Page 50 of Affectations of Candour

Mr Wright uttered a profanity, then strode angrily from the room.

It had been a devilishly long evening. Weary and yearning for rest, Darcy was thankful that he finally could retire. No longer having to contend against comfort, he struggled out of his coat, toed off his shoes, and poured himself a brandy. At least nothing else unexpected, inappropriate, or inconvenient can possibly happen now, at this hour. Fighting with his cravat, he was about to ring for Graham when there came a knock on his bedchamber door.

“Mr Darcy, sir, a Mr James Wright has arrived. He insists he has been invited.”

Fiend seize him! Despite the stillness of the night, no carriage had been heard. How in blazes did he come here? Darcy reluctantly set down the glass of brandy and donned a silk banyan over shirt and breeches. Making his way downstairs, he grumbled to himself about vipers and vermin.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Wright,” was all Darcy had to say by way of a greeting as he nodded to the bedraggled, unwelcome guest standing in his vestibule. The young man reeked of horse manure. His longish hair looked like he had been dragged backwards through a hedge, and he appeared older than his twenty-one years. James Wright’s father had once said that a person’s manner of living could most horribly cut up their youth and vigour. Ha. Wait until he sets eyes upon his own son.

“You need not look so delighted to see me, Darcy. By Jove, man, you make me feel as welcome as a boisterous dog in a game of skittles.”

“Did you truly expect me to be delighted by someone unexpectedly appearing at my door well past midnight? By what mode of travel did you arrive here?”

Wright explained that he had sat atop a Royal Mail coach going as far as the village of Wyman’s Cove. “There being no vacant room at the hedge-tavern because of tomorrow’s auction, I managed to get a ride on a passing hay cart that took me to a Mr Miller’s cottage, where I left behind my one small trunk. Portmanteau in hand, I walked the rest of the way to this fine villa of yours here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Nearly a mile and a half in the dark. Are you mad, man?”

“Apparently, yes. And as cross as two sticks. I would have slept in Mr Miller’s hay loft, but the old man could not seem to understand what I was asking of him. So on I stumbled blindly, hoping against hope that some Good Samaritan would come along and take pity upon me. Of course, I was the only fool mad enough to be on the rutty road at this time of night…other than a vixen with its eerie, wailing cry and a barn owl screeching like someone being murdered. Criminy, Darcy, I was frightened beyond all frightfulness. And although I managed to not be killed, I fell twice, once headlong into something nasty.” Wright brushed at the front of his coat, then wrinkled his nose as his hand came away filthy. “The second time I took a tumble, it was into prickly nettles. My portmanteau came open, and some of my clothing spilt out. They will require a good laundering and, perhaps, mending. And someone will have to fetch my trunk from Miller’s cottage.”

“Where is your valet?” Please tell me that you brought your gentleman’s gentleman. How shall I face Graham if you have not?

“Ah yes, about that, I regret to say that Stanley could not accompany me. He was in another part of town on an urgent errand for me when I decided, quite on the spur of the moment, to leave London. I am terribly sorry I was not able to come earlier with my family. But, mere days ago, I realised I could no longer refuse myself the pleasure of profiting by your kind invitation. Now, Darcy, you must promise that if a rough-looking man turns up asking for me, you will not give me away.”

Oh, the temptation! “I give no such promise. Clearly, you are fleeing from creditors, and I should send you back to the gambling houses from whence you came.”

In the latest document from Darcy’s man of business, it was reported that Mr Horace Wright was paying over one quarter of his income from the lease of Barleybrae to settle the interest on his son’s debts. During one week in July, James Wright had spent two days straight, without sleep, drinking and playing hazard at a West End gambling-house where he won two thousand pounds and immediately thereafter lost three. He then staggered off to his friend’s apartments at the Albany for a few hours of sleep before the two of them travelled to Newmarket for the summer’s race meet, resulting in a further loss of five thousand pounds. Added to what Wright already owed, the sum was a staggering amount.

“So, where is everyone?”

“If you mean your family, they are no doubt asleep in their beds, it being late and all. In fact, your eldest sister is indisposed. Now, what am I to do with you in your present condition? I suppose quarters could be found in the far end of the garret. There are a few bachelor rooms, as my uncle used to call them, up there. Monstrously small, though. But better than spending the night in a hayloft, a sponging house, or debtors’ prison where you undoubtedly belong. You should consider yourself fortunate.”

After having caught several hours of sleep and knowing it was his duty to ensure the well-being of Miss Wright and her family, Darcy approached the small sitting room near their chambers.

Upon hearing the eldest daughter’s voice, raised but not in song, he hurried towards whatever unpleasantness Miss Wright had in store for him. Had Mr Wright only just then informed her of their eviction? Drawing nearer, he discerned that all five of the Wrights were within, speaking over one another and growing louder. Before he entered the room, he stood to one side, listening for just a moment.

“When was the last time you had it?” That was Miss Wright’s father.

“Last evening,” said she. “Meg, you helped me prepare for bed. Where did you put it?”

“Upon the bedside cabinet.”

“Well it was not there when I awoke.”

Eavesdropping was ungentlemanly behaviour, so Darcy cleared his throat before walking in and nodding. “Good day, everyone. Miss Wright, I trust that you are in better health this morning.”

“Oh, sir, I am terribly distraught! Papa tells me that we are to leave here.” Miss Wright rushed forwards but, evidently remembering herself, stopped short of touching him. “And my carbuncle is gone!”

At first assuming that she was alluding to the enduring eruption upon her forehead, Darcy bit back a retort. However, due to the worried and upset state she seemed to be in, he presumed Miss Wright was instead referring to the necklace she often wore—a pendant with a large, bold red en cabochon garnet suspended from a gold chain.

“It was my mother’s, and the gem is supposed to protect its wearer against plague, poison, and bad dreams.” Miss Wright muttered that it had not performed well at all against Elizabeth Bennet. Then she forgot herself and grasped Darcy’s sleeve. “It must have been her! Miss Bennet was in my bedchamber last night, standing right next to the bedside cabinet. She took my necklace!”

“No! Miss Bennet would never steal, especially something so ugly,” cried Miss Althea.

Smiling at the girl, Darcy thought she was only partially correct. She would never steal someone’s property, but Elizabeth is more than capable of stealing a man’s heart.

In an attempt to placate Miss Wright, he spoke in a gentle tone. “Let us not be hasty in assigning blame. Perhaps the jewellery is merely misplaced or fell upon the floor. I shall instruct the chambermaids to search for it. In any event, I assure you that Miss Bennet is not responsible for its disappearance.”