“What will become of them?” Darcy asked. He could hear the desperation in his voice. “Is there family?”
Mr. Philips seemed to read more in the question than Darcy intended to reveal. “Yes. Their father’s sister is married to a gentleman with an estate in Hertfordshire. The children have already been sent there and will be cared for.”
Darcy closed his eyes.
Relief came so swiftly that he nearly swayed with it.
“Thank God.”
Mr. Philips regarded him with new attention. “You knew my brother-in-law well, then?”
“Not well.” Darcy reached inside his coat and withdrew the folded banknotes. “But well enough to know he was a man of honor. Some years ago, after my father’s death, I found he was in a tremendous amount of debt. One of those was due to Gardiner. At the time, I could not pay it. Mr. Gardiner allowed the matter to rest, and though I later sent what I could, he wrote that I owed him nothing. I did not agree.”
He held out the notes.
Mr. Philips looked at them but did not take them. “If Edward told you the debt was forgiven, then he meant it.”
“I believe he did. But I would still prefer the children to have it.”
For a long moment, Mr. Philips did not answer. His gaze moved over Darcy, taking in what most people of his own rank either overlooked or pretended not to see: the coat that was well-brushed but no longer new, the gloves mended neatly at one seam, the boots polished to disguise wear, the absence of the small extravagances expected in a man of fortune. Darcy felt the scrutiny and disliked it, but he did not withdraw his hand.
At last Mr. Philips shook his head. “Edward was a shrewd businessman as well as a generous man. The children are amply provided for. Their father’s affairs are not what we feared in those first dreadful days.”
The words ought to have eased him. They did, in part. Still, Darcy remained uncomfortable closing his fingers again around the money. “Then there must be some other use.”
“There is always some other use for money,” Mr. Philips said dryly. “But not always the right one.” He looked toward the empty spaces in the warehouse, then back at Darcy. “If you truly wish to honor Edward Gardiner, then keep it until the right need presents itself. Help someone who cannot repay you. Hewould have liked that better than a settlement of accounts he considered already closed.”
Darcy slowly lowered his hand.
Not repayment, then.
Continuation.
A kindness received and then passed onward when Providence placed the opportunity before him.
“I can do that,” he said.
Mr. Philips smiled faintly. “I rather thought you might.”
Darcy had begun to offer his farewell when a servant came dashing through the warehouse door, breathless and hatless, his face flushed from haste.
“Mr. Philips, sir!”
The attorney turned sharply. “John? What is it?”
The young man bent slightly, hands braced upon his knees as he fought for breath. “Come quick, sir. Your niece—in the cellar—floor’s unstable—or some such thing. Mrs. Thompson sent me. There’s a hidden place beneath—”
Mr. Philips was already moving. “Good heavens. What has she done now?”
Darcy ought to have remained behind. Whatever crisis had unfolded in Mr. Gardiner’s house was plainly a family matter, and he had no claim upon it. Yet the words floor’s unstable and hidden place beneath, paired with the young man’s visible distress, propelled him after Mr. Philips before he could decide otherwise.
“If there is danger,” Darcy said, matching the older man’s pace, “I may be of assistance.”
Mr. Philips gave him one distracted glance, then nodded.
The house stood only a few streets away, respectable and handsome despite the streaks of mud still marking nearby walls from the flood. The front door opened before Mr. Philips could knock, and they passed inside with John close behind. Darcybarely noticed the entry hall beyond an impression of quiet disorder: crates stacked near the wall, a folded carpet leaning against the stairs, the lingering smell of damp fabric and recent scrubbing.
“Lizzy!” Mr. Philips called.
