The Meryton Murders

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by Victoria Grossack


  Mr. Bennet adjusted his glasses and took the piece of paper from Mr. Morris.

  “We will need several copies of it,” said Mr. Morris. “A copy should be sent to Mr. Selby, the betrothed of Miss King. I was hoping that Miss Bennet could make one to leave here,” he said.

  Mary was willing to be of assistance and went to fetch paper and a pen, then, when Mr. Bennet had finished reading it, she settled at a table in the corner of the room and commenced the task.

  “I have observed that Miss Bennet has very legible handwriting,” said Mr. Morris, while Mary worked.

  Mary soon finished, then Mr. Morris said that he should take the original to Mrs. Collins at Lucas Lodge. He asked Mrs. Philips whether or not she wished to join him. Mrs. Philips was terribly torn. She was the center of attention in the Longbourn drawing-room in a way that she had not been for many years, indeed, in her entire life, so she was loathe to depart – yet she could not bear to think that Mr. Morris should deliver the news to Lucas Lodge without her. That consideration decided it, as well as the reflection that Mr. Philips and Mr. Clarke might have more news for them back in Meryton.

  “Take care, Sister,” said Mrs. Bennet, and Mrs. Philips retrieved her cherished little flask of smelling salts, so that she could employ it while having hysterics again at Lucas Lodge. Mrs. Philips and Mr. Morris then left Longbourn House, with many promises on the part of Mrs. Bennet that she would visit her sister soon to see how she was and to be informed of any developments.

  The letter that Mary had copied was passed around, first to Mrs. Bennet, and then to the Bingleys and the Darcys. When Elizabeth scanned the letter she could not find anything in the words besides the information that Mr. Morris and Mrs. Philips had already relayed.

  The sun was lower in the sky, and even though Mrs. Bennet asked them all to stay to dinner, Jane said she preferred returning to Netherfield. Mrs. Bennet, perhaps realizing that it was quite likely that the cook had burned the goose, did not insist. So the Darcys ordered the carriage, and soon the Darcys and the Bingleys were inside, still discussing the information that Mrs. Philips had brought to them.

  “I am not surprised that you wished to remain in Hertfordshire,” Mr. Darcy remarked to Elizabeth, “with everything that has been happening.”

  “That is not why I came,” said Elizabeth.

  “Of course; you are here for Jane.”

  “And I greatly appreciate it,” said Jane.

  “And I do not think these recent events have much to recommend them,” said Elizabeth, “other than enlivening our conversations.”

  “But if this Mrs. Smith killed Mr. Collins, then the murderer is dead,” said Bingley. “So we should be in no more danger here than in any other part of the country.”

  “Not only do I not understand why Mrs. Smith should have killed Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, “I cannot understand how it is even possible. How could she have pushed Mr. Collins over the side of the bridge? Mr. Collins was a big man; Mrs. Smith was not a large woman and she did not look that strong.”

  Her fellow passengers agreed that Elizabeth had an interesting point, and as the carriage was approaching the bridge where Mr. Collins’s body had been found, Mr. Darcy told Wilson to stop and wait for a few minutes. All except Jane climbed out and surveyed the area; she remained inside but watched and listened through the open carriage door. Mr. Bingley, who had been at the scene, described everything to them.

  Mr. Collins had been only a little shorter than Mr. Darcy and much heavier, while Mrs. Smith had been about the same height as Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, do you believe that you could push me over the side of the bridge?”

  Elizabeth protested at being asked to harm her husband, but he told her not to worry, and after a little effort on her part, she determined that his confidence was justified. “I could not do it.”

  “And you are younger, and presumably stronger, than this Mrs. Smith was,” said Mr. Darcy.

  Mr. Bingley added that Mr. Collins may have been injured, or even dead, before he was pushed over the side of the bridge. He did not know if that would make it easier or more difficult for Mrs. Smith to do what she had confessed to doing, but it was worth considering.

  Deciding that there were no more clues to be gleaned at their current location, and mindful of Jane, they returned to the carriage and continued to Netherfield. Leaving the bridge did not cause them to leave the most interesting subject, and they tried to understand not just how, but why Mrs. Smith had killed Mr. Collins.

  Elizabeth suggested that Mr. Collins had somehow discovered that Mrs. Smith had stolen Miss King’s jewelry. “At least that would give her a motive.”

  But Mr. Bingley pointed out how improbable this was. Mr. Collins was rarely in Meryton; it seemed unlikely that he would recognize any of Miss King’s possessions.

  “Perhaps it was an unfortunate and peculiar accident,” said Jane, “and Mrs. Smith felt so guilty afterwards that she took her own life.”

  “She also took Mary King’s things,” said Elizabeth. “If she had a conscience, she would not have done that.”

  “Stealing is wrong, but killing one’s fellow man! Oh, that must be much worse.”

  “Perhaps if we speak to Mrs. Collins we will learn more,” said Mr. Bingley.

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth, who wished that she could order the carriage to turn and call at Lucas Lodge. Her curiosity, however great, would have to wait for satisfaction. Besides, she reflected, it was very likely that her friend knew nothing; Mrs. Collins had said that she was completely unacquainted with Mrs. Smith.

  When they reached Netherfield Park, the ladies changed for dinner. At that meal they were joined by Miss Bingley, whose headache had, as expected, completely disappeared after her horseback ride. Elizabeth noticed that Miss Bingley was becoming rather tanned.

  Miss Bingley inquired about their visit to Longbourn, insinuating that Mr. Darcy must have been terribly bored and vexed by the company of so many Bennets, but Mr. Darcy replied that the afternoon had not been dull at all. Then Jane and Mr. Bingley explained how Mrs. Philips had arrived with the news of the suicide of Mrs. Smith and her confessional letter. Miss Bingley could barely tolerate Mrs. Philips and had never met Mrs. Smith, but even she was intrigued. “So this Mrs. Smith took Miss King’s jewelry and she murdered Mr. Collins. Is that why she moved to Meryton? To commit these terrible crimes?”

  No one could answer Miss Bingley why Mrs. Smith had moved to Meryton. Mr. Darcy had never even seen her; Mr. Bingley believed he had been introduced but could recall nothing about her; only Jane and Elizabeth had had any conversation with Mrs. Smith, and they had never posed this question to the now-dead woman. Still, all could speculate, and the conversation that evening diverted Jane from her discomfort.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  Elizabeth both hoped and feared that the night would be disturbed by Jane’s going into labor, but Mr. Bingley did not summon her and they did not all meet again till the morning.

  The topic that had animated everyone so much the evening before was barely mentioned at the breakfast table. Mrs. Smith had been scarcely known to them, and her letter of confession resolved two of the recent local mysteries. They might be curious as to why or how she had perpetrated these crimes, but they had no reason to doubt that she had. As Miss King, Mr. Collins and Mrs. Smith were all deceased, and it was unlikely that any witnesses existed who might bring more intelligibility to the circumstances, their curiosity might remain unsatisfied permanently.

  It had rained during the night, so the morning was fresh and cool. Elizabeth and Darcy went for a walk; he gave her his arm and helped her over the puddles. She realized that she had not yet described her encounters with Lady Catherine, so she did so and inquired if Darcy knew anything about a Mr. Radclyff. Mr. Darcy shook his head. He thought his mother might have mentioned a Mr. Radclyff in connection with Lady Catherine, but that had been many years ago. It was possible that Colonel Fitzwilliam knew something, or his uncle the earl, but he was
not certain that this was any concern of theirs.

  Elizabeth added that Mr. Radclyff had been dead for more than a decade.

  “I am not especially interested in Lady Catherine and men long dead,” said Mr. Darcy. “Now, I have a question for you. How is your sister? Was it necessary for you to come here, or did your father exaggerate the urgency?”

  Elizabeth told him that she believed her presence had been helpful. Her husband then naturally inquired about the nature of the problem. Elizabeth considered. She did not like to betray a confidence, but she had also discovered that keeping secrets from her husband was not the most sensible course of action. If she had written to him immediately about the extortion attempt, she could have spared him the journey from Netherfield.

  They sat on a bench with a lovely prospect, shaded by the woods behind them, and she told him that there had been some anxiety and distress about a letter that Mr. Bingley had written to Miss Hightower, and did her best to explain what she had discovered about Miss Hightower from Miss Bingley.

  “I do not understand. A letter written from Miss Hightower to Bingley?”

  “No, the letter was definitely to Miss Hightower, written by Mr. Bingley.”

  “I beg your pardon, but that letter was not written by Mr. Bingley!”

  Elizabeth colored to see Mr. Bingley and his sister emerging from the woods behind them. How much had they overheard?

  Mr. Bingley had also reddened, and Miss Bingley, clearly irritated, took advantage of the moment to say, with sneering moral superiority: “Eliza, I do not know why you were asking about Miss Hightower, but it obviously had nothing to do with a metronome. I had not realized you were so sly.”

  “Did Jane see that letter?” demanded Mr. Bingley.

  Elizabeth realized that her position was awkward with everyone, and moreover, that everyone’s disapprobation was justified. Miss Bingley had the right to feel manipulated with respect to their previous conversation. Mr. Bingley could be angry with her for having read his private correspondence. Darcy might disapprove of her betraying confidences – as would Jane, for it was her confidence that Elizabeth was betraying. Jane, although she was least prone to it, had the most right to be angry – yet had not Jane counseled her to be completely honest with Mr. Darcy? Elizabeth decided it was better not to deny or dissemble; she responded first to Mr. Bingley. “No, Jane did not see the letter. I discovered it while looking through books in your library and the next morning I described it to her. We went together to the library the following day, but all we found were the ashes.”

  “I should not have hidden it in a book by Voltaire, not when you have hired a French maidservant.”

  Mr. Bingley was giving Elizabeth rather more credit than she deserved for application to improving her French, but she decided not to correct him by explaining that she had only opened Voltaire in a quest for that very letter. She focused on the critical matter. “I am sorry for the trouble that I may have caused. Jane was a little distressed by what I could describe of the contents of that letter, but as Miss Bingley tells me that Miss Hightower has been dead for some time, Jane decided it was best not to mention it. You wrote it years ago, but you have also destroyed it.”

  “But I never wrote it!”

  “It was your handwriting,” Elizabeth began and then stopped as understanding dawned in on her. “Oh!”

  “A counterfeit,” observed Mr. Darcy, nodding at his lady.

  “Yes, it was a forgery. I never wrote it! But how can I convince Jane of that, when the handwriting is so like my own? I met Miss Hightower years ago, in the Pump Room. We flirted, that is true, but it was nothing more. And then, some months after I left Bath, I heard a rumor that – that she was in trouble. However, I was not responsible. Her – her lover was in the navy, and I am certain that he would have married her, had she not died with her child before he returned from the West Indies.”

  “I understand,” said Mr. Darcy.

  “I do not!” Miss Bingley complained.

  “Even though I know I did not write that letter, how can I persuade Jane of this? How can I convince my wife that I will be a good husband to her and a devoted father to our child, when my own handwriting appears to show that I abandoned another young lady?”

  “I believe you,” Elizabeth assured him. “And Jane will as well. For I, too, received a similar letter.”

  When he heard this, Mr. Bingley took off at a quick stride, leaving his sister with Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.

  “Should we return to the house as well?” inquired Elizabeth. She was feeling wretched and culpable and wished to atone sooner rather than later.

  “I think Bingley and your sister need some time alone,” said Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth sighed but agreed. Her penance for her indiscretion would be to suffer a little longer before she asked Jane for forgiveness.

  “And while we allow my brother some privacy with his wife, you can let me know what you have been talking about,” said Miss Bingley, with some asperity. “I refuse to be kept ignorant. Eliza, what letter did you receive from a lover in the West Indies?”

  “I will explain what I can,” said Elizabeth, shaking her head slightly, for Miss Bingley had put everything together wrong. Elizabeth then told about the extortion letter that she had received, about how she had decided not to pay, and how she had kept vigil at the horse chestnut tree but had failed to discover the identity of the culprit.

  Miss Bingley curled her lip at the mention of a romantic letter to Wickham, for she had been scornful of Elizabeth’s initial interest in that lieutenant. However, in front of Darcy she censured her remarks.

  “I explained to Elizabeth that those with money are often the target of the unscrupulous,” said Mr. Darcy. “There is no shame in it.”

  “I suppose Eliza would not have much experience with these base schemes,” said Miss Bingley. “And what about my brother and Miss Hightower?”

  Elizabeth believed that Mr. Bingley had been the victim of a similar extortion attempt; regarding what exactly, she would not say. “You should ask him for more information.”

  “I will,” said Miss Bingley. “Dare we risk returning to the house now, or is it too soon?”

  “I think we had better,” said Mr. Darcy. “The weather is turning.”

  The heavens, which only thirty minutes before had been a halcyon blue, were filling up with clouds; several large drops had already fallen. Mr. Darcy offered one arm to Elizabeth and his other to Miss Bingley, and they hastened along the gravel walk.

  CHAPTER XXXIX

  Mr. Bingley and Jane were still in private conference in the library, so the others repaired to the drawing-room. Miss Bingley idly traced a sketch of a horse while Mr. Darcy wrote a letter to a friend who might be interested in acquiring the now-vacant living at Kympton. Elizabeth occupied herself with some needlepoint.

  Several hours later the Bingleys, all secrets gone between them, joined their friends. Elizabeth glanced up anxiously; she was feeling guilty for having spoken to Darcy.

  Jane did not appear angry, but neither did she seem pleased, while Mr. Bingley’s countenance displayed embarrassment.

  Elizabeth began to apologize, but Jane abruptly forestalled her. “It is all right, Lizzy.” Elizabeth realized that Jane was far more perturbed by what her husband had said – or not said – than she was with her. Jane, although she was obviously not pleased, spoke seriously and calmly. “There is nothing to worry about,” Jane said. “It is nothing – or rather it is a mere inconvenience, that will be got over in a while. But in the meantime I believe we should share information. Someone has been – has been attempting to extort money from us, and perhaps from others as well.”

  “Obviously it would help if we can determine who it is,” said Mr. Bingley. “So we can stop him and expose him and either send him to prison or get him transported.”

  Elizabeth believed something else was distressing Jane, something that her sister was not yet ready to share. As she did not feel th
at she had any right to press for openness, she responded to Mr. Bingley’s point. “He must be someone who knows us.”

  “What about Wickham?” suggested Mr. Darcy. “Could he have known about Miss Hightower?”

  Mr. Bingley and his sister were the only two in the drawing-room who had known anything about Miss Hightower, and neither of them had ever mentioned Bingley’s relationship with the unfortunate woman to either Mr. or Mrs. Wickham. Of course, it was possible that they had learned of the relationship some other way. Still, Mr. Darcy was certain that Mr. Wickham could not imitate the penmanship of anyone, while Jane and Elizabeth made similar statements about Lydia.

  “What about servants?” asked Miss Bingley. Although her listeners did not share her prejudice against the lower classes, they were ready to consider her suggestion. If the extortionist were one of the servants, then that person probably worked at Netherfield. One of the Netherfield staff could have learned of Miss Hightower and her situation and would have been able to find an example of Mr. Bingley’s handwriting. The culprit could have also known about Elizabeth’s former interest in George Wickham – to Elizabeth’s chagrin, that flirtation was well-known in Meryton.

  “Oh! I cannot bear for it to be one of the servants!” Jane lamented, and she sought, as usual, to clear everyone from culpability, leaving them with no responsible parties. “The day that you went to leave a letter, Lizzy – just three days ago – were not all the servants in the house?”

  Jane’s question made them all, except for Mr. Darcy, cast their minds back to that morning. Jane and Miss Bingley had seen most of the household staff, while Mr. Bingley had been out with the groomsmen and had walked past the stables. “No one took a horse.”

  “What about the gardeners?” Elizabeth inquired. “Could not one of them have slipped off the estate and hurried to the horse chestnut tree?”

 

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