The Piper’s Wages
“I am aghast!” exclaimed Jane. “I am aghast, distressed, and vexed.”
Such a pronouncement from his gentle wife was of a sort Bingley had hoped never to hear. But in truth he supposed keeping their imminent ruin a confidence from her was not altogether wise. In his defence, he had kept his financial failings from her not to protect himself, but her. Jane, however, was incensed (or the closest expression of pique of which she was capable).
“Charles, how could you?”
“I did not want to cause you worry,” he explained.
It was a dicey business, protecting his wife’s sensibilities. She despised few things, but being denied the opportunity to assist another in any of life’s travails was amongst them. Bingley looked pleadingly at Darcy, who in return raised his eyebrows in an expression that was both commiserative and an indication of a reluctance to be drawn into what some might describe as marital discord. He had been called urgently from his cousin’s funeral to Bingley’s side for two reasons—both of equal distress to Bingley. The first was to help him salvage some part of his fortune and the other was to stand by him whilst he apprised his wife of their situation.
“Does Lizzy know, Mr. Darcy?” asked Jane.
Darcy did not for a moment believe that that question was indicative of Jane’s being embarrassed by her sister knowing of their ruin. Jane could but be inquiring because she would not want her dear sister to worry upon her behalf.
“Only the smallest share,” he answered.
Jane appeared comforted—as was Bingley. Having finally relieved himself of the catastrophic news that he had been keeping for some time, Bingley felt light-headed and found a wingback chair in which to collapse. Jane rushed to his side, drawing a linen pocket-square from her sleeve and commencing to flap it before his face.
“Nicholls! Come! Mr. Bingley is unwell!” she called to Bingley’s man.
“I am not so unhinged as that,” Bingley replied, holding up the flat of his hand to dismiss Nicholls, who had come hastily into the room.
Bingley stood and motioned for Jane to be seated in the chair. They exchanged places and then Bingley and Darcy began to talk about methods of retrenchment.
“I will sell my jewellery,” said Jane, not a hint of reluctance in her words. “And my father’s legacy—of course—I will assign to our creditors.”
Caroline, Louisa, and Mr. Hurst sat in a row upon a divan, but none could think of a single thing to give up in defence their finances. Darcy turned and looked pointedly at Mr. Hurst.
“I suppose,” that man said, “I could give up my one set of duelling pistols.”
“Not those,” interjected Louisa. “I suggest one of your long guns.”
Finally, disgusted at what little progress was made, Darcy concluded, “I think it is imperative that you give up Kirkland Hall.”
A chorus of dismay erupted from everyone save Bingley. He had resigned himself to that probability.
“You cannot, Charles,” erupted Caroline. “Where will I go? How shall I entertain? I could not possibly stay in town out of season!”
Jane rose and walked to Caroline, putting her hand upon her shoulder.
“There, there, Caroline, Charles will think of something. You must not despair.”
With this sympathy, Caroline attempted to relieve herself of Jane’s comforting hand and leapt to her feet. “Father should have employed a banker to oversee our money, Charles! You have run us to ruin! You are not fit to be a night-soil man!”
She then stomped to the fireplace and began angrily stabbing the ashes with a poker. As far as Darcy was concerned, he hoped she would betake herself from the room altogether. From the mortified expression upon Bingley’s countenance, he did as well. Even sweet-tempered Jane was, in the first time of his recollection, gifting Caroline’s back something akin to a glower.
“I am happy to know your true feelings, Caroline,” Bingley replied, sounding very much like a younger brother.
“I believe,” said Darcy, “accusations are unhelpful.”
Caroline turned and gifted him a spiteful glare, but he cared not. Therefore, neither did he notice the alteration in her countenance as she bethought herself. Darcy had but one goal, to save Bingley from compleat and utter ruin.
“You must free up some capital, Bingley,” Darcy told him. “Time is of the essence.”
He knew that if Bingley did not, he would not be able to pay the taxes on the fortune of crates of fabric that were waiting idly aboard to be unloaded into his warehouse. Nor would he be able to pay lading costs to the shippers for the cotton waiting equally idly dockside to be loaded. Did he not forthwith, all would either be confiscated or fall prey to land pirates who were even then stealing cargos from other ships unable to unload due to taxes owed. As Darcy saw it, there was little choice. Bingley needed cash—a lot of it. But if he could free up some equity, he could salvage his business. He would not be quite so rich as he had been, but he would not be ruined. Darcy had offered a personal loan several times, but Bingley would accept none.
“I must stew in my own juices,” he had said.
Bingley did see then that Darcy’s plan was his only course. As did Jane. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst sat seemingly stunned, of no use to any discussion. Caroline still fumed from the abhorrence of the notion that she should have to curtail any of her wants.
At last, Bingley agreed, “I will send my card to Sir Howgrave.”
***
Sir Henry Howgrave received his knighthood for recognition of his heroics during the Waterloo engagement. As he was much involved in politics, he had offices in his home near Whitehall. It was with a great deal of glee that he agreed to see the haughty Mr. Darcy. (He did not, of course, dare exhibit any trace of that unseemly pleasure.) Mr. Darcy asking to see him meant that Mr. Darcy wanted something of him. To be in the position to oblige or deny Mr. Darcy as he saw fit was the cherry on the considerable cake of his year. He had never forgiven that man’s cut some half-dozen years ago. Mr. Darcy had refused him, not only to court his sister, but to dance with her as well. Supposedly, Mr. Darcy disapproved of his familial…indecorousness. From the variety of rumours he had heard, he hardly thought Mr. Darcy in a position to point fingers at paternal wandering eyes. Ah, was not life sweet? Society’s leper in one life, society’s darling in another. He withdrew a looking-glass from the drawer of his desk and exposed his teeth, checking for any errant fragments of his dinner. Satisfied, he went to the door and bid Mr. Darcy and his friend Bingley to enter.
Mr. Darcy did so with unparalleled dignity. Howgrave marvelled at it. He had never seen another gentleman rival Mr. Darcy’s bearing. At one time he had tried to effect it himself—but to little avail. He had not the leg to pull it off. Indeed, since his return from the wars, he had grown stouter. Self-consciously, he ran his hand across his waistcoat, then caught the hem and pulled, pretending to straighten it.
“I thank you for seeing us, Sir Howgrave,” said Mr. Darcy.
“It is nothing,” replied Howgrave. “Do call me Howgrave.”
“As you wish,” Mr. Darcy replied. “May I have the honour of introducing my friend, Mr. Bingley?”
After these formal introductions, Howgrave asked his guests to be seated and they both moved to do so, Mr. Darcy expertly sitting without having to flick the tails of his coat from beneath him like the average man. Was there any limit to this man’s finesse? Howgrave attempted a bit of small talk, but Mr. Darcy was disinclined to engage thusly.
“Mr. Bingley wishes to sell his estate,” said Darcy.
Howgrave nodded in recognition of the statement. Mr. Darcy did not much like to fuss about—got right to the point, the man did. But did he think Howgrave was a bloody estate agent? He was determined to be a member of Parliament, although up to that moment he had not yet determined by what means. He would not suffer such foolishness. The man, Bingley, seemed altogether content to have Mr. Darcy talk for him throughout their meeting. He sat there like a puppy-dog waiting to have his stomach rubbed.
Perhaps Howgrave’s countenance exposed his lack of esteem for Bingley’s wants. Regardless, Mr. Darcy continued, clarifying his opening statement.
“He would like to sell it to you in exchange for your estate and a settlement of cash.”
“What makes you believe,” countered Howgrave, “that a lowly public servant such as myself would be in a position to accept such an offer? And, if indeed I was, what would tempt me to entertain doing so?”
“I believe, Howgrave, the privateers that you own under an alias would make you wealthier than many in Parliament—should you make that run. I also understand you are but little at home in Derbyshire. Your business keeps you much at town.”
No idle rich man he, sighed Howgrave. Darcy had done his homework. Howgrave knew Mr. Bingley but by reputation—which was excellent. He was also quite cognizant that one of the accoutrements of Bingley’s estate was a political seat, now vacant. This was interesting, indeed.
It was quite expeditiously then that an agreement was made. Howgrave and Bingley shook hands. The one hindrance to the expeditious completion of their transaction was the unavailability of the funds for several days.
“For reasons which I do not care to explain, it would behove Mr. Bingley to receive this money as soon as possible.”
By that time, Howgrave had lost interest in the specifics of Bingley’s finances. He was a man of action. Once his agreement was reached, little did he care what others needed to do as long as they upheld their end of the bargain. He walked the gentlemen as far as the door of his office and closed it abruptly behind them.
Bingley and Darcy looked at each other, both relieved that their meeting was met with such success and mildly perplexed to have been turned out so rudely. For his part, Darcy expected nothing else from Henry Howgrave, but Bingley decided to find offence. He was a good-natured man, but the preceding months had used up a good portion of his patience. As Howgrave’s maid brought them their hats and gloves, Bingley was anxious to take leave and went out the door, down the steps and headed to the coach. Hence, Bingley was climbing into the carriage when Darcy was still halfway down the steps and still donning his gloves. When Darcy looked up from this small task, his attention was arrested by a lady ascending the same steps Bingley had just vacated.
It was Juliette Clisson.