Pride and Prescience

Bingley shook his head and embarked on a slow shuffle across the hall. He favored his right leg. “Thank you, but you know nothing short of an audience with me will appease him. I’d best conclude the unpleasantness as quickly as possible.” He stopped. “I would not object to your company, however.”

“Of course.”

“Charles?” Anxiety clouded Jane’s features. “Please — will you interrupt your interview when Mr. Jones arrives so he can examine you?”

“As soon as he has attended you, my dear.”

The response seemed to appease her. Parrish mounted the staircase, with Elizabeth close behind. Her gaze lifted once more to the balcony.

Caroline was gone.

Fourteen

“Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own.”

Darcy, writing to Elizabeth, Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 35

Darcy had harbored no intention of letting Bingley enter the library alone. His friend had trouble resisting Kendall’s aggressiveness on a good day; he was presently in no state to deal with the man.

Though at the moment fatigue and pain robbed Bingley of his usual easy demeanor, the accident had rendered his appearance even less formidable. His undone cravat hung loosely about his neck; dirt streaked his white shirt; wet patches darkened his blue coat; his trousers bore several long tears. The scrape on his forehead had started to bruise, and half-melted snow yet coated his hair.

“Do you not at least wish to change your attire?”

Bingley glanced at his clothes and grimaced. “Truly, Darcy, if I climb those stairs, I don’t think I possess the vigor to come back down. Perhaps my state will convince Kendall that he arrives at a poor time to discuss business.”

Or encourage him to press his advantage. Darcy handed his hat to a tarrying servant and stopped before the hall mirror to restore his own appearance. He brushed the snow from his shoulders and re-laid the folds of his cravat. Then he mentally braced himself for the encounter ahead.

The ill-mannered gentleman paced the library, the change of rooms having done nothing to improve his mood. “About time,” he muttered as Bingley entered. Toward Darcy he directed only a scowl.

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Bingley dropped into the chair behind his desk. Darcy remained standing near the door, planning to involve himself only if called upon by necessity or a direct invitation from Bingley.

“My solicitors have prepared an amended accounting of company assets at the time your father and I dissolved our partnership.” He withdrew a packet of papers from his breast pocket.

Again? Darcy reminded himself to stay silent. How many times were they going to revise the same figures?

Kendall laid the papers before Bingley. “The numbers differ widely from those your father presented to me. His records failed to include receipts from an entire shipload of goods from Italy and Spain.”

Frowning, Bingley skimmed the pages. “We’ve discussed this before. You signed away the rights to that cargo in exchange for a flat sum when the partnership ended.”

“Yes, we have discussed this before. I told you — we thought the ship lost.” Kendall spoke as if addressing a boy in short pants. “By the time it came in, your father and I had settled affairs between us. He kept the cargo for himself. But half of it is rightfully mine.”

“According to the terms of the agreement—”

“The agreement be damned! He tricked me into signing it — pressured me to resolve our business ‘in a timely fashion’ because of his poor health.”

And, Darcy knew, because the elder Mr. Bingley realized he was being cheated by Kendall. For years, Kendall’s accounting had been suspect, leading his partner to finally undertake a quiet audit. The inspection revealed embezzlement. Mr. Bingley, battling illness, chose to dissolve the partnership rather than challenge Kendall. He’d wanted the business settled before his death so that Kendall would have no opportunity to further rob his children of their rightful inheritance, and had been willing to assume a loss on the missing ship rather than leave any of his affairs unresolved. To everyone’s surprise, the ship had come in after his death. It bore a rich cargo, though Darcy suspected Kendall’s years’ worth of stealing more than exceeded his “share” of the single ship’s profits.

Bingley cast Darcy an uncertain look. Accounting had never been his strength, and Kendall had rearranged the figures so many times that he’d begun to lose faith in his own understanding of his father’s records. Darcy stepped forward, picked up the papers, and, without examining them, handed them back to Kendall.

“Whatever the circumstances, the pact bears your signature. You agreed to the terms it stipulates. You have no legal claim to that ship’s cargo.”

“I have a moral claim to it!” Kendall’s spittle flecked Darcy’s cheek. “He cheated me! And his son continues to cheat me!”

That Kendall had the audacity to accuse the Bingleys of his own crime turned Darcy’s stomach. “Charles Bingley has already granted you more consideration and dealt with you more patiently that I would have under the same circumstances. Your claims are groundless, your arguments repetitive, and your manner unbecoming a gentleman. I see little point in continuing this interview.”

“Not that it’s any business of yours, but I’ve come here today to spare your friend the embarrassment of a public appearance in court.” He leaned over the desk. “That’s right, Bingley — if I can’t get satisfaction from you, we’ll see what Chancery has to say about your father’s swindling.” He tossed the papers down. “Keep these. Study them until you know to the halfpenny how much you owe me. Note that the record now includes interest. Yes, interest! I demand not only the money rightfully owed me, but interest on it for the years it’s been denied.”

Bingley again turned to Darcy. Was it injury, Kendall’s threat, or merely the poor light that caused his friend to look so pale? The room had darkened considerably since they entered it. Without, the wind howled.

Darcy knew Kendall’s threat was groundless. Bingley could produce the evidence he needed to win any suit the crooked businessman might bring against him — he had the audit results safely locked away in the top drawer of his desk. The drawer also held a pistol, which Darcy was tempted to flash if Kendall continued to abuse his weakened friend. “If the lord chancellor even hears your case, I am sure justice will prevail.”

Kendall grinned malevolently. “And that’s a big ‘if’—isn’t it? You know how long cases can languish in Chancery. I can tie up your friend’s assets for years while we wait for our day in court. It will cost him more to pay his solicitors than to simply hand over the sum I demand now.”

“Enough.” Darcy had tolerated as much of Kendall’s bullying as he intended to. “Mr. Kendall,” he said quietly, “Mr. Bingley has in his possession evidence that you cheated his father for years by embezzling money from the firm. Unless you want those papers produced in court, I suggest you drop your empty claim forthwith, because with proof of your guilt in hand he has no intention of capitulating to your attempts at extortion.”

A fleeting expression of panic overcame Kendall’s features as he glanced from Darcy to Bingley, but his countenance immediately hardened once more. “You’re bluffing.”

“I am not.” Darcy strode to the door and opened it wide. “There is nothing more to say. Now depart.”

Kendall’s bravado continued strong. “There is plenty more to say — but I shall save it for the lord chancellor.” He stopped at the door, leaning his mottled face so close that Darcy could smell tobacco on his breath. “You can protect your friend from his own inexperience,” he hissed. “Your solicitors may manage to protect him from the entanglements of Chancery, and his ill-gotten fortune might protect him from his conscience. But none of you can protect him from me. Not forever.”

“It would have been a dramatic exit, had Kendall not been forced to immediately return and ask for shelter