by Jennifer Joy
Mother, who had incredibly good hearing in matters involving available gentlemen, said, “It is too bad an officer was not with you, Lizzy. We would have had a wedding before the end of the year!”
Kitty giggled with Mother. No doubt, they thought a marriage by compromise was romantic.
Elizabeth was glad that ringlets covered her ears. They burned all the more so when Miss Bingley sneered, “I would not think that Miss Elizabeth would resort to entrapping a poor officer when there are far superior gentlemen of fortune about.” She looked at Elizabeth through the slits of her eyes, awaiting the reassurance she desired.
Miss Bingley would rather watch Mr. Darcy be accused for a crime she knew him innocent of than to lose him to Elizabeth in a compromise she had unwittingly enabled. That knowledge made Elizabeth clamp her lips shut. Miss Bingley deserved to wallow miserably in her doubts.
“How romantic to marry an officer. They look so handsome in their scarlet coats and gold tassels,” sighed Kitty.
“I nearly married an officer, you know,” commented Mother, leaving the room in uncomfortable silence.
The door opened, and the gentlemen joined them before Elizabeth could redirect their deteriorating conversation.
“Let us entertain the gentlemen with some music,” suggested Mrs. Hurst, looking about for a volunteer.
Mary moved to rise, but Father walked over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder, thus preventing her from standing. Mary looked much put out, but Elizabeth was secretly grateful. As much as Mary practiced, she would only appear foolish compared to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.
When no one else moved toward the pianoforte, Miss Bingley rose in a flurry of haughty airs. “If no one else will oblige us, then perhaps I shall presume to entertain you.”
She crossed directly in front of Mr. Darcy. “Is there anyone who would be so kind as to turn the pages for me?” she asked coquettishly.
Mr. Darcy made no offer, even though Miss Bingley paused long enough for him to have done so.
Mrs. Hurst, always ready to attend to Miss Bingley’s cause, bustled to the bench to sit next to her sister when it appeared that Mr. Collins might have offered his assistance.
The gentlemen settled around the instrument, except for Mr. Darcy. He crossed the room to his favorite post— the window by the fireplace. Elizabeth saw the reflection of his face in the glass. Their eyes met and held for the duration of the piece.
When Miss Bingley began another piece, he sat in a chair near Elizabeth, his leg crossed toward her. Aware of his every movement, Elizabeth waited for him to say something.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he whispered her name, and she leaned slightly toward him without taking her eyes off Miss Bingley’s display of talent.
He continued, “I have learned some information from Mr. Collins which may prove valuable, while it also is detrimental to me. I am interested to hear if it coincides with what you learned from Mrs. Philips.”
She heard the strain in his voice and chanced a glance at his face. His eyes caught her, and she could not look away. His forehead creased in worry, and his dark eyes pleaded with her for something she did not understand.
He was innocent, of that she was certain. Therein lay the problem— only she was certain. And she was not like Miss Bingley. She could never allow him to face the gallows when it was in her power to free him.
Filling her lungs with air and courage, she whispered, “I know the idea is as disagreeable to you as it is to me, but one word from me can put an end to this.”
Holding her breath, she held his firm gaze until she felt she must look away or draw suspicious remarks from their party.
“I cannot ask that of you, knowing your thoughts on the subject. What is left for me to do is to ascertain who is behind this sordid mess before I am charged with a crime we both know I did not commit.”
“It has been two days. We do not have much time. The inquest has been arranged for Monday.” Oh, if only they could speak freely. Mr. Darcy was intelligent and, with her help, Elizabeth was certain they would soon find Mr. Wickham’s murderer.
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “There is no ‘we’ here. I do not doubt your capabilities, Miss Elizabeth, but I cannot allow it. How could I ensure your safety were you to discover the truth? Who is to say that whoever murdered Wickham would not do it again?”
“I am cautious.”
His eyebrows met together, forming a firm, almost angry, expression against which she instantly rebelled. Who was Mr. Darcy to order her about? She crossed her arms together, forgetting their need for discretion. She hissed, “I am an excellent judge of character. I would know.” She realized how silly she sounded, but her pride would not allow her to admit her mistake.
“An excellent judge of character? When you would accuse me— if not for certain events of which we must not speak— of murder? You would not know a murderer if he confessed it to you,” Darcy scoffed, returning ire for ire loudly enough that Mr. Bingley turned around to look at them.
Elizabeth clasped her hands in her lap and paid singular attention to Miss Bingley, who now sought to show them all how accomplished her singing voice was.
“Her singing is lovely,” she commented to Mr. Bingley, so that he turned back around.
Glaring at Mr. Darcy for doubting her abilities so completely— despite her own growing doubts— she forgot the insult aimed at him on the tip of her tongue when he smiled at her.
“That was ingenious,” he whispered.
What a maddening man. She could not justify her haughty anger after he paid her a compliment.
“Thank you,” she grumbled.
They sat in silence for several long seconds. Then, he leaned in again. He smelled like everything she loved about nature mixed with the undeniably masculine scents of sandalwood and shaving cream. “We need to talk. Meet me tomorrow at Oakham Mount at the time you normally take your walks?”
Taken aback that he remembered her walking habits, she next considered the obstacles. Mr. Darcy did not know how the arrival of Mrs. Yeats had imposed on her daily exercise. “I will be there,” she said, already scheming how she could escape from the house alone.
“Miss Elizabeth, promise me you will not investigate any further?”
Whether it was his nearness, his intoxicating smile, his smooth velvety tone, or his genuine concern, she did not know. But it soothed her, and she answered how she should have before. “I will do my best.”
“Why does that not reassure me?” he asked with a sigh, settling into his chair and focusing on the back of Mr. Bingley’s head.
The butler entered the room, his steps hesitant as he made his way to the master of Netherfield Park. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he whispered something to Mr. Bingley.
Mr. Bingley sprung from his chair, looked at Mr. Darcy, tugged his hand through his hair, and turned to follow the butler out of the drawing room without so much as a word.
Chapter 14
Darcy’s unease grew the longer Bingley was gone. Why had he looked at him before he left the room? The butler, too, had appeared quite shaken.
He looked askance at Miss Elizabeth. Shadows from the firelight behind them danced across her face. She chewed the corner of her mouth, and Darcy knew she was planning something. He dearly hoped it did not involve catching Wickham’s killer.
Darcy did not doubt her capable of solving the mystery and setting them both at their liberty, but whoever had murdered Wickham had managed to hide himself successfully thus far. If he killed Wickham, then what was to stop him from bringing harm to a curious maiden? And if Miss Stallard was involved, the danger to Miss Elizabeth was far greater. Darcy shivered despite the warmth in the room.
She looked at the door repeatedly, now discontent to chew only on the corner of her mouth as she bit her lips until they were as bright as ripe strawberries. What was she scheming? She shifted her weight forward, as if making to stand. She would not dare! Of course, she had promised him nothing. Had she done so
, she would have honored her word.
Before Miss Elizabeth could go out into the entrance hall, he stood. With his firmest stare, he willed her to stay in the drawing room.
She understood his meaning, even if she did not like it.
Crossing quietly to the door, he whipped around it and closed it behind him in one smooth motion.
Bingley had one hand behind his neck as if he suffered from an immense headache. Standing opposite him were Mr. Tanner, Colonel Forster, and Mr. Stallard.
Mr. Tanner bowed mockingly as Darcy joined them. “How good of you to condescend to join us, Mr. Darcy. We are here, after all, to arrest you.”
Darcy’s glance shot at Mr. Stallard. “What is this?”
The colonel cleared his throat. “We can put it off no longer, Mr. Darcy. The evidence against you continues to mount and, with no other suspects, the people of Meryton demand justice. They are uneasy, and there has been talk of them taking matters into their own hands. My men and I have been stationed here to promote peace, not to encourage mob behavior.”
“We seek to protect you and your friends until we can get to the bottom of this affair,” added Mr. Stallard.
“Who would promote such riotous behavior?” Darcy glared at Mr. Tanner, who only lifted his chin in reply.
Darcy pulsed his fists at his side.
“Gentlemen,” Bingley interrupted, “let us go into the front parlor lest our voices carry.” He signaled the butler and in no time at all, candles lit up the dark room, casting suspicious shadows over their faces as they sat facing each other in the circle of chairs.
Mr. Tanner placed himself directly opposite Darcy, scrutinizing his every move and gesture. It grew increasingly more imperative that Darcy speak before he did. He could not allow for any apparent weakness in front of the man.
Swallowing his growing concern, Darcy asked, “What exactly is the evidence against me? As far as I know, the only evidence is the inability to trace my whereabouts in a crowded ball at the hour of the crime.”
“Do you believe yourself so far above the laws which govern us, you feel yourself justified in refusing to give a straightforward answer? Had you answered our inquiries in a forthright manner, I could have taken your word as a gentleman. As it is, your word means nothing when you have given us every reason to doubt you,” said Mr. Tanner.
Bingley looked anywhere in the room but at Mr. Tanner.
Mr. Stallard stroked his whiskers and nodded his agreement. “You must admit, Mr. Darcy, that your unwillingness to answer our questions openly does cast an unfavorable light on your testimony. Please do not mistake me, sir. I have made no judgments and will refrain from doing so until we have more evidence. Murder is a serious matter, and I will not send a man to hang unless I am certain of his guilt.”
“How reassuring,” Darcy muttered.
“Darcy, why can you not tell them what they wish to know? What can you possibly lose when it is your very life which is in danger?” begged Bingley.
An image of Miss Elizabeth flashed before him. Her willingness to give up her freedom to save him made him more determined than ever not to allow it. “What else can I tell them but what I have already said. I was here. I did not leave Netherfield Park.”
“What was your dispute about with Lieutenant Wickham the morning of November the twenty-sixth?” asked Mr. Stallard with the firmness of a judge.
If only it were so simple. Could he live with the consequences if he caused the death of Georgiana’s hopes by revealing the nature of his quarrel against Wickham? Any father or older brother would understand it.
Could he chain Miss Elizabeth to an unwanted marriage, certain that her resentment of him would grow over the years to choke out any affection she could possibly feel for him? No, he admired her too greatly to treat her independence so lightly. And he loved his sister more than his own life.
“I will tell you what I have repeatedly said. My quarrel with Mr. Wickham was of a personal nature and as such, I thank you gentlemen to respect my wishes to remain silent on that account as I left him alive and well after our disagreement. I returned to Netherfield, and I did not leave the property until after his murder.”
Mr. Tanner leaned forward. “What secrets are you hiding, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy did not answer, but stared at the constable with the same face he used when playing cards. He would reveal nothing, and judging from Mr. Tanner’s consternation, he was successful.
“Darcy,” said Bingley, massaging the back of his neck, “is any secret worth risking your life over? I beg you to consider.”
Bingley meant well. He was everything kind and innocent. He was the sort to spare the swatting of a fly at a picnic.
“I am innocent of any wrongdoing in this affair, and I trust justice will be done.”
“Let me call in an inspector,” Bingley persisted.
“No,” Darcy answered firmly. He may as well blab the complete story to the occupants of the room than allow for a stranger to poke into his affairs. Georgiana would be ruined and Miss Elizabeth would hate him— and with just cause.
Mr. Stallard sighed. “Then, I am left with no other choice. I had hoped to leave all this unpleasantness behind us, but I must do something lest the villagers decide to take matters into their own hands. I am sure you understand how their unpredictable actions could lead to unnecessary suffering. It is for this motive I put you under arrest, Mr. Darcy. You and the residents of Netherfield Park will be safer if you are in custody. I am sorry.”
Was he sorry? Darcy doubted Mr. Stallard’s sincerity— especially if Mr. Collins’ suspicions proved true. His inclination was to balk, but if what the men said was true, he could cause problems to Bingley and his household if he resisted.
Bingley fell back into his chair, his eyes wide. “You are serious? You will arrest a guest in my home, at this hour?”
“Is it preferable to parade Mr. Darcy through Meryton during the day? We thought to allow him some dignity, given the nature of his arrest and the hostility held against him. I was unaware you had a dinner party, and I deeply regret interrupting their entertainment, but it is better for all concerned that he come with us quietly,” said Mr. Stallard.
Holding up his hands, Colonel Forster said, “It is for his protection… and yours, Mr. Bingley. I must do something to maintain order, but arrangements have been made for Mr. Darcy to reside in my quarters until further notice. Please, gentlemen, it pains me greatly, but I have seen what an upset crowd can do. Everyone present at your home at this moment could become a target.”
That was all it took for Darcy to decide. He would cooperate. If word of this spread, the Darcy name would run through the gossip mills. But that was a small price to pay. He would prove his character and act honorably to protect those whom he held dear. “That is considerate of you, Colonel.”
“It is too considerate,” said Mr. Tanner.
With a scowl at the outspoken constable, Mr. Stallard said, “Have your valet pack what you require for the next three days until the inquest.”
Colonel Forster asked, “You do not think it preferable to move the date? Surely, the jury will acquit Mr. Darcy. There is no need to drag this on any longer than necessary.”
Mr. Stallard considered Darcy from under his hooded eyes. After some pause, he bunched up his chin. “No, Colonel, the inquest stands as it is. The arrangements have already been made.”
The gentlemen rose, and with glee, Mr. Tanner pulled out a pair of irons.
That was too much. Darcy balked.
“Mr. Tanner, put those away,” ordered Mr. Stallard.
Mr. Tanner jangled the metal together, smacking them against his thick, open hand. If his intent was to irritate Darcy, it worked.
They filed into the entrance hall just as a svelte figure closed the door to the drawing room behind her. Miss Elizabeth stepped toward them and froze, her eyes widening at the sight of the irons clanking in Mr. Tanner’s hands. Darcy had no doubt but that the oaf intended to da
ngle them in front of him during the entire return to Meryton.
“I apologize for interrupting your… meeting, gentlemen,” she said, walking toward the stairs. If Darcy knew her at all, she had conjured an excuse to leave the room to satisfy her curiosity. A convenient ‘refreshing’ would go unquestioned.
Unfortunately, at that moment, Miss Bingley barged out of the door. “Charles, you are neglecting your party terribly and I must insist that you and Mr. Darcy return to us.” She propped her hands on her hips and waved her nose in the air, daring Bingley, or anyone else for that matter, to defy her.
When no one else spoke, Darcy said, “I must accompany these gentlemen back to Meryton, but I am certain Bingley would much rather keep your company than his present one.”
“Nonsense! Why would you possibly leave at this time of night?” she argued.
Miss Elizabeth, who had stood silently watching, asked, “You must accompany the gentlemen? You have no choice in the matter?”
It was a delicate way to ask the question he could read across her inquisitive face, and Darcy admired her for keeping her wits about her and not causing a scene worse than the one already unfolding in Bingley’s front hall.
Mr. Tanner held no such delicacies, as was his habit. “Mr. Darcy is under arrest for the murder of Lieutenant George Wickham, miss. Now, if you will excuse us, we must be on our way. You can return to whatever it is you gentle folks do with your spare time.”
Darcy watched the veins in Miss Elizabeth’s neck pop out and her shoulders tense. “You would arrest an innocent man?” she challenged, stepping toward Mr. Tanner.
Mr. Stallard placed his hand on Mr. Tanner’s shoulder to prevent him from responding. He said, “Miss Elizabeth, do you have any information which would prevent me from putting Mr. Darcy under arrest?”
Darcy watched her intently. She did not hesitate, and would have ruined her future to save him had he allowed her to speak.
“I—” she started.
“How could Miss Elizabeth possibly know what you seek? Granted, she is clever, but I do not think it likely for her to reveal the evidence you require,” Darcy interrupted.