A Death at Rosings: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  “Smart dog,” Darcy said.

  “He would have been smarter if he’d learned to get out of people’s way earlier,” Elizabeth said.

  “True enough,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I won’t keep you from your walk any longer, but I’ll leave you with this thought, Darcy: Let me know what responsibilities I can takeover. Now that my father is recovering, there’s no reason you should have to bear the burden of Rosings alone.”

  “Thank you, but you exaggerate,” Mr. Darcy said. “Elizabeth has been managing most everything here, with the help of Anne’s cousin Mrs. Allen in the kitchen. Mr. Whitaker has been assisting me with the estates.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “In truth, I don’t think either you or I will be needed here much longer. Things are nearly back to the point of running themselves with just the occasional look in from us.”

  Elizabeth made sure her expression remained neutral. She was surprised how much she disliked the idea of them all departing Rosings. She should be excited to return to Jane and her father, but she would miss Mr. Darcy terribly.

  “Glad to hear it, glad indeed,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I knew the two of you would have things well in hand. Feel bad for running off on you, though.”

  “You did what you had to,” Mr. Darcy said firmly.

  “Kind of you to say. Now enjoy your walk. Don’t let me keep the lot of you standing in the foyer all day.”

  There was a flutter of bows and curtsies, and soon Elizabeth found herself walking beside Mr. Darcy, Kitty and Mr. Whitaker some little ways in front of them. She smiled up at the blue sky, enjoying the slight breeze. It was grand to be out of doors. Rosings was running well, as Mr. Darcy had said. The weather was perfection, with summer in full bloom. She walked beside a tall, distinguished, handsome gentleman. There was little that could make the day any more pleasant.

  “What do you smile at?” Mr. Darcy asked in a low voice.

  Elizabeth glanced at him askance. “Why, Mr. Darcy, are you asking after my thoughts? I’m not sure that’s entirely appropriate.”

  “Appropriate can go to the devil,” he said. “I want to know what brings you the joy I see upon your face. Is it that my cousin is returned?”

  Was he jealous? “What if I said that walking on a fine spring day, in fine company, is the source of my smile?” she said. Her heart thudded in her chest and she realized how important his response was to her.

  “I would say that while I would never dream of declaring you a liar, I find it difficult to credit such a notion.”

  Elizabeth stopped. He took one stride without her and then turned back around to face her. She moved closer so she could keep her voice low. “I assure you, sir, that it would be nothing but the truth. A fine day, in such pleasurable company, is what brings this feeling of joy I have.”

  “Then, may I derive that you no longer abhor spending time with me?”

  “How can you think it?” she said, alarmed he should. “Have we not spoken most every morning in the yard, dined together every night, walked together every day of late?”

  “I’d hardly allowed myself to hope this was because you have come to prefer my company,” he said.

  He looked down at her with his intense, unfathomable gaze. Elizabeth’s breath caught. Hope? Did he mean he still hoped she would come to care for him? He hadn’t relinquished all feeling for her, then? He leaned toward her.

  “May I, Elizabeth?”

  “May you what, Mr. Darcy?” she asked breathlessly. His use of her first name suggested an intimacy she wasn’t sure she wanted.

  “Dare to hope?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, distressed at her own answer. She didn’t know. When he’d proposed to her months ago, she had three objections to him: his behavior to Wickham, his personality, and his separating Jane and Mr. Bingley. She was wrong about Wickham and she now liked him, possibly even loved him, but could she love a man who’d destroyed the happiness of her sister? Should she love him?

  “Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy,” Kitty called. “Do keep up. Whatever are you doing back there, dawdling like that?”

  From the amusement in Kitty’s voice, Elizabeth knew her sister could quite well imagine what they were doing, speaking too privately, and she very well wished Kitty would leave them to it. Mr. Darcy searched her face for a moment. He started to turn away. Elizabeth put a staying hand on his coat sleeve and he swung back, brows raised in question.

  “I really don’t know. There is still the issue of Jane and Mr. Bingley,” she said. As she said it, she saw the hope leave him. He would not give in on this issue.

  “Elizabeth,” Kitty called, closer this time.

  Elizabeth made to remove her hand from Mr. Darcy’s arm, but he clasped his over it. “At least your opinion of me has improved,” he said, carefully adjusting her fingers to lay properly along his arm. His hand on hers was a surprisingly intimate gesture. They turned up the path to face Kitty and Mr. Whitaker. Kitty came to a halt, casting a grin at her walking companion. “And I can enjoy your company without the fear that you are only tolerating me for the sake of harmony at Rosings,” Darcy said too quietly for Kitty and Mr. Whittaker to hear.

  “That you can.” Elizabeth raised her chin, refusing to blush. If only they could resolve the one thing that came between them. She loved Jane too well to give in on the point, even for Mr. Darcy.

  “Come on then,” Kitty said. Mr. Whitaker offered her his arm. She took it and they turned back up the path. “Do try to keep up this time Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy,” Kitty said over her shoulder, her tone a mixture of officiousness and mischief.

  Elizabeth looked to Mr. Darcy, embarrassed by her sister’s behavior and how justified it was. He smiled warmly down at her. Shifting her attention to where her hand rested on his arm and then back to the bright spring sky, Elizabeth returned his smiled and they resumed their walk.

  Later, when they returned to Rosings after Mr. Whitaker tended his farewells for the day, they found Colonel Fitzwilliam, Anne and Mrs. Allen seated in the parlor. Anne looked up from the book she held as they made their greetings. Colonel Fitzwilliam lowered his newspaper, but not for long. Mrs. Allen exchanged pleasantries without dropping a stitch.

  “The post arrived. There are letters for all three of you,” Anne said, her expression warm. “I hope you had a pleasant walk.”

  Elizabeth had the oddest urge to blush, though Anne couldn’t mean anything by her statement.

  “I think Elizabeth had a very pleasant walk,” Kitty said, giggling.

  “Young ladies do not giggle in mixed company, Kitty,” Anne said in a tone of mild reprimand. “Was it a particularly pleasant day, then?”

  “The weather is very fine,” Elizabeth said, shooting a glance at Kitty. “You should walk with us, Miss de Bourgh. We needn’t go farther than you like. The weather is beautiful. It’s not too hot for summer.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow or the day after,” Anne said. “Your letters are there.” She gestured to a silver tray that had been left on a side table.

  Elizabeth crossed to the table, finding a letter from Jane, which she took, and one from Lydia, which she handed to Kitty. “There is one from your sister as well, Mr. Darcy,” she said. “Would you care to read it now?”

  “I would,” he said.

  Elizabeth brought him his letter, trying not to find the action intimate. He didn’t seem to. His visage and tone were the same as always, aloof and unreadable. He seated himself on the remaining sofa, far to one side, as if daring her to sit with him. As the only other option remaining was beside Mrs. Allen, Elizabeth took his dare. It wouldn’t do for Kitty to sit with Mr. Darcy, after all. Kitty cast her a knowing smirk and took her place beside the window.

  Elizabeth opened her letter from Jane, stealing a glance at Mr. Darcy. Could his words that afternoon mean anything other than that he still had an interest in her? Would he be writing a letter soon, to her father? She glanced down at Jane’s careful writing, guilt tugging at her. She wanted Mr. Darcy to propose
again, and she longed to say yes, but what of the wrong he’d done Jane? What of his disdain for her standing and her family?

  “Oh, no,” Kitty whispered.

  “What’s the matter?” Elizabeth asked.

  Where she sat beside Mrs. Allen, Kitty had gone white. “Lydia is planning to elope with Mr. Wickham,” she said, sounding almost as if she might cry. “She says they’re going as soon as he can sell her necklace and get money for a carriage. They’re going to Gretna Green.”

  “He’ll never marry her,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. He folded his paper, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth.

  “But why take her to Gretna Green then?” Kitty asked.

  Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam exchanged glances but didn’t speak. Elizabeth was trying to find a delicate way of saying what no one else was willing to say. She wished Colonel Fitzwilliam had been a little more careful with his words.

  “Wickham has a history of being fond of having a woman share his bed,” Anne said.

  Kitty gasped. Elizabeth turned to Anne. She didn’t know if she was more shocked that Anne knew such a thing or that she would say it aloud. She could see by their surprised expressions that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were equally stunned by their cousin’s words.

  “My mother didn’t always know when I was listening,” Anne said, shrugging. “The question isn’t why he’s taking her, but what can be done.”

  “They may have already left,” Elizabeth said. What could be done? The full ramifications of Lydia’s actions hit her. Why, they would all be ruined. No one would marry her, Jane, Mary or Kitty if Lydia ran off with Mr. Wickham and shared his bed. She went cold, a feeling of dizziness stealing over her. Worse, if he got her with child.

  “I don’t think they would have left yet,” Kitty said. Her voice sounded far away to Elizabeth. “Lydia wrote that Wickham had some kind of duty that would keep him busy for a while, and it will take time to sell her necklace.” She sighed. “I always liked that necklace. I told Mother she should have given it to me. I’m older, after all.”

  Elizabeth surged to her feet. Something must be done. This couldn’t be allowed to happen. Crossing to Kitty, she held out her hand. “Let me see?”

  Kitty turned over the letter, her eyes going wide. Elizabeth imagined her face was giving too much of her distress away to her younger sister, but what good would shielding Kitty do? Once Lydia ran off with Wickham, there would be no shielding any of them from the repercussions.

  Elizabeth stood there, trying to read the letter, but the words blurred together. She was aware of both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy coming to read over her shoulders.

  “Would an express to Colonel Forster work?” Elizabeth asked, unable to think of anything else to do.

  “Anne, can you arrange that?” Mr. Darcy asked. “I’m going to go there myself. I may beat the express.”

  “Yes, I can,” Anne said. “We can also send an express to Mr. Bennet.”

  “I’ll write it,” Elizabeth said. She hurried over to the writing table in the corner. “May I use your stationary, Anne?” Her writing things were in her room. Logically, she knew the time it would take to get them wouldn’t change a thing, but she desperately wanted to have the letters written and on their way.

  “Of course,” Anne said. “Will you write both letters, please? I’ll send for someone to take them immediately.” She rang for a servant.

  Elizabeth started writing, her hand a bit shaky. She was aware of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam leaving the room, but didn’t look. A servant came and went, and another. She didn’t hear what Anne said to them, focused on the two brief letters she must write and address. When she finished them, she turned to find a footman waiting silently behind her.

  As he was walking out with the letters, Mr. Darcy entered, dressed for travel. “Miss Kitty, may I take the letter?”

  “You may. Elizabeth has it,” Kitty said.

  Elizabeth looked down, seeing Lydia’s letter on the desk. She hadn’t even realized she’d carried it over with her. Mr. Darcy strolled toward her and she stood, proffering it.

  “What manner of monster is he?” she whispered. “How can he do this thing?”

  “He is the worst manner of monster,” Mr. Darcy said. He squeezed the hand she held out before sliding the letter from her cold fingers. “But he will not do this thing. I won’t allow it.”

  Elizabeth nodded. She tried to smile, but knew it didn’t work. She wanted to believe him. If anyone could fix the situation Lydia had created, she was sure Mr. Darcy could.

  “Elizabeth,” he said in a low voice. “No matter what happens, you have my assurance that you will be well.” With a fierce look in his eyes, he swung away, long strides carrying him from the room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Richard told Darcy that he would sleep while Darcy’s coachman Alderson drove so that he could take over after several hours. Darcy envied Richard’s ability to sleep under such circumstances. He was too filled with anger at Wickham to rest. Darcy supposed his cousin had learned the art of sleeping under any sort of pressure while serving in Spain.

  They changed horses as often as they could, making good time. Richard took over for Alderson after sleeping for a few hours, saying that a tired driver could be dangerous. After several hours, Darcy felt compelled to take over for Richard, though he hadn’t slept.

  In his youth, Darcy had briefly wanted to become a member of the Four Horse Club, but his father had protested based on the inanity of their rules. He’d said it was one thing to aspire to drive four horses well, but another thing to follow a set of meaningless rules about how to dress just to show off that you were accepted by a certain group.

  As he drove, Darcy wondered if his father would approve of his quest to save a silly girl from Wickham. He decided his father would. Darcy’s family had allowed Wickham to become what he was. Although Darcy did not have personal responsibility, he had a familial one.

  Nevertheless, when Darcy drove into Brighton at dusk he was only thinking about how Wickham’s actions could affect Elizabeth, not about family responsibility. After a brief inquiry, they found Colonel Forster at home. He was going over some paperwork with his aid, a Lieutenant Pratt, who Darcy recognized from his stay with Bingley the previous fall.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy to see you, sir,” the aid who showed them in said. “I wouldn’t have disturbed your work, but they say it’s a matter of some urgency.” The young man saluted and backed from the room.

  “Colonel, Mr. Darcy,” Colonel Forster greeted. He and Lieutenant Pratt both stood, bowing, though confusion showed on Forster’s face.

  “We’re sorry to barge in on you, Forster,” Richard said. “We’re here on a delicate, yet rather urgent, matter.”

  “May I ask the nature of the matter?” Forster asked.

  “It pertains to a young woman in your household, a Miss Lydia Bennet,” Richard said.

  “Miss Lydia Bennet?” Forster asked, frowning. “I can’t see what business you might have with her.”

  “Darcy, the letter,” Richard said.

  “You probably saw Miss Lydia spend time with her sister, Miss Kitty Bennet, when you were in Hertfordshire,” Darcy said, pulling the letter from his pocket.

  Colonel Forster nodded.

  “Miss Kitty is staying with a cousin of mine,” Darcy continued. “Miss Lydia wrote this letter to her sister. I have folded it to show the relevant paragraphs.”

  He handed over the letter. Forster’s frown deepened to a scowl as he read. He unfolded the letter, turning it over and then back, obviously assuring himself of the authenticity. Handing it to Pratt, who started reading, he stood and crossed the room. Forster leaned out the door, yelling for his wife. Darcy winced. Forster sat back down, tapping his fingers on his desk.

  Pratt handed Darcy the now folded letter. “Excuse me,” he murmured.

  Forster nodded and the lieutenant left. Moments later, a surprisingly youthful woman
stuck her head into the room.

  “You called for me, dear?” she said in contrite tones and Darcy realized she was Mrs. Forster.

  “Bring Miss Bennet down here at once,” he told her.

  “She went to bed early with a megrim,” Mrs. Forster said.

  Darcy hoped that was true, but found that Mrs. Forster’s words ended all optimism he’d harbored of arriving before Wickham put his plot into motion.

  “Get her now,” Colonel Forster barked.

  Mrs. Forster scurried away.

  Darcy glanced after the retreating woman. Colonel Forster’s manners were a bit lacking, yet even with his abrupt nature and being a man used to giving orders, he didn’t seem to be succeeding in taming Miss Lydia Bennet. What hope had a man like Mr. Bennet ever truly had, especially with his wife encouraging Miss Lydia at every turn? “A letter was sent to Mr. Bennet right after we left Kent,” he said.

  “Good, but she is my responsibility while she is here.” Forster frowned at them. “I knew they’d danced several times, but I had no idea Wickham would try something like this.”

  “The man’s a bounder,” Richard said.

  Mrs. Forster came running into the room, holding a letter that she thrust into her husband’s hands. “She’s not in her room and she left me this. She’s running away with Wickham,” she gasped out.

  “When did you last see her?” Forster asked, his eyes scanning the letter.

  He handed it to Darcy, who took in the brief lines, holding it so Richard could read it as well.

  “Less than an hour ago, I think,” Mrs. Forster said. She wrung her hands. “I should have known something was amiss. Lydia never has a megrim.”

  No, she just causes them, Darcy thought. He folded the letter and dropped it on the desk. He tucked Miss Kitty’s back inside his coat. He would return it, though the thing ought to be burned.

  “Your carriage is ready?” Forster asked, looking between Darcy and Richard.