“I am sure none of the servants took it,” Miss Darcy said quickly. “Reynolds spoke to all of them, and no one came forward, not even with a suspicion.”
“I suppose then you think one of your guests’ servants did,” said Mr Balfour, with a teasing smile. However, rather than meeting him in his humour, Miss Darcy took him at his word and stammered that she would never presume such a thing about her friends’ servants.
“Vagrants, I suppose,” Mrs Lanyon said, nodding to herself. “Someone wandered into the house and stole it, and then, for whatever reason, threw it aside. Perhaps he saw someone approaching, and he did not wish to be caught with it.”
The others nodded and murmured their ready agreement.A vagrant trespassing, stealing it, and then tossing it into the grass does not account for the blood on it.Elizabeth noticed that Darcy did not contribute to the discussion. Everyone else was trying to convince themselves not only that a murder could not have happened, but that not even the theft of one candlestick could have been done by anyone they knew.
She thought about where everyone was yesterday when Carew died. Mrs Lanyon had been with her and Mrs Annesley listening to Miss Darcy play. Elizabeth would swear that none of the ladies had left the house that morning. Darcy had been examining tenants’ homes and then was in the house whilst it rained. Mr Balfour said he had gone to Buxton and played cards, and Mr Utterson was shooting in Tissington at his friend’s estate, but she had not actually seen any of the men that morning.
She had seen the ladies herself, and it could not have been Darcy. Not only could she not believe it of him, but his terror when she saw him in the library was too genuine. That left Mr Utterson or Mr Balfour—who lied about where they were—unless it was a servant or a vagrant. A cold shudder rippled down her spine. She did not want to think that anyone around the table was capable of such a crime.
I am no different from the others, trying to tell myself whatever I must so as to not face that someone has been murdered.
“What are you glowering at now, my dear Darcy?” Mr Balfour asked. “You need a respite from business or you shall go mad. Please, set the letters aside for a moment and talk with us.”
He did, although Darcy kept the scowl on his face. “You cannot want me to talk about how the second storm, so soon after Monday’s and with the ground already so wet, dislodged coffins from Lambton’s graveyard and that half a dozen additional bodies will now have to be identified and reinterred.” Everyone around the table drew back. Darcy pushed one letter aside and picked up another. “We must construct a temporary bridge over the Derwent.” This letter was dropped and he picked up another. “And apparently there was looting in Lambton both Wednesday and Thursday evening.”
“Looting?” Mrs Annesley cried.
Darcy’s expression was severe. “Deserted residences and damaged shops were entered, and articles not destroyed by the flood were taken by some... some marauders,” he said, his mouth twisting in distaste.
“I hardly see how,” said Mr Balfour. “Utterson and I have twice been in the village, and the items we recovered are too large for someone to steal undetected.”
“That is true,” Elizabeth said. “When I was there on Wednesday, most of the items in the street were things like baby cradles, broken sofas, a pianoforte.”
“The account is that smaller items discovered later are now missing.” Darcy looked back at the letter and frowned.
Those around the table looked at one another, wondering what they might say. Elizabeth suspected Darcy would prefer it if everyone left him alone, but Mr Balfour said, “You seem incredibly angry over a few missing trifles.”
“It is not trifling!” Darcy cried, looking up. “This plundering, it shames me. I had not thought my tenants and villagers capable of such an outrage against their own neighbours. They seemed in better spirits since I spoke with them all on Wednesday, but clearly I had not moved them nor encouraged them as much as I had assumed.”
Mr Balfour waved his hand. “One or two rotten apples, is all. They shall not infect all their neighbours. You do not have bands of marauders roaming Pemberley’s land.”
Darcy gave a pained smile, as though knowing there were not many looters was no consolation for only having a few. “There is unaccountable stupidity in these looters, however many there are.”
“How do you mean?” Mr Utterson asked. “A few are taking advantage of a wretched situation. Although it is a crime, I do not think them stupid for thinking of it.”
“Because they must know that I will find them,” Darcy said in a low, firm voice. “I will find them, and I will show them no quarter.”
“That does not sound like your usual generous manner,” Elizabeth said.
“If they were stealing food, clothing, I would not feel this way,” Darcy said quickly. “They are not desperate, but selfish. They are stealing silverware, coin purses, jewel?—”
He stopped, and shared an intense, knowing look with her. Elizabeth felt the air drain from her lungs. Valuables were being stolen in the village, silver had been taken from the house, and someone had stolen Carew’s ring from her body. What if it was the same person or persons?
“You were saying, Darcy?” Mr Utterson led.
Darcy looked a little pale as he continued his thought. “Their actions are actions of cruelty against those who have lost so much, their own friends and neighbours. I can hardly believe anyone would act so low.” He looked at her again, both of them comprehending that someone connected to Pemberley might be capable of killing. “And this looter or looters shall be better off ifIfind them before the villagers do, because they might demand revenge rather than justice.”
“Organising a committee to keep watch overnight until everyone is resettled may deter more looting,” Elizabeth said.
“You are not going to send Utterson and me to take first watch, are you?” Mr Balfour drawled with a teasing smile. “Utterson would fall asleep within an hour, and, in truth, I am not a good shot. If you ever allowed yourself to stop working and went shooting with us, you would know that for yourself.”
Elizabeth watched as the anxious and furious Pemberley landlord changed his demeanour, and all the dignity and ease she had seen from him with his guests returned. Darcy was once again the charminghost of a group of friends, not one managing a heinous situation. He gave a friendly, complacent smile to everyone.
“You have been kind to remain with me and my sister at such a time. My trials are no excuse to speak about such business in company, or ignore you for days. I promise to say as little as possible about the state of affairs at Pemberley, and you are all to silence me on the subject should I forget and introduce it myself.”
Everyone murmured expressions of their friendship and their agreement, including Elizabeth, but she did not think it wise. Refusing to talk about the storm, the damage, the loss, and now the death of Carew might do Darcy harm. This forced complacency for the sake of his friends could not be maintained for long.
