Charles paced back and forth across the orate rug which adorned the floor of Darcy's private study. Back and forth he went, pausing momentarily to glance in the direction of Montague, before returning to his relentless task.
Darcy sat to the left of the desk, a glass of brandy in one hand. He was not a man to be often found with such a drink so early in the day, but he took great comfort in the act of merely swishing the amber liquid within the glass slowly. At times such as these he found a drink most comforting, even if only used for the sole purpose of keeping his hands busy in order to appear quite at ease.
Finally, he could take it no more. "Charles will you please be seated. If you should persist you shall wear the carpet down to mere threads. Here," he said, reaching forward to fill an empty glass next to the decanter which sat upon the table next to him. "Here," he repeated firmly, as he handed the glass to Bingley, nodding with determination in an attempt to reassure his friend. There was nothing worse than a man who paced.
Taking the glass, Charles abandoned his employment of the last half hour, and took the seat opposite, positioning himself just so, in order to have full view of Montague.
If Montague was aware of the nervous disposition and unease of Mr Bingley, he paid it no heed. He was entirely absorbed in the materials which lay before him. The more Bingley stared at him intently, the more he simply shut him out, entirely focused on the task in hand.
Before him sat numerous pieces of correspondence, business and personal exchanges of the late Mr Bingley, letters, leases, purchase ledgers, and above all the father's and now the sons current financial accounts. He was impressed by the extent of such records. It was quite the organised collection. Everything was clearly labelled, dated and filed. It was unusual to find so much information in one place and so well documented.
He had to admit, although over the last few years he had dealt with may an affluent and dare he say, much more prestigious cliental than the Bingley's, he was greatly surprised upon understanding the full extent of their income. In principle Mr Bingley's business endeavours contributed just under six thousand pounds a year; however, unlike many other clients of considerable higher returns, he had not the same level of responsibility attached to such a sum. In essence his disposable income and the availability to access his revenue was great indeed. He could not imagine Mr Bingley having any difficulty purchasing any such item or property he so desired; a luxury not even those of some of the highest of society could do without some thought on the matter.
To his right sat the item which was the root of all this trouble. A letter, written on both sides. A letter from a Mr Alfred Robert Bingley of Scarborough, cousin of the gentleman who sought his council. In principle it was just a letter. There was no such evidence attached, nor were the claims within entirely threatening. The real issue with the correspondence, which piqued Montague's curiosity, was how calmly it was written, as though complete fact. Alfred merely wished to draw the issue to his cousins' attention, a mere curtesy, before he sought out what was rightfully his. It was all so civilised. This is what troubled Montague.
Closing the account ledger before him, which dated from over thirty years prior, he picked up the letter once more. It was the calmness of the text which gave him the most pause for thought. There was no hint of anger in the words, no forcefulness in the language. Surely a man who felt cheated of his rightful inheritance should display some passion on the subject? The turn of phrase was far too eloquent for a mere shop keeper from the resort town of Scarborough. Perhaps he was being ungracious towards the gentleman, but from what little he had managed to learn of Mr Alfred Bingley, the gentleman did not in any way seem the sort capable, or indeed educated enough to compose such a letter.
He was convinced the letter was written by another, likely the solicitor whom the gentleman had taken his case.
He scanned the page again. This is what troubled him. Normally he got a feel for the situation. Greedy men angry for not having their share of the world, typically expressed themselves as such. It was easy to see the desperate fabricators or those truly righteous from the start. At present he could not work out which Mr Alfred Bingley believed himself to be.
In terms of all the information thus provided by Charles Bingley and the discreet enquiries he had already made into the matter over the last fortnight, Montague had found little evidence to support the cousins claim. However, that did not mean such an exchange of money in return for shares by both men's fathers did not previously take place. However, such transactions especially amongst family did happen and often; and they typically were messy business if gone sour. In Montague's opinion, this only hinted further that Alfred must have some trump card up his sleeve to pursue such a notion.
Finally, he placed the letter upon the table once more and removed his reading glasses. He sat back in the chair only to be met with the anxious expression of Charles Bingley who had this whole time been watching him most earnestly. Mr Darcy sat opposite the desk; a glass of brandy held nonchalantly within his hand. He was the very image of composure. Mr Darcy was the living image of wealth, status and breeding. He was part of the world which Montague admired most. Not that he wished himself to be part of that world, no he had made that matter quite clear; what he relished most was the thrill of the chase. It was the upper sets of society, those of wealth and it's complex secrets, which by default offered the best and most challenging of cases. Those who believed that their position, pedigree or income made them untouchable. And like all men of the law, Montague needed such men in order to reach his own aspirations.
Although relatively young, the level of reputation he had successfully forged within his work could not be disputed. His client list was ever increasing and even more impressive. This meant that in time he hoped the list would decrease considerably, leaving him only the crème de la crème of the British aristocracy and social standing as his most intimate connections.
The Matlock's were just another such family he had recently added to the list. Although drawing up paper work for the purchase of race horses was not the most thrilling of endeavours, he had done so willingly, anything for an Earl of such standing. The exchange had paid off well for now he was involved in some private property investments of the Earl and his eldest son, which would be very lucrative indeed. He glanced towards immaculately dressed Mr Darcy once more. There sat the very reason he had agreed to look upon the plight of his close friend. He had not yet agreed to take on the case, but he could not afford to insult such a request to look into the matter. Mr Darcy and subsequently his estate would be a wonderful addition to his collection.
He had not anticipated that the matter would be quite so interesting. From the little information he had gathered from his discrete enquiries and the paperwork before him, he could see nothing which caused concern, yet the calmness in the way the cousin presented the situation as simply mere fact did ring distant alarm bells.
How he longed for a case in which he could really stick his teeth into rather than merely drawing up contracts and solving minor disputes. Growing his reputation and connections was all good and well, but he had not had an exciting legal challenge in over a year. Perhaps this was exactly what he needed.
"I have seen enough," he said leaning back in the chair to address the two-gentleman present. "I must say Bingley never have I seen such an extensive array of correspondence and documentation. You keep everything it would appear, and so meticulously organised. You make my job very easy."
At such praise Charles ears began to grow pink. He looked towards Darcy before replying rather sheepishly;
"Well, I am afraid in that I cannot take all the credit, for you see it is my sister who oversees such matters. She deals directly with my clerk; she has been integral in the transition of my inheriting from my father. There is not one bit of paper work which goes unnoticed, she has a keen eye for such things."
"I had no idea Charles that Mrs Hurst was so useful," Darcy remarked rather unkindly.
"Oh, heaven's no," laughed Charles uneasily. "I adore Louisa but can you even imagine? No, I mean Caroline of course. It is Caroline."
To this Darcy raised his brows, but before he could respond, Mr Montague cut in;
"You mean to tell me that Miss Bingley is involved in the day-to-day dealings of your business affairs?"
"Why of course. Mother was exceedingly involved in all things when my father was still alive. There was not one thing that went unnoticed by our mother let me tell you. Oh, if only mother was still with us, for she would know exactly what occurred between my father and his brother. Caroline is much like mother."
"I can but only imagine," replied Montague dryly. He thought back to their meeting in the library only earlier that day. How she had looked down her nose at him, spoilt ungenerous girl. How amusing it would be to put her in her place.
"Mr Bingley, I have reviewed as much as I can for the present and I must say that on face value there is nothing which causes great alarm; however, one can never be too careful. Are you certain that your cousin's claim has the gravitas in which you believe it?"
"Mr Montague, unlike my sister and friend here, I do not doubt it. Why else would my cousin bring such an item to my attention? I have always given money to my extended family most willingly, and my father before me. If it was merely ready money my cousin desired, he only need ask for it. But this, this is something much more. He wishes for his share of our wealth; he threatens our entire standing, reputation and the life in which we are accustomed. It is a claim I cannot ignore; it has caused me great concern. I have not spoken to Alfred in many years. Why else send such a letter?"
"I must admit I tend to agree with you. The letter does not read as merely observation. I believe it had been formulated by those of his own council. And you have no idea what evidence he may have with regards to his father supplying the capital to your father?"
"None in the slightest. I had always believed my father and his two brothers to have received a small inheritance from my grandfather upon his death. Alfred's father inherited the family business, a small haberdashery, which I believe Alfred still owns to this day. My father always told me he had merely invested the money he received well and from there began buying and selling textiles of his own. The business grew from there rapidly, which he sold in majority, shortly before his death."
"I see," replied Montague softly as his mind already began to play out various scenarios.
"Well, what say you sir?" Darcy asked, growing impatient. "You have yet to confirm whether you will agree to take on this matter. I can assure you on behalf of my friend you will be more than adequately provided for if you agree to do so."
"I have already made some enquires, and this very moment have decided to send one of my men to Scarborough to seek out more information. By such actions it would appear I have already agreed in principle. I must say I am rather intrigued. If such a claim were indeed proven to be true, you are aware Bingley that you could lose everything? I will of course do everything in my power to not see such an outcome occur, but I cannot guarantee that there may not be some unpleasantness."
"I am more than aware of the serious nature of the matter. Now that that is all settled, I feel much more at ease. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to know I shall have you in my corner. I cannot thank you or Darcy enough." He turned to his friend, "I cannot tell you how obliged I am to you Darcy, truly you are the greatest friend a man could ever wish for."
Uncomfortable at such a statement, Darcy stood up, ready to vacate the room.
"Mr Montague, as I mentioned previously in my letter, we intend to remain at Pemberley the coming fortnight, before returning to London for the final engagements of the close of the season. You are more than welcome to stay as one of the party, if you should desire to do so."
"Thank you, Mr Darcy, but I believe I really should be getting back to London."
"Oh nonsense," cried Charles, his countenance entirely restored now that he believed Montague would simply take charge of the matter which had been previously worrying his mind. "Nonsense! At least stay a couple of days and enjoy some sport and company. London will still be upon your return."
"Well, if you insist, I can delay my return for a few days. In doing so it would also allow ourselves to discuss matters in more detail."
"Capital, capital," replied Charles. "A morning of hunting or fishing before the need to discuss more unpleasant matters is always a much more favourable pastime. Now speaking of time, I do believe it is almost five."
"You are quite right. Mr Montague, I shall have Mrs Reynolds show you to the guest rooms. We shall congregate in the drawing room from six, before dining at seven. I will introduce you to my sister. I am sure the Hurst's and Miss Bingley will be delighted to know you have decided to remain in our company."
Montague bowed his head in acceptance, London would have to wait. A moment later he found himself following the genteel Mrs Reynolds towards the guest rooms, his bags he was informed, had already been placed within the chamber. This was another prime example of the one downfall of working for the aristocracy, he thought wearily as he closed the bedroom door behind the departing housekeeper. The decision to leave for London immediately had never been a choice within his power, not after agreeing to effectively work for the gentleman. Instantly one's own preference no longer mattered. It was a game which simply had to be endured. Much like the evening which lay ahead.