Bingley expressed his apologies. “There is a matter we must see to without delay, but I will call again later with Jane.” He ushered his sister out to their waiting carriage.
Papa called after him, “Only if you and Jane agree to return to dine with us along with Mr. Darcy.” He regarded Jane with a big smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Well done, my dear. I will no longer fear others taking advantage of your kindness.”
He had heard everything. Elizabeth was glad.
Squeezing Elizabeth’s hands, Jane followed her husband to the carriage with promises of a prompt return.
Peace prevailed in the parlor again, and Elizabeth sought to pass the time as well as she could with a book.
No sooner had her father settled into his favorite chair and snapped open his newspaper than Mrs. Hill entered the room. “Mr. Bennet, might I have a word?”
Papa lowered his paper and looked about. “There is nothing you cannot say in front of Lizzy. What is troubling you, Mrs. Hill?”
“It is the new footman,” she said, wringing her hands in her apron. “He is never around when I need him, and when I send him to fetch Mr. Hill, he never manages to find him. I thought that given sufficient time, Thatcher would gain experience and perform his duties more efficiently, but a month has passed.” She shuffled her weight, took a deep breath, and added quickly, “And, now, I have reason to suspect him a thief.”
Papa set his paper aside. “What has gone missing?”
“The fine, lace tablecloth — Mrs. Bennet’s favorite — is missing. I washed it after the wedding feast and hanged it out to dry, and now it is gone.”
“I well know that tablecloth.” Papa frowned, addressing Elizabeth, “I tried to convince your mother to allow me to use it as a netting for my beekeeping wardrobe, and that was all I heard about for above a week.” He turned to Mrs. Hill. “Have you told Mrs. Bennet it is missing?”
“Not yet, sir.”
Elizabeth heard his exhale. “Good. Good. That is the wisest. There would be no peace in this household otherwise. Let us give it a couple of days and see if it turns up. In the meantime, I will speak with Thatcher.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mrs. Hill said, then hobbled away to attend to her tasks.
Papa picked up his paper, commenting under his breath, “When it rains, it pours.”
A sabotaged carriage, an interrupted wedding service, Lydia’s sudden appearance, Mr. Collins’ sighting of Mr. Wickham, Miss Bingley’s threats, and now, Mama’s treasured tablecloth was missing. Elizabeth wondered — and dreaded — what other excitement awaited.
CHAPTER 21
Darcy continued to the inn, not eager to cross his aunt but risking an encounter for the information he required. The innkeeper and barmaids were the best sources regarding the comings and goings in and around Meryton — if not through an eyewitness than through the gossip over cups which always made its way there.
The innkeeper, however, while eager to inquire how best to satisfy the demands of his difficult guest, had nothing to share about Wickham.
With a pause and a glance at the stairs leading to his aunt’s rooms, Darcy decided not to engage with her in battle while a foe ran free over the countryside.
He inquired next at the stables, but while the proprietor admitted to seeing Wickham the day of the wedding, he was also certain he saw Wickham leave forLondon on the back of a farmer’s cart shortly afterward.
Next, Darcy asked at the shops. Wickham was incapable of entering a village without running up debts. Several mentioned seeing him with Mrs. Wickham, and a few added their relief when they had then observed him leaving on the road to London soon after.
Mr. Collins must have imagined seeing Wickham.
“Thank you,” Darcy said, smacking his gloves against his hand and turning to leave.
The haberdasher fiddled with the position of his spectacles on his nose. “Pardon me for saying so, Mr. Darcy, but there are plenty of places a man can stay to escape notice if he sticks to the countryside and avoids the main roads and hedgerows. Wickham was stationed here for months and could easily go unperceived.”
Of course, the man was right. Wickham had done the same in London when he had “eloped” with Lydia. It had not been easy to find them, and only Darcy’s knowledge of Wickham’s habits and favorite haunts and constant lack of funds had led him to the hovel in which they were hiding.
Perhaps Mr. Collins’ observation was useful after all.
Across the street, Darcy saw Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson leaving the apothecary’s place of business.
He crossed the street. “Good day, Anne. Are youwell?” What he really wanted to know was if Aunt Catherine had calmed enough to come to her senses, but he was grateful he inquired into his cousin’s welfare when he noticed how frail she appeared.
Shading her ghostly complexion from the sun, she said, “Mother is well, thank you, Darcy. Mr. Jones gave me a bottle of his fortifying tonic. It is my hope that it tastes much better than that dreadful stuff Mother’s apothecary makes.”
