Chapter 7
“Second carriage,” Fitz murmured. He sighed. “We have to find out who was at that ball, Darcy. All week I have been tracking down those you remembered were in attendance as they returned to London, but I have little to show for it. If we had the guest list, we could simply compare it to yours.”
Darcy nodded. “A simple enough task had I not severed all ties with Bingley before I left.”
“You could ride back and say you have forgiven him,” Fitz suggested.
“Forgiven him for attempting to tie me to his sister? Lie outright to the man?” Darcy asked, aghast.
“Pretend,” Fitz corrected him.
Darcy stopped walking to stare at his cousin, incredulous. He could do many things well, but acting a part was not one of them. “Pretend,” he said flatly. “Me.”
Fitz grimaced. “No, you are correct. Dreadful idea. You could no more convince Bingley you have forgiven him than you could pay a woman a charming compliment.”
Darcy sighed. “Thank you?”
His cousin laughed. “Still, this is something. I suppose Miss Bennet still cannot recall precisely how she came to be in your carriage?”
He shook his head. “But she recalls leaping from one. It likely happened near where her bonnet was found.”
Fitz stopped just inside the door. “She leapt from one and appeared in another. She may have escaped by hiding in the boot herself—this may have nothing to do with you at all.”
Darcy rubbed the back of his neck. “I have thought as much. Crawling into the boot to hide is consistent with what I know of her. But I have been trying to work it out, and I cannot think of any reason Miss Elizabeth would be targeted other than her interference at the ball. We need more information.” He led Fitz to his dressing room.
Slipworth looked up from his work cleaning several combs and a brush. He stood hurriedly. “Sir?”
“Slipworth,” Darcy said as Fitz found a chair and slid into it, “on your journey from Netherfield to London, did you stop anywhere other than Longbourn?”
“I could not say, Mr. Darcy,” Slipworth admitted. “I slept from the moment I returned to the coach at Longbourn until we arrived in London. You decamped rather abruptly, and I had been up much of the night seeing to your packing.”
Fitz frowned, but Darcy knew this was not a complaint. The valet never complained, at least, not to him. It was merely a statement of fact.
“Thank you, Slipworth,” Darcy said calmly. They would need to speak with Anders next. Fitz was already up and through the doorway.
“Mr. Darcy,” Slipworth called, and Darcy waited. His valet’s face was flushed. “Your evening jacket has lost a button. It is not in the trunk. Nothing else is missing—I have looked everywhere and simply do not know where it could be.” He frowned, clearly frustrated.
“It is all right, Slipworth,” Darcy replied. A button was the least of his concerns.
But Slipworth was not placated. “It is quite an ornate one and must be specially made to match the others. I would like to send it out.”
“Order whatever is needed,” Darcy said hurriedly, and strode after his cousin.
“What was the man on about?” Fitz asked.
Darcy shrugged. “Lost button. Slipworth is fastidious, almost to a fault. It bothers him that he did not see it was missing before the jacket was packed.”
Fitz gave him a sidelong glance. “You live in a different world than I, cousin.”
They strode past the few maids who were cleaning the public rooms. It felt odd to see them—he had been in hiding nearly as much as Elizabeth since she arrived. Fitz, on the other hand, had been occupied with unraveling the mystery that surrounded them all. The men he had sent to Hertfordshire had brought back their only useful knowledge. The cold air out of doors roused Darcy a bit, and by the time they found Anders working in the carriage house, he was feeling more alert.
When they posed the question, Anders nodded. “We were forced to stop when another coach blocked the road. I had to come down off the coach to speak with them. Two men. One was very fair with pale blue eyes. He had a mark . . .” His hand hovered near the outside of his left eye.
“A freckle?” Fitz asked.
Anders nodded. “A bit larger and darker than a freckle, but yes, brown like that. The other man was not at all remarkable. Neither tall nor short. Dark blond hair, cut short. Brown eyes.”
Elizabeth had described the same men when she woke from the laudanum. He exchanged a look with Fitz. “Did you recognize the carriage? The horses?” Darcy asked.