Darcy and Elizabeth--A Most Unlikely Couple

by Brenda J. Webb

  His lips betrayed him, involuntarily curling at the memory of how beautiful she had been at that moment. His head fell back again. In truth, it mattered not when he fell in love with Elizabeth. What mattered was that she had not fallen in love with him.

  Why did I not listen to Richard? At least he saw my marriage for what it was—a desperate attempt to fill the emptiness in my life.

  The brandy had eased his pain somewhat, and he reflected that, at the worst, he and Elizabeth could live separate lives. He hoped she might agree to have a child, for he desperately wished for an heir. If she was not agreeable to that, he was not sure what his next step would be.

  Then tossing down the last of the brandy in his glass, William stood and limped over to the bed. Divesting himself of his robe, he crawled onto the huge mattress and adjusted the hanging contraption that elevated his leg. Then he grabbed a pillow and positioned it under his neck. Suddenly he remembered Georgiana’s intention to return to Pemberley. With his present problems, he did not think he could deal with her pettiness and Elizabeth’s revulsion at the same time.

  Moaning an oath, he pulled another pillow over his head, refusing to even consider that possibility tonight.

  Chapter 23

  The Pig Whistle Inn

  North of Lambton

  The small post inn was a stop for people travelling between the village of Lambton and the town of Sheffield, though it was located nearer the smaller village. Dark and dirty, the majority of its clientele were equally as unkempt and unwashed. In fact, except when necessary to change horses, respectable folk never stopped at the Pig Whistle Inn. And in the few instances where bad weather gave them no choice, many chose to sit at the tables in the common room rather than take advantage of the tiny rooms with dirty beds that the proprietor had to offer. The conditions had grown progressively worse over the years until the patrons now consisted of ne’er-do-wells, highwaymen and others wanted by the law—or soon to be. Such were the two men who currently occupied one of the four tables in the common room.

  Nate Burton, the proprietor, was no stranger to their kind. Short but stocky, with a full head of brown hair and a beard to match, he had an eye for trouble. He had met enough men like these while serving a sentence in Newgate 11 as a boy. Never mind that his crime was stealing food to feed his younger siblings, most of his patrons felt a kinship with him because of his familiarity with the inside of the prison. That kinship gave Burton the opportunity to hear things of interest to the constables and Bow Street Runners who pursued men with prices on their heads. Feeling no loyalty to those who frequented his inn, if a lawman had questions and it meant more coins in his pocket, Nate was happy to provide answers.

  Moving closer to the men in question, he made a mental note of their attributes, as was his practice, observing that the one called Denny was fair with green eyes and red hair, tall and well-proportioned. The other man, one he had never seen before, had the same muscular frame, though he had dark brown hair and eyes. Getting closer, Nate strained to hear what was being said. Unfortunately, they chose just that moment to go upstairs to a room.

  “BRING A PITCHER OF ale up to my room, Nate!” Denny called as the owner swept up trash below a nearby table. Nate nodded in acknowledgement while Denny proceeded up the stairs to the first room on the right, followed closely by Wickham. Once alone in the room, Denny motioned for his friend to have a seat at a small table near the window. He was truly glad to see Wickham again, for since their stint in the militia together, he trusted him like no other.

  “I am pleased that you joined me today, George. When I saw you in Lambton, there was no time to explain. I was forced to stop because my horse threw a shoe on the way to our safe house. Pate’s farm is where we divide up the spoils, and then he and Duke stay hidden there until our next job.”

  “I wondered why you were so curt. You mentioned that you had another job planned, insisted that we meet here today and were off before I realised what had happened!”

  “I apologise. It is necessary to stay out of sight just after a job. You should have contacted me months ago, in any case,” Robert Denny declared. “I was under the impression that you did not like the militia any more than I.”

  “Had I not been chasing a bit-of-muslin with a large dowry, I would have. That did not work out as planned, and afterward I had to wait for the right chance to desert.”

  “I see.”

  “So, tell me more about the plans mentioned in your letter. How do you decide who to target? And, most importantly, how have you managed to evade the law?”

  “When you are willing to pay for information, word gets to the right people,” Denny explained. “I now have several associates who regularly bring me information about the travels of the rich pricks of the ton. Their sources are, for the most part, servants with a bone to pick. The servants tell my contacts who, in turn, pass it along to me. As long as we are careful not to kill anyone during the robberies, we may be able to keep at it a good while because George Lyon 12 is drawing most of the Crown’s attention.”

  “What do the snitches get for their trouble?”

  “I pay my associates for every clue that results in a profit. As far as the servants go, some seek only revenge, while others expect a reward. The latter get a few shillings, depending on the value of the information. Some servants have even begun to glean information from their counterparts at other estates and pass that along. We only rob a coach every few weeks or so—alternating routes. I tell you, George, I have accumulated more money in the last six months than in the last six years. I save most of it, for I intend to sail to the Americas when I get a stake large enough.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  “Better than slaving in the blasted militia.”

  “The only problem is that you can hang for being a highwayman,” Wickham replied, a little too loudly.

  “Shhh!” Denny cautioned, glancing around. “These walls are thin.”

  Wickham looked sheepish as he continued in a somewhat softer voice. “But should it get around Derbyshire who is paying for the information—”

  “I do not intend to hang,” Denny interrupted. “I have taken care to raise no suspicions. Once a month, I come to this inn to settle debts and gather new information. None of my men are involved with this aspect, so their identities are kept secret. Likewise, after today, you and I will never be seen together at this place.”

  “I suppose the risks involved are no worse than some of the things the militia forced on us, like putting down factory riots,” George replied.

  “Precisely the point.”

  “You mentioned needing another man.”

  “Including you, there are four of us, but we could use five.”

  “I have an old friend who is in need of funds, and he is an ace shot. He is actually a gentleman who is down on his luck.”

  “I do not care if he is a duke, as long as you trust him.”

  “I do. So I shall send a letter to a friend in London and see if I can locate him.”

  Denny walked over to the bed, bent down and pulled a satchel out from under it. Reaching into it, he brought out two bags and threw them on the table. Opening the first sack, he poured many coins on the table, mostly half-crowns, crowns and sovereigns. Wickham’s eyes went wide.

  Smirking, Denny said, “This is a part of what I have made thus far in my new profession. If you are smart, you will save some of what you earn as well.”

  Then Denny laid a cloth on the table and emptied the other sack. It contained seven rings, six necklaces, six bracelets, several pairs of earrings, a silver flask and a gold watch.

  “All of this is yours too?”

  “No. Only a portion. It falls to me to sell these items because one cannot approach just any jeweller and ask him to buy stolen goods. I happen to be acquainted with a man in Sheffield who has no problem with the fact that the pieces are stolen. I have him list each one and what he paid for them. Then I give Pate and Buck their share a
fterward.”

  “That seems a lot of jewellery to take in one robbery.”

  “Our sources reported that the mark was to stay in London for several months and the lady of the house always took numerous family pieces when she went to Town. We were fortunate to find her jewellery case hidden under the seat of the coach; else the pickings would have been slim.” Grasping an emerald necklace, he held it up to the window for a better look. “What do you think? My guess is that we will get close to two thousand pounds for the whole lot!”

  George Wickham huffed, picking up another piece. “This watch alone is worth seven hundred pounds, the pearl necklace a thousand and the diamond necklace three thousand at the least! Five thousand for the whole lot would be a joke.”

  “Yes, but they are stolen!” Denny countered. “And old Castleman takes a risk whenever he sells one. What if someone were to recognise the pieces? He may be able to reset the jewels and reuse the gold, but he cannot do anything about the watch, the flask or the pearls, for the most part. And unfortunately, the watch and flask are inscribed, so while he may be able to buff out the inscriptions, it will be noticeable. I cannot see him paying more when he faces so great a peril!”

  “He faces peril!” Wickham exclaimed. “You could have been shot!”

  “True, but he could easily hang for his part.”

  “Then perhaps you should find another jeweller who is willing to pay more. I know one in London who would be happy to get his hands on items this grand.”

  Denny sighed. “Selling stolen goods in London is difficult because most of those we rob spend at least part of the year there. They are likely to buy replacements, at least for their wives’ jewellery, and they may notice the stolen items in their favourite shops.”

  “I see your point.”

  “Good. Now, I plan to leave this area today. I am not like Pate or Duke, for I require a lively place to rest between jobs.”

  “But in Lambton you mentioned another job—a wealthy earl you had in your sights.”

  “As it turns out, Lord Cochran was not a good target. I learned that he has lost his family’s fortune and his wife’s jewellery betting on the horses. Every necklace, ring and earring she wears is paste, though she has no idea. In fact, next month he will no longer be travelling in his luxurious coach, as it will be sold to pay his creditors.”

  “I see why you do so much research,” Wickham replied. “I would not want to put my life on the line for nothing.”

  “Which is why I thoroughly investigate everyone first,” Denny replied as he stood. “I am off to Sheffield to sell the jewellery, and I have plans to visit the brothel there while I do. There is a certain redhead I have my eye on. Are you going with me?”

  “I thought you did not want us to be seen in each other’s company.”

  “Only here. Outside of this region, it is unlikely to gain notice.”

  “Then yes, I might as well join you.”

  “Good!” Denny replied. “After I leave, take your horse to the stable, and have the blacksmith check for loose shoes. That should take enough time to quell any suspicions. I will leave straightaway and wait for you on the road ahead.”

  IMMEDIATELY AFTER THEY entered the room, Nate slipped into the one next to it. He managed to hear enough of the conversation through the walls to know it could prove useful, for highwaymen gained more notoriety than the usual thief. They preyed upon those most likely to have the Prince Regent’s ear—the wealthy. That meant that eventually a special prosecutor would likely be commissioned to bring them to justice and a nice reward offered as an inducement for information. Even so, as he heard the door open and the sound of their boots on the stairs, his main concern was for the monies due him now.

  Hurrying from his hiding place to confront Denny before he cleared the inn entirely, he called out, “Are you leaving, Mr. Denny?”

  “Yes, my business has concluded,” Denny replied. Then realising the reason for the question, he reached into his pocket. As he tossed several coins to Nate, he added, “I almost forgot to settle with you. Thank you for reminding me.”

  “Glad to be of service,” Nate answered, smiling insincerely. “Will you be back next month?”

  “I have no plans to at present,” Denny responded, “but you can never tell.”

  Nate watched as Denny went out the door, mounted his horse and took the north road towards Sheffield. He was still standing on the front porch a few minutes later when Wickham came out of the stables, mounted his horse and went in the same direction.

  There you are , Nate said to himself. I figured you would be following Mr. Denny. He scratched his beard, adding, It shall not be long until someone comes looking for the likes of you, and I shall be here when they do.

  LONDON

  Darcy House

  On a beautiful May morning, the elegant Darcy coach stood ready and waiting for the master of the house to emerge from the rear entrance. As Mr. Coleridge threaded his way through the servants milling about the back garden, he stepped up his stride when he realised that Mr. Darcy must be leaving at any minute. Though his mission had taken some time, he was pleased with what he had discovered and was eager to present it to his employer. Gaining the back door, he reached for the handle, only to have the door fly open in his face. A footman quickly stepped outside and held the door for the man he had come to see.

  Nodding with a curt bow, Coleridge declared, “Mr. Darcy, it seems I have been fortunate enough to catch you before you left. I have information regarding what we discussed when I was here last. I hoped to present it to you today.”

  Knowing exactly what he meant, William nodded. “Then let us go back to my study and review it before I leave.”

  Abruptly, William turned and began hobbling down the hall. Coleridge noticed that his employer was trying to shift his weight to one foot, and the novelty of it caused him to watch until William was halfway down the hall before he remembered to follow. Running a bit to catch up, he slowed as they neared the study. Once at the door, William opened it with a key and motioned for him to go in first. As soon as his employer entered, the door was closed solidly behind them.

  William walked past him gingerly, making his way around his desk and easing his body into the large chair behind it. Swiftly, Coleridge took the chair in front of the desk and opened the satchel he carried. Pulling several rolls of paper from within, he laid them on the edge of the desk. William’s brows furrowed as he studied the papers.

  “I traced Andrew Darcy to a boarding house belonging to a widow, Eunice Younge. The establishment, if you can call it that, is located in the Mint.”

  “It is fitting that Andrew is staying among the thieves and beggars. To think, he is not ten minutes from here.”

  “Yes. It seems he lodged there the entire time he was in London.”

  “Are you saying he has gone?”

  “From all indications, yes. However, I learned something very interesting about your cousin. He was also renting a room from Mr. Poindexter and has for some time.”

  “The tailor?”

  “The same. Poindexter said that he rented an upstairs room for the last year or more. Only a few days past, however, they had a disagreement about how much rent was owed. Poindexter refused him entry to the room, saying he would keep all the supplies therein and sell them to recover some of his losses.”

  “What kind of supplies?”

  “Art supplies—paints, canvases, brushes. It seems Andrew Darcy is quite the painter, or portraitist, if you will.”

  “I had no idea he could even draw.”

  “From the funds you advanced, I paid Mr. Poindexter the rent due in order to acquire the contents. I thought there might be clues in what he left behind.” William nodded his head. “And I was quite shocked at what I discovered in a locked closet. I would say ole Poindexter would have been shocked as well, had he forced the lock as I did.”

  “Such as?”

  “Numerous drawings of nude women—very important women, i
f my memory serves. For I have seen some of their likenesses on the pages of the society section of the news, not to mention on the arms of their husbands and fathers in Hyde park on Sundays. These were not scullery maids and shop girls.”

  “I cannot believe Andrew had access to such women, or that they would pose nude for him if he did.”

  “Here are several.” Coleridge laid three rolled up drawings on William’s desk. “There are more in two locked trunks I left at the stables with your livery manager. I was not sure where else to put the supplies or the pictures.”

  William reached to take the first and unroll it. His face registered disdain as he went from one drawing to the next. Shaking his head when he was done, he rolled all them up together.

  “I do not, for one minute, think any of these women posed for my cousin.”

  “Truthfully, neither do I,” the former Bow Street runner said, “for I also found these.”

  Reaching into the satchel, he brought out two more drawings—each a nude completely finished except for the face. “I would say that he draws the body and adds the face afterward, so they resemble any woman the buyer wishes to humiliate. After finding these, I enquired around Town, and my sources say that there is a market among the ton for this kind of thing, especially at White’s. Some have even commissioned coloured portraits in lieu of charcoal drawings.”

  “And Andrew is the source?”

  “At least one source, if not the only one.”

  William stood up. “Disgusting! One could have what is purported to be a nude portrait of my wife or my sister in their study or even their bedroom!”

  “Exactly!”

  Reaching to pour himself a brandy, William downed it in a few gulps. “Andrew will pay dearly when he is found out. Most men would call him out if they knew their loved one had been debased in this manner. I would not hesitate to do so.”