The Indomitable Miss Elizabeth

by Jennifer Joy

  "I cannot do so without betraying the confidence of my companions," said Mrs. Burk.

  Darcy sat in silence, observing the ladies, but they revealed nothing. When it became clear he would get no more information from them, he rose. They left him no choice. He would set Tanner on them.

  With a bow, he said, "Thank you for your time. I need not remind you of the gravity of the situation, and I trust you will prove to be friends to those who are most affected by today's tragedy."

  Lady Lucas looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. However, she looked down again just as quickly.

  Taking his leave, Darcy made certain there was nothing else to be done for the Bennets or to assist Tanner before he departed for Netherfield Park for a change of clothes. He stank.

  He had questions for Aunt Catherine, but they would have to wait for his return. Right now, it was of the utmost importance to bring the magistrate to Meryton.

  The stable boy brought out his stallion and he rode against the tempest all the way to Netherfield Park. Requesting two horses to be made ready, one for himself and one for Richard, Darcy hastened inside to Lawrence. He would have clean clothes ready.

  Mercifully, he did not meet with anyone on the way up to his room. He took the stairs two at a time and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet to prevent himself from being noticed. There was no time to waste.

  "Lawrence, please inform Colonel Fitzwilliam to prepare himself to ride. We must leave in no more than a quarter of an hour."

  "You do not require my assistance, sir?" With a final tug, Lawrence freed Darcy's boot.

  "I can manage until you return. It is imperative we leave as soon as possible. There has been another murder in Meryton."

  The shock must have been great to Lawrence, but he was trained too well to show it. Without another word, he left Darcy to fulfill his task.

  As Darcy expected, Richard was ready to leave, asking for no explanation. They met at the top of the staircase. There remained only one more matter to see to before they could take their leave. Bingley would not like it, but he would ensure the job was done.

  "We need to speak with Bingley before we go. I will explain everything as we mount up." Darcy walked along the hall to Bingley's study, certain he would find his friend there hiding from his sisters and their guests.

  He heard a scuffle when he knocked, but the door opened when Darcy knocked again.

  "Oh, good, it is only you," said Bingley, dropping the hand tugging his disheveled hair and bending over to retrieve the bottle of brandy he’d hid on the floor behind his desk. “It is bad enough to open my home to a woman who terrifies me, but I can no longer smell the scent of Jane’s hair on her pillow because Mrs. Harris washed everything to receive your relatives.”

  "Enjoy your relief, Bingley, for it will not last long," Darcy warned. "You had best take a seat and pour some of the brandy you hide from Mr. Hurst in a glass."

  Bingley sank into the chair behind his desk and Richard eyed Darcy curiously, standing at attention.

  "As you are aware, Mrs. Bennet was murdered in the haberdashery during the militia parade. As it stands, my own Aunt Catherine is the most logical suspect. I do not believe her guilty. However, she made the unfortunate mistake of threatening Mrs. Bennet only yesterday. She must not be allowed to leave Netherfield Park until her name is cleared and we have ascertained the identity of the criminal."

  Richard froze in stunned silence, his muscles tensing and ready for action.

  "I should return to Jane." Bingley hopped to his feet, lunging at the door.

  Darcy understood. He wished to pass his evening at Longbourn, too. But now, there were other pressing matters.

  "No, Bingley. You must keep a watch on Lady Catherine. She must not leave."

  Not having a chair behind him, Bingley sat on the desk and crossed his arms.

  "I suppose that means I cannot ensconce myself in my study for the remainder of this miserable day as I had planned?"

  Poor Bingley. Aunt Catherine took pleasure in tormenting kind-souled individuals who were easily influenced.

  "I am sorry it comes to this. Richard and I must ride to Lord Harvisham's estate and bring him back."

  “I will ready another room,” said Bingley.

  "No! He must not stay here!" Richard exclaimed, his shoulders rising to his ears.

  His ferocious reaction startled Darcy. He, evidently, knew much more than Darcy did about the gentleman.

  "Very well. We will arrange for him to stay at the inn."

  Richard nodded gravely. "Dear lord. Of all people! Are you certain he is the nearest magistrate? There is no other?"

  "Tanner assured me he is the nearest by several miles."

  Running his hand over his face, a throaty, mirthless chuckle escaped Richard. "I do not envy you, Bingley. For when Aunt Catherine finds out Lord Harvisham is within shouting distance in Meryton, there will be fatalities. And if she is the prime suspect, there is no telling what he might do to make her suffer. They have been sworn enemies these thirty years."

  Great. More problems. More difficult personalities to manage.

  "We must go," Darcy said, turning for the door. "If you can keep this news from her, your task will be easier to manage," he told Bingley before leaving the study for the stairs with Richard.

  "How is Miss Elizabeth?" Richard asked as they hastened through the entrance hall.

  "She was the one who found her mother." Her scream echoed again through Darcy's head, and he felt her trembling limbs against his body as surely as if he still held her to him. “Her forehead was crushed and there was a great deal of blood.”

  Richard gasped, shaking his downcast head from side to side. "That is dreadful. Do you have any idea who could commit such a violent act against a woman? It is most uncommon. From what you have told me and I have observed, Mrs. Bennet might not have been well-liked amongst her neighbors, but no individual deserves such a violent end."

  "That was my first thought, but someone must have hated her to hit her with such a force. That is my main argument in favor of Aunt Catherine. She does not have the strength to do what was done to Mrs. Bennet."

  "Not even with her cane?"

  "No. The injury was too wide. A cane could not have done what I saw." He shivered. He needed to change the subject to get the image out of his mind. "What can you tell me about Lord Harvisham?"

  Richard groaned. "He is only Aunt Catherine's greatest enemy. She is the reason we have never made his acquaintance, though we run in the same circles. In fact, he and Father were close friends before Aunt Catherine jilted him."

  "Jilted him?"

  "Yes. In the worst possible way. I can only tell you what Father told me because I find the whole affair difficult to imagine. You see, Lord Harvisham was the third son, a Lieutenant General in His Majesty's Army in India. While on an extended leave, his tactics worked their charm on Aunt Catherine and they fell in love."

  Darcy tried to understand. "Aunt Catherine would never allow herself to form an attachment with a third son. It would not have benefited her."

  The groom ran two saddled horses out to them, handing over the reins.

  "I told you I found it difficult to believe, and yet I know my father to be an honest man. I do not know particulars, of course, but after offering Lord Harvisham enough encouragement for him to believe he had a chance, Aunt Catherine refused his hand. Within a week, she was engaged to Sir Lewis de Bourgh. The real irony here is that within the year, the heartbroken soldier inherited when his two older brothers died. He got everything. The title, the estate, the fortune …." Richard mounted. "No man would want to inherit like that."

  Darcy mounted beside him. "Let us go, then, and pray for the best."

  Lord Harvisham and Aunt Catherine could battle all they wanted so long as they did not get in his way. Darcy would see Mrs. Bennet's murderer captured and brought to trial if it was the last thing he did.

  Chapter 13

  Elizabeth sat alone a
t the top of the stairs at Longbourn. She would have preferred to sit in front of the fire in the parlor, but she could not separate herself from her father, who sat staring at the wall in his study, or her sisters who wailed in their rooms.

  Mrs. Hill had brought her a cup of tea. She had mixed something stronger into it which warmed Elizabeth’s insides and dulled her anguish.

  She needed to do something, but there was nothing left to be done. William had seen to everything. Had she not been so determined to stay angry with him, she might have been thankful. As it was, she felt useless.

  Every idea she had expressed had been met with a prompt response when Mr. Whimple delivered Mother to their home. “Mr. Darcy has seen to it,” was repeated time after time until Elizabeth grew sick of the words. Nothing, not even the smallest details, had been overlooked.

  William had even sent for flowers so Mother could be buried with something pretty. It was a thoughtful detail and would have made Mother happy. It should have made Elizabeth happy. Instead, her anger festered to the same degree that her love professed itself in her heart. Blast it all!

  Lydia's cries reached her from along the hallway. She had taken the news the worst. She had adorned herself in full bombazine mourning — complete with a black lace shawl to add a layer of drama to her ensemble.

  Mary, not having enjoyed a close relationship with Mother, was able to offer as much comfort as her pious soul permitted. She had played dirges on the pianoforte until Father begged her to stop.

  Jane accepted their changed life with a strength and quiet dignity Elizabeth admired. No doubt, Mr. Bingley’s constant support and comfort helped, Elizabeth thought with a pang of jealousy.

  Kitty cried with Lydia. Elizabeth was uncertain how deeply Kitty was affected, but anything which caused her dearest sister pain, caused her pain as well. Officer Denny would distract her soon enough.

  Aunt Philips occupied herself with the mourning wreaths to place on their front doors until their mourning was complete. Her manic oversight had her sending a maid to the haberdashery for extra lengths of black ribbon to adorn their dresses and trim their bonnets.

  Mrs. Hill silently stitched the ribbons and piping to bodices and collars when she was not busy running the tea tray up and down the stairs, not trusting the maid to do it. And thanks to William, they had enough tea, sugar, and other such delights to entertain a regiment of soldiers. Yet another thing he had “seen to.”

  Father, as was his custom, remained in his study. However, there was nothing normal about how he sat in stunned silence behind his desk. Elizabeth had seen a tear trickle down his cheek when they put Mother in the cool room by the cellar.

  As for Elizabeth, all she had left to do was see to the comfort of her family and wish she had something with which to occupy her hands and her mind. The images of Mother's glassed over eyes haunted her. Which only left one option for her. She would focus all of her energy to find the killer.

  Her first suspect was Lady Catherine. She had threatened Mother the day before and, while Elizabeth believed her morally capable of defending her own wishes to the detriment of another, she doubted the great lady had the physical strength to do the deed. Nor would she expose herself to the gossip of the ton if she were discovered. She had too much at risk and she held her family's name too far above reproach to take such a drastic action.

  Could she have paid someone else to do her handy work? Mr. Burk? Doubtful. He was not the type of person she would condescend to speak to about such a matter, and why would Mr. Burk agree to throw away his life for her? Not even Mr. Collins, with his blind adoration, would accept that offer.

  She sighed. That was an unfortunate detail she would have to see to. Father was in no condition to pen a message informing Mr. Collins of their tragic news. She would have to write. If Father signed it, it would be good enough. Tomorrow. She would write first thing in the morning. There was no hurry. Mr. Collins was not the type of man to offer comfort when he could try their patience and involve himself where he was not wanted.

  "Miss Elizabeth, a message arrived for Mr. Bennet. He wants you to read it," Mr. Hill, his coat damp with rain, held out the cream-colored paper.

  "Why did I hear no one arrive?" She would have welcomed the distraction.

  "It was one of Mr. Bingley's new stable boys. He came to the back door, not knowing any better. No doubt, he got sent to spare his elders from the weather."

  Elizabeth took the note with a presentiment of the source of it. The paper was smooth and thick. When she opened it and saw William's handwriting, her suspicion was confirmed. And when she read what he had written, her frustration increased all the more.

  Having no one to hear her complain, Elizabeth threw her arms in the air. "Am I not to be allowed to do anything at all?"

  Of course, she had to admit she had not looked forward to writing to Mr. Collins. Still, it had been something she could do. Now, she did not even have that. Mr. Darcy had not only sent a messenger to inform Mr. Collins of their cause for mourning, but he had offered to send his personal carriage as soon as it was available — in a convenient three days’ time.

  William's thoughtfulness added fiery coals to the blaze of Elizabeth's anger. She knew her reaction was unreasonable, but it was infinitely more comfortable to be angry with him than to allow herself to be hurt further when he declared himself to Miss de Bourgh … or to dwell on her loss. She missed her mother.

  Wishing she had more of the magic tea Mrs. Hill had made her, Elizabeth leaned against the side of the staircase and wept.

  As the hours stretched mercilessly before her and she wept until exhaustion prevented any more, Elizabeth rose from her post at the top of the steps and went into the kitchen to help Mrs. Hill with the sewing. Never again would she allow anyone to make her feel so powerless. She would discover the identity of the murderer and defy anyone who would attempt to stop her. Especially Fitzwilliam Darcy!

  Darcy and Richard reached the edge of Lord Harvisham's estate as nightfall dropped its heavy cloak around them. Soaked to the bone, Darcy alternated rubbing his hands against the coarse fabric of his greatcoat to warm them before they went completely numb.

  The grounds were well-kept and the house soon came into view, being situated on top of a knoll with hedged-in gardens around it. Though it was dark, a window in the ground floor was lit brightly.

  Gritting his teeth, Darcy urged his horse onward. There was no time to hesitate or to allow fear of the unknown to slow his progress. Elizabeth needed him. And he needed to see her. He had done what he could, but he needed to see she was well.

  Soon enough, they were admitted into the entrance hall. Tapestries in bold colors and paintings with equally impressive gold frames of imposing figures filled the papered walls. Darcy looked at Richard, his mouth unseemly open in awe. It was the image of Rosings.

  The butler took their coats to dry and showed them through an antechamber to a decadent room of red velvet, gold trim, and murals over thick, Oriental carpets in rich hues. A large fireplace provided enough light to fill the immense room, but the addition of hundreds of beeswax candles flickered in candelabras throughout the space, added their welcoming glow to the otherwise imposing room.

  A man some two inches taller than himself and built as thickly as Tanner approached them. His long, silver hair was pulled back with a black ribbon and he wore a damask dressing gown over his night attire. He was not at all what Darcy had imagined. Tanner had called him elderly, but the gentleman before him appeared stronger than many gentlemen half his age.

  "Good evening, gentlemen. I am told you have come from Hertfordshire?" the earl asked in a strong baritone. Darcy could easily imagine him barking orders to his subordinates in the army. His confidence inspired respect.

  "Yes, my lord," Darcy bowed.

  With a scoff, Lord Harvisham crossed his arms, his robe stretching over his thick shoulders. Shaking his head, he said, "I detest titles, Mr. Darcy. Mine was won only by the death of two men better than
myself. Address me how you must in public, but I never wish for you to speak those detestable words in my presence. Am I understood?"

  Given what Richard had told him, it was understandable — and so completely opposite to the man Aunt Catherine had married. Darcy bowed his head and said, "I understand, sir."

  "Good. That will do for now. Now, tell me why you are here dripping water on my carpet when you should stand on the rug by the fireplace.”

  Richard chuckled, apparently deciding Lord Harvisham to be in possession of a sense of humor. Darcy was not convinced, but the man's request was both reasonable and kind and so he could find no fault in it.

  "This afternoon, a gentleman's wife and the mother of five daughters was murdered during the militia's parade in Meryton. We are currently without a magistrate, and so we came here to ask for your assistance.”

  “What were the findings of the coroner’s inquest?”

  “It was underway when we left, but it is most certainly a murder.”

  “Then it should go directly to trial. Who is the accused?”

  Darcy shifted his weight. “We do not know as yet. It is our wish to return with you this same night so you may help in the investigation and the family may bury their deceased on the morrow."

  “Hm. I take it to understand you are the instigator of this investigation, Mr. Darcy? It usually falls to the family of the victim to seek justice.”

  “Yes. I will do what I must to reveal the truth. I cannot do otherwise.”

  A glint in Lord Harvisham's eyes spread to his lips, revealing a mouthful of large, healthy teeth. "You said the deceased was the mother of five daughters? Unmarried daughters?”

  “Yes.” What did it matter so long as they returned soon? Darcy kept his answers clipped, not wasting more time than necessary.

  “You are enamored with one of the daughters?"

  Darcy answered with a blunt honesty which he would have tempered had his patience not already extended past its limit. "Yes. I wish to marry Miss Elizabeth as soon as she will have me. Do you agree to return with us or must we ride to the next magistrate?"