant repeating what he carried. Wickham did not require a traitor. He required someone willing to listen.”
“And what did he mean to do once he had me?”
“We cannot know entirely. A chaise had been ordered from an inn beyond Westerham for noon that day. The driver was told to expect two gentlemen travelling north.”
“Two?”
“You and Wickham, I imagine. Miss Bennet was the means of persuading you to go.”
Darcy’s hand tightened upon the cue. “And after that?”
Richard met his eyes. “There was money for fresh horses and enough powder for several shots. I do not believe he intended you to reach the north.”
Darcy remembered Elizabeth in the wood.
You will not save me by giving him two prisoners.
“She would not let me go,” he said.
“No.”
“I thought she was refusing to let me trade myself for her. She understood that giving Wickham what he wanted would save neither of us.”
Richard nodded. “She did.”
Darcy set down the cue. “She saved my life.”
“Yes,” Richard said. “And I did try to tell you she was too good for you. You may consider it confirmed.”
A short breath escaped Darcy that was almost a laugh.
“Confirmed.”
Bingley called from the far end of the table. “Do either of you intend to play?”
“In a moment,” Richard called.
Darcy glanced towards the closed door. “Does Elizabeth know?”
“About the chaise? No. I thought that should come from you.”
“She deserves to know what she prevented.”
“She deserves to decide whether she wishes to know,” Richard said. “There is a difference.”
Darcy nodded. “I shall ask her.”
“And if she says no?”
“Then I shall tell her nothing.”
“There is another matter,” Richard said. “Edward has received an answer from Manchester.”
Darcy’s attention sharpened.
“The apothecary named in Georgiana’s papers died two years ago, but the man who succeeded him retained the daybooks. Wickham ordered the preparation referred to in the correspondence. It was sent to Lambton during your father’s final illness, and Finch settled the account.”
“Can it be proved that it was used?”
“No. Only that Wickham obtained it.”
Darcy looked down at the green baize. Georgiana had been right to question the letters. Whether they would ever know precisely what had happened in his father’s sickroom was another matter.
“Does she know?”
“Not yet. Edward thought the news should come from you.”
That night, after Richard had gone upstairs, Darcy remained in Bingley’s study and wrote to Georgiana.
My dear Georgiana,
Richard has brought news from Manchester concerning the papers you found.
The apothecary named in them died two years ago, but his successor retained the daybooks.
They show that Wickham ordered the preparation referred to in the correspondence and had it sent to Lambton during our father’s final illness. Finch settled the account.
It proves that Wickham obtained it. It does not prove that it was given to our father, and I do not know whether that final certainty can ever be had.
You were right to question the letters. I am sorry that you were left with the question for so long, and that when you first placed it before us, we could give you no answer.
The records are now with Edward. I can send you copies, or have them kept sealed until you wish to see them.
Your affectionate brother,
Fitzwilliam
He read it once, altered nothing, and sealed it.