Page 53 of Ashes and Understanding
Darcy winced at the bluntness, and so did Bingley, whose jaw visibly tensed. Before his friend could respond, Darcy stepped forward. “I understand completely, Mr. Bennet.”
Bingley whirled on his friend, betrayal on his face. “You do?”
Without breaking eye contact with Mr. Bennet, who was giving him a measuring look, Darcy replied, “I do. If it were Georgiana—my younger sister, sir—I would be making the same decision.”
Mr. Bennet gave him a short, appreciative nod. “Thank you.”
Darcy’s thoughts were already racing ahead. If Smithson had been after the baby, as Elizabeth suspected… then Longbourn was now the most vulnerable point in the whole arrangement. And if Mr. Bennet wanted his family together so he could protect them personally—well, Darcy could hardly argue.
Still, it left a sour taste in his mouth to imagine Elizabeth gone from Netherfield. Gone from his immediate presence. No more conversations in the drawing room. No more catching her eye across the breakfast table. No more walking alongside her in the shrubbery, watching the sun catch in her curls as she teased him about his lack of conversational ease.
“I will see that the ladies are readied immediately,” Bingley said sullenly.
“Thank you,” Mr. Bennet said again. “You’ve both been hospitable—more than I expected. I am grateful.”
Bingley murmured something in acknowledgment, his brows still furrowed.
Darcy took his leave then, but not to supervise packing. Instead, he went straight to his study and called for writing paper.
There were letters to write—important ones. And this time, they would not go unanswered.
∞∞∞
Once the Bennet ladies had departed, the house fell oddly still. Bingley lingered near the window, visibly deflated, while Darcy retreated to the study and summoned paper and ink.
He penned his first letter to Mr. Reimont, his solicitor:
I require urgent inquiries into the man known as Mr. Smithson, who claims to represent an insurance company. His behavior and intentions are suspect, and I fear he may be involved in criminal activities under the guise of an official investigator.Please send word if there are any known affiliations, aliases, or related claims to this name or identity.
Also, advise whether it is possible to engage a Bow Street Runner to attend to the matter discreetly in Hertfordshire.
Satisfied, he sealed it with his signet.
The next letter was more difficult— addressed to Lord Matlock, his uncle. He hesitated before beginning. The earl had grown distant of late, and his silence in response to Darcy’s earlier missives about the fire was… troubling.
My lord,
Forgive the urgency of this letter, but I must implore your attention to a matter that grows more concerning with each passing day...
He once again detailed the events surrounding the fire, only this time, he went into what he learned about Elizabeth’s early awareness, the abandoned baby, the interrogation, and now Smithson’s attempted entry into the nursery. No detail was omitted.
I beg of you to look into this situation. If you hear nothing of this Smithson through your contacts, I fear something far more sinister is at play than an insurance company wishing avoid payout. It may be tied to the child. If there is anything you know—anything at all—I beg you to share it without delay.
His hand hovered over the paper before he signed it, sealed it, and wrote the direction on the outside.
Darcy then turned his attention towards the final—and perhaps most important—letter. This one would be to his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, who was currently stationed in London in order to help maintain order in the city after the fire.
Colonel Fitzwilliam,
I know you are in London, and no doubt you are drowning in chaos and duties. But I must ask you for a favor of the kind I suspect you are uniquely able to provide...
This one was more candid, layered with concern and unspoken trust. Last year, when the colonel had returned home from another tour of duty on the Continent, he showed up unannounced at Darcy House, where he proceeded to become thoroughly drunk. Amidst his ramblings of the horrors he had witnessed, he had muttered something about having contacts with the Home Office.
The following morning, the colonel had been alarmed upon hearing of his inebriated state the night before. He had demanded to know what all had been spoken, showing relief upon hearing that it was a bunch of nonsense. He swore Darcy to never speak of it, and since that night, the colonel had refused to drink alcohol in any form or quantity.
Darcy had kept that promise—until now.
I am hopeful that a few of your contacts may be able to help with a strange situation I have encountered here in Hertfordshire. There is a man named Smithson who is claiming to be an agent for an insurance company. The questions he has asked, however, have nothing to do with the destruction of property. Instead, he seems to be uniquely fixated on a baby who was found in Cheapside during the fire itself. The man went so far as to break into a gentleman’s home last night in an attempt to reach the children of the household, mistakenly believing the infant was there. He has since disappeared, but I suspect we have not heard the last of him.
