As one, the younger ladies all retreated, leaving their parents behind. Mr. Bennet would surely retreat to his bookroom to while away the afternoon, though Elizabeth knew he would keep a close watch on the house to ensure Mr. Wickham did not return. With those thoughts, Elizabeth gave herself over to her new friend. The future would take care of itself.
Chapter XIII
Watford was a pleasant collection of comfortable homes, pleasant shops, and even an inn or two, perhaps double the size of Meryton. As Bingley looked out the window at the town, he nodded with satisfaction, knowing this was taking him closer to Miss Bennet. The lessening physical distance was welcome, but what was more important at the moment was retrieving Miss de Bourgh from the clutches of whatever libertine had spirited her away. When that business was complete, he could return to Netherfield and visit Longbourn at his leisure, taking all the time needed to prove to Miss Bennet that he was a man she could trust to care for her as a husband.
At Darcy’s house, Bingley had felt wracked with uncertainty, for hehadbeen absent from Hertfordshire for over six months, to say nothing of the despicable rudeness of his sisters to Miss Bennet. Had he considered his chances of persuading her then, he might have offered odds of no better than one in three that she would forgive him. All that had changed, however, both from the optimism that arose as the distance between them diminished, but also because of what his companions had said while Lady Catherine slept, oblivious to the serious impediment to her plans.
Bingley supposed he should be angry at the suffering Miss Bennet had endured—indeed, for a short time after he had laughed at Fitzwilliam’s confession of what he had said to Miss Elizabeth, Bingley had wondered if he should not take offense. The fact of the matter was that itwasamusing if one did not consider how very pathetic it all was. Had Darcy or Fitzwilliam been to blame for Miss Bennet’s tears, he might have reactedquite differently. However, while Darcy had added his opinion when asked and Caroline and Louisa had behaved in a proud, if not underhanded manner, Bingley knew he bore a large share of the blame himself.
All these ruminations and conversations led Bingley to hope more than he felt he had the right. Miss Bennet was a true jewel among women, and Bingley was fortunate he had found her. Given what Miss Elizabeth had said to his friend about her sister’s feelings, Bingley could not imagine she still existed in depressed spirits if she were indifferent to him. While her tears tore at his heart, they were perhaps the greatest reason for hope. Not that she would not make him work to prove himself. That was the greatest blessing, however, for Bingley knew this incident had changed him. Becoming the man she could trust would serve him well in the future, for a man must act with conviction if he were to care for his family. Bingley meant to become that man.
As Bingley was considering Miss Bennet, the future, and life in general, the carriage slowed and finally came to a stop near several large buildings of business. A man, it appeared, was waving to them, by his livery one of Darcy’s footmen. When the carriage finally shuddered to a halt, the jolt startled Lady Catherine into full awareness.
“Have we arrived? Where is Anne!”
“This is Watford, Lady Catherine,” said Fitzwilliam, not withholding a grin. “A man in Darcy’s employ seems to believe we shall find something interesting here.”
“Very well,” said Lady Catherine, her imperious nature once again coming to the fore. “Be quick about it, Fitzwilliam. I mean to depart again at once.”
“Your wish is my command.”
The quip did not seem to affect Lady Catherine, for she glared at them all until they descended from the carriage, not deigningto alight herself. Bingley stretched his back, grateful to be out of the close confines of the carriage, noting that Fitzwilliam and Darcy, men taller than he, were doing the same. At once, however, Darcy approached the man who had flagged them down to speak with him.
“What have you found?”
“There are several people who saw them pass through the town, but the best witness is the blacksmith.”
Gesturing to the shop, the footman led them inside, where they felt the heat of the forge and heard a man hammering away at a piece of red-hot metal. He was a brutish sort, standing squat and shorter than Bingley, but half again as wide, with massive shoulders and cords of thick, ropey muscle bulging underneath the rough smock he wore. The garment, weathered and old, scorched in places, like the beard the man wore, appeared uneven and worn like he was himself. His domain, however, was tidy, each implement of his trade stowed in its proper place, all showing years of use but in good condition.
“Dinna come closer,” snarled the man without looking up as he deftly hammered away at the implement, flipping it several times as he beat it into shape. “Ye dinna wanta git yer fine clothes singed. I’ll be wit ye in a trice.”
Grateful, as the heat was already uncomfortable several feet from the roaring flames, Bingley stopped along with his companions, awaiting the man’s pleasure. For several more moments the blacksmith continued with his work, his movements economical and precise, showing years of practice and understanding. Several times he pulled the implement up and sighted down its length, presumably to ensure it was straight, before laying it down on the anvil and hammering away again.
At length, he nodded with satisfaction and thrust his work into a nearby barrel, the rush of steam escaping the quenchingdid not him not at all. Then he turned and approached, wiping his hands on a grubby cloth he had stuffed inside his belt at his waist. It was clear as he eyed his visitors that he had no liking for gentlemen, but for all that, he appeared respectful.
“Now,” said he, “ye ‘ave come to ask me questions, yes?”
“We have, my good man,” said Fitzwilliam. He did not bother to introduce them, seeming to sense this man took little thought for the social niceties, instead turning to the task at hand. “I understand you have some information for us concerning a carriage that passed through town earlier today. It carried a young woman of perhaps five and twenty, slender with dark hair and blue eyes. We cannot be certain of her companion, but it may have been a tall man, perhaps as tall as my friend,” Fitzwilliam gestured to Bingley, “with wavy dark hair and a cocksure attitude.”
The blacksmith roared with laughter. “Aye, the be ‘im alright! A right prick ‘e was, goin’ on about me slowness.”
He shook his head with disdain. “They stopped ‘ere after noon. The ‘orse ‘ad a loose shoe, ‘e did. The driver, ‘e was friendly enough, but the gent was snooty and sharp. There was a lady, but she dinna speak none. Looked like a waif, she did, like a stiff wind would blow ‘er away.”
Fitzwilliam looked at Darcy and nodded. “That is them without a doubt. Can you tell me where they went after they left?”
“The road north, I reckon,” said the blacksmith, reaching behind to scratch his posterior. “Made out of ‘ere like a regiment of soldiers was on their tails they did.”
“Excellent,” said Fitzwilliam, satisfaction oozing from him. “Then we thank you for your time and your timely intelligence, good sir. Please take this for your trouble.”
A few coins exchanged hands, and the blacksmith looked down to inspect what Fitzwilliam had given him. It met hisapproval, for he looked up and nodded shortly. He said nothing further, returning to his work and retrieving the long piece of metal from the barrel, and before they left the shop, the banging of his hammer on the anvil had begun again.
“Well?” asked Fitzwilliam when they stepped from the shop, eyeing his cousin with a knowing look.
“It appears you were correct about Wickham’s identity,” acknowledged Darcy, much to Bingley’s amusement. “Yet we are still uncertain about their path. They might pass through Luton and avoid Meryton altogether.”
“Thank you, Cousin,” said Fitzwilliam. “For the first, it was a simple matter of deductive reasoning and one about which I had little doubt. Yet it is good to have confirmation. For the second, Meryton is near enough to the road to Luton that we can detour there and lose little time if I am wrong.”
Darcy nodded but turned to his waiting footman. “Where is the search concentrated at present?”
