by Jennifer Joy
Returning to Netherfield Park, he sent for Lawrence to draw a hot bath. Nobody in the house would bother him if he was bathing and it would take the chill out of his skin.
The door to the music room was open, but he had a plan should he be called.
"Darcy!" the shrill voice of his aunt called out to him. "Darcy!" she repeated when he did not appear in the doorway a moment after she expected him.
Miss Bingley brought her piece to a dramatic end, no doubt pleased with her performance and that he should have heard a portion of it.
"Where have you been? You are soaking wet," criticized Aunt Catherine.
"I have been out of doors until recently. There are some matters requiring attention before Lord Harvisham comes to call on the morrow."
Aunt Catherine froze and her face blanched. "Lord Harvisham?" she said in a whisper.
Darcy saw the moment she realized how frightened she appeared. Puffing out her chest and raising her chin, she said, "I was unaware he meant to call on the morrow."
"Yes, your threats against Mrs. Bennet were poorly timed. While Richard and I are certain of your innocence, you will have to convince Lord Harvisham of it."
Her shoulders stiffened. "The truth will set me free. He is not a fool."
"Who is this Lord Harvisham?" asked Miss Bingley, drawing a glare from Aunt Catherine.
"If you have friends in the first circles, you ought to know who he is," Aunt Catherine hissed, causing Miss Bingley's face to burn scarlet red.
Seeing his opportunity, Darcy departed. Tomorrow would be an event, but at that moment, all he wanted was a scalding hot bath. Nothing warm and comforting to remind him of Elizabeth.
Chapter 18
It was silent around the breakfast table the following morning. Elizabeth was grateful for it. Her head ached from lack of sleep, but she had a full day planned and resting indoors would do nothing to distract her thoughts.
William would not approve, but she would walk alone to Lucas Lodge to call on Charlotte and Lady Lucas. The distance was not far.
Her breaths came out in puffs in the winter air. Her wool stockings and kid leather gloves kept her comfortable enough, but it was still a welcome relief when she saw the smoke rising from the chimneys at Lucas Lodge.
Quickening her pace to warm her body until her skin could soak in the heat of the fire, she jogged up the steps to the door.
Elizabeth was immediately shown into the drawing room where Charlotte sat by the window, squinting her eyes to see her embroidery in the dark room. Her sister, Maria, practiced a piece on the pianoforte. Lady Lucas was nowhere in sight.
Charlotte dropped her embroidery as soon as she opened her eyes enough to see who had come to call. "Lizzy! I have been expecting you. I am so glad you have come." Hugging Elizabeth tightly, Charlotte led her to the settee nearest the fire.
"Mother will be happy to see you. Since she has taken ill, it has been impossible to give her any cheer," said Charlotte, nodding at Maria to continue playing. "Perhaps you will have more success than we have had."
"I am glad to help if she will see me. There is a question I should like to ask her if you do not believe her to be too delicate for easy conversation." She aimed to find out what the ladies who assembled at the haberdashery were up to once and for all.
"I should not think so. Her body is weak, but her mind is strong. I daresay it will do her a great deal of good. The puppy is in a basket in Mother's room. Would you like to see her?" Charlotte asked.
"Yes, let us see her." Pulling ribbons in Lydia's favorite shade of pink out of her reticule, Elizabeth added, "I came prepared. I only hope the puppy does not attempt to eat these."
"Come," Charlotte led Elizabeth out of the door, up the staircase, and down a long hallway to the last door. She knocked twice and the maid was quick to receive them.
"Is Mother well? Miss Elizabeth is here for the puppy."
The maid moved to the side to allow them in, shutting the door and any light from the hallway out. The only illumination in the room was from the small fireplace.
Charlotte left Elizabeth by the door, crossing the room to the curtains which she pulled aside. "Mother, I know what the doctor says, but too much darkness cannot be good for you. You will soon lose all sense of night and day, and you will develop the sleeping habits of a night owl. Then, we will have to send for sleeping draughts."
"So long as you close them before you leave, Charlotte," Lady Lucas said in a weak voice. “Oh, Miss Elizabeth. I did not see you.”
Elizabeth had not seen Lady Lucas either. She rested on a fainting couch beyond the glow of the fire.
"Come nearer the fire, Mother, lest you catch a chill." Like a sergeant giving orders, Charlotte moved her mother to the cushioned chair by the fire, casting a disapproving glance at Lady Lucas' maid in the process. She would do well as the wife of a colonel.
“I am not feeling well, Charlotte,” Lady Lucas said softly, glancing at Elizabeth.
“Nonsense. Elizabeth has come to select a puppy for Lydia. I think she will like the speckled one.”
"Bring the basket to us," Lady Lucas called over her shoulder at the maid, who bobbed a curtsy and went through the doorway opposite them to the sitting room.
The cocker spaniel who had lain under the fainting couch followed her mistress, resting her black and white chin on Lady Lucas’ legs until her mistress patted the chair and she leapt up to sit on her lap.
"Duchess only has two puppies left. One has taken a liking to Sir William and follows him everywhere. The other is the best looking of the bunch. She does, however, have a bad habit of chewing on slippers and stealing food," said Lady Lucas, patting Duchess on the head and generally avoiding eye contact with Elizabeth.
"I shall hide the slippers at Longbourn and tell Cook to keep the pantry closed." Elizabeth smiled, trying to appease Lady Lucas. Besides, if the puppy comforted Lydia as Elizabeth expected, she would be worth the trouble.
Rustling sounds and a thud proceeded from the sitting room. A flash of speckled black and white fur ran into the room, followed by a flustered maid.
"I apologize, ma'am. I could not get her inside the basket."
The puppy pounced on Elizabeth, scratching at her knees in her excitement. Her pink tongue bathed Elizabeth's hand as she reached out to touch the white tuft of fur between the puppy's ears. She had little patches of white surrounding her feet, looking as though she wore slippers. Her fur was soft. Pulling the bright pink ribbon from her pocket, Elizabeth held it out for the dog to poke at and sniff.
"I think she likes the ribbon," Charlotte observed, taking one of them from Elizabeth and tying it around the puppy's ear while Elizabeth did the same on the opposite side.
Instead of rubbing them off with her paws, the little dog's ears perked up and she moved her head from side to side as if asking them, "Do these ribbons bring out the sheen in my coat?"
Duchess barked her approval and Lady Lucas smiled. "She is rather vain, is she not?"
"She is perfect," said Elizabeth aloud. "For Lydia," she added in her own mind.
Lady Lucas grew serious, her lips trembling. She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am for your loss."
Her sorrow pierced Elizabeth's heart. Mother had tormented Lady Lucas for as long as Elizabeth could remember. Her constant unflattering comparisons of their daughters always fared ill for Lady Lucas, but she had borne it like a true lady. It touched Elizabeth that Lady Lucas should be moved to tears when one, whom she well could have considered an enemy, was no longer a part of her life.
"Thank you, Lady Lucas. We are still in a state of shock, and I will admit I am not at peace to mourn her properly until the identity of the individual who acted so violently against Mother is discovered." Now was her chance. She would not waste it. "Now that a couple of days have passed, do you remember anything which might help me?"
Lady Lucas gazed blankly into the fire. "I am so sorry I cannot help you."
Not easily deterred, Elizabeth pressed, "Are you certain? You were with a group of ladies. Why were you there?"
Lady Lucas swallowed hard, but she kept her face turned away. The flames flickered across her pale face.
"Mother, it is a simple enough question. Is it a worthy cause for the war against Napoleon?" To Elizabeth, Charlotte added, "Mother often participates in charitable causes. Most likely that is all it was."
Calling to her maid, Lady Lucas rose shakily to her feet. "I apologize, girls. I am unwell and must rest. Pray excuse me."
She leaned on her maid while Duchess trotted beside her to the bed. "Close the curtains before you leave, Charlotte. Have the maid take the puppy downstairs for Miss Elizabeth."
With a confused glance at Elizabeth, Charlotte did as she was bid.
There was nothing left to do but leave. Gathering Lydia's puppy in her arms and receiving a kiss of thanks for her gesture, Elizabeth handed the squirming dog over to the maid and waited for Charlotte by the door just as a clock chimed the hour. The familiar sound froze the blood in Elizabeth's veins, and she strained her eyes in the darkness in search of its source.
She found it just before Charlotte drew the curtains. On the small table beside Lady Lucas' bed sat the marble mantel clock. The same clock which had disappeared from the shelf behind Mother on the day of her murder.
Chapter 19
Darcy sat looking out of the parlor window as Bingley paced back and forth, wearing a path in his carpet from the window to the door.
"Sit down, Mr. Bingley. Your constant movement is aggravating." Aunt Catherine, Darcy had noticed, had donned her stiffest silk gown and her biggest jewels. Her maid had teased her hair to imposing heights, towering over the top of the chair she occupied. Anne had been instructed to remain in her rooms lest the confrontation induce an episode.
Bingley dropped into the nearest chair, crossing one foot over the other, then switching them again. Just watching him made Darcy nervous.
"Really, Mr. Bingley," declared Aunt Catherine, her patience put to the ultimate test by his constant fidgeting. Bingley would be the least of her worries as soon as Lord Harvisham arrived.
"I apologize, Lady Catherine. This makes the second time a guest in my home has been suspected of murder. I fear the good people of Meryton will begin to think this estate is cursed. I know I am inclined to think it."
Darcy had not considered how Lord Harvisham's visit would affect Bingley, other than the nerves it would induce at his being forced to witness an altercation. "Mere circumstance, Bingley. Far more good has come of your residence here than bad. You ought to think of that."
"Not if you ask Caroline and Louisa," mumbled Bingley.
"Their stay here can only lead to disappointment," said Darcy.
"I know that. They ought to know it too."
"How is that?" asked Aunt Catherine. "I was under the impression they sought the peace and tranquility of the countryside. If that is their purpose here, why should they be disappointed?" She shifted in her seat and looked nervously at the door, which remained closed. No footsteps echoed in the marble hall to alert them of the arrival of Lord Harvisham.
Bingley stuttered to find a suitable answer. He was not blinded by ambition as his sisters were. He knew very well that no matter how much Miss Bingley befriended Aunt Catherine, the matron would never approve of a match between a lady whose dowry was earned through trade and her nephew.
"Miss Bingley wishes to marry into a fortune," said Darcy.
Aunt Catherine rolled her eyes. "Then she should have remained in London. The only gentleman of fortune here is —" She cut her sentence short and her eyes widened as realization dawned like the summer sun, bright and clear.
Darcy did not spare her. After all, she had been the one to accept Miss Bingley's offer of hospitality without the least concern of how it would affect anyone other than herself. Her own selfishness had prevented her from seeing the true intentions of an unyielding aspirant who would seek out her good opinion.
Pinching her lips and flaring her nostrils, Aunt said, "It will not do. You must think of Georgiana's future. Her prospects are of the utmost importance and marrying into a family tainted by trade would limit her options. You would be better off with that —”
"Bennet girl?" Darcy finished for her. "I agree wholeheartedly with you, Aunt. How perceptive of you."
Aunt Catherine huffed, the veins in her neck and temples casting a greenish hue to her complexion. "You know very well that is not what I meant."
"Then, perhaps, you should have spoken more plainly." Look at him giving advice he would do well to heed himself! He still did not understand his wrong against Elizabeth, but he was not so foolish as to fail to notice a certain pattern in their arguments. It always came down to a misunderstanding — one which he should have clarified from the beginning, but failed to because of his failure to explain more than was necessary before she could jump to all the wrong conclusions. His entire life as the master of a large estate had trained him to give orders and have them obeyed. Never had he been presumed upon to offer an explanation. Until Elizabeth.
While his aunt huffed and puffed, and Bingley cleared his throat and coughed to disguise his laugh, Darcy attempted to understand where he had erred. What had he done wrong? He had only wanted to help her, yet she seemed ungrateful. Had he left out some important detail about Anne? Elizabeth had immediately pitied Anne, but not for the reasons Darcy had supposed she would.
Darcy was on the brink of understanding — it was so close, he could have reached out and touched it — when the door opened and Lord Harvisham entered the room, closely followed by Tanner and Richard. Darcy wanted to ask Richard where he had been, but it would wait. The spectacle before them was worthy of his full attention.
Aunt Catherine's spine stiffened so severely, her corset creaked.
Lord Harvisham stood before her, his stony gaze taking in every detail from her exaggerated hair to her gaudy gown. She met his eyes, but Darcy saw her struggle to maintain her composure. Raising her chin and feigning haughtiness, she finally looked to her skirts as if they were much more interesting to arrange than to stare into the face of an elderly man who had once captured her heart. Darcy believed the story now.
Bingley extended his arm out to the chairs beside Lord Harvisham, but the earl remained standing before Aunt Catherine.
"First, allow me a word with our suspect, gentlemen. There is something I have been waiting to tell her these many years.”
Chairs scraped as they rose to leave.
Lord Harvisham raised his hand. “No, please stay. I will afford Cathy the same courtesy she gave me.”
He could have said nothing else to increase Aunt Catherine’s anxiety more. She hated being at the center of a spectacle. Darcy saw her pulse thrumming through her veins as if they would leap out of her skin. She clasped her hands and arched her neck to a flattering angle, raising her eyebrows in feigned surprise and boredom. Her act was superior to any performance Darcy had seen on the stage, but he knew her too well to be fooled by it. As did Lord Harvisham.
Sitting directly across from her, he leaned forward, capturing her eyes so that she would have had to turn her head to look away.
“When you refused my hand …” he began, pausing long enough for Aunt Catherine to swallow hard and for Darcy to have to remind himself to breathe.
Leaning back in his chair, Lord Harvisham continued, “… it did not take long for me to realize the gift you had given me. I am eternally grateful to you, Cathy, and I want you to know I have not harbored any resentment toward you these many years. I hope you have been as happy.”
Darcy’s relief was so great, he nearly laughed. He did not have the same freedom of expression which would have brought certain laughter to Elizabeth, but he would relate this story with all of its details to her just to hear it again.
However, Lord Harvisham’s words did not have the same effect on Aunt Catherine. Her eyes narrowed and her
complexion mottled. “You came here to insult me? You presume to use my Christian name and pretend I meant nothing to you? How dare you!”
“There was a time you meant the world to me.”
Aunt’s cold chortle bode ill for Lord Harvisham. “Is that why you married the …” Aunt fluttered her fingers. “What was she? Something humble and average.”
Lord Harvisham went still. “You speak of my wife’s origins as if they formed part of her character. Let me assure you, they only served to refine her.”
With another chuckle, Aunt said, “Ah, I remember now. She was the parson’s daughter, was she not?” Aunt may as well have accused her of being a prostitute for all the vile with which she pronounced her lowly position.
“I warn you not to speak derisively of my wife. She was an excellent woman, with a grace and dignity far above those who later became her peers.”
With a loud harrumph, Aunt’s sharp tongue lashed out. “A nobody who became a titled lady.”
“Only your lot considered her beneath you. She became everything to me.”
“Everything? When she brought nothing to your union? Love passes, but a fortune is inherited for generations after you are gone. That is how you make your name remembered.”
Darcy shook his head. For a moment, he had felt as if his father was in the room with his ambition and craving for prominence. When people remembered George Darcy, they thought of a hard man of weak virtue who was willing to trample over others to grasp at fortune and position.
Lord Harvisham’s voice vibrated through the room. “I had a wife I adored and three boys whom we raised together to be outstanding men. Had you condescended to accept my offer of marriage, I would have become the most miserable man in all of England before you drove me to madness.”
“And yet, I was the first to receive your offer.” Aunt Catherine said triumphantly, as if she could win this argument.