by Jann Rowland
She appeared mollified, for she dropped her hands and nodded, appearing distracted. “If an argument is enough for a person to murder another, you are completely correct, sir. Anyone at Netherfield might have decided to do the deed based on your aunt’s behavior.”
Darcy grinned. “Though I would like to disagree with your assessment, I cannot. It is unfortunate but true—Lady Catherine often had that effect on others.”
“It seems a hopeless business, Mr. Darcy. Two people in this house have lost their lives since we were forced to stay here, and all we have are suspicions. I do not even know if anyone has been murdered. But it does not seem right to me, especially since your aunt was in good health yesterday.”
“And anyone could be a suspect, though I suppose some are more likely than others.”
They stood for a few moments, each consumed with their own thoughts. For Darcy, though he thought Miss Elizabeth was focused on the puzzle which was set before them, Darcy found his thoughts slipping to her as much as the subject at hand. She was intelligent enough to solve a mystery, if, indeed, they were confronted by one. But a young lady was held to a certain standard of behavior, and working out the details of such an obscure riddle did not seem to be within the purview of such behavior. Did he dare seek her assistance? In the end, Miss Elizabeth made the decision before Darcy could raise the subject himself.
“Perhaps, sir, we should attempt to discover what truly happened. If Lady Catherine was murdered, then there is every possibility there is some danger to the rest of us.”
“That is certainly possible,” replied Darcy.
“Then shall we investigate? Perhaps there is something in Lady Catherine’s room which would shed some light on what happened to her.”
A slow grin settled over Darcy’s face. “I think, Miss Elizabeth, you have made an excellent suggestion.”
Chapter XII
The party which gathered together that evening was much subdued, and they were missing two of their number from the previous evening—the unfortunate Lady Catherine and Anne, who had decided it would be best if she remained in her rooms. While Lady Catherine had been a woman who had not been much liked by virtually anyone in residence—even, perhaps, her relations—the fact was that she had died. Whether a person was old or young, thoughts of morality must take precedence at such a moment. Elizabeth could not help but feel a hint of fear. She hoped that she was mistaken in her suspicions, but she feared she was not.
At dinner, the conversation consisted of such banal subjects as to be completely uninteresting. While Elizabeth might have wished for more scintillating subjects to be discussed as a usual rule, tonight, after two evenings of Lady Catherine’s harangues, she found dinner to be pleasant. Even Miss Bingley, who could be counted on, in other circumstances, to attempt to draw Mr. Darcy’s attention to her, was blessedly silent throughout the meal hour. A glance at Mr. Darcy, confirmed by his returning shrug, told Elizabeth he was thankful to be free of her for the moment.
Elizabeth thought most of those present might prefer to avoid the after dinner sitting-room, but they all trooped there, the gentlemen deciding not to stay behind and partake of port or cigars, or whatever else gentlemen did at such times. For a time in the sitting-room, they were treated to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley sharing their talents on the pianoforte, and Elizabeth was grateful for it. Not only were they talented pianists, but there did not seem to be much appetite for conversation.
After the Bingley sisters left the instrument, Mary, eager as she was to share her talents on every occasion, sat at the instrument after Elizabeth had declined. Miss Bingley used this opportunity for another dig at Elizabeth, though it was halfhearted at best.
“You do not wish to play tonight, Miss Elizabeth?” Then she answered her own question. “Of course, you do not. Perhaps it is best. It is only unfortunate that your sister does not follow your example.”
Miss Bingley turned a snide look at Mary. Her sister had chosen a simple piece, and it suited her skill level quite well, allowing her to play it proficiently. Unfortunately, Mary’s playing was pedantic, and she used little emotion, as always. But Elizabeth, annoyed as she was by Miss Bingley’s ill-tempered attack on Mary, was not about to let the barb pass.
“Mary’s playing is pure and free of embellishment, and tonight I find it pleasing. She is ever striving to improve herself, which I find admirable. Would you not agree?”
“Of course,” replied Miss Bingley. “It is only unfortunate that she does not find that such things come easily to her. It seems to be a common theme in your family.”
“A family of expert musicians, we are not,” agreed Elizabeth. “But we all have our strengths and weaknesses. We also know much of our history and have many stories of our forebears, those who built the Bennet name and grew my family’s legacy. I am certain you must have similar stories in your own family.”
Miss Bingley glared at Elizabeth. “Quite so, Miss Elizabeth.” Then she turned and walked away with her sister.
A snort nearby alerted Elizabeth to the fact that her father had heard the exchange. He nodded but did not look at her, intent as he was upon his book. However, from time to time Elizabeth saw his eyes wander away from his page and over the assembled, often stopping to rest upon his two youngest daughters in particular. Elizabeth could not quite make him out—she had never seen him this watchful in a company such as this before.
Soon Miss Bingley, ennui settling over her, called for the card table to be set up, much to Mr. Hurst’s pleasure. She entreated Mr. Darcy to play with them, but the gentlemen refused, much to her chagrin. She was caught in a trap of her own making and sat down to a game, Mr. Hurst, Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Bingley making up the rest of the players. As Elizabeth noted that Mr. Darcy held a book which interested her in his hand, she sat next to him on the pretext of discussing it with him, when in reality she wished to ask him about the pact they had made earlier in the day.
“Does any of this seem . . . unusual to you, Mr. Darcy?” asked she after they had spoken of his tome for some moments.
“In what way?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I cannot quite make it out, sir. Most of the company seems unconcerned about the fact that there have been two deaths at Netherfield in the past three days. Do they not understand how suspicious it all sounds?”
“We have not determined anything yet, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy. “It may yet be a tragic coincidence.”
“Perhaps. But it strains credulity.”
A nod from her companion was followed by a gesture at Colonel Fitzwilliam. “My cousin is certainly not viewing the recent events with sanguinity.”
“He seems . . . irritable,” ventured Elizabeth.
“He is worried, Miss Elizabeth. He sees what has happened, and he wonders too, though he has no more proof than we. Also, your father has been watching the company closely. This whole situation is unlike anything I have ever before encountered.”
Elizabeth turned and regarded him, wondering to what he referred. Mr. Darcy was quick to answer.
“In situations like this, much would be done to prepare for the funeral of the deceased. But as we are trapped at Netherfield at present, all we have done is to ensure Lady Catherine rests in a location which will preserve her body as best we can. This is quite irregular, Miss Elizabeth, as I am certain you understand.”
Elizabeth thought for a moment. “What do you believe, Mr. Darcy? Do you believe something is happening here which may threaten us all?”
A shaken head was his response. “I am unsure. It does seem suspicious, as you already stated. But there was nothing about the body of Lady Catherine which suggested she met her end due to any violence. I do not believe I saw any marks upon her, and though her bed coverings were haphazardly strewn about, that may be due to nothing more than a restless sleeper, followed by a sudden pain in the heart or other such attacks. Therefore, I must conclude there was no struggle when she passed—or perhaps I
should say there was no visible struggle.”
“Then why are we worried?”
“Because it is unexplained, Miss Bennet. It may be nothing more than coincidence that two people died within days of each other. But it may not be a coincidence. I do not think that we are in much danger at present, even if there is one among us who has killed two already. But the longer we are trapped here, the more that danger will rise. It would behoove us all to ensure we are not alone anywhere in this house. Your sisters should stay together, to lessen the chance of harm befalling them.
“The other matter to consider is that if there is a killer, why has he killed those two people in particular? What is his motive? It seems odd that two people virtually unknown to each other have met their ends. If they were murdered, what is the connection?”
Elizabeth chewed her lip in thought. “I cannot say. There does not seem to be anything connecting them.”
“There must be, even though it is not evident. If there is a killer.”
“You are correct, of course,” said Elizabeth, still rolling the matter over in her mind.
The sound of giggling then caught her attention, and she looked over to see Kitty and Lydia sitting close to Mr. Wickham. The lieutenant seemed to be relating some anecdote to them, and by their response, they must have found it amusing. Mary had, during Elizabeth’s conversation with Mr. Darcy, left the pianoforte and was sitting nearby her younger sisters, regarding them, disapproval evident in her scowl. Since Mary was close by and nothing could happen in a sitting-room, she decided not to reprimand them.
But there was one who was not shy about doing so. “Cousins!” the voice of Mr. Collins cracked like a whip, the first time Elizabeth had ever heard him speak in such a manner. “Cease this carrying on at once! Do you not know my patroness has returned to live among the angels this very day? I must have your respect for her position and authority.”
“Of course, we know,” said Lydia, sniffing at him with disdain. “Even if we had forgotten, you would remind us of it constantly.”
The offense felt by Mr. Collins was clear for all to see. But instead of speaking further to Lydia, he focussed on them all. “And what of the rest of you? Playing cards, reading, speaking in a secretive fashion.” His sneer at Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy showed him to be mistrustful of their actions. “This is not the way to mourn a woman of Lady Catherine’s stature! Why are you not all in mourning garb?”
It was Miss Bingley who responded. “Lady Catherine was not related to us, Mr. Collins. There is no need for us to don widow’s reeds as if our husbands had passed.”
“We are not offended,” said Mr. Darcy, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
Mr. Collins’s huff was evidence of his disdain. “Then shall we not at least do something to honor the dead? I shall read from the good book if you will all listen.”
Though it was clear few wished for such an activity, it seemed a good way to placate the parson. He was correct, after a fashion. This situation was such that it was impossible to do what was normally done in such circumstances, and it seemed best that something be done.
“To that, I can agree,” said Mr. Bennet. “Kitty, Lydia, come here. Let us allow Mr. Collins to sermonize to us since he wishes it.”
“I believe we shall listen as well,” said Mr. Bingley, rising from the card table. His companions huffed, but they rose and followed him without protest.
What followed was such a surprise that Elizabeth would not have expected it. Mr. Collins, it seemed, possessed a voice which was perfectly cadenced for reading from the Bible. Even his choice of material was generally good, for the subjects he spoke on where often those associated with the passing of loved ones.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” said he, opening the Bible to Psalms 23. And he continued from there, reading a selection of verses, most of which were quite familiar to Elizabeth. When he concluded his reading about an hour later, the entire room was subdued. The hour was growing late, and Elizabeth wondered if the company would break up soon after.
Before anyone made to leave, Miss Bingley rose to walk about the room. “It is refreshing to walk about after sitting in one attitude,” said she by way of explanation. She pulled her sister up to join her. Even Mr. Collins did not object to her slow, measured walk, as he sat with his head bowed, seemingly considering the book which lay open in his lap.
Sensing an opportunity, Elizabeth grasped Jane’s hand and pulled her to her feet, moving to join the Bingley sisters. “I hope you do not mind if we join you,” said Elizabeth.
For once, Miss Bingley did not protest or otherwise comment. She only nodded and grasped Jane’s arm. “Of course, we are happy to have you and dear Jane. Having been away from your home for so many days now, I can imagine you must wish to be back in comfortable surroundings.”
“Yes,” replied Jane in her usually diffident manner. “I believe I speak for all my family when I say we would prefer to be at home. Not that your hospitality has not been everything lovely.”
“Of course, we understand your meaning,” replied Mrs. Hurst. “Hopefully, the weather will clear soon, and you can return.”
“All your guests will be departing soon after,” observed Elizabeth. “We will return to our home, but Mr. Darcy and his family must also bear their aunt to wherever she will be interred.”
The introduction of Lady Catherine to the conversation was deliberate, and Elizabeth watched closely to see if the woman made any reaction. She was not disappointed, for Miss Bingley sneered and turned away without saying anything.
“It is such a tragedy,” said Mrs. Hurst, seemingly oblivious to her sister’s reaction. “I think the family has been quite shaken by what has happened.”
“Oh, very shaken, indeed,” said Miss Bingley, her tone all that was spiteful.
“It must be a shock to us all,” said Elizabeth, ignoring the woman, but attempting to goad her to be more explicit. “I certainly was no friend of Lady Catherine, and she no friend to me. I am excessively sorry for Mr. Darcy and his family, though, for they have lost a venerated member. For the rest of us . . . “
Miss Bingley focused on Elizabeth with more than a little curiosity. “What, Miss Elizabeth?”
Shaking her head, Elizabeth tried to look embarrassed and said: “I am not happy at Lady Catherine’s demise. But I am relieved not to be the target of her censure.”
Once again Miss Bingley allowed her anger to overcome her. “I am certain you are relieved. She was mean and spiteful to us all. Why, do you know she attempted to take me to task for my friendship with Mr. Darcy? That she disapproved of me?”
Gratified she had managed to provoke a response, Elizabeth only said: “No, I was not aware.”
“She did!” exclaimed Miss Bingley as if she had suffered some mortal insult. “Nothing was good enough for her. She did not like the room in which she was housed, though we had no word of her coming. She did not like the meals provided to her, though we did not expect to feed three more mouths.”
Miss Bingley paused, and she seemed to feel it necessary to exonerate the Bennets, saying: “Of course, I understand circumstances necessitated your stay, dear Jane, and we do not blame you for it. But Lady Catherine! The lady invites herself to stay without even a by your leave, and nothing is good enough for her!”
“That is, indeed, ungracious,” allowed Jane, the most she would ever be prevailed on to say negatively about another.
“You have been an exceptional guest,” said Miss Bingley. Then she turned to Elizabeth, and though it was easy to see that she did so grudgingly, she continued: “All your family has been good guests. But Lady Catherine . . .” The woman growled under her breath, and Elizabeth felt certain she was not even aware she had made such an unladylike sound. “She also accused me of attempting to garner Mr. Darcy’s attention to myself! As if I was some unworthy social-climber! How is such a woman to be borne?”
Swallowing the retort tha
t Miss Bingley had been engaged in exactly that, and for more than just Mr. Darcy’s stay in Hertfordshire, Elizabeth showed a commiserating smile to Miss Bingley. “I was, if you recall, the recipient of the same accusations.”
“That is exactly what I mean!” cried Miss Bingley. She garnered several looks due to her outburst and had the sense to lower her voice when she spoke again. “Our situations are in no way similar and should not be viewed in the same way. I was shocked she possessed the audacity to claim we were engaged in the same behavior.”
We were not, thought Elizabeth. It occurred to her that perhaps she should be offended by Miss Bingley’s outrage. But she was far too amused by the woman’s ridiculous conceit.
“Did you have specific words with Lady Catherine?” asked Elizabeth instead.
“I did! The woman managed to corner me alone yesterday, and she proceeded to speak at great length about the inferiority of my connections and the presumption I possessed to think myself high enough that I might aspire to a man of Mr. Darcy’s stature in society. It was at least thirty minutes before I could escape the virago! She was in every way horrible! I have never been so angry and insulted in my life!”
Miss Bingley continued to speak at great length on the subject of Lady Catherine. She spoke of her anger that the lady had berated her, how incensed she was to be considered inferior. She regaled them with her disgust at being held to the same standard as Elizabeth herself, though she did not seem to realize how insulting her words were. While Elizabeth tried to give the appearance of interest in her harangue, in reality, she was thinking, considering one statement Miss Bingley’s had made.
“I have never been so angry and insulted in my life!”
It was clear that Miss Bingley was offended. But had she been insulted enough to consider attempting to end another’s life? Could such a thing even be imagined? Or if she had managed to murder Lady Catherine, had she done it in a fit of rage in a moment of opportunity?