Page 62 of Undone

"Hartley."

Darcy repeated the name slowly. Something stirred in his memory, faint and indistinct, like a half-forgotten melody heard at a distance. He knew the name. Of that he became suddenly certain, though its place in his recollections remained just beyond his reach.

"I know it," he said quietly. "I have heard it before."

Fitzwilliam leaned forward. "When I heard he was from Derbyshire, I knew you must. But can you remember where?"

Darcy closed his eyes for a moment, searching years he had not revisited in a long while. A boy's memory surfaced, uncertain and incomplete. His father's study. An autumn afternoon. The name Hartley spoken with unusual gravity.

"My father spoke of a Thomas Hartley," he said at last. "I cannot have been more than six or seven years old. I remembered the name because, after my father's death, I encountered it again amongst his private papers."

"What papers?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"My father’s records. They concerned a legal dispute. I remember Hartley believed himself grievously wronged, though my father acted entirely within the law." He looked steadily at Fitzwilliam. "If Mrs. Vane is Mr. Hartley's daughter, then I believe I now know why she has pursued my family."

Twenty-Five

Ashbourne

9th December, 1811

She unfolded the letter once more as the carriage drew to a halt some distance from the cottage. Though she had read it repeatedly since it had arrived, she found herself compelled to examine it again, as though another reading might expose some deception she had previously overlooked.

“Madam,

I heard from Wickham again, though he has proved more troublesome than ever before. During Mr. Darcy's absence from Pemberley, he claims one of his acquaintances succeeded in obtaining certain papers from the house, papers which he believes would ruin the Darcys were their contents ever made known.

News has now reached him that Mr. Darcy has unexpectedly returned to Hertfordshire. The intelligence has greatly unsettled him. He fears that Mr. Darcy may already have discovered the loss and, having seen him in Meryton after so many years, may begin to suspect his involvement. He therefore refuses to entrust the papers to another, or even commit their nature to writing, insisting they must pass only from his own hand.

He has therefore taken refuge at the White Hart Inn and refuses to stir until he has spoken with you. He says he will make his way to the cottage near Ashbourne and remain thereuntil six o'clock on the evening of the ninth, after which he will wait no longer should you fail to come. He likewise insists that the sum promised him for the completion of his services be brought with you, else he will dispose of the papers as he sees fit.

I have reasoned with him to no effect. He will trust no one but you.

M. Younge.”

She folded the letter with deliberate care and slipped it back into her reticule.

"Are you certain, madam?" the man opposite her asked quietly.

She nodded, though not without hesitation. "Wickham is governed by one thing above all else, money. He would sell his own soul if the price were sufficient. Yet he is also a coward. Should he truly believe himself in danger, he would flee beyond my reach, and however much I may despise the man, he has proved too valuable to lose."

The man inclined his head in agreement.

"No one alive knows the Darcys better than Wickham," she continued. "To disregard his fears is to risk watching him vanish, and I have no intention of chasing him across England."

"I understand, madam."

She looked once more towards the lonely cottage standing beyond the bare winter trees. "At the very least, I shall see these papers he claims to possess. If they are as ruinous as he believes, then this wretched business may finally be brought to its proper conclusion."

The man reached for the door handle. "I shall ride ahead and ensure everything appears as it ought."

"Very good, Hale." A slow smile touched her lips. "Once and for all, we shall finish what was begun so many years ago. The Darcys shall have nothing left."

Hale stepped down from the chaise and closed the door quietly behind him.

~

Darcy