Page 14 of Mr. Darcy’s Victorious Bride

"There is a letter for you," Elizabeth said. "From Jane. It came express."

Darcy broke the seal. Jane's hand was usually round and careful. This was hurried, the lines slanting to the right, the ink blotted twice.

Dear Brother,

I write in haste because I am uneasy and do not wish to cause alarm, but you must know. A man came to Netherfield this morning, to the stables, and asked Mr. Henson about "the boy who lives here." He said he was from the parish, inquiring after orphan welfare and whether the child was properly registered. Mr. Henson, who is a good man and trusts no one, told him the household's affairs were Mr. Darcy's business and not his, and sent him off. Bingley went to the lane after him, but the man was gone. Henson describes him as middle-aged, well-dressed, with a clerk's manner. Not a laborer. A professional man on someone's errand.

I do not know what it means, but I thought of Alban at once and went cold. Henson is keeping the boy close within the stable yard. Bingley is watching the lane.

Please advise us. I am sorry to add to your burdens.

Yours, Jane

Darcy read it twice. Then he set it down on the table with great care.

"What is it?" Elizabeth said.

He handed her the letter and watched the color go out of her face.

"Alban."

"Braithwaite wants the witness gone. Alban is the only living soul who can put him at the cottage fire. Remove Alban, or discredit him, and the murder charge falls apart."

Elizabeth stood and went to the window with her back to the room. Her shoulders rose and fell in the deliberate rhythm, the mist close and being fought. She had beaten it back every time since the spring. "He is in chains," she said, low. "He is in a cell, and he is still reaching into our home. He is reaching for a child! Richard is two hundred miles north. Who is protecting that boy tonight?"

"Henson. Bingley. And by tomorrow, a soldier. I write to Gill tonight for a man in the yard. I write to Richard, care of the posting inns, to come to Netherfield the moment he turns south. I instruct my solicitor to petition for an order barring strangers from the boy. And if we have not found Lydia by tomorrow evening, I will ride to Netherfield myself and fetch Alban here."

"You cannot be in two places."

"No. But I can choose which place matters more, and act on the choice."

Something almost a smile. "That sounds like something I would say."

"Where do you suppose I learned it?"

She squeezed his hands. Then she straightened. "Write your letters. I will sit with Papa. He will not eat unless someone puts food before him and refuses to leave."

Darcy wrote three letters and sealed them for his own men to carry at first light. Then he wrote a fourth, in his head only, addressed to a cell he had never seen. You will not have the boy. You will not have my wife. You will not have this family. And when you stand in the dock, I will be in the gallery, and I will watch you learn what it costs to reach for what is mine.

His men would not reach Gill before noon tomorrow. Richard might not have his letter for two days. The petition wanted a week. Until then, Alban had a stable master, a pistol, and Bingley. And the hope that Graves had not yet judged the boy worth a second approach.

On his way up he passed an open door. Mr. Bennet was asleep inside, in Gardiner's armchair, still in his boots, his spectacles folded in one hand. Elizabeth's shawl lay across his knees. He had said four hours. Darcy did not wake him.

Elizabeth lay with her face to the wall. When he lay down beside her, she reached back without a word, found his hand, and pulled his arm across her waist.

"Tomorrow we will find her," he said.

"You said that last night."

"I will say it as many times as it takes to be true."

She laced her fingers through his. "Then say it once more."

"Tomorrow we will find her."

CHAPTER 5

Mr. Bennet paid the pot-boy a shilling to run his note to Gracechurch Street. Then he climbed the stairs of the Bull and Bell alone.