Elizabeth sagged against the back of the settee and wondered if it was possible to wring information from Mr. Wickham more quickly.
Chapter Nine
As he strode back to his lodgings, Darcy struggled to recall everything he could about Mr. Denny. He had a passing familiarity with the man, having conversed with him at a few events in Hertfordshire. The man had been pleasant enough, but he had also struck up a friendship with Wickham—which called into question not only his judgment but also his morals. Perhaps Denny was just as dissolute as Wickham and had been killed over gambling debts or meddling with some shopkeeper’s daughter.
A prickle of unease ran down Darcy’s spine. Wickham’s friend was dead, and Elizabeth was all too friendly with Wickham. Whether or not Wickham
had killed the man, Elizabeth could be in danger. Darcy shoved away the memory of the moment when Elizabeth had expressed a preference—once again—for Wickham’s company over his. It was irrelevant now.
Obviously, he was missing several pieces of the puzzle, which was revealed to be far larger than he had initially understood. Or was he simply fooling himself? Perhaps I want to believe Wickham is involved in nefarious activities to excuse Elizabeth’s behavior. Perhaps she simply prefers Wickham to me. Darcy’s chest ached, and breathing became more difficult. No, someone killed Denny; there are larger forces at work here.
The Crescent was the first crescent building in Brighton and still considered the most fashionable. Darcy particularly enjoyed the seaside view, although he had passed scant time in his lodgings. At least his rooms offered solitude and quiet where he could ruminate on this situation and how he should address it.
Darcy had taken only a single step inside his rooms when Snell, his housekeeper, bustled up to him. He suppressed a sigh. A local woman, Snell was lonely and garrulous, but Darcy was not in the mood for inane conversation. However, she unexpectedly came to the point immediately. “You have a gentleman waiting for you in the drawing room.”
Wonderful. Someone else to test the limits of Darcy’s politeness before he could enjoy his solitude. But when Darcy entered the drawing room, the face that greeted him was as welcome as it was unforeseen. “Richard!”
His cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, stood, giving Darcy a hearty handshake and a slap on the back. “What brings you to Brighton?” Darcy asked. He had written to his cousin with his temporary address, but the return letter had given no hint that Richard might visit.
Richard’s amiable smile turned to a grimace. “I have some news to share with you, but it would be best to discuss it in your study.”
Panic gripped Darcy’s heart. The study meant privacy. Richard had news he wished to keep private? “Is it an emergency? Is everyone well?”
“Yes, yes. Everyone is quite well. This is a matter of—” Richard’s gaze landed on Snell, who regarded them with avid interest from the doorway. No doubt she would be happy for any crumbs of gossip she might share with the women of the neighborhood. “A matter of private business,” Richard concluded.
“Very well.” Darcy gestured to the stairs that led to his study.
“I will bring the gentlemen some tea!” Snell announced as they started to climb the steps. Darcy merely nodded, preoccupied by suppositions about what could have brought Richard all the way to Brighton.
Darcy’s rooms were comfortable and spacious, decorated in the latest style, which was a bit ornate for his taste. He gestured for his cousin to proceed him into the study, which he had hardly used since he had been in residence.
Richard settled himself into a chair with a groan. No doubt he had ridden quite far today. Darcy took a couch near the unused fireplace.
“Your visits always bring me pleasure,” Darcy told his cousin. “But your countenance suggests this visit is prompted by something worrisome.”
“It is.” Richard said nothing more while Snell bustled about the room, setting up a tea service between the two men. Silence reigned until she closed the door behind her.
Removing his hat, Richard ran a hand through his hair. “You are not wrong, Darce.” He cleared his throat. “I was actually sent here…by the Home Office.”
Darcy blinked. Well, that was unexpected news. “Why?”
Richard poured himself some tea. “As you know I have been on assignment there for a few months. Just yesterday we learned we had a spy: one Archibald Harrison.”
Darcy winced. Few people knew that Richard was posted to the Home Office department that gathered intelligence for the war. Discovering a spy spying on the spies would be a disaster. “Did you catch the man?”
Richard’s hands clenched around his teacup. “Almost. But he slipped out of London before we could capture him. He had access to highly secretive information and therefore cannot be allowed to escape to France with it.”
“Ah. You believe he is in Brighton.”
His cousin nodded. “Smugglers leave Brighton for Calais with alarming regularity, and more than one agent has used that route to escape to France. Even worse, we know of at least one spy who sends information back to the emperor via such boats—and there may be an entire ring of spies.”
Darcy whistled. “A ring!” He took a sip of tea while he considered this information. “So your superiors want you to capture the agent before he crosses the Channel?”
Richard hesitated and then spoke heavily as if the words were dragged from him. “Actually, there is a complication. I was hand-picked for this particular mission for a reason. We know the name of one spy in the ring. It is Wickham.”
Darcy froze with a biscuit halfway to his mouth. His first impulse was to deny the allegation as absurd. While Wickham might be a scoundrel, surely he would not go so far as to betray his country. But the Home Office would not make such an accusation without hard evidence. Then he recalled the man’s suspicious reaction to Denny’s death. Perhaps Wickham is capable of nearly anything.
And Elizabeth’s life is entangled with the wastrel’s. Damnation! “How strong is the evidence against him?” Darcy asked, careful not to betray too much emotion.