This is a complete and total rewrite of the Missing Valet. I was not happy with the other version at all and only finished it because people wanted to know the ending. I am already on chapter five of this story, and I feel much better about it. There will not be the same villains, or even a similar plot. I have it all decided already and outlined.

If you want to be extra helpful in your reviews, I would appreciate if you would ask me questions. What haven't I answered to your satisfaction? What specifically bothers you or do you want to know? I want to make sure all my loose ends are tied up at the end.

I will likely be updating the chapters occasionally, even after I post them, since inevitably I find typos and issues after the fact. Since this story is set to come out on Amazon in December, I will be working on it more than R&R or L&L, I think, since those are almost done and don't need to be finished until spring/summer.

"Lizzy, come back! You need your cloak!" called Lydia as she chased after her second eldest sister. Elizabeth, called Lizzy by her sisters, slowed her pace to allow her to catch up. "Jane sent me with your cloak. She is worried you might catch a cold."

"That was good of her, and you," said Elizabeth. She paused in her walking to put on the woollen garment. "Thank you, Lydia."

"I wanted to leave the house too. Mamma is having a dreadful fit of nerves. She swears she will never speak to you again."

That explained to Elizabeth why Jane did not bring the cloak and sent Lydia instead. No doubt Jane was busy tending to their mother. It was always either Jane or Elizabeth who took that duty upon themselves, but on this occasion, Elizabeth was the last person who Mrs. Bennet would wish to see. She, after all, was the reason for her mother's fit. Or rather, her refusal of Mr. Collins was.

Mr. Collins, Elizabeth's cousin and the heir to the entailed estate that Elizabeth's family currently owned, had come to visit and, it turned out, to select a wife from among his cousins. He thought making amends for being next in the male line was the proper way to mend the breach in the family. This spoke well of him, Elizabeth supposed, if only he were not such an absurd man. He was pompous and presumptuous, half in-love with his patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and the sort of moralising sniffling clergyman that had created the caricature that everyone imagined. If that were not enough, during his proposal he had insulted Elizabeth and her family, implying that they were lesser than he was and that he was doing her a great favour by offering for her.

The reader can therefore understand why she felt justified in turning down Mr. Collin's offer of marriage. Actually, she turned him down three times, for he had not accepted her answer the first two times. Even the third time was not enough to convince him. That had taken her father's insistence that he would not force Elizabeth to marry where she did not wish.

Subsequent to Elizabeth's mother's realising that her daughter was truly not going to be Mrs. Collins, Mrs. Bennet had fallen into a feigned swoon, followed by a fit of nerves. To escape the pandemonium, Elizabeth went for a walk. She had forgotten her cloak.

"How long do you think it will take for it to be safe for me to return?" Elizabeth asked her sister.

"Safe from Mamma's remonstrating with you? Several weeks, I should think. But I suppose the loudest proclamations of 'being thrown out into the hedgerows as soon as Papa is dead' should be over in a few hours. Shall we walk to Meryton? I wish to buy a penny paper."

"I suppose that would be agreeable."

Elizabeth looped her arm through her sister's. Lydia was only fifteen and, at times, very silly. She flirted far too much with gentlemen, particularly officers, and was frivolous with her spending. However, of late, she and Elizabeth had discovered a common interest in the penny papers. These were sometimes called "penny dreadfuls" as the literature contained within them was not of the highest quality by some standards and they cost a penny each. They were papers of fictional stories, usually mysteries and romance. Usually the story was published a chapter at a time, so one was forced to buy several penny papers to have the entire story. Lydia bought nearly every penny dreadful she could, gluing them together into books when a story was complete so she could read them again and again. Her favourite currently were the Sir Francis Wagner mysteries.

Sir Francis Wagner was a magistrate in a small village named West Kiteton in Yorkshire. This village must certainly have a very high rate of theft, kidnapping, and murder, for there always was something afoot. Elizabeth questioned why people didn't move or improve their locks. Nevertheless, she and her sister enjoyed discussing the mysteries, wondering what would happen next, and boasting when they deduced the solution before the other. None of the other sisters enjoyed the stories as much, which was just as well. Elizabeth felt guilty for not spending enough time with her youngest sister, which may have contributed to her wild behaviour.

"Did you hear that?" asked Lydia.

"What?" asked Elizabeth.

"Someone is calling out."

Elizabeth listened, and she did hear someone calling, but it did not sound like either of their names. They continued to walk and occasionally they would hear the voice call out, "Witting! Mr. Witting!"

Elizabeth stopped suddenly, causing Lydia to nearly trip.

"Lizzy!" her sister cried.

"I think that is Mr. Darcy's voice," said Elizabeth. "I do not know who Mr. Witting is."

Lydia's head tilted and her brow wrinkled as it did when she was trying to decipher the clues in a Sir Francis story. "We should go see if we can help Mr. Darcy find who he is looking for," she said after considering for a moment. "What if someone is hurt?"

Elizabeth agreed. Mr. Darcy had been calling for the other man for a while, and have evidently had no answer. She did not know who Mr. Witting was, but if he was lost or injured, they ought to help.

As they followed the sound of Mr. Darcy's voice, they looked for any sign of the 'Mr. Witting' he was looking for. They saw no one, so they continued along the path towards Netherfield, until they found Mr. Darcy. He greeted them politely, if absentmindedly, then asked them if they had seen his valet come this way.

"I do not believe so," said Elizabeth. "What does he look like? If we see him, we can tell him that you are looking for him."

Mr. Darcy told them the man was of medium height, about six inches shorter than himself. He was near forty, with curly black hair he wore short that was greying at the temples. He wore no moustache or beard and had a prominent cleft in his chin. Mr. Darcy thought his eyes were brown, but he could not quite remember. He did not think they were his most notable feature, as he would have remembered if Witting had bright green eyes or something distinctive, given how close a valet must stand to shave his master. Female servants found Witting attractive, despite his age.

Mr. Darcy's knowledge of his servant surprised Elizabeth. The servants were of the same importance as the furniture to most gentry. You might notice if your sideboard suddenly disappeared, but it would only inconvenience you if it was not replaced with another. She had always despised this about those of her class and sought to remember the names of all the servants at Longbourn, as well as details of their lives.

"No one has seen him since last night before the ball. I told him not to wait up for me, since I knew it would be late. His bed has not been slept in and all his belongings are still in his room. I know it sounds incredibly foolish, but I have the direst foreboding that something is amiss. He would not just abandon his duty in this way." Mr. Darcy stopped for a moment to call out Witting's name, but he received no response.

Elizabeth wondered if the servant had simply taken himself off and had not slept at Netherfield for his own reasons. She suggested that he was not awakened in time, after staying out too late.

"No, I am quite certain he would not do that. I have known him a long time. He does not go drinking or gaming. Even if he did, he would not do that on a night when he knew he would have to work in the morning. He has been a loyal servant. He worked for my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, as his valet first, until Witting decided he did not wish to travel nearly as much as my cousin's work required. My father hired him then, about six years ago. Unless sick or given a day off, he doesn't miss work.

"I assume that you have already searched Netherfield and asked the servants there," said Lydia.

"I have. No one has seen him, not even his particular friends." Mr. Darcy ran his hands through his hair, looking about him as if Mr. Witting might suddenly appear before calling out again.

"Very well. We are not far from Lucas Lodge," said Elizabeth. "Let us walk thither, and we can ask the servants there if anyone has seen him. We can inquire at Longbourn and nearby estates to see if they have seen him. Sir William is also the magistrate, so he would need to be notified anyhow. We can also ask in the Meryton shops."

Mr. Darcy, who had to admit to himself that Miss Elizabeth's plan was much better than his wandering around and shouting, agreed. Their arrival at Lucas Lodge was met with warmth and confusion from the Lucases.

"We were just preparing to call," said Lady Lucas.

This was not at all surprising to Elizabeth. It was often the case that the Lucases or some other of their friends would call on the day after a ball to discuss the events of the previous evening. Elizabeth explained briefly before deferring to Darcy.

"I told him to go to bed and not wait up. No one claims to have seen him since then. It is not like him to go off like this. He is typically very reliable."

"There is no… person… that he might have spent the night with? Perhaps he meant to wake at the appropriate time, but was too tired," said Sir William with a meaningful look to Darcy.

"Well," Darcy looked at Elizabeth and Lydia cautiously, "I know he was rather smitten with Sarah from Longbourn, but I do not believe anything happened between them. He would not dishonour her, as he cared for her."

Elizabeth had deduced that Sarah had a liking for a servant at Netherfield, but she had not known it was Mr. Darcy's valet. Often Sarah was the first to volunteer to take notes or invitations thither, as it meant she could spend time in the servants' quarters there, speaking with whoever was about. She did not believe it was Mrs. Nicholls who had suddenly inspired such energy.

"And nothing is missing from Netherfield. The silver has all been accounted for? Jewels?" asked the magistrate.

"My valet is not a thief, sir." Mr. Darcy's voice was stern, but not angry. "Nevertheless, we did have the silver counted, and Mr. Bingley's sisters are not missing any jewels. Nothing else in the house has been noticed either."

Sir William nodded and pulled the bell for a servant. "Ben, go to Longbourn and inquire about Mr. Witting among the servants. He is friends with several people there, and he is missing. Keep an eye out as you walk, in case he is somewhere along the way. You might ask around Longbourn Village as well," he said to the manservant who answered the bell. The servant asked how he should travel, and was given leave to take a cart, in case he came upon an injured Mr. Witting.

"I do appreciate your help, Sir William," said Mr. Darcy.

"It is my pleasure to assist you, Mr. Darcy," Sir William replied with a smile. "Now, I assume that you have had servants search Netherfield and the grounds?"

"I have. He has many friends there, all of whom are quite anxious as well. They have been searching the house and grounds quite thoroughly, I assure you."

"There is not a possibility that Mr. Witting left a note that was thrown away or gave a message that was simply not delivered?" asked Sir William. "Perhaps there is a perfectly innocent explanation."

"I suppose that is a possibility, but when I left Netherfield, nothing of the sort had been found. It would be a relief to learn that he was in Meryton buying shoe polish or some such, but I do not know why he would do so when he knows what time I awaken and that I would wish for his services."

"Does he have family?" asked Sir William.

"A brother in Dorset. I cannot recall his name. He works at Verity Manor, near Ferling."

"You ought to send an express thither. If a message did go awry, it is possible that Mr. Witting was called to visit his brother if he was taken ill. It is strange that he would not wait and request leave from you himself, though."

"If it was urgent, he would know he could leave and I would not fault him, so long as he informed me in a note. I would not force him to wait until morning, if a family member was very ill," said Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth and Lydia both looked at Mr. Darcy in astonishment. Prior to today, they would have assumed it would be rather unpleasant to be Mr. Darcy's personal servant, but it seemed that he granted his staff a great deal of freedom. Never had she heard of a servant being able to simply write a note to his employer explaining that he had to attend to an ailing family member before taking themselves off. Though, she supposed that long service granted servants privileges that might not be granted to those with less tenure.

"Very good. Then we will not panic just yet," said Sir William reassuringly. "He may have left for Dorset, and the note could be lost, perhaps mistaken for rubbish."

The tension on Mr. Darcy's face decreased with the notion. "Very practical. Thank you, sir."

"Still, messages ought to be sent out to all the major families in the area, asking about him. You might continue to Meryton too. As you said, you might find him buying shoe polish. Do let me know what happens. I am at your service, Mr. Darcy." Sir William stood when Mr. Darcy did and offered his hand. Mr. Darcy shook it and thanked him again for his assistance. Elizabeth and Lydia followed after him, thanking Sir William as well and taking leave of Lady Lucas and Charlotte.

"Let us take the longer way to Meryton," said Elizabeth. "If he travelled the faster route, no doubt someone will come upon him soon. The other path is not so well travelled."

Mr. Darcy was not aware that there were two routes to Meryton, so the Bennets led the way. The longer route was little more than a footpath, although they explained that horses often used it as well. As the route made its way through the autumn trees, a sweet smell of damp earth and foliage hung in the air as they neared Oakham stream and then followed its banks towards town.

"What is that?" cried Lydia suddenly, interrupting the companionable silence that had fallen over them. She gestured towards the stream, and the dark shape that looked unnatural to the scene.

As they drew nearer, the dark, sodden form began to take shape. A hat was caught on a rock beneath the surface of the stream, partially hidden by a layer of leaves. This particular area of the stream was of considerable width, and the hat was close to the centre. It was not possible to simply extend an arm and grasp it, so the three of them began to search for a long branch to secure it with. Elizabeth found a suitable stick first but left the task of retrieving the hat to Mr. Darcy. He tried to move the hat, but only succeeded in loosening the leaves that had accumulated around it. After several minutes, Elizabeth grew tired of watching his vain attempts.

"Mr. Darcy, pray, turn your back," she requested.

He looked at her strangely.

"I am going to remove my shoes and stockings, then hike up my skirts and go to retrieve the hat. I would prefer it if you did not watch while I did so," she explained.

Mr. Darcy had no response to her statement, but did as she requested, turning his back. Only once he had done so did he realise that he ought to have insisted on retrieving it himself. It was too late, however, as he could hear Elizabeth's slight gasp as she entered the cold water. A moment later, he heard her sister assisting her to dry her feet with her scarf.

"You may turn around now, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth.

Upon his doing so, Elizabeth presented him with the hat. It was a basic black hat that most gentlemen would own. However, when he looked inside, he saw the hat came from Feltmaker's Company and there were the initials KW sewn onto the label.

"It is his. I often buy hats from Feltmaker's and he gets my old things. KW are his initials," Darcy said grimly.

"We ought to make sure that Sir William sees this," said Elizabeth.

"Wait!" cried Lydia. "We need to mark this point in the stream, so we do not forget. It's terribly important in all of the stories to know exactly where clues were found."

Neither of the others argued with Lydia, so she took the stick that Darcy had been using earlier and stuck it upright into the wet dirt. She then took another stick and did the same nearby. "Then if one falls over, there will still be another marker," she explained.

Darcy smiled at the girl. For all of her sometimes uncouth behaviour, in this moment, she reminded him very much of Georgiana. His sister read the same penny papers as Miss Lydia and had some notion of someday solving a mystery. "Not a grand mystery. I do not wish to see a dead person. That would be terrible. Just to help a lady who has lost her diamond necklace or some such," was how his sister had described her desire.

"You have not taken a chill?" Mr. Darcy looked at Elizabeth for any signs of illness. "Should we not hurry to Meryton and take you to your uncle's home?"

"I shall be well," said Elizabeth with a laugh. "I never take cold."

Nevertheless, Mr. Darcy prevailed upon them to go to Meryton so that Elizabeth might be warmed by the fire in her aunt's apartments. It was not far to Meryton from where they were, but the streets were very empty. He supposed that such was the aftermath of the ball, for servants would delay their tasks in town a little while if they could.

Mrs. Phillips was still at breakfast when he delivered her nieces to her. She was delighted to have Mr. Darcy in her sitting room, but he could not be persuaded to remain long. He explained the situation to her, leaving her exclaiming about 'Poor Mr. Witting, who was no doubt dead from an aneurysm or run over by a drunken carriage driver'. He could not linger, needing to send the hat and a note via a messenger back to Sir William, as well as stop in the many stores to inquire if anyone had seen his valet.