Mrs. Barrows froze as she entered the room. The greeting she was about to make died on her lips as her eyes landed on Bingley.
“I hear he looks a lot like his uncle,” said Anne as she took Mrs. Barrows’s hand in greeting.
Mrs. Barrows snapped her mouth closed and blinked at Anne.
“My mother says he looks a lot like his uncle,” prodded Anne.
“Indeed he does,” replied Mrs. Barrows. Her eyes narrowed a bit. “Surely your mother is not allowing you to associate with people of a lower station. It is most unseemly.” She looked to her daughter, who was conversing with Jane and Bingley. “Abigail,” she called in a stern tone. “We are expecting guests this evening, and your brother’s business took longer than expected. You need to come away now.”
“We are also having guests at our meal tonight,” said Anne.
Mrs. Barrows gave a derisive snort. “Of course you are, my dear; this is a house party after all.”
Anne smiled a small tight smile, the one she used when her mother said something demeaning. “You mistake my meaning, Mrs. Barrows. I meant that we have an additional guest this evening. Mr. Bingley’s uncle has accepted my invitation to join us.”
Mrs. Barrows’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “Cranfield is here?”
“He is.” Mrs. Barrows jumped at the sound of Lord Matlock’s voice. “With my blessing,” he added in a tone that held a warning.
“Of course, my lord,” said Mrs. Barrows as her daughter joined her. “It is a pity we have prior arrangements and are unable to attend tonight’s dinner.” The look of disgust on her face gave lie to the sweetness of her voice.
“I am sure it is,” said Lord Matlock. “Might I walk you to the door?”
“That is very gracious of you, my lord, but I do not require special treatment.”
“Oh, but I believe you do,” said Lord Matlock. “Besides, I have sent Kellet to tend to something, and that would leave you to open the door on your own. We cannot be so uncivilized as to allow that, can we?”
“Surely a footman could see to the door.”
“They are all attending to duties. I am afraid you are left only with my escort at present.” He smiled and, extending an arm to each lady, led them from the room.
~*~*~
“The audacity of some people!” Mrs. Barrows huffed as she took her seat in the carriage and arranged her skirts. “Ushering us out as if we were unwanted while a tradesman’s son sits comfortably in the drawing room.”
“Oh, but Mama, Mr. Bingley will soon own an estate. He has already been leasing one, and he is the most pleasant fellow.” Miss Barrows smoothed her skirt.
“He is a tradesman’s son and, as such, he is beneath you. I would prefer if you not spend time associating with the likes of him.” Her mother’s voice was firm.
“Indeed,” agreed her brother, who sat on the opposing bench. “He is beneath us. He’ll not be welcomed to Rosings again once I marry Miss de Bourgh. Class lines must be strictly observed, or society will be in shambles.” He tapped her knee with his walking stick. “Did you give Miss de Bourgh my letter?”
“I did, and it was the strangest thing. She tucked it into her pocket, and when our walk was through, she gave it to Colonel Fitzwilliam to read.” She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “I suppose he may require such things of her since they are to be wed. I should not like to have such a heavy-handed man as my intended, much less my husband.” She shrugged. “Papa would not allow such a man to claim me.” She settled back in her seat satisfied with her conclusion.
“Miss de Bourgh is to marry Colonel Fitzwilliam?” asked her mother in surprise.
“Three weeks hence. I believe the first of the banns will be called this Sunday.”
Mrs. Barrows lifted a brow and gave her son a knowing look. “It may be unless she decides to call it off. These things happen, you know.”
“Oh, Mama. She is quite in love with him, and he with her. I am quite certain there will be a wedding. And the wedding breakfast…oh, we must attend!”
Her mother patted her arm. “You will be in London, taking rides in the park and dancing with fine gentlemen. You will be far too busy to take time away for a wedding breakfast.”
“Do you think so? I am quite excited to have my season, even if it is only a small one.” Her raptures about her dresses and the parties she would attend as well as her friends, who were awaiting her arrival and who had sent the most interesting letters, filled the remainder of the ride.
“I would like to take a small turn in the garden, Christopher,” Mrs. Barrows said as she alighted from the carriage. They walked together in silence until they reached the rose garden. “Will you still give her until tomorrow evening?”
“I think I must.”
“Rosings is not lost until she is wed. There is still time. Rumours can be started, and accidents can happen ─ one must not wed while in mourning.” She noted the look of surprise on her son’s face and patted his arm. “Accidents can be fatal.”
They walked on once again in silence for a time. “I understand Mr. Bingley’s uncle has joined the house party.”
“And why do I need to know this?”
“You do remember the story I told you about Lady Catherine’s marriage?” He nodded, and she continued, “Mr. Bingley’s uncle is Adrian Cranfield.”
His eyes grew wide. “The Cranfield?”
“One and the same. He knows far too much about our business, and he may have already shared his knowledge with the others in attendance. I fear it is the reason Lord Matlock escorted me to the door.” She led her son to a bench and took a seat. “It could pose a challenging issue to overcome, but I do not believe, as of yet, it is insurmountable. However, we must act quickly.”
“What are we to do?”
She shrugged, “We have options.”
“Such as?”
“You have an article that will taint the de Bourgh name, and I have a letter that appears to be in his hand claiming you as his son, leaving you the rightful heir of Rosings. However, you may need to take me in as I am sure your father will cast me out when he hears of the supposed indiscretion.”
“I do not like that option. Tell me another.”
“Very well. Again we submit the anonymous article making sure to hint at Cranfield being Anne’s father. There are documents that can be found on one of his ships that would make him appear disloyal to the crown. Anne will not only be illegitimate but also the daughter of a traitor. Neither she nor her mother will recover from such a blow.” She gave him a small smile. “It is not as if either would have survived long after your marriage anyway, would they?”
Mr. Barrows chuckled. “Are these the only options? There is still Matlock, who could wield some power and ruin either of those plans.”
“Yes, I had thought of that.” She looked around the garden as if taking in the beauty of the night. “Fires are known to start accidentally.” She paused to allow time for him to process what she had suggested. “However, you would need to oversee such a task personally much as I saw to Sir Louis’ inability to recover from his accident.”
Mr. Barrows stood and strode about the bench in a circle. Finally, he came to a stop. “Matlock is staying at Rosings with Lady Catherine. We cannot put a torch to both. It would be too conspicuous, and I would be left in need of a residence.”
“Easily solved, my son. A cry will go out about the fire ─ preferably not until it is beyond dousing. Lord Matlock and Lady Catherine will, of course, rush to the dower house. A loosened wheel or a startled horse may cause an issue, and with everyone focused on the fire, they will not be looked for until it is far too late to help them.”
~*~*~
Richard pulled himself to a sitting position. Sleep, it seemed, was determined to elude him tonight. He shoved another pillow behind his back and settled back, longing for a book to read, but dragging himself across the bed to light a candle seemed a ridiculous task since he had already finished both books that lay on his nightstand. So instead, his thoughts turned to the events of the day.
After dinner had concluded, while the rest of the occupants of the house adjourned to the sitting room to play cards, he had been required to remain behind and listen to the details his father had learned about Cranfield. It still seemed incredible that one of his own relations had treated someone as Cranfield had been treated. And to learn that Anne was correct in assuming her father’s accident was not an accident made him very thankful to have been of less interest than a wagon of French goods to the men who had startled his horse.
Tomorrow, they must take action to prevent anything further from happening. He was certain that Mrs. Barrows, knowing that Cranfield was in residence, would find some way to cause trouble. That man had been through enough. He deserved to finally find his happiness, and his aunt appeared more than willing to help him find it. He chuckled softly to himself. He had never expected to see Aunt Catherine so enamoured with anyone, let alone a tradesman, but she was still clearly besotted even though twenty-five years had passed. The thought of it made him smile and consider his happy future. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Perhaps with these happy thoughts, his mind would finally allow him the rest his body craved.
Sleep was just creeping upon him when its progression was halted by the sound of glass breaking somewhere below him. He sat still, even his breathing stopped as he strained to hear any further sounds. Somewhere outside his window that was just slightly ajar, he heard the sounds of feet moving away at a quick pace. He pulled himself to the edge of his bed and using the bed, then the nightstand, and finally, the wall for support, hopped his way to the window, knowing full well the effort would probably prove pointless as the darkness of the night would surely hide any figures. Still, he pulled aside the curtain and looked out to see two figures fleeing in the direction of the road. He blinked, startled that he was able to see them so well and at such a distance at this hour of the night. He looked toward the sky, perhaps it was a full moon, and he had forgotten. Seeing the moon was no larger than a sliver of light, he looked around searching for the source of illumination. The foggy grasp of sleep seemed to still have a hold on him until he smelt it. The smoke that blew into his room on the night breeze brought him fully to his senses. Peering down, he could see the glow of orange and yellows from the lower level of the dower house. His bare foot could now feel the warmth radiating through the floor.
“Fire!” he yelled to the emptiness of his room as he hopped toward the door. The others must be roused. He stopped his progression as his hand brushed against the bell pull. He rang it three times in rapid succession before continuing to the door. He threw the door open, nearly knocking himself down in the process. “Fire!” he yelled again. “Fire!” The door across from his pulled open slowly. “Darcy, fire! We must get everyone out! Quickly before it consumes the stairs. The flames are below my room.” He hopped down the hall, banging on doors as he went and yelling to the occupants.
A servant came running toward him. “Go back, rouse the others and get out,” he cried. Dutifully, the servant did as instructed. “Gather in the garden so we can account for everyone.” He called after the servant and to those making their way down the stairs. He leaned against the wall as he watched everyone descend the stairs except Darcy.
“That is everyone. We can go now.” Darcy draped Richard’s arm around his shoulders. “Lean into me and use the other hand on the balustrade if you can.”
Halfway down, Richard leaned more heavily into Darcy as he pulled his robe to cover his mouth and nose. The thick smoke stung his eyes and burned his throat. As they reached the bottom of the staircase, he pushed Darcy away. “Let go of me,” he said as he sank onto the step. Reaching up, he grabbed Darcy and pulled him to sit beside him. “The layer of smoke looks to be less thick here.” He then slid onto the floor and began pulling himself along toward the garden door and away from the fire.
He coughed and gasped for air as he finally pulled himself out into the garden. In a moment, there were footmen on either side of him, hoisting him onto his good leg and assisting him to where the others had gathered.
“We are all here, save one,” said Bingley. “I have sent a runner to Rosings to fetch more buckets and men. The others have formed a line to the stream, and the buckets are being filled.”
“Are there any injuries?”
“None. Your call was early; the way was still clear.”
“And the one who is missing? Who is that?”
“Mr. Kellet.”