Few pleasantries were exchanged before Richard, powering through the disturbance of Thornhaugh's presence after years of believing him dead, stated a wish to get right down to business. "You are tired, no doubt. I shall try to be brief."
The hours spent out of doors were indeed read all over the sick man's features, and to the degree that Darcy wondered aloud if this conversation should be postponed till the morrow.
"Nay, I am well," he assured both men, sinking into a chair across from the earl while Darcy opted for a neutral spot between them. He then offered a sincere congratulations to Richard's ascent to the earldom, followed by the usual, less favorable qualifier. "Once in a hundred lifetimes enters a man of noble character into nobility."
"It is not so rare as that," replied Richard, "and I am hardly suitable for sainthood; but I do my best. You also needn't congratulate a title earned by a beloved father's death."
"And a less beloved brother, lest we forget," said Thornhaugh.
Richard set down his glass of port, his stare unwavering. "I never shall. Tell me, have you the same dagger used to terrify the indebted?"
"I threatened many a welcher's life with that dagger, which is now in a better place. May Sam Cullen find good use of it in hell."
Richard smiled faintly, in spite of himself. "Not changed a bit, I see."
"You expected otherwise? Sorry, Matlock, but I am taking all this conviviality to the grave. Speaking of which, I understand my name has, along with my memory, been permanently laid to rest."
Richard confirmed this to be true. "Thornhaugh is viewed now as a curse among territories and a name to be nullified, replaced with something fresh and innocuous. A clean slate, as it were. If and when John claims the title."
"I see. And the new province?"
"Tavistock, I believe. But it is not official."
"Lord Tavistock," pronounced Thornhaugh in a stately manner. "He prefers John; always has. My brother is not built for titles, territories, or governance; for he is common and unimaginative. That is not an insult, mind you, but an accurate assessment of his character. He is happier as a commoner, don't you see? content with the plainer pleasures in which neither I nor Bedford could ever find joy. And speak of the devil, I cannot but wonder why his Grace has not been similarly disavowed, nor suffered an equivalent loss of dignity in life as I have in death."
"I doubt the answer will satisfy you," said Richard, "as the reasoning can be summed up in a single word: pity."
"Pity," Thornhaugh repeated bitterly. "Oh, the irony! that ol' Prinny despised his own father yet felt some bit of warmth and compassion for mine." He spied the half-full decanter upon the side table. "I should like a glass of that, Darcy. May I?"
Darcy raised an eyebrow. "Are you joking?"
"Do I appear jovial?"
With a sigh, Darcy moved to set the container well out of reach, saying as he did so, "Pity is the lowest tier of compassion, and perhaps the most contemptible feeling a man can have for himself. John has affirmed the scandal broke your father beyond repair. Wherever Bedford is, he is tortured, fixed in a hellish existence no man of such inflated self-importance ever imagined for himself. He might indeed prefer death over the humiliation your journals precipitated, a fear of biblical damnation perhaps the only thing staying his hand. I daresay he is as friendless as you are, if not more so. Is that not comfort enough?"
Thornhaugh shouted, "Is he sick! Does it hurt when he breathes? Is he skin and bones? Has he been scrapped from history, wiped clear from the books as if he were never born?"
"And what have you done to earn a place in history?" Darcy challenged. "Your father was an actual leader. Lives were altered by virtue of his statutes, some even for the better—but you? My chambermaids contribute more in a day than you have in a lifetime."
Thornhaugh scowled, then reached out. "Hand me that bottle."
"This one?" Darcy held up the vintage, stated its perceived value, then poured what remained into the ashen fireplace. "Glass of water coming right up. Richard, I beg you state your business with Thornhaugh lest he melts into a pathetic pool of defeatism. Have you any encouragement to offer?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. If he is willing to hear it."
Thornhaugh sneered, "I can hardly wait," and grudgingly accepted the offered water glass, gulping down a good portion as Richard expounded:
"There is a chance your memory can be revived, along with your name, your position, your very life, and at little cost but a trip to Westminster. Present yourself. Show them you still live."
"You believe it that simple? Too many years have passed, not a portrait remains, and I am scarcely recognizable. Not one among them would believe me, nor admit it if they did."
"His Majesty would. He remembers you well, and fondly."
"Fondly! He sanctioned the murder charge! Sent the Runners after me!"
"Because he had to, not because he wished it. The Powers buckled under the pressure—"
"Applied by bloody Bedford!"
"—but you were officially vindicated just a year later."
"I know this, Matlock. My man kept me well informed of everything while I was abroad. Mr. Reddy never failed me, always came through for me—that is, before Bedford finally had him butchered."
"Reddy was slain by common outlaws. There is nothing tying Bedford to that incident."
"Nor was there an inquiry! or even a burial! Reddy's corpse was used as kindling along with the wreckage! Good God! How is a man who lived the hell of Waterloo as naïve as" (motioning to Darcy) — "the bloody landlords!"
Darcy acknowledged his cheap insult with a cold glare, replying, "Since you are all-knowing, you know likewise how hard prosecution fought for a posthumous conviction and would have succeeded, had your favorite flash-house not provided a water-tight alibi."
"Which Madam la Croix and her girls consistently upheld," Richard subjoined. "I hear they still talk about you: 'Oh, how we miss ol' Thorny! What a laugh he was! Best trick in Town!' Meanwhile, Lord Somerset's death remains unsolved, the case stone cold. There was more evidence in your journals—circumstantial as it was—pinning Bedford to the crime than yourself."
"Circumstantial, bollocks! My journals were mere documentation of all that was common knowledge. Bystanders abound in the heart of ol' London Town, and Somerset practically begged to be made an example of, his loose tongue completely unchecked at his drunkest. From Westminster to Whitechapel was he heard bellowing about Bedford, of his skimming and bribery, and of plans to extort him. They knew Somerset owed every den in St. James' and every Shylock in Stamford Hill. What's more, they knew the duke's connections, and how potential liabilities were historically dealt with."
"Speculation, Thornhaugh. Officially."
"The truth, Matlock! Categorically! They had mountains of evidence collected over a dozen years, half of which I personally handed over; but in the end, Bedford either paid them off or threatened to take them down with him. The whole sodding capital swims in corruption as the righteous few turn a blind eye."
"And you," added Darcy, "swam right alongside them."
"I played by my own rules," the man growled. "Never theirs."
Said Richard, "At any rate, your father narrowly escaped the gallows."
"Which is no surprise. He has dodged accountability his entire life." Thornhaugh then leaned forward, wringing his hands together, a fire in his eyes both fierce and familiar. "Do you know the last thing he said to me? Darcy, you were there. It was during that engagement dinner. Mrs. Darcy heard it. John and your sister heard it. Bedford said he was determined to outlive me. And then he disparaged my wife, smugly, declaring he would outlive any sons she had the strength to bear. You remember!"
The venom with which the last words were infused caused both men to flinch. Darcy and Richard exchanged looks of rising concern, the tension mercifully eased when a contrite Mr. Bridges appeared to announce Mr. Bingley's arrival.
"Bingley?" said Darcy, rather nervously. "Did he state his business?"
"I…did not ask, sir. You made it understood there was never a need to. 'Day or night, at any hour,' you said."
"That was seven years ago," replied Darcy in frustration. "Never mind, Bridges. How did he appear?"
"Er…agitated, sir. And rather insistent. Highly unusual, if I may say so."
"Is he unaccompanied?"
"No, sir. He came with Dr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam in their carriage."
Thornhaugh beamed. "Oh, this is marvelous."
Said Richard, "Must you take such pleasure in conflict?"
"And why not?"
Darcy shushed them both, then saying to Bridges, "Just Bingley then?"
"Yes, sir."
"Show him in, Bridges." And on the butler's exit, Darcy began to pace the floor. "Wish I hadn't poured out that bloody port."
Said Thornhaugh, "Did you not tell him?"
"I thought it best not to. Clearly Matthew felt differently."
"Well, blame him not, Darcy. I am as eager for this confrontation as Mr. Bingley is deserving of my response."
Richard arose to depart. "Have your fun then, Thornhaugh. My business here is done. But before I go, what is your answer? Will you go to London? I shall accompany you if you wish, for corroboration."
"That shan't be necessary. I will stand on my own, no matter my decision." And with a respectful nod, Thornhaugh bid the earl a good afternoon.
"Do not kill him."
Elizabeth, upon reading John's message (and hearing the credible claim of Thornhaugh's reaction to it), knew that an encounter with either brother was imminent and imperative; for the question of "him" demanded a precise answer as the very notion of deadly violence ought to be kept well beyond the perimeters of her home and her children. First, however, must an attempt be made to relieve a rather shaken woman who appeared quite ready to give up her situation and quit Pemberley for good. And who could blame her?
"I think I had better start at the beginning, Miss Baxter, from our earliest acquaintance with the gentleman (that is, a gentleman by birth, if not by means or manners). You've a right to know the truth, especially now. If you are willing to hear it."
"Perfectly willing, ma'am, though I cannot promise a more positive frame of mind in return."
"A reasonable risk, I think. At the end of this account, your feelings—whether they urge you away from us or draw you in—shall be understood and honored. Of that you may be certain."
And with Miss Baxter's concession, Elizabeth began:
"Lord Thornhaugh came into our lives in the year thirteen, not long after Mr. Darcy and I wed. Our very first encounter took place in London, in our first Season that would also be our last, resolved as we are to never endure it again, and suffering no regret for the decision. We have found infinitely more happiness in each other than the first circles comprised more of malevolence than beauty, their highly conditional acceptance hardly worth the trouble, far less the soul-crushing consequences. I speak from explicit observation, which I will expound upon in my account of the marquess. You heard me correct, Miss Baxter: Marquess Thornhaugh, a man who should be first in line for Bedford's dukedom, not deteriorating under my roof. His Christian name is Malcolm Russell, which is no coincidence, and to be explained ere long. I see you are shocked, madam. Have I revealed too much already?"
"No, ma'am. I am listening, and faithfully."
"And you must listen well; for this tale is thornier than Thornhaugh himself. His younger brother is the man you know as Lord Russell, and with little pride taken in that fact. They are separated by twelve years and at least as many opposing attributes, their familial connection being the only—and oddly the weakest—cord of communion. Their father the duke, once a capital force of power and influence in the House of Lords, now bears the mark of scandal and criminal misconduct, evading prison only by the skin of his teeth and the mercy of his peers. Your own father was a barrister, was he not? Perchance Bedford was mentioned at one time or another?"
The woman searched her memory. "Come to think of it, ma'am, he did speak of a rather infamous court case many years ago, involving a duke embroiled in political corruption. I hardly recall the details, but the case was of some interest to him."
"It dragged out interminably, Bedford's good name destroyed by the end. In disgrace, he removed himself from Society and to God-knows-where, leaving the Russell family fractured and their legacy in limbo for close to a decade now. Our connection to him is lawful but otherwise disengaged, while our ties to Thornhaugh are as intimate as they are numerous, beginning not on friendly terms and likely to end thusly. However, we are indebted, and in more ways than one." Elizabeth raised a hand when the governess opened her mouth to speak. "Please, Miss Baxter. Say nothing just yet, lest my train of thought be undone."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I must now bring up my sister-in-law Miss Bingley, whose tragic fate is interwoven. In the year thirteen, Thornhaugh was known only as the man at whom she set her cap mere days after losing a most desired prospect to a country nobody." Elizabeth smiled halfheartedly at the memory. "Miss Bingley, a woman of single-minded purpose, thought herself clever in having so quickly ensnared a man so high in the ranks. She cared not to scratch the surface, to sketch his character as it were, consumed as she was with ambition. She was oblivious to his unpopularity within the establishment, gleefully unaware that she had entangled herself with a rogue among Lords, a compulsive gambler possessing the senses of a foxhound, her weakness like a scent in the air, his insolvency cloaked in effortless charm, and her dowry his core enticement."
"Oh, how dreadful, ma'am!" whispered the governess, who then rushed to pour her a glass of water. Elizabeth was grateful for the gesture, her mouth dry and cheeks flushed with the reconjuring of distressful memories long suppressed. After taking a drink, she compelled herself to go on.
"Miss Bingley scoffed at the warnings, meeting every concern for her welfare with resentment till her brother had no choice but to intervene, his inquiries made in London confirming all suspicion. Our dear Mr. Bingley, as a man of soft heart and even softer methods, was beside himself with worry and at a loss of how to act; and so he begged my husband for his help. Mr. Darcy agreed but foresaw extreme difficulty in severing the attachment, and therefore saw fit to enlist further reinforcement, men who understood Thornhaugh as few respectable gentlemen could. One was his former schoolmate, Lord Matlock's elder brother incidentally, who, God rest him, fell ill and died weeks later. The other man was himself an eager patron of the gaming hells, a man of profoundly personal acquaintance held as deeply in my husband's contempt, but grudgingly decided could be of some use." Elizabeth paused to take a long breath. "That man was George Wickham."
Miss Baxter's eyebrows shot up. "Young Mr. Wickham's father, ma'am?"
"I am loath to acknowledge him as such; for he abandoned his wife—my sister—in her confinement and never returned. But that is a subject to be addressed a bit later, Miss Baxter."
Elizabeth drank again from the glass before continuing:
"Mr. Wickham agreed to be of service for a large sum of money, and the gentlemen gathered one stormy evening at a high-end cardroom in St. James'. The meeting itself was tempestuous, but the only detail worth noting is that Thornhaugh wagered his courtship and lost. One might consider this a great victory and Miss Bingley rescued…" (another deep breath) "…had she not so foolishly given herself to him beforehand, staking her own reputation in a last desperate effort to secure him for a husband. As it turned out, he had grown tired of her, was repelled by her less attractive qualities, and well decided on her unfitness as a wife, fortune be damned. But as a man of self-professed principle, Thornhaugh would see the game out to the very end, playing both his conquest and competitors like a violin, allowing her to try and win him, and the men to try and navigate his destiny. His gamble paid off, but not without consequence to either of them, most especially to Miss Bingley, who quit London a ruined woman, the rumors having already begun to circulate. She was devastated, embittered, vengeful, and never recovered. Of a truth, she grew worse upon learning of how little Thornhaugh suffered by his actions, his only comeuppance the termination of his allowance and an assignment to India to try and make his own fortune with the Company.
"Once again, he was sorely underestimated; for he turned out to be as brilliant at trade as he is at gambling or anything else he sets his mind to. For the next two years, Thornhaugh thrived, while Miss Bingley eroded. She did marry eventually (as did he), but for all the wrong reasons. Meanwhile, God played a glorious trick in having Lord Russell and Miss Georgiana Darcy cross paths and fall deeply in love. Of course, you know how that played out, and in truth Mr. Darcy and I could not have asked for a better brother-in-law. They are very happy together. And yet there is still more to the story, Miss Baxter, much more. But before I delve further, have you any questions? I do hope I've not befuddled you terribly. My own head is swimming with the details."
"No indeed, ma'am; I have followed every word, and imagine you mean to tell me more about young Wickham's fa—about the elder Mr. Wickham, and of poor Miss Bingley."
Elizabeth nodded. "And of Thornhaugh's marriage, as well; for that too is relevant. Are you prepared to hear more?"
"Indeed, ma'am. My faith is steady, and I shall be forever thankful you found me worthy of such intimate knowledge, which I mean to guard with my life. Above all, I am dying to know just whom did Thornhaugh marry? Who on earth would have such a man? And what became of the lady?"
"All shall be revealed, Miss Baxter. My hope is that this account—and its more violent details—will not end with you giving notice."
"You needn't worry, ma'am. I wish only to be of whatever use I can be, especially if Lord Thornhaugh is conspiring to harm or murder Mr. Darcy."
"Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth laughed. "Oh, there is no fear of that, I assure you. My husband is in no danger from him whatsoever."
"But how can you be so certain, ma'am?"
Elizabeth smiled and answered, with tears in her eyes. "Because Thornhaugh nearly died saving his life, Miss Baxter."
