Darcy gave Elizabeth a look to not talk about their escape now. The boy seemed unlikely to betray them, but who knew what he might say to Markle while under duress.
“How did your family become free traders?” Darcy asked.
“Uncle was a deckhand on a smuggling ship, paid in contraband, and over time he amassed enough to buy a boat and run a crew of his own,” Kirby said, swallowing the last of his bun. “He now has two ships, two crews. My uncle makes several runs to France and Holland a month. He needs five men to run his one-tonne cutter, so with my father now being in Newgate, he expects me to take his place.”
“And you do not want to?”
“Have no choice,” Kirby mumbled.
“What would you rather do if you need not become a smuggler?” Elizabeth asked. She had set aside the ice to nibble on a bun. When the boy shrugged, she pressed him. “I am certain you have thought of it, a clever young man like yourself.”
Kirby muttered an answer Darcy could not hear, and Elizabeth gently asked him to say it again. “I said I want to study the law. But I have no tutor, and no one to help me with the fees, and my uncle and father expect me to learn to man the gaff rig on the cutter.”
There was such resignation in his voice. Darcy hated to see a child of twelve feel such hopelessness, to have accepted he was destined to a life of violence and crime.
Darcy went to his greatcoat pocket, shifting aside the ring box from Lady Catherine and the letter to Elizabeth. He pulled out a small pocketbook and removed one of his cards. “Take this, and put it away. In fact, commit it to memory and then burn it.”
“Why do I need to know your name and direction in town?”
“Because if our ransom is paid, if they return us, I will help you. Do not tell your uncle, or your mother, or any of your uncle’s gang. If you decide this is not the life you want, I will see that you are sent to school, and I will help you to enter the law when you are old enough.”
Kirby gave him a doubting look, and Darcy held the card out closer. He took it, shoving it into his pocket. “Because I brought her some ice?”
If he knew where to find ice to tend to his bruises, what adult had this boy ever been able to trust? “No, it is because you are a promising young man, Master Kirby.”
The boy pushed up his too-long sleeves and shrugged as though not really believing it. He bent to pick up the tray, leaving the teapot and cups behind on the floor.
There were two buns left on the plate, and Kirby handed one to Elizabeth, who took it with a smile. He held the other out to Darcy, who shook his head. Kirby lifted the tray and went to leave, but turned back at the door.
“A few months ago, just up the road near Eynsford, a revenue officer met up with my uncle’s crew,” he mumbled. “They were moving tea from one barn to another up from the coast, and the load was seized from Colton and Conway. My uncle raised men from all round, and they hunted down the revenue man and threw him in a well. On his command, they all took turnsthrowing stones onto him until, um, until they did not need to anymore.”
Elizabeth gasped and Darcy’s stomach dropped.
“And then, when a farmer near Shoreham told a neighbour he would tell a constable what my uncle had done, the neighbour told my uncle, and they burnt down his barn. When he was in it,” Kirby added, although Darcy had not needed the clarification. “I doubt you could get past Steamer, but you ought to know that no one in Shoreham will help you if they think you are fleeing a free trader gang. They would bring you back and not lose any sleep over it,” he added, before unlocking the door and passing through.
Chapter Eight
They were both silent after Kirby left. Elizabeth watched Darcy try to pace, but the teapot on the floor was in the way and their room was in cluttered disorder. He eventually sat on the bed, staring at the wall, and Elizabeth stayed on the floor, picking at a bun that was now tasteless.
She had been aware of what Darcy said and did for her after they were returned to their cell. There was a gentleness and, she dared thought, an affection behind his care. He had called her “my dear” while he comforted her. From all she had come to know about him, it felt unlikely to be an unconscious display of a former affection. Every word and action he took showed that she was still cherished by him. But would that affection last, or would it fade once this dreadful ordeal was over?
Her horror at what happened downstairs had only receded because of Darcy’s help, but Kirby’s admission about how far Markle’s cruelty spread brought it back. Equally horrifying was how the local people accepted his crimes and violence, or at least turned a blind eye to it in fear.
And Darcy offered to help his nephew if he wanted a different life.
Was his kindness to Kirby something Darcy would always have done, or was it evidence that Darcy now wanted to be a better man, and more caring to those outside of his circle? How could a man that generous also be a man who denied Wickham the living that his father had always intended for him? Had Wickham not told her the entire story? Or worse, had Wickham lied?
Her heart whispered that Darcy had always been a good man.
And she admired him, and he did not want to hear mention of Wickham, and now was not the time to raise questions. Pushing aside her curiosity and her fondness for Darcy, she said, “That was a generous thing you did for the nephew of the person who kidnapped us.”
“You cannot think the boy has anything to do with it,” he said, still looking at the wall.
“Of course not, but most men would not offer to educate a stranger.”
She heard him sigh. “I doubt Kirby has the courage to accept my offer, or that his uncle would not come after him if he suspected where he went, but if Kirby wants to be an attorney or a barrister, someone ought to help him.”
She smiled, although he could not see it. “Most would think that someone must help him. Few would take that upon themselves.”
