by Jennifer Joy
“Cousin Elizabeth, what I have to discuss with Mr. Bennet is of a delicate nature and will be best seen to between gentlemen. I would be remiss to burden you with information which hardly pertains to a gentleman’s daughter.”
Balking at the idea that a gentleman could attend to a ‘delicate’ matter better than a lady, she opened her mouth to protest.
“Lizzy, dear, perhaps you had best go upstairs for the time being. You must be tired.” Father arched his eyebrow and winked at her.
Her insult ran harmlessly through her mind, forgoing her tongue. She would do exactly what her father suggested she do. Elizabeth knew very well what his wink had meant, and she was glad to have received his permission to eavesdrop.
Going up the stairs, she sat three steps down from the top and settled in to listen by the hole between the bookshelf and the stairwell.
She slouched down, bringing her ear as close as she could without causing the wood step to squeak.
“Mr. Bennet, you are aware of my purpose in visiting you and my fair cousins,” began Mr. Collins.
“Yes, you made your intentions clear in your letter. You wish to marry one of my daughters.”
“It is the wish of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, that I marry, and I felt it my duty to choose first among your daughters, since they stand to benefit the most from such an advantageous alliance.”
“That was generous of you.” Elizabeth could hear Father rolling his eyes.
“Yes, I think so. And it was gracious of Lady Catherine to agree to my plan. However, I fear that with the occurrence of recent startling events, my initial purpose must be postponed. You see, the nephew of my esteemed patroness is under suspicion of murder.”
Now that had gotten Father’s attention. As it had hers. Elizabeth stopped breathing so as to hear better.
“What? Of whom?”
“None other than Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth went numb. Poor Mr. Wickham. Who could have done such a thing? Mr. Wickham was the most charming, interesting, affable man in the militia. Everyone thought so. Everyone except Mr. Darcy.
Oh no! Mr. Darcy. Had Elizabeth not known him for a fact to be innocent, she would have believed him capable of murder after witnessing his stormy departure from Mr. Wickham’s tent the day before. How many villagers had seen him too?
Mr. Collins continued, interrupting her disbelief that one so vibrant and young should now be dead, and her dread that the wrong person was a prime suspect. “Yes, it is a serious affair. It is known that Mr. Darcy quarreled with Mr. Wickham the very day of his death and, apparently, it is known throughout Meryton that they have been longtime enemies.”
So everyone knew how Mr. Darcy had wronged Mr. Wickham? While it had not struck Elizabeth as being improper when Mr. Wickham had revealed his tale of woe to her in confidence, it seemed wrong that so many people should be aware of it.
Mr. Collins continued, “As you know, I stayed behind to offer my counsel when Mr. Stallard, Colonel Forster, and the constable arrived at Netherfield Park. Two of the gentlemen were sensible and agreed with me that a gentleman such as Mr. Darcy, a man descending from a grand family, could not possibly have committed such a mortal sin against his fellowman. However, the constable’s manners filled me with unease, and I feel it my duty to get to the bottom of this affair before unjust accusations are made against a family undeserving of reproach.”
The constable? What could Mr. Tanner have against Mr. Darcy— other than his position in society? Elizabeth knew Mr. Tanner’s feelings on the subject, but she had never known his prejudice to blind him. If he was the one to accuse Mr. Darcy, on what did he base his suspicion? Elizabeth bit her lips to prevent herself from shouting what she wished her father would ask.
“I see.”
“I am relieved you do. My affection and future happiness must take a secondary place to the reputation and good standing of the relatives of Lady Catherine. I feel certain she would advise me to act in the manner in which I have done, were she here to bestow upon us her wisdom and counsel. I would write to her immediately of the situation, but Mr. Darcy instructed me not to reveal anything to her until he gives me leave.”
“A sensible recommendation, by all means. There is no reason to cause alarm just yet, I should think. Now, perhaps you can tell me, Mr. Collins, on what grounds Mr. Tanner’s suspicions lie?”
Thank you, Papa!
Mr. Collins clucked his tongue and sighed. “He has no grounds at all. Unless he can find someone to profess that at the hour of midnight, Mr. Darcy was not present at the Netherfield Ball, he has no proof whatsoever. As I mentioned to Mr. Stallard and Colonel Forster, what individual would pay heed to the clock during a ball so as to notice the hour?”
So Mr. Darcy would rather allow himself to be accused of a murder he could not have committed rather than admit to a compromise with her… Elizabeth felt both relieved and insulted.
“I assure you, Mr. Collins, some of us paid very close attention to the clock. It was as good company as could be found at the ball and cheered me greatly with each marking of the hour counting down until such a time as I could depart.”
Elizabeth clamped her hand over her mouth. Did Father know of her compromise? No, surely he could not…. Could he?
Father, unable to take her hint to remain silent, continued, “And I can name one other individual who was aware of Mr. Darcy’s every move the entire evening.”
Elizabeth strained her ears, wishing the hole allowed her to see as well as hear.
“Miss Elizabeth?” a feminine voice from the top of the stairs startled her, causing her to sit upright with a yelp.
Spinning up to her feet, Elizabeth turned to face Mrs. Yeats, who looked at her curiously.
“Are you well?” Mrs. Yeats asked.
“I… yes, I am well.” What explanation could she possibly give that would not reveal her impropriety in eavesdropping?
“You appear to have fallen asleep on the stairs. Might I suggest that some moments’ rest in your bed is infinitely more refreshing?”
“You are quite right,” Elizabeth agreed before Mrs. Yeats could question her further.
Making her way down the hall to her bedchamber, she closed the door behind her with a sigh. Mrs. Yeats was a welcome addition to their family, but she had horribly poor timing.
Elizabeth could not imagine how she was to sleep after what she had heard.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth flung the covers off her and groaned. The sun setting outside of her window and the descending darkness in her room increased her frustration. She had not meant to fall asleep. It was becoming a disturbing habit and, lately, the ramifications had been dire.
Breezing down the stairs, she went in search of Father. She had not heard his entire conversation with Mr. Collins, but she had heard enough to increase her anxiety.
His study was empty. So was the drawing room. It was not until her third attempt she found him in the dining room. Father sat at the head of the table with a cup of steaming tea in his hand. He looked blankly out of the window, no doubt enjoying his brief moments of peace before the rest of the family joined him.
“Father?” Elizabeth asked so as not to startle him.
He motioned for her to sit next to him. “You did not sleep long. I daresay your mother and sisters are still partaking of their beauty rest.”
“And well they should. I, too, would have slept longer had it not been for some thoughts troubling my mind.”
Sliding his spectacles down his nose, Father looked over them at her. “Troubling thoughts? Has it anything to do with what you overheard in the study?” He grinned impishly.
She laughed. “One of these days, you will repair the hole, and then what will I do?”
“I have no secrets from my daughters— especially the sensible ones.” He reached over to pat her hand. Did he know of her secret?
Before she could find a way to ask without revealing what she wished to keep hidden, he continued,
“What do you think of Mr. Collins’ news to— how did he put it?— set aside his happiness and matrimonial bliss in the greater interest of his esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”
Elizabeth knew it was a little wicked to smile so completely, but she was too happy not to. “That was the best of news, and my relief on hearing it was immeasurable.”
Father chuckled. “I noticed how quickly he directed his attentions to you when Mrs. Bennet implied that Jane was soon to be engaged. At least, now, you will be spared from having to refuse him. It would appear that, unpleasant as he is, Mr. Darcy has saved you from an unwanted match. How fortune he is the nephew to such a highly esteemed lady as Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth laughed at his pompous tone. Indeed, Mr. Darcy had come to her aid. What would Father think if he knew the truth? Would he understand? Did he already know?
“Would you have understood my reasons for refusing him?” Elizabeth asked, her merriness cooling. She did not like keeping secrets— especially from Father. But to admit her refusal extended to Mr. Darcy as well as Mr. Collins would be to admit her compromise. An offer of marriage, even a forced one, was no small matter in a household with five unmarried daughters with meager dowries and no prospects.
Glancing toward the door, Father lowered his voice. “Mr. Collins is as big a fool as his father before him. I could not spend more than five minutes in that man’s presence before wishing to be at a tea party with your mother and Aunt Philips— where my ears would bleed from their excessive gossip and nonsense.” He chased his shiver with a chuckle before dropping his voice and speaking seriously again. “It is one of my greatest sorrows that his offspring should inherit Longbourn.”
A lamp lit in Elizabeth’s mind. “Is that why you have not bothered to make repairs or improve the estate since Lydia was born?”
Father blushed like a scolded child. “You have learned my great secret! You are a clever one. I may have to pass my estate on to Mr. Collins, but I will not hand it to him in pristine condition.”
“But Father, what if one of us does marry him? I do not think that a match with Mary is too far-fetched.”
Father shrugged. “If that happens, then I suppose I would make more of an effort. To tell you the truth, my dear Lizzy, I have so long neglected our property, it has become quite a habit. It will be difficult to break.”
“It all comes down to revenge then. You despised Mr. Collins’ father, and so you have been doing everything possible to make his son’s inheritance difficult.”
“Never underestimate the power of revenge,” he said in mock gravity. “It makes men act in ways they would not otherwise act.”
Like the accusations against Mr. Darcy. Once again, it struck Elizabeth that had she not been with him during the professed time of the crime, even she would have held doubts against him. That he resented Mr. Wickham was obvious to anyone who had seen the two gentlemen near each other.
“That is what has been worrying my mind. I do so wish you would not get involved in this business with Mr. Wickham’s murder.”
Father’s eyebrows bunched up. “Why not? Would you withhold evidence from an investigation which could allow a murderer his liberty?”
“No! Never! My sense of justice would not allow it. However, I cannot help but feel that your testimony would only make Mr. Darcy look guiltier than he already does.”
The chair creaked as Father sat back and crossed his arms. “You do not believe that a man like Mr. Darcy is capable of murder?”
“That is not what I mean. A man of fortune and high society is capable of anything. I do, however, have my doubts about the suspicions against Mr. Darcy. I do not believe him guilty.”
“On what grounds? Unless you can say with certainty where he was at midnight, you have no reason to doubt the claim against him.” He peered over his spectacles at her, inviting her to confide in him.
“It is only… I do not think that Mr. Darcy is the sort of gentleman to resort to such drastic measures.”
“Why? Because he is a gentleman? You surprise me, Lizzy. Any man, given sufficient motive, is capable of the worst atrocities. Even Mr. Darcy.”
“Yes, however…” She took too long to gather her thoughts. Why was she more concerned about Mr. Darcy— a man she highly disliked— than troubled over learning of Mr. Wickham’s sudden death? It made no sense!
Father leaned forward, grasping her chilled hands between his own. “Lizzy, is there something I should know?”
Yes, but how to do admit it?
Mother bustled into the room, waving a sheet of paper in her hand. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, I just heard from Mrs. Philips! Tell the servants to keep the doors locked tight and to post a night watch! There is a murderer in Meryton!”
The ladies had already laid down by the time Bingley inquired of them. The gentlemen, not wishing to disturb them unnecessarily, arranged to call back with Mr. Tanner that evening before the hour to dine.
When they did return, Darcy waited in the drawing room along with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, who had nothing of interest to relate. Mr. Hurst had napped through most of the ball the preceding evening and had nothing to add to anyone else’s observations. His interview with Mrs. Hurst had not taken more than ten minutes. Miss Bingley, on the other hand, apparently had much to say.
After a half an hour had passed, Miss Bingley sauntered into the room. She paused in the doorway. Darcy tried not to look interested, but his knee bounced in agitation.
Heaving a loud sigh meant to draw everyone’s eye, she said, “What a bothersome ordeal. Mr. Stallard was most understanding, but I have not seen the likes of Mr. Tanner’s brusque manners since the last time I was forced to travel by post coach.” She shivered at what must have been a repulsive memory.
“Of what did they inquire?” asked Darcy.
She took the opportunity to sit near him. Leaning forward as if they shared an intimate secret, she said, “They asked about you. They wanted to know if I could account for your presence at the hour of midnight. Do not worry. I did not tell them of your indiscretion.”
Darcy’s blood froze. What did she mean by ‘indiscretion’? “Did you tell them you saw me come in from out of doors?”
She smiled and whispered. “I did not. I told them the clock struck twelve just as you passed by me in the entrance hall.”
Darcy sat back and squeezed his temples. “I wish you would have been honest with them. If they catch your lie, they will not only distrust anything else you may have told them, but they will also think worse of me.”
Shrugging her shoulders, she said in a whisper so quiet, Darcy had to read her pouting lips, “I never get caught. You have no need to worry on my account, Mr. Darcy. If anything, I have helped you escape from an unsuitable marriage.”
She knew. Of course, she would perish before breathing a word of it. Darcy supposed she would allow him to hang before she would admit to a compromise which would see Miss Elizabeth installed as the Mistress of Pemberley instead of her. Did Miss Elizabeth value her freedom more than his life? Dear Lord, he hoped it did not come to that!
Miss Bingley placed her fingers on his forearm, an intimacy he rewarded by moving his arm and turning in the settee so as to increase the distance between them.
Unabashed, she continued, “I do not doubt but that I have single-handedly spared you from further questioning by the inept constable. What a tiresome man. He insisted on speaking with the gardener. As if a servant would know anything of import.” She scoffed.
Mr. Hurst spoke up. “You ought to hire your own investigator. A more capable professional would make short work of this mess without half the bother.”
“What an excellent idea, Mr. Hurst!” said his wife, grasping onto the one intelligent comment he had made in a fortnight.
Darcy had considered it… for all of a minute. An investigator would ask questions Darcy did not want to answer. He had too many secrets. Not only did he fear for Georgiana’s reputation, but he now held the future o
f Miss Elizabeth in his hands. His sense of honor forbade him from betraying her so easily.
“Mr. Darcy does not need an investigator. He is smarter than most of them anyway. He would sooner bring the real murderer to justice than anyone else who could be hired,” said Miss Bingley.
He was about to give an answer when Bingley appeared in the doorway. His cravat fell in limp folds down his wrinkled waistcoat. His shoulders sagged in his coat. “Darcy, may I have a word?”
Darcy rose to join him. “Have you not slept at all, Bingley?” he asked as they made their way up the stairs to Bingley’s study.
“I have received some distressing news, and my hope is that you will have a clear explanation for it.” Bingley pinched his chin, reddening his already mottled skin.
“Distressing news?”
“Yes, from my gardener. While Colonel Forster and the constable were here, the gardener informed me that while he was inspecting the grounds, he found the gravel under the library window disturbed. Mr. Tanner went out to inspect it with him.”
Darcy grimaced. What an annoyance. “I suppose he thinks I somehow left the party, traveled the three miles to Meryton, shot Wickham, and returned before anyone noticed I was gone.”
“It does seem far-fetched when you put it that way.”
“That is because it is. I did not leave Netherfield Park last night.”
“But, Darcy, nobody remembers seeing you at that hour. Caroline ensured it by inquiring about your whereabouts several times when you escaped her sight— despite what she told Mr. Stallard. You simply disappeared.” He held up his hands. “Now, do not give me that look, Darcy. I do not believe you capable of killing a man, but blast it all if you do not look guilty.”
Darcy widened his stance, feeling the blow of accusation hitting him full force. What had started out as a trifling annoyance, of which he was certain to free himself, was growing into a real concern— a fatal one. “Wickham had many enemies. He carried debts all over England, and he had caused the ruin of more than one maiden. When Mr. Stallard told us he had been shot through the chest, I was not surprised.”