Page 52 of Till Death Us Do Part: Book 2
They walked to the back of the shop, where a tea set was already prepared, as a young clerk brought out hot water. It took a few minutes to set out the tea, and the men chatted about goings on in the town until the assistant left.
Bartlet finally said, “I suppose you are looking for information about your wife?”
Darcy felt the need to tread carefully. Here he had one of the few men who had been kind to his wife with nothing to gain. Mrs Darcy’s pin money could not possibly have made any difference to Bartlet, who only still worked because he loved the customers, even if she spent every farthing on books.
He carefully said, “I, of course, would never dream of asking you to break a confidence, but anything you could tell me would be greatly appreciated.”
Bartlet nodded. “She never asked me to keep anything in confidence. In most ways, she was one of the most open and engaging young women I have ever known. She was a voracious reader, and an intelligent one. Did you know that?”
Darcy felt uncomfortable but knew he needed to get accustomed to the feeling. “She spent four days in a house where I was a guest. She liked to engage in discussions, and I foundthat if you came to the arena with a weak argument, you did so at your peril.”
Longman and Bartlet chuckled, and Bartlet quipped, “That, I believe.”
Bartlet said, “I should preface what I will tell you by saying I have no idea where your wife went. She did not say where she was going, and I did not ask. I cannot even give you a clue. She never, to my knowledge, really discussed anything about her life with anyone, at least in this shop. It was all about the books.”
Darcy thought that did indeed sound unlikely. He remembered Elizabeth as being quite a social creature when he was stalking her in Meryton, but who knew what she would be in Derbyshire? If she were trying to succeed in her marriage, she certainly would not spend her time gossiping about it, but he assumed she needed some social contact outside of Pemberley like she needed air. No matter how one regarded it, every single person surrounding the estate might depend on her goodwill sooner or later, so everyone would have to be careful around her. It made perfect sense that she would try to break out of her shell.
Darcy brought his attention back and whispered, “Anything you can tell me would be appreciated.”
Bartlet took out a tinderbox, laboriously sparked a flame and lit his pipe, finally saying, “I suppose she will not mind me telling you that I did notmeether as Mrs Darcy. I first met her as Miss Bennet.”
Darcy started and abruptly sat upright in his chair. Bartlet was well known as a homebody who only occasionally went to London to buy and sell books but otherwise preferred to stick to the comforts of home. His chances of meeting her in London were slim.
“Where did you meet her, if you do not mind my asking?”
“Right in this shop. She sat in that chair you occupy right now, and I gave her a cup of tea. She apologised that shecould not afford to buy anything, and I opined that she was quite welcome anyway. She warmed up a bit, purchased paper, borrowed a pen, and wrote a letter.”
He looked at Darcy pensively. “She asked me as a great favour to hold it for three days, then post it, which I did.”
Darcy’s head was spinning violently enough to make him feel almost as bad as his typhus days, so he asked in panic, “When was this? Did you notice the direction? What was her condition? Where was she going?” all while his heart started racing and his head started pounding.
Bartlet reached out a steadying hand and gripped Darcy’s arm. “Calm yourself, young man. All will be revealed. Take a deep breath and eat a slice of this bread, or I can bring you some brandy.”
As tempting as the brandy sounded, Darcy followed the bookseller’s advice regarding the bread and tea and got himself back under regulation.
Bartlet judged the man ready to listen again—just barely.
“It was on the fifth of December, two hours short of closing. She was very polite, our Miss Bennet. It would have been a breach of privacy to look at the direction, so I laid it face down for three days as she asked, then posted it. Before that, I walked her back to the coaching inn and bid her adieu. That was the last I saw of her, until she came in to introduce herself as Mrs Darcy a few weeks later. I would ask that the first meeting be between the three of us. Nobody in Derbyshire but her maid knows about it, or maybe the innkeeper.”
Darcy thought that sounded like a good clue. “Molly Hatcher?”
“Yes. She was raised a few miles south of Lambton. Her father passed some years ago, and her mother just in November. She has four brothers, but they all left to join the army or navy some years ago.”
“Have you any idea what she was doing in Lambton, of all places?”
Bartlet looked at the man for some time, and Darcy finally ducked his head in shame.
“She was running?”
“Yes, I believe so—apparently unsuccessfully.”
Darcy once again felt pains in his chest, but a deep breath cleansed the sensations.
“I had no idea she found the whole idea so distasteful.”
“Did you ask her?” Bartlet said, not quite able to keep a hard edge out of his voice, which his companions noticed, but neither remarked on.
“Much to my shame, I did not.”
