by Pamela Aidan
One of the letters fell from his hand. Darcy bent wearily and retrieved it, then sat once more on the chair Fletcher had thoughtfully positioned and brought Georgiana’s letter up to the fading light. He hoped that all was well, at least, with her.
January 15, 1812
Erewile House
Grosvenor Square
London
Dear Fitzwilliam,
I write to assure you that I am as well and happy as may be without your company, my own dearest brother. Your friend Lord Brougham visited yesterday to assure himself that I am not languishing for company and to fulfill your charge, so he says, that he care for my welfare. Our Aunt and Uncle Matlock were visiting when he came and were quite charmed with His Lordship and, as he is your particular friend, have given him permission to act as escort along with Cousin Richard whenever they are called away to their own affairs. I must, with shame, confess that you were quite correct about Lord Brougham, and that you have once again chosen well. His Lordship is not so much a fribble as was my first impression. We have discoursed sensibly on any number of topics, and he has promised to squire me to lectures and private concerts that I had never dreamed to have the privilege to attend. His care for my happiness and schemes for the broadening of my mind are such that it is almost like having you with me, Brother.
I hope that you are enjoying your stay at Norwycke Castle and that Lord Sayre and his guests are the excellent, stimulating company you so enjoy. But, dearest Fitzwilliam, I am selfish enough to wish that you are not having so enjoyable a visit that you will extend it too far behind the date you had set for your return. Although Lord Brougham is very kind, I miss you…dreadfully.
With prayers for your safe return,
Georgiana
Darcy carefully refolded the letter and set it on the small lamp table nearby the bed. Dear Georgiana! It was wonderful how her sisterly words served to steady him. She missed him “dreadfully,” even with Dy’s overcareful attention to her well-being. And what did Dy mean by all this attention? Doing it rather brown, wasn’t he?
The room was now in shadows; a lamp would be needed if he were to apprise himself of the contents of Brougham’s letter. Darcy rose, lit the lamp by the bed, and took up his friend’s missive as he settled once more into the chair.
January 15, 1812
Erewile House
Grosvenor Square
London
Darcy,
Pardon me for using your stationery, old man, but I knew I must write you straightaway. You have landed yourself in a nest of vipers, my friend, for a greater collection of knaves, rascals, and simpletons could not be gathered from among our old schoolmates than are at Sayre’s for this “do.” I poked around Town after you left on Monday and found that Sayre is in the very devil of a fix — in a word, deep in Dun’s territory — but his creditors are strangely silent on the matter. Only the merest whisper of a legacy through a sister’s marriage could I turn up as reason for their odd restraint in bringing the matter of his debts to the authorities.
Had you any notion of a sister when we were at University? For I surely did not! Step carefully, my friend, for something havey cavey is afoot at Norwycke! I would advise you to come back to London directly!
Miss Darcy is well and, I must add, delightful! What a credible job of raising her you have done, old man! I predict that she will have a very successful Season next year, but few, if any, of the young cubs in Town will interest her. They’ll bore her into the ground or disgust her with their manners and “gentlemanly” pursuits.
Whatever your reasons for going to Norwycke, take my advice, Darcy, and come home.
Dy
P.S. By the by, why did you ever allow your cousin to offer for Felicia? She is still determined to have you, you know!
With an oath, Darcy crumpled the sheet and shied it into the fire of the hearth. “Tell me something I do not know!” Everywhere he turned, the same message greeted him. Leave Norwycke! But he could not leave. Not only did courtesy demand it, but the weather was against him in every way. The chamber clock struck out four, and at precisely the last note, a knock sounded at the dressing room door.
“Do you desire anything before going down to tea, Mr. Darcy?” Fletcher bowed after Darcy’s call to enter.
“Why, yes, Fletcher,” Darcy replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “See about getting the snow to stop, there’s a good man!”
“The snow, sir?” Fletcher’s puzzled countenance changed to one of concern. “Your letters, Mr. Darcy! Nothing amiss, I hope!”
“Not in London! All that is amiss is located precisely where we stand.” Darcy laughed ironically. “It would appear that even Lord Brougham bids me hie myself away from here posthaste, for in his words, I am ‘landed in a nest of vipers’!”
“An apt description, sir!” Fletcher nodded sagely.
“Yes, well — I cannot hie myself away, can I? This blasted snow!” He walked over to the window where Fletcher joined him and both cast an eye upward.
“Well.” Fletcher sighed as he drew back from the sill. “I can do no more than any mortal about the weather and that is to pray Providence for it to cease.” Darcy snorted at his words. “Do you go down to tea, sir?”
“Yes, I suppose I must.” Darcy saw and raised Fletcher’s sigh. “I require nothing at present.” He looked back at his valet from the bedchamber doorway but paused on the threshold, struck by something he had forgotten. “Except that you have a care when you go about belowstairs. When you interrupted us in the gallery, the old woman cast you a murderous look. Considering my foolish behavior, she may well blame you for her mistress’s loss of my name and fortune.”
“I will, sir,” Fletcher replied solemnly, “and you, Mr. Darcy, should exercise like caution. For when the lady realizes that she has truly lost the game, I would assume the same prospects for your own comfort.”
Chapter 10
That Perilous Stuff
Tea was already begun, all of the gentlemen being well into their biscuits and cakes when Darcy strode through the drawing room doors. A brisk survey of the room revealed that all save one of Sayre’s guests and relatives were present; even the timorous Miss Avery was in attendance. The only member of the party missing was Lady Sylvanie, and her absence at this time Darcy could not but count as a blessing. The gentlemen greeted him with enthusiasm and the ladies hardly less so. Lady Sayre cast him a languid smile as he approached the tea table, but when he extended his hand for his cup, a graceful feminine one intervened.
“Lady Felicia.” Darcy acknowledged her with a grimace that he transformed into the slightest of polite smiles.
“Mr. Darcy, allow me,” she said, taking his cup and amending it with sugar and cream. “No one has seen you for an age today, sir.” She smiled archly as she offered him his tea. “Last night’s gaming or Sayre’s fine spirits?”
“Neither, my lady,” Darcy replied tersely to her assumption of intemperance. Then, with a satirical lift of a brow, “I have been exploring the castle. Lady Sylvanie was so kind as to offer herself and her companion as guides.”
The shadow of pique that he knew would appear did so in a brief flash, but the lady swiftly regained her composure. “Ah, Lady Sylvanie and her companion? Surely Lord Sayre or Trenholme would be a more informative guide. Lord Sayre!” she called over Darcy’s shoulder.
“My lady?” Sayre joined them.
“Mr. Darcy has been on tour!”
“On tour? Of the castle?” Sayre regarded him warily. “I would not wander far, Darcy. This place is a veritable rabbit warren, and one can get turned about very easily. Bev or I would be glad to show you round.” His face suddenly brightened. “In fact, that is a capital idea!” He turned to the rest of the room. “Shall we make a party tomorrow afternoon before tea? What say you?” The agreement with his plan was general, if lacking in enthusiasm, but enough was expressed to set the event into motion.
“Where did you go, may I ask?” Sayre turned back to Darcy.
“Everywhere, it seemed: the ballroom, the gallery…Lady Sylvanie was an admirable guide for one so long separated from her home,” Darcy replied lightly as he waited for his host’s reaction.
“Yes, well…her mother, you see. Irish woman.” Sayre stumbled through his explanation. “When my father passed on, she wanted nothing more than to return to her own people. Couldn’t abide England, she said, without my father.”
“I see,” Darcy replied meditatively. “It may well be my lamentable memory,” he returned, availing himself of one of Dy’s disarming expressions, “but I cannot recall the merest mention of a stepmama or sister while we were at school or University. How came that to be, do you suppose?”
“Been wondering about that myself,” Monmouth broke in on his way back from the plates of cake. “The lady is a beauty, Sayre, nothing to be ashamed of, surely! Beauty is an asset to any man, sister or wife, is what I always say. Unless you’ve been hiding her on purpose, Sayre!” He looked at him curiously. “Big trout on the line, old man? Don’t want any little ’uns snatching the bait, is that it?” Lady Felicia laughed nervously at Monmouth’s witticism, her eyes examining Darcy with trepidation.
“Monmouth!” Sayre growled, his face growing red, “I’d forgotten how vulgar you can be! Really, my Lord!”
Monmouth took no offense but merely grinned at Darcy. “I am right, you see, Darcy. Wouldn’t be at all surprised that the big trout is you! Although,” he tossed back to Sayre, “I might do in a pinch. Title, you see. But the ready is better, and Darcy is a surer card than yours truly.” Monmouth sketched them a bow. “My Lady, Sayre.” He then winked at Darcy. “Beware, Darcy, unless you have determined to have the lady. And if you have not, send her my way, there’s a good fellow.” Stuffing another piece of cake into his grinning mouth, the Viscount moved on.
Darcy smiled thoughtfully at Sayre before excusing himself to the table of biscuits. After securing a nice selection of the confections, he ignored Lady Felicia’s look of invitation and took instead a seat beside the lately recovered Miss Avery. Here, at least, was safety, for the shy girl offered him no more conversation than a grateful smile and a soft greeting. Unfortunately, they were not to be left alone. He had barely consumed one biscuit and enjoyed one sip of tea when Miss Farnsworth and Mr. Poole approached them.
“Darcy, Miss Avery.” Poole bowed. “So glad to see you recovered, Miss Avery. It must have been a terrible fright….” He let the sentence dangle, a hopeful gleam in his eye.
Miss Avery drew back and looked in confusion to Darcy who, with a severe look answered on her behalf. “Yes, it was, Poole; and very ungentlemanly of you to bring it up.”
“But, Darcy,” Poole protested, his voice rising, “no one will tell what happened! I call it a damned scurvy affair when a man’s friends won’t tell him what caused a lady in their company to fall into blind hysterics and three of them to look like they’d seen the Devil!”
Hearing Poole’s outburst, Manning came swiftly to his sister’s side and, taking her hand, turned to Poole. “It is not a fit subject for the ladies, Poole.” He glared at him.
“How can that be, as it all began with a lady?” interposed Miss Farnsworth. Her chin came up with unbecoming stubbornness, her eyes glittering with an eager curiosity. “Miss Avery survived the sight; may not we survive the hearing?”
“Miss Farnsworth, I hardly think —”
“That may be so, Baron,” she interrupted haughtily, “but I am not alone among the ladies in desiring an explanation of what happened at the Stones. Come, we are sensible women all,” she cajoled, “and have heard any number of ghost stories since childhood. We are not so easily frightened.” She looked about the room and focused on the house’s younger son. “Mr. Trenholme!” Trenholme returned her regard cautiously. “You began the excursion with the story of the Whispering Knights. Will you end your tale with the truth of what occurred at the King’s Stone?”
Trenholme cleared his throat. “I would prefer not, Miss Farnsworth. A tale is one thing; what was out there was quite another.”
Lady Felicia, shivering delicately at his words, linked arms with her cousin. “My dear Judith, I find I am all the greater intrigued! Mr. Trenholme refuses to give satisfaction. That leaves only Manning and Darcy to relieve our curiosity.” They turned together toward the two men. “How shall we persuade them?” Lady Chelmsford and Lady Beatrice then added their requests to those of the younger women, but Darcy noticed that Lady Sayre did not join them. Instead, she, Trenholme, and Sayre exchanged furtive glances.
“No!” The word rang out in the drawing room and the insistence of the two men ceased. In amazement the room turned to the speaker and waited. “I-I will t-tell what hap-happened.” Miss Avery was pale, but a tenacity akin to her brother’s seemed to animate her before their eyes.
“Bella, it is not wise,” Manning declared.
“I l-left my brother’s side in some distress,” Miss Avery began, placing her hand on Manning’s arm for support, “and ran to the b-big stone so that no one could observe my discomposure. I ran…p-past the stone but stumbled a few feet away. As I recovered my b-balance, I turned and saw it.” Miss Avery stopped and closed her eyes. A great, tremulous sigh escaped her. “On the g-ground…at the foot of the stone lay a b-bloody bundle of swaddling that looked, for all the world, like an in-infant…a babe!” She looked up at her listeners. “It had been offered up, like in the Bible, like those horrible Philistines! Oh, George!” She turned then, shaking violently, into her brother’s embrace.
Horrified cries from the ladies rent the air as Miss Avery’s allusion was finally understood. Darcy leaned forward, alert to the various reactions to the young woman’s tale, as even the confident Miss Farnsworth turned pale and, abandoning her cousin, leaned on Poole, who himself was visibly shaken. “Good God,” he swore in a strangled voice, “you don’t mean a human sacrifice!” The room was quickly in an uproar at his voicing of what was in all their minds. Monmouth no longer grinned but wore instead a very solemn, shocked expression. Poole set Miss Farnsworth in a chair and rounded on his object. “Trenholme,” he demanded, his voice rising, “what is the meaning of this! You knew the danger and yet would not say!”
“Get ahold of yourself, Poole,” Trenholme hissed. “You always were a hen-hearted little cawker! What good would telling you have done? D’you think someone’s going to creep into the castle and gut you in your bed, man?” When Poole burbled his attempt to respond, Trenholme shook him off. “Besides, as Darcy will testify, it weren’t a babe. It was a piglet from the farms. It only looked like an infant.”
“A piglet?” Monmouth entered the fray. “A piglet in swaddling, Trenholme? A rather gruesome trick.”
Trenholme’s face darkened. “Trick! How dare you, sir!”
“Bev!” Lord Sayre addressed his brother with a firm and, Darcy suspected, restraining hold upon his shoulder.
“Damn me, Sayre, if I’ll take the blame for this!” Trenholme twisted from his grasp and stalked to the fire.
“I’ve begun inquiries in the villages surrounding Chipping Norton.” Sayre looked first at Poole and Monmouth before turning to address the entire company. “But unfortunately, the weather has impeded those efforts, and I expect that nothing will be known for several days. So distressing were the details of this horrific discovery that I determined nothing should be said about it. Beverly was merely obeying my wishes in the matter. It is my doing entirely that you were not apprised of the particulars.”
Mollified by Sayre’s apology, Monmouth inclined his head and lifted his tea to his lips, but Poole was not appeased. “My lord, your inquiries aside, what does it mean? It was not done for nothing!”
“How should I know, Poole?” Sayre answered, more than a hint of affront in his voice. “I know nothing of the Old Ways, so my opinion would be no more than a guess. In all probability, it is the work of some poor, desperate creature and for a reason to be found only in a deranged mind. But I can assure you
, sir, you are safe at Norwycke Castle.” Sayre’s assurances, though thin, were eagerly seized upon by the majority for the sake of the evening if not for their own merits, and the company broke once more into conversational groups. Trenholme, though, remained at the fire and nursed his tea, a grim expression upon his face.
They know! Darcy was certain of it. Sayre, Trenholme, perhaps even Lady Sayre. They know who did it and probably why. The story about making inquiries was a tale, invented to fob off just such objections as were raised while protecting their interests. Which were what, exactly? As he worked on his tea and cake, Darcy sifted through the pieces of information he’d acquired and came up with only one answer, the perpetual one — money! But the answer did nothing to paste the pieces together into a recognizable image.
Miss Avery sat down once again beside him, shunning the false sympathy of the ladies for a quiet corner and another cup of tea. Manning stood by her like a guard dog, daring anyone to press his sister further on the matter. “I am indebted to you, again, Darcy,” he offered quietly. Their eyes met in silent understanding over the top of Miss Avery’s braided hair. “Since you’ve had the tour,” Manning continued disinterestedly, “perhaps you would fancy another round of billiards. Allow me the opportunity to even the score, so to speak.” Manning’s choice of words and the lift of brow at the last clearly signaled his desire for private conversation.
“I am most obliged, Manning,” Darcy replied to his curious offer.
“As soon as my sister joins Sayre’s tour tomorrow, then?”
Darcy nodded. “I shall meet you in the billiard room.”
“Excellent!” Manning replied evenly. Speaking low to Miss Avery, he helped her to rise; and after making their apologies to Sayre, he escorted her from the room.
“Pardon me, sir, but you must remain quite still, with your head held so.” Fletcher nudged Darcy’s chin a degree higher and, taking the ends of the neckcloth once more in hand, began the first intricate fold of his masterpiece. Darcy rolled his eyes in frustrated submission but did not dare to reply for fear doing so would necessitate that the torturous procedure begin again with another fresh cloth. He had promised Fletcher, he reminded himself grimly, and tonight, his valet had declared, was the night that The Roquet should make its appearance.
