by D. L. Carter
Bingley could easily be described as amiable and, while not the greatest wit, clever enough to manage the business and money he had inherited. The only problem Mr. Bennet could see for Jane’s happy marriage to this pup was, for as long as Mr. Bingley continued to defer to his friend and social superior, he could not be counted as secure in his standing in society. Bingley was not a sycophant but he did show a touch too much consideration toward Mr. Darcy’s opinions and preferences, until his own were almost invisible.
Mr. Darcy himself was, indeed, worth watching. Tall, stately in manner, refined and reserved in dress. However, even perfection of character, of dress, of estate and nobility of family revealed entertaining foibles. Mr. Bennet watched their various performances, prepared to be well amused.
Bingley asked for advice and direction in everything from his choice of weapon to his posture while shooting. By contrast Mr. Darcy stood firm on his own feet and held his own opinions - and acted upon them. Mr. Darcy was economical in his movements, silent in his stance and accurate in his aim. The less Mr. Darcy spoke the more Mr. Bennet found himself suppressing a smile.
Bingley let loose with a barrage of admiration of Darcy’s style of shooting just as the silent, morose Hurst – husband of Bingley's younger sister, Louisa - took his shot, and missed.
Given how easily led Mr. Bingley appeared, he could have become one of the foolish men of fashion if he’d fallen under Hurst’s influence instead of attaching himself to Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Bennet's sycophantic cousin, Mr. Collins, was burden enough without adding a stupid son-in-law.
Well, a few years of fatherhood and Jane’s gentle guidance, and if Bingley were going to become any sort of man, Mr. Bennet would be pleased to watch him discover it.
Having Mr. Bingley as a son-in-law would be good entertainment in the years to come. Yes, Mr. Bennet could be proud of that young man and give Jane into his keeping with confidence.
Rapid feet charged through the half frozen mud behind them caught all their attention. The men put up their weapons at a warning cry from the hunt master and turned to stare.
Mr. Bennet frowned as he recognized one of his younger servants stumbling across the uneven ground.
“John? What goes, lad?” demanded Mr. Bennet. “Is something amiss at home?”
“Sir. Sir,” gasped the boy. “You… 'Tis Miss Lizzy, sir. She says as how you must come home, sir. 'Tis important.”
“Lizzy? Lizzy has sent for me?” At the boy’s nod, Bennet handed over his gun to another servant. “Gentlemen, please excuse me. I must return home.”
“Is aught the matter, Mr. Bennet?” said Bingley, who was conscious of his duties as the host as well as a sudden concern for the Bennet family in general and Miss Jane in particular. “May I aid you in any way? Shall I send for my carriage?”
Mr. Bennet hesitated, then moved closer to his servant. “Do you have any information, John? What can you tell me?”
“Well, Meg, the kitchen maid says as how they’ve sent for the magistrate and the coroner as well.”
“Me?” Squire Pennington, the local magistrate, cried, stepping closer. “What has gone forward?”
“Why would your daughter need the coroner?” demanded Mr. Darcy.
“Good heavens,” cried Bingley. “Why the coroner and not the apothecary?”
“Oh, they’ve sent for him too,” the servant assured them. “And the constable, an’ all.”
As Mr. Bennet went pale and staggered on the uneven ground, Bingley stepped forward to take the elder man’s arm.
“Mr. Bennet, sir, if you will permit, we shall see you home with the greatest dispatch. A carriage will be prepared...”
“You, lad,” Darcy waved to Bingley’s servants. “Run ahead. Carriages take too long. Horses are to be readied immediately and bring them here to meet us.”
The servant touched his cap and set off at a run.
***
Mr. Bennet remained voiceless and impassive the length of the journey home. It was not until he entered Longbourn to be greeted by all the ladies of his household that he drew a deep breath and seemed to come to life. Mrs. Bennet charged down the stairs to seize his arm.
“Oh, Mr. Bennet. Mr. Bennet, we are in an uproar! Mr. Collins is dead and now he cannot marry Lizzy! We shall be cast out to starve in the hedgerows!”
Mr. Bennet stepped into his hall, his gaze taking in both the linen covered shape at the bottom of the stairs and his daughter, his dearest Lizzy. He gave his frantic wife a distracted hug and set her to one side.
“Lizzy, my dear,” he said softly to the pale creature who sat on the hall bench. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“It is of everything horrible,” interrupted his wife. “And what are you thinking, bringing the hunt home? I am not prepared. This is not the time to be offering a Hunt Cup. Lizzy, willful child, would not permit the … the … him to be removed - some nonsense about the coroner - and we are all frantic.”
“She was entirely correct,” declared Mr. Bennet to the only frantic creature he knew. “Jane, please, take your mother above stairs.”
“Yes, father.”
“But. But,” stuttered Mrs. Bennet.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet, I must insist,” said her husband. “There is work to be done this day and it would offend your sensibilities to endure it. Please go upstairs and leave all to me.”
“But you cannot have the gentlemen come in,” protested his wife, as she slowly strangled her kerchief. “What they must think of us?”
“No more and no less than ever they did,” her husband assured her. “No, my dear, you must leave us to it. Lizzy has the right of it. Now go and rest.”
Casting a glare toward her oblivious daughter, Mrs. Bennet suffered herself to be borne upstairs as the gentlemen of the hunt divested themselves of their outerwear and without even the pretense of gaining an invitation from the mistress of the house.
***
Never in the history of Mrs. Bennet’s very good dinners, card parties and suppers had her front hall been so crowded. The gentlemen attending the morning’s hunt constituted a respectable collection of the local gentry, all sent by their wives to impress the new arrivals in the neighborhood. With Bingley and Darcy, the men accounted ten in number, with the arrival of the constable, Sergeant McHween, the apothecary Mr. Honeywell, and Mr. Jeffers the coroner, the hallway barely allowed polite breathing space. With Mr. Jeffers came the vicar, Mr. Prescott, (cousin to Mr. Jeffers.) They had been engaging in their weekly chess game when they’d received Mr. Hill’s summons.
Also in their carriage came Mr. Fitzwallace, the newly employed curate.
It was necessary for Squire Pennington, the magistrate, an ancient, solid gentleman better known for his ability to ride to hounds than his jurisprudence, to raise his voice quite loudly to be heard over the questions and cross-questioning.
While the other men were thus engaged, Mr. Bennet escorted his second daughter down the hall to a quieter corner where they could converse.
“Quickly, my dear, tell me. What has happened? And, if you can, save your entirely justified distress until later, please do.”
Lizzy gave a sharp nod but did not raise her gaze from the floor; therefore she did not see that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had positioned themselves near enough to overhear all.
“Oh, papa, I am so sorry.”
Mr. Bennet laid a hand over Elizabeth’s chill fingers.
“I am certain you did nothing wrong.”
Lizzy shook her head and in a bare whisper began: “Mr. Collins solicited my mother for an opportunity for private speech with me. I knew his intent was to propose and tried to turn him from his purpose but mother insisted I stay and hear him.”
Mr. Bennet muttered a barely-heard curse and Lizzy nodded.
“Yes, she must have waited for you to leave. I felt it was arranged between them. He was so smug and certain of his success.”
“I do not doubt it. What happened next?”
“He made the oddest speech about his patroness encouraging him to marry, his role as your heir, and then became quite … overly familiar.”
There was an indrawn breath that caught both their attention. Father and daughter looked up to see Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy watching them. Elizabeth gave a small cry and turned her face away and thereby did not witness the expression of pain and sympathy that passed across Mr. Darcy’s face.
“My dear,” said Mr. Bennet urging her to raise her chin. “You will have to tell the tale before the inquest. These, at least, will be sympathetic listeners.”
Lizzy sighed and nodded again.
“What manner of familiar, Miss Bennet?” asked Mr. Darcy. “It is necessary to be clear. Mr. Jeffers will ask, or one of the jury shall, and you should be prepared with your answer. I know it will be difficult but you must answer in a detailed manner.”
“He did not touch me, if that is what you mean,” said Elizabeth as her blush darkened. “At least, not in the parlor.”
“Were you in the parlor when this began?”
Mr. Darcy’s voice was soft. There was a gentleness to his manner, the set of his shoulders, his whole form that surprised Elizabeth. Never in the weeks of their acquaintance had he been so approachable. His voice, usually curt, was warm. His gaze, when she dared to meet his eyes, was … what could she call it? He looked upon her with favor! In these dreadful circumstances he seemed to like her. What an odd change about!
“Must you know?”
“Everything must be recorded in the Attestation, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy. “It is a legal document that the coroner will create. He must know all, if he is to render his verdict on this event.”
“If you insist.”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “It is the law, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Very well. We were alone for the barest moment,” said Elizabeth, frowning as she forced herself to remember the unpleasant morning. “I assure you he did not … impose upon me in any significant manner. His manner was encroaching. It was only that he made a proposal that I rejected and he refused to accept my word and persisted in haranguing me, insisting that he should be accepted.”
“I did not mean to suggest any impropriety occurred, Miss Bennet.”
“You have some experience in this field?” inquired Mr. Bennet.
“Indeed, sir,” said Mr. Darcy. “I read Law in Cambridge in expectation of assuming the duties of magistrate in my neighborhood when the current office holder retires.”
“Excellent,” said Mr. Bennet. “If you might assist my daughter with her preparations while I shall speak to the Squire Pennington and Mr. Jeffers. But before I leave, my dear, please how did this come to pass?”
He pointed to the body on the floor.
“Briefly, papa, Mr. Collins made the most preposterous proposal, refused to believe I would presume to decline the honor and when I departed the room he followed me. On the stairs…” Elizabeth hesitated. “He … I am not certain how but suddenly he … he fell.”
“Down the stairs,” said her father. “To his, forgive me my child, to his death.”
She nodded.
“Immediately or…” Darcy hesitated.
“Or?” repeated Elizabeth.
“Or did he linger?”
“No. By the time we reached his side he was not breathing.”
Mr. Bennet patted his daughter’s hand. “Mr. Darcy, you are acquainted with the progress of an inquest?”
“Indeed. I would be honored to be of assistance to Miss Elizabeth.”
“Thank you. Then you should perhaps adjourn to my bookroom for pen and paper and a moment of privacy so she might clear her mind.”
Chapter Three
“Mr. Darcy, I apologize for drawing you into this situation,” began Elizabeth, watching as the door closed behind her father. Truly, her father must be distracted indeed to leave her alone with an unmarried gentleman.
“Not at all, Miss Elizabeth, I am more than willing to be of assistance to you.”
Elizabeth huddled down further into her chair, but her attention was directed toward the closed door.
“What are they about?” she asked in the softest voice he had heard her use. “What shall they require of me?”
In all the time Darcy had the benefit of knowing Miss Elizabeth he knew she valued honesty and directness of speech therefore he was as practical as he would be to any young gentleman in a similar situation.
“First, they will decide if the inquest should be held today. Since your father will be presenting the death as a simple accident and there is no reason to conduct a search for an attacker…”
“Because I am here.”
“Because you are not an attacker,” said Darcy, firmly. “Since this is a legal gathering it is necessary that you do not accuse yourself. If anything you say should remind them you were fleeing an intolerable situation.”
“Yes, intolerable.”
Her voice continued soft and the pallor of her lips and cheeks were beginning to concern him. He went to where Mr. Bennet had a tray with a decanter of brandy and small glass. When he pointed to the glass Miss Elizabeth declined with a shake of her head.
“Come. Come, Miss Elizabeth. Are you not the woman who declared that your spirit rises at any attempt to intimidate you?”
“Oh, heavens.” Lizzy gave a shaky laugh. “Where did you hear me say that?”
“I think I do not remember exactly but you were discussing matters with your sister one evening when you were in company with us, when Miss Bingley was being … unpleasant.”
“Foolish child that I was. I cannot imagine such circumstances as this occurring.”
“I have faith in you. Miss Elizabeth. You have the strength to endure.”
“Thank you,” was her muted reply.
Darcy’s concern deepened. She was in shock. Truly, any gentlewoman confronted with the sudden death of a suitor, even an unwelcome one, would have the order of her spirit disturbed. If brandy would not do, what should she have? How could he aid her?
“Perhaps I should ask Mrs. Hill to keep you company,” suggested Darcy. “A dish of tea? Would that restore you?”
“That would be most welcome, Mr. Darcy.”
“Bear up, Miss Elizabeth. You are not alone.”
He glanced about finally sighting the bell-pull behind the master’s desk. A sharp tug summoned Mrs. Hill herself who stared at Miss Elizabeth as if she had never seen the girl before. Darcy cleared his throat catching the housekeeper’s attention. The woman gave a belated curtsy.
“Miss Elizabeth is overset, as you can see. She would benefit from a dish of tea, and can you see if a blanket could be fetched?”
When Mrs. Hill left, Darcy busied himself with the fire. At this time of the year a low fire shimmered in the grate but now Darcy could see that Elizabeth needed more than mere warmth, she needed restoration. A high-burning blaze, Darcy knew, gave strength with the light as well as heat. Elizabeth confirmed his supposition by coming to stand beside the fireplace, staring into the blaze and holding out her hands.
When Hill returned she placed a tea service on a side table before warming the shawl she carried before draping it across Elizabeth's shoulders.
“Shall you take some tea, Mr. Darcy,” offered Miss Elizabeth, with the same courtesy he remembered from her mother’s dinners.
“Thank you, yes,” said Darcy, automatically. “Come. Come, to your father’s desk. Shall I prepare a pen for you?”
Elizabeth stood, the shawl Mrs. Hill had just placed about her shoulders falling away as she gave a shallow laugh.
“Pen? I can mend my own pens, thank you,” she declared, flashing him the faint shadow of the teasing look he well remembered.
“Excellent.” He smiled to acknowledge the shared memory and held out a hand, then his gaze focused and he stared at her bodice. “Wait. What is this?”
Lizzy halted, looking down, then cried out and pulled the shawl back across her body.
&
nbsp; “No, Miss Elizabeth. Show me. When did this happen? Did that scoundrel strike you?”
When she lowered the shawl he caught hold of her left hand and examined her arm. The thin muslin cap sleeve hung down, torn clearly free of its stitching. Along the length of her smooth upper arms were lines of reddened skin that foretold coming bruises.
“What did that scoundrel do to you?” he demanded, fury lighting his eyes.
“Nothing? Nothing I assure you.” Elizabeth backed away, covering herself again.
“No, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy’s voice was low, soothing. “Quite obviously he did do something. You would not be so bruised unless that man tried to lay hands on you. I hold him entirely responsible but I must know, why did he take hold of you?”
“I … I don’t entirely recall.”
She was so disturbed by the damage to her gown that Darcy retreated from that line of questioning. She was not recovered enough to speak of it, yet he must prepare her in case the inquest was convened today.
“Sit here,” Darcy held her father’s chair away from the desk. “You should prepare a declaration before you forget all that has gone forward. It must be written out, in your own hand and when the time comes you must read for Mr. Jeffers and jury to hear.”
“A letter?”
“A declaration of events which shall become part of the results of the inquisition. A written declaration is required to be submitted to the coroner.”
“Very well. What shall I say?”
“The truth. The facts. Simply and clearly.”
“I wish I could say I could do that, but I fear I cannot recall clearly.” She looked down at her bruised arm. “When did he take hold of me? Surely I should be able to say that. I should know, but I do not.”
“Please sit, and we shall go over the matter slowly.”
“As you say.”
She sat so that her face was turned away from his. Darcy accepted this snub suspecting she was trying to preserve the tattered remnant of her dignity and modesty.
“Begin,” said Darcy, softly. “How did this day, this interview, come about?”