“I have every confidence in you. If nothing has happened recently, could Bingley be troubled by something from the past?”
“Such as?”
“That I do not know. Is anything different – other than his mood and his behavior? When did you detect a change in his behavior?
Jane considered and said that it was about a fortnight after the departure of the Wickhams. And he had been at his most ill-tempered the day before she had burst into tears. “Do you have any notion as to what could be going on, Lizzy?”
“No, Jane, not yet.”
“Then I am afraid he has fallen out of love with me.”
“I do not know what is wrong, Jane, but I am sure that it is not that. Of all our conjectures, that strikes me as the least likely.” Elizabeth took her sister’s hand in her own. “We will determine what is the matter, and find a way to resolve it. You will see. Everything will be as it should be.”
“Having you here is such a comfort!”
Their tête-à-tête was ended by a knock on the door; it was the guilty party himself, coming to tell them that they were wanted for the evening meal. The sisters had been talking a long time, and had failed to notice the hour. “I am sure that you both are hungry,” said Mr. Bingley, offering his arm to his wife and assisting her down the stairs. Elizabeth followed, her mind full, wondering what could be distressing her brother-in-law.
CHAPTER V
During that evening and the morning of the next day, Elizabeth observed Mr. Bingley carefully. The opportunities were not so many, because Bingley did seem to be avoiding spending time with her and Jane. This could have been because he wanted to give her and Jane some time alone, a natural enough consideration given that the sisters had not seen each other for many months. Yet Elizabeth noted that he seemed distracted during dinner, failing twice to respond to her questions about a horse he had bought in the spring. She wondered if the simple explanation could be that he was going deaf – a circumstance that would certainly disturb the temper of a man so young and which could even cause him to raise his voice. She could imagine him not wanting to admit such an infirmity to Jane, especially not when a baby was coming and he did not want to worry her. Perhaps when hunting, a gun had fired too close to his head; Elizabeth had heard of this harming the hearing of some men.
That was her first theory. Elizabeth thought it extremely satisfactory, for it had the advantage of explaining much and blaming no one. Although it would cause some inconvenience to Jane and Bingley throughout the years, they would manage. Then someone dropped a pan in Mrs. Nicholls’s kitchen, and everyone, including Bingley, started at the table, at which point Elizabeth decided regretfully that she would have to dismiss the notion. Besides, after further consideration she realized that Jane would certainly have noticed if Bingley’s hearing were deficient. They had detected a little deafness frequently in their own father, although some of the occasions when he appeared not to hear could be explained by the habit he had formed of not listening to their mother.
Bingley made his excuses to leave the ladies alone, spending some time alone with his port after dinner, and then, after sitting with them a mere quarter of an hour, retreating to his library with several candles. This was unusual first because Bingley was generally quite sociable, and second because he was not a great reader. Yet he remained in the library almost the entire evening, apparently studying an old book. When the sun came up the next day he avoided them again, this time by wandering out of doors. It was a fine day, and so no excuse was needed for taking a walk – Elizabeth after so many hours in the carriage, absolutely needed some exercise and rejoiced in the flowers and the shrubbery – but Bingley turned when he saw, or rather, heard her approach, again disproving her little theory about his hearing.
On the other hand, Miss Caroline Bingley was not avoiding Jane and Elizabeth. Miss Bingley spent the morning with them, making inquiries about Pemberley and its inmates and with her acquaintance in Lambton. Elizabeth wondered a little at Miss Bingley’s spending all her time with her and Jane, especially as Miss Bingley, Elizabeth was certain, disliked her as much as ever. But poor Miss Bingley had few other amusements available to her; she was not a great reader, nor an enthusiastic walker, and could only spend a few hours each day either practicing or sketching or horseback riding. Her own sister was in London, which meant that if she wished for companionship she had to settle for Jane and Jane’s sisters. Elizabeth understood Miss Bingley’s situation, and she pitied her, but she had not yet reached the point where she could honestly declare that she liked her. She found Miss Bingley’s presence especially irksome as she wished to converse with Jane in private.
It was not till they were in the carriage again, this time traveling to Longbourn for tea, that Elizabeth was alone with Jane. She confirmed to Jane that she believed that Bingley was distressed by something. “I am so glad that I am not imagining it!” Jane exclaimed. However, beyond that comfort, Elizabeth could offer nothing except the idea about his losing his hearing – an idea that she had already rejected. Nevertheless, the subject was animating, even if they made no discoveries, and the time in the carriage passed quickly.
When Elizabeth and Jane descended from the Pemberley carriage, Mrs. Bennet made a renewed effort to treat her second daughter as an honored guest. Elizabeth was again given an excellent chair and offered the choicest dainties.
Mrs. Bennet asked if she had recovered from her trip. Mary and Mr. Bennet also appeared, but Kitty was out, which gave Mrs. Bennet the opportunity to complain about Kitty’s tardiness.
“Where is she, Mamma?” Elizabeth inquired.
“Over at the Lucases. I do not know why she should favor them over her own family.”
“Punctuality is a sign of respect and responsibility,” observed Mary.
“Indeed it is, Mary, indeed it is,” said Mrs. Bennet.
“It is not so very late,” said the more tolerant Jane. “I am sure Kitty will be here soon.”
“And there is no need to wait for her,” said Mrs. Bennet, pouring out the tea. “Take this cup to Lizzy, Mary.”
Mary protested that this task properly belonged to Kitty.
“But Kitty is not here!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed.
“Do not trouble yourself, Mary,” Elizabeth said, and in an effort to restore the family peace, rose to distribute the cups of tea herself. As she handed one to her father he observed that Mary managed to quarrel with Kitty even when she was absent.
“See?” Mrs. Bennet scolded Mary. “Lizzy does not consider the task above her. She does not make a fuss, even though she has dozens of servants waiting on her.”
Mary appeared discomfited, while Elizabeth thought being held up as a paragon was not a good way to promote sisterly affection. “In truth I am glad to move a little,” she said. “I am still stiff from the journey and I do not always have the opportunity to exercise.”
“A little too much riches and respect, eh, Lizzy?” her father inquired slyly. “You did not expect that your marriage had any disadvantages.”
“It is true that some aspects have surprised me,” said Elizabeth, “but on the whole, Papa, I am very happy.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Mr. Bennet. In a low voice he observed to his second daughter that Jane seemed more composed; Elizabeth nodded and indicated that she could not tell him more just then – but Mr. Bennet appeared content to let Elizabeth take care of Jane.
Mrs. Bennet said, “Of course you are happy, Lizzy, how could you not be happy? Not only are you richer than any of us, Darcy adores you, and you seem fond of him. And even if you did quarrel, Pemberley is so large that I am sure that you could avoid each other easily. Mary, if we could find such a man for you!”
“Mamma, let us change the subject,” said Jane. As the eldest daughter, she had been the object of Mrs. Bennet’s matchmaking efforts longer than any of her younger sisters, and she understood how mortifying they could be.
But Mrs. Bennet was not to be deflected. “Meryton
does not have so many eligible men these days,” and she went through the list. “So it is up to you, Jane, and to you, Lizzy, to find good husbands for your sisters. Mary would be best with a man who is fond of music but who does not care for dancing. Am I not right, Mary?” Mrs. Bennet did not wait to hear whether Mary agreed or not, and continued: “What about that cousin of Mr. Darcy’s, Lizzy? The younger son of that earl? Does he care for music?”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Elizabeth. She struggled to keep from smiling, for she could not imagine the colonel falling in love with either Mary or Kitty. “Colonel Fitzwilliam does care for music, but I believe he is interested in another young lady.”
“What a pity,” said Mrs. Bennet, relinquishing her claim on the young man whom she had only seen once in her life, at her daughter’s nuptials. “Well, if Colonel Fitzwilliam’s romance does not work out, you must introduce him to Mary. Music is balm to a broken heart. And Lizzy, you and Jane have to do better. It is your responsibility to find husbands for your sisters!”
“And what would you do, Mrs. Bennet, if they took over this project of yours?” inquired Mr. Bennet.
But Mrs. Bennet was spared having to answer her husband by the arrival of her fourth daughter. “Kitty! Where have you been?” she demanded. “How can you linger at Lucas Lodge when you know that your sisters are calling?”
Kitty would normally have been perturbed by such a remonstrance, but on this occasion she had an answer ready. “Because at the Lucases, there was such news! Have you heard? Mary King is dead!”
CHAPTER VI
Miss Mary King was a young lady whom the Bennet girls had often encountered at the Meryton assembly, a dance held once a month in the town (a pitiful affair since the departure of a regiment more than a year ago, when the hall had been brightened by officers in their redcoats). Miss King, small and freckled, had never been a general favorite, especially not compared to the Bennets, considered the local beauties. Then Miss King had inherited ten thousand pounds from her grandfather, drawing the attention of some of the lieutenants, a turn of events that had caused much grief to the Bennets, whose romantic expectations at the time had been rather bleak. But the improved circumstances of the Bennet daughters – Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Darcy in particular – made even Mrs. Bennet more charitable towards other young ladies – especially as Miss King’s death meant she was no longer competing for the few eligible single men.
The news was so startling and unexpected that everyone turned to look at Kitty. In her eagerness to hear the news, Mrs. Bennet herself brought her tardy daughter some tea and told Mary to make room for Kitty on the sofa – Mary was too dumbfounded to protest – and Kitty, the center of attention, sat down.
“Miss King is dead! How terrible!” said Jane.
Mrs. Bennet had a flood of questions. “Why, what happened? Was she ill? I never heard that she was ill. Has anyone else fallen ill? Perhaps we should send a note to Mr. Jones!”
“Was it an accident?” asked Elizabeth.
Mrs. Bennet shook her head. “You are right, Lizzy, it must have been an accident. The carriage I saw her in last week – it did not look safe – and the coachman had shifty eyes.”
“You are all wrong. You will never guess!”
Mr. Bennet said, “If you tell us, Kitty, we will not have to guess.”
“Very well,” said Kitty. “Mary King, Lady Lucas says, took her own life!”
The others exclaimed in horror. Mrs. Bennet was the loudest, while Mary said something gloomy about the terrible sin of suicide. Even Jane, Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet, the more rational members of the family, were shocked. Jane wondered how it was possible that Mary King, a young woman who seemed to have everything to live for, who had inherited ten thousand pounds two years ago, making her one of the richest young ladies in Meryton, who had recently become betrothed to a young man from Liverpool, could be so desperately miserable as to kill herself, while Mr. Bennet remarked, rather sadly, that one never really knew people, and that they were always full of surprises. Elizabeth, however, doubted. “Is it certain that she took her own life? Absolutely certain?”
Kitty eagerly shared the details that had been imparted to her. First of all, there was a note from Miss King, directed to Mr. Selby, the man she had been supposed to marry. The note was short, explaining that she loved him but she could not marry him; that she would never make him happy. Second, Mary King had taken belladonna, purchased, not from Mr. Jones, the local apothecary, but during her last trip to London. A bill of sale had been found.
“But why? Why would she never make him happy?” inquired Elizabeth. “And if that were so, it sounds like a reason for him to take his life, but not for her to take hers!”
But Kitty could not supply a more satisfactory explanation. “Perhaps Mr. Selby no longer wanted to marry her, and she could not face life without him,” said Kitty, but her only argument for making this suggestion was that her friend Maria Lucas had told her that Miss King had been violently in love with Mr. Selby. After several minutes of speculation, they realized their curiosity could only be satisfied with additional information.
“How did the Lucases learn all this?” asked Elizabeth.
Miss King’s maidservant Hannah had discovered the dead Miss King in the early afternoon, when she had come to work after her morning off. The distraught maidservant, not knowing what to do or where to go, had hurried to beg for assistance at the Philips’s house, as Mr. Philips was Miss King’s attorney. Lady Lucas had happened to be calling on Mrs. Philips when Hannah arrived to make her desperate report.
Mrs. Bennet expressed her displeasure at Lady Lucas’s learning the information before her. The Bennet females were at a constant disadvantage with respect to the Lucases regarding rumor and gossip, for Sir William Lucas enjoyed society while Mr. Bennet preferred solitude. And in this situation, as Mrs. Philips was her sister, Mrs. Bennet felt that she should definitely have learned this information before her neighbors.
“It is most unlucky,” Mr. Bennet soothed his wife, “but I am certain that your sister will call on you soon and give you fresh details that you can impart to Lady Lucas.”
The conversation of the Bennet daughters remained fixed on wondering why the young lady could have taken her own life. Jane was still shocked that anyone that they knew could be so desperate, and Mary was horrified by what this deed would mean to the fate of Miss King’s immortal soul.
Mrs. Bennet changed the subject to a more practical one, and wondered if Mr. Selby was in need of consolation. All her daughters remonstrated, especially Elizabeth. “Mamma, it is far too soon to consider such a thing. The man must be grieving terribly.”
Mrs. Bennet would have dismissed any suggestion like this from Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but she was more likely to listen, or at least appear to listen, to Mrs. Darcy. “Perhaps, Lizzy, you are right. Far from me to appear tactless. Although it would comfort him, at the right time, and life should be lived; we should make merry while we can. What do we know of Mr. Selby? Does he have a good estate? Of course, he is in Liverpool so we may never even meet him. I will have to call on my sister.”
Mr. Bennet could not tolerate more discussion on the topic of suitors and removed himself to his library to escape it. Elizabeth and Jane looked at the time and realized that their visit had lasted long enough. They ordered the carriage, then bade their parents and sisters farewell for the day.
“What troubling news!” Elizabeth exclaimed as Wilson turned the carriage into the lane.
“Yes, it is,” Jane agreed, and turned her face toward the window.
They passed by several houses, and Elizabeth wondered if any of their occupants were contemplating suicide. Perhaps, as her father had observed, one never knew other people as well as one believed.
In the dim light of the carriage, it took her several minutes to realize that tears were slipping down Jane’s face. But when she did, she expressed concern. “Jane, were you particular friends with Mary King? I am so sorry.”
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“I am grieved about Miss King, of course, but these tears are not for her.”
Elizabeth wondered if Jane’s condition was making her more likely to weep, as her mother had maintained. Aloud, however, she said, as gently as she could: “Then is there a particular reason? Can you tell me about it?”
“What if – what if Bingley is so melancholic that he takes his life?”
CHAPTER VII
Elizabeth did her best to reassure her sister that Bingley was unlikely to kill himself. “He is a man with everything to live for,” she told Jane warmly. “He is also a good man and a responsible man. He would never do that to you, Jane. Never!”
“But who could have ever thought that Mary King would take her life? She also seemed to have everything to live for. Can we ever know whether another person is truly happy?”
Although Elizabeth had had similar thoughts just moments before, she was quick to deny them. “We cannot know what is going on with distant acquaintances, perhaps, but Bingley is not a distant acquaintance. He is your husband, and he loves you. And what do he and Mary King have in common? They barely knew each other.”
“They have danced together.”
“That is not enough to make them both suicidal,” Elizabeth said. With cheerful, confident, reassuring conversation, she was able to stop Jane’s tears long before they reached Netherfield, where they were greeted by its master and his sister.
“At last!” exclaimed Bingley. “I feared that something had happened to the carriage.”
“I was not afraid,” said Miss Bingley, “for I know that Eliza could walk here if necessary.”
The Meryton Murders Page 4