The Meryton Murders

by Victoria Grossack

  I postponed writing this letter, because I know how distressed you have been due to the sad situation of Reverend Wallace and I have not wished to augment your troubles – and because the following may come to nothing as it is.

  A few days ago, I received a delivery, with a page forged by someone – I have not yet discovered who – and a demand for money. The forgery is of a letter, written by me to Wickham, using many terms of affection, and I suppose it is to have been written by me to him before you opened my eyes to his true character. Although the language and the paper and even the handwriting appear to be mine, I did not compose this letter! I have never written a letter to Wickham. It is a clever counterfeit and an attempt to extort money.

  I was supposed to leave the money in a tree for the extortionist today. I did not. Instead I left a letter asking for more time to acquire the cash, claiming that I did not have so much with me (I do have the money with me; I have made a few presents but I have not been extravagant). My action, however, was in actuality a ruse, for my intention was to conceal myself in the nearby woods and to watch the hiding place for the money from a hiding place of my own, in the hopes of discovering what person or persons was behind this attempt at blackmail. Unfortunately, although I observed the horse chestnut tree for many hours, I did not learn anything, for my letter was somehow cleverly removed without my perceiving the person who took it.

  As I did not leave any money, it is possible that the culprit has already sent you the forgery. Therefore I intend to send this by express to make sure that you are informed of the real situation.

  The extortionist is clever, because he realizes that your good opinion is the most important thing in the world to me, and that I am loathe to lose even a tiny fraction of your esteem and your respect. Hence I can confess that I was actually tempted, for many hours, to pay the money. But that would mean putting my trust in him, a stranger whose character is based on exploitation and falsehood, instead of in you, who are both my husband and a man of integrity.

  I realize that I should have sent this several days ago, as soon as I received the demand, but I did not want to worry you, especially given poor Wallace – I pray that he does not suffer much – and I confess that I was too perturbed to think or write clearly. I only hope that I am expressing myself clearly now.

  Elizabeth perused this portion of her missive several times, and finally decided that it was the best she could manage. She signed it, addressed it and sealed it and resolved to send it by express the first thing in the morning.

  Then she retired. After being outside all day, and her long walk, she was completely fatigued. Despite her mind and heart being in such tumult, she believed that she would sleep. She had done what she could.

  Elizabeth did not wish to be selfish, but as she closed her eyes she hoped that Jane’s baby would not arrive that night.

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  Elizabeth was not summoned by Mr. Bingley during the night, and she slept nearly as well as she hoped. When she awoke her resolve had not diminished, so as soon as she was up and fairly dressed she removed the letter she had written from its hiding place. Then she summoned a footman and said that the letter was to be sent express to Pemberley and gave him the money for the expense. In a few minutes Elizabeth could see him leaving the house with her message in hand.

  The letter to Darcy was on its way. She had believed that knowing that she had done what she could to resolve the matter, she would be able to relax and to think about other things. She found, however, that tranquility did not automatically return to her. She kept wondering what her husband’s reaction would be when he opened it.

  After breakfast she joined Jane in the drawing-room and told her what she had done.

  “I am glad,” said Jane. “It was the right thing to do.”

  Elizabeth said she was grateful for her sister’s approval and support. “Then why am I not calm? Worrying will accomplish nothing, yet I cannot seem to stop.”

  “And I keep wondering when this child will arrive. Yet that will not make it come faster!”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of a chaise; Mr. and Mrs. Goulding were calling; Mr. Goulding in order to tell Bingley about a new gun, and Mrs. Goulding to make a present of baby caps. When Jane exclaimed that the caps were very pretty, but rather large for a newly born infant, Mrs. Goulding said that was intentional. “Your child will grow out of most of the gifts he is receiving now in only a few months, and then what will you do? Your friends may not be giving you presents then.”

  Jane thanked her for her generosity and consideration, while Elizabeth and Miss Bingley – the latter had also joined them – exchanged a glance of rare agreement. With such doting aunts, the child would want for nothing for sixty years at least.

  The day continued with callers and companionship, so that Elizabeth, who had said she did not intend to worry about the letter that she had sent to her husband, involuntarily kept this resolution for many hours. Only late in the afternoon, after Mrs. Bennet and Kitty had departed – having invited everyone over to Longbourn to tea on the following day – did Elizabeth have an unoccupied moment.

  With their visitors departed, Jane excused herself to take a nap; Mr. Bingley said he would shoot some billiards, and Miss Bingley had some music that she wished to practice. Elizabeth said she would take a little walk in the shrubbery – nothing as strenuous as the day before – in the sweet warm hour of the late afternoon.

  She told herself that a stroll would calm her spirit, but instead of contemplating the leafy branches and the bracken, she indulged herself in distressing conjectures. She agreed with Jane in that by sending the letter she had done the right thing; that was to say, her head agreed, but her heart trembled.

  Elizabeth realized that before yesterday evening she had wondered what Darcy would think if he learned about the letter to Wickham. Now she had to wonder what he would think of her when he learned about the letter to Wickham.

  He had already endured so much mortification by making her the choice as his partner in life. He was a gentleman and she was a gentleman’s daughter, which gave them equal rank in society – and yet no one would call them equal. In comparison with the Darcys, the Bennets were poor. Mr. Darcy had an income of 10,000£ per annum; while Mr. Bennet’s income was only 2,000£. Georgiana Darcy had a fortune of 30,000£, while Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst each had 20,000£; Elizabeth could expect, at most, to inherit 1,000£.

  Money was one thing; one could not help it, but what about accomplishments? Elizabeth played and sang – a little – but again, she had never practiced as diligently as she ought, and she was not skilled in comparison to Georgiana or even to Miss Bingley. And as for drawing, she could not. Perhaps she had read a little more than most other young ladies, true, but was reading especially useful?

  But he loves you! her heart protested, defending itself from the onslaught of self-criticism.

  The worst embarrassment was caused by her own family. Lady Catherine, insolent and dictatorial, was the only one among Darcy’s relatives for whom anything ill could be said, while Elizabeth had so many relations to cause a blush. Lady Catherine was, however, completely respectable, while Elizabeth’s sister Lydia had eloped with Wickham and had lived with him before their marriage – a marriage which Darcy himself had stepped in to coerce.

  Again, her heart made a feeble attempt at argument. Georgiana Darcy herself had nearly eloped with Wickham, and Lydia had but been a few months older than Georgiana when she had been persuaded to the rash act. And even though Darcy repudiated Wickham, Wickham had been old Mr. Darcy’s godson, raised with Darcy practically as a brother. Wickham, christened George Wickham in honor of old Mr. Darcy, was as much her husband’s connection as hers. Yet it was Elizabeth’s sister that had married Wickham; the world saw her family as having forced Darcy to have a brother-in-law whom he naturally detested.

  This reckoning, what was the point? The question was, how would he react when he received her letter?
Or the forged letter from the extortionist? It was possible that the latter had already reached him.

  “But I did not write that letter!” Elizabeth protested aloud, as she sat on the bench by the pond. She had written a letter of explanation.

  She tried to tell herself that she was being ridiculous, for there was a very good chance that he was not reacting to either letter. The extortionist might try with her again. If his goal was money, exposing her immediately would remove her reason to pay, so he might have not have sent anything to Pemberley. And it was too soon for Mr. Darcy to have received her letter, as she had only sent it this morning. She expected he was either at Kympton, sitting beside his friend’s deathbed, or else back at Pemberley, taking turns with Mrs. Annesley in chaperoning the budding romance between his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and his sister Georgiana.

  How he must have suffered, after she had refused his initial proposal of marriage. He had written a letter to her explaining and defending himself – and then he, although still in love with her, had not seen her for many months. He had believed, during all that time, that she despised him.

  How surprised he must have been when he had run into her at Pemberley!

  Visiting Pemberley had not been her idea, but a suggestion of the Gardiners, with whom she had been traveling. She would have refused to go, but the hotel chambermaid had told her that Mr. Darcy was not at home. She had not deliberately thrown herself in his way; still, the memory caused her to blush. Yet why should she be so embarrassed? He had been surprised to see her, but also glad, so very glad! And that meeting had given him the opportunity to show her that her reproofs had been attended to.

  How wonderful it would be, if Darcy suddenly appeared and she could have the conversation she needed with him. But she was too impatient. He had had to endure months of suspense after handing her his letter; she had sent hers less than twelve hours before.

  Perhaps she ought to leave for Pemberley immediately herself. At least there would be nothing scandalous or embarrassing about her going there now – she was Mrs. Darcy – Pemberley was her home. But Jane – she could not abandon Jane.

  Having agitated herself completely with her wild, contradictory conjectures, intermixing them with painful memories and agonizing self-doubts, Elizabeth wiped away a tear, and then she started, for she heard voices. She heard Bingley say: “Let us take this path.” Mr. Bingley was probably walking with his sister; they were certainly heading this way. She had to compose herself, for there was no escape, no alternate path, and she could not help wishing that Miss Caroline Bingley were not in the mood for exercise.

  “Elizabeth! There she is – Elizabeth!”

  The voice was familiar. It was not Miss Bingley’s; it was not even Mr. Bingley’s!

  Heart pounding hard, Elizabeth rose and turned. The man striding towards her on the path was tall and handsome and very dear. “Darcy!”

  CHAPTER XXXV

  She had to be dreaming. She had been wishing for this yet certain that he was several counties away, two days of hard travel at best. “I do not believe it!”

  He did not appear at all displeased to see her; in fact he smiled and gave her a kiss.

  Mr. Bingley also looked pleased with himself. “I thought we would find your wife here. I will leave the two of you now. Unless you wish to take some refreshment in the house?” But Darcy declined, and said that he would eat and drink later, and Mr. Bingley departed, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Darcy standing together.

  “How did you get here?” inquired Elizabeth, all astonishment.

  “In a carriage, of course. Bingley’s paddock is quite full. We should probably send one of the carriages back to Pemberley.”

  “But why did you come? Not that I am all displeased. Did you receive my letter? But that is impossible! I only sent it this morning.”

  “I received a letter.”

  “From whom?” Elizabeth was momentarily terrified; had the extortionist already written? Yet that seemed unlikely, for Darcy’s behavior was as affectionate and solicitous as ever.

  “I will show it to you,” he said. He pulled a letter out a coat pocket – and Elizabeth nearly fainted – the paper was the same that they had used at Longbourn; had the extortionist acquired more Longbourn stationery? “Here, my dear, read it – it will not take long.”

  With trembling fingers, Elizabeth unfolded the page. The handwriting was familiar, but it was not hers – it was her father’s!

  My dear Sir,

  Elizabeth needs you. If it is at all possible, come. Yours, etc.

  And that, with Mr. Bennet’s usual terseness, was the entire epistle.

  “You seem perplexed.”

  “I am! I do want to see you, very much, because I have a communication to make that is rather difficult to make by letter. But I do not understand how my father could be involved – how could he even know, I have only discussed the matter with Jane – oh! – Jane, of course. Papa was here a few mornings ago; they obviously spoke then.”

  Mr. Darcy waited patiently for the matter to become intelligible to her, and as soon as it had, Elizabeth realized she had been negligent in her greeting. “What I have to tell you is important, but not so important that it cannot wait a few minutes.” She invited him to join her on the bench, and asked about Reverend Wallace, Georgiana and the rest of those at Pemberley and also inquired about his journey.

  Mr. Darcy explained that Mr. Wallace had died four days ago and had been buried the morning that Darcy had departed from Pemberley. He had stopped in Kympton for the burial. Everyone else at Pemberley, thank goodness, was in excellent health. His journey had been uneventful, and he had made good time. “Now, tell me why your father sent me this.”

  “Very well. Let me consider a moment, to get my thoughts in order,” said Elizabeth, now wishing that she could simply hand him the letter that she had worked on so hard last night. But she did not delay the conversation for more than a minute and soon the communication was made. When she was done, Darcy was indignant and angry with whoever had done this; he wished to see the letter – it was hidden in her room, she explained, she would show it to him later – and told her that she had taken a great risk by maintaining a vigil at the horse chestnut tree.

  “So you believe that I did not write to Wickham?”

  “If that is what you tell me, yes, I believe you.”

  “But you may change your mind when I show it to you. It is a masterful forgery.”

  “Do you have less confidence in me than I have in you?” Darcy teased. Then, seriously, he explained that the wealthy were often the targets of the unscrupulous. Although he was sorry that this had happened to her, he was not particularly surprised. “I wish I could protect you from every situation, but I am proud of you for not yielding.”

  “The temptation was severe,” she said.

  Mr. Darcy was curious to see the letter, but even more interested in determining who might have written it. His first suspect, understandably, was George Wickham, but Elizabeth raised several objections – Wickham was supposed to be in Newcastle, and as far as they both knew, he did not have the skill for forgery. On the latter point, Darcy agreed. “If he did, I am certain that I would have learned of it before now.”

  A footman arrived, summoning them to dinner. The Darcys decided to postpone the continuation of their discussion till after the evening meal, for they were both hungry. Mr. Darcy, during his hasty journey, had eaten little, and Elizabeth, now that she had explained the matter to her husband, discovered that the sick feeling she had experienced during the past few days of anxiety was gone and that she was famished.

  As they rose to return to the house, Elizabeth noticed that the wasps were busy rebuilding their nest, one tree over from where they had been before. This time their new home would be harder to reach and more difficult to destroy.

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  Mr. Darcy was welcomed by everyone at Netherfield. During and after dinner there was much conversation to be had, with everyone wish
ing to hear about all the news from Pemberley and especially about the death of Reverend Wallace.

  “It has been a dreadful month for clergymen,” said Miss Bingley archly after Darcy described his friend’s death. Even though Mr. Darcy had been married for nearly a year, Miss Bingley had not relinquished her custom of paying attention to him.

  Mr. Darcy expressed his condolences to Jane and to Elizabeth and inquired about Mrs. Collins.

  “She is doing as well as can be expected, Sir,” said Jane. “She and her little boy are staying with her family at Lucas Lodge.”

  “I would also be concerned about your aunt,” Elizabeth added. “Lady Catherine quite depended on Mr. Collins.”

  “She did indeed,” Mr. Darcy acknowledged.

  Despite Miss Bingley’s willingness to entertain them with several songs that she had recently mastered, the evening was not a late one. Jane, as usual, yawned early, and Bingley retired with his wife. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy also wished to be alone, and Mr. Darcy was fatigued from his long journey.

  The next morning Elizabeth informed her husband that she had some rather disagreeable news for him: “We are invited to take tea today at Longbourn.” He said that he believed he would survive it, and so later that day, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Darcy took the larger of the Pemberley carriages to Longbourn (the other Mr. Darcy sent back to Pemberley, but with word to the coachman that he could travel at a slower pace if he preferred). Even though Miss Bingley wished to devote as much time as she could to admiring and flattering Mr. Darcy, she decided that, given the large quantity of Bennets at Longbourn, her chances of any rational conversation there were slim and so she had a predictable headache that she thought she would best overcome by taking a horseback ride in the company of one of the grooms.