PP FF NON-Canon AU GENERAL REGENCY

Hearts in Hiding

NOTE: sorry for the mess up this morning; that was my fault not FF ( I accidentally posted the same chapter twice and not two different chapters)

Previously:

"You did not do those things?" Brandon's tone was not disrespectful, just curious, as if he had detected a faint sound of regret in the older man's voice.

"No, no, I did not. Learn from my mistakes." Mr. Clark gave a half-hearted smile. "Maybe, in telling you this, I am—in some small way—trying to make up for it."

Observations

Ch. 13

Music filled the air of the ballroom of Matthew Jones' estate. It flowed out the window, and people could be heard clapping, dancing, and laughing. Mr. Clark had helped the steward secure sconces to the exterior walls of Mr. Jones' home. Torches had then been secured to posts which lined a long-graveled road where carriages had pulled up and, once their owners had alighted from their modes of transportation, been taken elsewhere.

It was after securing the safety of the last guest's carriage that Mr. Clark came around the corner prepared to help Mr. Worthington, the Jones' steward, with any security and surveillance needed. However, what met Mr. Clark's eyes had him instantly on guard for two reasons. One, there was a red-headed fellow who may have been wearing different clothing and a different hat, but there was no doubt about who he was looking at.

"My name is Harold Jacobs. I am a botanist from London. I am sorry, I did not know I was trespassing." The man had gone on with a lengthy explanation of a plant which, supposedly, was rare but was known to grow in the area of Thistlebrook, the nearest town to the Jones' estate.

Mr. Clark knew people let their guard down if they thought those around them were fools; hence, Robert played the part and acted as if he wished to be educated. It was by his act that Mr. Jacobs exposed himself as a cultivated cretin at best.

"Observe, take no action. When I come, if anything has happened that warrants me looking into things further, tell me. Until then, continue making mental notes." had been Mr. Smith's instructions. Therefore, nothing more than gentle but firm instructions on where to get on a public road was given. Now, however, Mr. Clark's concern shifted to Mr. Jacobs' company for two reasons, but only one of which needed addressing.

The first reason was that it was Mr. Hurst. No, it was not likely any physical looks would be recognized, but his voice surely be known. "First Lady Catherine, and now you. My observations of the past couple months have all been pointing to one thing -and Mr. Jacobs had cemented everything in- but now this? Great, how am I supposed to disguise my voice this time? I am no longer going by Bennet but try cover that up around you." Inwardly, Kitty and Mary's father groaned, especially when he saw Mrs. Hurst and Miss Caroline join them. Hurrying up the stairs and into a side door before Mr. Jones could call him over, Mr. Clark rapidly walked down a darkened corridor and then descended a flight of stairs.

"Mr. Clark, what a surprise," one of the house servants spoke up as he saw the groundskeeper appear on the bottom floor. "I was under the impression you were helping Mr. Worthington tonight."

"I was. Unfortunately, I am now finding myself in quiet a conundrum. My stomach is bothering me. I was hoping someone down here could relieve me."

"I would be more than happy to. You would need to take over the security checks on the basement floor though."

"Gladly."

Mr. Clark took the man's lantern and opened a large door which revealed a set of stairs made out of solid wood. His footsteps carried down into the more workable side of the basement. He moved carefully and methodically through the dimly lit area. Robert's lantern cast long shadows on stone walls, mostly of a few intricate spider webs. The gentleman was surprised how barren the workable side really was. You would think a rich man would hoard more than Matthew had down in this space.

A few dust-covered chests, a couple of pieces covered with large canvases, and a few stray boxes. It did not appear there was much else. The air was cool, musty, and full of aged wood—that had to be the chests that were covered. The rest simply filled one's nostrils with the scent of damp earth.

Mr. Clark moved carefully and cautiously through the basement of Mr. Jones' estate, his lantern casting light around which showed nothing more than a foundation that would be good for another ten years. The air was cool and slightly musty, filled with the scent of wood and earth. As he approached the far end of the basement, the man noticed a small, dusty window that offered a narrow view of the grounds outside.

Peering through glass which had seen its better days, Mr. Clark's eyes narrowed as he spotted a figure moving stealthily near the back of the estate. There was no question, the gentleman sported red hair—it clearly stood out against the twilight sky. He was crouched low, seemingly inspecting the ground. Mr. Clark's jaw set hard as he realized the man was the same red-haired gentleman he had seen with Mr. Hurst. He had not gone into the party. There were other signs which he mentally noted and realized it was the same man masquerading as a botanist; his story had been so full of holes it had taken everything he had in him to keep up any act. And, if there had been any doubt before, they were all gone.

Determined to keep a close watch, Mr. Clark made another mental note of Mr. Jacobs' exact appearance compared to what he looked like on the other part of the estate, along with his suspicious activities. He knew he would need to discuss this with Mr. Keith Smith later, adding this incident to the growing list of peculiar occurrences. As he continued his rounds, his mind raced with questions. What was the red-haired really man after? Why was he so interested in the estate? His instincts told him the Hurts had nothing to do with it.

Retracing his steps, Mr. Clark paused and looked around again. Something was off about this basement, besides being too empty, but for the life of him, the gentleman had no clue and did not like it. The gentleman walked across one particular barren space and ended up facing a door that- from talks with Mr. Jones' other servants- should not have been locked. It was. Light cast from his lantern fell upon part of a key that had been shoved under mat.

'What..." Instinctively he went to take a step only to be stopped by words spoken by Mr. Smith before leaving London 'Take no action' "If I were at Longbourn and saw..." His words hung in the air and then hit the gentleman with extreme force.

"If you were at Longbourn you would be Mr. Bennet, an estate owner wearing the suit of a gentleman, spending too much time in his library, gardens, or helping the tenants out but ignoring your daughters except Elizabeth. You are now Mr. Clark, a groundskeeper. If you care for Mary and Kitty at all, you will be a responsible adult and father. You will continue making sure Longbourn has funds and Mr. Smith has the co-operation needed so they will have the support they need in Mrs. Brinkerhoff. And, when this is over, if they will have anything to do with you, you will give them of your time. So, focus on catching these crooks, you may not know exactly what they are smuggling, but my dear man, you have figured out smuggling is going on and someone is giving aid from the inside, just not who."

Mr. Clark felt as if his heart was in hiding and had been for a very long time. No, he did not lay blame on the late Mrs. Bennet; at least not a good share of it. No, when it came to her, the gentleman mourned what could have been, not what had been. He now mourned a heart that had never truly lived. Maybe, by helping Mr. Smith, helping the Jones', his widowed sister and the others his heart could come out of hiding and sing again. It was with that thought Mr. Clark ignored the key and left the locked door behind him.

Going back up the stairs, he shut the door and was not surprised to see Mrs. Jones at the bottom of the landing.

"Mr. Clark, how are you feeling? My servant said you your stomach was bothering you."

"Yes, my stomach has not been feeling well. I thought it best if I was not around your company."

"I suggest you go home and lay down." She turned to leave and then turned back. "I truly am sorry, you missed meeting Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. They are from London and will not be coming back. They have secured a home in London and their sister, Miss Caroline, is getting married next month. Her husband hates the country. From what I gather, they are to live with the couple as the home is rather large."

"Life happens." Mr. Clark gave a slight bow, walked out the door, and—mentally—shouted, "Thank heavens, those are people I do not miss!" Just as he stepped out into the open air a thought struck him hard; it had to do with a look on Mr. Smith's face when he -in the role of Mr. Bennet- had asked him a question back in London. It was that memory which shouted who he needed to talk to. And yet, at the same time, the gentleman could not help but wonder how his offspring were doing.