The Netherfield Affair

by Penelope Swan

  Elizabeth was roused from her musings by the sound of footsteps. She looked up and was dismayed to see that she had fallen behind and was a good distance from the rest of the party. Even more alarming was the sight of Keech moving towards her. He must have taken the opportunity to fall back as well, so that he might have a private audience with her.

  Elizabeth stiffened as the thief taker drew alongside and swept her a mocking bow. She hastened her steps, trying to catch up with the others again, but Keech kept pace easily beside her.

  “Good morning, Miss Bennet,” he said, in a tone of undeserved familiarity.

  Elizabeth’s skin prickled with disgust and she felt the urge to run, but hastily she controlled it. It would not do to show fear in front of this man! She had a feeling that he enjoyed arousing such sensations, especially in women.

  “I hope you have been considering my offer,” said Keech.

  Elizabeth gritted her teeth. “It is a preposterous offer and no lady would consider it!”

  “Do you refuse?” asked Keech, with a dangerous note in his voice.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. “What… What is it that you would ask?”

  “Oh, nothing much… Merely the paltry sum of £10 a year for my silence.”

  “£10 a year!” cried Elizabeth. The sum of her fortune was no more than £1,000, to be settled on her after her mother’s death—she could ill afford to support such rapacious demands. “That is impossible, sir!”

  “Perhaps you would prefer the alternative? The public denouncement of your crime and the shame and scandal that would befall your family name?”

  “I have committed no crime!” hissed Elizabeth.

  “Then how do you explain the stolen watch being found in your possession?”

  “I—”

  “Is there an issue, Mr Keech, that I might assist with?”

  They both looked up to see Darcy approaching them. He gave Keech a hard look and Elizabeth felt the thief taker shrink slightly next to her.

  “Uh… no, sir.”

  Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, taking in her high colour. “It appears to me that your presence is distressing the lady, Keech.”

  The thief taker made a hasty bow. “My pardon, sir.” With a sideways look at Elizabeth, he tipped his hat and said, “I shall go and speak to the gardener.”

  Darcy waited until the man was out of earshot, then he turned to Elizabeth and said harshly, “What is matter? What was the man saying to you?”

  “N-nothing,” said Elizabeth, struggling for composure.

  “Come now, Miss Bennet. You are distressed. I see it in your countenance.” He softened his voice. “Can I be of assistance?”

  Elizabeth stared up at him. She was overcome by a sudden longing to confess all to him—to let this powerful, commanding man take charge of the situation. She had been feeling so alone—it would be wonderful to have someone to share her troubles with at last, and she had no doubt that Darcy would know how to deal with the treacherous thief taker

  Then she caught her thoughts and chastised herself. What was she thinking? Confess all to Mr Darcy? A man who had owned himself to being intolerant of vices in others? A man known for his impatient judgement and his superior attitude? He would gain a disgust of her, to be sure, and show an abhorrence for the whole sordid affair. No, she could not confide in him.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I thank you for your offer, sir. It is naught but a trifling matter and not worth your concern.”

  He looked at her for a moment longer, his dark eyes searching, then he inclined his head and offered her his arm.

  “In that case, shall we rejoin the others?”

  Elizabeth placed her hand on his arm and, feeling its solid strength beneath her fingers, was tempted once again to trust in this man. She thought of Georgiana Darcy and felt a wistful envy—how lovely would it be to have an older brother like this who would give her his protection and make her well-being his main concern. She glanced sideways at the handsome profile next to her and wondered what it was like to be in such a position and hold Mr Darcy’s highest regard. Elizabeth bit her lip as she realised the direction that her thoughts were wandering in. Surely she could not be desirous of such a position? It must be the lack of an older brother of her own, Elizabeth assured herself, that had led her thoughts in that direction.

  She attempted to turn her mind to alternative avenues as they entered the orchard. They were met by the main party returning—Jane had begun to tire and so had decided not to linger in the orchard—and Caroline Bingley’s eyes narrowed with displeasure as she saw Elizabeth being escorted by Darcy. Elizabeth had expected Darcy to release her once they joined the group, but he made no sign of relinquishing her hand and Elizabeth found herself strangely reluctant to release her hold on his arm. They continued in silence towards the house. After a time, Darcy slowed his steps so that they fell back again from the main group.

  He turned to her and said in quiet tones, “Miss Bennet, you must allow me to satisfy my curiosity. When we met in the attic the other night, you made a comment concerning the supernatural conjecture surrounding Netherfield Park and declared yourself immune from such fears. What did you mean by that remark?”

  “It is not important, sir,” said Elizabeth, slightly embarrassed. “’Tis nothing more than some wild stories related by my younger sister, Lydia.”

  Darcy gave a slight smile. “I would be interested in hearing them.”

  Elizabeth repeated Lydia’s story of the ghost rumoured to be haunting Netherfield Park, as well as Jane’s information about the servants’ unease.

  “And do you retain your scepticism of such an apparition?” asked Darcy.

  Elizabeth hesitated. “Well, I do not believe in ghosts, sir. Though I must confess… I have witnessed certain things which defy explanation.”

  Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

  Elizabeth tilted her head upwards. They were nearing the house now and just in view of the attic window where she had seen the ghostly white face previously. “There.” She pointed. “I have seen a white face appear at that window.”

  Darcy gazed at the window silently for a moment. It was a small, gabled window situated in the slant of the roof—obviously looking out from one of the attic rooms. A small opening showed in the glass pane, perhaps where a rock or some other debris had struck the window once and smashed through the glass.

  “Could it have been a servant looking out perhaps?” asked Darcy.

  “’Twas no face of a living, breathing person,” said Elizabeth with a shudder. “It had the paleness of a corpse.”

  “And you are certain that it could not have been a trick of light or an artefact of the inclement weather?”

  “Perhaps,” conceded Elizabeth. “But I have witnessed the spectacle twice, both times at the same window. The first occasion was on the day I arrived at Netherfield Park. Indeed, it was that which so startled me that I nearly tripped and fell in the mud. The second occasion was the day before yesterday.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Darcy. “I believe I was with you then.”

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth. “But the face had gone by the time you looked at the window.”

  Darcy turned and gazed up at the window again. Then he changed direction, so that they were heading for the section of wall right beneath the window. “If I may beg your indulgence for a moment, Miss Bennet, and delay our return to the house…”

  Elizabeth watched in bewilderment as Darcy approached the outer wall of the house, right beneath the window, and ran his hands lightly over the masonry, probing between the grooves of the stonework. Then he turned his gaze to the ground beside the wall. At intervals, he would crouch down and finger something in the earth, though she could see nothing of interest in his hands, save for a few brown pellets of what looked like dried mud.

  At length, Darcy stood up and dusted off his hands, then returned to her. He offered no explanation for his actions, but simply prese
nted his arm again. They made their way back to the house and found Caroline Bingley waiting anxiously for them in the foyer.

  “We had quite thought you to be lost!” she said with a falsely bright laugh. “Mr Darcy, what could have been detaining you and Miss Bennet?”

  “My apologies,” said Darcy. “I paused to examine the masonry and Miss Bennet was kind enough to wait for me while I satisfied my curiosity.”

  “Eh? Is there a problem with the house, Darcy?” asked Bingley, coming to join them from the drawing room.

  “You need not concern yourself,” said Darcy. “There is nothing that requires repair.”

  “Then why were you—”

  “My conceit, Bingley,” said Darcy. “A theory I had and my poor attempt to gather some relevant intelligence.”

  He then bowed and made his excuses, saying that he had business to attend to. But as Elizabeth watched his tall figure depart, she had the notion that despite his protests, Darcy had gained precisely the information he had been after, from his examinations.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The morning’s exercise had fatigued Jane and she retreated to her room for a restorative nap. Elizabeth—forced to return downstairs to join her hosts—decided to go to her bedchamber first to collect her Goethe book for continued reading. As she entered, she sighted once more the peony bloom—now much wilted—lying on her bedside table. And next to it lay the slim volume that Bingley had given her last night: Dictionnaire du Langage des Fleurs—Dictionary of the Language of Flowers. This morning’s outing after breakfast and then the unpleasant interview with Keech had completely distracted her thoughts, but Elizabeth now recalled her intention to consult this book.

  She picked it up and opened it, scanning the pages with eager eyes. The words were in French, but her lessons in that language were adequate that she could approximate their English meanings. Quickly, she flipped through the pages until she came to the entry for Violette—Violet. She looked at the words:

  Violet (blue) – watchfulness

  Violet (white) – let’s take a chance on happiness

  Elizabeth sank down on her bed and cast her mind back to the violet posies she had found on the stone cherub in that little grove. On the first night, they had been white—and that was the night she had encountered the stranger. Was it possible that the white violets were a signal intended for him? She looked back down at the book: “Violet (white) – let’s take a chance on happiness”.

  Elizabeth stood up and walked to the window, looking out onto the dreary landscape. But she did not see the rain that was beginning to fall again—instead, she saw Tilly on the first day she had met her, and remembered the girl’s coyness about the blue satin ribbon she wore.

  “’Twas a gift, miss.”

  A gift from the charming stranger? Was Tilly somehow involved with him? If Darcy was correct in suspecting that the stranger was responsible for these thefts, could Tilly be aiding him in removing items of value from the house? Perhaps she had used the flowers as a signal to notify him of when it was safe to come and collect the goods.

  The second time she had found a posy, the violets had been blue. Elizabeth went back to the book and looked at the page again: “Violet (blue) – watchfulness”.

  Was the posy of blue violets a warning? Was that how Tilly would notify the stranger of imminent danger? This was the day after Elizabeth had encountered him in the night and the household had been alerted to his presence. Perhaps Tilly feared that their liaison could be discovered and was warning him to lie low.

  Elizabeth raised her gaze from the book and saw the peony lying on the bedside table. Quickly, she searched for the corresponding entry: Pivoine—Peony:

  Peony – shame

  Elizabeth looked at the flower thoughtfully. If her guess was right, it was Tilly who had left the peony on her pillow—a message of shame. But why?

  The answer came to her. Because Tilly was the one who had hidden Darcy’s watch in her drawer and thus caused Elizabeth to shoulder the blame for its disappearance. She remembered the servant girl’s guilty behaviour yesterday when Elizabeth had found her in the room, and the maid’s distressed departure. That was why she had left the peony on the pillow last night—as a message of shame and apology for the pain she would cause Elizabeth.

  So Tilly liked to talk using flowers, Elizabeth mused. What other hidden messages where there to be discovered? She thought suddenly of the attic and the beautiful spread of begonias on that chest, which had hidden the deadly booby trap. Quickly, Elizabeth rifled through the pages again until she found the entry for Bégonia—Begonia. This time the meaning of the flower jumped out at her from the page.

  Begonia – beware.

  The flowers had been a warning, placed there to deflect anyone whose curiosity might lead them to attempt to open the chest. And the booby trap was a second line of defence should the warning not be heeded. But why should such a warning be required?

  Elizabeth sat up excitedly, dropping the book on her lap. Because there was something in the chest! Something that needed to be hidden! Perhaps that was where Tilly kept the stolen items until she could pass them on to the stranger.

  Throwing the book aside, Elizabeth sprang up and ran out of her room. She hurried up to the door that opened onto the staircase for the attic and turned the knob eagerly, but it did not shift. She shook it impatiently, turning it and twisting it either way, but the door would not budge.

  “It is locked.”

  Elizabeth spun around. Keech the thief taker stood behind her, his face twisted in a predatory smile.

  “It seems that I have caught you red-handed again, Miss Bennet,” he said, sidling close. “Mr Darcy informed me that he had the door to the attic locked after his watch was stolen, as he suspected its involvement in the thefts. And now I find you trying to gain access!”

  “I have good reason for my actions,” said Elizabeth coldly.

  “Is that so?” Keech rubbed his hands together. “But why should a gentle lady like you show an interest in the attic? Unless you have illicit knowledge of its importance as a hiding place for stolen goods?”

  “That is my suspicion, but it is not due to an illicit knowledge, I assure you. It is merely the result of simple deduction,” said Elizabeth.

  “Indeed?” Keech sneered. “And what would a lady know about deduction? Why should you have any knowledge of the attic if you are not intimately involved with the thefts?”

  “Oh, it is too lengthy to explain to you now,” said Elizabeth impatiently. “But one reason I know about the attic is because I have been up there myself.”

  “Aha! So you admit to having been up there?”

  “I never denied it. But I was there for an innocent reason.”

  “Well, now… I simply have your word for that. Who can vouch for the integrity of your assertions?”

  “I can vouch for Miss Bennett,” came a voice behind them.

  Elizabeth looked up and felt her heart gladden as she saw Darcy. Behind him stood Bingley, his sisters, Mr Hurst, Nicholls the housekeeper, and an assortment of footmen and maids. It seemed that the upper hallway was suddenly full of people. Darcy approached them and looked down at Keech. The smaller man took a step back.

  “I do not like your tone in speaking to the lady, Keech,” said Darcy with dangerous softness.

  “Sir, I have reason to suspect her involvement in these thefts!” the thief taker said triumphantly. “She has only just now confessed to me that she had previously visited the attic, though she claims that it was for an innocent reason.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that and I can corroborate it.”

  Keech stared. “You… you can?”

  Elizabeth tensed as she waited for Darcy’s answer. To confess the truth of their interlude in the attic would be just as damaging to her reputation. By clearing her name in one regard, Darcy could be plunging her into a scandal of a different sort. But her breath relaxed as Darcy said coolly:

  “She advised m
e of the fact the following day. I believe Miss Bennet ventured up to seek a remedy for her headache.”

  “A remedy for headache?” said Bingley, looking puzzled. He glanced at the servants around him. “Do you know what this refers to?”

  “Yes, sir, Tilly keeps a store of her cordials an’ infusions an’ such up there,” one of the maids spoke up. “She’s ever so skilled with creatin’ remedies for aches an’ pains. Her headache mixture made from violets be grand, sir.”

  “That was the remedy I was searching for up in the attic,” agreed Elizabeth.

  “Well, that is still simply her word…” blustered Keech, but Darcy cut him off.

  “I believe you have overstepped your prerogative, Keech. To insult a lady of good standing and cast aspersions on her character is unacceptable no matter what your line of investigation.”

  Keech protested, “Sir, I—”

  “Your services are no longer required,” said Darcy curtly.

  “But Darcy!” cried Bingley. “We have not discovered the identity of the thief yet!”

  “On the contrary…” Darcy looked at Elizabeth thoughtfully. “I believe Miss Bennet may have already found the answer.”

  All eyes turned towards her. Elizabeth hesitated. She remembered Tilly’s pale face and the desperation in the maid’s eyes as she begged Elizabeth not to reveal her transgressions. Though Tilly had caused her pain, Elizabeth did not like to condemn her. She knew that one word spoken from her now would mean the end of the maid’s prospects for work and a disaster for her whole family. Indeed, Tilly could hang for her crimes.

  But she had no choice. Reluctantly, Elizabeth said, “I believe it is Tilly who has been stealing the items and securing them in a chest, within her attic storeroom, until she is able to dispose of them.” She saw Darcy flash her a look and knew that he had instantly made the connection to the chest with the begonias. She continued, “However, since Mr Darcy had the attic door locked, Tilly was unable to hide the stolen watch there this time—so she used my room instead.”