Page 33 of The Scarred Duchess
Mr Wickham looked sick. “Was she injured?”
Darcy confirmed she was not. “Although those four boys are poorly off, I hear.”
“Hard to believe,” whispered Wickham.
“Richard has my son’s best interest at heart.” Darcy paused. “As do I.”
“How may I be of service, sir?”
“A friend has already dispatched his assistance. A decorated officer from the Regulars.”
“And does this assistance have a name?” asked Wickham.
“Reeves. According to Bennet, before giving up his commission, the sergeant suffered a wound to his face during hand-to-hand combat. He wears an eyepatch, as his left eye is missing.”
“Does that not present an issue to that side of his person?”
“I have absolute confidence in Bennet’s recommendation. He would not send assistance that he considered wanting.” He waited for the following question regarding qualifications. Wickham was nothing if not thorough.
“Did Mr Bennet inform you of Mr Reeves’s former competency while serving His Majesty?” Wickham’s curiosity got the better of him.
“Sergeant Reeves was Major Bennet’s armourer.”
Wickham’s expression was nearly comical. “You wish to have such a dangerous man at Pemberley?”
In a sober voice, George Darcy confirmed his decision. “Yes. Make no mistake. My son comes before all else.”
“Mr Lucas.”
“Thank you, Hill.” Bennet rose and welcomed his friend and neighbour. It did not surprise him to see a less-than-warm smile.
“This is a rum business, Bennet. This accusation that you killed your cousin?—”
“Unconscionable, I know.”
“No one can ignore his letter to Franny. So despicable, such a damning piece of evidence. Threats! Curses! Calling on the Almighty so irreverently. Sacrilege, I daresay!”
Bennet nodded. Lucas was a talking gale, and nothing Bennet should add would deter the deluge. He let his mind wander off until his guest’s prattle kicked a stone over in his mind.
“Where did you say they found Collins?”
Lucas cleared his throat. “The brook on the forested side of the inn.”
“By the brook…in the opposite direction from his hovel?”
“They found him in the brook. Face down.” Lucas’s eyebrows drew together. “As if sleeping in the water.”
Bennet leant his head back and laughed. Then he saw Lucas’s affront and quickly apologised. “Forgive me, but may I make a suggestion? It should convince the coroner of my innocence and solve this mystery.”
Bennet beckoned his friend forward and spoke quietly. Lucas nodded, and upon standing, announced with vigour, “I will use all of my authority as magistrate to see this through. Worry not. Unfortunately, I must take all the credit for this solution to this vexation, mind you.”
Bennet stood, bowed, and in a credible tone with gravitas, declared, “I would suspend no pleasure of yours, magistrate.”
Bennet assessed the individual standing in front of him. His average height, unremarkable stature, relaxed carriage, and forgettable features—neutral hair, bland eye colour, and a lack of discernible marks—belied what the man had been: byreputation and deed, one of the kingdom’s deadliest military assassins.
“Questions before you assume your duties?” Bennet asked, aware that Legget knew already why he was there and was not the sort of man to waste time on pleasantries.
“Boundaries?”
