Murder at Netherfield

by Jann Rowland

  Such thoughts ran through Elizabeth’s mind throughout the rest of the evening, even after she managed to escape from Miss Bingley’s fury. There was not much left of it, to be honest, and soon Elizabeth excused herself to return to her room. Of her sisters, only Jane was still in the sitting-room, speaking quietly with Mr. Bingley, and she sensed the evening would end soon for them all.

  As she was walking, however, she heard the sound of footsteps, and wondering if someone was following her, she ducked into a side room, which turned out to be the library. Then, careful to remain unseen, she looked through the narrow slot where she held the door open, watching to see who it was. When the man came into sight, it was Mr. Darcy, and he was hurrying as if to catch her.

  “Mr. Darcy!” said she in a low voice, swinging the door open a little and beckoning him. He quickly altered his course and joined her in the library, closing the door behind him. While Elizabeth might have preferred the door to remain open to maintain propriety, she knew it was likely for the best. They would not wish to be overheard, considering the likely subject of the coming discussion.

  “Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, looking down on her, his expression grave. “I presume you approached Miss Bingley to discover the reason for her disagreement with Lady Catherine?”

  “It was not so much a disagreement as your aunt berating Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth with a stifled laugh. “Miss Bingley waxed poetic about it, I assure you. It seemed that most of her outrage was reserved for the fact that Lady Catherine considered her to be on the same level as I.”

  Mr. Darcy did not appear to be amused by Elizabeth’s tale. She shook her head and grinned at him. “I apologize, Mr. Darcy. But you must allow me my mirth when presented by such absurdity. Miss Bingley has always spoken down to me. It seems nothing less than poetic justice that she should be given a glimpse of what it was like for me.”

  His expression softening, Mr. Darcy acknowledged her point. “Perhaps we should focus on the task at hand?”

  “Of course. As you are almost certainly already aware, Miss Bingley was subjected to treatment similar to that your aunt directed toward me. The only difference is that Lady Catherine managed to get Miss Bingley alone to vent her displeasure. With me, she was forced to do it in company.”

  “And what are your thoughts on the matter?”

  “I might ask the same as you.”

  “Yes, I suppose you might.” Mr. Darcy regarded her for a long moment. “I am not sure what to think. That Miss Bingley was angry with Lady Catherine is evident. But I cannot see where that implicates her in Lady Catherine’s death.”

  “No, that by itself does not,” said Elizabeth. “I dare say that a person who was inclined to take the life of another would have been angry enough to act. I do not know that Miss Bingley is such a person.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded slowly. “Since I did not speak to her, I must trust your judgment.”

  “But I have made no judgment, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth. “I only said she was angry enough to do it if she were a person who could contemplate taking the life of another. The fact of the matter is that I am not well acquainted with Miss Bingley, so I am not able to judge.”

  “I do not know her much better.”

  “But you have been in her company more than I,” insisted Elizabeth.

  “Much more than I ever wished,” muttered Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth could not help but laugh at his admission. “That is exactly it, Mr. Darcy. You are in a better position to tell me what you think of Miss Bingley’s capabilities. Lady Catherine not only attacked her behavior and skills as a hostess, but she attacked Miss Bingley’s very respectability and position in society. Do you think she is capable of such a response when provoked thus?”

  A slow nod was Mr. Darcy’s initial response, though he considered Elizabeth’s words for a few moments before speaking. “It seems you have understood Miss Bingley quite well, Miss Elizabeth. She is inordinately proud of her education and revels in her place in society, which is largely bought by her acquaintance to me, among a few other ladies who are of a similar mind, but higher connections.

  “If she felt that position was threatened, she might, indeed, attempt to defend it.” Mr. Darcy’s introspection turned to keen focus. “But I have no notion that she would resort to murder to achieve those goals. On the other hand, however, Lady Catherine has not been in society for many years, as she usually prefers to stay at Rosings, her estate. As such, she can have little influence on Miss Bingley’s eventual acceptance in society. Lady Catherine has spoken about my ‘engagement’ to Anne many times over the years, but I have never done anything about it. As such, most in society consider it to be nothing more than a fantasy in Lady Catherine’s mind. I doubt Miss Bingley would feel that I am out of reach simply because Lady Catherine blathers on about a spurious engagement.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “I do not wish to accuse even so objectionable a woman as Miss Bingley of such a heinous crime on so little evidence. I have no love for her, as you are well aware. On the other hand, however, the circumstances do lend some credence to the theory. I know that I am not a murderer, and I am certain you are not either.”

  “Are you so completely certain of that, Miss Bennet?” asked Mr. Darcy, a faint sense of amusement about him. “I may be playing along with you in order to throw you off the trail of my nefarious plans.”

  “Yes, I am quite convinced,” said Elizabeth, rolling her eyes. “You have endured your aunt for years, and as you and Anne have jointly determined that you will not marry, there is little reason for you to silence Lady Catherine forever.”

  “And you have parried Lady Catherine’s attacks with such skill that I know you cannot have done it either.”

  “I thank you for your faith, sir,” said Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy grinned at her wry tone and then became serious again.

  “It seems to me that we have suspicions but no proof. We do not even have any proof that Lady Catherine did not die of natural means. She may simply have expired in her sleep as the rest of the house assumes.”

  Elizabeth snorted. “One death may be explained, but two seems like an unusual coincidence to me. The only question is: what are we to do about it?”

  “Why, my dear Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, “we investigate.”

  Chapter XIII

  While Darcy generally despised disguise of any sort, he decided the next day that disguise would be in order. Though Fitzwilliam and perhaps even Mr. Bennet were suspicious about the turn of events which had led to the deaths of two people at Netherfield, most of the rest of the company did not seem to consider the events to be anything more than coincidence. It would not do to incite panic by speaking of the matter openly. Thus, Darcy and Miss Elizabeth had decided to meet in a covert fashion to conduct their investigation.

  “Will you meet me tomorrow morning to inspect Lady Catherine’s room?” Darcy had asked the previous evening

  “Of course, Mr. Darcy. Indeed,” continued she with a laugh, “I consider myself quite the intrepid lady to be involving myself in such matters. Perhaps I should open a shop in London as an investigator? What do you think?”

  “Though I have no doubt as to your abilities,” replied Darcy, “I suspect you would not receive much business, as few would wish to hire a woman.”

  “That is, indeed, a drawback.” She regarded him with an adorable pout, one which was feigned, but which set his heart pounding at the sight. “It is unfortunate that society’s views are so narrow as to discount the abilities of women.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like the opinion a bluestocking might hold.”

  She grinned and turned, making her way from the library, her voice floating back to him as she exited the room. “Despise me now, if you dare, for having such heretical opinions.”

  As it happened, Darcy could not despise her. Moreover, he could not imagine despising her. He was much nearer to infatuation and desire and knew that infatuation co
uld turn to utter love and devotion in the blink of an eye. The force of his initial arguments, that she was not suitable, that she would struggle in the shark-infested waters of London society, that her dowry was less than sufficient, were evaporating like a drop of water on a hot summer day. Thus it was that Darcy was forced to remind himself to focus on their self-appointed task rather than on the increasingly irresistible woman with whom he would undertake it.

  Disposing of the other men was no difficult feat. Bingley was content to be in Miss Bennet’s company and, thus, had no attention for Darcy or any other. Wickham and Mr. Collins were not even worth mentioning, and even Darcy’s cousin removed himself from the equation when Hurst suggested they retire to the billiards room. Miss Bingley might have been a challenge, as the woman was always eager to ingratiate herself to him and had redoubled her efforts since Lady Catherine’s death. But Darcy chose the expedient of sequestering himself in Bingley’s study, frustrating her design of putting herself in his company. Then, when she was distracted, he simply took himself above stairs to his meeting with Miss Elizabeth.

  “Did you have difficulty slipping away from your sisters?” asked Darcy as he checked the hallway for any servants or others watching them. There were none he could see.

  “Of course not,” was her easy reply. “We Bennet sisters are a disparate group, Mr. Darcy, each with our own interests and preferred activities. I have often been alone in the past few days, either reading what few books I could find from that desert waste Mr. Bingley calls a library or simply thinking as I walk the halls.”

  Darcy chuckled and pushed the door to Lady Catherine’s room open, allowing her to enter, then closing it behind them. “I agree with you concerning Bingley’s library. I doubt he reads even one book in a year.”

  With a distracted look at her, Darcy fell silent, taking in the picture she presented. Miss Elizabeth was diminutive, not necessarily in her height, which he thought was average, but in her figure, which was slender and dainty. Her hands were small and delicate, her face oval, with wisps of hair escaping her elegant coif, and in particular, one lock which hung down the side of her face, refusing to be tamed. Her figure was pleasing, though what it was not was the generous fleshiness which seemed to be in vogue.

  “You love to walk, I understand? It must be difficult to be denied one of your pleasures.”

  “It is, indeed,” said Miss Elizabeth, humor lighting her eyes. “At least at Netherfield I have much more room to roam the halls, which I do not at Longbourn. This weather we have had is quite unusual. I do not think I have ever seen snow as has fallen these past days. Even in the dead of winter, it does not snow much. It is more the cold which keeps me indoors.”

  “Walking is beneficial exercise,” said Darcy.

  “It is, indeed. And as I am very fond of it, I find it quite enjoyable and convenient.” Miss Elizabeth paused, considering some further observation. “I have noticed that some women are a little . . . rounder than I think they should be, and I have often noted that it is due to a sedentary lifestyle. I walk for exercise to keep myself healthy and avoid excess weight.”

  “Surely you have not had to concern yourself with such,” said Darcy. “I could not imagine you becoming the picture you suggest.”

  Miss Elizabeth smiled. “You have seen my mother, have you not? She was a noted beauty in her youth, but in recent years her figure has rounded.”

  “Surely that is as much to do with bearing five daughters,” said Darcy, not certain they should be speaking of such matters.

  “I am certain it must. But as I am much like my mother in figure and form, I feel it prudent to take care in what I eat and obtain the exercise which promotes good health.”

  “An excellent decision, Miss Elizabeth.”

  She thanked him with a nod of her head and turned to inspect the room, approaching the bed. Darcy followed her, approval filling his senses at her words. Then he turned his attention firmly to the task at hand.

  “Everything seems to be in order,” said Miss Elizabeth. “The bed has been made, though I assume the linens were removed and replaced.” She looked about with interest. “Have your aunt’s personal effects been removed as well?”

  “I do not think so,” replied Darcy, looking about and approaching the nearest chest of drawers. He opened it and then closed it again, noting there were lady’s garments within.

  Miss Elizabeth watched him, amused at the reaction at what he found within. “Are you embarrassed at the discovery of what we ladies wear under our dresses?”

  “I am familiar with most items,” replied Darcy, refusing to give in to her teasing. “I do have a younger sister, after all, and I have accompanied her shopping on occasion. But I also do not believe it is proper for me to inspect such things as my late aunt’s chemise.”

  A giggle escaped Miss Elizabeth’s lips. “Perhaps not. I shall inspect them to see if there is anything of interest. But first, I believe it would be best to focus on the bed. I did not see the state it was in when your aunt was found. Would you share your memory of what you saw?”

  With a frown, Darcy stepped forward, attempting to remember. “Lady Catherine was lying toward the near side of the bed. There were no visible signs of struggle, though the coverlet and sheets were wrapped around her legs. Her head was directly on the mattress, and one of the pillows lay propped up against her side.”

  “So she might simply have suffered an apoplexy and disturbed the bed in her death throes.”

  “That is possible,” conceded Darcy.

  Miss Elizabeth considered the scene he had painted for several moments. “If she was murdered, how could it have been done? There were no marks on her neck to indicate strangulation?”

  “Nothing of that sort,” replied Darcy. “She was not beaten, there was no indication of anything which might have prompted her death. There was not even a glass of water by her bedside for laudanum or the like.”

  “Did her maid say anything of her requests that night?”

  Darcy smiled. “Lady Catherine did not request, Miss Bennet. She demanded.” Miss Bennet glared at him, and he chuckled and shook his head. “No. She made no requests other than the assistance to disrobe and dress in her night clothes. The maid did as she was bid, saw her situated in her bed, and extinguished the lights as she left. She noted nothing amiss.”

  A curious look passed over Miss Elizabeth’s face. “What is to become of the maid now? I know Anne has her own maid.”

  “Anne has given her a letter of reference, and she will be free to search for a new position.”

  An absent nod was Miss Elizabeth’s initial response. She turned back to the bed and considered it. “Could she have been suffocated by the use of a pillow over her face?”

  “That is an excellent deduction, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Darcy, impressed she had come up with a logical explanation. “That would account not only for the lack of any markings on Lady Catherine’s body, but also for the position of the pillow as the murderer fled, and the way the bed coverings were twisted about her legs and body.”

  Miss Elizabeth’s rueful smile followed a sigh. “Yes, it does fit. If only there were a motive, we might be able to determine what happened. Other than that of which we have already spoken, did your aunt offend anyone who wished revenge? Did she possess something which another would kill to obtain?”

  “Not that I am aware,” replied Darcy, shaking his head. “Lady Catherine was a wealthy woman, and Rosings is quite prosperous.” Darcy grinned. “Despite her ability to offend with little provocation and her need to manage everything, Lady Catherine managed Rosings with an ability her late husband never possessed.

  “Even so, the only one who could have profited from Lady Catherine’s death was Anne herself. But even then, murdering her was not required. Anne inherited it when she reached the age of one and twenty and could have taken control at any time.”

  “A jealous lover, perhaps?” asked Miss Elizabeth, direct
ing an arch frown—completely feigned—at him.

  “Again,” replied Darcy, amused at her actions, “I could have had Rosings myself, had I wished it. I only needed to bow to Lady Catherine’s wishes and marry my cousin. My holdings, as they are, occupy my time and keep me busy. The prospect of adding another estate the size of Rosings is onerous. I have never wanted it.”

  “You will pardon me for saying it,” replied Elizabeth, “but I am only attempting to throw out ideas.”

  Darcy nodded and indicated that she should continue.

  “What of your cousin? He, by all accounts, is what the nobility would call a ‘poor soldier,’ though I have no doubt his father supports him more than adequately. Could he have wished to have his own estate? With Lady Catherine gone, he can now pay court to Anne, and should he succeed, he will obtain his independence.”

  Far from offended, Darcy was impressed again by the way her mind worked, developing theories and making leaps of intuition based on the available information. “That is an interesting theory, but I do not believe it. Fitzwilliam does own an estate, and while it is not as large as Rosings, he is able to settle there whenever he decides to retire. Furthermore, Fitzwilliam, Anne, and I have been close cousins since we were children. I cannot imagine Fitzwilliam sees Anne as a potential wife, even if he possessed the ability to murder our aunt.”

  “Very well,” said Miss Elizabeth, showing him a slight smile. “I apologize and appreciate your understanding. I did not wish to suggest I do not trust your cousin.”

  “No offense taken.”

  Miss Elizabeth sighed. “I can think of no other motive which would drive someone to commit murder.”

  “Nor can I. But Miss Elizabeth, I believe we have spent quite long enough in this room together. I suggest we do whatever searching we can and leave, as it is possible we might be missed.”