Pride and Prescience (16 page)

Bingley cast Darcy an uncertain look. Accounting had never been his strength, and Kendall had rearranged the figures so many times that he’d begun to lose faith in his own understanding of his father’s records. Darcy stepped forward, picked up the papers, and, without examining them, handed them back to Kendall.

“Whatever the circumstances, the pact bears your signature. You agreed to the terms it stipulates. You have no legal claim to that ship’s cargo.”

“I have a moral claim to it!” Kendall’s spittle flecked Darcy’s cheek. “He cheated me! And his son continues to cheat me!”

That Kendall had the audacity to accuse the Bingleys of his own crime turned Darcy’s stomach. “Charles Bingley has already granted you more consideration and dealt with you more patiently that I would have under the same circumstances. Your claims are groundless, your arguments repetitive, and your manner unbecoming a gentleman. I see little point in continuing this interview.”

“Not that it’s any business of yours, but I’ve come here today to spare your friend the embarrassment of a public appearance in court.” He leaned over the desk. “That’s right,
Bingley—if I can’t get satisfaction from you, we’ll see what Chancery has to say about your father’s swindling.” He tossed the papers down. “Keep these. Study them until you know to the halfpenny how much you owe me. Note that the record now includes interest. Yes, interest! I demand not only the money rightfully owed me, but interest on it for the years it’s been denied.”

Bingley again turned to Darcy. Was it injury, Kendall’s threat, or merely the poor light that caused his friend to look so pale? The room had darkened considerably since they entered it. Without, the wind howled.

Darcy knew Kendall’s threat was groundless. Bingley could produce the evidence he needed to win any suit the crooked businessman might bring against him—he had the audit results safely locked away in the top drawer of his desk. The drawer also held a pistol, which Darcy was tempted to flash if Kendall continued to abuse his weakened friend. “If the lord chancellor even hears your case, I am sure justice will prevail.”

Kendall grinned malevolently. “And that’s a big ‘if’—isn’t it? You know how long cases can languish in Chancery. I can tie up your friend’s assets for years while we wait for our day in court. It will cost him more to pay his solicitors than to simply hand over the sum I demand now.”

“Enough.” Darcy had tolerated as much of Kendall’s bullying as he intended to. “Mr. Kendall,” he said quietly, “Mr. Bingley has in his possession evidence that you cheated his father for years by embezzling money from the firm. Unless you want
those
papers produced in court, I suggest you drop your empty claim forthwith, because with proof of your guilt in hand he has no intention of capitulating to your attempts at extortion.”

A fleeting expression of panic overcame Kendall’s features as he glanced from Darcy to Bingley, but his countenance immediately hardened once more. “You’re bluffing.”

“I am not.” Darcy strode to the door and opened it wide. “There is nothing more to say. Now depart.”

Kendall’s bravado continued strong. “There is plenty more to say—but I shall save it for the lord chancellor.” He stopped at the door, leaning his mottled face so close that Darcy could smell tobacco on his breath. “You can protect your friend from his own inexperience,” he hissed. “Your solicitors may manage to protect him from the entanglements of Chancery, and his ill-gotten fortune might protect him from his conscience. But none of you can protect him from me. Not forever.”

“It would have been a dramatic exit, had Kendall not been forced to immediately return and ask for shelter until the storm breaks.” Darcy tugged at his cravat to loosen the knot, then slipped it from his neck.

Elizabeth watched his reflection in the vanity mirror as she unpinned her hair. The blizzard had resulted in two unplanned overnight visitors at Netherfield tonight, the other being Mr. Jones. The apothecary had dutifully braved the elements to reach his patients and, to the relief of all, had recommended only blancmange and rest to expedite a full recovery for Jane and Bingley. After the day’s excitement, he’d given them some laudanum to help them sleep more soundly. Unfortunately, upon completing his ministrations he, too, had found himself stranded by the blinding snow. He’d proven himself a more pleasant guest than Kendall, however, whose company in the drawing room after dinner had inspired the whole household to retire early for the evening.

“Nothing undermines a good threat like immediately begging a favor.” She picked up the silver brush, a bridal gift from Georgiana, and absently turned it over to trace the engraving of her new initials with her fingertips. “What do you think he meant by it?”

Darcy shrugged. “Probably nothing. He was just trying to salvage his pride after being so dismissed.”

“If you do not take care, he may threaten you, too.” She shook the brush at his reflection. “Abandon Bingley,” she commanded with mock gravity, “lest the wrath of Lawrence Kendall fall upon thee!”

“I shall take my chances.”

She ran the brush through her hair, counting the strokes. “Have his claims any merit?”

“None. The most reprehensible part is that he accuses the late Mr. Bingley of unethical conduct, when he himself was stealing from his partner for years.”

“I can understand Mr. Bingley’s desire to end their relationship quickly when his health failed. He undoubtedly hoped to spare his son any legal entanglements with such a disagreeable man. When Charles inherited, Kendall would have dominated the new partnership.” She divided her hair into three locks and began working them into a braid.

Darcy approached behind her, meeting her gaze in the mirror. He stayed her fingers, grasping them in his warm, strong hands. “Leave it unbound.”

Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment might shorten his visit, but his plan did not appear in the least affected by it
.

Pride and Prejudice,
Chapter 21

T
he wheels spun rapidly, their spokes creating the illusion of backward movement as their rims bit into the light snow. One pair followed the other in perfect alignment, creating two single tracks that snaked along the ground behind the carriage.

Something small and round fell and rolled to the side of the path.

The symmetry ended. The left rear wheel wobbled. It gripped the axle at an angle and held for what seemed an impossibly long time.
Stop!
she wanted to cry.
Stop the carriage!

But the driver could not hear her silent plea. The barouche sped on. The wheel flew off. The horses snorted and whinnied in panic. The vehicle tumbled—

Elizabeth jerked awake. Her heart raced as if she’d been running. Her breathing came in short, labored gasps. She lay still a moment, every muscle tensed, until she recognized the dimly lit room as her chamber at Netherfield.

She inhaled a deep breath and slowly released it. Beside her, Darcy slept peacefully, unaware of her disturbed slumber
or the howling wind outside. The waning firelight played across his sinewy body, but her mind was too unsettled to take pleasure in studying him.

For the third time tonight, she’d woken from the same nightmare. Vivid images of Jane and Bingley’s accident repeated themselves in eerie detail. Though she hadn’t witnessed the event in person, she’d seen more than enough of it in her dreams. For some reason, however, she never saw the victims, only the vehicle. Considering the driver’s fate, she was grateful for the censorship.

Somewhere in the house, a clock struck two. She rolled to her side and closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her. The dream had left her body too restless, her mind too anxious. The accident was over, her sister and brother-in-law were safely recovering, yet a vague sense of dread suffused her.

Something was wrong. Was it Jane? Had her sister suffered worse injuries than Mr. Jones realized? Was she in pain right now?

Elizabeth rose and found her dressing gown. She could not rest until she checked on Jane and assured herself that she was all right. Barefoot, she padded to the door, swung it open silently, and slipped out.

The hallway was deserted; even the servants had long since gone to bed. Most of the wall sconces had been extinguished, leaving just enough light to safely negotiate the passage. She contemplated returning to her room for a candle but decided against it. Best make this a quick errand and return to bed.

She had barely started down the hall when the creak of a door stopped her. She thought at first her own door had been caught by a draft caused by the strong winds outside, but then recalled that it had opened soundlessly for her. No, someone else was up and about. Could it be Jane, seeking something to relieve her own or Bingley’s discomfort?

The noise had seemed to come from downstairs, although
the weather made her uncertain. The snow had changed to sleet, which now pelted the windows in an angry barrage. She shivered and pulled her dressing gown about her more tightly as she headed down the staircase.

A faint light crept out of the library, and along with it, the wood-against-wood sound of drawers sliding open. Her fellow nocturnal wanderer must be Bingley, though she wondered what business couldn’t wait until morning. Perhaps he, like herself, suffered a sleepless night and sought to make use of the time.

She would ask him if he left Jane resting comfortably. But as she neared the doorway, she realized Bingley wasn’t in the room at all. Lawrence Kendall sat behind the desk rifling through a pile of papers and ledgers.

She caught the gasp that nearly escaped her and stepped into the shadows. She could still see Kendall, but was, she hoped, hidden from his view.

Unlike her, Kendall was dressed save a neckcloth and coat. His attire suggested to her that this was no impromptu snooping sortie, but a deliberate, planned invasion. He scanned the papers quickly, casting each aside after a few moments’ perusal. The ledgers he also flipped through rapidly, skimming a few pages in front, middle, back. The more records he went through, the more deeply he frowned. “Where is it?” he grumbled. “Where the bloody hell is it?”

He stuffed the papers into their portfolio and shoved it, along with the ledgers, back into one of the desk drawers. He then tried to open another drawer but met resistance. He tugged and rattled the drawer around in its housing, but his efforts yielded only noise. “Damn you, Bingley,” he muttered. “Where’s the key?”

His gaze lit upon a letter opener, which he attempted to use as a lock pick without success. Finally, he pushed himself away from the desk in disgust.

Elizabeth, her heart suddenly pounding, backed away from the library door. Where to go? She couldn’t possibly make it up the stairs before Kendall came out. Her gaze darted about the hall until she spotted the drawing room door standing open.

Grateful for the impulse that had led her to undertake this foolish mission barefoot, she scurried into the drawing room and pressed herself against the wall. Seconds later, Kendall emerged from the library. She held her breath as he mounted the stairs. Not until she heard his footsteps recede into the guest wing did she dare move.

The wind moaned. She wanted to do the same. Should she wake Darcy and tell him what she’d just seen? Would Kendall return tonight with better break-in tools to find what he wanted? Before she proceeded any further, she looked to the top of the staircase to make sure Kendall was indeed gone.

Caroline Parrish met her gaze.

Clad in a gauzy white shift and flickering shadows, she gripped the balcony balustrade as she looked down into the entry hall. Though Elizabeth thought they had made eye contact, Mrs. Parrish seemed insensible to Elizabeth’s presence. She rocked slightly, alternately pushing away from the rail and pulling herself toward it. The weak candlelight prevented Elizabeth from reading her expression closely, but she presented a haunted mien.

Caroline shook her head repeatedly, muttering something. Elizabeth could not discern the words with accuracy from this distance, but she thought she heard “no” more than once.

Was Mrs. Parrish sleepwalking again? Still worse to contemplate, might she finish the act she’d attempted in London by hurling herself onto the marble below?

“Caroline?” Elizabeth stepped forward.

Caroline’s rocking ceased immediately as she caught sight of Elizabeth. She backed away from the rail, wringing her hands.

“Mrs. Parrish, let me take you to your room.” Elizabeth ascended the stairs, but stopped midway when Caroline shook her head. “Caroline,” she said gently. “It’s only me, Mrs. Darcy. Let me help you.”

Caroline stared at Elizabeth a long moment. She slowly raised her left hand, cupped, palm toward herself, as if to beckon. Elizabeth advanced. But then Caroline turned suddenly and fled down the corridor. Her rapid footfalls made no sound.

Elizabeth hurried up the remaining stairs, arriving at the top just in time to see Mrs. Parrish’s door close. She blinked, unsure what to make of the incident. Was encountering Caroline in the corridors to become a nightly ritual? She shuddered as a draft caught the back of her neck. A gust of wind beat against the windows.

She scanned for signs that Lawrence Kendall yet moved about, but saw no one else as she returned to her chamber. With great relief, she closed the door behind her and sagged against it.

“I was about to come looking for you.”

Her hand flew to her chest until she realized the hushed voice beside her belonged to Darcy. She slumped against the door once more and released her breath.

He took her fingers in his and led her back to the bed. The sheets still held his warmth. “I apologize,” he whispered. “I did not mean to startle you. But what errand called you out of our room at this hour? Have you followed Caroline Parrish’s lead and taken up nocturnal wandering?”

“More than you know. I just saw her in the hall.” She nestled against him and described her recent adventure. As she spoke, her muscles relaxed. Mr. Kendall seemed less menacing in the safety of her husband’s embrace.