by Jann Rowland
“Then shall we share confidences under the moonlight?” asked Jane. “It has been some time since we stayed awake in such a fashion.”
“And perhaps we will not have many opportunities in the future,” replied Elizabeth.
Once again Jane ducked her head, but they were both surprised by a knock on the door. Elizabeth looked at Jane, who returned her query with a shrug. Rather than call out permission to enter, Elizabeth rose and went to the door. But when she opened it, she found a woman she had never before met on the other side.
“You are Miss Elizabeth Bennet, are you not?” said the other woman, timidity in her tone and posture.
“I am. May I help you?”
“I am Anne de Bourgh. I noticed you came in here not long ago and thought you were having some sort of conference. Do you mind if I join you?”
This young woman seemed nothing like her mother—or the picture Elizabeth’s imagination had drawn of the woman, having never met her. Intrigued by her impulsive decision to ask for admittance, Elizabeth readily gave it, drawing Miss de Bourgh back into the room. Jane, when she saw them, looked at Elizabeth askance, but Elizabeth only shook her head slightly, prompting Jane to subside.
“Miss de Bourgh,” said Elizabeth, “this is my sister Jane. Jane, we have been joined tonight by Miss Anne de Bourgh.”
“I apologize for my presumption,” said the young woman, “but I find that I require a friend at present, if I may impose upon you.”
“You are very welcome to join us,” was Jane’s kind reply. “Lizzy and I have often gathered together late at night. It is one of the benefits of having a sister to whom you are closer than anyone else in the world.”
Warmth erupted in Elizabeth’s breast at her sister’s words; she had always felt the same way about Jane. Miss de Bourgh, however, ducked her head in embarrassment.
“I have never had such an experience, as I have no sisters.” Then she released a nervous laugh. “Even if I had any, I am certain my mother would not approve.”
Miss de Bourgh seemed to gather her courage, and she turned to Elizabeth. “I would like to apologize to you in advance, Miss Elizabeth. I know not if you are aware, but it is because of Mr. Collins’s characterization of my cousin Darcy’s actions toward you that we have come.”
“I believe your other cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, mentioned as much to me last night.”
A slow nod was the woman’s response. “Yes, Fitzwilliam would have felt it necessary to warn you.”
A sense of frustration came over Elizabeth. “I do not know what Mr. Collins has told your mother, Miss de Bourgh. But Mr. Darcy has paid me no compliments. There is nothing between us. I have no more notion of Mr. Darcy proposing to me than I have I have of accepting the same from Mr. William Collins.”
Miss de Bourgh giggled at Elizabeth’s statement. “Mr. Collins is . . .”
“Revolting?” finished Elizabeth, once again provoking Miss de Bourgh’s giggling.
“Lizzy,” admonished Jane.
“I apologize, Jane, but it is the truth. You are not the subject of Mr. Collins’s idea of courtship. It is in every way objectionable.”
“Be that as it may, Lizzy—Mr. Collins is our cousin and our father’s heir. You are not required to like Mr. Collins. We should at least attempt to respect him.”
“You do not need to concern yourself, Miss Elizabeth,” said Miss de Bourgh. “My mother has spoken of her wishes for us for many years, but neither Darcy nor I have any interest in the other as anything other than cousins. Even if my mother were to coerce my cooperation, I doubt she would ever command Darcy. He is a . . . formidable man.”
“That is not the point,” replied a frustrated Elizabeth. “I was completely honest when I said there is nothing between Mr. Darcy and me. It is nothing more than a misconception conceived in our ridiculous cousin’s vacuous mind.”
“My mother does not see it that way.”
“Which puts her sights squarely on me.”
Miss de Bourgh gave a helpless shrug. “I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth. But I cannot say you are incorrect. She will not give in, and as such, she will see you as a threat.”
“Come now,” said Jane, inserting her calm tones into their exchange. “This is a subject to concern ourselves on the morrow. For now, shall we not come to know each other better?”
A shy smile was Miss de Bourgh’s response. “I should like that very much. As you might expect, my mother has never encouraged my friendship with other young ladies—or at least those she has not chosen for me. And as I have always been of a sickly constitution, I have little experience in society.”
Elizabeth’s heart went out to this timid young woman. She was, Elizabeth judged, older than either Jane or herself, but in matters of experience in the world, she was as a child of ten.
“Of course, Miss de Bourgh. We will be happy to count you as a friend.”
The beaming smile the woman directed at them made any number of uncomfortable experiences with Lady Catherine worth it. Or perhaps it did not—Elizabeth did not know quite what form the woman’s displeasure would take, after all. Either way, Miss de Bourgh clearly needed a friend, and Elizabeth was quite willing to offer herself up in such a capacity.
The three ladies stayed in Jane’s room for more than an hour, talking, laughing, sharing of themselves. As they spoke, Elizabeth discovered that there was more to Miss de Bourgh than she might have suspected in her cynicism. Miss de Bourgh was intelligent, but her hesitation in speaking her mind—at least in the early part of their conversation—suggested a woman who had not much experience in others actually listening to her opinion. From what Elizabeth suspected of Lady Catherine, she thought this was in direct response to her mother’s domineering character.
By the end of their time in that darkened room, the two Bennet sisters thought they had made a firm friend. But their closeness was not destined to last, as Elizabeth was certain Lady Catherine would object to her daughter making such unsuitable acquaintances.
“Please,” said Anne as her eyelids began to droop and fatigue to set in, “shall you not call me Anne? I would be pleased if you did.”
“Of course, Anne,” said Jane, instantly accepting Miss de Bourgh’s overture without any thought. “I would be happy if you would call me Jane.”
“And I am Elizabeth, though my family and friends usually call me Lizzy,” added Elizabeth.
Anne beamed with pleasure. But that only lasted for a moment before a look of horror came over her.
“But only when we are alone!” exclaimed she. “Please do not act so familiarly when my mother is present.”
Though Elizabeth agreed readily, Jane seemed shocked. She followed Elizabeth’s example and agreed, to which Miss de Bourgh seemed relieved. Soon she let herself from the room to return to her own, leaving Elizabeth alone with her elder sister. Jane was pensive for a moment, and Elizabeth, who had seen her sister in such an attitude before, knew Jane meant to say something.
“There is something very dear about Miss de Bourgh,” said Jane at last. “But I cannot fathom this reticence to be friendly with us in front of her mother. Would Lady Catherine not be happy her daughter has quickly obtained friends here?”
Elizabeth sighed. It was pointless to attempt to open Jane’s eyes to Lady Catherine’s character, though she already knew what kind of woman the lady was. “We should not ask her reasons, Jane. Let us simply be friends with her. I think she is very much in need of them.”
“Of course,” was Jane’s immediate reply. With Elizabeth’s suggestion, it seemed Jane quite put the matter out of her mind. It was better that way.
“Good night, dearest Sister,” said Elizabeth, kissing Jane’s cheek and exiting her room.
While she was preparing herself for sleep, Elizabeth considered the events of the evening, from their arrival, her dances with Mr. Collins, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Wickham, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, to the subsequent events which had led to thei
r forced residence at Netherfield. Though she had attempted to put it from her mind, Mr. Wickham and his assertions once again came to her, followed by those of Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Elizabeth could not know the truth of the matter—nor did she wish to. But every interaction with Mr. Darcy told her that though he was, at times, not the most pleasant of men, he was scrupulously proper. Mr. Darcy’s reaction to seeing Mr. Wickham had not been feigned, nor had Colonel Fitzwilliam’s. Therefore, Elizabeth decided to trust them and avoid Mr. Wickham.
A movement caught Elizabeth’s eye, and she stepped to the window, noting the softly falling snow. Whereas the small pellets she had seen while waiting for the carriage had seemed like little enough, now the snow fell in great clusters of flakes, which were quickly piling up on the ground outside. Already, drifts were building, and a rich, thick blanket of white was forming wherever she looked. And it occurred to Elizabeth to hope that her family would be able to return to their home on the morrow.
In the blackness outside Elizabeth’s room, a solitary figure moved in the shadows, taking care not to make any sound which might wake the residents of the estate. The hall was long and dark, with only a little light filtering in through a window at the end, coupled with whatever light was able to penetrate from the entrance hall.
Once the figure reached the end of the hall, it stopped and glanced out onto the night landscape, grimacing at what was revealed. “We have not seen snow such as this in an age. We will all be bound here for days if this continues.”
With a shake of the head, the figure turned and made its way back toward the stairs. There was a sound, a ghostly whisper to its left, and the figure stopped, surprised at the sudden noise. When it was not repeated, the figure shook its head and once again walked down the hall, arriving at the stairs.
But just as the figure was about to attempt them, a shadow separated itself from where it was hidden in a small alcove, and as the figure’s foot touched the first stair leading down, the shadow reached it, pushing with all its might.
Arms flailing to catch itself, the figure hurtled down the stairs, its cry of sudden fear cut short by the sickening sound of breaking bones. It tumbled to the bottom of the stairs and lay still.
The shadow, fearful the cry had been heard, melted back into the darkness of the alcove, waiting to see if anyone arrived to investigate. But all was quiet. The house and the world around it slept on, it seemed.
Gingerly, ready to flee at any moment, the shadow made its way down the stairs toward the fallen figure, eyes alight for any sign of movement. A few short moments later, it reached the fallen body lying on the floor below. Then, satisfied, the shadow bent down to confirm the identity of its victim.
The faint light entered the window and fell on the prone body, twisted limbs lying where it had fallen. And when the face was seen and recognized, the shadow was heard to utter two words.
“Oh bother!”
Chapter VI
A scream rent the air, jolting Elizabeth from a sound sleep. It was faint, though still audible, and she wondered at it, thinking it should not have woken her. When it fell silent, Elizabeth, with the muddled thoughts of one startled from sleep, thought to return to that blessed state. Then it sounded again, and she was forced into full wakefulness, wondering at the awful ruckus.
Grasping at her robe, she hurried to the door and opened it in time to see several of the other residents also investigating the sound, their figures moving down the still-dark hallway. Elizabeth judged it was still well before dawn. At the end of the hall near the stairs, one of the maids was shrieking, pointing down. Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, the closest to the panicked woman, moved quickly to see what was wrong, and Elizabeth, along with several of her sisters and other residents of the house, moved to follow them.
“Hold, Mr. Bennet!” said Mr. Darcy in an authoritative voice. “Someone is lying at the bottom of the stairs.”
Mr. Bennet, understanding at once, held Lydia, and Kitty back, refusing to allow them to go forward. Jane stopped abruptly where she had been walking, but Elizabeth—the one closest, gained the top of the stairway and looked down, her eyes following the cousins as they hurried down to the lower floor. There, at the bottom, as Mr. Darcy had said, lay the body of a man in Netherfield livery.
Elizabeth gasped and put a hand to her mouth. The body was a mass of limbs twisted in angles they were never meant to bend. Several servants, including the housekeeper, rushed into the room and the combined light of their candles allowed Elizabeth to see a pool of dark liquid around the man’s head, glittering in so many points of light.
“It appears to be the butler, Mr. Forbes,” said Mr. Darcy as he bent to investigate.
By his side, Colonel Fitzwilliam looked back up the stairs. “He must have tripped and fallen. Poor man.”
“When did this happen?” Mr. Darcy turned to the housekeeper, Mrs. Nichols, and said: “When did you last see Mr. Forbes?”
“Perhaps an hour after everyone went to bed,” said Mrs. Nichols in a shaky voice. “He was to walk the halls one last time to ensure everything was as it should be.”
Mr. Darcy glanced about. “I do not see a candle.”
“Mr. Forbes usually did not use a candle,” replied Mrs. Nichols. “He felt the light from a candle blinded him in the darkness. He preferred to simply walk in the dark.”
“That preference seems to have cost him his life,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“Let us have a few stout lads carry the body away,” instructed Mr. Darcy. “Do you know if he had any family nearby?”
Mrs. Nichols shook her head. “He is not from the neighborhood and did not speak of his family. As far as I am aware, he was alone in the world.”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “Then it will be up to Bingley to decide what to do with the remains. It would likely be best if he is interred in the local churchyard.”
The housekeeper climbed the stairs, avoiding the place where the butler had fallen, and gathered the poor maid who had made the discovery to her. She was quickly herded from the area, while two footmen stepped forward. They arranged a makeshift litter and arranged the body on it before bearing it away. As Elizabeth watched the scene, she noticed Mr. Darcy looking after them, and though she could not see his countenance in the darkness, he seemed contemplative, and she wondered what he might be thinking.
“Lizzy!” called her father. “I think it is time we all returned to our beds.”
Nodding, Elizabeth turned and made her way to where her father still stood with her three sisters. Of Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine and Anne, and the entire Bingley clan there was no sign. Mr. Bennet noted her curious look and shook his head.
“Your mother can sleep through a war, Lizzy—I am not surprised the maid’s screams did not wake her. As for the others, I assume they either were not disturbed, or their rooms were too far away.”
“Mr. Bingley will need to be informed in the morning,” said Elizabeth.
“Mr. Darcy will assume that responsibility, I am sure.”
As they began to make their way the short distance down the hall, Elizabeth could not help but wonder at the suddenly deceased man. He had seemingly made this trek many times in the past and knew the layout of the house very well. One false step could affect one for a lifetime, or even end one’s life, she reflected ruefully.
“Ugh!” said Lydia in her usually loud voice. “A body. Who would have thought we would see a body during our stay at Netherfield?”
“I am sure I shall not sleep a wink for the rest of the night!” lamented Kitty.
“Lydia, Kitty,” said Elizabeth, a warning note in her voice. “Have some respect for the dead. I am sure the poor man did not tumble down the stairs to inconvenience you.”
Elizabeth thought Lydia would protest her admonishment, but she only huffed and hurried to her room. Kitty followed suit. Mr. Bennet turned to Elizabeth and winked at her before making his way to his room and sh
utting the door firmly behind him. This left only Elizabeth and Jane behind. Before she went to her room, Elizabeth looked back down the hall, hoping the gentlemen had not heard her younger sisters’ thoughtless remarks. But she saw nothing.
Soon, she was once again in her bed. Unfortunately, sleep would be slow in returning.
There was something about the situation that bothered Darcy, though he could not quite put his finger on it. A fall down the stairs of a house was a common enough occurrence that it should not be wondered that it might have happened, even to a servant who was experienced and familiar with the house. Broken bones were common enough in such circumstances, especially on hard stairs, such as those that made up the grand staircase at Netherfield manor.
But while fatalities were not unheard of, the butler seemed to have many more injuries than a simple tumble down the stairs would suggest. Normally, when a person fell, a foot would slip out from under them, or in the worst cases, the unfortunate might trip and fall forward. But this man almost seemed to have pitched forward, his momentum taking him much further down than might have been expected. It was as if he had been running the moment he fell, which would account for the momentum. But Darcy could not understand why a staid and proper servant would be running toward the stairs.
Knowing this was a matter which could not wait until the morning, Darcy knocked on the door of his friend’s rooms, entering when there was no response. He knew his friend was a deep sleeper, and as such, he would need to be shaken awake. This Darcy did immediately.
“Darcy, what the deuce?” demanded Bingley, his words slurred, his eyes still filled with sleep.
“I apologize for waking you, Bingley,” said Darcy. “But something of a serious nature has occurred.”
Bingley produced a great yawn and rubbed at his eyes. “What has happened? And why could it not have waited until the morning?”
“One of your maids discovered the body of your butler at the bottom of the stairs, Bingley. He is dead.”