Page 46 of The Blackmail of Mr. Darcy
“Now for our report,” Darcy said. He showed Bingley and Miss Bennet the contents of the bag they had found in the tree hollow, and he particularly asked Bingley about the signet ring. “Had your father designed a family crest before he passed? Is this his ring?”
“No, my father discussed the idea that I, or perhaps my sons, might adopt a family crest some day, but he never took steps to do so himself, and I have never seen this ring before in my life.”
Elizabeth explained their theories of why the papers had been left in the tree, and Darcy said, “I believe I should ask some more questions of Miss Bingley.” They began to discuss the questions that should be asked, and Elizabeth swiftly moved to a table for pen and ink, keeping a record of their ideas.
“You should be the one to interview her, again, Darce.” Bingley had never looked more downcast. “She barely respects me, she despises the Bennets—” he turned towards Miss Bennet and murmured an apology, and then he went on to address Darcy again: “But she still has great regard for you. And youfigured out a way to appeal to her vanity, last time, and she told you far more than she told me.”
“Of course. I would not wish the task on anyone else,” Darcy said. “But I think that you must accompany me, Bingley.”
“I would be happy to do so.”
Darcy took the list from Elizabeth and said, “Thank you for the effort to record our thoughts and questions, Miss Elizabeth.” Their fingers brushed together as she relinquished the paper, and they both smiled.
Walking with his host, Darcy strode off to do a duty that he could only loathe.
Miss Bingley was looking considerably worse.Her maid was attempting to feed her, but Miss Bingley apparently vacillated between being hungry enough to ask for another spoonful of soup to being angry enough to change her mind and use her tongue, chin, or entire head to bump the spoon. The spilt soup was soaking into various spots of her dress and, in some cases, even her hair. Apparently the oldest spilled soup had already dried into a brown crust that dotted her costume here and there.
Darcy’s heart squeezed for his friend, to see his sister thus, but of course, a glance at Bingley’s swollen, bruised, and cut face pointed out exactly why Miss Bingley was in restraints and being spoon fed.
Bingley spoke in a low voice, “Miss Maureen, I am appreciative of your patience. Just know that, until I can relocate my sister to a safe place, I will be paying double your usual wages.”
“Well done, Bingley,” Darcy said.
“I have learnt some things from you, Darce.”
Darcy nodded solemnly at his friend, and then turned to his sister, carefully keeping his face neutral and his eyes focused on hers. He certainly did want her to see him staring at the broth dripping from her chin. “Miss Bingley, we are hoping that you can help us. Since it is rare that I have met anyone with your intelligence, I thought to turn to you about some puzzling questions we have.”
She sat up straighter, and her facial expression was identical to the supercilious mien she donned every time the Bennets were around. It was a proud expression, and it looked decidedly odd in the context of a lapful of barley and carrots.
“Of course I will help you if I can,” she said. She sounded normal, which is to say self-important and status-conscious.
“We need to find a man called Peter James Clifford. Have you heard of him?”
Miss Bingley smiled slyly and narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do you want to talk with him?”
“We are hoping that he will know a man by the name of James Clinton, who has been missing for some time. I believe Mr. Clinton may be feared dead.”
The mad woman giggled a little but then raised her nose again and said in her poshest accent, “I am certain that Mr. Clinton is not dead. I have heard of this Mr. Clifford creature, but I have no idea where he is.”
“Thank you, Miss Bingley.” Darcy said carefully, “I believe that my new wife, who will be the mistress of Pemberley, may not want my sister Georgiana to remain in residence, but I also do not wish my sister to be spurned wherever I send her. I could marry much quicker if I could somehow find someone to create documents that will present my sister under a new name. We thought that Mr. Clifford would know who we could go to for help, but we cannot find him.”
“Your new wife? Who will it be?” Miss Bingley looked fierce as her eyes darted all around.
“I am certain that you, of all people, will approve of my choice, Miss Bingley….”
“Oh!” Miss Bingley simpered and smirked and said, “Well, I do know of a person who could help you get the papers you would need. I do not know his name or direction, but our old footman, John, was most helpful in understanding my needs and organising for the papers to be drafted and delivered.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Bingley. You are a true life saver. Although, do you know where I might find this John fellow? Do you know his full name?”
Miss Bingley flapped her wrist quite dismissively. “He is with the Gouldings now. After I used him to get the papers, I no longer wished to see him every day. I am not sure I could remember his surname.”
“Oh, dear,” Darcy said. “I may not be able to find him, then, and if I cannot get the papers, then I may have to delay being wed, because?—”
“Robert Patterson!”
“The footman who was so helpful in getting the papers was named Robert Patterson?”
“Yes.”
