He doubted that was true, but he nodded just the same. “Very good, Mr. Nestor.”
The cobbler spoke up next. “And my new boots, Mr. Darcy! My best pair, made from the finest leather, just walked off in the night!”
Darcy’s smile was strained. “Mr. Rutherford, I am sure your boots did not just walk off—.” He closed his eyes. The pun had not been intended, but it was too late to change course. “On their own.”
“That they did not,” Mr. Rutherford concluded, crossing his arms over his chest.
“And Selina’s favourite ribbon was stolen right off her neck!”
That was Mrs. Travis, and this was worrying. “Is Selina your daughter, madam?”
This produced snorts and laughter. Mrs. Travis turned and said something to the others in a thick Derbyshire accent before she turned back to glare at Darcy.
“Selina is my cat,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “Though I do not see how it matters.”
Darcy’s left eye twitched.
“Right,” he said at last. “I shall add her ribbon to the list.”
“And I’ll be keeping my eye out, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Rutherford assured him. “It’d be better for the thief if the magistrate catches him first.”
Several other men muttered agreements.
“If any of you apprehend a thief, you are to call for one of the magistrates. Do not take the law into your own hands, or you may find you are the one being punished. I have sworn to uphold the law. Hold him, but do not harm him.”
“Might not even be a him,” someone mumbled.
“If that should be the case, my instructions are even more pertinent.” He looked at the three who had lodged complaints. “Ladle, boots, ribbon. Now, if there are no further reports—”
“What if it’s not a person at all?” Darcy’s eyes were drawn to the young voice piping up from just in front of him. It was a young boy, the older one of the pair who had knocked Miss Bennet over.
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Travis asked.
“What if it’s a ghost?”
A ripple of laughter went through the crowds, but there were a few gasps as well. Mrs. Travis bent down, and when she rose, there was an orange cat in her arms.
“I can assure you,” Darcy said, his voice strained, “it is not a ghost.”
Mrs. Travis held the protesting feline close to her chest. “How can you be sure? Grandmama always said Lambton was haunted by the Christmas Duchess!”
Murmurs of “the Christmas Duchess” rolled through the crowd, which was growing. Nothing like the retelling of a ghost story to draw people away from the business of selling their goods.
An older man Darcy did not know pursed his lips and said with complete seriousness, “Shewasknown to be mischievous, but she brought things, she did not take them . . .”
“Quite right. I never heard of a duchess stealing things,” scoffed a woman next to Mrs. Travis. “Even if you believe that ridiculous tale.”
Darcy thought this a good opportunity to end the conversation. “I quite agree. Now, if there are no further questions—”
This was met by a few loud protests, and Darcy swept his eyes over them all in exasperation until he saw Miss Bennet and her footman standing a few feet back from the gathering, one gloved hand covering her mouth in yet another attempt not to laugh at him. Their eyes met, and she smiled at him.
He opened his mouth, searching for words to regain control of the situation, when she walked towards him, the crowd parting to allow her through.
“Good day, everyone,” she said, raising her voice so all could hear. “I am Miss Bennet of Hollydale House, and I am new here, though I am the niece of Margaret Wright, who lived among you before she married. It is wonderful to meet you all.”
The murmur that ran through the crowd seemed friendly enough.
“Because people who are new sometimes see things that those more familiar with an area might not, might I offer a few more earthly possibilities?”
