The Knights of Derbyshire
By DJ Clawson
This story continues the series that began with "A Bit of Advice." At this point, you really have to go read the others before trying to read this one. New characters abound. This is story 6.
Updated twice weekly or 10-15 comments, whichever comes first.
Author's Notes: A very helpful commentator informed me that wolves have been extinct in England for several hundred years by this point. Whoops. No, serious whoops here. Wolves play a major part in this story. In revision I suppose I'll have to write something about a crazy lord reintroducing them in Derbyshire to kill his deer fifty years ago or something. Thank you for telling me, as I like to catch these things before I do revisions. As for the rest of you and this story, just imagine there was a mention of a crazy lord reintroducing wolves to Derbyshire to kill his deer fifty years ago or something.
Chapter 11 – The Tale of Sir Gawain
Breakfasting in Pemberley was later than usual. Almost everyone had been up late to their own degrees, and there was no particularly pressing business. Darcy did some paperwork before the rest of his family rose. To his surprise, the first ones at the breakfast table were his nephew and father-in-law.
"Goodness," Mr. Bennet said, "I thought we would be all alone."
"Mr. Bennet. And George – I see you weren't up too late."
George just gave a tiny smile and continued salting his eggs.
Elizabeth joined them, followed by Sarah, and eventually Anne Darcy. "Papa," she said, "have you seen Geoffrey?"
"I've not. I believe he is on an errand," he said as she took her seat.
"He should show you his ring."
"What ring?"
"The Bingleys got him a signet ring," George clarified. "It is very nice. It has his initials."
"Very appropriate," was Darcy's comment to that, and breakfast continued.
"Mama," Sarah said, "are Sir and Lady Maddox coming over again tonight?"
"No, dear. We are invited to Kirkland instead and shall see them there." The Maddoxes were being hosted at Kirkland, and it was a rare opportunity for Anne and Sarah to see Emily Maddox, to whom they were both relatively close in age. The only one closer was Edmund, but he was a boy, and the only one who played with boys was Georgiana. And Izzy perhaps, who happened to appear, nearly completing the table. Finally Cassandra appeared. It was high time for her to learn table manners, and there was no more relaxed setting than a lazy morning with family, so she climbed into her seat next to her grandfather, leaving only one empty.
In fact, it stayed empty for the completion of breakfast, and Elizabeth offered to escort their daughters to Kirkland and kissed her husband good-bye. Darcy, who had actually been quite surprised that his son had it in him to do his chores so early after what the master of Pemberley was informed was a very late night, was beginning to get annoyed. Mr. Reynolds could only offer the time Geoffrey had left.
Lacking better options, Mr. Darcy asked for Mrs. Annesley, and discovering she was in the kitchen, supervising the new serving maids, he decided to seek her out himself.
"We've not seen the master for some time now, Master Darcy," she said, gesturing over her shoulder. "He left out that way, sir."
He nodded and opened the servant exit to the bright, clear morning outside; a perfectly good March day. So why was he so unsettled? He had been fine when he sat down to breakfast, and it was often enough that Geoffrey was not present, either sleeping in or already off doing something or other with his cousins, but something unnerved him.
Maybe the boy had simply gone to Kirkland and not –
A whimper interrupted his thoughts. "Gawain," he said, squinting in the sun as the hound approached, visibly limping. He knew it would only be sooner or later that the dog would injure himself and have to be put down – just as Darcy's dogs had been, one after the other – but he did not imagine him that old yet, surely?
Gawain bowed his head and made his way over to Darcy, nudging his nose hard into Darcy's knees. "What is it, boy?" He knelt down to the dog's level, and that was when he noticed the blood. Gawain had a very dark brown coat, and so it was mainly obscured. "What happened to you?" His second question was automatic. "Where is your master? Where's Geoffrey?"
Of course the dog could not answer him; he chided himself for thinking otherwise. The dog could only nudge him some more and whine as his hand found the wound. The dog seemed to have been grazed by something on his foreleg – he had been shot.
And Geoffrey was nowhere to be seen.
He did not want to send Pemberley into a panic just yet. If they panicked, he was more likely to, and Elizabeth was all the way at Kirkland – so far away to him now. He did not go inside. He picked up Gawain, carrying him in both arms as he would a very large puppy, and headed straight to the house for the huntsman. "Geoffrey is missing."
His huntsman nodded gravely and handed him a rifle.
The team was assembled with all expediency. From the house he grabbed Mr. Reynolds, and with him came George Wickham, too clever to be left out of anything, even if he held a gun like it was a foreign object. Darcy wondered if he could even fire it.
Gawain's leg was splinted as a quick-fix by the huntsman, and with a party of six they started off. To no great surprise, the still-limping Gawain headed down the hill that lead to Mr. Jenkins' land. Even though he was obviously in pain, he managed to keep ahead no matter how fast they walked, and growled when they did not keep up, eager to get on.
"Show us the way, Sir Gawain," Darcy said softly, so something other than feet in the grass would be above the sound of his heart beating so hard. The house reached at last was all quiet, with no smoke from the chimney, and the door closed.
The huntsman actually stopped Darcy from approaching and knocked on the door first. "Mr. Jenkins?" When there was no immediate response, he did not hesitate to open the door and enter, rifle raised.
There was no one home. There was no appearance of a fight, or anything amiss, but Gawain entered and whimpered, sniffing at the floor. "Searching for your master, are you?" George said as the men searched the house.
"It's empty, sir," the huntsman said. "'cept the coals in the stove are still warm. Someone was here this mornin.'"
Darcy charged into the kitchen, and checked the coals for himself, finding them warm but not hot, and the dirt beneath them wet, as if someone had quickly doused them. The bag of Pemberley coal was on the ground, untouched – doubtlessly the one Geoffrey had been asked to carry, as a sign of goodwill, from future landlord to current tenant.
"Uncle Darcy," George said, calling him back to the entrance. "Look." He pointed at the floor. "The rug."
It did not belong there. It matched the décor of the bedroom, and it was misshapen to fit that particular room properly. It was a nice rug, probably made by a local weaver, not the type meant to walk over with dirty boots, but it was right by the entrance. Darcy and George knelt down and lifted it up.
On Mr. Jenkins' floor beneath it was the real mat, soiled from use, and stained with blood. The huntsman leaned over and scooped up some soil, smelling it, and confirming that the blood was most likely not canine, but human.
Darcy briefly weighed the most immediate decision – to go out with the huntsman and every other available man with the hounds to scour the woods for a trail, or to wait for Elizabeth's return from Kirkland, which would no doubt be imminent. How much could two more eyes accomplish, in comparison to comforting his wife? But should he sit in his castle like a useless tyrant?
He entertained himself watching the head gardener, who was not on the trip because he was too old for a chase, properly splint Gawain's leg. George carried Gawain's mat from Geoffrey's room into the study so the noble hound could rest, though he was too agitated to do so.
When he had decided to await the arrival of his wife, he chose to go from one horrible option (watching the men leave with the hounds to search for his son) to the other (informing Mr. Bennet). As usual, his father-in-law was in the library, reading, not quite ready for his mid-morning nap. "Mr. Bennet," he said with a grave bow. "I should inform you that Geoffrey is missing."
Mr. Bennet's mind was sharp, but sometimes the response was on the slow side. "Was that all the commotion with the men in the hallway?"
"Yes. Elizabeth is on her way back from Kirkland. I wanted to tell her myself, but I fear the man I sent may tell her anyway."
"And you're sure this is not a prank with Miss Bingley?"
"Geoffrey is too old for pranks." He added, "Though, I wish I could say he wasn't and it was all just a joke."
Whatever Mr. Bennet had to add to that was interrupted by a cry, as Elizabeth Darcy leapt into her husband's arms as she would have when they were younger, but for much more different reasons. There was no pretense of propriety as he embraced her tightly. "He will be all right."
"They've found him?"
"They can find anyone."
Even though she was quickly followed by her daughters and most of the Bingley clan, no one interrupted or gawked at this exchange between husband and wife, as Elizabeth sobbed into his chest for several minutes before they finally separated. Darcy wiped his eyes before turning to face his guests. "They're looking for him now. I was going to go out with them – but I wanted to be here for you all," he said, turning to his three daughters. "Your brother is going to be all right."
"Then why do you have to keep saying it?" Cassandra Darcy wailed, and grabbed her father's waist. He didn't stop her, turning numbly to Bingley.
"I'm at your disposal," Bingley said before Darcy could speak. "As are the Maddoxes."
"Good," he said, suddenly realizing it was promising to have both a doctor and a warrior at his side. "I'll need both."
A second party was organized, this time containing both Darcy and Bingley, along with several of Bingley's own men, to go out in the opposite direction and cover more ground. The woods around and beyond Pemberley were not like the great forests of the mainland, but they were big enough and today they seemed to go on forever. The lands they crossed had people working in the fields or sitting on their porches, who rushed to hear the news of why a very exclusive hunting party was out in their fields, obviously not chasing a stag. Unfortunately, none of them had seen Geoffrey Darcy that day, or Mr. Jenkins. Darcy wasted no time bringing up Hatcher. If they were false suspicions, let they be so. His son was missing and that was all that mattered.
"We've seen him around," Mrs. Robinson said, "but not today. And he doesn't bother with the likes of farmer's wives. It's the men he's interested in."
"Any men in particular that have been attaching themselves to him?"
She rolled up her apron and said, "Oh, I couldn't tell ya that – I hardly leave my own house. I do wish I could tell ya somethin' Mr. Darcy – he is such a sweet boy."
"He is," Darcy said, enjoying her use of the present tense. "Thank you." It was in the back of his mind, of course, upon seeing the blood on the floor, but the notion was too terrible to begin to contemplate. Yet.
When they returned, the sun was already going down. The day was just too short. He sent another group out with lanterns as he entered, but even his men had been searching for hours now and were tired. The first one to the door was Georgiana Bingley, but the look on his face must have told her everything.
"Papa," she whimpered, and fell into her father's arms. Darcy had never seen her so emotional – not since she was a child. "I want to help."
"You can help by comforting your aunt and cousins."
"I want to really help. I can't sit around."
Bingley frowned. "Georgie," he said with a swallow. Darcy wondered how he would find a way to refuse her; Georgiana had never been an easy child and she did not soften with age. "We're not letting any of the children help. If they were after Geoffrey – "
"I'm not a child!" she said, and abandoned him, leaving his arms hanging there.
"Mr. Darcy," said the doorman, "A Mr. Hatcher to see you."
"Get me my rifle."
His servant just bowed. Darcy had only just relieved himself of it, and it was still loaded. He raised it at the figure in the doorway.
"This is the greeting I get?" Brian Maddox said, entering. "The other fellow is still outside. Not that I'm not used to having a gun pointed at my head."
Darcy called for the huntsman on his way out, and told his manservant to keep anyone else out of the front hallway. He did raise his rifle again, as did the others (even Bingley) at the man who entered, dressed in the same clothing, as unaffected and confident as ever, even facing three men with rifles and a man with a sword.
In fact, Mr. Hatcher didn't seem the least bit concerned at the number of weapons pointed at him. "Mr. Darcy," he said with a bow.
"Where is my son?" Darcy said, his voice only bordering on calm, as he pointed a rifle at Mr. Hatcher's forehead.
"For a member of polite society, you're sure not being very polite with your guests," Hatcher replied.
"No, I am not," was the entirety of Darcy's response as he cocked the rifle for emphasis. "Where is my son?"
"So you're to assume I've done something so terrible as taken him? Do you always assume the worst of people?"
"Am I wrong?"
Hatcher grinned viciously and reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a signet ring that shone in the lamplight. "I believe this will be familiar."
Darcy lowered his weapon long enough to snatch it from him. He had never seen it before, but it was a signet ring with the initials G.D., so he could only assume it had been the aforementioned birthday gift. How long ago, that wonderful day seemed now. "There's blood on it." There was a little, smeared into the engravings.
"He's alive. If you wish him to stay that way, you might want to lower your weaponry, Mr. Darcy."
"The constable is on his way," Darcy said, "but he won't be here in time to save you from me if you don't tell me where Geoffrey is."
"And if I don't return in full health to my men, you won't be in time to save Mr. Geoffrey." Everything about Hatcher was cool and composed. He was holding all the cards and he knew it – and how to play them. "Now I will make my final request for an assurance of my safety by the repositioning of your many expensive weapons, and if you value his health, you might want to consider the request and the idea of a polite discussion instead of a threat."
Everyone was waiting on Darcy – Bingley, Mr. Maddox, Mr. Reynolds, and the huntsman. The silence was so heavy that one could hear one's own breathing. At last, Darcy huffed and lowered his rifle, and the others did the same, though they were hardly set aside. "How much do you want?" he said.
"Immediately we come to the question of money," Hatcher said.
"A gentleman does not waste his guest's time," Darcy sneered. "You have your price. Name it."
"If you think I can be bought with bank notes, you are mistaken, Mr. Darcy. I am a representative of the people, and their demands are more complex. Yes, money is involved. Money, land, and rights. And to not waste my host's time, I have prepared the people's list of demands." He made a move to the inside of his coat, and though some of the guns went back up, he did not stop until he withdrew only a scroll, tied neatly with a ribbon. "I will give you the evening to consider them." He offered the scroll to Darcy, who snatched it up but did not open it. "Obviously some of the points are negotiable. I have noted those with a mark. The others are not."
"I want to see my son."
"Then I would advise you to peruse my literature."
Darcy huffed. It was clearly taking all of his self-control – and he normally had quite a bit of it – to keep him from throttling the man before him. "I need to know he is alive."
"That you will have to take my word on," Hatcher said. "I do not believe you have another choice at this time, but yes, he is alive."
"Then why is his blood on Mr. Jenkins's floor?"
This time, Mr. Hatcher appeared to search for the appropriate answer before giving it. "He bled when we struck him. He is a more fragile boy than hard working men are used to dealing with. He has a wound on his head, but the bleeding is stopped. Nonetheless, I would not draw out these negotiations beyond what is absolutely necessary. For his health."
For his health. That Geoffrey was alive was beyond relief, but the extent to which that was likely to remain so was beyond his grasp. "I will peruse your literature," he growled. "For my son's health, as you say. You will be here in the morning, eight o'clock sharp, and despite my instincts, you will not be harmed."
Mr. Hatcher nodded and doffed his hat, which he had never removed.
"If I do not have my son back, you are a dead man, Mr. Hatcher. In fact, even if you get everything you want, you will not escape the noose."
His opponent scoffed. "I have heard similar threats many times, but here I stand. But it will take a stronger person than you to kill me, Mr. Darcy." He bowed. "Now, on the pretense of being a gentleman, I will take my leave. Good evening, gentlemen."
Darcy had to grab Brian's kimono to stop him from following. "Let him go."
"I could get the information out of him, Darcy."
"We can't risk it," he said. "He wouldn't have come here if he thought he was in any danger, and he was right. That said," he added in a voice that was the sort that made no one dare to challenge the veracity of the words, "by the end of this, I guarantee you he will be dead."Next Chapter - Polite Society