Mr. Fitch closed his eyes and nodded. “It was more than one hand.”
“And you resorted to thievery to pay what was due,” Thatcher insisted, his tone sharp.
Fitch flinched. “It started small,” he admitted after a pause and a nudge from Thatcher’s boot. He fixed his eyes on the floor. “I came to see the old man a few times after my wife died, and he would stand me for a meal and a night’s lodging. But the wagers took my mind off my troubles, and I needed more money to continue. I took a snuff box. Then a few books from the library. A silver teaspoon. Items I could easily sell without raising suspicion. Mr. Ellis had so much, and I had nothing at all. I was family, so it would all be mine one day.”
Darcy heard several of the men snort at the entitlement of Fitch’s last statement, and he held up one hand to stop it. He did not want to make the man defensive, for he might stop talking.
“After Mary passed,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, “I could not bear the emptiness of our home. The gaming hells offered an escape.”
As he spoke, it became clear. What began as a distraction soon spiralled into an obsession, with Mr. Fitch chasing increasinglylarge wagers in a desperate attempt to numb his grief. As his debts mounted, his tenuous connection to Hollydale through his late wife became a lifeline in his mind, a belief that he would have the funds to dig himself out of debt. He visited more often and stole something each time.
Ellis must have noticed things going missing. Perhaps that was why he had taken to hiding small, valuable items like the candlesticks? Did he fear Mr. Fitch would arrive and carry them off?
While Darcy felt a flicker of sympathy for Mr. Fitch's loss, his pity hardened into abhorrence as the man described his decision to target Hollydale. “I thought Mr. Ellis might have left mesomething. That he had not was the greatest of insults to Mary.”
“To Mary,” Darcy repeated. “Your wife, his distant cousin, who preceded him in death by fifteen years?”
Fitch dropped his head. “It does not feel so long to me.”
“How long have you been watching the house?”
“I arrived a month ago to find I had inherited nothing and there was a family I had never heard of installed in the house. When the man left, I thought it would be easier to enter at night and take a few things, just to satisfy the worst of my creditors. But there were patrols.”
“That, Mr. Fitch, is because good men protect women and children, they do not prey upon them. Would your wife be proud of the man you are now?” Darcy’s disgust was evident in his voice, but he did not alter his tone. “Is that what you expect us to believe?”
It was an old story, a man brought low by personal tragedy. But Fitch’s actions had crossed a line.
“I never meant to harm anyone, truly,” Fitch continued, shame evident in his voice. “I just needed more money. My creditors were closing in, and I was running out of options.”
“And tonight?” Darcy asked.
Mr. Fitch shook his head ruefully. “A foolish, desperate attempt. I saw you all watching the window and thought I could outsmart you. I remembered the trick with the kitchen door from my last visit. I never imagined . . .” His voice trailed off, and he winced as he touched the lump on his forehead where Mrs. Bennet had struck him.
As the confession concluded, Darcy exchanged glances with his men. Mr. Fitch's story painted a picture not of a hardened criminal, but of a man driven to extremes by his own poor choices.
“Mr. Fitch,” Darcy said, his tone firm but not unkind, “while I understand your difficulties, your actions cannot go unpunished. You had no right to any of Mr. Ellis's property, regardless of your former connection. You will be turned over to the proper authorities come morning.”
Fitch nodded resignedly, seeming almost relieved his ill-fated scheme had come to an end.
Freedman took charge of their prisoner, and Darcy tugged at the sleeves of his coat.
“We’ll keep guard, Mr. Darcy,” Thatcher said. “Why don’t you have a bath and sleep in your soft bed tonight?”
The other men stifled their laughter.
“I am happy to oblige,” Darcy said, adjusting his coat. “I would not wish to deny you the satisfaction of proving yourselves more resilient than I.”
The men exchanged amused glances.
Darcy smirked. “Indeed, I shall be thinking of your noble sacrifice every time I stir the embers of my warm fire or pour myself a glass of brandy.”
That led to rueful smiles all around. Thatcher tipped his hat. “We’ll take good care of things, sir.”
“I know you will.” He did. He would not send them a bottle of brandy tonight, for he knew they could not drink it while theyhad charge of the prisoner. But tomorrow—tomorrow, he would. “Good night.”
“Good night, Mr. Darcy,” they chimed and turned back to their work.
Darcy wished to make his farewells to the Bennet ladies before calling for his horse and returning to Pemberley in the moonlight, but he was not certain he should impose. He stood with one hand on the banister and gazed up the stairs.
