“I am, sir,” Warpole answered. “What has become of Lady Castlereagh? I must know it, the thought of what has befallen her has tortured me since that door to the cellar shut closed. Tell me the worst!”
“Your mistress is perfectly well,” Darcy answered. “It was only her jewels, and yourselves, that disappeared.”
“The jewels,” Warpole said. “Didn’t I know it? Didn’t I say it? Damn that Cratchet!”
“Cratchet? It was Cratchet?” Quinn said. He slapped his head. “My instincts told me not to dismiss him. I should not have done it, even though all signs pointed to Warpole as the thief.”
“Me!” Warpole cried.
“Now, now, good fellow,” Mr. Quinn said in a reassuring tone, “we see that ‘twas not the case and you’ll be pleased to know that Lady Castlereagh never quite believed it.”
“’Course she couldn’t,” one of the boys piped up. “Warpole is the greatest coachman what ever lived.”
“That’s on the nose,” the other one said, “he done kept us alive all this time. We said, let’s eat everything in that there basket and he said, no you don’t boys. We can’t know how long we’re gonna be here.”
“That’s right,” the other said, “we stretched it out ‘til yesterday and that was the last of the bread, then we put all them empty bottles in there to keep the place orderly.”
“Orderly,” the other boy said, waving an arm dramatically. “That’s what we done. I looked to relieve meself anyplace at all like I do out the house, and he said no, this is Lord and Lady Castlereagh’s property and we gots to keep it as clean as is possible.” The boy pointed to where the odor seemed to be emanating and said, “So we went there, all neat-like.”
Darcy pressed his lips together. The two boys seemed to have as much to say as the Bennets’ upstart groom. He supposed they at least had an excuse, as they’d been drinking Lord Castlereagh’s wine.
Mr. Quinn said, “So Mr. Cratchet left you food. He meant to keep you alive, then. Interesting—it is a clue to consider. He is a thief, but apparently he draws the line at murder.”
“He left a note,” Warpole said. “He didn’t say what was in it, he just thought it amusing that ‘twas over there where we couldn’t reach it.”
Warpole pointed across the cellar to a folded paper resting on a far rack of wine.
“Perhaps he kept you here and alive so you could direct us to it,” Quinn said, holding up a candle and making his way toward it. “I do not see how we’d have found it otherwise.” He unfolded the paper. “All it says is ‘the jewels were necessary so that I might afford to take a most precious possession.’
Mr. Quinn paused, thinking. “We have much to consider. Though first, we’d best find tools to break these shackles. I expect these three would appreciate a bath and—”
“No!” both boys cried out in unison.
“And,” Mr. Quinn said with determination, “a hearty meal, clean clothes and a warm bed.”
“Yes!” the boys cried.
Warpole smacked the one nearest to him and said, “Settle yourselves. If I say you’re goin’ in the bath, then that’s where you’re going.”
Both boys wiped their runny noses on their sleeves and said, “Yes, sir.”
Darcy, Bingley and Quinn tried every tool they could find to break the shackles, all to no avail. Mr. Quinn finally walked next door and paid a groom, sending word to an associate who had skill with the particular problem. While they waited, Quinn sent another of Lord Dunston’s boys out to get meat pies and ale for the coachman and grooms, which they consumed gratefully. Then he covered them with blankets to shield them from the cold.
The man arriving at Quinn’s request was a rough sort, and Darcy had no trouble believing he had experience breaking from shackles. It would not have surprised him to be told that Jones, as he said his name was, had recently liberated himself from Newgate. It had taken nearly an hour to do the thing and Jones said he would send Mr. Quinn his bill before putting his tools away and sauntering off. The man never even asked why they should have three persons shackled in a cellar.
Darcy and Bingley had been left in the kitchen with the task of heating water and preparing a bath. Darcy decided that was too ridiculous and marched over to his own house, bringing back Cartwright and a couple of footmen to oversee the operation. He was glad he did, as they thought of details that had not occurred to him, such as soap and clean clothes and how one ought to gauge the temperature. Cartwright also suggested that the cellar need be cleaned with hot water and lye to return it to its usual condition and sent off for maids. If there were one thing Darcy had learned from this day, it was that a house ran on the skill of its staff. Everything he experienced from clean shirts to good dinners required particular steps by particular people. He supposed he’d always vaguely known it, but now he really knew it. Georgiana would be pleased, as she had so often taken up a servant’s cause and seemed to understand how the house ran so much better than he did himself.
Mr. Quinn paced the library, waiting for the emergence of Warpole from his bath. He paused occasionally, re-examining the note. Darcy and Bingley sat in chairs before the fire, which Quinn had to light after Bingley valiantly worked a flint to no avail.
“The jewels were necessary so that I might afford to take a most precious possession.” Mr. Quinn said. “It is clear that Cratchet is not done yet, but unclear what that precious possession is, and why Mr. Cratchet seeks to take it. Did either of you notice anything unusual about the fellow?”
“I never saw him,” Darcy said.
“Nor I,” Bingley said.
“That is odd,” Mr. Quinn said. “Seeing as how often you were in the house and how often Lady Castlereagh says Cratchet was in the house.”
Darcy shrugged. Even if he had seen the secretary, he would not have taken much notice of him. Further, the man was always to be found in the library and he had a vast library of his own. He did not think he’d ever even borrowed a book from Lady Castlereagh, much less be in and out of her library on a regular basis.
“It is confounding,” Mr. Quinn said. “Why should one of Lord Castlereagh’s own secretaries wish to harm Lady Castlereagh?”
“Perhaps it has to do with his work in Vienna,” Darcy said, a suspicion coming upon them that this matter might not be as simple as stolen jewels. It might have some national and political implications.
“Perhaps Mr. Cratchet is some sort of foreign agent?” Mr. Quinn said. “Perhaps the man was sent here to create chaos?”
“I am afraid that may be the case,” Darcy said.
“The facts would fit,” Mr. Quinn said. “In particular, Mr. Cratchet arrives with a letter of introduction, which might well have been forged. Lord Castlereagh’s hand is known as he is such a public figure. For why else does the man arrive at the house rather than following his lord to Vienna? Why else should Lady Castlereagh know nothing of it until the man comes to the door? And how better to look for his opportunity then by being inside the house—learning its people and rhythms and plans?”
“What do you suppose Lady Castlereagh’s most precious possession is?” Bingley asked.
“I would not know,” Mr. Quinn said, “though I do know from experience that it is not necessarily Lady Castlereagh’s most precious possession, it is the criminal’s perception of what is most precious to her. They may not be the same.”
Darcy sat up. “Even if we cannot be certain, there are some that are likely on the list and they must be warned. Lord Castlereagh and Freddie, her brother-in-law’s boy. We know where both can be found, the lord is in Vienna and Freddie is at Eton. I will write to Lord Castlereagh, as well as inform a contact of mine in government who may be able to get word there faster. I will tell my solicitor that we need a guard of six to set off for Eton immediately, collect Freddie, and bring him to Netherfield.”
“That is a good plan, Darcy,” Mr. Quinn said. “We cannot yet know the criminal’s next move but securing the people most likely to be in
danger cannot go amiss.”
Mr. Bingley had been fidgeting with the fire, which Darcy thought was all well and good after somebody else had got it lit. Bingley suddenly said, “Did I say I’m to be married?”
Mr. Quinn paused in his pacing. “You did not, good fellow! Miss Jane Bennet, I presume?”
Bingley shook his head vigorously, then glanced at Darcy.
“I know it is what you wished,” Darcy said, “and therefore I must be happy for you.”
“I hoped you would,” Bingley said, “for I am exceedingly happy for myself. I have somehow secured the most wonderful lady in England.”
“It is a fine state, marriage,” Mr. Quinn said. “I often miss the felicity of a household managed by a wife. I have lately thought…” He trailed off, then shook the paper in his hand and said, “Well, never mind what I thought. We have a case to solve.”
Mr. Darcy attempted to turn his mind to the problem at hand, or even to examine the idea that he’d not been able to turn Bingley from Jane Bennet. Yet his thoughts would continually drift toward Elizabeth Bennet. He had counted on removing himself from the danger by removing himself from the neighborhood. But now, Bingley had forevermore linked himself to the Bennets. Bingley might well settle permanently at Netherfield and if he wished to see his friend, he must see Elizabeth Bennet. He really did not know what he should do about it.
Warpole entered the drawing room, freshly scrubbed and looking more like a fine lady’s coachman than he had down in the wine cellar. He executed a short bow and said, “I’m told you wish to see me?”
“Indeed,” Mr. Quinn said. “Now that you find yourself in more comfortable circumstances, I wish to know what else you noticed about Cratchet. What did he look like?”
“Nothing in particular,” Warpole said. “He could’a been any gentleman you might pass on the street. Medium build, light brown hair. I ain’t used to judging a man’s looks, but I suppose one might say he was handsome. I remember hearing that from some of the maids, though they had no use for his temper. When Lady Castlereagh was not about, he could be sharp with them. He didn’t like to be interrupted in his work.”
“And yet,” Mr. Quinn said, “nobody knows what that work was. How did he overcome you that morning to gain control of the carriage?”
“Twern’t that morning, sir,” Warpole said. “Twas late the night before. I woke to a pistol at my forehead and he told me if I make a sound he’d fire it. Weren’t much I could do. Then he takes me into the house through the back kitchen door and down to the cellar. There I find he’s already got Willem and Johnny down there and shackled, their eyes wide as saucers. He locks me up and he shows us the note, placing it on the other side of the room. Then he tells us he’s left a guard at the top of the stairs and if we make a sound, we’ll find ourselves murdered.”
Warpole paused, then said, “I don’t believe there ever was a guard, at least, we didn’t ever hear or see one. But it kept us quiet for a time. Once we figured out that was a ruse, there wasn’t much point in making noise. We figured the house was closed, like Lady Castlereagh planned, and anyways, the whole household knows that once that door is shut, you won’t hear a sound out of it. Then we knew we’d have to just hang on until somebody opened that door. In truth, when we finished the bread yesterday, I thought it was the beginning of the end and felt mightily sorry for them two young boys. You turning up as you did was a miracle.”
“You have a certain Miss Bennet to thank for it, Warpole,” Mr. Quinn said. “I presume Mr. Cratchet knew of the wine cellar’s peculiar qualities, having been in the house so often. He must have done, to hide you there while others remained in the house. He would have known he need not even gag you to stop your mouths.”
“He might well have,” Warpole said, “one of the maids probably told him of it. Them girls did enjoy tellin’ the story of Willem goin’ missing and the big search and finding him down there. ‘Course Willem often told ‘em of the horror of the night, the darkness and the sounds he couldn’t identify and him wonderin’ if he’d ever be found before he expired and him countin’ on Lord Castlereagh’s fondness for wine to send a body down. ‘Tis almost like a ghost story to them maids.”
“And is there anything else you recall?” Mr. Quinn asked. “Anything at all?”
“I told Cratchet if he hurt one hair on my mistress’s head, I’d see to it he was punished painfully for it. He laughed and said she’d take a nap and be none the worse for it. Other than that, nothing but my own opinion of the fellow, if you care to hear it.”
“I do,” Mr. Quinn said.
“He was a smarmy type,” Warpole said. “He seemed mighty pleased with himself and I expect he views himself clever. You may know the type, Mr. Quinn, smartly dressed and to be often seen struttin’ idly down the street and thinkin’ very highly of themselves, though most of the rest of the world don’t. That’s how he seemed to me, anyway.”
“Thank you, Warpole,” Mr. Quinn said. “Darcy, if you would speak for Lady Castlereagh, I would propose giving Warpole and the grooms guest rooms inside the house for the night, and in fact, until we take them to Netherfield. I do not suppose Cratchet is anywhere nearby, but supposing is generally a mistake and Warpole’s apartments over the stables cannot be as secure as the house. In any case, considering what they’ve been through, a warm room with a good fire will do them good.”
Darcy nodded. “I will permit Warpole to take a room, and the two boys can share a bed in another. I do not believe Lady Castlereagh would at all object—she has been exceedingly worried about their fates. Further, I have instructed Wainwright to bring staff and any supplies we may need, such as dinner, so that we can all stay here tonight. There is safety in numbers and no point in separating at this point.”
Mr. Quinn nodded and said, “I will write to Mrs. Johnson and direct her to send more waistcoats, as I am in town.”
Darcy did not comment on that particular plan, he had grown used to ignoring Quinn’s apparel. That was just as well, as today he wore dogs strolling with parasols.
Warpole bowed and said, “Much obliged to you, sir. Willem and Johnny will look on it as a real adventure to sleep in a room reserved for Lady Castlereagh’s guests. I’ll do my best to scare the life out of ‘em so they don’t break anything.”
Chapter Twelve
The morning dawned bright on Longbourn and the Bennet household was not in its usual sleepy state on the day after a ball. The house was abuzz with the news of Jane’s impending marriage. Mrs. Bennet was in a state of rapture and discomfited her other daughters by continually remarking that it was all too predictable, as Jane was the beauty of the family.
Mr. Bennet was quietly pleased, and though he never commented on the problem of five unmarried daughters, Elizabeth knew that it must always weigh upon him. He would be greatly relieved to have one of them married. He would be further relieved to have that daughter marry a man with ample means to look after the rest of them, should they not marry. Mr. Bennet’s demeanor told Elizabeth that he was lighter in spirit, and he even indulged Mrs. Bennet far more than usual.
Lydia was sullen, as she often was after drinking too much wine. In truth, Elizabeth felt that Lydia’s indulgences were beginning to take a toll on her looks—her face was puffy and she was growing rather plump. Lydia grudgingly congratulated Jane, though she pointed out that Mr. Bingley did not go about in a red uniform, and so that must be held against him.
Kitty attempted her own posture of indifference, but Elizabeth suspected she was somewhat awed by the idea of Jane’s engagement. There had been so much talk of courtships and marriage and now here such a thing had actually occurred.
Mary delivered a lecture on the household duties Jane would be expected to manage, none of which Mary had ever managed herself. She was roundly ignored and finally flounced away to find a book.
Elizabeth could not be happier for Jane and welcomed the distraction of it all. There would be a wedding to plan, and the tasks of a wedding kept o
ne’s mind much engaged. She felt that would be to her benefit. What might not be to her benefit was continually finding herself in Mr. Darcy’s company. How often would that be? Would Mr. Bingley take Netherfield permanently? If he did, would Mr. Darcy visit often? She could not be separated from Jane for too long a time, and so if Mr. Darcy was often with the Bingleys he could not be avoided.
She and Jane had determined they would visit Lady Castlereagh and Miss Darcy in the afternoon to discover if there had been any word arrived from London. Elizabeth had informed the man in charge of the guard at Longbourn, who she now knew was Smith, that they would take the carriage and require an escort. It was speedily done, and they were on their way before one o’clock, leaving Mrs. Bennet to crow to Lady Lucas about Jane’s good luck.
They were led to Netherfield’s drawing room and found Lady Castlereagh and Miss Darcy together. Miss Darcy attended to her sewing and Lady Castlereagh wrote letters.
After they had sat down and tea been ordered, Elizabeth said, “I suppose it is too soon to expect news, my lady?”
“Indeed, I have heard nothing as of yet, though I know the gentlemen will send word as soon as they are able. Miss Darcy, though, has received very encouraging news.”
Elizabeth turned to Miss Darcy. She laid down her sewing and said, “I have received a letter from Mrs. Annesley. The fever has gone from Pemberley and all have come through it.”
Elizabeth smiled, pleased to see the evident relief on Miss Darcy’s features.
“That is wonderful news,” Jane said.
“And Miss Jane Bennet,” Lady Castlereagh said, “I understand you have rather momentous news yourself. Before Mr. Bingley departed, he informed me that you are to be married.”
“Yes, my lady,” Jane said shyly.
Miss Darcy was clearly delighted with the news. Lady Castlereagh said, “You and I will have a long talk before long on how to come in strong with the staff. You will want to overpower your housekeeper before she overpowers you. It is the nature of such things.”
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