Darcy leaned in slightly toward Elizabeth. “She has taken the bait.”
Elizabeth smiled mischievously at her co-conspirator. “Now, to find out whether Miss Bingley is the culprit behind all the slander, or merely their unwitting aide.”
∞∞∞
Another hour passed quickly, and soon the assembly’s brilliance dimmed. Candles guttered, carriages queued outside, and the assembly began to disperse, fading into the frosty night and whispering about the scandal.
Darcy drew Elizabeth aside with quiet urgency. “We should speak to your aunt,” he murmured as parties flushed from a night of dancing and entertainment weaved aroundthem. “If we proceed tonight, we will require a witness of unimpeachable respectability.”
Elizabeth nodded at once. “She will understand.”
Mrs Gardiner was found near the edge of the room, conversing with a pair of acquaintances. Elizabeth and Darcy approached together, their manner sufficiently composed to avoid remark, yet their intent plain enough to invite curiosity.
“My dear aunt,” Elizabeth said, lowering her voice once they had withdrawn a few steps, “we believe we are on the verge of discovering the author of the rumours.”
Mrs Gardiner’s expression sharpened. “Indeed?”
“If our suspicions are correct, the man who has been supplying the scandal sheets may attempt to deliver a fresh report before morning. We intend to catch him at the printer,” Darcy said.
She raised an eyebrow. “’We’, Mr Darcy?”
“I must go, Aunt,” Elizabeth told her. “There is something in the description we received of the culprit that catches at my memory. I feel certain that I have seen such a man, but I cannot put a name to him. If we find him tonight, I may be able to identify him. We must put an end to this nightmare.”
Mrs Gardiner did not hesitate. “Then I shall accompany you. It’s time this business was put behind us.” Her eyes flitted to the ladies with whom she had just been in conversation. They had been watching their party with keen interest, and loudly remarked on the pleasantness of the evening once they realised they were under scrutiny. It was not hard to imagine that they, too, had been whispering about the latest scandal.
Elizabeth squeezed her aunt’s hand gratefully, even as a pang of sorrow wracked her chest. It was unfair for her aunt to be treated so. It hardened her resolve for the task ahead of them. “We could not ask for a better ally.”
Within minutes, they took their leave. Darcy secured a carriage, Elizabeth cloaked herself against the chill night air, and Mrs Gardiner remained composed, yet visibly alert to the gravity of their errand.
London after midnight was a different city, its brilliance stripped down to shadow and lamplight. The carriage wheels echoed on damp streets as they made their way toward the printer Darcy had previously visited. Only this time, they hoped to catch the informant in the act of delivering his salacious gossip.
Elizabeth watched the passing buildings with heightened attention, her mind replaying every fragment of information they had gathered. She felt certain she would know the man immediately if she saw him, based on the description Mr Darcy had shared with her. Middle height, fair hair, and of military bearing. Not a handsome man, and yet one who prided himself on his appearance.
The carriage slowed as they neared a narrow street where the windows were dark and shuttered. Darcy leaned forward, catching her attention. “We must proceed cautiously.”
The party alighted some distance from the printing shop and walked the remaining distance on foot, keeping to the shadows cast by flickering lamps. The printer’s door stood closed, but a faint glow showed beneath it. Somewhere nearby, measured footsteps sounded.
Elizabeth stilled. “Someone is coming.”
A figure emerged from the far end of the street with his hat pulled low and coat buttoned close. He carried a folded packet beneath his arm and walked with the easy stride of a man accustomed to confidence and command.
As he drew nearer, the lamplight revealed the familiar lines of his face.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. “That is Mr Denny!” she whispered.
Mr Darcy glanced sharply at her. “Do you know him?”
“Indeed. He is an officer of the Meryton militia. One of George Wickham’s closest companions.”
Mr Darcy stiffened. “Did you say Wickham?” he demanded in a low, urgent whisper. Sensible of the need for silence and speed, Elizabeth answered only with a nod. She saw his eyes widen in response. The name of Wickham, though it had only increased Elizabeth’s surprise, seemed to have explained something to Mr Darcy.
The man reached the printer’s door and lifted his hand to knock. Before he could do so, Mr Darcy stepped forward into the light.
“Good evening, sir.”
Mr Denny froze. He turned, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before schooling his expression into careless surprise.
“Mr Darcy,” he said with the air of someone who had stumbled into a casual acquaintance at an assembly. “An unexpected pleasure.”
