Mr. Witting opened his eyes, but it did not make any difference. The dark did not relent as it usually did. He became aware of a pounding sensation at the back of his head. He touched the spot and winced. The area was sensitive to the touch and his fingers came away wet. Blood, he supposed. He conducted a mental examination of his body, searching for any other signs of distress, yet the only aches he could find were those from an awkward sleeping position. He was conscious of the cold and gritty nature of the dirt floor beneath him. He wondered if there was any dirt in his wound from sleeping on the ground, but he supposed that might be dealt with later.

As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he found that it was not entirely black. There was no distinct source of light, but there was enough to allow him to make out vague forms. A wall was in back of him, and the shapes he could see in the distance were unclear to him, although they looked like haystacks. He inched his way to the wall, the dust and dirt clinging to his hands and knees as he crawled. When he ran his hands over it, he felt the bumps and ridges of the brick. He leaned his face against the wall, dizzy from his injury.

He did not remember how he got to this place or how he had become injured. The last thing he remembered was talking with Sarah outside the inn in Meryton.

"Sarah," he murmured aloud. "She is wonderful."

He felt his eyes drooping, and the last image lingering in his mind before he dozed off was of a bright-eyed, auburn-haired maid, her laughter ringing in his ears.


Mr. Darcy stepped out from the milliner's shop. The owner had seen Mr. Witting the previous day, but that was in the afternoon. The only other place that had seen Witting was the inn, where he had gone to drink a pint of ale with a few other servants. He had taken down the names of the servants that the innkeeper could remember, but that was all he had got. Apparently Mr. Witting had left the inn, spoken with a woman outside for a moment, then had gone on his way, towards Netherfield. The innkeeper, Mr. Gerald, did not remember much of what had occurred that evening, for he was busy caring for his patrons, but he did not think the valet had drunk more than one or two pints; certainly he had not been drunk when he left.

Frustrated with the lack of information, Mr. Darcy walked towards the Phillipses's apartment. He really should see how Elizabeth fared. As he approached, Mrs. Phillips leaned out the window and waved to him. He cringed at the lack of propriety in her actions, but quickly agreed to come inside, hoping such would cause her to cease calling out. Thankfully, it did.

Five minutes later, he was sitting with Mrs. Phillips, Miss Elizabeth, and Miss Lydia in Mrs. Phillips's sitting room, listening her tell in detail about the ball the previous evening. Even Miss Lydia looked exasperated and at one point, she told her aunt that they had all been at the event and did not need the decorations described to them. Elizabeth chastised her sister for being so rude to their aunt, but Lydia did not look repentant. Mrs. Phillips looked truly hurt by her niece's reproof, so Darcy quickly changed the topic to what he had learned, and had not from the shopkeepers.

"He did not say who the woman was?" asked Elizabeth with a slight frown. Darcy found this expression of hers endearing, as he did most of her expressions. She looked slightly like a petulant child who was denied an explanation for why they could not have cake.

"Perhaps he could not see whom it was, only that it was a woman," Darcy offered as explanation.

"Perhaps," she answered thoughtfully.

Darcy was able to share the names of the servants that Mr. Witting had spent his evening with. Two were farmhands, one from Netherfield and the other from Longbourn. Mr. Hill, the manservant at Longbourn who served as both butler and Mr. Bennet's valet, had also been present, and seemed to be the one whom Mr. Witting talked most with.

"I think that we ought to go to Longbourn," said Elizabeth after a moment.

"Are you certain that you should not remain here and warm yourself further?" asked Mrs. Phillips, but Elizabeth was quite sure that she was well. She did, however, accept Mrs. Phillips' offer to lend them a cart and a manservant to transport them thither.

When they arrived, the Lucases' carriage was in the stables. Sir William was already in Mr. Bennet's study, and Mrs. Hill informed them that they were expected.

Sir William did not waste any time in coming to the point. Before Mr. Bennet could even offer refreshments to Mr. Darcy, he informed them of what they had learned thus far. Nothing was found in the area marked near the hat, but that was not surprising, as it might have floated some ways before becoming caught on the rock. Mr. Hill, the farm hand — Chuck —, and Sarah had all spoken with Mr. Witting the previous evening. Mr. Hill and Chuck had both drank with him at the inn. Sarah had met him by chance in Meryton while she ran errands assigned by Mrs. Hill. They spoke for several minutes, then went their separate ways. No one noticed anything amiss with Mr. Witting.

"One of them must be lying," said Lydia.

"Why do you think that?" asked Sir William.

She shrugged. "Someone must have seen something. He did not just disappear."

"Lydia," said Mr. Bennet sharply, "you cannot simply make accusations like this. If a crime has been committed against Mr. Witting, it is very likely a hanging offense. We wish for the truth to be found out. Unfounded suppositions do not help with that."

Lydia shrank back slightly. She recoiled at her father's harsh words, feeling the heat of his disapproval. Instead of his light-hearted remark that she was a silly girl, his voice was edged and his eyes held a determined look.

"Indeed," said Sir William. "Finding the hat changes matters, if it is his. Going forward, I shall be operating under the assumption that Mr. Witting has gone missing. If this is the case, very likely whoever harmed him is dangerous. We do not wish you to get hurt, Miss Lydia. You must leave this to me and your father."

Elizabeth did not miss the fact that she was neither forbidden nor encouraged to assist as of yet. Neither had Mr. Darcy's role been mentioned.

Lydia opened her mouth to protest, but Mr. Bennet cut her off, "This is not a penny paper or a novel, my love. You cannot simply poke around and expect not to be bitten when you find a snake. For once in your life, child, use the brain in your head."

Tears welled in Lydia's eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. She would not let her father see her cry. Elizabeth glared at Mr. Bennet and wrapped an arm around her sister.

"Mr. Darcy," said Sir William with a sigh. "Although I should like to have your assistance, until we have more evidence excluding you as a suspect, I cannot accept any further assistance from you."

"Excuse me, sir?" asked Mr. Darcy in surprise.

"I cannot dismiss the possibility out of hand. I do not know much about the relationship between you and Mr. Witting, but I intend to stop by Netherfield to speak more with you later. You and the other occupants of Netherfield are to remain in the area. I know Mr. Bingley said he must leave town for a few days, but his business will have to be delayed until this matter is settled."

"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. Darcy. "Mr. Bingley barely knew my valet. He would have had no reason to harm him, nor would either of his sisters. Furthermore, I was the one to bring his disappearance to your attention."

"Even so," said Sir William. "Mr. Bingley had opportunity, as he was in the same house. We also must ensure that all of his servants remain at Netherfield, which I imagine would not occur if Mr. Bingley returns to town. Further, I cannot have the investigation clouded. If there is any question of your tampering with evidence, it could look very bad and the real culprit might not be found or held accountable."

This made rather more sense. Mr. Bingley would bring his valet, a coachman, and likely one or two more servants if he returned to town, even for a few days. These servants would have been working closely with Mr. Witting for the last several months. Of course Sir William would wish to interview them, as they might know something, however insignificant it seemed. He also wished nothing to occur that might damage the possibility of finding Mr. Witting or the culprit.

Mr. Darcy agreed that he and his party would not leave the area. "A note ought to be sent immediately to Mr. Bingley, however," he added. "He was intending to leave this afternoon. He only delayed in order to assist in the searching."

Mr. Bennet promptly offered Mr. Darcy the use of his desk and stationery, which he accepted and hastily sent off a note to Mr. Bingley.

"Do you intend to enlist any assistance from other quarters, Mr. Darcy?" asked Sir William. "Bow Street or an investigator, perhaps?"

"I had not had time yet to consider," said Mr. Darcy. "So much has happened in a short time. I believe that I shall, but I have no experience in such matters. I shall send a note to my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. He works for the home office and may have a better idea of whom would be suitable."

Sir William agreed that Mr. Darcy's plan was sound. A proper investigator could be helpful. Mr. Darcy used a little more of Mr. Bennet's stationary to write a note to his cousin, asking the boy who took it from him to send it express to Melbridge House.

"Melbridge House?" asked Sir William. "As in Lord Melbridge?"

"He is my uncle. Colonel Fitzwilliam is his second son."

"I see," said Sir William and Mr. Bennet in chorus. Sir William's eyes were alight with interest while Mr. Bennet seemed to simply accept the fact as an explanation.

They soon left the study, for there was not much more that could be done at that moment. Mr. Darcy and Sir William were invited to stay for dinner, but only Sir William accepted. Mr. Darcy thought that he ought to return to Netherfield, since his friend would be curious about what was happening.

Elizabeth stared at her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair. She liked to brush her own hair before bed, leaving Sarah to assist her other sisters. This was partially because her hair was much curlier than her sisters', meaning that it often hurt when others brushed it too roughly.

A knock came at her door, and Elizabeth called out for the person to enter. Jane entered, looking like an angel in her white nightdress, her pale blonde hair held in two long plaits that reached to her waist. She smiled at Elizabeth and sat on the bed, watching as she finished brushing her hair and secured it in a long plait of her own. When she was finished, she tied a pink ribbon around the end, before joining her sister on her bed.

"So, Mr. Bingley will not be leaving for London," said Elizabeth, her eyes alight with mischief. "Are you very pleased, Jane?"

"Oh, Lizzy." Jane blushed as she attempted to look stern. "How can I be? A man is missing and Mr. Bingley and the others at Netherfield have been deemed suspects."

"Only technically. I cannot believe that Sir William actually believes that any of them would have anything to do with Mr. Witting's disappearance." Elizabeth patted her sister's hand and attempted to look certain.

"Do you truly think he was harmed? I cannot think why anyone would wish to hurt him," said Jane, laying back on the bed. "I met Mr. Witting once, you know. I did not know who he was, but upon hearing the description of him, I am quite certain. He was in Clarke's library. I was just looking through the books to see what I might like to read. I hadn't reserved anything, but I saw that a book that I wished to read was on the shelf. Mr. Witting got to it first, but upon seeing my disappointment, he gave it to me. He said he could wait until I was finished with it. Such a kind man could not have angered someone so much."

"He does sound very kind. Mr. Darcy speaks very well of him, too. I do not know why or if anyone would harm him, but that is what Sir William is trying to discover."

Jane's eyes glistened with tears, her chin nodding slightly as she attempted to wipe them away. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her sister in a comforting embrace. Jane calmed quickly, for she was never one to be distraught for long. It was likely her fear that Mr. Bingley would be blamed that had broken her serene manner now.

"You look troubled as well, Lizzy." Jane was peering at her curiously, trying to determine what she was thinking.

"Do I?" Elizabeth let go of her sister and laid back so she could stare at the ceiling. "I suppose that I am. It is not just Mr. Witting going missing, either. I feel that I have been hasty in condemning Mr. Darcy when I hardly know him."

"What do you mean?" asked Jane.

Elizabeth did not at first grasp the source of her sister's confusion, but soon realised that her sister's mind was entirely on the valet's disappearance. "I do not mean that I ever thought he had anything to do with Mr. Witting's going missing. I do not at all suspect him of that," she assured Jane. "I mean, in the matter with Mr. Wickham. I condemned him immediately, without even asking his side of the story. I believed Mr. Wickham without question, and now I fear that I was wrong. How could a man who cares so much for his servant cast aside his father's godson so easily?"

A faint glimmer of happiness shone through Jane's troubled face at her sister's words. She always endeavoured to believe the best of everyone, and in this matter, she assumed herself correct. There certainly must have been some misunderstanding between the two men. She had never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in goodness as Elizabeth did, but now she was even more convinced of his virtues. "Our Uncle Phillips told me once that wills are often the cause of breaches in families. One party believes the deceased promised them something — and perhaps they did, verbally or otherwise — but it was never added to the will. Or perhaps there were limitations or clauses that cannot be met by one or other of those involved. Neither need be duplicitous in order for both to believe themselves in the right."

Elizabeth had to admit that her sister spoke sense. "I fear that I was set against him ever since the first assembly. I did not think myself so prone to prejudice and vanity, but it appears that I have not known myself before this."

Jane urged her sister to not abuse herself so, but Elizabeth could not be swayed. "I must do justice to Mr. Darcy. When next I talk with him, I must ask him for his account of the matter, if he will tell me it. I also must tell him what Mr. Wickham says of him, in case Mr. Wickham is spreading tales."

Jane agreed that Mr. Darcy deserved to know what was being said against him, to give him a chance to defend himself. The sisters remained in Elizabeth's room, although their conversation turned to lighter subjects. Eventually, they both fell asleep, although Elizabeth's sleep was quite restless.