“Exactly my thoughts, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Quinn said, nodding. “He might have retired to some other, as yet unknown, library to do his work or he might have followed his master to Vienna.”
“Strange that he did not tell the innkeeper where he was going, though,” Elizabeth said.
“Very strange, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Quinn said. “How was any mail arrived for him to be forwarded? And stranger yet, he left the same morning that Lady Castlereagh embarked on her journey. I would have imagined he might take a day or two to decide where he would go next.”
This puzzled Elizabeth exceedingly. One would think the secretary, coming upon the house unexpectedly closed up that morning, would have returned to his lodgings to make other arrangements. One would think he would have written to Lord Castlereagh for further instructions and, even with official government mail, might have had to wait a fortnight for an answer. Where had he gone and why had he not told the innkeeper?
“This presents a conundrum to my mind,” Mr. Quinn said. “Had I not been informed that Warpole had written his confession, my thoughts would be squarely trained on Mr. Cratchet. Knowing that Warpole has confessed, I must dismiss Mr. Cratchet’s behavior as odd, but not criminal. But why has the coachman admitted to it? This troubles me exceedingly. It is not often that I come upon a new circumstance, but this certainly qualifies. Not in my entire career have I had a victim delivered of a letter of confession from the doer of the deed.”
“I do not suppose any of us can understand the criminal mind,” Mr. Darcy said.
“But that has been my life’s work!” Mr. Quinn cried. “Precisely that. What I thought I’d understood of human nature is that a thief is motivated just as any human being is motivated. Most steal because they do not have money and will suffer a dire consequence, such as starvation, if they do not get it. I have only ever encountered one, Jonathan Jones, a landowner in Sussex, who inexplicably stole without the need. I interviewed him extensively on the matter to determine how it could be so, but all he ever told me was that he’d always been a bit of a magpie. His neighbors told me he’d had a serious knock on the head as a child and, after that, was always going round collecting other people’s things and hiding it all in his barn.”
“But that is not Warpole,” Elizabeth said. “According to Lady Castlereagh, he gave no hint of any aberration of mind and he had not the need to steal.”
“Yes,” Mr. Quinn said. “And having done it, he had no need to own it.”
“I find the whole matter off-putting,” Mrs. Bennet said. “One does not like to think of a person lurking about who might do any nonsensical thing without a reason.”
“Very true, Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Quinn said.
“Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet pressed on, “are we still to have a ball this night?”
Everyone at the table froze and Elizabeth was certain the notion of a ball had been entirely forgotten. Mr. Bingley leapt from his seat. “The ball! Goodness, it is too late to call it off now. I’d better see cook about that soup.”
Miss Darcy rose and said, “Mr. Bingley, I am certain that there are many arrangements to be made. I will assist you if you like.”
Mr. Bingley nodded vigorously. Mrs. Bennet rose and shook out her skirts. “I am at your service, Mr. Bingley. Show me to your servants and I will marshal them into formation. They dare not stand against me. Further, I will send word to our usual master of ceremonies so he may press-gang musicians into service. We will carry the day, Mr. Bingley. We will carry the day.”
Mr. Bingley appeared vastly relieved to find himself in capable, if rather war-like, hands and the three hurried off to see to the arrangements.
Mr. Quinn appeared quite struck. “A ball?” he said quietly.
“Lady Castlereagh thought it would relieve the tedium while we waited for your return,” Charlotte said. “Of course, she could not have foreseen recent events.”
Mr. Quinn turned the faintest shade of pink. “And you will attend, Miss Lucas?”
Charlotte smiled and said, “Indeed, Mr. Quinn. I am very fond of dancing.”
“Dancing, yes,” Mr. Quinn said. “I’ve not been dancing for some time. Not these past ten years.”
“That is no matter,” Charlotte said cheerily. “You shall pick up the new steps quick enough.”
“If Miss Lucas would be so kind as to direct me…” Mr. Quinn said, trailing off.
Charlotte nodded her assent and studiously bent over her papers. Elizabeth was now certain that Mr. Quinn had grown fond of Charlotte and began to think that Charlotte may have grown fond of Mr. Quinn. How extraordinary.
“In any case,” Mr. Darcy said, “a ball will not help us locate Warpole.”
Mr. Quinn seemed to come to his senses. “No, it will not. At least, one would presume it would not. There is no logic in it, but if Warpole does remain in the area, he might be tempted to investigate when he sees so many carriages headed in the same direction.”
“I have a dozen men on the way from London,” Mr. Darcy said. “We can set them along the roads to see if he can be caught.”
“Excellent notion, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Quinn said. “My instincts tell me this fellow will not rob again, but he may be attracted to Lady Castlereagh’s location. This robbery was personal. Though I would not say so in front of the lady, a servant who has been employed for that many years who decides to rob his mistress undoubtedly feels he has been ill-used in some manner. It is always so.”
Mr. Darcy appeared taken aback by the notion that a servant could be harboring resentments and waiting for a chance at revenge. Elizabeth smiled. Perhaps he might decide he wished to know his grooms’ opinions after all.
“Mr. Quinn,” Elizabeth said, “even if Warpole considered himself ill-treated, I still do not understand why he should take this extraordinary step. Why the robbery, when he might have moved on and taken another position where he did not feel ill-treated. It just seems incongruous that a person who has shown no outward signs of criminality should suddenly take to it.”
Mr. Quinn rubbed his chin. “That idea weighs upon my mind also. As a usual matter, there are always signs. Others may not note them at the time, but in reviewing the case those signs become clear. There appears to be no such sign from Warpole. However, Miss Bennet, you saw the handwriting, it is a match.”
After talking round in circles and not particularly getting anywhere, the war room broke up. Nobody could understand why Warpole had stolen the jewels, why he’d sent the confession, why he’d stayed in the neighborhood, or what his next move might be.
It was late afternoon by the time Elizabeth and Jane had set off for home. Mr. Darcy’s men had arrived from London and three extremely large and formidable individuals were sent to escort them to Longbourn. Peggy was conscripted to accompany them for appearance’s sake, as Mrs. Bennet had departed earlier. Elizabeth felt Peggy not entirely necessary, they could not be any safer than they were in the care of this disciplined force. The men had stood at attention, listening to Mr. Darcy’s instructions carefully, then had ranged round the ladies forming a human shield.
Upon arriving to Longbourn, the men had tipped their hats and dismounted their horses, intending to range round the house until the Bennets set off for the ball. Elizabeth would send word to cook to see that they were fed. If they were given dinner one at a time, then each would have their time to sit in front of the kitchen fire while the others remained on duty.
Jimmy, now returned from London, raced from the stables to take the horses. He had a good deal to say about his journey, including how well London had taken to him, and it was a full fifteen minutes before Elizabeth and Jane were able to escape. As they entered the drawing room, Lydia was on her way out. She rolled her eyes and whispered, “Fordyce! The first? Really!”
Elizabeth could not imagine why Lydia had suddenly felt the need to condemn Fordyce, as she never read the sermons and never paid attention when Mary chose to bore everybody with them. Then, she noted a man holding the book o
f sermons.
Mr. Collins. Elizabeth had forgotten all about his arrival.
He was a large gentleman, with a mid-section clearly used to good dinners. His skin was shiny and beads of sweat ran down the sides of his forehead. His hair was plastered down on his skull and Elizabeth did not know if that were by design or perspiration. He bowed low.
Mary sat nearby, gazing up at the man. For once, she did not hold a book in her hand, but rather stared at the one in his hand.
“Ah, Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Bennet said, bustling to his side, “here are my other two daughters, Elizabeth and Jane.”
Mr. Collins bowed again. “The Miss Bennets,” he said, eyeing Jane. “I understand we are so blessed as to have a ball this evening. A ball hosted by a certain Mr. Bingley, who is the friend of a certain Mr. Darcy, who is the nephew of a certain Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth did not see any reason to comment, as the man seemed so certain of it all.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Collins went on, looking squarely at Jane, “may I be so bold as to request the first dance of the evening?”
Mrs. Bennet looked suitably horrified, which Elizabeth noted with amusement was likely how Jane felt but would never show.
Before her poor sister could answer, Mrs. Bennet said, “Dear me no, Mr. Collins. That would not do. Not do at all. My Jane is likely to be engaged soon.”
“Mama!” Jane said.
“I see,” Mr. Collins said, his gaze traveling in Elizabeth’s direction.
Elizabeth willed his gaze to keep traveling right out the window. She did not like the man, though he had done little to attract her ire. He was simply one of those persons that one did not like on sight. The shininess, the almost leering expression, the plastered hair, the ridiculous letter that had preceded him. Though it might prove her a shallow individual, Elizabeth had no wish to come to his notice.
Sadly, Mr. Collins’ gaze did not travel out the window, but settled upon her. “Then may I ask the second eldest Miss Bennet for the first? Hah! That is amusing, is it not? The second for the first?”
“Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said hurriedly, “surely one of your profession does not dance? Our own clergyman never does. He says it would be undignified.”
“Ah,” Mr. Collins said. “A misguided idea if ever there was one. I have been assured by Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose taste on all things is renowned throughout England, that a clergyman ought to be able to creditably mix with the finer people of their neighborhood. She says it does not do to have a lady sit out when there is a perfectly able-bodied man in the vicinity.”
Elizabeth was both offended and repulsed. How dare he assume that if he did not gallantly come to the rescue she should sit out? Since when did Elizabeth Bennet require the services of just any able-bodied man that happened to be nearby? She was not an elderly spinster, after all. Not yet, anyway.
“I hardly think I am in danger of that unfortunate fate, Mr. Collins,” she said curtly.
“Lizzy?” Mrs. Bennet said, a look of joy overspreading her features. “Mr. Darcy has claimed the first!”
Elizabeth glanced at her mother, confounded. “No,” she said. “Though there are any number of gentlemen who may—”
“Well if he has not, then Mr. Collins has,” Mrs. Bennet said with an air of finality. “There you see it, Mr. Collins, it is all arranged.”
Mary looked away with evident disappointment. Elizabeth struggled to keep her expression neutral. Why had not Mrs. Bennet pressed Mary upon the man, as Mary so clearly would have welcomed it? Why must it be her? Now, Elizabeth would be relegated to opening the ball with this lumbering, sweating individual.
She felt a pang at the disappointment in her mother’s voice upon momentarily believing that Mr. Darcy had asked for the first and then being disabused of that idea. Though she did not altogether approve of Mr. Darcy, how much more pleasant it would have been to begin the dance with him. He was tall and handsome, and Elizabeth was sure he danced well. Mr. Darcy would not attempt a thing he did not do well while there were onlookers, she was certain of it. As it was, she predicted she would be providing vast amusement for those onlookers.
“I am honored,” Mr. Collins said, bowing again. It seemed to Elizabeth that bowing was a thing he thought ought to happen with a certain regularity.
The next hour seemed as three to Elizabeth. Though she had valiantly attempted an escape from the room, her mother shielded the doorway like a sentry guarding a palace gate. Mr. Collins did all the talking. He asked an occasional question, but it was for naught as he did not pause to hear an answer.
He would tell her of Rosings and its many remarkable windows, of how Lady Catherine depended upon him for cards, how he was asked to dine twice a week, how his own house was of great interest to his patroness and how she often directed him to rearrange a thing and was particularly interested in the situation of his closets. Each time Elizabeth grew hopeful that he was coming to the end of his talking, he revived himself with a gulp of tea and soldiered on.
He was insufferable.
Chapter Ten
Jane sat at the looking glass while Hill made the final adjustments to her hair. Elizabeth sat on the bed and said, “I find myself torn. On the one hand, I am delighted to go to a ball. A ball at Netherfield, no less. We should never have imagined such a thing. On the other hand, it seems odd that we should throw off all cares, considering we may have a criminal in the neighborhood.”
“I attempt not to think too closely on that, Lizzy,” Jane said. “It disturbs my nerves.”
Hill arranged the last curl and said, “Your mama wouldn’t like to know of any disturbed nerves shakin’ up her girls on the way to a ball what’s to be peppered with men who ain’t married.” With that remarkable pronouncement, she trounced from the room.
Elizabeth smiled as she watched Hill disappear. “Inelegantly said, but true,” she said.
Jane was silent, and Elizabeth said, “You must look forward to this evening. To see what this evening will reveal. Mr. Bingley has gone from the house and now he may prove his feelings. Does he ask for the first? Does he claim another on your card? Does he take you to supper? And, of course, the most practical way any gentleman might express his feelings, does he gaze at you across the ballroom, blithely offending anybody talking to him?”
“Perhaps that is why I find myself almost out of sorts. It is as if I could not know the truth of it while he stayed here and now I must know the truth of it and am afraid of what I shall discover.”
“I think you will discover what I see so clearly—Mr. Bingley is smitten.”
Jane ignored Elizabeth’s teasing. “You are in very good spirits, considering…”
“You need not even finish the sentence, Jane,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “I was most put out for some hours, but then I determined that one dance shall not be the end of me. I approach the task with grim determination. Once I am through it, I shall make it my business to hide from Mr. Collins for the rest of the night.”
“Lydia told me he asked her and she laughed in his face and ran off. Kitty ran off before he’d got a sentence out.”
“Poor me and poor Mary,” Elizabeth said. “I had not the sense to run off and Mary sat patiently waiting for a turn that never came.”
Darcy sat with Georgiana in a small sitting room off the drawing room. Though it was exceedingly small, it was pleasantly arranged with two chairs round an inlaid table. He guessed it had been built for the use of a lady wishing to have a confidential tête-à-tête with a friend. It was a pleasant escape from the bustle that had overtaken the house in preparation for the ball.
“Brother,” Georgiana said, “will you ask Miss Bennet for a dance?”
Darcy tented his fingers. He was well aware of Georgiana’s attempt to gauge his attitude. His sister was fond of discovering how he felt about this or that and particularly curious regarding any ladies she encountered.
“There are so many Bennets,” he said, smiling, “one would ha
rdly know where to begin.”
“Begin with Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” Georgiana said. She paused and said, “Ah, I see you knew my meaning and would tease me. I did not wish to pry or discomfit you.”
Darcy did not answer, certain that his sister had more to say.
“I only mention Miss Bennet because, well because, she is so wonderful. She really is, do not you think? Oh, I know there are certain to be hundreds of ladies in London that you might consider above her. But I cannot agree. She puts one at ease and is very easy to confide in.”
Darcy was taken aback by her words. He had observed that Georgiana had become fond of Elizabeth Bennet, but he had not guessed she was this fond.
“Only think,” Georgiana went on, “how clever and kind she is. Pretty, too.”
“Georgiana,” Darcy said, holding up a hand, “I do not dispute that Miss Bennet is all you say. However, if you look to promote any sort of…alliance, I cannot allow you to go further with it. You know what is expected of me.”
Georgiana looked down at her hands and was silent for a moment. Then she looked up defiantly. “She is far better suited to you than some others. I only wish you would have a care for your own happiness.”
Darcy thought to answer her but saw that his sister had paled and looked near tears. She leapt up and dashed from the room.
He watched his sister flee with some amazement. It was not often that Georgiana would argue a point, and only when she felt strongly about it. Though when she did take up a dispute, she had a will of iron about it. The last had been when a maid at Pemberley had dropped a basket full of wood on his foot. Later, he’d made an offhand remark that she ought to be dismissed. He’d not even particularly meant it, though before he could say so he’d been lectured on how hard the girl’s job was and how uncomplaining she went about it and he ought to think of what would happen to her if she were dismissed, because she might very well starve. Georgiana had not been mollified until she was assured that the girl was not to be dismissed and would be free to drop baskets of wood on his feet for the rest of her life.
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