Page 44 of The Blackmail of Mr. Darcy
“Have you considered the tenants?” Elizabeth asked. She was trying to think through the surnames of the estate’s tenant families.
“Yes,” Mr. Bingley answered. “I did not think of them for a moment, but Darcy did. Nobody with a last name starting with the letter B.”
There was a long silence. Elizabeth had her eyes closed, thinking hard, moving from tenants to servants to neighbours to…. “Mademoiselle Bonaparte?”
“Who on earth is that?” Mr. Bingley asked.
Elizabeth sent a look to Jane, who nodded with wide eyes.
Elizabeth explained, “There is a lady’s maid who has always claimed to be French royalty, but who is as English as I am. She calls herself Mademoiselle Bonaparte, even though that name rubs almost everyone the wrong way, given the war. She does not work at Netherfield, now, but she used to. I cannot remember what has become of her, but I feel strongly that someone on the staff will know which household she moved to. I imagine that, if she were involved, she would know a trick or two about getting someone out of Netherfield.”
Mr. Darcy asked her, “You said she calls herself Mlle. Bonaparte. Does she have another name that she has gone by in the past, as well?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth laughed. “When she was born, she was christened Alice Pott. Which is not at all French.”
Mr. Bingley said, “Darce, how about if you and Miss Elizabeth try to find the message tree, and Miss Bennet and I will work on the Mademoiselle Bonaparte, also known as Alice Pott, angle.”
“That sounds like a very good plan,” Mr. Darcy responded.
“I agree,” Elizabeth said, and Jane merely nodded, but with a determined glint in her eyes.
Chapter 26
Darcy
Darcy and Elizabeth checked in with Georgiana, who remained engaged with the younger Bennets. They told her that they were off to Netherfield for the purpose of investigation, and she nodded happily.
As he escorted Elizabeth towards the stables, Darcy noticed that her footsteps were getting slower and slower, and she looked quite hesitant. “Is anything wrong?” he asked.
“I am sorry to tell you, but I am no horsewoman.” She looked up into his eyes, and he had never seen her more tentative. She continued: “I am afraid I have no idea how to control a horse, no matter how gentle the horse may be. Also, my father keeps no horses that could possibly keep up with your own.”
He found Elizabeth’s nervous stance about horses and riding entirely charming; but perhaps that was no surprise, because he also found her self-confidence in other areas equally charming. He expected that he would appreciate every expression and attitude she could display. “I had a feeling you were shy about riding,” he said. “And when we have the time, I would love to teach you to ride. But for now, I think you would agree that walking to what we hope is the message tree would take too long, and certainly we cannot take a carriage to it.”
“So…?”
“So,” he said with an extremely pleased smile, “you will have to ride with me.”
A stablehand had seen him coming and promptly brought out his horse, Gulliver. Darcy introduced Elizabeth to the stallion, encouraging her to curry his neck and flank for a few minutes. Then he easily mounted Gulliver and offered his hand as she stepped on a mounting block and then up to Darcy’s protective hold.
Darcy focused on regulating himself before they started out for Netherfield. Being this near Elizabeth, holding her close to him, smelling her sweet lavender-infused scent—it was all even more distracting than he could have imagined.
“Remember, I am relying on your guidance,” he said, and Elizabeth directed him towards a patch of forest.
“There is a path that takes you into a glade,” she said, pointing out a barely-visible path beyond a rocky outcropping. Darcy guided Gulliver that direction and soon saw a giant of an oak tree. There was a very large hollow in the trunk around the height a tall person could, when standing on his or her toes, reach.
“This does seem to be the sort of tree one might use to pass secret correspondence,” Darcy said.
Without dismounting, he reached into the hollow and groped around. His hand finally discovered a small cloth bag that had been placed under the thick lip of the hole. He gave it to Elizabeth for safekeeping and groped some more, even standing up in his stirrups to peer into the hole before he decided that the cloth bag was the only secret the oak currently hid.
At that point, Darcy dismounted and helped Elizabeth down as well. Elizabeth opened the bag and poured the contents into Darcy’s hands.
She nudged the coins out from under the other items. “Five pounds,” she said. “Four—no, five letters…” she paused to read the beginning of each one. “Two letters of introduction, I gather, Introducing a young man named Peter James Clifford. Two letters of reference for the same man. One…letter of credit. Same name, as I imagine you already expected. A signet ring.”
“I believe that these are likely forged papers meant to enable James Clinton to take on a new name and identity.”
“Exactly my supposition,” Elizabeth said. “But what about the signet ring? Could the symbol carved in it be a made up family crest? Or is it a stolen ring that could be traced to some other name?”
Darcy studied the ring. “I have never seen this family crest before, but that does not make it fake. I probably only know, perhaps, four dozen or so crests by sight.”
