Mr. Bennet stopped in the room, only to say that he’d got some business in town to attend to and everybody was to make themselves comfortable in his absence.
As Mr. Bennet was going, Charlotte was shown in. She carried her basket of sewing and appeared surprised to be led to the drawing room, rather than the breakfast room. Elizabeth realized she had failed to write her dear friend about the impending war room activities. Charlotte was so much a part of the household that she often took to arriving at breakfast. If anyone were to complain of the habit, it might have been Mrs. Bennet. However, Charlotte was very sympathetic to Mrs. Bennet’s nerves and so was always welcome at table.
Perhaps it was for the best that she had forgotten to write her friend, as Charlotte could sew with Kitty and Lydia and check their boisterousness when needed.
Introductions were quickly made. Mr. Quinn bowed deeply and added the various flourishes that Elizabeth had first witnessed on the drive. Charlotte blushed, and Elizabeth could not make out whether she was embarrassed or flattered by it.
Elizabeth explained, as best she understood it, what they were about so early in the morning.
“I shall not interrupt your work, Mr. Quinn,” Charlotte said. “I shall go and return at a more convenient time.”
Mr. Quinn appeared not particularly enthusiastic about this idea. He clasped his hands behind his back and said, “Miss Lucas, may I ask if you possess a fair hand?”
“She cannot be expected to answer such a thing, Mr. Quinn,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “Claiming a fine hand would be a conceit and claiming a poor hand would be a testament to a not very rigorous education. Either direction the lady turns is fraught with danger.”
Mr. Quinn showed the smallest hint of pink on his cheeks. “Forgive me, Miss Lucas. This old Bow Street man is more used to getting to the facts, rather than the delicacy with which one may meander their way to them.”
“Never fear, Mr. Quinn,” Elizabeth said, rather delighted with him. “I am not precluded from answering for her. As it happens, Charlotte’s letters are the most legible that I receive and have very few cross outs.”
Charlotte blushed to find her penmanship the subject of conversation.
“If it were not a terrible inconvenience,” Mr. Quinn said. “What I mean to say is if I am not imposing, we shall require a scribe. A person who might legibly write down all of the facts we gather, the surmises that are generated, and our various conclusions and plans of action.”
“If you deem it to be helpful, I shall be happy to offer my services, Mr. Quinn,” Charlotte said.
“And if you find you tire of it,” Mr. Quinn said gallantly, “you must say so at once.”
Elizabeth could not think of a happier arrangement. Her dear Charlotte would be there to assist in their endeavors. Though Elizabeth had to admit that she was still rather in the dark about what those endeavors would be.
Hill bustled in with a footman trailing behind, carrying all manner of breakfast items. Though Mrs. Bennet had been pressed to provide only the simplest of fare, she had clearly deemed that advice mistaken. Rather, the sideboard soon groaned under platters of sausage, bacon, cheeses, boiled eggs, cold rolls, hot rolls, seeded rolls, toasted bread, a pound cake and, inexplicably, a salad. Another side table held Mrs. Bennet’s good silver tea service and china cups.
“Ah,” Mr. Quinn said, “I see our hostess has thrown my directive for a simple breakfast to the four winds.” He looked over the sideboard and said, “I cannot say I am sorry for it. Let us all gather our breakfast and eat while we begin work. Now, I know that is a novel idea for those used to a more leisurely way of life, which is all of you. But!” he said, raising his forefinger into the air, “you will soon grow accustomed to the working man’s way of life. As you persist in your labors, you may keep your spirits up by remembering that we do this for the great Lady Castlereagh!”
Mr. Quinn paused. “Where is Lady Castlereagh, I wonder?”
Hill adjusted the last of the china cups and saucers and said, “The lady requested a tray in her room, sir.”
“Ah,” Mr. Quinn said. “No matter. We shall first proceed with what the Miss Bennets witnessed and by the time we must interview Lady Castlereagh, she shall be among us.”
Nobody having any idea how to proceed with a working man’s breakfast, Elizabeth led the way. She thought it must be like any other breakfast in the Bennet household, but for being in the drawing room, and talking of Lady Castlereagh’s case instead of listening to Kitty and Lydia go on about some nonsensical conversation they’d had with an officer. All in all, she predicted it would be a deal more pleasant and certainly more interesting.
After they had all been seated and tea poured, Mr. Quinn said, “Now, Miss Bennets, I will have every step you took leading up to the discovery of Lady Castlereagh in her carriage. Then, I will know every second of the encounter.” Mr. Quinn’s expression was one of intensity. He rapped the table with his knuckles and said, “No detail is too small!”
Jane and Charlotte jumped. Even Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley appeared taken aback. Kitty and Lydia had been walking into the room, and just as quickly walked out again. Jane looked imploringly at her sister. Elizabeth nodded and said, “It was just like this, Mr. Quinn.”
Elizabeth went on to describe their mid-morning ride and how she and Jane crested Pumpkin Hill and noted the carriage.
Mr. Quinn directed Charlotte to write that the discovery was made mid-morning, by the two eldest Miss Bennets, at the location of Pumpkin Hill in Hertfordshire.
Elizabeth proceeded to relate hearing the sounds of a lady and a canine coming from the carriage, and how she opened the door. How Jane set off for help, at which point Mr. Bingley congratulated Jane on riding like quicksilver. The mention of riding like quicksilver brought a wry glance from Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth knew very well he was comparing Jane’s more sedate ride home with her own wild ride only an hour before.
Mr. Quinn questioned Elizabeth on every minute detail. Did she hear one groan or two? What were the dogs doing when she opened the door? In what position did she find Lady Castlereagh? Miss Bennet mentioned a fur throw—where was it, precisely? Where did she find the cup used to go for water?
All of her answers were duly recorded by Charlotte, who wrote like the wind to keep up. The table was slowly being overtaken with various pieces of paper containing the facts of the case. As Charlotte wrote, Mr. Quinn put the papers in order, so they might see how the event unfolded.
It was near eleven when Lady Castlereagh descended, followed by Monday and Tuesday. The dogs trotted over to the sideboard and instantly cleared it of bacon and sausage. They were scolded by their mistress, but in a half-hearted sort of way that did not seem to make much of an impression. They skulked over to the fire, settling down with the bits of meat still hanging from their mouths.
“Lady Castlereagh,” Mr. Quinn said, flourishing a bow, “we have made great strides in documenting the scene the Miss Bennets came upon on that fateful day. Now, with your permission, we shall explore the before of the matter.”
“The before, Mr. Quinn?” Lady Castlereagh asked.
“The before,” Mr. Quinn confirmed. “You see, my lady, whoever has committed this dastardly act did not design it in a moment. No, this took planning. I should like to know every detail of what occurred in your household in the weeks leading up to this crime. No detail is too small! Anything not strictly aligning with what would be usual will be of the utmost importance. Something that appears to be innocuous, once paired with some other little fact, can add up to a significant clue.”
Lady Castlereagh nodded, a look of stoicism on her features. “I shall tell you all, Mr. Quinn, though it seems an arduous task. When my Jenny eventually arrives with my luggage, she may tell you of anything untoward that might have occurred below stairs, beyond my notice.”
The lady took a small, gold-embossed diary from her reticule. She opened it and said, “How far back am I to go, Mr. Quinn?”
&nb
sp; Mr. Quinn rubbed his chin. Elizabeth said, “Perhaps, Mr. Quinn, Lady Castlereagh might go back to the day she planned the trip to Quincy? The criminals could not have hatched this particular plot without knowing she would pass by Pumpkin Hill.”
“Ah, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Quinn said, “quite right. Assuming, that is, our scoundrel is not the coachman. He might have simply bided his time for a likely opportunity. But, as Lady Castlereagh is certain it was not the coachman, then the perpetrators would have been planning the details of the robbery from that day or later.”
Lady Castlereagh thumbed through her book to the day she had answered the letter from her friend, accepting the invitation to visit. “Yes, I see,” she said. “I informed Jenny of it on the 14th, and my housekeeper, Mrs. Wilburn, the very same day. I remember doing so, though it is not written down, because the timing turned out to be rather convenient. Mrs. Wilburn had been fretting that her niece had been delivered of twins and she could not spare the time to go and help her. We decided, between us, to close up the house and send the extra staff to Loring Hall, my country estate in Kent. Mrs. Wilburn wrote them out a list of tasks to accomplish, though they were likely not overburdened if I know Banks. They were to have days off and an outing of some sort.”
“An outing. Very gracious, my lady,” Mr. Quinn said. “And so, we must concentrate all of our efforts on October 14th and forward. It was on that day that the trip to Quincy was known widely.”
“I do not know if it were known widely, Mr. Quinn,” Lady Castlereagh said. “It was only my own staff who knew of it.”
Mr. Quinn looked indulgently at the lady. Elizabeth could guess what he would point out about the staff knowing something. Once Hill was apprised of a fact, that fact could be counted on to fly to Meryton on the wings of a falcon.
“I am afraid, my lady,” he said, “that once one’s staff is apprised of a thing, it might as well be published in the newspapers.”
Lady Castlereagh looked around the table for some confirmation of this new and alarming idea. Elizabeth nodded, to say that it was so.
“I see,” she said softly. “Of course, I knew they gossiped among themselves…”
Mr. Quinn folded his hands on the table. “It is a vast web throughout England, my lady, with tentacles reaching far and wide. Any time a servant goes out, they talk. Anytime they are visited, they talk. Butchers, bakers, farriers, the maid next door, the nanny down the street, the laundress, the milk maid. They meet on the road, in parks and in shops. And they talk. Then, when they have a free moment, they write home with all they’ve heard. Your trip would have been known of by at least one somebody in every corner of England and may well be documented in letters just now making their way to America.”
“Heavens,” Lady Castlereagh said. “How shall we ever determine who the villains are?”
“Who knew of the trip, which is everybody, is only one piece of the puzzle,” Mr. Quinn said. “We shall collect more and more pieces of the puzzle, and a pattern will emerge. Clues, as they have a habit of doing, will leap in front of us as we encounter them.”
Lady Castlereagh nodded and began working through her diary from the 14th of October forward. There were parties and dinners, dress fittings, afternoons spent with old friends, meetings concerning Almacks vouchers, and an appointment with a man who was in the business of procuring exotic animals.
Lady Castlereagh paused. “I am hoping for a South American sloth. I understand they are very tame and loving creatures, and they have very kind eyes. Of course, poor Lord Castlereagh is anxiously not hoping for a sloth, but I think he shall take to the creature. Eventually.”
Charlotte peered up at Mr. Quinn. “Shall I note the sloth, Mr. Quinn?”
“Indeed, Miss Lucas,” Mr. Quinn said. “Very astute of you to question it. It may seem an extraneous point just at this moment, but one never knows.” Mr. Quinn paused for a dramatic silence, then murmured, “One never knows.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. She was quite certain that no conversation so ludicrous had ever occurred in the Bennets’ drawing room. South American sloth, indeed.
“Ah,” Lady Castlereagh said, bent over her diary. “I suppose, Mr. Quinn, you do not need to know each and every instance of Darcy and Bingley coming to dinner or for cards or some such? I had quite skimmed over those entries as there are quite a lot of them. Darcy is only a few doors down from my house, you know.”
“In most cases,” Mr. Quinn said, “my feeling would be to skip nothing! However, I think we can safely rule out Mr. Darcy’s and Mr. Bingley’s engagements.”
Mr. Darcy appeared to view this munificence ungratefully. Mr. Bingley, on the other hand, was delighted. “Hear that, Darcy? We are to be ruled out.”
“Ruled out, very good,” Lady Castlereagh said. “So then we have my Lord’s trip to Vienna, then Mr. Cratchet turned up most unexpectedly. Though why he should have done instead of accompanying my husband, I cannot think—”
“My lady!” Mr. Quinn cried. “An individual turned up unexpectedly? Now we are getting somewhere. Why did this man turn up unexpectedly?”
Chapter Five
Mr. Quinn stared intently at Lady Castlereagh, waiting to hear why this Mr. Cratchet had turned up unexpectedly.
“I am sure I do not know, Mr. Quinn,” Lady Castlereagh said. “As he was unexpected.”
“Tell us everything you know about this Mr. Cratchet, my lady,” Mr. Quinn said, rubbing his hands together.
Charlotte’s hand poised above her paper. Lady Castlereagh said, “Heavens, he is only one of my Lord’s many secretaries. I can hardly keep track of them, though I admit I do not try very hard.”
“And so, the unexpected man turns up and what does he say?” Mr. Quinn asked. “What does he say on that very first day of turning up?”
“Oh, well, let us see,” Lady Castlereagh said with furrowed brow. “He brought a letter of introduction and he said he would be working in the library here and there. Though I must say he seemed rather more here than there. He seemed always underfoot.”
“What project did the man work on?” Mr. Quinn asked, fingers tented. “In your library?”
This elicited a peal of laughter from Lady Castlereagh. “I do not have the faintest idea. Mr. Quinn, one never asks a secretary what he works on. I know from hard experience that, should one do so, one will be listening for a full half hour, most of it unintelligible and the rest mundane. None of my Lord’s men perceive the slightest clue that one has bored with their conversation.”
Mr. Quinn turned to Charlotte. “If you will, Miss Lucas, please note that we have an unexpected man, a certain Mr. Cratchet, arriving with a letter of introduction. He proceeded to work in the library on an unknown project.”
Charlotte nodded and her quill raced across paper.
“This man,” Mr. Quill said, “Mr. Cratchet, is somebody I should like to interview. Though, how will he continue to work in the library if the house has been closed?”
“Oh dear,” Lady Castlereagh said. “I had not given him a thought. I pray it is nothing so important that it should vex Lord Castlereagh.”
“He does not have a key, then?”
“Certainly not,” Lady Castlereagh said with a huff. “When I am in town, I am besieged by various men working for my husband. I should not like to imagine them all strolling in and out as they please!”
“I do not suppose, my lady,” Elizabeth interjected, “that when he introduced himself and presented his letter of introduction that he may have indicated where he stayed? People often do, in the general way of conversation.”
Lady Castlereagh looked out the window, as if the answer lurked out there. “Let us see. He came into the drawing room and handed me the letter. I read it. He said to me, oh what did he say? Honor to work for your husband or some such nonsense. Wait! He did say that he might take some materials from the library to review of an evening, to the something Peacock. Dear me, I do not recall the entire name.”
Darcy an
d Bingley looked at each other. Quinn nodded knowingly. “Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have guessed it already. The Proud Peacock.”
“I believe that is it!” Lady Castlereagh said. “Yes, I am certain of it. The Proud Peacock. What a ridiculous name. One can only wonder what goes on there.”
“You had rather not wonder,” Darcy said. “It is a low place.”
“Very low,” Mr. Quinn concurred. “Just suited to a secretary with limited means. I shall put him on the list of individuals to be interviewed. Miss Lucas, if you would be so kind as to start a list. We have Mr. Cratchet, the unexpected secretary, currently residing at The Proud Peacock. And then we have Jimmy, the stable boy who stayed with Lady Castlereagh’s carriage after she was rescued, currently residing at Longbourn.”
Charlotte duly wrote out the information.
“Now,” Mr. Quinn continued, “what else?”
Lady Castlereagh thumbed through her pages. “Monday and Tuesday had bad stomachs after cook served them meat gone off. They were quite put out and so was I—there is a carpet that will never be the same. Then there is mention of a sprained wrist on one of my scullery maids. She could not carry wood for a week. Then, various notes on where Jenny’s training was lacking. Gracious, she did annoy me at the beginning. Not the first idea of how to properly store a dress or how to pin up my hair. Then I see I attempted to teach her some French, though really I should have been only satisfied to improve her English. Ah well, she’s perfectly acceptable now.
Elizabeth felt rather sorry for poor Jenny, arriving from the countryside only to be informed of what she did not know.
“That is all, Mr. Quinn,” Lady Castlereagh said.
“I see,” Quinn said thoughtfully. “So the diary ends on the 9th of November. There are no entries for the 10th? The day before you departed?”
“None at all, though I remember the day perfectly well. I spent the morning supervising Jenny on what to pack and how to do it. Then, I explained that she would leave at noon so as to be able to unpack all my things in good time for my arrival the following day. Then, I received the note from Warpole about the parade.”
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