"You will keep your word?" came Arthur's voice from nearby.
"Of course," said Witting, sitting up from where he was reclining against the rags. He had been thinking of ways to try to escape, but none of them seemed very plausible at the moment.
"We have to keep up production, or some of the others will suspect that you are still alive," Arthur explained.
"Why do they want to kill me? What do they believe that I know?" asked Witting.
Arthur shook his head, saying, "I won't tell you that, in case you don't know what they think you do."
Witting sighed in frustration.
"Anyhow, the rags need sorted, and Titus here is to do it. If you harm him, I will not hesitate to kill you myself, you understand?" Arthur moved aside, letting a small boy into the room. The little boy's clothes were grimy; in fact, they were so filthy that they were in danger of falling apart on their own. His hands had deep, painful-looking cracks, and his skin was rough and calloused, unlike any child Witting had seen before.
"I-I wouldn't hurt him," said Witting, his voice wavering slightly. The sight of the poor child shook Witting, and he felt the injustice in the world.
"Good," said Arthur. "I shall be back soon." Then he left without further comment.
Sitting among the pile of rags, Titus separated them into white and coloured. Witting stood there uncomfortably, watching for several minutes, before finally taking a seat next to the child.
"Can I assist you?" asked Witting.
"Assist?" asked the boy.
"Help. Can I help you sort the rags?" he rephrased.
The boy shrugged. "I ain't sharin' the brass."
"I don't want your money," said Witting. "I am bored. There is nothing to do here."
The boy shrugged again. Witting took this as an answer and began to sort the rags as well. They worked quietly, waiting for Arthur's return. He came bearing ale, water, and bread for Witting and the child. The boy ate hungrily, his cheeks bulging with every bite. Despite the growling of his own stomach, Witting couldn't turn a blind eye to the boy's obvious hunger. He gave the child his bread and the child's eyes lit up. Within moments of receiving the food, the boy had finished it.
Once all the food and drink was gone, with Witting only having taken a little water and ale, they returned to their work. With two people, it did not take long before the pile of rags was sorted.
"I suppose that Arthur won't return sooner than the time you would usually be done," Witting said aloud, mostly talking to himself.
The boy shook his head. "Aunuvver cart will come soo'. 'im and me load up mo' rags."
The boy's prediction was only partially accurate. It was about an hour and a half later that another cart arrived. Witting hid behind the stack of coloured rags, while Arthur and Titus loaded the cart from the stack of white. When they were done and the cart was gone, Witting came out of hiding to find the stack of white rags half gone.
"Fey do the wite rags ea'ly in the week, so evryfink is tidier. Rich blokes buy 'at paper and want it right tidy and wite. Later fey do the coloured rags, wich make brow' paper," said Titus, by way of explanation.
As there was nothing else to do at the moment, Titus plopped down against the pile of coloured rags, put his arm over his eyes, and went to sleep. The child dozed off quickly and Witting wondered at how effortlessly the child slept.
"Sir William," said Mr. Bingley, rising from his seat and bowing. Mr. Darcy did likewise, greeting the magistrate formally.
"I apologise for intruding on your afternoon, gentlemen," said Sir William, "but I am here in an official capacity."
"Of course, sir," said Mr. Bingley. "Whatever it is that you need, we are at your disposal."
Mr. Darcy nodded in concurrence.
"What I need at this moment, sirs, is a private word with Mr. Darcy," said Sir William. "Is there a place where we might speak privately?"
"Of course," said Mr. Bingley, after receiving a slight bow in agreement from Mr. Darcy. "I will give you the use of my study." Thence he led them, shutting the door softly behind them after they were situated in comfortable chairs, each with a glass of port in their hands.
"I shall not tarry, Mr. Darcy," said Sir William. "I know that a gentleman of your status must have many calls on his time. I have come only to ask a few questions. You see, some events that involve your family — and therefore possibly your valet as well — have come to my attention."
"I will try to explain whatever it is you need to know," responded Mr. Darcy.
Sir William swirled his drink in his glass, trying to gather his nerve to begin the unpleasant conversation. He was not often at a loss for words, but that was because he did not often have to speak of such unpleasant things with a person of Mr. Darcy's position in society. "I have learned, sir, of your sister's near elopement with Mr. Wickham. I was informed via a letter from a Mrs. Younge. She wished to inform me that your valet had knowledge of the incident and that I might investigate to see if any member of your family was being blackmailed by Mr. Witting as a result." Sir William spoke evenly, not letting any of the emotions within him show on his face.
Mr. Darcy's face turned white. "I- No, he was not blackmailing me. He was incredibly loyal. He cared for my family. He would not do that to my sister."
"Are you quite certain, Mr. Darcy?" asked Sir William. "He was not blackmailing you, perhaps, but maybe another member of your family? Miss Darcy, or perhaps Lord Melbridge or Lord Barlow?"
"I know Mr. Witting, sir!" said Mr. Darcy with certainty. "He would not do such a thing. He was a man of honour. Mrs. Younge tells you this, and yes, it is true what she says about the near elopement, but she says it only to blacken the name of my family. She is bitter against us, since she was turned out without references for not protecting my sister as she ought to have. It has no bearing on the matter at hand."
"Very good, sir," said Sir William. His face did not look at all convinced, and Darcy suspected that the gentleman would be investigating his family further. Although Darcy wanted to say more, he recognised he was unable to master his emotions at that time. He needed to calm down and provide Sir William with the whole account of his dealings with Mr. Wickham at a later time. He asked Sir William if he might give him a written account of the matter the following day, which Sir William readily agreed to.
"I understand that Colonel Fitzwilliam is Miss Darcy's other guardian, is that correct?" asked Sir William as he stood up to go.
"That is correct, sir," said Mr. Darcy.
"I would like his account of the matter as well," said Sir William.
"Very well. I cannot speak for my cousin, but I do not doubt that he should be willing to give it."
Sir William thanked Mr. Darcy and took his leave. Mr. Darcy collapsed into the chair, resting his head in his hands.
"Are you quite well, Darcy?" asked Mr. Bingley when he came in from seeing Sir William out.
Darcy shook his head.
"Do you wish to be left alone, or should you like someone to speak to? Or we could play billiards?" asked Mr. Bingley.
"Billiards," said Darcy. "I should like to hit something with a stick, and a billiard ball seems the most gentlemanly option available to me."
Bingley let out a loud laugh and led his best friend out of the room.
"It is a shame that Mr. Wickham could not attend. To be taken ill so suddenly! What ill luck!" said Mrs. Bennet.
"Yes, my dear, I am certain that it what it is, just as he was suddenly called to London before the Netherfield ball. It is curious, you know, how he never wishes to be in the same room with Mr. Darcy," said Mr. Bennet with a sardonic smile.
"Well, one cannot blame him!" Mrs. Bennet cried. "After what Mr. Darcy did, you would be bitter too in his place! Why, if Mr. Wickham had been given his due, he would have made our Lizzy an offer by now."
"If Mr. Wickham had been given 'his due' as you call it, he would be in a vicarage in Derbyshire and he never would have met Lizzy or any other person in Hertfordshire," said Mr. Bennet.
Mrs. Bennet had no reply to this. Instead of responding, she continued to fuss over the decorations, occasionally scolding her husband for not allowing her to send to London for fresh flowers. "A viscount, Mr. Bennet! A viscount! And no flowers!" she said several times.
"I daresay Lord Barlow will not notice or mind, so long as the food is tasty and plentiful," soothed Elizabeth.
Mr. Collins returned just then from being out visiting and began to speak of how fortunate the Bennets were to be hosting Lady Catherine's nephews. He was prevented, however, by Mrs. Bennet, who exclaimed over the fact that he was not yet dressed for dinner. It took Mr. Collins only a few moments to ready himself, and he was with the rest of the family before the guests began to arrive. If he was sweet-smelling and turned-out well or not, that is for the reader to imagine.
Mrs. Bennet, the morning of the dinner, had spent nearly an hour with her guests' names written on slips of paper, moving them about to decide the seating arrangements. One could not place someone of high rank further down the table. At the same time, no one wished to sit between the members of their family, with whom they ate every day. Mrs. Bennet, additionally, wished to ensure that her daughters were well-positioned between eligible gentlemen. This was not always possible. However, she managed to seat Jane between Lord Barlow and Mr. Bingley and Lydia between Colonel Fitzwilliam and Captain Sanderson. Elizabeth was better placed than her mother thought she deserved, seated as she was between Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy. Neither gentleman could be called pleasant company, so she did not feel too much unease at wasting a place between two unmarried gentlemen.
"…sold his commission," said Captain Sanderson.
"Who did?" asked Mrs. Bennet.
"Mr. Wickham. He told Colonel Forster yesterday that he wished to sell it and today someone bought it. He will be gone within a week," Captain Sanderson said.
"I hope he pays his debts before leaving," said Captain Carter. "He still owes me five pounds."
"I would not count on that," said Lord Barlow. "Mr. Wickham has left debts up and down this country. Usually, Darcy is left cleaning up after him."
This state of affairs was new to most of those in the room, who had previously thought that Mr. Darcy was mean with his fortune, having deprived Mr. Wickham of his living. Lord Barlow gave more details when Captain Carter asked for clarification, describing how Mr. Darcy had given Mr. Wickham the value of the living years ago and how Wickham had asked for it again later.
"Not to mention that Mr. Darcy holds at least three hundred pounds of Mr. Wickham's debt, and yet, somehow, Wickham is not in debtor's prison," added Colonel Fitzwilliam.
The officers were quite interested in this, because Mr. Wickham had many debts throughout the militia camp. "I do not know that he shall be allowed to depart," said Colonel Forster. "I shall ask in town about his debts, and he shall not leave until they are paid. I will not have him giving our officers a bad name. We already have difficulty when coming into a new area. I will not have Mr. Wickham making it worse, especially since we will be here until the unrest at Halling dies down, at least."
"Unrest at Halling?" asked Mr. Bennet.
Conversation then turned to local politics. Halling, which was less than ten miles from Meryton, was one of the towns that had started to adopt modern technology. The unrest was focused on the paper mill and brewery, which had both recently installed machines to boost production and minimise labour costs. Other mills, printeries, breweries, and other local businesses had done likewise, but only in Halling was there actual unrest.
"They are just talk here in Meryton," said Colonel Forster. "With the militia so close at hand, they know that we will enforce the law. We don't go arresting everyone who violates the Combination Acts, because talking isn't hurting anyone unless it becomes planning."
"How would you know if it did become planning? It is not as if they would tell you," said Elizabeth.
"No, but there's enough militia about that they wouldn't dare," said Colonel Forster.
Elizabeth was doubtful, given that most of the militia did little more than walk about looking well in a uniform, but she would not insult her family's guest by arguing further.
Perhaps it was the exalted company, but Elizabeth was impressed by her family that evening. For once, after dinner, Mary selected a song on the pianoforte suited to her talents and did not try to sing. Lydia and Kitty flirted with the officers, but did not drink too much wine. Mr. Collins praised the nephews of Lady Catherine, but Charlotte put herself in his way and tempered much of his excesses. Mrs. Bennet was far too busy with her duties as hostess to spend much time with any one guest. Mr. Bennet was sardonic, but within the bounds of propriety.
As the final guest departed, Elizabeth's stress began to dissipate. Her family had given the gentlemen at Netherfield no cause to despise them.