The Lady's Jewels

by Perpetua Langley

  “I would have, had I known you planned to arrive,” Bingley said drily.

  Darcy suppressed his laughter. It was true that he had not initially been in favor of the match, that he had thought Bingley might do better. However, it seemed that Jane Bennet had done what Darcy had sought and failed to do these many years. She had made a man of his friend. Bingley could not have done any better than that.

  Brava, Jane Bennet.

  There was a tension in the air in the war room. At least, Elizabeth felt it so. Upon their arrival, Miss Bingley had rushed to Jane and now remained by her side as Mr. Bingley looked on. She was all friendly condescension and took to advising Jane on where best to purchase her wedding trousseau in London. Miss Bingley insisted she ought to help with the project and then attempted to bring Miss Darcy into the scheme. Miss Darcy smiled, though she appeared uneasy.

  Elizabeth guessed that Mr. Bingley had some words with his sister, as her demeanor was entirely changed from the day before. Still, there was that undercurrent of tight politeness Miss Bingley could not quite hide, and Elizabeth knew that Jane would feel it too.

  For herself, Elizabeth studiously avoided Mr. Darcy’s eye. Now that she had admitted to herself that there may be, that there were, feelings in that direction, she would do everything in her power to avoid encouraging them in herself. It was imperative that she not indulge them further. She had never considered whether one might direct one’s feelings to one’s satisfaction, but she was determined to try it.

  Mr. Quinn, of anybody, seemed not at all affected by the mood of the room, but rather happily conversed with Charlotte.

  Lady Castlereagh swept in and said, “Well? How do we proceed, Mr. Quinn?”

  Mr. Quinn reluctantly left Charlotte and went to the head of the table. “My lady, we now know who the culprit is. We know he intends to harm you further. We have, even now, sent word to Lord Castlereagh and to Loring Hall, and your Freddie will be on his way here from Eaton. We do not, as of yet, understand the man’s motives, though we suspect them to be political. Our job now is to find him. He may still be in the area, but we must not assume that. He has shown himself to be clever and so might be anywhere. I would propose we take a sketch of him to a printer so that we may be able to distribute copies far and wide. I would send them to the ports, naturally, then we might also send them round to every place he may have been, Meryton, Eton, Grosvenor Square etcetera.”

  “Very sensible, Mr. Quinn,” Lady Castlereagh said.

  “Now,” Mr. Quinn continued, “Lady Castlereagh may provide a description of the man’s features and we need only to find our artist. I wonder if either of the Miss Bennets might be prevailed upon?”

  “Heavens, no, Mr. Quinn,” Elizabeth said. “My skill in drawing cannot be at all relied on. I might draw a daisy and have you looking for a tulip.”

  “I am no better,” Jane said. “I might be able to provide you with a serviceable landscape, but I cannot at all execute the human form.”

  “We do have an expert in the room, however,” Elizabeth said. “She will not own it, but Charlotte is exceedingly skilled at faces.”

  Charlotte blushed and put her head down.

  “Is this true, Miss Lucas?” Mr. Quinn asked.

  Charlotte looked up. “I ought to demur, I know. I ought to claim I am only an amateur. However, in light of the gravity of this situation, I shall force myself to own it. I am quite skilled.”

  “Excellent!” Mr. Quinn cried. “Of course, Miss Lucas is our artist. She is a scribe and an artist. Very good. Choose your paper, Miss Lucas, and Lady Castlereagh will direct you.”

  Charlotte was prepared in moments, however when it came to Lady Castlereagh relaying the specifics of Mr. Cratchet’s features, the lady found she was at a loss.

  “It is very hard to describe him, I find,” Lady Castlereagh said. “He was as any nonentity of a gentleman would appear. One might see a dozen of them taking up the walks on Bond Street.”

  “Warpole had the same difficulty, I’m afraid,” Mr. Quinn said, appearing puzzled. “And somehow Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley never laid eyes on the man.” His brow cleared and he said, “Though Warpole did mention that the maids found him to be handsome. Perhaps your Jenny might be able to assist.”

  Lady Castlereagh nodded and Jenny was sent for. The lady’s maid entered the room cautiously, never having been called into a dining room by her mistress. “Yes, my lady?” she said.

  “Jenny,” Lady Castlereagh said, “I wish you to stand next to Miss Lucas and describe Mr. Cratchet so that she might draw a fair sketch of him. Can you do it?”

  Jenny was all confusion and Elizabeth got the feeling that she was afraid she was to be accused of some impropriety. “Jenny,” she said, “we have discovered that it was Mr. Cratchet who stole the jewels. We must have an accurate description of him, as it is only you and Lady Castlereagh who have seen him.”

  “Mr. Cratchet?” Jenny said. “Well I never.”

  “Do overcome your shock, Jenny,” Lady Castlereagh said. “Now is not the time for wonderment. After you have finished assisting us, you will have all the time in the world to have a detailed discussion with the rest of the servants on this particular development.”

  “I won’t never gossip, my lady,” Jenny cried.

  Lady Castlereagh waved her hand dismissively. “Of course, you will,” she said. “I have been told all about it by Mr. Quinn and have been assured that this news shall travel all over England in a thrice.”

  Jenny did not have an answer to that, as she would know it was all too true. Elizabeth suspected that Jenny would write to her family that very night, and she could only guess at the embellishments the maid might add to the story.

  Jenny hurried over to Charlotte and they began their work. As Charlotte attempted an eye, Jenny said it ought to be rounder. They worked for quite some time on the chin, which was rather square, and then to the cheeks and lips. The brow was to be distinctive, with an arch. The hair had a slight wave to it.

  All the while, Elizabeth studiously gazed out the window, while Miss Bingley chattered on about fabrics for a wedding dress.

  After some time had passed, Jenny said, “That’s him, miss. You have got Mr. Cratchet right there on the paper.”

  Mr. Quinn came and examined the sketch, then took information from Jenny as to eye color, hair color and height, those facts neatly recorded at the bottom of the sketch, along with the address of one of Mr. Quinn’s associates who might be relied upon to send word if somebody were to report knowledge of the gentleman’s whereabouts.

  Jenny was dismissed, so that she might run to the kitchens and repeat everything she’d heard and perhaps a few things she hadn’t.

  “I will send this to my London printer in all haste,” Mr. Quinn said, “but not before passing it round the table. We must all be on our guard and keep our eyes open for this individual.”

  Elizabeth turned from the window, exceedingly interested to view the sketch. They had worked for so long to unravel the mystery and now she would see the man who was the cause of it all. She was surprised to find Mr. Darcy had placed himself in the chair next to her, as when she had initially turned away from the table, he had been on the other side of the room.

  Lady Castlereagh looked at it and nodded. “Goodness, that is very like. I feel silly that I could not describe him, but now that I see him, I recognize him.” She passed the sketch to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth examined it. The drawing showed a handsome individual, with perhaps the most striking features being his arched brow and square chin. She committed the face to memory and passed it on to Mr. Darcy.

  Mr. Darcy’s fingers brushed her own. She was startled by it, as it seemed purposefully done. She quickly folded her hands in her lap and faced forward.

  “Good Lord,” Mr. Darcy said.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw the paper flutter to the table. She turned and looked at Mr. Darcy. The man appeared to have seen a ghost.

&nbs
p; “That is George Wickham,” he said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Wickham?” Bingley cried, racing over to the sketch. “By my life, that is Wickham. Had he been in the house all along and we did not see him?”

  “That rogue,” Darcy muttered. “Of course, he would have avoided us.”

  Elizabeth did not who George Wickham was, but she instantly noted that Miss Darcy did. The lady appeared rather faint.

  Elizabeth rose and hurried over to her.

  Bingley said, “Wickham has long been connected to the Darcy family. He found some favor with Darcy’s father, but has since gone bad. Very bad.”

  Miss Darcy looked even more alarmed at Mr. Bingley’s assessment.

  Elizabeth said softly, “Miss Darcy, would Mr. Wickham by any chance be the gentleman you exchanged letters with?”

  Miss Darcy nodded.

  Elizabeth turned to Mr. Quinn and said, “It is clear, through Mr. Darcy’s recognition of this man, and his history with him, that it is Mr. Darcy that is the target, not Lady Castlereagh. I presume, when this individual thought of Mr. Darcy’s most precious possession, he could only mean Miss Darcy.”

  “That is a bit of a leap, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Quinn said. “I do not think that just because this fellow was known to Mr. Darcy and that Mr. Darcy knows him to be a rogue, that we can assume Lady Castlereagh is not his target. He may have been led to the lady through Mr. Darcy. That might be the whole of it.”

  “But I am certain that is not the whole of it,” Elizabeth said firmly.

  “How can you be certain?” Mr. Quinn inquired.

  Georgiana leapt up. “Miss Bennet is right. I must confess. I must tell my brother everything. George began writing me letters, with the envelopes appearing to be from Miss Chapman, who Mrs. Annesley knows and approves of. They were friendly letters, joking, as he liked to do when we were younger. I really did not see the harm in it. Until his last letter, which was altogether different. He suggested that we elope to Scotland. I burned them all and did not answer.”

  Mr. Darcy had paled.

  “I am sorry, brother. I did so wish to tell you, but I very much feared you would challenge him, and he has been in the army! How would I go on if you were killed over some silliness of mine? I could not bear it. I have lost both mama and papa and you are all I have left. I could not risk that you be taken from me.”

  Mr. Darcy rushed to his sister’s side. “You are not to blame yourself, Georgiana. Mrs. Annesley might have read your letters, but I see why she did not, believing them to be from Miss Chapman.”

  “But if I am not to blame, who is to blame?” Miss Darcy asked. “It is certainly my own fault. I should have showed the very first one to Mrs. Annesley and she would have stopped me from answering. And now to think, all of this trouble has been caused by my own stupidity.”

  “Indeed, Mrs. Annesley would have put an end to it, had she known,” Mr. Darcy said. “It is unfortunate that she did not, but nevertheless, you must remember you are but fifteen. You are not expected to know the intentions of somebody like George Wickham. He took advantage of your youth and innocence. You are not to punish yourself any further for it. I consider myself at fault for keeping from you the knowledge that he had gone bad.”

  “And you will not dismiss Mrs. Annesley over it?”

  Darcy smiled. “I do not dare, as I know your arguments against it would go on longer than I could hold up against. In any case, I do not expect the lady to be prescient. If I did not expect danger from that quarter, I do not see how she could have done.”

  “I am much relieved to hear it. And dear Lady Castlereagh,” Miss Darcy said, “can you ever forgive me causing your jewels to be lost and your person injured? And your coachman and grooms nearly died in the cellar! Oh, it is too much to ask, I am sure.”

  “There now, Georgiana,” Lady Castlereagh said. “I have known you since you were a young girl of seven. I have no children of my own and you are very like a daughter to me. What would I not forgive you for? Who would I send little presents to when the mood struck? What other lively young lady would I have in my house to serve me company when my lord is away? You are not to torture yourself over this, I would not like it.”

  Miss Darcy brushed away her tears and Elizabeth thought she appeared lighter in spirit than she had.

  Darcy turned to Mr. Quinn. “I did not see the significance of it this morning, but I received a letter from Pemberley. Wickham stays in the village. He told a maid he waits for my return, but that same maid informed him that my sister would likely return soon. I think we can guess his purpose. He thinks Georgiana will arrive before I do and he will attempt to convince her in person of what he could not convince her of by letter. The jewels were to finance his villainous plan until he could secure Georgiana’s dowry.”

  “He is depraved!” Mr. Bingley cried.

  “And he is determined to injure Darcy,” Quinn said thoughtfully. “He has taken enormous risks to make it very personal.”

  “To think of taking advantage of a girl so young,” Lady Castlereagh said, shaking her head.

  “But he has not been successful,” Mr. Quinn said thoughtfully. “And, if I know the criminal mind the way I think I do, he has got Lady Castlereagh’s jewels with him. He would not trust to leave them anywhere and he would wish to have them at the ready at his moment to fly.”

  “Let us go and apprehend him,” Darcy said. “It is not enough now to only recover the jewels. He must be prosecuted so that he does no harm to any other innocent person.”

  “Oh Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana said, “must you go after him? Might you not send men in your place?”

  “I must go,” Mr. Darcy said resolutely. “I will take the hired men with me, as they are no longer needed here. They are twelve strong men and Wickham will pose no danger to me.”

  “I will go with you,” Mr. Bingley said to his friend.

  Jane appeared stricken by this, but she said nothing.

  Mr. Quinn said, “I will remain here. I would only slow your journey as I am no match for your horsemanship. I shall send word to my contacts at the Scottish border to watch for him, just in case he gets away from you.”

  Arrangements were hastily made to recall the men guarding Longbourn and to saddle all the horses. Amidst the uproar, Elizabeth determined to speak to Mr. Darcy. She had known of the letters from Wickham and she had advised Miss Darcy to keep her own counsel. Now, she thought she had been very wrong to do so. What might have happened if Miss Darcy had returned to Pemberley? Would this man have attempted to convince Miss Darcy to run off with him, or would he have kidnapped her?

  Mr. Darcy was in the hall, having just sent his man to pack some things. Seizing her moment, Elizabeth said, “Mr. Darcy. I would speak with you.”

  Mr. Darcy turned and looked at her intently. So intently that it almost frightened her.

  She took a deep breath and said, “Miss Darcy confided in me about the letters, and about her fear that you would challenge this man. She felt you would place yourself in very grave danger. Knowing of a similar situation, and a gentleman of my acquaintance killed, I advised her to say nothing unless another letter were to arrive. I am very sorry I did so, but it sounded like some youthful nonsense that was not at all worth dying over.”

  There. She had said it. Now she would brace herself for his wrath.

  Mr. Darcy was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Ah. I will presume that is why she told me you were easy to confide in.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I expect so. I saw that something distressed her and I pressed her on it.”

  “I would have wished to know of the letters,” Mr. Darcy said. “Though my sister’s fears were not unfounded. I might well have challenged him, having no particular legal recourse. He has spent some years in the army and is reputed to be an expert marksman, so I cannot say what the outcome might have been.”

  Elizabeth curtsied and turned, thinking to hurry away at this opportune moment. She had said what needed to b
e said and it was perhaps well that Mr. Darcy had much else to think of just now.

  “Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said, “stay a moment.”

  Oh, dear. She was not to get away so easily.

  “This is perhaps not the most fortuitous moment, but I wanted to express…certain sentiments. You are aware, I think, of my family’s standing. I had thought for some time that I must marry a lady with certain qualities. She must be elegant and well connected. She must be strictly unimpeachable in her behavior.”

  Elizabeth stared at Mr. Darcy. What on earth was he trying to say?

  “Naturally,” Mr. Darcy went on, “I could not imagine myself connected to…well. A lady who would do such things as ride out without a groom and jump fences and countenance insolence from a groom. And of course, there was the level of society to think of. My father married the daughter of an earl, after all.”

  Elizabeth felt herself stung sharply. It was a terrible thing to possess feelings for a man who thought so poorly of oneself. Mr. Darcy had just seen fit to list a litany of what was wrong with Elizabeth Bennet, in his view.

  “Now I find that I am willing to throw all that to the four winds,” Mr. Darcy said. “You must know, that it is entirely out of my control. I have no command over the feelings that have overtaken me. Miss Bennet, will you agree to be my wife?”

  Elizabeth experienced a feeling rather like lead settling in her stomach. Mr. Darcy would propose marriage to a lady he thoroughly disapproved of, as he had no control over it. She had known that he did not approve of some of her ways of going on, but now she was to discover that she was altogether unsuitable. Her family was not enough highly placed. She was not elegant. He proposed against his will. Against his better judgment and what he thought he deserved.

  What sort of marriage could that be? Would it be a year? Two years? How long before his misgivings overtook him and he regretted his rash decision?

  No. It could be no marriage at all.