Elizabeth was known for her love of long walks, and in the past had used her feet when a carriage was not available – an independent tendency that Miss Bingley had formerly dismissed as country town indifference to decorum.
“But Jane could not walk so far,” said Mr. Bingley, offering his arm to his lady. His concern was reassuring to both his wife and his sister-in-law.
“As you see, we are in good health, and there is nothing wrong with the carriage or the horses.”
“So have all the clocks in Longbourn stopped?” inquired Miss Bingley. “Did someone push over the sundial? Or was there another reason for the delay?”
Jane and Elizabeth explained that they had heard some shocking news, and after reassuring Mr. Bingley that nothing had happened to anyone at Longbourn, the sisters related what they had heard about the death of Mary King. As in every other house in the neighborhood, the circumstances of her death were discussed that evening in Netherfield. Of their party, Mr. Bingley seemed most affected, possibly because he was the most tender-hearted among those present. “She was a pleasant young woman,” he said, with a sigh. “I remember dancing with her.”
“I barely recall her at all,” said Miss Bingley, least touched by the matter. “It seems rather cowardly, does it not, to take one’s own life?”
Jane observed her husband at these words, while Elizabeth in turn watched Jane watching Bingley.
“We cannot know what distressed her so,” said Bingley.
“It is a pity,” Elizabeth said, “that anything could be so terrible that she could not confide in a friend or a relative.” She thought Bingley looked conscious at these words, although in the flickering candlelight it was not easy to distinguish expressions.
Jane pressed the point. “I was not well acquainted with Miss King,” she said, “so I cannot judge her. I can only hope that anyone I know well – family member or friend – would feel free to come to me with any problems and have the confidence that I would listen sympathetically.”
Bingley took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “No one familiar with you, Jane, could doubt that you would listen with a generous and understanding heart.”
Jane was fatigued, so she retired early, and Elizabeth likewise made her excuses. Jeanette prepared her for the night, then Elizabeth went to bed early herself, her head full of the day’s conversations and events. After observing Bingley’s gallantry towards Jane, Elizabeth was sanguine that all would now be well between Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. She was less confident, alas, that she would learn what the matter was, for Bingley could demand Jane’s discretion in the matter. Elizabeth felt that she deserved to discover his secret, for she had traveled from Pemberley to Netherfield to be supportive of her sister.
“But I cannot importune Jane. If she is content, I will attempt to be as well.”
These thoughts, and the troubling ones about poor Mary King, did not keep her awake long. Elizabeth slept well and woke refreshed and was outside before breakfast, enjoying the sunshine, the chirping birds and even her impatience. She had to wait till the others had risen and breakfasted before she could manage a moment alone with her sister. Miss Bingley was practicing the pianoforte – her disciplined dedication reminded Elizabeth of how much she had neglected her instrument since her marriage – Mr. Bingley was conversing with one of the gardeners, and Elizabeth and Jane sat together in a corner of the drawing room.
“You are smiling this morning, Jane,” Elizabeth observed.
“It is terrible of me, I know. Poor Miss King!”
“But has Bingley told you what is troubling him?” And, with great self-command, she added: “There is no need to tell me if it is confidential. I assure you, that I can respect and understand that. However, if you wish to share – if it would ease your heart – I can assure you of my discretion.”
“Dearest Lizzy!”
Elizabeth waited for her sister to continue, and assumed that the silence was due to Jane’s putting her thoughts in order. But when Jane still said nothing, Elizabeth said, “Very well, I will content myself with your happiness. That should be enough.”
“I would tell you if I knew anything, but Bingley has not informed me of any deep, dark secret. But last night he was so much more like himself that my heart is lighter.”
“I suppose I should be glad that he seems to have no deep, dark secrets,” said Elizabeth. “But are you certain nothing is distressing him?”
“He admitted something has been troubling him, but that it is of no consequence – he heard something distressing about someone he knew in the past, but the death of Miss King has shocked him into thinking about the present and the future.”
“I see. And that is all?”
“Yes, Lizzy, that is all.”
Elizabeth both admired and was vexed by Jane’s lack of curiosity, for as Bingley had not confided in Jane, Elizabeth could not persuade Jane to confide in her. Even though she had been convincing herself that she would be content with ignorance, the serenity that Jane appeared to achieve so easily was only a matter of aspiration for Elizabeth.
Elizabeth decided to put temptation out of the way by changing the topic, returning to the unexpected demise of Miss King, which had also provoked her curiosity. The conversation at Netherfield centered on the practical: should they make a condolence call? If so, on whom? Miss King’s local family was deceased – as a girl she had lived with her grandfather; it was from him that she had inherited her money – and although she had had an uncle in Liverpool, they had never met him, nor did they have his address. The fact that her death was a suicide made even the composition of a letter of sympathy a challenge.
But Elizabeth had a solution. Her first duties on a visit such as this were to her parents and to her sister, but she was staying with Jane and yesterday they had called at Longbourn. Now it was appropriate for her to make other calls. She would visit Mrs. Philips and Lady Lucas, both meriting attention, as Mrs. Philips was her aunt and Lady Lucas a neighbor of many years, and who were likely, given their positions, personalities and husbands, to have the most current information available.
“Oh, yes, Lizzy, do call on Aunt Philips,” Jane agreed. “I know that she longs to see you.”
Elizabeth went alone in the carriage, as Jane, despite her improved spirits, preferred to stay at home. Elizabeth told her coachman that the first stop would be at her aunt’s in Meryton and that afterwards they would cross the bridge to visit Lucas Lodge.
Mrs. Philips greeted her niece affectionately but was particularly distracted, as Mr. Philips, Miss King’s attorney, was still dealing with the awful details.
“We do not even know where she is to be buried,” lamented Mrs. Philips. “The vicar says that she has to be buried on the north side of the church – a suicide, you know – but that it is extremely inconvenient because of the shrubbery. The service, too, will have to be amended. Still, we cannot put the body just anywhere! What are we supposed to do, leave it in a field? If we were on a ship we could put the body in a shroud and throw it overboard – I’ve heard that is what they do at sea, because at sea north and south do not matter.”
Elizabeth thought that north and south, as well as east and west, were of paramount importance at sea, but she did not dispute the point. “So it was definitely suicide,” Elizabeth remarked.
“It seems so, but Miss King cannot have been in her right mind, to kill herself like that. I saw her just two weeks ago – I introduced her to Mrs. Smith – and she seemed a little pale and thin, but I thought it was just because she was anxious about her upcoming nuptials. Poor thing, she did not have a mother to advise her.”
“So no one knows why she took her life?”
Mrs. Philips confirmed that they did not, not completely, but this morning Mr. Philips had received a letter from Miss King’s London bankers, actually sent before Miss King had died, requesting Mr. Philips to speak to Miss King and to ask her why she was withdrawing such large sums of cash.
“Large sums of cash?”
repeated Elizabeth.
“Yes, a vast quantity, according to Miss King’s banker. Unfortunately the letter arrived too late for Mr. Philips to give any advice to poor Miss King,” said Mrs. Philips.
Mrs. Philips added that her information ought to be treated as confidential and it ought not to be repeated to anyone, although she had already told her sister, so if Elizabeth wished to discuss it with her mother, that would make no difference.
If, by the end of the day there were any people in Meryton who did not know these details, thought Elizabeth, it would be because they were either deaf or babes in arms. She did learn some additional information from her aunt. Mr. Selby, Miss King’s bereaved betrothed, had been invited to Meryton to settle her affairs; Mr. Philips was suggesting that he stay at the Meryton Inn.
“Poor Mr. Selby,” Elizabeth murmured sympathetically.
Mrs. Philips agreed that he had to be suffering terribly. She also had a second dilemma. She had planned to hold a little reception in her niece’s honor; given the death of poor Miss King, should she proceed? “How long will you be at Netherfield, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth said the duration of her visit was yet unknown, but she imagined that she would wait to make sure that Jane was in no danger.
“Then I should wish to have it sooner rather than later – I have already consulted with the butcher and the bakers – in three days’ time – but will that be insensitive?”
“If you invite me, I will come,” Elizabeth assured her aunt.
Mrs. Philips expressed her satisfaction and said she would now issue other invitations. She also hoped the others at Netherfield would attend as well.
Elizabeth said she could not speak for the others. Jane might not be well, and Mr. Bingley would not leave his wife alone in her situation. As for Miss Bingley, Elizabeth doubted very much that she would wish to attend the evening party in the apartment of a Meryton attorney, especially not a reception held for Mrs. Darcy, but this she did not say to her aunt.
Mrs. Philips understood the reasons for her niece’s caution, but requested her to convey her hopes anyway. Elizabeth then ordered the carriage, kissed her aunt, and then proceeded to Lucas Lodge where she was greeted with the friendly formality of Sir William Lucas and all of the family who was at home. The Lucases, as usual, were ready to talk. Sir William made his customary compliments, saying that with Mrs. Darcy back in the neighborhood, the brightest jewel had returned to Hertfordshire, and desiring to know if, since her marriage, she had been presented at St. James. Lady Lucas welcomed her with pleasure, and Elizabeth was delighted to see that Maria Lucas was blooming with health and good looks. The other sons and daughters also joined in the rather crowded drawing-room.
After Sir William informed Elizabeth that they expected Mr. and Mrs. Collins and their little boy to visit the following week – “how fortunate that you and your friend will be here at the same time!” – the topic of conversation switched naturally to the death of Miss King. For many years, Maria Lucas had been a particular friend of Mary King, so all the Lucases were distressed by the sad event. Maria was willing to share all she could about Miss King. She reported that Miss King had never appeared to suffer from melancholy, except when her mother had been ill, but that had been several years ago. She had been a little crossed in love now and then, but that was in the past, so could also not explain her swallowing a lethal dose of belladonna. The last few months she had had an expectation for a lifetime of happiness.
“Here is the last letter she ever sent me,” said Maria. “That is, besides a note or two, arranging to meet. Feel free to read it, Mrs. Darcy.”
Elizabeth unfolded the small, hot-pressed sheets and read the letter with curiosity, its uneven writing making the sentences look like waves on the page. It was dated several months ago and reported that Miss King had met a Mr. Selby at a concert in Liverpool, and then he had escorted her and another friend to a lecture. Mr. Selby was not especially handsome and he was rather conservative in his views, but that meant that he seemed, to her, steady and sensible. “Handsome men are not to be trusted,” wrote Miss King, and Elizabeth knew that Miss King was referring to George Wickham, who had courted her after her grandfather’s death. “But I feel as if I can rely on Mr. Selby. Moreover, he is in line to a baronetcy, not directly, but it is not impossible, for his cousin is extremely reckless. Imagine my being a Lady!”
Miss King came to life in these few words. It was shocking to realize that she was dead.
Elizabeth returned the letter to Maria Lucas. “I grieve for you, Maria.”
Maria, who had not been close to Mary King for at least a year, murmured something unintelligible that seemed to express her thanks for Mrs. Darcy’s sympathy.
Even though it was indelicate, Elizabeth – who did not have Jane’s reticence – brought up the subject of Mary King’s missing fortune. She attempted to introduce it in the mildest manner possible (she was not her mother either): “Have you heard that Mary King withdrew a large portion of her fortune? How is that even possible?”
The Lucases were aware of this, as Sir William Lucas had called on Mr. Philips this morning. Maria said that for exact figures Elizabeth would have to turn to her uncle Philips, who surely had the particulars, but Maria still had some information to give. When Miss King first inherited the ten thousand pounds from her late grandfather, she had invited Maria Lucas to lunch frequently, and had often made small presents, such as gloves and bonnets and lace. But these last few weeks – Miss King had returned to Meryton from her uncle’s in Liverpool in order to settle some business before her wedding, and also because she had a favorite dressmaker in the town and she wanted her to prepare her trousseau – Miss King had not invited Maria to any lunches, nor had she given her any presents, and when Maria had last seen Miss King, only a week ago, Miss King had seemed exhausted, as if she were not sleeping.
“Perhaps she had doubts about her betrothed? Perhaps she had concerns about the character of Mr. Selby?” inquired Elizabeth.
But if Miss King had had these doubts, she had not shared them with Maria Lucas. And if that had been the case, it would have been far more practical for Miss King to have ended the engagement instead of her life, thought Elizabeth. The fact that she had left him the remainder of her fortune seemed to indicate that she had not been plagued by doubts regarding Mr. Selby.
Maria Lucas had given the substance of what she could contribute, but the Lucases were not ready to abandon the interesting topic. With little new to be said, all anyone could offer were generalities, repetitions and elaborations. Elizabeth noticed a tendency to exaggerate the importance of Miss King in their lives – which, for all of them save Maria, had really been very slight.
“A very sad business,” said Sir William. “Before Miss King moved to Liverpool, my son was thinking of courting her.”
“Father, please,” said the eldest son, either because he did not want the past recalled – or because it was not true.
“Very well, no more of that,” said the patriarch agreeably.
Elizabeth offered sympathy to Lady Lucas, as Lady Lucas had been with her aunt Philips when the discovery of the body was reported.
“Yes, it gave me quite a turn! So shocking, to see such a thing!”
“You mean you actually saw Miss King’s body?” inquired Elizabeth, surprised that this had not been mentioned before.
“No, no, I suppose I did not, but with all this talk, I feel as if I had. Just a few houses away, you know, and if I had gone with Mr. Philips and Miss King’s maid I would have seen where she died – where she took her own life.”
Lady Lucas’s readiness to embellish what she had actually experienced cast doubt on much of what Elizabeth had heard, but Sir William treated his wife with as much solicitude as if Lady Lucas actually had discovered Miss King’s body herself. But when they had reached this level of speculation, Elizabeth decided it was wise to change the subject. “Do you know how long Mr. and Mrs. Collins will be staying?”
The Lucases informed her that Mr. Collins would only remain a day or two, as he wished to be back in Hunsford in order to read the Sunday service, so that Lady Catherine de Bourgh would not be discommoded by a substitute, but Mrs. Collins planned to remain several weeks. Lady Lucas was worried about the journey for her daughter and her grandson. “To travel with an infant is no easy thing,” said Lady Lucas, while Sir Williams was certain that they would manage.
“Sir William, you do not comprehend the difficulty,” said Lady Lucas.
“It is much easier than having us all go there,” said the eldest son, for there were many Lucases, and conveying all of them to Kent was impracticable.
“You are right, Will,” Sir William said to his son, “our carriage could never hold so many,” and then to his wife he said, “and you are absolutely correct, my dear – we men do not always appreciate the hardships you ladies endure, with caring for children and putting up with husbands.”
His charm soothed his lady’s feelings. Elizabeth said that she looked forward to seeing Mrs. Collins and her little boy, and then – with less honesty, but earnest civility – that she hoped she would be able to see her cousin Mr. Collins while he was here, but that she would understand if he were too busy given the brevity of his visit.
“Oh! I am sure that Mr. Collins will call on you, Mrs. Darcy,” said Lady Lucas. “You are, after all, the niece by marriage of his patroness.”
“And undoubtedly, Mr. Bingley will be interested in hearing Mr. Collins’s advice about fatherhood,” added Sir William. “Great changes are coming to Netherfield! What a day of joy that will be! Although my lady will remind me that the event also comes with dangers, which ought not to be trivialized.”
All the Lucases joined in their best wishes for the health and safety of Mrs. Bingley during the next few weeks, at which point Elizabeth, feeling as if her calls had lasted long enough, ordered the carriage and returned to Netherfield.
CHAPTER VIII
The Meryton Murders Page 5